The Chinese Jimmy Stewart
China 2007 Aboard the Lhasa Beijing Express
Our guide, who shall be nameless, had a problem getting return train tickets to Beijing for our tour. His contact in Lhasa kept telling him that he’d have them any minute, but it was the last minute; we were at the station and the contact was sobbing that she didn’t have all the tickets. She had some, though, and he passed them out. My husband and I received two…the same two that the guide had given to another couple but had then retrieved them only to hand them to us. The train was leaving, so we hustled aboard.
My husband I had different compartments: both of us sharing with Chinese, while our tour companions in another car had a compartment for themselves. But, what is travel if not inconvenience in interesting circumstances?
I enjoyed observing the Chinese who were friendly and helpful. They showed me the thermos of hot water kept under the little table in case I wanted to prepare some noodles or tea. They offered to share their food. They were constantly eating things like sunflower seeds. They were math teachers who had been to Lhasa but not on a religious pilgrimage. Religion had been drummed out of their culture.
The man in the photo (he pronounced Beijing as “Peiping” as Hubert Humphrey used to do) had taken his grandson to Lhasa. They boy was about 12 and could speak some English although he was shy about his skills. He was able to tell his grandfather that I remarked that he looked like James Stewart, a film star. That prompted the smile you see here.
In the middle of the night as we approached Xian, my compartment mates began to take down my luggage. I told them I was going to Beijing. But on examination it turned out that my ticket and my husband’s were for Xian. There was no way I was getting off in the middle of the night in a strange Chinese city with no ticket for Beijing and no way to communicate with a single one of the millions of people living in Xian. I began to say, “No, no, no, no.” The conductor became anxious, red and sweaty. He had no idea of how to deal with a ‘white devil’ like me.
But there was a super hero on the train. A young Chinese man who spoke English came to my rescue and told me that I could stay on the train, buy a new ticket and sleep where ever we could find a space. Hint: it wouldn’t involve sitting on a chair. See the photo below:
What’s lower than 3rd Class?