Prologue: Train from Kunming to Chengdu
I’m a bit embarrassed to admit that, as a result of my inept travel planning, I spent Chinese New Year’s Eve on a train chugging through the rugged mountains of Yunnan and Sichuan. About the only festivities I witnessed where the village kids who threw firecrackers at our train as we passed by. I felt bad for the families on board with me, as it was pretty obvious they had much better things to do that night than sit around in a train car. But I guess they ended up in the same travel pickle I did: tickets to anywhere and everywhere were booked beyond solid all other dates, except on the holiday itself when everyone is already at home. So there I was, ringing in the Year of the Monkey crammed into my space-deprived top bunk. A few positives from the trip: stunning mountain scenery, and probably one of my most relaxing experiences with Chinese transportation (Kunming train station was an absolute ghost town).
The City:
After the natural delights of Yunnan, Chengdu was somewhat of a disappointment (or a reality check, whichever way you want to look at it). As I wandered around the center of the city on New Year’s Day, I felt like my train had somehow transported me to Northern China. I was face to face with a gloomy, polluted, concrete-heavy industrial sprawl, with absolutely nothing to indicate I was in “one of China’s more intriguing cities” (courtesy of Lonely Planet). The weather was wet and cold, exactly the kind of thing I had tried to escape by fleeing to the Southwest. A dirty brown haze hung over the cityscape, and everyone seemed to be dressed in black. Faced with this bleak scene, the one thing that lifted my spirits a little was seeing all the families out on the morning of the New Year, getting their pictures taken in various parks and squares. As well, I was impressed by the Mao statue on the main square, looking over the heavy flow of Chengdu traffic in one of the more surreal examples of Communist chic.
Surveying the scene, I quickly noticed something that made Chengdu rather unique: unlike many other major Chinese cities, this place did not give off an air of newfound affluence or explosive growth. I know next to nothing about Sichuan’s economic situation, but I would almost say this place is in some kind of slump. Sure, there are bank towers, an endless number of apartment blocks, wide boulevards and shopping malls, but none of them seemed very new, shiny or affluent. In fact, it appears as if Chengdu’s ‘boom’ took place several years ago; and now the party’s over, with a slight decay setting in. This was visible in the striking number of abandoned construction projects 30-40 floor towers left to rot well before their completion, leaving only concrete skeletons to blight the landscape. The city has two abandoned ‘twin towers’ that seem like a giant warning against the dangers of real estate speculation. This situation was reflected in the population as well, as I once again saw a suprising amount of beggars and ‘unemployed labourers’ hanging about.
Perhaps I am being a little too hard on Chengdu. The city definitely does have some strong points, namely its food and teahouses. This is China’s Snack City: food vendors own the place, and some little lanes were bustling food carnivals, selling everything from Muslim sweets to roasted tarantula spiders. I explored one of these lanes with an Australian I met at the guesthouse, and we just sat down and ordered random noodles, dishes and desserts (most of them quite spicy, of course). The 羊肉串 (mutton meat sticks) were about twice as big (and good!) as those sold in any other city I have been, and I was assured they were second only to the Xinjiang ones themselves.
We also spent an afternoon sitting around in a teahouse on temple grounds, a perfect (if a bit chilly way) to relax and waste away an afternoon. The temple complex itself was quite impressive: it felt more like a community center than a gaudy tourist trap, with throngs of worshippers, families and monks giving the place a very active, lively feel. The teahouse section was pretty sprawling, full of energetic children, old people, card games and gambling. 8 yuan allowed you to take in this scene with limitless refills. I guess Chengdu does still have some charm to it; just don’t look downtown for it. And don’t look for it on the outskirts either, which seem to consist largely of a nightmarish industrial landscape.
And who could forget the pandas, Sichuan’s star attraction. A trip to the research base just north of the city allowed me the opportunity to see these animals close up. And, yes, these animals are damn cute. Watching them loll around, lazily munching on bamboo, was strangely spell-binding, as their movements seemed eerily human. And since our van shuttled us to the base at an ungodly 7am, we were able to enjoy these fascinating creatures in near calm, avoiding the loud and obnoxious tour groups that started showing up just as we were leaving. Not being one to sing the praises of the tourist trap circuit, I nevertheless recommend a trip to visit the pandas. It’s worth it.
I guess visiting Chengdu is worth it in the end, too. Despite its bleak appearance (I’m wonder whether it isn’t a lot nicer in the summer), the relaxed pace of the Southwest survives the concrete onslaught enough make the city enjoyable. And I still can’t forget those sweet, sweet 羊肉串.
‘Funny China’ Memories: Chengdu’s clubs. Another perfect example of why China has no need for hallucinogenic drugs. A sketchy world of maze-like neon corridors, dance floors packed with drunk 16 year olds, attendants dressed like Cinderella, go-go dancing lounges smothered in smoke machines, and sketchy 40 year old foreigners wearing bandannas and muscle shirts yelling “Oh yeah, Dude!!!” in some KTV dungeon. Somehow, this place is known as China’s leisure capital. It felt more like Fear and Loathing in Sichuan to me. No need to ever try LSD: I already know what a bad trip is like.