........by Alistair Macduff

This is an account of the last leg of our journey, from our night at the "Place Of Ruins", over the mountains to Shennongjia. Starting out in the white first of a cold morning, unrested, unwashed and unprepared for what was to be a stupid, dangerous, nerve-racking journey, we looked like an unsavoury quintet of deserters from some Asiatic Foreign Legion happy to see us gone. Immediately we began to climb in twisting loops, all the while the gravel road becoming narrower and narrower. At about three thousand feet the scenery was awesome, the scale vast, and the precipitous drop on the left hand side of the track truly frightening. This was now a one-way road, without, as far as I can remember, any passing places. Even if there had been, I would not have liked being the luckless driver to attempt backing up for a few miles.

Now, there was some snow and patches of ice lying on the track. We were however, well and truly committed - only two ways to go - forward and From Here To Enternity. Mr. Do, our wonderful driver stopped for a while to go forward on foot to assess the situation. While he was doing that I decided to photograph this magnificent mountain-scape for posterity. It almost was for posterity, for as I stood close to the edge concentrating on my photography, the edge beneath my left foot began to crumble and I fell backwards, sending a shower of stones and earth in the chasm below. I was a little shaken up and climbed back into the van.

Speaking of the van, we were now running without any spare tyres, both having been damaged earlier on.

Now we moved on, forward and upwards, the only thing in our favour being many hours of daylight. At about five thous-and feet, the track was solid ice, and we moved along at a snails pace, in first and second gear only.

A great silence had fallen upon us as we ground along so slowly, with the inevi-table skidding here and there, as the tyres intermittently gripped and then spun. One could certainy feel and almost see the intense concentration emanating from our driver as he did everything in his power to keep the vehicle in a straight line. I was sitting immedieately behind him, on the cliff-edge side and never at any time could I see anything but perpendicular drop into the next life. It would have been less nerve-racking had the track at the high levels continued evenly, but it rose and fell hundreds of feet from time to time, climbing up and down and back again to the summit. We endured some six hours of this until finally we began to descend, gradually leaving the snow and ice until once again we were back in the comfort and safety of rock and gravel track. We cheered loudly and patted Mr. Do on the back.

In the early evening, we rolled into Shennongjia, where, Madame "X" assured me, we were staying at the best hotel where famous politicians and other Mucky Mucks stayed. That was music to my ears, and at once I saw marble bathrooms with great tubs of steaming water, thick white towels, perfume, myrrh and incense, snowy white tablecloths, silver and crystal, Peking Duck, sweet and sour pork, and gorgeous young serving maids with flashing smiles and long raven black hair. That's what delerium does to you.

After hunting around for a while we found the hotel - a decrepit stone block of a building with small windows, the glass of many being broken. I looked at "X" and said,"I hope this isn't it - this is a dis-used jail". I could see her mind working overtime.She said, "Xi Ching Mai and Yen Liu Ti stayed here - they're the top men in the govennment." I said, "They're probably chained up in a dungeon or dead."

We were welcomed by smiling people who babbled and gobbled with my Asiatic fellow travellers. It was bloody freezing inside, the wind blowing through the open doors and broken windows, like a wind tunnel. It was dismal, barren, broken down, like a dis-used barracks - cement floors, cement stairs, no carpets, no curtains. Old, peeling, lime-green painted walls - hideous,hideous.

We were allocated a cell each. A bed of sorts, a chest and a chair, all ready to go to St. Vincent de Paul, if he would accept them. My cell actually had a bathroom with a bath, a toilet and a wash basin - all badly damaged and ready for the Nackers-yard. I tried the toilet - bone dry. The wash basin taps, when turned, did not even hiss, and in fact, one came away in my hand. I got hold of Madame "X" who apologised for everything - poor dear, it wasn't her fault. She said, "Would you like a nice hot bath?" While I was trying to think of a stupid answer, she buzzed off, and in a short while a team of cheery maidens began a marathon, each carrying a bucket of steaming water which they tipped into the bath. Soon, there it was, a nice hot bath - I could hardly believe it.

In a few minutes, I was sitting in it, up to the neck, humming with delight, as I soaped and soothed my filthy, aching carcass.

I will always love Madame "X" for that.