With a dome of amber smog sealed firmly around Beijing as the sun was beginning to sink over the evening rush hour, Rosie and I hailed a cab and made our way through the heady fumes and torrent of car horns to Beijing West train station on the far side of town. After almost an hour of traffic jams and erratic lane changes, ahead of us, through the fuzzy half light, a behemoth of a building began to appear in the sea of neon lights which pulsed upwards around it. So large a structure, so grand and complex, it's width and height were virtually undefinable, its sprawling mass devouring the feeble structures surrounding it. It literally dominated the skyline, and as we gazed in awe through the windscreen, it felt as if we were being pulled towards it along with the vehicles around us. And then the pedestrians, filing along on pavements and overhead walkways, all crawling slowly but definitely towards its heart. 'Rosie,' I said, peering up, spotting the pagoda buildings perched high atop its concrete block mass, as if an ghostly city existed in the clouds, 'I think this is the station...'
Pulling up in a makeshift car park across the road and loading ourselves up like pack-horses, we were immediately sucked up into the crowds. We were quickly whipped along with the current of people, not entirely sure of our destination yet without any way of changing it. And as shouts, cries and blasting music attacked us from the restaurants and shops lining our route, we clung to each other tightly and marched onwards, upwards and over the dense traffic along an elevated walkway, through clouds of thick brown cigarette smoke and into the bowels of Beijing West Station.
As we fell into line along one of the many dozen tight lanes of security check points, ID cards of those around us were presented and stamped, and luggage of every shape and size was rolled through X-ray machines; battered boxes piled high and bound to a makeshift trolley with string, scuffed suitcases bulging at the seams and large bundles of belongings tied up in bedsheets and dragged along by frayed ropes. Lines of officials examined the march of bodies proceeding through the station perimeter, occasionally picking out an unsuspecting soul for closer scrutiny. The mood was of a sombre exodus, perhaps, as if a million people were suddenly afoot, all escaping the choking fog that seemed to be slowly devouring the city. A dishevelled army of men, women and crying children, all piling onto overcrowded trains to take them away, anywhere, with as many of their possessions as possible.
Having decoded the enormous departures board, we made our way to a 'waiting area' which gave nothing but further fuel to the impression of a mass evacuation. A sea of bodies buzzed and scurried before us in a room of equal proportion to the building within which it sat, stretching far into the distance to steel barred gates leading down to the platform which would eventually open thirty minutes before departure. Large families gathered in tight circles, sitting on their bundles of luggage or simply squatting on the tiled floor, nattering loudly and slurping down steaming pots of noodles while young children lay asleep across their laps. Groups of labourers, their tanned leathery faces obscured by large straw hats, quietly played cards on overturned fruit crates while taking turns to sip from cans of beer which they passed around like a newborn baby. On the few seats available, weary businessmen sat alone and silent, their legs outstretched and their tired eyes squinting at the young couples giggling and taking photos of each other. Around the room the travelling salesmen, in cheap suits and scuffed shoes, barked angrily into their cellphones while clutching bundles of gifts for friends and family back home.
We found an empty scrap of floor, kicked aside the pile of sunflower seed husks left behind by the last inhabitant of this precious piece of real estate, dropped our bags and waited for the train....
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