The city of clean streets and dirty hospitals

March 5, 2009: My time in Lijiang was divided almost equally between the spotless Old City and the dirtiest hospital in China.

Well at least it's the dirtiest i've seen in China, emperor among a number of royally dirty hospitals...

Yunnan Province's name refers to "云之南", or "South of the Clouds", and i found it interesting that this could actually be seen from the plane. For the first 90 minutes, China down below was simply blanketed in thick, low cloud - well below the plane. As soon as we hit Yunnan, the clouds were blocked by high mountains (it happened so suddenly i didn't have time to get a photo; one of the mountain ranges is actually called the "Cut off the Clouds Mountains"), and the weather below became the sunny "Eternal Spring" that Yunnan's capital, Kunming is famous for. From Kunming, where I landed, I took the fast bus to Dali, another historical city, which, if Lijiang is anything to go by, is also now an ancient-China-themed theme park for Chinese tourists. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I was willing to pass by Dali in the dark on another bus headed for Lijiang.




Under a massive snow-capped mountain, Lijiang's Old City is pretty well maintained - even by theme park standards. Among its large mass of pretty upturned roofs and cobbled streets it appears there are no residential buildings at all. Every single space ("berth") i saw was either a shop (tea, silver, fabrics or artwork), a guesthouse/ restaurant, or a public toilet (sensationally frequent and sensationally clean for China). The exception was one street, namely "Alcohol Bar Street". Built along both sides of a fast-flowing stream like many of Lijiang's streets, it is a street of hanging lanterns and little stone bridges, lined with ancient trees and insanely loud bars and clubs all blaring a horrible fusion of traditional Tibetan singing backed by aggressive imitation-Casio keyboard beats. "Tibetan with Chinese Characteristics" it might be termed.

Each bar has spruikers making sure you feel welcome; pity i was already feeling lousy by the time i walked down there, and thus didn't stop to let any of them try to sell their bar to me. But the main purpose appears to be generally agreed upon, at least that's the impression i got from the various male tourists who throughout the day who all started the conversation by telling me Lijiang was a "good fling place".

Where Lijiang really is beautiful is along the little rivers that run through the city - all bubbling and full of goldfish and koi. Here, earlier in the day as i lazily, stingily phased from tea-shop to art-shop to tea-shop drinking free quality tea in exchange for conversation, i had met a band from Kunming who were particularly keen to hear some East Timorese folk tunes (it comes up surprisingly often because Chinese people often ask "Which countries have you been to?"). Tragically though, in two years i have completely forgotten almost every song i ever knew on guitar. Except some Metallica so i played that.




I don't know whether it was the delicious "baba" flatbread i nailed for breakfast/lunch, or the delicious well water, which i saw many others drinking, but by 10pm i knew i was in trouble. By 1am i felt like i'd lost most of my body's water and was moving towards losing consciousness so i struggled down the stairs and found the guesthouse's steel roller door down, as formidable a fire-escape barrier as the one in Fugu, Shaanxi. But luck was on my side: roller doors are one instrument by which you can actually wake a Chinese person. I banged and rattled until i got the required attention, and headed straight to hospital.

What a hospital it was, Lijiang Hospital. Dirt caked up in the corners, goobies and cigarette butts on the floor, and sweaty unchanged sheets. To complement this, the nurse was the kindest sort imaginable - especially considering the hospital staff appeared unanimously to believe my problem was drinking-related. At one point i suddenly yakked up a vicious, bright yellow solution of liver bile into a ceramic pot beside the bed. The bottom of the pot was curved, and the yak so violent that a large amount of the said solution just looped the loop and flew right back out again, ending up all over the floor, sheets and nurse. "Don't worry," was the nurse's response. I suppose if this had actually meant she would have to mop up, change the sheets and even change her own clothes then she might have been less amicable about it. But my making a mess didn't mean she had to do a thing.

Then there was the toilet: there were 5 cubicles, 4 of which were literally piled full of plastic medicine bottles, tubes and god knows what else. A large plastic bin was in the middle of the floor, half full with used syringes and used syringes only. The place stank worse than a Dongbei shit pit in spring, there was nowhere to wash your hands, and worst of all, absolutely nowhere to hang an IV-drip bottle while you're squatting.

Despite the initial 2 bottles of saline solution, 4 hours of unremittent usage of this toilet had meant i was still feeling bone dry on the inside, so i requested two more bottles, big ones this time. I demanded the drip be turned up to hit me with full speed (last time they denied me proper speed). By the end of the first one i was feeling fine and so i decided to leave the hospital, but as i was getting up someone in another bed said, "Hey - leaking!" pointing to my drip. I looked down at my arm but there was no sign of leakage so i said, "Yes, right, thanks," or something to that effect, and continued on my way. The patient repeated, "Leaking," pointing at my hand, and only then did i notice it had swelled up fatter than a sumo's, and was squidgy to the touch. It wasn't painful at all, although it was kind-of stuck in a fist shape...what would happen if i'd just kept going for the second bottle...how big could it get? Would make a very appropriate the Fist Challenge, Steve Foxx.


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Lijiang Photos