It had been two hours since we left Chongqing and already the train’s squat toilet was heaped with runny shit. Passengers knocked past each other in the corridor; others rested in their cramped bunks, where previous passengers had scratched graffiti onto the walls like criminals doing time. The restaurant car smelt of old meat; uniformed officials occupied the tables nearest the kitchen — where they shouted, smoked and drank.

At 11 p.m., the lights snapped off and I breathed in the silence.

It didn’t last long.

A man hawked up phlegm and spat it out. This reminded another man to clear his throat. The domino effect gathered momentum and soon the carriage had a guttural soundtrack.

We only stopped long enough to get out of the train once — at which point everyone charged toward the glowing lights of a supermarket. Inside, plastic pots of noodles hid the supermarket walls. Chinese passengers made dents in the foundations by throwing noodles into their baskets.

Back on the train I joined the queue for hot water. Everyone seemed to be eating a pot noodle — it felt like I’d landed in a noodle commercial — but the filthy backdrop had ruined the campaign.

Early the next morning the train’s tannoy blared the Titanic soundtrack. In that moment I would have preferred to have been on the Titanic than on this train.

Whilst waiting to use the bathroom, the porters nearly knocked me over as they hauled bedding away. It’s difficult to say what shocked me more: that the bedding got cleaned or the state of the bathroom. The metal basins were heaped with rubbish and the taps no longer dripped water.

The “cleaning” continued in the corridor. An attendant mopped the floors, creating a muddy pool which swayed with the rhythm of the train. The river of filth swished into the bathroom to pick up more dirt before returning to the corridor again — where passengers hurled debris into it.

“Someone has to do something,” I thought as I scrolled my phone contacts. At that point two things became clear: I have a lot of phone numbers for English takeaways and I do not have a direct number to the UN.

Then, just when I had given up hope, salvation came.

The train wheezed into Guangzhou station and stopped with a jolt.

Some passengers were so keen to get out they nearly got crushed in the melee. That would have been a sad way to go: surviving this soul-destroying trip only to be squeezed to death between two old women right at the end.

As I watched mothers carry their sick children toward the exits, it felt like we’d survived a war. Perhaps we’ll meet up in the future to lecture about the experience to make sure it never happens again. Or maybe even then it will be too raw …