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Life in China Coal Dust, Lap-Dancing and Buddha
Life in China Coal Dust, Lap-Dancing and Buddha | Coal Dust, Lap-Dancing and Buddha |
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 Being 6ft 4in in Beijing has a humiliating domino effect. I get on the subway and provoke a range of emotions. People stare, confer and giggle while mothers point out the tourist attraction to their children. I begin to morph into a self-conscious, clumsy ditherer as I hunt in vain for an inconspicuous spot to stand. I crack my head on the hand rails. Half the carriage smirks, the other openly cackles.Travelling outside the capital is to experience the kind of scrutiny received by a model on a Milan catwalk, without the self-assurance that everyone wants to go to bed with me. At least the act of manoeuvring my lanky frame into the top bunk provided light relief to my fellow passengers bound for Datong, a town reliant on the coal-mining industry and a six-hour train ride west of Beijing. The main draws for visitors to this area are the Yungang grottos, home to over 50,000 Buddha statues carved around 1,300 years ago, and the Hanging Temple, which mocks gravity as it clings to the side of a vertical cliff. It is worth reminding yourself of the existence of these architectural marvels upon arrival in Datong. Coal dust tickles the throat and suddenly Beijing has the air quality of an oxygen tank. The caves and temple are suitably astounding. They would rival the world's major tourist sites if they were more accessible but I'll leave them for the guide books. Friday night in Datong is where it's at. After a meal at a restaurant where we served by a spitting image of North Korean president Kim Jong-Il, we headed for the familiar neon lights of a Chinese night club. We were greeted by a packed room and a tame singing performance from a pony-tailed man. Despite our protestations five regulars were removed from their front-row stools and we were sat down in their place. The singing stopped, an introduction was made and along tottered a lady in her late 30s sporting black knee-high boots and a crimson combo of bodice and suspender belt. Her awkward, static rendition of a Chinese number gave no warning of her intentions. The church-like chants of the band Enigma interrupted her song and the mood changed. Her hips started to gyrate and suddenly she seized members of the audience at the side of the stage. But the locals were wise to her ways and the men, squealing with embarrassment, resisted her attempts to drag them on stage. We were easy prey - the tourist always feels obliged to embrace "local culture" and Pablo's smouldering Mediterranean looks consumed her. He was plonked down onto a chair in the middle of the stage, grinned inanely when asked for his name and then found his face buried in thighs. Men and women of all ages cheered. Pablo was wrestled to the floor but it didn't look more comfortable horizontally. After the show was over, the lights came on, a techno-take on the Happy Birthday tune started playing and we participated in the most enthusiastic dancing ever to have been performed without the aid of drugs.  The next day brought a humbling contrast that mirrors China's social inequality. A trip to the Jinhuagong coal mine just outside the city reminded us how far away, albeit not geographically, the area is from Beijing. Coal rules. The landscape for miles around Datong is shot to pieces. Lorries transporting the black stuff are the only vehicles on the roads and concrete-block housing is at its basest form. The total area of Jinhuagong coalfield is 41 square kilometres and about 15 million tons can be exploited.We arrived at the mining town and were surprised to find a visitors' information centre had been set up to show people round. Unfortunately it was closed but intriguingly the leaflet mentions that "coal here has a nice reputation". That must be a first given that in 2005 China reported over 3,300 accidents which killed nearly 6,000 miners. The streets leading up the hill which overlook the giant blue and white cylinders of the production plant were awash with slime. We wandered through an archway into a plain, four-walled room with no roof. The stench was unbearable and we realised we had stumbled into an unofficial public outdoor toilet. Residents wondered what possible reason we had for wanting to walk though their rubbish-filled streets but greeted us warmly. The mood did not imitate the bleak scene. People seemed oblivious to the state of their surroundings and the miners grinned as they washed their faces. Coal mining, despite its unfavourable reputation, puts food on the table. Chris O’Brien Having almost sated his penchant for a four-legged gamble, Chris traded London life as a horse racing journalist for Beijing life as a “Foreign expert”. The phrases “One-China policy” and “the creation of a harmonious society” have become etched in his vocabulary through working for the state-run Xinhua News Agency and he has quickly accepted that being 6ft 4in tall is not particularly normal in China. |
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