Hi folks. Sorry for the longer-than-planned absence. I’m back in Dalian and mostly settled now, and I will be posting my Madagascar stories soon, with plenty of photos in tow. In the meantime, some China traveling for the mill. Enjoy.
The Beijing train station looks long abandoned as I walk across the broken terrace for my 1:30 a.m. hard sleeper back to Dalian. A fence surrounds the plaza, isolating it from the humming capital city, and unconscious bodies are scattered throughout. Inside, the station where I’m used to elbowing and shoving my way through throngs of travelers who don’t differentiate each other from cockroaches is nearly empty.
Even in the middle of the night, though, the train is full, stifling and humid with sweat from the close-packed bodies. Families crowd around bunks, but it’s quiet. Most people are two tired to socialize.
I throw my bag on the rack and take a seat by the window. No air comes through, but it’s a nice illusion of a breeze. Sweat is dripping off me.
A girl leans her head on the windowsill, and I strike up an awkward conversation. My Chinese is lacking after two months away, and I need the practice. She’s going to Dalian, too, so there should be something to talk about.
But we barely move past greetings before she slumps back on the window, watching the quiet station as the train pulls out as if mourning lost time in Beijing.
Behind me, a man in his mid-20s interjects with that old lie: “Ni de Hanyu bucuo.”
He’s in the Chinese Navy, attending university in Lushun, just south of Dalian. He’ll be in for six years. I ask him if he likes the military life.
“I don’t like your country’s navy,” he answers instead. “They can come to any country in the world. They are the best.”
I’m confused. “But you don’t like them?”
“Soldiers don’t like war,” he says.
“Our countries are friends, though, right?”
“Yes,” he assures me. “But many people do not think like me. After Iraq, many Chinese are afraid.”
“Afraid of America?”
“Yes.”
“Many people in America are afraid of China,” I say, a consolation of sorts.
“I know. I think if America and China are not friends, it’s very bad. Bad for everybody. Bad for the whole world.”
Night trains are a bad place to linger on apocalyptic thoughts. There’s plenty that could lead our countries into conflict—an independent-minded Taiwan, a disintegrating North Korea, a rearming Japan. We rattle through each turn, hurtling toward Dalian like a Beijing cab driver in light traffic. When the loudspeaker starts blaring pop songs at 5:30 a.m., I’ve barely slept and my stomach is reminding me that I’ve still not shaken the food poisoning from the last meal I ate in Madagascar.
It’s a long ride across Liaoning in the late summer sun. Towns outside are rural, scarcely conglomerated, often crumbling, a different China than the one I’ve lived in. We arrive just after 3 p.m., and I stumble back into the city I called home for nearly a year. We recognize each other, barely. It’s good to be back.
Tags:No TagsNo TagsSpread the words: These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.
Comments
Post new comment