We had to have been certifiable, crossing the border between Guangdong and Hong Kong by bus on the morning of the first day of one of China’s largest public holidays, May Day.

May Day heralds the start of ‘Golden Week’ in China: a week-long holiday so enthusiastically commemorated by the billions here that it brings the country’s infrastructure to its knees. Kids, when your guidebook says that travel during this period will be ‘difficult’, please, heed the advice!

There has been talk recently among the Powers That Be in China that this holiday might have to be scrapped or curtailed as the environmental and logistical consequences of so many compatriots moving around the country at once are so vast and crippling. After experiencing half a day’s worth of the holiday, you start to see where they’re coming from.

The border was in complete chaos, a sheer disarray of bodies and breath and perspiration. There were no lines, just the crush of a thousand traders, holiday-makers, opportunists and relatives all wanting to get into Hong Kong. A nightmare that seemed like it would never end.

Our particular China Travel Service (CTS) bus dropped us at the edge of the throng, its employees slapped stickers on all our chests, yelled in Chinese that we should unload all our bags for customs and immigration purposes, and then left us to wade into the pushing mass.

Some two hours later we emerged out of China’s immigration hall and into the no-man’s land that separates the mainland from Hong Kong. After being trampled, pushed and ignored, it finally became apparent that CTS’ stickers meant NOTHING: there was no designated bus to get on, and nobody wanted to provide any assistance to any one else.

Pandemonium reigned. The Cantonese speakers were trying to get CTS to explain which buses were going where, and which they should get on, all to no avail. As for Andrew and I – we just asked anyone who would listen to us in English, which was nobody official. Every so often, a CTS employee would wave her hand in front of our faces and say, ‘stay!’

Bus after bus filled up with people who flooded on at random, pushing their way on. Those people, like us, who kept missing out started to get desperately angry. We had been waiting three long, thirsty, confused, misdirected hours for CTS to tell us what the fuck was happening. Andrew and I were stuck at the back of a large crowd waiting for a new bus to arrive. There was little hope of us getting on it, as so many people had pushed in front.

Suddenly, CTS changed its collective mind: the whole group was told to relocate to a different spot. Andrew and I charged off toward the new bus.

This was too much for one woman. She let forth a torrent of invective in Cantonese – screaming and spitting and wild-eyed with fury. The CTS employee she was abusing had eyes like stones – shut-off from the world and implacable. Twice the employee blinked, but she did not look at the woman at all.

‘She is pissed!’ said one Middle-Eastern businessman in perfectly modulated American English, as we waited for the new bus.

‘Do you know what she’s saying?’ an elderly Israeli trader asked us wryly.

‘Nope,’ we replied.

‘She is screaming about you, saying, “Why do you let those Americans go in front? It’s MY country … why do you favour those fucking Americans? I should go in front of them!”’ he informed us.

I was floored. All reasoned thoughts connected to issues of post/colonialism vanished from my head. Severe, severe annoyance began to throb in my temples.

Where to begin? We were not Americans at all, plus no one had ‘put us in front’, plus we had waited three hours while all manner of people got ahead of us as we were told to ‘stay!’

As far we could tell, EVERYBODY was getting caned by CTS’ immense incompetence and the border had virtually become a war zone due to overcrowding and lack of procedural guidelines.

The Cantonese-speaker continued to scream and turn puce, shooting daggers at Andrew and me every once in a while. She grabbed her baggage and decided to head for another bus, calculating that it would leave first.

At length, we too got on a bus and rode the five minute journey to the Hong Kong immigration hall.

Standing in the orderly, fan-cooled queue waiting to be processed by the Hong Kong authorities, I looked behind me only to see that the person directly after us was none other than The Screamer!

Teehee.

With a naughty rush of schadenfreude, I was de-light-ed to see that she was stuck behind us.