Overland from Manchester to Hong Kong (almost)
Manchester ➔ Paris ➔ Berlin
The Departure: Left Manchester feeling everything at once—fear, sadness, but mostly a thrill for the unknown. Stayed in London briefly; note to self: stop forgetting the basics. I’m currently traveling with a “borrowed” towel that I’ll probably never return.
Paris Impressions: Gare du Nord was a furnace. I got absolutely fleeced at the Bureau de Change (lesson learned the hard way). Spent the afternoon wandering past bakeries and resting my raw feet under the Eiffel Tower. Even with a tent and tripod strapped to me, I felt invisible in the summer crowds.
The Incident: Nearly got robbed at the station heading to Berlin. A girl tried to distract me while her partner went for my pack. I accidentally whacked him with my tripod when I turned around. It’s a strange realization that the most “famous” places are often the ones where you have to be the most guarded. On the train now. Berlin, here I come.
Berlin: History & High Energy
To save money, I booked a seat in a cramped six-person cabin on the night train to Berlin. When sleeping upright proved impossible, I scouted the train and found a few travelers curled up in the bicycle carriage. A few beers in the bar carriage later, I joined them for a solid night’s sleep on the floor.
I arrived in Berlin on a glorious, sunny morning. As a history nerd, I was enthralled by the city’s complex past. After dropping my bags at a modern hostel, I spent days exploring. Berlin felt grand and open—a stark contrast to Paris. The highlight was meeting a Swiss girl who showed me East Berlin. It was a revelation: grungy, trendy, and filled with “squat” art studios and bullet-scarred walls. It had an infectious, “can-do” energy that I loved.
Rostock: The Small-World Connection
Instead of an expensive transit visa through Belarus, I opted for a ferry from Rostock to Helsinki. Arriving in Rostock, my hand-drawn map failed me miserably. I spent two hours wandering in circles before finally stumbling upon my dilapidated hostel at nightfall.
In a bizarre coincidence, I met two New Zealanders at a football screening. Out of everyone there, I happened to chat with people from my ultimate destination. They were heading back for the Rugby World Cup, a reminder of how small the world truly is. Before leaving, I stumbled upon a local festival where everyone was dressed in pink and pushing prams filled with balloons and condoms—a weird but entertaining farewell to Germany.
The Baltic Crossing
I boarded the ferry to Helsinki with the cheapest “deck” ticket, finding plenty of space to sleep on the floor. I befriended an Italian writer traveling to the Arctic Circle and a Finnish postman who offered to show me around Helsinki.
We spent two days playing cards and watching sublime sunsets over the empty Baltic Sea. Pulling into Helsinki, the weight of the journey hit me. I had thousands of kilometers behind me, but with my New Zealand visa expiring in six weeks, the real mad dash to Auckland was just beginning.
Helsinki: Pristine and Pris-y
Helsinki was exactly as described: pristine, sterile, and incredibly expensive. My budget took an immediate hit—€125 for five nights in a hostel and €9 for a McDonald’s salad felt like a ransom. I spent my days photographing the sun-drenched terraces and exploring the city’s ordered streets.
The trip took a turn when a casual beer at a sterile shopping center bar led to a heavy night of drinking with locals. I woke up the next morning in an unfamiliar apartment, only to realize my camera and tripod were gone. After a day of frantic searching at police stations and lost-and-found offices, I gave up and bought a replacement. On the bright side, staying with my new local friends allowed me to see a side of Helsinki tourists never reach.
Russia: The Journey to St. Petersburg
When train maintenance forced me onto a coach to St. Petersburg, I had a moment of pure panic at the border: I realized I had a small amount of marijuana in my money belt. I stuffed it into a bus seat cushion and prayed. The Russian customs officers were ice-cold and humorless, but I passed through without incident.
St. Petersburg: Grandeur in Decay
Finding “The Crazy Duck Hostel” proved impossible because they had moved addresses—a hotel clerk finally helped me find the new location. St. Petersburg was a revelation. It possessed a massive, crumbling grandeur that felt entirely different from Europe. Buildings were peeling and neglected, yet beautiful and “lived-in.”
Highlights of the City:
The Culture: Seeing women in cocktail dresses outside theaters sipping cans of super-strength beer.
The Night View: Taking a midnight boat tour with a group of English travelers to see the city lights from the water.
The Atmosphere: Cheap cigarettes, loose bricks, and a unique, endearing grit.
I loved the city so much I extended my stay, leaving me with a narrow window to reach Moscow for my Trans-Siberian train.
Moscow: The Race Against Time
Moscow was a “big red monolith”—crowded and disjointed compared to the beauty of St. Petersburg. I stayed in a hidden apartment-style hostel that was surprisingly clean once I navigated the pitch-black, musty stairwell. My time was spent wandering Red Square and prepping for the grueling four-day train journey ahead.
The Great Metro Panic On the day of my departure, I decided to walk across the city with a heavy pack in sweltering humidity. It was a near-disastrous mistake. I got lost, couldn’t read the Cyrillic signs, and discovered my hand-drawn map had the wrong Metro station.
With only an hour until my train left, I sprinted through the Metro, frantically switching lines based on color-coded instructions given over the phone by my travel agent. I reached the ticket office, gulped down water, and raced to the station. I sprinted to the very last platform and scrambled onto the third-class carriage with only five minutes to spare.
The Trans-Siberian: Life on the Rails
The journey covered 4,000 km across the Siberian steppe. Life in the “Platskart” (third-class) carriage was a cramped, sensory overload:
The Setup: 56 people in one open carriage. My “bed” was a converted table and two seats, which I had to share with a bunkmate who dripped beer and saliva onto my sleeping space.
The Food: I survived on instant noodles and “pastry parcels” sold by attendants. The highlights were the 30-minute station stops where locals sold dried fish, berries, and homemade potatoes on the platforms.
The Landscape: Days were spent watching endless pine forests, decaying military vehicles, and tiny wooden villages where time seemed to stand still.
Unexpected Encounters
The Tiger Hunter: I met Alexander, who tried (and failed) to convince me to hop off the train to go tiger hunting with him.
The Translator: A Russian doctor who had studied in Canada helped bridge the language gap between me and the other passengers.
The “Fish Girl”: I met a Dutch traveler I had earlier photographed buying fish on a platform. We were both incredibly relieved to find someone else who spoke fluent English.
On the fourth day, we arrived in Irkutsk, ready to explore the vast wilderness of Lake Baikal.
Irkutsk and Lake Baikal: Siberian Serenity
After the long train haul, Irkutsk felt dynamic and strange—a mix of ancient wooden cottages and crumbling Soviet concrete. I met up with Kwen (the Dutch traveler from the train) and a group of Germans to plan a trip to the lake. We stocked up on supplies, accidentally buying fermented yogurt instead of milk, and crammed into a tiny minibus for the two-hour ride to the shore.
Camping
Lake Baikal was stunning: deep blue water under a bright sun, looking more like a coastal resort than the middle of Siberia. Kwen and I decided to camp to save money. Our experience included:
The Hike: We trekked for hours with another Dutch traveler and two Russian hikers, desperately climbing hills for a view. We finally pitched our tents by an electricity pylon just as the light faded.
The Scale: A boat ride revealed the true magnitude of the lake—an endless expanse that freezes solid enough for trucks in winter.
Solitude (and Spies): After Kwen left for Vladivostok, I camped one more night alone. The silence was only broken by the loud, unmistakable sounds of a Russian couple having sex on the beach below, prompting me to quickly reach for my headphones.
The Trans-Manchurian: Entering the East
I traded the “Platskart” for a second-class cabin on a Chinese train heading for Beijing. To my shock, I had the entire cabin to myself—a luxurious relief after the cramped Russian carriages.
The Border Transition Crossing from Russia into China provided a surreal study in contrasts:
The Gauge Change: Because Russian tracks are a different width than China’s, the train had to stop for eight hours in a derelict Russian border town to have its entire undercarriage (bogies) swapped out.
A Tale of Two Cities: On the Russian side, there was rubble and decay. On the Chinese side, just kilometers away, I was greeted by towering modern buildings and bright neon lights—a deliberate, polished statement of progress.
I spent the journey befriending a group of Scandinavians, two of whom were remarkably upbeat despite being on the train for seven straight days. As the landscape shifted, my excitement grew; the “big red monolith” was behind me, and Asia was finally within reach.
Beijing: Dumplings and Dilapidation
Beijing felt like a massive, grey monolith, its sky a permanent shade of Manchester-drab. I spent six days exploring, trading my morning porridge for delicious street dumplings and marveling at the futuristic scale of the 2008 Olympic park.
Highlights & Observations:
Stereotypes: The city is a hub of “expert spitters” and massive tourist groups in matching hats.
The Two Great Walls: I visited the “official” Great Wall, which felt too pristine and restored to be ancient. However, by wandering past the forbidden markers, I found the “real” wall—crumbling, majestic, and heavy with the weight of time.
Tea City: A shopping center the size of a small town dedicated entirely to tea; a surreal experience for a dedicated coffee drinker.
The Nightmare Train to Shanghai
My departure was nearly a disaster. Having left it late to buy a ticket, I was stuck with a “hard seat”—the cheapest option. I almost missed the train entirely, dashing onto the platform with minutes to spare.
The 13-Hour Squeeze: The carriage was so packed that the conductor had to physically shove me through the door and slide it shut. There wasn’t a single inch of floor space; I spent the first half-hour standing chest-to-chest with strangers until everyone collectively shuffled down to sit on the cold floor.
No Escape: Even the toilets were occupied by standing passengers.
The Siege: Passengers eventually began banging on the doors to the higher-class carriages out of desperation. Finally, after seven hours, the conductor allowed a few of us through to use the facilities.
Thirteen hours later, I stumbled off the train in Shanghai, dazed, cramped, and desperate for a private room and a hot shower.
Shanghai: Futuristic Solitude
Shanghai was a breathtaking “kids in a sweet shop” moment for a city-scape photographer. The scale was immense, defined by sparkling glass skyscrapers and daring modern architecture.
The Stay: My hand-drawn map led me to a hotel where the dorms were “full,” forcing me into a pricey single room. After the nightmare train from Beijing, the privacy was a welcome luxury.
The Vibe: While the food was fresh and the skyline futuristic, I felt a sense of isolation. Being alone in such a massive, gleaming city made it less enthralling than the grit of Beijing.
The Logistical Wall: I hit a dead end trying to buy a train ticket to Hong Kong. During the August holiday rush, every seat in every class was booked days in advance.
Reluctantly, I broke my six-year streak of avoiding planes and booked a flight. As the G&T kicked in, I watched the surprisingly mountainous and green islands of Hong Kong appear beneath the clouds.
Hong Kong: A Feast for the Senses
Stepping onto Nathan Road in Kowloon was a sensory explosion. The street was a chaotic mix of jostling buses, spilling shopfronts, and hawkers whispering “Rolex?” or “Hash?” into the ears of passing tourists.
The “Cupboard” Room: My first hostel was located in a shady, high-rise apartment block. My “room” was a windowless, five-square-meter box with a leaky shower and creaking floors. I moved to a slightly better (though still basic) high-rise room the next day.
Street Life: Hong Kong is a street photographer’s dream. I spent my days lost in the hustle, replacing my lost tripod with a flimsy local one and gorging on expensive but delicious street food.
The Peak: The highlight was taking the Peak Tram. The view from the top provided a staggering perspective of the skyscrapers huddled against the dramatic, mountainous landscape.
After five days, it was time for the final leg. I headed back to the airport for my flight to Singapore and then onward to New Zealand.
Singapore: Sterile Efficiency
Arriving late, I saved on a taxi and a hotel by rolling out my sleeping bag in the pristine terminal—a surprisingly comfortable first for me. I spent the next day exploring the city. While stunningly clean and lush, Singapore felt a bit dull compared to the sensory drama of Hong Kong. Everything was so ordered and efficient that it felt sterile; I was content to stay for just the day.
The Final Leap: Australia to New Zealand
My “island-hopping” flight strategy across Asia had halved my travel costs, though it led to some long layovers. After a seven-hour wait in the Darwin airport, I finally touched down in Melbourne. My excitement was briefly dampened by a rigorous biosecurity inspection of my tent and boots, but I knew the finish line was close.
Auckland: Home Away from Home
Stepping into Auckland International Airport, I felt a massive wave of pride. I had traveled from Manchester to the furthest landmass on Earth alone, navigating language barriers and close calls along the way.
The Arrival:
The Hunt: I reached Auckland at dusk and struggled to find my hostel. When I finally located it, the reception was closed, and the building seemed empty.
The Pirates: Just as I was about to pitch my tent in the backyard, two men dressed as pirates stumbled toward the door. They were residents returning from a farewell party.
The Stay: Those “pirates” let me in, and the hostel soon became my family. What was meant to be a short stop turned into a four-and-a-half-month stay, making it the perfect “home away from home” to end my epic journey.