My morning started around 0:30 a.m. This must be jet lag, as I usually wake up between 5 and 6 a.m., which would almost fit the 4-hour time difference to Armenia. I’m just wondering if, after 4 hours of poor sleep because of my neighbour and 1-2 hours of sleep on the plane the night before, shouldn’t that be a reason to sleep a little longer?
I know it is just my nervous brain starting to work but at first, I only had one reason to be a little nervous: the way to the train station. I can’t (anymore) rely on my sense of direction, but later I found a better reason to remain sleepless:
I had left my high-quality Löffler outdoor jacket on the plane!
I remembered being nervous about not leaving anything in the net in front of my seat (like on my last trip some earplugs) and then I completely forgot to check my seat.
My decision was quick and clear:
Give up traveling, you can’t do it, everyday life is more than enough for you.
(Spoiler: The list of lost or forgotten items on the Yunnan would have been longer if all of Grandpa’s friends hadn’t taken care of him.)
I wanted to leave the hostel at 6:45 a.m., but couldn’t wait any longer, so I left at 6 a.m.
The walk to the train station was easy (I had practiced in the hostel with various maps, and now, with amap working on my phone, I could even try to find my way and didn’t need any corrections, just confirmation).
At the station, a police officer saw me staring helplessly at the screen and showed me the way (I had starred at the arrivals, for departures there are other entries). Then, one last time, I saw a reason to get a little nervous: there were ticket scanning machines, and I had nothing to scan. Because of this internet problem, I hadn’t even found my online ticket, only something about the train. But an officer helped me; there was a ticket counter for people like me.
At 7 a.m., long lines already had formed in front of me (the gates open at 7:30 a.m.). And the lines behind me got even longer. And when the gates opened after another ID check, people rushed to the trains as if only 50% of them would get a seat.
Before I could enter, the conductor apparently asked for my passport, but without any visible indication, and I had no idea (why again?!). So, he confirmed his request by repeating it louder and louder. This helped, and I wanted to give him whatever he wanted; luckily, I started my trial&error experiment with my passport.
Seeing I was a bit stupid, he showed me three fingers and showed me the way in. It was clear to me that I had to go to compartment 3. After a while, the conductor came and now knew he had to use his loudest Chinese:
“You’re in the wrong compartment, I told you: number 3!” (Maybe he even said more.) And then it was clear that “3” meant bed 3 in compartment 1.
Aspects of these compartments in general:
They smell like my father’s apartment (originally my grandparents’), where my grandfather tried to turn everything yellowish-brown by smoking there constantly for about 50 years. There’s always someone smoking in the hallway, and even with children, people don’t close the doors to protect them.
The beds are longer than I know from Europe.
And there’s a silvery, shallow bowl. I was afraid it was for spitting, but people throw garbage in it. Still, you can constantly hear the sound of someone clearing their throat with a dedication that sounds like a cross between vomiting and simply dying.
In compartment 1, grandparents with a 5y old girl, Lin, and another man were already sitting. Shortly after departure, Lin offered me some grapes (they tasted great but aditionally had the taste of train water from the washing). The grandparents were very kind and friendly to her, and Lin was still more on the side of cute than spoiled. (Grandpa had to suffer a bit, but he remained patient.) She and her grandmother kept offering me things, and they were very tasty and sometimes delicious, sometimes too spicy for me.
For lack of other things, I offered them a church-churchula from Georgia, but they quickly made it disappear and later it was in the trash.
Then Grandpa opened a bottle to offer me something, maybe kerosene or petroleum?
I texted on my phone in my best Chinese that it was very kind, but I don’t drink alcohol, which, however, motivated him even more. Now I couldn’t say no without ruining the situation. He and the other man (not his son, but they didn’t declare their relationship) drank whole cups and wanted to toast every now and then. I tried to find the right amount of that surgical spirit to put in my mouth with only that level of disgust that can be disguised as surprise and impression about the strong taste of that liquor.
But then they stopped drinking, and after a while, the younger man showed me a translation on his phone:
Culturally, they are not allowed to refill their cups until everyone has finished.
But now refaced Grandpa finally found a solution, and they shared my portion and were able to continue.
Restrooms are a sensitive matter (for me) in many ways, but I must tell you about this one:
There were some objects that were a mystery to me. One of them was a ladle, and since I couldn’t find any other way to flush, except—perhaps—a pair of long tongs leaning in the corner that reminded me of a fire pit (but: how? And: why?), I tried the ladle. Let’s just say it didn’t work. I was about to give up and go to my official friend to ruin my reputation completely when I found the saving button where I wasn’t expecting it, and off I went.
The landscape had barely changed in the past nine hours. Every time it started to get a little green, it soon returned to rocky desert. But now it seems to be done, with trees appearing and even some farmland.
Currently, Grandpa and Lin shared a cot, and he was good at snoring, which she didn’t like. So, she woke him up or remodeled his face, or asked for another cartoon on the phone. He remains patient and – snoring.