Going to Guilin

April 25

It was a long and terrible night… my computer died after 20 minutes, and I had no choice but to alternate between rickety reading and sleep. The Mandarin radio chatter kept blaring next to me, but after 8 hours the lights finally went out and I dreamt of my little brother and big empty spaces.

I woke up again…hurting and disoriented…in disbelief that the sun was out. There is something soul-destroying about observing the raw, slow passage of time…I celebrated each brutalizing hour. I wasn’t sure what time the train would arrive in Guilin…so I could just…wait some more. I bought pears for breakfast/lunch and looked at the countryside passing me by. Outside the weather was warm…there were green marshlands and rice terraces and barefoot farmers throwing seeds into pools of water…it was beautiful, and kind of depressing to see the sunlight slowly ooze away again. After the darkness conquered, I started to freak out again—I wasn’t sure which stop was Guilin, and was afraid of missing it. My panic must have been palpable, because another helpful Chinaman signaled that Guilin was his stop, and that I could get off with him. Somehow I understood…

After more than 24 hours of train-hell, we finally arrived at the Guilin train station. It was 8:30 pm, the night was hot and sticky, and I felt like walking…through a crammed exit line, out into the honking, glimmering streets of the city. I wanted to find my way to the hostel walking…somehow I navigated with the scribbled directions in my pocket…past the little girl screaming and playing in the dark, the shirtless vagabond, the greasy mechanics glaring behind cigarette embers… I made it to WADA hostel, an English-speaking oasis with bamboo benches, cold beer, and very shitty pizza. I chilled out deliciously, watching Californication before climbing into my shared room bunk bed. My Chinese roommate didn’t speak much English, but he told me his name was John.

-Seb