The platform is virtually deserted as I run to the train. I’m late but still have to rush through three sets of soldiers providing security. The big green locomotive has already started as I hop aboard. First class for the two day journey to Chongqing. Riding second class on Chinese trains is a little much. Six to a compartment and 3 narrow bunks on either side. The Chinese make no distinction for gender placing male and female together. First class only has 4 bunks and actual carpeting. Not the cheap, spit drenched linoleum of the other areas.
This time only one bunk is filled. He’s a Malaysian in his 50’s from Sabah. Mr. Wong pores over his little book of Chinese railways. He’s been traveling by train in China for a month and on his way back home by way of Thailand. He doesn’t work anymore, just travels. Underneath his bed is one modest sized backpack with a change or two of clothes and some ramen noodles. His wife has called him home to visit his daughter studying in England. We exchange routes. Wong keeps trying to get me to go by train to Hanoi through Yunnan province. It sounds exciting but means a day or two more on the train and I’ve had about enough of Chinese trains as I can bear. I’m surviving on mandarin oranges and ramen, sucking back oxygen and hoping I don’t have to use the piss covered toilet.
Sitting on my bunk because of nowhere else to sit, it induces a feeling of not knowing where I am. Especially with the unchanging Tibetan plateau that stretches on unbroken, brown punctuated by patches of shiny white snow. I haven’t seen any green for almost two weeks and it would nice just to see a tree or two.
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