The Train

One of the decisions Erin and I made early on when discussing our adoption trip to China was that we wanted to take the train from our port city to wherever our baby was going to be residing.  As it turns out, Erin joined me in Shenzhen, where I work, for the beginning of our trip, and we are picking up Grace from Nanchang in Jiangxi province.  So yesterday we made the train trip to Nanchang from Shenzhen.  It’s probably the last long train ride we’ll ever take in China.

 

We had done all of our research regarding the different classes of train tickets in China, and we thought we had a basic understanding of how the train situation worked.  Essentially there are four classes of ticket – hard seat, soft seat, hard sleeper, and soft sleeper.  Our initial thought was that we would take the soft seat from Shenzhen to Nanchang – a twelve hour journey.

 

But what I discovered when I went to purchase the tickets is that very few trains have soft seats available, which eventually led to me purchasing a soft sleeper ticket.  Based on our research, we were under the impression that only the elite in China travel in soft sleeper class, and the accommodations would be more than acceptable, so we were fine.  I’m here to tell you that the “elite in China” are flying now.

 

When we boarded the train yesterday and went to our cabin, I think we were both surprised how small it was.  Erin and I are both over 6’ tall, and the beds weren’t quite long enough for us.  Each cabin features two sets of bunk beds with a small table that juts out from the window. 

 

Our cabin mates were a very nice Chinese woman and her six or seven year old son.  They were both very nice, and they too were traveling to Nanchang.  The biggest problem for us was that we had two large bags which took up the top bunk of our side of the room, so Erin and I were left sitting on the bed for the whole trip.  That didn’t leave room for anyone to lie down, unless I went and sat outside the cabin by the window, which I did for some time.

 

At this point, the train merely seemed slightly uncomfortable.  I rather enjoyed rumbling through the countryside, taking in the farms and small towns.  Around noon, I started getting hungry.  There were food trolleys going by every so often featuring Chinese snacks and drinks, and an occasional cart selling fruit or small Chinese TV dinners went by as well.  We’ve been told not to eat the fruit unless you wash the life out of it, so we sort of avoided that, and the Chinese snacks mostly consisted of seafood which had been freeze dried and dipped in squid’s ink, or something similar.

 

We were under the impression from our research that each train featured a dining car.  I envisioned what I’ve seen on the ferries between Hong Kong and Shenzhen, which is a walk up counter with sandwiches, chips, candy bars, and cold drinks.  When I moseyed up to the dining car, I discovered a room cloaked in a smoky haze filled with old men playing cards at card tables and eating meals they had brought with them.  There was no sign of anyone to actually purchase food from.  Oh dear.  At this point, I was really wishing Erin and I had stocked up at the 7-Eleven before boarding the train.

 

Also around this point in the journey, my morning three cups of coffee began to call, and I began searching for the “western toilet” that was promised.  I walked up a couple of cars, only to finally reach the hard seat class which was so mashed full of people that I didn’t want to venture through.

 

I eventually waited a couple of hours before venturing to the squat toilet in our car.  This worked fine for me, as I became quite adept at peeing into a hole over a moving train track at an early age.  For Erin, this was not a good situation. 

 

She had been waiting to visit the facilities for some time, and she was not pleased with my report on the conditions.  She had walked by the squat toilets earlier, and the smell had kept her out.  I told her that at least the floor was clean when I visited, so she began what would be several pacing trips back and forth while trying to decide whether to venture in.

 

I told her I didn’t think there was a western toilet, but that she should ask, given that her situation as a female made the whole process far more complicated.  (And trust me; if I had to do a “big job” I would have searched that whole train high and low for a toilet with a seat.  With my back in the shape it’s in, I couldn’t squat long enough to pick lint from my toes, let alone use the toilet.  It would guarantee that I’d have to change my paints and bathe in disinfectant.  Plus, I can frequently read an entire magazine or short story while performing my task.  There’s no way I could do this while squatting…I’m not freaking Johnny Bench.)

 

Eventually Erin decided that she had no options, so she set out.  I wished her well and asked her politely not to return if she fell in.  After just a few minutes, she returned with a huge grin on her face (I’d say it was a “sh** eating grin” but it just doesn’t seem appropriate in this context).  She informed me that she had successfully navigated the squat toilet, and that she would have no problems with it in the future (as long as no “big jobs” were involved).  Erin is infinitely more flexible than I am, so I’m not surprised she was able to do it.  I told her I was, uh, proud of her, and we both went back to griping about not having eaten recently.

 

At the conclusion of our twelve hour journey, we made our way off the train, to a cab, and to our hotel where we immediately ordered room service and went to bed.  We both agree that it was an unforgettable experience, so we’re glad we did it in one sense.  But neither of us would hesitate to purchase plane tickets for such a journey in the future.

 

And since I can’t allow Erin to outdo me, I plan to spend the afternoon perched over the western style toilet in our hotel room, practicing for our next train trip.  I only hope I don’t slip and hit my head on the tile floor, or even worse, dunk my foot in this morning’s Wheaties.