Chengdu - Panda Gardens, and a Night at the Opera...
We move on from Song Pan, leaving the mountains and the Tibetan regions behind us. Up to this point, Sian has had the sense of something missing - something of the old China she knew 30, nearly 40 years ago, perhaps. The journey from Song Pan to Chengdu sets this to rights: A 400km bus ride across atrocious roads, through hairpin mountain passes both jaw-dropping and heart-stopping (yes, that is a sheer drop of thousands of feet just inches away from the bus outside wheels, and no barrier in sight) in equal measure. But ride, multiple interruptions for toilet stops and road-works and the scenery are just the hors de ouevre for this little nostalgia-fest. Most reminiscent of all of the China of old are our fellow passengers - or at least some of them. Most on the bus are, to be fair, just ordinary folk wanting like us to get the long journey done as quickly and quietly as possible. Most, but not all. Boarding we find our allocated seats near the front already filched, but no worries, there's plenty room at the back of the bus. So down we trot, little realising that the back of the bus seems to be where all the real hard-core reprobates gather, and we soon find ourselves pinioned either side, one by a guy who pukes and hoc-too (a histrionic clearing of throat followed by a violent explosion of phlegm) out the nearest window) and on the other by another who hoc-too with bells on, mixed up for variety's sake with chain-smoking and shouting into a mobile phone (because the person on the other ends a long way away) all through the seven and a half hours of the ride. To complete the set, our second friend kicks off his shoes so we can enjoy the ride perfumed by the delicate aroma of his ripely unwashed feet. We had boarded the bus with a picnic packed ready to stave off the hunger pains over the long journey, but funnily enough, in no time at all we seemed to have lost all appetite. Old school China? Ah, that's more like it.
So then, Chengdu. Another big, brute of a city - everywhere you look towering blocks of buildings, home and work for the 16 million souls who live here. Signs on streets say Jaguar and Lexus, Starbucks and McDonalds, Dolce and Gabbana, and if it wasn't for the Chinese characters that also surround you could practically be in any large modern metropolis, anywhere in the world. Sian was here in 1982 - nearly 4 decades ago - and its fair to say the city has grown and changed, a lot. For all its mechanistic efficiency, however, the city does have much to enjoy, plenty of green space in tree lined avenues, well managed parks and gardens, as well as pleasant walks along the banks of the river.
On our first day proper we take a tour out to the Giant Panda Research Centre. Expecting some kind of born-free, running wild experience we are at first mildly disappointed to be pitched out at something that mostly resembles a large zoo on the outer reaches of the city - tourists already flocking en masse, even at 8.00 in the morning. But its still a deeply rewarding experience, seeing these magnificent creatures if not exactly in the wild then at least in something approaching their native environment, even if having thousands of humans trooping past can't be all that much fun when all you want to do is eat and catch a morning kip. As well as the more familiar black/white Giant Panda, the centre is also home to a good number of Red Pandas - not really like a panda at all, more like a cute ginger racoon.
Saturday night for us is opera night - Sichuan Opera, to be precise - a very particular art form that owes little or nothing to its western counterpart. This (musical show, rather than a complete opera) could most (although not very) accurately described as a surreal mash-up of music hall, panto, acrobats, shadow puppets and face changing (a bewildering, as if by magic swapping of masks by actors) all to an accompaniment of music played on traditional instruments such as the two-stringed Erlu and presided over by a slinky hostess straight out of a sino version of the European Song Contest. Blimey.
So then, Chengdu. Another big, brute of a city - everywhere you look towering blocks of buildings, home and work for the 16 million souls who live here. Signs on streets say Jaguar and Lexus, Starbucks and McDonalds, Dolce and Gabbana, and if it wasn't for the Chinese characters that also surround you could practically be in any large modern metropolis, anywhere in the world. Sian was here in 1982 - nearly 4 decades ago - and its fair to say the city has grown and changed, a lot. For all its mechanistic efficiency, however, the city does have much to enjoy, plenty of green space in tree lined avenues, well managed parks and gardens, as well as pleasant walks along the banks of the river.
On our first day proper we take a tour out to the Giant Panda Research Centre. Expecting some kind of born-free, running wild experience we are at first mildly disappointed to be pitched out at something that mostly resembles a large zoo on the outer reaches of the city - tourists already flocking en masse, even at 8.00 in the morning. But its still a deeply rewarding experience, seeing these magnificent creatures if not exactly in the wild then at least in something approaching their native environment, even if having thousands of humans trooping past can't be all that much fun when all you want to do is eat and catch a morning kip. As well as the more familiar black/white Giant Panda, the centre is also home to a good number of Red Pandas - not really like a panda at all, more like a cute ginger racoon.
Saturday night for us is opera night - Sichuan Opera, to be precise - a very particular art form that owes little or nothing to its western counterpart. This (musical show, rather than a complete opera) could most (although not very) accurately described as a surreal mash-up of music hall, panto, acrobats, shadow puppets and face changing (a bewildering, as if by magic swapping of masks by actors) all to an accompaniment of music played on traditional instruments such as the two-stringed Erlu and presided over by a slinky hostess straight out of a sino version of the European Song Contest. Blimey.
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