Across the Mongolian Hinterland
The train ride to Manzhouli was one of the longest I've ever taken, all the
more amazing because of the consistency of the scenery. The plains rolled
along in an endless expanse, and I caught glimpse after glimpse of small Chinese
villages. I saw rural factories that must have been days away from a paved
road. I saw herders leading their cattle along winding old trails. What blew
my mind was thinking about whether these small villages had a convenience
store, a library, or even a telephone... and I think I knew the answer.
I had bought The Scarlet Letter and The Great Gatsby for the trip, but I had finished them long before
the train ride ended.
The extent of the English book selection in China was limited to what you might find on a
highschool reading list, even at the largest bookstores in Beijing.
There was always food and hot water to be had on the train. Thermoses were kept well stocked, and a food cart rolled by at meal times with pots and pans of freshly cooked dishes. You just had to speak up to get some, then risk the deluge of questions that would come from fellow passengers as soon as they realized you knew some Chinese. Since the resulting interrogation could last for hours and hours on such a train ride, I ordered my food mostly with my fingers.
Most of the time I spoke in English, saviouring the privacy that eminated from my lips with those strange words. The surrealism of my journey increased as I talked to a young man seated opposite me; over the course of about five hours, I had with him the most memorable conversation of my time in China, drifting from the doctrine of Communism to girlfriends to the one child policy to music and back again. When discussing the Falong Gong, we still had to keep our voices low for fear of being overheard.
So much of this terrain reminded me of Colorado where I grew up, but somehow more distant, and yet more real.
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