On the Hard Sleeper from Beijing to Xining

The bunks on the train were more like shelves than beds and every time the man sleeping above me squirmed his shelf would creak and groan and I was glad that I'm many things but that I'm not claustrophobic.

I actually found it strangely cosy. The term 'hard sleeper' is misleading as I had a thin mattress and a blanket. I arranged my water and my oranges and my hand sanitizer next to me, and having them lined up on the table like that made me feel at home.

There were windows either side of the carriage and for the first couple of hours I sat up and watched endless shabby apartment blocks flash by in the smog, waiting for the city to end and the beauty to begin. I had no map and I couldn't tell if this was all Beijing or if one town just became the next. I wanted to remember Beijing as the hutong I'd stayed in, which was full of little homes and market stalls and the man who walked his magnificent goose up and down the tree-lined street every day for all of Dongcheng to see. I decided to ignore the shabby and endless apartment blocks and save the batteries in my camera for the dramatic Chinese countryside instead.

But five hours later it was dark and we were still rolling through urban scrawl. The man on the shelf opposite wanted to chat and I wanted to, too, but all I could manage was ni hao and I'm not sure if his name was Chan Mei or if chan mei means 'my name is', but he gave me a sesame snap and a tangerine anyway. I was thankful: I'd been feeling a bit panicky that I hadn't packed enough snacks.

I dozed off for a while and when I woke up the carriage was dark and Chan Mei was asleep. I fumbled around for the time, hoping that it was nearly morning and I'd be able to see the beauty outside, finally, but it wasn't even midnight. The shelf above me creaked again and I wondered if maybe between now and then I could still end up developing claustrophobia after all.