The Beijing International Hotel is seriously plush. Marble pillars, velvet sofas. There’s a long black bar made of smooth, sparkling granite. A good-looking Chinese man with neatly gelled hair is standing behind it, polishing glasses. I could sit there, ask him to mix me a cocktail. Something classic, old fashioned – like a Brandy Alexander. Then sip it seductively and see who might come in and offer to buy me the next.
But that’s for another time.
I don’t want to stay here alone in this city full of noise and smog. It’s too big. Too impersonal. There’s a reason why most backpackers follow a trail, go to the same places. I’d always thought that wasn’t for me, and yet here I am alone, and I’m not happy about it at all. I’m kidding myself if I think I prefer my own company.
What I need now is a new friend. A replacement for Sam. I pause. Thinking again about the barman. No. What I need more than anything else is a ticket out of this place, and I just have to hope that my bag turns up before I move on. I look down at my skirt, wondering why I’d chosen this particular look for the flight. I bought a load of things in Bangkok, thinking I might head to the beach before moving on, but that never happened, and now I look like a goddamn hippy. I don’t fit in here, in this hotel. But without the rest of my clothes and my hair stuff and everything else I need, I’m just going to have to style it out. I suppose I will just have to be who this outfit suggests.
The hotel travel centre is a small room filled with too many rubber plants. There’s a small leather sofa, and one desk where someone is being served by a beautiful Chinese woman with her hair pinned up with chopsticks. I’ve seen this before, but not on someone wearing a navy business suit. I like the contrast.
The air conditioning is on full, and I’m relieved to be out of the thick, sticky heat, but after a few moments I’m already feeling a chill on my legs. I watch the woman with the chopsticks, smiling and nodding at the customer. Blonde, hair in a messy ponytail. Shorts. Backpack on the floor. Another traveller. Another me?
I hope so.
‘So you’re saying I can’t get any sort of refund on this, even though I booked it six months in advance?’
Chopsticks nods again. ‘So sorry. We cannot do it.’
The blonde sighs in frustration. ‘It’s an expensive ticket. I did call before I left the UK and was told you could deal with it here…’
Chopsticks shakes her head gently. She’s still smiling.
The blonde stands up. ‘Fine,’ she says. ‘I assume the ticket is transferable? If I can find someone else to take it…’
‘You can do that, yes.’ Chopsticks is beaming now. All sorted, and she didn’t have to do a thing.
The blonde hitches her backpack onto her shoulders, giving me a wry smile and a massive eye-roll as she leaves the room.
Chopsticks is heading towards a door at the back. I glance up at the clock. The minute-hand ticks and the hour-hand clicks into place at the top. Five o’clock.
I jump up off the sofa. ‘Wait … I need to buy a ticket.’
‘Sorry, we closed now,’ Chopsticks says, her smile dipping just a little. ‘We open nine am.’
‘No … I need to get the ticket now. The train is at seven-thirty tomorrow.’
She frowns. ‘You want Trans-Siberian?’
‘Yes. Yes, please.’
‘No ticket left. Come back tomorrow, and you can get ticket for another day, OK?’
It’s not OK, but she’s disappeared through the back. Shit. I grab my bag and slink out of the room, beaten. For another brief moment, I want to cry. But I bite it back. Looks like I’m going to be getting to know the barman after all.
There are a few others in the bar area now. A couple of businessmen in suits on the high stools at the bar. A tanned couple with umbrella’d drinks and their faces stuck in the Lonely Planet. The blonde is sitting on her own, a tall glass of beer in front of her. She’s gazing out of the huge windows, watching the hordes of ant-like humans going about their business.
I hesitate, not sure whether to approach her, but before I can make up my mind, she turns around and sees me.
She looks confused, just for a second, then she smiles. ‘Hey. You were in the travel centre, weren’t you? Did you get sorted?’
I shake my head. ‘Sold out. I need to rethink my plans.’ She just stares at me, saying nothing, and I stand there feeling a bit awkward. ‘That beer looks good.’ I smile at her, nod towards her glass. The condensation is trickling slowly down the sides, and suddenly I am so thirsty, I have to fight the urge to pick it up and sink it in one. When did I last have a cold drink? The water in the bottle I’ve been lugging around with me all day is so hot now I could probably use it to make tea.
‘Tsing Tao,’ she says. ‘Sounds all exotic back home, but it’s cheap and nasty here. Even in this place.’
‘Mind if I join you?’
She moves her laptop over to the far side of the table and gestures towards the empty seat opposite. ‘Be my guest.’
I’ve barely sat down when a smiling woman appears at my side, asking me what I want to order. I return the smile and point at the beer.
‘One of these. Unless you want another?’
The blonde shakes her head. ‘Not yet. Thanks, though.’
‘I’m Violet,’ I tell her. ‘I—’
‘Carrie,’ she says, offering me a small, lightly tanned hand. ‘So where were you trying to buy a ticket for?’
The woman returns with a tray. We wait patiently while she lays down a white paper coaster with a frill around the edge and places the glass carefully on top. Then she lifts a bowl of unshelled peanuts off the tray and places it down in the middle of the table. She smiles and gives me a small half-bow, and I thank her and take a long drink. It tastes like heaven, and I already feel more relaxed.
‘I wanted to get the Trans-Siberian. I wasn’t fussed about which branch, as long as it gets me to Moscow. I’m supposed to be meeting friends there.’ The last part is a lie. I have no particular reason to want to go to Moscow other than I haven’t been yet, and I’m getting a bit bored with Asia. It’s all a bit predictable after a while – same sorts of people on the trail, doing the same things. I think Russia might spice things up a bit. Take my mind off Sam, and everything else. It’s not like I’ve got anything to rush back to the UK for.
‘Oh cool. Me too,’ Carrie says. Then, ‘Oh shit, sorry – you just said you couldn’t get a ticket.’ She slaps herself on the head, then laughs. ‘Let’s have a few drinks and you can forget about it for now. The train tracks will still be there the day after tomorrow.’