China Trips - Chapter 4 - How It All Began

As I made my way back from Tiananmen Square, the weight of the weeks of preparation finally began to settle. Every obstacle, every checklist, every small victory had led to this moment.

Ever since my daughter told us she would be going to China for two weeks in mid-June 2024—and I immediately said, “I’m coming with you”—I’d spent most of my free time researching everything I could about China.

I’d been told that visiting China is unlike going to any other country—that it’s an experience in a category all its own. I spoke with friends who were from China, and others who had either just returned or were planning trips of their own. Everyone had advice to offer—some of it reassuring, some of it contradictory, and all of it just a little overwhelming.

In the end, after sifting through countless tips and warnings, I managed to distill everything down to four essential things I’d need to prepare for:

First, the visa.
In 2024, foreign visitors were still required to obtain a visa in advance. Not long after I landed, however, the policy changed—Australians and a few other nationalities were allowed to enter visa-free for up to 15 days, later extended to 30. Just my luck—if I’d delayed my trip by a few weeks, the process would have been far simpler.

Second, the payment apps.
I quickly discovered that cash is almost obsolete in many parts of China. Alipay and WeChat Pay aren’t just popular—they’re essential. From train tickets to bottles of water, virtually everything is paid for using one of these apps. Getting them set up as a foreigner took a bit of patience, but once I did, it made life so much easier.

Third, internet and data.
Staying connected has become one of the most critical parts of modern travel, and in China, it comes with added complexity. Like most travellers, I weighed my options: enable international roaming, buy a local SIM card, or try an eSIM, which has become increasingly popular for its convenience.

I debated between an eSIM and a physical SIM, weighing the pros and cons of each. In the end, the decision was made for me—my phone didn’t support eSIM at all. That left the physical SIM. I could’ve ordered one online ahead of time, but by the time I looked into it, it was too late—the delivery wouldn’t arrive before my flight.

Several YouTubers had mentioned you could buy a SIM card easily at major airports in China, so I decided to sort it out after I landed and planned to pick one up at Beijing Capital Airport.

And finally, a working VPN.
This was the one piece of advice everyone agreed on. Without a VPN, I’d be effectively cut off from much of the internet I rely on every day—Google, Gmail, WhatsApp, Instagram, even some map functions.

Even armed with this knowledge, applying for the visa turned out to be more complicated than I’d expected. It wasn’t just a matter of filling out an online form, I had to gather a small mountain of documents: along with my valid passport, proof of return flights or onward travel, a detailed itinerary, and confirmation of hotel bookings.

I remember staring at the airline booking page, feeling completely unsure of how to proceed. How was I supposed to buy flights when I didn’t even know if I’d be allowed into the country? It felt like a leap of faith. A few friends who’d navigated the same uncertainty assured me that unless something was seriously amiss in my application, the visa would almost certainly be granted. So I took a deep breath, booked my tickets, and hoped for the best.

Once I’d booked my flights and submitted my visa application, I turned my attention to setting up WeChat and Alipay. Everyone I spoke to insisted that having both was essential if I didn’t want to be stranded without a way to pay for anything.

While each app offered similar payment functions, almost everyone recommended that I rely primarily on Alipay for day-to-day transactions. The reason was refreshingly simple: Alipay is easier to set up.

That proved to be true. I remember sitting at my study desk, phone in hand, determined to get WeChat working. No matter how carefully I followed the instructions, I kept running into one issue after another—verification codes that never arrived, error messages that made no sense, and screens that refused to load. It was maddening.

Eventually, after retracing each step for what felt like the hundredth time, I managed to get it installed. And more importantly, it finally worked the way it was supposed to.

By comparison, Alipay was almost painless. In the end, I had both apps ready to go, just as everyone had advised. It felt like a small but significant victory—one less thing to worry about before stepping onto that plane.

But that still wasn’t the end of it. Setting up the apps was one thing; making sure there was actually money in Alipay turned out to be a whole new challenge.

Transferring funds directly required a Chinese bank account. I remember reading that line over and over, thinking, Where on earth am I supposed to open a Chinese bank account while living in Australia?

It felt absurd.

Alipay did have an option to link an international credit card—a feature that, as far as I could tell, WeChat didn’t offer. At first, I thought that would solve everything. But nearly everyone I spoke to cautioned me that even with a card connected, there was no guarantee it would actually work at the moment of payment. And the worst part was, I wouldn’t know until I tried it in China.

My Australian credit card didn’t feel much safer as a backup. From everything I read, many shops—especially smaller ones—didn’t accept credit cards at all, let alone foreign ones. The idea of standing at a checkout counter in some tiny convenience store, unable to pay for a bottle of water, was starting to feel alarmingly real.

Still feeling uneasy, I kept looking for a more reliable fallback—and that’s when I stumbled across UnionPay while waiting for my visa to be processed. I spotted a brochure for UnionPay and realised it was China’s domestic card network, accepted just about everywhere. In that moment, I thought, I need one of those cards. Anything that’s guaranteed to work in China.

From what I could gather, the Bank of China offered UnionPay-linked cards. So I visited their branch, hopeful this would be the answer. I told the woman at the counter I wanted a UnionPay credit card. She smiled and gently explained that applying for a credit card would take time—but I could instead apply for a Bank of China–UnionPay savings card, which was quicker.

That sounded perfectly fine to me—I wasn’t picky. I just wanted a card that wouldn’t leave me stranded.

After completing a stack of paperwork, I finally walked out with a UnionPay savings card tucked safely into my wallet. For the first time in weeks, I felt a little more confident about my payment situation.

Just to be safe, I also exchanged some cash. My theory was that, in a worst-case scenario, I could find someone willing to swap cash for an Alipay transfer. It sounded logical enough—at least in my head.

And then, just when I thought I’d exhausted every possible payment strategy, things took an unexpected turn for the better.

I was chatting with a colleague one afternoon—a friendly guy who had come to Australia years ago as an international student from China and ended up settling here. When I mentioned all the hoops I’d jumped through trying to sort out Alipay, he nodded sympathetically. Then he said something that immediately made my ears perk up:

“You know,” he said, “I still have my Chinese bank account. If you want, I can transfer money into your Alipay.”

I could hardly believe my luck.

We decided to test it first with a token amount. He sent over 1 yuan—just a tiny trial run—and within seconds, it appeared in my Alipay balance. It felt like watching a little miracle happen in real time.

So we set up an elaborate, multi-step relay: I transferred money from my Australian bank account to his Australian account. Then he moved it to his Chinese account. From there, he topped up his Alipay and finally sent the funds straight into mine.

By the time it was all done, I had an Alipay balance loaded and ready. For the first time, I felt completely sure that at least one payment method would definitely work when I landed.

After weeks of uncertainty, that was an enormous relief.

There was just one last decision to make: whether or not to purchase a VPN.

From everything I’d read, it sounded like a gamble. Countless articles and forum posts warned that not every VPN would actually work inside China. Some were blocked entirely. Others were slow or unreliable. No one could give me a guarantee.

The need for a VPN was clear enough, though. In China, services like Facebook, WhatsApp, and Google are restricted behind what everyone calls the Great Firewall. A VPN was the only way to get around it.

Still, there was a part of me that hesitated. I wasn’t completely sure if using a VPN technically broke any laws. Some sites hinted it was a grey area; others suggested it was outright illegal but rarely enforced against tourists. The uncertainty made me uneasy.

At the same time, I knew how much I depended on these apps. WhatsApp was how I stayed in touch with people back home. Google Translate was practically essential—without it, I had no idea how I would manage day-to-day communication. And Facebook, while not essential, would’ve been nice for sharing updates.

In the end, it came down to a simple calculation: it would be far more stressful to find myself cut off completely. So, just hours before flying out, I finally purchased a VPN.

It was more expensive than most of the others I’d considered, but it had consistently great reviews. I told myself it was worth paying a little extra for the peace of mind—especially since I’d only need it for two weeks.

Looking back, it turned out to be one of the best decisions I made for the entire trip.

The VPN worked perfectly in China. It let me stay in touch with family and friends on WhatsApp, look up directions and translations on Google, and occasionally check Facebook when I had a spare moment. More than once, it saved me from feeling completely lost.

Without it, I’m sure my experience in China would have been much more stressful—and far less rewarding. Having that simple connection to the familiar parts of my digital life made all the difference.

At last, I felt ready. I had everything in place—the visa, the payment methods, the VPN. All that was left was to arrive safely in China and begin the adventure.

My itinerary was packed. I’d chosen the cities I wanted to explore: Beijing, Jinan, Shanghai, and Qingdao. For this trip, Jinan would be my base. That’s where my daughter had a two-week work commitment—the reason I’d come all the way to China in the first place: to accompany her, support her, and make the most of the opportunity to see a part of the world I’d never imagined visiting.

I had lists—lots of them. Meticulously curated lists of sights to see, drawn from friends’ recommendations, travel blogs, and long hours of online research. Lists of foods to try, restaurants that people insisted I shouldn’t miss. There seemed to be so much to do, so much to take in, that I wasn’t sure how I’d fit it all into just two weeks.

But to my amazement, I managed it. Somehow, I did almost everything I’d hoped to do—and along the way, experienced even more than I’d planned.

The final thing I did was book a car to pick me up at the airport.

I’d be arriving quite late, in a city I had never set foot in, speaking a language I understood maybe 5% of at best—and able to read even less. Just the idea of stepping into that vast, unfamiliar airport in the dark of night made me uneasy.

I knew, in theory, I could take a taxi or try to order a ride through an app. But the truth was, I had no idea where to go in the terminal to do any of that, or whether I’d be able to explain myself if something went wrong. So, to spare myself the stress, I arranged for someone to be standing at the arrival gate, holding a sign with my name, ready to guide me straight to the car.

It turned out to be a smart decision—at least, I thought it was.

Because the moment I stepped out of the arrivals door, China delivered its first unexpected lesson.
One I’ll never forget.