Lost on Planet China - J. Maarten Troost [98]
“That sounds like a good plan,” I offered. I understood; I’m usually first in line for the escapist bus. “That’s great that you can do that in China today.”
“Yes. There are many changes in China.”
“All for the good?”
Tam shrugged. “China is very complicated. Everything is changing, but the politics remains the same.”
“Yes, it strikes me as odd,” I said, pleased to have met someone so open with his opinions. “I wasn’t in China thirty years ago, but I suspect that the China of today looks vastly different. And yet the government remains stuck in another era.”
“We need more democracy,” Tam agreed. I hoped, for his sake, that there wasn’t a government goon on board. “Today, maybe 500 officials have a say in government. But the people have no say.”
“Yes. It’s not right.” And now I hoped for my sake there wasn’t a government goon on board.
“People are very worried.”
“As they should be.”
“They think the government will start a war.”
War? How now, what’s this about war? War with who? Should I be digging bunkers in California?
“Er…what war?” I hesitated. “With America?”
Tam looked at me oddly. “No. Not America. With Taiwan.”
“Ah…Taiwan.”
Technically, of course, the U.S. has indicated that it would go to war with China should it ever attack Taiwan. Indeed, China was seen to be preparing for it by confronting the technological advantages of the U.S. China had been testing weapons that could take out satellites. They’d hacked into the Pentagon. But there couldn’t be more than twelve people left in the U.S. who could muster any enthusiasm for an apocalyptic war with China over Taiwan. Of course, those twelve people probably all had jobs at the White House.
“So do you think it likely that there will be a war between China and Taiwan?”
Suddenly, I rocketed against the seat in front of me. The bus slid across the roadway, the tires shrieking. We were heading directly into the path of a chopper-tractor that had unwisely chosen that moment to make its turn onto the road. The bus screeched to a stop mere inches from the other vehicle. The bus driver emitted a well-deserved harangue at the tractor operator, who remained stoically perched atop his machine.
“Yes, I think there will be a war,” Tam went on, nonplussed. “We have a one-country, two-systems relationship with Hong Kong. It should be the same with Taiwan.”
Ah. Though a democrat, Tam too was a nationalist.
Several hours later, we rumbled into the outskirts of Lijiang, which I was disappointed to discover was made up of the usual collection of dirty low-rise apartments and shops. Chatwin, I thought, you’ve been making things up again, haven’t you? True, we were surrounded by stone mountains capped with snow. And the lush terrain beyond the town itself was enchanting. And looking at a map, one would think we’d fallen off it. But Lijiang, at first impression, was just another Han Chinese city, an uninspired place, dusty and run-down.
We hopped off at the bus station, put our backpacks on, and started walking. “I know a place where you can get a room for 80 yuan,” Tam offered.
This sounded good, we thought as we passed the obligatory hulking statue of Chairman Mao, who here had been immortalized with a Deutschland über alles salute. How could anyone find this charming? I wondered. But then we walked past the Yulong Bridge and Waterwheel and entered a maze of cobblestone streets and small canals that wound their way through the town center alongside timeless wooden buildings. It was, in fact, a lovely place, and fully deserving of its