“You’re doing WHAT?!”
This was the average reaction to my planned two-and-a-half-week solo trip to Mainland China, not least because I had about as much Mandarin proficiency as the average British-schooled person (AKA, absolutely none). And yet, the doubts of my peers – Chinese and foreign alike – merely strengthened my desire to prove them all wrong. Stubborn? Never…
Having moved to Hong Kong for a year, I hadn’t originally planned to transcend the ‘scary’ border at Shenzhen. “You wouldn’t like it there Phoe,” my very Yorkshire, very working-class grandfather proclaimed. But the longer I spent so tantalisingly close to the Mainland, the more I knew I had to see for it myself. Before I had allowed myself time to think, I set the gruelling visa application process in motion and began planning my most challenging solo trip yet.
Determined to test my limits, I aimed to visit Shanghai, Chongqing, Chengdu, Xi’an, and Beijing. I quickly learned that booking my 3 flights, 3 high-speed trains, and 5 hostels wasn’t going to cut it; my phone was soon populated by AliPay, VPNs, and screenshots of Chinese characters for handy phrases like ‘Is there any meat in this? I CANNOT EAT MEAT.’ The more I learned about the challenges ahead, the more I realised that covering over 4,000 miles with just a backpack and a dream had been a highly ambitious goal.
When the day finally arrived to board my flight to Shanghai Pudong Airport, I was terrified. My 15-page ‘China Trip! :D’ document was cool and all, but a slight digital blip could render me uncontactable and moneyless for days. As I stood in line at the gate, my self-torment about these terrifying possibilities was rudely interrupted by a Hong Kong Airlines flight attendant.
Having pulled me out of line, he meandered between looking at my passport with a concerning glare, shouting Cantonese to his colleagues, and tapping aggressively on his keyboard. Though I tried to politely ask what was happening, I was no match against this megaphone of a man. It was only once every other passenger had boarded that he revealed the problem: “You have damaged your visa! You may not be able to board.” Confused and close to tears, I examined the evidence: a miniscule line of pen visible on the edge of the sticker – the tragic consequence of a lazy Laotian immigration officer’s signature.
Amidst all my preparations, it was almost comical that a few millimetres of pen could be my downfall. I sat there with my backpack still on for 5 more minutes, staring wistfully towards the gate every now and then to make the flight attendant feel bad. But alas, Beijing must have been feeling gracious because he threw my passport back and gestured ‘OK, la!’ with an impatient hand. I was in!
The passport fiasco may have been annoying, but like a true optimist I took it in my stride and wasted no time in exploring the rainy city upon arrival. In the first eatery I found, I pointed at the menu and the locals pointed at me, a visible foreigner. Even in the absence of spoken words, I ended up with a bamboo steamer of succulent xiaolongbao (soup dumplings) and a bowl of glistening ma jiang mian (sesame noodles). My excitement for the rest of the trip was ever-growing.
Shanghainese delights
Once I’d successfully used the metro – involving a baggage security check and paying via QR code – I wandered around the China Art Museum in awe of each piece. Hoping to share my joy with another human, I showed the young woman next to me a candid picture I had taken of her in the gallery. Before long, Lina and I were analysing the symbolism of each canvas thanks to her extensive knowledge of both Art and English. As she explained the significance of the Great Cultural Revolution after 1966, I gained a new-found appreciation for the beautiful things Chinese people had produced amidst adversity. When Lina surprised me with a dainty gold bookmark upon hugging goodbye, I felt welcomed in the Mainland already.
I ended the day, wearied and water-logged, with a delightfully cheap CoCo bubble tea and a walk down The Bund. Its buildings sparkled like figurines in the distance, pierced intermittently by tourist boats and selfie sticks. As the resident white person, I made it into a fair few family photos along the railings. I can only hope that I have blessed at least one Chinese mantlepiece as reparations for my compliance.
The beautiful Bund
Upon collapsing into my hostel bed at midnight, I was overwhelmed by gratitude. If only I had known how eventful the next 16 days of my Mainland adventure were going to be.