For this final Travel Journal, I thought I’d try something a little different. In the name of laziness, I’m transcribing entries from my journal word for word, instead of editing them, sprucing them up, or giving them any sort of chronological order.
“January 30th:
The scenery is interesting, although it couldn’t really be described as beautiful. The river is now pretty wide, bordered by cliffs, hills and larger mountains in the background. Visibility is actually quite limited by heavy smog. Villages comprised mostly of two-storey concrete blocks cling to the surrounding hills. Lots of newer apartment buildings are clustered higher up on the hilltops, presumably to avoid the further rise of the water level.These newer developments are also of the ‘concrete block’ variety, only taller. It seems that almost everything below a certain marker on the side of the river has been abandoned or demolished, the population pushed further up the slope. The landscape is pretty much what I expected: not beautiful, but impressive nonetheless in its quiet vastness and isolated feel. As I look off the back of the boat, rusted barges hauling coal dot the river as the sun sinks into the haze behind them, giving everything a surreal orange glow. Strangely peaceful and relaxing (except for the non-stop, off key karaoke coming from inside).”
“Zhong Zhou:
Tourist trap hell. An interesting temple perched on a rock formation, but only accessible from a path mobbed by vendors and food stalls. Setting foot on this path is enough to set off an absolute barrage of “Halloos!” and other “Look, a foreigner!” annoyances. Got ripped off at a food stall, as usual, the price suddenly jumping after the food was in our stomachs. Then, to make things worse, we had to make our way back through a crowd getting off another boat to walk up to the temple. So to complement the wails of the vendors, a whole group of Chinese tourists decided they also wanted in on all the foreigner harassing fun. For obvious reasons, this place has now being nicknamed “The Gauntlet”. I love China, but sometimes you really just want to scream.”
“Wanzhou (δΈε·):
One of the contenders for bleakest city on earth. I guess colour was banished from here: absolutely everything is brown and gray. Concrete towers hang off hillsides over a junky harbour, the smokestacks of industry providing the necessary smoke screen. Someone on the boat told us this city is completely new, the old town having been recently submerged by the dam project. I must admit this confused me: most of what I saw looked like it could be no newer than the 1950s. Again, there is a weird empty space on the slope between where the water ends and the city begins. Every settlement along the way has had this, making them look like fortresses waiting for the coming tide.”
“January 31st:
The Gorges are impressive, immense rock formations jutting out of the river and topping off in jagged peaks. Deep mini-gorges move away from the river on all sides, disappearing off into the mountains and the mist. The whole area feels really peaceful and remote, a lot quieter than I expected: almost no other boats on the river besides us. Lots of precariously placed little homes and villages high up on the sides of the river, with no obvious routes connecting them to anywhere else.”
Ok, that’s it for the pretentious, arty portion. The trip was a mixed bag, mostly because of the following negatives:
1) Scam City. The boat itself was decent and well maintained, but the usual suspects were very present: arbitrary charges, ridiculous overpricing, confusion and surly, unhelpful staff. Our cabin was ‘mysteriously’ overbooked, prompting an attendant to ’suggest’ we upgrade to another room for an extra 100 RMB. Deck access ended up depending mostly on the purchase of a deck pass, basically just a laminated scrap of paper to wear around your neck. Every stop seemed to consist of ‘places of interest’ charging 50-100 RMB entrance fees (which we mostly avoided by seeking out cheap beer). Some staff refused to believe I could understand any Chinese, even as I asked them, in Chinese, simple things like what time the boat arrived in or left so-and-so destination. Just blank stares and “you won’t understand anyways” responses.
2) We only saw one of the Three Gorges, as we went through the first and third in the darkness of night.
3) To see the Three Gorges Dam, one had to pay 120 RMB to take some shuttle bus from the boat locks. Forget that. Didn’t see the Dam either. The locks themselves were quite a sight, however, sporting what I’m sure are some of the tallest concrete walls and steel doors in the world. As we passed through them late at night, it looked like we were docking in some surreal space station, with spotlights and guiding beacons abound.
In all, the Gorges (or should I say Gorge) were impressive, but all the other hassles dampened the experience somewhat. As a window on China, a trip through the region is however fascinating. It’s now easier for me to understand why the government is hoping the hoopla surrounding the dam will pump some economic life into the region: it’s one of the poorest places I’ve seen here so far. The east coast’s boom optimism doesn’t make it very far up the river, morphing into depression and blight not far west of Wuhan. Perhaps the saddest thing was seeing all the migrant workers crowding the docks in every town along the way, ending Spring Festival by waiting for dirty barges to carry them away towards Wuhan and the eastern provinces beyond. I wondered if I would see any of these same sad faces on the streets of Hangzhou.
‘Funny China’ memories: The Adventures of ζε (Peng You)
On the boat Justin and I met two other guys, a Canadian and Kiwi, who were making their way back to Shanghai. Unlike us, they spared even more expense and decided on a 3rd class cabin, meaning they got to share their cabin with multiple others. From the sounds of it, the men in their cabin spent their whole time drinking, smoking, watching tv and sleeping. But one guy especially stood out, and every time we would run into the two teachers they would update us on his antics.
They nicknamed him Peng You (friend), because that’s all he would ever say to them. An older man, he was either swilling bai jiu or passed out. He would offer cigarettes to them endlessly, no matter how many times they made it clear they didn’t smoke. They would wake up early in the morning, and he would already be sitting up on his bunk, drinking and offering smokes all around. I actually saw him once as we were getting off the boat at a stop: he looked like one of millions of older men in this country, wearing a shabby grayish suit and a toothy crooked smile. Sitting up on deck during the afternoon, we laughed endlessly at stories of his antics in their cabin, thinking about how he represented a certain Chinese joie de vivre.
And then the other guys told us that suddenly, Peng You had disappeared. He was never in the cabin, and his trusty bottle of bai jiu was left empty. His legend dimmed somewhat: we wasted time talking about other things. But the last night on the boat, one of the Shanghai teachers came and found us on the front deck as we were going through the dam locks. He said he had been snoozing in his bunk, when he heard tapping on the window. He looked up to see the boat police officer beaming a flashlight into the room. The cop then aimed his light on Peng You’s bed and shrugged as if to ask “where is this guy???”. Was Peng You a wanted man?
Us foreign teachers parted in Yichang still having no idea what happened to Peng You (or what the cop wanted with him). But you can be sure he’s out there somewhere, cigarette in mouth, bai jiu bottle in hand.