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Kevin Kwong

Hong Kong people go to China for various reasons. Most enter the country to visit relatives, others go there for business or a holiday, while I go up to the mainland just for the heck of it.

  Just kidding. I don't think anyone crosses the border because he or she finds the experience fun.

  For me, every time I pass those immigration checkpoints my heart begins to beat violently. With excitement? I don't think so.

  As I wrote in this column before, immigration officers (around the world) do have ways of making you feel like a criminal, as if you were carrying 80 kilograms of heroin in your bags.

  Anyway, over the last three years I have been making more regular trips to this land of beauty and confusion, for both work and pleasure.

  Every trip shocks me without fail, every journey was an experience. Take my first excursion across the border, for instance.

  In those days, I was rather ignorant (still am) about China and was completely oblivious of the great difference between their and my way of life.

  As I stepped off the train, I was expecting to find buses and taxis waiting near the station for passengers.

  But none was in sight. Instead, there were plenty of goods vans parked in the open space.

  As I planned my next move - to look for a bus stop or taxi stand - someone came up to me and asked whether I would ride in one of the goods vans, which were in fact packed with people.

  'Where are you going?' he asked me. I told him I was heading up to Zhongshan.

  He said: 'Jump in.' So I did. There was no point waiting around.

  Once inside the 'van', I realised I was one of 20 passengers trying to sit down. But my first surprise was seeing the driver, who looked too young to be behind the steering wheel.

  Well, no one in the van complained so I just shut my mouth and eyes and prayed. But not for long.

  As the sliding door of the van, well, fell off at 40 kilometres per hour, my eyes popped and jaw dropped wide open again.

  Other passengers did not even stir. The 'conductor' just leaped out of the vehicle (before it came to a complete halt), picked the door up, hung it back on the rail and off we went.

  No fuss. No big deal.

  Another amazing thing about these vans was that, even though it was completely full, the conductor would try to pick up more passengers en route. At one point I was sitting (and unfortunately also breathing) directly under someone's armpit.

  More bizarre still was that the closer we were to our destination, the higher the fare became.

  The conductor charged me five yuan when I got on, and the last passenger had to pay 15 yuan for the, now, very short journey.

  I was later told that in China there is little logic.

  Neither should I complain because I was also told travelling in China used to be an even bigger nightmare in the old days, with poor transportation and roads.

  Trust me, it is still a nightmare today.

  Once I had to 'hire' a motorbike to reach a remote area. So there I was in my shorts and T-shirt speeding down on the wrong side of the road and passing people's backyards in narrow alleys.

  It was incredibly dangerous, but exciting.

  For three yuan, the journey was more thrilling than any other rides I have ever had in an amusement park.

  But readers, this method of getting around is not recommended. So please do not try it.

  There are, of course, other problems when travelling in China - queueing, for example, is not in their culture and the best way to catch a taxi is to grab its door handle (while it is still moving) and hang on to it until it stops.

  So, here are a couple of survival tips if you are heading north of the border: think like a local and act like a local.

  If you behave otherwise, hey, I am sorry, but you will not be seeing much of the mainland.



The pros and cons of travel in China