SHIJIAZHUANG, China -- Long train rides are always indeterminable; epic journeys of boredom punctuated by significant changes that only appear important in hindsight.
But the tediousness of travel is exactly what makes train rides so useful, because the surplus time means there's time to investigate minuate the usually would be ignored in favor of more pressing matters.
I'm heading back to being on the T28, better known as the Lhasa Express. Perhaps the most controversial train in the world, the opening of this line last October meant three times a day, the capital of Tibet will receive Chinese merchandise, tourists and migrants year round. Tibet can no longer be seen as an isolated outpost, this steel artery connects the autonomous region to the rest of China.
Tibet in reality has been solidly connected to China for quite some time, but the railroad is an important symbol of their united future. A funny thing about this train, though, is that for all its symbolic value, there's a sloppiness of display in the final product.
The English signage is atrocious. "Please Use Dust bi" read signs in every single bathroom, even the one in first-class with a Western-style toilet. "The temperature out of the car is 14 degree," scrolls by on a monitor every few minutes, occasionally replaced by "Welcome to take this train!" and "The originating station is Lasa."
This train can't even spell it's destination correctly. It's L-H-A-S-A, not lasa. "Lasa" is a transliteration of the Chinese characters for the city. The government thoughtfully included signs in Tibetan throughout the car, but went against its own policy by not using the minority spelling of the city in its English translation.
These are tiny mistakes, but they count. The Chinese government should be working overtime to dispel the impression of Western visitors to Tibet, most of whom are convinced the country is occupying a sacred and people land headed by a Nobel Peace Prize winner. They should appear sensitive to the wishes of the Tibetan people: This 48-hour train journey will be the first and last thing thousands of visitors will remember about their Tibetan trip. When they notice the Tibetan passengers can't read the dining car's menu (it's only in sloppily handwritten Chinese), it's not helping.
My train ride, from Xining onto Beijing (about half of the total trip), is also long enough to realize that hating the Chinese for building the railroad isn't the answer. Average Chinese citizens have the right to convenient and affordable transportation around the country. Hundreds of thousands of Chinese are currently working in Tibet, enticed by the government with tax breaks and good salaries, and serving out of a sense of patroic duty to develop the country's poor areas. These people usually sign long-term work contracts, and can't afford to fly home. Without the railroad, they might have gone three or four years with seeing loved ones. Now the trip can be made more often.
Around 4:30 in the morning, I started talking with a woman in line for the bathroom. We were both in hard sleeper, the class of cheap language students and working Chinese. A Tibetan monk stood behind us in line, the woman, like most people in the car, wore cheap, functional clothes. She was going to Beijing, it was her first time.
"My child is sick," she said. "We're going to the hospital in Beijing."
Then she opened the sliding bathroom door to check on her son. I see on the other side of the door a young boy of around 10, struggling to turn on the faucet to wash his hands. He had severe deformities, probably the result of a neurlogical condition. He walked out of the bathroom with difficulty, his mother helping him take small steps.
Yes, it's O.K. to hate the train and the destruction it symbolizes for Tibetan culture. But I can't hate the people who travel on the train, be they Tibetan, American or Chinese, because they deserve every chance to get where they need to be.
