TRAVELING ... With Bob Hyten
Thursday, September 5, 2019
Saturday, August 29, 2015
CHINA 2002
BACKWARDS AND FORWARD IN TIME IN CHINA
ON A ‘FAREWELL-TO-THE-THREE GORGES’ TOUR
Ever since reading Paul Theroux’s tiny book Sailing Through China I’ve wanted to cruise China’s Yangtze River. I decided that in order to do that I would have to forego my
usual freelance style travel and join a tour group ... something I had never
done. I enjoy wandering from place to place without reservations ... though not
necessarily without direction. The younger backpacking crowd praised China’s
roughness but in a way that made me see that as negative rather than a positive.
The cost of a group tour seemed an impediment to a person used to getting
maximum value for every travel dollar ... but then a sense of urgency entered
the picture. Construction of the dam which would flood the Yangtze River’s
Three Gorges had begun in earnest and the date for closing its floodgates
loomed closer. It was time to suck it up and fork over the big money for a
tour.
For several years I had used Frommer’s Budget Travel magazine for
travel ideas and used their tips to save money, but I had never really spent
any money with their contributors or advertisers. I contacted three companies
mentioned in the magazine as well as an alumni association sponsored tour.
Trips to the internet were fruitless. Only one of the four tour companies were
willing to help a single traveler such as myself hook up with another solitary
soul to avoid the dreaded single supplement.
China Focus of San Francisco (1-800-868-7244)
said they’d help ... “When did I want to go?” I said “Any time.” They said “How
about the 23rd?” I said “OK.” And they said “We mean in 16 days.” and I said
“Can do.” A quick call to Portland confirmed that their other solitary traveler
and I could probably get along, so the ball began to roll. I had to overnight a
copy of my passport so I could be added to the group visa by the deadline five
days hence. A $2318 charge on my credit card sealed the deal and it was off the
library for books on China.
DAY 1
The actual trip didn’t begin ideally. To
get the cheap add-on fare to join the group in San Francisco I had to take a
two-leg flight from St. Louis to Houston to San Francisco beginning at 6:30 AM.
Knowing the havoc that the thirteen-hour time change would wreak on my sleep, I
didn’t relish awakening at 4:00 AM. The first leg sped by as I made a new
friend, but the second spent reading a four hundred-page volume on China had me
a bit drowsy by the time I reached SFO.
The China Focus representative briefed me and
introduced me to my tour roommate, Lee Smith, who was several turns ahead of me
in the Air China check-in line. By the time I cleared the line he had
disappeared. With no other China Focus badge wearers in sight, I settle in with
my book for the final two-hour wait. As the boarding line dwindled, Lee reappeared.
When we boarded we found that none of the group had been seated together ...
even though our seats had been preassigned. As we were to learn later, even the
three member Schuman family weren’t seated together.
The thirteen-hour flight to Shanghai left
plenty of time to finish my book and get to know my seatmates in row 36 ... the
last in the Air China 747 which had been configured to carry cargo in the rear
half of the passenger compartment. Li was unhappily returning home to China
after being unable to get his wife a visa to join him in America where he had
stayed after college. Hank was a twenty-year-old “dude” being exiled to China
by his Southern California-Chinese family. They were hoping that two years at a
very rural kung fu school run by monks would get Hank on track to some sort of
real life. Hank couldn’t wait to land so he could “have some smokes while
downing a six-pack.” I didn’t tell him that the plane had beer on the beverage
cart.
DAY 2
As we taxied up to the new Shanghai terminal I
recognized it from architectural magazines (I’m an architect.) As we rushed to
and through the receiving hall, I had little time to admire it. As our China
Focus group of eight people gathered at the luggage carousel, we had our first,
brief chance to meet. I think we were all more concerned about whether our
local guide would in fact be waiting outside the gate or if we might be
stranded in a very foreign country just after dark ... and thirty-seven hours
after I had awakened that morning.
We need not have worried as Flo was just as
relieved to see us as we were to see her. It was an even bigger relief for me
to hear her nearly flawless English. My biggest worry had been that highly
accented, poor English combined with my poor hearing would leave me in the
dark. The rather long, dark trip into the city was made easier by Flo’s lessons
in basic Chinese ... in one sleepy ear and out the other ... and her announcing
our trip plans. We passed a lot of nice places and then a lot of not-so-nice
ones on our way to the Ocean Hotel that, in the end, seemed to be well off the
beaten tourist track. At least the room was up to the classes standard expected
... as were all subsequent ones.
By then it was nine o’clock Chinese Standard
Time ... the whole 4000 mile wide country has one time zone. No matter what the
room was like, it was into bed immediately. The next nine hours in bed could
only be classified as light sleep. Much like the three or so hours of shut-eye
I got on the plane, it would probably be better classified as deep rest rather
than sleep.
DAY 3
The view out our ninth floor window was a broad
city scape. A long city street stretched into the distance ... which direction I
couldn’t tell because the smog obscured the early morning sunrays. A park below
was full of exercisers and the street lined with vendors. At 6:00 AM Shanghai
was alive. By 6:15 I was out the door for a morning run.
Even though I run almost every day, training
to run Master’s and Sr. Olympics track races, I almost never run in the
morning. In fact, I hate running early so, if there is any trace of enthusiasm
in my descriptions of my morning runs in China, it has to be attributed to the
surroundings. On this morning the life on the street brought me to life. Street
vendors offered tiny shrimp, octopus, live fish, melons, unknown vegetables,
trinkets, shoe parts made of old tires, and a great assortment of pancake-like
pastries baked on tiny, flaming grills. There were the anticipated bicycles,
but not in overwhelming numbers. What took getting used to was that bikes,
people, taxis, and buses made their own paths without regard to anyone else on
the street. The only saving grace to this scene was the total lack of private
cars. Apparently no one in this part of Shanghai owned one ... or else they
were smart enough not to get it out on the street.
On the way back from my out-and-back run I
found the little park I had seen from my hotel room window. It was a space not
much bigger than an acre. I joined a couple hundred exercisers to do my
stretching. Most did what I assumed to be tai
chi, either in groups or alone. Some were doing aerobics to American disco
tunes while others walked or just sat. The birds whose songs filled the air
were caged, hanging from tree branches. Keeping pet song birds is a big-time
hobby in a country in which polluted air and past, starving conditions has reduced
the bird population to nil. The park’s population was a bit geriatric. As I
would learn latter exercise is pretty much limited to the elderly ... which
means those over fifty in China. The same group would be back in the afternoon
and evening to dance in the park. The younger crowd would dance at night to a
different beat in a different place.
By eight I had joined the former-Iowa, now
California sisters, Diane Trewin and Beth Pitcher, in the dining room of the
hotel for the first of thirteen “American” breakfast buffets. It would take
nearly the whole trip before I was able to control the buffet part and just eat
breakfast.
At nine we gathered for the start of the day’s
activities. First thing on our itinerary was “Old Chinatown”. It struck me a bit strange that there would be a
place in China called Chinatown. All too soon I learned why. The area, whose
old name was Natao, rebuilt in 1985
in the style of ancient pagodas. It was the first tourist orientated shopping
area to which we would be led. I don’t shop with jet lag so when we finally
made our way to the adjacent Yu Yuan Gardens, I was happy.
The 16th Century summer home was an island of
tranquility in the heart of bustling old Shanghai. It had survived the Cultural
Revolution because in 1853 it had been the home of an anti-imperialist society,
the Little Sword Society.
It was also our first introduction to the type
of complete historical monologue that our guides would present at each stop on
our trip. Because I love history I wasn’t too worried about the length of these
presentations. In fact, I marveled at the store of information our guides were
to have. If I were to pass on all we were told ... if I could remember it all
... this tale would turn into a full-length book.
It must be said that, in answer to our
questions, our guides gave us what I believe was frank and open insight into
life in China as they saw and lived it. While the on-sight presentations
occasionally seemed to be following some sort of government or party line,
their off-the-cuff answers seemed genuine and open. They were never-the-less
all government employees and as such occasionally side-stepped attempts to
elicit negative comments about the country’s leaders or systems.
As we drove to and from our first of thirteen
lunch buffets in China we toured the street of the new Pu Doung section of
Shanghai. Built up in the last ten to twelve years from rice paddies on the
east bank of a branch of the Yangtze River’s delta, this area was a textbook of
modern architecture. One after another, brilliantly designed skyscrapers
crowded the now clearing mid-day sky. There wasn’t a single boxy glass office
building in sight. Every building had unique design features ... mostly good
ones. The dominant structures were the Jin
Mao Building, the world’s fourth tallest, and the freestanding Oriental
Pearl TV Tower that was nearly 1500 feet tall. As they race to join the 21st Century,
China was chosen to spend its resources here rather than in recently annexed
Hong Kong. Even some less-than-great apartment building could not diminish Pu Doung’s vibrant skyline.
Jin Mao Building
(Occasionally color pictures appear to be black
and white due to China’s smoggy conditions.)
While the Chinese economy is catching up to
the 21st Century it is said that only 300 million of its 1.3 billion people are
economically active. What that means is that over 75 % of the people are really
not part of the wage-earning picture. Basically they live in a rural setting,
growing what they need to survive ... having no cash with which to buy
anything. They are not yet costumers for the world’s goods.
We went to the Jade Budda Temple, Yofo Si, where many Chinese were praying. Much of
the afternoon was spent at the Shanghai
Museum. It was set, along with the Grand Theater and other well designed
public buildings, in what is now called Renmin or People’s Square. The site, in the heart of the old city, became
available when the Communist leadership declared its old use as a late 1800’s
British-built horse race track to be incompatible with their vision of the
people’s needs.
As we traveled around Shanghai there were
frequent references to the Opium War (1839-42) in which England had overwhelmed
Chinese forces along the Yangtze River and established trading concessions
based in Shanghai. The city was to also have American, French, and German
concessions before they were abolished in the early 20th century.
Not so frequently mentioned was the reason for
the importance of the Shanghai Museum. The infamous Cultural Revolution of 1966
to 1976 had destroyed much of China’s cultural heritage. Red Guards looted and
burned, temples, museums, libraries, and schools. The treasures of the Shanghai
Museum had been spirited out of the country during this dark period. The owners
and guardians of these historical treasures voluntarily returned them to their homeland
even though most of them didn’t personally return to the land of their birth.
Around five we returned to the hotel for a one-hour
nap break ... one of only two pre-dinner respites we would get. I used much of
the time to check on shops along the street, figuring correctly that we would
be steered to tourist areas for our shopping trips. The prices seemed
incredibly low, but as we were to learn more about wages later, they would seem
to be out of reach for the ordinary Chinese worker.
Our first of thirteen buffet dinners was
followed by a trip to the New Shanghai
Circus which featured acrobats such as those who wow audiences in Las Vegas
and across America. Girls with rubber spines, guys tumbling over, under, and
through things, and motorcycle races in a huge steel-ball cage, all made for a
great evening’s entertainment.
DAY 4
When I went to bed at 10:30 I was sure it was
to a sound sleep. Guess again! I think I looked at the clock every 45 minutes.
Surprisingly, when I got up at seven I felt OK.
Fifteen minutes later I was again out the door
for a repeat of yesterday’s run. I ran a little further in the same amount of
time but didn’t seem like nearly as much. There was much more traffic at this
later hour, so I spent more time looking ‘out’ than looking up. I did notice
that a couple of slow moving bikes that I passed were rigged up to haul ‘night
soil’. It seems that most of the older apartments in Shanghai not only don’t
have personal bathrooms; they don’t have any plumbing at all in the building,
thus the need for the ancient trade of “night soil” collection.
Our morning rounds began with a quick stop at The Bund which is Shanghai’s waterfront
promenade. It would have been a great place to run. Unfortunately our guide
only allowed us twenty minutes to enjoy the riverfront views across the Huangpo River to Pu Doung. We even rushed through the “Friendship” store as we were
hustled off to a silk rug ‘factory’.
It was a factory only in the sense that five
or six artisans were working the looms there. Most of the production was safely
tucked away somewhere out in the countryside. The real purpose of this factory
was selling silk rugs and they were pretty good at it, scoring three sales to
the eight members of our group. That stop was for nearly two hours before we
moved upstairs for our luncheon buffet.
By 1:30 we were at the airport. I thought we
were cutting it a bit close but apparently our guide already knew the flight
would be at least an hour late. As we were to learn after three future flights,
there aren’t too many internal flights in China. Scheduled layovers aren’t very
realistic so, as the day progresses, the planes get further and further behind
schedule. Two hours in the waiting lounge was more than enough to catch up on
my diary and reading. A surprise in the bookshop was the number of
architectural magazines available. I don’t know who buys them, but I enjoyed
looking at the pictures. I hope nobody thought I was skimming through Playboy for a half hour.
On the flight I sat with Fritz Schuman from
Alabama and learned a lot about the chicken breeding business. He had finally
gotten out of that family business when success had taken all the free time out
of his life. He and Violet now ran a big day care operation where he herded
around 150 kids instead of 15,000 chickens. In the end it was to have been the
longest conversation I had with any of our group members ... although a
combination of conversations with my roommate Lee might have totaled more
actual time. I suppose with a little more effort I might have gotten to know
the rest a bit better but I chose to spend time with people that I met who were
from other countries. It is these encounters that always make my trips a
pleasure a well as learning experience.
By now it had been pretty well established
that Fritz was a comedian. Whenever things would quiet down just a little he
would say “Did you hear the one about...?” Most of his stories were relevant to
recent conversation and all were amusing if not down right funny. I wish I
could remember some of his stories to lighten up this narrative. Every group
should have a Fritz.
At 5:30 we were at the gate of Wuhan’s new airport meeting our new
guide, Mindy. It seems that when you study English in the Chinese school system
either you or your teacher picks an English name. Those who have contact with
English speakers retain these names to make it easier to remember their names. While
its true that it is hard to remember some Chinese names, all of them have
meanings such as “Little Flower”, “Smart One”, etc. It seems a shame to give up
these names just for someone else’s convenience. Where Shanghai Flo had been
outgoing and interested in nightlife, Wuhan Mindy was shy and proper ... maybe
reflecting their hometowns.
Having had a snack on the plane, no one was
too hungry, but our hour-long journey from the airport ended at a restaurant.
The first spin of the food-full lazy susan at the table’s center knocked my
Pepsi all over me. Eating while seated in a pool of Pepsi distracts one from
the cuisine at hand.
While it was dark by the time we started to
the hotel, I’m pretty sure we headed toward every point of the compass at least
twice on our way to our hotel, the Holiday Inn. While I don’t mind that every
hotel we stayed at was furnished like a Holiday Inn, it doesn’t seem right to
be staying in one in another country. Some people may be comforted by the
American names but I’d rather say a stayed at a place that sounds like it is in
the country I’m visiting ... even if it looked like a Holiday Inn.
DAY 5
For the first time I slept well ... from 10:15
to 5:30. At 6:30 I gave up trying to sleep and went out for a run. The hotel
was directly on the riverfront, although behind a big levee. I ran a little way
along a path till I came to a stone promenade which ran nearly a mile around a
bend on the Yangtze and up a tributary, the Han River, to a big bridge. This
was a popular place for the tai chi
crowd ... and a lone runner who didn’t seem to be enjoying the 80-degree
temperature, 100% humidity, or choking smog any more than I was.
For the first time since Mexico City years
ago, the rancid air burned my lungs. It wasn’t till our last day in the country
that we would wake up to truly clear skies. While the world decries American as
the great polluter, every place we went in China the air was heavy with the
smell of burning coal or wood. Clouds of cement dust hung over the Three Gorges
and dust billowed from road projects. Miles upstream, off the Yangtze, garbage
floated by on the rivers that are meant to nourish the country’s future
tourism. Apparently third world countries which attack the USA don’t feel it’s
politically correct to mention China in the same breath.
Even though there was a major pagoda complex
right next to the hotel, our morning destination was the Yellow Crane Tower, a
pagoda across the river, high atop a hill, just barely visible through the
smog. But first, maybe owing to the realization that there would be no view
from the pagoda, we went past it and out to the edge of town. Our destination
was the Hubei Provincial Museum
which housed only the treasures from the burial vaults of Yi, the ruler of the
Zeng State some 1000 years prior. All the stuff had been floating all those
years in what was essentially an underground lake until its discovery in 1978.
Unbelievably almost everything survived including a set of huge ceremonial
bells. Replicas had been made and were played for visitors ... for an extra $4.
By the time we returned to the Yellow Crane Tower the smog had burned
off enough to make the views from the top OK. Unfortunately we again seemed to
be in a big hurry ... I guess the luncheon buffet just couldn’t wait. When it
was pointed out that this ancient pagoda had an elevator, Mindy admitted that
it was a 1985 replica. I asked if the original had been ‘sacrificed’ to the
Cultural Revolution and took the silence of the answer to be an affirmative.
Wunan is divided into three parts ... almost
three distinct cities. The Yangtze runs south to north here while the Han
Rivercomes in from the west. The oldest part of the city, Wuchang, where the Yellow Crane Tower was situated, is on the east
bank. Lying south of the Han and west
of the Yangtze is Hanyang, the newer
part, where our hotel was located North of the Han is Hanou, the
industrial area.
Mindy said, “I’ll bet you are looking
forward to our American-Style buffet.” which after only three days in China did
conjure up thoughts of hamburgers or fried chicken. The American part of the
buffet turned out to be the only lettuce we were to see on the trip and a big
selection of deserts that were sadly missing the requisite amounts of sugar to
be classified as American. An open beer tap mollified five of our group but the
substitution of Tang for Coke left the rest of us less than satisfied.
When we left the restaurant it was raining,
but by the time we got to the Bonsai
Gardens it had abated a bit. The gardens featured some nice trees and a
great collection of exotic rocks, which turned out to be the reason we were
there. The Department of Agriculture might not let us bring bonsai trees back
to America but it does not object to rocks. They had a great assortment of
natural shapes and carved stones for sale. I purchased a chrysanthemum stone
that, while natural, was polished up a bit to enhance its sales value. I might
have been a bit more discerning if I had known the nice rocks I’d be able to
pick up off the ground along the Lesser Three Gorges.
When we left the Gardens we stocked up on
soda, beer, and bottled as the guide warned us that the price of those items on
the boat was prohibitive. The truth was that the place she took us was high
priced for the streets of Wuhan while the prices on the boat were cheap for the
streets of America.
At the edge of Wuhan, as we passed a “new city’
area, it began to rain ... I mean really rain. By the time we reached the new
interstate road, whose only purpose seems to have been to get tourists to the
cruise boat docks three hours away ... I’m still not sure why they don’t come
all the way down to Wuhan like they did in the days of Theroux’s tour ... the
rain became a torrent. I’ve never been in a typhoon but it would be my guess
that this was how it rained during one. Our mini-bus seemed to be barreling
through it too fast but, in fact, we were only going 30 MPH. Thank goodness
there were virtually no other cars out there.
When the rain finally stopped we could see
miles and miles of rice fields. There were people hoeing in fields with not a
house in sight. Occasionally water buffalo were being led through the fields,
but not working. People were walking down the highway with great bundles on
their head or shoulders. They would climb over the guardrails and down into the
fields toward unseen houses. My travel mates ask how they got around with no
local roads but they missed seeing the muddy double tracks through the fields.
Holding ponds had irrigation pump heads sticking up in the middle like lily
pads ... and speaking of lily pads, there were fields of lotus plants, which
from the distance look like giant lily pads. The Chinese love the flower and
eat the buds and stalks of the plant.
As it seems is the case with most Chinese
highways it just ended before it got where it was going ... although it’s
possible it was going somewhere other than Sashi.
There was little sign that the new economy had reached this port city on the
Yangtze. It made an awful place to board the boat for our Three Gorges cruise.
We climbed down a dirty wharf and clambered across an oil drum pontoon bridge.
As would be the case at each stop, the uniformed girls of the boat’s cleaning
staff lined up all along the plank way to welcome us aboard with a smile and a
“Hello” which turned out to be the only English they knew.
From this dismal embankment, sitting in the
rushing, muddy waters, our ship the Star
Dipper didn’t look like the elegant four-star cruiser pictured in the
catalogs. Upon closer inspection, it wasn’t too great either. It had a great
lobby but you boarded through a sort of back door. The hallways showed the wear
of the ship’s full seven years of life ... and yet in the end it was a very
pleasant place to spend three days and four nights.
We were the third of four groups to arrive.
The big Asian Holiday group, mostly from California, and a group of fifteen
from Hong Kong and already left the dining room by the time we arrived. As we
ate, the eight o’clock castoff time past as the rainstorm had delayed another
China Focus group. Long after they arrived and shortly before I went to bed at
ten, we were under way.
DAY 6
It was another night without real sleep. I kept
hearing rain pouring down and I just knew my main reason for being in China,
The Three Gorges cruise, was going to be spoiled by it. When I looked out to
see the rain at 6:30 AM, I discovered the sky smoggy but cloudless. The “rain”
was in fact the sound of water rushing by the hull of the ship. If I had only
known, it might have be a soothing sound which would have aided sleep. Oh well,
I never claimed to be a sailor.
When I went out on the top deck, we had just
arrived in Yichang at the Gezhouba
Locks. For quite a while Silvia from Guadalajara, Mexico, and I were
the only ones on deck. When Allen, the ship’s recreation director and resident butchered
of the English language, alerted the passengers on the ship’s PA system to the
spectacle of the locks, a steady stream of people came up to see.
As we glided into the main stream of the
river, the breakfast buffet was served. It was the first without cereal and the
first to need cereal. As with all meals on the ship, there was much to be
desired but in fact little to complain about ... college dormitory food comes
to mind. Seeing the developing scenery through the dining room window caused us
all to hasten through the meal ... as did listening to “Silent Night” and other
Christmas songs as part of the constant easy listening background music.
We were in the first of the Three Gorges, the forty-five
mile long Xiling Gorge. I’m afraid I don’t have a good enough command of the English
language to fully portray the beauty and power of what we would see over the
next three days. For two hundred miles the Yangtze River is contained in
between the steep walls of the Gorges. 99% of the time these walls, varying in
steepness from thirty degrees to 90 degrees ... that’s straight up for those of
you who had trouble in geometry. Occasionally the canyon walls would enter the
water at a slope gentle enough for sampans or small barges to run aground in
order to service the population living along the way.
Some areas were so steep and so remote that no
one lived there. Generally there were small, tattered houses here and there.
There were no roads to connect these farmers to nearby cities. The river was
their lifeline and it was clogged with the necessities of their lives. Sampans
ferried people and goods. They were platforms for fishermen ... and downstream
of the new dam that also meant fishing for garbage. While the water was much
cleaner above the dam, it seemed that the new, worker’s city just below the dam
must have dumped everything into the river.
From first viewing one is struck by the brown color of the river. My group mates were surprised and even disappointed but I had been prepared. The Yangtze gathers its load of silt far to the west, near its source, so it is never clear. The small tributaries that enter it along the gorge are often clear, but they cannot hope to tint the mighty flow. The current in the river is constantly strong, even where it widens out. There are a couple of places where traffic is reduced to one way as the river narrows to less than a hundred yards, but it is also four or more hundred yards wide at some places.
Maybe I should be saying meters rather than
yards. Virtually the whole trip I was doing arithmetic trying to convert metric
to imperial ... sometimes it is a pain being a citizen of the world’s only
non-metric country. Our guides were constantly feeding us statistics ... cost
per square meter of apartments, hectares owned by farmers, kilometers from here
to there ... and that on top of converting dollars to Yuan.
From more than a mile away the great new Three Gorges Dam across the Yangtze looms up through the smog at a place called San Doupig. At first it seems more like a wall or cliff but then the maze of giant cranes appear. Even as the Star Dipper docked a half mile downstream the enormity of the project was not truly apparent.
The Yangtze River Dam at the Three Gorges was
the reason my trip had to be now in 2002. Unlike other natural wonders of the
world, the Three Gorges will not be there forever. When completed, the $28 billion
dam will raise the water level in the Gorges over three hundred feet. While in
many places that is far less than half the depth of the Gorges, their drama
will be forever minimized. Signs indicating future water levels along the way
only serve to taunt lovers of the Gorges’ beauty.
Our first sight of the dam from the tour bus
was just of the five locks which will raise shipping past the finished dam. It
was then that it dawned on me how big the thing must be. Cut through solid
rock, these locks alone are an engineering marvel. Locals call it the forth
gorge.
Around a corner, the first sight of the dam
itself is awe-inspiring. For a moment the tragic consequences of the dam are
forgotten as I marvel at the scale of the project. It is forty stories high and
two hundred feet thick at the bottom. It’s nearly a mile long already ... and
construction of the western-most 1000 feet is yet to begin ... a channel around
the dam has been left open for river traffic. How many truckloads of concrete
must that be? Trucks on the site look like ants from our vantage point. The
whole site seems to be wiggling like Jello as thousands of practically unseen
workers scamper about.
We got out of the bus briefly at a spot just
above the dam’s top level and nearly parallel to it. It stretched out forever.
We then went to a high overlook. After seeing a model of the completed project,
we climbed up to a peak to see the whole thing. It’s pretty hard not to be
impressed even when you know the sure consequences and the probable dangers of
the project.
The dam is both a flood control and
hydroelectric project. Each year many lives are lost when the lower Yangtze
floods. Several times, catastrophic floods have taken over 100,000 lives ...
and yet, other than at major cities, there are no downstream levees. Strategic
levees would be much cheaper and effective. Once the reservoir is full, low
lying areas will again be vulnerable to continuing rainfall.
The dam will increase the nation’s electric
output by a full 10%. There is no denying the need for that either. Still, a
series of smaller dams on Yangtze tributaries could produce just as much power
at less cost and far less danger.
Despite our guide Betty’s denials, scientists
say the dam sits on a minor fault line. As we find out all too often, today’s
minor fault line is tomorrow’s disaster. She said the dam is design to
withstand 7.0 earthquakes ... that’s not too much. Can it stand the effects of
earthquakes a hundred miles upstream?
Some scientists say that the rising of the
water level in the Gorges will destabilize the bases of the massive limestone
cliffs. Water will act as a lubricant in crevices causing gigantic landslides.
An ensuing tidal wave could sweep miles down the valley, overwhelming the dam.
The straight-line design of the dam has drawn
criticism. All dams this long and all dams this high are arched against the
weight of the water held behind them. Western engineers are unable to come up
with a model in which this configuration can succeed and the dam’s Chinese
engineers won’t release their figures for verification.
The final damnation of the project may not be
questionable engineering or the catastrophic loss of a natural wonder. The
greatest toll is probably in the human hardship wrought by the project. Somewhere
between one and four million people will be displaced. The former number
probably refers to the number of farmers living solitary lives along the cliffs
of the Gorges. They know no other life, eking out a living hoeing their small
plots wherever they can find a bit of soil on the rocky cliffs. Moved to flat
land somewhere else; they might find their lives much easier. Unfortunately, in
order to continue farming, most must accept relocation the far west country of
China ... the area of the Gobi Desert. Their dream of a grand piece of the land
in the west will become a nightmare of drought and famine.
Those who stay behind will be given a free
apartment in one of the many huge building high up on the cliffs above existing
cities. There they can complete with the educated city dwellers for nonexistent
jobs. Cities that are now crowded into the few relatively flat spots at the
river’s edge are being relocated above the waterline on half the acreage they
occupied below. The gigantic housing blocks perched precariously on the cliff
sides might have great views, but they will be of the river passing them by.
As of yet only one relocated city seems to
have made provisions for connecting itself to the river’s lifeline. Existing
sand ramps will be gone. The new, cliff-side water line will preclude running a
boat ashore to off load it. Tying a boat up to hold it steady in the great
river’s current will require infrastructure which to this point seems to have
been neglected.
Massive road projects are being scarred into
the hillsides just above the projected water line. New bridges are soaring
above the river. It would appear that the new cities would be connected to the
world, not by the river, but by highways. Maybe they are roads to the future,
maybe not. Today it is quicker to take a boat the thousand miles downstream
from Chongquig to Shanghai than it is to drive. Will the highway be
better? Who knows?
I have a very bad feeling that in the little
time I have left on this earth something really bad is going to happen along
the Yangtze behind this dam. I hope I’m wrong.
Back on the river, Xiling Gorge, the longest at 120 kilometers, became much more
dramatic ... more and more of what I had come to see. For a while it is so
steep that there was no farming. Trees clung to cracks in the limestone cliff
faces. Sometimes white, sometimes yellowish, the limestone is often streaked
with black that might be coal. While the Three Gorges are often compared to the
Grand Canyon, a more accurate comparison might be Yellowstone’s Grand Canyon or
Yosemite or Estes Park’s Big Thompson Canyon. The truth is each of these places
evokes its own mystique on your soul.
One moment you feel insignificant ... the next
you feel like a explorer on a great adventure up an unknown river or a river
captain weaving right to left in the river’s heavy traffic. In the middle of
nowhere a cruise ship come downstream, tiny barges struggle upstream, and
sampans ferry farmers across the mighty river. Waterfalls large and small
spring out of nowhere ... but no matter how remote it seems, only a few birds
are evident. The occasional hawks soars and a rare song is heard. I daily see
more birds in back yard than I saw the entire length of the river.
If the air had been cleaner and the water
clearer this would have been perfection. As it was, it was awesome. For hours,
often in the hot sun, I sat mesmerized ... and this went on for three days, all
day, every day. Somewhere along the way the Xiling Gorge had become the Wu Gorge which is 26 miles long. It had
what were probably the steepest cliffs, some of which may have been over 2000
feet high.
A shower and supper was an excuse for a couple
hours in the air conditioning but by dark I was back outside marveling at the
scenery even in the dark. My one disappointment was that the full moon rose so
late each night that I wasn’t out to see it. Of course, each night we approached
a city where we would tie up for the night and pollution would have hampered
the lunar picture. This second night aboard, we tied up along side several
other tour boats at Wushan.
DAY 7
Six and a half hours of sound sleep has my best
to date in China. Unfortunately that meant I was tossing a turning from 4:30 AM
till 6:00 when an apparent self-imposed moratorium on boat horn honking expired
and the river came alive. At 6:30 I went up to the deck wondering what I would
do till our morning excursion which was scheduled for eight. There in front of
me, amongst the ruins of demolition, and crawling with people, was a riverfront
road about a half mile long ... a perfect place to run. Five minutes later I
was jogging across the pontoon walkway toward shore. At the end of a plank
across to shore the bubble burst. The only way to the street was up a mud
embankment. Undeterred I scrambled up the hill only a bit concerned about the
ingredients of the mud on my hands.
At the top of the bank I got another shock.
The “street”, at its low point there, was, judging from the footprints in it,
buried in mud at least a foot deep. Again I pressed on ... this time on a footpath
paralleling the street. I slid down a wash and up the other side. At the second
dip, reason was again overcome, but at the third, bigger one, it finally won
out. I had an adventure to talk about, but no run. Back at the end of the pontoons,
as I was scrapping off the mud from my shoes and socks, I decided that at least
I could run on the pontoon bridge. For the next ten minutes I ran back and
forth over the 200-yard length of the bridge, running fast toward the boat and
easy away from it .. at least it seemed fast. I drew a lot of attention but I
doubt much admiration. By the time I got all the mud washed off my shoes, with
help of a couple crewmembers and their scrub brush, I had to scramble to shower
and eat breakfast.
At eight o’clock we boarded small boats for a
cruise up the Lesser Three Gorges
which are on the Daning River which flows into the Yangtze at Wushan. No sooner
did we get out of the main river flow, we entered into the very narrow canyons.
It was then that I realized that most of the pictures of the narrow gorges pro
ported to be on the Yangtze are in fact these side-water gorges. At places
there wasn’t even fifty feet between canyon walls. Sometimes it seemed that the
walls sloped together over our heads. All along the way square holes perforated
the rocks. Two thousand years ago a wooden pathway had been cantilevered out
over the raging river.
After the first gorge the Daning widened and a
village sat on the hillside. Colorful umbrellas lined a winding path up to the
village which sat on a bend in the river. In low water situations, we would
have disembarked, climbed the path, and met our boat again on the other side of
the ridge upon which the village sat. On this day recent rains raised the water
level enough that we were able to challenge the rocky rapids and continue up
stream. Sadly this whole village will be flooded by the reservoir. The
strangest thing there was a brand new modern house built below the future water
line. What had that guy been thinking?
In the midst of the second gorge we put ashore
on a sand bar. They suggested we take a rock for a souvenir. I took eight ...
each a different color and design ... to add to my collection of rocks from now
unknown places.
Next was the highly touted Hanging Coffin. It took a bit of imagination to see it but then we were constantly being told to look at “horse lung and pig liver rock”. Each of the notable formations was beyond my imagination. Maybe drinking had been involved in their original discoveries. We were “lucky” to see a monkey in a tree. It made me think of Disneyland or Universal Studios. The monkey was so far away, and pointed out with such enthusiasm, that it could well have been a mechanical monkey.
Before the third gorge another soon to be
deceased city sat awaiting the rising waters. A hanging footbridge remained
nearby with hope that it too wouldn’t be drowned in the future. Our final site
was the Mist Waterfalls, a series
falls maybe two hundred feet high, which seem to erupt from the rock above in a
cloud of mist.
Heading downstream we looked more closely at
men using hoes to put sand into baskets attached to poles. They were loading a
small barge to go upstream where others were off-loading and carrying the sand
up a steep hillside to an unseen building site. As we exited the gorges a
sampan was trying to corral the corpse of a pig floating toward the Yangtze.
Back on the Star Dipper and underway by one, I
had the greatest lunch on the cruise, a bulging turkey sandwich on fresh baked
bread ... my idea of a perfect lunch. Even the Tang drink couldn’t spoil that
sandwich.
No matter how grand our buffet meals were,
there was always a shortage of drink. We usually got a very small glass, maybe
eight ounces, of coke, beer, or water ... the bottled kind that is required all
over China. There would be a tiny bowl of green or jasmine tea but that could
hardly be classified as drinking as each was at best two swallows. On the boat,
the coke and beer was replaced by warm Tang .. in fairness we did get refills
of it and they were often quite cold.
As we entered the third and final gorge, the Qutang Gorge, which, though only five
miles long, is the most dramatic because at places it was only fifty meters
wide, I sat talking to four Mexican women. While the conversation was mostly in
English, I got to work on my Spanish a bit. In fact, by the time the cruise was
over, I still didn’t know any Chinese but my Spanish was better. They were,
from Guadalajda, an internist, and from Tiajuana, an optometrist, dentist and
social worker. The later two had architects for son-in-laws. They were having
fun even if Chinese accented English was nearly impossible for them to understand
... especially cruise director Allen’s garbled version.
I was glad to have enhanced my Spanish skills
because from the outset it was apparent that I wasn’t going to pick up much
Chinese. It wasn’t just that I couldn’t read the 40,000 characters that
represent the spoken language ... 6000-8000 of which are used in daily
speaking. There was no chance that even one would become familiar. The problem
was, that for each word that I might have seen written in the Romanized Pinyin style, there are four different
pronunciations or tones and thus four different meanings. The differences are
far too subtle for a beginner to pick up on. There was a poem or joke-phrase that
we were told which illustrated the four meaning of ma. I’m not sure if I got this right but I think that in the first
or high tone ma means mother. In the
second or rising tone it means sesame seed, while the third fall-rising tone
means horse. In the final falling tone it means to scold. Thus you could mean
to call someone mother but in fact call her horse ... best to avoid such a
minefield.
When they retired to get ready for supper, I
savored a few extra minutes on deck with Thomas Mak. The retired Hong Kong
principal had moved to Vancouver before the 1997 takeover, fearing retaliation
such as his parents suffered when they return to China from Indonesian just
before the Cultural Revolution. Like many Chinese I met he was a bit reluctant
to speak in English, feeling self-conscience about his abilities. I told both
him and the young female bartender the same thing ... Americans are I awe of
anyone who can even begin to speak two languages. We might correct their
grammatical errors, but it was with greatest of respect. Go for it ... don’t
worry about mistakes. And for Thomas I suggested morning coffee at Starbuck’s
or MacDonald’s with English-only speaking retirees.
I hadn’t particularly looked forward to that
evening’s talent show but it turned out to be a hoot. A guy seriously sang karaoke
... badly. Another mimicked the various guides’ offerings of propaganda-laced
facts. My roommate Lee, with a Jimmy Stewart drawl, told a couple stories that
Red Skelton would have been proud of ... or may have actually written. The crew
did a couple of ethnic minority folk dances. The girls seemed happy to be there
and some of the guys looked trapped. The show’s highlight was 14-year-old Ling
Yi Yang. Watch for her name as piano soloist with your symphony some day soon.
Who’d have thought I feel a talent show worth mentioning. I guess I’m getting
in the swing of this tour group thing.
Lee and I talked on deck for an hour as the
ship made its way to its evening moorings. I was unable to explain to him that
running, while an individual sport, was one of shared experiences, just like
team sports.
An earlier report from the Schuman’s of a body
floating by the window of their cabinet didn’t interfere with me getting
another pretty good night’s sleep ... five or six hours seemingly being the
best I could do throughout the trip.
DAY 8
The day began hazier than the last two because
we were now out of the steep walled gorges and into increasingly more populated
areas. We were also in a traffic jam. All morning we followed two other ships
of our size plus three smaller cruise ships, each of us passing barge after
barge. Hovercraft sped down river ... they never seemed to be going up ... and
sampans played chicken with them all. All the while the smell of burning coal
and wood permeated the air.
Hillside fields seemed to be under expansion
rather than contraction. Farmers were cutting trees and clearing land
everywhere. Maybe they were just trying to get the lumber before it was flooded
under. 6” diameter, ten foot long logs were being carried up the hillsides on
shoulders. These were tiny men, bearing unbelievable loads.
After a beef sandwich luncheon, I talked with
Alex Wong and his friends from Hong Kong about life their. Their biggest worry
was the falling value of the housing market. His apartment had lost nearly half
its value but the payments, which took all of his wife’s income, continued.
While disaster might be just over the horizon, hope remained in the knowledge that
the bank couldn’t sell the place if they did take it from them. Nevertheless
they all felt Hong Kong had a great future ahead even if that wasn’t quite what
it might have been under British rule.
From 2:30 to 4:00 we went ashore to see the Shi Boa Pagoda. Twelve stories high (56 meters) it was attached to the face of a giant stone escarpment. About 1000 feet wide, 300 feet deep, and 200 feet high, it stood straight up out of one of the few more or less flat pieces of riverside ground anywhere on the cruise. The climb to the top, which began with a pretty good climb just to get to the front gate, was done in tremendous heat ... it was surely one hundred degrees. We were rewarded with a great view and a bit of a breeze at the top.
Despite their monopoly on cold drinks, the
vendors that lined the walkway between the dock and temple were quite
reasonable in their pricing. I bought an ice-cold Pepsi and a genuine Mao’s
Little Red Book complete with the important passages being underlined. I think
one said “Always wear clean underwear when you travel because you never
know...”
Back on the ship it was fifteen minutes of
recovery in the air conditioning, then back on deck. I was later joined by two
couples of Minnesota schoolteachers. We played “move the deck chairs into the
shade” for an hour or so till dinnertime. The Captain’s Farewell Dinner was
different from the others only in that he dressed up in his finest,
gold-trimmed whites ... which were a bit too big for him ... and came by each
table to toast our happiness. Too bad he didn’t break out the good food.
After supper out on the deck, as I was talking
to her father, piano playing Yi Yang came out all happy about goals being
scored in the World Cup Final she was watching in her room. I wasn’t watching because
I thought my VCR was recording it back home ... key word, thought. I realized
her English was a lot better when she was trying to tell me something she
wanted to talk about. I got the idea that she might be able to communicate with
the California girls who were about her age. I went and found them and talked
them into going with me to Yi Yang’s cabin. Just as I had hoped, they all hit
it off right away and went bubbling off to the piano in the lounge.
Unfortunately it was a bit late by then so they only got an hour or so together
that last night of cruising. As they all wandered off, I found Lee at the bar
getting a Chinese government lesson from George, one of the guides. Despite
having an intense interest in the conversation, I soon was so tired I couldn’t
stand up.
DAY 9
The night before I had asked Allen if he could get me on the bridge of the ship. At
breakfast he told me to bring my group and meet him there at 9:30. Our brief
tour of the bridge was interesting if not encouraging. The ship had all the
navigational equipment one would expect ... sitting pretty much unnoticed. The
first mate proudly steered onward with his knowledge of the river as his guide
... just as captains have done for hundreds of years.
Over the last two days, as the number of
cities had increased, we had more opportunities to see urban life along the
river. I don’t know whether to say what I saw was shocking, eye opening, or
just surprising. I knew that rural China was, at best, operating a century in
the past. I had assumed that urban workers were a little more up-to-date. Along
the Yangtze are two cities of over 100,000 people that will have to be totally
relocated because of the dam. One would think that at least here modern methods
would be powering the changes. What we saw along the river was medieval.
Barges fill of bags of cement were off-loaded
to trucks by lines of shirt-less collies ... or least men in collie hats. On
sand bars men filled baskets with sand which they carried over a plank onto a
barge. At cities the loads of these barges were shoveled off on to waiting
trucks with their wheels partially in the river’s waters.
Big trucks brought coal along roads high above
the riverfront. They dumped their loads over the edge of the steep hillside
where it plunged down a hundred or more feet. From the bottom it was shoveled
into smaller trucks, which drove it to barges run ashore on the sand. There the
coal was shoveled onto the waiting barge to be hauled off to who knows where.
Only two of the coal tips had front loaders and one barge operation had a
tilt-ramp to unload the trucks ... this among maybe fifty or sixty operations
that I observed. If they only had more machinery ... if they did, what would
happen to the hundreds of men with their shovels?
Two places I saw machines knocking down
buildings. The predominant method was sledgehammer and 12” cold chisel. Eight
and ten story-building coming down, one swing at a time. Each resulting lump
was hand loaded on a truck or rickshaw to be recycled somewhere. In finished
areas, every whole and half brick were gone. Tiny barges full of bricks
scuttled in all directions. Men with baskets full of bricks climbed the hillsides.
The rubble that remained looked pulverized.
Sitting at the junction of the Yangtze
and Jialing Rivers, Chongqing was the nation’s capitol
during the Japanese occupation of the country’s eastern half during WW II. It wasn’t hard to figure out when we
neared Chongqing. The air got denser
than the buildings. Horrible looking suet-streaked buildings, less than twenty
years old judging by their style, would have seemed long abandoned except for
the drying laundry fluttering on balcony rails. Unidentifiable factories didn’t
just belch smoke, they irrupted it. Dry docks echoed with the sounds of boats
being hammer back into shape. And the number of bridges told us that cars ruled
this city. In fact every guidebook mentions that there are few bicycles there
due to the city’s hilly nature.
And surely it was. Within fifteen minutes of
docking were heading through the traffic jambs of the hilly city, trying to get
to the countryside. We were rushing off to Dazhu
and its famous Stone Buddas ... I forgot to mention that we first
got a lunch buffet. Never mind that the local Sichuan food can be a bit spicy.
at least it wasn’t ship’s food.
Along the way our guide, Eva, tried to explain
to us how rural land transfer worked in China. All land belongs to the State.
Only the improvements belong to the people. The average farmer ... in this case
Eva’s hypothetical Grandmother with all her kids off in the city ... may “own”
a half acre to an acre of farm land per adult family member. These pieces may
or may not be adjacent, and are very unlikely to be near her actual residence.
When Grandma dies her pieces of farmland go back to the State for redistribution.
Her house could be sold but the guy buying it wouldn’t necessarily get the farmland
with it. The family could keep title to the farmhouse, but only keep the farmland
if one of them moved back to the farm ... and then maybe not. The value of the
house is greatly restricted by the fact that farmers seldom have any actual
money. Only if they worked off the books in the city during slow farming
seasons would they have any cash.
When the city population of Chongqing is given
as 14 million and Shanghai as 16.3 million, and Wuhan as 9 million and Xi’an as
6 million and Beijing as 11 million, this does not include these day laborers
or street vendors who are in fact everywhere. At nine o’clock at night they are
already on the designated street corners where labor brokers will come looking
for them in the morning.The fact is that many, if not most, do work in
town. Construction crews and the street vendors selling seemingly unsalable
stuff are all farmers. They are all off the books because, if they registered
to live in cities, as the law requires, they would lose their farms.
The Stone
Buddas of Dazhu are carved out of rock in
situ, meaning, in place. Virtually every statue is living stone. The actual
number ... 10,000 ... or was it 50,000 ... escapes me but, like all numbers in
China, it was huge. Way off in the country and high above the city of Dazhu,
one would have thought it would be cool there ... no such luck. While learning
way more than I ever wanted to know about the Buddhist faith ... much of it for
the third time ... I could barely breath the super-heated air. And yet it was
the trip back to Chongqing that truly took my breath away.
A proper interstate type highway left Chongqing
heading north ... I think, as again the cloudless but polluted sky was unable
to reveal the true location of the sun. Off of it, a new toll road went nearly
straight to Dazhu ... or at least the edge of town where it ended for now,
giving local merchants a last chance at the tourists. This road was four
undivided lanes with unlimited access ... in other words, only tourists were
charged to use it. On our return trip it was the site of a live virtual reality
game of dodge-em.
The lack of rural traffic police meant that
every driver, bike and pedestrian created his own set of rules. Actually all
the rules contained a similar tenant ... were ever I am, I do what I want as if
no one else existed. Put yourself in the front seat of a mini-bus and picture
this ... and you’ll see why my group mates willingly allowed me complete use of
that seat.
To begin with, the exterior lanes were pretty
much given over to bicycles, pedicab-rickshaws, and pedestrians. Each used the
lane with no particular regard for each other nor for vehicles. Movement on
either side of the road was in both directions. Within each lane no pattern of
direction was established. Furthermore, the concept of giving way seemed not to
exist.
As in the city, pedestrians seemed to be
unaware that cars used roads. They would saunter into traffic, head on or back
toward it. When they crossed the road their first notice of traffic was the
blare of a horn. At that time they would stand frozen where ever they were
while the driver plotted his course around them. Children's hands were only
grabbed after the horn had sounded, but they were never pulled back out of
traffic. Their parents just left them standing out there while holding their
hand ... do you suppose this is a sort of birth control? Occasionally a wiser
pedestrian would run for her life ... notice I said her as no man would ever
chicken out.
Drivers of the various vehicles stopped to
rest without pulling over. Vendors set up in the middle of the lane. Broken
down rickshaws and vehicles sat wherever their motors died. Local mini-buses
seemed loath to penetrate the lane. They collected and discharged passengers
while barely crossing into the inside lane. Going to the shoulder seemed to be
an unthinkable concept.
Now transfer this entire disregard for the
rules of the road ... and simple common sense ... to BMWs, trucks, and busses
of all sizes. We were going 100 KmPH or 60 MPH which I guess was the speed
limit or at least the norm. At that speed horn blowing was much more essential
than at city speeds. That meant honking on every single approach of another
vehicle. All would occasionally venture into that chaotic inside lane to pass
or to get out of the way if the driver was chicken. Most drivers held their
ground directly against the road’s centerline.
Drivers like ours with the good sense not to
try to pass on the inside took to the only passing lane available ... that on
the other side of the double centerline. Not to worry ... everyone expected it
because they too were doing it. At one memorable moment while we were across
that line, struggling to generate enough power and speed to get around a truck
full of chickens, an on coming driver was attempting the same maneuver around a
tour bus. I’m not sure exactly how this situation was resolved as I flinched.
Fritz thought he saw a puddle under my seat when the maneuver was over.
A further minor inconvenience was provided by
local farmers. One had taken delivery of a load of bricks for his new house ...
dumped right on the highway. Farmers were most pleased by the roadway because
it gave them a place to dry their rice. Rice was spread, piled, and basketed at
various points along the way, inconveniencing cyclists and pedestrians more
than motorists.
It was 7:30 when we first saw our Chongqing home, the Hoi Tak Hotel. While the others rested, I got in my first afternoon run. I hate morning running so this was a treat ... even if it did involve running up hill the first half mile. I turned around at a huge shopping mall ... in China malls are usually multi-storied buildings occupying whole city blocks ... which, as a lure to come in, was draining air conditioned air out on to the ninety plus degree city streets. The downhill portion back to the hotel was the fastest and freest that I ran in China. I then snuck in a couple cooling laps in the hotel’s full size indoor pool.
I met the group in the bar where they were
taking advantage of their free drink coupons. At nine we went to the dinner
buffet which may have been the best buffet I have ever eaten. There was duck,
crab, fish, mutton, and even steak. Some were prepared in the local style;
others in American style. Everything was excellent. To top it all off, they had
real deserts made with sugar. To really top it off, they had ice cream with
fudge or caramel topping. Unfortunately we only had an hour to eat before the
place closed. The staff was not pushing us ... they seemed to be enjoying our
gluttony. I reluctantly left only slightly short of my personal 10,000-calorie
limit.
DAY 10
I slept well for maybe five hours but
woke up feeling bloated. How did that happen?
Not feeling like running and knowing there
wouldn’t time that evening, I opted for a morning swim. Swimming is much easier
than running in the morning. The cool water awakened me, but the air ... polluted
even indoors ... choked me. Nevertheless it was too bad we were only staying a
single night here. By the way ...
we stayed on the 13th floor. I’ve ever been in a hotel that had a 13th
floor.
Our first stop was the Chongqing Zoo where their pandas are the star attraction. The pandas, which in the wild live high up on mountains, are smart enough want to get out of Chongqing’s summer heat so they have to be locked out of their dens. Unfortunately this means they stay near its door and far away from zoo visitors. Oh well. At least we got a long unencumbered look at a couple of them. With time to kill before our next stop we lingered in the Zoo looking at things I see regularly at the St. Louis Zoo. Still, I love zoos and this was a good one.
I think maybe it was at that meal that we
began to rethink the wisdom of trying every single thing put before us ...
which was a minimum of twelve dishes per meal. Four to six appetizers were
followed by a like main course and of vegetables. Usually the ingredients were
unrecognizable but we ate first and asked later. Every meal included a different,
good-looking “green vegetable” that had no English translation but tasted like
dirty grass. Most other veggies were quite good. At no time did I taste a dish
that tasted similar to Chinese food in America.
The afternoon’s activities seemed suspiciously
unplanned and consequently much more fun. It was much as if I were on my own
again, just choosing activities on a whim. We went to the big Monument Circle shopping district at
the heart of Chongqing. Liberation Monument commemorates the communists
driving the Goumingdang from
Chongqing. The entire group but me headed to the mall. I headed to the street
alone. I bought a couple maps in a bookstore and a pair of pants in a little
shop. Back at the mall I bought a pair of shorts ... I had somehow forgotten to
pack shorts and had been wearing a pair borrowed from my roommate Lee.
Shopping bags full, we headed to the airport
at 4:30. When we arrived there our plane for Xi’an still hadn’t left from Xi’an
... an apparent regular occurrence. Time passed fairly quickly though and our
5:45 flight was airborne at 7:10. One would have thought our late arrival would
have found a guide pacing at the gate. But no ... we slowly progressed through
gates all the way to the pick-up curb finding no guide. We noticed a guy, who
seemed to be organizing things, giving us the eye. He was on and off his cell
phone, giving orders so we hoped he has the local state tourism director. Apparently
he was because when May finally showed up ten minutes later she seemed to
apologize to him before to us. She would later confide that she was tried of
the guide business and was thinking about going into law. Wherever we went in
Xi’an, she rattled off her speech and sent us on our way to explore alone.
We were so late in arriving that we had to eat
in the airport. Surprisingly they too had a buffet, and a very good one at
that. The local specialty seemed to be potatoes fried in sugar ... the cuisine
find of the trip.
During the long ride into the city ... another
airport built miles from anywhere ... we had to stop for a car coming head-on
down our lane of the highway in the dark. The guy seemed loath to make a U-turn
and save his own life. Our driver, who was a total opposite of our Chongqing
driver, without raising his voice or honking his horn, suggested the other guy
might be a country hick. When we got to the Jianguo
Hotel at eleven our luggage wasn’t there. The scare was brief as it arrived
before May could dial her cell phone. Apparently someone from the Chinese
Tourism Service (CTS) is on call 24/7 to help the guides serve their tourists.
DAY 11
After my best night’s sleep in China, I was
ready to hit the streets of Xi’an. I
ran down the broad boulevard toward the old city wall. With its separate bike
lane, it was much more mundane than the streets of Shanghai ... and I seemed to
be wearing down a bit.
At breakfast I enjoyed sweet rolls for the
second consecutive day. I thought about having cereal but the milk was thicker
than whole cream .. or maybe that is what it was. When it got packaged yogurt
in Beijing it was this same consistency.
At nine we began the hour ride out to see the Terra Cotta Soldiers, one of China’s
best man-made attractions. The route could be compared to that from Chongqing
to Dazhu but in this case our driver and the others seemed to have a much better
sense of the rules of the road. We arrived with anticipation rather than
tension.
My not-so-new guidebooks had led me to believe the soldiers were protected from the elements by a metal shed so I was quite surprised to see a collection of big modern buildings. The newer ones housed more recent discoveries. Visitors and archeologist alike could now view the treasures in cooled air, if not true air conditioning.
After he became the first person to unify
china in 220 BC, emperor Qinshi Haungdi
decided that in his after life he would need to be protected from those he had
ruthlessly pursued on earth. He created a 6000 or 8000 man force of terra cotta
soldiers to surround his pyramidal tomb. Unfortunately his earthly enemies
plundered the buried army immediately after his death. They stole the weapons
of the clay army, smashing a few soldiers in the process. They then set fire to
the roof and the overhead soil crashed down on the lifeless army.
As with every stop our guide warned us not to
buy from street vendors. Here that meant warding off a thousand peasants ...
although without their ice cold Cokes we might have perished. Their innumerable
trinkets we could probably due without. Still I had to purchase a set of tiny
terra cotta soldiers. Their $1 price seemed a bit better than the $15 museum
price. The fact that dark, aged part of the little soldiers turned out to be charcoal
that came off on my hands when I got home was but a minor inconvenience. I was
less than thrilled when the first agreed upon price of $1 turned out not to be
for the box of five but for one.
Arbitrations settled upon $2 for box.
Everywhere you look around Xi’an there are
burial mounds that have as yet been unopened or explored. The area’s future in
the tourist industry seems secure. Additionally the city seemed much more laid
back than the others we had been to. There was less competitiveness and less
building. Xi’an was modern but not mad.
The quality of food had picked up. There would
be little to complain about the rest of the trip ... except the quantities. We
were told by guides that in China to get the amount of food exactly right are
to insult your guest. Furthermore, to clean your plate is to indicate you were
not given enough. By that time we were eating more wisely ... that is less ...
and we left a bit here and there.
The afternoon was anticlimactic. The Banfu Neolithic Village may have been
5000 years old but it aroused little passion in our guide or us. It turns out
the real reason we were there was probably the gift shop. I was constantly
amazed that my fellow travelers ... actually all the American groups ... could
be continually interested shopping over and over with the same basic selection.
My diversion here came in the form of a
darling little six-year-old girl, Yin Meng Fei. She surprised me when she
answered my “hello” with her own “hello”. With the help of an American flag key
chain, many of which I carry for just such an occasion, I coaxed a bit more out
of her. I’d ask her something and she’d get that kid’s “Ah. Sucks” look. Her
dad would say something in Chinese and she’d answer in English. Noticing my
companions were gone, I went outside to find them at a lower level shop. Meng
Fei followed me outside to say hello again. Her aunt coaxed her into doing a
little song and dance she learned in kindergarten. She captivated her audience
which was by then growing. After a bit more squirming, she did an Indian dance
that might be provocative if she is still doing it when she is fifteen or
twenty. Her final selection was “Jingle Bells”. It was the kind of time that I treasure.
We had a bit of a break before supper and a show.
I used the time to swim in the 3’ by 40’ pool. My back needed it, as did my
body temperature. For the first time on the trip I laid down to nap ... for 35
minutes. Then it was off to a dinner theater.
This diner was to be special as we had agreed
to spend $10 extra to get a dumpling dinner ... now we knew why Xi’an’s
specialty dumplings had been mysteriously absent from our buffets. We were
served either 19 or 21 different kinds of dumplings ... you can understand why
I may have lost count. Two or three were really good. The rest were at least OK
... at least the first ten or twelve varieties. Someone pointed out later that
if we had been served only the stuffing we might well have still been hungry.
My assessment: six or eight in a bowl of soup would have been great. By the way
... we had eight appetizers too.
We were right down front for the show that
followed. Regional- Tang Dynasty folk dance and music made for a colorful and
entertaining evening ... especially a group of musicians who seemed to love every
minute on stage.
Apparently dumplings make great sleeping pills
because that night was the only one during which I would sleep straight through
for eight hours, my usual amount of sleep at home.
DAY 12
Well rested, I was ready for my morning run. As
I stretched at the hotel gate, a guy ran past me so I took off after him. We
settled in at a slow pace and got to know each other. Claudio Valentino was a refrigerant
piping salesman from Verona, Italy, which are just a couple hours from where my
grandpa grew up. Although we looked about the same age, he was only 48. His stories
about jumping into marathons that he came across as he traveled on business
made me long for my forties again. We ran all the way to the old city wall that
wasn’t any where near the three kilometers away we had been told. On the way
back we silently picked up the pace, returning in a minute and a half less than
we ran out. No matter what I feel like, running with someone is a great
pick-me-up. It was one of those times of shared individual experiences that I
couldn’t convince Lee existed.
May, our guide, had totally run out of enthusiasm for her
job. Her rushed description of the Big
Wild Goose Pagoda, Dayan, seemed
like a record on the wrong speed. I practically had to race walk to get through
most of the compound and back to our meeting place in the half hour she
allowed. I had sensed the need for speed so I had struck out without my group
mates. Everyone else was already sitting there so I’m guessing they missed a
lot.
Apparently the rush was so that we could get
to a Lacquer Furniture Factory. Even though they had some really nice furniture
at very good prices, by now I was just a little annoyed that “factory” stops seemed
to be more important than tourist attractions. I was in China as a tourist not
a shopper.
We then went to the South Gate of the Old City Wall. Xi’an had needed its wall because it had been China’s capitol off
and on during eleven dynasties from 206BC to 907 AD. After an even shorter talk
than previous ones, we were deposited in the gift shop. I walked around
outside, longing to get on one of the bicycles which were for rent there. The
twelve kilometer, 7.5 mile loop of the city would have made a great run too ...
even if I don’t normally run that far. We just sort of hung around there for
quite a while as it was still too early to go to lunch.
After another good lunch we sat around talking
to May about how the travel business is set up in China. In a nutshell, once
you touch down in China, every thing is orchestrated by the government. All the
guides are trained and licensed with their job on the line every day. The job
pays poorly but their tips make them rich ... especially if they get groups of
forty rather than of eight ... maybe that’s what she was pissed about. Her day
lasted from 6 AM when she got up in order to catch a bus to our hotel, till ten
or eleven when she taxied home and checked in with her supervisor.
The drivers rent out themselves and their own
busses on a daily basis. They don’t get a separate paycheck but the tips are
gravy to them. Americans are apparently more generous than Germans or Japanese,
the other two major tourist nationalities ... or maybe she was just buttering
us up. I shouldn’t complain about her too much because, at least for this hour,
she was open and personable. We repeatedly ask our guides to eat with us but
apparently they were required to sit apart with the driver ... or maybe they
just wanted a well-deserved moment alone.
The flight to Beijing was on time although as
we waited we never really knew for sure. There are only six gates at the Xi’an
airport and each serves a flight from a skyway and one from the ground. Our
flight came on the board at the same time boarding was announced. Since I was
talking to a British expatriate, I wasn’t as worried as the others. While her
husband was trying to strike a deal for Chinese oil, she was seeing the sites
with her visiting daughter. At the gate we started out the skyway only to be
diverted down steps and across the tarmac to a plane setting ten feet from the
skyway.
Since the flight was on an Air China 767, the
same type plane my son Mark flies for Delta, I ask the flight attendant if I
might talk to the Captain. It was too close to flight time then, but she talked
to me a couple different times before and during the flight. Fu Hui Fang may
not have had a pretty sounding name but she was the kind of stewardess men fantasize
about. Her smile could smooth out the roughest flight.
When we landed she said to wait in my seat and
she would take me up to the cockpit.
Captain Zhong and First Officer Li were most gracious. Li had trained in
Miami at the same facility that my son had. When I got off the plane the only
bus was the crew bus which I wasn’t allowed on, but Li had already called ahead
for a car to take me to the receiving hall. As I pulled up, my tour group was
just de-boarding their bus so I didn’t delay them as I had feared I might. The
delay came at the baggage carousel. Our bags were the last off the huge plane,
giving us some anxious moments. Our new guide Johnathan Geng was worried too.
We had all eaten the disagreeable food on the
plane so we didn’t really want to face another buffet. Our pleas to substitute
an ice cream shop for the buffet fell on deaf ears ... surely we didn’t want to
miss the restaurant gift shop.
DAY 13
Our 6:30 Beijing
wake up call at the Landmark Towers Hotel came quickly, and when it did
come, I was too tired to get up. Sleep was hard to come by on a pillow that was
filled with either sand or partially hardened cement. One of these rocks was
too thin and two were too thick. I can’t imagine why anyone would manufacture
let alone buy such a pillow. From the night before I left home to this night, I
had missed enough sleep to have genuine concerns about suddenly crashing.
Thankfully, as is so often the case with travel sleep deprivation, it didn’t
hit till three hours after I got home.
Today it was number three on my list of China’s four best tourist spots, The Great Wall of China. Soaring anticipation came crashing down as we pulled into a jade factory along the way. Thank God there is only one more day that they can drag us to another factory. Fritz really wanted to buy a ring to go along with the one his wife had purchased, but again they none big enough to fit him. Shoe stores couldn’t fit me and some places the large T-shirts were at best smallish mediums. Sometimes you couldn't spend money even if you wanted to.
It was 10:15 by the time we reached the wall at
a place called Badling, which at 45
miles is, I guess, the nearest it comes to Beijing. While the original wall may
be nearly 2000 years old, this four or five mile-rebuilt section was opened in 1957
for the benefit of the tourist trade. Other sections have since been opened as
this one became over-run by success. The project has four or five thousand
kilometers to go to completion.
Looking up a seeming unending flight of stairs
... 17,000 by someone’s count ... we were told to be back at the bus in two
hours ... at least we’d get a few more minutes than at the jade factory. Before
beginning the climb, we all ponyed up $10 for group photo in an album. I had
planned on a personal group photo on the wall but it was obvious all of us
weren't gong to make it to the top ... especially with a two hour time limit.
For once the sky was very clear and as usual
the temperature was in the nineties. Within a couple minutes the endless line
of tourist-climbers had slowed to a crawl ...the steepest part was at the
bottom. The steps varied in height from three to eighteen inches in a vary
random pattern. Old ladies moaned, kids ran by, fat guys gasp for air, and everyone
prayed for a breath of fresh, cool air ... none of which could penetrate the
crowd.
The first of five guard stations didn’t come
too soon for most. Past it the crowd thinned noticeably. The steps weren’t
quite as steep but the heat and altitude were taking their toll. The next
station reduced the number to only the hardy survivors. What looked to be the
last station was too far up for most to have any hope of getting there.
Actually they made good decisions because what we could see from there was not
in fact the top of the mountain. By the time I got there, the guide’s thirty-minute
trip had extended to forty minutes ... and I had hardly paused on the way up.
Smiling and soaking with sweat, I scrambled
the final steps to the top of that final tower. The reward was a refreshing
breeze and spectacular views, only slightly obscured by haze ... and lots of
fun people celebrating their accomplishment. Most of them were American
soldiers who were stationed in Korea, here on a week’s leave. They climbed on
the roof, shouted slogans, and took sky-cam pictures for the rest of us. Half
my time was spent talking to a runner-soldier ... somehow we knew that each
other were a runner.
Twenty minutes after I got there, Fritz and
Beth showed up. Our stupid timetable forced us all to leave ten minutes later.
As we left Diane was just arriving so we quit rushing. I ended up going down
pretty quick anyway. I hooked up with Lt. Misty Coronett from Illinois, another
runner. We walked and talked, plunging down and down. Just before the really
steep part at the bottom, we paused and she said, “My legs are trembling.” Mine
were too because going down is harder than going up even though you breath
easier. We immediately continued on ... two runners heading for the finish
line.
At the bottom I bought a snow cone and savored
each bite ... oblivious to the warning we had been given about eating ice
anywhere other than at a restaurant. It was a bit of a wait for Diane to get
down, but I was happy for her and her accomplishment.
Our photo albums were waiting for us in the
bus. None of us could be too upset with the results. Guess where we ate lunch
... the Friendship Store. That meant a half hour to shop after lunch. Lucky us.
Next stop was the Ming Tombs ... actually just the pagoda in front of one of the
thirteen unexplored tombs in that particular valley. The pagoda was now a
museum housing the relics from the tomb of Ding Ling ... I swear ... the
Tyrant. Only a couple of us choose to go up in the tower with Jonathan.
A short ride from Ding Ling’s place, we
disembarked from the bus to walk the Sacred
Way, a half-mile of shaded walk lined with animal statues. Each pair
symbolized something ... everything in China symbolizes something. The first
would be standing and the second sitting as if resting while waiting his turn
to guard the emperor. It was one of the few places the whole trip where we just
quietly strolled.
Jonathan was probably the most entertaining of
our guides simply because of his interest in English idioms and sayings. He had
been an English teacher but at 35 had switched to travel guide. Would you
believe that Chinese schoolteachers are unpaid and under appreciated? He had an
uncanny ability to remember every saying he had over heard from his tour
groups. Every free minute with him we were translating crazy sayings into understandable
thoughts. “What does it mean to “get up” for something? Why say, “she’s a fox”?”
He could be considered among the new upwardly
mobile of China. He had chosen a new career. His wife, a college professor, had
a one year appointment in Maine coning up, but he and their son couldn’t go ...
they were pretty much being held hostage to guarantee her return. They had
recently been able to get their own apartment after living with his parents for
the first seven years of their marriage. They had purchased a place on the
sixteenth floor of a new, first-class building ... unlike in the USA; higher
floors were undesirable because of greater heat and smog. Each month payments
cost them her entire salary. They had 15 square meters ... 150 square feet ...
10 x 15 ... with no bath or kitchen of their own. Those were communal
facilities shared by all six apartments on the floor. He was very happy.
Back in Beijing it was Friday night rush hour.
The city has three ring roads and all were jammed. Traffic jams we saw, but no
bicycle jams. There were lots of bicycles, but not the thousands you see in old
documentaries. It took forever to get to our special Peking duck meal. While
the duck was very good, it was still a bit over-hyped ...it couldn’t possibly
live up to expectations. Actually the special sauce and sesame seed tortillas
detracted from it ... I made up the part about sesame seeds, not the sauce. As
usual we pretty much closed the place. Chinese don’t eat out late.
Back at the hotel I figured I needed a swim to
sooth the aches from all the day’s climbing. Much to my surprise they wanted to
charge $6 to use the pool which was a three-stroke pool ... one so short that
you really can’t properly swim in it. I found the night manager and suggested
that a four-star hotel didn’t charge for such amenities, but refrained from
telling him where he could shove his $6. A long shower and a little CNN-Asia
would have to do. Again sleep didn’t come easy on my cement bag pillows ... not
too four-star either.
DAY 14
My day began with a run down the nearby embassy
row. The mile of the tree shade avenue was lined by the embassies of Togo,
Malaysia, and South Africa, among others. Only Australia’s had any touch of the
individuality that you normally expect of embassies. Barbed wire was evident
and soldiers everywhere. They were a friendly lot though. My nods drew smiling
responses and even a thumbs-up.
Major Beijing streets like this one have a
separated lane for bicycles. On the Saturday and Sunday that I ran there were
very few bikes ... there are more in St. Louis’ Forest Park on the weekend.
Maybe one of the reasons for less bikes is that over one million are stolen
each year in Beijing alone ... China’s only admission to the existence of
crime. Actually there were few cars out either. Our travels that day were much
easier.
Modern Beijing was laid out after the
Communists took over China in 1949. Only then were the boulevards and ring
roads built. It had first been China’s capitol in 1206, but has been so
continuously only since 1949. Even though people aren’t supposed to move from
country to city or city to city without permission, Beijing continues to grow
out of control like all third-world major cities.
When I wrote in my diary that evening I noted
that I couldn’t remember what factory we went to that morning. Lee or the
others couldn’t remember either. Jonathan later said we didn’t go to any. I
guess it just seemed like we were always stopping at one.
Our last day in China began at Tian’anmen Square, a place of infamy in
American minds and the site of glorious celebrations in Chinese minds. On the
flight over the Chinese man in the seat next to me suggested that one should
look at the Tian’anmen Square incident in the historical context of what happened
twenty years earlier in the Cultural Revolution. Begun as a student protest
which was twisted into horror, the Cultural Revolution scars the mind of
everyone whose family was effected by it ... and that’s just about everyone. He
suggested that the 1989 government feared another such aberration of youthful
fervor. Maybe to us it doesn’t justify what happened. Maybe to them it is an
understandable rationalization.
Tian’anmen is huge ... just like it looks on
TV except for one thing. At the south end is the grand Mausoleum of Mao. I’ve never seen it as a backdrop for a CNN report
and yet hundreds if not thousands were in line to view the glass-enclosed remains
of the Father of the Country ... what is it with the communists and their glass
coffins? No one seems to deny Mao’s excesses, yet he is revered for having
founded modern China. China’s “New Economy” is Deng’s legacy, but he was seldom
mentioned without our prompting.
The whole the north end of the Square is walled by the entry gate of the Forbidden City. Mao’s picture still hangs over the main entrance. Behind the walls lie acres of buildings and courtyards. We passed through, I think, three precincts or courtyards before finally reaching the living quarters several blocks to the rear. There the scale became human, and intricate details were more important than massive structures. At the rear gate an intimate garden seemed a world apart from the city and the palace itself. Begun in 1420 the Palace has 999 rooms. It was occupied by the royal family up until the last Ming emperor, Pu Yi, was evicted by Steven Spielberg during the filming of the movie “the Last Emperor” ... just kidding about that.
Lunch features some incredible fried pork
strips. The joy of fine eating was soon past as we watched a clam being ripped
open at a pearl factory. A dozen or so tiny pearls fell into our hands as
souvenirs ... and then we were offered the chance to buy some quality pearl
jewelry. More fun.
It was probably three o’clock by the time we
reached the Summer Palace, Yihe Yuan. It was the most important
residence of Ci Xi, the Dowager
Empress in the late 1800s. Today it is a huge park drawing more locals than
tourists ... and every tourist in town was there. Despite what I would think
would be prohibitive entrance fees for them, the Chinese people flock to their
parks. Even though packed, being in here was better than the 15 square meters
back home. We walked the 800-meter long lakeside Corridor and ended the visit
with a boat ride back across Kunming Lake.
As it was our last stop I was ready to but a
couple souvenirs. I got a 2008 Beijing Olympics T-shirt but the hat guys
weren’t there ... and nowhere all day had we seen the guys with the $1 CDs we’d
been promised. Apparently the extra soldiers and police we had seen were
responsible for the dearth of salesman of genuine knock-offs. Only the sellers
of “fine” watches had been out that day.
That evening, in a shop across the street from
our trip’s final entertainment, I picked up six CDs at $1.75 each and a DVD of
the as yet unreleased in the USA Lord of
the Rings for $6.50 ... from a shop. not a street vendor. When I told
Jonathan what I had found, he makes it clear that if customs asked, I had never
heard of him.
Our going away treat was the Peking Opera. Judging by the undercurrent
in the balcony I would guess that most found it little less than a treat. To capsulate
a parody-review of it I wrote that night in my hotel room ... ‘the opening band
uniquely combined a bunch of notes into serious noise. Two operatic segments featured
singing that rivaled fingernails on a chalkboard. Only the final act caught
anyone’s imagination. Acrobats tumbled and a girl kicked spears back at her
aggressors with uncanny skill. Her husband should not start any arguments in
the kitchen.’ Luckily beer was served during the performance ... although the dropped bottles were a bit
distracting.
Using my bedspread as a pillow, I got a bit
more sleep than the past couple nights. Lee’s snoring seemed worse than usual
but it never woke me ... only kept me more awake when I couldn’t sleep anyway.
Still, I probably couldn’t have had a better roommate if he had been my
life-long friend.
DAY 15
July 7, 2002. My 63rd birthday .. the longest
of my life ... it would last 39 hours as I winged eastward across time zones.
The day began with another nice run on embassy
row and a cool-down walk. Then the day deteriorated quickly.
At the airport most of the check-in lines were
closed. There were plenty of agents sitting around .. they just weren’t
checking in our flight. Every flight apparently had its own counter and ours
was on break waiting for 9:30. At 10:00 they sort of opened the line by making
us change counters. The first guy in the other line had two babies that the
agents refused to seat with either he or his wife. The agent sat passively and
the line waited while a supervisor disappeared for thirty minutes. He managed
to get two sets of two seats together. Meanwhile my line moved right along and
I got a requested front row seat thanks to the help of a Chinese citizen ,,.
apparently only citizens can choose seats. While it was obvious that there was
no way the fight would leave on time, no mention was ever made of that fact.
About the scheduled flight time, a 50-minute delay was posted.
We took off one hour and twenty minutes late.
We had to disembark in Shanghai to go through exit customs. By the time we
reached San Francisco I had read a whole book, sort of slept for five hours,
and eaten the same meal twice ... it wasn’t any better the second time. By now
I had less than an hour to make my connecting flight to Cincinnati which I did
easily, but not without some serious walking.
I even made it on time for my 20-minute
connection in Cincinnati. The problem there was they had overbooked that flight
and I didn’t get on. If I had a ticket that might not have been a problem, but
for me and four other Delta employee, standby passengers, it meant a night in
the airport. Even though I was some thirty hours into my day, sleep didn’t come
easily. The carpeted floor hasn’t too badly, but midnight maintenance work was
louder than daytime passengers would have been. I got up when CNN came on the
monitors at 5 AM. At that point I was doing pretty good ...just anxious to get
on my way.
My 7:50 flight got me to St. Louis on time but
public transportation lived up to its bad rap. It took me two hours to cover
the 25 miles home. I arrived home at 10:15 in the middle of the year’s worst
heat wave ... just 40 short hours after arising on my birthday.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: When rereading this text
realized that I was probably a bit short on descriptions of natural wonders and
man made sites I visited. The truth is even the pictures I took don’t convey
fully what I saw. Everything remains perfectly clear in my mind’s eye ... I
have a gift of retaining virtually everything I see as though it were a video.
I find it much easier to recall in words my meetings and encounters. No matter
how spectacular a country may be, it is its people who make the place come
alive. I try to pass on these experiences and leave the scenery to
photographers and wordsmiths.
That being said, you’ve got to take this trip
before the Gorges are flooded and China moves fully into the 21st Century ...
and joining a tour group is the only logical way of seeing China.
17,000 words written in July 2002, about
travel in June 2002, by:
Bob Hyten, Jr.
1025 Randle St.
Edwardsville, IL, 62025-1339
(618) 656-4105
hyten@ekit.com
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