Today I went to Shenzhen

This morning as soon as I got up I set out in search of cheaper accommodations. I was heading to Chungking Mansions, where several guest houses received good reviews in the Lonely Planet guide, and rooms supposedly started at 100 HKD. Both Chungking Mansions and its smaller cousin, Mirador Mansions, are on Nathan Road, a busy arterial in Kowloon. Walking down the road, I passed the Tsim Sha Tsui MTR station, and, noticing that I was right in front of Mirador Mansions, decided that convenience favored looking there first.

Mirador Mansions, with its 15 or so floors, takes up an entire block. The upper floors are mostly apartments and guesthouses, but the ground floor is lined both outside and through a maze of hallways inside with shops selling electronics, cigarettes, perfume, souvenirs, and counterfeits. On the south side of the 12th floor is the Cosmic Guest House. It's considerably more dilapidated than the almost new-looking Lee Garden Guest House, and the long hallways stretching into darkness make it a little spooky. I let it be known at the front desk--a cramped little room with a fish tank, papers all over the walls, and a missing ceiling panel--that I wanted a room. The lady at the desk told me she had one for 160 HKD and another for 180 HKD; I asked to see them. I was led down a crumbling hallway with exposed wires in the corners and walls with a regular, rectangular pattern of holes. Through the holes I could see the thick bamboo scaffolding that currently covers the building outside and in the courtyard (which is huge, but I can't seem to reach it from the ground floor). On the other side of a locked gate, which opens with an RFID tag attached to the key, were the rooms. The only difference between the two rooms was that the more expensive one had enough space to put my backpack on the floor and still stand up. I chose the cheaper one. The room has tile walls, a TV, a phone, internet access, and a bathroom. The bathroom is even smaller than the previous one; somehow a sink, a toilet, and a shower have been packed into less than a square meter. But I prefer to look on the positive side. In how many other bathrooms is it possible to take a shower while you're sitting on the john? Actually, the sink is in the way, so I have to sit on the toilet sideways.

Today I set myself the goal of buying my train ticket to Chengdu. Thinking of the summer before last, when I was traveling in Europe and all the trains were booked weeks ahead, I wanted to find out just how long I would have to wait in Hong Kong. But first I had lunch. The Lonely Planet guide lists quite a few vegetarian restaurants, including one called "Branto Pure Vegetarian Indian Food". Supposedly the place has been around for a long time and offers very cheap South Indian snacks. I was happy to see that it was only a block away from the Mirador. I went to the street where Branto was supposed to be, but I saw no visible signs of an Indian restaurant. I checked the address again. 9 Lock Road. I found the building, but it seemed to be completely taken up by a mediocre-looking Chinese cafe and a few other shops. I looked up: no sign for an Indian restaurant. I figured it must have closed. Then I noticed a door in the middle between two shops, which looked like the entrance to an apartment building. Next to the door was a directory; a little sign on the directory said simply "Branto - 6" I pressed the buzzer, and was let in.

I had to walk up a flight of unmarked stairs before I came to anything stating the nature of the place called Branto. Above a windowless door was the full name: Branto Pure Vegetarian Indian Food. Inside, I found a fairly ordinary-looking diner. A grey-haired Indian man pointed me to a table between two couples. Both of the couples were Indian, and they both had very small children. The couple to my left had a daughter who must have been about two, and she would start to wail at regular intervals. I stayed there for an hour, and in that time, most of the people who came in were Indian. It was wonderful to have good Indian food after two weeks of almost nothing but Chinese (not that I'm complaining).

On the way out, I asked the waiter where I could buy a train ticket. He told me to go to the MTR station Hung Hom, which was also a major train station. I walked to the Tsim Sha Tsui station, and took the MTR to Hung Hom. It was certainly a much bigger station than the others I'd seen. I went up a random escalator and asked the man inside an information kiosk where I might buy a ticket to China. "Exit 4," he told me. After a little bit of searching, I found exit 4, but it wasn't clear where I should go from that point. I went to another information kiosk.

"Hello," I said. "Where can I buy a ticket to mainland China?"
"Where do you want to go?" one of the two men replied.
"Chengdu, Sichuan."
"Chengdu!?" Whenever I have told anyone here the name of my destination, I have gotten this same incredulous response.
"Yes, Chengdu. Do you know if I can buy a ticket here?"

He told me I had to go to Lo Wu station. Following his directions, I found the line that would take me there. The train was waiting when I went down the escalator to the platform, so I ran inside. Then I realized it was almost empty. On the wall there was a map of the stops on the route; Hung Hom was at one end of the route, and Lo Wu was at the opposite end--way north in the New Territories, next to the Chinese border. I guess I could have gotten a second opinion, but I decided to follow the advice I'd been given and head to Lo Wu.

The ride from Hung Hom to Lo Wu takes about 45 minutes. For most of the ride I read or dozed, but occasionally I saw small green mountains or high-rises going by. Lo Wu station was crowded, and everyone seemed to be walking quickly and purposefully. I went to another information kiosk and asked the woman the usual question. She didn't understand, and thought I was talking about an MTR ticket. I asked a policeman standing nearby. He told me to try the travel agency. The travel agency said they didn't sell train tickets for China, and they pointed me to the border. I paid my MTR fare (31.30 HKD) and went into a large room with a line of immigration officers. I asked one who wasn't in a booth for advice; she didn't speak English, but she retrieved one of her colleagues who did.

This immigration official told me to go back to Hong Kong. There, he said, I could buy a ticket at a China Travel Agency. Did I want him to write the name down? I told him I would appreciate it. He took out an immigration slip and on the back wrote "China travel agency". My exasperation must have been visible, because then he had another suggestion. Earlier, he had asked to see my visa; when he saw that it was multiple-entry, he had said that going back and forth across the border would be no problem. He told me I could try going across the border today, where I could buy a ticket at the train station in Shenzhen.

I joined the line in front of one of the immigration booths. The man looked at my passport, stamped just yesterday with my arrival in Hong Kong, and after looking multiple times from my passport picture (taken four years ago, when my hair was long and not on my face) to me, and back to my passport picture, he stamped it again. I didn't count of how many times I had to show my passport today, but if I had to guess I would say six or seven. Next, I had to fill out a health declaration form, where I stated that I did not show any symptoms of illness, and give my email and phone number. Passing a checkpoint, I handed it to an agent who added it to a stack without looking at it. A little farther, after I filled out an immigration form, another official pointed a temperature gun at my forehead.

After having yet another official look at my passport, deciding that I was carrying no contraband that needed to be declared, having my bag x-rayed anyway, and using a urinal of indefinite nationality, I arrived in Shenzhen, China. In Shenzhen I talked to about 10 more people--including three or four more incredulous ticket officers--walked across one Chinese street, saw one Chinese skyline, and withdrew 1,000 RMB from one Chinese ATM, before buying two train tickets for Friday. The first ticket cost 409 RMB, and it goes from Guangzhou to Chengdu in a little over 27 hours. My communication with the ticket vendor was somewhat repetitive and sparse, but I gathered that I was buying a ticket for a lower berth. From the price I've inferred that the berth is a hard sleeper, which means that the beds are stacked in threes and are arranged in open-plan carriages, though I'm not sure what that means, exactly. Anyway, this train leaves Friday morning at 9:08. The second ticket cost 75 RMB and it goes from Shenzhen to Guangzhou, leaving at 6:35am and arriving around 8:15, I think (the second vendor knew I have another train to catch).

The timing of these trains leads to an unfortunate logistical problem. I didn't know this then, but the border closes between midnight and 6:30. In other words, if I try to cross on Friday morning, I'll miss my train. The only option is to cross on Thursday night, and wait somewhere in Shenzhen for about six hours. This will probably mean dozing on a bench somewhere in the station, using my backpack for a pillow.

After buying my tickets I turned around and jumped through all the same hoops again. The MTR was a lot more crowded on the way back than it had been on the way there. But the entire trip didn't actually take much more time than I had expected. I had set out from the Indian restaurant at 3pm, and I got back to my room around 7--with two train tickets, four new stamps in my passport, and thirteen pictures of Mao in my pocket.