I really need to invest in a little digital camera. But if I do that I really need to invest in a computer. And If I do that I really need to invest in an internet connection. And to do all that investing is just not practical.
I returned from a most interesting bus journey earlier this evening, and on the way saw some stuff which really should be shared. But it’s oh so visual and a thousand words will describe but one picture.
Anyway, the first oddity was getting on the bus for this mammoth 7 hour journey. No seats on this bus, instead, 3 rows across, two storeys high, bunk beds. Tiny bunk beds, like you would design for, say… the average Chinese person. It slopes slightly towards the back, sort of comfortable for Quasi Moto lying on his stomach, so that the punter behind you actually has his feet underneath your head. Clever concept really. After about 3 hours of fidgeting, you tend to get use to it, and I actually managed some sleep. Not much, but still.
Oh, the sleep might have been induced by low blood sugar caused by the half liter of Sprite I drank. Mind you, not before I cleverly openend it after a uneven part of the road and got a good portion of it all over myself. Luckily it was dark.
A benefit of taking the bus is the stops. Compounds, literally out in the middle of nowhere, that doesn’t sell much of anything I reconise, except pot ‘o noodles and tubular chips – of which I had two tubes and is likely the main cause of my present stomach upset. Oh, and of course a chance to visit the ever popular Chinese style loo.
I don’t say ‘Asian loo’ on purpose, because in Malaysia for instance, the hole in the ground is equiped with a hose and toilet paper, which means you have all sorts of means by which to maintain a certain standard of hygiene. The Chinese version though, firstly, not a hole, but a troth (is that spelled right), has no such implements. No bogroll, no hosepipe. I will spare you a detailed description, but as you can imagine the aroma is over-powering. I used the cubicle nearest to the exit, because I couldn’t go in any further.
Anyway, back to the rest of the place which has a dining hall (thankfully, further removed from the facilities than the mere line break seperating these two paragraphs) that serves whatever you might be hungry for. After the loo, not much. Also of course, it has the standard hot water outlet for your pot ‘o noodle requirements. Be sure to keep an eye on the bus, because when they leave, they don’t much care who is on the bus or not.
We arrived Wuhan in the small hours of the morning and they didn’t chuck us off the bus immediately, which meant we had a place to stay until daybreak. When finally the day did break, we made our way over to the new, fresh and recently moved into Internation Travel Health Centre. Your one stop prodding-and-probing station for all your entry and exit requirements.
The procedure is simple: promptly get your form from the counter, attach one of many photos that you should have (of yourself, preferrably), fill it (the form) in and return it to the counter. Cough up 500 Yuan, collect your receipts, and move to the 3rd floor. Donate a generous 100ml of blood which they will use for Bloody Mary’s, shooters and, oh yes, test for HIV, Sipphilis and exactly how much Chinese beer you’ve consumed in the last 10 days.
Go to the second floor where a pretty young nurse will tell you her ECG test is optional (so skip it), another pretty young nurse will lift your shirt, take out some lubrication and… squirt a generous, ice cold glob of it on your stomach and wave her ultrasound wand over your belly. The exercise lasts all of 15 seconds and results in a nice mess on your stomach and (hairy) chest. Thanks.
Take your sticky self next door where another doctor will test your eyesight (i think that’s what the test was) and next door to that a lovely, old lady will take your blood pressure and poke your body to find hidden or unwanted growths. I understand the logic of using a old lady here, because the pretty young nurses might have undesired effects of blood pressure and pulse rates. Unless, of course, old ladies are your thing.
After that, the first floor is host to a healthy dose of Gamma Radiation (it’s the second time in two month, you think I should worry about my loose teeth and the clumps of hair falling out?) which also results in your chest x-ray. Goodness, I hope they don’t find any TB, because I’ve been in the country for a month already and have coughed on thousands of kids.
Then, take your form, with all the stamps collected from the various points, back to the counter, submit yet another photo and wait two days (or get someone to do that for you, because you have to get your ass back to Shiyan to apply for your residency permit becuase your current visa expires tomorrow).
And that is what the ITHC can do for you.
After the ITHC we made our way over to the building for Foreign Experts, only there are no foreigners allowed in this building. Not sure about the math, but who’s going to question the guard with the bayonette?
So an hour passes where I watch the clocks on the wall, set to the times of various cities around the world. Must be a world from another dimension, because it was 11:46 in Beijing, and 06:15 in Tokyo. Could happen.
Anyway, so for my trouble I now have a nice, tiny, could-look-like-a-chinese-passport-if-i-waved-it-quickly booklet, which is my official Foreign Expert Certificate. The doors that it will open are untold. No, really – nobody has told me what it’s for. So tomorrow morning I will take it back to the police station here in Shiyan where they will say ok, you can live here and make it official somehow. Not sure.
The bus journey back was nice, because it was not so full, so I could put my backback on the floor where before it was my teddybear. At the stop where we got some food I did just that and when I came out, the bus was gone. I nearly choked. But then I saw the guy who was on the bus next to me and he waived and said… ok – and pointed 500m further over the dusty plain where the bus was at the fuel pump refueling. So I grabbed my shit and ran, because I know after this they piss off down the road.
I was barely seated when they did just that… I thought the bus looked even more empty, but how do I tell them that hey, you’ve left two (or more) dudes behind. I thought the dudes would phone the driver if they wanted him to come back, but they never did. Maybe they wanted to stay at the god forsaken little outpost and eat pot ‘o noodles for the rest of the night. Could happen.
So, here I am back home. Feeling sleepy, should go sleep, but typing instead. Oh, an envelope literally stuffed full of Rooibos tea arrived from my mom in South Africa. Bless her – tea, the good stuff. Pots and pots and pots of. I can feel it working. The rooibos cleans those pipes like you wouldn’t want it to do when you only have a Chinese toilet to choose from.
Lucky me. My apartment is equipped with a ‘European’ toilet.
I promise this is the last post that discusses toilets in any detail whatsoever.
Now, I’m sleepy.