Mom had given the previous bathroom break a positive spin, pointing out that at least it was only girls using the washrooms. Now, I regretted my cavalier, dismissive, “So what’s that worth, big deal” response to her statement. I truly didn’t believe it could get any worse, but it did. It always did! The best we could manage out in the field was girls to the left, boys to the right, but I think it actually turned out to be more like squatters left, standers right, because there were some men very near me.
“You better just do it now before you’re the only one out there and everyone on the bus is waiting and staring at you!” Mom said, wisely.
Ohohoh! “I need toilet paper,” I asked Bree, the official toilet paper stasher.
“I don’t have any more.”
“Stop kidding me. Just hand me some. Anything,” I said, desperately reaching my hand out to her.
“Use a bush,” she said as she squatted. I knew she was serious when I saw the clump of grass in her hand. I also knew that I couldn’t waste any more time on this discussion. We were never sure how long the bus driver would wait or whether they might drive off without us.
I don’t think I had ever used the public bathroom at any of my schools because of my paranoia about peeing in front of other people, and here I was, standing in an open field with piles of strange men and women squatting and doing their business. The other women didn’t seem to mind at all. They pulled their pants right down and went with no hesitation, despite the men. They’ve been doing this since they were babies. They just go anywhere: in the streets, on train station platforms, anywhere and everywhere! I thought, trying to force the earlier images of such things from my mind. For me, it was like having to overcome one of the biggest obstacles of my life. If I can do this, I believe that I will truly be able to do anything. I will be invincible. I paced, circling like dogs do to find the right spot. I felt totally awkward and found myself once again not knowing where to start. I felt completely exposed and did the fastest squat in history to date. I dipped down in a patch where the ground was slightly lower and the grass perhaps an inch or two higher and “hid” awkwardly.
That kind of “girls left, boys right – go!” stop was a regular feature of many of our long distance bus rides. Privacy is a luxury I had always taken for granted. It was on the buses that I learned its significance and what it meant to me. Overcoming that part of the trip was one of the hardest adjustments I had to make, but I stretched more personal limits than I’d ever have thought possible in the process.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Shouldn’t we get some more food or something?” Mom had asked, ready to go hunting around before boarding the train.
“Nah, we’ll be fine! They always have people running back and forth selling snacks. You’ll stop regularly and there’re always little shops on the platforms,” Ammon explained.
Once on the train, we watched the passengers go by with cup after cup of steaming tea or hot soups. Bree traced a trail of drips from someone’s mug back to a hot water tank at the end of the carriage, and instant noodles became one of our main travel essentials from then on. Of course, we could not read the labels on the packages, so we had to go by the simple pictures. We usually had a choice of a big green chicken, big blue cow, big red pig, or yellow vegetables.
I preferred train travel for a number of reasons, but mainly because of the freedom it offered. On trains, you could use the toilet as the need arose, and getting up to stretch your legs was a big bonus. There was a lot more flexibility in what and when you could eat, and last but not least, they usually had small tables against the windows where we could pass the time playing cards. That said, much like the buses, the trains were quickly covered in trash amidst clouds of smoke, and the bathrooms left just as much to be desired. Our first trip to the train’s bathroom was a real eye opener.
“How? How is it? How?” I stuttered.
“Even physically possible---” Bree helped me.
“To get---”
“So---”
“Is it really everywhere?” I finally stammered out the rest of the sentence as I clenched my teeth and shut my eyes in defense.
“I’d rather use nature than that!” Mom had decided. I saw her point, but amazingly, I was willing to put up with the disgusting odours and so on in return for some privacy. There was a door with hinges and a lock (not that they always worked), and the fact that it smelled like dirty diapers and had diarrhea splattered everywhere faded in comparison. There was even filth in places that made me think, Gee! Like, that is really quite a feat! Honestly, how could you even get it up there? Whenever I entered, I had to dodge pieces of toilet paper dangling from the roof. I can’t even begin to describe the filth, and every toilet was like that, in every carriage on every train.
I finally had to accept the fact that this was the best I was going to get. To put it into perspective, I’d had to use a public toilet on very rare occasions back home. I once found myself so discomfited at finding a floaty in my chosen stall in Wal-Mart that I had to quickly find another open cubicle. That event actually stood out vividly in my mind up until we began travelling in China! Now, traumas like that were quickly being replaced by much more disturbing scenes, and even the option of flushing was something that was offered less and less often.
Going on a train always seemed a rush. I could hear the roar of the train as I looked straight through the hole in the floor to the blur of gravel and railroad ties below. For a beginner like me, squatty toilets on wheels always posed a problem. The train rocked back and forth as I tried to balance on my tippy toes, threatening to toss me off balance at the most inopportune times. I would pray I didn’t have to reflexively grab hold of the handles that were literally covered with brown smears. At the same time, I had to try not to get thrown face first into a wall, which commonly had the same smears and other unspeakable things stuck to it. I had to be cautious, too, not to fall backwards onto the wet floor. That’s where Bree came in handy. I rarely went without bringing her to help hold me upright or guard the broken door.
But enough about potties. You get the picture, and it was not a pretty one, to say the least.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author’s Note: This is where squeamish readers can re-join the story.
I did manage to look up from my book every so often. The glistening rice fields and the unnaturally bright green grass created such stunning scenery that I almost couldn’t believe it wasn’t photo shopped, but with my head buried in the pages of my book, I often completely lost track of time. My irregular cries, gasps, and exclamations of “OH! My heart!” or “Oh Rhett!!” became more and more frequent.
“She’s enjoying it now,” Ammon said, picking up on my complete absorption with the classic.
“Sssshhhhh,” I scowled at him without looking up from the words on the page, “I’m at a good part.”
“It must be good if you’re blushing like that,” he teased. I just shrugged him off. I thrived on the stories and adventures I was reading about. I really could escape my troubles just by opening up those pages and jumping in next to Scarlet in her buggy or onto the back of Rhett’s stallion. I could feel the quality of the 1860s mahogany desk beneath my hands and the laces and fabrics between my fingers.
I was so in love with Rhett! I could almost taste the whisky on his breath and smell the swirls of thick smoke clouding his parlour as he puffed on a strong cigar. Oh, wait! It wasn’t Rhett smoking. It was the man next to me, and the man next to him, and the man next to him!! The entire cabin was grey with smoke. Every single man on that train was either lighting, smoking, or throwing away a cigarette, and at least eighty percent of the passengers were men (I also couldn’t help but notice that we were the only Caucasians on the train again).
My cough prompted Bree to lodge one of the few complaints we’d heard from her since the trip started. “I know!! I’ve probably lost five years of my life already from all this smoke!” Bree was very protective of her health, given her athletic f
ocus. She never drank alcohol or smoked, and she definitely never used drugs of any sort. She didn’t even drink coffee, and it had been almost impossible to convince her that it was safe to drink green tea.
But she was right about the smoking, and I felt the same. The smog and pollution in the bigger cities combined with the nearly constant public smoking really irritated our lungs. When I’d asked Ammon why none of the women smoked, he explained that female smokers would indulge only in the privacy of their own homes. I hope the excessive smoking calms down a bit in Mongolia.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I pulled myself up onto an elbow to check the other passengers. Everyone was still sound asleep. It amazed me how tiring travel days could be. Ammon and Mom, both in a fetal position, looked as though they hadn’t moved all night. Bree was flat on her back on the bunk opposite me with her earphones still on and her shirt crumpled up to expose a bare belly. Her outstretched arm and leg hung over the rail while the other arm was bent above her head. I couldn’t believe she was already eighteen. It seemed like just yesterday we were giggling little girls, taking baths together, putting socks in our shirts to pretend we had boobs, and dreaming of one day reaching the “mature” age of thirteen.
“Happy birthday,” I whispered as I pulled her sleeping bag over her feet.
Chapter 25: A Sacred Mountain and the Stairway of Hell
As there was no other option at four in the morning when we got off the train in Emei, we had taken a taxi and broken Travel Rule #2. The exhaust was beginning to cloud up and stick to the virtually dripping moisture in the damp air. Our last bag was pulled from the trunk and, without a word from the taxi driver, we heard the airtight seal of his door close. The tires squealed off down the wet brick road, trailing a puff of smoke.
We arrived in the foggy predawn at the front door of a hotel with a tall glass entrance that was shut tight. All was quiet and we dared not talk above a whisper. Pipes were dripping from balconies and electrical wires were strung along and between buildings all up and down the misty alley. I pretended it was the early 1700s and imagined a man in a tailored coat sneaking past us to enjoy a secret rendezvous as his carriage waited in the night.
We knocked and rang. A small light, barely enough to cast a shadow, glowed from deep within a hallway. A round, robed man with messy hair and eyes that squinted even more than usual appeared behind the screen door. He inspected the four of us carefully for a moment before moving aside to let us in. He couldn’t have been aware of the pink robe he was wearing.
“I hope that’s his wife’s,” Mom said out of the side of her mouth as we followed the tails of flowing pink up the spiralling staircase. She normally would have said it aloud, but tonight she didn’t want to gamble on his not knowing any English. He didn’t seem to be in a particularly humorous mood. Turning to leave, he handed us a clunky, old fashioned key on a heavy metal chain.
“I guess we’ll take care of payment later,” Mom said as she closed the stiff door behind us. Too tired to deal with any business, he presumably went straight back to bed. I pictured him hanging up the pink robe next to his own before slipping in beside his wife, completely unaware of the first impression he had just made.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The following day’s schedule took us to the foothills of the sacred Emei Shan. Walking sticks in hand and daypacks on our backs, we were awed by the sheer legion of stairs before us.
“Two days? That’s not too bad,” I said, underestimating the brutality of what it would take to reach “sanctity.” “It’s not like we’re going to be hiking or anything. It’ll just be like taking the stairs to the top of a tall building!” Finally, my fear of elevators and the practice I’d had climbing long flights of stairs to avoid them would pay off!
“Yep, and the views are supposed to be amazing, so it’ll be well worth it,” Mom told us eagerly.
“I just want to see the monkeys,” I said, and took off enthusiastically just before a light drizzle began to dampen the leaves of the bamboo forest surrounding us. It took less than an hour for my morale to plummet as the stairs went from easy-peasy to downright miserable and uninspiring.
“When is this going to end? And where are my monkeys?” I whined, shaking a droplet from the end of my nose.
“Isn’t this place supposed to be crawling with them?” Bree asked.
“With all these “Beware of the monkeys” signs, you’d sure think so,” I said, glaring at Ammon. We’d seen a number of pictures of rabid-looking monkeys beside plastic bags that had a big X over them. They weren’t really “beware of monkeys” signs; they were meant to warn tourists not to carry plastic bags.
“We need to go to a store,” Mom said.
“Why?” I asked, annoyed that she probably wanted a pop.
“To get some plastic bags. The monkeys obviously want them!” she giggled as we passed yet another warning sign.
“Are you sure this is the right season for monkeys?” I asked Ammon.
“Yah, Ammon. Maybe they’re hibernating or something,” Bree said accusingly, trying to outsmart him.
“Who cares about the monkeys? This is one of the ultimate sacred places in China,” Ammon replied.
“I bet it’s a Unicorn Site, too,” Bree said. She was the only one who still had lots of air left in her lungs.
“UNESCO, you mean? Yes, actually. It is,” he said, only slightly annoyed.
“Unicorn sounds better,” Bree laughed to herself.
“It became a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1996,” Ammon continued, “but people have been making pilgrimages to this place for two thousand years. So it’s got major history! This place goes as far back as the time of Christ,” he finished, putting it into perspective for us.
“So, while He was over there in the desert walking on water, these guys were over here hiking up this mountain?” Bree sounded impressed.
“Yah, I guess that’s basically what I’m saying,” he confirmed.
My head fell back in awe as I passed under another decorative gateway. Red pillars reached down from the arched and pointed roofs, and a black wooden sign displaying golden Chinese lettering hung in the center. It looked incredibly mystical.
“The slopes of Emei Shan have been inhabited for ten thousand years. It’s one of the four sacred mountains in China, but this one is a thousand metres higher than the other three,” Ammon continued.
“Oh gee! Aren’t we the lucky ones! How far is it to the top?” I asked.
“A little over three thousand metres,” was his immediate answer.
“Oh, man,” I said, “how high is that in feet?” Though I was not that familiar with the metric system, I could already tell that this “walk” was going to be a bigger challenge than I’d anticipated.
Ammon did a quick mental conversion and replied, “About, ten thousand feet or so.”
“Holy crap!” I exclaimed, regretting my initial enthusiasm.
“Seriously, Ammon, how do you remember all this?” Bree demanded. A bit impressed with himself, too, he just laughed and carried on.
Stopping for a moment to catch my breath, I looked back to gauge our progress. Below us, the roofs of the gateways, each with their gallant arches, were layered one upon the other and looked like Viking ships sailing between the branches. The appearance of the pillars had changed from pure red to a deep, smoky rouge. Seen through the mist, they were a bit eerie and yet stunningly beautiful in their own way.
“This is awesome!” Ammon said.
“There’s hardly anybody here, either. It’s so peaceful,” Mom observed.
“No one except them,” Bree said, as we jumped out of the path of two men jogging past carrying a fat man in what looked like an old war stretcher with a modern twist. It featured a built-in seat made of sticks of bamboo painted blue, green, and red. They had come up behind us through the grey fog, never faltering or slowing their pace in the least.
“My gosh! How do they do that?! They are so strong!!! They aren’t even shaking;
they’re hardly even sweating,” Mom noticed.
“Couldn’t we do that?! Why do we have to walk it? There is nothing to see or do except, ugh!” I said, demonstrating slow, heavy movements up one more stair and then another, dragging my arms like the monkeys I wasn’t seeing. My feet felt damp and soggy, and droplets fell from the tips of my baby curls that were beginning to spring up all over the place from the moisture in the air.
“It costs a hundred bucks to do that. Plus, we wouldn’t experience the same sense of accomplishment when we got to the top,” Ammon explained, but I knew he was only thinking about his wallet again, or should I say, his money belt.
“We could all sit on top of each other and we’d still be lighter than him, so now it’s only twenty-five bucks each,” I said.
“It’s not about the money,” Mom said.
“That’s such a lie,” Bree laughed.
“That guy’s beating me to enlightenment,” I said, and realized even as I said it just how cheesy I sounded.
The man sitting so comfortably (at least as comfortably as one could expect while bouncing between two men at a steep angle) didn’t have to tackle the stairs, and that seemed very appealing at this moment. But as two more porters passed by carrying another sallow city man nestled behind a huge potbelly, I began to reconsider. I just couldn’t picture myself sitting in that chair.
At the top of the next bend, we came to another million-and-a-half stairs extending endlessly on into the fog and then narrowing away into nothing amidst the overhanging trees. There were no signs or directions, nothing but a giant stairway to “heaven.” The stairs that wound through the lush natural vegetation were mostly made of concrete, but sometimes they were just dirt. A single green handrail appeared and disappeared, apparently without design. The trees glistened from the morning showers, and I had to admit it was enchanting. Two steps, one more. Two steps, one more.
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