China-Shishou|01-The Overwhelmingly Long Bus Journey, Crawfish Service Station, First Arrival in Shishou

"The sun outside the window turned increasingly yellow and lower, its radiance spreading in concentric circles, dancing across the expansive water surface, creating white stars with colorful tips. Suddenly, we ascended a bridge, soaring above this champagne-colored mirror. In the distance, faint outlines of buildings emerged, resembling the mirage illusion."

01

It is not convenient to travel from Wuhan to Shishou. The main traveling options are train and bus. However, the train doesn't stop at Shishou; in this way, I need to go to Jingzhou station and then transfer to a bus. Ouyang said that would be too much trouble and suggested I take a long-distance bus or business car for a more comfortable journey.

The so-called business car is a minivan, which is said to be able to pick passengers up at any location and take them to the designated place without taking an extra step, but of course, the fare will be somehow expensive. Since the driver has to provide this service reasonably to each passenger, unexpected situations such as poor route planning or late arrival of passengers will increase the cost of time on the road.

As I am prone to motion sickness and have had the sad and embarrassing experience of being so carsick that I almost threw up, I backed out when I heard "minivan" and ended up buying a long-distance bus ticket.(This type of bus has a bigger inner space)

I last traveled by long-distance bus a long time ago, and there are a lot of differences between the tour buses I used to take when I was a kid and these long-distance buses that traveled between cities and towns.

As far as I can remember, the bodies of these buses heading to distant towns and villages are often a sort of old white, with thin layers of dust covering the windows and mud splatters on the tires. They always have a piece of foam board in the corner of the front windshield with the place of departure and the final destination written in red italic characters.

Sometimes, as I walk along the streets, I brush past these buses and see unfamiliar names on the board; I would recite those names silently several times. I sometimes imagined what the places the people on the bus were arriving at would be like and what kind of stories those people had. Every day, the myriad of life's undercurrents surged through the city's cracks, and the sound of water lapping and light floating off the walls made me want to turn around, get out of my cave, and float somewhere else.

I dragged my suitcase at noon on 28th October and set off from the Youth Road bus station.

The station is so small that it can be seen all the way to the bottom at a glance, with four rows of benches full of people and the smell of ramen noodles wafting through the air. Inside the station, there are ticket vending machines and manned counters, but I didn't see many staff members. The machines at the entrance gates are just for show, so no one stops passengers from coming in and out, and people have to wait for the driver to finish checking the tickets after they get on the bus.

The bus was scheduled to depart at 1 pm. I arrived a little early but didn't expect to be the first passenger on the bus.

During that period, the temperature in Wuhan experienced a surprising rebound. Even though it was already November, the midday heat persisted, prompting me to shed layers. Left with only a long-sleeved shirt, I still felt uncomfortably warm. Eventually, I had to roll my sleeves to my elbows to dissipate the heat.

Initially, I thought that I was the only one in the car; even if it was hot, I could only endure for a while, but I didn't expect the driver to take the initiative to ask me: "Hot, right?" and immediately turned on the cooler for me.

He helped me open the air-conditioning vents above the seat, reminiscing, "You used to take my car to Shishou, didn't you? I seem to remember you." I clarified that this was my first journey to Shishou, and I was going to see a friend. He then asked me where I was going to Shishou, and I said I didn't know but that my friend would pick me up at the bus terminal anyway, even though I didn't have a clue where the terminal was.

The driver, casually leaning on his seat, took a sip of tea and reassured me, "No worries. Shishou only has one bus station. Just follow my instructions, and I'll make sure you get off at the right spot."

One by one, a few more passengers boarded the bus, with the majority being young women.

The bus departed punctually, and I anticipated a direct journey to Shishou. However, I soon realized that the bus made an initial detour to the Hanyang Passenger Terminal to pick up additional passengers. Moreover, it took a brief pause beneath the viaduct to assist in transporting a puppy purchased by a resident of Shishou from Wuhan.

When the driver saw people waving on the roadside, he would stop and speak loudly to those people, like, 'Hop in, I'll give you a short ride!' or 'Your destination is out of my way.!'

Although this continual delay was somewhat annoying, it added a touch of amusement to the journey, making it a tad more intriguing than typical plane or train travel.

As the bus traversed the highway, the scenery outside the window expanded, leaving the city behind. Observing poplar trees adorned with lingering dead leaves along the fields and the dancing reflections of water, I finally savored the essence of travel, and my heart began to pulse with a sense of adventure.

But the journey was much longer than I expected; the farmland and ponds seemed to flow past my eyes as if there was no end to them, lulling me into a cycle of drowsiness and wakefulness.

After what felt like an eternity, the car stopped, and I thought I was in Shishou, but when I looked out, a giant red crayfish was staring back at me with its pincers raised, jolting me awake. I realized I had arrived at the Qianjiang service station.

(Lobster sculpture in front of Qianjiang Service Station)

In line with the principle of going to the washroom when the bus stops, I got off the bus and took a tour of the Qianjiang service station. In the middle of nowhere, the service station had a lot of products such as fast food and milk tea, all familiar brands; if I didn't have to eat and drink less to endure the long journey ahead of me (as there would be no more service stations for the next three hours or so), I would have bought some.

But more than that, the wonderland of pavilions, fake mountains, fake water, fake flowers, and fake cranes on the road to the washroom was a surprise. Perhaps the service station knows that people come here mainly to go to the bathroom; the road to the toilet even carefully do the lighting design; the corridor overall environment is dark so that the middle of the scenery of the strip lights shine, people can enter and exit the washroom from the left and right different directions to view twice.

The only pity is that the poolscape design is too elegant. I can not help but think that even if the service station can not get actual water to carry out fishing crayfish and other recreational activities to increase revenue, at least put some crayfish models into it; that would be more representative of the city of Qianjiang than cranes and lotus flowers. (Of course, it is also possible that with the current status of Qianjiang crayfish fame, there is no need to do more marketing). As for the crayfish sampling activity I was looking forward to, it was a daydream.

After leaving the service station, the bus continued to jolt on the road for a long while. The sun outside the window turned increasingly yellow and lower, its radiance spreading in concentric circles, dancing across the expansive water surface, creating white stars with colorful tips. Suddenly, we ascended a bridge, soaring above this champagne-colored mirror. In the distance, faint outlines of buildings emerged, resembling the mirage illusion.

"Shishou is almost there. Is your friend coming to pick you up later? You may need to tell her about the timing, and we have about fifteen minutes to arrive." The driver informed me, and I quickly responded that my friend was already waiting at the station.

In a few words, the golden water dived into the dark meadow, and after a few more turns, houses, shops, stations, and viaducts appeared around us like a magic trick. The bus stopped along the way, and many passengers left near the bus stop. During the short wait, I caught sight of a moose statue gazing up at the traffic lights, with "Welcome to Shishou" engraved on the stone beside it.

(Shishou Yangtze River Bridge, built in 2015 and to be opened to traffic in 2019)

I was the first to get on the bus and the last to get off. As soon as my feet hit the ground, many people came around saying, "Where are you going? Do you need a taxi?" The bus driver waved at them as he helped me with my suitcase and said, "She has a friend to pick her up."

Those words warmed me up, and I didn't feel the same anxiety I had when I was out somewhere I first visited, which was new for me. It feels so different when someone is waiting for me. That means I'm no longer a mere outsider but someone who has long been connected to this place and is expected to be there.

I immediately spotted Ouyang standing in the square and shouted her name a couple of times to get her attention. She quickly walked towards me, and when she noticed my camera, she had no additional questions; only with a smile directed at the lens she said, "Welcome to Shishou."

We hopped into a taxi, deciding to drop off my luggage at the public art institution, which is Ouyang's workplace. Afterward, we planned to have dinner nearby and return to pick up my things, also bringing along Ouyang's photography equipment for tomorrow.

For some reason, the Shishou drivers we encountered were all amiable. Throughout the taxi ride, the driver passionately introduced us to various buildings and viewpoints, such as Chenjia Lake Park and the Jieshankou tunnel above the mountain.

Seeing the driver and Ouyang engaging in lively discussions about the open hours of a local shop and the recent changes in Shishou due to the upcoming marathon, I finally realized that Ouyang is now considered half a Shishou local!

(Jieshankou Tunnel, located between Maan Mountain and Bijia Mountain, has various explanations regarding its origin.)

The urban area of Shishou City is a little small (which is also why the marathon can only be designed as a half marathon). It didn't take long before we reached the city center, where the public art institution is located.

Nestled behind the Traditional Chinese Medicine Hospital and diagonally across from the commercial street, the sign for the "Shishou Public Art Institution" is tucked between two walls in the depth of the alley. The entrance is on the side, and it may not appear noteworthy at first glance. However, stepping inside reveals a clean and tidy small courtyard. Potted plants line the walls, and the vintage floral tiles suggest its history. When I expressed my fondness for this old-fashioned ambiance, Ouyang explained, "Indeed, this building is nearly fifty years old."

The first floor of the public art institution consists of street-facing shops, while the second-floor houses two rehearsal halls. The larger one is reserved for use by various local art associations, allowing them to engage in various artistic activities. The smaller choir rehearsal hall is currently vacant, and the staff members have their offices in the compartments adjacent to the hall.

Ouyang's workspace is in the second-to-last compartment, labeled as the "Intangible Cultural Heritage Department." This office, spanning about five steps and terminating at the end, is adorned with awards on one wall, two standing metal cabinets, and four office desks. Ouyang occupies the position closest to the door, acting as the guardian. The other two colleagues sit in sequence behind her, and a long table is placed by the window, holding miscellaneous items and a brush. It remains unknown who would find the inclination on regular days to sit at this table and engage in writing or drawing.

After briefly exploring Ouyang's office space, we set out for dinner. As we descended the stairs, we happened to encounter a girl with curly hair tied in a ponytail and wearing glasses, parking her car in the courtyard.

Upon seeing us, she leaned out of her car and greeted us. I introduced myself as Ouyang's friend, visiting Shishou for a few days, and she responded with a welcoming smile, "Oh, really! Welcome, welcome. I'm also her friend!"

We didn't chat for long as she needed to park and finish work. That brief word exchange left me with a favorable impression of the girl. She was warm, friendly, enthusiastic, and positively identified as Ouyang's friend rather than a colleague. Seeing that Ouyang has such a co-worker by her, I felt a reassuring sense of comfort.

"That girl from just now is a professional singer. She probably went to perform in a nearby village this afternoon and just returned now," Ouyang mentioned as we walked. I nodded, feeling a sense of familiarity with that way of speaking. It wasn't until we left the courtyard that I remembered – she should be the one Ouyang had mentioned, the singer who, dressed in formal attire, stood by the windy riverside during the rural activities, singing for the villagers. I hadn't expected to meet her so soon.

Although our encounter was brief, the sensation of having the contours, previously described through words, suddenly filled with flesh and blood; everything matched now; a satisfying "click" echo in my mind left me with a subtle sense of fulfillment.

"Hurry up! I'm hungry! Let's go eat!" Just as I was lost in thought, Ouyang's figure had disappeared around the corner, and her voice came from the other side of the wall. I glanced back at the courtyard and followed Ouyang deeper into Shishou.