THE TRIP

They staggered from the plane, blinking in the mid-afternoon sun after a gruelling 12-hour flight from Europe. Stiff from being cooped up in the plane it was impossible to get their legs working again. Steven the Chinese guide was waiting to greet them, his face wreathed in welcoming smiles. Small, round, aged about 40, with approximative French, Steven was to show them the Beijing sights.
The group stumbled after Steven to the waiting coach.
There were 21 in the group on this visit to China.
It all began with a small advertisement in the local newspaper. The town was organising a trip to China ostensibly to visit the mayor of their twin-city but in reality it was a touristic visit to China.
Members of the group were those who had replied to this advertisement. It was a motley collection of strangers from diverse backgrounds.
Some of the more eccentric:
TERESA, a wonderful old lady of 65, face wrinkled in smiles, round pink cheeks, smartly dressed. Forever being persuaded to buy armfuls of souvenirs from the all-invasive hawkers. She didn’t buy one of the “Lolex” watches that were forever being offered by the hawkers though. She was a tough, worldly old woman, with a tendency to sneak off to have a quiet smoke.
JACQUES, the café owner, hen-pecked husband of Marie-Paule and seemingly tied to her. Even going to the toilet in the aeroplane was a combined effort as he was never out of Marie-Paule’s sight. He did finally manage to escape his wife at lunch one day, actually being bold enough to sit at another table. But this did not stop her from coming over every 10 minutes to anxiously inquire if he was alright.
MARIE-PAULE, fat, fair, with melancholy eyes and a hunted expression, what was her reason for coming on the trip?  “Laundering money” was whispered around the group. The exotic sights seemed to pass by her unnoticed. Her eyes only lit up at meal times when she would be busy rushing for the most attractive table, husband in tow. Once comfortably installed she woud call enthusiastically for a glass of beer and then eat like a pig. Undoubtedly, the petite waitresses  with bland, polite, half-smiling expressions were secretly disgusted by this gluttonly behaviour of the white “devil (wo)man”.
ANNICK, small, weasel-like, cameras permanently swinging from her shoulders, unceasingly bombarded the guide in her loud, strident voice for more details to fill in her tiny note book. Questions satisfied, she would ostentatiously scribble away. Never hesitating to elbow or push people aside in her quest for the perfect photo, she annoyed more than one with her bad manners.
ANGELA, big, fat, straggly blonde hair, permanently depressed with an unending stream of complaints. She would sit constantly muttering away under her breath in the coach. She certainly gave Susanne, her patient travelling companion, a very hard time.
GASTON, big, plump, vain with protruding belly from a lifetime’s steady absorption of liquid alcoholic refreshments, shock of grey hair “Einstein” fashion, an impressive gigantic handlebar moustache and a booming voice. Why did he come on the trip? He did not seem in the least interested in sightseeing and was forever bothered by a gammy leg. He was usually found sipping beer under cool, shady trees.
JOSIANE, Gaston’s wife. Small, round, egg-shaped head with closely cropped hair plastered on her scalp.
She was never with the group. While Gaston sat resting under the trees, surveying the small Chinese around him, Josiane skulked in the shadows with her camera, always in quest of that perfect shot. She spent the entire trip with her eyes behind the lenses, never listening to any of the commentaries from the guides, as, of course, she knew everything already. Perhaps she had stacks of downloaded pages from internet hidden in her handbag?
FREDDY, the inveterate traveller in multi-pocketed safari jacket. A walking Christmas tree with a clutter of assorted cameras swinging from his shoulders. A well thumbed copy of “Lonely Planet” permanently at hand, he was not slow to show that he was far superior to everyone else in the group as he always knew everything. This arrogant behaviour driving group members away, he was consequently always on his own. Yet another of the group’s ostentatious photographers, his continual stalking and surreptitious use of telephoto lens on the local Chinese aroused strong protests from the group. The Chinese, after all, were not animals in a zoo.
RAYMOND, the tour leader, quiet, discreet, efficient, a shepherd leading the flock.
CULTURE SHOCK
Coming from Europe, China was completely strange to them. On arrival, most were in complete bewilderment in this strange country swarming with Chinese. The frightening reality was that, here,  they were the visitors in a country where the dominant race was not their own. They had come from a country where the only Chinese they had seen before, were in Chinese restaurants.
The way the passengers adjusted to this strange environment was amusing to watch.
Teresa, for example, resolutely refused to eat with chopsticks. Each mealtime was turned into a pantomime performance as, unable to express herself in Chinese and the Chinese unable to communicate in French, she vainly tried to make the restaurant staff understand that she wanted a spoon. She usually won in the end but the fuss and bother became a bit tiresome. Best to travel with a spoon in your pocket if you are allergic to using chopsticks as you risk  having a cold meal or reduced rations by the time it takes to find the elusive spoon.
MEALS
The meals being mostly buffet-style on the tour, famished fellow passengers did not waste time in demolishing the mountains of food available and downing the endless complimentary bottles of beer generously offered by the restaurants.
Here, the accommodation and food was specially prepared to cater to Western tastes. The Chinese cooking was a watered down version of the local authentic food. Worse still was the fact that local cuisine and specialities were not offered at all on the trip, apart from the Peking Duck and hotpot experience.
THE KINDERGARTEN
The mystery of Gaston’s presence was solved. The truth slowly dawned when Gaston’s big day arrived. This was the visit to the local kindergarten. The home-town kindergarten delegate in Europe to its counterpart in China, Gaston was in his element playing the role of petty bureaucrat, pompously making speeches and exchanging gifts.
He had only come on the trip for this moment of glory.  Majestically sitting on his bench in the playground as guest of honour, he proudly watched the little children in their bright satin costumes and tiny slippers, singing and dancing a welcome. Who could hope for more? Two weeks sightseeing of exotic Chinese sights was nothing compared to this moment.
GASTON THROWS A TEMPER
This happened on the busiest day on the programme cramming in the Great Wall, Ming tombs, Friendship store, mayoral reception and rounding off with the Peking duck experience.
The trouble started with the mayoral reception, an official function squeezed into a package holiday programme already bursting at the seams.
Our group from a twinned town in Europe had to pay a courtesy call on the Chinese counterpart’s mayor.
For Gaston, the mayoral reception and the kindergarten visit were the two highlights of his trip. Unable to take part in the normal sightseeing programme, he had thrown his heart and soul into these two events. Shocked members of the group watched when he threw his tantrum, targeting our mild mannered trip leader. Livid that he was denied the opportunity to prepare himself properly for the reception. No chance to shower, change his clothes, comb his hair and generally pamper himself. After all, this was his moment of glory, another chance to sit in the front row of a  ceremony, to strut and crow. He almost broke down and cried before everyone in the coach.
THE MAYOR’S RECEPTION
The coach circled the block containing the mayor’s office. Members of the group anxiously strained their necks to get a glimpse of the soldiers on guard duty and wondered what was in store for them. Small, uniformed Chinese girls with walkie-talkies rushed around busily shouting at each other and giving the coach driver directions. No, they couldn’t go in yet, they were not ready. The coach would have to do another circle of the block. This being easier said than done. Imagine an enormous coach trying to manoeuvre in a cluttered, noisy, narrow street? When finally allowed to descend from the coach, the women escaped to the toilets while the more presentable members of the group walked gingerly along the plush marble corridors up to the reception hall. There they were greeted by a barrage of photographers. Stunned by cameras flashing, they walked through the massive doorway into a gleaming reception hall of polished tables, plush armchairs and huge bowls of fragrantly scented flowers decorating the room.
Speech after speech, translations, exchanges of gifts, followed in boring succession. The words, mostly incomprehensible, floating in a haze around their ears.
Then it was over. They finally stumbled out clutching little bottles of water. Yes, only little bottles of water. What an anticlimax. Expectations of a sumptuous mayoral reception with tables loaded under trays of succulent mouth-watering dim sums faded into the background.  After a long hard day of being a tourist, this was the last straw.
Like Gaston, they could have cried in the coach.
PEKING DUCK EXPERIENCE
Group members sat haggardly in the waiting area of the restaurant, exhausted after their long day sightseeing and still jetlagged. The enormous electronic board on the wall showing the enienth duck count brought them back to consciousness.
They were here after being persuaded by Steven the guide. His usual patter of not being able to miss an experience of a lifetime convincing them that they should be here. Judging by the state of the group, it was an experience they would gladly have missed.
It was their last night in Beijing and their only chance of catching a duck!
After a long wait and almost giving up hope of a meal, the waiters swooped down and ushered the tired group to a waiting table, a table festooned with all the ingredients for this special experience.
The Peking Duck lesson began.
Confidentially speaking, doughy white pancakes, wrapped around crispy pieces of roast duck and dipped in a sweet sauce was not really appreciated by this group from Europe. Accustomed to hearty meals of steak and chips and cold beer, Peking Duck was an acquired taste they could have done without on that particular night.
GASTON’S THREAT
On the Gaston front, storm clouds which had been brewing in the distance suddenly emerged with unexpected force. One morning Josiane climbed into the coach without Gaston. No, Gaston wasn’t coming on this outing. He was busy booking his flight home. Shocked whispers fled around the coach. This was the climax of the trip when Gaston threatened to take a plane back to Europe. What had prompted this action?
SEEING THE SIGHTS
The small, dainty old lady sat delicately on her bench. Whispers went round that she was over 90. “What happens if the old lady dies?” People were asking. No doubt there was a stock of old ladies to take her place.
They were in the sunny courtyard of a troglodyte dwelling,  another one of the obligatory stopping places on the package. The coach was parked up top alongside a minibus of elderly Japanese tourists on the same circuit. When their turn came they went down the dark, narrow staircase and emerged in the sunlit courtyard which from above had looked like a square hole in the ground.
The old lady, with a brown wizened face and shy smile, courteously invited them to sit down and eat peanuts.
Leading off the courtyard and dug into the earthern walls were the various rooms of the house. One door led into the kitchen, another door opened onto the livingroom, another onto the storage rooms and so on. All the rooms of a normal house but this time, all underground. Like small children in a game of hide-and-seek, the members of the group rushed to explore behind all these doors, cameras busily snapping.  No time to sit in the sun and eat peanuts with the old lady.
Finally when all the photos had been taken they did finally sit relaxing in the sun with the old lady, eating peanuts and drinking ice-cold beer.  From this square, sunlit hole in the ground they waited for the signal from the guide above to say that it was time to return to their waiting coach and be on the road again.
HOTPOT EXPERIENCE
Another food experience to break the monotony of the daily diet of watered-down Chinese food was the hotpot experience.
Here, instead of the table laden with food already prepared for the famished group to hoe into, there were, instead, small stoves waiting for each participant, together with large bowls of raw vegetables and plates of finely sliced raw meat.
Confronted with the stark reality of having to cook their own meal, it was amusing to watch the group’s reaction. Most perplexing were the raw eggs that were handed out. What was one to do with these?
Freddy, whose sum total cooking experience was boiling an egg, did just that. He calmly dropped his eggs into his little pot of boiling water, retrieved the eggs, once boiled, with his chopsticks, shelled them and eat them, to the amusement of the whole group. Thanks to his ingenuity he did not starve that day….
LIFE ABOARD THE COACH
As the trip progressed, being shunted from one place to another aboard the tourist coach, brought on a new meaning. This was their home, their oasis, their island amid hostile territory.
Seats were jealously guarded. No matter what the coach, no matter where they were. Even though coaches were changed when towns were changed people invariably kept the same positions in the coach. This brought reassurance in a strange world where the very strangeness of the outside world made people cling to familiar things, like their own seat in the coach. Anyone daring to upset this rule and innocently sit in someone else’s seat, immediately brought on a revolution. The sparks were silent but the crime was felt without words being spoken.

adventure to be continued….

WOULD YOU VENTURE ON A GROUP TOUR TO CHINA?
Booking on a group tour is a risky business.
The people cooped up in a coach for two weeks will be an unknown quantity.
The advantage of a package tour is that all the trouble of fending for yourself in a strange place is taken care of. However, you cannot choose your fellow travellers.
It is inevitable that you have some annoying members in a group, no matter how carefully the members are chosen. With luck, these annoying people can be avoided during the trip.
With an all-in tour, you cannot choose the food you eat.
On this standard package tour exactly the same menu was served to visitors everyday, no matter where they were in China.
For real connoisseurs of Chinese food, going on an all-inclusive tour is a disappointment. Special tourist hotels are earmarked for Western tourists with Western prices. Locally cooked cuisine is often cheaper and tastier, but there is no access to this from the group.
However, group travel, despite these shortcomings and the expense, can have its good points.
It can be an opportunity to make the acquaintance of like-minded people.
Even with the tight schedule and the continual hopping on and off the coach, the tour, on the whole was a success. Members of the group, arms loaded with souvenirs, were able to take home happy memories of their trip of a lifetime.
A successful tour can give confidence to timid travellers and even encourage them to return to the country on their own and take time to explore the country in depth on another trip.

Flying Kiwi
Brussels 2021