Fuddland

In the west of China for a cold ten days in January 2007.

This category is a subcategory of Travelling in China.

One of the lesser-known gems in Chengdu 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 Mao Zedong, amassed over the last fifty-six years by one man: the eponymous Mr Wang.

Read the rest of “Wang’s Tiny Museum of Mao Memorabilia”…

Right next door to the hostel I was staying at in Chengdu was the Buddhist temple of Wenshu Yuan; it is a Chan temple, Chan being the Chinese for what is more popularly known as Zen Buddhism. Although initial visual impressions resemble any of the numerous restored dynastic palaces you might find in China, one key difference here [aside from being a temple not a palace of course] is that the temple is still in use, so mingling with tourists like myself are Buddhists monks and Buddhist Buddhists, paying their respects to the many statues housed within the temple walls, lighting incense, or chanting in procession.

Read the rest of “Wenshu Yuan”…

Foolishly, I’d mentioned earlier to one of the other passengers on the bus how good the driver was: up in the mountains of Jiuzhaigou park the winding roads were still covered in snow, yet he managed to keep a steady pace without skidding at all. I was feeling quite safe as we headed back down the [clear] mountain highway, despite it having a large number of hairpin bends and the driver deciding that his tea was almost ready and he needed to step on the gas—until he chose to overtake a wide lorry on one of the bendier bends. Overtaking means pulling out into the cliff-side lane. Wide lorry. Cliff-side lane. Bend in the road. Brown-trousers time, to say the least.

The lorry was as far over to the right as it could manage without veering into the drainage ditch, but it wasn’t quite far enough, and—luckily—our driver didn’t fancy careering over the edge of the cliff, so instead the side of our bus scraped along the lorry, ripping off its wing mirror and front bumper.

When vehicles collide in China—and they everso-frequently do—even with relatively minor damage, they simply stop dead in their tracks. None of this polite pulling over to the side of the road to allow other vehicles to pass by [with an obligatory rubber-necking, of course]—the vehicles involved won’t budge until the shouty-shouty is over with and all the blame has been assigned [and, especially if somebody is a driver by trade and doesn’t want to lose his job, an appropriate wad of cash has been handed over to keep schtum].

Thus, we sat waiting in the bus, blocking oncoming traffic, whilst our driver, the lorry driver and several thousand other drivers from the other vehicles, inspected the damage to the lorry [blocking the other lane]. Whilst the lorry driver was ranting and, seemingly, saying the same things over and over [“I couldn’t pull over any further! Look at my mirror! Look at my bumper! I was as far over as I could go! My mirror! My bumper!” etc.], our own driver had adopted the other stance that seems to be popular amongst Chinese drivers: the impassive-faced, silent, I-know-it-was-my-fault-but-I’m-saying-nothing look.

[I’ve seen a moped crash into the back of another stopped at traffic lights, and the driver at fault simply stared at his victim without even a single word of apology, as if to say, “Look, it was bound to happen sooner or later.” Likewise, the crashee looked back and intimated, “Actually this happens all the time, I’m used to it. Still quite annoying though.”]

Eventually some rope was found, the bumper was secured, our driver doled out a couple of hundred yuan, and we were on our way, but not before the coolest man I have even seen crept through the gap between our bus and the lorry on his motorbike-cum-trailer, clearly not caring one jot about the drama he was passing by—or perhaps he knew his companion would fill him in later.

Those enormous gloves attached to the handlebars are fantastic. I want some, even if I don’t have actually a bike to put them on.

Aside from the dominant Han Chinese nationality, there are 55 other officially-recognised minorities in modern China; the province of Sichuan is home to four of them, and the village of Taoping has been occupied by the Qiangzu people for around two thousand years.

The houses are all hand-built from rock, wood and mud, with running water provided by diverted streams coming down from the mountains. At least one of the still-habitable homes is claimed to have been built a thousand years ago, and they all display a large lump of quartz on their flat roofs—if I understood correctly, this is to ward of evil spirits, although I could be wrong and pehaps it’s because everyone used the same architect with a penchant for lump-of-quartz-topped roofs.

Still a largely agricultural region, the townspeople—or, thinking about, probably the local government—are slowly wising-up to the fact that this historic town could be a hot tourist attraction, but when I visited it was still relatively unspoilt, leaving me free to wander the streets and get a good feel for life in this small, peaceful, unpolluted village, where I didn’t feel harrassed or hurried despite being the one and only remotely foreign face there at the time.

[More photos tagged with Taoping form part of my Chengdu and Sichuan photoset.]

In typical in-at-the-deep-end style, I’ve been rather busy for my first couple of weeks with my new language centre, teaching children every morning and afternoon, and adults a couple of evenings a week—but thankfully it all comes to a dead stop on Thursday, when I get a lovely two-week holiday over Chinese New Year.

I’ll resume my Tales from Sichuan series once I’m on my break, but I have found time to upload three of my favourite photos from the trip, all taken at various stops en route from Jiuzhaigou back to Chengdu. I especially like them because I almost never take photos of people—I feel incredibly self-conscious and, also, not owning a super-duper telephoto lens, it’s hard for me to take candid snaps of people acting naturally, which is what I’m really after most of the time. Having said that, I do love the cabbie’s cheeky eyes and standard Chinese pose as he leans out of his Songzhou bicycle taxi.

The woman attending the toilet at a mountain-road rest-stop was momentarily distracted by something out of shot and only turned her head in my direction at the very moment my finger pressed the shutter. I’m not sure what animals have been skinned and stretched out on the frame behind her—they looked like some sort of hyena, but I forget what someone told me the Chinese name was, so I can’t look it up for a translation. The little girl was simply oblivious to anything that wasn’t her notepad, and lay there singing to herself as she doodled in the sun.

In the mountains of northern Sichuan is the 720 square kilometre reserve of Jiuzhaigou. The name means “Valley of the Nine Villages”, after the nine high-fenced Tibetan settlements that originally populated the area. The 1000-or-so permanent residents of the villages within the park’s perimeter are forbidden from agricultural activities, and must rely on subsidies and tourism to survive.

Designated a national park in 1982—after ten years of heavy logging the government realised the value of the area’s natural beauty and banned further destruction of the environment—several of the villages are maintained to “tourist-friendly” levels of attractiveness and traditionally-dressed employees [not all of Tibetan nationality] occupy them during the park’s opening hours, showing people around the various rooms, all of which seem to magically lead to the gift shop.

Political and sociological ramifications of the region’s government-controlled status notwithstanding, the park houses some undeniably beautiful natural sights—even in the sub-freezing temperatures and baren foliage of mid-January, the landscape was impressive, and I was treated to frozen waterfalls and crystal-clear lakes of stunning cyan colours, refusing to freeze due to their mineral content.

A collection of my photos can be viewed via those of my Flickr images tagged with Jiuzhaigou [the slideshow option displays them at their best, against a black background], or alternatively as part of the still-growing Chengdu and Sichuan photoset.

[Before anyone asks: yes, there’s been a certain—small—degree of photo-editing, but I promise that the water really was that colour. Anyone who doubts me can ask to see the originals!]

I made a few videos at the Panda Breeding Research Centre in Chengdu, the first of which shows two three-year-old giant pandas play-fighting in the cold morning air.

Read the rest of “Panda-ing”…

After spending a few days there at either end of my trip, I really warmed to Chengdu. The guidebooks and information I had read about the city all mentioned the laid-back approach that its citizens have to life, and it was a joy to see.

Wandering the streets and central park of the city, no matter what time of day—morning, afternoon, evening—everywhere I saw people, of all ages, hanging out at teahouses or on benches [in some cases, they had brought their own seats], chatting, playing cards or dominoes, dancing, singing, to such an extent that I have to wonder: does anyone in Chengdu actually have a job?

Read the rest of “Chengdu”…

Signs dotted around one of the restored, protected areas in Chengdu describe the following “Rules Pertaining to Civilized Tour”:

In order to build a civilized and harmonious tour environment and to improve the moral standards of both tourists and citizens, please abide the following rules.

1. Please keep the environment clean. Don’t spit. Don’t spit the chewing gum. No littering. No smoking except in the designated area.
2. Please follow the public order. Keep silent. Don’t jump the queue. Please keep gateways clear. Please don not talk loudly in public places.
3. Please protect the egological environment. Don’t step on the grassland. Don’t pick flowers or fruit. Don’t chase or beat animal. Don’t give animal any food without permit when you are in the zoo.
4. Protect the historical relics and sites. Don’t paint or carve on the historical relics. Don’t climb up the historical relics. No photos without permit.
5. Value the public facilities. Don’t dirty or destroy any installment in the hotel. Don’t destroy the public facilities. Do not be out for small advantages. Save water and electricity. Don’t waste food.
6. Respect other people’s rights. Don’t force foreign tourists to take photos. Don’t force other people to buy or sell something. Do not occupy public facilities for a long time. Respect people in the service sector. Respect religious customs of other nationalities.
7. To be polite. Wear clean and proper clothes. Do not wear clothes exposing the neck or shoulders in public places. Take care of the elderly, children, the sick and the handicapped. Do not utter dirty words.
8. Advocate a happy and healthy way of life. Resist superstition. Avoid pornography, gambling and drug.

My personal favourite is, “Don’t be out for small advantages.” If you’re out for an advantage, you might as well make sure it’s a big one.

Am back. I made it through Nanjing all the way to Chengdu without any problems, and did a whirlwind tour of the city and the north of the province of Sichuan, which were both excellent although rather cold.

Right now I need to wash off two days of train travel before I start sorting through the 350-plus photos I took over ten or so days [and have my first cup of proper tea since I left Suzhou]. Then I’ll be asking you all to sit comfortably whilst I begin…

Let me outta here!

Sorry about that, just had to yell to some extent. I’m over it now.

I’d like to go to Chengdu. I’ve heard and read that it’s lovely, and I’ve been planning a two-week holiday there ever since I handed in my notice. On Friday I tried to buy a train ticket for the 37-hour journey, only to be told there was none left. There’s no national holiday until next month and it’s the low season, so I’ve no idea why all the tickets were sold out, but they apparently were. But! I was advised by the ticket agent that I could buy a ticket to Nanjing—only three hours away—and would be able to buy a ticket on to Chengdu from there. It escapes me as to why I will be able to do it this way but not buy one directly, especially as a train from Suzhou to Chengdu actually passes through Nanjing, but I don’t really have a choice, and Nanjing won’t be a terrible place in which to hang out, even for a couple of days if there really are no tickets to Chengdu. I leave at lunchtime today.

The above headache was compounded by trying to sort out contracts and visas with my new employer. I went in last week to sign on the dotted line, only to be told I had to come back again a couple of days later to sign the Chinese-language versions of the contracts—err, why didn’t they just ask me to come in when all the documents were ready to sign at once?

When I went back on Saturday, my new boss sprung on me the news that the medical I have to take as part of the visa application process—don’t panic, this is something everyone has to do, foreign or Chinese—needs to be completed before I go to Chengdu in order to have time to process the paperwork before my current visa expires. Having already bought my train ticket, I asked—nay, demanded—to know why on earth he hadn’t mentioned the urgency of this medical before now. He muttered something about us still being in negotiations until I’d signed the contract, so didn’t think it was necessary, but I still think he might have said something sooner because I’d told him numerous times I was going away around this date, and wasn’t planning on being back until just before my first day of employment.

So in I went, early this morning, to be accompanied to the medical, taking my packed rucksack with me in case it all took longer than expected. When I arrived at the office, I was asked if I’d eaten breakfast, to which my reply was a cheery, “Yes thanks,” because I thought they were just going to offer me some food—but alas, you’re not supposed to eat anything the morning of a medical, a fact no-one had bothered to tell me. So I’ll need to take the medical when I’m back from Chengdu [if I ever get there], and pray there’s still time to organise the visa.

[You may ask—as my new employer did—why I didn’t remember not to eat anything from the medical I had when I first arrived in China. The answer is: because I never had one. As I say, everyone must have a medical when they come and work in China; everyone I’ve met who works out here has had one in the past. So why didn’t I have one? The only explanation is that my first employer, in Benxi, acquired me my visa through connections and back-channels that circumvented this need, for reasons unknown. I have a mild fear that my current visa, upon closer inspection, is going to be deemed invalid. Eek.]

So, basically, I would like to get away from Suzhou for a bit. See you all in a couple of weeks.