The JaYmes Escape

I’m walking along a meandering alley surrounded by strange eating houses, telephone stalls, street cafes and garishly coloured neon lights. The air is thick with the rich aromas of food preperation and the ever-present waft of excrement. Behind me a rickshaw driver rings his bell trying to pass the crowds; only this isn’t a normal bell, he has bought some ridiculous electronic noise maker which makes a bizarre bleeping sound. Some way in front of me a horn sounds; the rule seems to be that you can drive your vehicle down any of Beijing’s Hutongs you can squeeze it into, provided you hit your horn constantly so that the crowds of pedestrians, bicycles and rickshaws grudgingly make way for you.

I left Hong Kong aboard the very comfortable Beijing express train, which runs the 2000km or so from city to city non-stop in 24 hours. Night fell over the beautiful mountains and lakes of south-central China and I awoke on the other side of the tropic of cancer to see the flat green plains south of the capital. By nightfall I was among the excited kite-flying Chinese tourists of Tiannamen Square posing for my picture in front of Mao’s famous image at the gate of heavenly peace, and my stomach was wondering when I’d get to sample that famous Peking Duck.