Five Bestselling Travel Memoirs Box Set

by Twead, Victoria

  “Yah, but I’d be so cold, it would feel great when I went outside.”

  “Either way you’d be complaining, so just give it up,” Ammon said. “The weather’s not changing so you’re going to have to. Get used to it.”

  “Try to take a nap, and you won’t notice it anymore,” Mom suggested. I climbed to the middle bunk on the right side and lay down with my face towards the window. There were no blankets and no sheets, just the vinyl-covered bench sticking to my damp skin. It was really strange having a bed on wheels, but this trip was better than the buses had been. There was no swerving or bumping, just a consistent, side-to-side rocking. Instead of rubber tires on asphalt, it was metal on metal with squealing halts thrown in.

  I tossed and turned in my own sweat, constantly checking my waterproof watch. Five minutes passed – ten–twenty-one in the morning. Another minute – ten-twenty-two. The blades of the pale green/almost grey fan above my head went round and round, humming in uneven circles. “Uughhh,” I groaned and rolled back over. Time stood still. Is this thing broken? I thought, shaking my wrist in complete and utter frustration. Oh, ten-twenty-three. Whoopee! Lying on my stomach I stared at the wall and then rolled over to lie face-up instead, gazing blankly ahead. I laid like that as long as I could handle it. Eleven-twenty-five. A whole hour. Twenty-one more to go?!

  “Well, that didn’t work,” I announced to no one in particular. How could I ignore the throbbing in my swelling feet and palms or the incurable itches you couldn’t even begin to know where to scratch, all piled on top of the overwhelming heat?

  “I can’t sleep,” I said louder, directing my comment over the edge of my bunk towards Mom, who was reading in her bunk below.

  “Read your book then,” was her next suggestion. Unable to sit upright in such cramped quarters, I swung my legs over and rolled and wiggled down on my belly to sit next to her.

  “I am NOT reading,” I told her firmly. How could she expect me to suddenly start doing something I’d never done before in my whole life? I’d never had any interest in reading. I was beginning to suspect that this was some form of punishment. Isn’t it enough that I came with her in the first place? Like I had a choice! Why do I have to read, too?

  “Savannah, it’s not for me. It doesn’t benefit me one bit. Reading is great!” she argued.

  “I hate reading!! It’s so stupid,” Bree broke in.

  “I still can’t believe you haven’t tried it yet. I’m already half-way through my book,” Mom continued, “Once you get into it, you’ll really love it. Trust me. You won’t be able to put it down.”

  “There is no way. How can you get any emotion out of a bunch of words on a page?! I need to see what’s happening. Why would anyone read when you could watch movies instead?” Bree said, getting ready to start listing more than our fill of classics.

  “Not everyone has a TV,” Ammon said.

  “And it’s way better than a movie,” Mom said, sincerely.

  Bree, being the person who wouldn’t share the remote control with anyone in the house, sometimes even hoarding it in a secret stash of many other “missing” things, almost fell off her seat at the mere idea.

  Instead, she said confidently, “That’s just crazy.” Suddenly uttering a loud, discouraged “Ugh,” Bree rolled her eyes and unexpectedly fell back into the corner to dig in her daypack for a book, surrendering to the inevitable.

  I couldn’t honestly recall ever reading an entire book cover to cover, but here was Mom, reaching under the bench to open my backpack. Unpacking my load of books, she said, “You should read this one. It’s a classic. It’s the first book I ever read, and it got me hooked. You’ll really love it, I promise!”

  She chose the biggest, fattest book out of the whole stack. “What kind of big-arse, intimidating--- Why does Bree get to read that tiny book?!” I exclaimed as she took hers out. She pulled it protectively to her chest at the accusation and graced me with one of her infamous scowls.

  “That’s a romance. They’re adult books. I’m not sure you should be reading those yet. They’re pretty risqué,” Mom confessed, pressing her more appropriate choice into my hands.

  “Hrmph!” I protested, feeling the annoying weight of it and then promptly tossing it onto the small table beneath the open window. The only way she would manage to trick Bree is with a risqué romance novel!

  “But yours is a romance, too,” Mom urged, less than impressed by my childish behaviour. Cornered by her logic, I was not amused at all. I wasn’t going to read, especially a huge, monster book that would probably take a lifetime to finish. I was sure that doing nothing would pass the time better, but about two hours later, Bree hadn’t moved. She hadn’t put the book down once, and I began to wonder where in the world she was. I’d expected her to fall asleep, but she was definitely still reading.

  Legs stretched out on the bottom bunk on the opposite side of our compartment, Ammon sat with his back against the window as he read. I giggled at the idea of him trying to sleep that night with his big feet hanging over the end a few inches, completely vulnerable to dozy insomniacs passing in the night. Get used to it, I thought cynically with a smirk on my face. Somehow Bree had positioned herself at the opposite end of the bed under his feet. He kicked her book every now and then when he switched his crossed legs. She never seemed to mind or even notice. She must think it adds a few special effects to whatever the heck is going on in that book of hers.

  “Hey, who wants to play a round of cards?” I tried to coax one of my siblings, knowing what Mom’s nagging response would be. I got only an unenthusiastic wave from Ammon, and Bree just raised her book higher to cover her face.

  “Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be, is it?”

  “Just get your book and stop being stupid,” Ammon said, looking up for a split second.

  “The sooner you read it, the sooner you can get rid of it,” Mom reasoned beside me.

  “No thanks. I’ll be fine.” I scooted closer to the open window and crossed my arms over my belly. Shuffling my unpopular deck of cards, I glared up at the tin roof and leather straps supporting the beds. At least the landscape was pretty. I could stare at those vibrant green fields, men working, and impressive buffaloes for hours, but I’d already been gazing at the scenery for hours. Taking my eyes from the window, I saw that the dreaded book was still on the small table where I had tossed it. Its pages seemed to grow as I watched them flutter tauntingly in the breeze from the window. I felt I was somehow being lured into it, like a fish to a hook. This is exactly what they want. I just wanted to reach out and feel it. I must not let it get to me! I inched closer, eyeing it carefully. Taking a deep breath I dashed over, grabbed hold of the window’s handle, and started pulling down on it frantically. Nothing happened. I pushed and pulled like one of those exaggerated cartoon characters whose feet are braced up against a wall, knees knocking from the strain of his exertion before a sudden release sends him flying. But for me, there was no burst of strength or lucky tug. The window remained most undeniably lodged in place. Falling back in defeat, I almost forgot why I so dearly wanted to close that window. No one else seemed to mind, or even notice. They were all absorbed in their books. I glanced back at the book. There it is again! Those pages flapping relentlessly. No, no, they’re dancing. Surrendering the fight, I reluctantly snatched the book up and in an instant I, too, was Gone with the Wind.

  Chapter 18: Birthday Bargaining

  One yuan each, about fifteen cents in Canadian money, got us on the next bus. The bad news was, it was packed beyond belief, and my backpack was stuck to my completely soaked t-shirt in the muggy 35°C (95°F) weather. If I had known it would take an hour to get there, I’d have taken my bag off, though I probably couldn’t have managed to wiggle out of it in the space I had, let alone find a place to put it down. I’m nothing but a bloody pack horse! I’d had no peace and quiet, no time to myself, and hardly any sleep since I’d stepped off the plane in Hong Kong. And now my straps were weighing on my s
unburned shoulders, rubbing them raw. The sun was shining and I’m sure there was beautiful scenery out there somewhere, had I only been able to see past all the people crowding me, whose heads were dripping with sweat. A pleasant sight, indeed, and my mood matched my distinctly uncomfortable surroundings.

  Imprisoned by human walls, I clung onto the one handle I could reach. We had blitzed through the ancient stone forest in Kunming and crashed for the night after our twenty-two hour train ride. We’d barely had time to sleep before we spent another seven hours on a train that took us to the local bus station. I felt like this final hour might just be the end of me. I couldn’t ignore the nagging weight at my neck and shoulders or the salty beads dripping down my butt crack (I’d like to say between my breasts, but of course, I was still waiting for them to show up!) Plus, I looked my absolute worst. Weak and tattered, I was unwillingly exposed to hundreds of people. I don’t think I’d even brushed my teeth that morning, never mind the fact that my hair hadn’t seen a brush for days! Everyone was staring; they might even have been sneering, but I tried to reassure myself that I was probably imagining their reactions again.

  Obviously the heat was getting to me, because I heard Sky’s voice warning me that you are more likely to faint if your knees are locked after standing for long periods of time. I consciously loosened mine, thankful that his military experience had served some purpose other than exempting him from keeping me company on this blasted trip.

  At every stop there was an automated “Ching Chang Chow” that rendered me completely dumbstruck each time, but Bree would laugh and interrupt my self-pitying reverie.

  “Listen! I can speak Chinese. ‘Ching Chang Chow! Please step off the bus,’” she improvised.

  “Bree, stop it!!” I urged with wide, serious eyes. “They can understand THAT,” I told her, effectively admitting that she was actually speaking a bit of Chinese.

  Every minute, I thought, okay, next stop for sure, but it never seemed to come. Just get me outta here and get me to wherever the heck we’re going. I counted down the seconds of every minute as we went on and on and on. My bags were getting heavier and heavier, and I could hardly move. With every Ching Chang Chow, people would shove and squeeze past each other, throwing me off balance and interrupting my deliberately comatose state. With each stop I drifted further into the sea of people who got between me and the family. The unfamiliar faces blurred and became one in my exhausted vision.

  Finally, a muffled, “Okay, this is it!” brought me back to the present. “Sharpen your elbows,” was our fearless leader’s only instruction. Raising them up, I barged my way through that sardine tin on wheels and stepped onto the curb, only to find myself in yet another crowd. As we sifted through the bystanders, a few would separate from the regular crowd and come running at the sight of us, holding up photos and poster boards of the guest houses they represented and the restaurants they wanted us to visit. Before I knew what was happening, we were following someone to #4 Guest House in Dali.

  Dali waited for us as if with open arms. Here we planned to take a well-earned rest. Conveniently, Mom’s birthday the next day offered a perfect excuse to sit back under a straw hut in a beautiful courtyard and relax for once. I was finally allowed to soak up some of this beauty rather than watch it whiz by me on buses, trains, or bikes. A four-bed dorm that cost three dollars per person per night was home for the next four days. I walked in and collapsed on my bed and didn’t move.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  A slit of light peered directly in my eye through the wooden shutters early the next morning. I first responded by burying my face under another, slightly less comfortable pillow before I remembered what day it was.

  “Happy birthday, Mom,” we groaned a little less enthusiastically than usual as we rolled our stiff bodies out of bed.

  “You could be home right now, you know, having a nice party with a cake,” I suggested.

  “Are you kidding? I never liked parties. This is way more fun! I’m going to get a massage today! What more could I possibly ask for, other than maybe a Dr. Pepper? Oh well,” she added in a quieter voice, “maybe a pizza. That would be lovely, too, but that’s probably not possible either, even on my birthday.”

  “You’re definitely not going to find your Dr. Pepper, and even if you could, we wouldn’t let you. But we might be able to find you a pizza,” Ammon offered.

  “Oh, and I’m finally going to buy a jade bracelet,” she added, deciding she would splurge and get herself at least one souvenir. All the buses we’d travelled on stopped at several little jade outlets. They were always glossy shops with all kinds and shapes of jade arranged in pretty glass cabinets. Even after umpteen jade store stops, the domestic Chinese tourists would still get out and ogle each display, oohing and aahing all the while.

  “Is good luck. Omen. Good luck,” the merchants in towns closer to bigger cities where many knew a smattering of English often told us as they bowed their heads. “Yes, yes. Is luck!”

  Presenting the fifteen-dollar expense that a jade bracelet would incur gave Mom a little more leeway with Ammon if labelled as a birthday present. After some fresh, fat banana pancakes, we set off on our shopping expedition to see what kind of deals we could find.

  Voices calling out a tranquil “Hallo!” came from merchants everywhere. They magically appeared from shaded spots behind stalls and from around corners in alleyways as we approached.

  “Whoa, these guys are everywhere!” Bree exclaimed as one snuck up from behind her, again with the same “Hallo!”

  “Country? Country you?” these persistent men and women would ask, their delicate eyes observing us closely.

  “Canada,” one of us would respond.

  After a few puzzled looks, they would exclaim, “OH, Janada!” correcting us with big smiles on their faces.

  “Okay, whatever you say!” Bree would retort shamelessly.

  Merchant women ran from their shops to attack us with the gidgets and gadgets they were trying to sell. Hairclips in my hair, bracelets around my wrists – they’d squabble to adorn every part of our bodies.

  Peeling the bracelets off as fast as they appeared on her wrists, Mom asked, “Where did you go?” turning to Ammon who had vanished in all the excitement.

  “What? You mean, while you guys were getting mobbed? To get this,” he said, holding up a bottle of water.

  “How much did you pay for it?” Mom asked, while politely shaking her head at the two women on her heels trying desperately to make a sale.

  “Two,” he said, waving a confident hand of dismissal to the women.

  “Really?” She exclaimed, and then she reconsidered for a moment. “Wait, two what?”

  “Dollars. What do you think!?” He said sarcastically. “Yuan. I don’t even carry dollars.”

  “What!!?? I paid five!” she exclaimed, as he smiled smugly and continued moving ahead. “How did he do that? Did you see what shop he went to?”

  “While we were getting mobbed?” I repeated, reminding her that I’d been far too preoccupied to pay attention to where he’d gone.

  Whenever Mom needed to buy something, she’d practically jump over the shop’s counter, waving, pointing, and grabbing for what she wanted. The puzzled women most often laughed and just stepped out of her way, but we had a different take on her shopping behaviour. We thought her behaviour was just plain crazy.

  “What? Why? I got what I wanted, and everyone’s happy,” she’d constantly say. She was always interested and happy to interact genially with the locals, but not when it came to bargaining. That was another story entirely.

  “Three kuai?!!!!” Mom would gasp in the merchants’ non-comprehending faces, exasperated. Kuai, we quickly learned, was their slang way of saying yuan. They used it the way we used bucks to mean dollars. Placing her mouth close to my ear, she would whisper in a crackly voice, “How much is that anyway?” It almost made me laugh out loud. Bree’s rude demonstration on the train had revealed that attempts to be secre
tive were largely unnecessary.

  The woman was shouting “three” in Mandarin. They often gestured with their hands to tell us the price. I was grateful that Ammon had delivered a quick lesson on numbers and the different hand gestures the Chinese used to represent numbers on the train.

  “Three?” I inquired of the woman using the native hand signals I’d learned.

  “Ja! Ja!” she said quickly and abruptly, hoping not to lose the sale.

  Calculating and also savouring the moment, I finally turned back to Mom and, in the same secretive fashion she’d used with me, I whispered, “fifty cents.”

  Smiling as she raised two fingers, she said, “Oh! I’ll take two then.”

  The woman said “Ja Ja” again, and gave Mom eight yuan in change from her ten-yuan bill. She’d thought Mom was offering to pay just two yuan, when Mom had really been trying to indicate that she wanted two at the agreed-upon price of three yuan.

  “I don’t get it. OH! She must have thought I meant two yuan. Oooh, yeah!” Mom gave her two yuan and indicated that she wanted another of the same item, pleased to have paid so little.

  Like starving hounds, half a dozen women came rushing towards us to make another sale. They all waved their hands in our faces as they simultaneously shouted out numbers in Mandarin. They’d very skillfully done my hair up while I was still walking, and were now calling out, “forty-five, forty-five,” in an attempt to sell me the same kind of hairclip they’d just put in my hair. Another came rushing from behind with a looking glass so I could see the effect. They continued to chase me with nail polish and other feminine products, and I didn’t know how to handle them. I did the only thing I could think of. I ran to catch up with the rest of the family so I could try to shake some of them off onto Ammon. They certainly would have had their hands in his long hair had it not been out of their reach, but it was as if he were wearing pesticide. Somehow, they just didn’t seem to bother him in the same way.