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Published: July 28th 2005
Getting on the train from Shanghai to Xiamen was fast...too fast. I underestimated the traffic congestion in Shanghai of course, and when the taxi driver heard when my train was leaving (8:40am), he suggested I take a motorcycle taxi instead. I insisted he just try getting there fast, and he did (honking the whole way of course). With 3 minutes to departure time, I ran from the taxi through the security (luckily the usual long lines had not formed at this early hour, although I did push my way through the line like the best of them locals) and ran through the station. In passing I noticed the billboard said my train has stopped boarding. Nonetheless I ran to it as fast as I could, somehow getting the right berth. The gates had already close, but another backpacker was doing the same as me, and somehow she (a European college student I presumed) convinced them to let us through (remind me to tell you my conspiracy theory that white people sometimes get better treatment than Chinese in China; the reverse is true in some situations). The conductor ran with us, telling us to hurry up into the train. I flip-flopped with my backpack like a fat goose ready to take off, and as soon I got unto the train (I was the last person getting on of course), a security guard came running, yelling "money money" in Chinese. Since I always kept my bag shut tight, I assume the European was the one who lost her money. Then I noticed the money handled to the conductor was Korean won. IT WAS MINE! (for some reason no bank in China would exchange the Southy Korean won...is it their anti-communist stance? or high inflation? someone tell me) So the conductor asked me to identify the contents, and I rattled off the plane tickets I had and the Korean wons. She gave it to me. Somehow I had dropped all of my plane tickets (to Africa and Europe and back to US), $125 worth of wons, and other paper work. IDIOT!!! How did it fall out, I am not sure. More important, I am so lucky they returned it to me (stopping the train and running the whole way too). I was high from running and now happy I had recovered such important things. It was quite a weird feeling, not sure if I should be happy or mad at myself. Ultimately I relished the joy for several hours. Having given food and money to beggars in China has actually paid off. I will need to give more later.
After 26.5 long hours on train (which was scheduled for 24 hours) and finishing off two novels, I finally got to Xiamen, in my ancestral province of Fujian (or Hokkien). Somehow I felt like the train was a time machine and dropped me off in Taiwan (where I lived until I was nine) but 20 years ago. The local dialect, Fukkienese, sounds just like my native dialect, Taiwanese. This is no coincidence since, like me, most Taiwanese people came from Fujian within the last several generations. Xiamen is well developed for Chinese standards (not up to par with Shanghai or Taipei yet), but there is no subway. I decided I wanted to stay near the harbor, and after 2 hours of finding bus and hotel, I checked into my room that was more expensive and less satisfactory than what I had in Shanghai.
By thye time I was ready to go out again, it was 1:30pm. I went back to the train station to catch a bus. Bad idea (I should have gone to the long-distance bus station). I bought a ticket from a stall (bad idea as usual in touristy spots) after being reassured it'd only takes an hour to Quanzhou, and next thing I know the vendor takes me on a local bus. We got off that bus and waited for a mini-bus. Uh oh. I thought I had a ticket for a luxury bus since the ticket was 30 yuan. The mini-bus circled Xiamen for like an hour trying to pack the mini-bus before going to Quanzhou, which is an hour away and has a pagoda I wanted to see (I had written a paper about it in college). Two movies on the mini-bus and innumerable stops later, the signs started saying Quanzhou. But we never saw the downtown area (the mini-bus turns out only goes to the outskirts of Quanzhou on its way to Fuzhou, another city farther north). By this time it was 6pm and the pagoda is closed. Finally the environment is looking more and more rural and asked the guy next to me where is Quanzhou. He laughed and said we passed it a while ago. WHAT??? I ran off the mini-bus and found myself along a highway where motorcycle drivers are swarming to give me a ride. I waved them off, with a vision of motorcycle accident and my money and passport strewn all over the highway for kids to steal. I was hungry, my stomach hurts (from a stomach bug I caught days ago), totally stick and sweaty in the immense heat, and I had no idea where I was. No taxi in sight. I was furious and a little scared. How did this happen??? What kind of a homecoing is this? I also recall the mini-bus mentioning in a phone call that they are not going back toi Xiamen tonight. Am I stuck here, hours from my bed and belongings?
As I stormed back toward Quanzhou on foot, I spotted another min-bus that says Quanzhou. It stopped to let off a family, but the lady waved no as I tried to get on. Murphy's Law. I kept going, and another mini-bus approached. I waved and it actually stopped. I asked the ticket lady to call me when we get to a bus station. She gave me a funny look and then said okay. A sign said 12 km to Quanzhou. I am glad i did not walk. The final stop turns out to be the Quanzhou east bus station. It just closed when I got there. Oh great, is there a bus to Xiamen left tonight? I waved off more motorcycle drivers, and waited a while for a taxi. When I found one, I said I wanted to go to the Main Bus Station, and he asked which one. I said the one for Xiamen, and he said okay, and that I can always catch a taxi from there. Okay so I do have an option tonight, albeit an expensive one. Then I said where is the pagoda (at Kaiyuan Temple), and he said straight ahead. A short taxi ride, but yes I was finally back in civilization. I walked around the temple and wondered if any of my ancestors had ever visited it. (I am not sure which city in Fujian my ancestors had come from, and my dad gave me different answers each time I asked. Once he said Quanzhou, so I am sticking with that one.) I then walked around the outdoor market area, which reminded me of Taiwan. The dialect, the food, tacky stalls, the architecture, all reminicent. I wonder how many generations back on the family tree am I from these people.
I breathed a sign of relief when I got to the main bus station that there was a bus to Xiamen at 8pm. I bought a ticket and waited. A pretty little girl carrying a big plastic bag picked up a empty plastic bottle from waiting passengers after politely asking them, and then the cleaning woman screamed something at her and then slapped her. The girl started crying loudly and walked away. I felt so sad. Here she was, bullied over a cheap empty bottle. I felt so sad. Suddenly all my troubles today seemed trivial. I could have been her, if in a split second a hundred years ago my ancestors had changed their mind about moving to Taiwan. Of the billions of Chinese people in world, I count myself lucky to have been among the 21 million born in Taiwan, and again luckier to have been among the thousands who became US citizens, and then luckier yet to have been multiply college-educated. Back to the task at hand, it took me another hour and two buses later to find my way back to the hotel. I was tired and soon grew wary of being in Fujian. I somehow do not feel a deep connection with this place. Maybe sleep would help.
The next day I watched a TV program about the fisheries restoration program they are implementing in Xiamen. The environmental movement here in China is more advanced than I ever expected. And then another program advertised business development in another city in China, mentioning that they streamlined the permitting process so that necessary documents, including environmental impact evaluation, could be obtained in a day. Amazing. Back home in California, environmental impact reports I wrote could take up to a year or more (and I worked fast).
This morning I went to Gulun Island, a short ferry ride from the harbor. The island was leased to foreigners (British, Portugese, etc., with police force made up of Sikhs from India) long ago and has a decidely Mediterrean/Fujian mix of architecture. I wandered around, watched a bird show (saw one of my favorite birds, the Manchurian crane, that is often depicted in Chinese and Japanese paintings), took a cable car, and watched panoramic views of Xiamen and Ximen (under Taiwanese administration). On my ride back, the ferry was packed with groups from Taiwan, all from the Huang clan who are on a special ancestral visit, based on the caps they wore. My own people (my last name is also Huang, although it is the fourth most common last name in Taiwan)! Maybe I am home after all. I am happy about Fujian again.
Today I am off to Guangzhou. Stay tuned!
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Steven Wanderlust
Steven Huang
on writing back
hi folks...it's been hard to write back to people, since my yahoo account is extremely slow in China and today I can't even pull it up. I will write back later!