July 11, 2006
In general the Chinese don't queue, they mob. Naturally this is especially bad when queueing would be most effective, like when trying to buy tickets, but this fact in no way deters people who clearly have centuries worth of mobbing behavior behind them. Even in the train stations where heavy metal dividers have been erected to funnel everyone into a line, there are still mobs. We'd experienced some mobbing buying train and bus tickets earlier, but since we'd been warned by the LP and friends who've lived in China, we usually managed to buy our tickets at "off" times. Early weekday evenings work best. In Beijing, trying to get tickets mid-morning, we stood next to a queued mob in which people were dislodging one another from the ticket window: arms were flailing, money was tossed about and punches were thrown with no regard given to size or age. Since we weren't in the melee, it was interesting to watch, but I was more than happy to not actually be in its midst. But no journey to China would be complete without actually participating in a mob and trying to get to Pingyao on Sunday we finally got our chance.
We rolled into Taiyaun at 11:30 after a very pleasant day at the Yungong caves outside of Datong on Saturday. We made it to the train station by noon, which turns out to be the worst time to buy tickets. Everyone is going home after weekend trips or is off to work for the week after staying with family. We still lucked out buying tickets, though. David spotted a roped off area that had open windows and very short lines. Of course it turns out you're not supposed to actually buy tickets there, it's for people returning/refunding tickets, but we happened to get a very accommodating ticket seller who walked to another window (thereby increasing the frustration of everyone in that line, I'm sure) to print our tickets and didn't make us move.
Getting on the train was a completely different experience. We had only been able to buy "standing tickets," so instead of waiting for the first mad crush to be over, which we usually do, we queued behind the ticket check gate with everyone else. Once through and walking on the platform looking for our car, I was thinking about how well transport had gone so far. We got a taxi stepping out of the hotel and made it to the station quickly where we secured tickets for a fancy behemoth leaving 10 minutes later. Then we were only going to have to wait 45 minutes before the train pulled out. All in all a damn fine transport day, but all those proverbs are true and I was excited about our luck too early.
Actually boarding the train was a disaster. Our plan was to move to the middle of the car, hoping to stow our bags above and then grab seats in case no one showed up for them. Moving to the middle, though, meant climbing over other standees and their luggage. The train didn't have air conditioning and with a couple hundred people crammed in the car, the heat was intense. David joked that the sweat helped us slid past everyone, but it was a little too true, to be funny at the time. I was being much too American about the process, trying not to hit people with my pack, and ended up being shoved so hard from behind that I almost tipped over. David was punched in the butt by a tiny old woman for not moving fast enough for her liking. I didn't know about the punch since he was behind me, but I knew immediately that something must have happened because he started swearing loudly, something he only does when he's truly upset. The Viennese waltz being piped over the loudspeaker seemed an incongruous accompaniment.
Eventually everyone got settled and the standing journey to Pingyao, shifting frequently to move the weight on my feet, was quite pleasant. All the pushing and shoving was quickly forgiven, probably a necessity with so many people in so small an area. David started talking to 'Mike,' a young man who's just finished his freshman year at University studying computer programming. This, especially since we were standing, attracted lots of attention, so Mike and another young man sitting nearby ended up translating lots of questions from some women sitting in that section of the car. We were asked about our age (apparently we look younger), citizenship (they knew David was an American because of his hair and because he's so tall), how much we paid for train tickets (they were afraid we might have been charged too much) and marital status (we should have children immediately). Lots of fun.
And now we don't have to mob again.
-Leah
