Holy intermodal transportation, Batman!
JISHOU, HUNAN, Sept. 2 — I planned my departure from Kong Kong carefully, but the actual trip was not as smooth as I had expected.
Given my available funds, and time remaining before classes started here, I decided to fly in to China instead of taking the train. There are no direct flights from Hong Kong to Zhangjiajie, the nearest airport to Jishou. Those flights leave from Shenzhen, so I had to figure out how to get there.
Conveniently enough, there is a coach that departs every half hour from Hong Kong that takes you to a special transfer point. The immigration controls for both Hong Kong and China share the same building, which straddles the border. After leaving there, you board another coach that shuttles you to the airport.
Even more conveniently, for me, the ChinaLink Bus Company leaves from the Elements shopping mall right above a Hong Kong MTR stop (Kowloon station). So, all I needed to do was walk a half block from my hotel to the MTR station at Yau Ma Tei, transfer at Central station on Hong Kong Island (yes, you do not have to take the Star Ferry to cross Victoria Bay!), get off at Kowloon station, go up one floor and walk a short distance to ChinaLink’s depot across from Starbucks.
[My alternate plan was to take the MTR to the intercity rail station, take a train to Shenzhen's rail station, then buy a ticket to Jishou. I rejected this plan, because it would have required an overnight train. As things turned out, it would have made no difference.]
So, set out from the hotel around 11 am, pulling a 20-kg bag and carrying a 10-kg shoulder bag down the street to the Yau Ma Tei station. There are two flights of stairs from street level there to the station proper, so lugging all this gear was not all that pleasant, but doable. The fare to the Kowloon station is HK$4, or about 50 cents. I arrived at the ChinaLink depot in time to board the 12:30 out. Cost for the coach: HK$100, or about US$13.
Around 1 pm, we arrived at the transfer point. I had to fill out a departure card for Hong Kong immigration, which took a few minutes, and got my passport stamped quickly after that. At 1:12, I walked over a yellow line marking the boundary between Hong Kong control and Shenzhen control, walking into mainland China for the first time. Two Chinese immigration officers took their time carefully comparing my visage with my passport photo, now eight years old, eventually deciding that the guy in the picture must be the same one standing in front of them.
In 10 minutes, I was in another coach, which played a melange of soft rock from the US and China, bound for Shenzhen airport. (There’s something eerie about hearing Dan Fogelberg on a bus in China …)
[Shenzhen is a boom town. According to Internet sites, it was once a little cowtown on the Guangdong border with Hong Kong. In short order, the Chinese turned little Shenzhen into a teeming metropolis, with air, highway, bus, rail, and shipping connections, with high rise buildings going up everywhere and shipping containers stacked to the skies.
ThinkPads and iPods are assembled here. So are watches; Shenzhen is reputed to be the watch-making capital of the world. It is China's second-busiest port, after Shanghai. Hong Kong residents cross the border daily to shop here, since Chinese prices are far below Hong Kong's.]
At 2 pm, we arrived at the airport, where I loaded my bags onto another free (!) luggage cart to find the ticket desk of China Southern Airways. My intention was to buy a ticket to Zhangjiajie, arriving that night. One big problem: that flight, the ticket agent told me, doesn’t fly on Saturdays. I’d have to wait a day for the next scheduled flight.
Uffda. My choices were stay in Shenzhen overnight, then catch that flight, or continue on somewhere else. I knew Changsha, the provincial capital of Hunan, had several trains leaving for Jishou every day, so I decided moving was better than staying another night in a hotel. I bought an economy seat to Changsha, leaving at 3:10, for 860 yuan, or about US$125.
This flight, in an Airbus 320, took about 90 minutes. I arrived in Changsha, collected my luggage, and found the shuttle bus to central Changsha. Cost: 17 yuan, or about US$2.50. (As with all the coaches I had ridden so far, this one had comfortable, airline style seats, and air conditioning.) The terminus for this shuttle is the Civil Aviation Hotel.
By now, it was raining a fair lick, so most of us passengers waited inside the hotel lobby, or under its awnings outside, for the downpour to slacken a little. Once I ventured outside the safety of the hotel, I was mobbed by taxi drivers wanting my business. They were pretty insistent, but I knew from The Rough Guide to China that the train station is just a few blocks from the hotel. I’d rather walk in the rain, thanks.
Once I approached the station (an imposing building that looks like it should be a train terminal, 
with a big clock on top), an intrepid local pounced on me, offering to tote my heavy bag for 10 yuan. I figured, why not. He couldn’t go far lugging that monster on his shoulder. The two of us trudged through the crowds toward the terminal entrance.
Now this fellow either didn’t travel much in the train, or he assumed I already had a ticket, because we walked right past the ticket office. I’m used to US rail stations, where you buy your tickets in the same building as the trains stop. The Changsha ticket office is outside the actual terminal, in a shopping-center-like wing adjacent to the station. My porter and I went through the security checkpoint at the station entrance before we both finally realized that tickets are outside.
The ticket office was organized chaos. The Chinese are not real good at queuing up calmly and orderly. It’s more like everyone for himself. (City street traffic is like this, too.) I was able to pronounce “Jishou” (吉首 are the first Chinese characters I learned. You need to be able to read the departure board!) clearly enough for the woman at the ticket window to issue me a ticket. I did not successfully convey the idea that I wanted a sleeper, however. So, I got a soft seat for 82 yuan, or US$12.
Not ideal, but after sitting in an overly firm airline seat for 15 hours, I figured 8 hours in a train seat could not be much worse. I’m still debating that point with myself.
Departure time was 10:58, so I had a three-hour wait. Not too bad.
Imagine, however, if all the driving commuters and airline passengers in your hometown had to take the train instead. Add to that the busy schedule of the Chinese rail network, which boggles my imagination. Trains arrive and depart from Changsha every 20 to 30 minutes or so. I would wager, then, there were probably ten of thousands of people teeming inside the huge Changsha station while I waited for my train, the N566.
After some false starts, I finally found the correct waiting area for the N566. Changsha has four waiting areas, plus special waiting rooms for soldiers, women with babies, soft-bed passengers and VIPs. Waiting area 1 accommodated passengers for at least 15 trains. TVs along the wall had on some Bloomberg program, but no one was paying attention. There was just too much noise. Eventually, a large contingent of passengers boarded their train and I was able to snag a seat.
{I should point out, as if it were not obvious, that I was likely the only Caucasian in the waiting room. I ran into Aussies and Brits at the Shenzhen and Changsha airports, but I saw none in the rail depot.)
Two young men struck up a conversation with me. One, a college student, helped me locate a public phone so I could call ahead and tell my people in Jishou (吉首) what on earth I was doing, and he made sure that I understood I should wait for the red announcement boards to light up, so I would queue up at the right time. The announcements of train departures were basically useless to me, and not just because I can’t understand Chinese. Train attendants were using bullhorns that were barely audible over the din of the multitude.
Finally, boarding time arrived. Here again, the Chinese approach of “everyone for himself” in a line meant that all of these passengers were all trying to push their through a narrow gate at the same time. You cannot be polite or timid here; when in Rome, as they say.
I can’t say I blame them, actually. Boarding call is just 20 minutes before the train pulls out. If the train is made up of a dozen or more cars, you might (as I did) have a long walk. So everyone hustles to get on board. I suspect missing the train requires one to go back to the ticket office to get a new fare. I did not even want to contemplate that possibility.
It was nighttime, so there was no scenery to keep me awake. My fellow passengers in car 11 were just as worn out as I was, so conversation was pretty much not in the cards. No one was talking much, except for a group of five boisterous teens who didn’t crash for the night until nearly 2 am. So, we weary travelers trundled through the night at an average speed of 65 kph (40 mph). Not as quick as flying, but perhaps more interesting.
NEXT: I arrive (finally)
