Catching The Train

The train ride to Beijing was far worse than I thought.

To start the trip, I missed my train. Five minutes before the train leaves, Chinese railway employees close down the gate to the platform. I arrived four minutes before the train left, thanks to a wonderful traffic jam.

The woman standing by the gate, refusing to let me through, helpfully observed, "The gate is now closed." The train left, and so did my chance of having a seat for the next two days of travel.

I spent about five hours playing Zombie Splatter in a smoky Internet cafe among Chinese gaming geeks and girls watching dramas online. Staring at the screen clicking thousands of zombies to death with shotguns and Desert Eagles was a sort of release for the smoldering rage I felt for missing my train and losing my seat.

I got on the evening train prepared to stand for the next 40 hours. I rushed through the gate along with all the other suckers hoping to get a good spot to camp out. I knew it was going to be bad when I saw people clutching tiny folding seats in the line. There were hordes already prepared to clog the aisles.

I was lucky just to shove my bags up on the overhead luggage shelf. People soon filled in and bags were crammed under seats, on tables and laps and between legs. There were families crammed into the wash cabinets between the cars, and people were squatting in between other people's legs.

It was bad, but it got worse.