This week's flaneurial
reflection comes from a rather comfortable seat on a rather comfortable train
that is comfortably travelling at very nearly 200 miles per hour. All is smooth
and quiet as we whisk along the track between the cities of Zhuzhou and
Guangdong through the somewhat continuously grey Chinese countryside. The
coffee on board is a very reasonable 20RMB a 400ml cup (about $3). The
subjective realisation of speed only occurs when one chances to glance out of
the window and watches endless hills, roads and rivers flashing past at a truly
alarming rate.
I am on my way back from attending a Tai Chi tournament in
the City of Liling. The event was rather successful for my friend who managed
to win a gold and a silver medal and come home with an 18” plate and a rather
large china vase. We had travelled to Liling on the invitation of the Hunan Tai
Chi Association, who generously supplied hotel rooms, meals and transport for
the both of us from the Friday evening
to the following Monday morning.
This generosity was much appreciated, as were the
facilities of the four star hotel we stayed in. The food was copious and
prepared in the local Hunan style (very greasy, very salty, very spicy) but,
unfortunately, was not particularly to my tastes. There was something typically Chinese in the way the food was presented though. The dishes, usually
a dozen or more, were set upon a glass revolving disk in the centre of the
table and one chose from the offered selection whatever one took a fancy to.
This style of eating is very communal in nature which is not atypical of the
culture here in general. There is a great willingness, almost an expectation,
of sharing. If someone orders a bottle of the local alcohol, an horrendously
strong brew that fair took my breath away, it is expected that it will be
shared by all at the table.
There seems to be an etiquette to turning the glass
centrepiece, an etiquette that stresses the needs of others at the table above
oneself. Generally on such a table there is a huge pale of sticky white rice in
the centre. Here too there is an etiquette – one makes sure everyone else is
supplied with rice before filling one's own bowl. Even within this there is
another level where the status of those waiting is to be recognised, with the
higher status individuals going first. In practice, this generally implies a
respect for age, with the elders being given preference over the youngsters.
Toasts are often drunk, complete with the usual expression
'gumbei!' (empty glass) proceeded by a chink of one's glass with all and sundry.
Again, one needs to make sure one includes everybody who cares to be included
and, as a mark of respect, holds one's glass slightly lower than those of
higher status (usually best just to presume everyone else is – my personal
'fail proof' method!).
Throughout my stay in Liling I was treated with great respect
and a rather lovely inclusivity. This is
one of the loveliest aspects to the culture here. Once accepted within a given
group, one is treated with a great deal of friendly and good natured
indulgence. The Chinese, in this way at least, are a very hospitable people.
The time spent in Liling was enjoyable on many levels
bar one, but that exception makes the thought of my upcoming trip to Thailand a
pleasant prospect. The quality of the air in these medium sized cities has to
be seen to be believed. I use the word 'seen' advisedly. Of course, as soon as
one gets off the train, one is immediately aware that the air quality is not
all it should be. My first bout of coughing was on the station platform itself,
but what is most noticeable is the dreary grey smog that hangs continuously
over the town.
We arrived at the hotel just before five on the Friday
evening and I took a photograph of the somewhat uninspiring view from our
seventh floor window. Grey and dank and almost sulphurous, the blocks in the
distance disappearing into the smog:
At nine on the following Monday morning I took a second
picture from the same vantage point:
Comparing the two images, one would think that they had
been taken one after the other. This was not the case. In the three days we
were there this view did not change at all except for the coming of the night.
Just one long, dreary, greyness that hung over the city continuously from dawn
to dusk. Never a glimpse of the sun, never a shadow beneath one's feet, unless
you chanced to go inside a building.
Many of the more industrial Chinese towns and cities are
like this the whole winter long. Dreary, dirty and, in the air quality sense at
least, really quite disgusting. To experience this is really quite oppressive,
the feeling of not knowing when you will next see a patch of blue sky or where your next breath of reasonable air is coming
from. In Liling's case this was particularly disappointing as the town itself
looked to be rather interesting with a huge pottery market and some lovely old
architecture.
Last year, as happens many a year, there was some
particularly bad smog in Beijing and Shanghai during the winter months. It
became so bad at times that some people, having unwisely decided to venture out
for the evening, were reportedly reduced to using the satnav apps on their
mobile phones to find their way home again!
A few years back, the Chinese government became quite
annoyed with the American consulate in Beijing for publishing air quality
figures on its website. The American staff had become increasingly worried over
time with the deterioration of the environment. As far as the Chinese
government were concerned, all was fine and there was no problem as long as no
one made a fuss about it. The fact that millions of Chinese people were dying
prematurely each year because of the effects of pollution was not particularly
concerning, but 'losing face' in such a way, particularly at the hands of the
Americans, was definitely not acceptable.
Eventually, they relented and started publishing their own
figures but this caused another problem. The PM 2.5 figures (fine particles
below 2.5 microns in width that your body has little or no defence against)
were truly atrocious. The World Health Organisation recommend that these should
be kept at levels below 20 micrograms per cubic meter of air. Hardly anywhere
in China could meet these standards so the Chinese government did what the
Chinese government does best in such circumstances; it moved the goal-posts.
The Chinese national standard calls for a 'healthy level' of 35 micrograms per
cubic meter of air. It would appear that Chinese lungs are 1.75 times better
than lungs elsewhere on the planet at dealing with this problem...
Even with these much lower standards, Chinese air quality
in most major cities fails to achieve these levels. Examining one of the
websites that publishes this data, I see that today in central Beijing the
level is 309, ie., some eight plus times their own, rather liberal (nice to see
them liberal in some ways at least...) limits and fifteen times the WHO levels.
Some Northern Chinese cities are at levels well in excess of 500. Sad to say,
this is not an unusual occurrence.
Back in the train a couple of hours have passed and we are
now within just a few short miles of Guangzhou. This technology is very
impressive, as is much of the new infrastructure of modern China. At times
though, these achievements have been made at a tremendous cost to the
environment. Apart from the truly awful air quality, 70% of China's rivers and
lakes are polluted, not to mention 90% of their groundwater (which makes up
most of the 'potable' water used for drinking, cooking, etc.). The widespread
and indiscriminate use of pesticides and chemicals means that the soil is very
unhealthy in China too. The pace of economic growth has been truly amazing but,
to paraphrase, and slightly amend, a saying from the Bible: What does it profit
a man if he gaineth the whole World but cannot breathe the air, drink the water
or eat the food?
Beware of drinking hot coffee
in close proximity of impatient Chinese train passengers...
