导读：“有那么一刻，当我坐在广州的山顶上听着关于伦敦风光的广播，我觉得自己应该放弃外交官的工作而继续行走。因为我恍然觉得不需要我再向华南地区介绍英国了，反正即便没有我，这工作（尤其由于伦敦奥运备受关注）也已经很顺利地在进行了。后来，我的确接着往前走，但是关于辞职的事情我决定还是算了。”

这个月，我有种坐不住的感觉。夏天一到，我便想四处走动，到处张望。每个春季，秋季和冬季事实上每个季节的更替，都会让我感觉如此。周五晚上我乘坐高铁从长沙回来，我们掠过群山，水库，田野和红砖农舍，夕阳灿烂，那时我有这种感觉；周六我穿过烈士陵园走到办公室，路见盛开的荷花，我也有这种感觉。虽然荷花在佛教中象征着平静和冥想，我还是想起了在同样的季节，绕着东京的不忍池和北京颐和园的湖边的那些漫长踱步。周日的时候，我又再感到坐立不安，于是我决定出门运动。

在一个小时的踌躇之后，我决定向北行进，骑车穿越天河，向山丘进发。我本想穿过华南植物园，后来却发现自己顺着一条人迹罕至却很适合骑车的道路，来到了一个旧机场附近，并穿过田地向岑村进发。岑村靠近火炉山的区域，按英国的标准来说，其规模已经算一个小镇了。在那里，我锁上自行车，开始爬山。

爬山让我如愿以偿：给肺部带来空气，给心脏带来锻炼，并且给心灵和眼界高远的视野。我在脑海里快速地描绘了一下这个画面。我特别喜欢经过一家人的身边，尤其见到那些欢呼雀跃着爬山的孩子们。我还见到两个男人用金属架抬着一只年迈的英国犬上山，不知是塞特猎犬还是黄金猎犬。虽然年纪太大无法在热天爬山，这只狗还是希望能来到户外。我希望，如果我年老时腿脚不便，有人能想办法把我带上山。我喜欢用手捧着石间的清泉畅饮。我的衣服湿透了，脸色红亮，常常有父亲们倍感新奇地向妻子和孩子谈论我，除了常有的“外国人”，我还听见他们说“热”和“红”这两个词。除了我的外貌，着实令我困扰的，是看见山体由于修路而被划开了一个大口子。如果要修路，动作应该快一些。现在雨水已经把表层粉色和红色的土壤冲走了，而路却还没铺好。

在山顶，我吃了一碗绿豆沙和一碗豆腐花。我感到自己深深地融入了广东。然而同时，那个制作这些食物并且背上山来叫卖的男人则在听着广播，广播里在谈论去伦敦旅游的事情，还穿插着流行歌曲。吃甜品时，我听到年轻的女主持人用标准的普通话在讲述伦敦塔上乌鸦的故事，自中世纪以来，伦敦塔一直屹立在泰晤士河上。传说，只要乌鸦还在，伦敦城便是安全的。主持人还采访了一位京腔很重的男人，他刚刚参观过大英博物馆里的埃及文物。他似乎对自己所见印象颇为深刻。有那么一刻，当我坐在广州的山顶上听着关于伦敦风光的广播，我觉得自己应该放弃外交官的工作而继续行走。因为我恍然觉得不需要我再向华南地区介绍英国了，反正即便没有我，这工作（尤其由于伦敦奥运备受关注）也已经很顺利地在进行了。后来，我的确接着往前走，但是关于辞职的事情我决定还是算了。

在下山之后，我向东骑行，继续向原本的目的地进发，山坡，湖泊和绿茵道一直从火炉延展向公园。由于这座山只是一座小丘陵，而我还不足54岁（我写的时候还没到，但你们读到的时候应该已经到了！），我又爬了上去，又再喝了一碗豆腐花。“你还在这儿啊？”小贩问道，一边准备收摊了。关于伦敦的广播节目也已经结束了。

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英文原版：

I have felt restless this month. With the start of summer, I have wanted to be out moving and looking about. I usually feel the same at the start of spring, autumn and winter - indeed almost whenever the weather changes. I felt it on Friday evening on the high speed train back from Changsha as we flashed past mountains, reservoirs, green fields and red brick farms under bright evening sunshine. I felt it again on Saturday as I walked to the office through the Martyrs Park and saw that the lotus plants were in flower. Although the lotus flower is a buddhist image of stillnes and contemplation, I was reminded of long walks at this time of the year around Shinobazu lake in Tokyo and around the lakes in the summer palace in Beijing. I was restless again on Sunday, so I made it a day of exercise.

I decided after an hour of indecision to head north from my home, cycling through Tianhe towards the hills. I had meant to go past the South China Botanic Gardens, but found myself instead on an almost abandoned road that was good for bicycles, and that took me round the old airfield as well as through farm land towards Cen village. At the foot of the Huolu range by this village, which would be a town on an English scale, I locked my bicycle and started climbing.

The climb gave me what I wanted: air for my lungs, exercise for my heart and space and elevation for my mind and eyes. I thought a bit about this sketch. I enjoyed passing families, particularly those with children who were running cheerfully up the hill. I admired two men who were carrying a large, elderly English dog, a setter or a golden retriever, on a steel stretcher. Too old to climb in this heat, the dog still wanted to be out. I hoped that if I should outlive the use of my legs, someone would find a way to take me like this up mountains. I enjoyed drinking clean mountain water in a cupped hand as it trickled out from between rocks. As my shirt was soaked with sweat and my face glowing, as well as the usual comments of "foreigner", often by fathers pointing out the curiosities of the day to their wives or children, I also heard the adjectives "hot" and "red". Despite my appearance, the only thing that really bothered me during the climb was the great gash around the mountain where a road is being constructed. If a road has to be built, it should be done quickly. At it is, the rain is washing away the sand and the pink and red soil before the road surface has been put down.

At the top of Baijiading, I ate a bowl of ludousha and another of doufuhua. I felt I was deep in Guangdong. But, at the same time, the thin man who made the food and carried it up the mountain on his back was listening to a programme about visiting London, broadcast in between pop songs. While I ate my two bowls, I heard the presenter, a young woman with standard mandarin, tell the story of the ravens at the mediaeval Tower of London that still stands on the river Thames. There is a tradition that as long as the ravens are there, the city will be safe. The presenter also interviewed a man with a strong Beijing accent who had just visited the Egyptian antiquities in the British Museum. He seemed reasonably impressed by what he had seen. I felt for a moment, when listening to this programme about the sights of London while I sat on a peak in Guangzhou, that perhaps I should stop claiming my salary as a diplomat and instead just keep walking. It seemd to me at that moment that I was not needed to introduce the UK to Southern China, since (given the interest arising from the London Olympics) it was happening perfectly well without me. I did in fact keep moving once I had rested, but I thought better of resigning from my job.

After I had climbed down the mountain I cycled east to the park I had first been aiming for, which has a cliff and a lake and a green route into the Huolu range. Since Baijiading is really only a little mountain, and as I am not yet fifty-four (as I write this - though I shall be by the time you read it) I climbed the mountain a second time and had a second bowl of doufu hua. "You still here?" asked the standkeeper, who was packing up for the evening. The programme about London had finished.