Five Bestselling Travel Memoirs Box Set

by Twead, Victoria

  The subway was nearly empty when we got on, but it got busier and busier as we passed more stops. What else did I expect in the most populous country in the world – 1.3 billion people had to get where they were going somehow, obviously!? A man sat and shoved me and my pack over because we were taking up part of his seat. How rude! I thought, glaring cynically in his direction while trying to balance a single, numb, butt-cheek on the hard plastic. To avoid having to stand, I leaned forward awkwardly, only just managing to squeeze half of my pack onto the seat. I struggled to make enough room for both of us on the seat, the straps of my pack coming up over my ears like a kid swimming with an oversized lifejacket. I had to sacrifice most of my bum space for the darn thing. This isn’t my bloody child, I thought, refusing to be abused. It’s just a dumb bag. I’d sit it on my lap if my daypack wasn’t already occupying that space. Nope, that isn’t going to work, either. I was getting more and more annoyed. Is it getting hotter in here? I wondered as still more people poured in, but it was likely my face flushing from rage and embarrassment. Can’t you see this is awkward for me? Returning the stare an older couple was giving me, I wanted to shout at them instead. It’s not my fault. Can’t you see how much I don’t WANT to be here!!?

  After crossing the border into Shenzhen on mainland China, we were drenched by a tropical storm as we transferred from the subway to a bus. I squinted through the droplets to study my new surroundings. Rain flooded the streets and the open shopping mall we passed. It felt warm, like a fresh breath on an early summer day, and the palm trees were shining and blowing in the wind. Shenzhen was another city seemingly made up of lots of people in heels and business suits walking briskly, but typically, they still seemed to find time to gawp at the spectacle our foreign parade evidently presented.

  Why does everyone have to stare at me? This being only the second time I’d ever carried my pack, I felt self-conscious and paranoid that people were staring and snickering behind my back. It was like a high-school drama where everyone hides behind lockers and spreads the newest rumours – I had always hated that kind of thing.

  “This is the biggest city you’ve been to,” Ammon told us. “More than ten million people live here. Do you realize that’s almost a third the population of all of Canada just in this one city?!” And it felt like every one of those ten million citizens were staring right at me. As if to confirm my insecurity, a random woman approached us speaking in Mandarin, and her friends started laughing. I understood nothing, and again felt like the new kid at school – like a stupid outcast who was oblivious to the latest fashions and the “hottest” new quotes and phrases. I continued to revel in my humiliation. I’m so glad no one from home sees me looking like the laughing stock of the entire world! After my long walk of shame, Ammon lead us through the markets towards the bus station area. Women merchants loudly accosted us, attempting to make a sale as we neared their stalls.

  We passed a humming refrigerator, and Mom started dragging her feet and drooling, “Oooh, Peeeppssii.” I pushed her along as she began to crumble from the inside out.

  “C’mon Mom, you’re not allowed,” I reminded her. We had made Mom agree to quit drinking pop on the basis that we were all starting a new life, healthy and fresh. We knew the trip would consist of a lot more exercise and organic food than we had ever before experienced, not to mention that we would be on the skinniest shoestring budget anyone had ever heard of; Travel Rule # something-or-other was that Coca-Cola and Pepsi are unnecessary delights. That was only one of many scary laws in Ammon’s self-made, budget rulebook. But of course, no such book ever existed in written form, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to invent and change the rules whenever the occasion called for it.

  “No, I didn’t say I was going to stop drinking pop. I said I wouldn’t drink Dr. Pepper. I didn’t say anything about Pepsi,” she said in a valiant attempt to convince herself.

  “Oh Mom---” I started just before I was distracted by the sight of what could only be considered a godsend – a magnetic force calling my name. He was tall with golden twine upon his crown, and he displayed the most prominent nose I’d ever seen, at least in the last week. He spoke Chinese but was definitely not from around here. He had a backpack, too. I felt like shouting, “Yeah! We’re saved!” and rushing over to him to have him sort out our next meal, hotel, and bus. Checking side-to-side to scout his territory, Ammon finally came to a halt, pulled one strap over his shoulder, and said, “Okay, just drop your bags here.” He calmly jaunted over to the foreign man in his “I am an experienced traveller” mode. This was the preferable course of action, of course, ’cause if I had just run up and clung to his leg like a blood-thirsty savage like I wanted to, we’d have lost him for sure. I would’ve scared just about anybody away in my current unstable state.

  Ammon stood next to the man and nonchalantly asked, “Where are you headed?”

  “Yangshuo,” came the equally cool reply. He was tall and lanky, like Ammon. Maybe it’s not a coincidence that he looks so much like Ammon. Maybe after a while all backpackers start to develop that same appearance. I began to wonder how I would look as a six-foot-two chick with a bristly jaw. At least I could keep my ponytail, I thought, putting a positive spin on it.

  “Same as us, then. Do you happen to know which bus it is?” Ammon asked to save himself the trouble of consulting his complicated guidebooks yet again.

  “Sure, it’s that one over there, the one that says Yangshuo,” he said, pointing down the station at one of the dozens of buses with a big white sign in the front window. Easing in behind Ammon, I looked at the bus, then at Mom.

  “THAT says Yangshuo?!” I whispered incredulously.

  “How the heck would I know?!” Mom whispered back, peering down the rows and feeling just as clueless regarding which bus they meant.

  “Unbelievable. That’s what he just said. I don’t think I could ever read Chinese. How can they tell one letter from the next?!!” I asked under my breath, completely baffled and unable to discern any differences in the writing.

  “Okay, great. Thanks a lot. We’ll see you there, I guess,” Ammon said, before giving us the only bit of information he remembered. “The bus leaves in about forty-five minutes. You’ll need a bathroom before you go. You never know when these guys will stop for a break. It could be all night, or it could be every twenty minutes, so you have to be prepared for anything. There’s a good place in that hotel just through the shops. You’ll see a big golden sign with lions in front of it,” he instructed. Mom began practically pulling my arm off in the direction he pointed.

  “Do you have to go that badly?” I whispered out of the side of my mouth.

  “Yes,” she lied.

  “Okay, okay. Bree, Mom and I will be back in a minute,” I told her. “Ammon’s obviously still busy, so you stay here and guard our bags while we scout it out.” I turned to tell Ammon the same, but he had resumed his conversation with the tall, golden-haired backpacker.

  “Are you guys new at this?” the man was asking, looking down at our scuff-free boots.

  “Actually, it’s our first overnighter bus,” was all I heard before the other noises of the station drowned out their voices.

  I paced along behind Mom, re-entering the shopping strip and looking everywhere for the golden signs. In my concentrated attempt to skirt the dozens of Chinese men and women peddling or shopping in the station, I took my eyes off Mom for a split second. When I didn’t see her little red shirt five steps ahead of me, I almost had a heart attack. Where the heck did she go? I began to panic, my head twisting frantically like a lost chicken. I finally spotted her inside a shop. What on earth is she doing? I thought angrily to cover my relief. Approaching her from behind, I quickly saw her strategy.

  “What on earth?”

  “Well, we’re going to need snacks for the trip,” she rushed to explain. By hanging over the counter and pointing and waving her arms, she had managed to collect an assortment of cookies, chips, and water for the twelve
hours we’d be on the bus, but one thing in particular had drawn her into this store, the one item that shouldn’t have been in her pile.

  Shaking the antique glass Coca-Cola bottle, I asked her, “And what’s this?”

  “Oh, but I’m so thirsty, Savannah.” I glared at her as she continued, “and I haven’t had one in days! Couldn’t we just share it?” she proposed with a co-conspirators’ smile.

  I thought hard about her suggestion. Splotches of sweat were soaking through my shirt from the long walk to the bus station. Still holding the cold bottle in my hot hand, I gave in to her devious wiles. Creeping around the nearest corner, we passed the drink back and forth like junkies in a doorway, savouring each sip while also keeping a sharp eye out for Ammon. After indulging in our guilty pleasure, Mom and I found the toilets and quickly ran back to collect Bree.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  “It’s a squatty!” I lamented once we’d entered the building, “but we’ve looked everywhere, and didn’t see anything else.” During our first few days, we had ingeniously managed to avoid using them by taking refuge in the occasional McDonalds. They were the only places we knew that had western toilets. There hadn’t been anything more shocking in my first week than the length of the line-up for the squatty toilet in the women’s bathroom while the western-style facilities right next to it stood empty, even though there was no “out of order” sign attached. Why and how could ANYONE in their right mind – how could they – let alone want to use it – ever?! But then, maybe it was just me. After months of dreading this, I finally had to face my worst nightmare. There was no escape, no way out. It was now or it would be later, all over myself in a crowded bus. As tempting as a burst bladder sounded, which seemed to be my only alternative at the time, I opted to overcome my fear.

  Mom and Bree each took a step and disappeared into two of the three stalls. Looking around wildly for an escape and seeing none, I finally stepped into mine. I knew what I had to do, but how!?!

  “Wow, you went that fast?” Mom asked with a hint of congratulations and surprise as we all stepped out at the same time. But it wasn’t going to be that simple. I hadn’t even unbuckled my pants, and my silence was answer enough.

  “Savannah! Get back in there right now!”

  “I can’t! I simply cannot do that,” I insisted, but they pushed me back in.

  “Yes, you can. Now just go! There’s nobody here. Just do it, you dingbat.”

  Okay, so I admit my fear of the squatties was irrational. Like most such phobias, this one started when I was about six years old. A lengthy camping trip across the United States brought us to the Florida everglades. Uninterested in swamps or crocs, I was desperately tapping my feet on the bottom of a wooden canoe, urgently wiggling and holding it in. Finally allowed to climb from the boat onto a high bank, I found my spot in the tall grass.

  I was a typical kid, the kind who pulls their pants right down to their ankles, jumps on the toilet, and swings their feet around as they go. Well, it must’ve been the first time I’d had to negotiate the more natural style, because I didn’t factor in the part where the facilities were a bit lacking. Toilet was toilet to my way of thinking, so away I went, pulling my pants down as I always had. Soon, a yellow stream completely soaked the pile of underwear and pants neatly pooled around my feet! I was absolutely horrified. I had just reached the age of awareness and embarrassment. Thankfully, the memory blurs after that point, to what I can only imagine was a long day spent in soggy pants trying to pretend that nothing happened.

  So there I was. My unconquered fear had finally caught up with me. Or had I caught up with it? I did a double take upon seeing the flat, rectangular porcelain bowl embedded in the tile floor with a spot on either side to put my feet. I still didn’t know what to make of it. Well, for starters, I guess I’ll put my feet on these weird looking footprints. Good. Now what? Pull my pants down to my knees? That seems about right. I stood completely baffled for a good few minutes before whining aloud to anyone who cared, “How the heck do you do this?!” Crouched down and teetering on my tippy toes, I let out one last cry for help. “I’m going to pee on my pants if I don’t fall over first.”

  The only response I got was Mom insisting, “Just do it! It’s really not that bad.”

  “You guys!! I can’t!! Breeee!” I called for support.

  “Oh, let me in then!” The bang on the door almost knocked me backwards onto my bare butt.

  “Bree, come back here! She needs to figure this out for herself,” Mom said, stopping her from entering.

  “It’s not that easy, ya know,” I shouted back, regaining my balance.

  “But it is just that easy, Savannah. We both did it!” Mom continued.

  I kept grumbling as I gathered my courage and concentrated. Okay, now for the hard part. Squat and aim. Aim for what? That doesn’t matter, you idiot. All I want is to get it in this toilet instead of in my shoes!!! I was sure I would miss the bowl as I shuffled back a little and then forward again. Okay, here goes. Keeping one eye closed to focus, I finally released, knowing that if I did it wrong, there would be no way to hide my mistake. I’m quite getting the hang of this! I thought triumphantly. Opening my closed eye, I watched my fears wash away. My face was beaming as a smile grew to laughter and I stepped out of that bathroom having accomplished a good deal more than just flushing.

  Chapter 10: Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride

  Forty-five minutes passed much too quickly, and we proceeded to where our bus was boarding. It was a big coach with long mirrors hanging down over the front windshield like the antennae of an adorable insect. I was thrilled to part with the burden of our big backpacks when we finally loaded them into the under-carriage of the shiny bus, knowing I wouldn’t have to worry about the damn thing for the next twelve hours. As we climbed aboard, the plump driver stood up from his seat and stopped us in our tracks, shaking a handful of plastic bags at us. I was intimidated by his incoherent sputters and took a step backwards, understanding absolutely nothing. Ahead of me, Mom cautiously took a bag from him. Observing the white, sterile interior of the bus and reacting to the man’s insistent, downward hand gestures, she eventually put the puzzle pieces together. Balancing in the stairwell, she removed each of her shoes and placed them in the bag. Noting no further frantic demonstrations from the driver, she proceeded to the back of the empty bus. We all followed, shoe bags in hand.

  “Have you ever seen something like this, Ammon? On any of your travels?” Mom asked.

  “No, this is definitely a first for me,” he said before dropping onto one of the bottom bunks in the back which was raised a few inches off the ground. There were three rows of bunk beds separated by two narrow aisles that were just wide enough for skinny Ammon to squeeze by.

  “This is like a hospital on wheels,” I exclaimed, looking down the aisle of bunk beds that reminded me of military barracks with their crisp, tightly folded, white linen.

  “Holy! This is awesome!” Bree said, creeping in to pass us. “Sleeper bus. You can say that again. Hah, Hah, this is SO awesome.”

  “See, it’s not that bad,” Mom said, “I thought we’d be sitting up all night.”

  “Well, it’s way better than a reclining chair,” Ammon said, wiggling his feet which were awkwardly hanging over the end of his bed rail, “even if they are a bit short.”

  “I call top,” Bree shouted, leaping onto her claimed bunk. “I could sleep all night on one of these things.”

  “Good. I’d say take advantage of it, because we’re going to be up all day tomorrow exploring. No slacking,” Ammon reminded us.

  “Can’t we just take tomorrow off? We’ve been going without a break for days, and walking so much,” I said, climbing up onto the bed above Ammon so I was head to head with Bree, my black daypack over one shoulder. “I’ve already got blisters!”

  I tried a different tactic as I awkwardly fastened the bulging daypack around my ankle. “I want to know when we get to ride the horses.”

  “N
ot for a while. The horse riding is in Songpan, a town in the mountains,” Ammon explained.

  It felt a bit worrying and a bit scary to be heading further inland and thus further from civilization. In fact, as soon as we left Hong Kong, there was no English whatsoever to be heard – none. The man at the hotel the night before barely even understood when we’d asked for Internet, one of the few universal terms we’d thought we could count on. But no matter what came our way, we’d have to sort the problem; apparently, quitting wasn’t an option.

  “Yah, but how long until we’re there,” I pressed, visualizing the wind in my hair as I galloped across an open valley. In his bed below me, Ammon picked the guidebook out of his small green daypack and stood up.

  Opening up the map on my lap, he pointed and said, “Okay, here. This is the map and it’s right about here!”

  “And we’re here now? But how long ’til we’re there?” I repeated.

  “Hmmm,” he said, just slowly enough to leave me in suspense, “first we are staying in Yangshuo,” pointing to it on the map, “for about four days, then we take a train which is just about---”

  I cut him off briefly. “A train!? I’ve never been on a train before!”

  “Yah, most of the world uses trains, Savannah. You’re just used to the North American way, where everyone has a car. Can you imagine the chaos if everyone here had one? It would be ridiculous. That’s why public transport is usually a lot better in other parts of the world. But anyway, let’s not get side-tracked,” he said. “The first train should be roughly twenty-two hours.”