‘Anyone to change turgi to yuan? Turgi to yuan?’ a man walked up and down the aisle asking. We were very close to the border. Mr Yan, our favourite Chinese conductor, advised us not to change currency on the train because the rate isn’t good.
We arrived at Erlian, the border town in Inner Mongolia of China, at 9pm. We were now 842 kilometers from Beijing, our final destination. When we stepped off the train, we were greeted by ear-shaking Beethoven symphony playing triumphantly at the station. A heavily-bearded man from Amsterdam, who called himself Jake, looked taken back by the atmosphere and asked me if this is normal in China. It happened to be his birthday today – so the symphony probably sounded celebratory.
Our Russian-made train needed to change wheels here again, now into smaller Chinese wheels because the gauges are different. I’d expected long delays from my previous experience. We crowded at the corridor at the rear of the train to watch this fascinating process of wheel-changing. The train opposite us had come from Beijing. We could see their wheels taken off the train and were left a few yards away. Their train was lifted up, like a toy matchbox. The passengers waved at us from their train – The Chinese passengers must have just set off their journey while the Mongolians were returning home.
We left Erlian at three minutes to 1am. Mr Yan, our conductor, looked tired out for all that standing by the train at Erlian station.
‘Beijing is not too far away now,’ he said to me, ‘I’ll be able to have a little break.’
‘What will you do during your break?’
‘Oh, I will sleep for a day or two. And then, I will go and look after my car repair garage,’ Mr Yan said. ‘That’s my leisure-time activity.’ I realized that he never really stops working.
I told him that a traveler on board – Jake, the man from Amsterdam – will be having his birthday drink tonight. Being extremely kind-hearted, Mr Yan said he will make a special birthday zhajiang mian for him. ‘Everyone must have noodles for birthday! There can be no exception!’ he said to me.
I kept it a secret until Mr Yan completed his expert noodles and placed it in a huge noodle container double the size of a salad bowl. When the Dutch birthday boy gave each of us a can of beer and everyone screaming “happy birthday” along the aisle, Mr Yan came out of his cabin, with sweat on his forehead, holding a big bowl of zhajiang mian with both his hands.
‘Ha…pee ber..s…day to you!’ he said to the merry-looking Jake.
‘For me? This is for me?’ Jake was utterly surprised. No one but the Chinese-stranger-conductor had prepared anything for his birthday.
‘Yes! For you! You must have noodles on your birthday! This is for long life - long, like noodles!’ Mr Yan said, handing the bowl to him.
Everyone gave out envious cheering noises around Jake. ‘Here, you need chopsticks!’
Mr Yan even prepared a pair of wooden chopsticks for him. Seeing that other travelers were eager to have a share of the noodles, Mr Yan went back to his cabin to fetch another two pairs of chopsticks. ‘En…joy!’ he said.
‘You are so, so kind! Thank you so much!’ Jake wanted to kiss Mr Yan.
‘Wait, wait, I forgot I also prepared something else for your birthday,’ Mr Yan rushed back to the cabin again. He came back with a glass of alcohol.
‘For me? For me?’ Jake was almost in tears.
‘Yes! This is bai jiu (literally white wine), for the birthday boy!’ Mr Yan said.
‘This is just so fantastic!’ Jake was ecstatic. He quickly had a sip, but it looked like the strength of whatever was the alcohol stung his mouth.
‘What is this, Mr Yan? Is this…you said, white wine?’ Jake licked around his lips, overwhelmed by the unusually powerful taste.
I had to intervene and explained to Jake that this isn’t any white wine. Chinese white wine is a kind of white spirit made of sorghum, and is a strong drink containing 50% of alcohol.
Mr Yan kept on: ‘You must drink it! For good health!’
Jake was having problem drinking the stuff. So everyone else helped – Vitalino, Marcos and Felix all came up to share the drink. Bai jiu is a perfect accompaniment with the long-life noodles. A German man and a Swiss couple squeezed in to share the zhajiang mian with Jake and his wife. Then Vitalino wanted to have a go, too. Three pairs of chopsticks were exchanged between the ten of them. Everyone sucked up two chopstick-full of noodles, and then the next person pushed in. The fragrance of the peanut sauce and the vaporated sorghum filled the wagon.
But Mr Yan had disappeared into his cabin, despite our persuasion for him to stay and celebrate with us. ‘I am on duty, you see. I can’t leave the job and drink with you. But I wish you a very happy time!’
Photo: 1-3) Jake's birthday party; 4-5) wheel-changing at Erlian, Chinese border town; 6) cabinmates learning Chinese
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