I've been in India a week, and now that I can kick back at my parent's house I've been slack with the blog. I meant to post these next few before leaving China, but things slipped.
Perhaps to demonstrate their opposition to oppression, the Chinese population uses its freedom to smoke to the fullest. Education on the effects of cigarettes doesn't seem very widespread, although the day after my 26-hour journey a train-load of people came close to finding out just how deadly smoking can be.
It was a day I was looking forward to as I only had to face a 3 hour ride before arriving at my destinatino of Yangshuo where I could relax. Unfortunately, things began to go wrong right at the start of the day.
I hoisted myself up from the train station platform to the carriage and the first thing that struck me was how full the train was. There were so many people the door wouldn't open all the way, and with my hiking pack I wasn't going to fit through the narrow opening. The second thing that struck me was someone from behind, putting his full weight against my pack and miraculously mashing me into the crowd.
After some physics-defying shifting, I had standing space. Not what I was hoping for, but I could deal for 3 hours. Then I found out that I wasn't on a 3 hour train ride after all. I had 16 hours to take in the experience. At this point, it seemed worth the effort to find the seat I had booked. After slowly making my way down the carriage — a painstaking process involving one passenger shifting a foot here, another moving an elbow there, then carefully taking a step while avoiding treading on a leg or head — I found my seat occupied by a couple people. I took a few inches of the corner and alternately sat and stood over the course of the ride. The crowd around me was very friendly, which helped pass the time.
When I took out my pen and paper to write, heads crowded in from all round to see the foreigner making strange characters with his left hand.
1 And the entire carriage hushed to listen (and then laugh) when I tried to learn a few basic sentences in Chinese. I later found out most of the people were rural farmers and their families — they had finished their work in the fields and were headed to the cities to earn money for 6 months until the harvest. This explained not only the crowds, but the greater than usual interest in me.
The real excitement started around midnight, the time when those stuck standing leant against a seat and closed their eyes, and those scrunched on the floor put their heads on their knees to catch some sleep. That was when a group of farmers huddled together, passing around a large bong while keeping a watchful eye for passing train inspectors. I don't know what they were smoking. It wasn't marijuana but it didn't look like tobacco either.
It was amusing to watch the looks on their faces, like teenagers doing something they knew could land them in trouble, but they weren't helping the hazy air. Despite the presence of wailing infants, people had been smoking in the enclosed space all day without any windows or doors to open.
At some point, the farmers had their fill and the bong went into hiding. That show was replaced by a man unsteadily making his way up the aisle, a uniformed inspector in tow. When he reached where I was standing, he seemed to decide he had had enough walking and stopped, looking unsure of himself. The inspector started giving him short, sharp prods, telling him to move. I looked at Mr. Had-A-Few-Too-Many, thinking, "If the inspector doesn't stop provoking him, he's going to blow his lid."
Sure enough, a second later the man started throwing drunken punches, arms flailing. Soon a second inspector arrived, and dodging fists aimed for his face, got the man under control. The two inspectors led him away down the carriage, and I sat down on my corner of seat, a little more awake for the front row spectacle.
Not half a minute had passed when I heard shouts behind me. I turned around to see a woman grasping weakly at the air before slumping into her seat. People crowded around trying to revive her, but nothing worked. A minute passed and she was still lifeless. After another minute an inspector made his way into the carriage. He wasn't having any luck either, but he did manage to clear some space around her. At this point her eyes were open and staring blankly. She looked dead. The inspector unlocked the window and fresh air came pouring in. But still nothing. Finally someone decided to take her somewhere less crowded. As he hoisted the woman on his back I heard her groan faintly. They disappeared into another train car, and presumably she recovered. Apparently all the smoke and lack of fresh air had been too much for her body.
The people in the carriage seemed to recover fairly quickly from this shock, and realising there was now an open window, began emptying the space of a day's worth of trash. First went a big plastic bag full of it. Then empty instant noodles buckets. Then a trash can packed to the brim. Then I stopped looking. The train arrived an hour late and I got off, thankful I didn't have to endure the 42 hour journey to Nanjing that many others were in for. By 4am I was checked into a hostel dorm, struggling to sleep over the roar of snoring emanating from an adjacent bed.
I learnt almost all Chinese write right-handed due to how characters are formed with brush strokes.↩
