China café

My new neighbour holds a meeting for local officials—and pulls off an eco-triumph. The diesel wars are hotting up. Plus, I won't be mentioning a certain province
May 23, 2008
Answering the call of nature

Dinner banquets with government and party officials in rural China usually involve heavy drinking, chain smoking, at least one unpalatable local specialty, and conversation about money. So when my new South African friend and neighbour Grant invited me for a dinner with the local party secretary, the mayor and others, I was in two minds about accepting. When he told me the dinner was a pretext for a meeting about environmental issues, I started thinking up excuses. In the end, I decided to go out of curiosity.

Grant owns a number of farmhouses just below the mountain, marketing them as "eco-retreats" for city-stressed foreigners. One of his early promotional blurbs read "Respond to the call of nature!" I teased him over this, suggesting "Come take a shit in the woods" instead.

But Grant has done a good job and is fully booked for the next few months. He genuinely cares about the environment. In South Africa he grew up with giraffes outside his bedroom window. But he is relatively new to China. He was hoping to recruit the support of local officials who are more interested in building factories than becoming friends with nature. I told him that he reminded me of the missionaries who built Moganshan.

For dinner, Grant's team served up a Macanese paella with pork, accompanied by red wine. The officials tucked in with gusto. Then he started his speech. "In South Africa…" he began. I cringed.

Yet his earnestness rubbed off. While half the table ducked outside for cigarettes, the rest listened, then contributed.

Afterwards, I told Grant that I was impressed, though reserving judgement. "But," I said, "you have made one small, astounding step in the right direction."

"What's that?"

"You got country officials at a banquet to smoke outside. Now that's eco-friendly."

Diesel dust-ups

I thought that queues outside petrol stations were indicators of economic collapse. So why, if China is the world's fastest-growing economy, did I find myself queueing for an hour at a petrol station the other day?

There was a long line of trucks in front of my 4x4. It is only diesel that is in short supply, because it is used by companies, not the newly moneyed middle-class whom it is important to keep happy.

The truck drivers were walking up and down the long queue. One of them stuck his head through my window.

"How long will the shortage last this time?" I asked.

"No idea."

"Do you know the reason for it?"

"No idea."

"Have there been any fights?"

"Not yet."

During another shortage in November, I passed a petrol station where an inter-provincial truck driver battle had just finished: Zhejiang versus Anhui. The station was smashed to bits. Soon after, in the Economist, I read that someone had been stabbed to death in another diesel dust-up. The Economist explained that the two major Chinese oil companies are being forced to sell diesel at a third of the market rate. So they are refusing to supply it until the government gives them a handout as it did last year. If there was no government restriction on the price, there would be no shortage.

But when I told the driver this, he failed to agree that a price increase would sort it out. "To three times the price?" he said. "We couldn't accept that. Then there'd be real riots."

Spoon flowers and grave sweeping

This is one of the best times of the year in Moganshan. The ground around our house is carpeted in purple corydalis. The camellias drooping under their bright red flowers remind me of Christmas trees. Giant magnolias, as big as British oaks, are covered by enormous white flowers—the locals call them "spoon flowers" because of their shape. Down in the valley the peach blossoms have turned the orchards into pleasure gardens. Wild azaleas are gradually flowering their way up the mountainside.

Behind our house, where the mountain doubles back on itself, the tight globes of white blossom scattered through the pine trees on the opposite slope look like the aftermath of a giants' snowball fight. Walk through the woods and you'll find wild irises and the odd daffodil. In the sunshine the village sparkles. On overcast days the clouds feel like a blanket, as if the village is savouring the last moments of a lie-in before stirring itself for the tourist season.

Officially the season does not start until 1st May, on the workers' festival. Until then, visitors are usually few. But a new national holiday in April for Qingming, or "Grave-sweeping day," brought the crowds out early this year. The vast majority were foreigners, as we don't have to tend the graves of our ancestors.

The subject I shall not mention

The glorious progress towards the harmonious Olympics proceeds apace. My previous career in China was destroyed by a rumour that I was a supporter of independence for Xinjiang (see Prospect, April 2006), so I shall not be commenting on another autonomous province of China. You'll have to rely on the western press, like I do when I can get it.