We landed back in Kuala Lumpur and slipped immediately into the familiar routine.

Train to KL Sentral.

Grab to the apartment.

Done.

By now we could probably manage the entire journey on autopilot.

There was really only one reason we were back.

My teeth.

Again.

This time, however, we had finally reached the end.

My crowns were being fitted, the final stage of a lengthy dental process that had started almost a year earlier.

We planned to stay in K.L. for a few days after the fitting, partly to make sure everything was as it should be and partly because, after this many visits, Kuala Lumpur had become an easy place for us to stop.

So we did the usual things.

We ate in the usual places.

We went back to our favourite coffee shop and were greeted by the smiling owner as though we had only popped out for the afternoon.

The dentist did what dentists do.

The crowns went in.

Everything appeared to be where it belonged.

And finally, after a year of appointments scattered around our travels, the dental saga was over.

Hallelujah.

Now it was time for China.

When we booked the flight to Beijing, we had been presented with two rather unattractive options.

A 4:30pm departure arriving at around 2am.

Or a 1am departure arriving the following morning.

Neither exactly filled us with enthusiasm.

Eventually we chose the 4:30pm flight.

Apparently arriving in a completely unfamiliar city at two o’clock in the morning seemed like the better idea.

At the time.

We landed in Beijing in the middle of the night and immediately had our first introduction to something that would impress us repeatedly during our short stay.

Efficiency.

Before long we were through immigration and customs, our bags had appeared and we were standing in the terminal contemplating the next problem.

How exactly were we going to get into Beijing?

The airport was a long way from our hotel.

And the Metro was closed.

AP considered the situation.

“Let’s get the bus.”

There was a pause.

“It’ll be an adventure.”

Of course it would.

So off we went in search of the night bus.

A very helpful young woman came to our rescue.

She had a marvellous little translation device that instantly converted everything she said into English.

It reminded me of the Universal Translator from Star Trek.

I wanted one immediately.

Between her magic machine, a little pointing and a certain amount of smiling, she sold us two tickets and showed us where to wait.

And so, at somewhere around three o’clock in the morning, we found ourselves standing outside Beijing airport beside a stationary bus.

It was cold.

Very cold.

Particularly after Southeast Asia.

A handful of other passengers milled around nearby, presumably people whose travel planning was every bit as questionable as ours.

We waited.

Eventually a driver appeared.

He unlocked the bus.

Climbed aboard.

Started the engine.

Revved it several times for reasons known only to him.

Then indicated that we could get on.

So we did.

Off we went into Beijing.

Some time later the bus deposited us at a train station that we thought — or perhaps more accurately hoped — wasn’t too far from our hotel.

We climbed off.

The doors closed.

The bus disappeared into the night.

And there we stood.

It was cold.

It was misty.

The bus station was deserted.

There was nobody around.

Not ideal.

We stood there for a while wondering what the next brilliant part of this particular adventure might involve.

Eventually a taxi appeared.

We showed the driver the hotel address.

He nodded.

Then typed a price into his phone.

Was it too much?

Probably.

Did we care at four o’clock in the morning?

Not even slightly.

We smiled.

We nodded.

We climbed in.

Not too much later we arrived at the hotel, made our way up to the fifth floor, checked in and collapsed into bed.

Beijing could wait until morning.

The following day we met the hotel owner, who came with us to sort out our local police registration.

Administrative duties completed, we were finally free to explore.

First priority?

Coffee.

Naturally.

We found an excellent café and had something that fell somewhere between breakfast and lunch before setting off on foot to get our bearings.

And Beijing surprised us almost immediately.

I don’t know exactly what I had expected.

But I hadn’t expected quite so much green.

The city was incredibly clean.

Trees lined the streets.

There were parks and planted spaces everywhere.

Flowers.

Wide boulevards.

Beautifully maintained public areas.

For an enormous city, it could feel remarkably calm.

We liked it.

A lot.

That evening we went looking for dinner.

I was standing outside a restaurant peering through the window, trying to work out what sort of food it served, when the door suddenly opened.

A young woman appeared.

She smiled.

Grabbed me by the hand.

And pulled me inside.

I went.

It seemed easier.

She motioned for me to wait, hurried over to a computer and started clicking away.

The printer whirred.

A sheet of paper appeared.

She picked it up triumphantly and handed it to me.

An English menu.

Perfect.

Dinner had been decided.

I poked my head back through the door to find AP standing outside looking around and wondering where on earth I had disappeared to.

“I’ve found dinner,” I announced, waving the menu.

We were quickly seated in the busy restaurant and ordered several dishes.

Everything arrived containing astonishing quantities of chilli.

Everything was delicious.

And everything was washed down with a very cold beer.

We ate until we could eat no more and retired early.

The next morning began at the same coffee shop.

Obviously.

Then we set off on foot towards the Forbidden City.

The walk took us through parts of old Beijing and into the city’s hutong neighbourhoods — the narrow lanes traditionally formed between Beijing’s old courtyard houses.

They were a complete contrast to the enormous modern roads and high-rise buildings elsewhere in the city.

Low buildings.

Grey walls.

Courtyards hidden behind old doors.

Bicycles.

Small shops.

And everyday life carrying on in streets that seemed a world away from modern Beijing.

It was a lovely walk.

Then we reached the area around the Forbidden City.

Along with what appeared to be the entire population of Beijing.

Apparently we had managed to choose a long weekend.

Excellent planning once again.

The place was packed.

But one thing made the crowds particularly spectacular.

Everywhere we looked there were people dressed in elaborate traditional clothing.

Long embroidered robes.

Flowing sleeves.

Beautifully styled hair.

Jewelled headdresses.

Full makeup.

Some looked as though they had stepped directly out of an imperial drama.

We soon discovered that this is very much a thing in China.

Hanfu — clothing inspired by historical styles worn by the Han Chinese — has undergone a huge revival, particularly amongst younger people.

And around major historic sites such as the Forbidden City, having professional photographs taken in historical dress has become enormously popular.

There were entire businesses devoted to it.

Choose your outfit.

Have your hair done.

Full makeup.

Accessories.

Then head off towards the palace for what appeared to be a fairly serious photographic session.

Some of the results were extraordinary.

So there we were, shuffling towards the Forbidden City amongst hundreds of people, many dressed considerably more appropriately for an imperial palace than we were.

Eventually we reached the enormous forecourt.

And another enormous queue.

It was at this point we discovered a small but rather important detail.

You need to book tickets in advance.

There are no same-day tickets at the entrance.

We had not booked tickets.

Of course we hadn’t.

By then the crowds were huge, everything felt like rather hard work and neither of us had any enthusiasm for turning the whole thing into a major logistical exercise.

So we didn’t.

We wandered around the forecourt for a while, took in the atmosphere and then started walking back towards the hotel.

Which turned out rather well.

Because somewhere along the way we found a fabulous Uyghur restaurant.

We went in.

We ordered.

And then, as usual, ordered far too much.

There are occasions when our enthusiasm for a menu considerably exceeds the physical capacity of two human beings.

This was one of them.

But the food was excellent.

Absolutely worth it.

By the time we eventually made it back to our room, we had walked somewhere around twenty kilometres.

Our feet knew it.

That night we returned to our little restaurant from the previous evening.

The reception was extraordinary.

We were greeted like long-lost friends.

There were smiles all round and a great deal of excitement when we walked through the door.

I suspect they were rather pleased that the foreigners had come back.

We were rather pleased to be back too.

The food was just as good.

And thankfully required considerably less walking.

Our final day in Beijing was deliberately quiet.

We had a 2am flight the following morning, and neither of us felt any particular need to fit another twenty-kilometre sightseeing marathon into the schedule.

We stayed local.

Had coffee.

Wandered a little.

Had an afternoon nap.

Then an early dinner.

Later that evening we collected our bags and headed for the train to the airport.

This time the trains were actually running.

Much easier.

Beijing and China had been on our list of places to visit for years.

We just hadn’t planned to visit them on this trip.

But then the Middle East crisis changed our original route, Qatar disappeared from the itinerary and Beijing suddenly appeared in its place.

And I am very pleased it did.

We had barely scratched the surface.

A few days was nowhere near enough.

But Beijing had completely surprised us.

Clean.

Green.

Enormous.

Efficient.

Historic.

Modern.

And somewhere we would very happily return to.

For now, though, it was time to keep moving west.

Next stop: Athens.