March 20, after a tearful goodbye to Simon at Pudong airport I made my way back to the trashy bus station for my 7:30pm bus to Huai'an. This is from my journal that night...
From the Maglev I took Line 7 (new for the Expo, sleek, pretty quiet) to the Changshu stop to walk to Bistro Burger because a) eating a real hamburger was a priority on my Shanghai itinerary b) Simon unloaded some of his renminbi on me and c) I didn't have an appealing dinner alternative. The owner lady is very friendly and said "of course" I could get a burger to go. I had already browsed the menu so forgot to ask the next important question, how long will it take? It was already 6:40 by the time I got there. The tables outside were so enticing I headed straight to them to sit in the warm nearly-spring evening, wait and play with the wireless on my new *iPod!*
Let me back up and say that as soon as I got off at Changshu I knew I didn't have enough time. I thought, fleetingly, of getting whatever dumplings I found en route to the Bistro. Didn't see any.
The burger took 15 minutes. I didn't get the fries I thought accompanied it, but I did get a free vanilla milkshake they had made by mistake for someone else. My backpack and frantic disposition must've betrayed my poverty and desperation. Trying not to spill the shake or dismantle the burg, I trotted as quickly as I could in Danskos, too many layers, a pea coat and laden with my oversized backpack. I think I got to the Shanxi metro station at 7:05. My bus was at 7:30.
Everything unfolded without wrinkles: metro ticket, security check, train. Stand. Wait. Consume milkshake. Arrival at the railway station stop at 7:18. (The bus station is situated just north of the train station.) I
ran. As fast as I could. Sweater, scarf, knee high socks, heavy backpack = overheated spectacle of a foreigner dashing through the train station's metro stop. I'm out of shape.
I had jammed 10RMB in my back pocket to take one of the scooters usually poaching the long passageway from metro to bus station. But no one was there. So I ran again. Tried, anyway. Thank heaven both the metro and bus stations were sparsely populated. I don't know how I didn't have A Dansko Incident, the frequent ankle twisting, balance toppling moments those shoes tend to give on uneven surfaces, while dashing through the construction rubble that must be what Kabul looks like.
Navigating the terrain and dodging the people in China is like you're inside a video game. If anyone else was playing, I was definitely winning.
The bus station guards waved me through the entrance. Barely breathing, sweating, I heaved my bag onto the security belt. I thought my ticket said the bus was leaving from the 2nd floor but I've never left from there before so I wasn't sure. Luckily the first floor was totally dark, so I just bounded up the stairs and bumbled down to gate #5. They were still calling out 7:30pm departures so at 7:28 I thought I was okay, but when I thrust my ticket in the gate agent's face, his eyes bulged, "Huai'an!??" and he pushed through the crowd at the door to chase down the bus. He looked back to make sure I was following. "Xièxiè!" I gasped, and he pounded on the window as the bus pulled out of its space.
The whole bus was quite surprised to see a panting weiguoren and I was quite surprised to see the whole bus consisted of three drivers and four passengers. I slumped across two seats, peeled off my layers, and as soon as I could think clearly and breathe at the same time, thanked my lucky starts at the good fortune of not only making the bus but having such a luxurious ride.
But of course, nothing is as it seems.
Approximately seven minutes later the bus putt-putted to a stop along the road, two of the drivers got off, and three minutes later, we five passengers were ushered off and on to a new bus that had pulled up behind us.
I was slow to gather my heap of belongings but all the drivers showed me the way and I stepped up into the new bus, which, I made sure, bore the characters of Huai'an as its destination.
Ahhh, yes. Now this is what a night bus to the sticks should look like, I thought, peering down the columns of weather-worn brown faces craning their necks, peering back at me. Packed to the gills. The ticket I had purchased proved I paid for a seat, and seat #1 at that, but I had lost possession of it between the worried gate agent and curious bus drivers #1, 2 and 3. I just stood at the front trying to spot an opening anywhere.
A hard-working man in the front row was nudged and forced to a seat (I
hope a seat and not a stool in the aisle) somewhere in the back, outraged that he was booted for a laowei, though I didn't catch much of the exchange besides that word. I took the seat and we finally set out. The men in the seats nearby poked their heads around to get a good look at me and my belongings. I didn't pack in an old rice sack.
Shortly after, an argument breaks out in the back of the bus between one of the new drivers and who I assume is my seat martyr. All I gathered was the entire bus was now engaged in debate over the fairness of me getting the man's seat. I just contemplated my pathetic, well-traveled burger, not having to try hard to look clueless, and hoped everyone would calm down.
Eventually, they did. Before hitting the main expressway we stopped two or three times to pick up even more passengers, though I don't know where they were put and I didn't want to turn around.
All of this wasn't even the reason I got out my journal in the first place: As we pulled through a busy toll a woman approached the driver and he stopped beside a semi. The woman and another man got off the bus. Did they really only need a ride this far? We didn't continue driving after they left. Looking out the window between the passing trucks I saw the couple popping squats in the triangle bounded by the guard rails of the on ramp and toll exit. Their hunched figures intermittently were spotlighted by passing headlights. After a few minutes the woman returned and we continued to wait. Some of the drivers chuckled. Eventually the man finished his shit. He trotted back and we carried on.
My seat neighbor is dozing into my personal space. Thankfully the driver is going the 100 km/hr limit. I'll be happy to see my pillow.
Yesterday we had no class because of the "sports meeting," an event you may know as a track meet. We missed the "most wonderful part!" which was the opening ceremony, including a parade, dancing and singing, because it occurred at 7am. But we rode our bikes out to school a couple hours later in the first warmth and sunshine we've had here in months and spent the day reliving our youth as tracksters.
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