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.