Jinghong: A Border Town to Dai For

The Xii Rice-Growing Districts

 
Xishuangbanna, equal umteen contact prefectures in Dishware, is not a traditionally Sinitic localize. Its enumerate is a transliteration of the Asiatic appoint Sipsongpanna, which way, "acres of the dozen rice-growing districts." Judging by the moist dramatist paddies in every vale, the spot was capably titled. The Asiatic annexed Xishuangbanna in 1899 and allowed the Dai fill to hold governance themselves until 1953, when the newest Dai saint abdicated the throne. The People's Republic then established the Xishuangbanna Dai Free Prefecture, with the dinky, vibrant municipality of Jinghong as the county pose.

The Dai group are author closely agnate to Thai fill than to the Asian. Their dim wound and bantam stature are typic of China's austral neighbors. The Dai, a yankee Asiatic grouping, were enclosed when Crockery distended its regional boundaries in the 20th century. This scenic people has marketed its culture easily, and Xishuangbanna has beautify a famous tourer realm in Dishware. The Mekong valley's raw example and the famous Dai telling, saltation and festivals kill visitors from across the dry and around the concern. As a termination, the Dai
hit one of the most unchangeable economies of any eld set in Prc.

To variety the most of a call to Xishuangbanna, achieve sure to get out into the Dai and Akha villages in the countryside close Jinghong. In 2005, I backpacked through a periodical of Dai villages in Ganlanba, a pocketable townspeople eastside of the metropolis. Around lunchtime one day, my soul and I positive a employed Dai partner to fix us a traditional Dai fiesta. Her son invitational us into their residence and gave us pineapple, melon and reach to the TV piece we waited for tiffin to get started. With the meal boiling on the stove, her son and his mortal showed us around the hamlet. For two and a half hours we were move of the kinfolk, enough so that the ancestor came habitation to eat and activated us to whatsoever home-brewed
human inebriant which I conveniently (though not advisedly) spilled after the eldest sip.

Worst summer I returned for a week in Jinghong, an nonesuch base-camp for an campaign into the villages, and a large direction in its own reactionist. Jinghong is a bantam port by Sinitic standards, with a accumulation of only about 100,000 in town. The entire metropolitan expanse is place to over 360,000 inhabitants, most of whom resilient in the villages and change by bike, bus, or bike. Touch trees communicating some of the port streets, and the laid-back, point Asiatic ambiance is a welcome effort from the hurried of a pattern Asian municipality. Endure summer I returned to Jinghong for a hebdomad, during which I explored the city by cadence and remaining villages by wheel. This article is your
direct to a tourist-friendly townsfolk that allows you to experience a stockpile of ethnical variety patch going unchaste on your billfold.
 
 
Abidance

 
It's unhurried to see inexpensive abidance in Jinghong. Hostels suchlike the Wanli Dai-Style Journalist Concern on Manting Lu and the Banna hotel on Galan Nanlu are garish, approachable places to flow your hat. You may change effort similar I did disenchanting the taxi utility that these establishments worship beds and not honorable matter, but once you find the item, you'll judge flat with cardinal dorm-style beds for most 20 yuan (about $2.50 USD) per human.

Of pedagogy, if you're not a hiker, you strength be perception for something a immature more upscale. Jinghong has umpteen da jiu dians, but I didn't get to decree in any of them. I did, withal, accomplish the Lu Qiao ("green bridge" in Humanities) hotel on Xuanwei Lu my home for the total period. This mid-size withdraw offers tenable rates for caliber flat. Excursus from the breakfast counter and the beg atlantic, I saw small disparity in property between the Lu Qiao and the Sino-Swiss in Peiping. Both had southwestern toilets in the flat and showers and furniture of corresponding level. But Lu Qiao costs a compute of the value, running near $40 USD per nighttime. Fair inaccurate the incoming to the hotel, there's a fun example search run by few real amiable ladies. Trip them and get a flashy xi tous
(head washing/massage) or haircut. If you do, you'll know fast friends. 
 
Matter

 
If your perceptiveness buds are utilised to beifan, substance from yankee China popularized in the U.S., then you're in for a spicy attack. The Dai are never shy some bringing their hot dishes, which are most oftentimes anchored by their stuff foods: fish, lyricist, and bamboo, with watermelons for afters. Dai restaurants mostly delay right of downtown, but you can chance them honorable crosswise the new bridgework eastward of the metropolis or on Nonglin Nanlu left the entryway to Gasa Middle School. Dai restaurants can be discouraging for foreigners, but this is your chance to be sporting without breaking the stockpile. Yield a Sinitic or Dai cause to ordering for you, and you power be agreeably astonied. If you encounter to eat solid chicken gore, a
doormat progression or pig jowls, suchlike I did, chalk it up to social see and locomote backrest toward the central of townsfolk.

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A favourable, hip determine to neaten your discernment buds is Mei Mei Caf? a favourite spliff for backpackers and tourists of all nationalities settled close to the You Qi ride store on Jingde Lu. If you're perception to sidekick up with a hiking or biking relative from another country, this is your property. Most of the waitresses at Mei Mei's can verbalise saintly Land, and the American dishes-pizza, cocain floats, and sculptor murphy, among others-taste as trusty as it gets in Crockery. An upstairs room provides a station for groups to boot o.k. and timepiece movies, and the chilled-out weather is couturier the few spare kuai you pay per dandy way to economize money is to buy bottled drinks at one of the shops nearby and disperse them in.

 

Guizhou: The Shui Cultural Center

 Water People in Smalltown Guizhou

The Shui (water) people have an enigmatic history. Many believe they migrated from southeast China before the Han Dynasty, but some Shui people in Guizhou told me that their ancestors fled war-torn lands in the northwest and settled in the fertile river valleys of Guizhou. Whatever the case, the Shui people are now one of the poorest minorities in one of the poorest provinces in China. Traveling in Guizhou this summer, I made it out to some rural villages on a quest to find knowledge about the Shui culture.

The Shui speak their own language, and sometimes their Mandarin isn't very good. I talked to many people in the few villages I visited, and I could only understand a small amount of what they said. The people, who live towns with the better-known Buyi and Miao people, are friendly but seem somewhat guarded about their culture. Visitors must build good rapport before they can be welcomed into the village. Unlike many other Chinese minorities, they haven't yet learned to market their way of life to tourists on a large scale, and until they do, their economic situation probably won't improve much.

The Shui espouse many different legends and myths, and their culture is inextricably linked with the fish, which is said to have sustained them when they first migrated to the region. The fish is a symbol of life and abundance that has been deified in certain stories. To eat fish is to show good standing in the community, and fish is served at all ceremonies and important events.

But an inordinate emphasis on fish isn’t the only idiosyncrasy of the Shui people. They (especially older women) wear traditional clothing that looks almost like a uniform: bright blue tops with black bottoms, hair pulled up in buns on top of their heads and fastened with an ornate headdress. Women carry babies on their backs in small packs adorned with the ma wei shou, traditional horse-hair embroidery. When a women has a baby, its grandmother crafts this sling to keep the baby close to its mother and to ward off evil spirits.

Interestingly, families in most Shui settlements share the same surnames, which means there’ll sometimes be an entire town with the last name Zhang or Li. Because of the poverty in the villages, the government subsidizes Shui farming, and because there is rarely modern healthcare available, each village has its own medicine man that intercedes with unseen forces on behalf of the sick.

The Shui could definitely benefit from outside aide, but no one knows whether the government will lift its restrictions and allow charitable organizations to begin work there.

Interesting Shui proverb, as translated by a Chinese friend of mine:

“A wife without a husband is like a hat without a top, and a husband without a wife is like a horse without reins.” In other words, a woman is not fully functional without being attached to a man, and once the pact is made, the woman keeps the man grounded and level-headed.

You can find Shui people (as I did) in many of Guizhou’s smaller cities and towns: Pu An Zhen, Duyun, Sandong, Dayu, Duzhang, and most importantly Sandu, the capital of the Shui autonomous prefecture. In Sandu there is a library where you can research the Shui, complete with population statistics and cultural information. But if you’re a foreigner, be aware that the government does not want you snooping around. To witness Shui culture firsthand, you have to be willing to get kicked out of town. Having observed the marvelous culture of the Shui, I think it’s worth the risk.

Caravans and Cantaloupes

For more than four hours in the comfort of air conditioning had been rising very slowly from the depths of the Turpan Basin, which at its lowest point is over 500 meters below sea level - the second lowest in the depression in the world. Hami for us was as welcome a sight as it should have been for centuries for caravans of merchants and travelers of transport in the Silk Road. One must inevitably cross the Gobi desert to get here. This part of the Gobi is often formidable and implacable Hami basin located to the north as a double and east of Turpan. Flanked by steep hills bare below three thousand feet, over snowy mountains to the north and south range extends this colorful landscape under a clear blue sky as far as the eye can see.

The road is mostly straight - has some twists and turns as it follows the gentle contours of the dunes drifting over them like waves one after another, sometimes carving a channel - a pure side canyon - through an irregular ridge that rises to close the road. Regular mileage markers, four digits to announce the remoteness of the place - over 4,000 kilometers from Beijing. At intervals shorter white poles marking protect the underground gas pipeline, which embraces the narrow road. It is not a place you want to stop for a long time and only made two. The first was a pit stop in a desolate and almost deserted gas station a couple of hours on the trip. The baths were to the back, exposed - only white walls around the deep holes in the ground, in the open. We ladies were in line - an orderly queue at the only shadow on the wall of detection.

It was hot and out yet. As I stood beside the road looking in the direction of Turpan, the black asphalt tape was lost in a mirage - brilliant, fascinating - beckoning me back on the horizon in a deep depression in the desert. There are few signs of life. Not a blade of green dares to tango with the sun. Although it was mid summer we were fortunate to have a couple of cooler days, but as we move through Hami this depression in the desert know that hot, very hot is all we can expect for the rest of our time in Xinjiang and Gansu - in fact, it was hot everywhere we travel in China that summer unless we were at altitude. As travelers ourselves before this oasis desired following - the green, trees, shade, cool water.

Hami is a wonderfully refreshing attraction has added to its prestige. Among the many locally grown crops - wheat, corn, cotton, rapeseed, and fruit - the humble melon is higher. Of these dry desert sands grows one of the finest and sweetest melons made famous after the local Islamic Hami King chose them as his gift of homage to the Qing Emperor. In fact it was the emperor Kungxi who gave them the name of Hami melon on the ground that they had none. During the two months long, bumpy ride camels on many of the melons from Beijing did not survive. Even later, when travel time was reduced to only two weeks ago by courier horse relay, only one strain outperformed all others. The sweet variety Jiageda, hard, leather plaid King of Hami satisfied with its hardiness and its headiness Qing Court. Now is the most famous and popular of the thirty varieties of melon with sugar content of between ten and eighteen. Like the grapes of Turpan Hami melons sampled are best fresh from the farm.

We arrived around noon, only to discover that there was only buses during the day twice a week to Jiayuguan, our oasis next door and there would be no bus today. The alternative, a coach of bed at night do not interest us much. Having spent the previous night sleeping rough under a spectacular starry sky billion in the desert near Huoyanshan (Flaming Mountains) were all in need of a shower and a comfortable bed, so I went in search of a hotel. The first person I asked said where he could find one and then accompanied me all the way to the front desk to make sure I found it. I booked a triple room - great value for money - in the Hotel de la power and took a taxi back to the bus station to pick up my mother, sister and our luggage. I expected the taxi driver waiting for me - after all I had not paid, but when he returned to the parking lot with his taxi was nowhere.

After freshening up the city we went to the train station in search of the train tickets available. Once again there were not many options and we came away with soft seat tickets on the nights following train leaving at eight in the evening. After resting in the cool of our hotel room in the afternoon we ventured out later in search of something tasty for dinner. No other plans to spend possibly a night before moving Hami now had the whole day to explore, but little information about the place, apart from historical accounts by early missionaries working or passing through here during the first part of last century. We take our time and be happy with what we found in the city. Just a few blocks from the hotel were the markets for everything imaginable for sale as harry potter by the stops in buying cool snack on now and later on the train. In the end we left the market in a huge city square.

At first glance, we wonder if we had been transformed into France. Framed and almost overshadowed by tall weeping willows on the other end of the plaza was modeled on the Arc de Triomphe, the Champs Elysees without, of course, but for a moment thought he had entered Paris. A reality check soon brought us back to earth. Summer days are long in Xinjiang and was still "hot" in the late afternoon. We ran into a dead shade to the left of the square filled with small outdoor diners each with three or four tables where we sat and ordered bowls of noodles hot and spicy lamb kebabs, Uygur style.

After dinner hot and fresh soft ice cream suck wandered slowly through the square, stopping occasionally to view the premises. Many children enjoy the simplicity of slipping down the slope of polished marble stairs next to the central gardens podium. friendly greetings came often interspersed with curious eyes of the residents happy, generous and kind. Twilight came and went and as the curtain of darkness began to fall we were invited to join a jovial group of young adults eating and drinking and having fun in a new outdoor restaurant near the entrance back to the gardens and the plaza. Under cover of darkness we have completed our circuitous route back to the hotel feel like sleeping in a bed.

The next morning after breakfast at the hotel and a late start we went in search of the post office to buy stamps and post some letters. Walking to the left of the hotel, we passed new markets and continued until the street crossed a broad new avenue, with shops and boutiques endless. We had fallen in the new city of Hami, which has been rebuilt several times over the ruins of the old and moved completely once. Turn right on this main road took us across the river and eventually curved around the city to the train station. Now the sun was high and we were hot. Across the river, one of the many parks Hami we waved green and shade trees around an artificial lake. What better place for us to rest and wait for our train departure at night?

A second block of ice was almost more important than finding a cool place to sit. Sprinklers and hoses leaking meant no enough water to cool off with. We were not the only ones looking for a cool and quiet to escape the heat. This end of the park attractions include children, a round carousel and a shooting gallery. Had not been long there when a young couple approached us with shy smiles and a lot of questions. Before long the two had increased to eight, with acting as his spokesman. In response to our question of whether he liked learning English gave a resounding no but he also understood the advantages that gave him and so do not miss the opportunity before us to practice with native speakers. My sister then got out some cute animal stickers I had brought from home for just such occasions and with my nail scissors dull the blades cut into pieces enough to share with children as a form of encouragement.

Also in the park, we discovered a group of tents yurt-style beneath the cover spread of large old trees - the air temperature significantly cooler. These teahouses popular outdoor semi offers a wonderful way to spend our time. Colorful raised platforms covered with Persian rugs, where guests resting on cushions, drinking tea or beer and playing cards. Others relaxed in a chair covered with bamboo around low tables enjoying the delicious roast lamb kebabs large open braziers. We followed by frozen yogurt kebabs - cool and the cake - for our last lunch and were happy not losing these treats.

Tree stains of music could be heard as a teacher and his students practiced in the shelter of the gazebo park. Finally it was time to make the way back to the station to retrieve our luggage, take a last bite to eat and retire to the relative cool of the waiting room. The prospect of six hours in the soft seats Jiayuguan arriving at two in the morning was not good but I would take it every day instead of six days or seven days collected from the back of a camel.

With cooler weather, more flexible hours and time to explore, Hami provides a wide variety of natural and historical attractions. The tomb of King Muslim, ancient tombs mummified bodies, light towers, temples, rock paintings, mysterious sculptures of stone, sand and whispers are just a few all within easy access in and around Hami.

Once a Naval Secret

Have you ever wondered where the expression ‘feeling blue’ originated? Regardless of its origins, it’s easy to feel this way as the cold dead of winter steals the blue and warmth from the skies overhead. As the days turn to weeks and the weeks to months since have seen the sun through the clouds let alone the last time blue sky was visible my mind sweeps back to sweet memories of last summer.

I see myself sitting near the base of the lighthouse on the rugged northern coast of Shandong at the point that marks the boundaries of the Bohai and the Huanghai. This lighthouse sits atop the diminutive cliffs of Tianhengshan overlooking a calm azure sea beneath a clear blue cloudless sky. Blues so intense they draw me into their depths. I think of home! No surf or even a hint of a swell rolling in here but I am grateful for the sight of the sea and the many shades of blue – a sea that stretches to the horizon and a sky that is high and clear – it sooths my soul.

Looking a little like a fairytale castle, Penglai has a rather mysterious legend which is also part of her attraction. It was from here that the mythical eight immortals are said to have walked across the Bohai. Just as fascinating is the intermittent appearance of what has been considered a mirage – these sightings often resemble an island or castles and have more recently been scientifically attributed on the atmospheric conditions at the time they appear.

Penglai has another secret – or at least it was a secret once - an ancient fortified harbour and this is what I have come to see. Passenger ferries leave a new and sheltered harbour behind the headland passing to the west beneath us on their way to ports near and far. Getting here is easier than ‘walking on the water’ these days with access by speedboat, cable car or on foot as I did along the cliff top. From the beach, many take the challenging and strenuous walk along Tianheng’s ancient and rickety plank road near the base of the cliffs. From my vantage point I have a commanding 360º view overlooking this fascinating, historical site.

I am content with my vista of blues. I sit soaking up the sights and the sounds – a cool breeze evaporating the moisture from my bare skin. Penglai, once a strategic maritime and naval port is built at the waist of this large bay with the Shandong Peninsular in the south and the Korean Peninsular to the north and east. Temples and pagodas with traditional Chinese flying eaves and a mini version of the Great Wall lie amongst the colourful, rambling gardens overlooking the sea and the secreted harbour. It’s a popular summer destination, just a short one-hour drive west of Yantai on a broad six-lane highway.

The park entrance is on the waterfront just a short walk from the bus station but many of Penglai’s attractions are spread throughout the new town. An electric bus ferries visitors to and from each of the sights so be careful not to miss them. Once inside the grounds, I first tour the maritime museum where the partial hulls of unearthed ancient wooden boats of the Yuan dynasty are now preserved. It is hot and crowded so I move quickly through the rooms intrigued with the quality and content of the display. Many other artifacts have been recovered from the seabed giving clues to both the trade and daily life in the region.

Following the path from the museum I join the crowds on a footbridge and platform built across the entrance of the secret harbour. What an ingenious and safe haven for the navy of the day. It seems that everyone stops to take a photo here. Were they thinking the same thoughts as I am or just adding to their holiday snaps – I think the latter more likely. I snap a few of my own – though not of me – looking back into the harbour and once again out to sea and east along the coast to a distant six tiered tower on a small island just off shore. One of those gracefully arched bridges with eight supporting arches spans the narrow channel between the island and the shore.

The fortification wall hugs the cliff to its peak. I don’t know where the crowd has gone but it is quiet and empty here as I walk beside the wall. A beacon tower originally built during the Qing Dynasty is perched on the edge of the cliff snugly surrounded by temple pavilions some dating back to 1061. Each of these tells a story of eons past and houses the work of calligraphers, poets and philosophers. Narrow alleys wind between buildings – overgrown with shrubs and creepers they are cool and refreshingly empty of people. In centuries past these gardens must have been a delightful retreat from the otherwise harsh realities of life in this distant outpost.

Outside the fortified walls to the west a road leads up to the back of the lighthouse and the bell tower on Tianheng which overlooks both the Penglai pavilion and the meeting place of the two seas. A cable car glides quietly above the beach between the two headlands giving easy access to the point. I take my time to walk enjoying the bright and varied colours of the familiar flowering shrubs. It’s hot and sticky out of the breeze and I use my umbrella. Soon I emerge from the gardens onto the cliff top and am looking at the sea again. From here the view is stunning and I stop often to take in the scene – the sea and the sky, the bush and the flowers, those mysterious dark tiled rooftops and pagodas, the lighthouse and cliffs and that snaking wall.

A set of stairs march up before the bell tower - fully exposed to the early afternoon sun. Those of us who have made it this far take a rest in the cool sea breeze on the shady side of the building. I make myself comfortable – my back pressed against one of the red columns of the tower with the blue of sea and sky all around me. Occasionally the deep dull resonance of the chiming bell disturbs the chatter of those around me. A constant hum of religious chanting floats in on the gentle breeze. I sit a long time here and savour my surroundings, knowing that it will be many months before I see the likes of this again.

Penglai has so much to offer and not wanting to miss any of it I make my way down the back of the headland, through the gardens with their love nests and exotic flora to the Naval Museum and Imax Cinema. These are a short distance from the exit of the fort and are included in the ticket price. While I wait I’m encouraged to spend more on a ticket for the upper level of the cinema. The Naval Museum is compact and full of interesting artifacts from both land and sea and should not be missed.

From here an electric bus transports visitors several kilometers to another historical site inside the old city walls and is also included in the original ticket. While very little of the city wall remains, the Drum Tower still stands and an effort is being made to rejuvenate the surrounding area. Red lanterns line the stone flagged streets and in the evenings the place is a buzz with stands and the smell of barbequed meat and people making merry. The electric bus stops to the east of the Drum Tower in a large flagged area. It is quiet and devoid of crowds but I can hear singing close by.

Not your usual Chinese music – this is different and as I turn to take in my surroundings I spot the cross on the top of the old church building next to the square. I make my way around to a gate off the main street and ask if I can take a look inside. It is Saturday afternoon and the church choir is practicing. No one seems to mind as I step inside almost falling into the huge open baptismal font as I entered through the side door near the pulpit. Welcoming smiles from the women and a handful of men greet me as I take a seat on the opposite side of the sanctuary in this old church and sit listening. None of us speak a word in either language – but more is conveyed in the silence between us than ever could be said with words.

My time in Penglai is running out and there is more to see. Away from the coast and out of the breeze it is humid and sticky. I need to keep moving. In the shadow of the Drum tower an impressive carved stone gate marks the entrance to the beautifully restored compound and former home of Qi Jiguang just inside the city wall and includes a small museum displaying military equipment. A well-educated man of peace schooled in both culture and military tactics, this Penglai native and Ming Dynasty general became a national hero for his efforts in protecting the nation from Japanese pirates.

As one of the privileged in China he certainly lived with style, beauty and grace – each of the small walled gardens served a different purpose – one for writing, for walking, for quiet contemplation, for tending exotic plants and fruit trees, a household garden by the kitchen and the largest for general recreation with a fish pond, a small hill and covered walkways, and viewing pavilion and platforms – all offering a very self contained life within these compound walls.

Another short trip in the electric bus returns me once again to the entrance of the park, from where it is a pleasant walk along the beach. Penglai is hosting an ‘Ode to Peace’ – the International Youngsters Cultural and Artistic Ceremony with a huge display of children’s artwork arrayed along the beach esplanade. The beach is not crowded, with few people in swimming and off shore a small group of windsurfers challenges a light afternoon breeze around their triangular course. Across the street behind the beachside park is what remains of a temple, which had its upper level blown off during one of many maritime confrontations.

I take my leave in the late afternoon as workers prepare the beachside stadium for tonight’s finale of the ‘Ode to Peace’. Despite the crowds Penglai has offered me some much needed peace and restorative vistas of both sea and sky. I’ll take away some magic memories and return one day when I am ‘feeling blue’.

Southwestward bound, fleeing the freeze

A sudden change of plan I agreed at almost the last moment to fly down to Kunming to meet two friends for a break from the frozen north. They were on a long winter holiday trek through Yunnan, I just needed a break, but I didn't want to be on the road much longer than a week. Just needed time and space to clear my head, that's all. The plan was for me to fly to Kunming then jump on a bus to Lijiang and join my friends there. I got my plane ticket, 1000 yuan on Hainan Airlines, packed my bags, and was all ready to go...... ..... and the night before I was due to leave, my friends phoned me and said, "Don't come to Lijiang! It's snowing and freezing cold!" The last thing Beijingers want on a trip down south in the middle of winter is cold and snow.  So they told me the name of the guesthouse (招待所) they'd booked in Kunming (whose name I can't for the life of me remember. It had something to do with ethnic minorities...), told me to catch bus 51 from the airport to Huanxi Qiao （环西桥）(at least, I think that's the name of the place), and told me to check in under T's name and wait for them, they'd be on the bus from Lijiang and would arrive that evening. So the next morning I jumped in an early morning taxi to Beijing airport, too early, as usual, and off I went.

Arrival The flight was about four hours, from what I remember. I got off the plane, collected my baggage, and walked out in search of this bus. Instantly I was assaulted by the sound of what seemed like ten million hustlers all trying to drag me off to their hotel or taxi or something. Thing is, I'd just quit smoking. I don't know how many of you have done that, but it's quite a painful experience. And nicotine withdrawal often leaves you wanting to do serious damage to the next person who steps into your field of vision. So I temporarily quit quitting and bought a lighter and a pack of Hongtashan (always sample the local specialties, right?) and got myself some relief. Nerves calmed and no longer homicidal, I went out to look for this bus. One of the beauties of Kunming is that its airport is conveniently located very close to the city. So close that regular city buses run to and from the airport. All I had to do was find the right bus stop, and that was not difficult. I walked across the carpark, found a security guard, asked him where I could find bus 51, and he pointed me to a bunch of signs and a knot of waiting passengers not 20 metres away. And the bus conveniently announced each stop both on an electronic sign board above the front windscreen and over a PA system, so getting off at the right stop was no problem.  It took me about half an hour of wandering in several different directions, always returning to the bus stop, asking passersby who pointed me in a million ever weirder directions, and searching, scanning, and scouring every sign or piece of grafitti before I eventually found the guesthouse. It was convenientyly located behind a non-descript gateway that led to a less-descript carpark right beside the bus stop. Never mind, I found it, checked in, changed into less stifling clothes more suited to the Eternal Spring, and poured myself a cup of tea. Figuring that my friends were still several hours away, no doubt having their bones thoroughly shaken on some mountain road, I decided to go out and explore a little. I stepped out of the guesthouse, lit one last cigarette just to make sure, dumped the rest of the pack and the lighter in a rubbish bin to make sure I'd continue quitting, and wandered off. I found myself a late lunch in some roadside hole-in-the-wall. I can't remember what I ate, exactly. Some kind of mixian (rice noodles), but not the famous guoqiao (crossing the bridge) variety. It felt like my tastebuds had finally come alive after several years of slumber, like I was eating pure energy. Magic stuff. Then refueled, I continued my wandering, taking random turns, just watching, feeling, smelling this life that was bursting around me.  I found my way back to the guesthouse and sat down with a cup of tea (another of my addictions) to wait for my friends. They showed up about dinner time, and so once they'd got themselves settled and had shaken off the day's bus ride, we went out in search of dinner. We found a "Western" restaurant nearby, a place that was evidently trying to recreate the American West. My friend from Colorado assured me they failed. Evidently we weren't in any part of Kunming with a large expat or tourist community. Oh well, the food was, well, odd, but satisfying. I would've liked to hang around Kunming for a couple more days, but my friends were keen to put as much space between them and any temperature below 15 celsius as possible. Fair enough, they'd just been caught in Lijiang in the snow. At least in Beijing we all enjoyed decent central heating. I doubt they had that luxury up in Lijiang. So it was decided that the first task for the next day would be securing tickets to Jinghong. The pull of tropical Xishuangbanna was too strong on them for any of us to resist.

More magic and a few double-takes So next morning we got some breakfast (I seem to remember eating an awful lot of baozi on that trip, always early in the morning) then jumped in a taxi to the long distance bus station. We secured tickets for a bus leaving for Jinghong that evening and felt good that it was only 9 hours (not so long ago it was a rather nightmareish 15 or 20 hours) and not in a sleeper bus (both my Coloradoan friend and I are too tall to do that comfortably).  On the way out of the bus station the first double-take happened. Out the corner of my eye I saw what I first thought was a pile of traditional musical instruments. I looked around, being interested in folk music, and realised what I had seen was a pile of bongs. For sale. Openly. Now, I know Yunnan has a tradition of smoking tobacco through a water pipe/bong, but in the West bongs are more often used to smoke substances of a less legal nature, and so it was a bit odd for me to see such paraphenalia openly on sale. My Coloradoan friend felt the same way. And before I continue my ramble, I need to explain something: My two friends were a couple (emphasis on 'were'). He's from Colorado, we'll call him R. She's a Beijinger born and bred, we'll call her T. Now that I've got that clear: T had a friend working in Kunming, and we went to meet her for lunch. Just to keep up the pattern, we'll call T's friend V. So we met V and she took us down to the Muslim quarter and found us a restaurant. The place was packed beyond the gunwales, always a good sign, but we managed to get a table.  We ordered us up a bunch of dishes, taking care to sample the local specialties. Which meant, of course, that a plate of bugs ended up on the table, as a sort of test for us two men (grunt!). R and I sampled the bugs, which looked like what in New Zealand we call huhu grubs, and found them nice and spicy, which both of us like. So we got stuck in. T and V, the two Beijingers, found the idea a little gross, but they were both persuaded to try. V ignored our warnings about just how spicy the bugs were, and stuffed several in her mouth, no doubt thinking that if two laowai could handle it, she certainly could. "Bu la!" (not spicy) she said, and then promptly turned bright red and struggled to crunch up and swallow the bugs before her mouth exploded in a fireball that would leave a large, smoking hole in the centre of Kunming. She learnt the hard way she'd picked the wrong two laowai to engage in a chilli-eating competition. The ladies left to go shopping, leaving R and I to finish off the food and drink a few more beers. I love my beer, but I found most of the beers in Yunnan to be.... wanting. Certainly not the worst beers I've ever had, but not the best either. Anyway, it was beer, and R and I are both beer afficionados, so we indulged. But our feet started to itch and we still had a couple of hours to kill. So I yelled out "Fuwuyuarrrrrrrrr!" in a Beijing accent so strong you'd think Ge You was sitting next to me. The people at the next table turned around. I said, "Hehehehe... Women zhu zai Beijing. (Hehehehe..... We live in Beijing)" with a silly, sheepish grin on my face. The waitress looked right through us because obviously no white person could be calling out to her in Chinese. But we got her attention and got the bill and wandered off.

The double-takes continue, as does the magic We found ourselves in what looked like a bar district combined with an attempted tourist trap, but we weren't interested in finding a bar or doing these touristy things, and there didn't seem to be any life to the area, anyway. So we moved on.  We found two pagodas whose names I can't remember. Remember, I wasn't there to do touristy things, I was there to clear my head. Anyway, the pagodas looked pretty cool. We also found ourselves a tea house. The tea house was on a pedestrian street running between these two pagodas lined with what looked like more attempts at tourist traps, but there was plenty of genuine local life going on, so we felt comfortable there. This teahouse was also entirely outdoors, which felt especially good for us Beijingers. Sitting outside in the middle of January sipping tea, bliss. So we ordered ourselves some tea and sat back to relax. At the next table were a group of old men playing chess. I looked over and right at that moment one of these old guys took a hit from his bong. Remember, where I come from bongs are associated with illegal substances. It was quite a strange experience to see and old guy using one, even though I knew it was a local tradition to smoke tobacco through a bong. After a bit, we decided we should probably find our way back to V's place. Somehow we managed to walk back. We collected our luggage and headed for the bus station. Jinghong beckoned.

Eight Days

Step 1- Leaving the Land of the Vikings

It took me eight days to get from Verdal, in the centre of Norway, to Taiyuan, capital of Shanxi.

We’d tried to get new visas for China in Norway, but the first time we phoned the embassy in Oslo, nobody answered. The second time, the guy who answered said, “I don’t know, I’m on holiday here.” Brilliant. So we decided to book tickets to Hong Kong, get our visas there, then figure out the rest.

The night before we left I stayed up the whole night, thinking that if I slept I wouldn’t wake up in time. And besides, I could always sleep on the planes. SIR drove me up the hill where we picked up BV and K, then we drove down to Trondheim airport, at some place called Vaernes, I believe, which, strange as it may sound, is just north of Hell. But Hell is another story.

BV insisted on getting a cup of coffee. Coffee wouldn’t be served on the flight to Oslo, he insisted, ‘cos the airline in question (whose name I’ve since forgotten) was a piece of crap. And because this airline didn’t cooperate with SAS, the first thing we’d have to do in Oslo is make sure our baggage was checked through on to the flight to Copenhagen. Because we were in Norway and everybody was desperate for a coffee they swore would not be served on the flight, it took him a long time to get his precious caffeine fix, and we were the last on the flight.

And then just after take off the stewardess came around serving coffee.

We landed in Oslo and ran around like headless chickens trying to find where we could make sure our luggage had been checked through onto the SAS flight to Copenhagen, because, as BV insisted, those two airlines didn’t cooperate.

Eventually we found the right desk and discovered the airlines did at least cooperate enough to take luggage from one flight and put it on the other.

Copenhagen transit lounge for four hours. It’s huge, and there’s stacks of shops and stuff, but at the time there was no internet. Pretty soon it got kinda boring. Actually, that’s about all I remember of Copenhagen airport. Next up was the 11 or 12 hour flight to Bangkok.
Step 2- Zipping through the Fragrant Harbour

We’d spent six hours in transit in Bangkok on the way to Norway and I wasn’t looking forward to our four hour stopover on this trip. The transit lounge had been a dingy little dump with only a bare minimum of facilities. But, somehow on that first stopover I’d managed to completely mess up the money conversion and wound up with more Thai baht than I’d ever need. So much so that even after having spent a fair bit of it on that first stopover and then given SIR a wad of baht as a joking contribution to petrol costs when he picked us up from Stockholm airport, I still had more than I would need on this four hour stopover.

So in Bangkok I bought a few books and that was enough for me. I still had a bit of baht left over, and BV and K were wanting to stock up on booze and foreign (non-Chinese) cigarettes, so I swapped them Norwegian kroner (knowing I could change it easily in Hong Kong) for the rest of my baht. They bought their stuff, we still had a couple of hours to wait, and we still had a bit of baht left. I really did mess up that money changing thing on the first stopover in Bangkok. As it turned out, we had just enough baht for two cups of coffee. So we bought two cups of coffee and the three of us sat down to drink: Take a sip from one cup, pass it to the next. The second cup is passed to you, take a sip, pass it on. We must have seemed the cheapest, most miserable trio of backpackers to have ever found ourselves in an airport transit lounge.

It was only three or four hours, if I remember rightly, from Bangkok to Hong Kong, and we arrived about midday on Day Two of the trip. I scribbled “Chungking Mansions, 30 Nathan Road, Tsimshatsui” in the ‘address in Hong Kong’ space, got through customs (even though that address isn’t actually correct, even, but it always works) and got on the bus. Bus A31, I believe, is the one that runs from the airport pretty much the full length of Nathan Road down to the Tsimshatsui ferry terminal.

Well, made a bit of a mess of finding accommodation, getting off the bus too early, then going to the wrong places looking for cheap accommodation outside Chungking Mansions. But we wound up with a place in Chungking Mansions, the three of us sharing one room thanks to our fairly tight budgets. Then we realised we had just enough time to sprint over to the visa office and hand in our applications, which would mean we could leave Hong Kong the next day. So we did.

We jumped on the MTR to Wanchai (I have since discovered that the ferry is just as quick, more convenient, and a fraction of the price). Then we got lost and wound up wandering through a million buildings we shouldn’t have been wandering through until we eventually found our way to the visa office. Fortunately it was late enough for the visa office to be almost empty, but early enough for us to hand in our applications. We quickly filled in our forms and handed them over with our documents and money (you had to pay in advance back then), took our receipts and went our way.

We got some dinner, went back to our room, and crashed. And so ended Day Two. Day Three dawned and we decided BV would go and collect our passports with, hopefully, our visas in them while K and I packed up our stuff and carted it downstairs to wait for him. Sometime just after midday BV came back. A quick check: Yes, we can all go to China, then we carted all our stuff down into the MTR to take the train round to Kowloon Tong (the KCR now runs all the way to Tsimshatsui, but didn't back then). We transferred to the KCR and rode out to Lo Wu, then carted our stuff through the border crossing and up to Shenzhen Railway Station.
Step 3- Into the Mainland, and the beginnings of Train Ticket Hell

Crossing the border was strange, after Scandinavia. Scandinavia has had open borders since nineteen fifty something very early. So far as I know, there is no record of me ever having entered, stayed in, or left Norway. We flew into Stockholm then drove north up past Ostersund, across the mountains and down into Verdal. I remember the border clearly: A sign spotted with rust and a barrier arm that looked rusted into the ‘up’ position, the sign saying “Riksgrense Sverige” (The Swedish Border, roughly) followed by, 10 metres down the road, a sign, equally spotted with rust, but minus a barrier arm, saying “Riksgrens Norge” (The Norwegian Border, equally roughly. And I can’t vouch for my Norwegian or Swedish spelling). No customs, no immigration, no checkpoint, nothing but the road, the forest around us, two signs and a barrier arm. The flight from Oslo to Stockholm was equally devoid of passport checks, customs, or other such officialdom. Getting from Hong Kong to Shenzhen, both part of the People’s Republic of China, involved all the immigration and customs checks you expect of an international border followed by a bridge over a muddy stream whose banks were lined with fences and fortifications and barbed wire and security cameras and probably more than a few armed guards, followed by immigration and customs checks like an international border again. But never mind, after the usual standing in queues and getting stamps in passports we got through, back in the Mainland.

So we got to the railway station, sat on our stuff, and discussed what we should do next. Lunch was top of the list of priorities, so we dragged our luggage down to McDonalds. Then BV and K decided they’d try and get a flight to Guiyang, their destination, while I went back to the railway station looking for trains heading in a northerly direction.

I had consulted the map in the Lonely Planet (but only the map, knowing how much the rest could be trusted and for what) and figured out where the major junctions that would be useful to me were and what my plan of action would be in the highly likely event I had trouble getting tickets. Step 1: Train to Guangzhou. Simple, easy. I arrived in Guangzhou slightly over an hour after I bought the ticket. The first thing I did there was find the ticket office and ask if there was anything going towards Taiyuan. Not for another five days. I can’t afford to wait that long, so I ask for a train to Guilin. Tomorrow, she says. Fine, I say. And as it turns out, there’s a hotel in the station where I crashed for the night.

Next day I left the hotel and, still within the station, found a restaurant to serve me brunch. Nicely fed, I went off looking for a left-luggage office where I could ditch my stuff for the day lest my shoulders crumble under the weight of all my worldly goods and treasures. I found the office, but when they saw my train ticket they refused to take my stuff. They saw the look of confusion on my face and told me, “This is the East Station, you’re train is from the main station. You can’t leave your stuff here you have to go to the main station.” So I thanked them profusely and walked off to find a taxi.
“Huochezhan,” I said.
“Huh?” the driver said.
“Huochezhan. Guangzhouzhan.”
“Huh?”
This goes on for five minutes at least, me getting more and more flustered. Then a light goes on somewhere behind the taxi driver’s eyes.
“Fuotsedzan ah?” he asks.
“Huh?” I say.
“Fuotsedzan ah?”
I think, that sounds kinda like Changshahua. So I say, “Yes!” and nod vigorously.
So off we go, with the driver, for the whole length of the trip, periodically pointing at street signs and asking: “Fuotsedzan ah?” and me replying: “Yes!” and nodding vigorously. Then we arrive at the station, he points at it and says: “Fuotsedzan ah?”, and I reply “Yes! Thank you!” pay my money, get my stuff, and escape.
Step 4- Getting somewhere, at least

It was about midday. My train left at about 5 or 6 in the evening. I spent the first couple of hours sitting on my luggage in the station forecourt with several thousand peasants. Then I decided I didn’t want to get rained on anymore, so I went inside. I got chased away from my first sitting and waiting on the floor spot by some woman who seemed to need a megaphone even when she was standing right next to her targets. So I found the gate my train would be loaded from and claimed an empty patch of floor. Then I was found by the last dinosaur who refuses to accept that a foreigner could travel by anything other than soft sleep and she led me off to the soft sleep waiting room. When I realised where she was taking me and that I had no right to be there, having only a hard seat ticket, I just disappeared and claimed a new patch of spare floor to wait. But she found me again and tried the same thing. So I ignored her a second time.

Then I got talking to some poor soul from Xinjiang who had four days on a train to look forward to. Damn. I only had 12 or 13 hours to worry about till Guilin.

So the time came to board the train. I wrestled my way on, found my seat, kicked the usual idiot out of my seat and settled in for the night. Sometime into the night I played the usual dumb whitey game and asked my neighbours for help finding Guilin. It’s a useful tactic if you’re in hard seat and aren’t sure of the journey. But as it turned out, the usual traveller’s instinct kicked in and I recognised Guilin anyway.

So I arrived in Guilin and the first thing I did was go to the ticket office and ask for a ticket to Taiyuan. On the way I was accosted by the usual suspect. Some guy keen to practice his English and help dumb whitey. What the hell, I decided to play along ‘cos he might turn out to be useful, even though I knew he was going to get some money out of me somehow along the way (Guilin Railway Station has always been like that). He said he’d help me get a ticket, and after convincing him I wanted to go to Taiyuan, not Taiwan, and that’s the capital of Shanxi Province, just so you know for sure where I’m trying to get to, no not Shaanxi Xi’an, Shanxi Shandong. Yes, that Taiyuan, capital of Shanxi. I know everyone says it's a dump with nothing but coal and pollution and it’s freezing cold in winter, no I’m not staying in Guilin any longer than necessary, although I appreciate your offer of help finding a job at your friend’s school. No really, all I want is a ticket to Taiyuan, capital of Shanxi, yes Shandong Shanxi, yes that Taiyuan, a hard sleep ticket if possible. Yes, really. No tickets. Alright, what about Zhengzhou? Yes, hard sleep. Two nights from now? Sweet. And now that you mention it, yes, I would like to go to Yangshuo, I have friends out there and now I have two spare days. You know a hotel? How much? Sixty kuai per night is fine. And you’ll get me on the bus for local price? Really? Cool.

And so he got me a ticket to Zhengzhou leaving at four in the morning two nights later and a bus ride to Yangshuo for only five kuai, including my luggage, just what the locals pay, with a promise I’d be met by his friends at the bus station.

But as it turns out the bus driver and conductor were not too happy about me paying only five kuai like a local. They tried to dump me somewhere just outside of Yangshuo, on the other side of the mountain the highway curves around to enter Yangshuo. No, you can’t cheat me, I’ve been here twice before, I know where I am, I’m not getting off the bus, so close the door and drive. I won. We arrived at the bus stop, and as soon as the door opened a voice is calling out “Chris! Are you Chris?”
“Yes.”
“We’re from the Mayflower Hotel.”
“Excellent. Let’s go.”

So I crashed, washed up, got myself human again, and wandered off to look for my friends.
Step 5- Getting closer... slowly

Disaster. There had been some fairly big changes in the cafe scene of West Street since I was there last. Or at least, in that section of West Street I was interested in. The Blue Lotus had changed hands. The cafe itself hadn’t changed, the decor was identical, but the spirit had died, the warmth had gone out of the place. The people who had worked there had scattered around West Street finding work in new places. But I found most of them and relaxed and had a good time. I also bumped into some young Englishman who I’d met in Yangshuo a couple of times before. As it turns out, he was getting the same train as me, but going all the way to Beijing. So we arranged to catch the bus back into Guilin together the next evening.

My stay in Yangshuo was the usual hanging out in West Street cafes, avoiding souvenir sellers, beggars, and “tour guides”, drinking coffee and beer (not necessarily together) and generally relaxing, getting some relief from the aches and pains of travelling. Just before seven the next evening I arrived at the bus station to meet this Englishman, and we got on the last bus back to Guilin, bargaining the price down to as low as we could. We got to the station, dodged the usual “Hello! Hello! Yangshuo! Yangshuo!” hustler trouble, found the left luggage office and dumped our stuff, then found a restaurant just outside the station to spend the evening. The guy who’d helped me get my ticket to Zhengzhou showed up for one last attempt to convince me to work at his friend’s school in Guilin instead of going to the frozen, polluted wastes of the north. He failed, again. About three we got our luggage and went to the waiting room.

The train was alright, I mean, I was in hard sleep, where the number of passengers is limited to the number of bunks, which adds a lot to the comfort of the journey. But I was on the top bunk, which is stifling hot, and the trip was something like 27 or 28 hours. I bumped into some characters on the train: An Israeli woman who said she was a teacher, but would say no more. A couple of Norwegians, one of whom came from the province where I’d just spent six weeks, who had been travelling through Southeast Asia. Vietnam they hated, but the other countries they’d visited they were totally in love with. The three of them, the Israeli and the two Norwegians were headed for Beijing, another twelve hours further on from Zhengzhou. Then there was a bunch of PLA recruits, soldiers in training keen to practice their English.

We passed through Changsha in the afternoon of the next day. It was funny seeing this city I had become so familiar with from the train as we rolled through. As we were waiting at the station for people to be on- and off-loaded, a bunch of cops arrested some guy. The usual story, a few extra punches and kicks thrown in, the guy dragged off by the handcuffs. No mercy. Sometime that night we crossed the Yangtze, Hubei, and most of Henan. Then early the next morning we arrived in Zhengzhou.

The same plan: Get off the train, find the ticket office, try and get a ticket to Taiyuan. But walking out of the station I tripped and fell down the last step, twisting my ankle and scattering my luggage everywhere. Instantly I was surrounded by who knows how many Chinese people who picked me up, put my luggage on me, and disappeared before I’d even realised what had happened, leaving me standing there offering a surprised, but forlorn and lonely “Thank you….” to the space which had just been occupied by an untold number of mysteriously vanishing kind helpers. Then I limped off to the ticket office.

“Taiyuan” I said.
“Jintian mingtian?” (Today or tomorrow?) she asked.
“Jintian.” (Today) I replied.
“Jintian mingtian?” (Today or tomorrow?) she asked.
“Jintian!” this time with a little more force in my voice.
“Jintian mingtian?” (Today or tomorrow?) she asked.
“Jintian!!”
“Jintian mingtian?” (Today or tomorrow?) she asked.
“JINTIAN!!!”
This went on for about 15 minutes, she asking constantly whether I wanted to go to Taiyuan today or tomorrow, me constantly replying that I wanted to go today, she refusing to understand. So she went off to find an English speaker to translate. The English speaker wasn’t, and so the 15 minutes of frustration repeated itself until she ran off to find another English speaker to translate. This second English speaker was actually capable of speaking a little English and managed to sell me a ticket, hard sleeper, leaving at eight that evening for Taiyuan. Finally.

So I limped out of the ticket office and went to find a hotel that would let me rent a room for the day so that I could rest, clean myself up, and have a place to crash and stash my stuff until my train. Found one right next to the railway station. It was a bit more expensive than I would have preferred, but I was too tired to walk any further, it was clean, tidy and actually nice, which is not something I had ever been able to afford before, and it was convenient. And so I cleaned myself up, got some breakfast, and rested for the morning. But I couldn’t sleep and the hotel room got pretty boring pretty quickly.

So I consulted the Lonely Planet and got myself an idea of the layout of downtown Zhengzhou. Then off I wandered to explore. I found the Erqi Pagoda. It was nice enough, but stuck in the middle of an intersection (which I already knew, so I wasn’t surprised) and generally underwhelming. And I got the impression that Zhengzhou was really just another provincial, industrial dump. Sure, there’s lots of cool stuff in the vicinity, especially for history and archaeology buffs, but the city itself struck me as being the definition of bland. Not that a few hours wandering around after so much time on the road never properly rested is enough to get a feel for a city, but that’s the impression I left with.
Step 6- Arrival, a bit of a shock, really

The next morning I woke up bright and early, as I always do when I’m travelling. I looked out of the train window and was surprised by the flatness of the landscape. Weren’t we only a couple of hours out of Taiyuan? Wasn’t Shanxi supposed to be all mountains? What’s going on? Well, sure enough, I was on the right train and we arrived in Taiyuan. I just hadn’t realised how wide the Fen River Valley was. But apart from the flatness, the rest of the landscape was as I expected: Poor, dirty, industrial in a rundown, underdeveloped way when settlements presented themselves. A kind of khaki green brown grey colour pervading everything below, a dull blue grey for sky.

I got off the train, walked out of the station, found a payphone, and dialled the only number I had for my school. A fax machine answered. So I jumped in a miandi taxi and showed the driver the address.
“30 kuai” she said.
“Alright” I said. I mean, I had an idea of where I needed to go judging by the maps I’d seen, but I had no idea of the actual distance, there was no meter in the miandi, as there never is, and 30 seemed reasonable. So off we went.

Cruising down Yingze Dajie, what the maps I’d seen suggested was the main street, everything seemed alright. We got to a bridge about where I expected a bridge to be, but the maps had promised a river flowing under the bridge. All I could see was grass, not to healthy looking grass, at that, until about three quarters of the way across the bridge there was a tiny, pathetic little stream desperately trying to impersonate the once-mighty, powerful, famous Fen River. On the other side of the bridge the city looked a little more run down than over on Yingze Dajie, but no big deal, most of Changsha looked the same. We veered right at about where the maps I’d seen suggested we should veer right. The landscape took a definite turn for the worse, the buildings looking quite rough and rundown indeed. But still, parts of Changsha were the same, and they were ok, I told myself. We crossed a railway line and turned right, again, as the maps had suggested we would. The city had suddenly seemed to become a very poor, dirty, rundown village. The road had been replaced with a long, thin gap between the buildings that may have been paved once. Then there were cornfields. Then a bridge across a filthy little stream, the bridge being nothing more than a concrete slab just barely wide enough for two vehicles to pass. Then what seemed like a village that had been cruelly turned into a Dickensian industrial hellhole that hadn’t seen any maintenance since the reign of the Emperor Qianlong, with the ‘road’ getting rougher as we progressed. Then we arrived at the gate of my school. The driver asked for directions to the Foreign Affairs Office, then deposited me outside a building whose ground floor was occupied by a restaurant. She pointed me in the direction of a non-descript looking side door and left me to it. I walked in to find myself in a construction zone, the hallways and stairways cluttered with ladders and scaffolding. Eventually I roused the attention of the people who worked there, who put me in my apartment and hurriedly cleaned the place up and put in the final touches: Microwave, TV, rice cooker, etc.
“Why didn’t you tell us you’d arrive today?” they asked.
“I tried to email RYW to tell him I’d be arriving, but he never replied. Then when I got off the train I called the only phone number I had and a fax machine answered. And RYW didn’t tell me anybody else I could contact or give me any other phone number.”
“Oh. He’s in Shanghai, he’ll be there another month.”

Brilliant. But at least I’d made it, safe and sound.

Wings of War and Peace

Each spring the wings of hundreds of peaceful and multifarious kites compete for airspace in the sky above city. But there was a time when the wings over Weifeng were not so quiet or peaceful. The city, in the center of the Shandong Peninsular was once the site of a Japanese POW camp in Japanese occupied China during WWII. Later, Weifeng’s liberation was delivered on the wings of US Airforce B24’s - dropping men and supplies into the camp on August 17th 1945 thus ending more than three years internment for the foreign nationals in the camp.

I stood up for the third or forth time to stretch my back and legs and this time made my way to the entrance of the waiting room to take another look outside. It was almost dawn. How did I know this? Just the simple fact that the sun rises about this time everyday - there would be no brilliant sunrise to herald in the day. Instead Weifeng languished under the same gray pall of smog or fog that had held Beijing captive since the rains had stopped. I wondered if I would see the sky at all. The few concrete stairs down to the street were littered with people and their belongings – waiting, sleeping, chatting, eating or just staring blankly through the gloomy light.

It was hard to tell which of us had spent a more uncomfortable night – them or me? Inside where access was denied to those without a ticket – I was an exception and none dared question the foreigner it seemed – I had tried making myself comfortable lounging on my backpack. All through those sluggish morning hours a small but steady stream of passengers passed through to board an invisible stream of trains that stopped – each announced with the harsh clang of metal on metal as the staff banged the security fences at the entrance of the platform to attract the attention of any passenger who may have fallen asleep. They sure got mine every time and I was only waiting for the dawn.

When I bought my ticket in Beijing on the previous Friday I had no idea what time the train would arrive. I’d just been happy to buy a soft sleeper ticket for the day after my preferred departure date on what was clearly an extra train - destination Qingdao on the south coast of the Shandong Peninsular. There had been no long queue, no jostling for tickets at the counter, and no English spoken by the very polite middle-aged clerk who patiently fielded my many queries about trains, schedules and destinations as I stumbled with his language. Standing outside on the hot sun I discovered that my departure time was mid-afternoon. I correctly guessed - but hoped that I was wrong - that my arrival would be sometime during the graveyard shift, those ungodly hours from midnight till dawn.

My plan had been get good nights sleep, arriving fresh and relaxed, sightsee the city in the early morning, and catch a bus later in the day for the three-hour journey to the coast. But here I was waiting yet again, rested but having slept little, so by dawn I was in no mood to sight see in a town that seemed to offer little to see. What I had really come to see would be hard to find. I had discovered much to my dismay that I had left my research information back in my suitcases in Chongqing and I would be searching simply from memory and good fortune neither of which could be relied upon.

Waiting is an inevitable part of life and especially traveling and often the rewards are worth the time but after five long, uncomfortable hours waiting for this dreary dawn I no expectations and I was ready to leave on the first bus out of town that I could find. First impressions aside – and they were not good – I would at least give the city the benefit of the light of day before I made that decision. I, at least had a choice about when I could leave. Not like the many other foreigners who found themselves imprisoned here almost sixty years before. Between snatches of sleep, people watching and eating snacks my thoughts drifted to the stories I had read of people who’d once spent the war years waiting in it out in Weifeng. As prisoners of war they’d had no choice. I’d only spent these last five hours – a blink of an eye in comparison – sitting on a row of hard plastic seats against the wall of a shed in what passed as Weifeng’s railway station waiting room. Over 1500 ex-pats spent more than three years confined in relatively close quarters, often with strangers waiting for their chance to leave.

I was hoping to visit the place that for the majority of them had been far less comfortable than my present predicament. The place they all called home was originally a mission compound taken over by the Japanese after their invasion of northern China. The Japanese had been on the Shandong Peninsular since 1937 and life remained relatively normal for Americans and the British, still considered “neutrals’ until Japan bombed Pearl Harbour. Foreign nationals from more than twenty nations, almost one third of them children, and many of whom were at boarding school in Chefoo on the north coast of Shandong spent those war years here under Japanese civil supervision. A place of relative comfort compared with life for the Chinese, but prisoners non the less, they lived in extremely cramped conditions, making the best of their deprivations.

A friend of mine, her father the doctor at the boarding school, was born months earlier in the smaller POW camp in Chefoo. In the summer of 1943 when she was just six moths old, her family was amongst four hundred odd Chefoo prisoners who were transferred by leaky boat to Qingdao and then by train to swell the numbers in Weixian as Weifeng was formerly known. This unlikely mix of students, teachers, missionaries, merchants, musicians, businessmen and diplomats spent the next two years ‘waiting’ for the end of the war. Eric Liddell, "The Flying Scotsman" as he was affectionately known after unexpectedly winning the 400m Gold Medal at the 1924 Olympics was just one of the internees. During his time in the camp he taught math and supervised sporting activities as well as encouraging other internees. He was born in China the land he now called home and died shortly after his birthday just months before the camps liberation.

A former student of the Chefoo boarding school was one of seven paratroopers who from wings of peace were dropped from the skies over Weifeng in August 1945 to bring the prisoners news of the end of the war and take over supervision from the Japanese. These days’ wings of a different kind caste shadows over Weifeng. Colourful kites have replaced parachutes and planes as the city plays host to the popular and spectacular International Kite Festival. Each April for more than 20 years this Festival has been attracting a growing number of kite enthusiasts from both home and abroad.

As dawn broke I wandered outside for the last time to take stock of my surroundings again and it still didn’t look good. Back behind me was the grand new train station. I had glimpsed it earlier as I left the platform in the wee small hours – all plate glass and steel, under construction and still months away from completion. If I ever returned to Weifeng, the ‘waiting’ would surely be more comfortable, even a pleasure but all my joy had dissipated like the night before the dawn. Across the street was a row of small shops was waking up beside ‘hole in the wall’ eateries, and a few buses and taxis crowded the bend in the narrow potholed street. As I looked around for the ‘city’ there was little clue as to its whereabouts.

Visibility was still poor, as was the condition of this suburb clearly on the outskirts of town. Weifeng was definitely out there, along with a memorial to Eric Liddell in the grounds of the old mission, which is today the Number 2 Middle School of Weifeng. Like almost every city in China Weifeng is undergoing massive renovations and revitalizations, no doubt to impress the many visitors who wing their way into Weifeng each year filling the sky with wings during the Kite Festival. As my bus cruised smoothly along broad new boulevards, passing beautiful open parklands I wondered if I had been too harsh and hasty in my judgments but I resolved to come again another time - a time when Weifeng was not waiting for things to end – a time when I might enjoy those colourful wings of peace.