Hong Kong Dairies 8: Hutang Clan

Aviation enthusiasts look away now, for this one’s all about an epic rail journey to the Beijing capital up norf. A trip spontaneously arranged to meet James Walker, who commissioned the Hong Kong Diaries many moons ago and who was in the land of the rising sun because he was sick of living in the land of pouring rain. Thus after many emails we would finally meet in the flesh.

So, overland for us aboard the ‘Through train’ as it’s called, departing Kowloon every other day upon a 1538 mile journey in one of the world’s most expansive nations. Amazingly, few people in Hong Kong know of this. ‘Really?’ they would say; ‘All the way?’ Indeed, and all the way without even changing train. Not to be confused however with the 1997 political ‘Through train’ intended to ensure British Hong Kong became Chinese Hong Kong with minimal disruption – this, somewhat ominously, derailed horribly with numerous career casualties and doubtless Mr Patten still bears the scars. So, should our little knees be shaking under their tiny caps? Nah, far from it! Admittedly it all got off to a rather stiff commie start whilst unpacking our bags, the carriage attendant entered and, with uncompromising demeanour, demanded ‘huzhao.’ Now, I’d have expected Cantonese, maybe even English, but not mainland Mandarin. And so our passports were studiously registered, seems we’d arrived in the mainland without ever leaving Kowloon, thus setting the tone for the entire trip. Communication would be in Mandarin only, though with a bit of labour and the odd smile, those uncompromising demeanours were ruthlessly broken down – all smiles and girlie giggles by the time we made Beijing!

It began with our ordering of beer and food, impressed with our choice the waitress - barely containing herself - became increasingly attentive as dinner progressed. Great food too which could easily shame many a more stationary establishment; a limited menu admittedly but great value at three or four quid a dish. We shared the dining car with numerous workers; overstaffing one soon learns when traversing China is a phenomenon the great red army and its subsequent capitalist reincarnation never quite addressed. This journey was sparsely booked and the staff probably out-numbered passengers by three or four to one! We’d opted for soft-sleeper class at a very reasonable £75 each way. This provided a comfortable berth with a two-up-two-down format; the uppers remaining empty. The compartment included a table bearing the ubiquitous Chinese hot-water flask, refilled as needed by the attendant’s office at the end of each carriage. For avid map readers our route took us north through Shenzhen, Guangzhou, Changsha, Wuhan, Zhengzhou and Shijiazhuang. Of course such big cities merited modern, cavernous stations whilst lesser versions, quaintly ochre-washed brick with well-tended planters, wouldn’t look amiss in an English village.

 

Travelling overland in China is an amazing experience passing from field upon field of rice or cereal –as far as can be seen - to jarringly brutal new towns, gleaming-glass facades which suddenly rear from nowhere. The agriculture is timeless, small workers’ hamlets, a few labourers tending a huge area then modernity interrupts, low-rise brick merging into medium-rise concrete, many buildings derelict or unfinished; as if every post-Mao decade had attempted a great leap forward but suddenly, thinking better of it, moving off to start something new. Even the high-rises seemed vacant or barely occupied. In sparsely populated areas where on earth will these people come from was our obvious thought, or is it all a Potemkin swizz: see for yourself, China’s booming - construction firms certainly are. We can only imagine the upheaval inflicted in converting feudal farmland to capitalist coiner at record pace. Having documented much change in the UK I wonder what social commentator Ray Gosling would have made of it all; doubtless a ‘journey’ he’d have found fascinating.

‘I’m pulling into Beijing now’ I half expected a mobile user to pipe up, but no one did. Actually it’s a very pleasant approach into Beijing West: countryside, hilltop pagodas and pavilions before running parallel to a wide, tree-lined boulevard with flower beds. I also expected an ‘All change at Beijing’ call but no, not even In Mandarin. And so we halted, bang on time, after 24 hours.

‘All change at Beijing’ indeed and it’s certainly busier than when I last visited 20 years ago. Those nine million bicycles are now cars, as traffic volumes testify but that’s not a personal problem with an extensive, efficient and cheap underground system below. The city itself looks good, Tiananmen lay vast, Mao was smothered under fragrantly flowered reverence, Summer Palace strollers exuded charm and good humour and the Great Wall may have had a recent repoint. We’d had a great day out with James Walker doing the sights; knackered and in need of liquid refreshment we returned to our hotel, a small brick-and-timber establishment down an attractively disheveled hutong (ramshackle alleys alive with traditional community – think of a terrace in Sneinton, minus discarded shopping trollies).

Hutongs

Yanjing Beer ain’t bad and plenty flowed that night after we’d decamped to a local eatery, a place we’d gotten comfortable with and them with us. A place with good food but somewhat lax regulation, to see the cook, staff and customers light up under several no-smoking notices (in Chinese) seemed to cock an admirable snook at post-Olympic sterility. Meanwhile three endearingly animated brothers ensconced at an adjacent table plied us with several beers to ensure we left dazed but happy.

We like Beijing and the Beijingers, they’re an accommodating lot - love the alleys and okay, the fags aren’t Players and the bikes not Raleigh, but with Chinese food that good you could almost be in Beeston!

Ben Zabulis is the author of Chartered Territory An Engineer Abroad.