Once again, I have been granted a bit of vacation as a result of a school event wiping out several days of classes.  My kids now have red banners in their classrooms from their Sports Day successes.  I on the hand have a few pictures, a slight cold, a pullover, and a trilingual copy of “The Little Prince” for my troubles.  The acquisition of these items took place over the course of the past five days on a solo excursion north to Hubei Province.  It is a place I had been through before but as of yet had not spent time in.  The trip kicked off with a hard seat night train north to Wuhan, where I was able to secure a section of seats large enough to unfold my frame and catch some sleep.  The day broke over a polluted sky, the sun, I assume, hidden somewhere up there.  Wuhan was not off to a good first impression.

A man with a stilting dialect pattern accompanied me to the bus that would take me to my part of Wuhan.  It’s a three-part city, divvied along the geographical lines of the Han and the Yangtze rivers.  The Yangtze, as some may recall, is famous for a number of things, some positive and some more dubious.  One dubious claim to fame is that Wuhan is so polluted one cannot see from the Wuchang side across to Hankou.  This, it seems, is true.  The level of air pollution was staggering, and it was no great shock to hear the continuous coughs of Chinese or hear the dreaded throat clearing noise before spitting on the ground.  A long morning led me to a hotel off the ‘nice street’ of Hankou where I dropped my bags and took a rest.

I spent the day mostly wandering the streets, looking for sites of interest.  Wuhan has a small collection of buildings from the Concession era, including a wonderful old Art Deco bank, but was I think too far inland to take on too much foreign influence.  Instead it came across as a very typical Chinese regional capital, and it was with no great sadness that I left the next day for parts unknown on a Mao-era slow train into the mountains.  During the seven hour journey I was baffled by the Hubei dialect of Mandarin yet again, and resigned myself to finding a hotel quickly.  I had yet another bus trip after the train ride ended, and with the help of a very kind hotel concierge, who walked me to the bus stop and saw me off at no cost, I was soon on my way to the ultimate destination of the day: Wudang Mountain.

Bumping along in the packed bus, I found I was seated by a real estate agent who enjoyed speaking English.  She was from the Wudangshan City and insisted on helping me find a hotel and negotiating a good price.  So we did that and she left me off at a restaurant where I had a fantastic green pepper/beef/mushroom rice dish that was perfectly spicy for a cool night.  The weather had conspired against me to this point, and the next day would prove no better as the mists grew and rain increased with each step I made through Wudang Mountain.  The trails were busy with the hum of the Chinese tourist industry, always on hand to overcharge and wash away any lingering mystique.

Wudang Mountain itself is perhaps only known to us Westerners through the film “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon” and indeed this was a driving force in my decision to visit.  The experience is not the epic I had hoped for, but instead you pay a high entry fee (which was reduced to student price because my driver’s license is a good fake on the Chinese) and take a bus ride with other Chinese to a trailhead.  From there, its a relatively easy hike to the peak.  Alternatively, you can take the cable car.  At this point, I am done with Chinese mountains.  The tourist industry is whitewashing them all into the same basic place and ruining them with excessive crowds to boot.

Back in Shiyan, the train station town, and waiting for a sleeper train back to Wuhan.  I passed the day ducking into net cafes to check on the college football scoreboard.  My alma mater posted a fine win over USC, I’ll add.  Nobody in Shiyan seemed to think much of this, nor do I know the word for American football to explain it to them.  I satisfied myself with meeting my real estate friend after her work ended that night.  In the meantime, I met another person, this a university student, waiting a friend at the train station.  She talked with me in pretty good English, boasting a good accent despite learning it in school in these provincial towns that rarely see foreigners, let alone foreign teachers.  She was the one who gave me her copy of “The Little Prince”, with the story in Chinese, English, and French.  It is actually a great learning tool.  Turns out I’m not quite to a children’s reading level yet in Chinese.

The next day saw me awaken in Wuhan.  Take two for the city.  The 5am start time helped nothing, nor did a blustering wind that seemed to change direction every time I did to keep in front of me.  At this point the pullover I bought for 28 kuai was seeming a brilliant investment.  I wandered the streets miserably seeking a net cafe, until I was finally able to find one and stumble inside, shilling out some loose change for the warmth of electric devices and the Internet’s warm, glowing, loving glow.  The day grew better as it grew ligther, revealing a clear sky and busy life out on the streets.  I took the day to wander back over to the train station for my evening trip home, passing through residential areas, the shoreline of the Han river, a park, a food street, and general meanderings through back alleys.  Wuhan and I are no dear friends, but it did earn some affection from me that day.