Trainbound for Twenty Five Hours

My desire to leave the warm climate of Shenzhen was born of the desire to accept Gary’s invitation to spend Chinese New Year with him and his family. Unfortunately I could not get a train ticket directly to Wuhan in time to make it there. However, if I went in a roundabout way…

I still couldn’t get there on time. But I was tired of Shenzhen, warm climate or no. If I had had my wits about me I would have picked another southern city, like Kunming or Guilin as my next destination. They don’t exactly speak to me like Nanjing does though. Nanjing has been calling my name since last year. I just never had the guts to go till now. Besides, I reasoned: how bad can the cold be? I’m going to be in a heated hotel and the buses are heated. Why not?

I’ll make it to Kunming eventually. I’ve already been to Guilin, in 2008 when I came to China the first time. It is a nice town, but a tourist town. Not really wild about going back there.

I was pleasantly surprised to find the train only minimally populated. No one stacked in the aisles, shouting or making life difficult. None of the horrors I’ve described to you before concerning train rides. Quite the contrary: it was quite tame. I had an aisle seat so that I could stretch my legs out any time I wanted, and I could get up and walk around if I felt the need. At one point two hours into the ride I ended up with an entire seating segment to myself, making it possible to stretch out and get some fairly good sleep for not having a bunk to lay on.

With twenty five hours to spend riding the rails I had plenty of time to observe the countryside from the warm comfort of my window seat. We thundered past tiny little hamlets, smoke curling out of the chimneys if there were chimneys. As we headed further northward we saw snow on the ground but we were nice and comfortable on the heated train.

Tiny plots of land, by necessity hand farmed, their neat furrows laid out with geometric precision. Here and there as we passed a remote dwelling or a village we were treated to a fireworks display. This was Lunar New Year, after all.

Probably the most interesting sight were the burial mounds. In Chinese cities the dead are cremated, their ashes consigned to a lacquered box and that box housed in a crypt or mausoleum. You may remember from my account of last year’s New Year doings that city dwellers draw a circle on the sidewalk and burn paper ‘money’ so that their ancestors have money to spend in the new year (See How I spent my Chinese New Year entry, posted last year February). Things are done differently in the countryside.

The ancestors are buried right in the fields that they worked all their life. Not smack dab in the middle of the field of course, but on a hillock overlooking the fields. The more prosperous families build elaborate structures heavy with symbolism. Ye average farmer family places a marble slab at the head of the mound. The pure traditionalists – or those who are completely broke and living near starvation on any given day simply fashion a marker out of concrete or just wood. On New Year’s Day the entire family makes the pilgrimage to that burial mound to pay tribute to their forebears. Some bring plates of food and fruit, others just burn incense and pray. Most do all of the above.

My eyes take all this in. My brain acts as a videocam, recording all of these impressions. I am already formulating this entry when my thoughts are rudely disturbed by a group of young men who, with their shouts, giggles, general horseplay and music blaring from their MP3 players disrupt what should have been a civilized, quiet ride.

Their faces, ignorant to anything but their own amusement bleated exclamations, invective and outrage in turns. They took no care that anyone might be resting or even sleeping. They clomped up and down the car’s aisle, leaning in to see what people were eating or watching on their digital devices. In my case they stood a long time, trying to puzzle out what I was reading on my Kindle. Had they been genuinely curious and in fact courteous I would have ventured into conversation with them. As they were not the type that I normally enjoy conversation with I put on ‘the act’: I used my poorest Chinese to tell them I am French when they asked me where I come from. Even though my Kindle offered incontrovertible proof that I was reading a novel in English I suspected they would not have been able to tell the difference anyway. I was right. As soon as they heard ‘French’ they went away and left me alone. What a relief! I did not want to be plagued by a bunch of loudmouth bullies the whole ride!

The meal cart rolled by, offering what smelled like a pretty tasty dinner. I thought about spending the money on a hot meal but, remembering I had cheese and crackers and soup that I bought at the store I just stuck with my food supply, nibbling my quiet meal while reading.

I could have spent this night with friends in front of the T.V. watching the annual gala put on by the government. Or, I could have spent the night watching the gala alone, in my own home. After experiencing this train ride, I have to say that I preferred traveling to watching T.V.

Enter the Dragon!

Happy Chinese New Year to all.