Train to Taitung

After wiping the fried chicken crumbs from the plastic surface, I fall back onto the cold, uninviting seat of the train. Dusting myself off, I gently massage my knee, trying to ease the slight burning sensation left from the fall. 

Just moments ago I had leapt onto the carriage, falling hard onto all fours, as I came flying through the sliding doors of train number 408 on the Taroko Express, barely in time for the doors to close behind me. A regular occurrence based on the lack of reaction from the people around me, simply continuing with their day-to-day. 

7:16, Robert, the train leaves at 7:16. Every day without exception for the last three months. How can I not remember that? Being late is not my thing. But when you have to take a 40min bus to get to the station, time is not always in your hands. Not that it ever is. 

If memory serves me well, I also had to wipe crumbs from my bus seat.

“Today is just a crummy day”, I say smiling, humoring myself. The old lady next to me simply smiles and nods.

Its a three and a half hour train ride before we reach Taitung, and with a deep yawn, arms stretched out above my head I turn to the lady next to me.

“I am extremely tired. Would you mind watching my bag for a while, please?” I ask, hopeful that I may catch up on some much needed rest on the commute.

Again she smiles and nods gaily, softly putting her hands together as if in silent applause.

“To-Sia”, I mispronounce in an attempt to thank her in her mother tongue. I push my bag further under my seat, and tilt my head back slightly.

The one good thing that has happened so far today is that I was able to find a place to sit. The carriage is jam-packed with people, so much so that people are standing in the isle. Thankfully there are no older people to whom I would have to give up my seat, however, I might offer my seat up to one of the nicer strangers who are forced to spend the commute upright. After my nap off-course. 

Speeding along, the train emits a very soothing sound as it wizzes past the scenery of green trees, rolling hills and short glimpses of the ocean, often passing a farmer tending to his crops, busy with his daily grind. At 130km per hour, this train is a scientific marvel. How have we as people come so far? And how are the cows and pigs we pass not more surprised by our human ingenuity?

The noise of the train acts as a lullaby for a grown man like me, as I slowly fall into sleep.

A sudden jolting pain shoots through my leg, as I am rudely awakened by what I can only assume was a kick to the shin.

“Aaahhoouuww, jeeze man” I groan, looking up at the glowing face of a little Taiwanese girl no older than 9 or 10.

“Why?” I ask irate.

“You look funny” she says as she lines up another kick, and punts the other shin. “Chase me” she says as she runs down the isle laughing, bumping into commuters as she goes.

“Do you know her?”, I ask the lady next to me – now also laughing - gnashing my teeth in agony.

She nods and smiles. “No english”.

“So my bag wasn’t even safe with you, was it?”, I say slightly annoyed. “Why you not say no English?”

She smiles and nods. Whats the use. Luckily I was able to doze off for an hour or so.

Feeling the urge to stretch my now aching legs, I decided to concede my seat for the remainder of the journey. The man standing next to me looks quite uncomfortable. I stand up and gesture to him that he may sit down if he so pleases. He politely smiles in thanks and takes his seat. The friendly stranger and the old lady are instantly locked in conversation. She is no doubt pleased to have a new travel companion. I start making my way to the back of the train through the obstacle course that is the crowd. 

Just as I am about to reach the back, a middle-aged French man grabs my hand.

“Please get control of your child”, he says with snark in his voice. “She has kicked me for the very last time”.

“My child?” I ask incredulously. “Are you fucking blind man? Look at me. How can that be my child?”

“Don't be rude, how was I supposed to know?” he continues, pointing his finger directly at the centre of my face.

The train passes into a tunnel and the only visible lights are the small seat numbers and emergency lines on the ground that glow in the dark.

“Don’t point your finger at me, you should...”

Before I can finish my sentence, the deafening screech from the train tracks hits our ears. In an instant everyone in a 2 meter vicinity has made eye contact. Suddenly myself and all the other standing people in the carriage are flung forward as the momentum shift rips at our insides.

I fly through the air hitting my head on a steel footrest 4 meters in front of me, instantly knocking me out cold. 

The train had made contact with something heavy – like a fist hitting a wall – as the bodies of all onboard are thrown around like rag dolls in a tumble-drier.

A few minutes pass before I am awoken by to the sound of screams and crying. The lights are still on with the addition of some natural light entering the front of the train, dust seizing the opportunity to dance in the rays. The light hurts my eyes, as the cut on my head announces itself. Blood running down my face and dripping onto the floor in front of me. I have had a cut on my head before. The vast amount of blood always make it seem worse than it is.

Head pounding I pull myself up and look around at the carnage. Bodies strewn everywhere. People tending to the wounds of their families, friends and even strangers lending a hand.

Fingers gently takes hold of my shoulder and I turn to find a man dressed in bright yellow.

“You fine?” he asks.

I nod, and he moves on to the next person.

“You fine?” I can hear him ask the rude Frenchman, as his voice is drowned out by the wailing.

Carefully I make my way past the injured, to my bag where I find the old lady lying face down and motionless. I put my hand on her shoulder and shake her around to no reaction. She is not breathing. 

Ah, she will be fine.

Overcome by an instant feeling of extreme claustrophobia I try to move to the front of the train where the light sends out an inviting glow.

We have all heard numerous times in films to not follow the light, however, in dark tragic times like these the allure of the shine is much to seductive. The amount of people in the carriage, and injured people lying on the ground in the isle makes it almost impossible for me to move and I decide that I would have to find a way out of the train. Standing up on the chair closest to me I launch my right heel at the window and kick it straight out of its frame, frightening a child sitting one row from me in the process. Smiling at the child to comfort her, I grab the curtain railing of the seat closest to the window, and lower myself safely down, outside the train.

Walking down the tunnel the yowling becomes progressively worse as I get closer to the source of the collision. Resisting the urge to look through the window, I remain focussed on the light as I make my way down the tunnel.

Finally reaching the mouth of the tunnel, the warmth of the sun hits my face. Much like coming up out of water for a breath of fresh air. I inhale deeply, putting one hand aloft shielding my eyes from the sun. My ribs hurt.

Walking away from the wreckage I lower myself onto a thick patch of bright green grass. Today is actually an exceptionally beautiful day. Crummy, but beautiful. The trees reach high above and the birds are chirping their songs as if all is right. The wind soothes my bleeding head as I place four fingers on the open wound. And there it is. The ocean. I have not, until now, noticed how beautifully sapphire blue the ocean is today. Beauty beyond compare.

I wipe the blood from my hands on a luscious tuft of grass, and lay on my back to stare at the sky. My head no longer hurts and neither does my knees or my shins.

“You fine?”, the man in the bright yellow, blood stained shirt says, poking his head into my line of sight.

I smile and nod.