24. Popping balloons on a bull’s horns

The Karaoke bus arrived in Changchun a few hours later and once out the door, I had to ask the driver where we were. The street was full of vegetable and fruit markets, hardware stores, livestock in cages and cyclists thundering past. Buildings in all directions were a mixture of the tall and modern and those in near ruin. There were no street signs to be seen. The bus hadn’t stopped at the station, rather on a street nearby so my map would be useless until I knew where I was.

“Huoche zhan zai nar?” I asked the driver, enquiring where the train station was. With his nose buried in the freight compartment, he replied that he was from Haerbin and didn’t know.

“Qiche zhan zai nar?” I asked this time, enquiring where the bus station was. Still digging bags out of the compartment, he replied by saying something like “Around the corner” without pointing or suggesting which corner he meant. He was avoiding the hassle of trying to explain directions to a foreigner for five minutes so I gathered up my backpack and walked down the street hoping I was heading west.

I kept an eye out for any street signs and landmarks such as the bus and train stations. The early afternoon sun was blocked by the zillion tonnes of pollution in the sky and with no shadows cast to suggest compass directions, I was lost. I got to a major road before changing direction having missed any signs or clues to follow so I turned what I guessed would be north.

After walking for five minutes, the feeling of burning flesh on my neck suggested the sun was at my back, which I concluded meant I was going east, away from the train station. According to the map, three main streets led to the station, one from the west, one from the south, and one from the southeast. I reckoned I was facing southeast so spun around and walked for ten minutes to the major intersection in front of the train station. Around the corner, there was a hotel.

After paying the inflated room charge, I fell into the wonderful, slightly hotter than lukewarm shower. It was bliss. I didn’t bother asking at the front desk if there was a laundry service. If the room rate was any indication, it would near bankrupt me.

Dwelling on the future options I had penned in my notebook, I went across the road to get a train ticket. I wanted to continue travelling but also preferred to be in a good frame of mind while I did so. I was aware that I had been pissed off, non-stop, for days now. I think I had slept pissed off.

I couldn’t find any available rides to Beijing for three days but there was a bunk available the following day for Shanghai. From there, I could sort out my flights home. I stood at the ticket counter with my notebook of different itineraries open and considered bussing south. A lady standing in line offered me her suggestions, not that I understood them, and I decided to go home.

With tickets to Shanghai in my wallet, I walked to a restaurant across the road. I shared a table with a family as there was no other seat available and we all looked up as four heavily armed soldiers or policemen walked in and ordered meals. Dressed in dark blue uniforms similar to USA police’s SWAT teams, these guys looked like the real deal, highly trained and waiting for their next mission. They carried helmets and black ammunition belts while wearing what looked like Kevlar bullet-proof jackets.

Their rifles were much more modern than the standard issue for the usual guards found at embassies, military compounds and museums throughout the country. Three men slung their firearms over shoulders while the fourth leaned his against the counter when he had to reach into his wallet for some money.

They all looked around the room trying to look staunch, which wasn’t difficult, and eyed up everyone eating, now quietly, in the restaurant. When their eyes settled on me everyone else in the restaurant glued their gaze on me too. One of the soldiers pointed his rifle at me without placing his finger on the trigger, and spoke to his mates as I stared down the barrel. They all responded with laughter while a cold shiver went through my body. I stayed quiet, munching away on my chicken noodle thing and sipping my drink until only ice was left.

Their meals arrived at the counter in brown bags and they walked past slowly on the way to the door, still interested in my dining techniques, chatting and smirking to themselves. I looked up at them smiling with a gob full of chicken and noodle, the friendliest guy in the world. The guy who pointed his gun at me smiled back warmly. As the door closed, there was a collective sigh of relief from everyone sitting nearby and I felt myself join in.

I was never in danger, but having the serious end of a serious piece of hardware pointed at me was indescribably harrowing. While I didn’t really feel paralysed with fear, I did come close to shitting bricks.

That evening, I slumped on the hotel bed, tired and alone. I wanted to get home, or more importantly, away from where I was. Hiding was allowed tonight. I wouldn’t beat myself up for it this time.

I switched on the television to waste the evening, as reading wasn’t on the cards. I hadn’t been that interested in Chinese television before, since it was usually crappy music and theatre shows that failed to entertain me. If I understood anything it may have been more entertaining. Alas, I would normally channel surf the night away, but this night there was a game show on that completely captured my attention.

Teams from countries including France, Romania, and China squared off in random tests of general sporting ability. Two of these tests were beyond what I would describe good taste, yet I couldn’t look away.

The first contest had participants running from side to side in an arena carrying objects to score points, the test being avoiding the raging bull being roused into action by constant horns and trumpets being blown. The bull was young with its horns dulled, but it was still dangerous. As men got flattened, jumped up and climbed onto the cage and sometimes dodged the beast, the commentators shrieked with cries of joy when the bull’s big hits landed.

Another test had the bull running around to the sound of horns and trumpets again, but this time, instead of dodging it, the contestants had to pop balloons on its horns. They ran in unwaveringly, trying to pop as many balloons as possible before time ran out. The contestants copped it a few times, but for the most part the bull ran around in complete bewilderment, huffing and puffing and looking extremely stressed out. I was drawing parallels between this and my current life situation, although I couldn’t figure out if I had more in common with the people popping balloons in maybe the stupidest way ever conceived, or with the bull suffering a very public nervous breakdown.

After the game show, I channel surfed until I saw the infomercial for the ages. The new product, designed to help women’s breasts grow, had maybe the cheesiest and best advertisement ever made. The models rubbed gel made from a root-plant on their breasts twice a day for a month then put on a padded bra, and voila, they had a well-earned C-cup.

On the ad, women compared breast size frequently, and those with larger breasts who had used the gel were happy, while the women with small breasts looked away dejectedly. A boyfriend was caught looking at another woman’s breasts and got in trouble with his small-breasted girlfriend. To apologise, he bought her the root-plant gel and was instantly her hero again, earning him a kiss. Pure genius. I wish this could be the way the female psyche worked.

Before I went to sleep, the phone rang.

“Ni yao xiaojie?” the receptionist enquired, offering me a girl.

“Bu yao,” I responded more out of habit than actually considering the offer.

The next morning was spent reading and shopping for food for the train before going to the station across the road. Once the train was on the move the next afternoon, I lay on my bunk watching the crop fields go by until the daylight turned dark. I spoke to no one. I was an island. I was unreachable. I was making the first step of my journey home.