Tales of Dragons & Waterfalls

The Hidden Dragon Waterfalls (藏龙百瀑) are located deep inside Tianmushan (天目山), a range of mountainous hills in the far south of Anji County, Zhejiang Province. Covering an area of 3 square kilometres, the scenic area climbs into a natural gully, following the rocky watercourse that creates many waterfalls, before emerging out onto the top of the mountain with spectacular views. The area is visited primarily for its natural beauty: the bamboo woodlands, abundant waterfalls and rocky gorge.

It is a “public bus to nowhere – followed by a long wait for a minibus” journey to the waterfalls, typical of less travelled routes in China. The second half of the journey in the minibus takes a climbing, winding road that follows the curves of a narrow river, one of the tributaries of the Huangpu River that flows into Shanghai. The towering hills on either side are bursting with bamboos, their delicate green leaves are glinting slithers of precious metals under the strong sun.

At one point the bus passes a large dam that is actually a part of China’s second largest hydroelectric power station after the Three Gorges Dam. Tianhuangping Pumped Storage Hydro Plant is a tourist attraction in its own right, particularly its two gigantic reservoirs, nestled in the mountains, which can each hold 8 million cubic metres of water.

The road continues through the mountains, literally, and a couple of long tunnels later and it deposits me in a tiny town that has sprung up around the waterfalls. Numerous large coaches edge the road and the restaurants and stores are doing good business. As the mid-morning sun beams hotly down I buy my ticket, already looking forward to this shady retreat of cool waterfalls and bamboo glades.

[Image: mountain & river scenery on the way to the waterfalls]
Hidden Dragons

The dragon has always been a powerful symbol in Chinese culture. Unlike the Western dragon that breathes fire, the Chinese dragon is associated with water. Large bodies of water particularly, great lakes, seas or oceans are ruled over by dragon kings. Likewise, on a smaller scale, waterfalls are often seen as embodying the dragon and it is not difficult to see why. The Chinese dragon is snake-like in body and usually depicted in art with flowing curves not dissimilar in form to the way waterfalls weave and throw themselves between rocks. Much as you might turn your eyes to the sky and see a face in the clouds or imagine the head of an eagle jutting from an angular cliff face, so can you watch the shape of water across rocks and perhaps glimpse a Chinese dragon hidden beneath its writhing path.

The majority of the numerous waterfalls here are therefore named after dragons in various poses depending upon the unique shapes created by the different combinations of water and rock: Diving Dragon Waterfall (潜龙瀑) and Veiled Dragon Waterfall (龙纱瀑) are just two examples.

The path alongside the waterfalls climbs steadily, not steep so much as relentless, but fortunately there are plenty of seats and stopping places along the way. Every bout of climbing, whether it be up stone, wood or metal staircases, is accompanied by waterfalls gushing effortlessly downhill. Overhead are the pleasant canopies of magnolia, robinia and other broad-leaved trees, pines and bamboos. It is as tranquil and cooling a place as I could hope to be in; the shade deep enough to allow emerald green mosses to smother the rocks and ferns to safely unfurl their fronds. Tiny metal-gold lizards dash across my path from time to time disappearing into the undergrowth.

Without the shade, the climb would be excruciating. As it is, the summer sun is heating the air and I think I might start steaming as a laser beam of light touches my sweating skin. I take a break at one of the many “shops” set up, willy-nilly, by enterprising locals in any spare space they can find – they are selling tea and cold drinks, ice-cream, tofu and bamboo shoots. The bamboo shoots are crunchy, a little salty and pretty good!

[Image: diving dragon waterfall]
The Fairy Bridge (仙人桥)

Moving onwards and I find a waterfall that passes a particularly narrow part of the gully, where the rock faces are just a few metres apart. A boulder has fallen at some time, neatly bridging the gap between the rocks creating a picturesque fall called The Fairy Bridge.

A local legend tells of a young, industrious man who lived on the East side of a mountain. On the West face of a nearby mountain lived a beautiful woman. There was a gulf between the two mountains that could not be bridged and so the man and the woman could only gaze at each other from afar. Watching each other live and work, day by day, they fell in love but would never be able to meet.

The mountains themselves were roused to sympathy and told the Jade Emperor of the plight of the couple. Being moved by their stories, the Emperor sent one of his Gods called Dalishen (大力神) to help them. Dalishen is known for his great physical strength (a Chinese Hercules in effect) and he lifted a huge boulder from the valley and used it to form a bridge between the two mountains. Thus, the couple finally met, married and could live happily ever after.

[Image: the fairy bridge]
The Rainbow Above The Dragon Gate (虹贯龙门)

Further into the climb and I reach an open clearing where a sheer wall of stone crosses the gully. The water runs like a curtain down the rock before dashing itself on the boulders clustered below.

A legend tells of a place far, far away where two mountain peaks stood close together, joined by a great body of rock. They were actually two great gates called the Dragon Gates (龙门). Behind these gates lay a horde of gold and jewels unlike any in the world for this was where the Dragon Kings hid their treasure. The gates only opened once in every 5000 years and anyone lucky enough to be there when they did would inherit a fortune beyond imagining.

A waterfall was said to cover the gates from view, keeping them hidden for all time. There was one clue to the whereabouts of the gates however and that was that when the sun shone brightly, the light caught in the millions of drops of water and created a huge rainbow that marked the opening.

[Image: rainbow above the dragon gate]
The “Long Dragon Flying” Waterfall (长龙飞瀑)

Two thirds of the walk in and I come upon the grandest of the waterfalls that stands some 60 metres in height. A wooden swing bridge crosses in front of the fall, allowing me to get close enough to feel the spray, delicious on my skin. The waterfall, it is told, is a dragon being born and the dull grumbling of the water is the birth cry of the baby dragon, echoing through the rocks.

Further still and I take a rest by the edge of the Hidden Dragon Pond. A dam controls the water that enters the pond in a narrow stream and creates a deep, dark pool to reflect the sky. There is a dragon hiding in this pond, cool and slumbering beneath the murky depths. When the sluice is opened and the water allowed to escape, the dragon is roused, churning the water and crying out in great indignant mouthfuls of bubbles that rise to the surface in silence and pop.

[Image: long dragon flying]
The Summit

Your legs may start protesting, but it really is worth making the effort and climbing all the way to the summit of the mountain. Beyond the last of the waterfalls is a long steep stone stairway leading through a bamboo forest. This is one of my favourite parts of the climb, as the bamboos murmur overhead and their leaves fall incessantly. I feel like I am in a snowstorm of long silver feathers.

The steps continue upwards and out into a village where a giant gingko tree sits, its trunk fat and old and its branches zigzagging outwards, dark as lightning.

A little further and I find a road. Uncertain of which way to go I ask a local who points me upwards yet again. I follow the road a few hundred metres and come to a path that leads through a magnificent bamboo glade. The bamboos sway in elegant dance, metres of curved dusty-green poles bending to the music of the breeze, their leaves gleaming golden in the sunlight. I stroll through this undulating grove, my neck aching from staring upwards at the towering forms and finally arrive at the end of the path.

There’s nowhere left to go now but onto a large concrete platform that has been built, rising out and over the edge of the mountain. A small restaurant is housed here and a roof covers the length of it keeping off the intensity of the sun. I walk to the end and look out. The view is breathtaking, the village where I started my climb is a long narrow strip of red-roofed dolls houses and the landscape is nothing but green, dark pines and pale bamboos scattered in patterns across the sharp triangles of the mountains.

My knees feel weak from all the steps I have climbed and I know I have to walk all the way back down again...still I linger here caught by the simple beauty of height and land and I stay here for what seems like a long, long time

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Where the Sun sets across the Sea

The large orange fiery ball slips into the sea. The sun is setting and her golden rays paint the beach in myriad shades of gold. I’ve stood watching the sunset over Golden Beach many times before but seldom have I seen the sun set into the sea like this. Today I am standing on Yantai’s Golden Beach, the namesake of one of my favourite sailing spots back home. This is a rare experience for me having lived all my life on the eastern seaboard where the sun always rises from the sea and sets over the land. Back on my beach I’d be watching the sun slip for cover behind a group of volcanic plugs that the British explorer Captain Cook nostalgically named the ‘Glasshouse Mountains’.

Today’s late afternoon sunlight is reflecting off another mountain of glass – the green mirror glazed façade of the only high-rise building on this beach – right on the waters edge to the east. Empty and unfinished, it contrasts sharply with the traditional style brick and tile building a few hundred meters away. The setting sun casts long shadows down the beach. A stiff offshore breeze is whipping up white caps on the small sloppy swell rolling in. Buoyed safety ropes, encrusted with barnacles, are snapping in and out with the ebb and flow of every wave threatening to knock the unwary off their feet.

Just a few brave the water even on this warm afternoon, bobbing in bright plastic safety rings over the broken crests of waves. It’s relatively quiet for summertime, much quieter than the inner city beaches. Children play in the sand a safe distance from the waters edge. Adults sit watching them, soaking up the last warmth of the day’s sun. Couples stroll, cameras at the ready, skipping sideways now and then to avoid getting wet. The sudden rogue waves catch those slow to move – water slaps on bare skin and splashes rolled up trousers.

In this well laid out district of Kai Fa Qu (New Economic Zone) all the streets are broad and straight and lined with subtropical flowering trees and palms. Three wheel ‘san lun che’ the little pedicabs, with open sides and canvas roof, ply the streets, bells ringing, from the main thoroughfare to the beach for just a few kuai each way. I arrive just after lunch both hot and tired not having slept well on the night train. After a short rest I take a stroll down to the beach to catch the sunset and wade at the waters edge for the first time in months. The sea and sky are still a fuzzy blur on the horizon, obscured by low cloud and fog that will not clear for another day but the breeze blowing in off the sea is refreshingly cool and familiar.

I am staying at the only youth hostel in Yantai, barely two hundred meters from the beach. While not your average youth hostel it is however clean, comfortable and cheap. During my stay I have my three-bed ensuited dorm room to myself much of time. Although more than 30 minutes by bus from downtown, Golden Beach is an ideal retreat. It’s quiet here with few other guests. After a hot summer teaching and traveling around China, I’ve come to Shandong to enjoy the slower pace and ocean breezes of her seaside cities.

If you’re looking for long romantic walks on the beach? You can take them here! If you’re looking for peace and solitude? You can find it here! If you’re looking for great wining and dining? You’ll experience it here! If you’re looking for fun in the sun? You can have that too! You can do almost anything or absolutely nothing, as I am to find out in the days that follow.

Golden Beach is the ultimate amusement park, with something for everyone. If you forget your swimsuit you’ll not likely find what you like, but you will find something suitable to wear. Kiosks with changing booths sell not only swimwear for men and women; but they hire out swimming floats, deckchairs, umbrellas and tent like huts. If sun baking, swimming, and surfing are not your pleasure then don’t despair. There’s volleyball, soccer, dune buggies, kite flying, dodgem cars, a waterslide, and even an outdoor cinema with a wading pool. And if that’s not enough there’s a dirge of seafood dining options all along the beachside boulevard.

As the sun sinks in the late afternoons, barbeques are fired up, kegs of cold local beer are tapped and tables are set in anticipation of the arrival of hordes of hungry tourists in search of tasty seafood delicacies. At the end of a warm day, dining outdoors in the balmy night air is popular with locals and visitors alike. Parallel to the beach runs a broad boulevard dividing these commercial properties from the salty, sandy, seaside variety. With a wide green belt buffering this coastal strip for several kilometers separating Kai Fa Qu (New Economic District) from the beach you can easily forget where you are.

While Yantai’s beaches are definitely not in the same class as those of Hainan they manage to attract their share of both domestic and overseas tourists. Soviet ‘snowbirds’ find the empty beaches, warm water, mild climate, sumptuous seafood, exotic shopping and low prices very appealing and account for the bulk of the non-oriental tourists in town. The recently upgraded Golden Beach Hotel across the street from the hostel is a popular haunt with the Russians. A variety of restaurants both on and near the beach offer visitors a brief taste of China’s vast gastronomic delights with dishes from around the country all washed down with a great choice of local, national or international beers.

With Korea just across the Huang Hai it’s not surprising to find Korean nationals doing business or working here too. Bilingual signs in Korean, not English are testimony of the size and importance of this large community throughout the Shandong peninsular. Many have been here for generations and appear to blend seamlessly into the local community. In my search for food I discover a little bakery near the hostel where I get a great cup of coffee, delicious pastries and wonderful French bread sticks. The proprietor is Korean and speaks surprisingly good English too. Business is brisk with most of her customers buying much more than one piece of a delicious range of pastries and breads.

Finally the air clears revealing the sky, clear blue, clean and fresh. The horizon splits the sea and sky, the colour of the sea a deep reflection of the blue sky above. Small islands and headlands now give definition to this picturesque and sometimes rugged coastline. The sea breeze is cool and refreshing, the beer cold and drinkable, and the seafood bountiful. But the sea remains mostly uninviting and I surprise myself by not swimming even once. Where I can I don’t want to and when I want to I cannot. However I do enjoy just being at the beach with its mild weather and beautiful clear skies and I can’t get enough of just looking at the water.

Each day I get up a little late. I’m on a holiday after all. Each day I make day trips to explore downtown Yantai or to other nearby attractions returning each evening often after dark. Each evening I take a small table in the hostel’s beer garden. Each evening I sit alone at my table with my one yuan mug of cold local draft beer and a snack watching the big screen TV. The hostel is showing repeat episodes of a soap opera. I am getting hooked. Each evening the volume is too loud but I stay and listen anyway. Each evening construction workers on a nearby site, living in the shell of the building next door relax on the stairs along the driveway enjoying this free outdoor cinema. Each evening one or two of them buy a beer and something simple from the barbeque.

Each evening the sun sets across the sea. Each evening I am eaten alive by mosquitoes but I linger in the company of strangers in the cool night air. While the sun sets on my last evening here and my thoughts turn to work, I wonder when I will see another sunset like these - a blaze of orange across the sea.

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Travelling in My Favorite City

Though there are many beautiful and interesting cities across the expansive land of China, Qingdao with its unique blending of East and West is probably my favorite. Graced by timeless European architecture and modern Chinese charm, both the city and the people who live there exemplify an eclectic mix that makes visitors from all over the world feel welcome. The name Qingdao literally means “Green Island” and its attractive urban landscape is enhanced by the deep natural blues of the sea and the rolling green mountains along the coastline.

Located at the southern tip of Shandong Province facing the Yellow Sea, this key economic center serves as a vital Chinese port for foreign trade with its year round ice-free harbor. A small fishing village centuries ago, it has since grown to encompass a teeming population of 2.5 million residents in this popular summer resort and tourist city. Like many visitors who come to Qingdao, I arrived by train and was pleasantly amazed as I first stepped out into the large waiting hall of the distinctive looking train station. The Qingdao Railway Station is built in a European style with an eye catching octagonal belfry roof housing four giant bells. Transportation to Qingdao is quick and convenient since the opening of the Qingdao-Beijing bullet train in April 2007 that whisks passengers to and from the capital city in under seven hours. The high speed train route also links five other major cities with Qingdao including Shanghai and Wuhan to the south, and Shenyang, Changchun, and Harbin in the north. Walking outside onto the large paved courtyard surrounding the train station, I could immediately see the European influence in buildings all around the city center. This historic center exhibits the architecture of the old colonial district reflecting its title of “Bavaria on the East China Sea”. Though the downtown area is filled with European facades, it still maintains its own special Chinese character where peaked buildings display large Chinese signs across the store fronts. Much of the cities uniqueness can be attributed to a brief seventeen year colonial period as a German concession from 1897-1914. After Japanese invaders were forced out, it reverted to Chinese rule in 1922. The local people are immensely proud of the unique ambience of their city even though it stems from what most would consider a historic period of humiliation.

Sights and Sounds in the City

While exploring the sights and back alleyways on my own, I found Qingdao to be an extraordinary Chinese city with a very pleasant climate, mild temperatures and distinct yearly seasons. The major industries are trade, light industry, tourism, and oceanographic research. There is a very good public transportation system which makes it simple to get around the city and its outskirts. Long term bus passes are available for those who are staying for any length of time. Close to the railway station at the end of Zhongshan Road is Zhanqiao Bridge. This long pier was built in 1891 as a symbol and landmark of the city. It stretches a full 440 meters into the sea and provides a wonderful place to walk out and experience a sense of harmonious coexistence between man and nature through the ebbing tides, steady winds and endless sea. A short distance inland stand two large Christian churches which display completely different architectural styles. Qingdao Protestant Church was built in 1910 and is situated on a slight hill across from Xinhaoshan Park. The large clock and bell tower stands an impressive 39 meters high. With its thick yellow walls, inlaid granite stones, and a massive square shape, the church resembles an ancient German castle. The Catholic Church, St Michael’s Cathedral built in 1934, is more gothic looking with two large stately domes stretching up toward the heavens. Inside I was impressed by the beautiful, large, stained glass rosette in the front of the church and many colorful religious frescoes posted all around the side walls. East of the Catholic Church, the old German Governors Residence is a luxurious garden villa on the south side of Xinhao Hill which now serves as a guesthouse. Food being never far from my thoughts, I made my way to Zhongyuan Gourmet Street to try out some local shellfish specialties like fried clams, scallops and small squid roasted on a stick all available for a very good price. The busy Longshan market is also nearby, packed with vendors selling fresh fish, fruit, vegetables, and many kinds of different spices. Zhongshan Park in the center of the city is quite large and well laid-out built around Taiping Hill. It is a nice quiet park with pagodas, reflecting pools and elaborate Buddhist temples located right on the grounds. Qingdao Aquarium is a popular stopping place for families with children, while the Navy Museum outlines the history of the Chinese navy, important sea battles, and displays warship models for maritime buffs. Each of these sights is accompanied by beautiful ocean views across the large red boulders and traditional Chinese buildings set along the cliffs.

Leaving the downtown area behind it is a somewhat long but pleasant walk along the coast to Badaguan Scenic Area where eight streets are named after great military forts of ancient times. Here classic European houses built before WWI are nestled along the quiet streets displaying large grassy lawns, wide boulevards, luscious pine trees and very little traffic. The European style red roofed houses and classic German architecture gave me the impression of having just stepped into the fairy-tale land of Hansel and Gretel. The mansion-like homes with their many windows are constructed of brick and stone including traditional German fachwerk to add tasteful decoration. The well-manicured green lawns with flat stone paths running through the gardens add a tidy and classy appearance.

The government has been working hard to introduce a series of city-wide improvements in preparation for hosting the sailing events of the 29th Summer Olympic Games in 2008. Much urban planning has gone into transforming the “Green Island” into a “Green City” by significantly improving the ecological environment. Shanty towns have virtually disappeared and new buildings are being designed to promote renewable energy. The use of solar hot water and power systems in homes and businesses has been increasing at a rate of 15% each year. Wind generators power the city street lights while seawater pumps and biomass gasification are used extensively. A major environmental cleanup of the harbor to get rid of the filthy, polluted water was undertaken before building the huge new state of the art International Olympic Sailing Center which looks out onto the dark emerald blue waters of Fushan Bay. Since the Watersport Center’s christening in 2006 a number of regatta events have been successfully undertaken to demonstrate to the world that the sailing facilities in Qingdao are among the best in Asia.

Watersports are not limited to sailing and there are several good options whenever you are ready to have a swim in the sea. South of Zhongshan Park the Number One Bathing Beach is located conveniently close to Huiquan Dynasty Hotel. The Number Two Beach lies along a long beautiful curved coastline just on the other side of a small peninsula that juts into the Bay. Shilaoren National Holiday Resort is probably the most impressive tourist beach and was named after a prominent rock outcropping that resembles an old fisherman waiting for his daughter to return from the sea. With a nice boardwalk, picnic tables, chairs, showers, and rental equipment like jet skis and boogie boards, it is a popular place to get away for a day. Overall, the beaches are quite clean and lie on a gentle slope with clear water and soft sand, making them ideal for swimming. I also enjoyed the eye-catching statues of playful dolphins and other sculptures that can be found throughout the beach parks. Though a somewhat large city, Qingdao maintains a small town atmosphere and it is always possible to find a sandy spot or rock where you can be alone to enjoy breathing in the fresh sea air. A good way to spend a free evening refreshed by a gentle sea breeze is to watch the street artists drawing portraits of children in the parks while families take leisurely strolls together. As darkness descends the modern skyline twinkles from countless lights reflecting off the sea.

Special Places and Events

A good time to visit the city for those who enjoy parties is near the end of August when a raucous celebration with carnivals, concerts and ear splitting karaoke contests are held during the Annual International Beer Festival. The Tsingdao Brewery was established in 1903 to satiate the tastes of the German colonizers living far from their homeland. Since then it has acquired a world-wide reputation with the brew being exported to many countries around the globe. Other places of interest include the Eastern Tourist Area which has modern high rise buildings, huge shopping centers, and picturesque sculpture gardens with statues of people in traditional poses. Wusi Square with its large modern statue display of red interlocking rings is an interesting sight along with Ocean Park and the International Convention Center.

Thirty kilometers east of town, Lao Shan Natural Scenic Area is laid out around a famous religious coastal mountain with steep granite peaks. Climbing the tall and majestic Lao Shan with its beautiful views is an experience that should not be missed. At 1,133 meters Laoshan is known as the birthplace of Taoism and once housed a thousand Taoist priests and nuns within the monasteries that still dot the mountain slopes. Taiqing Palace is the oldest and largest remaining structure built around 1000 AD in a simple architectural style. There are many well-marked trails, and hiking around the large smooth piles of white stones to view fresh waterfalls dropping into clear pools is a memorable sight. The drive between the mountain and the city follows a good road along the rocky and hilly seaside where small waves gently lap the shoreline. Often groups of fishermen and workers can be seen harvesting small sea creatures or cleaning their nets with fishing boats anchored offshore in the background.

Qingdao is a remarkable city both due to the contributions of foreign occupation and the natural beauty of its seaside. I believe a visit to the “Green Island” before, during, or after the 2008 Olympics is a worthwhile trip for anyone.

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Interview with a foreign photojournalist in China

CHINA: Portrait of a People

An Interview With China Photojournalist Tom Carter American photojournalist Tom Carter has spent the past four years in the People’s Republic of China, traversing all 33 provinces and autonomous regions not just once but twice. The San Francisco native’s hardback book, a definitive 800-image volume aptly entitled CHINA: Portrait of a People, is due out this winter from Hong Kong publisher Blacksmith Books. Tom took a day off from travelling to discuss the challenges of taking pictures in China, how he evaded censorship in the tightly-controlled republic, and to share a few insider tips on visiting what is to become the world’s largest tourism market.

Your upcoming book focuses heavily on photographs of people, from peasants to punk rockers, ethnic groups to entrepreneurs. As a lone foreigner in a faraway country, how did you approach so many strangers, let alone become intimate enough with them to take their portraits?

Most of my photos came about as a natural result of my curiosity and interaction with Chinese people during my travels. It wasn't until the end of my trip that I thought about compiling them into a book. This is a tribute to all the people I met along the way. For the portraits, it just takes a sincere interest in your subjects to get that close. I don't believe in hiding behind a zoom lens; I was actually as near to all those people as you see in the pictures, sometimes just inches away. The candid life shots, which comprise a good third of the book, were actually more of a challenge. As a foreigner walking down the street in China, all activity stops the moment you are seen, so it’s tricky to photograph life before life stops to stare at you. I don’t believe any book can capture the true spirit of a country with only pictures of places. Sure, a photo of a sunset over the Great Wall is nice, but what do you really learn from it? I wanted to show the people, and dispel the stereotype of the Chinese as a homogeneous single nationality.

You must speak the language pretty well.

That's the very first question I always get from other expats I meet in China! It humbles me to admit that my Putonghua borders on offensively poor. I taught English when I first arrived in China, which left me no time to formally study Mandarin. I picked up my entire vocabulary while travelling. I call it Survival Chinese. I can communicate, but I'm usually left out of the gossiping granny circles. A friendly smile works well when all else fails. I might add, though, that Chinese dialects vary widely by province, so even most nationals have trouble understanding other Chinese outside their own hometowns.
Proletarian Uprising

You say you came to China as an English teacher, but four years later you’re a published photojournalist and author. Did you plan this career move?

Never, but that’s China for you, a real land of opportunity. Teaching was just a means to an end, which was travelling. Out of that first long year on the road sprung my collection of photos, which resulted in a book contract and travel assignments from various eriodicals, which brought me full circle back to my second spin around China. I believe I stand apart from my contemporaries in that I'm not sitting around a cushy foreign correspondents’ club “networking” [makes mock quotes with his fingers] and waiting for my next assignment; I'm out on the road finding my own. But maybe that’s why Reuters still hasn’t called me.

You’ve had a few run-ins with Chinese censorship of your images and articles. Care to share?

The concept of Freedom of the Press, something the west takes for granted, is still entirely alien in Communist China. The media is state-run and every single word and image that comes in and out of the country needs to be approved by the Ministry of Information. Crazy, huh? But since I’m an independent freelancer without the backing of any news agency, I lack official journalist credentials. Most of my images I've had to get the hard way, which has often resulted in confrontations with local authorities who view foreign correspondents as a threat. For example, for the three single frames of coal miners with soot-covered faces that appear in this book, I and my Chinese travelling companion had to spend several days in the mountains of South Shanxi before we were able to sneak into a coal mine, grab a few shots then get the hell out before being caught. Mining is one of the most dangerous and controversial occupations in China, and is entirely off limits to journalists. Some of my best photos are hit-and-run like that.

There’s one incident in particular I want to hear about: a peasant riot that you photographed and which almost got you arrested. Tell us about that.

To be caught up in a proletarian uprising – something both foreign and Chinese reporters in China rarely even hear about, due to rapid suppression of information, let alone eye-witness – was extremely frightening but probably one of the book’s most powerful images. I was subsequently “implored” by the local police to hand over all my photos, under penalty of incarceration, but a couple have managed to slip into the book [winks mischievously]. I''m still in China and would like to be able to leave without a trip to the clink, so it’s not something I can talk about in further detail, nor can we make the photo public until the book is on the shelves
Guerilla-Style

Guerilla-style documentary photography is something you are obviously proud of. Someone said you have “turned mundane daily life in China into a work of art” but one reviewer wrote that your photographs are “an assault on
ordinary people who should be left alone.” What''s your take on such extreme responses?

Which one was the criticism? [Laughs] Actually, I
prefer the term ‘street photography’, because that''s exactly what I do. I''m out pounding the pavement from 6am to 6pm every day, learning about the culture through observation and interaction. Many photojournalists cover their assignments as quickly as possible so they can remove themselves from the elements, but I revel in the elements. I don’t have any technical or artistic preconceptions to my photos. The whole idea of spending an hour setting up a shot and then photoshopping it to death afterwards is not what I''m about. I just capture life as it is, then move on. If the picture turns out crooked, so what! Life is crooked! I have no desire to make something palatable, even if it means not getting on Getty. On the other hand, any of my photos that are
considered beautiful I credit entirely to my subjects. They are the ones who deserve the compliments.

China really is a vast country to explore, and
you have been to every corner of it – 33 provinces and over 200 cities and villages. Travelling for a living sounds like a life of leisure, but what’s the reality?

You know, for all the tourism I’ve promoted for China with my photos and travel articles, you’d think the
CNTA [China National Tourism Administration] could at least have comped my hotels. But the truth is I’ve never received a cent in financial backing. During the two years I spent travelling across China, I slept in 15 RMB [2 USD] flophouses with particleboard walls – which are illegal for foreigners to stay in – with the occasional youth hostel or night on a bus station floor. I taught English for two straight years beforehand so I could save up to travel, and I really had to pinch my pennies to make it last. The upside is that my insolvency resulted in experiences that staying at the Sheraton could never
produce.

All travellers are running away from something. What''s your excuse?

I come from a long line of nomads – my mother a Danish
immigrant of good Viking stock and my father a hybrid Panamanian-Cuban-Italian– so drifting is in my blood. It’s my dream to travel the world, take pictures and write about it. I have no intention of succumbing to that
thirtysomething syndrome of settling down. The world is my home.

So what day-to-day difficulties did you encounter during your marathon journey across China?

You mean hour-to-hour difficulties. My photos might excite a lot of potential tourists, but I''m not going to sugar-coat the reality of actually travelling in China. The consensus among backpackers is that China is probably
the single most challenging country in the world to navigate. Aside from the obvious language barriers, you have 5,000-year old customs and extreme cultural
differences that can be quite vexing for the typical westerner. Most of these nuances are not something that you can catch on film; travellers have to discover them for themselves, and that’s part of the fun.
Lonely Planet Would Go Bankrupt

What keeps you going?

I delight in the challenges that a country like China poses to westerners. Sure, I occasionally catch myself pounding the wall in frustration, but the thing about the PRC is that every turn is a new adventure. For me there’s nothing worse than being bored, and boredom is just not possible in China. See these lines on my face? They weren’t there before.

How did you plan your routes?

I haven’t planned a single route since I arrived in China four years ago. I just point myself in a direction, then let life carry me on its current. Not only does every Chinese person you ask where to go have an excitedly different opinion – even about which way is north – but there are so many undiscovered villages that are off the charts. Not to mention that the time it takes to get to these places is often days longer than how it appears on a map, making an itinerary kind of pointless.

Tell us more about surprises along the way, and any dangerous situations you’ve been in.

Surprises are the rule, not the exception. In addition to clashes with the authorities over my pictures, I’ve had everything from a near-lethal bout of encephalitis during my first year in China, to getting shanghaied by crooked English schools, which I wrote about for the Wall Street Journal. One of my favourites is the time I found myself at the business end of a North Korean machine gun when I accidentally crossed into the DPRK at Changbaishan. These are all stories I can laugh about now, though my mother doesn''t think so.

It’s said that China is now undergoing the most prolonged period of sustained change in history. How has it changed since you have lived there, and how will it change in the near future?

I think China''s most dramatic changes have been brought on by itself and that the now-clichéd term “New China”was something methodically planned out in their boardrooms. The Chinese government is addicted to what I call hyper-urbanization. You’ve got historic cities like Beijing, where they are bulldozing these ancient hutongs by the hour so they can build office towers, or the 2,000-year-old village of Gongtan in Chongqing that is going to be levelled this summer for a new power plant. I wrote an article about Gongtan for a local magazine but it was quickly quashed because the censorship bureau said “We don’t want to bring any attention to that place.” These contrasts in architecture appear in my book because I feel it is imperative to capture this last glimpse of China’s old slate rooftops before the skyline becomes pure steel and glass. CHINA: Portrait of a People will probably become a history book, something Chinese people will look at twenty years from now and say “Ah yes, I remember.”

It seems like everyone wants to know more about China these days. Do you see more people planning on visiting the country?

China will become the world’s largest tourism destination of the next decade, no doubt about it. The 2008 Beijing Olympics and Shanghai’s World Expo in 2010 are expected to attract between 50 to 100 million tourists annually. China’s doors were closed for so long that it’s only natural the world is curious about what’s behind them.What the pictures in Portrait of a People are doing is fuelling this curiosity by offering an intimate glimpse of humanity in China, and scenes of daily life that even publications like National Geographic overlook.

You’re something of an authority now on Chinese travel. Can you offer any tips for travellers?

Well, what China wants tourists to see is often at variance with what is actually marvellous about the country. You’ve got these highly-sheltered tour group packages that cover the Forbidden City in Beijing, the Terracotta Warriors in Shaanxi, a boat ride on the Yangtze and shopping in Shanghai [makes yawning noise]. Or you can remove yourself from the souvenir shops and luxury hotels, get a local street map and travel on word-of-mouth. Lonely Planet would go bankrupt if people actually took my travel advice, but you definitely see more of the real China my way.

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The Subtle Invasion of Paradise

From dozens of launch pads around the city, rockets dance above the rooftops amidst a rising pall of smoke. While rockets head skyward, three penny bungers and the like pop in a constant deafening barrage, like heavy rain on a tin roof during summer storms but there the similarities end. I am only on a plane for two hours but by the time I land, I can’t help wondering if a conflict has broken out – at least it sounds like I have landed in a ‘war zone’. This is my first night in the city and not the last that I lie awake listening to the ‘sounds of war’, thankful that I live in a place of peace and safety. There are casualties here I’m sure but none too serious. Although I personally see none, I do see several small children lifted to safety just in the nick of time as fireworks often behave contrary to expectations.

It is nearly midnight on the Eve of Chinese New Year. This is my first Spring Festival Season in China and I have little idea what to expect. Sanya is popular during Spring Festival and more expensive than any other time of the year so I have made plans to spend only half my time here. I’ve been offered free accommodation by a generous acquaintance and while the place is spartan it suits both my budget and my plans. My room in the bustling old downtown area of Sanya, on the small island in the river, is a short walk across the serpentine bridge to the coastal peninsular. I am just a stones throw from the markets and early morning stalls serving breakfast. Closely packed older style apartment blocks lining narrow streets, act like echo chambers for the fireworks that I will hear exploding almost constantly during the following days and nights. From my seventh floor walk up I have a wonderful view of the sunsets over to Luhuitou, ‘deer turns its head back’ headland and the evening fireworks.

Shaped like a teardrop, Hainan has long eluded attention like the unattractive, growth-encrusted shells in the South China Sea that surrounds her. For centuries the island was considered the ends of the earth for the Middle Kingdom as dissidents from successive dynasties were banished to this far-flung, pestilent ridden backwater. Others fled persecution to make a new home on what was back then a less than idyllic paradise. For centuries her treasures have remained hidden like the pearls of the clamshell that abound in the warm tropical waters offshore. But the word is slowly leaking out and the island now attracts sun seekers from far and wide.

A secret no longer, a subtle invasion of Hainan is underway. Each winter hordes of frozen tourists from the north descend upon the island to enjoy clear skies, sunshine, warm air and sea breezes for a few days, perhaps even weeks before returning to their frigid northern homes. I meet both young and old, the wealthy, middle class yuppies and backpackers from all over China and around the world, all lured by the promise of her precious pearls – the sun, the sea, the sand and seafood. It’s an invasion that is mostly friendly and beneficial bringing with it a new prosperity but there is a cost. Many of the old fishing communities in the rivers and estuaries that have sustained the islands coastal villages for centuries are disappearing to make way for holiday homes and resorts.

Thinking I will spend my first day alone, I sleep as late as I can bear on the thin board bed before leaving in search of the beach. But I have gone barely a few blocks before my generous host calls for me with his daughter. They help me buy my breakfast, a local style egg and lettuce pancake, show me around the neighbourhood a little and invite me to join their extended family for lunch. Preparations are well underway when we arrive and after being introduced to all the relatives, the older couple who are from Lanzhou roll out the pastry wraps while the younger generation sits around the huge tub of pork and vegetable filling. We make more than four hundred jiaozi before we finally run out of wraps. It’s obvious which ones I have made and we all laugh about the poor quality of them. The morning has been fun for me and we are no sooner finished making them when we sit down to enjoy a delicious meal of steaming hot, jiaozi accompanied by a few other simple dishes including a sweet home made sausage.

Sanya, I am to discover is full of surprises. The first one is finding the recently opened authentic Mediterranean Restaurant right outside my host’s apartment block. Since it is on my list of places to eat I will have no trouble finding it later. As I take my leave of this generous family I wander back across the serpentine walking bridge, one of several that connects the island to the narrow coastal peninsular. Both banks of the river are lined with large spreading shade trees and boardwalks with a few remnant pockets of Hong Shu along the islands shore. Known as red trees the humble mangroves are something of a tourist attraction around the island.

It is both warm and humid and time to hit the beach – after all that is why I have chosen Hainan for my winter retreat. After a short afternoon nap I'm ready to see if Hainan beaches truly live up to their reputation. Growing up as I did, in one of Australia’s premier beach resort areas, going to the beach has been a lifelong lifestyle for me and my family, but it is quite the contrary for most of the Chinese I see around me. Riding the bus with me are many visitors from the far north of the country. They are friendly and relaxed in matching Hawaiian style floral ‘play suits’. For many others a trip to the beach is just one activity on their very structured package tour to Hainan – stopping barely long enough to get their feet wet and take a hundred snapshots before moving on to the next scenic spot.

It is not easy to impress me but I am not disappointed with my first glimpse of the water and thoroughly enjoy my first swim. But first I sit in the dappled shade of coconuts, take out my notebook to catch on paper just a few of my thoughts before they are gone – there is so much to take in and my mind is racing. I don’t get to write much as I’m constantly interrupted by the curious who stop to look over my shoulder at my funny writing, some of them even asking me a few questions. I enjoy the attention and the opportunity to chat briefly with some of them which is when I discover that most are escaping the cold winter in the northern provinces.

There’s something for the young and old, both day and night, in the water or on the beach. In my search for a quiet piece of the beach I stumble upon one of the Sanya’s odd little secrets. On the deserted end of the beach in front of the Naval Barracks a colony of well tanned gentlemen, like leathery old seal lions, with few inhibitions and even less clothing sun themselves daily, from early morning till late in the day. Taking periodical dips in the water, they are unfazed by the daily invasion by tourists into their piece of paradise. Like me, most acknowledge what we have seen and wander back to the more ‘civilized’ bathing area. Why am I surprised? This is China after all.

The sky is clear, the sun is warm, the water, clear and clean. The sea washes gently but relentlessly against this timeless shore - an eternal ebb and flow. There is quite a crowd on the beach and the boardwalk on the first weekend of the holidays. I rent a locker for my bag and valuables and change into my swimsuit. Standing in the crystal clear water I watch my feet sink slowly into the sand. My skin, warmed by the sun, tingles as the cool water washes over it. I hesitate, stretching up one more time before I take the plunge. It’s the middle of winter but this tropical paradise in southern China offers me a short respite from the bone chilling cold I have left behind.

Of Sanya’s three significant beaches, Dadonghai is the smallest and most popular with the easiest access and best facilities. This beach sports a magnificent tree lined timber, brick and stone boardwalk that she proudly wears like a teenager in a new party dress. The bay is small and crescent shaped nestled in the lee of the multi peaked Luhaitou headland. The beach is narrow and just a few kilometers long with both high rise and low rise resorts along its length behind the landscaped park and boardwalk. Restaurants, bars and discos flank the beach along the boardwalk with comfortable shaded tables and chairs overlooking the water. Timber deck chairs under canvas and palm thatched umbrellas line the beach.

I return to my spot in the shade overlooking the beach, enjoying the familiar coastal vegetation – casuarinas, beach almonds, coconuts, bougainvillea and my favourite, the fragrant frangipani. I sit gazing out to sea, soaking up the sight, soaking up the sun, aware of the ebb and flow of tourists in wave after wave descending upon the beach.

Surprised by a Big-Eyed Chicken

Sunrise and sunsets over Sanya are beautiful and the peaks of the peninsular are a perfect platform from which to view them. I’d been given directions to the lookout but must have missed a turn. After following a small road up the backside of the hill until a sign in several languages stated ‘No Admittance’ my curiosity is already piqued by what I can see half hidden in the overgrown bush on the steep hillsides. With views of Sanya city, her beaches and bays unrivaled from here, there is no turning back so I continue my exploration. It’s Spring Festival, that time of the year when the Chinese celebrate family, ancestors, and respect their dead. I have stumbled into a local cemetery that would have gone unnoticed had it been any other time of the year - overgrown graves and paths having recently been cleared. In the distance I spot a small gun battery, the reason for the sign and I wonder if they have seen me.

I climb higher following the neat stone stairway to the top of the peak, partly hidden by thick and prickly scrub, which I am thankful, has been cut back. I feel a little guilty as I pass by family plots, some containing the small graves of children along side the adults. I am conscious of the fact that I am trespassing on the graves of the ancestors and most likely on a military post. I’m also acutely aware of the lateness of the hour. I do not want to be out here after dark. The sun is setting into the sea – a glorious golden ball – casting a brilliant glow across the water from the horizon to the shore. The view is almost 360° with a stunning collection of vistas of the city on the river, and the surrounding beaches, bays, harbours, headlands and coves.

Sanya’s beaches, on the southern tip of the island are indeed the pearl in the oyster - places of stunning beauty on an otherwise rough and gritty island. Sanya consists of three popular beaches, the largest being the downtown beach that sweeps for nearly twenty kilometers west along the coast. While it lacks the crowds and tourist facilities, is not so clean, it is popular with locals. The large stands of coconut groves, perfect for stringing up hammocks are cool shady spots for playing cards and other games, reading poetry or playing music. Small fishing boats are hauled up on the beach beside stretched out nets and small groups of athletes jog leisurely along the sand.

The bays around Sanya are dotted with small islands and fishing craft drift silently across the waters. At the far end of Sanya beach is a little spot of some renown these days. Tianya Haijiao, the ‘Cape at the edge of the Sky’ is the most southerly cape in the Middle Kingdom and at one time the most remote point from the capital. Most recently it has taken on a more romantic attitude having been immortalized in a popular love song with the lyrics ‘Let’s stay together for all time, until the end of the earth’.

The economic hub of Sanya is just two blocks back from the dock and the beach, stretching along the narrow coastal strip beside the Sanya River. Much of Sanya’s fishing fleet lies at anchor in the river, sheltered beneath Luhuitou Peninsular. On one of the peaks stand the famous Luhuitou sculpture overlooking the mouth of the river, she watches the comings and goings of the port and her flotilla of boats.

Legend has it that when a young hunter spied a rare golden spotted deer he was determined to catch it. As the elusive deer fled south across the mountains and valleys, he followed close behind until the deer found itself trapped on the hilltop overlooking the deserted beach and the sea. Faced with nowhere else to run, it turned its head back to face the young hunter with his bow and arrow poised to fire. The deer then turned into a beautiful young woman and the two fell in love and married. The Lizu villagers whose homes are nestled at the base of this headland claim to be their descendants.

Hainan naturally is the home of sailors, fishermen and merchants and they often led the way in both boat building and commerce to such far off places as India and everywhere in between. For centuries these large fleets of identical, purpose built Chinese junks - their length, beam and draft, sails, rigging and tonnage – were expertly crafted for the conditions and purposes for which they sailed. Fishing boats of all sizes have a few things in common. One of these is the name of their port of origin along side their name and registration numbers. As I survey this fascinating fleet of craft I notice that the Chinese characters on many of them are as varied as the style of the vessels I can see.

I ask a man standing nearby where they are from and I’m surprised to learn that besides many ports around the island there are also boats from Macau and Guangdong, which would explain some difficulty in communication. With time on their hands at the end of the day or perhaps a long voyage some crews sit smoking a large bamboo ‘bong’ passing it quietly amongst themselves, eyes a little glazed and uninterested. With the sun almost set I make good use of the remaining light. Each afternoon I explore a different facet of this fishing village turned tropical resort and island getaway and today is no exception.

The contrast between the village and the resort is nowhere more striking than the view from the bridge across the river at the tip of the island. Rafts of timber fishing boats with splashes of red and green or blue along each hull fill the basin inside the river mouth. On shore a shantytown lines the riverbank. Blacksmiths and ship chandlers, marine mechanics and electricians, small convenience stores and eateries service the live-aboard families of these fishing vessels. Dusty alleys wind between rough huts of salvaged timbers shaded by coconuts and almond trees. A variety of salted fish lies drying on racks on the open ground and rooftops all around.

Closer to the river mouth I find larger ocean going fishing boats with rusting steel hulls. Their crews working onshore repair or make new nets, attaching bottom weights and surface floats. Women, under broad brimmed bamboo hats swiftly patch holes in huge bundles of small gauge nets while men work on larger gauge meshes of different colours and sizes. The men are friendly and curious, although I suspect that not many of them read or write Putonghua very well. I tell them about my fathers fishing boat and ask them what they catch but apart from the obvious answer of fish I am none the wiser. I can guess from the size of the nets that they at least are after bigger game.

As the sunlight fades, a steady stream of boats leaves port for the nights fishing. I wander along the dock stopping beside a vessel taking on ice and water for her next trip. While the ice works is on the opposite side of the dock, the ice blocks pass along a chute high overhead, across the dock, before being crushed. An ingenious and flexible gravity fed hose made of bottomless buckets laced together feeds the ice into the holds or the rooftop containers of the waiting vessels.

Still later I wander down to the docks at the end of Sanya Beach where brisk business is underway on the days catch just landed. I’ve arrived a little late but in time to catch the end of the afternoon’s trade in fresh fish in this fascinating and timeless fishing port. A variety of boats with nose or stern hard up to the dock unload their catch - a wet slippery collection of the weird and the wonderful. It’s a noisy business with money changing hands all around me. Women in woven bamboo hats, galoshes and note books record the weight and quality of bins of seafood as they are slipped from the boats, weighed and loaded onto carts, before they quickly disappear.

From stem to stern, deckhouse, gunwales, anchors, fishing gear – nothing is the same – these boats are as varied and as colourful as the days catch that is changing hands on the dock. Painted a lively jade green above the waterline with bulwarks in shades of gray or black, snub noses daubed in red and draped with twin anchors, their high-racked bows bear the deep scars of chaffing ropes and hard work. A small tub, with a husband and wife team, ferries men in off boats out in the harbour and offer me a ride for a price but with the last of the days light I’m reluctant to take the risk. More hard working crews, finished for the day, sit and smoke, glassy eyes starry as I pass by admiring the beautiful fetching lines of their roughed up timber hulls.

Suddenly, a pair of very large eyes are staring back at me. They are painted eyes, one either side of the sturdy stem post on the broad flaring bow of a Hainan fishing boat. I recall something I have read recently. Centuries ago sea-going junks with big painted eyes sailed from Hainan and traded as far away as India. These big eyes scanned the horizon, looking directly forward as the boats sailed into the unknown. With sails of various shades of red they looked like chickens nesting on the sea. The hull is black, the bow is red and the eyes are white, so it isn’t surprising that they earned the nickname of ‘big-eyed chickens’.

While there is not a sail in sight around the harbour these days there is still much that has changed little. While I shouldn’t be, I am surprised to find myself staring into the eyes of this modern day ‘big-eyed chicken’, still very much an important and integral part of Hainan’s fishing fleet.

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Anji County - Addicted to Bamboo

Bamboo Memories

It was in England, in a garden I designed myself, that I planted my first bamboo. I watched it mature and saw the subtle changes over the seasons much as I imagine a mother might watch her growing child. I knew it intimately – and loved it. One of my greatest pleasures was to sit under the stars, sipping red wine and listening to the breeze tangling through my darling clump of black-stemmed bamboo.

Over 2 years and 9000km later and I am listening to a playful breeze hushing through the exact same species, Phyllostachys nigra, their ebony-hued stems pointing skywards. It feels like greeting an old friend.

I am in a garden in Anji (安吉) County, home to one of the largest areas of bamboo forest in China and a must-see for anyone who has a soft spot for one of the most graceful and versatile plants on Earth.
A treasure trove of bamboo...

Anji Bamboo Museum Garden (竹博园) is a treasure trove of bamboo. With over 300 different species in an area of 40 hectares, it is the largest and most diverse garden of its kind in Asia.

Originally a base for the research and classification of bamboo species from all over the world, the garden was used to receiving many visitors from home and abroad. In the 1990s, recognising the potential for tourism, the centre was transformed into a scenic spot in its own right, with an emphasis on the history and culture of bamboo in China.

Today, the garden and museum are a valuable resource for visitors who want to understand more about bamboo culture. Those in charge have managed to keep tourist gimmickry to a minimum and allow people to wander around largely unmolested, to enjoy the beauty and peace of the surroundings.

...

There is no direct bus to the Museum Garden, but a public bus will drop you on the side of the road at a dirt track and point you along it. A few hundred metres later and you will reach the entrance. There is a large car park, filled as usual with tour buses and surrounded by small souvenir stalls and restaurants. The stalls sell a mind-blowing array of bamboo products – from chairs to chopsticks – and everything in between.

A huge sculpture of a cockerel, made entirely from bamboo canes, greets visitors with its proud red wattle and magnificent tail that must reach 15 metres in height.

From here it is possible to lose yourself in the narrow snaking pathways that take you up close to the bamboo or take a ride in one of the electric golf-buggy type buses that ply the main road around the park.

Paying 10RMB for a whirlwind tour of the park is not my idea of a good time and so I find myself drawn to the shady walkways where I can rub shoulders with what I have come here to see.
Corridors of bamboo form shady retreats...

The bamboo is carefully labelled in Mandarin and its (usually Latin) botanical name. I am in heaven. Not only can I reacquaint myself with many familiar species, some of which I have never seen outside of a book, but I also discover new varieties, many of which have been named after Chinese plant hunters and scientists.

Even for the layperson, to whom both the notes and names are meaningless, it is possible to appreciate the many different qualities of bamboo.

There is no sound quite like that of the wind in bamboo. The timpani of branch and leaf lulls the listener like a million tiny waves breaking. On this hot, bright day the corridors of bamboo form shady retreats of cool air. The many small gazebos scattered amongst them being a perfect place just to sit and contemplate.

If this is not enough, the variety and beauty of the bamboo itself will surely catch even the hardest eye. Whether it be the dwarf, fat leaved Sasa covering the ground in a dark green mass or the tall slender Phyllostachys creating archways of gold. Phyllostachys sulphurea has stems of intense yellow and Phyllostachys heterocycla is like a child’s toy, its narrow canes are building blocks patterned in pale yellows and greens. Perhaps strangest of all is the variety named “Mitford” that has shiny black-green bulging stems as though it is made of hundreds of dark stones piled on top of each other.
The story of Meng Zong (孟宗)

Aside from the bamboo, there are gardens set amongst the groves, with the classical white bridges and flowing streams of Chinese design. One such garden opens out into a courtyard where a bamboo house stands. The roof is thatched with bamboo and the house is edged with banana plants. Under this tropical blue sky, I feel that I might be walking through a plantation.

There is a story here from ancient China about a man called Meng Zong (孟宗). His mother was widowed and brought him up by herself. They lived in just such a hut in the bamboo forest together and were devoted to each other. One day Meng Zong came home to find his mother seriously ill and unable to eat anything. Day by day she got worse and Meng Zong was helpless. His mother begged him to make her some soup using fresh bamboo shoots, but it was mid-winter and there were no new shoots to be found. In despair, Meng Zong ran into the forest, sat amidst the bamboo and wept. Miraculously, from the place where his tears fell, new bamboo shoots began to grow. Overjoyed, he was able to take them home and make his mother some soup. After a few days of drinking the soup made from these unseasonably early shoots, his mother recovered. Henceforth, the two of them devoted their days to the care of bamboo.
Green Lake

Green Lake (翠湖) is a small tranquil lake that sits amidst towering pines, grassy banks and is edged with the trailing fingers of willows. Huge ornamental carp drift beneath the surface: lazy and colourful. Swinging seats and wooden picnic benches dot the grass and I buy a bottle of mineral water from the small cafe here. In the more secluded spots, safe between the rocks, there are turtles. Relaxing, I watch one that is sat on the bank, its dark shell seems much paler in the strong sunlight but I can still see the dull orange and cream bands decorating its skin. Its head is lifted towards the sun with eyes closed, as utterly absorbed in basking as I am in watching.

The garden itself centres around a much larger lake where it is possible to take a boat ride out or cross the springy wooden bridges to get to a central pine-filled island. A few small restaurants and shops cluster at the far end. There is a walkway around the lake edged with many bonsai trees, a children’s park with unusual climbing frames made entirely of bamboo and a rather dilapidated greenhouse, musty with neglect.

Here there is also a tiger, a real tiger, though I have to look twice. A youngish girl and boy keep watch over it and offer photographs with the tiger for 10RMB a time. This I do not understand. I pass by with as much distance between me and the tiger as possible – I do not see any restraints.
The versatility of bamboo...

Having always admired the grace of bamboo on an aesthetic level, it is fascinating to discover the importance of bamboo in Chinese culture and history. From the philosophy of Confucius to the Buddhist tenets. From the poetry of Su Dongpo (苏东坡, also known as Su Shi, 苏轼) who once wrote:“I can not live without bamboo” (不可居无竹) to the menus of restaurants all over the South of China. From tourism to trade. Bamboo has been inextricable from the lives of millions of Chinese for around 6000 years.

Bamboo is invested with spiritual and philosophical meaning. Peace, tranquillity, contemplation, modesty, nobility, determination, stability, longevity and vitality. It is the subject of stories and legend and the muse of poets and painters.

With over 1500 documented uses, the versatility of bamboo is almost limitless. The Chinese used bamboo to write on before the advent of paper because it was a strong and abundant medium. As a food it is nutritious and in Chinese medicine it can relieve heat and aid many complaints. Bamboo is used to make traditional Chinese musical instruments and there is a bamboo weaving tradition that dates back almost 2000 years.

The museum here displays a good amount of this history, albeit in Chinese, through a number of halls that cover bamboo in various contexts: History, Art & Literature, Craft, Common Use and International.

In the museum entrance are the stems of Dendrocalamus sinicus, the largest bamboo in the world. A giant indeed, it reaches heights of 30 metres and its stem can grow to a diameter of 20-30 centimetres. Given the significance of bamboo in this country, it seems apt that it should only be found growing in China’s Yunnan Province (云南省).
The modest bamboo...

Confucius believed that a human should strive towards four noble characteristics, represented in nature by plum blossom (梅), orchids (兰), chrysanthemums (菊) and bamboo (竹). Bamboo stands for modesty. From an aesthetic point of view I feel myself in agreement with Confucius. The beauty of bamboo rests in its simplicity, its peaceful greens and constancy. It is always happy to let other plants steal the show and remain discreet as their backdrop.

I think about my house back in Lin’an (临安). Bamboo is the container for all my cooking implements, it is my feather duster, it is chopsticks and it is the fresh green foliage in my kitchen. Modesty personified, I feel content to think of its humble presence in my home here in China. Like the Chinese, I too am addicted to bamboo. I love its connections to me and will never forget the magical groves here, their green forms swaying to the wind’s invisible rhythm and taking me back to a garden in England where it all began.

Travellng with humour

One of the delights in travelling in China for we foreigners, is the unexpected delights around every corner. The following story is an insight to the humour that accompanied our group on our last trip to the Kangba region of the Sichuan Provence.
The toliets:
We in the west have become so 'sanitised' as a society, that the personal and basic needs of living, are often cloaked in a veil of secrecy and not openly discussed. We have even gone to the extent of trying to disguide the common facts of life. As my family used to joke, and now my children- the Queen of England doesn't go to the toilet!). Toilets are a common example of humour. In the west we have cleansers and cleaners of every descritpion. We have sprays to mask bad smells, to keep stains off porelain, mats to keep feet of dirty floors, raised pedestals(no squatting), exhaust fans to extract bad smells, toilet papers so soft you would swear they were made from angora wool, toilet paper on demand and in copius quantities, toilet paper 'extra' holders for the toilet room so you never run out of paper(an unmentionable sin in the west- best illustrated in an episode of Signfeld, the American comedy in which Elaine finds herself begging the person in the next cubcle for "just one square" when she finds she has run out in her own one.) We have have brushes to scrub toilets, and every type of disinfectant known to mankind to scrub, rinse, bleach, cleanse, de-odour, even colour the water so its 'ocean blue!' and make that porcelain sparkle.
So it is not surprising that Chinese toilets, in particular once you leave larger centres, is such a source of amusement for westerners.
The toilets

It was with great interest that we set off on our tour of the Kangba Region and were confonted by many toilets that, well, how can it best be put - cesspools of human excretment! At one location, a bus transit station, the stuation was so bad that one member of our group explained a technique for coping that she had developed on a South Amersican trip. She would take her own toilet paper into the toilet using some of it to shove up her nostrils so she couldn't smell! This combined with my idea- roll your jeans half way up your legs before you enter the slippery floored cesspool, so the bottom of your jeans dont dip in the soup, led to a strnge sight, by anyone's standards, of a group of western women undertaking the strange prepartion ritual before entering a toilet- rolling up their jeans to the knees, with toilet paper hanging from their nostrils.!!Of course the jeans thing was fine, but the toilet paper in the nostrils forced one to breathe in through the mouth- thus gulping down large amounts of putrid air- needless to say, the toilet paper nostril thng was abandoned!! So after two days the group became proficient at spotting good native fields and forests as preferred locations for toilet stops. One such field was full of beautiful wild flowers, and it was a little off putting to be squatting behind a bush, hearing your fellow travellers not 10 feet away gushing enthusiastically about their wild flower finds. On that occasion, we all came back to our mni bus with bunches of flowers for identificaton amongst the group as we contnued our journey. Like most of you travellers, many other stories could be written, but I'll leave it that for now to continue with other stories on other subjects!
The hotels

We stayed in a range of half star hotels on this journey and it became a ritual that at each hotel we would immediatley test for water- was it clean, was it hot, was there indeed any!! In one such hotel the water screeched its way through some pipes and arrived- muddy! Our travellng companion, who was an Australian Lawyer, good humouredly had agreed to twin share his room with Mr Gu our driver. Gu was sitting on a bed in the hotel room whilst our friend had the first shower. Gu decided to make himslef a cup of tea and boiled the jug. Meanwhile, our friend is in the shower, and as you do with the first burst of water, closed his eyes and placed his head up into the warm stream of water. When he opened his eyes, he was covered in mud and dirt- not knowng if the sewerage pipes where somehow back flowing into the shower water, or what was going on, he grabbed a towel, flung it around his waiste and shot back ionto the room, grabbed the jug of water and proceeded to pour it over his head-much to the astonishment of Gu and one of our young student interpretors!! Gu laughed so hard he cried, and our friend, now with muddy head and third degree burns on his scalp somehow managed to get dressed and find his way to the room of one of our group, who was reknowned for carrying everythng accept the kitchen sink, and yes, she had a cure all burns cream that saved the day-and his head!! I can only imagine how Mr Gu has recounted that episode to friends and family, indeed anyone who would listen!!

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Travelling with humour 2

"Obsessive-Compulsive Traveller " is almost an oxymoron, (because frankly, if your afraid of getting a bit dirty or don't cope with the unexpected, what are you doing travelling anyway?)and travelling through outback China certainly is not for the 'Felix Ungers' of this world.(Reference to the 1960's American sitcom in which two divorced men share a house- one a completely messy scruffy sports journalist, and the other a completely compulsive-obsessive clean freak!) so it became apparent on my last trip that one of my travel companions would have preferred that the people spitting on the side walk as they passed, covering one nostril to blow the other airway clear and coughing their lungs out in confined quarters was almost too much for her. Being a doctor did not help the situation, as visoins of microbials floating through the air, of tubuculoid lungs and globs of yellow phlegm flled her nights!! Once we knew of her aversion to all things germ, it became qute uncanny to observe the number of times from that point on that fate wold place her next to the cougher in the crowd, or it would be her that just missed the flying spitoon, or copped the near death experience of being sneezed upon! But even ths traveller could not top the business man I knew from a previous trip who was terrified of using any public toilets, and had even excused himself from a high level meeting under the guise of an important and urgent matter back in his home country- only to rush from the building, catch the nearest cab and run into his hotel apartment to use his own western styled toilet!! I bet he wasn't the first, nor the last!!!
The Antique Collector

I breifly touched on this story in one of my Kanga stories, so bare with me as i recount a fuller version, cause it's so funny, i love to tell this story!! Our frined the lawyer was recovering nicely from his burns and was ready to do some shopping with us all, once we hit civilisaton again. Civilsation this time came in the form of the wonderful main streets of Kanding, amongst which we browsed for a few hours. My friend, an avid ebay antique collector of Chinese antiques, was itchng to find some worthwhile purchases. so it was with restrained glee that he entered a little knick knack shop to find a few items secreted away on a shelf at the back of the store- but alas, just as he prepared for the bid, Mr Gu, our intrepid bus driver, came meandering up the street calling us all to hop in the bus. Incredibly, Kanding actually had limited hours street parking!! So Gu wanted to collect us foreign bodies and make sure we knew where his next parking spot would be. So we all jumped in the bus and drove-..........just around the corner, as it turns out! Anyway, my friend and one of our group who spoke fluent Mandarin, swflty descended back to the little, dark knick knack shop to ensure that precious cargo did not disppear. After some mandatory bidding, the pair emerged, triuphant, resplendent with antique cloth embroidery and scrolls in tow. It was an excited group of traveller that made our way to the hotel for a hot spring swim and later for drinks in the hotel cafe. There each 'treasure' was carefully unwrapped and scanned by the learned eyes of our cultural guide. Our guide is herself a reknowned artist and collector of Chinese cultural relics and knows her stuff. In her best but restrained voice, she started to unravel the mysteries of antique fakes- which in retrospect seem so obvious now, but at the time had our friend in momentary 'antique heaven'. We had a good chuckle that evening imagining the lucky knick knack shopkeeper, his wife, his son, their children and the neighbours as he flashed his yuan around for all to see, and later, trying to decide how best to invest the days winfall- some schooling for the grandchildren or a trip to Chengdu perhaps!!

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Full Moon, Fox Furs and Silver Shells

The air is crisp and cold as we step off the plane. It has been a short one-hour flight and as we made our final decent we flew low over mountains with a dusting of snow, like icing on a bun loaf, the last vestiges of winter before the landscape blooms again in spring. I have my fleecy jacket on before we leave the plane and I’m diving for my socks and windbreaker as soon as we enter the terminal. Back in Chongqing, known as a ‘furnace’ it was almost summery as we boarded our flight earlier in the evening. Thankfully we do not have to walk the tarmac of this high altitude airport like I did three years before. There are covered boarding ramps and shops selling winter parkers in the arrivals lounge that is now centrally heated, in contrast to the often-harsh conditions outdoors.

As suspected there is no shuttle bus to our destination since most independent travellers are going directly to Jiuzhaigou or Huanglong and well-packaged tourist have a coach waiting at their disposal. A billboard in the car park advises us of the going rate for a taxi fare to several destinations. Ours is a hefty seventy kuai into Songpan where we plan to spend the first night of our adventure into Sichuan’s Wild West. By eight o’clock it will increase to one hundred kuai – the night-time rate and the sunset hour in these parts. With the next flight from Chengdu due to arrive we contemplate waiting just a little longer in case there are other travellers going our way but when the load speaker announces it’s delayed arrival time we make haste before night falls.

Our taxi driver is of Hui origin, friendly, talkative, informative, and stops a couple of times for photos in the fast fading light. He even calls ahead to his wife to ask if she can reserve tickets for us on the early morning bus to Ruoergai but the station had closed hours earlier. He then shatters our perception of his generous nature by refusing to give us the correct change for the fare. After some heated haggling he grudgingly hands me the correct change and we walk off down the darkening street not too happy with this unpleasant experience just a few hours into our holiday.

It is the eve of Wu Yi Jie – the first of May – China’s Labour Day holiday and I am travelling once again with my good friend Wu Yi. Her name of course has a completely different meaning but I often tease her, calling her ‘fifty one’ – yet another meaning of the same pin yin sounds – although she is more like half this in age. We seek out the guesthouse she stayed in the year before just across the street from the bus station. The family remembers her and shows us straight up to a cozy and comfortable room at the back of their second story traditional wooden home. This will be the cheapest accommodation on our trip. The toilets are a neat, clean segregated block by the front gate. There’s a tap and tub for laundry in the yard and hot water for a sponge bath and a wash up in the morning. In these parts - these Wild West towns - hot showers are more likely taken in public bathhouses.

Songzhou as it was formerly known is an interesting frontier town with a diverse mix of minority groups and a long and interesting history. The most striking feature is the Qing Dynasty walled city that once housed a garrison of the Emperors troops who guarded this remote region from intruders. It’s in the typical square grid layout with the north, south and east gates in the actual wall but the west gate is perched on the small ridge above the town doubling as a watchtower. Nothing passing up or down the Min valley would escape attention. The now small but mighty Min He cuts east-west across town dissecting it in two with one pretty covered bridge on the main north-south street.

When nightfall comes to this quiet town the temperature falls dramatically. We are travelling light and a little under dressed for this cold night so we head down the street for a bite to eat at Emma’s café, a friendly, cozy spot to escape the chill. Small groups of backpackers finish meals or chat in the lounge. We share our table with a Chinese girl from Guangzhou on her way to Langmusi on the border with Gansu where I suspect many of the others are also headed. She’s staying in our guesthouse and arrived early enough to buy a ticket on the only bus leaving for Ruoergai at 6.40am – the one we also want to catch but we will have to take our chances in the morning. After dinner we take a stroll inside the city wall, window-shopping in the small souvenir shops that are still open late.

Most sell everyday local goods like yak butter, which is surprisingly edible, a little salty and what we might consider rancid and only good for cooking. And most are also tailors making and selling long wool, fleece lined coats and vests, bright wool carpets, bike and car seat covers for the locals, yak horn bracelets, silver wear, beads and exquisitely woven and colourful cashmere wraps for tourists. Antique calligraphy brushes made from carved bone and silver overlaid conch shells all the way from the distant ocean, fetching upwards of Y1000, were intriguing finds. Used around the world by many different peoples as a horn for communication, the conch shell produces a penetrating sound when blown. I hold a large shell to my ear, listening for the familiar sound of crashing waves. Despite the passage of time – many centuries in fact – since this shell was in the sea it does not disappoint me, as a soft hush whispers in my ear – the soothing sound of the sea.

In one store we find a man looking at a beautiful white fox fur. He poses for me and I in turn pose for him. We take a few more fun photos of each other in the snow-white fur and move on. This is just the beginning – from now on we will see the skins of tigers, wolves and foxes in a range of colours, large wild cats, yaks and goats. Another icon of China’s ‘Wild West’ is the bleached white skull and black horns of the yak. Just like Africa’s big game trophies, these hang above doors and on the walls of almost every house in the county. In the coming days we will see untold yaks grazing on the grasslands and ranging on the hills alongside horses and goats in the high plains of northern Sichuan.

We walk the length of Zhong Jie, across the covered bridge, admire the paintings on the wooden panels of the roof until we reach the south gate. It’s dark and by now we are chilled to the bone. I have a headache and feel a little nauseas, which I can later attribute to altitude sickness. Flying in has not given us time to acclimate but for now I blame my headache on other things for a while longer. We have an early start in the morning and our beds promise us warmth and comfort that we will not get even if we wear all the clothes we have with us.

I don’t sleep well but I’m warm. It’s really difficult to get up so early on this cold morning but we need to hurry. The bus station opens at five thirty and by six, when we arrive all the tickets to Ruoergai have sold out. We are now faced with the option of waiting another whole day here or taking the only bus of the day to Hongyuan. Our breakfast, ordered for six o’clock is now getting cold and Emma, a Songpan local, comes down the street to check on us. Since Songpan is a long way from everywhere, bus trips are mostly long and slow, and Emma is happy to open her café early as she has done for us this morning preparing a hearty, hot meal before we leave. Since we are no longer in such a rush, I order a coffee but we do need to make a decision quickly. Stay or buy tickets on the bus to Hongyuan which leaves at 7.30am

The morning is bright and clear, the overcast sky from the night before has been swept away by the light breeze. The morning light is dancing on the mountaintops on the western side of the valley. We finish our breakfast and buy our tickets. We have a few more minutes to look around before we leave. The main street is still deserted so we duck off down an alley to the left, towards the Min He. Two men are unloading logs from the back of a small truck, their girth so large I could barely reach my arms around to touch my fingertips. They have no lifting equipment and each log is almost two meters long – heavy.

At the end of the alley is another small walking bridge crossing the Min He and to our right is a pretty temple – at least that’s what it looks like – of traditional Chinese style architecture. Last night was full moon and we had seen three spires, each with crescent moon shaped decorations shimmering in the soft moonlight. Here above the temple were those same three spires with crescent moon decorations. It’s a place of worship for the local Hui residents, all timber and tiles with freshly paint exterior artwork, and a tidy yard beneath the large and starkly naked tree.

The grasslands are beckoning. We have many miles ahead of us and our bus is waiting.

Getting there and away:
From the Airport Taxi Y70 after dark Y100
By bus from the Wenchuan and Chengdu in the south
from the Gansu, Langmusi, Ruoergai and Jiuzhaigou in the north
Hongyuan and Maerkang to the west and Huanglong and Pingwu in the east

Places to stay: Ji Zhi Hotel. We paid just Y15 each for a bed in this very comfortable traditional guesthouse across the street from the bus station. Washroom is communal on the ground floor and showers are available if you come in early. There are plenty of similar places to choose from and of course hotels with regular facilities or you can take a taxi up to Chuan Zhi Si for more up market accommodation and all the tourist trappings.

Public bathhouses: Steaming hot showers for just Y3

Place to Eat: Emma’s Café just a few hundred meters from the bus station. Emma is a local girl who’s been running her café for more than six years. There’s a great atmosphere, good food and all the information you’ll ever need on the area.

 

The Rocks that Inspired Poets and an Empress

She gazes down from her height more than ten times taller than a normal human, her gaze keeps sentinel on water funneling through this narrow passage, the Dragon’s Gate, bedrock of theYellow River basin: birthplace of Chinese civilization. Her physical size parleys a metaphor for her metaphysical height; a testament to the aspirations of Enlightenment: expand your worldview—not just in scope but also in depth—through the ages.

The sculptors at Longmen Grottoes used real-life sources as inspiration for the lives they etched into stone. But for the Vairocana Buddha at Fengxian Grotto, Longmen’s largest signature site, not just any inspirational figure would do.

Though many assume Buddhist figures to be carved in the likeness of men, the Vairocana Buddha differs in this as with many things. Appearing slightly androgynous, experts attribute the Buddha’s benevolent gaze and softened features not only to enlightenment but to femininity. Similar to the figure seated to Christ’s right in Da Vinci’s The Last Supper, the Buddha’s modest appearance trumps the breadth of her power, though she will be remembered for centuries after as the first—and only—Empress of China.
Masterful Rendering

At the time Fengxian Grotto was commissioned Wu Zetian was newly wed to Emperor Gaozhong, who initiated and commissioned several of the Tang Dynasty Grottoes at Longmen. The Empress—then just First Concubine—used her own savings, known as her ‘cosmetic allowance’ to commission Fengxian Grotto. It wasn’t until 15 years after the Grotto was completed that Wu Zetian ascended as Empress when her husband and sons died.

The style of sculpting at the time Wu Zetian commissioned the Grotto had, up until that point, been largely uniform. But sculptors in the Tang Dynasty developed their art so intimately that they mastered not only perspective (giving appropriate proportions to gigantic statues that would eternally be viewed from below) but also human likeness. Instead of creating a farce of life from stone, the sculptors imbued a frieze of life into the stone.

Nobody appreciated this more than the intrepid Wu Zetian. Ardent patron of the arts, the Dynastic Madame de Rambouillet spent years across the Yi River’s sage ribbon, high in the ramparts of Xiang Shan (Fragrant Mountain) Temple, watching and witnessing the stilettoed tattoo of the cliffsides opposite.
Sweet Fragrance

XiangShan Temple was built in 516 AD to house the monks who had come to Longmen to oversee the stone carvings. The temple was rebuilt in 687 AD by the Imperial court as a sacred burial place to honor the Indian monk and ascetic Dipokeluo. It is a mystery why Dipokeluo stayed at Longmen, corseted by cliffs, though perhaps he came as a master artist bearing knowledge of techniques used in the original Buddhist caves of India. What is certain is that he witnessed the height of Longmen carving, perhaps even the completion of Fengxian Grotto. The temple is a prime location for overseeing the evolution of artwork across the River. Perched high on the Eastern mountainside, the entire kilometer of Mt. Longmen stretches like a Buddha’s long curved back slumbering by the riverside. Because the mists in the morning can be heavy along the river, XiangShan Temple has been described as the temple whose rooftops fly above the clouds. With the river rushing below and the balconies of the Temple reaching out beyond the land, it’s not difficult to imagine soaring on the updrafts the narrow river valley creates—much like the eagles who also live among XiangShan’s treetops.
Lofty Views, Lofty Verse

No wonder Wu Zetian continually came to XiangShan over a period of several years. She found the position and location of the temple so inspiring that she invited poets to stay and held poetry salons and political discussions in the Temple’s Drum Tower. Celebrated for its high vantage point and its views over not only the valley but the rooftops and corridors of the temple itself, the Drum Tower was an ideal locale for the weaving of art, intellect, and nature.

The tradition of poets making pilgrimage to XiangShan temple extended far beyond Wu Zetian’s Salons in the Drum Tower. One thousand years later, in the mid-1700’s, the Emperor and prolific Poet Qianlong of the last Chinese Dynasty—the Qing Dynasty—visited XiangShan and wrote many poems while in residence. His father, Kangxi, also came to XiangShan during his reign. More recently, Jiang Jieshi, the President of the Republic of China, used XiangShan temple as his summer residence in the mid-1930’s.
Poet's Path

But perhaps XiangShan’s most important long-term resident was Bai Juyi, who stayed in XiangShan and the Longmen valley for over 18 years in the AD 800’s. One of China’s most brilliant poets and political minds, Bai Juyi retired to XiangShan after his illustrious career in the upper-echelons of the Empire. He loved the area so much that he had his own garden and villa built just north of the temple, tucked deeper into the mountain’s furrows among the cypress and pine.

Bai Juyi’s ancestors originally came from Taiyuan, in Shanxi province, but the poet was so taken with XiangShan and Longmen that he didn’t return to his family’s roots. Instead, he made XiangShan his final resting place: a quiet mountain garden within earshot of XiangShan’s bells, after a lifetime in the political limelight of China’s Tang Dynasty. His tomb, along with an impressive Stele to honor the poet and his life, can be visited within Bai Garden.

At age 5, Bai Juyi—then known as Le Tian—began to write poetry. In 800 AD, at the age of 28, Bai Juyi became an Imperial scholar. His Renaissance-man passion for arts, science, and sociology cantilevered him into the Ministry of Education just two years later. Four years after that, in a particularly Lutheran move (though Luther would have been inspired by Bai Juyi, not the other way round), Bai wrote “Countermeasures”: a criticism of the policies and practices of the current Emperor. The Emperor, instead of being threatened or outraged, found Bai Juyi so wise and logical that he appointed him as a Political Scholar—the kind who could openly criticize the Emperor and advise him on public and political policy. So that became the way of things in 9th century China during the Tang dynasty: The Emperor, Buddha-on-Earth, with a poet-advisor who had the right to waggle his ink-stained fingers at any move that was too close to crossing the line.
Last Days

Following this prestigious position Bai Juyi became a Senior Official and then personal Educator of the Prince. Inbetween he served as the magistrate of Suzhou and Hangzhou, engaging in structural engineering projects that made both cities the touristic and historical marvels they are today.

He retired to XiangShan to live out his days interpreting the brailled cliffsides into famous lines of poetry. He began his own Salon of sorts, calling on 8 other accomplished old geezers to form the XiangShan Nine Old Men Society. They spent their days flapping around, robes billowing in the breeze off the river, writing poetry and discussing social theory and politics while they looked out over rooftops and a century’s worth of artistic talent and history scored into the rock face opposite.
Stretching Time

It’s still possible to pay homage to the XiangShan Nine Old Men Society in one room of the Temple devoted to them and their work. A stroll through Bai Garden imparts a genuine sense of how this illustrious poet spent his last years. Whittle away hours up in the Drum Tower to feel the old souls of Salons past as their words bleed from the walls and through the air. And last but not least, gaze from the temple’s parapets out at the pale jade Yi River glowing in late afternoon light. Imagine the first Empress of China, one of its greatest Poets, and countless others looking upon the same river and the same slab of western-valley hillside. Imagine they looked out to the same brailled cliffs where sculptors carved their visual gift to the world so that we may read their hearts centuries later, though now we are blind to their times.

I imagine Bai Juyi listening to the arpeggio-chink of metal tools on stone as it echoes across the river. I imagine Wu Zetian looking out at small figures creating something larger than themselves. I imagine the two stood side-by-side in different centuries, the one composing lines while the other plotted and planned the design of the hillside’s largest grotto. And I doubt that either of them thought of me, standing where so many others have stood more than fifteen hundred years later, to enjoy the work they created.

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Tragedy of Travel

Our National Day Holiday was coming to an end. We’d spent several days in the remote and beautiful Suomo valley, at Zhuokeji, the home of the Zang minority of Tibetans. It had been one of the best short holidays I have ever taken and our final day had been spent relaxing in Chengdu enjoying some great Western food at some of the best restaurants in the city. We’d booked tickets on a mid-afternoon luxury coach to Chongqing.

Our bus left on time, slowly leaving Chengdu in our wake. After nine hours on board a bus the day before, we were accustomed to sudden and unavoidable braking and lurching and we paid much less attention to it now since we were cruising down the mostly smooth four lane motorway. Deep in conversation with my friends, it was a second sharp braking which sent everything loose and light, flying through the air and every passenger gripping the coach tables between our seats as the bus began to drift dangerously now towards the side of the road. It was now miraculously three lanes wide – with a lay-by or stopping lane about 100meters in length.

The front fender of the bus bounced off the guard rail and the driver, having maintained control during the sideways drift finally brought her to a steady halt a few feet from the rail. We quickly accessed the damage around us, no-one appearing to be injured although the young lass sitting opposite was a few months pregnant and had bumped into the table causing her and her husband some concern when she suffered some sharp pains. They’d been playing cards with friends but their cards were now all over the floor.

The driver and the young steward quickly left the bus and with some difficulty opened a luggage compartment on the roadside while traffic whisked by so close it was dangerous. The driver then carried the bright red fire extinguisher fifty meters or so to the rear of the coach and placed it in mid lane behind us. While watching what he was doing through the rear window we could see a pair of green plastic slippers lying on the road amidst pieces of broken plastic – orange and white – headlight and indicator covers.

Could we possibly have hit a person? This was the question that naturally began to run through our minds as we waited, retrieving our belongings from where they had been tossed. There was no sign of blood or a body. Sitting in the rear of the bus it was not immediately clear why we had stopped. We had seen nothing, heard little and felt only the sudden braking and bumping along the guard rails. Beside the road there was the typical deep ditch with a concrete embankment eight or nine feet deep making it almost impossible to gain access to the highway at this point.

After a few minutes a local farmer appeared on the top of the concrete retaining wall. As he surveyed the length of the bus, the slippers and broken plastic on the road, his facial expression remained the same – he gave nothing away. We waited for some facts. The minutes seemed to drag and no one left the bus. After another couple of minutes, two women arrived from the rear of the bus, the younger one quickly making a call on her phone. Neither of the women’s expressions changed but the younger expressed just enough to confirm that we had in fact hit someone.

A few of the passengers, including one of the two pregnant women managed to pick up some spare seats on another bus which stopped a few minutes later. We remained on the bus waiting and watching as a few more of the locals came over to look. These included a young boy of perhaps five or less and everyone’s gaze, although still showing little or no emotion was riveted to the mid point of the coach, just by the rear door.

It was not long before a stunned young woman staggered, almost drunk like, along the embankment, gazing first at the slippers of her child and then at where we now knew the body to be lying beneath the bus. We passengers trapped like fish in a tank, could only sit quietly and watch and pray. The young women standing on the bank slowly sunk to the ground as her grief overcame her shock. She sat there alone weeping over her knees. No one touched her for what to us seemed like forever.

After about five minutes a small group of neighbours had gathered and two of them forcibly moved her along the bank to opposite the green slippers in an effort to avert her gaze from where her child lay. Most of the Chinese passengers strangely showed little if any emotion at the news that it was little girl and she was dead. It was nearly fifteen minutes before the police arrived from the small town of Zizhong, and a further minute or two before the ambulance arrived.

Just as we remained trapped within the coach, so the mother and her neighbours were cut off by the deep gulf between the embankment and the road. The driver was instructed to reverse the coach up about two meters and the ambulance officers placed several sheets of newspaper on the tarmac beside the coach. They then moved the broken and bloody body of the child. Those of us watching caught our breaths and moved away from the window unable and unwilling to see more. Her body was then covered with more newspaper and in a few minutes we moved off in the direction of Chongqing.

Information was sketchy and we relied on the young lass travelling with us and later another passenger with good English to feed us facts. We had been told that we’d be transferred to another coach but after about ten minutes down the highway we took an exit, and returned again heading back towards Chengdu. It was thirty minutes before we passed the site of the accident again and the child’s body lay where it had been when we left. This, at the time shocked me but I realized later that they would be waiting for an official photographer. The bus needed to be photographed, examined and statements from the passengers who had seen the child dash in front of the bus, needed to be taken while we waited for another coach to take us home.

At Zizhong the bus was parked in the grounds of the Traffic Patrol where we spent some of our time chatting with another foreign couple on the bus and getting a little more detail from the one other passenger who spoke English. About 7.30pm and well after dark, the photographer arrived, took out a number board which he flipped over until it read 057525. Each of the photos was taken with this number in full view. I dare not guess that this was the number of reported accidents in Sichuan already this year?

We left Zizhong at nine o’clock. I thanked the driver, trying to express our appreciation that despite the death of the child we were grateful that he was able to avoid more casualties.

Just the day before, returning to Chengdu, in another marathon nine hour bus ride over one of Sichuan’s worst roads, every second, presented a sequence of potential accidents only narrowly avoided as trucks, buses, cars, buildings, trees, animals and people manage to manoeuvre safely on the rough, narrow and torturously winding roads.

Only the week before this holiday began I had witnessed a man collide with the taxi ahead of mine. The driver had managed to spot him early and had braked hard. The man appeared not to suffer any serious injury although he managed to smashed the windscreen and bounce off the hood of the taxi.

What should have been routine trip to Chongqing of less than five hours on the four lane motorway that joins these two cities, in less than two hours turned into the most tragic experience of my years in China.

My apologies for the length of this review but I felt the need to relate the incident in its entirety. Needless to say, the midnight ride in the taxi from where I got off the bus to my home was also a trial after such a long and tragic evening.

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