The end is near

I’m writing this last part of my travel blog on the train from Guilin to Beijing. That is around 2000km and a good example of how developed China’s infrastructure is. Besides driving yourself on the highway network which is not really an option for this kind of distance, there are flights, bullet trains and slower sleeper trains that go overnight. While ticket prices for bullet trains and flights converge for long distances, sleeper trains become an ecofriendly, cheaper alternative, though far from the South-East-Asian backpacker’s paradise cheap. China has been out of this league for quite a while. The upside is, standards in sleeper trains are so good that you don’t have to be adventurous or desperate to use them. When I took the standard “sleeper” class in India, I could travel 1000km for 10€, sleeping on a barely upholstered berth covered by dirt-stained articifial leather that would make you sweat instantaneously if it came in touch with your bare skin. Since no bedding was provided, you’d better bring a sleeping back. There was no AC but big, noisy metal fans attached to the ceiling, that, were you unlucky enough to get the upper berth, would run right next to your head. What can I say, the first time it was terrible, the second time I slept like a baby, you can get used to more things than you’d think. In China you don’t have to though, the berths are small but comfortable, bedding provided, AC/heating exists and people are actually quiet after the lights are switched off at 10pm.

Guilin is built around the jagged karst mountains

Sun & Moon pagoda, illuminated accordingly

The last few days were a disappointment in some way, but I have only myself to blame. The weather in the Guilin area has been outright crap for the last weeks with no improvement in sight and yet I wanted to spend four days there. Should’ve just stayed two days more at the beach in friendly Beihai. I entered the train after a cooling thunderstorm in Beihai at still around 20 degrees and exited only a few hundred kilometers north at Guilin station to 5 degrees and rain. Very much like Berlin in winter, with the difference that not all places here have heating, e.g. my hostel for the first night. Deciding to postpone showering the next morning, I quickly made my way towards Yangshuo on the quest for warmth and also some scenery (but mostly warmth really). Even if you’ve never heard of Yangshuo (阳朔), you have definitely seen photos taken or pictures drawn from the area (LIIIIINK). Its karst landscapes were the inspiration for generations of Chinese ink painters and truly are a beauty to behold. Even the miserable clouds added to the aesthetic and mystery of the jagged hills. It goes without saying that where there are sights, there’ll be crowds in China, but go away from the area under service by the tourist coaches and all you see are a few Westerners who also had the idea of renting a bike.

To me, this was the first time I’ve seen real Chinese countryside. I’ve been to smaller cities before, poorer parts of China, but never to actual villages. The Yangshuo area is probably not very representative (if any place can be) for China since tourism guarantees a decent income for most people, but even here one thing was strikingly visible: The absence of the middle-generation. All I saw was kids and old-people. 250 million people in China are migrant workers, easily more than a third of the workforce. The lengths to which parents go to guarantee their kids a better future are stunning and it’s very normal for Chinese children from the countryside to grow up with their grandparents, seeing mom and dad only a few times a year. It’s this type of dedication, poor peasants working in dismal manufacturing jobs in faraway cities to improve their and especially their children’s life a little, that brought China forward in the last decades. These days jobs have become better, salaries rose and mobility too, allowing parents to travel home more often, but the fact that many kids grow up away from them hasn’t changed. This is in big parts due to the Hukou (户口) policy that severely restricts the freedom of movement for Chinese citizens in their own country. You’re free to move and work wherever you want in China, however, most public social services to you and your family are only available in your own designated district. Imagine moving from a small city in East Germany to Munich for a job opportunity, only that you’ll have to send your kids to a private school now (if you can afford, else they’ll have to stay with their grandparents) and get no benefits from the municipal administration whatsoever.

This policy helped China as a whole because it kept people in their place and under control. Think of the slumification of metropolitan areas in countries like Nigeria or India. These developments didn’t make people’s lives better, neither did they help the cities those people swarmed to. The downside of China’s approach is quite obvious: Whereas in European countries the state does what it can (and in the case of Germany fails badly) to counterbalance the effects that growing up under less privileged circumstances has on children and grant the same opportunities to everyone, China doesn’t even attempt to. Be born in Beijing or Shanghai and a good life lies ahead of you. Even if you’re too dumb or lazy to perform well in the excellent local school system financed by the high taxes levied in your area, you could still marry a rich partner who wants to get the Hukou for your locale (this is one way to change your Hukou. Work is another, but rules vary depending on municipalities and of course the more desirable cities are, the harder it is to get one). On the other hand, be born poor in a small village in Gansu and well – stay there or maybe spend your best years as a guest worker in a mid-sized city. All I can say is that I’m impressed by the pragmatism and stoicism with which the people accept the crooked rules of the game and make the best out of them.