Returning to Kaiping

… continued from previous post

I was literally the only person on the bus from Guangzhou to Kaiping, and I can see that the city is hardly a wonder. It’s not really endowed with beauty either, but it hasn’t been a wasted trip. The charm lies in the surrounding countryside scenery of rice paddies and fields, and the homes-cum-watchtowers which are scattered among them. These diāolóu 碉楼 were the homes of overseas Chinese who got rich abroad and returned to their ancestral homeland to build and reside in these buildings. Apparently there are thousands around Kaiping (according to the trusty Lonely Planet guide who has been with me since the beginning!), but the diāolóu I’ve been able to see were all around Zilicun 自力村 (shit, what’s happening, I forgot how to write first time round!), only about 10 of them. After getting off the bus at the side of a deserted road, it was a disconcertingly long walk along a lonely road in some fields (you know that feeling when you don’t know if you’re on the wrong track…?). On the way I saw a duck farm, which was fun, albeit noisy. I dare say that this was real Chinese countryside, and it felt really peaceful.

The diāolóu cluster stood sturdily yet inconspicuously nestled in among the trees of the plain. The main attraction to this place is the European styles of the buildings and the curiosity of such styles existing in China, but despite my family’s penchant for architecture, I’m ashamed to say I couldn’t distinguish between Gothic or Renaissance (or whatever else), sorry mum). As such, as I’ve seen my fair share of European architecture, coming to the diāolóu for me serves as an excuse for a nice tranquil countryside walk, a brief perusal into local history, and pneumonic cleansing from the smoggy Pearl River Delta. Returning to Kaiping let me catch up on the London 2012 Olympics. The Chinese are winning obscene amounts of gold medals, and are rightly pleased with themselves, too.

To be continued…


Returning to Guangzhou

So it’s come round to that dreaded time of year again when my life gets transplanted to Oxford, meaning that all my worldly possessions have to be sifted through and hauled into boxes. One nice side-effect of this process, however, is rediscovering useful stuff which I had previously buried into some obscure folder I never use in that dangerous “this is a nice, safe place” state of mind. This time round, I unearthed some scraps of paper which I had scrawled travel notes on while in Guangzhou, Kaiping and Macau (from my recent summer trip). Here goes:


I left Xiamen last night, and in true environmentally-unfriendly style, I took the hour and a half’s flight to Guangzhou, situated in the far south of China, a stone’s throw from Hong Kong. On the flight I was accosted by a 11-year-old boy, who took me in as his big brother, teaching me a few words in Cantonese (the local dialect there – Mandarin is spoken as well, but the locals’ native tongue is Cantonese, very different) – but I can’t remember the majority of what he taught me. He also emotionally blackmailed me into recording a video of me and him on arrival in Guangzhou airport, possibly the most embarrassing thing I’ve done in a while. It consisted of the two of us making ‘peace’ signs to the camera, him saying “we are super friends” and then giving me a high-five – it was just too hard to say no! Another highlight on the timeline of our relationship was at the baggage reclaim, when he pointed enthusiastically and shouted “Oh look James, it’s another foreigner, looks like he’s from India”. We parted company on good terms, despite the embarrassment.

ANYWAY. Impressions of Guangzhou: I’ve been trying to think of this all afternoon, but haven’t come to any conclusion yet. My day started in the ultra-modern area of Tianhe and the New Guangdong Provincial Museum, which despite initial disappointment, ended up to be really good in its exhibitions of the history and nature of Guangdong. The area around the museum was packed with glistening skyscrapers, but the Martyrs’ Memorial Park area felt grubbier and slightly more characterful. The area around the Guangxiao Temple and the Mosque Dedicated to the Prophet, even more so. Perhaps the biggest surprise of the day was the Cathedral of the Sacré-Coeur – a Western-style old building nestled among typical, grey, dreary and oh-so-Chinese residential tower blocks, with clothes drying out the windows.

Then, an even more unexpected appearance: a boisterous and passionate sermon being delivered to a room full of African expats. I was in China, yet had flashbacks to a trip to Zambia I made when I was younger. Down an alleyway I wandered through a bustling market street with chickens crammed up in cases and being snatched up for the slaughter, old ladies scrubbing clothes in the streets and an army of bicycles fighting against the surge of pedestrians. The Pearl River waterfront is hardly Victoria Harbour or South Bank; I dare say that neither will Guangzhou as a whole be likely to win any aesthetic prizes anytime soon. Finish off the evening with a stroll through a busy fishery/market thing and a bowl of noodles served by some Henan people (who noted that I apparently look like I come from Xinjiang (Central Asia)?!)

So a pretty mixed bag from GZ. Definitely got its empire of glitzy glass edifices, historical substance, cosmopolitan culture and buzzing market life. Yet none of these impressions have proved to be strong enough to define the city for me. Maybe that’s a good thing (everyone loves vibrancy and variety), maybe it’s bad. Either way, despite only exposing myself to a day of its sweaty and stifling smog, it doesn’t ooze that more-ish quality that other cities can boast.

I’ll come back if I have to.

P.S. I’m mourning the death of my Lonely Planet paper cover, which has been in shreds for a few weeks now.

To be continued…