The Standing Train to Shanghai

by Hannah Chukwu (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

Making a local connection China

Typhoons throw you off course. They upchuck the landscape. They make things new. For me, a furious, unexpected typhoon meant every train I’d booked along the east coast of China was cancelled, and my single-entry visa from Hong Kong meant an overnight stay on the floor of Shenzhen’s colossal train station, amidst a clamour of uprooted families attempting to get home. A standing ticket on a 16-hour train to Shanghai a day later was my last hope of salvaging my trip, so I took it, uneasy at the prospect of the precarious journey ahead. Seated passengers eyed me warily as I tried to create a makeshift bed in the aisle of the train. Tucked between my rucksack and stranger’s shoes, I dejectedly stood up each time the food cart trundled down the corridor. On the way to the bathroom, I stumbled upon a group of men wedged together in the dingey smoking area who were laughing, playing cards and sharing food together in a den of tightly packed suitcases. They must have noticed me watching them, as one man reached out with a packet of salted nuts and asked, ‘Would you like to join?’ They told me they were commuters, who bought return standing tickets on this train every week to work in Shanghai. Over their numerous years of commuting together they had lots of stories to tell, and their friendships had cemented to become immovable and solid; an unlikely home from home. I flinched as the train shuddered through vast landscapes of felled trees and bulging pools of water that danced furiously as the wind picked up and lightning ripped through the air, but my companions were unfazed. Between unscheduled jerky stops and rainwater pouring through gaps in the windows, they joked about their employers and the formidable government; but their eyes softened as they mentioned the families they were working so hard for. The man who’d originally asked me to join opened Facebook on his phone to show me an article. I was shocked – Facebook hadn’t worked for me as soon as I crossed the border, and he laughed at my surprise. ‘Quiet revolution’, he murmured, and winked as he handed me the phone and we read together. As night closed in and the ground became an unbroken, inverted sea of stars, the group leaned against one another in the cramped enclosure to get some rest. Observing me scratching away in a notebook, my companion told me of someone he knew who became a writer after his rebellious paintings were discovered by the government and he was thrown into prison. When he was finally released annd came home to find his paintings destroyed by his captors, he couldn’t bear to pick up a paintbrush again, but began writing instead, as urgent as ever to create art that left an imprint on the world. ‘Deafening revolution.’, I offered, and he nodded, sadly. When our journey eventually ended, we emerged into the towering heart of the silver metropolis that is Shanghai city centre, our bones aching and grateful at the sight. As they left for their respective workplaces, I realised I had no idea where to go next, as the typhoon had entirely rerouted my plans. My new friends spoke with nostalgic wonder about a trip they had taken together to the Liu San Jie Light Show in Yangshuo. Li Jun explained: ‘The play is held on the Li River at sunset with over six hundred local performers that includes farmers, fishermen, children and even their animals. They perform in costumes that blaze with light, floating on boats that glide down the river. You will love it.’ I decided Yangshuo would be my next stop, thanked them for their kindness. As we parted ways on the station platform, we exchanged contact details and they urged me to promise I would contact them if I ever needed help during my stay in China. Touched, I realised I been welcomed into a rare community. One untimely typhoon threw me off course. It upchucked the landscape. It rerouted me, and miraculously, re-rooted me.