Across Asia With A Lowlander: Part 2g: Lanzhou

Greetings!

Another week, another post and this one has lots of nice images since I’ve been off from work so have had time to scan loads of my old photos in. Today

Today the Lowlander and I can be found in Lanzhou, the capital of Gansu Province and home to over three and a half million people which is about the same as the whole of New Zealand but not enough to make it a major city in Chinese terms. It is also noticeable for lying on the Yellow River which is not that yellow, (more a mucky brown, although to be fair, yellower than the Red River which is a dark murky brown), and being home to Five Flavour Tea which is only marginally tastier than drinking the waters of the Yellow River itself.

Incidentally, some research on Google Earth has informed me that the area of stunning scenery which we passed through on the train to Lanzhou seems to be a just north-west of the city of Baiyin, the nearest place of any consequence being a town named Wuchuanxiang. It looks worth checking out and if any of you have done, please, let me know all about it!

Keep travelling!

Uncle Travelling Matt

Links to all parts of the travelogue

Book 1: Embarking Upon A New Korea

1a: Toyama to Pusan

1b: Pusan

1c: Seoul

1d: The DMZ

1e: Seoul, Incheon and Across the Yellow Sea

Book 2: Master Potter does Fine China

2a: Qingdao

2b: Beijing (I)

2c: Beijing (II)

2d: Beijing (III)

2e: Yinchuan (I)

2f: Yinchuan(II)

2g: Lanzhou

2h: Bingling-si

2i: Xiahe

2j: Lanzhou and Jiayuguan

2k: Jiayuguan

2l: Dunhuang

2m: Urumqi (I)

2n: Urumqi (II)

2o: Urumqi (III)

 

24th July, 2002 – Lanzhou, China

The sun's early morning rays revealed the landscape of the Gansu Province to be one of the most intriguing that I have ever seen. From my high bunk I watched as the train wound through arid hills and alongside small fields full of ripe watermelons. The Lowlander was already up and talking to a fellow passenger, a lady of his age named Lin Peng who hailed from Inner Mongolia but worked in Lanzhou selling Cashmere coats. They were as happy as two pigs in muck writing out his name in Chinese characters and talking about Mongolia, so I left them to it, and gazed out of the carriage window. The dryness here was as complete as in Ningxia, but the varying altitudes made this area far more fascinating to look at. What's more, many of the hillsides contained holes or small caves, presumably made by human hands though for what purpose I could not fathom out.

Scenes from the Lanzhou train

Like Ningxia, the area was also sparsely populated, or at least it was until we to the city of Lanzhou itself. She appeared through a gap between two hillsides, a shimmering mass of skyscrapers, straddling the Yellow River and hemmed in between the mountains. At first it seemed as if we would not be stopping there as the train thundered past on the opposite side of the valley, but then it changed direction, losing altitude and swinging over the great river (a surging mass of water that lived up to its name, looking exactly like the yellow soil bath that I'd sampled in Pusan), before following the other side of the valley down into the city's large railway station.

Approaching Lanzhou

The intrepid explorers arrive in Lanzhou

We booked in at the grand Lanzhou Binguan for the night. I'd known as soon as I'd read the description in the guidebook that this was the place for me; 'a large, fully renovated Sino-Stalinist edifice' where in the good old days all the big names had stayed. Why not play the political cadre for one night at least? After all, I still had my Mao badge on. What's more, it turned out to cost only a very proletarian Y100 per night. 'Long Live the Revolution!' say I.

Mao woz ere: The Lanzhou Binguan

After showering and settling into our new abode, it was of course time to explore the city and see the sights of which Lanzhou had a mind-boggling three in total; the Provincial Museum, and two cablecars up the mountains on either side of the city, where one may find parks, restaurants and pleasant views over the sprawling riverside metropolis. We decided to leave the cablecars for the evenings so that we could see the lights come out as well, which left only one place to visit, the highly recommended museum, situated at the opposite end of town. And to get there, we'd need a taxi.

Perhaps now is a good time to talk about the taxis of China which are interesting to say the least. For a start, I have to say that they're not bad. We had only two try and rip us off throughout the whole trip, which by any country's rating is not bad going. The first as soon as we'd got off the boat at Qingdao and the second was when we arrived at Beijing Railway Station, and taxi drivers in every country know that newcomers have no idea of prices, and if one is to try it on, those are the ideal places. All the others however were fine, all using a meter which not one of them pretended wasn't working, an annoying and frequent scam in so many countries.

No, our only gripe about them was again the bad geography. We'd encountered it first at the Post Offices on a global scale and now it came to haunt us at a more local level in taxis. Now in Britain, (and according to the Lowlander, in his homeland also), to become a taxi driver you have to pass a test, (called 'The Knowledge' I believe), showing that you actually know where places in your town and city actually are. In China however, in the unlikely event that such a test is mandatory, I assume that it is either not particularly hard, or that most taxi drivers have a severe amnesia problem. Time after time, we stepped into a taxi, gave the guy (or girl) a destination, and were met by a look of bewilderment. Was it our bad pronunciation? Not likely, we always pointed to the Chinese characters in the book. Was it that our destinations were obscure? No, we never once asked to be taken to the house of Wong Ling somewhere on Wuhuang Street just off Lingxia Avenue. No, we asked for places like the town's main park, the PSB (Chinese KGB-type place), the Provincial Museum or some famous pagoda, and every time these destinations foxed 'em. And having a map helped little either. Map-reading is, I assume, a bourgeoisie capitalist evil in China. What other explanation could there be for the fact that not one driver could pick out a railway line on one?

The situation in Lanzhou however, was compounded by the fact that unlike elsewhere in China, that fair city operated a system of two classes of taxi. Firstly, there were the green ones; Volkswagens or Citroens, normal taxis, where there was a small chance that your driver would know where your destination lies.

And then there were the yellow ones.

Lanzhou's yellow taxis were not cars but vans. You know the type, the tiny ones that the Japanese and Koreans build. Except that these ones were homemade and what's more looked like they'd been bought by the City of Lanzhou second-hand off the Taxi Corporation of Beirut. They were dented, scratched, indicatorless and wholly unroadworthy. On the plus side however, their fares started at five yuan, as opposed to seven in the green cabs. On the minus though, you could guarantee that these guys wouldn't even have a clue as to how to find the houses of their own mothers.

One of the yellow taxis

It was a yellow cab that we hailed to take us to the museum. We were dropped off at a pagoda, and after much frantic waving and pointing at the name of the museum in Chinese, our driver decided to consult his friend in the neighbouring vehicle, and after a short argument, realisation dawned, and we sped off through the city and pulled up besides that depositary of heritage.

But now it was our turn to look stupid. Like its contemporary in Yinchuan, the Gansu Provincial Museum was well and truly shut and boarded up. Driver grinned, we sighed, and back to the hotel we all went.

Still, it had not been a complete waste of money. What with our hotel being at one end of the city, and the museum at the other, en route we had got to view most of the sights of Lanzhou, and it proved to be an interesting place. Geography had conspired to make it long and thin, the city centre being over seven kilometres in length, yet less than two wide. Like Yinchuan, Qingdao and Beijing, there was money here, glass skyscrapers reached for the heavens and all around were the cranes of construction. That said however, one did get the feeling that its level of economic prosperity was not quite that of its northern neighbour. Pockets of grime still existed, and the roads were abysmal, although to be fair, that was largely due to the fact that most of the major thoroughfares were in the process of being pulled up to make way for a new two-tier urban highway system, which would also include a sparkling suspension bridge over the Yellow River. No, Lanzhou might not be a showcase city yet, but in five years time it should match any in China.

On the way back we stopped at a large pagoda gate flanked by stone lions. We were a little surprised to see Muslim men sat on the steps, but the reason soon became clear. Upon stepping through the gateway, instead of finding a temple dedicated to the Buddha, we were confronted with a large pool hall. Perhaps the original structure had become a victim to the ravage of the Cultural Revolution, or perhaps the gate had always been purely ornamental.

Upon our return to the hotel, we booked our tickets for the activities that would occupy us over the next few days at the en-site travel agents, before heading off again, this time to the cablecar with an email stop en route. We knew better than to ask the yellow taxi driver to take us to the internet cafe mentioned in the guidebook, so instead we plumped for the nearest big thing, the Communist Party Headquarters. After being driven half-way across town to the biggest department store and then directing the driver the Party HQ ourselves, we got to the cybercentre only to find it all in darkness. The fuse had blown and local adolescents and students milled around not really knowing what to do until eventually someone did something right, and the lights flashed on and they could return to their shoot-em-up games and ICQ.

Internet cafes in countries like China are quite unlike those in the West. For us the internet cafe is chiefly a place to email when away from our own PC, or perhaps to check the news at the same time. In the Second and Third Worlds however, where most people simply do not have the financial resources to buy their own computer, internet cafes take on a whole new importance. They are a place to play games, type dissertations, chat online and off, meet friends, and drink soft drinks. In fact, if anything they are more akin to youth clubs for students and other miscellaneous adolescents who often have a penchant for arcade games. And because most games take a very long time to play, then these places are usually ridiculously cheap. One hour later and one yuan down, we had surfed to satisfaction ourselves, and were out in the sunlight once again.

The cablecar turned out to be a pleasant trip indeed. It took us over the river and then up the hillside, giving fine views over the city. In fact, it would have been very romantic indeed, if I'd been sharing it with a tall slender lady with a passion for French kissing, but alas my companion, whilst tall and slender, was no lady and had a passion for belching and farting instead. Well, as Mick Jagger once said, 'You Can't Always Get What You Want' and wise words they were too, Mick, and so instead I joined the Lowlander for a game of burp tennis.

Taking the cablecar

And at the top we walked through the park to the restaurant, sat on a table overlooking the city, and whilst the sun dimmed and the neon lights grew brighter, we dined on fine food and played backgammon. And of course, the worthy two-nil winner was I, and thus the night was perfect, and even the inability of the taxi driver to find our hotel didn't bother me.

The Lowlander looking out over Lanzhou

Technorati Tags: uncle travelling matt,matt pointon,tom van den ouden,lowlander,lanzhou,gansu,cultural revolution,mao zedong,mao tse tung,binguan,cablecar,yellow river,stalinist,backgammon,burp tennis,trains,railways,china

Across Asia With A Lowlander: Part 2f: Yinchuan (II)

Greetings!

A miserable week has passed with me being laid-up in bed for most of it and the weather turning from great to grim. Oh well, that’s life and so it’s back to happier – and sunnier – times and climes when I wandered around the empty expanses of Northern China with a Dutchman.

Keep travelling!

Uncle Travelling Matt

Links to all parts of the travelogue

Book 1: Embarking Upon A New Korea

1a: Toyama to Pusan

1b: Pusan

1c: Seoul

1d: The DMZ

1e: Seoul, Incheon and Across the Yellow Sea

Book 2: Master Potter does Fine China

2a: Qingdao

2b: Beijing (I)

2c: Beijing (II)

2d: Beijing (III)

2e: Yinchuan (I)

2f: Yinchuan(II)

2g: Lanzhou

2h: Bingling-si

2i: Xiahe

2j: Lanzhou and Jiayuguan

2k: Jiayuguan

2l: Dunhuang

2m: Urumqi (I)

2n: Urumqi (II)

2o: Urumqi (III)

23rd July, 2002 – Yinchuan, China

We arose just before midday having successfully recuperated much of the sleep that we'd missed out on due to too many early mornings in Beijing and nights of middling sleep on trains. After leisurely packing we decided to continue that policy of conserving energy by spending the day doing nothing much in particular (after all, what was there to do?). We lunched in town and then roamed the streets, buying trinkets and getting a feel for the place. The initial impressions of prosperity were heightened, we discovered a large area with vast shopping centres, ('centre' being spelt correctly by the Chinese, well done!), that were full of people actually buying things unlike in the malls of South East Asia where most just go to have a look. I joined them purchasing CDs of patriotic Chinese songs whilst the Lowlander searched for some Oriental style clothes for his baby nephew.

As we walked along the wide boulevards we watched the cars, virtually all Volkswagens and Citroens (both made in China), and others of native manufacture. There were a few Toyotas and Isuzus from the Japanese, but the Americans registered no more than a solitary Jeep. The impression we got was that the Americans have been much slower to invest in the new China than the Europeans. Why is this? Perhaps due to the old mistrust of Communism which was always stronger Stateside than in the older countries, I know not?

Oh no! Lots of bicycles!

We decided to visit the Provincial Museum but when we got there it was well and truly boarded up. Perhaps history was still being rewritten? Instead we headed into some of the town's poorer quarters and found more of the China that we'd expected to find; markets on the streets and the odd beggar or two. Nonetheless, this was still a far cry from the Third World and even here the Communist Party were making efforts at improvement. Perhaps that is the secret of their success? Whereas a purely capitalist government would merely abandon these rundown areas to their fate, the communists do try and even things out a bit, so that complete urban wastelands are rare?

A Chinese ginza? Yinchuan’s main shopping street

We popped into a trophy shop to purchase a fitting memorial to present to the victor of our still-nameless Trans-Asian Backgammon Marathon, and came out with a tacky plastic globe upon which we could inscribe the contest's title and the name of the soon to be crowned King of Backgammon. And thus backgammonly-inspired, we sat down at a streetside cafe, procured some tea and started to play. A small crowd soon gathered, inquisitive as to the nature of this game that two strange foreigners were engaging in, and indeed they must surely have learnt a lot for some smart rolling gave me a worthy three to one victory in the session.

Checking out red China

Later we wandered through the streets into a pleasanter area of town. A shopping street built in the traditional Chinese style with tiled roofs and painted ornate beams was being fully renovated by the government, and they were doing a good job of it too. The old tarmac and concrete on the pavement was being dug out to a depth of around twenty centimetres and all the woodwork was being thoroughly filled, planed and painted back to its original glory. A little further down, around one of the old city gates, an example of the finished product could be viewed; a fine paved public space where citizens could meet and relax. What a shame that when the Japanese attempt urban renewal they do it with such contempt for their history and culture. And what a bigger shame, that when the Europeans complete a similar such project, idiots have to scrawl graffiti all over it.

Behold the Great Gate of Yinchuan!

Just behind the gate was Yinchuan’s answer to Tiananmen Square. Mao gazed out sagely over a pleasant expanse of paving stones, where people lounged about watching the big TV screen set up at the opposite end. At each side were what looked like signs for a subway station. Bitten by curiosity (surely this place was too small for an underground railway?) we went down to have a look and found a vast subterranean supermarket.

Nearby was the city’s Islamic district where the main mosque stood. The ancient inhabitants of the Ningxia region were the Hui people, who are descended from Arab and Iranian traders. Nowadays they make up approximately one third of the province’s population but are virtually indistinguishable from the majority Han Chinese, into whose culture they have been almost completely assimilated. The one major remaining difference is their continued adherence to Islam, and thus the city has several mosques. This was the biggest, but sadly modern and uninspiring. What’s more it cost Y7 to enter, so we didn’t bother and instead returned through the throngs of skullcapped gents to the main shopping district.

After dinner we took a taxi back to Yinchuan’s New City where the railway station stands. The two parts of the town are around seven kilometres apart and quite different. It is obvious that the ‘new’ area of town grew up when the rail connection was established. That was in 1958 and it was the region’s first major link with the outside world. It is hard to imagine what the area would have been like before that, though given the aridity of the land and the harshness of the winters, it was probably rather bleak. Yinchuan’s walled city was perhaps more akin to an Arabian caravanserai than anything else; a place for travellers to pass through, the local nomads to trade in and the people to take refuge in, in times of strife.

The New City reflects its origins during the early period of growth in the People’s Republic. With the railway station as its ‘cathedral’ it stretches out in wide boulevards lined with concrete apartment blocks, like some urban planner’s fantasy; the sort of place that the new Communist State would feature in its brochures that gave concrete evidence of the proletarian progress of the new Chinese Worker’s State.

Nowadays however, it is looking a little sorry for itself compared with its larger and older sibling, and it is obvious that the balance of power has shifted back onto more traditional ground. Nonetheless, this place was not stagnating in the sorry manner of many East European provincial towns. Although fewer in number, the cranes were here too, erecting new homes and businesses for the masses.

We were dropped off in the station square where a crowd of people were exercising together in time. Unlike company exercises in Japan, this group had no leader, instead it seemed to be voluntary and everybody obviously knew all the steps and were enjoying themselves. We however knew not which moves to make, so we retired to a café where we drank tea and played backgammon until it was time to board the train.

About an hour before that time came I popped across to the railway station to use the toilet, and upon leaving was surprised to learn that the time for the train’s departure was not an hour away, but five minutes. The watch had stopped again! Frantically we rushed across with our bags but alas the K423 to Lanzhou was already pulling out. Dejected we sat on the floor contemplating what to do next, when a young policewoman came up and asked us what was the problem. Her English was far from fluent but it was enough and using her help we managed to transfer our tickets to soft seats on the 01:30 train. She led us into the VIP waiting room, a grand hall in the cavernous belly of the Stalinist station, and made sure that we were comfortable. Missing the train had been our own stupid fault, (we knew that the watch was unreliable), but once again the Chinese had gone out of their way to help us. We were getting more impressed with these people as every day went by.

And we were even more impressed than that when we boarded the train and found that it was possible to upgrade to soft sleeper class. And thus, with our heads lain on the best bunks in town, we thundered through the night towards Gansu Province and the city of Lanzhou.

Technorati Tags: uncle travelling matt,matt pointon,travel,blog,lowlander,tom van den ouden,yinchuan,ningxia,gansu,lanzhou,shopping,mosque,islam,backgammon

V-log 3: A Tour around Schouwen-Duiveland

Greetings!

Since you've been getting to know him quite well on the Across Asia With A Lowlander travelogue, I thought that it might be nice to teach you all a little more about this mysterious figure who is the Lowlander and, more importantly, what makes him who he is. So, back in 2000 I popped across to his island, Schouwen-Duiveland in the Dutch province of Zeeland, and here's the result; the Lowlander shows us his island, (albeit with a time-lapse of over a decade).

To be fair, home of a travelling companion or not, Schouwen-Duiveland is a place that I particularly love. There's a strange beauty to its perfect flatness, (it is mostly below sea-level), and its history - both modern and ancient - is fascinating. But then again, you'll find all that out for yourself as we visit Zierikzee, the Plompentoren, the Ooster-Schelder Dam and the enigmatic Domain where, try as we might, we just can't find the watchtower...

BTW, a quick warning, the sound quality is naff, I know, but I can't seem to improve it.

Keep travelling!

Uncle Travelling Matt

Across Asia With A Lowlander: Part 2e: Yinchuan (I)

Greetings!

Posting these old travelogues can sometimes lead to some interesting surprises. Rereading this and arranging it for the internet, I looked online for a suitable city map of Yinchuan to help readers orientate themselves. However, none of the maps I came across resembled anything like the Yinchuan I remember which was, as I have written below, two cities: the ancient one and the modern one founded in the 1950s around the railway station and some several kilometres from its older brother. On all the maps though, it appears as one, with the railway station in its heart.

Confused, I decided to research further and so went on Google Earth and the mystery was revealed. In the intervening 11 years between visiting the place and posting it on UTM, Yinchuan seems to have grown beyond all belief and the two cities are now one. The railway station is still where it was, but the square at the front entrance which I describe is now the back exit and instead a huge new station has been built on the other side of the tracks, (facing the old city). Where once were single track roads are now expressways and Haibao Ta Pagoda which I describe as being “on the edge of town” is now surrounded by a sea of development; a world away from the green fields in the photographs that I took. In this travelogue I write a lot about the pace of change in China and nowhere has that been more evident that the quiet city in the desert which you can read about in this week’s extract.

Also of interest is something which I definitely knew nothing about during my visit over a decade before; an intriguing site some 35km or so to the west of Yinchuan. The Huangyantan Military Base is, unsurprisingly, off limits to tourists, but ever since Google Earth scanned the area a few years back, it’s been the subject of much attention and debate outside of the People’s Republic. According to the People’s Liberation Army, it’s merely part of a tank training base built between 1998-9, but the 900m by 700m top secret compound is actually an exact 1:150 scale model of Eastern Aksai Chin, an uninhabitable area disputed between China and India which was the cause, when the Chinese built Highway 219 through it, of the 1962 Sino-Indian War. Analysts believe that the site is to help fighter pilots get used to the valleys of the Himalayan region so that, in the event of another war between the two Asian superpowers, China would have a distinct advantage.

Two images of the military base at Huangyangtan

This picture compares the Huangyangtan model (top) with the real Aksai Chin (bottom)

If this interests you, check out this site from where I got the photos: http://pruned.blogspot.co.uk/2006/07/huangyangtan-or-tactical-geoannexation.html

So, it goes to prove that there’s always something more to see in a place even when you think you’ve seen the lot!

Keep travelling!

Uncle Travelling Matt

Links to all parts of the travelogue

Book 1: Embarking Upon A New Korea

1a: Toyama to Pusan

1b: Pusan

1c: Seoul

1d: The DMZ

1e: Seoul, Incheon and Across the Yellow Sea

Book 2: Master Potter does Fine China

2a: Qingdao

2b: Beijing (I)

2c: Beijing (II)

2d: Beijing (III)

2e: Yinchuan (I)

2f: Yinchuan(II)

2g: Lanzhou

2h: Bingling-si

2i: Xiahe

2j: Lanzhou and Jiayuguan

2k: Jiayuguan

2l: Dunhuang

2m: Urumqi (I)

2n: Urumqi (II)

2o: Urumqi (III)

22nd July, 2002 – Yinchuan, China

The morning sun revealed Ningxia Province to be a vast expanse of flat and extremely arid ground. A taste of what was to come further on in the trip perhaps, though this area was no doubt far more populated than Kazakhstan or China's Western Regions would be. In what appeared to be an endless inhospitable panorama of moonscape, the Chinese had managed to carve out rice paddies and build their small red-brick communes. This area may not be the country's richest, but it was indeed a mark of Chinese determination and ingenuity that there was in fact anything there at all.

The province's capital Yinchuan, where one fifth of its five million people live, turned out to be what I'd expected to find in China; a sleepy socialist outpost with a startlingly modern and grand railway station as its entrance. We entered that building and bought tickets for the next stage of our journey – to Lanzhou – with surprising ease considering the trials that we'd faced in Beijing when trying to book a sleeper. After that, we hopped into a taxi (whose driver spoke some French!!) and commanded to be taken to the hotel of our choice, the Ningxia Binguan.

A typical, run-down socialist city Yinchuan might have seemed at first glance, but we soon discovered that initial impressions can be quite misleading. Yinchuan railway station it turned out, was not really in the city of Yinchuan itself, but in the 'New City, far from where the real business is done. The real centre lay over seven kilometres away, and there it was quite a different story. Glass towers and plush apartment blocks soared out of the desert, giving one the impression that we were in some oil-rich Gulf state. And on the road in, was the biggest and grandest building of the all, a huge grey monolith with that red and gold emblem on the front. Yes indeed, the Communist Party's Provincial Headquarters.

Not all was so rosy however. One establishment that had definitely suffered over recent years was the Ningxia Binguan, our hotel which had in fact suffered so much, that it was no longer standing any more. No fears though, our taxi driver (surprise, surprise) knew of another hotel that would be glad to take us and slip some money into his back pocket no doubt, and thus after a short exchange over prices, we ended up at the Ningxia Chang Xiang Yi Hotel; three star luxury at a knockdown price.

After freshening up, we hit the town with things to do. Firstly there were stomachs to be filled, a task completed at a restaurant across the road from our abode for the night. And then I went to get a haircut.

Japan is, I would imagine, the most expensive spot on earth for a shortback and sides. Prices in my town of Osawano started at 4000 yen (30 euros), and they were competitive. Consequently, I always planned it that come coiffure time, I would be in some other country that was far more reasonable in its barbering demands. Well, my last trip abroad had been to Indonesia, but that was now well over four months back, and as a result I was now sporting more locks than Fort Knox. A snip was needed, and now we were out of Chinese's expensive capital, this looked like the ideal place to get one.

It wasn't long until we found a hairdressers, but it was a considerably longer time after that that was spent trying to get across to the staff of that establishment exactly what it was that I wanted. Firstly they brought me into the back room ready for a shampoo and shave until I protested that I'd only done so myself half an hour before. I was then taken back into the front for a trim, but the problem now was that they had no sort of idea whatsoever as to what type of trim I desired. 'Do you have any picture books showing the various styles?' I asked using broken English and gestures. The answer was alas in the negative, and so I then proceeded to try and gesture with those said hands, exactly how I wished my mop to be managed. This unfortunately just caused more confusion, and I was at a complete loss as to what to do when I spied a Harry Potter wall clock above my head. “Harry Potter!” I exclaimed with joy, “Give me the Harry Potter look!” And so they did and half an hour later and ten yuan poorer, I emerged from that shop, styled and snipped and ready to start the new term at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, having provided interesting entertainment for the entire staff of the establishment in the process, who'd crowded round to watch someone with naturally brown hair.

A Yinchuan haircut (the Harry Potter clock can be seen above the mirror)

Walking through the streets of Yinchuan, the impression of a prosperous China grew and grew. People thronged the well-paved thoroughfares and affluent-looking shops lined the sides. Running off from one of the city's ancient gates, (which now sits proudly in the middle of a roundabout), was a pedestrianised shopping area choc-a-bloc with shoppers. We could have been in Western Europe. The fact that this was a none-too-prosperous Chinese city in the middle of a sparsely-populated desert province was amazing. Everywhere huge cranes were erecting glittering glass towers of commerce, and wherever it was coming from I can't say, but it was obvious that money was being made somehow and somewhere around here.

We went into the Post Office to dispose of all the souvenirs that we'd acquired in Beijing. Things ran smoothly until it came to sending the postcards home. Britain and the Netherlands were not a problem, we had the Chinese translations in our guidebook, but some of the other destinations puzzled them more than a little bit. Ok, so I could understand that if I say 'Bulgaria' to a Chinese postal worker, then chances are they are going to be a bit lost, but the one that got me was Vietnam. Now just saying ''Vietnam' might be a bit confusing as the Chinese word may be something completely different, (for example, Britain is 'Yingguo'), but we'd already prepared for that. After saying 'Vietnam', I produced the map of China in the guidebook and then pointed to where Vietnam was. Did that piece of ingenuity help? Did it hell! Yes, they understood which bit was China, and they could even tell some of the cities, but as for the names of the countries that they border with? Sorry mate, can't help you there.

Before being too hard on the Chinese, I have to say that bad geography seems to be something that affects the vast majority of Asians, and one must assume that it is taught little (or incredibly badly) in schools. That is certainly true in Japan, where it is lumped together with history and politics and taught as 'Social Sciences', (I won't go into how bad they are at the other two either...). Most Japanese kids cannot tell one country from another, let alone their capital cities. For example, I asked a group of thirteen year olds where Bangkok was, and nobody had a clue, even though some had been on holiday there. Perhaps it is somewhat understandable though. I have a Vietnamese map of the world in the front of my diary that marks Britain as England and Ireland as Scotland. What's more, according to the boys from the Ho Chi Minh mapmaking department, Tasmania is a part of New Zealand, Sumatra is in Thailand, European Turkey is an independent country (as if they didn't have enough already in the Balkans), Belgium and Luxembourg are one, Greenland is Canadian, Iceland is a new country named 'Newfoundland', Israel, Syria and Lebanon are one big pink state, (have the Arabs driven the Jews into the sea, or is it Zionism gone crazy?), the former Soviet Republics are now all in Russia, Korea is united and poor old Sri Lanka has sunk into the sea! Nonetheless, all that considered, in my opinion it is still remarkable that the Chinese do not know which countries border them. It's like asking a Frenchman if he knows the name of that state that looks like a boot kicking a football, and receiving the answer, 'Non!'

But perhaps the secret here lies in history? After all, geography is given such importance in Europe since that's how we made it. A mere thousand years ago, the Chinese were far more advanced than us, yet it was Europe who came to dominate the world, by travelling to China, Africa, South America, India and elsewhere and learning their secrets, whilst they stayed in ignorance of ours. And as a warning to the Chinese, it must be said, that if they really do ever want to achieve parity with Europe and the US then they must look more to the outside world, and not close in on themselves as they did even as recently as the sixties and seventies. True progress comes through an exchange of information.

Business done, we then set out to see the city's sights. Or more accurately, sight, since there is but one, Haibao Ta, a nine-storey pagoda with adjacent monastery on the edge of town. We hailed a taxi and pointed to the Chinese translation in the book, and our driver nodded in assent and so off we went. After a drive of a couple of kilometres though, he stopped the car and deposited us in front of a large concrete edifice with a large beam on his face. Now this place might have been about nine-storeys high but its square shape blatantly gave away the fact that it was neither eighteenth century nor a pagoda. “No!” we said, and pointed at the book again. “Haibao Ta!” The driver looked confused and pointed to the masterpiece of eighties utilitarian architecture before us. “Haibao Ta!” he exclaimed. And then it dawned on us. This was the hotel named after the pagoda, not the pagoda itself, and after all, where do Westerners always want taking? Out came the phrasebook, and we pointed to 'hotel'. He nodded, we shook our heads. We then pointed to 'site of historical interest' and nodded ourselves. The light dawned and off we went again.

Haibao Ta (and the Lowlander)

Haibao Ta turned out to be a rather pleasant little place for an outing. Set in peaceful gardens, the elegant brick pagoda rose gracefully towards heaven. Firstly however, we walked through the temple where a service was in progress, before ascending the steps to the summit of that holy tower. The view from the top was magnificent, over the city in one direction and the vast plains filled with communal farms in the others. The only downside was that someone had decided to use the top room as a toilet.

“That's disgusting,” said I.

“That's true although... you don't know...” replied the Lowlander.

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe it's something religious? Maybe only the really holy people can take a shit on the top floor?”

“What about us?”

“Only the second or third level I think.”

“And the really evil people?”

“There's the cellars.”

Holy shit!

Yinchuan from the top of the Haibao Ta Pagoda

  Ningxia Province: not that scenic

The monastery below the pagoda

We descended the steps of the sacred toilet-cum-site of historical interest, and settled down to play a game of Buddhist backgammon under the shade of the trees. And that done (I lost, the Lowlander was obviously in communion with the deities), we returned to the hotel.

The Hotel Ningxia Chang Xiang Yi had advertised amongst its many charms a sauna and swimming pool which we'd decided would suffice as our entertainment for the evening, but first we had to fill our stomachs once again. We returned to the restaurant where we had lunched as the food there had been excellent and cheap. After several animal noises, pointing to the phrase 'What is the specialty of the house?' and gesturing that under no circumstances would we do fish, (much to the relief of the silvery soul who had been pulled out of his tank and presented before us), we got a very tasty meal of pork with chicken and sweetcorn soup. The staff really took to us and explained to us via gestures and maps that they were not actually from the area, but instead the city of Hangzhou on the Eastern Seaboard. We revealed our nationalities and pleasantries were exchanged all round. And all that for under Y30, (3.50 euros), for two, smashing!

The swimming pool turned out to be green, (probably full of something healthy and horrible), so we gave that a miss and headed straight for the sauna which turned out to be switched off. The staff agreed to warm it up for their two clients, and so we retired to the jacuzzi for a while whilst the temperature rose. The jacuzzi however, turned out to be rather cold and smelly, and it was with much relief that we evacuated it when called by the sauna staff.

The sauna when entered was still a little chilly though, but it was infinitely better than the other attractions, so we stuck to it and warmed it up by pouring water on the stones. After fifteen minutes it was quite acceptable but one thing was for sure, the Chinese don't do bathing like the Japanese and Koreans.

And after the bathing it was time for that most Asian of activities, karaoke. The Lowlander was reluctant, but I was insistent, having not been able to exercise my vocal chords fully for quite some time. An elegant lady clad in silk led us into the large entertainments hall which was unfortunately empty, but what was even more unfortunate was that the paltry collection of English songs on offer were all aimed at voices higher than my bass. As one who never sings what he knows for sure he will fail at, I was doomed to stay silent, and instead we sat and listened to the CD, whilst discussing how awful Julia Roberts, George Michael, Meg Ryan, Robin Williams and Michael Learns to Rock really are, in between anecdotes concerning the hermit-like existence of one of the girls from ABBA (the blonde one I think), the death of Karen Carpenter, the orgies of Lionel Richie and how girls who ride horses get big arses. (But is that such a bad thing?)

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Across Asia With A Lowlander: Part 2d: Beijing (III)

Greetings!

I hope everyone enjoyed my V-log midweek which brought you up to date with some of my more contemporary travels: a weekend’s camping with my son in the Welsh mountains. It was his first time camping and he absolutely loved every minute which makes me think that it won’t be the last. How about a series of posts entitled ‘Weekends in tent with a monster?’ Hmm… maybe. Until then, back to Beijing and a peek into a city which, apparently, is forbidden.

Keep travelling!

Uncle Travelling Matt

Links to all parts of the travelogue

Book 1: Embarking Upon A New Korea

1a: Toyama to Pusan

1b: Pusan

1c: Seoul

1d: The DMZ

1e: Seoul, Incheon and Across the Yellow Sea

Book 2: Master Potter does Fine China

2a: Qingdao

2b: Beijing (I)

2c: Beijing (II)

2d: Beijing (III)

2e: Yinchuan (I)

2f: Yinchuan(II)

2g: Lanzhou

2h: Bingling-si

2i: Xiahe

2j: Lanzhou and Jiayuguan

2k: Jiayuguan

2l: Dunhuang

2m: Urumqi (I)

2n: Urumqi (II)

2o: Urumqi (III)

21st July, 2002 – Beijing, China

And so 'twas our final day in China’s great capital city. We arose at an early hour in 'Famous Brand' and packed our bags before getting a taxi to take us across to Beijing West Railway Station from whence our train to Yinchuan would depart. On the way I photographed a few of the thousands of cyclists for which the city is world renowned, though to be fair, whilst they were numerous, there were far less on the streets than in the Netherlands or even Japan. As progress marches on, the car and motorbike will gradually replace the pushbike and perhaps in twenty years time, the bicycle will be as obsolete a symbol of China as the rickshaw now is of Japan.

Beijing West, being the city's second railway terminal, was not somewhere that I'd expected to be of note. What had happened is that over the years, rail traffic into the capital had increased by such a percentage that the original station could no longer handle the amount of trains coming in, and so this new one had been built the cope with the overfill; a sort of Milton Keynes of railway terminii as it were, hardly something for even a train freak like myself to get excited about. Approaching the district where it stood though, the Lowlander pointed out of the window and exclaimed, “What the hell is that?”

There on the skyline stood a building of Orwellian proportions. Around fifteen storeys high and topped by three giant pagodas, it was the Ministry of Truth meets Celestial Emperor's Palace.

“Dunno,” replied I, “some new ministerial building I guess, or an enormous office block.”

But on closer inspection this proved to be no office block, nor a house of the government, but instead the very railway station that we were headed for! Two gigantic clocks stood out on cantilevered limbs at either side, whilst our taxi drove up a ramp to the entrance. We were dumbfounded yet amazed. Beijing is a city built on an immense scale like no other on earth, yet even here, in this Land of the Giants, did the station seem huge and overpowering. It spoke the aspirations of it's designers well; a gateway to the new, developing and prosperous China. Modern and businesslike, yet at the same time showing respect for history and tradition. I liked it, as it was to me the natural descendent of the great railway terminii of London like St. Pancras, Kings Cross, Paddington or Victoria. Cathedrals of the new industrial age and bold statements of a faith in technology and the future. What a shame that we in the land where the railway train was born seem to have lost respect for our invention, and produce such pathetic glass, concrete and steel edifices.

Beijing West Railway Station

We locked our bags into the left luggage and checked the departures and layout of the place before heading out to see the sights. As I've already said, this was to be our last day in Beijing, possibly ever, and there was lots that we hadn't seen yet, including the city's foremost tourist attraction, and the place that we were now heading to, the Forbidden City.

The Forbidden City confuses many by its name, since it's not actually forbidden in the slightest, but instead thronged with multitudes of sightseers from all over China and (like us) beyond. But the name is an apt one because for many years, (over five hundred of them in fact), forbidden it very much was. Originally established between 1406 and 1420 by Emperor Yongle, this is the palace from which the vast Chinese Empire was ruled, and in which a sizeable proportion of her wealth was spent, building new structures and keeping the Emperor's personal army of concubines and eunuchs in the lap of luxury. Despite its fame, importance and appearance though, the present buildings are not that old, fires and invasions having destroyed the originals, and nowadays what you see largely dates from the nineteenth century. Nonetheless, it's still a site to see, (or so they reckon), and so the Lowlander and I were soon queuing up for a ticket to do just that.

At the entrance to the Forbidden City with Mao

They say that the Forbidden City takes at least half a day to look round, but we did it in a couple of hours, being rather surprised when we got to the far end, (“I thought that it went on much further than this...”) That it is beautiful is without doubt, and that many of the carvings are exquisite is true also, but I for one felt that something was missing. Courtyard after courtyard, surrounded by well proportioned dark red buildings with graceful golden tiled roofs. Yes it was something special indeed, but to me it was not soothing or peaceful, even away from the hordes who thankfully seemed to stay in their groups only on the central path through the complex. Sat down playing backgammon in one of the smaller courtyards, I realised what the problem was; there was an abject lack of greenery. Even the gardens at the rear were as much stone as they were vegetation and throughout the whole palace, not a lawn was to be seen and few trees or water features also. Perhaps it was because as Europeans we're more used to our style of stately home, surrounded by acres of lush fields, woodland and vegetation, I know not, but the Lowlander and I, whilst enjoying Beijing's number one tourist site, came away feeling slightly down at heart, for not only had the greenery been lacking, but in quite a few places, it was obvious that the maintenance was too, and several of the courtyards were rather overgrown indeed.

The Forbidden City

Emerging onto the vast totalitarian expanse of Tiananmen Square, I wanted to join the queues and pay a visit the Mighty Mao who is lain out to rest in the 'Maoseleum' at the far end of the square. However, just a glance at the vast hordes waiting to see the Great Leader told us that with a train to catch several hours away, this might not be such a wise idea, as we'd probably still be queuing as our steed chugged out towards Yinchuan, so disappointed I turned about face and headed down into the depths of the Metro system to catch a train to Beijing West station. No Mao for me alas, but never fear, there was still Lenin waiting in Moscow!

Beijing's metro system was, I must admit, a bit of a disappointment to me. Communist underground railways are, I am told, Palaces of the People, full of murals of prosperous workers, mosaics of tractor plants and busts of great leaders, but this one was alas, as plain as its contemporaries in Tokyo and Rotterdam. What's more, it didn't really get you to many places. For a city of over twelve million, two lines is hardly sufficient and many important places are some distance from a stop, including Beijing West Railway Station. Certainly I hope that they improve things in preparation for the Olympic Games.

The stop nearest to Beijing West was Junshibowuguan, which was only a block away from the Mega Station that we were to depart from, so we took a train there intending to walk the rest. However, upon emerging from the depths of the earth, we noticed a huge Stalinist building across the road from us, topped by a gigantic red star. “I wonder what that place is?” I said, and after consulting the guidebook I discovered the answer to be the Junshibowuguan which had given the metro station its name. “But what's a Junshibowuguan?” asked the Lowlander. The guidebook soon revealed the answer to that too. 'Military Museum'; the place that details the history of the People's Liberation Army since its formation in 1927, and also many of the wars fought on Chinese soil throughout her long history. Well, we had an hour or two to spare, so why not sample a few bombs and guns?

I enjoyed this place. Although not really a militaristic kinda guy, I've always found pleasure in ogling a tank or two, and this place had lots of them, as well as planes, missiles and other military what-nots. What was best of all though was how it was all mixed in with some hard core propaganda with statues of leaders and tales of the evils of imperialists aplenty. I particularly enjoyed the piece on the Opium Wars which certainly did not paint a favourable picture of my home country, (although to be fair, we were pretty out of order on that one), and of course the depictions of battles with that evil of evils, the Kuomintang, from whom China was so thankfully (they said) liberated.

In the Military Museum

We left the museum approximately half an hour before our train was due to depart, and made our way the short distance across the block to the railway station. Or at least, that's how it seemed on the map. In reality, this single block was over a kilometre long. That for me was the strangely disturbing thing about the Chinese capital. It is handsome, ordered and in many respects pleasant, yet its scale is so inhuman that I for one felt ill at ease there. Tiananmen Square can host well over a million, a block is a kilometre long... everything is huge! How ironic as well that one of the world's shortest races of people should have built it. Is it an inferiority complex?

Approaching that mammoth modern-day cathedral of the railway train we were more than a little surprised to see that instead of over an hour, the enormous clocks informed us that we had but fifteen minutes before our train departed. “I thought you said that we had plenty of time?” I asked the Lowlander. He looked at the watch that Chi had given us at the DMZ. According to that fine timepiece, we still had an hour and a half to spare. It had stopped once again! We quickened our pace into the building, wolfed down a take-away meal, collected our bags and joined the queue for the departure to Yinchuan.

Boarding the train to Yinchuan

Boarding the train we discovered that hard sleeper meant six in a compartment, (not that they were really compartments, being open to the corridor), with bunks stacked on top of one another in piles of three. We parked our bags with difficulty on the already-crowded luggage rack and settled down for the ride. The train pulled out of Beijing West on time and threaded its way slowly through the suburbs of China's premier city. From the window a less glossy picture of the capital emerged; red brick slums reminiscent of Victorian England, a far cry from the plush apartments that we'd seen from the roads. Even these though, were far from being Third World standard. True they were small, far from new and not likely to win any architectural awards, but the vast majority were well-maintained and presentable. Beijing is not as rich as it initially appears, but on the other hand, it is far from poor too.

The city cleared but the train rumbled on, upwards into the mountains. For a while it followed a spectacular gorge with sheer cliffs and peaks that reached into the sky, like those on the Chinese ink prints of yore. The train popped in and out of tunnels and over girder bridges whilst on the river below a pleasure boat plied its trade.

Our travelling companions were many, with every bunk in the coach being taken. Close to us were a young student, a shy lady of around forty with a pretty face and her hair coiled in plaits at the back of her head, two young mothers and their daughters; a wide-eyed tot of around three clad in a traditional dress and a lively girl of around seven with pony tails and a cheeky grin. She amused herself by making monster faces at me and playing paper, scissors, stone. After that she decided to start giving me things, firstly a chocolate bar, then some peanuts and lastly some small prints of Buddhist gods and holy figures. I responded by buying her a yoghurt drink which she drank quickly after contemplating for around twenty minutes whether to accept it or not.

 

Fun and games on the train to Yinchuan

The scenery outside had now softened into a flatter landscape filled with heavy industrial plants, mines, red brick proletarian housing and vast collective farms. This was the China that I'd expected to find, a much larger Oriental Eastern Europe where those who toil reign supreme. Yet unlike the lands east of Austria, everything here still seemed to be functioning. It wasn't the flash and opulent world of Japan and South Korea, but it wasn't the desolate wasteland of the former Soviet bloc either. If anything, my impression was of another age, the time when my grandfather grew up when one worked hard and knew about industry and coal was king. And to complete the picture there was even the odd steam locomotive smoking away in a siding, ready to take a trainload of that essential black ore away to some unknown destination.

But this scene also lasted not. Very soon the factories and houses disappeared and we were trundling through a barren landscape in which one would more expect to find the Lone Ranger than Chairman Mao. A dusty plain stretching for miles with dry mountains in the distance. On the slopes of some of these were painted huge white characters, no doubt spelling out some enthusiastic message of proletarian achievement to the passing masses.

We retired to the dining car for backgammon and a meal of bony chicken. There we befriended the portly on train policeman, a jolly fellow who helped us decode the menu by mimicking the noises that each dish had made before it had been killed and cooked, (N.B. Yet another reason why meat-eating is preferable to vegetarianism; you can't do that with vegetables now, can you?). Later that evening, we met him again, drunk as a lord and eating with his colleagues. He greeted us with a hearty 'How do you do?!' before banging glasses and toasting our health in Mandarin.

Just after the stop at Datong, the sky grew dark and we busied ourselves with books and backgammon in-between toasts with the pissed policeman. We asked to take his photo, but he stoutly refused. I assume that the reason behind it is that drinking on duty is strictly prohibited.

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