Huangshan Mountain, Chinese Chicken Feet and the Mighty Yangtze
China
Introduction
As the sun beat down on another scorching day in China, I rushed to buy a ticket on the 11:30 bus to Hefei, the next stop on my travels around the country. Finding my way through the maze of buses filling the parking lot and asking for help from anyone who looked remotely informed, I was guided by a well-intentioned man to what I was assured was the correct bus. I had no choice but to take his word for it.
Soaked with perspiration, I settled into the cool air-conditioned seat, feeling thankful to be out of the hot sun. As the bus pulled away and made its way onto the open road, an endless panorama of rolling fields of rice, beans, and corn passed by the window.
It occurred to me that this ride epitomized the whole trip that I was making through China. I was on a bus with no clear idea of where I was or any certainty of where I was going. This trip to China, I would go where the road took me, stay in each place as long as I liked, and rather than seek out the adventure, let it come to me. Any problems or misfortunes would just be part of the experience. As fate would have it, three hours later, the bus coughed, sputtered, and rolled to a premature stop by the side of the road.
The Mighty Yangtze
The brochure at the travel office showed a picture of two rafts floating down the Yangtze River against of backdrop of high cliffs and rushing water. I signed up. At 10:00 a.m. the next morning, I was issued my official rafting attire consisting of a Chinese military uniform, a hard hat, and a life jacket, the only foreigner in a group of about 50 Chinese adventurers. Realizing that there was not the slightest chance of finding a pair of shoes that would even come close to fitting me, I strapped on my sandals, squeezed into the uniform, and lined up for instructions.
Immediately, someone at the front of the line began barking out commands in Chinese while everyone stood at rapt military attention, listening intently. I wondered what I had gotten myself into this time. However, I put on a brave face (something that is not easy to do when you are dressed in an undersized Chinese military uniform and hard hat) and pushed onward.
A short time later and no better informed, I followed the group down a path that descended through thick, green vegetation, finally emerging by the riverbank. There, resting by the water, floated a number of 2-passenger rafts. Careful to keep my balance, I boarded with my Chinese boat mate, a woman who appeared to be in her early 30’s. Soon, we were drifting pleasantly, but warily, down the river.
A short time later, I began to hear the increasingly more intense sound of moving water. Careful not to lose my ill-fitting helmet, I glanced behind me to see a steep cascade of rushing white foam. After securing the paddle inside the raft, I gripped the sides and waited with a sense of impending doom. As we neared the edge, the raft lurched forward and began rotating in the water as it headed toward the precipice, finally plunging over the edge into the unknown below. Water rushed in on all sides as the boat settled at the bottom of the rapids. I took a deep breath. We had survived round one still intact. Using my helmet, I hastily began bailing some of the 6 inches of water that filled the raft while my boat mate smilingly urged me on with orders to go faster. I briefly considered pushing her overboard, but decided against it.
A few minutes later, I caught sight of the next obstacle. This time, a narrow passage of rushing water awaited us leading to a breathtaking drop. I could not envision any way that we would emerge on the other end right side up. I braced for the inevitable. The boat quickly picked up speed, began twisting, bouncing off of the rocks like a pinball, and then dropped into the abyss. Just as I began to recover my senses, a massive wall of water poured in over the side, followed by calm. To my amazement, we had made it through unscathed, the only casualty being my boat mate’s hardhat, which floated gingerly down the river ahead of us.
These trials continued for another hour until we made our way to a larger boat waiting to take us in at the end of the journey. We had survived the Great Yangtze.
Eating
I watched the occasional roach scurry across the floor as flies swarmed around the kitchen at the small family owned inn where I was staying on the river. The four dollars that I had paid for the night’s accommodation left no room for complaints. The air was so thick and humid, you could almost cut it with a knife.
Soon, a rather scruffy but friendly looking woman emerged with a steaming plate of food, placing it on the table in front of me. As I surveyed the watery eggs with what appeared to be insect parts floating on top and the bone-laden fish, my objective changed from having a decent meal to finding a way to eat enough to avoid hurting her feelings. I knew that my good health so far on the trip was in grave danger. I choked down as much rice, spinach, and fried potatoes as I could while leaving a very contented cat under the table.
Eating in China for me was always feast or famine. The inability to read the menu could lead to a delicious dish or something completely inedible. A request for chicken invariable led to a steaming bowlful of chicken feet. I was never able to determine what happens to the rest of the chicken. Either KFC gets the remaining pieces or somewhere in China, there are millions fowl hobbling around with no feet.
As I made my way south from Beijing, the weather and the food became hotter. Some of the dishes in Central China are so spicy that I resorted to dipping the pieces in water before eating them. One day, after discovering an Italian restaurant and expecting a change from the fiery fare that I had been consuming, I was served a pizza that would burn a hole in your stomach.
In a Chinese restaurant, I found it impossible to order a meal for one person. If I ordered one dish like sweet and sour pork or broccoli, I would get a large plate of that one food only. Three separate choices would lead to enough food to provision a small army.
While much of the food was very good, there was always the risk of getting something that I couldn’t stomach. Tofu and rice were always a safe choice. Meals were always served with a steaming cup of hot water and finished off with slices of fresh watermelon.
When all else failed, I could always resort to the ever present McDonalds or KFC, two well-known landmarks in even the most remote cities. The four times that I resorted to this extreme measure, I always had a pang of guilt for eating American food in China. It just seemed that somewhere there must be a plaque with the inscription “Thou shalt not eat American fast food in a foreign country” somewhere in the Travelers’ 10 Commandments.
When I wanted to avoid the restaurant dilemma, I often stopped at the supermarket to find something suitable to eat. By the end of the trip, I had learned to assemble a reasonably tasty and well-rounded meal with items purchased from any market. Needing a main course, I could always rely on a cup of noodles that only needed hot water. Another favorite was something called “Congeal”, a canned soup-like item that was seasoned with sugar instead of salt. If it was fruits and vegetables that I lacked, I could always find an assortment of waxberries or dried and buttered peas. There were a wide variety of packaged snacks that were similar to, but not exactly like, those sold in the U.S. Hungry for desert, I only needed to pick up a bag of coffee or tea jelly or sweetened bean paste bundles. All this could be washed down with a bottle of peanut milk or cold Chinese green tea. One day, I was contentedly munching on bread cakes from the supermarket. While on the third one, I noticed that I had been eating the paper wrapper as well. It was quite possibly the safest thing that I ate in China.
Past and Present
“What about a foot washing?” asked the woman when I inquired one evening about something interesting to occupy my time. “A foot washing?” I responded skeptically. “Come”, she replied, “You will feel like a Chinese king”. Within minutes of being led up a flight of stairs and down a long corridor, I found myself relaxing comfortably on a soft chair, pant legs rolled up, and feet soaking pleasantly in warm water. The ancient Asian décor, dark lighting, traditional music, and costumed attendants gave the impression that I had entered a time warp and had found myself in the China of a different era. This was what I had come to see, the China that, in its chase for modernity and economic success, had maintained some of its ancient past. After an hour of intense washing and therapeutic massage, I had the cleanest (and happiest) feet in the country.
It is impossible to describe China without using the word “change”. A visitor to the country 20 years ago would not recognize it today. The adulation and deification of Mao and the era of Communism has evolved into the reverence of money and the call of capitalism. While it is still forbidden to protest government policies, I met several people who freely and openly expressed their disdain for Mao Zedong, something that would have been unimaginable in the not so distant past.
The average Chinese wants stability more than freedom, wealth more than democracy. Many Chinese are not sure that they are ready for democracy, fearing that the uneducated masses in the countryside are not well enough informed to participate in the decision making process.
The Chinese are passionately proud of their country and its long history, but realistic about its place in the world. When I suggested that some Americans see China as a future threat, one Beijing resident scoffed, “How can we be a threat to America? America is a strong country, and China will long remain many years behind.” At a time of dramatic growth and a long-awaited improved standard of living, war is the last thing that the Chinese people want. They know well the horrors of war from the turmoil of the last century and the brutality of the Japanese army during World War II.
On the other hand, after talking to several well-educated people, I have no doubt that China would fight to keep Taiwan if it should decide to declare its independence. “To lose Taiwan forever would be like America giving California back to Mexico,” a young man on the train explained to me.
Huangshan Mountain
“Huangshan Mountain is the most beautiful in all of China”, I was told when I stopped in the city of Hefei. “It is only 5 hours south by bus.” The next night, I found myself racing through the mountains in a hair-raising night car ride, a hauntingly full moon hovering above the peaks in the distance. I had arranged to be picked up at the bus station and taken to a hotel at the bottom of the mountain. What I wasn’t told was that the driver must have had aspirations to race in the Indy 500. The fact that it was dark was a blessing as it disguised the steep cliffs that awaited any driver who did not stay between the lines. We completed in less than an hour a journey that would take 1½ hours when I left two days later by the slower, but much safer, bus.
The next day, with map in hand, I set out behind the masses of Chinese tourists to climb the mountain. The path to the top was a well-maintained winding set of steps with small plateaus to rest along the way. On the side were thick vegetation and steep, rocky cliffs. The higher I climbed, the cooler the temperature became. It was a welcome relief from the sweltering heat that I had experienced elsewhere. As I ascended, the mountain began to earn its title as the most beautiful in China. The jagged peaks and massive, multicolored boulders set against the misty fog that blanketed the valleys made for a spectacular sight.
It would be another six hours of climbing interrupted by short periods of rest before I would arrive at the cable car taking me back to the bottom of the mountain. It was a weary, but well-rewarded traveler who arrived back at the hotel late that afternoon in search of a shower and a place to rest his sore legs.
Random Memories
Many of the experiences and images of China will stay with me. A list of only a few would include:
Workers and clerks sound asleep at their desk after lunch.
The endless stares at the tall foreigner in their midst.
The repellent male habit of clearing their throat and spitting, even when indoors.
The hair-raising experience of crossing the street when a green pedestrian light means that there is only a slightly greater chance of making it to the other side alive.
The countless masses of clerks in every store with nothing more to do than stand in the aisle and look bored.
The regular late night calls that came at nearly every hotel offering a different kind of “room service”. It took me a while to figure out that the strange woman’s voice rambling on in Chinese on the other end wasn’t just a wrong number.
The children tugging at their parents’ sleeves and whispering “Waiguoren” (foreigner) when I walked past.
The old man who watched me suspiciously one day for a long time while I was sitting in the park.
Finally, he got up, walked slowly past me, grinned broadly, waved, and walked away.
The maid at the hotel who determinedly kept asking me a question that I was not able to understand. Finally, in desperation, she took a piece of paper and wrote it down….in Chinese. “Surely,” she must have thought, “the stupid foreigner can at least read.”
China is a country with a character all its own on a fast moving journey to a destination unknown. Will the China of today be recognizable to a visitor 20 years from now? That story will have to wait for a future visit.
