Shanghai Bund and Qiantang River Travel Experience

Duration: 1 day.

Author: Lin Zi

Published on: January 9, 2003 at 01:44

Travel to Jiangnan

In 1993, shortly after I graduated from university, I embarked on my first trip to Jiangnan. At that time, I was considered wealthy and had ample leisure time. Working for my elder brother, I enjoyed the freedom to leave whenever I wished. The purpose of my journey was to witness the tide at the Qiantang River. I arrived in Shanghai first, a city where I harbored deep-rooted prejudices since childhood, though I couldn’t quite pinpoint why.

I had a very good female friend from high school and college who was a native of Shanghai. Despite my inherent prejudice against Shanghainese, she always insisted that I was different from others, and my bias did not hinder my appreciation and acceptance of her. Similarly, my best female friend in college was a native Cantonese, and I felt that she was distinct from other Cantonese people. However, my actual knowledge of Shanghainese and Cantonese people was limited and couldn’t be investigated further.

Upon arriving in Shanghai, I was immediately captivated by an inexplicable enthusiasm. Without knowing where to stay, I thought the university guesthouse would be both cheap and safe. I asked for directions to Shanghai University and boarded a bus. The bus conductor was extremely enthusiastic and guided me to my stop. Throughout the journey, I was transfixed by her movements. Speaking in a dialect I couldn’t understand, she navigated the steamy and crowded bus, seemingly mobilizing the entire vehicle. Passengers passed coins hand to hand like a relay, from the farthest corner to her, and then the correct change was passed back. Everyone seemed excited and enjoyed this communal effort. People of all ages and genders were looked after by her, and I found the experience fresh and interesting, a stark contrast to the coldness of bus conductors in Beijing.

That night, I went to the Bund by bus as well. When the bus stopped in a small alley with no sign of water, I was stunned. I asked a passerby for directions to the Bund and was told I needed to turn several corners and pass through alleys to reach it. He detailed the route and regretfully mentioned he was busy with a meeting, otherwise he would have shown me around.

I met a very young man, enthusiastic and earnest, who I thought was a good person. If not for their strong accents, I wouldn’t have believed they were genuine Shanghainese, which was completely different from what I had imagined. After thanking him, I walked alone towards the Bund. As expected, there was no place for me to stand; every two or three steps, there was a couple in love. They were not looking at the muddy Huangpu River, the busy docks, or the calm and majestic statue of Chen Yi at the bridgehead, nor were they admiring the flickering lights across the river. Shanghai was too crowded, and for ordinary people, there was no better place for young love than the crowded Bund.

Alone, I walked into the prosperity of Nanjing Road, captivated by the dazzling neon lights and the city’s splendor. I had to admit that, after traveling through most of China, I hadn’t seen a more beautiful city than Shanghai. However, my experience in a store was the beginning of my frustration. I asked a salesperson to show me something in standard Mandarin, but she ignored me. I remembered hearing that in Shanghai, one should speak Cantonese. Not sure if she could understand, I blurted out Cantonese and asked her to show me something. Immediately, her face changed color, and she eagerly showed me the item. I didn’t even look at it. I raised my eyes, said thank you in Cantonese, and turned around and left. Whether she could understand or not, I claimed it was a matter of upbringing and habit. In fact, I didn’t mean to thank her at all. It seemed I had experienced the snobbishness of Shanghainese and also verified that my prejudice was not unfounded.

In Hangzhou, I was pulled around by a rickshaw looking for a place to stay. At Hangzhou Railway Station, there were rickshaw drivers soliciting business, promising to find a place to stay for dozens of yuan. At the time, although I had some money, I didn’t have the courage to stay at the West Lake Hotel. Eventually, I stayed at the guesthouse of the General Logistics Department of the Air Force.It was a close encounter with the West Lake, which I explored on foot, not feeling the least bit tired. I even ventured to Longjing Village to drink tea in the traditional manner and purchased what I believed to be top-grade Longjing tea for my father. However, he informed me it was not authentic, a fact I was unaware of at the time. Later, I learned that there are only about a hundred genuine Longjing tea trees remaining, with most of the authentic tea reserved for the palace, and the rest hidden by locals, only to be shared with distinguished guests. My father was fortunate to taste the genuine article over twenty years ago.

The spring water at Huqiu had lost its clarity. I had planned to take a train from Hangzhou to Haining, but at the station, I was informed that the train had already left. A stranger advised me to hurry to the long-distance bus station, telling me there was a bus that could get me to Haining in time for the 1:30 tide. They even gave me two tickets, pointing out a temple with the best view. Due to an unexpected event, they could no longer use the tickets and generously passed them on to me. It was only later that I realized the significance of these tickets. Initially, I thought watching the tide was as simple as standing by the riverbank, but I soon discovered that I might have narrowly avoided a dangerous situation.

The journey to the temple was smooth: taking a public bus, transferring to a minibus, and then walking a long stretch of uneven farmland until I reached the solitary temple. It turned out that tickets indeed needed to be pre-purchased. The individual had given me two tickets, but I couldn’t give away the other one—not because there was no interest, but because someone greedily asked for both. In a fit of anger, I kept both tickets and entered the temple alone.

From the second-floor platform, I had a clear view of the expansive river and the dike, as well as the dense crowd atop the dike. After a long wait, we finally witnessed the spectacular scene. Later, my boss once said that women should have a temperament as fluid as water, with the reasoning that one has never seen a sharp knife sever water. When he spoke these words, I was reminded of the tide I observed on the Qiantang River. A ten-foot-high wall of water swept across the river surface; had I not seen it with my own eyes, I would have found it unimaginable—that it was water, sweeping away all the turbidity and impurities, covering all the turmoil and unease; yes, water that a knife could not cut. I was transfixed. I forgot to take photos, forgot where I was. For a long time, even after the river returned to its former tranquility and the crowd began to disperse, I remained immersed in that awe-inspiring experience.

It was only when I prepared to return to Shanghai that I realized the severity of the situation. Surprisingly, there was no public bus that could take me to Haining’s train station. The buses that had brought us here seemed to have vanished from the Earth. No one had considered how we would leave. There was also no private or public vehicle that could give me a ride. I saw the Qiantang Riverbank, which had instantly turned into a massive parking lot, with every vehicle motionless. What moved were the long streams of people—individuals like me, without transportation, embarking on a lengthy journey. To this day, I do not know how long it would take to reach the train station, perhaps until dawn if I could keep walking. But at that moment, I knew I would not make it.

In a state of utter helplessness, I flagged down a passing motorcycle. The rider was not a tout but someone who had just returned from visiting friends in Hangzhou. He was not going to Haining City either. But he said he could take me to a town near where he lived, where there would be motorcycles to take me to the train station. Without thinking, I got on his vehicle. Soon, he drove away from the congested main road. At first, he was running on a path parallel to the main road. One could still see the large flow of people and stationary vehicles. Soon, there was no sign of any people or roads. We were shuttling through the sorghum fields. My mind was racing desperately. I kept talking to him. The only thought was to know more about him and the local situation and try hard to remember the road we had taken. At that moment, I even thought about what I should do if I were sold. About an hour later, we finally arrived at a town. He told me that he had arrived home. He stopped me not far from a group of motorcycles waiting for passengers. I didn’t hear what he said to one of them. But when he turned back and spoke to me, he said: “DonI wanted to give him money, but he insisted on not taking it. Probably seeing my nervousness, due to the trust I had just established in him, I finally stated my request. I asked him if he could take me to the train station and I could pay more. He said it was really impossible. The reason he hurried back from Hangzhou was that his mother was sick. He told me to rest assured and said that he had told that person that I was his distant relative and that person wouldn’t do anything to me. There was nothing I could do even if I was not at ease. Looking at that burly man pushing his motorcycle towards me, I got on with gritted teeth. At that moment, I had such a strong attachment to that strange man who had taken me to that town. Later on the road, we were still driving through the fields with no villages in sight. I was surprisingly no longer afraid. I felt that I should leave it to fate. And I was very lucky. Nothing happened and I arrived at Haining Railway Station. That driver really only charged me 15 yuan. And we took more than an hour on that section of the road. For the train back to Shanghai at around six o’clock, although I had a ticket, I couldn’t get on the train. I saw some people climbing in through the window. At that moment, I really felt the sorrow and helplessness of being a woman, a woman who has to maintain a minimum level of propriety. Another train passed later. The train stopped but the doors didn’t open. It was still fully loaded. Later on, it might have been the last train back to Shanghai that day. With the assistance of the station staff, I was forcibly pushed onto it. By the time I arrived in Shanghai, it was already past midnight. I recalled a piece of common knowledge shared by a local Shanghai resident: as long as it’s a public taxi, you can rest assured to take it. I instructed the taxi to take me to Shanghai University. That night, due to the lack of available rooms, I had to share a room with another person. Exhausted and without the strength to speak, and having missed the time for hot water supply, I hastily washed with cold water and fell asleep. If I had been carried out and sold in the middle of the night, I probably wouldn’t have known. At that time, I had a considerable amount of cash in my wallet, unlike now when going out, there might not even be a hundred or so yuan in my wallet, because when it’s really necessary to use money, there are credit cards, and ATMs are everywhere, so there’s no need to carry cash on one’s person, attracting unnecessary worries and troubles.

I traveled for more than half a month before returning to Beijing. In between, I didn’t think to call home to let them know I was safe. When I got home, my mother opened the door and saw me, without even greeting her, she burst into tears. The first sentence she said, which I still remember to this day, was ‘Girl, you’re still alive!’ My mother thought I was lost. It’s said that they had already considered calling the police.

That year, the Qiantang River tide claimed the lives of 19 people, who were standing by the river and were pushed down by the crowd, swept away and disappeared into the tide. This is the counted number; the uncounted ones, only heaven knows. My mother believed in my ability to survive, but who can guarantee it? I might have been caught in an accident, especially after being out of touch for so long.

The details of this trip to the south of the Yangtze River are all vague to me now, except for the part about watching the tide at the Qiantang River, which is always vivid in my memory. It was from this time that I remembered to report my safety to my family as soon as I arrived at each place; it was also from this experience that I became more convinced that there are always more good people in this world. What constantly inspires people to have confidence and faith, and to start a lonely journey, is probably these unexpected gains.

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