Muddled

Because it was a holiday weekend, almost all train tickets sold out weeks in advance, so we were stuck with 4^th class tickets—called “Hard Seats”—on the slowest 18-hour train back to Beijing. Now this normally wouldn’t be terrible. Yes the seats are small, hard, 90 degree-angled, and cramped, but I enjoy meeting Chinese people and experiencing how the majority of the country travels. The seats are perfectly set up for communication. On each side of the aisle are two groups of 3 seats which face each other over a small table. You can play cards, eat together, or simply have a nice conversation over a cup of tea. On the train to Hefei, we befriended a whole group of Chinese and had talked about topics ranging from Desperate Housewives–which is extremely popular in China–to Taiwan and Tibet. But this time was different—very different.

The woman sitting across from me had a baby clothed in an outfit with a large slit opening in the underside in place of a diaper. Now this is pretty common to see in China because of the expense of diapers. What I didn’t expect was that instead of bringing the baby to the bathroom, she would simply hold it out over the miniscule space between both our legs when she sensed the baby was about to pee. And pee it did, all over the floor—countless times.

The first time it happened, we three of us Americans were completely shocked, and freaked out. The three of us (the two others had dropped the big money for a flight) jumped up, cursed in English. The other Chinese around us were also in a ruckus, but I couldn’t tell if they were just as shocked or if they just found the whole scene hysterical. We eventually collected ourselves and proceeded to ask her in Mandarin if she could bring her baby (baobao) to the bathroom. Her only response was “No can do.” At this point we were very confused, and while it didn’t seem right that this could actually be acceptable behavior, when living in a foreign country you always have to keep in mind that you operate by the rules and customs of that country, not your own. All we could do was accept it. I’d gone from the heavens of Huangshan to the train ride from hell in a matter of hours.

The first time the mother had the decency to tell us to move our bags of food to the side, but the second she didn’t bother, and by the third or fourth, the entire floor was soaked anyway and the cabin reeked, so it hardly mattered. Worse yet, the only place I could fit my legs was directly in baby-excrement ground zero. Because of this, I couldn’t sleep. If I didn’t keep baby-watch, I wouldn’t be able to swing my legs under my friend Amanda’s in time to avoid the frequent excretions. My acid reflux was acting up from all the MSG in the train food, and my back was killing me due to two days of hiking with a heavy pack, and countless hours seated at an awkward angle trying to dodge the baby. We also couldn’t leave our seats, because the entire aisle was filled with “standing room only” ticketholders and their luggage. A little kid who I had played with at the beginning of the hellish journey—and whose parents were God knows where—kept poking me with an antenna whenever I managed to shut my eyes. My breaking point came when the mother dropped her coat into the cesspool, and she proceeded to pick it up and shake it off over me.

That was the first time since coming to China I truly wanted to leave, and be back in the comfort and familiarity of the United States. Not being able to communicate properly, not knowing what was socially acceptable, not fully understanding the cultural norms was entirely overwhelming. If I ever experienced what’s known as culture shock, it was then and there.

The rest of the train ride was a sleepless blur, and I arrived back in Beijing safe but not quite so sound. Luckily, after immediately collapsing into my bed I awoke in the morning recharged and ready for another adventure.

This last week was China’s National Holiday, 国庆节，a celebration similar to our 4th of July except that the vast majority of Chinese return to their families. To me, it meant that I had no class from last Friday ‘til this Thursday. A few friends and I decided to use this time to travel down to Anhui province (Southwest of Shanghai), which prides itself both on being most representative of “authentic” China, and having some of China’s most stunning landscapes. The most famous of these is 黄山,Huangshan(Yellow Mountain). It is generally regarded as China’s greatest beauty, and after visiting, I whole-heartedly agree. It may be the most awe-inspiring place I have ever been. The mountain was quite the climb, but getting there and back was an even greater challenge—and the fact that half of China joined us in holiday travel didn’t help matters.

Spontaneous, do-it-yourself travel is a gamble in any foreign country, but in China, it borders on crazy. Being five poor university students, we opted for trains instead of planes, hostels instead of hotels, buses instead of taxis, and poorly drawn maps instead of tour guides. While this led to a good deal of uncertainty, mistakes, problems, anxiety, and sometimes even fear, it was also made for an epic adventure.

After a 13 hour train ride from Beijing to Hefei in hard seats (will elaborate later), and a four hour bus ride from Hefei, we arrived in Huangshan locality. After scouring the city for, negotiating a price, and finally securing a cheap motel room, we headed off to a famed reserve called the Emerald Valley. Here we zip-lined above the jungle, and hiked deep into a crevice carved by a mountainous river. The area was stunning, lined with waterfalls, rapids, and pools of emerald water. As it approached dusk, and we traveled farther into the canyon, we were eventually the only people within sight. After camping out on a rocky outcrop, swimming through a cave to a hidden waterfall, and marveling at the setting sun, we journeyed back to our motel to prepare for the next day’s climb.

From the base of Huangshan to about ¾ up the mountain there runs a cable car which the vast majority of visitors take to ease the journey. Our group decided to do it the old-fashioned way and hike the trails from the bottom up. As the only ones climbing up the mountain we received numerous stares and comments from the mass of Chinese descending down the same paths. Assuming we couldn’t understand, they said some pretty entertaining things. One ancient man shouted “Nimen Feng le! FENG LE!!!” (You’re all crazy) about 20 times as he passed. It resembled a generic scene from a horror film, where the ignorant protagonists are warned to stay away. Another woman muttered “You’d think Americans could afford the 100 kuai for the cable-car…”.

Seven hours later, we reached the very top of the mountain in time to see the distant peaks swallow the sun in a brilliant pallet of pinks, purples, oranges, and reds. In matter of minutes, the temperature dropped thirty degrees. Too cheap to pay thousands of kuai for a room, we settled for talking a guard into letting us sleep in the hallway of a mountaintop cabin motel.

Leaving before the break of dawn, we hiked down into an alpine valley known as the Sea of Heaven where three streams converge in a cascade of waterfalls, and then proceeded to cross the great exposed-granite cliffs of the Western Sea. The highest reaches of the mountain resembled a cross between Lord of the Rings’ “Middle Earth” and Lion King’s “Pridelands” as we passed over bridges of intricate stone, and literally wound our way along valley walls. If you have a bucket list, I would recommend adding Huangshan right at the top. I was in state of awe and euphoria until we finally descended later the next day. I would need it for the train ride back to Beijing.