Somewhere in a flat or house in China is a Lonely Planet phrasebook in Mandarin which used to belong to me. It has ‘Anis Ibrahim, Feb 2005’ in big, happy letters on the inside cover.
I met Fan on the T56, the overnight train from Xian to Beijing. When I first saw him, he was sitting at the window bunk in my compartment, cleaning his glasses with one end of his t-shirt. He nodded and gave me a brief smile.
We introduced ourselves after the train left Xian. Fan was 22, and studying at a university in the capital. He perked up when he heard that I used to work as a lawyer. “That’s what I want to be when I graduate, I want to be a lawyer. That is the only way I can help the people,” he said in English.
“My government-“ he began.
He looked around. The remaining four bunks in our compartment were occupied by a teenager with spiky hair, two sullen men who appeared to have come together but had not said a word to each other and a heavily made-up young woman who was busy filing her nails. None of them seemed to be too interested in where our conversation might lead. Fan turned back to me.
“My father studied politics. Politics is very interesting but of no use in China, there is no point,” he said, shaking his head.
I remarked that I too, found politics fascinating. “I just don’t like politicians,” I said. He nodded. “Politicians always want you to do something for them. I don’t like them. They are never sincere.”
Fan looked out of the window. His hometown Xian was already miles away. His Spring Festival break had just ended and now he was on his way back to “more studying, exams and noisy Beijing”.
I commented on the roads in Beijing. “On my way to Xi Ke Zhan the other day, I saw a very wide road with six lanes on one side.”
Fan groaned. “Oh, Beijing. Its traffic and transportation system is very bad. I never go to the city centre unless I have to.”
I asked him about his university. Was it a national university, or privately funded?
National, he said with great pride. “I am thankful to the government that English is part of our syllabus!” he said in a sudden show of patriotism. “Thanks to the government, I can actually talk to you like this!”
I suddenly remembered my Mandarin phrasebook and showed it to him, pointing out how it was divided into chapters like introducing yourself, shopping or ordering food.
“This is a good book,” he said, turning the pages back and forth. “There are different sections for different subjects and there are some English words I never knew.”
Fan looked up. “Say something you learned from here.”
“Wo shi jizhe,” I announced solemnly without looking at the book. He laughed. I am a journalist.
He flipped through a few pages and pointed out a sentence to me. “Zuijin de cesuo zai nali? Kuaisu!” he said with a very serious expression. It was my turn to laugh. Where is the nearest toilet? Quick!
The two men in our compartment cast disapproving looks at our frivolous conversation.
We arrived in Beijing the next morning only to discover that it had been snowing. “Xue,” Fan said, pointing upwards when we emerged from the station, telling me the Mandarin word for snow.
I took out my phrasebook, remembering how interested he had been in it the night before. “You can have this. Maybe you can use it.”
He thanked me and apologized for not giving anything in return. He asked for my email address, which I wrote in the book.
“I will write to you and I will tell you about my graduation in July,” he said, and we said goodbye.
I never received that email. We meet so many people in our travels- some we are happy to see the last of, some, like Fan, we would love to hear from again if only to know how they’re getting on.
So assuming that Fan never gave away my phrasebook, it’s probably on his shelf now, either in Beijing or another city and hopefully not gathering dust and hopefully helping him along his way.
Anis Ibrahim lives in Petaling Jaya, Malaysia and writes on The Five Foot Traveller, a collection of stories on her travels. She makes it a point to travel at least once every year.
What a lovely story. One of the best things about travelling by long-distance train in a foreign country is the people that you meet and the stories that they tell. I don’t think I’ve ever come back from such a journey without some new and interesting stories.