Nov 14 2001 - A Tourist Attraction

Well there we are four guilos (white ghosts for the uninitiated) about to have a weekend in Guangzhou. Some miserable member complained of work and could not do a weekend away so the soberest amongst us decreed a 7.00 a.m. start for a day trip.

I can see that I do not have your interest; the trip did not have mine. Bodies in various states of repair were dragged out of bed, the driver was briefed by our friendly travel agent and off we went. 100 kilometres down the road is nothing, of course; just a matter of orange stalls, small towns, fish farms, duck farms etc. We were left wondering about the proximity of the last two. If your neighbour has set up a fish farm do you start a duck farm and pick up some cheap food?

The road, however, was not without interest. For the Brits it was a fairly standard dual carriageway with a decent hard shoulder. For the yanks it was a four-lane highway with a wide runoff. This being China, repairs were ongoing. This means that some of the slow lane had rectangular sections removed. These were not deep enough for tank traps but they could certainly do some damage to your suspension. These holes were cunningly arranged – they would all be the width of the lane but the length could be anything from 2 to 30 metres. Now here is the clever bit; there are complete sections of carriageway of varying lengths up to 50 metres between the holes. This allows drivers to swap from the one remaining lane to the hard shoulder and get a run at selecting another complete bit of the slow lane to make a dive back across to overtake something, assuming a tractor was not in the way. We had a public bus honking his horn about 1 metre behind us for about 20 kilometres until he pulled this manoeuvre off; much to our relief – our guy drove at 120 kph 10 metres behind the guy in front but the bus driver obviously thought that this was not close enough. A kilometre later the bus had to stop and never did catch us again although we did get concerned when he started to close.

Anyway we arrived at our destination or, more accurately, a road block. We decanted from the van, looked around a bit, bought some water and did what we were obviously supposed to do – got in an electric cart capable of holding about ten people. Off we went at walking speed at the cost of 2 yuan each (25 cents or 15 pence) with a driver and conductor (very pretty – well worth the fee to a bunch of dirty old men). Three minutes later we reached the end of the trip – the entrance to the park. Pay the park fee and in we go. There are buses waiting to whisk us off into various parts of the park for a few cents. Our problem was that we did not know where they were going, what was there when we got there and when to get off – we walked. As there were four of us we, naturally had four expert navigators so getting lost was no problem. Off we ambled.

There were various points of interest. For instance there were the rubbish bins. These were either the seven dwarfs (Ed’s theory) or the Smurf’s (Steve’s theory). It is possible that Steve was right. Now at first glance you would assume that they were a bunch of second’s rejected by Disneyland or the like. However, there is a limit to what are seconds and what are outright rejects. These had every quality required of a rubbish bin – an outside, an opening, bright enough to attract attention, laid out conveniently along the paths etc.; the problem was that they did not have a bottom. So what you had was a waste disposal locator, not a bin. You still had to have a man or woman with a wheelbarrow, a broom and a dustpan; it is just that she has to lift the Smurf up before she can get the dustpan and brush in operation. I say “she” advisedly; one of the triumphs of the revolution was emancipation of women – they were always free to bring up the children, now they can farm the land, sweep the roads, build the buildings etc. as well.

Another distraction was the signs. The winner was “Do not light fires to conserve the happiness of you and your family” but it was a well fought contest. I have photographs.

The track narrowed to a rather narrow path cut into the side of the cliff but, hey, we are adventurers. The butterflies in China are fantastic, the waterfalls were not huge but they were interesting, the vegetation is largely unknown to us so no sweat – well actually there was quite a lot of sweat but that is another story. We do not meet more than about eight people in half an hour so you know that – in China – you really are out in the wilds. Anyway, we emerge by a little reservoir with a road and several things happen. Zvi and Nuri go and buy swimming costumes from the shop. Zvi decides that the changing room is filthy so lets Nuri use it while he gets changed under the bridge and into the reservoir they go. A policeman appears at the shop and sits down about ten metres from the large “In the interests of health do not swim in the lake sign” so our intrepid souls keep swimming until he disappears.

Meanwhile I have been accosted by a bunch of teenage girls asking me to take their photo with their camera. Of course I agree and ask if I can take one with my camera as well. Steve muscles in on that one and after that it is a free for all. Now I realise, dear reader, that it will come as a surprise to you that I am not regularly mobbed by teenage girls but everyone wanted to be photographed with me. Well who am I to refuse to pose with a pretty girl on my arm. By the time Zvi & Nuri emerged every Tom, Dick & Harry was stopping to have their photograph taken with Steve & I having a beer at 10.30 in the morning. What I could not work out was why I was the most popular – the beer gut, no Nuri wins that one – the charm, tricky – the commanding presence, I am at least ten centimetres shorter than the other three, so it must be the beard, either that or that I was sat on the end and the most accessible.

Off we went around the park and do the tourist thing but word had got around and we regularly got stopped for photos – yes, we were the tourist attraction. I was definitely not miffed and did not sulk when fashion changed and some tall thin character named Steve got to be hugged by the majority of the teenage girls.

So back we went and found our van and driver. It was mid-afternoon and we decided to find a restaurant. We indicated this requirement by pointing out to our driver the restaurant across the street. So he drove across the street and we got out of the van. The restaurant had a nice big window at the front – ideal for sitting and watching the world go by – but we are obviously important guests and get hustled up stairs to a private room, sat down and presented with menus. Now between the five of us four speak an aggregate of about ten Chinese words which is about the same number of words as our driver speaks in English. Unfortunately the driver can speak to the waitresses perfectly well and they can talk with him but ……. What to do? It is obvious: phone Maurice. I should explain; Maurice is Maurice Wu, who works for Unisys China and one of the guys that the Westerners normally have lunch with on weekdays. Maurice knows that Zvi & I do not eat meat (and that includes pork, chicken, dog, snake and frog plus any other thing that people have difficulty fitting into the description of “meat”.) and usually gets the job of ordering for everybody between Monday and Friday. After Maurice has complained that it is the weekend and he should not have to order lunch for us I hand the phone over to the waitress and a few minutes later appropriate things start to appear – Maurice, who is over 100 kilometres away, has done his stuff. This has, of course left time for a few things to happen, like getting my first beer of the day. The Chinese language remains a mystery – waitresses seem to understand “pijot” – beer but not “San Miguel”, I went and helped myself from the fridge. Of course, I had to knock to get back into our room.

Speaking of room, everybody knows about Indian restaurants and quilting on the walls – well this was the Chinese version except that they are cushions sown on the wall. There was, however, one wall with a big picture window – about two metres square. There was a slight snag in that the view from this window was of a wall about ten centimetres from the window (I kid you not, the right of light has clearly not reached China); it was at least a quality brick wall, not your crappy breeze block sort of job.

After that there is little left to tell – missing our second venue of the day; Zvi trying to buy decent fruit by the roadside; Steve, Nuri and I getting accosted as usual in the Show Bar – all too tedious but, hey nobody can ever take it away – that day we were the tourist attraction.