7. A southward flight

In the early days of this millennium, I graduated university in England and set out for a new life in China. Here, I share the quiet stories of my journey, a chronicle of discovery and displacement, woven into the fabric of a land vast and unfathomable.

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The final morning in Beijing is a blur of goodbyes and quiet departures. Our small group of Brits, bound for different cities across China, has spent five days together in the bustling capital, absorbed in the frenetic energy of its streets and the weight of its history. Now, as I prepare to leave, I feel the peculiar tug of the city I’m leaving behind and the unfamiliarity of what lies ahead. Guangzhou - a name I’ve barely heard before this journey, and one that seems distant and ungraspable - waits for me in the south. A plane ticket, a quiet flight, and an entirely new life on the other side.

The internal flight from Beijing to Guangzhou is unremarkable in the way only domestic flights can be. The grandeur of international terminals fades into memory as I board this smaller aircraft, far less crowded than the flight that brought me from London only days ago. There’s no need to check in large luggage - my guitar, a constant companion, gets its own seat. The rows of empty seats around me make it feel less like a journey and more like a moment suspended in time, between two lives.

As the plane lifts into the sky, Beijing’s skyline shrinks beneath me, a grey smudge in the distance. I watch through the window as the landscape changes. The flat, expansive plains of northern China give way to the undulating hills of the south, a world away from the imperial avenues I’ve just left. Soon, the deep green of the tropics becomes visible, the city of Guangzhou barely distinguishable from the sprawling greenery that surrounds it.

The man seated beside me is Cantonese, his accent a soft lilt against the steady hum of the plane. He introduces himself as Wei, his English surprisingly good for someone so young, and we begin talking. He’s curious about my background, about the teaching post I’ve taken, and he shares his thoughts on the differences between Beijing and Guangzhou.

“It’s not the same,” he says simply. “Beijing is cold, distant. But Guangzhou, Guangzhou is alive. The people here are more open, more relaxed. It’s warmer, in every way.”

His description of Guangzhou piques my interest. Though I have heard little of the city, the way he speaks makes it seem more like a place to be lived in, rather than simply visited. It’s a contrast, I gather, from Beijing’s austere grandeur, where every street feels suffused with history, every building a reminder of a past that’s hard to escape. Guangzhou, in comparison, has an air of newness, of commerce, of energy. The name itself feels like an afterthought in the broader narrative of China, a far cry from Beijing, the nation’s ancient heart, or Shanghai, the global gateway. Yet Wei’s words suggest that there is something vital beneath the surface of this southern city. It is a place shaped by history, yes, but also by geography and trade, two factors that have always given it a different identity from the north.

Guangzhou’s location, at the mouth of the Pearl River, has made it a focal point for trade and international exchange for centuries. Long before China’s opening in the late 20th century, the city was a site of interaction with foreign powers, especially the British. In the 19th century, during the Opium Wars, Guangzhou was the central battleground of British imperial interests. The city was forced open to foreign trade, and the British established a concession area at Shamian Island, a quiet and leafy enclave that remains a curious relic of colonialism. Even today, remnants of that past linger: ornate European-style buildings tucked into the urban landscape, their quiet grandeur a stark reminder of the city’s more turbulent history.

Wei continues, “Guangzhou is close to Hong Kong. You can feel it, the influence from there. It’s not as international as Hong Kong, but it’s very much a city of business, of deals. You’ll see it when you get there. People always seem to be working.”

I nod, thinking of the proximity of Hong Kong, a place I’ve heard so much about but have never visited. Just a few hours south of Guangzhou, Hong Kong has been the commercial hub of East Asia for decades, its skyline a testament to both wealth and international connection. Guangzhou, too, is a city built on trade, and as I listen to Wei, I begin to picture it as a place of business, of movement - its roads and markets crisscrossed by commerce, people always in transit.

As we approach Guangzhou, the landscape changes again. The lush green hills of the southern provinces give way to the sprawling urban expanse that marks the city’s boundary. The humidity is thick in the air, and I can feel it even through the glass of the plane window. I know, too, that it’s a heat I’ll soon become accustomed to - a year-round warmth that feels different from Beijing’s dry winters or its brief but biting summers. Guangzhou is subtropical, located just within the tropics, and its climate is notorious for its monsoon rains, which sweep in during the summer months, drenching the city in thick sheets of water. It is a place where the seasons feel more urgent, more immediate.

The plane touches down gently on the runway, the city sprawling beneath us like a patchwork of green and grey. I feel a flicker of excitement - a twinge of nervousness, too - as I collect my things. Guangzhou, with its heat and humidity, its history of trade and revolution, its colonial remnants and modern architecture, stands before me as something entirely new. It is a city caught between worlds: the old and the new, the local and the international, the rural and the urban.

Wei’s words echo in my mind as I step into the terminal. Guangzhou, it seems, is not the city I imagined when I first heard the name. It is not a city of antiquity, like Beijing or Xi’an, nor is it a city of rapid modern development like Shanghai. It is, in some ways, a city of quiet contradictions, its history as much about trade as about rebellion, as much about foreign influence as about the persistence of Cantonese culture.

I wonder ahead to my time in this city, which few outside of China could likely locate on a map. What, I wonder, will I learn about this city of business, of history, of colonial pasts and tropical storms? The only thing I know for certain is that this flight south is the beginning of something different. The story of China is much larger than what I’ve seen in Beijing, and now, as I step onto the humid ground of Guangzhou, I’m eager to see what more it holds.

A Moment of Gratitude

If the words of Ill Grandeur have resonated with you, consider buying me a cup of tea. In China, tea is more than just a drink - it is a symbol of connection, warmth, and reflection. A one-off tea is a way of sharing in the journey, supporting the story, and keeping the spirit of discovery alive. Every cup helps bring the next chapter to life.