Waking to a new day

The train rocked and rumbled beneath me, massaging my tummy. I had a vague sense of light penetrating my eye shades. There was a tug at my blanket. As far as I knew Penelope was still dozing in my knapsack, next to my mobile phone, so it couldn’t be her. I lifted the eye shades slightly to investigate the cause. A pretty stewardess with sleepy morning eyes and slightly disturbed hair held up her ticket book. I gave her back the passenger voucher she had given me at the beginning of the trip in exchange for my ticket.

Chinese muzak with the sounds of birds and insects played over the PA system. It was 6am. I peeked out the window. The countryside was blanketed in a thick, early morning fog. There was water everywhere and at first I thought that the province had been washed out. I stared for a few minutes at the wet, grey landscape rushing by. How stupid of me! I was looking at rice paddies, surrounded by beautiful karst, rocky outcrops.

I shut my eyes again. The others in the 3 tiered bunks of my train compartment had chatted loudly into the wee hours. Someone had smoked heavily in the air conditioned carriage. They seem to do that here; as soon as you are in a confined space where the windows are closed and the air conditioning activated, people light up. A fellow below me had spent the night coughing incessantly, each time waking me with a start. Penelope made a few little noises herself. Koalas are generally noisy at night when moving from tree to tree, although little P was tuckered out by all the travel. I think it was more a result of her smoke allergies.

I climbed down from the middle bunk bed I was occupying, put on some sandals and made my way to the toilet. Squatting down, I held on for dear life to the handle screwed into the wall to assist dumb westerners like me use oriental facilities in a swaying train. Someone knocked on the door. I knocked back. The voice said something in Chinese. I ignored it. The voice repeated itself. I knocked the door again. The voice began screaming. Were we approaching a station? Toilet waste empties straight onto the track and can't be used at a station.  Indeed, the train was slowing down and I rushed out as soon as I could to the chagrin of the stewardess.

Penelope heard the commotion from down the hall. I found her on my return fussing with the bag, pretending not to know me. She was a little more sympathetic later on when I explained that it was like going to the toilet on an airplane when the captain announces turbulence and activates the 'Return to Seat' sign (we had watched that happen to someone on our flight and felt bad for the embarrassed passenger).

It was a wet, misty morning in the city of Guillin. Penelope jumped back into my knapsack. “Wake me when you need to decisions made” she said and disappeared. I strapped the pack onto my back and staggered onto the railway platform with hundreds of other tired faces.

Another day on the road.
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