April 2002
Spotlight: China

Midnight Train to Xi'an
by Catherine Skrzypinski

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April 2002—Spotlight: China

Midnight Train to Xi'an
by Catherine Skrzypinski

Navigating through the haze and humidity of a Beijing hutong with a 10-pound backpack weighing me down was only the beginning of the adventure. Smells of Peking duck and dumplings reminded me and my growling stomach that I needed to stock up on some snacks for the 14-hour overnight train ride to Xi'an, the home of the Terracotta Warriors. Diehard budget travelers rave about train journeys in China—not only do you save money on accommodations, but you also experience the "real" China. The toilets on the train are Asian-style squat boxes (bring your own Kleenex), boiling water is available for noodles (bring your own chopsticks), but most importantly, the opportunity to chat with the Chinese about their culture and country is priceless.

Despite their enthusiasm, I lived in fear of the journey. I still haven't quite perfected the art of "squatting," and my fear of falling out of a bunk bed while the train was in motion consumed my thoughts as my fellow intrepid travelers and I walked to the Beijing railway station. "Cathy, watch out!" shouted my friend Patra as a reckless, red Beijing cab scraped my left shoulder. Trying to avoid death from a cab, I nearly collided with a bunch of bicyclists wearing facial masks to protect themselves from Beijing's dusty air. As much as I was in awe of the Communist chaos of Beijing, I was quite relieved at that moment that we were moving on.

Entering the massive railway station, I was surprised to find security similar to airports as I unloaded my massive backpack onto an X-ray machine. After that, we all managed to pull up a piece of floor in the waiting room, and we people-watched to kill the time. Men, dressed in navy blue Mao suits, bounced chubby babies on their knees, while chic Chinese women chatted away in Mandarin on their cell phones. All were sitting on enormous, tattered suitcases waiting patiently to board the train. Meanwhile, our tour guide Jillian handed out our tickets and translated the Mandarin so that we knew where we'd be staying the night. We were also warned to guard the ticket with our lives because, like in any train station, pickpocketers were lurking around every corner.

China's overnight trains have two classes of accommodation: hard sleeper and soft sleeper. Since I was traveling on a budget, I was "blessed" with a top bunk bed in the hard sleeper section. It is not as rough as it sounds— compartments are clean and can hold up to six people. Each bunk bed comes with a thin mattress, a blanket and a pillow. Unfortunately, the top bunk was inches away from the top of the train, so I felt like I was trapped in a white coffin. People below me were laughing, drinking green tea and deliberately breaking the no smoking rule as the lush Chinese landscape passed us by.

After settling in with my novel about an ill-fated love triangle during the Cultural Revolution, a conductor came around, took my ticket and gave me a red medallion. Bewildered, I asked Patra what the significance of the medallion was, and she told me not to lose it. We needed to give the medallion back in the morning before departing the train. Fearing the Communism regime, I tucked the red medallion into my fanny belt with my passport and eagerly awaited the end of the train ride.

Around 11 p.m., the Chinese rendition of Simon and Garfunkel's Cecilia softened and the lights began to dim. It was time to go to sleep—or at least try to. Even though I tossed and turned a bit to the tunes in my Walkman, I did manage to catch some shut-eye but was abruptly woken up nearly every hour by the rocking of the train. At some point in the evening, I violently kicked the heavy woolen blanet off the bunk. I was thankful that I didn't fall off with it.

Before I knew it, dramatic Beijing opera music was piped over the loudspeakers to wake all of the weary travelers up. I peered bleary-eyed at my watch—it was only 5:45 a.m. The sun was trying to peek over the mountains, eager to start the new day, even though I wasn't quite ready to. Chatty Chinese cleaning people demanded the sheets, so it was nearly impossible to fall back asleep. Soon after, the conductor returned and I eagerly handed him back the red medallion—I was ready to escape from the "white coffin!"

Arriving in Xi'an at the crack of dawn, I was utterly fatigued and equally annoyed with the vultures engulfing us, bombarding us with the promise of a clean hotel room and a map to navigate the city with. Vendors hawking miniature clay replicas of the Terracotta Warriors, along with the ubiquitous China souvenirs of jade and postcards of the pagodas in Xi'an, tried to grab our attention and our yuans. It seems to me that no matter what time of day, China is bustling and bursting with energy—whether you're awake or not.

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