The Great Train Ride - Day 2

Let's talk for a bit about the Chinese and how they travel. I've left this til the last day because to be honest it's not SO BAD that it will stop you taking a journey with them, but after 35+ hours certain things begin to grate, especially if you aren't used to them beforehand.

* Coughing and sneezing - it's fine to do this without covering your nose or mouth, regardless of status or education. If you do cover your nose or mouth it's okay not to wash your hands afterwards. This applies to anyone, regardless of whether they are ill or not. And it was nice to know that there were two passengers with colds right next to me in my berth.

* The contents of your lungs are made to be loudly and frequently brought up and spat out into a sink (if you are lucky, or if there are rules about spitting on the floor, such as on this train!) Gender is not an issue here, though it is mainly men that do it.

* Smoking is like a national sport, if it had been an Olympic event, the Chinese would almost certainly have had another Gold (if not the Silver and Bronze too).

Once you have got past all that, there remains only the mystery of the toilets to fathom out. How do they work? What is the bucket of water for? Why supply a toilet roll holder but no paper? How do I stop myself peeing on my trousers when in a squat position but simultaneously avoid getting my trousers on the (not so clean) floor?

They work by flushing water towards the hole at one end (at the base of a slope) and opening up a hole into which all waste may flow (and, I assume, be dumped onto the track below). Like I said before, you might as well just put a seat over the open track, it would be a lot simpler, and save the problem of when the hole gets blocked up. The bucket of water remains a mystery to me, though I did see people leave the room without washing their hands and I'm guessing maybe they washed them in this water, though why, when there is a washroom opposite, is anyone's guess. The permanently empty toilet-roll-holder ... I can only assume people either don't poo or they don't wipe ... or maybe they bring their own paper, I know I did! The answer to the last question is to wear shorts.

Anyhow, I woke up on Tuesday morning with an urge. I think everyone reading can guess exactly what that was and how it conflicted with my strong feelings about Chinese commodes. I held it down, but of course I was hungry so I went on the bread a bit, and had some more liquid because I felt a bit dehydrated. I made the mistake at this point of going out past the toilet cubicles (thinking hmm I might try it) and wandering into a dense layer of smoke. Here I got chatting to some Chinese, and it turned out one of them was starting at XNU next week as well! I didn't get his contact details because I was sidetracked by a tall, skinny, Uyghur man with whom I had chatted previously, only this time he wasn't about the chat so much as offering me a cigarette. I tried to decline but it turned out to be less of an offer and more of a polite insistence. A firm, polite, insistence. So, I had a cigarette. Woop.

A little interjection here - prior to this event I had not even noticed there was a small hole in the floor of the washroom (just 2 sinks and a mirror). At one station stop however, it became clear what this was for - following refilling the water tanks, some bright spark had come up with a genius method for cleaning the floors, namely to pass rapid-flowing water across them (they were some kind of lino) and this hole was the exit hole. This was fascinating to watch and I'm glad I hadn't thought about washing my hands or wetting my face at that moment! Small mercies, eh.

Thinking of small mercies, my stomach subsided a bit, and I went back in the carriage. A little later on, the same man came by, stood in the ante-room doorway and offered me another cigarette. I thought I was safe because you aren't allowed to smoke in the carriage itself, but no, he was practically putting it in my mouth and lighting it for me ... goddamn. So I had another cigarette. Cough. At some point later in the day, I forget when now, he gave me a third one. By this point I had given up protesting and was just taking minimal drags - he always finished before me anyway so once he left I could just stub out the remainder. But my, what insistence! I did like after the last one though, how he told me he smokes 60 a day (my estimate had been 30) and then inhaled deeply, exhaled a fancy plume of smoke, and patted his chest with a satisfied sigh. How he has not got emphysema or lung cancer by now is anyone's guess.

The smoking done with, I tried to concentrate on how I only had 3 hours on the train, could I hold my guts in until I reached Urumqi and the prospect of a Western toilet? ... No, I could not. Even having seen some of the previous offerings that remained too much of a challenge for the primitve steel pans to do away with (and, by the way Lucy, that offered proof that girls do poo), my guts were rumbling and I needed to go. However the worst was yet to come - I locked myself in the cubicle (the "nice" one, ie: it smelt less than the one opposite it), got my shorts out the way, made sure I had paper, and noticed for the first time the small handle about shin height which was obviously for the novice squatter to steady themselves. Aha! Mint, I thought, this won't be so hard after all ... 

... how wrong could I be? Within seconds of squatting it became obvious that my lack of thigh strength was going to prove my downfall - with all the tension routed through my thighs, my stomach cramped up and I couldn't go. The irony of it all. Here I was, braving my steel nemesis, and I had stage-fright. Worse still, when I stood up, the tension in my stomach remained and hurt worse than before. So of course I tried again. And the same happened. Thoroughly disheartened, I left the cubicle and got some water in me, thinking maybe that if I pushed some liquid through it might ease everything up. A while later and I felt more the ticket. Shame this was just as we pulled into a station and the toilets were locked. Really, someone did not want me using this toilet.

Well, eventually we pulled out of the station and I holed up in the cubicle once more. Hurray! Victory! It may not have been much but it was something and man did I feel better; the only problem was my legs were cramping up fast and the cubicle, warm at best, felt like it was roasting while I battled to tidy up as the train hurtled along. To say I've had better days is an understatement. When I left the cubicle I could hear my ears start to ring, and it was all I could do following washing my hands to get a good litre of ice tea down me in an attempt not to pass out this close to our destination. But I had won!

Needless to say I felt immensely relieved after this, and my advice to anyone travelling on the trains is this - go to the toilet. Like the Nike ads say, "Just do it". It's not that bad, and it's far worse if you've been holding on!

I'm sitting in Urumqi now, relatively comfortable, but that's a story for the next post!