Story and Photography by Matthew Kronsberg

As I rocketed out of Shanghai aboard a train at nearly 200 miles an hour, the speed reduced the trees outside my window to greenish blurs. I had the out-of-body sense that I was fast-forwarding my way through China.

The ride felt decidedly more languid when I turned my attention from the window. A smartly uniformed attendant was passing out snack boxes, but I craved something more substantial and made my way to the Starbucks-equipped snack bar to order a cappuccino and soup dumplings.

"We're not on Amtrak anymore, Toto," I thought as I briefly considered adding a set of "Mao Zedong steam train building blocks" to my order.

So began a weeklong solo trip through central China that saw me traversing more than 2,000 miles without boarding a single domestic flight. For efficiency, scope and snacks, China's high-speed rail system -- the largest and fastest-growing in the world -- proved the ideal way to explore a country that can intimidate first-time visitors like me.

To plan the trip, I had to dive headlong into China's digital universe, which is parallel to but largely walled off from ours. At first, I found planning the trip myself dizzying -- you can only book most routes starting two weeks in advance -- but I wanted to break free of the group-trip bubble and interact with my fellow passengers.

That first morning I was headed for Wuyuan, a rural county about 300 miles to the southwest, famed for the rapeseed flowers that carpet the hills and valleys in yellow come spring. I planted myself at Wuyuan Skywells, a 300-year-old mansion in the village of Yancun that's been elegantly renovated into a 14-room inn by British expat Ed Gawne and his wife, Selina, who grew up nearby.

Upon my arrival, Ed took me on a hike to the village of Kengtou along an overgrown postal path. As part of the hotel's "Local Lady's Lunch Club" program, guests are brought into villagers' homes to try local dishes. Our spread included pork with freshly dug spring bamboo, and hu doufu, a comforting combination of soft tofu and leafy greens cooked to a porridge-like consistency. The rice wine, a specialty of the area, flowed generously.

Ed told me I'd be in for a very different experience when, the next morning, I hired a driver to take me to Huangling, a famed "ancient village," about an hour away. I should, he cautioned, expect "unbridled capitalism" in that popular tourist site, and "huge crowds mixed with social media culture." Ed was right. But exploring the terraced village among the selfie-snapping, flower-crowned throngs gave me a fun glimpse into China's massive domestic tourism industry.

When I first planned this trip, I had been beguiled by viral videos that showcase the intensely vertical, labyrinthine topography of Chongqing, China's largest municipality. The 750-mile train ride to the city took 10 hours, including a one-hour stopover -- plenty of time to try, with discouraging results, to expand my vocabulary beyond ni hao (hello).

That evening, as I entered Chongqing's futuristic Central Business District, another of the city's great calling cards -- spicy food -- announced itself. The chile-scent of hot pot perfumed the air, while sixty-one stories above, the space-themed NOVA Planet High Altitude River View Hotel offered sweeping views of skyscrapers covered in illuminated animations, straight out of "Blade Runner."

The next two days were a blur of exquisitely fiery xiao mian noodles and long, aimless walks through the city.

For my next leg I splurged on business class, the top tier on Chinese trains. For the roughly six-hour trip to Xi'an, a $184 ticket snagged me a lie-flat seat comparable to what you'd find in a premium airplane cabin.

My conversations with seatmates all followed a similar pattern. Using a translation app on their phone, they'd show me a greeting. I would respond via Google Translate, and we'd go back and forth this way, before ultimately changing over to WeChat, a messaging app that automatically translated our back-and-forth messages.

Texting a person a foot away from me made me feel like a teenager, but it was also effective, and left me with digital souvenirs of the people I encountered. Everyone I met was unfailingly friendly and helpful, despite any political tensions that might have arisen from that morning's tariff news.

Xi'an welcomed me with an eerie orange sky, the effect of a sandstorm, but the skies were blue again by morning. I had hired Wenqi Zhang, founder of the service LocalFun Xi'an, to show me around the Dongcangmen market. Quick to share knowledge and opinions on the city's food scene, she steered me away from predictable tourist moves: say, asking for peppers on your roujiamo, a sort of Chinese hamburger.

Having eaten my fill by 11 a.m., I was ready to visit Xi'an's most famous residents. About 26 miles from the center of town, I joined the throngs lining up to see the thousands of terracotta warriors, sculptures originally built to guard an emperor's tomb around 2,200 years ago. As at Huangling, I found myself transfixed by both the fascinating history and the exuberant commercialism of the gift shops and restaurants just outside the museum complex.

I had come to China to experience train travel at its most futuristic, but I craved a taste of the country's past too. So, for my next segment, I opted to go old school.

China's dusky-green sleeper trains are older and slower than their aerodynamic descendants. For $56, I booked a bed in a four-bunk cabin, and settled in for a 10.5-hour trip that a high-speed train could make in less than half that time.

When I boarded, I found an older couple already asleep on the bottom bunks, their teenage granddaughter on a top bunk, watching TikTok-style videos at full volume. I climbed onto my bunk, popped in some earplugs and drifted off for a surprisingly restful sleep.

We arrived in Wuhan exactly as scheduled at 8:29 a.m. (Even the Swiss could learn a thing or two about punctuality from Chinese trains.) While the city's reputation in the West is forever tied to Covid-19, Wuhan is also famous for its breakfasts. My plan was to gorge on its celebrated morning fare, then take a train back to Shanghai that afternoon.

On Shanhaiguan Road, known as a "snack street," I joined the longest lines I could see. The first turned out to be for re gan mian, or hot dry noodles slicked with sesame sauce; the second, for a wok-fried carb bonanza called doupi. Picture a giant crepe, sealed with an egg and topped with sticky rice, mushrooms, bamboo and pork.

Then, at a tiny cafe called the Here, I lingered for too long among the piles of literary journals. By the time I left for the station, I was running perilously late.

Stuck in traffic, I rescheduled myself on the Trip.com app for a train the next morning, a simple process. I also put myself on wait lists for the day's remaining trains. The app told me I had a 70.4% chance of success.

Once it became clear the algorithm had been overly optimistic, I booked a hotel near the station and went to explore Wuhan by night. I walked the cobblestone streets of the Victorian-era Hankou concession area.

Surreal, dreamlike moments unfurled before me: In a Louis Vuitton coat and wraparound sunglasses, a woman walked an alpaca; a young man operated a bustling espresso stand out of his car's open trunk.

Somehow hungry again, I was drawn down a dark alley by the light of a restaurant called Under the Bridge Downtown. There, I enjoyed a comforting, homestyle braise of beef and five-spice-scented tofu.

The next morning, I made it to the station with plenty of time to spare. I had another train to catch.

Scaling the Great Firewall

You can't access most of the apps you know and love in China. Here's what to download instead.

The Chinese government blocks access to apps like Google Maps, YouTube and Instagram across the country. But that doesn't mean you need to opt into a digital detox. In their stead, you'll find a whole other online universe. Here's what you need to know.

Connectivity

You can buy a local SIM card in China, which gets you a Chinese phone number, but you'll be hemmed in by the "Great Firewall," so you'll also need a Virtual Private Network service like Mullvad VPN to access the many blocked apps. An easier route: Sign up for an eSIM like Airalo . While you won't get a phone number this way, an eSIM lets you connect to the wider world. (You might still want a VPN to use with hotel Wi-Fi.)

Maps

Android user? Brace yourself: Google Maps is among the essential apps that do not work in China. (Even if you skirt restrictions, location data is often wrong.) If you use an iPhone, you're all set. Apple partners with Gaode Maps, a Chinese company for its Maps app. Android users will have to download Gaode's Amap, which has English functionality and is reliable.

Communications

To call WeChat just a messaging app is to minimize its pervasive role in Chinese society. You might also find yourself using it to locate a restaurant, order a meal there and pay for it. Automatic translation features are simplistic but extremely helpful.

Payments

Trying to pay for everything with either cash or credit cards in China will merely frustrate both you and would-be recipients. AliPay and WeChat Pay, China's largest payment platforms, are essential for many transactions.

Booking

While you can save a little money by booking hotels, flights and train trips directly, the convenience of using Trip.com to create an itinerary is well worth the modest fees it charges. The app, which even lets you buy an eSIM, is also useful for booking entry to museums and finding local tours.

(END) Dow Jones Newswires

August 01, 2025 18:00 ET (22:00 GMT)

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