We arrived at 6:35 on a dull, warm, misty morning. As we disembarked, it was 'do svidanya' to our Russian staff, 'goodbye' to our travelling companions, and 'ni hao' to everyone else. I, with Andreas and Erich, took the first exit we found, which turned out to be a mistake as it led straight out into the milling throngs of people outside the station. They were expecting to be met by a guide, but had not done so by the time I lost them completely in trying to find even one official who could speak some English. Repeated greetings of 'ni hao' failed to elicit any useful information.
Eventually I did find my way into the international booking hall and waiting-room, a haven of comparative calm from which the common Chinese seemed to be banned. This is where we should have come first, and presumably where the other two should have been met. If we had been near the front of the train this would have been the obvious exit anyway. I hope they did find their guide in the end. No means of knowing until, I hoped, we would eventually exchange letters from home.
Here, in the booking hall, I was at least able to get my next train ticket checked, and confirmed the time of the train for Sunday evening. I also got someone to write out the name 'International Hotel' which I decided would be my next port of call. I was realising what it is like to be completely illiterate. Any hotel with that name was sure to be a good source of information. After showing the name to several people on the way, I did manage to find it, and this is where I found at last some people who spoke English, and was able to get a free map of the town, and also acquire some Chinese money by changing dollars.
Now I felt more able to cope with finding my way, and getting to my own rather more modest hotel 'all at your own arrange', to quote my letter from the China travel service.
On the way I had passed several pedal-powered tricycle rickshaws for hire, so I went back to negotiate with one of these and had a very pleasant, if reckless ride weaving among all the other cycles, cars and trolley buses. The rider (driver?) knew the hotel when I showed him the letter that I had had from them. Perhaps because of all the cycles, the traffic tended to keep well below 30 mph, a pleasing contrast to the mad 50 mph of Moscow. On the way I managed to read one sign, the largest in the city. It consisted of just one word - 'McDonalds'.
I would never have found the hotel myself. The street seemed to have a different name from the one on the map, and then we turned into a narrow unnamed alley-way off the road. It looked a dubious approach, but when reached it had an unexpectedly grand entrance, complete with a uniformed doorman and pots of flowers up the steps. Some Youth Hostel! (The YH handbook listed it as the only Youth Hostel in China.) This is the Lu Song Yuan Hotel.
The cost of the transport was more than I expected (around 4 pounds) but it was nearly 3 miles. By this time it was 9:30, three hours after arriving at the station.
At the desk I was informed that the single room I had asked for was not available, but there was a place in the dormitory. This sounded a bit more like a Youth Hostel, and as it was less than half the single room (4 pounds a night), it seemed like good value. The least value was in the basement situation with no windows, but there were only four beds in quite a large room. By the time I had settled in and had my first cup of tea from the Jasmine teabags, and Thermos of hot water provided, and was ready to sample the restaurant, it was 10:30.
So I considered it time for brunch, to be the main meal of the day, and that was really good. Large amounts of beautifully fried rice, almost like rice crispies, which sizzled most satisfyingly when a spicy hot sauce containing pork and a host of unknown vegetables was poured over the top. Rather ignominiously I then had to go and find my knife, fork and spoon before I could start eating. But that one dish was sufficient for the day. It was eaten out in the open, in the now really warm sunshine (about 70 degrees) in the courtyard in the middle of the hotel, surrounded by what looked to me like temple buildings, with elaborately decorated curved roofs, gables and eaves, the roofs themselves being of the deeply vertically-ridged-and-furrowed type with cylindrical tiles forming the ridges. So all that added to the enjoyment.
Later I went out for a local exploration through the streets, one object being to find a post office. I failed in that, even when it was said to be only just round the next corner. If it was, I just couldn't recognise it. My way led me along many narrow alley-ways, or 'hutongs', and eventually to a park (Qian Hai park), where I sat beside a lake (a rather dirty one) and wrote a letter home on some of the hotel paper that was provided; but of course I still could not post it.

On the way back I did some more successful shopping: half a huge chapati-looking thing that I had previously seen cooked at a roadside stall like a gigantic omelette. And then in a supermarket I found a jar of apricot jam to go with it, so on arrival back at the hotel I had an afternoon tea of these items, with more tea from the supply in the room, all carried up to the 'temple' courtyard again. Washing clothes and myself, all sorely needed, and writing my diary and an appreciative letter to Marco Polo took most of the rest of the day.
A Pakistani appeared in my room on a business trip to China trying to buy machine tools. China just not interested apparently, England and Germany very good. So he was not happy, nor very interesting to talk to, and could speak surprisingly little English.
Sleep was easy, despite the lack of the gentle rocking of the train and despite the rather hard mattress.

Saturday, September 30th
A cup of hotel tea to start me off on my walk back into the town centre, and the Forbidden City, and McDonald's for breakfast. My first attempt at a McDonalds, never having felt the need of one at home. The best bit was the excellent cup of coffee which I had been led to expect was unattainable in China, and a large McFish something, a nice change from all the different teas of recent days. A Swiss couple sitting next to me were obviously European so I elicited some information from them such as where was the post office, and how to use buses and Underground.
So I walked on to the famous Tiananmen Square and the Forbidden City. A quite extraordinary dense crowd of people gradually grew and grew as I approached, and when I did reach the Tiananmen (The 'Heavenly Gate') it was just impossible to get through: a solid, barely moving jam of people, which would have annihilated me completely. So that was the Forbidden City, firmly forbidden to me for today. I heard later that the next day was a National holiday and everyone must visit the Forbidden City and be photographed beneath the huge face of Mao which still appears immovable above the gate. So more than usual crowds all that weekend. I photographed Mao too, but no one photographed me, except very likely by accident. So I retreated.
The holiday must be the explanation of the many red flags flying outside houses, even in the back alleys, like continuous roadworks warnings.
I then found the Post Office headquarters, a palatial marble floored emporium and bought some stamps. I also actually found some postcards, the first since Moscow, in the International Hotel, but there was only a choice of four, none of places I had seen.
I then sampled the Underground to take me halfway back to the hotel. A clean, empty station, but the train packed to overflowing. Why weren't they all at Tiananmen Square? But not too overwhelming for my journey of merely two stations.
Back at the hotel I was having more bread, jam and tea in the courtyard, when a young English couple appeared, to have lunch. I recommended to them my yesterday's lunch dish which they duly tried and appreciated. They were there for two weeks on holiday from Hong Kong, where he had been working for nine months constructing the new airport, so they were good for some local information, and about Hong Kong. They had been cycling everywhere in Beijing, but knew of nowhere nearby where cycles could be hired, which would have been suitable for me.
In the afternoon, I walked to Beihai Park, not far away, with a large lake and many people both on and off the water. Pleasant in the very hazy sunshine, which produced more Chinese painting effects, with boats floating through willow trees. The morning had been hazy without the sun, giving a good temperature for walking. I visited the White Dome Temple on the island on the lake, an interesting Buddhist temple with a great white pagoda atop a 200 foot high hill.
The whole temple comprised various halls and gates with steep steps leading down between them. One interesting item (to me), was the statue of 'Skanda' in a hall where his image is enshrined. Skanda is apparently the guardian of the Dharma, but also gives his name to 'Skanda Vale', the Hindu temple near us at home, in its unlikely situation in an old farmhouse at Llanpumsaint. So presumably he is a guiding spirit of Hinduism as well as Buddhism. There were many people around.
On my way back, passing Qian Hai park again, I became aware of a loud wailing of oddly musical sounds, and I found, in a sort of bandstand, a circle of men playing a strange assortment of twanging and clanging instruments, every one different it seemed, collectively churning out this feast of discord. This was increased every now and again by the addition of one or other of the audience stepping into the ring and adding his super-strident voice to the entertainment. All very musical, probably, but not, I'm afraid, to me. This was one occasion on which I should have had a tape recorder with me.
Back at the hotel again, I had a meal of selected meat and vegetables in casserole; really just a soup with only a small selection of meat. How one is supposed to eat it with chopsticks and without bread I can't imagine; a poor choice compared to yesterday. But I had remembered my spoon today.
Mohammed, the Pakistani, was rather a bore to talk to, which he wanted to do, his mind being entirely concerned with business and money. If he had so much money why was he staying in my dormitory? Anyway, he wanted to exchange addresses, and was very keen for us all to come and visit him at his home in Lahore. I did manage to write a couple more letters.

Sunday, October 1st
A dull and misty day with no sun. I was away by 8 for another attack on the Forbidden City, and this time I was allowed in. I approached by the north gate, not too far from the hotel, and was able to wander in easily not long after it opened at 8:30. So different from the day before. However, as time went on, more and more people did accumulate, most having come in at the Tiananmen gate.
A great range of mostly 15th century buildings and courtyards. Buildings with names like the 'Hall of Supreme Harmony', 'Gate of Heavenly Purity', the 'Hall of Prosperity', the 'Pavilion of the Ceremony of Purification', and 'Hall of Spiritual Cultivation', with dragons and bronze cauldrons and elephants and other carvings in odd corners.
Only one garden that I found, the Imperial Garden. Unimpressive as a garden but with some interesting features such as the 'Mountain of Accumulated Refinement', an artificial hill made of huge curiously shaped limestone blocks piled up, apparently at random, all surmounted by a sort of pagoda. Also some ancient looking pine trees with gnarled trunks. The whole city very difficult to imagine what it must have been like when lived in, which it was until as recently as 1925.
An elaborate stone carving between two flights of steps perhaps 40 yards long was interesting. One section of carving was from a single stone, 18 yards long, but it did have a few cracks. Writhing dragons and wave patterns were the main theme. Many of the less important buildings contained separate museums, but I was not interested enough to pay more for these. One free one, was a Jade museum with some very intricate carvings. After two and a half hours, the rising population made me think that it would be more pleasant to retire, so I left and wandered back to the hotel.
I did some more diary writing and met the Hong Kong English couple again, and had lunch at about 1. I chose the sizzling fried rice with pork again, because it was so good.
I must have left there about 3, with a long walk back to the station with my rucksack. I took time over it, stopped at McDonalds again for a snack and went to the International Hotel again. Here I found I could not change my Chinese money into anything else, neither would I able to in Hong Kong or at the border. Beijing Airport was the only possible place, and I was not going there. So I bought a couple of presents; not everything at the hotel gift shop was inordinately expensive, I discovered.
So to the station (with a huge TV screen on its walls visible several hundred yards away), and once again I had a fight to get through the waiting and queueing crowds. Access blocked by fences all along the front, with only occasional gates controlled by officials, each gate apparently the wrong one for the international waiting room, but after climbing over several obstructions I was eventually allowed in, just as it started to rain, and soon found myself in the waiting room. Once again a haven of peace and tranquillity. It is difficult to imagine that all the people sitting there so comfortably had had to push their way in as I had. There must have been another way somewhere.
In spite of taking nearly half an hour in my fight to get through it was still only 7 o'clock, so I had a long wait, but I was thankful to be in the right place at last. Then Mohammed appeared again, waiting for a train into Western China where he was going to meet a friend, and a South Korean sat next to me, waiting for the same train. So the three of us had Pepsi Cola (supplied by Mohammed) and peanuts (supplied by me) to pass the time; very limited English being the only common language.
"But what about the Great Wall of China?" you may ask, " no one goes to Beijing without seeing the Great Wall." Maybe. No one, that is, except me. I seemed not to have the time available, nor, perhaps, the energy to get this organised; introducing myself to Beijing itself was more intriguing. So now I can be proud of the fact of being the only visitor not to have seen the Wall.
Then, just before 10, a loudspeaker announcement was a summons (I assumed) to go and find my new train: Beijing to Guangzhou (Guangzhou that used to have the familiar name of Canton). A journey of 34 hours (only!). The train was a bright-looking orangey-red and white, although many in China are the same traditional dark green as Russia and most of Europe.
I found my Coach 7, berth number 1 as on my ticket, and was a little dismayed to find a four-berth compartment; I was expecting two. But by the time the train moved off on time at 10:25 I realised that I was to be on my own; so now there was considerable luxury to look forward to.
Embroidered sheets and hangings; lace and velvet curtains; a towel with a picture of a train on it; a large thermos can filled with very hot water, instead of a samovar in the corridor. A potted plant, in a blue and white china pot on a small table. I could see Marion immediately adding water to the poor thing, so I did so later; at least it was alive (just), and not plastic.
A charming young attendant ('hostess' seems a much better word) checked tickets, passports and visas, but had no English, so any talk had to be in single, usually misunderstood words. But all conducted with smiles. There was some cheerful Chinese music on the radio at first, but I did have to summon help to turn it off later. A welcoming train.

Monday, October 2nd
Early morning scene: a steam locomotive with plenty of smoke hauling a goods train over a long low viaduct, seen against a misty dawn sky. I had thought we were out of the steam area here. We had an electric locomotive again now. Breakfast was chapati bread, jam and tea, from my own supplies. Later I had coffee and one of my 'power bars' (for 'high energy').
Ploughing with horse, pair of oxen, and tractor all within a quarter mile of each other, and mule and buffaloes later on. Strips of cultivation with no hedges.
Huang He River was crossed before Zhengzhou, well known to me as the Huang Ho (Yellow River) from geography lessons, and it did in fact consist of yellow brown mud banks a mile wide, with rather more mud than water.
Had a stop at Zhengzhou for 10 minutes; some more apples would have been nice to buy, but I hadn't seen any available anywhere; perhaps there aren't any in China, as they can't get across the border.
Xinyang was another 10 minute stop, and I had a surprise present; chestnuts from Lao. Lao was my hostess, and now, I hope, my friend. I'd previously asked her her name in Chinese, and she actually understood. "Nin gui ching?", I had asked. "Wo ching Lao", she replied. My first Chinese conversation. Anyway the chestnuts were very big ones; they were brought to her by a friend and she insisted on me having some; in fact two handfuls when I tried to take only one.
There was some more, quite pleasant radio music in the morning. I saw some threshing being done in a small field with a tractor-drawn concrete roller being driven round and round.
I had lunch in the restaurant car; an omelette type egg dish all piled up on the plate with diced meat bits, with rice, and very small chestnuts in liquid in a separate container. I think the other diners were amused by my spoon and fork, but even more entertained when I left them behind on the table when I had finished. They had to call me back to retrieve them.
In many places there were tall plants growing in water with large round funnel-shaped leaves. Water chestnuts perhaps. No. More likely lotus.
I found another window open, this time in the toilet, sufficiently for taking a photograph or two. There was no lavatory bowl, merely a hole in the floor, another potential place for losing valuables.
Before Wuhan, we crossed the Yangtze Kiang by a very long bridge. The river is now marked on the map as Chang Jiang (so where did the '-tze' come from?). Another muddy brown river, but all water without the mud flats. A mostly cloudy day again, but with afternoon sunshine, and getting warmer.
At Wuhan we had a quarter of an hour stop. I took photos of the changing of locomotives, and also of Lao at work; that is to say, standing outside her coach on the platform checking tickets of genuine travellers and repelling unwanted boarders; not that I saw any of these.
My coach was known as a 'soft sleeper', but most coaches on the train were hard sleepers, and certainly not of great comfort: Bunks stacked three-high in racks rather than compartments; no walls between each group of six and the width of the six berth section very much less than that of an ordinary compartment; no seats, except for a few small ones in the corridor, which made access even more difficult.

Then that evening it was supper with Lao; Lao Yan Ying as I found her full name to be. A completely unexpected visit. She just appeared and managed to let me know that she would like to bring me some food from the restaurant car, which she duly did: a leg of chicken with Chinese leaf in sauce, and an equal quantity of rice. None for herself and she wouldn't share it. The only unfortunate thing was that I had already thought I had had enough sustenance for the day, but that didn't deter me much and I managed to get through most of it. But only after another hopeless chopstick lesson. I'd been shown many times, and failed, but here I thought was a genuine chopstick teacher, so I might well be able to learn something new. But no. I can get the right position to start, but when it comes to actual movement of my fingers, they just fail to understand what I try to tell them to do.
Lao stayed for an hour. A delightful evening's entertainment. Perhaps she was bored, or perhaps she thought I was, or perhaps because I was the only exotic item of interest on the train; as far as I could tell everyone else was Chinese.
It was extraordinary what we were able to talk about and find out when her English was as about as extensive as my Chinese; not helped by the fact she lives in Guangzhou, so presumably speaks Cantonese rather than Mandarin. I was enchanted by her voice with its many soft, unexpected intonations, so different from the grating raucous announcements heard so often on loudspeakers and in loud conversations, which had put me off the Chinese voice.
I produced my photographs, which was a good start, so she now knows all about our family; especially taken by Andrew's charming smile. Well, why not? 'Baby' was one of her few English words. She will not be joining Alice in a bungee jump (why did I bring a photograph of that?). Luckily 'farm', 'cow' and 'dog' were in my dictionary. Never has phrase book seen such intensive use. She also explained to me (I think) how to find the Hong Kong train at Guangzhou. She was 24, and guessed my age as 60 which I thought was alright. Luckily numbers are normally written the same in Chinese and English, which made many things a lot easier. I presented her with a postcard of Big Ben and a London bus, being interested in transport; she had been on the trains for about a year. I have her address which maybe Alan Lo can translate into English so that I can send her the photographs I took.
At 8 pm came our stop at Changsha, and she had to return to work. And then it was 'wanan' ('good-night'), and that was the end of another unusual day.

Tuesday, October 3rd
I got up early while we were stopped at a station at about 6, after which were two long tunnels, the longest since the Channel Tunnel as far as I am aware, and some interesting steep hilly wooded scenery; and then a river with barges, flowing through a gorge, and with lovely sandy beaches on the bends. It was raining, to go with the green hilly scenery, I suppose. There were banana plants growing; many umbrellas walking about. Coffee for breakfast again. It was amazing how the thermos kept the water hot for all of the past 33 hours.
An unscheduled stop or two set me wondering how late we were going to be, but I should have had just over two hour to change at Guangzhou. When we did arrive, I reckon we were 55 minutes late, however, the clock on the station said '07:55' making it five minutes early. Some confusion here.
So it was 'goodbye' to that friendly train. 'Zaijian he xie xie, Lao Yan Ying' ('Good bye and thank you'). Out of the station and through the not surprisingly thronged streets in the rain to the Kowloon Canton Railway station. Here the clock was once again showing after nine, so more confusion, but satisfactory for me, as I now had only an hour to wait; a wait that included a passport check and changing the rest of my Chinese yuan into Hong Kong dollars, which I was told in Beijing would not be possible.
Then to my reserved seat on a blue and white Hong Kong express which duly left promptly at 10:10, diesel hauled. Half an hour later, a girl came along demanding my ticket and, by contrast, presenting me with two small tins of guava juice. So it was time for a snack with more bread and jam and delicious guava juice. It was really raining now, rain drops bouncing off the paddy fields, on which ducks floated happily.
We stopped at Shenzhen, the border station, where overhead electrification started again, and at 12:20 it was the end of China (for the next 18 months anyway), and into Hong Kong at Lo Wu station.

NEXT

Start l Moscow to Beijing l Beijing to Hong Kong l Hong Kong to Perth l Perth to Gosford l New South Wales

Return to Family page or Home page.