A trip down the Yangtse river, China.

Beijing, China. 8/4/2001

Exchange rate 11.52 Yuen = £1

We arrive to Beijing airport after a 9 hour flight to a warn misty afternoon to be herded like sheep by the Joules Verne representative through quarantine and visa control. Outside a bus takes us to a dull airport hotel from the same mould as airport hotels the world over. Our room sported a fine view of red roofed apartment blocks and departing aircraft.

After the obligatory tour intro meeting we are whisked off in the bus to a tourist restaurant for the fastest meal ever where the only Chinese folk are the staff. The food was OK although they removed the fried frogs and sparrows for the western taste which was a pity.

The flight to Wutan had been rescheduled to the following morning so in true package tour style they offered us an optional tour to see the centre of Beijing at night for only £10 each, any currency accepted. This turned out to be a worthwhile exception because the Chinese guide (David!?) expounded greatly on the recent changes to Chinese culture and economy since the recent changes of 10-15 years. Literacy is up from 35% in his fathers generation to 85% in his and almost 100% in his sons. He seemed proud that more people were able to afford cars. just wait, I thought, you'll be sorry.

Many rural parts of Beijing were in the process of being pulled down and replaced with shiny steel and glass tower blocks for the expanding commerce. The first stop was to see a posh version of a Chinese street food market. Cooking and eating outside is popular in Asia but this seemed to be a display version of the ones we had seen before. Our guide recommended that we did not eat anything just in case but I suspect it would have been a more interesting meal than the showcase one we had just eaten. The fried scorpions and bugs looked interesting but there were more palatable skewer loads of 'things' such as quails eggs and squid. Alongside the white bean curd was a black variety with the appearance of coal briquettes and a rather pungent smell.

The next stop was Tian An Men Square, the largest square in the world apparently, capable of holding a million people until they built a new building in the middle which reduced he capacity by half. The centre is dominated by a monument to all the people who died between 1849 and 1950. They did not mention the students and their fatal demonstration a decade or so ago. On a brighter note, the monument illuminations made a fine location for some night time kite flying. One of these was just visible in the spotlight a couple of hundred meters in the air. Others that were more visible closer to the ground included fine models of eagles, butterflies and strings of small kites dancing like fireflies in the night sky. A couple had been snared by the lanterns that illuminated the square and looked like dead moths that had flown too close to the flame.

Street lighting is a comparatively new addition to the streets of Beijing and not far from the centre are darker streets with small traditional shops cafes and quite a few late hairdressers. They put a stop to the destruction of the traditional housing once they realised it was their heritage that was turning to rubble under the advancing capitalism. Well, almost. Traditional housing is of a Mongolian style which looks rather like army barracks but without windows. Long rows of single story red brick and red tiled buildings with narrow alleys between. Nice if you can get it but some folk can't so they live in a lean-to on the outside with dust and rubbish all around. In China they still don't believe in giving away their housing and money to those who can't be bothered. And all this from the comfort of our coach.

Our guide said that Beijing was going through a dry patch which could explain the sheep grazing on dry grass and dust.

Friday 13th April 2001

Even on our last day on the boat we are woken early to the soft sounds of Chinese music emanating from the room next door. The scenery outside is getting very industrial in a 'one man, smoky operation' sort of way. After rushing to pack and rush breakfast we find that we have an extra half an hour before we dock at Chongqing. Covering the junction between the Yangtse and Jialing rivers, this little city contains 30 million people in and around it. Our guide told us that the city has been changing rapidly over the years since 1980 when China started to change its governmental policies. The architecture is a blend of tatty pre-war housing, temporary post-war housing and tower blocks, most of which look as if they ought to be pulled straight back down again.

Our first stop was at the zoo where we expected to stroll round and look at the caged animals but no, the bus drove through the crowds of children on their Friday zoo outing to take us directly to the Giant Pandas. It was hard to tell who was on display, the animals or us, as the children turned to stare and wave. Most of the Pandas were still on part of their 20 hour a day sleep cycle but the one that was visible managed to roll over onto its back once before dosing back off to sleep.

A quick visit to the red panda enclosure and then to the government run art centre and gift shop. Being government run they seem compelled to put price tags on items which is probably their starting price. Unfortunately non-haggling folk tend to think this is the fixed price of the item and are frightened off immediately, all except a few hapless Americans who can't make the currency conversion. If that is not the explanation then they must just think we are plain stupid to pay those ridiculous prices.

Then we were off again to the Holiday Inn of all places for lunch. By now we are all getting fed up with Chinese banquets which have been served to us three times a day for as long as we can remember and are only marginally different. The Chinese seem to have a passion for fat, gristle, bone, sugared things, chilies and gloup. We started to leave alone such things as sugared sausages, bean curd, cured pork fat and anything in a gelatinous puddle. The saving grace of each meal would be that each was served with beer except that it was the Chinese version of Watneys Red Barrel.

Next we were whisked up to the highest point in the city where some dictator or other had lived once. I think his house was the one that contained the obligatory overpriced gift shop. Still, the view was good even though you could only see as far as the mist would allow. The mist is a normal feature at this time of year despite suggestion of pollution although a chemical whiff could often be smelt.

In no time at all we were back on the bus and weaving our way through the crowded streets to our next destination of a silk factory. The machine contained within could cope with de-spooling the silk from hundreds of silk worms homes at a time. The hapless worms are soaked in boiling water and an end is teased off and twisted with nine other almost invisible threads before being spooled onto a large bobbin. This simple description is contrary to the complexity of the machine itself with clouds of steam at one end, water flowing all round and numerous levers and whirligigs all going clank, phut and whir all at the same time. It was not a place you would want to work for long unless you were already deaf. Our relief at finding ourselves in the relative peace outside was soon dispelled as we were lead away to the shop. They really do try to squeeze as much cash out of each tourist as possible and this place was no exception with prices surpassing the ridiculousness of those found in Bond Street. Fortunately there was some respite just outside the door on the balcony overlooking the garden. I use the term lightly for in reality it was a tip for building waste where someone had inadvertently discarded a few dead plants. Fortunately this had become a haven for some of the few wildlife that had so far escaped the dinner table. It is more difficult to spot things that are missing from a picture but I saw precious few birds, 2 cats and only one dog on our entire trip.

Out in the country we stopped at a small farm cooperative where a few families intensively utilised the land. By the road was a concrete plinth making facility right next to a bean curd manufacturing shack spewing nasty smells, which was right next to a piggery emitting a rather more toxic ammonia whiff that had me gagging for air. Those in our party that had not given up bean curd already vowed to steer clear of it in future. Further down the hill was a little oasis of permaculture with numerous crops growing nicely in the rich soil. The bottom of the little valley was filled with a couple of fish ponds to satisfy the Chinese taste for fish. Back at the top of the hill the farmhouse seemed to be made of baked mud judging by the appearance and texture.

The evening meal was held at the usual tourist oasis of cleanliness in a modern building of glass and concrete surrounding a cute little courtyard garden.

Dinner this evening is at a Beijing restaurant famous for introducing a emperor to baked duck in pancakes with plum sauce and spring onions. The meal was voted the best of the lot from those on our table although I'm sure the duck is roasted to a higher state of perfection at the Happy Garden round the corner from home. There was Chinese wine that tasted somewhat like sherry, a constant flow of beer and some firewater generously provided by David, our guide of the excellent commentary. After the meal Dave (the tourist not the guide) made a speech and presentation to Emma (our Tour Manager for the week) of a Chinese picture and big tip.

Sunday 15th April 2001

Just in case anyone was hoping to get away with taking some Yuen home the last obligatory tourist stop was to a Chinese medicine centre where we were given a convincing talk about the benefits of acupuncture, reflexology and herbal medicine. So convinced were we by the doctors diagnosis that many of us parted with vast quantities of cash for a few pots of plant bits. Still, it could be more useful than a handful of trinkets.