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In fact, all I'd heard, seen, and read told me that
everyone smoked, even in the youth hostel, and LP reports
that while China may have a fifth of the world's population, it
smokes almost a third of the world's cigarettes, most are probably
puffed hard class! The passenger classes aboard train consist of:
hard-seat, the absolute bottom of the barrel, minimum price category
that caters to millions, probably more, of impoverished passengers,
like Todd. LP recommends that everyone, particularly Westerners,
should try it, but not for too long. The next class up is the
hard-sleeper, followed by soft-seat, then soft-sleeper. One rare
class exist above that, the deluxe, obviously the most expensive,
which limits who may be found in it—government officials, high
ranking army officers, and, not surprisingly, Westerners. I was soon
to find out, my family would be in that group.
“However, if you are willing to wait,” she told me
in her stone-cold face, “I do have an international train departing
for Moscow in a week which has three deluxe class berths
open. Smoking is specifically prohibited there.”
No question about it, that was our train, our way
out. Just out of curiosity, I asked,
“Do you take a charge card?”
“Yes. With a five percent extra commission.” she
replied officially.
I didn't care. Whatever it cost, this was the link we
needed, not only to get out of town, but to continue the rest of our
trip. I gave her my VISA charge card, which she took, along with our
passports, into a separate room. I felt huge relief, knowing that we
had time to absorb more of Beijing and were going to have a
week-long, smoke-free journey to Moscow. I was elated.
Then she returned with my VISA card, three
triple-page tickets, our passports, and my receipt, which I signed.
I noticed a barely visible amount, reflective of a failing—or little
used—printer, above my name that looked like “10,000.” I had been
relieved, but now I was aghast. Then I shrugged my shoulders,
knowing that I will meet Elena's final command “...bring them home
safe and sound.”
“You will be leaving on July seven, at seven hundred,
on International Train K3 from the Beijing Railway Station, just on
the other side of that roadway. I advise you to be early, as the
station can be a bit chaotic.” she told me as she handed me the
passports, VISA card, and tickets.
I knew “a bit chaotic” was the understatement of the
year, but I was in a fog, still recovering from sticker shock.
Almost unconscious of my surroundings, I wandered
out, through the secret passage, and jumped back from the street,
narrowly avoiding a collision with a motorcar, horn blaring. I shook
myself awake, and carefully crossed the frontage road to the
sidewalk under the overpass. Traffic had increased, but I plotted a
strategy that included darting across the next frontage road,
scooping up the green net bag in the bike lane, and continuing onto
the subways for return to the hostel. As I put my plan into action,
elation gripped me, knowing that I had performed one of the most
significant acts of parenthood, satisfying both my children's demand
for comfort and Elena's command. Moreover, I had a net bag to carry
essential food and water in, something I had learned that we were in
desperate need of during our 32-hour train trip from Berlin to
Moscow!
I backtracked to the subway station, where I found
very inexpensive bottled water and purchased two liters, stowing
them in my newly acquired net bag. Enervated yet relieved with this
miraculous turn of events, even the sting of Stephanie's slap felt
good, I slowed down. I went through the motions of buying my fare,
boarding the train, disembarking at Dongsishitiao Qiao, and
floating back to the hostel, finally joining Katarena and Enrique in
bona fide peaceful sleep.
Waking up a short time later, they were in as high
spirits as I was, which were lowered a bit when Katarena queried me
about the price.
“Ten thousand.” I flatly replied.
“Is that in Yuan or dollars?” asked Enrique.
“Uh, I'm not sure,” I told him, producing the receipt
for him.
“This is in Yuan,” he steadily told us. “It cost us
about four hundred US dollars apiece for these tickets, as I figure
it.”
Our spirits soared again, knowing that I hadn't
bankrupted our entire trip on a trainride.
“Since we are going to be here a while longer, let's
make some plans.” I told them.
“I want to go to our embassy!” said Katarena.
“I'd like to see more here,” was Enrique's response.
“And I'd like to see if we can get to the Terracotta
Soldiers.” I added.
With that, the three of us trooped off to the Beijing
Tourist Information Center, located no too far away on the Worker's
Stadium Road—we had passed it a few times already, scurrying back
and forth to Dongsishitiao Qiao. The clouds and moisture of
yesterday were history, now it was Sunny and hot and we moved at a
slower pace. Feeling hungry, we entered a Kentucky Fried Chicken
restaurant next to the center. It was not as crowded as the
McDonald's we had been in on our first day in this city, and, though
we still had to wait in line, I thought a number of patrons were
probably inside for the air conditioned comfort.
As per my style, I started talking with whoever was
near. It just happened to be an Iranian, Dr. Alireza Ebrahimzade,
who had schooled in Washington State University in Spokane, and was
now the international manager for Barez Plastics, Tehran. His family
had occupied a table, and, taking a hint from them, Katarena and
Enrique found a table to sit at while I waited in the queue. He was
an exceedingly pleasant fellow who had nothing but good things to
say about the USA, especially the educational system. As a courtesy,
he extended an invitation for us to visit Tehran, where he would be
our exclusive guide. I quickly accepted, but stated that we probably
won't be able to afford going there anytime soon, which was a
disappointment to all. Alireza and I cemented our momentary
friendship with solid handshakes. We ate our amazingly inexpensive
meals, and went next door, to the information center.
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