Eric was chatty and we talked for some time about Russian/Sino/Mongolian politics and cultural differences. He asked if I played cards and produced a pack. I answered yes, but then thought about it and realised it was years since I'd played anything but cribbage. To my, initial, good fortune Eric asked me if I knew a game I could teach him. Then came the realisation that, in my current state of mind, I had know idea where, in the jumbled mess of a warehouse that is my brain, I'd put the jar with the rules and objectives of crib! Eric was a very intense and serious young man and he sat pensive, in anticipation of learning a new skill from a wise old teacher.
'Well, basically it's a game for two people. First we deal six cards each and then...' Could I remember the 'and then'? Like hell I could. I've been playing this game since I was about six years old and I couldn't even think of the objective! I fumbled around in my teenager's bedroom of a head and started to make up what I thought was the right game. I was, of course, wrong and as I started to recollect the correct rules I was amending them as the game progressed. Eric must have thought I was a consummate and unashamed cheat as every time he appeared to earn points, I would revise the rules or aim of our game, usually to his detriment.
We finished the first game in two hands (as anyone who plays crib will know this is impossible). Confessing the obvious, I started to re-configure my reckoning on the vagaries of the ancient game, much in the same manner as Eric shuffled the pack, and eventually settled on a close approximation of the correct rules. As we trundled across the Mongolian Steppe, watching mile after mile of white, cold, expansive landscape roll by, w e played a further six or so, much more likely, hands, all of which Eric won!
Arriving at Erlian, the Mongolian/Chinese border crossing, my earlier theories on the constitution on the train were confirmed. The train was, metaphorically speaking, chopped into four-carriage sized chunks and taken into a massive shed. Here, the de-coupled cars were lifted - passengers and all - by gigantic hydraulic jacks, about eight feet into to the air and clear of the bogies. These were then wheeled out from under the coaches and the replacements trundled in and aligned, ready for the whole kit and caboodle to be clipped back together like a Hornby toy. The whole process took about 30 minutes per carriage. However, even with four carriages being addressed at a time - and there were three sidings operating the process - it took nearly three hours to complete the process and get us on our way.
The final leg of my trans-siberian journey took me through Inner Mongolia and Hebei Provence before delivering me to my destination, Beijing. Capitol of The People's Republic of China and home to the 2008 Olympic Games, Peking Duck, some rich history and some amazing examples of early Chinese architecture. In particular, the Summer Palace - constructed in 1750. Just 20 years after the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg - in which place I truly felt I could say 'I've travelled from west to east on the longest rail journey know to man (except, of course the 06:18 Winchester to Waterloo on a Monday morning!). From the Winter Palace in St.Petersburg to the Summer Palace in Beijing!'
APPENDIX
Although, in theory, this spelt the end of my epic rail journey, to quote Winston Churchill 'This isn't the end. This isn't even the beginning of the end. It is the end of the beginning.'
Although the train from UB to Beijing was comfortable and quite new, the trains from there on through China were decidedly less so. My next leg was to take me from the capital to Xian so that I could visit the famous Terracotta Warriors. Boarding the train at Beijing South station was to be an infamous activity to say the least. I discovered that Chinese railway stations have a cunning plan to manage the large numbers of passengers that use the transport system. Rather than a single large concours, in which all passengers await notification of platform numbers, etc., there are a series of large 'waiting rooms' and access to the platform for any particular train is via to one of these. I found the waiting room quite easily, getting in was a different matter. The room was about half the size of a football pitch and contained some 2000 other travellers. I and my oversized rucksack pushed my way into the throng and tried to identify a sensible place to site myself. Sitting was out of the question, but, noticing the four platform gates were labeled for the appropriate train and their immediate successors, I joined the back of the line for the one showing the train before mine. My plan paid off and, once the passengers for the prior train had filed into the doorway, I found myself at the front queue for my train.
Unlike most of the TSR trip, this was a comparatively short overnight journey. The train was to depart at about 8pm and would arrive in Xian about 12 hours later. Once installed in my bunk, I rolled over and went to sleep quite quickly.
Overnight train travel, when you have such vast distances to cover, is a sensible and economical choice as you can combine journey time and a night's accommodation. It's also much cheaper than flying with the added bonus that, when its daylight, you get to see stuff. Northern China is a relatively arid landscape largely made up of heavily eroded sandstone plains and mountainous back drops. Most towns are being substantially 'modernised'. It looked as though much of the old, single story housing was being replaced by tall, uniform and utilitarian tower blocks. I had read about China's love of the bulldozer and here it was in action.
Xian to Nanjing was a similarly story and outlook, although the Xian terminal was much less fractious and I was able to sit to await my train. Nanjing is the old Chinese capital. Although still a large city, it has a more provincial feel to it than Beijing and the Old Quarter has been quite well preserved, if a bit if a tourist trap. Nanjing has a very sad recent past. In the late 1930's, when Japan invaded China, the city was subject to an horrific slaughter at the hands of the successors. Known as the Rape Of Nanjing, in the space of 2 weeks, over 300,000 men, women and children were systematically executed. Many of the women were raped and some forced to work in the Japanese 'happy camps'. The Japanese claimed that the reason for the killing was because they couldn't distinguish soldiers from civilians as many had discarded their uniforms. Two infamous Japanese officer had a competition known as the '100 heads challenge'. They reached their score so quickly that they revised the number upwards. In 1945, they and many of their fellow officers were tried and executed for war crimes and crimes against humanity.
I visited the Nanjing memorial museum with two guys I'd met at my hostel. One a tall Mongolian man and the other a young Japanese who, in atonement for his forefathers actions, had walked from Shanghai to Nanjing to pay homage. Along the way he had collected messages of peace, written on a t-shirt, and he wanted to give this to the museum in a gesture of reconciliation. Inside the museum, he was keen to read and see all of the exhibits. When we came out he was quiet and contemplative. I asked if he was ok and he replied 'yes! I'm very sad, but I'm happy I made the journey. It was very important'.
From Nanjing, I took a fast and comfortable train to Shanghai from Nanjing South station. In contrast to Beijing and Xian stations, this bright and new facility is more akin to an airport. High roofed, air conditioned and with comfortable seating, it was a world away from my other train experiences.
My next blogs will likely move away from a chronological view as I'm getting terribly behind. Keep an eye out for 'Sex and Drugs and Rock 'n Roll' coming up soon.
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