Yawn
The Chinese vocal projection is a practiced achievement idiosyncratic to this otherwise soft-footed culture. From a silent standstill, their vocal chords can vibrate into a visceral roar that shatters stillness and rattles brains. This startling skill seems a show of strength, not unlike lions marking their territories with louder and louder exhibits of teeth, tongue, and tonsils.
Consider the two grandpas. The clack-a-clack of this lumbering locomotive lulled them to a snoring snooze in the early evening, just after the dinner carts rolled on the next car touting their savory, slurpy suppers.
“Noodles here! Low fat! Highly filling! Get your daily dose of MSG!”
Out of respect for the graying grandpas, the other four members of our six-bunk compartment quieted, clambering softly up rickety metal ladders to climb into our own hard-sleeper beds. But we, not as skilled or perhaps as weary as these elderly octogenarians, only managed to toss and turn to the tune of the train’s every rattle and roll.
Lights out. Music off-ed. Silence ensues.
A seemingly ceaseless black night turns blue as the sun softly stretches her rays. Deep breathing from the second class of a sold-out train sets a meditative mood.
Suddenly, air and energy accumulate, gaining rapid force that begins in the bowels until finally breaking through the throat to result in an almighty roar -- a yelling yawn. The rare stillness snaps, shattered by this guttural growl.
Eyes fly wide. Hearts palpitate. Prayers pass.
Then another. This time the morning moan is trumpeted at an even more deafening decibel, an alpha male establishing his elderly superiority.
Slitty, sleepy glances gaze at the glowing clock: It’s 4:55am.
“Who dares?” mouths mutter. The car curtain is thrown aside with a casual whoosh, and the dawn’s emerging light gleams off a bald head.
Conversation follows. The volume has been turned up to eleven, perhaps to accommodate for forgotten hearing aids left behind on bedside tables in villages that disappeared in the distance long ago. Collectively we, the affected passengers of their joy ride, consider this excuse momentarily before pulling pillows over aggravated ears.
The balding beasts bellow belligerently. But in a language of splintering, spitting sounds, who can tell? To my English ears, it sounds like a yelling-grunting contest in cacophony. But it’s probably just small talk, possibly pondering psychoanalytical interpretations of last night’s dreams.
Ear buds crunch into fragile canals -- I turn up my own audio to drown out this disruptive display of dominance.
Waking a few hours later, both grandpas are again sleeping soundly. I stretch arms overhead, inhale deeply, and let loose an uninhibited and highly audible sigh that hits soprano notes and slides down the vocal scale to settle on a guttural groan. It wipes out the white noise, even if only temporarily.
A grandpa across the compartment opens one eye blearily to assess his competition.
...........................
Story Inspiration: China’s cross-country trains and the cultural phenomenon of sudden and seemingly random vocal projections.
Real-Life Review: China’s cross-country trains are categorized into three classes: soft-sleeper, hard-sleeper, and seats. Each first-class soft-sleeper compartment features four bunks that are somewhat soft compared to, say, the floor. It’s comes complete with compartment sliding doors and controls over the air conditioning, lights, and radio volume. Second-class hard-sleepers are stacked six bunks per compartment. Climbing into the top and middle bunks require yogic talents, but the bottom bunk is easily accessible to all, including strangers needing a seat. The third-class seats are just that and are not worth the few quai (Chinese renminbi) you’ll save.
Book train tickets through travel agents to secure reservations comfortably in advance, or book in person at the local station. Note, however, that train stations only sell tickets within three days of the departure date. Online vendors are rarely reliable.
Consider the two grandpas. The clack-a-clack of this lumbering locomotive lulled them to a snoring snooze in the early evening, just after the dinner carts rolled on the next car touting their savory, slurpy suppers.
“Noodles here! Low fat! Highly filling! Get your daily dose of MSG!”
Out of respect for the graying grandpas, the other four members of our six-bunk compartment quieted, clambering softly up rickety metal ladders to climb into our own hard-sleeper beds. But we, not as skilled or perhaps as weary as these elderly octogenarians, only managed to toss and turn to the tune of the train’s every rattle and roll.
Lights out. Music off-ed. Silence ensues.
A seemingly ceaseless black night turns blue as the sun softly stretches her rays. Deep breathing from the second class of a sold-out train sets a meditative mood.
Suddenly, air and energy accumulate, gaining rapid force that begins in the bowels until finally breaking through the throat to result in an almighty roar -- a yelling yawn. The rare stillness snaps, shattered by this guttural growl.
Eyes fly wide. Hearts palpitate. Prayers pass.
Then another. This time the morning moan is trumpeted at an even more deafening decibel, an alpha male establishing his elderly superiority.
Slitty, sleepy glances gaze at the glowing clock: It’s 4:55am.
“Who dares?” mouths mutter. The car curtain is thrown aside with a casual whoosh, and the dawn’s emerging light gleams off a bald head.
Conversation follows. The volume has been turned up to eleven, perhaps to accommodate for forgotten hearing aids left behind on bedside tables in villages that disappeared in the distance long ago. Collectively we, the affected passengers of their joy ride, consider this excuse momentarily before pulling pillows over aggravated ears.
The balding beasts bellow belligerently. But in a language of splintering, spitting sounds, who can tell? To my English ears, it sounds like a yelling-grunting contest in cacophony. But it’s probably just small talk, possibly pondering psychoanalytical interpretations of last night’s dreams.
Ear buds crunch into fragile canals -- I turn up my own audio to drown out this disruptive display of dominance.
Waking a few hours later, both grandpas are again sleeping soundly. I stretch arms overhead, inhale deeply, and let loose an uninhibited and highly audible sigh that hits soprano notes and slides down the vocal scale to settle on a guttural groan. It wipes out the white noise, even if only temporarily.
A grandpa across the compartment opens one eye blearily to assess his competition.
...........................
Story Inspiration: China’s cross-country trains and the cultural phenomenon of sudden and seemingly random vocal projections.
Real-Life Review: China’s cross-country trains are categorized into three classes: soft-sleeper, hard-sleeper, and seats. Each first-class soft-sleeper compartment features four bunks that are somewhat soft compared to, say, the floor. It’s comes complete with compartment sliding doors and controls over the air conditioning, lights, and radio volume. Second-class hard-sleepers are stacked six bunks per compartment. Climbing into the top and middle bunks require yogic talents, but the bottom bunk is easily accessible to all, including strangers needing a seat. The third-class seats are just that and are not worth the few quai (Chinese renminbi) you’ll save.
Book train tickets through travel agents to secure reservations comfortably in advance, or book in person at the local station. Note, however, that train stations only sell tickets within three days of the departure date. Online vendors are rarely reliable.