I stand in the snow in Harbin and dream of Sanya 1

On the road to Sanya
The first day
Vladivostok-Harbin-Beijing-Sanya and back.
               
Validity: December 27
Direction: Vladivostok-Sanya
Characters: four tourists, me and my son.
The person on whose behalf the story is being told. I, Irina, am the leader of a group that takes tourists to the resort of Sanya through all of China.
Transport: Exclusively land. Buses and trains. On the way back - air, unplanned

Host: Chinese travel agency "Pearl of the East"
  27th of December. Vladivostok. 3 o'clock in the morning.
                I met two tourists at the door of the bus and presented gifts from Primavtotrans. The boxes contained a bottle of clean water and crackers. We were given several boxes of gift-rations so that we could distribute these rations to our tourists. The son was dissatisfied, and I was delighted, I really love unexpected gifts. In the future, on the most difficult part of the journey, Suifenhe-Harbin, these simple gifts, oh how useful to us! The fact that the path will not be easy, I felt from the very first minutes. In Ussuriysk sat down two tourists, Marina and Sasha. We arrived at the border gate on time, it was, as already mentioned, before the new year, and therefore the bus was only a quarter full. We crossed the border almost without incident, but after that our luck ran out. Marina was last on the list, and I asked her to pick up the lists. But the border guard at the Chinese border did not want to give the list. On this list there was a seal of the Russian customs and the seal of the Chinese should have flaunted. But I repeat, the list was not given. Marina told the group leader, that is, me, about this. Having crossed the border, I rushed to the representative of the meeting party. A Chinese young man named Slava argued something to the border guards for a long time, and then ordered us to get on the bus. To a reasonable question, what will happen to the lists, Slava did not answer. Slava's appearance was rather arrogant, the comb of hair sticking out on his head gave him a resemblance to a rooster. The guy only advised to calm down and let him, Slava, decide the situation. I calmed down, but after the bus started moving, I again approached the young man with questions. Slava said that the lists were allegedly incorrectly drawn up and therefore they were arrested at the border. But, he, Slava, undertakes to resolve this problem and by the time the group returns, everything will be in order. There was no direct bus to Harbin, so we traveled by chaise longue. On a fairly short stretch, Duning-Suifenhe, we managed to transfer from bus to bus three times. It was not yet twelve o'clock in the afternoon, and everyone was already insanely tired. But the path to the desired goal was just beginning. When we arrived in Suifenhe and disembarked from the next bus, it turned out that ten minutes were left before the departure of the bus that would carry tourists, and my son and I, to Harbin. It took six hours to drive. Imagining this endless journey, I, sorry, wanted to go to the toilet. In tourist brochures, inviting gullible tourists to China, they proudly emphasize the fact that all public toilets in China are free and clean, brought to the sterile operating room. Music plays softly, marble walls shimmer. As I learned from further travel, the situation in the toilet rooms, in the major cities of China, corresponded to what was written in the prospectuses. But Suifenhe was not a large city, nor was it small. Suifenhe was a special city. It was an adventurer city. He looked like Ostap Bender. And it had everything special, including the toilets. The Chinese translator was unhappy with the delay. She, like all translators who sent groups with Russians, wanted to quickly put tourists on the bus and forget about them, because the next group with suckers-tourists was waiting for her on the way. But I didn't pay much attention to the translator's dissatisfaction. And she moved at a frantic pace to the building of the bus station. Urged on by the translator, I flew into the bus station building, dragging my son behind me, and ran to the toilet. But unexpectedly, a Chinese woman in a blue padded jacket, who had come from nowhere, blocked my path. After announcing that the toilet was paid, she demanded ten yuan from us. I immediately counted, 5 yuan - corresponded to 25 rubles. Having made these simple calculations, I wanted to be indignant, even the Russian bigwigs of the toilet business could not afford such prices, but, catching the translator’s impatient glance, I waved my hand and pulled out the money. Suifenhe is a city regularly visited by Russians. Some have long felt at home in this town. But back to me, who paid the money and is now standing in the middle of a Chinese toilet. The path to the toilet cubicle was blocked by a puddle of considerable depth. It was impossible to bypass it. Apparently, the money was spentacheny in vain. This toilet has never been trodden by a cleaner.

Still December 27th. Harbin. Around 18 pm
Although we drove only six hours from Suifenhe to Harbin, this journey seemed like an eternity to me. This is where a small gift from Primoravtotrans came in handy. Running back and forth took time and minutes to buy at least some food on the road was not enough. Returning to the bus at a run, I looked longingly at the tray with all kinds of Chinese food, but the translator did not let me slow down near the tray. However, this time, she did absolutely the right thing, the bus was already leaving and Cyril and I had to jump in almost on the go. There was a TV on the bus, and during the whole journey some Chinese film with a touch of mysticism was played on TV. The main character was Jackie Chan. We entered Harbin at dusk. I have already been to Harbin several times and therefore recognized the place where we were dropped off. The bus accelerated and left, and in an instant the frozen tourists were left shivering in the courtyard of the bus station. Nobody was in a hurry to meet us. The Chinese passengers dispersed, and the flock of Russians, shivering from the cold, stood still. Tourists looked at me questioningly. I dialed the phone number over and over again, but on the other end of the wire they asked me to be patient and wait. In Chinese, it sounded something like: "bulge." Time passed, and the greeters were still nowhere to be seen. I dialed the number a few more times, but the result was the same. Standing in the courtyard of the bus station, I felt more and more on myself what it is, cold in Harbin. The thermometer was minus twenty. If Siberians had been in the place of our heroes, accustomed to temperatures of minus forty, then the weather outside would probably have seemed to them like spring, but our heroines and heroes were from Vladivostok. From a city where minus ten degrees is already an event, and minus fifteen is a global catastrophe on a local scale. In general, the tourists froze instantly, and Harbin residents, apparently, had at least something. They walked in thin jackets, without hats and gloves, happy and contented. Cyril began to grumble. The child surprisingly easily endured a difficult path. He did not whine and did not resent, although the road was quite difficult, but here the boy could not stand it anymore. And not smart. It was insanely cold, and the cold was chilling to the bone. I still called and cursed loudly. Time passed, but no one was in a hurry to meet the group and escort them to a warm room. Three and a half hours remained before the Harbin-Beijing train. Finally, a frail Chinese Misha appeared in front of the desperate tourists, in a light sweater open. It is not known how the endless waiting in the windswept courtyard of the Harbin bus station would have ended if Misha had not recognized me. The last time I took a group to Beijing, Misha was also a representative of the meeting party. The tourists, brought to a white heat, pounced on Misha. The Chinese justified himself, explaining the delay by the fact that, allegedly, the phone of the group leader, that is, me, was out of range. True or not, it remained unknown. The exhausted people had neither the strength nor the desire to find out something. They wanted to drink, eat, and be warm. Misha fulfilled the wishes of the tourists as best he could. The place where Misha took the tourists was called quite interestingly - the Brezhnev restaurant. However, inside it was just an eatery with two small halls. The room was not heated at all, but after the street it seemed to the tourists that the room was very warm. The real Sahara, which, however, in a few minutes turned into Antarctica. Tourists took off their outerwear and very quickly regretted it. I repeat, the restaurant was cold. The owner apparently saved on heating. They brought the menu. I knew that each tourist was entitled to dinner at the rate of thirty yuan, and therefore I was very surprised when Misha suggested that tourists order whatever their heart desires. Everything was pleasing to the soul. Especially vodka and beer, which were included as a free supplement to dinner. The menu in the restaurant was in Russian. The round table was instantly stocked with dishes. Hungry people turned the circle on which the dishes stood with rapture. After washing down dinner with strong drinks, the men flushed. I don't drink, and therefore, unlike the others, I was very cold. Probably, warmth, for the owner of the restaurant, was an unnecessary luxury. Hungry on the road, people devoured dishes at an enviable speed and in large quantities. Even Cyril, whom it was impossible to persuade to eat anything at home, ate with appetite. Dinner ended and then the tourists were surprised to learn that, according to Misha, they themselves should pay for their dinner. It was not clear whether the Chinese were pretending to be a fool, considering the Russians to be simpletons, or whether he was sincere in his delusion. I changed my face and tried, calmly at first, to explain to Misha the rights and obligations of tourists traveling abroad, but Misha was deaf to the arguments of reason. It took a lot of screaming, threats, shaking the program and other documents, until finally Misha agreed that the dinner for the tourists had already been paid for. ATMisha said in his excuse that he confused our group with another group, which had previously refused dinner in Vladivostok. The excuses were weak and no one believed them. Just figured out the dinner, another problem arose. Misha refused to accommodate the group in the headquarters room, arguing that there were two hours left before the train. The tragicomedy called "We will not allow our rights to be violated" smoothly flowed into the second act. Brought to the limit by the arrogance of the Chinese travel agency, and, in particular, Misha, I only silently opened my mouth for several minutes like a fish pulled out onto the ice and only calmed down, opened the folder with documents, took out the program of stay and began to prove that tourists have the right not only to free dinner, which, of course, was not free, but also to feel like a person for at least an hour. That is, to wash and relax from the road, in a hotel room. Justice has won. True, while negotiations were going on, which almost turned into hostilities, time had passed, and it was too late to go to the hotel. They apologized to the tourists and gave compensation in yuan. It was not exactly what dirty and tired people were dreaming about now, but there was nothing to do, and we resigned ourselves. After resting for about fifteen minutes in the lobby of the Kun Lun Hotel, where we were never settled, the tourists, led by Misha, stomped to the railway station, where a train was waiting for them, following the Harbin-Beijing flight. There was a huge Christmas tree in the hotel lobby, children scurrying around it, who came to snowy Harbin from hot Sanya. They have done the way that I and my team had to do. The children were dressed in oversized jackets. Probably, where they came from, they never saw snow and frost. Apparently, jackets, with children, someone shared. They gave it for rent. Children ran around the Christmas tree and choked with delight, anticipating winter fun and pleasure. I sadly looked at the children and remembered the words of the unforgettable Ostap Maria Ibrahim Bender: “Kitty, we are superfluous at this celebration of life.” Over the next two weeks, I will repeat these words out loud and to myself, countless times.
http://proza.ru/2022/09/28/87