We went to visit the Public Security Office this morning. Our plan is to backtrack a little to the Suzhou, then take a trip down the Grand Canal to Hangzhou, from where we can pick up the train south to Canton – I suppose I should call that Guangzhou, but that’s far too many zhous – I’m sure Canton will do just as well. Val seemed to think we needed permission to take the canal trip, but I was rather doubtful. Ask an official for permission for something, + as like as not he’ll say no, just to cover himself. And sure enough, no is what was said. “It is not permitted to travel by boat from Suzhou to Hangzhou”, the young lady told me sweetly, even tho’ we’d met someone who’d made precisely that trip a month or so back. The situation may have changed, of course – it frequently does – but somehow I doubted it. I didn’t see that this refusal made any difference to our plans – if we still wanted to take the river trip, we could go out to Suzhou + give it a try.
We walked down from there to what was supposed to be the old French quarter of the city. During the colonial era, the city had been divided into various international concessions, territories which were administered by various European + Western powers, even down to the extent of using their own police force within them. I couldn’t say I could detect a French flavour to the area, but once shorn of the external trappings of French society – particular sorts of shops etc – would I be able to recognise a distinctive style of French architecture. Taken as a whole, the predominant style of the major buildings in Shanghai is American, of the 20s + 30s. There are several slightly smaller versions of New York’s Empire State, + I’ve subsequently met a Californian who tells me he seems to recognise the older parts of San Francisco in the city. The most spectacular display is along what was once called the Bund, the road that runs along the riverfront, where sit building after majestic building. What sort of brave new world was envisaged when they went up?
Once again we went to the restaurant at Yu Gardens, +, this time arriving early enough, were successful – a fine meal too. We decided over the meal to cut the ending of our Chinese adventure short, + head direct for Canton. We decided that, as we are both so tired + wound up, a plod thro’ the scenic attractions of yet another town would be a waste of time. It was a relief to make the decision + advance our departure from China by that much; the only thing which now hung over our heads was the buying of the tickets, a horrendous prospect which depressed us both hugely. But it had to be done, now or tomorrow, so the only thing was to get it over. So, as soon as we had finished our lunch, we caught the bus to the station.
The scene there was sheer chaos, with thousands of people milling around the sprawling + confused collection of buildings that make up Shanghai railway stn. No smart modern edifice this, with all its various sections reasonably clear. We fought our way back + forth thro’ the crowd several times, looking for something which vaguely resembled a booking office, but in vain – everyone we asked could only manage contradictory answers if any at all, so when we spotted a Western couple, we raced across to them. Raced isn’t right, but it conveys our sense of urgency. They at last provided information, even tho’ it wasn’t welcome. At the station one could only buy today’s tickets, apparently – for anything beyond one had to go to one of the booking offices. The best one for us was on Beijing Rd, right back where we had come from. So, back on the bus.
The booking office was no cosy + intimate establishment, but a huge hall. With many windows + long queues. But at least there was some organisation, for above each window was a list of the journey nos it was selling tickets for, plus the days, so after a quick perusal of the time-table book, Val was able to get in the right line. (It is generally Val who does these things, because she speaks a few more words of Chinese than I do, doesn’t get so flustered, + isn’t so affected by nervous tension at the mere sight of the place… tho’ in this last respect, she is rapidly approaching my own poor state.) But if we thought our troubles were over, we were mistaken. When Val reached the front of the queue, + submitted her request, it was not even given the briefest of considerations, she was turned down flat, + was afforded no more attention than being told she must go to Such + such a hotel… presumably the CITS office. There was one other window serving the same journey, so she tried that, only to meet, once again, with the same response.
After a consultation with me, she tried for 2 tickets just to Hangzhou, where we could get off, take a quick look around, + then buy new tickets onwards. The sad thing was the Hangzhou train was serviced by the same 2 windows, but there was nothing we could do about that. However, the result was the same – plain, flat refusal, even to discuss the matter. I even gave it a try, in case it was somehow Val’s face that put them off. Or maybe, if they saw that we were really determined… but no, it didn’t work, + I never believed it would, so I was beaten from the start. We were in despair – how on earth were we going to get a ticket? We had tried the station, we had tried the booking office, + we had no real intention of running around town looking for the CITS office, just to clobber ourselves with the tourist price. But our alternatives were limited. I did make a half-hearted attempt to buy it for us, but I didn’t have the request written down in Chinese, + the people I approached didn’t, or didn’t want to, understand.
But there was nothing for us there, so we walked to the Peace Hotel, Shanghai’s old luxury hotel, to see if they could give us some information. By chance, it was the one with the CITS office; obviously we had been told to come here, but had been given the Chinese name. So, for the hell of it, I gave it a whirl to see if we could buy a ticket or 2 – Val was in a condition of nervous exhaustion, so it was me or nothing. Buying a ticket, in fact, was no problem – selling tickets to foreigners was these guys job, but it was a good bit more tricky when it came to the Student Discount. My card was scrutinised, front + back, thoroughly. Then he wanted to see my passport, to see if I had actually been to Taiwan (what a good thing that smuggling trip was!), + then he asked me how long I had been studying there. This one I’d never encountered before, + it had me flummoxed – a bit like being asked your birth-date when you’re trying to lie about your age. So I blurted out September, the first thing I could think of, + tho’ it didn’t even nearly tally with the stamp in my passport, he seemed to be satisfied. (or at least, not dissatisfied enough to turn me down.) Then the cashier tried to charge me tourist price, + had to be reminded of my student status. “Sorry,” he said, with a knowing smirk. But it was done! Not perfect at all – hard seat, + for the day after tomorrow, but a ticket’s a ticket. Val could hardly believe it, + I felt as pleased as Punch about my own achievement.
We went off to celebrate with iced coffee + cake from a local cake-shop. And later got quite merrily pissed on 3 or 4 beers at the Seamen’s Club. I even paid in RMBs, much to their disgust.
A daunting day, but ultimately moderately successful. And maybe this is the last time we will have to encounter such Chinese truculence; it will be a huge relief.
