“Dog Eats Dog: A Story of Chinese Railway Stations”
First train travel in China
We arrived in Shanghai by plane, final destination Nanjing, and a lovely student, Yanfen, met us and got us on the airport bus to Shanghai main railway station, a trip that took about 1.5 hours.
Then the fun with crowds began. “A seething mass of humanity” ceases to be a string of words, a cliché, and becomes a pulsing reality. We, plus thousands of others, pass security into the station, then into the waiting area for our train to Nanjing, shared with three other train departures—an enormous cavernous hall with rows of metal seats. It got more and more crowded as people amassed: a few bring their own collapsible stools, some sit on the floor, more and more bags, boxes and stuffed packets also get dumped on the floor until it’s virtually impossible to move. One train departure is announced and a sea of people surge out, wave after wave.
When it’s close to our time, people start to ready: they squeeze, jostle, push and shuffle into a “line” at least 20 deep and when the door is opened to the corridor to the platforms, the free-for-all begins—push, shove, stride, trip, bump into others as everyone tries to gain passage. We’re sucked along in the “sea of humanity”, fortified by a rolling suitcase that protects us on one side. Up some stairs, down some stairs—we couldn’t stop now even if we wanted to—and we’re on the platform, our student way ahead of us, a veteran of navigating crowds, obviously! We have 3 reserved seats, luckily, so no problem there.
We’re on a D train, the fastest type right now in China (the high-speed rail—a C train will debut between Shanghai and Nanjing next month). It’s electric, a/c and on time and we’re impressed. The only problem is that it’s grossly overcrowded, people clogging the gangways and corridors, so it’s impossible to move. Off the train in Nanjing, on the platform and exiting the concourse, the surging mass is larger, more pushy, if that’s possible. We’re hemmed in, swept along, and trying to keep our student in sight. The goal: the taxi rank.
Now comes a real eye-opener on human behavior for us. It’s a crowded Friday night, it’s pouring outside, and thousands want to catch a taxi. There’s a system of sorts but it’s so over-crowded that saying it works is a real stretch of the imagination. Taxi Lanes A, B, and C are separated by metal bars in a vast concrete hallway and people push and shove into one of the lanes. No-one is polite, each intent on getting into the line and then getting forward. Bump, push, shuffle. Push, inch forward in the still, humid air. Shove, shuffle. We’re like tightly-packed cattle in holding pens. Move forward a few inches. Stop, get elbowed in the back, and bumped by the suitcase behind. Taxis roar up to the curbside, tantalizing through the window way ahead, but not enough and not quickly enough.
An hour passes as we inch forward and then we discover that the three lanes end and merge into one, turning sharp left. Now the jostle for space and a way to get into the one line becomes a real fight. Rod whispers behind me “Push your suitcase into that small opening”, so I do: it’s the thin edge of the wedge, our way into this new line. I’ve staked my space with my case and as I wiggle my body in too, I begin to laugh. Rod laughs too, at this whole absurd situation. The local people around us stare as though we are crazy, but then smile. I laugh even more, partly from exhaustion, but partly in realization that we’ve succumbed to “When in Rome…”, although here it’s China. We’ve just pushed and shoved for our survival in this taxi line—a metaphor for survival in China and its crowds, perhaps.
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