Mistakes Were Made

Pingyao was an impulse; a choice based more on wanting to visit one more town before I left China than on any desire to see anything that the town contained.  I was in Xi’an and was flying out of Beijing and Pingyao was on the way, about halfway between, so it seemed to make sense to stop there.  It was billed as a nice quiet town, a little touristy but at least small and quaint.  The problem was that I planned nothing.  I found out there were buses approximately hourly, but I didn’t check the prices on tickets, just packed my bags, checked out of my hotel and hopped on a local bus down to the station.  I was a little horrified when they quoted me a price of 22 USD for the 7 hour ride, knowing a train to Beijing was only about 30 USD, but I was already “pot committed” so I bought the ticket and took the ride, the only Westerner on the bus. 

They dropped me off at a crossroads about 4 kilometers from Pingyao.  The driver’s English-speaking assistant gave me a slightly staccato, speech, “ThankyoufortravelingwithYangBusLines.   Wehopeyouenjoyedyourtrip.  Wewishyougoodluckonyourjourney.”  Then she paused and added, “GET OUT!”   After haggling a decent price from a taxi, I managed to find an acceptably priced dorm room and book a two night stay.   From there I found that cheap food (i.e. something that is not geared towards tourists) required a 30 minute walk,  the only train option to Beijing was “Overnight, Standing” class (which is exactly what it sounds like), and the buses were absurdly expensive.   It’s safe to say I regretted my trip to the admittedly quaint city of Pingyao even before I became the victim of theft for the first time  in my 6 ½ months of travel (not counting crimes that take place in my imagination).  Yes, that’s right…wait for it…someone stole my towel.  

Complicating matters was the fact that I had arranged to couchsurf in Beijing with a friendly Chinese woman named Lily and I was determined not to delay.  For those unfamiliar with the bizarre, egalitarian social experiment that is Couchsurfing.org, it’s basically a network of people who don’t mind if travelers crash at their place.  There is no money involved.  You set up a profile and send out requests to hosts who have a “couch”.  The host replies, saying yes or no, and eventually you end up staying with a stranger in a strange land for free.   This was going to be my first “couch” and I wanted it to go well.  Lily had sent me an endearing message, asking if perhaps I would be her “lucky star” and help her prepare for an upcoming English test.  She also added the vaguely disconcerting signoff, “Oh, and of course you will pay attention to hygiene?”  So it was clear she was a nice woman.   If she hadn’t been so nice I probably would have found a cheaper option than the bus and high-speed train combination that cost me 28 USD but was the only way to get to Beijing by date that I had promised Lily.