Wash the tomato, miss the train

Train timetables are horrible bastard things. I’m convinced that somewhere in the world there’s a cabal of evil designers who use their secret underground lair and limitless resources to ensure that train timetables remain firmly trapped in the 18th century, from now until the end of time. I can see them now, sitting cross-legged in their robes made of burlap sacks chanting their mantra, “If on rails it runs, cluttered and indecipherable its timetable must be.” Forget even trying if it’s written in another language.

So, I’m standing on a train platform near Fulong Beach, Taiwan, trying to work out which of the myriad trains I can get on and actually end up in Taipei. This is proving to be rather more difficult than initially expected because the “stopping in Taipei” column appears to be entirely blank. A Taiwanese dude is jabbing at the timetable with a finger and muttering to himself. He turns and has a rapid-fire conversation with the guy behind the window in the manner in which only two Chinese speakers can accomplish. Sharp, jagged bursts of sound that rapidly increase in volume and, uh, screechiness. If they were speaking English, I’d be slowly backing away before the knives came out, but these two are grinning at each other when they finish.

The jabber (also: jabberer) notice me looking bewildered and asks “To Taipei?” I nod and he points at a time, then at his ticket, “One hundred. Two dollar. One hundred and two dollar. Taipei.” Bing. I have a ticket and a time. I thank the guy and walk across the road to grab a drink.

The closest store is a restaurant with a big fridge out the front. I pick a brightly coloured bottle of tea at random and walk in to pay. From the second I walk in the store, the owner starts shooting high speed Mandarin at me. When I grin sheepishly and make it clear that I don’t understand a world, he smiles back and just keeps on talking. I nod in what I feel are pertinent breaks in conversation, get my change and scoot for the door. He thanks me as I leave.

Still ten minutes until the train. I haven’t gone through the gate, as I have my random tea to enjoy. While I’ve been getting said tea, a van has pulled up in front of the station and a bunch of Chinese Aunties are piling out. One of them has a couple of greenish looking tomatoes. She shoves out her hand and offers one to me. “Uhh, Ok. Thank you?” I half put my hand out and she snatches hers back and begins to mime washing a tomato. “Wash?” The Aunties repeat “Ouashie! Ouashie!” and cackle to each other. They stomp off in a huddle, presumably to wash their prize tomatoes and return.

Then the station master appears and starts gesticulating wildly, “You! To. Taipei?!” “Yes!” “Go now. From now. Ok?” “Ok” “Ok! Ok! Bye bye!” The train is early. I fight my way through the mobs of people buying station food from vendors on the platform and grab a seat.

The train goes to Taipei and costs $102. It arrives on time. Take that you evil timetable corrupting bastards. The people will rise above your petty schemes and prevail. There might even be a free tomato in the deal somewhere, if you play your cards right.

Posted in Travel on Wednesday September 21, 2005.