Day 22 - Wednesday, Nov. 6 - Yangtze River & Fuling

Terraced pomelo hills

Like the Canadian “eh” at the end of a sentence to form a question, the Mandarin Chinese say mah.  But there’s no question how my day on-board starts.  It’s with tai chi on the top deck.  Then breakfast - today a French day with pain aux raisins and croissant with marmalade.
       Later on there’s a demonstration of how to make pork and celery dumplings.  Our guide Willy interprets the chef’s instructions for the English speakers; the Chinese can understand the chef directly.  First he makes and kneads the dumpling dough, which has to rest a while.  Then he mixes the pork, celery and herbs.  He shows us how the dough isn’t ready yet by handling it, then takes some he prepared earlier and stretches it arm’s length in a long elastic strand.  He forms a cylinder, breaks off one-inch pieces, then rolls each out to form a two-inch circle.  In the center goes a tiny bit of the meat; then he folds it in half and crimps the edges closed with his fingers.  These two are to be boiled.  He makes others whose ends are left slightly pointy and calls them “fish” because of their shape.  With yet others, he makes ears at one end and a ball for a tail at the other, calling them rabbits.  These last two types are to be steamed only.  I give it a try, and don’t do too poorly, if I do say so myself.
       Following that comes a presentation by Professor Alec on the topic of “China and the Making of the Modern World”, just for our group.
       After a lunch for which Stanley has organized three typical dishes - BBQ spare ribs, orange duck, and eggs with tomato - we’re off on one of two different excursions.  I’ve chosen the 816 Nuclear Bunker.  It’s very murky this morning and a bit of drizzle, so an inside venue may be the right choice, even for a pacifist.

Fuling

Our guide is Annie aka Jinjin, who is studying journalism, to my mind a profession fraught with danger in this country if you don’t toe the party line.  Her grandfather was a physicist and so her grandparents were sent to the country for re-education.  Unlike the parents of Garry (my first-day Beijing guide), they were banished for ten years.  After their re-education, her grandfather decided to stay in the country and teach instead of returning to the city.
       Jinjin picks us up in the port of Fuling, also called New Town because of the rising water from the Three Gorges Dam that flooded the old city, or Mountain City (named for its topography).  Population?  A mere 1.2 million.  It’s evidently famous for its fish, as it’s located on the Wujiang River at its confluence with the Yangtze.  The area has no big industry, except for pickles, but grows lots and lots of grapefruit that you can find for sale at little stands in front of many, many homes.

       As for the 816 Nuclear Bunker, we fear no radiation because it was never finished and no fuel was ever installed.  China’s first nuclear fusion site was in the Gobi Desert; this was the second.  The site was chosen to keep it hidden among the mountains and workers were not told what they were building as of 1967; they learned only decades later.  Work was halted in 1984 because the money was needed for other things, and relations were better with the Soviet Union by then.  (Evidently that was the enemy more than the U.S.)  China and the Soviets were no longer fighting over Krushchev’s “revisionism” and the border dispute over the Amur River had calmed down.
       The purpose here was to enrich uranium with graphite to make plutonium 235.  We tour the levels, all empty, any equipment having been sent elsewhere.  We visit the room where, in case of a problem, a suicide squad would be sent, and we exit through the little door they would have used to go to the four quarantine chambers.  I see no shower installation to hose them down, but do see a gas mask... highly insufficient.  There was also space to house 3,000 people in case of a nuclear attack... but only for six months!  I'm glad to leave this dark, massive, grim world behind, and take a shower back at our ship to wash it all away.  (Not the radiation; just the bad kharma.)

On the ride back to our ship, we pass more pomelo stands and a few Sinopec gas stations; only a few rare cars are fueling up, as elsewhere across the China we visit.  I notice palm trees standing next to large bonsais; we’re really much farther south now.  Close to town there’s a whole hillside dug up to build more “Chinese concrete bamboo” (high-rises), probably 30-40 floors of them like the ones already standing.  

This is our last night on the ship and our farewell dinner is called “A Taste of China”, with a show before the meal.  First we’re treated to not one dragon but two dancing around and kidding with us.  Then a bevy of five oriental beauties in traditional dress appear to have your picture taken with.  At table, the wait staff is also in costume, the food just keeps coming, and the “lazy Susie” (as Stanley calls it) just keeps turning.  Conversations are warm and almost as if we were parting tomorrow.  But we’re just moving on after four nights on our floating home.