Getting a train in China is a strain to all the senses.
The visual: people playing musical chairs, hoping to get a better seat than the Seat Lottery had bestowed upon them.
The auditory: a woman somewhere in front of me was playing music that sounded like a woman having a molar removed, over and over again. A woman behind me was furiously cracking open an endless supply of seeds.
The tactile: if you sit in an aisle seat, which I was lucky enough to do on my journey there and back, you get hit my passing trolleys, people's arms and babies' heads. Once my sleeping head ricocheted off the head so violently I thought someone was using my head as a punch bag. The seats don't have arms rests, which really are ways of sectioning of 'your seat' from 'my seat'. Instead, you often end up getting too close for comfort to your neighbours, or they end up taking some of your seat and push your aisle-seated butt into the already impossible narrow aisle.
The olefactory: Despite the no-smoking signs, people smoke plenty. Imagine being trapped in a box for 9 hours, with increasing amounts of cigarette smoke being pumped into the air. By the end of the journey I smelt like a long-term nicotine addict. Oh and there's also the garlic fire-breathers. Again, I was fortunate enough to be sat next to one. Every time he breathed in my direction, or just wafted himself in my general position, an overbearing stench of garlic overcame me. Finally, there's the squat toilets, but I think I have truly overcome my aversion to those.
9 hours sitting on a seat was a good test in sleep deprivation. I slept a little, but not enough. When we got to Beijing it was horrendously cold. It was 5.30am and still dark. I made my way to a McDonalds close by, found a seat and tried to sleep. I made a little small talk with the girl next to me (elegantly dressed in a warm purple coat, perfectly straightened hair) in between slamming my head onto the sleeping bag I had put onto the table in front of me. I really needed sleep and warmth and considering giving into the comfort of food by ordering what everyone else seemed to be ordering, but I kept strong.
8am, the sun was up and I made my way to the subway and to the embassy. I got my passport pretty speedily but didn't know what to do with the rest of my day. I had communicated with a girl that wanted to stay with me in Jinan, about getting a place in Beijing. Kindly, she found me a host and I was to meet up with her at 6pm. I stayed in the embassy until I had motivation to go elsewhere. To be frankly honest i thought about just going striaght home, but I decided not to because I would be going to Shanghai the day after.
Finally inspiration hit me in the form of a smell-memory. Blueberry muffins. I would go to Starbucks. I asked the woman who had given me my passport where the nearest Starbucks was, she told me and I went.
Oh my God, how good that warm, soft blueberry muffin was. Mmmm. I charged my Ipod and proceeded to read some magazines I found at the embassy, waiting for my next wave of inspiration i always figured I'd end up inside the Forbidden City, but I didn't really want to do that. I didn't want to pay a lot of money for the ticket, and even if I had I would need a guide if my visit would be in anyway meaningful. In one magazine I found that every Monday from 1-3pm they taught Mahjung, an old Asian board game. Sorted, that's what I'll do.
I scanned my Couchsurfing messages on my Ipod and found one girl I had wanted to surf with said she could meet up with me, because she was free that day. Plans change, I'll meet up with this girl.
I met her at the National Library and she showed me round. It was so beautiful. The inner part is a large square lined with books on all sides.
She then took me to a restaurant where we had a selection of local Beijing foods (I'm pretty sure this is where I got food poisoning because just recalling it makes me want to gag) and then to an old city street lined with kitschy shops.
She went with me to the subway station where I was to meet this host that I had not a clue about. All I knew was that this girl who I didn't know anything about had organised that I could stay with him. We found a nearby mall and watched a competition that involved hammering open some golden eggs, said hi to an old, white santa who had a very attractive Chinese girl standing behind him, then watched the beginning of a Sesame Street show.
The couchsurfing host turned up, I said bye to my friend then followed him as he looked for wrapping paper for his son. I felt a little sick, but dismissed it as fatigue, and continued on my way. My host moved very frantically, and it made me very nervous to follow him as he moved so fast.
He lived five minutes from the mall. At his home, I met his partner, their 2-year old kid and 3-month old baby. Something about how tired and sick I was, combined with the franticness of it all, gave me the impression of how difficult it must be raise kids. I seriously doubted ever wanting kids as for the first time I contemplated how difficult it all is. The 2-year old was screaming, the baby was crying, then they grow up and they give you even more trouble. Was it really worth it?
The couple were french, although the host was part American, and it was nice to refresh my French. Since they were mainly speaking french to their 2-year old, they were using non-abstract language, which made it much easier for me to follow. They had lived in Malaysia, the Phillipines and now China.
We went out to a Japanese restaurant in the mall. I would have never dreamt of eating somewhere like that, I prefer the cheap and cheerful option. I wasn't hungry anyway, so I ordered something simple, which turned out to be the cheapest thing - rice, miso soup and pickles. The waiter was smug and conceited and I wanted to bang his head on the table, but instead I replied with a smug and conceited manner.
I ended up trying to feed the 2-year old, who was running round and round. At one point the mother thought she'd lost him, and panic as I'd not seen in a long time consumed her face. 'How many times a day does panic like that fill her?' I wondered, once more considering whether children really are the way to go.
We go home, I made the couch up and tried to sleep as fast as possible, thinking I'd feel better with a little shut-eye. But as soon as I'd got into my sleeping bag a fever coursed through my entire body and I knew I was in trouble. I spent the entire night running to the toilet, vomiting and the other liquidy accompaniment, hoping no one else would wake up. It was a rough night to say the least.
I woke up with a decision to make. Should I brave it and keep going to Shanghai, or go home? Shanghai, home, Shanghai, home? In the end, it was home.
I managed to take my weak self onto the subway, the to the train ticket office, onto the train, sit on the seat without vomiting for 6 hours, drag myself onto the bus (which had conveniently waited until I got onto it) then pull myself onto the second bus, (which also strangely was already at the bus stop that I was walking towards and didn't leave without me), walk a little bit and finally let myself into my house. This time I did take medicine, unlike last time I got ill when I was determined to battle through the pain.
The good news was that I figured out what kind of farm I want to stay at when I get to America, and that was the biggest questions I had. I have just emailed them my resume, so we'll see what happens.
The visual: people playing musical chairs, hoping to get a better seat than the Seat Lottery had bestowed upon them.
The auditory: a woman somewhere in front of me was playing music that sounded like a woman having a molar removed, over and over again. A woman behind me was furiously cracking open an endless supply of seeds.
The tactile: if you sit in an aisle seat, which I was lucky enough to do on my journey there and back, you get hit my passing trolleys, people's arms and babies' heads. Once my sleeping head ricocheted off the head so violently I thought someone was using my head as a punch bag. The seats don't have arms rests, which really are ways of sectioning of 'your seat' from 'my seat'. Instead, you often end up getting too close for comfort to your neighbours, or they end up taking some of your seat and push your aisle-seated butt into the already impossible narrow aisle.
The olefactory: Despite the no-smoking signs, people smoke plenty. Imagine being trapped in a box for 9 hours, with increasing amounts of cigarette smoke being pumped into the air. By the end of the journey I smelt like a long-term nicotine addict. Oh and there's also the garlic fire-breathers. Again, I was fortunate enough to be sat next to one. Every time he breathed in my direction, or just wafted himself in my general position, an overbearing stench of garlic overcame me. Finally, there's the squat toilets, but I think I have truly overcome my aversion to those.
9 hours sitting on a seat was a good test in sleep deprivation. I slept a little, but not enough. When we got to Beijing it was horrendously cold. It was 5.30am and still dark. I made my way to a McDonalds close by, found a seat and tried to sleep. I made a little small talk with the girl next to me (elegantly dressed in a warm purple coat, perfectly straightened hair) in between slamming my head onto the sleeping bag I had put onto the table in front of me. I really needed sleep and warmth and considering giving into the comfort of food by ordering what everyone else seemed to be ordering, but I kept strong.
8am, the sun was up and I made my way to the subway and to the embassy. I got my passport pretty speedily but didn't know what to do with the rest of my day. I had communicated with a girl that wanted to stay with me in Jinan, about getting a place in Beijing. Kindly, she found me a host and I was to meet up with her at 6pm. I stayed in the embassy until I had motivation to go elsewhere. To be frankly honest i thought about just going striaght home, but I decided not to because I would be going to Shanghai the day after.
Finally inspiration hit me in the form of a smell-memory. Blueberry muffins. I would go to Starbucks. I asked the woman who had given me my passport where the nearest Starbucks was, she told me and I went.
Oh my God, how good that warm, soft blueberry muffin was. Mmmm. I charged my Ipod and proceeded to read some magazines I found at the embassy, waiting for my next wave of inspiration i always figured I'd end up inside the Forbidden City, but I didn't really want to do that. I didn't want to pay a lot of money for the ticket, and even if I had I would need a guide if my visit would be in anyway meaningful. In one magazine I found that every Monday from 1-3pm they taught Mahjung, an old Asian board game. Sorted, that's what I'll do.
I scanned my Couchsurfing messages on my Ipod and found one girl I had wanted to surf with said she could meet up with me, because she was free that day. Plans change, I'll meet up with this girl.
I met her at the National Library and she showed me round. It was so beautiful. The inner part is a large square lined with books on all sides.
She then took me to a restaurant where we had a selection of local Beijing foods (I'm pretty sure this is where I got food poisoning because just recalling it makes me want to gag) and then to an old city street lined with kitschy shops.
 |
| The food we ate |
 |
| My couchsurfing buddy and I at the mall |
He lived five minutes from the mall. At his home, I met his partner, their 2-year old kid and 3-month old baby. Something about how tired and sick I was, combined with the franticness of it all, gave me the impression of how difficult it must be raise kids. I seriously doubted ever wanting kids as for the first time I contemplated how difficult it all is. The 2-year old was screaming, the baby was crying, then they grow up and they give you even more trouble. Was it really worth it?
The couple were french, although the host was part American, and it was nice to refresh my French. Since they were mainly speaking french to their 2-year old, they were using non-abstract language, which made it much easier for me to follow. They had lived in Malaysia, the Phillipines and now China.
We went out to a Japanese restaurant in the mall. I would have never dreamt of eating somewhere like that, I prefer the cheap and cheerful option. I wasn't hungry anyway, so I ordered something simple, which turned out to be the cheapest thing - rice, miso soup and pickles. The waiter was smug and conceited and I wanted to bang his head on the table, but instead I replied with a smug and conceited manner.
I ended up trying to feed the 2-year old, who was running round and round. At one point the mother thought she'd lost him, and panic as I'd not seen in a long time consumed her face. 'How many times a day does panic like that fill her?' I wondered, once more considering whether children really are the way to go.
We go home, I made the couch up and tried to sleep as fast as possible, thinking I'd feel better with a little shut-eye. But as soon as I'd got into my sleeping bag a fever coursed through my entire body and I knew I was in trouble. I spent the entire night running to the toilet, vomiting and the other liquidy accompaniment, hoping no one else would wake up. It was a rough night to say the least.
I woke up with a decision to make. Should I brave it and keep going to Shanghai, or go home? Shanghai, home, Shanghai, home? In the end, it was home.
I managed to take my weak self onto the subway, the to the train ticket office, onto the train, sit on the seat without vomiting for 6 hours, drag myself onto the bus (which had conveniently waited until I got onto it) then pull myself onto the second bus, (which also strangely was already at the bus stop that I was walking towards and didn't leave without me), walk a little bit and finally let myself into my house. This time I did take medicine, unlike last time I got ill when I was determined to battle through the pain.
The good news was that I figured out what kind of farm I want to stay at when I get to America, and that was the biggest questions I had. I have just emailed them my resume, so we'll see what happens.
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