It's October 2008. I’m sitting
on the observation deck of the Victoria Queen cruise boat, trying to write some
notes about our progress down the Yangtze River. However, I’m getting nowhere –
the scenery is too compelling to concentrate on anything else.
The
riverbanks present a constantly changing blend of nature and civilisation: a
succession of green hills, one crowned with what looks like a lighthouse-shaped
temple.
Occasionally we pass under vast bridges, replacing structures that were
too low for the water level raised by the massive Three Gorges Dam up ahead.
One city we pass has several new apartment blocks towering above the new
waterline. So far, everything in China has appeared as I’d expected it to: big,
big, big.
But all
stories, in the end, are about people, and that’s something that China has no
shortage of. Dragging myself away from the scenery back into the comforts of
the cruise boat's bar one deck below, I talk to bar supervisor Steven Xu about
what it’s like to work on this floating hotel.
Steven is symbolic of the new
China that’s economically open to the West; describing himself as a “country
bumpkin”, he’s the first of his family to leave the farm for a job in
hospitality.
“My parents are farmers outside Chongqing,” he
explains. “They grow corn, sweet potatoes and rice. But it’s not the big farm
you imagine, there are not more than ten pigs.
“They feel proud of me, because I’m the only family
member with a job related to English,” he continues. And Xu is clearly one of
those lucky people who have an ear for new languages. “I only started learning
English two and a half years ago in vocational school. Since I got a job on the
Yangtze, I’ve practised a lot and improved a lot.”
In some
ways, this cruise could be happening anywhere in the world – it follows the
international standard profile of cruises, with onboard lectures, excursions
ashore, a captain’s banquet and a cheesy cabaret night with acts from the crew
and passengers.
The cabins are compact but neat and functional, with the
unexpected bonus of bathtubs, and private balconies from which to survey the
passing scenery.
On the
other hand, the cruise boat is a fascinating fusion of China and the west, one
of the many intersection points between the two cultures as more tourists head
to China. There are also Chinese passengers aboard, part of a new middle class
exercising its right to sightsee in comfort.
Another
pleasing result of this cultural crossover is the diverse stock behind the bar.
“Chinese
people like the strong liquor we call spirit, distilled from wheat, sorghum,
rice and all kinds of stuff,” says Xu. “It can be 52% alcohol, even 60%
alcohol. We make a cocktail called Yangtze Rapids, with this spirit and
curacao, mixed with orange juice. It’s good.”
Of course,
I didn’t travel to China to drink cocktails (though as they’re cheaper than the
boat’s espresso coffee, I feel a certain licence to do so).
On the second day we leave the boat to visit the Ghost City of Fengdu. It’s called a ‘ghost city’ because traditionally the Chinese believed that this place was where their ghosts would pause for judgement on the way to their final reward.
On the second day we leave the boat to visit the Ghost City of Fengdu. It’s called a ‘ghost city’ because traditionally the Chinese believed that this place was where their ghosts would pause for judgement on the way to their final reward.
Built over centuries, it’s an attractive complex of temples, gates, bridges and
other structures tapering over and around a high green peak.
At the summit we pass monstrous statues depicting deadly sins, to reach the place where the lord of the underworld resides. This is a truly intimidating figure in robes within a sanctuary illuminated by candlelight.
At the summit we pass monstrous statues depicting deadly sins, to reach the place where the lord of the underworld resides. This is a truly intimidating figure in robes within a sanctuary illuminated by candlelight.
Around the corner is
something more macabre, a set of statuary showing what happens to various
evil-doers in the afterlife. The corrupt government official’s fate is
particularly gruesome – he’s being sawn in half, longways, through a
particularly sensitive anatomical region.
Returning,
I decide the boat is really quite splendid. There’s something delightful about
ending a sweaty hillside slog by stepping back onto waterborne luxury, welcomed
by red-coated staff who hand you a warm towel and a cup of hot ginger tea.
The next
day we start to pass through the famous Three Gorges, and the river appears
much cleaner than it was at Chongqing. This area seems much less populated, and
nature takes centre stage as the rocky riverbanks rise dramatically, often at
steep angles.
Then we
step aboard a river ferry which takes us up an arm of the gorges, passing
increasingly spectacular cliff faces and the occasional hanging coffin in
high-up caves, legacies of the ancient Ba culture.
Eventually
we end up at a floating platform from which we board sampans along a narrow lesser
gorge. The boats are piloted by men in straw hats and straw cloaks. I’m struck
by how cheerful the locals are, helping haul us in and out of boats, and
clearly enjoying their jobs running tourists up and down the gorges.
Controversy aside, it’s an astounding thing to
see, as are the locks the boat passes through during the night, dropping us
down a hundred metres to the water level beyond the dam.
After
breakfast on the last morning of the cruise, we board a bus to take us to the
visitor centre above the dam. Our guide is Kevin, who delivers a spirited
patter along the lines of being “a good dam guide or a damn good guide”.
I tell
him about an Australian prime minister named Kevin who speaks
Mandarin, and he responds “But mine is better - you can't beat a native
speaker”.
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