On the Train to Nanjing

 NANJING, Aug. 18, 2001 — Today's front page of the national China Daily shows a large photo of golden monkeys at the famous Kunming Zoo. A leading story discusses the "blue economy," that is, the coastal development of aquaculture, fishing, shipbuilding, and ports.

Also:  "Campaign Against Pirated Products Intensifies" and "Iraq Air Defense Claims Dismissed."  (The latter refers to U.S. allegations concerning China's military aid to Iraq.)

Too, a story about the regulation—a euphemism for governmental control—of Internet and other electronic communication. New laws seek to prevent the exposure of children to "pornographic and unhealthy websites." To an American, this is an ominous sign that contradicts the spirit of globalization and the promise in China's entry into the World Trade Organization.

A taxi from the Jin Jiang Hotel in Shanghai takes an anxious American to the railroad station for the trip to Nanjing. A Chinese man and woman form a team to carry luggage to the streamlined, air-conditioned, modern train. People on foot mix with bicyclists, autos, and three-wheeled sanlunches. Voices and motors drown out ordinary conversation.

The proper protocol among porters is for the woman to tote the luggage on a crude hand truck while her male partner walks beside her. At the steep, lengthy stairs leading down to the tracks for Nanjing, the man takes over and carries the baggage. Cost: $1.25. All of this helps one understand why the ancient Romans called baggage "impedimenta."

Aboard the train the seats recline and tray tables may be lowered, exactly as on modern airplanes. Every Chinese carries a bottle of boiled water or tea wherever he travels because water en route may be unsafe to drink, and the purchase of water is expensive at 25 to 50 cents.  Nor is purchased water likely to be as pure as a bottle from home.

I am taken aback to hear Western Christmas carols played on the sound system during the three-hour journey: I'll Be Home for Christmas, Winter Wonderland, White Christmas and many more such tunes. A clarinet carries the melody accompanied by soft stringed instruments. For a little variety, the German O, Tannenbaum and the French Minuit Chretien are tossed in. Some passengers chat, some use their cell phones or laptop computers; a few read or sleep. Through the aisles, uniformed women hawk soft drinks, cookies and other tidbits.

Surprise! Even in close quarters, men and women in China emit no odor. Unlike in a few countries in Europe and in sections of America, the Chinese are generally odor-free. This, in part, is attributable to their cleanliness and not to the use of deodorants, which they refuse. But there is perhaps a genetic factor involved, just as the Chinese are without much body hair. However, especially in the arid countryside of northern China, the Chinese say there are but three times one must bathe: at birth, at marriage, and at death. Even so, they routinely wipe themselves off with a wetted towel.

For most of the journey to Nanjing, the train glides smoothly along an extensive plain with views of small towns and intensively cultivated land. Only a fifth of China is arable in contrast to the U.S.  Since China's population is about 1.4 billion to our 290 million, and we inhabit equal land areas, cultivable land in China is at least five times as precious as in America. Land for crops is so scarce that farmers plant seeds by hand close to highways, railroad tracks, buildings, and fences. Farmhouses along the way are spacious, reflecting the value of their crops.

During the last minutes of the trip, small mountains break through the plain.

In Nanjing, I am whisked in a special van to a five-star hotel that is superior to 99 percent of hotels in the U.S.

Tomorrow I plan to rhapsodize on the remarkable advances in hostelry and to notice the quieter life of Nanjing in contrast to Shanghai.

It is said that Americans who visit China fall in love with the country and its people. It is a true saying, "worthy of all men to be believed."