LOST IN THE MIDDLE KINGDOM

A few of the Middle Kingdom's many inhabitants.

When your best just ain't good enough

"Where am I?" I asked in my best Mandarin. Obviously, my best wasn't good enough. The shop assistant gazed momentarily in disbelief across her bowl of noodles at me, then spluttered out half a mouthful as she erupted into a fit of hysterical laughter.

I waited a moment before trying again - I was worried that she might choke if my second utterance proved as hilarious as the first. I spread out my map of Guizhou Province on the noodle- spattered counter and gestured vaguely at the area where I thought my destination lay, though with no English on the map, my finger was roaming over hundreds of square kilometres.

Communication breakdown

"I want to go to Huangguoshu." I stated, trying desperately to get the tones right and looking at her with an expression that dared her to mock me again, "Which way is it?". I waved an arm at the junction outside the shop where I had been dumped off a local bus. She launched into a stream of tongue-twisting syllables of which I understood nothing. I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head.

She picked up a pen and scrawled something in Mandarin on the side of my map. I had encountered this reaction to communication breakdown several times before. Believing that outsiders may have difficulty with their dialect, locals write down their message. After all, everyone in the Middle Kingdom can read Mandarin, can't they?

I could only turn my palms up and tell her that I did not understand. I had practiced this phrase so often that a smile acknowledging fleeting communication crossed her face. I folded my map and backed out of the shop, leaving her to ponder why foreigners who can't speak or read should be wandering around the Chinese countryside on their own.

A useful maxim

I wandered into the noodle shop next door and followed one of the few maxims I've developed over years of travelling alone - 'When in doubt, do nothing'. I knew I was flustered and needed to calm down in order to find a way out of this fix. I pointed to a bowl of noodles swimming in a murky sauce and to myself.

Noodles are a staple of the Chinese diet.

Over the first few mouthfuls I fretted about my inability to abandon inbred table manners and slurp my noodles down like the Chinese. But remembering my predicament, I quit thinking about table manners and turned to my main concern - being lost.

A disastrous chain

For the independent traveller, being lost is the first step in a disastrous chain. If you're lost, then how can you get where you're going? If you can't get where you're going, then why are you travelling in the first place?

In the same way that questions like "Who am I? What am I doing here?" haunt psychologists and philosophers, the traveller is pre-occupied with places. When we meet, we are more likely to ask "Where have you come from? Where are you going?" than "Where are you from? What's your job?"

This is especially true in China where rapid changes render guide books of limited value. In such an environment, news from other travellers coming from where you're going is essential. Trouble was, I hadn't met anyone who had been to Huangguoshu, or even planned to.

A few answers

As I finished off my noodles and tried to drink my green tea without getting a mouthful of tea leaves, I relaxed a little to think that I could still answer the basic questions. I had come from Kunming, and was going (I hoped!) to Huangguoshu, to look at China's highest waterfall.

What did it matter that I didn't know where I was? In the unlikely event that another traveller appeared on the only street of this tiny village, I might not seem like a total idiot. To strengthen my confidence, I reflected on another instance of being lost that I had already overcome in my short stay in China.

Stone Forest blues

On a bus to the Stone Forest near Kunming, I was feeling really pleased with myself to have bought the ticket, located the bus and bagged a good seat. When the bus was full, somebody claimed to have my seat number and hustled me out. In turn I claimed my rightful number, and so on. For twenty minutes the bus resembled a contortionist's training room as everyone stepped and stumbled over each other in the overcrowded space.

Once in the Stone Forest, my incentive to leave the tour groups behind led me off in the opposite direction. I hastened along narrow alleys between stone cliffs, down well-crafted steps curving through grottoes, past deep green pools and the unnerving liquid shapes of the rock. At last I escaped the loud chatter of crowds and could start to appreciate the unique surroundings.

Lost in the Stone Forest.

The forest seemed to stretch out forever, and I wandered through wheat fields punctuated by stone sculptures, quiet pagodas and realistic scarecrows. My contentment was soon shattered, however, as I got hopelessly lost in the labyrinthine paths of the Stone Forest heading back to the bus.

I tried in vain to recognize the 'Phoenix Preening Its Wings', 'Rhinoceros Looking at the Moon' or 'Wife Yearning for Her Husband' - rock shapes which would have given me a location on my map. And how did I get out of that mess? By hearing a tour group, whose loud chatter I ran to as enthusiastically as I had earlier fled.

Ways of getting lost

But there was little likelihood of a tour group appearing in this sleepy village in the wilds of Guizhou Province. I was sitting around in the vague hope that a bus would pass through or someone would just appear who could speak English and set me in the right direction. There seemed no point in just walking, perhaps the wrong way, at this sweltering time of day.

I managed a small giggle at the ridiculous nature of my quandary, and consoled myself by thinking that most western visitors to China who are not lost physically are often lost culturally, unable to fathom the inward- looking Orientals.

A reclusive people

My preparatory reading on China had led me to expect difficulties. Over two thousand years ago the Great Wall was built to keep out marauding barbarians, and when the Europeans arrived in the sixteenth century hoping for big profits from trade, they found the Chinese more interested in self-sufficiency than economic gain.

In this century, when improved communications have opened up the world to international travel, China has begun to admit outsiders, but much of the country still remains off-limits. This isolationist tendency is reflected in the word used by the Chinese to denote their country - "Zhongguo", or the Middle Kingdom. Implicit in the name is the notion that here lies the heart of human civilization.

Chinese maths.

Travellers' troubles

Of course, for curious adventurers like me, this sense of mystery about the world's most populous country only acts as a greater incentive to go and find what it's all about. And what do we find?

A language we can't understand; an apparent shortage of tickets to travel anywhere; endless calculations on an incomprehensible abacus; hotels which do not issue keys to their rooms; a dire shortage of public toilets and a deadly stench around the few that exist; and everywhere penetrating, unselfconscious stares which made me think at first that I'd forgotten to put on my trousers.

Travellers' rewards

But we also find wonders that make it all worthwhile. A rosy-cheeked schoolgirl blocks my way, arches her neck and beams "Hello. Welcome to China!" A novice monk drags me away from the temple to watch the dragon boat racing on the river. Young pool sharks give me a whipping in an extraordinary version of the game.

Sugar painter at work.

An old man watching his ducks holds an eloquent sign language conversation, interrupted by his warning grunts to an errant member of the flock. A sugar painter sculpts animals from hot toffee under the awestruck gaze of young children.

Limestone hills at Yangshuo.

Besides these enchanting moments, there are unforgettable sights - the classic karst hills studding the plain around Guilin and Yangshuo; the smooth monoliths of the Stone Forest; the angry Yangtze River thundering through Tiger Leaping Gorge; and from what I had read, Huangguoshu would leave a lasting impression too.

Patience pays off

Patience is a highly-praised virtue in most oriental cultures, and travelling alone in China throws up numerous chances to extend one's individual limits to sitting around waiting. Since my initial panic about being lost, I had settled into a 'whatever will be, will be' frame of mind and sat back to read my novel.

Now came the reward for my patience. A small tractor came bouncing down the road with a farmer, his young boy and a trailer full of chickens. The girl from the shop on the corner came running out, flagged him down, chatted a moment while gesturing at me, then waved me over.

Getting the message across

She must have been concerned about my inability to comprehend. She fixed me with a long look, pointed a finger at the trailer of chickens, and said slowly, as if speaking to a moron, "Huangguoshu". To complete the message, she pointed at me and hooked her thumb towards the trailer.

I threw my pack among the hens and clambered aboard, waving to my saviour as we bumped away from the village. The young boy clung to his father's back and stared at me wide-eyed as I lurched about in the trailer.

In the heart of Huangguoshu

Later that day I entered the area round Huangguoshu Falls just as the Chinese tour groups were drifting away. The falls are tiny by world standards - just over 70 meters high, but they make an impressive sight nonetheless. A soft Spring sun lit up the white plumes which ran down the cliff, and a rainbow arched across the spray.

Huangguoshu Waterfall - China's highest.

View from a window in the heart of Huangguoshu.

The aquamarine waters of the Rhinoceros Pool at the fall's base trickled over caramel-colored ledges - mineral deposits laid down by the river's waters. A path winding up the side of the fall roused my curiosity, so I followed it to near the top. Here a tunnel, quaintly termed a 'water couplet', led over a hundred meters through the porous rock behind the falls, with several windows offering unique views of the falls from inside.

Ferns and rich mosses adorned the window 'frames', and strange rock shapes jutted from the sides of the tunnel. As I stood there in the heart of Huangguoshu Waterfall, enveloped by the dark, cool rock and the roar of the river, my anxiety over being lost finally evaporated. I had found where I wanted to be.