There are some days when life just doesn’t seem to be on your side. I had one such day last Wednesday. Unfortunately it was also the morning I had to get across Shanghai before I had any coffee, to get to the largest railway station on Asia - Shanghai Hongqiao - where I would board a train that travels at 289kmph (almost 190mph) to Asia’s second largest railway station, Beijing Nan.  Should be an experience, right? Well, an ‘experience’ it certainly was.

The Shanghai Metro at rush hour, with a large rucksack: it’s just not a fun experience - think the Tube, but worse. People push others into the carriage so they could get on. I wanted to tell people I was enjoying it as little as their eye-rolling glances suggested they were.

It was super-efficient picking up my ticket; so efficient that my amazement made me forget the first rule of picking up tickets: ALWAYS check, double and triple check tickets.

It was only when I couldn’t find my train on the board I worked out my ticket was for February, not January the 13th. Insert chain of expletives here.

Trying to explain the problem and change a ticket in a language you don’t speak is tricky. Let’s put it that way. It’s not the station staff’s fault (apart from the woman who messed up my ticket), why should they have to speak English? Thankfully one supervisor did speak a bit of English. But they couldn’t reissue the ticket as the train was about to board and they stop selling before this.

Stress levels: very high.

Wish I spoke Mandarin.

I got a refund though, which is something, so could go elsewhere to get a ticket. With the language barrier I thought I’d try a ticket machine. I mean, they looked simple enough. Sure the bank of ten machines each had a queue of 12 people, but better than the 20 at the ticket windows and besides, the main terminal is huge, walking unnecessary distance with my bags I was keen to avoid.

Turns out you need an identity card to use the machines - but it doesn’t tell you that. I was beginning to loose my cool when I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why the machine wouldn’t work for me when thankfully a guy about my age, two back in the queue for the next machine worked out I was struggling, told me about the ID card thing and pointed to where the lesser-queued ticket desk was.

Again a queue. Another train I wanted to board departing.

By the time I got to the desk my exasperation with Chinese non-queuing was mounting and managed to cobble together words, cash and a passport that would get me a ticket to Beijing. Phew.

Turns out that as the next person pushed me aside to get to the desk and I turned around there was a kid behind me (about 8, maybe). Why he was that close to me I don’t know, but as I turned around I clearly took him out with my bag. Big oops. Cue shouting, screaming mother - her meaning needed no translation. Whilst I would have deeply liked to point out that I was having a crap day and she should be in more control of her kid I didn’t. Instead I apologised a lot, knowing how pointless it was. The kid got up and looked fine, I left.

I had lunch - here’s a photo, but honestly I have no idea what it tasted like, I was so grumpy.

My trip on ‘Harmony’ (little could the train namer know it would make me laugh when I heard it, food having restored my mood somewhat) almost seemed like a peaceful bliss of relaxation. I read the whole of (the admittedly short) Our Man in Havana.

The 800 odd mile journey tool just under five hours. The time it would take me to get to London on the train from Edinburgh, but more the distance to Prague. It is nothing short of amazing.

Passing out of Shanghai I see the clarity of the air in the city centre is not something the suburbs enjoy. I’m also stuck, not for the first or last time, that the parks of 20-30 identical 40-storey housing blocks and the like are truly very ugly, and whilst their identical form presumably makes them easier to build it leads for a very depressing view. I can’t imagine they are much better to live in.

I had planed to take the Beijing Metro to my hotel, but it looked hard and full of changes. Since it was now evening rush hour I had no wish to face it - surely a taxi would be quicker.

Taxi driver 1 threw me out of his taxi when I couldn’t speak Chinese or show him in Chinese the name of my hotel. The second one would have done the same were it not for being rushed out of the taxi rank by the grumpy supervisor. It was two blocks out of the station before he pulled over and shouted at me until we worked out that the one word we had in common was Tiananmen (as in Tiananmen square). Again, not his fault I can’t speak Chinese, but surely with a map of central Beijing with a marker pointing to the hotel would be enough for a taxi driver? Apparently not.

He dropped me on the corner of the square that was easiest for him - clearly keen to ditch me quickly. Naturally it was the wrong side for me. 35 minutes walk later I discovered that the hotel was not where the icon on the map said it was. Another 15 minutes later I found it 2 blocks away.

It was minus four degrees, more than 13 hours since I left my Shanghai hostel, the backpack was still large.

State of amusement: less amused than if Queen Victoria was forced to go to the Royal Variety Performance.

I checked in, grabbed some food and had a shower. Food has a mysteriously calming effect on me, and my somewhat enraged Whatsapp message to friends in New Zealnd (the only ‘social’ network I had access to behind the Chinese censor) were a little calmer. I lay down on the bed determined that tomorrow would be better. It was about 9pm. I feel asleep instantly.

Craig Craig (257 Posts)

Edinburgh-dwelling, baking and food-obsessed, twenty-something adventure enthusiast. Runs on liberal amounts of coffee, cheese, cake and gin; bribable with same.