Close quarters

One thing with Asian transportation is that it doesn't matter how many seats there are on the bus/subway/train/boat – if there are passengers, then there are fees; and if there are fees to be made then these travel operators will try and cram in as many warm bodies as they can.

After missing our train, we scrambled aboard some godforsaken ramshackle bus blaring out 20 different versions of the same Chinese pop/karaoke songs for a bumpy but otherwise uneventful ride to Pingxiang, the Chinese outpost bordering Vietnam.

Along the way, the bus drifted slowly at random dirt roads while the ticket woman hung out the door and croaked out the route and fare. At some point, I was baffled as to how many more passengers we can take – but apparently, children under 4 feet count as luggage and should sit on their parents lap, the aisle floor is valuable seating space, and standing next to the driver and sitting on luggage are perfectly standard ways to get between points.

We picked up schoolgirls, villagers, mothers & babies, old men, and the entire rural population between Ningming and Pingxiang.  While I can smell what the woman next to me had for breakfast, not too many people mind the situation – they were too entranced by the scenes of the bad Chinese pop music video on the screens to care.