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Night train to Pingyao: the international language Discovered
By Tom and Kathy Brunkow

The Rev. Tom and Kathy Brunkow celebrated Tom?s retirement in June with a round the world excursion. The trip was made possible by a gift of frequent flier coupons from their niece and nephew and other retirement gifts. Their itinerary took them to Japan, China, Turkey, Greece, Italy, France and England. Adam?s Rib stories feature Tom?s vignettes from their travels.

Our new gbwc_superusere, Uri, and her driver picked us up at 5 p.m. as promised and drove us to the Beijing West train station. At the entrance I marveled at what has to be the largest depot in the world. A rail system serving nearly a billion people surely requires a colossus.

Inside it took a while to orient ourselves, find the waiting room for the track and ask if this was the one for Pingyao. Yes, it was. Relief all around. We spied a food vendor and loaded up on crackers, cashews, apricots and water. But we weren?t home free yet.

When the gate opened for passengers, we were stopped by the attendant. Some sort of problem. Our gbwc_superusere was imploring the attendant on our behalf. Another railway official came up and signaled us to follow. He led us through a maze of rooms to the office of some higher manager.

We couldn?t understand a word, of course, something about our tickets ? hadn?t been paid for. I pulled out a receipt from the travel agency, and that seemed to satisfy them. We climbed aboard the aging red and white sleeper coach and said our good-byes to Uri with thanks for all her help.

Mid-way along the corridor we found our cabin - an eight-by-eight foot room with upper and lower berths. The lower ones were ours. Lace curtains on the large window were tied back. On the fold-down table under the window was a basket of bananas on a lace doily. Under the table was a thermos for tea. We placed our back-packs on the beds and sat in opposite corners taking in our new digs.

A 50-ish Chinese couple entered the couchette. Our 'hellos' were an immediate tip-off: foreigners. Without a word, the man hopped up to his berth above Kathy. The woman, outgoing and perky, clearly wanted to communicate with us, but couldn?t.

'I?m Tom. And this is Kathy, from the USA, Washington, D.C.' She smiled in a friendly, baffled way. More awkward silence. Many nods.

Just then a uniformed woman entered. The conductor asking for our tickets, I assumed. I handed over ours and she gave me two plastic cards.

'What are these?' I asked, jabbing at the plastic. She responded with a blank stare. The conductor left for the next compartment. I followed her down the corridor driven by my nightmare - how will we know when to wake up and where to get off?

At the door of the next couchette I asked again and was ignored. Just then I heard a welcome voice, 'Can I be of help?' It was the Chinese man inside the cubicle with his wife and two young children. 'Yes, I?m trying to find out what these are for?'

'Oh, just give them to the conductor when you get off the train.' Then he asked, 'Where are you going?'

'Pingyao,' 'So are we. We live not far from Pingyao.'

'How will we know when the train gets there?' I asked. 'The conductor will wake you when it?s time,' he replied. Turns out he had studied in Toronto for a year. His presence felt like the second miracle on this 4th of July: first, the taxi driver who returned our lost credit card, and now this stand-by translator right next door.

The woman sitting at the far end of my berth grew animated when she realized that Kathy, who carries a sketchbook wherever she goes, was drawing me. Gestures ensued, and Kathy began sketching her. Soon a crowd of passengers, among them a small girl, gathered at the compartment door.

Kathy asked if the girl would like her picture drawn. 'No, no' was the fiercely shy reply. She ran back to her parents. They must have warned her not to bother us. Later she crept back for another peek. Kathy sketched her surreptitiously.

When it was time to turn down the sheets, I was tired but happy. What a remarkable day. We had climbed the Great Wall, navigated dicey moments on the Chinese railway, and discovered the international language of art. A cup of hot tea soothed my throat, and the gentle rocking of the train eased my body towards sleep.

I was glad to be leaving the pollution of Beijing for fresher air in China?s countryside. As I drifted off, images of Pingyao?s ancient streets and gates melded with dreams of a magical land to be discovered tomorrow.

As promised, the conductor knocked on our door at 6:30 a.m. The Chinese couple was gone. Another man, who must have entered in the middle of the night, was asleep above me.

We hoisted our matching lime-green knapsacks as the train slowed.

'Pingyao, Pingyao,' an official voice called out. Leaving the train we saw our little neighbor. Kathy gave the still-shy girl her drawing. She scampered away.

On the station platform we glanced back at the windows of our coach -and there was the little girl, smiling at us, waving and pressing her picture against the glass. That smile needed no translation.