Fushiki to Beijing - Grounded: A Down to Earth Journey Around the World - page 51

ers, though, is that they all have to fund their wandering somehow. You can't bum around forever without
turning into a . . . bum.
When I ask Lachlan's profession, he says, “I'm an artist,” and avoids elaboration. Later, he makes refer-
ence to growing up on the Upper East Side and spending his formative years at the shmancypants Dalton
School. When he mentions his “monthly conversations with my lawyer,” I put it all together. I'm fairly
certain that Lachlan is a fifty-something trustafarian.
IT'S nearly time to board our train. Rebecca returns from the grocery with snacks for the ninety-minute
ride. As we thrash our way through the teeming station, backpacks bumping everyone and everything
around us, we get separated from Lachlan and eventually lose sight of him. I catch a final glimpse of the
back of his faded, cream-colored suit, drifting away down the platform. We find a train car with a few
empty spots and climb aboard. The train's seats are hard wood, and we're elbow to elbow with our neigh-
boring passengers.
It's just after sunset as we arrive at the railway station in Beijing. We take the subway a couple of stops
and pop up above ground in Tiananmen Square. The first thing we see is the iconic thirty-foot-tall portrait
of Mao in his proletarian shirt-jacket. We make our way on foot to our hotel, just outside the high walls of
the Forbidden City.