Zhangjiajie

For the second part of China week we got back on the bus and made our way to Zhangjiajie National Park in Hunan Province. It's an area of outstanding natural beauty and as such, UNESCO had designated it as a world heritage site, a dangerous one at that:

Unfortunately it's no secret. Over the course of two days, we vied with over 20,000 Chinese tourists who snaked up, over and around the narrow paths climbing through the mountains at 2,000 meters. We fought pushing crowds with men carrying sedan chairs on their shoulders and kept on counting our 100-student group repeatedly.

We started with a boat ride:

Then we climbed thousands of stairs (no exaggeration) to make it to the viewpoint. For this leg of the trip, we had much of the mountain to ourselves. It turns out the laowai are the only crazy people who want to exert themselves on the way up. The rest of the hordes took buses, elevators and cable cars to the summit. Admittedly, the views were stunning.

Until we got to KFC at the top of a mountain and an hour-long queue for the Bailong Elevator, marketed as a glass elevator down 2,000 meters through the park's stunning scenery. What they don't tell you is that only the eight people in the immediate front get a view. The 35 other people who fit get a great view...of the back of everyone else's heads. That may have set me over the edge.

The rest of the tutor team still seemed in good spirits; but all teachers break on China Week trips and an impending breakdown was coming. Our last stop on the campaign trail took us to a 'scenic walk' down a narrow two-person path that ran immediately alongside a monorail track. We marched the kids down one way and back another--they tried to drop out, to fall, to use the toilet but as gatekeepers of the path, we trudged along with them in tow.

Jonathan, a teacher on the trip, had been hoarding a chocolate chip flapjack with zealous vigor.  He paused and unwrapped it in a kind of manic glee singing the praises of processed sugar.  And as he opened it, the structural weaknesses created from being crammed in a backpack for seven hours manifested themselves.  The flapjack flopped to the ground and in what can only be considered a toddleresque tantrum, Jonathan began screaming and swearing at the universe. He stomped the sugary goodness into the ground and threw the wrapper into the wind only to have it fly back in his face. We were beside ourselves in tears of exhausted laughter. Jonathan was done--he spoke very little the rest of the day.

Unfortunately that wasn't the end of the trip. In a top-5 China Day moment, we queued with our students to get on a bus. Only local tourists tried to push in; we got our British on--queue jumping is just not on. Unfortunately, in China, resistance is futile and the ensuing altercation involving a lot of pushing, shoving and a litany of curses that I couldn't understand.  I listened to the volley of abuse being hurtled at teachers and students alike whilst the kids, many whiter than white bread with Mandarin skills to rival any Chinese person, followed back and forth with their heads bobbing, mouths agape.  At one point, my Year 11 boys formed a human wall in front of me; as we ran for the bus pushing Chinese tourists out of the way, I vowed never to return to a national park.

But we made it back, all kids in tow, minus one flapjack. The rest of the trip was a flurry of restaurants serving meat dripped 'vegetarian' food and bus rides where the kids plugged into their conversations and music on headphones. I kissed Shanghai soil four days later thanking my lucky stars I was back in a city.