After the dramatic events surrounding my departure from Australia, I was pleasantly surprised by the ease with which I settled into Hong Kong. Immigration was quick and efficient, the buses were easy to find, bus routes were clearly marked, it was all very straightforward. And after a long, sleepless flight, that was exactly what I needed.I'd booked into a little guesthouse in Kowloon - an area I hadn't really explored on my last trip to HK - and was delighted by the the contrast between it and the Hong Kong of my memories. Last time I'd stayed on Hong Kong island, which is the Hong Kong of postcards - huge, gleaming skyscrapers crammed side-by-side, a towering shopper's paradise of malls, air-conditioned walkways and office blocks. Ko
wloon is more stereotypically Chinese: neon signs hanging above the streets, chinese characters adorning every shopfront, crowds, grimy buildings, bustling markets popping up unexpectedly in side-streets. It had been a few years since I'd been to Asia and I was loving it.
I spent a couple of days in Hong Kong: eating, exploring, unsuccessfully trying to avoid buying things, and plotting my China trip. Apart from getting the visa and booking two nights' accommodation, I arrived without any plans at all. Just the way I like it. After eating my body weight in yum cha over a couple of days, I decided to catch a train to Shanghai.
From Hung Hom station it was a 20-hour journey to Shanghai. I thought for a moment I would have a 4-berth sleeper to myself, but in the end I was joined by a Chinese man who looked to be in his fifties and spoke not a word of English. After exhausting the cross-cultural communication potential of pointing and nodding within the first sixty minutes, I passed the daylight hours gazing out the window at the countryside passing by. I saw women washing their clothes in a filthy river, children riding their bikes along dusty streets, vegetable patches growing alongside the train tracks, images of life in the country. I pretended to be posh and had dinner in the dining car, then it was back to the berth for a surprisingly good night's sleep.
We arrived the next morning in Shanghai, and were held on the train for around 15 minutes while everyone had their temperature checked for swine flu. In Hong Kong, they'd
tested me by shooting a laser gun at my head, but here on the mainland they weren't quite as high-tech. I tried not to shudder as a mask-wearing official stuck something in my ear, the very same unhygienic something that had just gone into my roommate's ear. My ear must have been particularly warm that morning, because I was pulled out of the queue and taken into a special room for further examination.
Despite nightmare images of being locked up in quarantine, the interrogation was cursory so I re-joined the immigration queue and entered China for the first time. I walked out into the madness of Shanghai.
The first thing I noticed was the smog. I'd been disturbed enough in Hong Kong - visions of Sydney harbour being as smoggy as Hong Kong harbour had horrified me and brought home the full tragedy of the pollution - but Shanghai w
as a whole other ballgame. The sky was milky, and the air was thick. I dragged myself and my baggage through the hazy morning air and settled into my hostel. It was a calm oasis providing refuge from the loud and dirty world outside. With a courtyard, a gently trickling water feature, and a bar packed with hot Norwegian backpackers and cheap lager, it was hard to make myself head back into the madness of Shanghai.
With tremendous willpower, I left my sanctuary and went out to explore the town. I wandered along Nanjing Lu, described by the Rough Guide as a cross between Broadway and Oxford Street, soaking up the consumerist extravaganza; explored the former glory of the Bund a
nd fought my way through the hordes of Chinese tourists having their photos taken in front of the famous Pearl TV tower to take a snap of myself there.
The next day brought more exploring, and a surprisingly rewarding few hours in Shanghai Museum, but the city wasn't really exciting me as much as I hoped it might. So I booked a train to leave that night for somewhere I suspected I'd enjoy a whole lot more - Xi'An, most famous for being home to the Terracotta Warriors. After only 38 hours, I was off again.
wloon is more stereotypically Chinese: neon signs hanging above the streets, chinese characters adorning every shopfront, crowds, grimy buildings, bustling markets popping up unexpectedly in side-streets. It had been a few years since I'd been to Asia and I was loving it.I spent a couple of days in Hong Kong: eating, exploring, unsuccessfully trying to avoid buying things, and plotting my China trip. Apart from getting the visa and booking two nights' accommodation, I arrived without any plans at all. Just the way I like it. After eating my body weight in yum cha over a couple of days, I decided to catch a train to Shanghai.
From Hung Hom station it was a 20-hour journey to Shanghai. I thought for a moment I would have a 4-berth sleeper to myself, but in the end I was joined by a Chinese man who looked to be in his fifties and spoke not a word of English. After exhausting the cross-cultural communication potential of pointing and nodding within the first sixty minutes, I passed the daylight hours gazing out the window at the countryside passing by. I saw women washing their clothes in a filthy river, children riding their bikes along dusty streets, vegetable patches growing alongside the train tracks, images of life in the country. I pretended to be posh and had dinner in the dining car, then it was back to the berth for a surprisingly good night's sleep.We arrived the next morning in Shanghai, and were held on the train for around 15 minutes while everyone had their temperature checked for swine flu. In Hong Kong, they'd
tested me by shooting a laser gun at my head, but here on the mainland they weren't quite as high-tech. I tried not to shudder as a mask-wearing official stuck something in my ear, the very same unhygienic something that had just gone into my roommate's ear. My ear must have been particularly warm that morning, because I was pulled out of the queue and taken into a special room for further examination.Despite nightmare images of being locked up in quarantine, the interrogation was cursory so I re-joined the immigration queue and entered China for the first time. I walked out into the madness of Shanghai.
The first thing I noticed was the smog. I'd been disturbed enough in Hong Kong - visions of Sydney harbour being as smoggy as Hong Kong harbour had horrified me and brought home the full tragedy of the pollution - but Shanghai w
as a whole other ballgame. The sky was milky, and the air was thick. I dragged myself and my baggage through the hazy morning air and settled into my hostel. It was a calm oasis providing refuge from the loud and dirty world outside. With a courtyard, a gently trickling water feature, and a bar packed with hot Norwegian backpackers and cheap lager, it was hard to make myself head back into the madness of Shanghai.With tremendous willpower, I left my sanctuary and went out to explore the town. I wandered along Nanjing Lu, described by the Rough Guide as a cross between Broadway and Oxford Street, soaking up the consumerist extravaganza; explored the former glory of the Bund a
nd fought my way through the hordes of Chinese tourists having their photos taken in front of the famous Pearl TV tower to take a snap of myself there.The next day brought more exploring, and a surprisingly rewarding few hours in Shanghai Museum, but the city wasn't really exciting me as much as I hoped it might. So I booked a train to leave that night for somewhere I suspected I'd enjoy a whole lot more - Xi'An, most famous for being home to the Terracotta Warriors. After only 38 hours, I was off again.
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