Out the Window

When do we get there?

That question earned me a lot of "Be quiet!" in my youth. I was a horrible traveller: couldn't sit still; didn't keep quiet; fidgeted until my parents went mental. I wanted to be there!

Now that I'm in another country, the landscape is a destination in itself. Here's a little of what I've seen out the window in China.

The Kowloon Express

The trip from Hong Kong to Guangzhou was a study of opposites. As the train left the city, the New Territories flew by; the trees and hills greened out the view. Farther along the track, I got my first taste of China's driving force: buildings poured out smoke, obscured themselves in a brown haze; ghosts of present industry.

The approach to Guangzhou gave no hint of the urban civility I would find. There were grimy manufacturing buildings and rundown apartment blocks. Faded brick and mud-puddled potholes in back alleys blighted the outskirts.

Fly-by-Night

The fly-by-night bus took me from Guangzhou to Yangshuo.

I fell asleep only to be awakened by China's poorly maintained highway system. Two hours into a trip that would last ten, the uneven pavement stopped and started until I reached my destination. I wouldn't sleep, except in snatches, for the rest of the night.

This was the point that I made two discoveries about Chinese driving habits. First, provided nobody is coming in the other direction, drivers will go wherever there is space. Chinese drivers know the exact length and width of their vehicles; tailgating and passing cautiously have no meaning here.

Second, the Chinese use their horns to communicate, though not frustration or profanity. Horns convey warning and action. Honk, honk: don't cross the street; I'm driving and may run you over! Honk, honk: don't walk there; I'm behind you and want to get by! Honk, honk: don't swerve out; I'm passing you on the left and don't want to get crushed!

A bus rumbled over uneven, narrow roads at speed, sometimes on the left, sometimes on the right; it ran up the back of lorries and other buses, passed where there was enough space to squeeze by, honked all the while; tucked itself back into the procession when lorries and buses came the other way, undertaking the very same process.

Welcome to the fly-by-night bus!

The Sleeper to Kunming

Paul Theroux, one of North America's better-known travel writers, is a great advocate of trains, but I've always considered him a bit of a wimp. Though he does these massive trips, he's often in first-class sleeping quarters and complains when he's not. During his trip in The Great Railway Bazaar, Theroux whined when the conductor told him, at one point, that his ticket was not good for a first-class berth. I thought he should just get over it and take his seat.

Then I took the sleeper train from Guilin to Kunming.

My sleeper train was a marvel of comfort and luxury. It made the ordinary difficulties of long distance travel - stiff joints, cramped quarters, the person next to me sleeping on my shoulder - a thing of the past. I stretched out to full length and relaxed under a quilt. I read my book, Ian Rankin's Mortal Causes. I slept for nine hours of an eighteen hour trip.

I was in a completely different part of China when I woke up. The limestone mountains of Guanxi were far behind me and, looking out the window, the hills rolled more and did not impose on anything. There were rock formations on them, which looked like tree trunks carved out of a larger, jagged stone. I popped my ears and got ready to leave, rested.

So, a change of heart: sleeper trains are a wonderful way to travel.