The Peripatetic.

Story adapted from emails written in March 2007.

First class train

Spring Festival 2007: nearly a quarter of the world (i.e. all of China) hit the road home to eat, set off fireworks, eat, be with family, and eat.  It’s Thanksgiving on crack; everyone is traveling to make it for the meals.

I spent the holiday at my Chinese teacher’s village in Hunan province, far far away from my apartment in Xi’an.  To get there, it took:

• 30 minutes to find a taxi to the village bus station,
• 3 hours on a bus to the nearest city, Changsha,
• a plane ride to Xi’an,
• a 30 minute bus from the Xi’an airport, and
• 10 minutes in a cab from the bus stop to home.  

I had to rush home to Xi’an to make a flight to Hong Kong, meet a friend, and make my connection to Sydney.  I could not afford to miss that connection.  I only had one day to make it to Xi’an before that flight.

My Xi’an roommates were all home for the holidays, the nearest one was four hours away, and I had given my apartment key to a friend who wanted to use it.  

He, in turn, left town and my key in the care of our Indian friend, Umesh.  When he texted everyone to say he was leaving town — and his phone only works within Xi’an city limits — I immediately replied asking about the key.  He said Umesh would have them.

I called Umesh, who assured me everything was fine, and he’d meet me at my apartment, key in hand.

I left my teacher’s home around 11am and showed up in Xi’an before midnight.  Umesh had been waiting for over an hour, but he was there and handed me a key that wasn’t mine, but I thought “Maybe after a month of travel, I’ve forgotten what my key looks like.”

I ran up our seven-floor walk-up, desperate for a restroom.  The key doesn’t work.  I call Umesh, “Yes, yes!  I have your key right here! There’s another one here.”  The other key is our friend’s house key, and Umesh was hoping that maybe his house key would work at my place.  Just maybe.  

It doesn’t.  Apparently, Umesh never heard anything about a key, and just grabbed whatever keys were lying around our friend’s house.

There was one other apartment on the seventh floor, and it was a woman with her teenage daughter.  I met them once, gave them some oranges, and we talked for a couple minutes before she went back to work. She said I shouldn’t have brought the oranges; she already had a bunch.  

It was around midnight, I was stuck with all my bags on the seventh floor, very desperate now for a restroom, with nothing nearby but apartments and no taxis.  My neighbor was my last hope.

More tomorrow.