China – 13^thMay 2018

We arrived in Beijing and felt a little overwhelmed. The tour leader failed to send anyone to meet us, so found ourselves in a rickety taxi tearing down a six lane highway under a milky sky. Fast traffic, wide roads, concrete, nothing recognisable. Night was falling and we hadn’t a clue where we were going.

It seemed that our driver might have had an idea although he was engrossed in an audio soap opera drama – volume at fever pitch.

Suddenly we pulled off and turned right and entered a maze of picturesque streets, or a network of lanes – a hutong and suddenly we felt as though we had entered a cloistered village in the very heart of the city.  Grannies were sitting out on the street, shrieking kids were playing tag, roses and honeysuckle clambered up decrepit looking houses, and then the taxi stopped. ‘You are here – Far East Hotel.’

It was adequate, no frills but a good shower and it was clean. We wandered up the dusty street and found a restaurant that sold an array of dishes all photographed in technicolour and warm beer served in tiny liqueur glasses. Our waitress sported a bright pink T shirt with ‘Sickness’ written on it. I wonder if she knew what she was wearing?

The rest of our tour group arrived the next day, and our guide Frank whisked us off to a restaurant a bus ride away. We were ushered into an inner room with a large round table, complete  with a lazy Susan. We drank beer and ate Peking Duck and all sorts of greenery. ‘I hope we are going to have vegetables,’ whined Helen.

This would be the end of our solo journeying, and the end of our privacy for a while. It was all swapping names and information, ‘Yes, I have done India, and Turkey and the Galapagos.’ But after a beer and a huge selection of dishes we felt quite mellow. They seemed a good bunch.

Frank was three years old when the Cultural Revolution was coming to an end. ‘A terrible time,’ he said, ‘ I remember standing in line and waving a flag, but it wasn’t too bad for my family as my father was in the military.’ Frank is now married with one son. I felt he still has the military in his genes the way he barked his orders. ‘25 minutes to visit this part of the Temple of Heaven, blue roof reflects the sky – I meet you here, don’t lose your ticket,  OK – go now.’

And we did.

Later we got a bus right to the north of the city and visited the Drum Tower and Gong Palace

and ate lunch with a local resident in a very famous hutong of old Beijing. Our host was Mr Lui, a kung fu master,

and had weapons of war hanging above the dining table; they looked like medieval killer machines on sticks

– so different from the gentle souls practicing their Tai Chi that we witnessed walking through the shady trees and verdant gardens of the Temple of Heaven.

Mr Lui’s son had made a film with Jackie Chan. There were framed photographs beside the weapons. I studied them and was suitably impressed but I was really more occupied with gobbling up the delicious dumplings that the martial arts man’s wife was serving.

After lunch we stood outside, being squawked at by a caged mynah bird whilst Mr Lieu, the famous celebrity Cricket Trainer of Beijing showed off his crickets and grasshoppers.

I had no idea they needed so much paraphernalia in order to nurture them. Mouse whiskers are used to stimulate the tiny warrior, as they are very similar to a cricket’s antennae.

The star of the show, or master cricket, the winner of the greatest gambling prize (the Chinese are prone to a little flutter) is called Tiger.

Tiger posed nicely on hands and arms and didn’t even attempt to fly off. Mr Lieu preened proudly at his little star’s obedience.

We got the Metro back. Fast, efficient and clean. Helen and I needed to use the public toilets so ran to a neighbouring hutong, and it was quite a revelation. No doors for the toilets. Hmm. Just stalls and squats. I was so relieved that no one came in and walked past.

China – Thursday 17^thMay

I had to pinch myself. Today I was standing on the Great Wall of China! As we ascended in a cable car, I saw the giant letters etched on the mountain ‘Be honest to Chairman Mao’.

I could see for miles, the pointy mountains were like a beautiful water colour painting – blossoms on trees were framed by the watch tower windows.

It was hard to photograph and keep an eye on the uneven steps. Some were huge, some so small.  Then we came to a part that was vertical, impossible giant steps that you had to heave your legs up to. I was struggling up when suddenly I saw a dad carrying a small child on his shoulders. Mighty muscle man. When I reached the top I just about collapsed against the wall and John handed me a Snickers Bar as a reward. Nothing has ever tasted so good.

Looking back along the wall people were darkening the path ‘like fleas on a dead snake’ as Paul Theroux once described it. So apt. And listening to the voices around us it was as though all the nations of the earth were trudging along, five horses wide, passing each other, nodding and staring in amazement at this phenomenal sight.

John descended on a toboggan, whizzing down and thoroughly enjoying himself. I chose to walk the almost vertical path through the forest from Watchtower number 10. I lost everyone and for the forty minute descent I was alone. How amazing was that?

And now I am on the night train to Xian, on the top of a three tier bunk in a six berth compartment.

One of the group is so drunk. He has been drinking from a four litre bottle of rice wine which tasted like raw paraffin. I tried a sip and it nearly blew my head off. The smell is nauseating. He is being rude, obnoxious and aggresive. I can’t believe he is the same guy that accompanied us yesterday round the Tiananmen Square, the Forbidden City and the Summer Palace.

He, Martin, John and I had sweltered in the hot sun, admiring the sights, the roses and bronze lions and tortoises.

We learnt about emperors and concubines and had tried to imagine life in these opulent and beautiful palaces where pine trees famed the tilted roofs and small regiments of lions and peacocks guarded against evil spirits.

We climbed the hill behind the Summer Palace and walked through a woody path down to the beautiful Kunming Lake. We marvelled at the Marble Boat, a little folly. An empress had squandered all of the navy budget on a double decker boat made from marble. I suppose there would not have been a lot of point in squandering it on shoes, with her feet so tiny.

People had been kind and friendly and the toilets spotless. The ‘squats’ had automatic flushes. I was beginning to feel like Michael MacIntyre, ‘That was a good one, how was it for you? We had paper, and doors!’

The train is rocking – people are settling. We have been going for six hours, only twelve more to go.