Chengdon't

The beast stopped abruptly in its tracks – it had spotted our rather feeble hiding place in the undergrowth. It eyed us suspiciously, snorted and then began to scrape the ground with its enormous hoof.  I couldn’t help noticing how sharp the tips of its horns were as they glinted in the dappled sunlight.  We were halfway up a hill in the middle of nowhere, cowering in the bushes on the side of a dirt-track just yards away from a huge, hairy and extremely disgruntled yak.

It had all started so well.  My girlfriend Isabel and I had arrived at Zhuo Ma’s T1betan home stay in the beautiful Shang Si Zhai valley the day before.  Nestled about 20 minutes drive from increasingly popular tourist destination Jiuzhaigou National Park in northern Sichuan, the valley boasts stunning views and some of the friendliest people you’re ever likely to meet.

(Jiuzhaigou National Park in winter, courtesy of Kieran Fitzgerald)

The morning had begun in peculiar but intriguing fashion when we were awoken by chanting monks, who were apparently blessing the newly re-opened home stay.  A mobile phone suddenly cut through the rhythmical recital, and the chanting stopped while one of the monks chatted away for a few minutes.  The call ended and the chanting resumed again.

After a breakfast of fresh flatbread and homemade honey, Zhuo Ma, the delightful owner of the home stay walked us up to the foot of the valley, and pointing a finger towards a set of prayer flags in the middle distance told us we should walk up to the circle of flags to get the best views of the surrounding area.  Then, as it was our first day, it was probably best to head back and get some lunch, as the climb up to the top of the valley was quite tricky and she didn’t advise it for people who were new to the area.

It was shortly after passing the prayer flags (and the breathtaking views) that we made our first mistake.  It was a lovely day, and as we’d made such good progress why not go on for a bit?  Surely at the top of the heavily forested nearby peak the views would be even better? However, the path soon changed from a well-trodden thoroughfare to a muddy single-track trail and the trees and undergrowth seemed to condense and move a triffid-like two steps forward.

Out of the blue the sound of thundering hooves filled the air, and from around the corner two enormous yaks came barrelling down the hill.  “Get off the track!” I shouted, and jumped up the bank.  My girlfriend jumped down, twisting her ankle in the process, and once the yaks had past I hopped down to make sure everything was alright.  It was at that point that the biggest, hairiest yak I’d ever seen came trotting leisurely along, coming to an abrupt halt right next to us.

It looked at us and we looked at it, and for a few seconds man, woman and beast stood stock-still, contemplating each other.  It ran through my mind to take a picture – after all it’s not every day you’re just metres away from half a tonne of hairy livestock, but then knowing my luck the flash would have gone off and all hell would have broken loose, so I decided against it.  After what seemed like a lifetime, the yak suddenly tossed its head into the air, snorted and then trotted disdainfully off down the hill.

A lucky escape and one that we’ll have hopefully learn a few lessons from.  Firstly that nature, however beautiful, should be admired but also treated with respect.  Secondly, listening to local guides is a good idea – they tend to know a little bit more about their area than you do!  Despite the unfortunate incident with the yak in the daytime we had a wonderful time pottering round the valley and surrounding parks, and would thoroughly recommend both the area and the home stay to anyone with a little sense of adventure!

Even as a young blog circulating the streets of South West England, Chengdon’t was always an inquisitive publication and, despite the felicidal warnings about curiosity taught to us by old Grandma Chengdon’t remains so to this day.  Therefore it should come as no surprise to regular readers that after receiving a tip-off from a friend about a man in Chengdu running a Chairman Mao memorial museum from his house, dashed over there as recklessly as a local taxi driver needing to get home quickly after too much green tea.

Tucked away on a side-street a few blocks North West of Chengdu’s central Tianfu square you’ll find Wang Anting’s Little Exhibition.  And little it certainly is, as the whole museum takes up the entirety of Mr. Wang’s cluttered and dusty one-room house, with most of the ‘exhibits’ piled high on top of each other.  Mr. Wang, 75, has been running his exhibition for over 20 years, although recently due to ill health he hasn’t had too much time to devote to cleaning and organising his collection.  He shuffles out on two walking sticks to greet us, his hearing aid crackling loudly and echoing every time he speaks.  Despite his ailments he still seems full of beans and answers our questions in a broad Sichuan dialect.

As a youngster in China in the early 50s Mr. Wang was desperate to join up with his friends and fight in the Korean War, but in his own words “I wasn’t a good enough soldier – you need to be really good to fight for your country abroad you know!”  Instead he was one of the first workers from the People’s Republic of China to enter T1bet as a lumberjack.

After returning to Chengdu he began his own personal homage to Mao Zedong, the then leader of the newly formed People’s Republic of China, which now boasts an incredible 50,000 badges, posters, portraits and busts of his beloved Chairman displayed in his home and sustained by patrons offering voluntary contributions to enter if they could afford it.  Looking at the guest book there seemed to have been a stream of both Chinese and foreign visitors, with one American admirer so enamoured by the exhibition that he sent a special Chairman Mao T-shirt over from the US as he thought Mr. Wang might like it.

Now, sadly, it seems as though time and tide has caught up with Mr. Wang and his collection, both of which are looking a little ragged around the edges, and the curator is looking at handing the care of his collection to a new custodian. “I’d be happy to let someone else have the museum – for the right price!” he quips.  “I don’t want to just give my collection away to children, they have no idea what Chairman Mao represents, and would just throw my badges away.  I need someone who can appreciate them and keep his memory alive”.

After finally leaving Mr. Wang to his thoughts and his badges, one would imagine that most visitors probably go through a range of mixed emotions.  What should one be feeling now?  Fascination at having seen possibly one of the largest collections of contemporary Chinese historical items known to man?  Guilt at having only handed over a voluntary donation to see it?  Pity for the old custodian and his exhibits slowly decaying in decrepit surroundings?  For this magazine at least, all of the above and more were true, but one thing is certain, if you feel the inclination to visit you won’t leave Wang Anting’s Little Exhibition unmoved.

The Exhibition is open on weekdays and Saturdays from 10am to 6pm.  There is no formal entrance charge, but if you wish to take photos of the exhibits or curators expect to be asked for a small donation.

Wang Anting’s Small Exhibition (王安廷小小展览馆)

Address: 23 Wufu Street (地址: 成都市五福街23号)

We reach the 3^rd floor and the lift doors slide open.  Leaning casually in the doorway to the nightclub is a man with a magnificent beer-gut.  He’s stripped to the waist, sweating profusely and judging from his general demeanour has probably been drinking heavily.  He appears momentarily stunned at the sight of four foreigners approaching, but quickly regains his composure.  “Helloooo!”  He roars, “Welcome to Chinaaaaa!”  Behind him four slightly younger (and slimmer) but equally topless (and equally drunken) men shuffle slowly by, each with their hands placed on the man in front’s shoulders in a kind of sedated conga-line.  We slip past, through the metal-detector and into the dark, booming inferno beyond…

To be honest, when it comes to nightclubs I’m with liberal hero Charlie Brooker: “I hated them when I was 19 and I hate them today. I just don’t have to pretend any more”.  Personally, they’re just not places I’ve ever felt comfortable in.  When the idea was raised at the magazine’s content meeting that I should write about a Chinese nightclub I must admit my initial reaction was to suggest that I save everyone’s time and money and simply pour beer all over my office desk, upload some eardrum-splitting house music onto my mp3 player then sit there for 4 hours drinking warm lager and playing dice.  However, this time I’ve been promised an entirely different experience to the overpriced preening houses I’d previously frequented in Beijing and Shanghai – a more real and, (dare I say it?), more ‘Chinese’ experience.  How could I refuse?

Once inside the club, the first thing I notice (apart from the thundering music) is the floor: it’s so sticky that after taking a step forward I’m struggling to lift my foot up again; I feel like I’m part of a moon-landing expedition.  My bearings finally regained I start to look around, and there are people absolutely everywhere.  The dance floor is a gigantic mass of humanity; it’s sometimes hard to say where one person starts and another finishes.  There are police, security guard and army uniforms present, but all of them have finished work, had (quite) a few drinks and now have their shirts unbuttoned down to the naval and are waving, gyrating or just jumping up and down to the music.  It’s a proper spit-and-sawdust place, and all the more enjoyable for it as pretensions and egos seem to have been left at the door.

We sit down and order a round of piping hot beers, but the deafening music makes conversation impossible so I decide to go for a wander and attract a fair bit of attention, some passive and some not so.  One chap gives my arm hair a tug, another slaps my belly “you must be a big boss!”  As this is a family magazine I won’t go into too much detail about the antics of my fellow bathroom patrons, but needless to say if I’d have sold viewing tickets at the urinals I could have made a fortune.

Back on the dance floor the DJ gives the dodgy Euro-house a break and slips on Gloria Gaynor’s camp classic ‘I will survive’ – the crowd go absolutely bananas, the MC whipping them up into a state of frenzied, screaming excitement.  We order another round of warm beers and watch the chaos unfold.

As an anthropological study I’d say the evening was a success.  Despite being the only foreigners there it wasn’t a particularly Chinese evening, in fact it reminded me a lot of drunken nights out I had when I was 16 or 17 in cheesy British seaside resort towns – but with Chinese characteristics!  It was also nice to see ‘normal’, not-so beautiful people cutting loose and enjoying themselves with no inhibitions or pretensions.  However, and with no offence intended to the Chinese nightclub experience, my still-ringing eardrums will be pleased to know it might be a while until I return.

Although Sichuan province is world famous for its hot food, it is not well known internationally as a hotbed of football, and the challenges the Chinese market presents the world’s favourite game are numerous.  Playing at the 42,000 capacity Chengdu Sports Centre, the Chengdu Blades are just one of many examples of the highs and lows of recent years in the Chinese Super League.

Formally known as Chengdu Five Bulls (after a famous brand of cigarette in the area), the club survived numerous changes in personnel, stadium and name during the 1990s, and even suffered a suspension and fine for match-fixing in 2001 before the Blades were bought by English team Sheffield United in January 2006, changing their name to reflect the nickname of the Yorkshire club.   2007 saw their second full season under foreign ownership end in success as the team was promoted to the Chinese Super League, and last season the Blades finished a creditable 13^th in the top flight.

On Easter Sunday 2009 the Blades, in partnership with the British Chamber of Commerce, ran the first of what will hopefully be many ‘egg-citing’ family fun days.  Participants attended a pre-match pitch side tour of the stadium, watched the game against Beijing Guoan and at half time children from the China Youth Football League were invited to have a kick around on the pitch.

Sadly the majority of supporters went home disappointed following a two-nil reverse at the hands of Guo’an.  It was always going to be a tricky home tie against the Asian Champions League contenders from Beijing, and to make things worse the Blades lost 1^st choice goalkeeper Lan Yi to injury before kick-off and never recovered from this blow, going down to goals either side of half-time from Du Wenhui and Australian loan player Joel Griffiths.

This defeat left the Blades rock-bottom of the Super Leagues, and after the game angry but organised Chengdu fans surrounded the team coach, chanting their disapproval at the tactics of manager (and former Chinese international) Li Bing.  Shortly afterwards Mr. Li was given his marching orders by the club, and technical director Don O’Riordon took the reins, drawing his first game against top of the table Henan.  With a new manager soon to be appointed, hopefully this will give the Blades a new cutting edge and signal and upturn in their fortunes for the season ahead.

In order to make the most of your match day experience, Chengdon’t gives you the (moderately) clean guide to vocally supporting your team in China.

Encouragement:

加油！- jia you! – come on! (literally add oil)

雄起！- xiong qi! – come on!  (local version of jia you, but be careful with this, as away from football it has a very different meaning…)

进一个！- jin yi ge! – get one in (usually chanted at corners or free kicks)

To the opposition:

踩扁—-！- cai bia—! – stamp on/crush (insert other team’s name, bia is Sichuan dialect for bian)

To the referee:

黑哨！- hei shao! – black whistle! (a reference to the infamous black whistle scandals in Chinese football during the 1990s)

To own team:

换人 – huan ren – change the player

—下课！— xia ke! – (player/coach’s name) class dismissed! (a way of expressing your extreme dissatisfaction with their performance)

There it was – the name was plain as day on the map.  I rubbed my eyes to check it wasn’t a trick of the light, but when I looked back it was still there, a small dot on the west coast labelled ‘Monkey Island’.  It’s a sadly typical British male stereotype, the ‘men and primates’ fascination.  Perhaps they appeal to the naughty little boy inside all of us?  A few birthdays ago I even organised a trip to Dorset’s magnificent ‘Monkey World’ to see our genetic ancestors in action.

From the south of Britain to the south coast of China, and a gruelling set of Chinese language exams combined with the Shanghai winter had left us looking for a break somewhere a bit warmer and slower.  In such a vast and diverse swathe of land as China the choices are endless, but until recently foreign tourists had the obstacles of language, knowledge and accommodation (among others!) to overcome before full access to the middle kingdom could be achieved.

Internal tourism in China is now a rapidly growing industry, and it is mainly geared towards the increasingly affluent Chinese middle class rather than foreign visitors.  Domestic tour companies have prospered, and in major tourist destinations flag-waving, mega-phone toting tour guides are never far away, leading around large, well-disciplined groups of Chinese holidaymakers, who seem to prefer this method to independent travel.  A friend who works in Shanghai as a tour guide complained to me that foreigners don’t tend to like sticking to their itineraries, and often wander off on their own.

One popular destination for the new breed of Chinese tourist is Hainan Island, just off the south coast of mainland China.  The Chinese often call it ‘the Hawaii of China’, because it’s an island, roughly on the same latitude as it’s American cousin and er, begins with the letter ‘H’.  The mild temperatures, air quality, seafood and reasonable prices are also factors in luring more holidaymakers to the island.  We stayed in the tourist city of Sanya on the south coast of the island – budget tourists can fly to the island’s slightly grim capital Haikou, and then get the coach three hours across the island to save a bit of cash.

One of the first things you notice upon venturing out is that all the signs are in Chinese and Russian, and the Chinese hawkers also address you in Russian, as opposed to the traditional “hello!”  I got chatting to one of the many peddlers selling fruit smoothies by the beach, and it turns out that thanks to a budget airline hundreds of thousands of Russians flock to the island every year in search of the sun.

Our budget hostel on the beach was where I first spotted the map featuring Monkey Island, and although obviously keen, I did have my reservations about a Chinese animal park.  However, there were some encouraging reviews about the Island online, so I put my doubts aside and dedicated a day to finding it.

The trip itself was epic, involving a public bus, a mian bao private bus, several wrong turns, a motorbike taxi, a prolonged bout of haggling with the motorbike taxi driver and then finally a spectacular cable car across the strait to the island itself.  Although exhausting, it was a fascinating journey, as you could see first hand the Chinese countryside and rural economy in action, from the fruit sellers carrying their wares on their backs to the farmers tilling the fields with their water buffaloes.

As the cable car finally ground to a halt, I looked down and there they were!  Skittering around in the afternoon sun were hundreds of macaque monkeys.  According to the island’s publicity blurb, the island now houses about two thousand of the critters, and is a state-protected nature reserve – one of the first of its kind here in China.

For those who are not so keen on monkeys (???), the park also features many protected species of butterfly and several rare plants.

It wasn’t perfect – a big fly in the ointment was most certainly the ‘monkey stunt show’ and there were also several monkeys forced to raise miniature flags at passing tourists.  There is a long way to go before some of the more less savoury aspects of animal treatment in this country are eliminated, but all in all it was most definitely a positive step forward, and proof that this kind of more nature-friendly tourism has a future in China.

If you’re interested, the photos of the journey (and of course the island) are here…

Until next week blogwatchers good luck and good tasty, zaijian!

One of the great things about Chengdu is that despite the fact it has roughly the same population as Paris, the city remains relatively small scale compared to it’s more illustrious coastal cousins.  Having lived in the urban sprawls that are Shanghai and Beijing, I find the city’s relative accessibility quite refreshing.

However, one of the major gripes expats living here have is with the provision of taxis.  In other major cities it is relatively easy to walk out onto the street and pick up a cab day or night – provided it’s not raining, when they all seem to melt away into thin air – but in Chengdu there just don’t seem to be enough to go round.  Rush hour sees scenes usually reserved for recreations of gladatorial combat in ancient Rome, with grown men trampling old ladies and children to ensure their safe passage.  It’s not a pretty sight, and in order to avoid such brutal encounters, the other week both Iz and I took the plunge and purchased bicycles.

Although it seems dangerously chaotic on the roads, there is some sort of order to the whole thing – think shoal of fish and you won’t be too far out – and you soon get used to following the lead of other Chinese road users who are just trying to get from A to B without getting a spear in the head waiting for a taxi.  Biking also opens up areas of the city you don’t really notice from the inside of a car.  Over the Spring Festival we biked out to see the sights of central and North East Chengdu, and here’s what we found:

Over the Spring Festival these orange ‘firework tents’ have sprung up on every street corner, selling all manner of explosive devices.  A stray cigarette could cause mayhem, but the motorbiking dog seems to be calm about it all…

Public parks are an essential part of everyday Chinese life, with people of all ages and backgrounds going to walk, play cards or music and just get away from the crowds and noise of other public areas.

Just in time for Valentine’s day, this romantic pedestrian crossing puts the ‘oh’ into road safety…

The north east of Chengdu is probably the area of the city that has received the least investment in recent years, and some of the buildings have a real ’60s Eastern European Era feel to them.

This stall selling lamb kebabs on sticks (or yang rou chuanr) seems to be doing a roaring trade at a temple fair (a kind of carnival to celebrate the Spring Festival held in the days after lunar new year)

The fair offered the chance to feed coy carp with what looked like a baby’s bottle…

There were also activities for the kids

I guess they couldn’t get real horses?

Always worried about the cold, Chinese parents tend to wrap up their children in so many layers that they begin to resemble the logo of a famous tyre manufacturer

The haunted house was pretty scary

But not as scary as the colour of the water in the ‘children’s pleasure cruise’

This was the entrance to the Temple Fair at Wu Hou in the south west of the city

One of the attractions featured St. Bernards in cages… I think there were performances, but we didn’t stick around to find out.

At the temple itself, much incense was burned in prayers for good luck in the coming year

On the way back we encountered Chengdu’s famous ‘shipwrecked’ boat.

And at the end of the day, a good time was had by all!

Well, that’s about it for this week blogwatchers.  Thanks a lot for reading, and good luck and good tasty.  Zaijian!