How Did I Get Here?

I’ve built up quite a reputation for being able to sleep everywhere and through anything. I fell asleep during my first tatoo, I slept through the cinema screening of The Excorcist, and even nodded off at the back of a 2-stroke Russian motorbike while doing off-road biking in N.Vietnam.
But I’ve met my nemesis: The Hanoi to Lao Cai night train. My cabin was tucked away at the end of the train, far from the section reserved for western tourists or affluent Vietnamese. When I stumbled into the cabin, 3 other vietnamese men had already settled in, one of whom was sprawled out on my (reserved) bunkbed,smoking. He sheepishly offered me one his Vinataba cigarettes before clambering onto his own bed. Lights were off quite soon after departing, and that’s when the sonic onslaught hit full force.
The noise was ungodly. It sounded like the train was giving birth to anti-christ triplets. screeching steel, banging doors, rattling windows. This train was in agony and I was trapped in it’s belly of despair.
Inside the cabin, the noises were of a much more organic nature. Besides the all-surround mega-snoring, Mr Vinataba above me was sucking in his snot / phlegm with such ferocity I thought he would eventually suck in the rest of the cabin’s contents through his nostrils.

At 5am the first sunrays signalled the end of my tortuous train ride and we arrived in Lao Cai at 6. After jostling with the over-zealous crowd which greeted the train,I took a taxi to the border office on the Vietnamese side. Hoardes of day workers from vietnam were also piling into the office but luckily a young Viet guy with a 2 inch long pinky nail, beckoned me to the front of the crowds pressing against the barricades. Once through I walked accross the bridge and into China. I was met with the following message on the Chinese border control office:
“To improve the proficiency of the Frontier Inspection service, to promote the harmonious development of the society, to establish a sort of window on the national civilization, to be an envoy of the Chinese civilization.” Obviously communist writing, together with its architecture leaves much to be desired.

Waiting in the queue I met two Chinese girls from Malaysia and another from France. We were the only foreign tourists crossing into China that morning. Customs went smoothly, until I was stopped by a guard and asked to show my book. Naively thinking that in his broken English he meant passport, I duly took out my passport. “No, show me what you read”, he retorted a bit more tensely.
Did he think I was trying to smuggle in porn or anti-communist literature? I opened my backpack and showed him the 2 books I had: a book about travels in India and my Lonely Planet guide to China. He immediately clasped onto my guide and told me that this book is not allowed in China. I stupidly asked the irrelevent question “Why?”. He turned to the map in the book and jabbed with his finger on the smudge that is Taiwan. “Because Taiwan paht of China and in your book Taiwan not same colour than China.”
“I dont want to go to Taiwan, I dont like Taiwan! Tear out the map, I don’t care!” I pleaded like an obstinate child.
“NO. I TAKE BOOK”
Now, a traveller without their guidebook is like a vampire slayer without their crucifix…nobody was going to throw me to the mercy of the unknown without a fight. So, in one last attempt I managed to wrench the book from his grip and started to tear out the sections of the book which I thought I would need. While doing so, I realised that I was now entering a truly no-nonsense communist country, where I was forced to butcher my over-the-counter guidebook as it was seen as subversive literature because Taiwan was not the right colour.

Slightly fased by this encounter, I took my first steps in Hekou, the Chinese border town, only to be nearly run over by a truck full of soldiers, all standing, looking in the same direction holding automatic machine guns. In Vietnam they have propaganda posters, in China they have the real thing…
After a grueling trek to the nearest but far ATM, I boarded a mini-bus with the other girls to Kunming, a 10 hour trip. The bus was full of Chinese guys chain smoking, spitting and cell-phone talking. 45 minutes later we stopped by the side of the road and a cop came on board demanding passports. After carefully scrutinising each page of my passport he eventually looked up: “Where you from?” he barked.
Now, this question I hear everyday as a foreigner living in Vietnam, but it’s not the type of question you expect when somebody is holding your passport. Could it be a trick question? (in my case it could be, because I regard myself as s.african, but never travel on my s.african passport, but he doesnt know that…or does he? paranoia is taking hold…)Not knowing which part of “Belgium” he didn’t understand, I politely pointed to the cover of the passport and in my best English teacher’s voice slowly repeated “Belgium”. He passed my passport to the group of cops outside, and after some discussion, handed it back to me. Obviously Belgium’s fame of beer,waffles and frites have not yet conquered China.

The mini-bus raced along the mountain passes leaving skid marks behind and filling the air with the pungent smell of burning tyres. We stopped at a petrol station the size of a rugby field and not a vehicle in sight. I thought I had been accustomed to all kinds of toilets while travelling in remote areas of northern vietnam, but this was definitely a new variation. No doors, just 3 feet high cubicles, where you have to squat over a running stream. So, as you’re squatting, others walk past and well, see you in your most vulnerable position…

The rest of the bus trip I spent in a cramped up, sleepless haze with a Chinese guy next to me who’s adam’s apple was bigger than his chin.
On-board entertainment was a small TV screen showing a slap-stick war comedy in which a charming Chinese rogue takes on the whole Japanese army and shows them up as complete idiotic bufoons. Needless to say, everyone in the bus found it highly entertaining.

Arrived in Kunming at 8.30 and Eliza (the French girl) and I took a taxi to “the City Cafe and Guesthouse”. The expression dirt cheap comes to mind, with the emphasis on dirt…
Frankly, I would’ve slept in a car boot, so the rickety bed felt heavenly.
And, tired as I was, I felt completely alive.

Tags: China, China and South East Asia, Hanoi, Kunming, Lao Cai, train

This entry was posted on Wednesday, May 23rd, 2007 at 1:33 am and is filed under China and South East Asia. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.