Trained by Trains: Focus on China

(August 1986) The two-day honeymoon drew to a close. It was time to get down to work—on the other side of the country, that is! A scenic two-and-a-half-day train ride would see us to what we would refer to, at least for the next four years of our life, as “home.” On the eve of our departure, I was asked to accompany Xiao Lu downtown to check in our group’s luggage.

The train station was crawling with passengers—migrant workers, tourists, students, and pickpockets! There was not an inch to spare. We paid the puller of a rickshaw-looking flat wagon to cart our belongings to the weigh-in counter. Traffic in both directions at the front entrance was at a standstill.

We managed to squeeze our way through the human wall of consolidated travelers. Inside was another story—utter chaos! Some men were standing on top of the counter, others—on the scale. The next thing I knew, fistfights were breaking out around us! I was stupefied at the swiftness of police intervention, which handled the confusion with electric cattle prods! When I think back—dude!—we were being tased!

Had I been alone, I would have nearly drowned in the anarchical sea of people. To my advantage, Xiao Lu knew the ropes. Shrewdly capitalizing on the presence of a western snazola with two deep-set round eyes, he invited special treatment from the personnel. Although I was discomforted by the maneuver, it did clinch the job.

From baggage check-in, we hurried over to a special office marked soft sleepers to purchase our train tickets, which, to my surprise, could be obtained solely upon the presentation of a currently extinct foreign currency called wàihùi[1] Xiao Lu explained to me that the trip would be more comfortable if we rode in firstclass compartments. In afterthought, preferred treatment for the two-and-a-half day initiation on a Chinese choo-choo was not such a bad idea after all.

On a positive note, the firstclass sleeping quarters, which bunked four passengers per cabin, were not as crammed as we had anticipated. As for the engine, it was fueled by coal, which blanketed the entire train—inside and out—with a solid layer of pitch-black soot. The washing facilities rendered scant assistance to the ash-smirched journeyers.

Less user-friendly were the toilets, whose doors swung open just enough to grant entrance and—well, you got it—squat! The feat did require some innate acrobatic agility. Feet planted on the two raised blocks over the hole and trousers angled slightly above the knees, the initiate balanced the bumps and simultaneously pinched the nose tightly closed as an anti-suffocation measure. (God forbid if the train came to a sudden halt before completion of duties!)

Not all trains boasted dining cars. In their absence, bartering out of the window for products from vendors at local stops was always the recourse. Then again, one trip to the toilet and the most appetizing choice of the day may be to fast.

While exploring the other cars of the train to pass the time away, I stumbled on the hardsleeper section—train cars with aisles and aisles of unpartitioned bunkbeds stacked three levels high. On one such leg-stretch, I came across Xiao Liu and her husband who were the underprivileged employees of our university’s wàibàn office.

When I stopped off for a chat, the animosity that they were harboring was seething through their half-cracked smiles. Sparing no effort to break the ice, I hurriedly retraced my steps to retrieve an envelope of family pictures from my cabin to show Xiao Liu and her husband. Slowly they warmed up to me, at least on the surface.

So, what about the menswear? We will get there...2 1/2 more days on the train...

[1] Pronounced Why! Hweigh!

Photo top right, Beijing Train Station 2008 by Vmenkov, Copyleft at Wikipedia.

Photo middle left Copyright Men's Fashion by Francesco.
Photo bottom right by Yaohua2000 GNU Free Documentation License at Wiki Commons.