The Algarve: Mexilhoeira Grande and a Long Lost Cousin

Two Descendants of John Lott of Merthyr Meet in the Algarve Sunshine

2021 and 2023 update at end

Our 2013 Algarve trip (probably our 20th) involved an interesting and pleasant new development.

Lynne is a keen genealogist and has traced the many branches of both our families back to at least the 18th century, some much further. Last November she was contacted by Ricky Cruz, another amateur genealogist, who had found names cropping up on her family tree which matched those on mine.

Ricky sent us family photographs of people she had been unable to identify, and we were surprised to see pictures of my mother as a child in the 1920s, my grandmother at various ages, her parents and grandparents. Obviously we were related, but how?

Our common ancestor was one John Lott, born in Llangyfelach, now part of Swansea, in 1799. He married a girl called Mary (surname so far unknown) from Llangadog in rural Carmarthenshire. They moved to the Merthyr area where they prospered, John becoming an agent for the ironworks and a tea dealer. They had three children, Hannah, born in 1826, John Jnr (1831) and Ann (1836). Hannah is my great-great-great grandmother, Ann is Ricky’s great-great grandmother, which, apparently, makes us 4th cousins once removed.

John Lott (1799-1872)
This is probably John L, but it might be someone else - whoever it is I wouldn't cross him

Photographic evidence suggests our two branches of the family were in contact until well into the last century but then lost touch - until Ricky’s email.

We learned about each other in a series of emails. Although Ricky is technically a generation older than I am (hence the ‘once removed’) we are of much the same age. She was also a teacher (it is something of a family failing) and in the 1980s, when Lynne and I were broadening our horizons by teaching in the USA and Sudan, she did the same by taking a job in Portugal. I do not know if she had intended the move to be permanent, but once she had met and married Zeca the decision was made. Ricky and Zeca now live near Mexilhoeira Grande, which, as fate would have it, is not only in the Algarve, but less than 30 minutes from our regular Portuguese base in Carvoeiro. They kindly invited us for lunch.

Zeca, Ricky and 2 of their several dogs

Their house, which Zeca built himself, is a few kilometres north of the village, where the land starts to rise from the coastal plane into the Algarve’s gentle green hills. Their terrace commands a sweeping view over rich farmland to the seaside resort of Alvor, with the silver sea shimmering in the distance.

Zeca and Ricky's house, Mexilhoeira Grande

What John and Mary Lott would have made of this first meeting of two of their direct descendants is anybody’s guess. Sun-dappled terraces beside private swimming pools were something of a rarity in 19th century Dowlais – indeed they still are.

Me and my fourth cousin, once removed

I imagined them sitting beside us, him in a three piece suit with a high, tight collar, and her in shawl and bonnet, looking on with bemusement and complaining about the heat.

I am not sure what they would have made of our lunch, either. Carapau are small fish whose firm sweet flesh lifts easily from the bones; we ate them with an octopus salad. ‘Ych a fi, I wouldn’t put that in my mouth’ was the reaction of my grandmother (and Hannah’s great-granddaughter) to the thought of eating octopus - there are times when even the Anglophone Welsh resort to their discarded native tongue. I remember her saying this in the early 1960s, 24 hours after eating octopus and saying how much she enjoyed it, and ten seconds before being told what she had for lunch the previous day.

John and Mary might have felt more at home with the chicken that followed, though Zeca’s home grown piri-piris might have left them gasping for air.

For those of us there in body rather than just spirit, it was an excellent lunch, and the wine flowed freely (though not for me, I had to drive).

We talked of our families, the Welsh, the Portuguese and the English and realised that Ricky (actually Erika) not only shared an unusual name (though not spelling) with my sister, but also some physical similarity. By the end I think old John and Mary would have thawed – difficult not to in the Algarve sun – and would be quite comfortable with, maybe even proud of their descendants.

Zeca picks us some piri-piri

Later we strolled through the land surrounding the house. In addition to three varieties of chilli (a selection are now (22-Oct-2013) drying in our kitchen) Zeca has a vineyard, though he replanted it last year so it is not currently producing. Wine buff might like to know he grows Trincadeira and Touriga Nacional - the usual Portuguese favourites.

Zeca's vineyard, Mexilhoeira Grande

He showed us his winery and the remaining 200 litre barrel from the previous planting which he plans to broach at Christmas. ‘I make wine just like my grandfather did,’ he said, ‘so I know exactly what goes into it.’ I did notice, though, that he had an electric press to do the job his grandfather may well have done with his feet.

Zeca's winery

They have olive trees; the harvest starts next month and they will send their produce to the local olive oil cooperative.

Carob trees in the foreground, olives behind, Mexilhoeira Grande

The carob harvest was half complete. Despite the use of carob in many Portuguese desserts and its popularity as a chocolate substitute in the health food industry, the wholesale price this year is too low to make it worth employing pickers, so they are doing the job themselves, as and when they have the time and the inclination.

The carob harvest - so far

I had expected to have lunch and be driving home by 3, but it was nearer 7 when we left. After a pleasant day in idyllic surroundings (oh, I know, even in paradise there are taxes to be paid, septic tanks to be emptied, etc, etc) we took our leave promising to keep in touch and meet again. I am sure we will, Ricky and Zeca are good people – of course they are, they are family.

John and Mary Lott may have struggled with the ideas of carobs and octopus, piri-piri and olive harvests - or maybe not. Perhaps we should not underestimate them just because he would be 214 and she 211. The brood they spawned have proved adaptable and open to new ideas, so why not them?

2021 Update

And indeed, we have remained in touch, and have met for lunch every year since (except the plague year of 2020 when we could not travel to Portugal).

We met twice this year, once for lunch at Ricky's…

Lynne and Ricky on Ricky's terrace, Oct 2021

…and took a trip out to the Algarve's sometimes (though not this time) wild and windy west coast..

Ricky and I, Monte Clérigo, Oct 2021

But someone is missing from these photographs. Zeca had a cancer diagnosis four or five years ago. He had treatment, and for a time was in remission and he was able to live a full life. When we met in 2019 he knew the cancer had returned. He died in spring 2020. He is much missed, particularly, of course, by Ricky.

October 2023 Update

To remain in Portugal, Ricky thought it best to take Portuguese citizenship. As a 40-year resident and being fluent in the language this presented few difficulties and she received her Portuguese Identity Card in summer 2022.

The 'farm' was too large and too isolated for a single person, so this year Ricky made the decision to move into the village. Despite its name, Mexilhoeira Grande is more pequeno than grande. It is far enough inland to have retained its traditional character, but near enough to the coast to be in easy reach of all necessary facilities. Ricky has bought the building that was once the village windmill. Previously it had been a holiday let, and she has now taken on the challenge of turning it into a permanent home. It is a wise move but I will miss our annual conversation about the wholesale price of carobs.

Ricky and her windmill, Mexilhoeira Grande, 2023

Algarve Posts

The Algarve: Delights and Depredations(2010)
Mexilhoeira Grande and a Long Lost Cousin (2013)
The West Coast (2013)
Lagos (2014)
Castro Marim and Vila Real do Santo António (2015)
The Boxes of Carvoeiro (2016)
Mertola and Alcoutim: Strongholds by the Guadiana River (2017) - Also under Alentejo
Silves, Former Capital of the Algarve (2018)
Drinking the Algarve (2022)
Eating the Algarve (2024)

Beijing (3), A Duck and a Rant: Beijing and Shanxi Part 6

"Gungo smiley face Harvey Ball"
legend seen on a tee-shirt, Beijing*

Successful Searches for Roast Duck (Easy) and 'Tea Tools' (More Challenging)

Whatever Happened to the Friendship Store?

People's Republic of China

We walked 2km along Dongchang’an Jie, first retracing our steps of two weeks ago to the Ming Observatory, and then continuing over the Jianguomen flyover in the direction of the Friendship Store. This venerable institution, once open only to foreigners, diplomats and high ranking officials, was created to ease the lives of the Soviet experts sent to assist with China's economic development in the 1950s. In the early days of western contact it was the only place the new western tourist could shop. Not allowed local currency (as in North Korea now) the Friendship Stores were the only places they could spend their Foreign Exchange Certificates. They sold good quality Chinese arts and crafts, western luxuries and uncensored western newspapers while guards on the doors kept out the ordinary people. Foreign Exchange Certificates disappeared in the 1990s, western luxuries became widely available and restrictions on who could use the shops were abolished.

Crossing the Jianguomen flyover

We first visited the Beijing Friendship Store in 2004. In 2007 it was still the best place for Chinese oddities - the particular bamboo trays needed for tea ceremonies for instance - but the Friendship Store concept was beginning to look dated. This time our mission was to find a set of tea tools - our daughter wanted them to go with her tray.

As we should have expected, the Friendship Store is no more. The building was still there, draped with banners bearing names you can find in every major city on earth (except Pyongyang). I cursed Armani and Versace, and Baskin Robbins whose stall is next door and u-bloody-biquitios Mc-sodding-Donalds for their homogenisation of the globe. ‘Our world is a duller, less varied place because of you,’ I thought as I readjusted my Ray-Bans on my nose (and I cursed Ray-Bans too, smug in the knowledge that I bought mine for £2.40 in a Buddhist Temple in Myanmar, so I know they were genuine fakes).

Having failed in our tea tool mission we made the long walk back and found a place near the station that would sell us a coffee - not a drink much liked by the Chinese and not easy to get if you are determined to avoid what our daughter calls with a shudder ‘the Scottish Restaurant’ (though Ronald McD is no sort of Celt I recognise).

Along Dongchang’an Jie to Wanfujing Walking Street

Back at our hotel we showered, changed and checked out before returning to Dongchang’an Jie, this time heading west towards the city centre. Walking slowly in the hot sunshine it took us a while to reach Wangfujing, one of Beijing’s main shopping streets.

Dongchang'an Jie - not quite the last bicycle left in Beijing

Much of Wangfujing is pedestrianised, what the Chinese call a ‘walking street’, and we made a gratifying detour round the huge queue at the Jasmine Ice Cream stall – Chinese produced ice cream with an essentially Chinese flavour and nothing to do with Baskin Robbins.

Wangfujing Walking Street

Shuaifuyuan Hutong and Quanjude Roast Duck

We turned right into Shuaifuyuan Hutong, a small street decorated in such a way that, had it been in anywhere else in the world, we would have called it ‘Chinatown’. The Chinese relish playing up to their stereotype sticking plastic Ming gables and red paper lanterns everywhere. On one side of the street is a jiaozi (dumpling) restaurant, and everyone from out of town has to have their photograph taken with their statue. Lynne saw no reason to be different.

Lynne wants a jiaozi, off Wangfujing, Beijing

Our goal, though, was the restaurant opposite. Having failed on our quest for roast duck at Bianyifang on Lynne's birthday we had decided to herald our departure with a duck lunch at Quanjude, the oldest and perhaps finest duck restaurant in Beijing. After a tricky day’s negotiating it was over roast duck at Quanjude that Henry Kissinger and his Chinese counterparts patched up their differences.

Quanjude Duck Restaurant, Shuaifuyuan Hutong, off Wangfujing, Beijing

The restaurant is expensive, by Chinese standards. Beers were 25 Yuan (£2.50) each; the previous evening our entire dinner (including two of the same beers) came to less than 50, but here we were paying for the ambience and the theatre.

Our duck was wheeled out by a young man in a chef’s hat, surgical mask and latex gloves who set about carving it for us. We had a brief demonstration of how to fold a pancake round spring onion and slices of duck smeared with plum sauce – a task we had failed at before and failed at again. Looking round the room we were gratified to find that other diners – overwhelmingly Chinese – were equally inept.

Carving our duck, Quanjude Duck Restaurant, Wangfujing, Beijing

The questionable structural integrity of the wraps did not detract from our enjoyment and just as we finished the leg and breast meat, along came the soup and the wings and other bits to nibble.

I love duck but a question remains unresolved: for my final meal on earth would I prefer duck in Beijing or confit de canard beside the Dordogne (before, of course, fresh pineapple and coconut ice cream)? Further research will be necessary.

We ate a whole duck between us, which cost £35, extravagant by Chinese standards but cheaper than the bottle of wine which accompanied our wedding anniversary meal at the Yorke Arms in Pately Bridge.

Quanjude Duck Restaurant, Beijing

In Search of Tea Tools

We left Quanjude happy and replete and applied ourselves to the serious business of finding tea tools. And what are tea tools, you ask? They are a collection of nicely polished wooden scoops, prodders and brushes; the Swiss Army Knife of the tea ceremony.

Wangfujing has several of what appear to be department stores, so we wandered into the nearest confident that a Chinese department store would have a tea department. It was not, we discovered a department store, at least not one I would recognise. I might be out of touch, the department store is not my natural environment, but last time I was in one it consisted of departments selling various related items. This store housed a series of individual stalls, each selling one particular brand name, some we knew and others we had never heard of. There were six floors like this - yes, we went up the escalator to the top and checked every single one with a growing feeling of disbelief. As market stalls go they were certainly posh, some were larger than many shops, but market stalls were what they were and clothes were pretty well all that was on offer.

We tried another ‘department store’ and it was the same. Brand names here are everything. For the second time that day I found myself cursing Jimmy Choo, Hugo Boss and their ilk. I am sure there are people in the west who are obsessed with brand names and feel themselves naked without an Armani suit or Gucci handbag, but I doubt there are very many and they include nobody I know (or want to know). The Chinese have a fascination with all things western and the advertising campaigns of Vuitton, Versace and others are attempting to convince (have already convinced?) a gullible section of the newly wealthy that brand names are the pinnacle of western culture. When they eventually see through it, and see through it they will, the Chinese view of western culture will have been damaged beyond repair. If all we have to offer is KFC and Oakley sunglasses, then we truly are culturally bankrupt.

Rant over.

On a lighter note, the obsession with western culture has led the sweatshops of Guangdong to produce tee-shirts by the million bearing slogans in English, very few of them making any sense. For some choice examples see the top of this, and the preceding three posts (here, here and here).

We eventually found a tea shop giving tastings and actually using tea tools. We inquired, mainly by mime, whether they had any for sale. The assistant looked blank, but fetched a colleague whose more agile mind deduced what these weird foreigners were after. We soon became the proud owners (if only until we passed them on to our daughter) of the cool tools below.

Tea tools

The Art Exhibition Scam

Leaving Wangfujing we continued to the city centre. On the way we encountered, and not for the first time, the 'art exhibition scam'. A couple of personable young people fall into step with you and strike up a conversation. After a while they tell you they are art students and invite you to their end of year exhibition. The idea is that you go to the show and pay high prices for cheap mass produced prints in the belief that you are buying the student’s own work and helping fund their education. We did not fall for it in 2004 when we first visited Beijing and were not going to fall for it this time, though Dan Cruikshank did when he was filming 'Round the World in 80 Treasures'. I don't think the story was in the TV series, but he writes about it in the book.

Tiananmen Square

We rested on a low wall near the portrait of Mao in Tiananmen Square. During a ten minute sit we were approached by two different touts selling guided tours to the Great Wall. They each gave us business cards, should we change our minds. They were identical except for the name.

Near the portrait of Mao, outside Tiananmen Square,Beijing with a bag of tea tools

We walked to the entrance of the Forbidden City but did not go in - we did that in 2004. The Forbidden City is big and to do it justice requires several hours. After a long, hot walk we lacked the energy.

Instead we decided to stroll across Tiananmen Square. On our previous visits we had merely walked through the underpass and emerged on the square, but now we had to negotiate a security check. There is nothing the Chinese authorities like more than a bit of intrusive security to remind the people who is in charge. [a month later (28/10/13) a car was driven deliberately into the crowd by the entrance to the Forbidden City and burst into flames killing five (three of them the occupants of the car). ‘Security’, I repeat, exists to remind people who is in charge, it rarely makes anyone safer.]

Tiananmen Square, a vast concrete wasteland

Despite some imposing buildings around it, and Mao's mausoleum in the centre (we visited him in 2004, too) Tiananmen Square is largely an ugly expanse of bare concrete. It is a vast space and there is usually an event of some sort going on and a soldier or two prowling round to ensure everybody behaves decorously, but the only thing worth seeing, apart from Mao's mausoleum, is the Qianmen Gate at the southern end.

Qianmen Gate, Tiananmen Square

After seeing that there was not much to do except descend to the adjacent metro station and head back to our hotel to pick up our cases before setting off for the airport and the start of the long journey home.

*Gungbo (not gungo) is the pinyin transliteration for a dish of chicken, chillies and peanuts which might produce a smiley face. Harvey Ball was a commercial artist credited with designing the 'smiley face'. Unlike the others, which are pure gibberish, this tee-shirt has some sort of narrative, or at least stream of consciousness. How aware of the narrative the designer was is another issue.

Beijing, North Korea and Shanxi

Part 1: Return to Beijing: Some Things Change, Some Stay the Same
Part 2: Beijing (2): Xicheng and Beihai Park
Part 3: Beijing to Pyongyang
Part 4: Pyongyang (1): A Day for Bowing
Part 5: Pyongyang (2): A Day for Waving
Part 6: Panmunjom and the DMZ
Part 7: Sariwon and Nampho
Part 8: The Nampho Barrage and back to Pyongyang
Part 9: Last Day in Pyongyang (1), Gifts and the Metro
Part 10: Last Day in Pyongyang (2) Serious Study and Juche Thought
Part 11: By Train out of the DPRK
Part 12: Datong
Part 13: Pingyao, Preserved Ming City
Part 14: Pingyao to Taiyuan and the Bullet Train back to Beijing
Part 15: Beijing (3): A Duck and a Rant

Pingyao to Taiyuan and the Bullet Train back to Beijing: Beijing and Shanxi Part 5

"Fumes that Incident the Fancy"
slogan seen on a tee-shirt, Beijing

An 18th Century Family House, a 7th Cemtury Temple and a 21st Century Train

People's Republic of China

Taking our leave of Pingyao we set off towards Beijing, driving the 100km to Taiyuan, the capital of Shanxi Province, before taking the bullet train to Beijing.

The Qiao Family Compound

The Qiao Family Compound is 30km north of Pingyao. The Qiaos made their pile during the Qing dynasty and started building the house in 1756.As the family grew and prospered the house grew with them until by the end of the century there were 313 rooms arranged round 6 large and 19 smaller courtyards.

Shanxi and Beijing

It is one of the finest remaining courtyard homes in northern China, but although the Qiao family were benevolent landlords and good employers - at least by the standards of 18th and 19th century China - the family fortunes did not survive Mao’s revolution and the compound is now a state owned museum.

It is a popular day out for locals, particularly on a public holiday. We crossed a forecourt where the basketball courts had been pressed into service to dry the newly harvested corn crop, and joined the crowd.

Drying corn outside the Qiao Family compound

The rooms were well laid out with period furniture….

The Qiao Family Compound, near Pingyao

…and glass cases of porcelain and other objects of interest.

Qiao Family Compound, near Pingyao

The courtyards, small and large, were richly decorated.

In one of the courtyards, Qiao Family Compound, Pingyao

In China, like anywhere else, grand houses attract film producers. The house starred in the 2006 television serial Qiao's Grand Courtyard and was the primary location for the 1991 film Raise the Red Lantern directed by Zhang Yimou - best known in the West for House of Flying Daggers and the opening and closing ceremonies of the Beijing Olympics. The film, a ‘veiled allegory against authoritarianism' was briefly banned in China despite the script having been passed by the censors. There is an exhibition of memorabilia from the film.

Garden, Qiao Family Courtyard, near Pingyao

The authorities have yet to grasp the benefit of visitors leaving via the gift shop, but just beyond the gates a variety of stallholders have spotted the gap in the market.

Stalls outside the Qiao Family Courtyard, Pingyao

Shanxi is renowned for its vinegar and between the market and the car park we passed a vinegar factory. The large black jars we have seen in so many shops were here in their hundreds.

Vinegar storage outside the Qiao Family Compound, near Pingyao

A Problematic Journey to Jinci Temple

We continued north towards Taiyuan, with another intended stop at Jinci temple.

While waiting for some traffic lights to change we heard what sounded like a volley of gunfire. As usual in China this turned out to be firecrackers. Setting off a ring of firecrackers round a newly acquired lorry ensures it is free from demons and has the happy side effect of telling the world how well the new owners are doing. That is fair enough, but I am not entirely convinced that igniting hundreds of firecrackers round a truck parked beside a petrol station is a desperately good idea. We were relieved when the lights changed and we could move off before the big fireball arrived.

Not, perhaps, the best place for firecrackers, Pingyao - Tiayuan road

A few kilometres later the traffic ground to a halt. 'Congestion can cause long delays here,' said Jonathan, our guide. Inching slowly forward we reached a junction and the driver swung into the minor road. Most Chinese cities are built on a grid, and often country roads follow the same pattern. The driver’s idea was to take a minor road parallel to the main road, and the plan worked well - until we encountered a road that was closed. Trying to get round that we discovered an area where the grid pattern broke down. Soon we were wandering around the flat, featureless Shanxi countryside and I for one had entirely lost my sense of direction. It was a frustrating journey; harvest time meant either we were held up by large slow moving vehicles or zigzagging round piles of corn dumped in the road.

Piles of corn in the road, somewhere near Taiyuan

Eventually the driver stopped to ask a group of agricultural workers for directions, a request which provoked much discussion and a lot of head scratching. We started to follow their laboriously worked out advice but soon discovered it involved a rough, unsurfaced lane. The driver had a careful look and decided - wisely I thought - not to venture down it.

We resumed what felt to us like aimless wandering. Jonathan had started to look worried, but the driver maintained a confident air – maybe he was bluffing. Lynne and I were beginning to think we might be wandering this featureless agricultural landscape for the rest of our lives.

If you drive for long enough you must eventually encounter a main road. When we did the sign said Taiyuan was only 10km away and Jinci Temple even closer. Maybe the driver had everything under control all along or perhaps he was lucky - the Chinese traditionally regard luck as a character trait, so he took the credit either way. Amazingly we were only 15 minutes behind schedule.

Jinci Temple

Jinci, reputedly the most important temple in Shanxi, was founded in the seventh century. Being in continual use for 1400 years it has seen much building and rebuilding so little or nothing of the original temple remains.

The open area in front of the entrance was used as a theatre, the Ming dynasty Water Mirror Platform (over my left shoulder) being its centrepiece.

Water Mirror Platform, Jinci Temple, Taiyaun

The ‘gift shop’ stood nearby.

'Gift Shop', Jinci Temple, Taiyuan

Chinese architectural styles changed little between themedieval period and the middle of the twentieth century, so all temples have a tendency to look alike, but the Hall of the Goddess Mother, with carved wooden dragons curling round its eight pillars, does stand out. Originally built in the Jin Dynasty* (836 to 947) it was rebuilt between 1023 and 1032 during the rather more durable Song Dynasty (960-1279) and is one of the largest surviving Song buildings in China.

Hall of the Mother Goddess, Jinci Temple, Taiyuan

Inside is a statue of the Goddess Mother. She was the mother of Prince Shuyu who founded the Jin Dynasty and was attributed with supernatural powers.

The Mother Goddess, Jinci Temple, Taiyuan

She is attended by a group of Song dynasty female figures in coloured clay, the best of the temple’s collection of over 100 statues.

The Mother Goddess' Song Dynasty handmaidens, Jinci Temple, Taiyuan

There is also a large classical garden with some pleasing corners...

Formal Garden, Jinci Temple, Taiyuan

…. and a pagoda whose origins I have been unable to find.

Pagoda, Jinci Temple, Taiyuan

The Song figures, some ancient Cypresses (which we managed to miss) and The Eternal Spring are the ‘Three Great Things of Jinci Temple.’ The spring, protected by a small pavilion, has been gushing water at a steady 17º since the temple was built, or at least it did until 1998 when one of Shanxi’s many coal mines unwittingly diverted the underground stream that fed the Eternal Spring. Undaunted, the authorities pipe in water to replicate the natural gush. Neither the authorities nor the great mass of Chinese tourists (nor, indeed, Jonathan) see any irony in this. We encountered something very similar at the Crescent Moon Lake in the Gobi desert at Dunhuang.

The Pavilion of the (not very) Eternal Spring, Jinci Temple, Taiyuan

To Taiyuan for Lunch

It was only a short drive to Taiyuan. Founded in 500BC thecapital of Shanxi Province is now a huge modern city and home to over 3 million people, although it is virtually unknown outside China. It became infamous in 1900 for the Taiyuan Massacre where 45 foreign Christian missionaries and their Chinese converts, some of them children, were murdered in the mayhem surrounding the Boxer Rebellion.

We left the car within sight of the station. 'The driver is going back to Pingyao now,' Jonathan told us.' 'And you?' we asked as Jonathan showed no sign of getting back in the car. 'After you have had lunch and I've seen you onto the train I'll get the bus back.' This seemed silly so we suggested he go with the driver, but he had his instructions and fully intended to carry them out.

To prove he was necessary he took us to a huge shiny noodle shop with an unnecessarily complex system involving peering at food behind a glass screen and telling the server what you wanted so she could write it down. I then took this document to the cash desk where I paid and got it stamped before returning to claim my food. I could probably have just about managed without Jonathan - or gone somewhere more normal, but he was a help.

I returned in triumph to our table bearing the spoils only to see Jonathan advancing with two huge bowls of noodle soup. This was a noodle restaurant after all, and everything I had bought was, I now discovered, in addition to the default noodles.

As we set about making some impression on the huge quantity of food Jonathan sat outside on the pavement smoking.

The High Speed Train to Beijing

Lunch over he walked with us to the station. 'You need to go to waiting room 6,' he said which we could see for ourselves as the sign alternated between Chinese and pinyin. 'I can't come in as there are no platform tickets for the bullet trains.' Again we wondered why he had not gone back with the driver. We took our leave and psyched ourselves up for the inevitable security checks the Chinese authorities believe are necessary for train travel.

We had taken eight hours travelling from Beijing to Datong and a further eight to Pingyao. From Pingyao we had driven 100Km back towards Beijing, but even so the scheduled three hours on the bullet train was a statement about how fast the bullet train is - and how slow the regular trains are.

The second class carriage was, if my memory of our trip to Brussels in 1995 serves me well, less comfortable than the Eurostar. The seats were laid out like on an aeroplane even to the extent of fold down tables. There was much more leg room, but the luggage racks were far too small for our two suitcases. After a mimed discussion with the carriage attendant we were allowed to store them in the area set aside for wheelchairs. Had any wheelchair users boarded the train a rethink would have been necessary, but that situation did not arise.

We stopped three times, as we made our way through the flat countryside. Before the first stop the speedometer stayed below 200kph, but afterwards it gradually built up to 300. The ride was smooth and quiet, unlike the regular trains at 60kph.

The Bullet Train near top speed, Taiyuan to Beijing

We arrived on time at Beijing’s western station and had to make our way to our hotel beside the central station - a rush hour metro journey requiring three changes. The last was onto one of the old lines which have neither escalators nor lifts. Lynne was tired and our cases were heavy. I carried one down a flight of concrete steps while Lynne waited at the top with the other. I turned to fetch the other case only to find a middle aged Chinese man putting it down beside me with Lynne just behind him. It was the third act of random kindness visited upon us in the Beijing metro on this trip.

*China has enjoyed five ‘Jin’ Dynasties. This one is the ‘Later Jin’ from the ‘Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms Period’ or 10th century as we would call it.

Beijing, North Korea and Shanxi

Part 1 Return to Beijing: Some Things Change, Some Stay the Same

Part 2 Beijing (2): Xicheng and Beihai Park

Part 3 Beijing to Pyongyang

Part 4 Pyongyang (1): A Day for Bowing 

Part 5 Pyongyang (2): A Day for Waving
Part 6 Panmunjom and the DMZ
Part 7 Sariwon and Nampho
Part 8 The Nampho Barrage and back to Pyongyang
Part 9 Last Day in Pyongyang (1), Gifts and the Metro
Part 10 Last Day in Pyongyang (2) Serious Study and Juche Thought
Part 11 By Train out of the DPRK
Part 12 Datong
Part 13 Pingyao, Preserved Ming City
Part 14 Pingyao to Taiyuan and the Bullet Train back to Beijing
Part 15 Beijing (3): A Duck and a Rant