Qingdao to Guilin

Note to everyone: these next few entries were all jotted down in my notebook while I travelled apart from electricity. None of it has been revised, and hardly any of it is well thought out. What’s more, I’m typing it out as fast as I can without looking at the screen much, so there’ll probably be a few typos. Feel free to skim, or come back to it a few days later by which time I may have come back to elaborate and improve. I may not, though, because there’s just so much. I had nothing else to do on the train but record idle thoughts.

I’ve just arrived in a flurry inside my train, carriage 10, compartment 033, departing from Qingdao. A bemused Chinese man is staring at me while he eats his strawberries; he can hadly be blamed, I’m sure the excitement and relief written all over me must be funny enough. Boarding was a breeze, if a rapid one, thanks to CS member qI lI, but a touch of panic, bled over from a parallel, Qi-less universe has yet to fade.

Before arriving in Qingdao I posted to the resident CS group asking if anyone would be so kind as to help a poor Laowai (foreigner) through the boarding process. Feedback was diverse. More than one informed me that the train was, hostely , not such a big deal,— and that asking for help was completely unnecessary. Thankfully two earth-angels , Karen Qi and Qi Li, messaged back say ing it would be their pleasure to help me out. As it turned out, Karen had an unexpected engagement on Sunday, but she did offer to show me the station on Saturday, and to take me around the city a bit.

When we arrived a the station Karen took me as far as the station door security. To go farther, she asserted, required a ticket and, thus, was as far as she could’ve taken escorted me, even if Sunday was an option. Now, initially I’d planned not to impose on Qi, but hearing this changed my mind and I quickly messaged a request for help the next day. He consented readily and I went about the evening more at ease.

First she walked me around the seaside district. There’s a strong German influence in Qindao with over 100 years of history (eident in the architecture of the older buildings (including the trainst station) and in the native, nation renowned beer). Maybe it was sheer coincidence, but I met three Germans in the city that night.
Next we headed inland to meet a friend for dinner. The friend was late, however, so Karen showed around what I can only describe as a “Chinese Diagon Alley”— a narrow, closed in lane of stone, every foot of which played home to small, ornate restaurant fronts. Most of the stores were equipped to seat no more than 8-12 people, but apparently that’s all they require. Eventually the friend did show up, we ate, and went on to play cards with a few other surfers (including a Seattle-ite).


--------- The Next Day ------------


On Sunday, that’s today, I met Qi, packed by things and left the hotel. At the deks they tried to give me some noise about returning my deposity and charging me for my stay. I wouldn’t have minded, but I never paid any deposit and had already dealt with the rent when I checked in. My guess is the desk women on Thurdsy just let me pay my stay rather than trying to explain the whole deposit thing. The English interface at the hotel was sub-par, althougth I liked everything else about it.

Like his counterparts (from the night prior) Qi was slow to warm up, preoccupied with his low level of English despite years of study, but eventually we began talking fluidly. There were five odd hours to kill before the train arrived. E spent them talking in a McDonalds near the station. He was curious about my impression of China. What were some big differences between his country and my own? I tread carefully when this topic arises. So many of the differences are unflattering, and it’s hard to discuss them without coming off as rude. Once difference I did mention was of gait. Chinese people walk differently than Americans— the differences in motion are subtle, but I’d say the main thing that stands out is a kind of motion barrier at the waist: their upper bodies are like statues as they move about.

At the station, Qi aired a cultural difference I’d glossed over in pursuit of manners. “Chinese people,” he remarked, half in observation, half in explanation or apology, “do like to li— do not like to queue.” And that is the just case. Everywhere one might expect a line is host instead to a stampede. So many people cut, push, and disobey the joint cause of order that it’s completely baffling. Only the night before I’d been googling “lines in China” to assure myself I wasn't suffering some hallucinatory psychosis. I wasn’t: Chinese people, at least good portion of them, have no regard for waiting in line.

“Queue,” though had been the word Qi reached for. His English had tinges of Britain all through it, and his vocabulary was vast, though many of the words had never passed his words before. He confessed to an educational paucity similar to Japan’s,— students drill English hard, but never practice speaking or conversation. The effect was that we sometimes wrote back and forth to clear the confusion, as if one or the other were deaf. Eventually 17::00 rolled around and we walked over to the station where I was immediately gladder than ever to have Qi along.

Security, the first layer at least, did not require tickets. When we got to the second layer it was different, nevertheless Qi begged passed the guards all the way into the train compartment itself. I wouldn’t say more than ten minutes passed between entering the station and settling in my bunk.

I would, without any doubt, have missed the train without his help. The station was a swarm of people with at least 1000 in the waiting room (more like cavern) alone. Furthermore, the signage was 100% Chinese characters. I could’ve muddled through the memory game with time, but not quickly enough to board, that’s for sure.

------------- Later -----------

I’ve woken up now it’s the morning of the 16th. The night went by . . . how should I say . . . both slowly and quickly. I shared the cabin with three snoring Chinese men, and felt as though I slept in a running washing machine. Despise these conditions I slept well, but not without strange dreams. I dreamt I was a skeleton whose job it was to dance in a doorway and rake my hands back and forth, I felt pretty silly about the work, but was informed that to the people outside the door (who must be kept outside at all costs) it was terrifying— so I’d better not stop.

As I was saying, it’s the morning. A new passenger woke me with her banging at the door. There’s a little fold out metal tab to keep it from sliding open, and it was locking her out. So now it’s two old guys, me, and this cute Chinese girl. Thank goodness I bought this rate of passage— I think a seat, or even a hard sleeper faire would’ve been unbearable.

A new challenge is before me: while I was satisfied last night to lay in bed, basking the glory of not missing the train, today I haven’t got anything to eat. At some point I’ll need to venture forth, in search of the dining car, but I have little idea as to where it is. I can hardly get lost on a train, though, so I better just suck it up and go. But, first things first, gonna go brush my teeth.

I found the food. After walking to the end of the train and back, in the wrong direction, I discovered the dining car was only one carriage down on the other side.: there I bought some packages and retreated to my compartment. I had some sort of nutrition drink, a few little sausages, and a large, foil wrapped mystery item in shrink-wrap. I didn't know what lay contained, but I felt it might be worth eating (it was the largest of the things on sale). De-foiling it revealed the entombed the carcass of half a bird. It was very, very messy to eat, but it tasted ok, and I’m not starving anymore.

------ Later ------

The Chinese passengers prepared for the journey more adequately than myself. It would have been smart to lay in provisions in Qindao, Qi even advised of it, but it slipped our minds. Not so the Chinese, some parties of whom carry cases of beer and peanuts to supply their day long card games. Ramen noodles are also in abundance, joining the ranks of a vast host of foreign junk foods.

The girl is joined by a friend. They’re both sitting across the way, facing me, silent as stones. I’d rather they didn’t, but there isn’t anything to be done. If only they’d talk.

Well, that was intense! Suddenly the people in my carriage all decided it would be a good time to get to know me. I’ve received several phone numbers and an invitation to Li Bao Wei’s home in “An-yan.” I don’t expect I’ll ever take it up, but it was a nice gesture. He was one of my chief conversation partners (along with his friend and a woman, Huang Jiang, who is also going to Guilin— something I’m glad of, for now I’ll be less nervous about missing my stop tomorrow.)

My Mom’s Mandarin phrasebook came in extremely handy this afternoon. Without it I’d have been a good deal more lost (though hardly possible). We talked of Alaska, greater geography, Chinese language, and, to some extent, interests and hobbies. It took a long time to get anything across at all, still they were favorably impressed with my meager Chinese. I managed to get a few jokes off, and my desire for train travel has been justified.