16 October, Shanghai to Suzhou, 115km (a)Riding
out of Shanghai this morning I never forgot for a moment that we were in Chinas
largest city. The fact that Shanghai is also one of the P.R.C.s richest towns was
harder to believe, however. Our route (suggested in Roger Grigsbys "China by
Bike") led us out of town on a nightmarish road paralleling the railroad tracks. The
air quality assaulted our exposed orifices, our itchy eyes constantly treated to squalid
sooty scenes out of Zola or Sinclair. The days only saving grace was a serviceable
tailwind.
We had pedaled for over forty kilometers before we saw any signs of rural life, and
these were only glimpses caught in gaps between factories most of which were brand
new and sporting flags of Western powers, indicating their J.V. (joint venture) status.
Shortly after negotiationg our way through the ghastly suburbs of Jiading, we stopped
at a trucker-style restaurant by the side of the highway. A trio of young, heavily made-up
girls beckoned us inside, promising all the dishes we craved. They ushered us into a
"box," a grimy closet-like room (available in virtually every restaurant and
karaoke parlor in China). We ordered quickly but the girls all three of
themkept pestering us. The most irritating of the three wouldnt stop shouting
in my ear from a proximity that can only be described as intimate. "Guo le"
"thats enough"I said until I was blue in the face,
"whos doing the cooking anyway? Were hungry." They left us alone,
but only for a moment. One or the other of the girls would come back in, thrust the menu
in front of me and indicate a dish, asking, "Dont you want this?" This
quickly grew tiresome in the extreme, but the final straw was when ear-shouting girl burst
in with a plate of pistachios and proposed a number of things that werent on the
menu. She insisted we buy the pistachios not for ourselves but for our female companions,
i.e. the tacky trucker whores who ran this bogus restaurant. Starving or not, we decided
to take our appetites elsewhere and hit the road in nothing flat. Pedaling away I thought
how great it could be to be a horny straight man with some yuan in his pocket, as
commercial sex opportunities in the Peoples Republic of China are truly ubiquitous.
Massage parlors, karaoke bars, cafes, hotels, restaurants, even barber shops offer up
prostitutes as part of their services. Given the proliferation of these kinds of
businesses (to which Fred refers variously as "whore salons",
"whoretels" and "whoreoke"), there are plenty of clients.
A few kilometers further we saw a pair of "drive-thru whores" thinly
masquerading as hitchhikersjump into a truck that had pulled over. Fred and I were
careful to pick a restaurant in the next town that featured actual food. A very friendly
old woman set us up with a couple of bowls of greasy noodles and chased away the crowd in
the sidewalk when it got too thick.
We escaped the unpleasantness of the main road for twenty kilometers, turning onto a
still-busy secondary road running alongside a barge-filled canal all the way to Kunshan,
yet another large Chinese town. For the better part of an hour we fought our way through
crowds of weaving, clueless cyclists, swerving to avoid all sorts of obstacles in this
hectic city.
Suzhou was still over an hour away, but we had already penetrated the far-reaching
industrial wasteland that surrounds it, breathing in new flavors and smells with every
push of the pedal.
Suzhou itself looked genuinely nasty until we crossed the circular canal that marks off
the old part of the city. Suddenly we were plunged into a network of narrow tree-shaded
streets positively swarming with cyclists. We stopped at the first place we came across
the unimaginatively named Suzhou Hoteland checked in.
An evening walk yielded few surprises. Like a lot of big towns in this prosperous area,
Suzhou is abuzz with signs of rampant capitalism, especially along the wide main streets.
The next day we made a concentrated effort at being tourists. In the morning we twisted
our way through fascinating little alleyways to the Garden of the Master of Nets,
supposedly the most exquisite of Suzhous famous gardens. Fred and I failed to
appreciate the place, though, so swarmed it was with tour groups. We got out in a hurry
and moved on to the much quieter "Surging Wave Pavillion", where only the
occasional spit could be heard.
We got our little lost on our way to an old preserved corner of town featuring old city
walls and gates, a big bridge and a high pagoda. Here we watched amazing amounts of canal
traffic jockey for position to pass under the bridge. Each vessel was piloted by a couple.
While the husbands would take care of the tractor motor and steering from the stern, the
wives stayed standing at the bows, using poles to measure water depth and push off from
obstacles, and shouting out directions to boats coming the other way. We walked around
through an ancient neighborhood clinging to the sides of canals big and small. People
cranked buckets of water up from fetid wells, watered their tiny vegetable gardens with
urine (why?) and gossiped with each other in noisy dialect. It was hard to believe that
KFC was just around the corner.
From here we cycled out to the countryside in search of a 1700 year-old bridge. Since
we had no map, we were at the mercy of the directions given us by passers-by. No two
responses were alike and it began to feel like a wild goose chase. But since it was a
lovely day we stuck to it, and finally caught a glimpse of our goal from a large bridge
crossing the aptly named Grand Canal, an imperial relic still very much in use. A couple
of wrong turns later and we were there: a smallish bridge of many arches leading nowhere.
As we started riding on the bumpy old thing, we came upon a pair of foreign devils, Amaury
and Lala. Respectively French and Argentinian, they were studying Chinese in Shanghai and
decided to visit Suzhou only for the day. They gave us their number and we said wed
call them to invite them to a party next week chez Yong et Nicolas.
Back in town we treated ourselves to haircuts. It was my first Chinese haircut so I
wasnt fully prepared for the elaborate pre-cut shampoo treatment/head massage, which
took over an hour. Afterwards we ate at our new favorite restaurant featuring an
English menu, friendly service and delicious chow. It was Saturday night and while
wed previously committed to check out the nightlife, neither of us felt quite up to
it. All of the tourism had worn us out.