The advance guard

The light & airy interior.

When I wake, it’s after 9:30am.

There’s no sign of the older man who let me in last night, but the younger guys are still here. They’re friendly and smiley and seem to harbour no hard feelings for the rude disruption of their sleep.

They prepare a hot breakfast of noodles with spicy tofu stirred through them, rolled up meat medallions, possibly pork, and some sort of mildly spicy vegetable.

Asking about my plans for the day, I say that I’d like to rest up if possible. My knees are a bit sore from the climb and I’ve still got a long way to go. No worries, they say. I’m welcome to stay another night, and when they head into town later they’ll pick up provisions for another home cooked meal.

I’m impressed that these young Chinese men are so domesticated. I once had a female Chinese flatmate who lacked even the basic DIY skills, so I’d flippantly projected her deficiencies onto all Chinese youth. In hindsight that seems like a very broad generalisation.

I learn that the pair are colleagues rather than brothers. They seem quite comfortable here, but there’s a strong sense that they’re the advance guard, waiting for something to happen.

They rattle around in two large buildings, which are modern and weatherproof. Their kit-set tables, stools and portable heaters lend an air of impermanence to their setup, as if the building is on loan from its usual tenants. Long corridors connect light and airy spaces, better suited to curious minds. The battery of bunks, at least, needs a few more bodies.

Taking it easy

With a pretty good idea of what lies outside the thick, insulated walls of the makeshift hostel, I embrace a day at the computer.

Sun streams in through the large aluminium windows, reinforcing my decision to recharge.

I’m not very far through my trip and I’ve still got a lot of ground to cover. My Chinese visa allows for a full three months, but I only have half that if I’m to make my collegial connection in Hong Kong.

A train trip is looking like an increasingly attractive option. I could even leave the Troll somewhere and come back and get it after Hong Kong, although that might require organising a new visa. But then I’d have the freedom to go all the way down to Laos, or visit friends in Guangzhou, then maybe go west. There are definitely options and I don’t have to be rigid in my plans or risk burning myself out.

Communications

My decision to spurn Facebook and publish my own blog has resulted in a communications black-out.

I’m keen to get something up for my curious Kiwi friends, most, if not all of whom have never set foot outside the major Chinese cities.

But I’m questioning my decision to do brain dumps into Voice Memos. While these are a highly practical solution for quickly freeing up headspace, they are creating a content backlog of biblical proportions. All of the audio will need to be transcribed into text, before it can be edited and summarised in my blog. Saving time at one end will require a great investment at the other. It’s a maintenance nightmare.

My phone rings and it’s my parents. It’s a welcome distraction and it’s good to hear from them. I’m losing track of time and can’t remember when we last spoke. They sound like they are missing me and tell me about an upcoming trip to Palmerston North. It’s a two hour drive from my home town, but a major undertaking for a couple in their late seventies. They’ve received my postcard from Manzhouli and, reading my mind, they’re going to deposit a little money into my bank account for Christmas. But this makes me feel a little uneasy, as I’ve been focussed on my own needs and haven’t been actively searching for souvenirs with which to reciprocate.

Next, there’s an email from my ex. Apparently, she’s found a new boyfriend, a recently returned bike tourist. I’m in a good space at the moment, so this doesn’t phase me. Of course I’m a bit sad, but onwards and upwards Dan, onwards and upwards.

And finally I receive a message from Chelmeg, who tells me that the town I am staying in is named Tomortei (Tumu’ertaizhen). Apparently there are many ancient volcanoes here and in twenty years they will erupt. Too much information!

Sharing is caring

Select a photo to display

Keyboard instructions

• Navigate with: LEFT + RIGHT arrows
• Select with: ENTER
• Enlarge with: TAB then ENTER
• Pan with: TAB x2 then LEFT + RIGHT arrows

Dinner and drinks.

The older young guy.

The younger young guy.

Chilling translation.

It transpires that all three men work for The China South Locomotive Group.

The older of the younger two has a familiar face, perhaps indicating that people from his region are more likely to immigrate to New Zealand.

Both of them have smart phones, with translation apps easing our desire to communicate. This also eases my mind about leaving my electronics lying about, remnants of my previous wealth which I am not ready to part with.

Less concerned with personal things, the men prepare some delicious dishes to share. One contains spicy chicken, capsicum, garlic and ginger. Another, marinaded tofu and boiled greens. And these are accompanied by steamed buns, strips of raw-potato-like things, and the tofu chilli sauce, which stick to one’s food like napalm.

Then we bond over shots of delicious but strong rice-wine alcohol. A little bit like sake, a little bit like schnapps. Each drink accompanied by the obligatory Cheers! and Ga-ee-bei!, the phrases becoming less formal the further we progress through one-and-a-half bottles.

The Son Uncle

When we are inappropriately intoxicated, they suggest that we go and visit the Son Uncle.

We detour past the operations’ nerve center, a room containing a computer and a diagram of electrical circuitry.

It transpires that this is the older man, who lives in his own room in the other building. Slipping into my alpaca slippers and their heavy green visitor coat, I make a strange sight as we crunch our way across the snowy yard. Passing the undisturbed Troll, we enter the other building to the racket of raucous reverberations, the opening and closing of doors booming through the empty chambers.

The man lives in a large modern room and appears to be in good health.

I’m carrying a bottle of Pepsi, a peace offering which the younger guys gave me to give to the old man. He is glad to receive it, and offers me a seat and a cigarette, which I partially accept. Repeatedly thumbing the ignition wheel of his Zippo, he lights his own, and we commence our awkward conversation.

It’s awkward because he’s doing all the talking, with the younger men mainly humming to agree as appropriate. With his rapid, whispered speech, guttural intonation, intermittent throat clearing and deep sighing, his assured delivery is consistent with wise people from ancient cultures the world over. It seems like even if I could speak his language my input would be childlike at best.

But the younger pair are keen to involve me, so we pass smartphones between us, while the old man privately reflects on our pitiful dependence on technology. I do my best to explain the circumstances under which we met, my misidentification of the building as a motel, and to convey my thanks for his help. But asking and answering questions via the keyboard is tedious, and isn’t helped by Google Translate, which only gets the translations half right, this assumption verified by translating from English to Chinese and then back again. This causes increasing amounts of frustration, progressing to under-my-breath swearing, which I hope is incomprehensible.

A long thirteen minutes later, I’m relieved when we finally stand to leave. But I’m also regretful that we’re leaving the old man on his own. I don’t really understand his situation, but, isolated from the others, he seems retired and forgotten, a dusty curiosity. It’s probably the alcohol, but I suddenly feel very dispirited. Compared to all the hospitality that I’ve received, the old man just gets a bottle of Pepsi and thirteen minutes tolerating my ramblings.

Sensing that something is wrong with me, I tell the guys that I’m sad, but they say that that’s just how it is. Perhaps class dynamics are at work, perhaps the man is illiterate, but surely love is universal.

Downbeat

Beer and nuts.

Returning to our room, we switch from spirits to beer.

But the toasting unfortunately continues. Apparently the only way to drink here is to skull it, so you can forget about quietly nursing a beer as you might do back home.

Anyway, my mood gradually improves and I break out my travel speaker and even play them some of my own Panoramica (opens new window). It’s reassuring to hear some sounds from home.

When I’m sick of skulling I call it a night and my hosts thankfully permit me to stop.