Tibet: The 33-hour Haul

We began our overnight journey at an early hour, leaving behind old Chang'an. Between quiet smiles and our worldly possessions tightly in our backpacks, we tucked into one of those nutritious breakfast at our local joint down the alley as we had almost every morning. It would be our last moment of solitude before the madness of a busy train station blew upon us like a fervent storm.

As with all things (generally anything Big Brother China has their hands on) here, they worked mostly in clockwork fashion. We pushed off the platform at exactly 0842 hours and much to our delight, we found ourselves on car No. 2 bed 19 and 20, with four sleepy heads greeting us. Bed No. 19 seemed to have been slept on by one of the suspects as this train had departed from Beijing. The whole train shook in a slow rumba dance as its passengers got busy with their instant noodles, preserved chicken feet, tea, and biscuits while we settled our things during this breakfast slot. Our berth was playing neighbours with the toilet compartment (which doubled as smoking room and spittoon) as I braved myself for a long journey of local tobacco smoke, elephant trunk clearing nose snorts, and really bad rendition of Tibetan songs.

Who could have known? A little over a year ago, we began our walking the Earth when we landed in Paris, hungry for some pain au chocolat and a shower. In between that, I had learned to downgrade my backpack to a smaller one, (finally) learned to do a decent headstand, saw real snow for the first time in my life, and perhaps grew up a little bit more. And a year later, we're on our way to Tibet... to maybe cheekily think that's how we could stand over everyone, by just that, getting to the roof of the world.

My mind was a complete blank. I attempted a bit of sewing but quietly prayed an utter of gratitude that I didn't have to rely on this profession to pay my rent as I would probably have been kicked out enough to last ten lifetimes of reincarnation. Maybe I was also purposely avoiding looking too much outside as I didn't want to feed any expectation that might had arisen. Passengers around me were chatting excitedly about the yaks, yellow-haired deers, and the odd stupa. Okay, I may had been victim of temptation a few times but for a good reason! Somehow I "knew" that I would spot a large hare. Actually there were two of them. And also to shoot some of the most amazing scenery I had encountered so far.

Hence, after much survival-inducing moments, we had endured foul bad yoghurt-smelling shoes, expensive train dinner, a toilet flush that nearly gave way, and an almost alarming catastrophe of an over-flowing squatter, we arrived in Lhasa, the "Sacred Land". We followed a human tidal wave that descended on a very well maintained station, only to be welcomed by our Tibetan guide, T.D. (not his real name). A real joker, the three of us took an instant liking to each other. He hung on us the traditional welcome of the Khandar white scarf. My lungs were squeezing with all their might to grasp at every last molecule of oxygen while I felt my heart beating in between my ears.

We were finally here.

Postcard: Day Before Departing

Hearing the chirping of the birds before my pig liver coloured curtains (never thought that people made curtains that way but they hung just up to the middle of the wall, thus cutting the Paul Smith lined wall paper into an odd half, kind of like a really tall headmistress who was standing in front of you and you're tempted to sneak a look under her skirt - oh, the boredom of school!) emitted the first light of dawn through meant that I didn't sleep all too well last night.

Despite a heavenly dinner of dumplings and chicken wings that cost rock bottom prices, my thoughts were spearing ahead on our trip out to Tibet. So, washing up and throwing on my clothes, I headed out to hit the morning streets. And indeed what a splendid crispy morning. Not a soul in sight except the morning risers down the lane, now plus one. I joined the throngs of patrons for again (breaking my vow) another round of fried "oil pockets", a bowl of tofu and another bowl of soy milk. Part of the liberty of doing away with the comfort of home is that you get to convince yourself that it's all survival mode and that it's totally reasonable to order another oil pocket to stuff your tummy, in case food ran out in the next hour and we were all reduced to mere smithereens. Didn't need to empty much of my money pocket, food was so darn cheap on the streets that it was ridiculous to eat in the hostel.

What was it about the Mainlanders and their food consumption? If my own Government took its administration on the abolishment of the Affirmative Action Plan half as serious as how the Chinese here took after their ritualistic nurturing of the stomach, then I dared to forecast that my country would see a more promising future for all Malaysians irrespective of your preference for a pure black "kopi", milky soy or mocha mix of parentage. I digressed but allowed me to return to the insane bravado of the men and women of China. When my walk towards the Xi'an incident failed miserably to turn up anything more than dull grey lots of constructed dwellings (how the heck do I ask a passerby if that was the place that Chang Kai Shek got arrested?) tweeting with pet birds of the sweetest melodies, temptation to change course did ring in my mind. With the morning traffic picking up from an initial hum, the kids ran off to get ready for school with smart little boys donning a red scarf around their necks while the older ones saluted each teacher that passed through the gates of the schools that dotted the communal streets. Suspicion hung low that CKS's former place of arrest had been morphed into more "practical" use for the people of the Republic. But the fun part of taking the morning out on my own as hubby went off to Hua Mountain, was the fact that I blended in more. Nobody gave me a second glance. I was invisible and it was fantastic! My first uttered word of the day was in Mandarin, I had to read the signs and crossed the road (deftly avoiding having to order a coffin for myself when a bus ignored the red sign) like everybody else.

Passing the East Gate of the city's walls (probably the most well preserved of its kind and class) I turned into this tunnel of humans, vegetables, shouts and bicycles. To heck with the CKS treasure hunt, I went head on into the mass of merging flesh.

Shouts of wares, cures for all evils! Biscuits of all forms displayed like honourable war badges. Need a button? No worries, take a pick from an uncle sitting quietly like a little hedgehog amongst the pride of roaring lions of peddlers... and he sold nothing but, well buttons - red, blue, round ones, protruding ones, cheap! Daily exchange of vegetables, fruits, tofu products happened as crumpled soiled currency flowed from the hands of the little eating shops and restaurant owners doing their shopping. This corner a butcher nonchalantly drummed out the beats of a really dead (and well minced) pig on the chopping board while mountains of "miao xi biang" greeted me. The latter I was never fond of as a Hakka kid but my folks loved them and they were a constant reminder that Chinese New Year was close back in those days when it was a rare feat to obtain them except during the festive days when adults took on a sugary high on those fried up little sticks that twisted together to form the look of well, cat dung.

Another little amplifier blasted out the virtue of a new soy milk making machine while I avoided walking into a pile of dry vermicelli noodles that looked like a haystack. Then the sea of bodies momentarily parted to sneak a view of what I thought only now existed in cheesy kungfu movies. There it was, a long line of sullen faces waiting hopefully and patiently in a line facing a small woman sitting on a tiny stool that my dogs could fit in together. Chinese medicine, mixed only from a "secret" family recipe and promise of a new knee that worked better than before it fell - the new Bionic Man in the making.

There were other stalls of more "small eats" and everyone was literally bargaining, slurping, pushing, shouting. Exhilarating and energising. I made a quick note to pass by some horoscope readers, whom for a small fee will help any seeker to fix what ill-begotten star had shone on their particular animal sign for the year and the coming. It was just priceless to see the devotion of the seekers hanging on to every word of the "master". Belief and unwavering determination to better one's life, to cheat death, to bring on more fortune. So what if I have to pay a couple of coins for some good words uttered? Happily standing around blending along with the trees, my glance distracted towards the clothes section. There she was - in every city you go to, there was always the big mama who will either whip out a damn good meal or just a sight to behold. In this morning, she was checking out some inner wear, all with the serious consideration of a general about to launch an all out WW3 nuclear code. I was getting close to guessing that white was her favourite colour. Very practical woman. Cotton, no? She nodded vigorously in approval when the vendor confirmed product of manufacture. Very wise woman.

She was also a very big woman. And with two gigantic elephant trunks for arms, she stretched the panties in all glory, basking it in the nine o'clock morning sun for all to see. I must have heard a hush fell upon the city as big mama turned it around (and around) to only finally throw the thing back into the heap where it came from. Maybe it had not met her strict international, all circumstances expectation of comfort. Very hard customer.

With every footstep approaching the South Gate, I walked by little gardens of vegetables grown within the inner compounds of the city dwellers. Maybe this was how people had lived before Carrefour came in with aisles of packeted greens? A sleepy grand-daughter was being ferried to her kindergarten class by her grand papa as her mind sat dreamily away in her world of strawberries, polka dots and cartoons. I cycled a long while up the city wall (14km) and for a while too, I was lost in my own state where there was nobody else except the city.

I hope I sleep better tonight. Maybe the tosses were from my own stubbornness to admit that perhaps, just that I was going to miss this city and it was not going to be an easy goodbye.

Postcard: It's Showtime This Time!

Communal night @ our hostel, with Mickey Mao looking most forward to our company

Didn't believe it until we saw it... told you it's a small world after all!

We've booked and gotten the tickets - upping the threshold this time to 33 hours

Just our tip - take the bus, or better still go for "Bus No. 11" (walk it off)

We visited probably the most unique mosque to date in our travels (and it's pretty hard to beat Jama in New Delhi) in a sense that not only it's a living practice, it's also one that truly put in form the true essence of man's observing his faith with his chosen God that passed class, creed, dialect and values. There was hardly any long list of not-to-do's and even more favourably, females weren't given a hard time akin to an alien form on legs when we walked through the gates.

It's more than a thousand years of history here and it's to my memory since arriving in China the best ancient historical preservation of its kind. I hope that it will escape China's dire obsession in over-restoring their old and leftovers from the Revolution.

Also I found out that bargaining is something that gets easier with practice. Just like my attempts with the Xun instrument and my Chinese calligraphy.

And that the Muslim Chinese here, which we have endearingly nicknamed "Chuluks" are one of the best cooks - period. Tried my first Chinese Briyanni and man, how on Earth did mutton get that tender? We had some sticky rice pudding with peanuts, red bean paste, rose syrup, honey and black sesame for dessert. I was already feeling extremely guilty from the big breakfast of tofu, fried curly doughs and "oil pockets" but reminded (or rather consoled) myself that you got to live for the moment, right? Any excuse my friend, any!

And as if it wasn't enough that I braved the course of a long 14-hour endurance test from Wuchang train station, of sharing a cabin with a fart machine that wouldn't stop snoring (he was the 25% that let the whole car down) - hubby reckoned that he had a dead rat up his ass - we finally got our permit and train tickets.

My dear friends - yes, not even the Lord of Hades could stop us this time - bags are packed, shoes are tied up. I shall be gone for eight days to expend all that I have in the holy quest for the unseen, unbelieved until I have laid my sight, smell, hearing and touch on it, to chase after that elusive story that had teased me all my life. The end game for this stretch of the adventure will be another 20-hour epic to Lanzhou for a quick transfer to a 2-hour flight to Urumqi. Seem to be a better time option that spending 50 hours on a train. All this, from one destination.

Ladies and gentlemen, faithful friends and readers, I take leave and in my absence, trust that I am never far and shall be back at this space. Pray and wish that come hell or heck, I shall have fun and a story to write!

TIBET BECKONS! AND I SHALL ANSWER! 

Postcard: Xi'an! Xi'an!

Another one of those things that I miss quite a bit, although not as much as I do with our dogs, is high-speed connection when it comes to downloading my travel writing and shots. I sit here, bleary-eyed and half a battery emptied from a fully charged laptop, to finally getting the ... damned be the darnest of all - the connection probably jumped off its hops before the rabbit signed off. I don't know what the heck I'm spewing out but after trying for as many times it took to finish one full bottle of lemonade green tea, I am still nowhere as successful as a salmon swimming upstream with one fin to getting a stable stretch to load up the shots.

So, as I sit here, imagning the faces of my faithfuls, I couldn't let you down, never, as if that word had never been crafted into the great dictionaries of mankind. I whipped out the humble Wordpad and concentrated, thoughts drifted only momentarily to the heavy-weighted decision on whether I should invest a RMB20 for the hostel's chocolate cookie ice smoothie. Maybe later.

What can I say about the oldest capital of the empire? That I'm a lost fart faffing away about bygone eras that had hungry peasants revolting against the powerful with their spades, brooms, and barren lands? Nay, for I stand here, loud and proud declaring on top of my imaginary hill that I love Xi'an (okay Chengdu, you're my summer getaway right?) and it's not difficult to understand the simple reason of a plain ol' writer that has an itch to see the bigger world outside of her hut that this city bursts with character befitting the bloody history of a tyrant king that would rise to become the first self-proclaimed emperor of China, unifying the old scripts and conscripted as many heads to build his massive terracotta army, tomb and mausoleum in all, plus a throbbing Muslim quarter that thrives still today that no nights will ever be the same again without the timely smoke in the evening air luring even the Great Buddha himself with smells of sizzling skewers, salted vegetables tangy with minced meat and garlic in a bowl of soupy noodles, glazed apples and red dates the size of a ping pong ball, and fruit wholesalers carving mounts of preserved kiwi fruit, almonds and walnuts, Uighur peddlers that looked more at home in a Bollywood flick and the looming shadows of the Bell Tower alongside its sister, the Drum Tower to foretell the hour of the dawn and dusk as had been done in decades to the centuries.

Welcome to Xi'an, a city that you never really come to possess except to be possessed.

We lived by a small lane that littered with "small eats" sold by the locals. At this point I have gotten relatively comfortable to the varying tones of the ever-changing local pronunciations of the same word and mind you, even have a little swagger in the way I order or bargain. So much so that I found myself digging into fried little sticks of dough that melted in your mouth, glutinuous cakes that took me back to when I was seven as my maternal grandmother handed me my first cake of the same, tasting a hot bowl of tofu served with a savoury broth of chilli, soy sauce, yellow beans, coriander and oil. They kept you coming back and they were more than happy to accommodate your request for a "remix" - I had my bowl of tofu this morning with brown sugar instead - more the way I liked it since I developed this lasting love affair with soy tofu "fa" from the age that didn't matter when your tax return was due and that your only concern was to ensure you handed in your homework on time.

In a strange way, it's like a smaller version (and that's still big in a lot of terms) of Beijing, what not with a thriving train station that nearly never sleeps, parks strewn everywhere with lively displays of Tai Chi, fan dance, the smog, the odd blue sky, the mix of the young and old, the cyclo, beggars and homeless people, hippies and hippies-wannabe, spoilt dogs, pitiful dogs looking for a way out, a smogasboard of cuisine, big roads, buses, small dwellings and skyscrapers, universities and ancient relics. I could seriously live here.

Never really thinking too much into anything, I went head-on falling over heels with this city. Maybe it's something in the air. Maybe it's the way the ancient gates that shut and open the secrets held by the walls rebuilt many a time over from the periods leading on to the Ming Dynasty. Maybe it's just one of those places you see in life and you just go "what the heck, I think I'll build a hut here and live off the rest of my days". Now a hut would be entirely out of place amidst the modern roads, that it would be at risk of being swept off by the dutiful cleaners everyday, or the heavens forbid, spat on or served as a wiping board for someone's post-nose digging business.

Yet if I was to be given a note to come here and learn about China, Chinese, Culture and maybe a bit of "char" you tiao, why not? Where is the dotted line now?

I like our hostel, the best to date but I will most likely be moving into a little box housed in one of those many communist-era buildings, now wired with Wireless and pumped with "Western Toilets". Maybe I'll paint the wall an eggshell white and frame it with dark wood frames of B&W shots (of my own, of course!). Maybe I'll get a China daybed, put in a little corner with plum red silk cushions, top with a low table, serving little dainty cups of tea accompanied with saucers of sunflower seeds. We'll definitely be filling up the courtyard with as many dogs as we can get away with, the mornings will be punctuated with singing little larks and finches free to roam on the seeds we pour out on the feeding bowl. We'll have friends and families over to visit and dig into our communal hot pot.

I'm in Xi'an and I think it's all too late for me. To be wrapped inside the possession of passion, is at yet, the best way to get lost for a long time...

Postcard: The Mighty Flow

I had not seen a decent sunset in China since our arrival six weeks ago. So it felt weird to sit on the deck of the Jiang Shan 12 on a broken plastic chair the colour of a blue that the sky wasn't, and to look at a perfect fishball of a sun the colour of ripeness that smelt like the yolk of a well-salted duck egg.

Every minute we waited for the boat to leave the port brought us closer by a step to my next much awaited destination, Xi'an. But at the moment, I thought about spending three nights on a moving boat with absolutely hundreds of local Chinese tourists in pods of hens' night (they combined to be about a hundred years old), puffing old men, noisy aunties, unsmiling and tired staff, a gaggle of tour guides, all the rice wine and beer that one can consume in 36 hours, hours of incessant announcements of the Three Little Gorges, China's massive achievement in the form of a dam (?), to not misplace your belongings, do not leave the ship in a panic, and did we forget to mention that you also need to pay an extra RMB60 for a deck pass?

The additional gulp of air was mind clearing. I had never been on a boat as the Jiang Shan 12. Heck, the last time I had been on a boat, it was docked and it sold books. So this was going to be one impending monster of an adventure that I hope will make interesting writing material.

At 2100 hours, the boat let out a mournful boom and a potful of charcoal smoke mixed into the air punctuated with the smell of roasted drumsticks, diesel, noise and sunflower seeds splitting furiously as everyone took their position in card game tables and watch the world passed by through mouthfuls of tea of red dates, wolfberries and leaves.

We got a little cabin. Can't help but smile. The guide showed us room 4255 - a windowless box with a double decker, one faded couch that faked fabric of a bygone dynasty, but we had a television that we never switched on, and by George (!) it had a powered shower and flush! Chucking out bags we headed up to what began an uncertain night of our journey.

Then in between clutching our cup noodles, hubby saw Shivan, one of the fellow travellers along the road that we had the pleasure of meeting in Chengdu. Hooked up and met more travellers (we were beginning to feel less unique now...) and notes were compared, jokes were cracked. A pretty civil night of beer and conversations that lasted to 0100 hours. We slept like a log in winter that night.

I wondered why in any unfathomable fashion that the guide who showed us the room wished us "good luck" when he quickly slammed shut the door to our room.

Turned out at an ungodly hour of 0530 hours, we heard it.

Not even a squeak. Not even a creak. They came, and they came in full force like the clash of the Titans and 300 Spartans combined in a tiny lane. Tour guides knocking on each door at a well rehearsed tempo to wake the little weaklings that were still tucked inside each warm bed. Time to head out to the lobby, assemble and head out for the first invasion - the Ghost Town. Next the cleaners came armed with keys and a too fast, too furious determination to clean up last night's cracked shells, the odd cuttlefish that got away on the floor, empty bags of chips and cups. I sat up in the dark, listening. Hubby was still snoring away. I believed they were coming closer to Room 4255, the thud-thud of their shoes thundered away in between slams of the doors and the turns of the keys. In my panic, I did what was the most human thing to do under such short notice - I checked if I was wearing decent underpants.

A dark figure pushed open our door and before we could inform them that no cleaning was needed, it closed shut as if Aladdin had never found the code to open this cave. As if nothing had happened. All was quiet and peaceful, and I drifted back to sleep in a haze, wondering maybe it was all a bad nightmare that made for a good laugh.

After much tossing, we came up for air literally. Breakfast was a decent affair of sweet bread and juice. I thought about the dark sail last night as we passed along the river. I saw huge construction that injected a smell of stale urine and muddy water as our boat tugged past the heavy industries areas. My eyes peered into the morning light as I recalled that they were building... tall, imposing structures that were wet cement a few days ago perhaps. The pile of soil that formed tiny elongated islands near the river bank were like prehistoric alligators waiting for anyone of us that was silly enough to lean too forward beyond the flimsy railings. This morning we saw nothing, it was just fog everywhere and much later, I realised, smog. The river was a diluted mocha with the choppy texture of a turbulent mind. Throughout the long distance that our boat covered pretty much for the day, we saw a few mushroomed groups of buildings that had no signs of life. Either that or they had been forced to evacuate for the "betterment" of the nation. Most of the tourists that got down and paid for a tour at the nearby Ghost Town came back with let-down tales of a constructed fun fair of ghouls and depictment of Hades Chinese style. We got off to the tiny shacks and had some local food, dissolving the image in front of us with a sense of disbelief. You didn't have to pay to go to a Ghost Town attraction. The first day's sail was a free show of no life along a river. No fish, bird or man. It was very strange.

Our second day brought us to the highlight of the trip. We sailed and got off from our boat only to get into another one that eventually took us to a smaller boat so that we could sail through the Lesser Three Gorges. It was a charming tiny alley filled with turquoise liquid. Other than that, the vendors made everything too cheesy and take-a-key-chain-home kind of way. That night we all joined the mayhem in the dining room. You just made up what you think the guys in the kitchen can cook up in the storm of the diners, all banging and shouting through the tables for food, drinks and a cigarette. All very exciting and messy, kind of like a first kiss!

The next morning, I took a quiet moment to think about the warring states, the attempts in the past by one emperor after another, the temples honouring the heroes of a classic, The Romance of The Three Kingdoms, and the intense-but-at-our-expense party of the residents of Jiang Shan 12. Maybe I should get Guy Ritchie to direct this...

There were a few more stops for more hikes, photographs, and just up and down the boat while bigger ships boomed past us. I looked down at my pants and they were pebbled with smog from the smoke. I decided to get down to the KTV lounge. Stuff the knitting, if you can't beat them, then you might as well join them.

An afternoon degenerated into a huge blown out evening, kind of like when Moses again came down from Sinai. Only this time, it was bigger than Ben Hur. As my feet meandered towards the blue and pink neon lights, I heard the tenth rendition of "My heart will go on" that would have sunk the Titanic a hundred times over. I didn't suppose there was an Irish party at the bottom deck that I could go. There were old pairs of uncles and aunties doing the fox trot amidst songs that had some scantily cladded dancers on the television while a group of policemen from Guangzhou treated us to drinks and it was pretty much it - I meant the latter. They (and almost everyone on the boat) assumed me to be the English-Chinese translators to build a bridge that helped a guy to decipher his German-made camera had come with a battery that was a dud, that the police force of China was delighted to meet the boys (hubby and the other foreigners) and that they will "drink the night away" and that the waitress behind the counter wanted me to ask what's Shivan's name (they bowled over laughing as they thought it meant "eat" in Mandarin... translation wasn't easy I guess?) plus in my feverish mode of mood, I thought I had never been to a wilder party that consisted of people that grew and functioned in such a controlled state (and the fact that most of them were old enough to be my grandparents) - it was a boiling cauldron of hands rolling the mahjong dice into the wee hours of the night, cigarette smoke, rain of splatter and spit, winning hands smashing down decks of cards followed by the penultimate crash of the losers. It was the party to end all boat parties and since we were all going our own ways the day after, what had you got to lose?

Nothing. And that was how we got up in the morning. I heard nothing. No cleaners came to open our door. Then I got up. Something wasn't right. My stomach turned like it was waiting, like a pregnant cloud before a heavy storm. Then we heard it. A thud that grew into a rumble, then the guides (those darn girls!) bellowed simultaneously as if they had practiced this forever - "Pack your bags! We leave in an hour's time! We won't return!" - such morbid farewell. We got up and stretched. I reached out to my towel and began thinking if I had stuffed my socks into my backpack.

After the goodbyes and handshakes, we funneled ourselves with the rest of the passengers for one last time. It was one for the road, an auntie's badly fitted bra poked my back, I felt it (them?) like some warm chicken pao. We held our breaths when the queue stopped by the men's toilet, I just pretended that I didn't have eyes (and a nose?) for about a few minutes and then the human wave swept me forward. As quickly as the first night when our boat took into the darkness like a giant black snake swallowing our little speck of sail, we were spat out onto a spinach green platform that had a long, cement stairway up to where our buses were supposed to wait for us to ferry us away.

That's when the drama began. After three nights, it seemed our hostel in Chongqing "forgot" to mention to us that we were to take the bus and head to Yichang for our pick-up at that harbour. So after all those stampede drama and body bumping bonding exercise, we were told to "wait right there" while I tried to clarify through our phone in between calming down the other officers around me, all shouting and forcasting the looming mistake that we were to make by not getting on the bus right now. What was I supposed to do? After six weeks, it was high time for some explosive action. Circled by other guides all talking at the same time, I confirmed (and reconfirmed) if this was the exact port to wait and an affirmative answer came back. Tell me, what would Black Hawk do if India Base said affirmative?

As I looked up, the last bus driver yelled out something indecipherable and kicked up a blast of dust, and then the voice at the other end of the line went "oh, yeah, you are at Yichang Port, right?"

" ... "

The next few moments were a blur of my mind reminding me that losing my cool was no way to get things fixed and the tearing need which was almost animal that just wanted to bellow at someone who didn't understand English that it wasn't my problem that they went "oops" and that it did matter that I couldn't explain time and again the same problem without having anyone fixing it when they stuffed up. It was insane and I was kind of taking a big thrill in it because it was something I had expected in long travels that the shit does hit the fan and it would fly out in all directions and covered you in every possible crevice that will take ages to clean, and then you would lose some years of longevity and then you settle down and try to fix someone's responsiblity. One particular tour guide who we had nicknamed "Stalin" stepped in and in pure dictatorship, grinded the other fellow who screwed up in the other side, and while another officer tried to jump into the confusion and get us to get into his car for RMB160 (Duh! I am pissed off but not drunk!) and a bus will now miraculusly appear in 30 minutes.

The officer who found that he couldn't get us to pay him the money decided we may make good waiting buddies. So he handed out some Hubei tobacco. I looked at that rolled up stick like a flimsy line thrown overboard to me as I floated in a sea of sharks. Call it stress reliever. Call an emergency sit-out. Some workers walked past and asked us to join for basketball.

6-4 and we were called to head up to our bus. We decided to take one photograph before we leave and one of the old guys stood next to me tentatively. I asked to cross our arms like how those Premier League guys do it at those soccer matches, and he snaked his arm across my shoulder and next I felt this palm danggling way beyond. In between yelling to hubby to quicken up the click, my crossed arms crossed higher up my clavicel. What a joke and what a jackass! You got to love that audacity, keeps you on your toes!

And we changed two buses in between five hours and two toilet breaks. Wuchang, the city of the 1911 uprising and Chairman Mao's villa (why it is beyond me) was one sprawling city that came with its share of smog, honks and grumpy people. This city was so quaintly laid out yet ridiculously packed that you had to come here. Friendly young students helped us to change into another trip of two buses, and we got through the first one, backpacks and yoga mats in total.

This was a sardine can and I was trying to not laugh. An aunty decided to use that time to adjust her fake LV and on my left, a hair clip made out of fake wig fluffed around my ear. I looked up at my arms clinging onto the monkey bar for support and I imagined that I was an undiscovered gymnastic talent that China will come swooping down to sponsor me to represent the Motherland!

A jolt woke me up from such foolish wandering and the bus stopped. The guys in the front wanted to pour out of the bus while two passengers from the rear were grumbling their way out. I was swaying with arms free and I wasn't even losing an inch of balance. The purr of the engine resumed and a big gust of air spurted out as our bus moved out of the stop. Everyone moved to the beat of the evening's traffic like a group of synchronised peak hour travellers vying for the gold medal in the Olympics of city mad rush hour survival race.

Screw the second bus. We decided to take a cab which probably worked out to be roughly the same rate. I wasn't sure I would not burst out laughing at how pissed off the other travellers were at us with our backpacks, squeezing into a tight bus, smiling and wishing everyone "ni hao, ni hao!".

First cabbie told me that he couldn' read my slip. There it was, in my hands the only piece of paper that the hostel wrote what was some directions to the cabbie to take us to them. He kept mumbling without eye contact - "I couldn't see, you read it" - how in the world do I say art gallery in Mandarin?!

Yet again, we moved to another cabbie and in between the undeciphered phrase for "near the art gallery" and number 386 Zhongshan Road, we got dumped on the zebra crossing. We walked towards the YHA symbol, lit up in the dark as a symbol of respite. An old man, looked down at us from the stairs with his thick-rimmed glasses like the ones my grandpa had, crumpled his evening papers and pointed to the other way.

Brilliant. We checked into the possible only hostel I think, and we got a really rustic room - banging handle and a busted bulb in all. I went into the bathroom for a shower before dinner.

The final coup - a squatter toilet. I love this city.