New Year on the road

QiBao, now a suburb of Shanghai, but still a small canal town in its own right

“Today is the start of the peak travel season, the largest human migration in the world”, says a CCTV news reporter standing in a chaotic railway station,  “Hundreds of millions of Chinese will be travelling around the country over the next 40 days, to be with their families for the Spring Festival”

Oh whoopee!  Hundreds of millions and me.

But so far so good.  So here are a few jottings on the first few days of the trip.

Clouds of incense and throngs of worshippers, clutching bunches of  joss sticks between praying hands held high to the forehead as they kneel before a variety of massive Buddhas made from white jade, silver or camphor wood.  I saw the same scenes all through the trip.

New Year candles

Oh, Isabella would not have approved of the scene at Jin’an Temple, jammed between Shanghai skyscrapers.  She was deeply disapproving of “Chinese superstition” and “barbarous worship”.

Coming up to New Year is when many people – religious or not – come to make offerings and pray for prosperity and good luck in the year ahead.

New Year offerings – spot the Coke can

On the other hand the equally packed Mu-en church would probably have  pleased IB greatly.  I reckon close to 2000 people – including rows watching on TV monitors in the hall outside the main church – are attending Sunday morning service.

Mu’en church – open to all

I’m just walking past the Victorian red brick building on one side of what is now People’s Park – in her day it was the Shanghai racetrack – when I spot the activity and wander in, in time to catch the last 15 minutes of a gentle-sounding sermon – no fire and brimstone here – a hymm that was every bit as dirge like in Chinese as it would have been in English and a final sung 4-Amen chorus.

Officially there is freedom of worship here, although active prosleytising is illegal and some sects are banned.  But clearly religion is a major part of life, jostling alongside the other major pastimes – eatting and shopping.

China’s protectors?

Both the church and temple are slap bang in the middle of downtown Shanghai, sandwiched between luxury shopping malls and architeturally wondrous skyscrapers

layers of overlaid history make up Shanghai’s skyline

There aren’t that many buildings that Isabella would recognise but I’m working my way through them……

Astor House hotel was the first Western hotel in China, built in 1856 and IB writes about it’s “delicious whirl” – the hub of the British social scene when she visited in the mid-1890’s.  It’s still pretty delicious.

A friendly manager shows me the rooms where Einstein, Charlie Chaplin, Bertrand Russell and other famous names have stayed.

As we walk through the sumptuous peacock room, with enormous chandeliers, he asks where I’m staying.  I can’t tell him it’s a cheap motel round the corner in case he doesn’t take me seriously as “an author” so I say I’m staying with friends.

IB did the same, although her “friends” were rather well connected.  She lodged at the home of the British consul, in the grounds of the former Consulate.

Both buildings are now government owned.

The Financiers Club – formerly the British Consulate

The consulate is now The Financiers Club – beautifully renovated, very swish – a venue for Shanghai’s super rich to do all the things their Colonnial masters did 100+ years ago – talk business, hold dinners, have afternoon tea on the verandah overlooking the gardens.

The walls are covered with modern works from some of China’s best known artists.  “This picture is an interesting story”, says the helpful manager showing me a long narrow painting covering much of one wall in a private dining room

the story behind the picture

“These four girls dancing represent young Chinese women going out  and finding their careers and these four girls watching them are the other young women who haven’t decided what to do with their lives.  And see this girl, holding two small dogs on a lead?  This picture was commissioned for this building and this is a reference to the fact that the British did not allow Chinese or dogs in here”

He leads me out along a covered archway to the adjoining building, once the Consul’s home, now a showroom for Philippe Patek watches.  A young assistant in white gloves – presumably worn for handling their precious stock – leads me upstairs.  One of these ornate rooms would have been IB”s bedroom during her stay as guest of the Consul and his family.

I make sure my own cheap watch – Sydney airport – several years ago – on special offer – is jammed up my sleeve.  But I still wonder how many visitors to the showroom are wearing dusty fake suede boots and carrying a $6 red plastic handbag.  And of course he’s far too well mannered to show any reaction

Finally I head to what was one of Shanghai’s most famous buildings in IB’s day – the Red Cathedral – Holy Trinity.  Now it’s surrounded by nondescript shops and barely visible until you’re almost underneath the spire.  The gates are locked.

  The only access is to the bookshop run by the Chinese Christian group who now own the church.  All my attempts to ask permission to see inside the church – in my few words of Chinese – are met with shrugs and shakes of the head.;

the locked gates to the former Holy Trinity cathedral

Hey ho, it seems fair historical symmetry.  No Brits allowed.

On the Isabella trail

Heading off tomorrow for a month – a short trip by Isabella Bird’s standards but I should cover about half of her epic 1896 journey.

So first stop -a return to fabulous Shanghai. Then following the ancient Grand Canal to the beautiful cities of Suzhou and Hangzhou.

Up to historic Nanjing and then along the river.  Ask people in China about the Yangtze and they look blank.  Here it’s the Chang Jiang.

Isabella hired her own house boat and crew.  I’ll have to settle for public transport.

Like Isabella I’m travelling over Chinese New Year – which in modern times means jam-packed hellish mayhem on the roads, buses and trains as everyone heads home to be with family for the festival.  So I’ll sit tight in Nanjing until things subside into the routine chaos of everyday travel here.

Then through the mega-city of Wuhan continuing along the river to Yichang where I pick up a tourist boat for the famous Three Gorges river trip as far as Chongqing. (Isabella broke off just before that to head overland – in a sedan chair – but that’s another story for another day and another trip)

Most people go downstream.  I’m going upstream – because that’s what Isabella did – with a few differences.

No longer does it take hundreds of labourers risking their lives, to haul each boat through the seething rapids. I trust my boat crew won’t be stoned on opium every night.  And my excursions along the route won’t involve pole-vaulting from ship to shore, landing in the river and then sleeping in soaking wet, freezing clothes.  At least I hope not.

So brief blogs will follow.  And once I’m back – I’ll write fuller versions and post a kaleidoscope of pictures.

Big adventure!!!!!!!!!!!!

Flying free!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

A magical mystery tour

I’m stewed, brewed, soaked and cleansed – thanks to a glorious day at a hot springs resort.

I’m still learning to expect not to expect anything from “travel plans” in China.  Nothing works out as you think it will.

So I was expecting a trip out to the mountains that ring this city.  Instead I was told the resort was on the edge of town.

It was a “girls” day out – and one of my colleagues had been there before. This is her second year here so she speaks some Chinese.  She told the cab driver the name of the resort.  She’d also asked a Chinese friend to text her the characters – which she showed the driver on her phone.

The cab driver set off confidently and took us somewhere totally different.

It was a hot springs resort and it was fantastic.

Where it was – I have no idea!

At first sight, it didn’t look great.  The entrance was at the end of a shabby row of small shops in a pot-holed, litter-strewn narrow street just off a busy dual carriageway.  The ticket booth was deserted and the guard at the barrier seemed bemused to see us.

But he let us in and we walked past a huge hole of a swimming pool, filled with nothing but a few inches of filthy dark brown water.

A sign to “hot springs” seemed more promising.  We walked past a couple of monumental statues, probably 12-15 feet high.  One looked like an American Indian chief surrounded by stone Egyptian style hieroglyphic pillars.

Our arrival in the reception prompted all sorts of giggles from the four young staff, manning the desk. Although when you’re wearing a traditional costume which includes a hat resembling a foot high, bright yellow, embroidered souffle – it’s probably a treat to laugh at someone else.

Finally having been given a towel, gown and flip-flops – we showered and walked across the wooden bridge, adorned with lanterns, past the rock formations, waterfalls and streams into the main gardens.

It was wonderful!  The pools are all man-made but formed from smooth rocks, set to form steps down and different level perches so you could dip your feet, sit waist deep or immerse yourself totally in the water.

There must have been over a dozen circular pools of different sizes, different temperatures, different waters.  We started – probably wrongly – with the hottest. After 5 minutes I was a dizzy lobster.

We adjourned to the middle temperature – 42-48 degrees said the sign – until a group of small boys invaded our peace and quiet.

By-passing the cool temperature we checked out a full sized but shallow swimming pool which was decidedly bracing. I waded waist deep but didn’t swim.

I warmed up in the steaming whirl pool, with seats set into the rocks and sloping slabs to lie on, with jets set to massage ankles, neck and back. It was fabulous but too hot to soak longer than a few minutes.

So we headed into a grotto, set under the overhanging hillside with a series of small pools fed by small cascades trickling out of the craggy rocks.  The water in the pools was a curious yellow colour and I realised these were the “tea” pools another colleague had told me about.

Gently fragrant and a perfect temperature – we soaked – or rather brewed – for a while before walking over to the powerful jets that burst out from tall stand pipes to pummel your back and neck.

Another tea soak – in a different pool in the middle of the gardens  – and we were well and truly done.

I took a card in English and Chinese from the still-giggling reception staff.  But based on the day’s experience even if I try and go there again -I’ll probably end up somewhere different.

But that’s part of this whole amazing adventure……………

Who’s been sleeping in my bed…………

The almighty crash came at 7am when it was still dark- which made it all the more frightening.

The hefty wooden bar that ran along the underside of the king-size bed frame ,with a wobbly central leg, had fallen off, onto the tiled floor.

It was Douglas’ final legacy.

Douglas was the previous occupant of this flat.  By all accounts he was a large, crude and aggressive American who appeared to have one aim in coming to China – sex.

Fortunately we never met but I feel I know him because he left a very un-welcome pack in the form of a typed manuscript.  I doubt he meant to leave it.  I only found it when I stood on a chair to dust the top of the tall bookcase in the living room.

In pseudo-academic language – which made it all the more depraved – it was a multi-chapter 200 page manual on how to trick Chinese women into having sex.  The pretense of a relationship – the lure of a green card.  How to fool them and their families.  A psychological appraisal of their expectations and aspirations.  There was even a chapter on hypnotic techniques, which he regarded as one of his areas of “expertise”.

Yuk, yuk, yuk and yuk.

Apparently it worked because colleagues say a string of very young girls from sheltered village homes would visit him, usually just for one weekend.  I didn’t read the chapter on how to dump them and ensure angry relatives didn’t come looking but I assume that was covered too.

Actually a quick skim of the revolting contents was enough before Douglas’ “thesis” went into the bin. Although in some ways I wish I’d kept it, as evidence of “prior conduct” should he ever get caught.

And I’m now sleeping in Douglas’ bed.

I’m seriously considering buying a new mattress.

What’s amazing is that the bed leg didn’t clatter to the floor long ago.

 

Glimpses of the new China

zhu nimen xin nian kuai le

I wish you all a Happy New Year

Two tiny glimpses of the rapidly changing face of this impossibly layered country………….

…….walking to the supermarket outside the main gate I spotted a gaggle of about a dozen smartly dressed teenagers huddling around a doorway.They were sharing out large bottles of beer, from 2 shrink-wrapped 6-packs.  Each bottle was eagerly grabbed and quickly hidden inside a jacket or a pocket – with a lot of giggling from boys and girls alike.

In any western country that’s hardly unusual.  Here it is.  Almost none of the students, aged 19-22, drink and these kids were more like 13 and 14 year olds. They obviously had the money to buy the beer – it’s not illegal – there is no minimum drinking age – but more unusually they had the attitude that this was a wonderfully wicked thing to do.

……….the other “face” came in the form of a traditional extended family, siblings, spouses, cousins sharing a home – but what a home. 4 floors of fantastic luxury – from the home cinema and wine cellar (including a flagon of golden coloured wine complete with coiled up dead snake) up to the hot tub and sauna on the roof – with views of the THREE gardens  .

The front one had a massive fish pond surrounded by bonsai trees in terracotta pots several feet across – the internal courtyard also featured water, in a beautiful stone urn – while the back garden was planted with mature trees.

And this is only one of their houses – they bounce between China and the West, where they also own property and where the oldest children are studying for masters degrees.  This is the high- ambition,internationally-focused generation spearheading the astonishing pace of change here.

So I thank them for a glorious meal, a truly memorable evening and another insight into “the middle country”……………..(zhong guo = China)

(incidentally Britain is ying guo – heroic country – which considering what we did to them – opium wars/treaty ports/gunboat diplomacy etc – is remarkably gracious)