Beijing to Moscow part 1

So BKC wants a story of my travels huh? Ok… sorry guys, I'm no Indiana Jones and this may be a bit bland. I have nothing but positive things to say.

I had a month of fun and travels between my last day at Delter Business Institute and leaving Beijing for Moscow. I had just returned from a South East Asia trek about 3 month earlier. I had FAR! more of an adventure trying to return from Hanoi, Vietnam by rail into China, but I think my Siberian Rail adventure was more entertaining.

The night of my last day of employment I left for Inner Mongolia - by train of course - for Liu Guan's, my Chinese buddy's, traditional wedding ceremony for which I played the part of "photographer" for and also to take part in their Inner Mongolian-style Spring Festival (Chinese New Year). What can I say? Was it good? Bad? If I had more time I'd give a little lesson on redefining the terms public toilet, leftover dinners, and frugality. I stayed in this little farming village in the sticks for two weeks. I entertained myself by feeding the sheep twice a day, teaching a young girl English, wandering the nothingness of the surrounding barren dust land, and finishing off some books. Reading?…the best books for the time really: Immanuel Kant, Isaiah, Trans Siberian Railway Guide Book and Lin Yu Tang (American-born Chinese author).

One day I tested the size of this village. It took me 18 minutes to walk around! Microtessimal!!! The wedding was bizarre! But very cool. It was just about exactly what I expected of the Nei-Mongu, educationally challenged, Chairman Mao survivors. There was nothing in this town but sublime patience awaiting the next harvest. Past time was filled by, well, boredom, visiting neighbors, wandering the dusty alleys, and I guess whatever else you find to do with thousands of acres of dust. Of course there's the pengyos (friends) boozing time away from sunrise and then sleeping the remaining hours of the week.

February 12th something amazing happened. What were only the days previous a ghost-like town with ear piercing silence, blossomed to bliss of chaos! People prepare for weeks for Ancient Cathay's fantastic display of homemade fireworks ranging in size from something the size of a birthday candle to a "Yosemite Sam TNT Dynamite barrel." The day before Liu Guan and I went to town to buy some supplies. And there it was… "Mr. TNT" himself! This is the thing that charred Wylie Coyote and obliterated Donald duck to only a pair of eyes and a beak. Looking back I wished I had bought the thing. It was huge! Larger than the largest 20 gallon toilet bowl and guaranteed to blow your hand off. And it was cheap! I think it equated to something like 40USD! It would have been worth it. But, it would have definitely shaken my friend's and his surrounding neighbor's foundations loose. And I'm sure that Pops would have loved it! Pops, the name I called Liu Guan's father, and every other family member were an active part of this parade. Pops amazed me at how he dared to hold some of these explosives as they burst. Somehow the women keep a distance though.

As I stood looking out from their mud roof I watched the explosion-lit skies humming the roofs and farm land in green and orange... every family's 2-story bonfire all lit in unison... children parading the streets lighting crackers, poppers, rockets, flairs and anything else that goes "bung!"(As they say it). Off in the horizon I could see other distant villages, that I never knew were there. They too had their own lights and explosions. The following 3 days were followed by the village children combing the alleys for left over unignited "whatever". About every 3 minutes something went off.

Despite this family representing the pillars of the town church, Liu Guan's father was this real easy-going stereotypical and lovable "China-man" with a seasonal-drinking sense of humor. It was his oldest son's wedding; can't blame the guy. I was "initiated" into Liu Guan's family via a Baijo ceremony. In case your wondering: Baijo is much like paint thinner but the Chinese drink it as alcohol and in turn glow in the brightest bodily red you can imagine.

When I returned to Beijing there was an entire nightlife of fun and socializing that opened before me that I never experienced because I had always worked nights. It was good to know that it all existed. It encouraged me to return some time in the future. Maybe, 2008 Beijing Olympics?

Getting everything prepared for going to Russia was tedious. Apparently I got the very last Trans-Manchurian tickets that the ticket agent finagled as well. I wasn't able to get as far with my research at the hospital as I liked, but it would have to do.

"Just go" and "Think on the spot" seems to be the theme of this travel.

Some friends of mine came with me to the Beijing train station to see me off (which was very kind of them). Of course my Chinese isn't good enough to pick up everything going on around me, but the motion was given to board and I followed the pack. When I boarded I was the only person in the entire carriage. I thought this was odd. The carriage attendants chatted over my ticket questionably long. I was of course on the alarm if anything was wrong. I was so hyped up over the luggage restrictions of weight and such reported in my travel book. But the dudes never asked anything about my luggage. Nor did they weigh it. Nada! Those guidebooks aren't so helpful after all are they?

So there I was late at night getting comfortable and moved in to my cabin for the long journey. I had made a large cup of hot instant milk to set the mood and… SPLOOSH!!! Beads and globs of instant milk EVERYWHERE! A bedding set had fallen from the top bunk. Immediate instinctual thought: "must clean this up quick! Attendant will come soon to return my ticket stub! Mustn't be forever remembered on this journey as the American tourist that gooped the cabin."

The moment of truth… will my lost childhood spent before the TV studying countless episodes of MacGyver come to any avail? There I am… adrenaline-filled and looking for cleaning tools. I had tried tissue but it was of no use because there was just too much liquid. "No…must conserve the precious paper for the journey." EUREEKA!! THE CARPET!!! MY HERO!!! "The bottom side of the carpet!" That bunk won't be too clean for whomever sleeps there. But at least I was covered from being tagged by the car attendants as the annoying American tourist that splashed the berth from head to toe with milk globules. Later on I learned that the bathrooms were equipped with paper towels. And of course… the attendant never did come to my cabin.

This is the beginning of a wonderful journey???

The next morning I was awakened by the incoming travelers of Shenyang (just before Harbin). It was then that I met my newest best friend for this trip, Ecor (Egor in English) and his Laurel-Hardy complement, Boris. I never knew exactly what Ecor was saying but he was a riot. The moment he got on the train and saw the "foreigner/American" down the hall from his cabin we befriended out of his overly extroverted humor and pantomiming; which was harmoniously complimented by Boris' almost mute and recluse self. And of course my cabin mates could have been nothing but the most Chinese of Chinese people possible. My room was converted to the Chinese pajama party. They were strutting their plastic sandals, and thick, home-knit long johns that went up beyond their belly buttons. They carried China's official countryside scent, were loud, obnoxiously simple minded, and never really understood that my Chinese was limited; extremely limited! I knew I was asking for it when I opened my fat mouth in Chinese, regardless of any level of fluency. But of course, that was them being polite. Needless to say, that little mess I made in the cabin when I first boarded was nothing compared to the fermenting sty the cabin was converted to by these brothers. This is something like the bittersweet relationship I have with china. With all of the spinal-tapping, irksome traits they carry as a nation, I've grown to love and cherish their benevolent-like intentions; despite how uncouth it may be by an occidental standard.

All humility aside, I spent as little time in my own cabin as possible. 3 rooms down, Icor and Boris were my new chums. Our party was later added to by Natasha, a robust young lady who took a direct liking to me that I politely avoided, and __?__ whom the happily married Ecor flirted with the entire time. She too was "happily married." Fondling our cabin mate's leg is more than "friendship." During our introduction this chum of mine had shown me a picture of his wife and child no more than 13 hours earlier. Thin wasn't a preference of his. Ecor liked 'em big on top, if you know what I mean. His very Russian masculinity made that one clear at every occasion, followed by a hearty chuckle.

Ecor and Boris were "businessmen." Ecor joked at this word "contraband". But somehow it wasn't as funny when I mentioned it. It was like when an African-American calls a bro "neg'ga" and it's ok. But if a non-African says this, it's profane and possibly followed by a swift beating. The Hardy brothers were smuggling various electronic devices and other personal things over the border. For almost 2 days I was entertained by Ecor's hilarious antics. And when I didn't understand what he was saying in his broken English I went to Boris for a translation in Chinese (which I again was still confused by but it would usually help). After a year and a half of passively learning the language I finally felt as though my Chinese was useful. By the end of the trip I was heartily invited to come visit Ecor at his home.

Later I was befriended by a British couple just finishing their trip around the world with a guided tour and picnic on the shore of Lake Baikal. I don't know how that turned out b/c the lake was completely frozen 6 foot deep and extremely unpleasant to sit at in one place for any amount of time.

Meanwhile, down the hall in the "China Town Cabin"; "What's that? Do I smell…(sniff sniff)…yes…I do." The scent of baijio wreaked the hall. My cabin was quickly converted from a pajama party to a Chinese mess hall. Of course they offered their neighboring "Chinese- speaking, (not!) American comrade." And if it wasn't the people that assembled in it, it was their stench. China's typical scent is unique. Theirs was the typical but x100 worse. It's a combination of the scent of the unique China smoker breath, old unwashed farmer-wear; which consists of a few calendars build-up of various porous excretions sprinkled with whatever flavorful external elements attached to it, usually cigarette ash and dust; and some kind of spice they were using in their food which was decoratively scattered about the cabin, making up for my instant milk fiasco. I had adopted China's national humility in accepting my fate of sleeping in this odoriferous room.

The scenery of the Chinese portion of the rail gradually lost vegetation as we approached Russia. Looks like Eastern Mongolia really. (The year previous I took the Trans Mongolian to Ulan Batoor, Mongolia with a few other teachers.) Leaving China felt surreal. I said goodbye to this beloved country as sparse cities of traditional Hutong-like red brick homes with their superstitious elegant Buddhist roofing and treeless, dusty farms passed by. I had been there for a year and a half, lived in Shanghai a little more than 4 months, Shenzhen almost exactly 5 months - despised that place honestly - and Beijing just short of a year. I had seriously considered staying long term for the sole reason of a young woman I became attached to. China had become my home; a love-hate relationship. I had realized just how much I loved China and that I want to return one day possibly for a longer period of time. I felt a hunger to return for, if anything, just for the need of missionaries. That "hunger" could of course be related to China's tasty food. The MSG and questionable ingredients will be missed.

Andrew Buck