written October 12, 2009 in Shanghai, China (day 12 of the trip)...
Shanghaied (v): to put by trickery into an undesirable position.
"You should definitely experience a Chinese train," said my new Australian friend. I didn't have an airplane ticket from Xi'an back to Shanghai and was contemplating saving a few dollars by taking the train. Just about everyone I'd met had toured the country by riding the rails and most people said it was convenient and cheap. They usually left out any specific details, which in hindsight should have been a huge, wildly waving red flag but as they say, hindsight is 20/20.
I mulled over the decision for a day and wondered if it would be a low-hassle option or would add to the stress I experience when trying to shlep my over-weight bags between cities. I wanted to be prepared so I grilled my new friend for more details to help make my decision process easier.
Her advice:
1. On an overnight train there are two bed options—hard sleeper or soft sleeper. The hard sleeper isn't a wooden plank, but the term merely differentiates between an open compartment versus a closed-in compartment, and the number of beds. A hard sleeper has 6 beds stacked 3 high while the soft sleeper only has 4 stacked 2 high. I'm sure the latter means more headroom and an overall better experience, but because I'm a woman traveling alone my new friend advised me to opt for the cheaper hard-sleeper option to avoid the possibility of being closed in with a bunch of creepy men. It sounded like good advice to me.
2. What about my bags? Each car has a luggage rack, as well as, "space" on the bed for important valuables. I would later find out the space on your bed is available only if you plan on sleeping on top of your valuables.
3. What do I do on an overnight train ride? Sleep seemed like the obvious answer, but what about the other hours? A single-file line of fold down seats line the window opposite the bunk compartments and are free for use by anyone at any time. Usually, people on the top or middle bunks rotate their turn in the seats and if you paid the extra money for the bottom bunk you are hopefully a kind enough person to allow people to sit on your bed.
4. What do I eat? "Bring your own food," said the Aussie. Although there's a restaurant car, most people bring snacks and ramen noodles (there's a hot water dispenser in each car) so they don't have to pay extra for the questionable train dishes or abandon their bags for an extended period of time.
After weighing the pros and cons for an afternoon we headed to the train ticket window. The last middle bunk had been snatched up and all that was left was the top. "Hey, it's even cheaper... you should do it... you'll be fine," said the Aussie. I wasn't confident about the decision but I needed to save some cash so I gave in and bought the ticket. It probably won't be that bad, I thought.
Day of departure....
Xi'an Station
My train was scheduled to leave at 5:00 pm and wouldn't arrive in Shanghai until 4:00 pm the next day. A 23-hour train ride wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I bought the ticket. Something closer to 12 hours seemed much more doable—get on, go to sleep, wake up, get off. But, 23 hours was literally just shy of a full day... a lot can be done in an entire day.
Instead of getting a taxi to the train station, I decided to really throw myself into the experience and take the bus. Bad idea #1 or #2 if you count the initial train ticket purchase. The bus was packed. Not packed like the mall after Thanksgiving Day, but overflowing like only a Chinese bus can be. Just when you think there are way too many people on -board, the bus stops and 23 more pile on. Once on-board I realized I had no idea how long the trip would take and assumed a large train station would be obvious. Luckily, it was the last stop and all 578 people piled off the bus together. I was certain it wouldn't drive away after emptied, but would instead float into space.
As I entered the station I did what every clueless traveler does and followed the crowd. I was corralled into the security line where you place your bags on an x-ray conveyor belt. I struggled to get my suitcase on the belt and my backpack off quickly enough for the pushy crowd; and was passed up by old men with trash bags full of who knows what. My suitcase went through the scanner before I made it to the other side and I found it on the ground at the end of the belt drowning in a mud puddle. Apparently, you have to be lightening fast because there is no table to catch your belongings and the frowning guard won't have anything to do with helping out a frazzled traveler.
With my dripping luggage, I entered the immense station and found myself in a sea of Chinese. the invisible spotlight directed everyone's attention my way as I tiptoed through the crowd. It was obvious there were no seats available because many had resorted to sitting on their luggage or the grimy floor. My bags were now just as slimy as the floor so my options were unfairly limited. The dirty station and millions of eyes burning into my skin pushed me over the edge and I could feel myself becoming more fragile by the second. Tears began to fill my eyes but I pushed them back down knowing once they started it would be hard to stop. I didn't need another reason for people to stare so I looked for a corner where I could regroup. I pulled out my snacks and used the plastic grocery bag as a seat.
While convincing myself not to escape to the airport I as approached by a small boy, about 1 1/2 years old. He was cute and I was thankful for the distraction to lift my spirits. As he teetered by, he stopped and looked straight at me. I offered a smile and a small wave; he looked cuddly. But, without warning his inquisitive stare turned inside out and a blood-curdling scream escaped his mouth. Oh good, more staring. His mom ran over, scooped him up, and covered his eyes! Everyone broke into short cackles as they realized the strange foreign girl's appearance had terrified the poor boy. His tears were contagious and my eyes began to well up again.
In the distance I saw a real red flag flapping through the crowd. How ironic... the red flags in my mind unceasingly telling me not to ride the train were now transforming into tangible objects. It turned out to be a tour group of Europeans dressed in brightly colored North Face jackets with small, perfect rolling suitcases. They looked just as overwhelmed as I felt and I was embarrassed to be thankful for their presence. it was short-lived, however, as they marched right past me into the soft-sleeper lounge. I wanted to be in their group for the next 23 hours and was envious of the clean, well-lit lounge they were taking over.
But, the grass is not always greener on the other side... not five minutes later, a clink clink clank noise made its way through the crowds causing people to part like the Red Sea. The chattering stopped and a deafening silence seemed to fill the station as the source of the sound came into view... a man in handcuffs and ankle chains. Four guards accompanied him into the happy soft-sleeper lounge, now full of European tourists. Suddenly, I wasn't envious of their group and giggled to myself as I imagined their faces when Mr. In Major Violation of the Law entered the room. I figured my luck would've put me in a closed compartment with the prisoner and an even worse experience, but possibly better story, would've waited for me on the other side.
Boarding time finally arrived and I pushed through the crowd like the locals—elbows out. I found my car without trouble and was led by an attendant to my bed. Immediately I surveyed my bunkmates and let out a massive sigh of relief. No creepy men with oogling eyes! An elderly couple claimed the bottom bunks, a 30-something year old couple had the middle, and a girl around my age was already curled under the covers on the top bunk across from mine. Like my top bunk, the luggage rack was 6 1/2 feet off the ground and my bunkmate had to assist me in lifting my suitcase over my head. Not ready to tackle my bunk situation yet, I heaved my backpack up there and then gestured to the old woman in request to sit on her bed.
Fold down seats and small tables line each window
The top bunk really is way up there!
After realizing I couldn't understand their Chinese, the old couple resorted to talking about me instead of to me. They offered some grapes and sunflower seeds and watched carefully as I ate them. Their sweetness was welcoming and I assumed by their shameless curiosity they hadn't encountered many foreigners before. Twenty minutes later, I decided to tackle the task of situating my belongings on the bunk before checking out the bathroom. My first attempt at reaching the top was scrutinized by every eye in the car and I prayed I wouldn't embarrassingly fall to the floor. Because the ceiling was so low, or my bed was so high, trying to keep my balance while shifting things around took a ridiculous among of concentration and I was exhausted after fifteen minutes. After climbing down, I made my way to the bathroom where I soon found out the pee splattered squat pot on the ground would be my nemesis for the next 23 hours; and I vowed to voluntarily dehydrate myself in an effort to avoid it.
The next 23 hours were long and lonely. I slept a little, but tossed a lot as I attempted to find a comfortable position on the petite bed. When daylight returned I alternated between sleeping, snacking, and listening to music. Claustrophobia lingered around the corner and without anyone to talk with I felt time pass in slow motion.
At last, it was 4:00 pm and we pulled into the Shanghai Station. I practically threw myself out of the train and would've kissed the ground in happiness if I didn't think I'd contract at least four different diseases. By the time I made my way to the subway and arrived at my hostel I was a tired, smelly mess.
In the end I survived but I didn't have the "easy, convenient, exciting" experience other people had told me about. Their advice now seems like a trick, as if I had been unknowingly hazed into the secret backpacker's club where ridiculous and uncomfortable things happen that you later leave out of the story in an effort to sound carefree. I guess I'll be kicked out of the club now because I admit that one week later I can still smell the pee-covered bathroom...
*Thanks to various Internet sites for use of all the pictures in this post since I didn't want to dig my camera out of my bag while precariously perched on my top bunk.
