This is Part 2 of a series of posts about my trip from Changchun (长春), where I lived and worked last year, to the Liaoning (è¾½å®) Province. Check out the other parts of the story as I get around to writing them:
The travel agency had told us the seven a.m. departure time would be strictly observed, and en route to the departure point we knew that we’d be arriving late. No one had woken up on time, we couldn’t find a cab, there was an argument with the driver about the best route to take–and now there was a palpable sense of worry in the cab that our all-inclusive trip had been flushed down the toilet.
The taxi screeched to a stop at 7:05 in front of entirely empty buses. The tour guides welcomed us, Don’t worry, your bus didn’t leave. In fact, you’re the first to arrive!
They gave us our seat numbers and we climbed aboard the impressive bus. There was air conditioning and drop down televisions and curtains that opened and closed across the tinted windows.
After a half hour of waiting for the other passengers to arrive we realized that Cindy and I had left most of our groceries at home and had brought a baguette, jerky, spicy sausages and shrimp-flavored rice cakes. While we waited for passengers I imagined our impending halitosis-filled bus ride.
The bus didn’t end up leaving for another hour and a half, during which there was nothing to do but check out the members of the tour group as they came aboard.
The other passengers were a mix of families and older people. We were the youngest people traveling by ourselves on the tour. Here’s a photo of me with one of our fellow travelers:
Our tour guide was a skinny college student who was guiding his first tour and lost his balance and fell down the steps of the bus the when he stood to make a Welcome! announcement.
The most entertaining of the passengers was the only guy who wouldn’t sit in his assigned seat.
I noticed him when he got on the bus because he had a pair of spy-grade binoculars around his neck and was wearing a baseball cap which looked like it had been run over by a tractor trailer. By his appearance and mannerisms one could guess that he had a developmental disability. Just like the mildly retarded in America he wore stained khaki trousers that flapped freely a little above his ankles and were lewdly awkward at the crotch.
He was the only person traveling alone, and his assigned seat was a crappy one–in the middle of the back row. He ignored it to sit next to the window, where he could put his binoculars to use. During the drive he discovered that the rear window slid open, providing an entirely unobstructed view of the countryside, but also creating a vacuum that sucked all the conditioned air from the bus.
The driver finally kicked over the engine and we quickly were out of Changchun and in the countryside. Other than when we drove through tunnels, there was never a time during the eight hour ride we didn’t see corn being grown. No hillside was too steep or rocky to host at least a few stalks of corn.
Farmers worked their fields by hand and with horse-drawn plows and carts. Occasionally you’d see their houses, which were single story brick or stone buildings with back yards enclosed by high stone walls. Each back yard had a plum tree in full bloom. On the hills close to the houses were family graves; tall and narrow headstones with glittering streamers tied to them to scare away evil spirits.
During the first leg of the journey there were no fewer than a half-dozen times when the bus started to warm up and the bus driver got on the intercom to say, “Close the goddamn window, you’re letting all the cold air out!” I’d look back through the window to see a pair of binoculars retracting inside the bus and hear the window slide closed.
Thanks for getting around to writing this up, sir!
You’re welcome, I’m awful glad you read it.