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Travelling from Shanghai to Beijing was preemp- tive of the chaotic city I would inhabit for 3 days. After missing the 5pm bullet train and lurching from one help desk to another， my friend and I were presented with the choice of trailing back to our apartment， tail between legs， or booking business class tickets for the following morning. My bank account may have taken a battering， but after six hours of assessing our lack of options， this was more desirable than a giant slab of chocolate cake after an hour at the gym. Consoling myself with the exhausted words ‘it’s a once in a life time experience’， I slid my debit card under the glass window and it was a done deal. Snubbing the fact that I was going to be scrimping and saving for the foreseeable future， I reclined my over-priced seat and sank into a much-needed sleep. Beijing bound at last！
Upon arrival， my travelling companion very aptly described Beijing as being ‘one large exhaust fume’. Once we had swerved the relentless advances of men promoting their hotels and taxi services， we precariously maneuvered our baggage-burdened bodies to the taxi rank outside the train station. The pungent whiff of fumes and suffocating heat certainly wasn’t welcome after a 5-hour train journey （having your fringe super-glued to your forehead is not a desirable look， I assure you）. After the habitual fumbling in the murky depths of my rucksack for the scrap of paper containing the name of our hostel， we crawled into a taxi and headed towards what would be our hedonistic home for the next few days.
It is notable that when travelling in Beijing， you become the epitome of that intensely irritating specie – the tourist. It is impossible to travel anywhere without waving an address card in the perplexed faces of locals. Even the simplest of tasks begins to draw parallels with a James Bond mission. Loitering around on the sidewalk， moaning about the stifling heat and the elusive invention also known as the Western toilet， becomes an occupation. After attempting to consult maps（a similar experience to cracking Morse code）， we abandoned what was remaining of our rationality and hopped onto what we hoped was the correct bus. Driving away from the smog shrouded skyscrapers， it was literally light relief to see the mountain peaks bathing in the afternoon sun. The view was certainly idyllic from behind the safety of a pane of glass， but I am going to be brutally honest – we did not opt for a dutiful five-hour walk along the wall in 40 degree heat. Instead， we caught the last cable car of the day and followed a group of Chinese tourists for a brief stroll along a popular point. My vision melted into the sharp， blue， sky resulting in the illusion of an everlasting wall meandering across the landscape. This liberating sight certainly counteracted the tumultuous journey from the city of Shanghai to China’s capital. After snapping a host of obligatory insta-worthy photos （no filter， I promise）， we began our descent and made a surprisingly successful attempt at haggling at the local market stools. Feeling content after purchasing some rather adorable Chinese dolls to add to my ever-expanding collection of holiday junk， we hitched a ride back to the city in a slightly dubious mini bus.
Our first night in the city promised cheap alcohol， cheesy music and what I like to call ‘a hole in the ground job’ in each and every club toilet. After one too many mojitos， dancing on the stage seemed like the polite thing to do – after all， we couldn’t disappoint our adoring audience of locals. No-one in Shanghai had ever taken such an avid interest （which of course boiled down to sobriety） and so we were determined to achieve our five minutes of fame！
Our second morning in Beijing was met with an unwelcome （but very much deserved） headache. After a bleary eyed breakfast， sunglasses were placed firmly on our faces and the pilgrimage to The Forbidden City was underway. Evading the infamous Beijing traffic， we opted for the gloriously cheap metro in the not so glorious heat and arrived at our destination to be faced with a plethora of parasols. The barren grounds surrounding the Palace were initially deceptive but after observing the interior of the rooms， it was quite clear as to why this tourist magnet is considered China’s most impres- sive cultural treasure. Perhaps just as pleasing though， was the discovery of an authentic tea room neatly tucked away down a narrow and typically congested Beijing street. After hours spent enduring the sticky heat， we were able to wash away the remnants with the leisurely activity of tea tasting. The evening was to follow suit in terms of edible delights， as we sampled the illustrious pecking duck dish on a terrace strung with flickering lanterns and golden fairy lights.
With only one morning left in the heart of this pulsating city， we decided to stray from the obvious attractions. Instead， we took a wander through Beijing’s 798 art district， marveling at the bizarre amalgamation of trendy， contemporary， art with what used to be an industrial hotspot. Yet， in a similar fashion to the city’s rickshaws， our weekend break juddered to a satisfying halt. What started out as a precarious journey， ended with the smug satisfaction that we had survived and intensely enjoyed our brief break in the city where tradition contently co-exists with vibrant modernity.
Upon arrival， my travelling companion very aptly described Beijing as being ‘one large exhaust fume’. Once we had swerved the relentless advances of men promoting their hotels and taxi services， we precariously maneuvered our baggage-burdened bodies to the taxi rank outside the train station. The pungent whiff of fumes and suffocating heat certainly wasn’t welcome after a 5-hour train journey （having your fringe super-glued to your forehead is not a desirable look， I assure you）. After the habitual fumbling in the murky depths of my rucksack for the scrap of paper containing the name of our hostel， we crawled into a taxi and headed towards what would be our hedonistic home for the next few days.
It is notable that when travelling in Beijing， you become the epitome of that intensely irritating specie – the tourist. It is impossible to travel anywhere without waving an address card in the perplexed faces of locals. Even the simplest of tasks begins to draw parallels with a James Bond mission. Loitering around on the sidewalk， moaning about the stifling heat and the elusive invention also known as the Western toilet， becomes an occupation. After attempting to consult maps（a similar experience to cracking Morse code）， we abandoned what was remaining of our rationality and hopped onto what we hoped was the correct bus. Driving away from the smog shrouded skyscrapers， it was literally light relief to see the mountain peaks bathing in the afternoon sun. The view was certainly idyllic from behind the safety of a pane of glass， but I am going to be brutally honest – we did not opt for a dutiful five-hour walk along the wall in 40 degree heat. Instead， we caught the last cable car of the day and followed a group of Chinese tourists for a brief stroll along a popular point. My vision melted into the sharp， blue， sky resulting in the illusion of an everlasting wall meandering across the landscape. This liberating sight certainly counteracted the tumultuous journey from the city of Shanghai to China’s capital. After snapping a host of obligatory insta-worthy photos （no filter， I promise）， we began our descent and made a surprisingly successful attempt at haggling at the local market stools. Feeling content after purchasing some rather adorable Chinese dolls to add to my ever-expanding collection of holiday junk， we hitched a ride back to the city in a slightly dubious mini bus.
Our first night in the city promised cheap alcohol， cheesy music and what I like to call ‘a hole in the ground job’ in each and every club toilet. After one too many mojitos， dancing on the stage seemed like the polite thing to do – after all， we couldn’t disappoint our adoring audience of locals. No-one in Shanghai had ever taken such an avid interest （which of course boiled down to sobriety） and so we were determined to achieve our five minutes of fame！
Our second morning in Beijing was met with an unwelcome （but very much deserved） headache. After a bleary eyed breakfast， sunglasses were placed firmly on our faces and the pilgrimage to The Forbidden City was underway. Evading the infamous Beijing traffic， we opted for the gloriously cheap metro in the not so glorious heat and arrived at our destination to be faced with a plethora of parasols. The barren grounds surrounding the Palace were initially deceptive but after observing the interior of the rooms， it was quite clear as to why this tourist magnet is considered China’s most impres- sive cultural treasure. Perhaps just as pleasing though， was the discovery of an authentic tea room neatly tucked away down a narrow and typically congested Beijing street. After hours spent enduring the sticky heat， we were able to wash away the remnants with the leisurely activity of tea tasting. The evening was to follow suit in terms of edible delights， as we sampled the illustrious pecking duck dish on a terrace strung with flickering lanterns and golden fairy lights.
With only one morning left in the heart of this pulsating city， we decided to stray from the obvious attractions. Instead， we took a wander through Beijing’s 798 art district， marveling at the bizarre amalgamation of trendy， contemporary， art with what used to be an industrial hotspot. Yet， in a similar fashion to the city’s rickshaws， our weekend break juddered to a satisfying halt. What started out as a precarious journey， ended with the smug satisfaction that we had survived and intensely enjoyed our brief break in the city where tradition contently co-exists with vibrant modernity.