Connections

In China, it isn't so much who you are, as who you know. John and I have met a lot of great people here, but in effect, we know no one. Connections are imperative if you want to go places; and I mean that literally.

Again I am afraid I have to report on our lack of success at the ticket window. Our recent attempts at 'achieving transportation' have broken down the iron will I started with in Russia. Standing your ground here does no good. Oh yes there are tickets, but we may never see them, for we have no connections.

The train system in China seems absurd. Advanced bookings are not allowed beyond five days. And, you must purchase your ticket in the city in which you depart. You can't buy a ticket in Beijing, for example, for a train you will board in Xi'an.

We quickly learned that soft seats within two or three days of departure are bought up by travel agents and hotels. We tried three agents, and they all told us the same thing, "No seats!" That left us back at our hotel. Maybe they had tickets? But the same rules applied there - no tickets in advance of five days, and the soft seat tickets for departure dates within a day or two were all gone. We found it odd that no one ever consulted a computer screen to come up with the standard 'no seat' answer.

I'll get you tickets," Hunter said. We met Hunter in the hotel lobby. He is a young, eager, energetic 23-year old Chinese. "I know people," he went on. He was boasting; dropping hints that his brother was a policeman, that he ran a business in the Shaanxi province. he worked with an Australian, he had been to America. "We go to disco bar tonight to discuss it," he said.

The night manager at the hotel desk had connections too. "You give me 1200 yuan now for soft sleeper and come back tomorrow for the tickets," he said. "I'll call my friend." All of these connections of course come with a price tag. "A booking fee," the manager said. "A service charge."

John, ever the doubter, pointed to the phrase book "Beware of fake black market train tickets," he read. Had it come to this? Were we to resort to the black market to get to Kunming? Apparently so.

I wasn't keen on handing over the equivalent of $144 dollars with the promise of tickets to come. I stalled. "I don't have enough money on me," I lied to the manager. "I'll get it to you in the morning." This way we figured we had one more hopeful, yet probably futile attempt at the train station. Maybe a travel agent had turned in some unused tickets.

"You get the money to me before 8:30 in the morning," the night manager said, "and I get you tickets."

The train station was a waste of time, as I predicted; but we had to try, as did I presume the line of other travelers there. "No seats, no seats!" We all got the same reply. John pointed to ticket window #7. It was closed but transactions were taking place there. Chinese men would quickly walk to that window and shove something under the pulled curtain. As they walked away they shoved their hands in their pockets.

I told two very unhappy Norwegeins about our hotel manager. Maybe he had tickets to Beijing. Their Chinese visas were to expire in one day and they were desperate to get back to Beijing.

My good will netted them two tickets, but when I attempted to hand my 1200 yuan to the night manager, he pointed to the clock. It was 8:45. "Off duty," he said and pointed to the day manager. "Talk to him now." The day manager grinned. "Where you want to go?"

He only had two tickets left to Kunming. They were hard sleeper for the day after tomorrow. I turned to John to relay the new turn of events. Meanwhile another man approached the desk. "I need two tickets to Kunming as soon as possible," he said.

"The earliest is day after tomorrow," the manager replied. "I have two only left." Wait a minute. Those were to be my tickets to Kunming. "I'll take them," the man said, and in a heartbeat they were gone.

It didn't take long before the front desk was swarming with travelers. The same travelers that had been at the train station. I had to raise my voice to be heard over the mayhem. One person yelled to another. The manager made a phone call. "Yes, we have two tickets only left to Kunming for tomorrow," he said turning to me. Mysteriously two more 'only tickets left' had become available, and a day earlier than the other ones.

I handed over my money and took the receipt - a thin slip of paper ripped from a memo pad. He wrote three characters on it and the amount I had paid. "Pick up after 5:00 pm." he said. He was already scribbling for another traveler.

As I headed back to our room, dizzy from the exchange, John cornered the man who had been running between the travelers whispering, "Black market, black market. Only way."

"What about ticket window number seven?" John asked him. "What's going on with window number seven?"

"No, no! No ticket at window seven," the man replied waving his hand. "Window number seven closed." He looked far over John's head at another traveler entering the hotel then back at John. He lifted his chin, "Black market only way."