South China Metropolis

I had to repeat the word ‘Guangzhou’ several times before pronouncing it correctly. After the phone call I ran to a map. My eyes were instantly drawn to the celebrated cities but my intuition knew that I had to conquer this metropolis in South China also known as ‘Canton’.

On arrival at Baiyun Airport its high- tech immigration systems, automatic toilets, conveyor walkways and efficient baggage hall flaunted that it had come a long way from its arduous past. The electronic arrival doors parted onto a sea of people holding placards in Chinese, Arabic, Russian and languages I didn’t recognise. My mind frantically tried to gain direction while ignoring the sim cards and hotel offers being dangled in front of me until Mr Liu introduced himself. In his fifties, slim and incredibly happy to meet me following a two hour delay he insisted on pulling my suitcase to the car. He didn’t invite eye contact and the smell of tobacco lingered on his clothes as he walked fast paced to showcase his hometown.

The Europeans had left they’re mark on the cobbled streets and mansions in Shamian Island, bridges across the city were built for economics and Feng Shui. Cycling was popular but modern liquid petroleum buses were introduced to make a clean dent in the smog filled skies. The vast population moved together like bees in a hive and it was difficult to find open space. Mr Liu was proud of the Chinese ‘can do’ attitude but this withered at rush hour.

My search for a town centre puzzled Mr Liu. Century old temples had been torn down to build five star hotels and emerging nightclubs. Almost every nationality was doing some kind of export business and the Canton Fair reinforced this relationship. Multiculturalism was old news.

Were there still temples and Tai Chi I asked Mr Liu? He laughed cleared his throat heavily and spat onto the pavement. He then sipped on his water with bits of green tea leaf swimming inside and contentedly explained the overriding benefits of green tea versus cancer before lighting a cigarette.

We rode one of the many modern taxis with TV screens in the head rests. As he directed the driver Mr Liu’s poise demonstrated that Guangzhou hadn’t forsaken its history. The tea garden transported me to another century where traditional tea ceremonies were custom and Chinese calligraphers exhibited their art. The temples that survived the Cultural Revolution had aged beautifully. Locals burnt wooden cars and homes praying for their relative’s luxuries in the next life.

At dinner I echoed Mr Liu’s ‘Xie Xie’ (thank you) generating appreciation from waitresses but also leading them into a false belief that I was fluent in Mandarin. ‘Dim Sum’ seduced me. Steamed dumplings filled with spiced prawns propelled my chopstick skills and an understanding of ‘real Cantonese food’, a world apart from the British version I was accustomed to.

Guangzhou may not be conventionally pretty but its beauty was deep and difficult to leave behind.