Foundinchina.com

A quick rant about tourist behaviour in China. They’re nothing but a bunch of authorised eco-terrorists who bring disharmony and disrespect to areas of natural beauty. If the sign says DON’T FEED THE MONKEYS or NO SMOKING, then that’s what it means; if a litter bin is two feet to your left, why toss your garbage down the forested slopes of the picuresque valley on your right that you’ve just taken a picture of?

When it comes to environmental awareness and respect for a shared space, Chinese tourists are way behind the curve. Rant over.

The stark cliffs and peaks of both Zhangjiajie and Tianmen Shan don’t disappoint. Both provide awesome scenery and thrills (for the acrophobic, at least) in abundance. I was very impressed with the overall standard of facilities (tasteful and in keeping for the most part) and the work that must have gone into getting those facilities to their inaccessible locations.

Recommendation: always, ALWAYS choose the road less traveled when visiting national parks in China.

Thankfully, tour guides are not in the habit of risking one of their charges breaking a limb for which they or their companies may pay heavily. These flag-waving, megaphone happy ‘me first’ thugs and their entourages stick to the well beaten path, leaving the serious seekers of natural beauty the tranquility of nature as it should be enjoyed. Consequently, we’ve seen some breathtaking scenery without having views impeded by ignorant flag followers.

You can’t beat travelling in China for fascination and frustration in equal measure. Ideally I’d have packed a slimline, lightweight laptop to record and publish on the go, but my current antiquated heap of electronics is too bulky to lug around the provinces. Thus, we catch a few fleeting moments here and there and give vent to some highlights.

First off was the flight to Guangzhou courtesy of Xiamen Airlines, my pick of the domestic carriers for its acceptable in-flight refreshments and more leg room than most. And the airline is not to blame for the comedy sketch that ensues within a nanosecond of contact with the destination runway: dozens of passengers ignoring instructions to remain seated and belted as they compete to recover luggage from the overheads while making calls on phones that should be switched off. One guy was trying to disembark before the stewards had strapped themselves in for landing.

Guangzhou was a quick stop to visit some relatives of KY’s, wander round one of the old town areas, get caught in a deluge, and hit the station in time for the overnight to Changsha.

Overnight trains can be fun. Or not. Our carriage seemed to be a relic of the 60’s (a condition with which I can increasingly empathise) and provided less room on the top bunk of a six-berth hard sleeper than I remember. There are several ways to clamber up and down, none of which could be described as elegant unless executed by a diminutive gymnast.

Wake-up calls come early on trains in China, in this case shortly after five in the morning. This is followed by a wholly undignified race to the toilet at the end of the carriage. While not wanting any part of this stampede, it is partly understandable - being the last person to visit the facilities the morning after stomachs have been shaken up by a night’s rocking and rolling is not for the faint-hearted.  

Changsha was very hot and humid, and typically hectic and bustling for a provincial capital. We took in a couple of local sites in the afternoon that included the most rigorous security checks imaginable for entry into a museum (Beijing’s Olympic killjoys organisers would have been proud), then made ready for the next morning’s bus to Zhangjiajie. More to follow.

The cicadas provide a constant chorus in most parts of China during the heat of summer and the air is alive with winged crawlers the size, shape, and colour of which are an entomologists dream. Insectivore numbers are maintained at a manageable level by a variety of winged assailants that never have to travel far to find their next meal.

Inside the teachers’ residence, also home to all manner of creatures (some more welcome than others), university authorities have decided to show Mother Nature who’s boss by engaging in chemical warfare against the building’s ecosystem.

Any biologist will inform you that you really don’t want to upset ecological balance in the name of a short term fix. But you can’t tell that to the emperor - instructions from above are rarely questioned in China. Thus, if the guy at the top of the hierarchy says “all useful, harmless, cute creatures with four legs and a tail must be eradicated for the glory of Jimei and the Motherland”, then that is what will happen. What follows is a scaled down version of the Cultural Revolution.

Here’s the thing: when I first arrived here my apartment building was home to cats, rats, cockroaches, geckos, and mosquitoes. Yes, there are thousands of other rarely sighted life forms, but the five mentioned are, or were, the ubiquitous players in this tale. It was good to see a few cats scurrying around the halls and helping to keep rats at a workable level of infestation. And the gecko that came with my apartment was a good friend last summer, a real force to be reckoned with for the mosquitoes and (smaller) roaches that dared to entered my modest living space.

There was harmony and balance in this lush valley for a few weeks back then. But no longer. Someone moaned about felines failing to use the toilet facilities provided and this complaint found its way to the top at a time when Jimei was in the grip of a fever induced by the imminent arrival of inspectors from the Ministry of Education. The order was given to remove the cat from education by any means necessary, lest the cuddly ones offended the inspection team and brought shame to the university. I haven’t heard a meow or a purr since.

After the feline eradication came the serial execution of the humble gecko. I don’t know what logic lay behind this policy but they sprayed the building with reptile repellant and my wall crawling buddy disappeared. 

The upshot of all this was an extended honeymoon for rats, roaches, and mosquitoes. Since then it’s been a real party down here at teacher’s camp, especially for one of my neighbours who awoke in the middle of the night to find a flea ridden rodent nipping at his big toe.   

My girlfriend, who is from Guangdong province, was horrified to learn of the campaign to liquidate lizards and cats, explaining that it was a waste of good food. However, served with the right sauce, the proliferation of rats is apparently of some compensation. In case you’re wondering, I do my best to keep her out of the kitchen.

Well, the inspectors vanished as quickly as they appeared, followed by a palpable sigh of relief from the university bigwigs. The cats just vanished.

Outdoors the campus continues to blossom nicely, thanks to a climate conducive to a wide range of flora and the concerted effort of numerous workers. Most notable in the last fortnight have been the fruit-laden mango trees that line the roads around the campus. Unsurprisingly, this was another short-lived aesthetic as various groups sought to plunder the fruit, only to find that their eagerness to avoid missing out on bounty not ready for picking left them with nothing but a sour taste. 

It was a free-for-all in the broadest sense. Professional fruit merchants came with specialised equipment; students simply shimmied up the trunk and shook the branches; keen amateurs brought sticks to swing wildly at the fruit in the lower reaches; and the friends of the Earth are still waiting at the base of each tree for the fruit to drop naturally. They’ll be waiting a long time, as the former three groups have laid bare every mango tree on campus and beyond. 

I’m going to be on the road for the next three or four weeks, gathering stories of frustration and calamity that only travel in China can guarantee. It also guarantees some incredible scenery and encounters with the kind of people that would not only wait for the fruit to drop, but would offer it to you as well.     

Peking Duck has again unearthed a must-read article:

Philip Pan, for years my favorite correspondent in Beijing (he left a few months ago), has written a devastating article about a letter written by a doctor who saw with his own eyes the victims of the massacre on the streets of Beijing n June 4, 1989 and described in detail the carnage he witnessed in the emergency room that night.

In case anyone is any doubt about the people chosen to be guardian of the Olympic spirit in August, Jiang has spent the last five years under the surveillance of the state or incarcerated at their pleasure. His crime? He chose to honour his profession by saving countless lives through an exposure of the SARS cover up. His penchant for the truth and his June ‘89 memories makes the good doctor an enemy of the Chinese government. They also make Jiang, and others like him, invaluable in the process of breaking the cycle of paranoia that prevents the CCP from governing honestly.