Scott Ballantyne's Travelogue

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Great Scott!Scott Ballantyne
This page's contents copyrighted 2004 by Scott Ballantyne
Scott's Travelogue #4 (Xiapu Revisited--1996)
Scott's 1st Xiapu Adventure Scott's 5th Xiapu Adventure
Scott's Quanzhou Adventure

Spring Festival, which incorporates Chinese New Year, is the biggest holiday festival in the Chinese calendar. The tradition is for families to get together - it is similar to our Christmas - they do not give presents, as such, but buy new clothes and children are given little red envelopes by their relatives. These envelopes contain money.

The shops become battlegrounds for two weeks before the holiday, everyone seems to be on the move. This year, the holiday was from Monday, 19th. February to Wednesday, 21st., but just like our Christmas, many people extend the holiday into almost two weeks.

There was very little happening in the university and most of our friends were travelling for the holiday. I had a six week holiday over this period but did not want to do much travelling then. Diana (my Israeli girlfriend) and I had already been invited to Xiapu for the Festival and we had accepted. Everyone told us just how crazy travelling was over this period, it seems as though half of China is on the move - if that was true it would mean about 600 million people moving around. It seemed like that.

About six weeks before the holiday, I took my favourite post-graduate student, Catherine, (that is her given 'English' name) with me to the ticket office to buy the bus tickets to Xiapu. I needed Catherine because the woman who works in the ticket office does not speak a word of English, although she is uncharacteristically helpful and friendly (most Chinese shop assistants are not - quite frankly, they are a surly bunch). The ticket office lady told Catherine that we were far too early to reserve tickets and to come back 30 days before intended departure. I had planned that we leave for Xiapu on the Sunday before the holiday. Wrong! "No way ...", "Forget it ...", "Are you crazy?" were amongst the most sympathetic comments concerning our proposed departure on the day before the official holiday began. So, we decided to travel on the Friday before the official holiday. Or so we thought.

Thirty days before our planned travel, Catherine and I went again to the ticket office. We were sweetly told that we were still too early and should come back 20 days before departure. So we did. On the next visit, the sweet lady had an assistant. He was tall (for a Chinese) and looked helpful and smiling. I began to suspect that his smiles were not to reassure me but either because he knew something I didn't (which is not too difficult) or because my travelling naivety amused him. It could, of course, have been both. Well ... he told Catherine that we were still too early and that the bus company had not fixed the timetable nor the prices. It seems that at Festival time, travel prices are arbitrary and I guessed that the bus company were waiting as long as possible before announcing their prices so they could, because of the massive demand for travel at that time, charge more. Catherine talked at length with the man when she could see that I was getting a little annoyed at having to come back to the office for a fourth attempt. "Don't worry," she told me, "I have given him your phone number and they will ring you when the tickets come on sale?"

"Oh, very good," said I, sarcastically, "that will help a lot. Are you to stay at my place until we receive the phone call from them?" Catherine looked at me quizzically and not very enthusiastically. Obviously, the thought of having to live in my apartment with me did not appeal to her. "Well, what bloody use will a phone call be?" I explained. "I can't speak a word of Chinese and they obviously can't speak a word of English."

The tall assistant looked indignant. "Do you mind," he said in perfect English (by that I mean he had a British English accent) "I speak very good English." My shock gave way to my curiosity. I wondered why someone with such good English should be working as an assistant in a ticket office. He revealed that he was a professor in the university English Department - and had been for twenty years. It was his wife who worked there and he was just helping her during that busy time. Nothing is ever as it seems in China, or as you expect it to be.

Sure enough, two days later, at 10.15 at night, I got a phone call from him to say that I could book my ticket the next morning. So, Catherine and I went down again only to be told that we could not book tickets for the Friday, they were not available yet, but we could book tickets for the Thursday. We were also assured, by the ticket-selling, very-good-English-speaking professor, that Friday would not be a good day to travel anyway as it would be so busy. I just gave up, capitulated and paid. Paid a lot more than last time, too. My previous trip had cost me 110 yuan each way, this time it was 160 yuan each way - almost a 50% increase. Anyway, I was happy to have the tickets, at last, in my possession, even if I did have to travel three days earlier than I had wanted to.

A few weeks before the holiday, the American anthropologist, Charles, telephoned me to say that he, too, would be in Xiapu for the Festival. He was going to fly over from California to visit some friends and to put some final touches to his research. That was good news.

Thursday the fifteenth arrived, and clutching my hard-won tickets, Diana and I headed for the bus station. Another student, English name, "Charles", (Catherine had gone to her home town for the holiday, which was a three day train journey away. I pitied her) was our helper this time. He met us at the university gate and we caught a taxi to Hubin Nan Road which is where the bus station is. Charles insisted on paying the taxi fare, which is typical of the Chinese, even though he was doing us the favour. The station was chaos. It was packed and surrounded by police. The entrance was blocked by a large table with several police behind it. They were checking every passenger's bags. As we approached the table I advised Charles that as we were foreigners they probably would let us through without the search. Charles was doubtful and nervous about my casual attitude to his country's security services. At the table were two very pretty Chinese girls, their suitcases were on the table and the police were enthusiastically searching every item in the cases. I just walked past them, nodded, the police nodded back and we proceeded into the massed waiting area, unsearched. Obviously, foreigners in China are safe.
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Our bus was scheduled to leave at 10am. By 10.20, there seemed to be no interest in getting the Xiapu bus out. The waiting hall was filled with a thousand or so hopeful travellers. Through the iron grilles which separated the masses from the waiting buses outside, we could see the regiment of long-distance buses waiting, with sleeping drivers, for their excited passengers. The buses were ready and waiting, the drivers were ... waiting ... the passengers were ready and waiting, but the people who decide who can go through the single open gate, past two security guards, were obviously not ready, or willing. Each time we (or our student, Charles) enquired about when (or if) our bus was going to leave, we were simply told to wait for the announcement for our bus. We could see no reason for the delay, and none was given. An hour and ten minutes later, our bus passengers were called and we crushed out towards our bus. This bus was far superior to the ones of my previous experiences, I was relieved to see. This was a 'double-decker', of sorts. It had two tiers of 'beds', that is, semi-recliners, sort of bunk beds which didn't fully lie flat. We had seat numbers one and two, A & B, which was good as they were at the front of the bus and were the upper bunks. Although the upper bunks had less headroom than their down-below twins, they were at least spared the bustle and bumping of incoming passengers, and later we were spared the sleeping heads of the 'seated' passengers - those that the driver profitably picked up along the route - as they sat on a long wooden bench in the aisle, falling asleep on their crossed arms which found resting places on the beds and bodies of the occupants of the lower bunks.

The fifteen hour journey to Xiapu was quite uneventful, although, much similar to my previous one, it was more comfortable and warmer. The only noteworthy incident came when we stopped for 'a natural break', or for 'the call of nature' - the w.c. Some of the male passengers could not be bothered to walk the fifteen or so meters to the roofless w.c., and so had a pee pretty much as close to the bus as they could. The women, by their design I suppose, were not permitted such convenience and walked to their roofless, bricked, odorous privacy. I watched, with curiosity and expectant amusement, as Diana followed her female co-travellers. I knew what she was going to, she did not. Her disappearance behind the brick wall did not last long, about twenty seconds, I think. She returned to view with a look of disgust and shaking her head. She then looked around, saw some small trees and bushes and headed for them. When she came back to the bus she was laughing.

"Those toilets, if that's what you can call them, were disgusting," she said. "There's no way I was going to use them."

"So what did you do?" I asked.

"I peed with the pigs," she said, "it was cleaner where they were."

Apparently, she had found, behind the trees and bushes, a pig sty. She squatted down there, facing the bemused pigs who had probably never seen a foreigner before, let alone a female one at her toilet. I wonder if they told the other pigs what strange people foreign ladies are who prefer to use the open space in front of a pig's home instead of the place specially built for the purpose of human relief?

We had been told that we would be met by Charles at Xiapu and I wondered, with some foresight, if he would be as tardy as the last time I arrived at 2.30 in the morning when he wasn't there. Neither Diana nor I saw our arrival into Xiapu. We were both asleep. The first clue we had was the smiling faces of two Chinese girls saying, "Hello, Mr. Scott," to me, and "Nice to meet you," to Diana. It was Li Mei and Li Qui. They had come down from their villages in the mountains to greet us. Charles was not even in Xiapu.

I found the night air refreshing as I got off the bus, Diana found it "Bloody freezing", but then as an Israeli, more used to an equatorial climate, Diana finds any under 100 degrees "bloody freezing". Sensing this, Li Mei, Li Qui and the other half-a-dozen people who had got out of their beds (or had never gotten into them) at two in the morning to meet us, took us to the same street 'restaurant' as I went to on my previous trip. We drank/ate some fish 'broth' and were then paraded to our hotel. We did not know quite what to expect but had been told that it was the best, reasonably-priced, hotel in the area. Actually, I was earlier both surprised and pleased to discover that they had ANY hotel in Xiapu. It certainly wasn't 'a must' for tourists. Our entourage led us along the road of tented street restaurants and we came to stop at a solitary door in a dirty, crumbling, high wall. The door was narrow, and even in the dark we could see its poverty and peeling paint. Half-sitting-and-half-lying beside the door was a beggar. The strange thing was that he did not ask Diana or me for any money.

We were probably the first foreigners he had seen and this must have taken him off-balance. Normally, beggars make a bee-line for foreigners and pester us until we either donate or shout at them. Sometimes, other Chinese people come and chase the beggars away from foreigners. The Chinese are occasionally embarrassed by beggars troubling foreigners. This beggar didn't ask for a thing - this time.

One of our guides banged, several times, on the door. "Where are we going?" I asked our guide.

He looked puzzled and said, "Your hotel." His look told me that he wondered where the hell else I thought he would be taking me. A casino, perhaps!?

Diana and I looked at each other. "I told you not to expect much," I said to her.

"It isn't much," she replied. She was right.
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Eventually, an old man, just woken from a fitful slumber, groaned the door open. Everyone scrambled through. It led to a large car park, which in turn, led to the large-fronted hotel entrance. We had come through a sort of side entrance at the back (or was it a backside entrance?) In the hotel reception we woke the male receptionist who was sleeping on one of the guest couches. I had told Diana to bring her passport with her as it would be needed for the hotel registration. I don't like to carry my prized British passport so I brought my Foreign Resident's Permit, my Foreign Expert's I.D. Card, my Chinese Travellers Medical Permit, my Xiamen University Lecturer's I.D. Card, my U.K. driving licence and my blood donor card. All of these were superfluous. All the receptionist wanted was to get us up to our room and back to his sleep.

We were taken up some carpeted stairs, although I suspected that what was under the carpet was in better condition than the carpet. Actually, through the profusion of cigarette burns, we could probably see more of what was under the carpet than the carpet itself. Our room was half way along an unlit corridor. The receptionist took at least seven minutes to find the right room key, or any key that worked in the door, but finally flung open the door to our group of about ten.

Diana's first glance was towards the bathroom where she was relieved to find a traditional western toilet instead of the traditional Chinese ceramic hole in the ground. The bathroom boasted a shower. I saw the look on Diana's face and asked, "When do we get hot water?". Through our translator, Li Mei, we were told that a few flasks of hot water would be brought to our room a few minutes later. "No, I mean for a shower, not for drinking," I explained. They explained that the flasks of water WERE for the shower. We were told that we were the only guests in the hotel and that it was not, therefore, worthwhile heating all that water just for us. Actually, we didn't mind; we were quite used to using flasks to make a shower as we had to in our apartment in Xiamen University when the water heater broke down, which happens a lot, or when the water gets cut off, which happens a lot.

Diana and I were very tired but unable to transmit this delicately to our entourage. The Chinese are very polite, very hospitable and go to great trouble to ensure the comfort of the guests - especially foreigners. So, they made us some tea. And then they made us some more tea. Yes, and then some more. It was probably about four-thirty by the time we got to bed.

We were woken at eight-thirty by a knock at the door. Through the one eye that I managed to get open, I discovered Li Mei and Li Qui at the door, with all of Li Qui's family, who had come down from their mountain village that morning to greet us. I had to close the door on them again, wake Diana (a feat worthy of Samson), get dressed, get Diana to dress (a feat accomplished only with the diplomacy of a Kissenger and the patience of a statue) and tidy the room before I could let them in.

You may remember from my last travelogue that I had invited Li Qui and Li Mei to Xiamen. We had, in the interim, arranged that they would travel back to Xiamen with us. Such a simple thing as this, a short holiday for the girls, meant a great deal to them as they had never travelled beyond Xiapu or their village before. I had often wondered what the parents may have felt about this, if they were anxious or worried about their daughter's welfare - especially as the parents probably had never been to such a city as Xiamen. Because of this, I was careful to constantly re-assure the parents that Diana and I would treat the girls as if they were our own daughters. I felt very gratified at the trust that the families put in us, and their gratitude for our small deed was very evident. We had to insist that the family bore no expense because of the holiday; they certainly could not afford it but I suspected that they would borrow money. So both Diana and I were very insistent that they gave the girls no money for this.

However, just coming down to the town of Xiapu involved the family in expense - both in the travel costs and the loss of labour time. But they came, and I was so happy to meet them. I had not yet met Li Mei's family but she told us that they would be coming down. They arrived an hour or so later. Li Mei's father, who is only in his mid-forties, has to walk with the aid of a stick due to an accident some years earlier.
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We had to communicate with both families through the meagre interpretative talents of Li Mei, but we managed. Li Qui's mother cannot even speak the standard Chinese tongue of Putonghua (Mandarin), she can only speak her own tribe's language. Both families brought with them all their children (remember that as they are from a minority people, they are not subject to the One Child Policy. Also, it is difficult to enforce such a policy in the more rural and mountainous areas.

Breaking five thousand year old traditions is not going to happen in a decade or two). Li Mei has a brother, younger than her, who is very bright and is making fine progress with his English.

Eventually, Liu Xiu Zhen (whom I call Susan), Li Mei's English teacher, arrived and was able to act as an efficient translator. Susan is a wonderful lady, a dedicated teacher, and someone we became great friends with. We got into a discussion with Li Mei's father about the financing of Li Mei's education. You may remember that I am trying to raise money from abroad to ensure her further education. Her father felt that the money would be better spent on her brother. It is quite common for poor families to educate only the sons. I could not bear the thought of a seventeen year old, bright student like Li Mei spending the rest of her life working in the mountain rice fields and amongst the other vegetables that they manage to grow. I was insistent that whatever money I raised must be used for her.

The brother's further education is two years off and I said that we would address that matter later. I guaranteed enough money for her three year higher education, so she could go on to be a teacher or even on to university (a bit of a dream but not beyond reality). The discussion terminated in harmony, when another English teacher from a different school came to visit. His name is Alden Feng (called Adam) and he brought with him a friend whom we later 'christened’, "Jim". Adam speaks very good English and he seemed to take it upon himself to act as our major host for the whole of our trip. I had met him only briefly twice before, but we soon came to rely upon him.

By now, our room had about fifteen people in it, and Diana and I still hadn't really organised ourselves for the day ahead. Lunch was to be at Susan's. Dinner was to be at the house of a colleague of hers. In fact, our presence was so much in demand that we had to refuse many invitations. Adam decided that the hotel was not good enough for us and told us that he had an uncle (or some other relative) who owned the other hotel in the town. He assured us that the other hotel was superior and that he could negotiate a good price for us. He would not accept our protests that we were okay there. In the end, he was right. We didn't make any plans for the afternoon, which was wise. Eventually, everyone left and we were able to organise ourselves. We didn't have much time, though, as Susan soon returned to take us to her house for lunch.

Whenever we are guests of the Chinese for a meal, we are always treated like king and queen. They, almost literally, slaughter the fatted calf for us. Susan's was no exception. We were introduced to her husband, who speaks no English, and her delightful three-year-old daughter, who speaks more English than her father.

Susan lives in the house of her mother-in-law. It is three storey, stone, traditional building. You enter immediately into a small courtyard, with a huge stone basin which, I believe, is used for washing vegetables and cleaning slaughtered meat. This leads on to a small, open lounge. To the left is mum-in-law's bedroom. To the right is the dining area and kitchen.

Upstairs is Susan's bedroom and one floor above that is the main lounge. There is a roof that one can easily enter and on the way to this one passes a tiny room which is a Buddhist shrine. Susan, who is a Christian, told us that she never goes there. Her husband and his mother use that. This is a wealthy house, but as Susan pointed out, it did not belong to her husband or her; they could not afford a house.
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Lunch was excellent. Diana was cold. Heating in houses is not seen south of the River Yangtze. The door to the courtyard, which leads out onto the street, was left open all the time. Diana kept eying it and I could see her willing it to slam closed. I was okay, Susan's husband had brewed a heated wine which I was very happy to take. It tasted good. Diana doesn't drink alcohol so had to make do with chilled Sprite. Her loss. During a lull in the lunch conversation, we were all startled by a sudden noise. A huge cockerel had entered the courtyard from the street and gave us an auditorium-sized sample of the noise that cockerels are famed for. Diana almost had a heart attack, but when she realised what it was, she couldn't stop laughing for ten minutes. I think it was the thought of us trying our best to master the local culinary customs, our host were doing their best to entertain their honoured, foreign guests when suddenly a stray cockerel, unaware of etiquette or honoured guests, did what cockerels do. Soon, we were all laughing uncontrollably. Susan did not know who the cockerel belonged to, but a few days later when we went to her home for dinner, we ate it.

Dinner for the first night was at the home of a teacher, we were among about ten guests. When we arrived, Charles, Mr. Eye (the American anthropologist) was waiting for us. The meal was as varied as we had come to expect. We were joined by the principal of Xiapu Minority Middle School - the school of Li Mei and Li Qui and Susan - and the principal sat next to me at the table. I knew this was not such a good idea as he always likes to get me drunk; he tries very hard, but this time I was expecting it. However, what I was not expecting was all the other males there to have the same idea and by nine o'clock (I am told) I was drunk. The principal, bless him, volunteered to walk/carry me home, followed by most of the other diners. The rest of the evening's tale is told, by me, third hand, as I was not of sound mind or memory after nine o'clock.

Apparently, we stumbled to the hotel and I 'pinballed' my way from corridor wall to corridor wall, ably supported by the principal and a few willing others. The maid had the same trouble getting the key in the door as did the receptionist the night before. It was a long procedure. Before she had completed her task my visage changed from the flushed red of a drunk to the pallor of the deceased - a sign instantly recognised by the maid and Diana who both quickly took a few paces back. The principal had either had too much to drink to notice this or bravely, like a Roman soldier, stood by his post even in the event of a Vesuvius. This Vesuvius was the outpouring of the evening's meal and alcohol. Yes, folks, I violently vomited, all over the principal's trousers and shoes. As you will have realised by now, it was the maid's fault. Had she got the door open in a civilized time then I would have made it to the bathroom. Agreed??

The assembled crowd put me to bed, where I rambled on incoherently for an hour or so to everyone that had joined us in the bedroom. Remember, before you admonish my drunkenness, that there is not the social disgrace in China about drunks that we have in the west. In fact, they were quite pleased that they had been able to get me to 'enjoy' myself so much.

Diana became tired and explained to Charles that she wanted to go to bed but the company did not look like it wanted to depart. Charles told her that the only way to get rid of them was to get into bed, they might then take the hint. Diana, of course was reluctant to do this - especially as she usually, nay, always, undresses before she goes to bed. Charles told her not to bother, just to take off her shoes and climb into bed. By this time I had been snoring the amplified snores of the drunk for over an hour. So, she took Charles' advice and climbed into bed. Half-an-hour later, the 'guests' took the hint and left.

I was woken the next morning, early by my standards, at about eight o'clock. There was a gentle knock on the door. I heaved my abused carcass out of bed and zig-zagged to the door. My bloodshot eyes were greeted by Li Mei's father mopping up my previous night's donation to the principal's trousers and shoes. The hotel, apparently, did not think it was their responsibility. This, perhaps, explains the dirty condition of the hotel. When the mess was cleared, and Diana and I had dressed, the whole family came in to see us. They were soon followed by Li Qui's family, then by Adam and Jim and then by Susan. Charles and a friend of his also put in an appearance. Our room was starting to feel like Madison Square Gardens on a title-fight night.
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Adam, good to his word, had arranged for us to change hotels at a cheaper rate. He assured us that the hotel was better, had hot running water, showers and a western-type w.c. - so we happily accepted and the group helped us to pack and carry our luggage to the new hotel, which was all that Adam said it was. Our room had a large picture window overlooking the main, dilapidated street. I thought it was a great view from which we could unobtrusively study the daily life of this typical Chinese small town. That was one of the good things about overlooking the main street, the bad things did not reveal themselves until later.

The families of Li Mei and Li Qui were returning to their villages for the Spring Festival. Charles was also going up into the mountains for a few days but he assured us that Adam would act as our host and guide over the remaining days. In fact, Charles said, that that very afternoon we were going to be taken, by Adam and Jim, to a "hill farm". At least, that's what I thought he said. You know, these American accents can sometimes be a bit misleading!

We had lunch in the hotel with Adam, Jim and another two 'friends' of theirs who wanted to associate themselves with the foreigners. We were also joined by a delightful, pretty 19-year-old called Maggie. After lunch, we headed off for the "hill farm". We took taxis (three wheeled bicycles) most of the way, crossed a river and followed the river path. "There it is," Adam said to me, pointing to some large brick walls.

"They are not on a hill," I said to Adam.

"Of course, not," he replied, "why should we carry fish up a hill?"

Now I was confused. What the hell did fish have to do with a "hill farm". My confusion was soon straightened out. What I had heard as "hill farm" was, in fact, "eel farm". Yes, we were going to visit an eel farm. Jim, I then learned, is a marine engineer and quite a senior member of staff at one of the large eel farms. Xiapu eel farms raise about three million eels a year. What happens is that the eels are bought from France (the French buy them from Britain) as tiny, baby eels. The Chinese grow the eels into edible size when they are sold to the Japanese, who eat them. Part of the purpose of taking me, an Englishman, to the eel farm was to see if I could help them to buy them directly from Britain, cheaper than they can get them from France. Even today, I am working on this project for them. So an interesting afternoon was spent at the eel farm and I now know more about eels than I ever thought I wished to.

That evening we spent having another delightful meal at Susan's. By the time we returned to our hotel, we were tired and ready for our sleep.
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A fine drizzle accompanied us home, which turned into heavy rain before we got to sleep. On the way back to the hotel, we noticed a large crowd gathered. As it was about midnight, we were curious and went to see what they were looking at. It was a street theatre performing Peking Opera. A stage had been erected and the large crowd stared up at the performers. We joined the back of the crowd to watch for a while. However, we could not stay for long. As soon as the people in front of us realised that there were foreigners behind them, they turned their back on the stage and stared at us.

Soon, the whole audience had its back to the stage and were looking, curiously, at us. I believe even the performers were looking at us. So, unfortunately and in order to permit the actors their rightful audience, we had to leave after less than ten minutes.

The temperature was cold, but Diana, despite my derision, had carried our small electric fire with her from Xiamen. It was my turn to be derided as we both huddled around the tiny fire in the otherwise unheated hotel room.

One of the disadvantages of being in a room overlooking the main street is that the Chinese do not share our enthusiasm for beginning the day well after 6 am. At holiday-times, I think that 9 to 10 am is early enough. Diana disagrees with me by 3 to 4 hours. Mid-day is early morning to her. The chaos of early morning trading during the busiest shopping period of the year came screaming through our hotel window before most birds, and the day's sky, had decided that the day should start. The room window also was an ally of the noise as it refused to close fully. Sunday, New Year's Eve, started early for us. We breakfasted on one of the few western luxuries that we afford ourselves, coffee, and awaited the arrival of Jim and Adam who were going to give us a tour of the town and then on to Jim's apartment, which he shared with his wife, child and with his parents. A small shopping jaunt and then to Jim's place for a lunch with three adults whose English is, at best, an exercise in minimalism.

Adam had taken it upon himself to make sure that we spent the important occasion of the New Year's Eve meal at his home, which he shares with his two parents, his sister and her husband (who was not there as he was in the army and presently on the military exercises around Taiwan). Adam assured us that his father was a wonderful cook and was preparing the meal in our honour. The meal lived up to his promise but it was spoiled by the cold. No, the food was not cold, the apartment was. A few outside doors and a window were left open just to make sure of this. My hands and feet got very cold, Diana was in a living hell. The reason for the open-air meal was so that we could hear the firecrackers outside.
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After the meal, we were taken into the sister's bedroom lounge to watch Chinese television which was delighting most of 1.275 billion people with a variety show. This, I was assured, is what the Chinese all do on New Year's Eve - well, all those that have a tv, that is. We were a little warmer in that room and I cheered up when the pretty Maggie came to join us and gave me something more attractive that tv's Chinese jugglers to look at. We took a tricycle-taxi home in the rain to the accompaniment of barrage of fire-crackers that reminded me of the films I had seen of London in the blitz of World War Two.

These fire-crackers really are deafening. They are a large version of the things that we call 'jumping jacks' (for my American friends, I'm not sure what you call them - sorry). They are always red and are exploded at every opportunity.

Actually, there is some sort of logic behind when and where they are exploded, but I never got behind that logic except that anywhere and anytime seemed to be okay. By "anytime" you can include five o'clock in the morning. That was what time I was woken the next day by them, and the noise just continued for the whole of the rest of our stay in Xiapu. There were moments when I wished I was back in Xiamen where the igniting of fire-crackers is illegal, due to the fire risk. There's a strange sort of reverse logic there somewhere: in the modern, brick, steel and glass city of Xiamen fire-crackers are deemed a fire hazard; in the wooden shanty-towns like Xiapu, they are not! Beats me! The streets, during the Festival, become confettied in the red paper of the exploded crackers. It is everywhere.

Of course, no Chinese New Year's Day would be complete without a trip to a Buddhist Temple or two, would it? I must say that when you have seen your hundredth temple in a few months, and when you live next to one of the most famous temples in South China, it can get a bit monotonous. Wherever we visit, we are always, always, taken to see the local temple. Imagine, you go to New York, or London, and your hosts insist that you spend most of your tour-time visiting churches. Well, you'll have some idea of how we feel. Actually, the temple we were taken to see in Xiapu was quite pleasant as we had to hike up a bit of a mountain to get to it and the views were idyllic. The temple, when we got there, was "Ma Ma Hu Hu" (Chinese for "just so-so"). Of course, everyone was out visiting temples that day, and most of them had a treat - they saw us. I don't know how many times we had our photograph taken, nearly always without our permission, but we both started to sympathise with those famous people who complain about never getting any privacy. Of course, whenever we stopped walking a group of curious observers gathered around us to stare. They are not rude, and quite often a gracious smile to them gives them great pleasure, they are just curious. Especially in a place like Xiapu, they very rarely see foreigners. When Charles, Diana and I were together, that was probably the largest group of foreigners to be seen there this century. So, one can understand their curiosity.
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The following day, we were invited to the sixtieth birthday party of Susan's mother. Sixty is an important age in the Chinese culture and all their family and friends were to be there. The party was in the one room apartment where the mother lives, which is, in fact, Susan's designated teacher's apartment in the school. As she lives at her mother-in-law's house, she allows her mother to live in her school apartment, otherwise the mother would have to live in the same house as Susan.

All, the family and lots of friends came to the party which started at about noon. By having foreigners there (Charles was unable to attend as he was still somewhere in the mountains) it made the party even more special for Susan's mother. The Principal was there, too, and I was even more determined than ever to prevent him from getting me drunk again. In fact, this time I endeavoured to turn the tables on him by getting him drunk. To do this, I commandeered the help of two of Susan's jocular uncles who were very obviously well-rehearsed in the customs of social drinking. Well, we succeeded.
Although I did get a little drunk, I was certainly not as bad as the Principal. And I took great delight in carrying him home this time.

On his weaving way home, the Principal insisted that we go via the school perimeter (fortunately for us both, his house is very close to the school) and he again showed me the school wall foundations and the piles of stones that were supposed to be the wall. He explained how they had no money to build the wall and asked if I could get some of my foreign friends to donate something towards the fund to get it completed. The reason the wall is needed is to prevent vandals from breaking the classroom windows which the school cannot afford to replace. Often, because of the broken windows, the children's hands get too cold to write. I said I would do what I could to help and some friends in both Britain and America have pledged money. In a few months time, work should be able to commence on completing the wall.

I managed to get the Principal home safely and Diana and I went back to the hotel at about 4.30pm. At 5.30, Susan called for us. We had to return to her mother's for the evening party. One hour break from the eating and drinking, and then back to it again. When we arrived, the uncles were still there, drinking, and I thanked them for their help in getting the Principal drunk for me. They then, through Susan as translator, told me that their custom required that the honoured guest be inebriated. I, of course, was the honoured guest. Here we go again. They succeeded.

I never get drunk in Xiamen. What is it about the Xiapu hospitality that seduces me every time? I don't know, but I will be going back to see if I can get an answer. I'll let you know when I know.

The next day, I had arranged to pay a visit to the beach; Adam, Jim and pretty Maggie were to accompany me. I always thought that the beach was quite close to the town, but as with most things in China, I was wrong. Diana decided to spend the morning in bed. We hoped to be leaving that afternoon and Diana wanted to build up her strength for the arduous 15 hour journey. I say, 'hoped' to leave that afternoon as we were not sure. We had a report from the bus station that due to the military exercises around Taiwan, Xiamen had been closed to all non-military traffic and the buses had been unable to get through. However, late that morning, Susan, whose husband is the manager of the bus station, was able to get us tickets and we were assured of reaching our destination. While that was going on, I was making my way to the beach, slowly.
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Adam told me that we would take a bus. What he meant by a 'bus' was a sort of powerful mini-tractor with a partially covered trailer. This was their bus. Actually, it was better than a bus. It was a lot bumpier than a bus would have been, and a lot draughtier, but as I sat at the open rear, I was able to get some good photographs of the peasant countryside. The bus, holding about eight people, came to a halt at a large village. There we got off and went to the house of one of Adam's pupils. Adam didn't know the way to the beach (although he was born and raised for 25 years in Xiapu) and required the services of the student. When we got to the house we were seated for the obligatory tea and cigarettes (most Chinese adult males smoke, women never, ever smoke) and eventually the student came home. He negotiated for another tractor bus to take us to the beach. The ride took us along crude country roads and into tiny, poor villages. When we did reach the beach I understood why Adam didn't know where it was. That's because there was nothing there worth knowing about - a few rocks, a spit of sand, an island or two to look at and that was it. I took a few photographs of the guys and even more of pretty Maggie and we went back to Xiapu on the tractor bus.

We had lunch at one of the open street restaurants. I was, while I was eating, watching two beggars plying their trade. They looked like mother and adult son. They seemed to be doing quite well. "Perhaps," I thought, "their Spring Festival is like our Christmas in that it is supposed to be the season of goodwill and kindness and charity." That we need to have a 'season' for goodwill and kindness has always spoken volumes to me about our society. When we finished eating, the beggars came to our tables and asked if they could have the uneaten food. Naturally, we said they could, so they pulled out some metal bowls from under their rags and tipped the remains of our meal into them. They then picked up the half-full bottles of beer and drank straight from them. Actually, I hadn't finished with the beer.

I thought what a good thing these beggars were on to with this food. You see, the Chinese custom is for guests not to eat all the food - if all the food were eaten it would imply that the host had not supplied enough food. So, even if you are starving, you must leave some food and pretend to be filled. So, knowing this, the beggars, who are not famed for their social graces and probably couldn't give a damn about pretending to be filled, fill up. In a way, it's an efficient little system.

After lunch, we returned to the hotel to collect our bags, to find Li Mei and Li Qui waiting for us. By the time we got our bags from the room, paid the bill (which was 80 yuan a night for the double room - less than ten dollars or just over six pounds, and we probably paid much more because we are foreigners) 50% of Xiapu seemed to be waiting for us in the hotel reception area. Our 'congregation' paraded us to the bus station where much shaking of hands (the Chinese only publically hug and kiss members of the same sex [luckily for the pretty Maggie!!]) and after many promises of return visits and after much giving of too much food and cigarettes, so we would be okay on the great journey to a place most of them only dreamed about, Li Mei and Li Qui, Diana and I excitedly got on the bus. No, we were not so lucky this time as to get the double-decker, bunk-bedded bus that we got on the way up. This time, we had the same ramshackle excuse for transport that I had suffered on my previous trip. By now, however, I was hardened to such hardships. But was Diana?
Our seers-off delayed the bus by about 45 minutes with their warm hearted wishes but eventually the bus did get away.
Only to discover that our friends had tied more fire-crackers to the rear of the bus. We had heard enough by them, but their meaning was genuine and heart-touching. The crackers are a sign of good luck, good journey and of respect for us. And we really appreciated it.

We did have bed/recliners so we were not too uncomfortable on the journey, but the most memorable thing for me was the faces of Li Mei and Li Qui as they moved out of the only area they had ever known and into parts of their own country that I knew so well and that they had only read about. My thoughts on how they would cope in the metropolis of Xiamen were unending: traffic; real taxi's; hot running water; McDonalds; high-rise office blocks; department stores; Xiamen University, wealth and their first ride on a boat. All this, and more, was ahead of them and I was going to delight in watching their reaction to it all.

How did they react? I'll tell you all about that in my next travelogue.
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I once read an article about something that happened in China about 30 years ago which brought home to me the scale of the number of people here. The story told of a time when the countryside was plagued by huge flocks of birds which were destroying crops. China's answer? High-tech bird scarers? Teams of marksmen? No. What they did was to tell everyone to go out into the countryside with a pot or pan and something to bang it with. The people responded in their millions and stood, for a few days, in the fields banging these pots. The birds, of course, were scared and took to the wing, but everywhere they went there were people banging pots. Eventually, the birds were exhausted and hungry and fell from the sky. They were immediately killed (and probably eaten) and the plague was over in a few days. Simple and effective.

A few days ago, I went into Xiamen city and saw in the city centre hundreds of elderly people wearing special armbands and carrying plastic fly-swats. Yes, they were volunteers who just went around the city swatting flies. Each 'team' had a person with a little paper bag and when a fly was killed it was picked up and put into the paper bag. The paper bag was then put into a rubbish bin (U.S.: garbage can). Simple and effective, and keeps out C.F.C. sprays, too. Imagine that happening in New York, London or Paris? Who would ever volunteer for such a job? Here it does not matter - people do not have the social snobbery that we suffer in the west. A few days earlier, thousands of school-children had been out with the fly-swats doing the same thing. It was all part of The People's Sanitation Week. Not a euphemism that I think would catch on in the west.

Another amusing thing that you might like to hear about caught my attention a few months ago. Every time I went into town, I saw people, ordinary people, standing on street corners and junctions holding up a little yellow flag with some Chinese writing on it. I could not find out what it was all about until one day Diana was going to work on her usual bus. At one point in town the bus was stopped by police in the middle of the road. The driver was ordered out of the bus and given one of these flags and told to stand at the corner of the street for fifteen minutes. What had happened was that he had committed some motoring offence - jumped a red light or something, and this was his public punishment. This happened to all, motorists and pedestrians, taxi drivers and bus drivers, who were caught breaking some small law. That the bus was delayed by 15 minutes from getting people to work on time was not a consideration. The bus was in the middle of the road, the passengers had to wait and the other traffic had to manoeuvre its way around the bus. The driver served his 15 minute public sentence and then everyone went on their way. Strange system, strange country. China.
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