YJ went off early by herself, to get us some bus tickets out of here. We both agreed that it might be advantageous if she went alone, as we didn't want them raising the prices as soon as they saw me (which is exactly what they always do here). I wished her good luck, and only saw her again in a couple of hours.

She returned with some bad news, and some seemingly good news. For some incredibly well thought out reason, there were no legal buses apparently going to Chengdu during Spring Festival (!?!). This meant catching an "illegal" bus, of which there are many in China. How exactly they are legal or illegal is part mystery to me - has to do with paying for insurance for the passengers, and whether the bus is chartered by the government or not. Who knows - even the "legal" buses have little scams going. As an example, if the bus isn't full, you can flag down the bus from the road, and they charge you a lesser fee (it's chancier to get on, but much cheaper). The bus driver(s) and other worker(s) on the bus (guy who checks tickets, etc - always someone else there) then get to divvy up the gravy fee, dropping them off before arriving at the bus station to avoid fines for getting caught. And then, some of the tickets themselves are illegal, but how they are illegal, how they can sell some seats on the bus illegally in the first place - also a mystery. Anyhow, the price quoted was 400rmb each for the sleeper bus, a 50-54 hour ride which departs at 4pmish tomorrow. YJ left 100 rmb as deposit, so hopefully everything is on the up and up, as she scouted for the guys who looked the most trustworthy. You see, we just bought reservations for tickets from guys who skulk around the bus station but have no office, known residence or contact number . . .

Oh, and I almost forgot the kicker - no bathroom on the bus. That's right - over 50 hours on a sleeper bus, and no toilet on board. YJ said she found out as she was trying to think of questions to ask the guy, and happened to say out loud that, "the bus must have bathrooms, of course . . .", thinking that it was a stupid thing to say. Well, for the few fools there it was, and they all roared in laughter while YJ stood there wondering what was so funny. The men reported that NO bus had washrooms, and that they had NEVER SEEN A BUS WITH A BATHROOM ON IT. Fantastic stuff . . . looks like I won't be eating or drinking too much!

Sunday, February 5

After a mad two hours of shopping, we bade good-bye to all our Tibetan friends at the Banak Shol, and YJ and I made our way via taxi in the afternoon to the bus terminal. As we arrived, we were instantly attacked by ticket sellers as they saw that I was the Golden Foreigner, and I felt like Bill Gates entering a luxury car dealership, one guy falling over the other to open the door before the car was stopped. I reacted by being extremely rude and shooing them all away, but it only stemmed the tide for a short while. Eventually, YJ told me to sit on the terminal steps while she searched out her guy and secured the agreed to price of the tickets. Only then had we planned on revealing my non-chinese self, and I sat down on the steps after checking for spit and other undesireable substances.

Ten minutes later, YJ and I were embroiled in a mayhem. The guy's reaction when he saw that I was the other passenger was priceless, and he vehemently started off by saying there was no way that I could take the bus. I got up off the steps with our bags and followed YJ into the courtyard nearby, where we were then surrounded by shouting Chinese people. And then this woman started shrilly yelling at me and jabbing her finger, and I lost it. I started shouting back at her to put down her !#*$%@! finger, and she put down her wagger before starting off again with the yelling. Then, incredibly, YJ shouted "QUIET!!!" in both English and Chinese, and the shouting stopped. Then, a long and slightly more civilized argument ensued, with myself looking dumbly on as YJ tried to gain a foothold of justice - or at the very least, a seat on a bus. I felt like the accused in a foreign country's prison, with my fate squarely on the shoulders of the barrister I could not understand. I prayed that YJ was the Chinese reincarnation of Johnny Cochrane, as the argument swayed back and forth, the invisible advantage seeming to constantly switch sides.

We walked into the terminal at one point, following "our guy", and we were waved through a gate by the cop after he said we were with him. The driver of the bus saw me, and almost fainted, recovering quickly with an emphatic "NO!". I understood that he never wavered from this initial response, as this was a Chinese conversation I could actually handle. Another argument/discussion at high volume ensued, and I was left at the bus while YJ and a group went to another bus. I could hear them talking from 15 meters away, but was grateful for the respite as my hopes for leaving Lhasa in time to return to work needed recovery. Please, I thought, just let me get on a bus.

Fifteen minutes passed, and we all proceeded inside the bus station again, and I was seated by YJ at one of the empty blue waiting chairs while she went off. I only bothered her with a "make sure you get the deposit back" as she seemed distraught yet determined. Frankly, it looked quite grim for me. The ten minutes I waited there, I pondered how long it would take to hitchhike to the nearest place from where I could grab a bus, and wondered if hitching was as difficult in China as the rumours I had heard. I steeled myself for a negative future, as YJ walked toward me with a puzzling neutral expression.

She had secured a ticket for me (and her), but it was for tomorrow. Woohoo, I was leaving Lhasa! The deposit had been given back, but the new tickets had cost a hundred more kuai, so it turned out to be financially meaningless in a way. Either way, we were secured onto a bus, the driver knew I was a laowei, and the tickets were "legal", so we couldn't be kicked off the bus. How one could have legal tickets on an illegal bus, and how the ticket lady could one day say no tickets and the next make two available, was puzzling. Everything here smelled of scam, as all the illegal activity of buses and tickets was overlooked by the cops who were stationed there in the terminal. Even later as both YJ and I tried to puzzle it out, we were never able to determine whether the bus we took was legal or not, and how many (if any) legal tickets had been purchased on the bus.

Afterward, feeling tired of the confusing antics of transportation gate keepers, we decided to upgrade the accommodations for one night, opting for the Doncuo International Hostel. It was only twenty rmb more, a pittance really, but one gets very used to scrimping about some things . . . and it was a lot nicer. A real hotel room, really, with western toilet and everything! And we even got a free little heater so we could be warm . . . and deaf! Yeah, the heat-maker sounded like an old biplane motor, and it vibrated around the floor like a nervous chicken - but it did create a warmer environment. After 12 hours. Oh yeah, and also found out the one beautiful feature we thought we were getting was a bust, as we settled for no hot water for our shower. Yes, the Doncuo was miles ahead of the Banak Shol in terms of comfort and service . . .

Monday February 6

Warily making our way to the bus this time, we still had to beat off the illegal ticket sellers with profanity. As we entered the loading area and the official punched our tickets, everything seemed on the up and up. We found our bus, a regular looking Greyhound-type, and loaded two of our three bags into the undercarriage, walking up the steep stairs. I stopped cold, slightly shocked. EVERYTHING WAS SO tiny . . . AND CRAMPED! 3 rows of beds (obviously designed for midgets), two tiers, and not a lot of space. I hit my shoulder on the ceiling as I stooped like Gandalf in a Hobbit dwelling. I sucked in a breathe, and reminded myself that this was my only ticket out of here, and I would just have to cope. I followed YJ to the back, barely squeezing my frame down the aisle, and we found the top two corner spots, and settled ourselves in. The ticket sellers had had the sense to give me one of the four seats on the bus with ample leg room, and at the very least I could stretch my legs out straight. I would, however, be unable to move left or right an inch, or bend much, or sit upright.

All around me were whispers and stares about my my foreign presence, some seemingly reassured, others in shock. No one had ever seen a foreigner on a bus like this, and frankly, I wasn't surprised by this bit of news. It was a claustrophobic's worst nightmare, and YJ was equally unimpressed with our mode of transportation, noting with satisfaction that the window could be opened easily. I tried to mentally prepare her for our future travels, but had trouble convincing myself that I could get through this ordeal. The last passenger squeezed in beside me on my right, a tiny man and his small child. The pint-sized boy started crying, and soon, the bus had started moving again after a delay to find the one person with an "illegal" ticket. I just have to survive hell for two days, I thought. A memory flashed quickly by - the vast expanse of my queen sized bed. It would, in time, become like a dream for me, a quivering oasis at the end of my journey.

Tuesday, February 7

Our first stop is at midnight, almost all of the inhabitants of our cattle car getting off for a meal in a shit hole of a Chinese truck stop. YJ returns from the toilet, with an expression I have never seen before, reporting to me that the bathrooms are horrifying. Holes in the dirt, shit literally everywhere, a room full of women (no enclosures) squatting besides each other and doing their business on the floor, in the designated holes, even in the hallway. YJ likens these people (most are from Chengdu) to animals, and cannot understand how their minds work to make possible this freakish display of depravity. No one washes their hands, and soap is a rumour. I vow afterward to never use a bathroom on our trip, a promise to myself I end up keeping faithfully. YJ burns with jealousy at my male advantages for relieving myself.

Most people order real food dishes from the suddenly overworked staff, but I just get a bowl of instant noodles to stem the hunger. No sense in alarming my bowels with solids so early in the game. 45 minutes later, we are packed in along with the other swine, back in our pens, and slip into the darkness of the night highway.

The day brings only two more rest stops (an average of a stop every eight hours!), one of them on the road for 10 minutes in the middle of nowhere. A flat and almost endless plateau, surrounded by very distant mountains provides my backdrop as I inhale the crisp fresh air outside. I notice a woman crouching in the ditch beside the bus, and cross to the other side to take a whiz. I stretch as much as possible before getting back on. As the bus starts off again, the peace my body felt at the stop is again interrupted by the bumping and jarring of the road. Sleep is very difficult, and during the night I was only able to grab a couple of hours of rest. My initial plan of staying occupied through writing is smashed, as it is impossible to make two words legible due to the constant jostling.

Wednesday, February 8

The night was rough, as I barely got any sleep at all, less than an hour for sure. It was freezing cold, the bumping got worse, and at times we were all thrown a foot into the air unexpectedly. I am extremely tired and worn, but even though my position hasn't changed, I am uplifted by the interesting scenery around me. We are travelling in a desert, with far away mountains ringed around us, and we sometimes pass large sand dunes. The scrub desert changes to a series of strange, "camel hump" dunes, each taller than a man but less than three square meters in girth. The land here is barren and unforgiving, but at least it is aesthetically pleasing.

YJ and I swap life experiences, helping us through the boredom and fatigue of the situation. I have survived on 3 meals of noodles in the past three days, as I ruefully eat some cookies at what must be our last rest stop. It is 9:30 pm, and I step outside to relieve myself in the darkness outsdie of the steamy-windowed restaurant.I gingerly walk around the human feces remains to the edge of the roadside driveway, where it shrply drops off about a meter and  a half into darkness. The smell of human excrement interrupts my reverie, and I pull my eyes away from the rare "moon ring" around the Earth's only natural satellite. I reboard the bus, and am told by YJ that there are rumours that we have another six hours to go, instead of one or two. I try to convince myself I can easily survive another 8 hours if necessary, but my sore ass and aching body disagree.

Thursday, February 9

Thankfully, we both sleep well, as on the last 6 or 7 hour stretch the road is good and flat highway. I awake at 2:30 am, and by 3:30 am, we have arrived. My aching back, cramped limbs and crushed spirit thrill at the prospect of leaving this prison. All the other passengers seem excited as well, most of them having been in Lhasa for work. Many are returning home to families they have not seen in months, and in some cases, years. The 58 hour bus ride is over.

A glorious experience of showering at a hotel ensues, and stretching out sprawled on a bed is a beautiful thing. I catch a few hours of sleep by 7 am, waking at 11 am and preparing for another arduous journey. Both YJ and I now head off to Chengdu station, to illegally gain access to a train somehow which can takes us on the Shanghai line. At this point, our odds look to be 50/50, but after survivng the bus, anything seems possible.

After buying two really cheap tickets just so that we can get into the FIRST area of the train station, we sit at a seat and plot our next move. Things are going downhill already, as we both note the increased security and police presence here, many checking people's tickets when they are just sitting there! I am also the only foreigner in a sea of Chengdu residents, their average height being 5'5", and I wade through like Larry Bird at a chinese press conference. I have the constant attention of a few thousand people, and thoughts of "sneaking in" are gone.

After entering the very secure gate at the correct time and place for our ticket, we begin searching (to no avail) for a Shanghai train. An hour later, we are hiding on steps wondering what to do, discussing our options for action. And suddenly, I get the bright idea to exploit my foreign presence here and fabricate a story: I have had my ticket stolen, just as I enetered here, and have no way to get back to work. I work on my "puppy dog eyes" look. YJ is not convinced it will work, and I have my doubts as well, but our options are extremely limited at this point, and I am desperate. I just need to get on a train!

Well, the plan works like a charm, as my truthfulness is never seriously questioned by the helpful women who have control over my entrance onto a train. Soon, YJ and I are sitting on a train, celebrating our amazing fortune and ballsy ploy. For some puzzling reason, the train leaves the station nearly empty, even though all the tickets are sold out and anyone would kill to get on. We take a seat at an empty table, faintly hoping for some kind of miracle to happen so we could sit the whole way back. But two hours later, we are told to take "our place" in an alcove between train cars, a spot that has been specially cleared for us by the staff who are sensitive to our terrible plight. The guilt I felt was nearly non-existant, as our little stools did little to assuage our uncomfortable accomodations. YJ and I huddled close to keep warm in the unheated area, and we prepared for the short trip of 36 hours. I'm coming home!

Friday February 10

Sleep comes fitfully, the small, hard fold-out stools a poor comfort for our tired bodies. I experience the feeling of bruising on my ass, and have to periodically stand up and stretch, as the many chinese surrounding us look at my little seat in envy. The train is crowded, and although it isn't the famous "green train" for the peasants, it is nonetheless filled with returning workers. Many are sleeping on the floor, sitting on mud, and two across from us are sleeping on potatoes, kept there as temporary storage. At three in the morning, I am awakened by obnoxious music from a girl's cellphone, and a short exchange follows. Hours later, as the conductors check tickets, she approaches YJ with a request to use her ticket (we had already been checked, having purchased tickets earlier on the train). Answering for YJ is a beautiful moment of karmic payback, and she skulks back into the crowd of milling people, never to bother us again.

My thoughts run again and again to my home in Wuxi. I miss the expansive bed, the warm, heated room, the western toilet, hot showers, and the less ignorant bystanders. I dream of Wuxi Pai Goo (sweet sauced pork ribs), a local specialty that I love. YJ has warm thoughts of large, private bathrooms, a warm bed, and her mother's half decent cooking. At her house, her grandmother and cousin (substitute brother, really) await her arrival, with as yet unopened red envelopes filled with money from the Chinese New Year. We chat wistfully about our crazy journey, and for short periods of time we doze off on our tiny seats, still better off than the few thousand standing zombies who try to sleep standing up.

The day drags on forever.

Saturday February 11

We try to sleep, but to no avail, as both of us are just to excited about our imminent return. It is still in the wee hours of the morning, and we are expected to arrive around 5am in Wuxi. The train is now very quiet, as the smokers and talkers have all dispersed into a dreamland of prone bodies, strewn throughout the aisles and seats in haphazard fashion. The longest four hours of my life pass by.

And then, I am stepping off the train with YJ, into the familiar confines of Wuxi station. The long, hard road has an end, my weary body and fatigued countenance will finally find real rest. Relieved beyond description, I carry my two heavy backpacks with sudden ease, reinvigorated with the knowledge of an empty, waiting apartment. Without analysing my current situation in the P.R.C., I come to a realisation:

I am home.