In 1995 I visited Hong Kong and China. Landing at Hong Kong Kai Tak airport is a hair-raising experience as planes fly between the high-rise buildings of Kowloon and land on a runway that extends into the sea.
Immigration at Hong Kong, a British colony, took two hours; entering China at Shenzhen took two minutes. In Hong Kong I applied for my China Visa,which was ready in ninety minutes, did some-sightseeing and took the train to the border where I crossed into Shenzhen. I was met by Thomas Kan, co-owner of the printing company I was visiting. It was late-afternoon as we set off in a Mitsubishi Outlander for the estimated six hour drive to Ganzhou City. After two hours we stopped for a meal at a roadside cafe. It was sparsely furnished with metal tables covered with plastic cloths; I noticed a basket of live chickens outside the door. The food will be fresh I thought; it was excellent.
“We’ll be there by 10.00pm,” said Thomas as we resumed our journey.
We crossed the Pearl River into remote countryside; the roads were narrow and bumpy. After a couple of hours we came to a halt; a lorry had overturned and spilled its load. Thomas and I walked to the upturned vehicle and saw that its load comprised plastic instruments for use in schools. Boxes were scattered around and children had appeared from nowhere to collect them, probably to sell in a local market. If only we had left the restaurant five minutes earlier, I thought. Thomas spoke to one of the traffic policemen. He told him I was a VIP from Western Europe who had come to help develop a factory that wouldcreate employment. I would be meeting Civic and Communist Party officials and couldn’t be delayed; we had an SUV that could be driven onto the embankment alongside the road and be on our way. Money changed hands. The policeman spoke to a senior colleague who refused to cooperate; the money was not returned.
So we waited. The only activity was from local peddlers of food and drink who had a captive market. As the sun set, it cast eerie shadows over the distant mountains; the new moon rose and a multitude of insects created a chirruping chorus that serenaded me to sleep on the back seat of the Outlander. I woke about 6.00am, still feeling tired and grumpy, to a wonderful sunrise. Two hours later a breakdown truck appeared and righted the stricken lorry in about thirty minutes; we resumed our journey, reaching Ganzhou City in mid-afternoon. I had been travelling for forty hours and was very unhappy; I demanded to know why we hadn’t flown from Shenzhen, which was the original travel plan.
“Were you saving money?”
“No. There were flight delays; we thought the road would be more reliable.”
Continuing an argument was pointless. My hosts were hospitable and after a good night’s sleep I felt much better. On reflection, I’d had a wonderful experience of rural China, its sounds, its scents, its flowers and its trees.
What a difference a day makes, I thought.
By Brian Reynolds