Fuddland

One of the lesser-known gems in Chēngdu (成都) is Wang’s Tiny Museum of Mao Memorabilia. The name says it all: down a side street that I had to ask three people how to find despite having the address and a map, it’s a small, dark, cluttered room, brimming over with posters and photographs, badges and plaques, statues and busts, books and hats, and all manner of other representations of Máo Zédōng (毛泽东), amassed over the last fifty-six years by one man: the eponymous Mr Wang.

Once I’d finished inspecting the dust-covered, higgledy-piggledy items on display, fielding the few questions I understood from an old but spritely and very curious Mrs Wang, who seemed to speak faster and faster the more I asked her to slow down, I was just about to be on my way when Mr Wang himself emerged from a back room, moving slowly with age and one too many hot-pot dinners. After some friendly greetings, he motioned for me to take photos of his wife and him standing next to some of the memorabilia — it was done with such efficiency and sense of routine, clearly this was he did with every visitor, and I was happy to oblige.

A quick nod from Mr Wang towards a nicely-worded sign indicated that a donation would be much appreciated, which again I was only too happy to hand over [and was intending to offer even if no request was made] — they were obviously not a well-off elderly couple — which earned me one more pose as I stepped back out into the daylight.