Zhaoqing is a small, clean city in west-central Guangdong province, known for the scenery of its surroundings. It is well known within China as a tourist spot, and has several swank hotels, with more under construction. Maybe it was the sun and warm weather that contrasted so sharply with our digs in Xiangtan; maybe it was the tourist money infusing the infrastructure; maybe it was the clean streets; maybe it was the coconut pastries we found at the little bakery; maybe it was that we had managed a clean getaway from Xiangtan and Guangzhou; maybe it was that we didn't have to piggyback Tariqa everywhere anymore; maybe we simply felt a little more confident in our ability to handle traveling on our own. Anyway, we finally felt some of the exuberance that comes from being on holiday.
Zhaoqing is situated beside a lake, and in the middle of that lake there are seven limestone crags, maybe 200 meters high (hence the comparison to the famous Guilin). It is known for its "seven stars." The crags are connected by land and by footbridges, and are dotted in strategic spots with small Buddhist temples. The crags offer quite a lovely, serene landscape to wander or hike. The children enjoyed the stone steps cut into the rocks and the "climb" to the top. We stayed two nights at the Youth Hostel, in the middle of the crags with a spectacular view out the window, then spent a night in town at a cheap local hotel.
Our experience of hotels in China suggests that the price of the room is directly proportional both to the softness of the beds and the likelihood of having functional plumbing. Sometimes there is hot water, sometimes not. Sometimes there is water leaking onto the bathroom floor, sometimes not. Sometimes the toilet seat is attached properly, sometimes not. Sometimes there is a western-style toilet, sometimes not. Sometimes towels are provided, sometimes not. Sometimes we were desperate enough to attempt a shower, sometimes not. Sometimes we could get a good night's sleep on the beds… However, all hotels supply steaming water in large, well-insulated thermoses for drinking, teabags included.
We wandered around Zhaoqing, enjoying the life of the town. It is on a river, and there is a fast ferry that will take you to Hong Kong in four hours. There is an old quarter of town, with a massive stone wall around it, about 8 meters high. The wall was built around 1100 AD, and has been recently restored. We visited the mosque, small but nicely kept. I dredged up an Islamic phrase from my old Sufi days, and our host responded enthusiastically with tea and a rapid flood of Arabic, ending with "Allah-hu- Akbar!" We haunted the local parks, Tariqa got a pony ride, and Taalan fell into a fountain and squished in his shoes for two days. We explored the market, here also bulging with goods and people for spring festival. Dried squid were in even more plentiful supply than in Guangzhou, if that's possible. (They apparently are sliced down one side, flattened out, and dried out to about 1 cm thickness. I never imagined there were so many squid in the sea.) The region also seems to be a major producer of dried mushrooms. They are white skinned, with black outer patches, and plump. Many shops are filled completely with large bags of these mushrooms. We also found dried figs, which we bought, and dried tobacco leaves, which we did not.
We caught a local bus down the road about 15 km to Dinghu, a small town adjacent to a long-time nature preserve. We checked into a local hotel, and spent the afternoon playing Uno and Chinese board games with the waitresses and hostesses. The party broke up only at dinnertime when the manager barked out a few well-chosen admonitions. Anne went down with the stomach flu; when the waitresses found out they brought three different Chinese-medicine remedies. As luck would have it, the one that worked was the cure that tasted like an ultra-concentrated combination of pine tar and wood smoke. The aroma lingered on Anne's breath for days… (Later on, when Tariqa came down with the same malady, we were only able to succeed in forcing a pellet down her throat by mashing it and mixing it with apricot jelly.) But, it worked. The next day we walked up to the Dinghu Mountain Preserve. There are many hiking trails and waterfalls. It was a unique experience to walk up stone steps cut into the rock and find someone in front of me, sweeping the trail with a homemade broom as a normal part of their job. We spent two days hiking at the preserve.
Within the Preserve, there is a wonderfully serene and beautiful Buddhist temple, the first one in China that I have visited that does not allow visitors to set off fireworks. (Visitors to temples like to burn incense or set off fireworks for good fortune -- that is, to get lucky. Most Chinese will swear that they are not religious or superstitious, but this does not stop them from buying a huge armload of firecrackers and incense and offering it up at a temple, for luck.) This temple did, however, sell incense and also had a vegetarian cafeteria, though it wasn't open when we were there. Incense is produced on an industrial scale in China. A "stick" can be as large as about 8 cm in diameter and 1.5 m long. They also make incense in coils, then hang it from the center to make a spiraling cone that is about 1.5 m long and about .7 m across at the bottom. The Chinese government is funding some major additions to the temple area -- not to the temple itself, but to the terraces and sculptures below the temple. The sculptures are impressive and intricate -- intertwined-dragon motifs are ever popular.
As it happened, we were in Dinghu during the night of Chinese New Year, bringing in the year of the dragon. We were already accustomed to the excessive obsession with fireworks by the Chinese people. But what the heck, they love it; it's part of their national character. The entire evening was full of booms and flashes, with no break in the action. Anne had wrung out some wet clothes earlier in the day and we had hung them on the roof of the hotel. In the evening I went up to the roof to bring in the laundry. As I stepped onto the roof, a burst of big boomers went off about 5 meters over my head. I couldn't help ducking as I looked for the clothes. I now understand the combat adrenaline-rush that accompanies the words "Take cover!" At midnight, there were so many firecrackers that they made a continuous barrage for about 90 minutes. (This is just any old small town, mind you, nothing special.) In the morning we walked outside through an ankle-deep sea of red confetti from expended firecrackers. Maybe there is some status in how big a pile is in front of your shop; more likely, it is simply a thrill. Parents allow and encourage children to set off fireworks and play with matches from an early age. I have not seen that the Chinese are especially safety-conscious. I read in a newspaper that fireworks killed about 38 persons in China during spring festival; I would have thought the number would be much higher for such a large country.
We caught a local bus back to Zhaoqing and stayed there for two more nights in another cheap hotel. It was here that the back-meets-bed problem became manifest. After the first night on a rock-hard bed and an enthusiastic paddleboat excursion on the lake, my back started complaining, with an attitude. It didn't improve until after we had returned home to Xiangtan. In the evenings we joined the crowds massing at the large fountains in town at the edge of the lake. The fountains are about 50 m long, with literally thousands of separate nozzles. They are programmed to perform together to classical music. The smaller nozzles can produce swirls and wavy patterns. There are 19 large nozzles that shoot about 10 m high, and of course there are lots of colored lights pulsing to the music. For the grand finale, one nozzle shoots up a big stream about 30-40 m high, with the spray drifting south onto the crowd. Taalan had good-naturedly consented to have his photo taken by some local folks and, being Taalan, was standing in a precarious spot near the platform when the biggest jet knocked him into the water, dousing him in a fountain for the second time in a week. The crowd cheered as he paddled to the edge and sloshed out, water streaming from his pants and sweater.
We decided to head down toward Hong Kong a few days early, as there were too many fountains in Zhaoqing, to do some sightseeing and perhaps some shopping (I was interested in a digital camera). We bought bus tickets to go to Shenzhen, on the border with Hong Kong, and rode off in another large, new bus. We rolled through Guangzhou and in another two hours were deposited in Shenzhen at yet another large bus station. We trolleyed up the escalator and, with cheerful hearts, walked expectantly with bags and children toward our next border experience.
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