On Tuesday night, we packed and got ready for our next Chinese city—Xi’an, Shaanxi Province, about 1,000 kilometres west of Beijing. The trip used to take almost 30 hours but now, it’s only a four-hour ride with the new high-speed train.

Xi’an is a new city for both Feng and me, so we were pretty excited.

We were leaving from Běijīngxī Zhàn, the West train station, which is pretty logical since we were going west. Chinese toponyms either make complete sense or are some kind of inside joke—looking at you, Chángchūn, aka “eternal spring,” a city located in the northwest where the mean daily maximum temperature in March is 4.5 °C…

The railway station was across the city from our apartment. We figured we’d leave at 8 a.m. to catch the 9:55 a.m. train to Xi’an. Surely, two hours would be enough to cross Beijing.

Feng and I are usually good with timing. We’re used to taking planes, buses, trains, and boats, and we’re rarely if ever late. We’re both reliably on time to meet each other, go somewhere or meet deadlines.

We just didn’t realize how bad the traffic is in Beijing.

We caught a taxi right away. The first two minutes of the ride were pretty typical—I started checking my emails on my phone, Mark was still half asleep and Feng was looking out of the window.

Then we got stuck in a massive traffic jam just a few blocks from the apartment.

I put my phone away and started biting my lips. Feng started twisting his hair. Then I started twisting my hair and Feng started biting his lips.

“Wow, we’re really not moving! We’re going to miss the train!” Mark said out loud instead of giving body language cues expressing we were pretty much screwed.

“How long it is going to take to get to the railway station?” Feng asked the driver.

“One hour.”

“What time is it Juliette?”

“8:20 a.m.”

“We’re not gonna make it. It’s a huge train station.”

“Can we take the subway?”

“Look, this is our subway stop right here!” Mark pointed out.

Then Feng started arguing with the taxi driver who didn’t want to drop off three foreigners in the middle of the road. “I’m gonna get fined by the police!”

Five minutes later, we were crossing the road and rushing to the subway station. It was already about 40 °C and the subway was packed. Then we got off and transferred to another line, just as packed.

We arrived at the railway station at 9:30 a.m., just enough time to go through security—i.e., show our tickets, passports, and put the bags through the X-ray machine.

We made it but I do not recommend taking the subway with a backpack during rush hour in Beijing!