Nearly Whooping It Up In Wuhu

But before I go there, I haven't told you about the tour I took to a traditional Chinese village an hour's drive from Suzhou (on the 14th). A people carrier pulled up at the hotel and as soon as I'd sat down I knew, Piglet-like, that this was a Bad Idea. The window had to be opened immediately and alcohol gel rubbed on the hands to sniff. You get my drift. More people climbed in at 2 more stops and then we hit the motorway, almost literally. There were 11 of us on board and no room to breathe (fortunately).

We arrived unscathed and drove through a grand entrance with clipped grass, flowers and banners and tiny new houses; all a bit Stepford, where was the tradition? I had my tour ID photo taken along with the hundreds of others who'd arrived in coaches and we trooped into another world. This was the real thing, even though I knew that the residents made their living from up to 40,000 tourists every day, and I would too, given the tourists' close proximity to the houses. I could hardly look into most of them, even though it was encouraged.

We walked behind our guide holding a blue flag aloft, giving us a detailed description of every corner, plaque, urn, stone and bridge, but giving us no time to stop and waste money, so we got separated. Sophia had his number on her mobile and got a signal. Amazing, that! How come I can't get one in Surrey?

Then he gave us our ID photos and told us the meeting place and time. It was a hot day with that Milk of Magnesia sky (hmm, no, no more Imodium stories) that the sun only manages to burn through when its very hot, and then only for a while. It was cool by the canals and lovely if I could have sat on one of the tiny, perfectly curved bridges, for longer than 5 seconds before someone else wanted it. So on we went, walking past women washing clothes on stones, men fishing or dozing, I'm not sure which, and one or 2 dopey dogs sprawled in the shade of overhanging trees. Skinny cats slept on vacant seats and stallholders called out to me "Herro, herro. Lookee, lookee." And the same wonky little houses held up by imaginary foundations lined the water's edge as in Suzhou. The people living here do so under strict state laws and are not allowed to sell to incomers. Apparently many live elsewhere and let their relatives do the work, just coming back at weekends.

I try to imagine the whole of China like this, a nation of villages and small towns. Now it's in a big hurry to build high. I've never seen anything like it; it's overwhelming. Something might have been pulled down, looking at all the rubble, but equally it might be going up, looking at all the rubble!

And so to WuHu, a 5 hour train journey that takes nearly eight. I eat melon chunks and a small moon cake proffered by a retired metallagist who's company made these train wheels. We've got bunks, but they're a cruel trick; 3 tiers and metal hard. They come with lumpy pillows and duvet. I simply have to rest and am only woken by three bites on my arm that weren't there half an hour before. I sit up to find a pregnant woman gazing at me wistfully. Oh dear. She stays like this for hours, so in the end I smile in a Helpful Sort Of Way. She beams back and says to Sophia, "She is so pretty, she has a big nose and big eyes. And her beautiful golden hair." What a lovely lady! My friend for life, obviously. Actually, it won't be long before the bags under my eyes will exceed the plane allowance and I'll be glad to get a good night's sleep.

Our hotel room has other ideas. Again, our cheap deal has bought us a room at the top end of an enormous hole in the ground. I can just see tiny dots wearing hard hats and as it gets dark the swarm of diggers put their lights on and ... eight ear-plugged hours later ... have dug about 6 inches down. This is the 3 star hotel's new 5 star foundations.

I avoid the duck's blood soup for breakfast and we giggle at "Chinken Soup" and "Face Rolls". How Spring turned into Face Sophia doesn't know.

WuHu is on my father's passport. I knew the consulate building was still there, used by the Chinese local government. It was known by everyone and we found it easily. Another hot and humid day was left far below as we chatted to 2 security guards, asking permission and telling them why I was there. We were under huge trees lining the small road winding up the hill. There was the consulate, unmistakeably colonial, at the top. Its windows were large with semi-circular tops and it was grand. As we walked round to one side I looked up to see a flight of stone steps leading to a red brick building I could just make out through the trees. It was underneath one of those those, oh what's it called; not an arbour, a ... (please fill in the blank), made of stone. I could imagine it covered in wisteria and clematis. We climbed the steps, rather daringly, and were surrounded by a pretty, old garden with paths amongst the shrubs and stone seats. Granny had her hand in this, I'm sure; there were shades of her rose garden in East Horsley. This was the summit of the hill. It was a rarefied atmosphere in both senses, peaceful, catching a cool breeze through the rustling leaves. The trees were so dense that it was hard to make out the road below. All that noise and bustle were beneath us. Beneath them?

This was an important new treaty place in my grandparents' time. It was small and out of the way, but this building was a promise of more.

My goodness, they should see WuHu today; a forest of skyscrapers and 6 laned roads.
I wasn't allowed to take photos because it was government property and I only took a peek through the open front door to see where they lived. The entrance hall was dark and shiny with a Victorian wooden staircase leading to a barred window on a landing. This was their official residence. They had arrived.

I felt terribly lonely until I pictured Granny or the Amah carrying my father as a baby down those steps to a waiting sedan chair or horse, and my grandfather's sister puffing up the steps when she arrived for her periodic visits form Canada. The heat. The corsets. The staunchness and the stiff upper lip.

This country is getting to me!