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WITNESS: Reporting in the dark in icy New Year China
John Ruwitch is a correspondent for Reuters in south China. He has been studying or reporting on greater China since 1992, and has lived in Beijing, Taipei and Hong Kong, where he is currently based. In the following story he describes three days spent in Chenzhou, a city without power for nearly two weeks. It marked his first trip to Hunan, which is known for its piquant cuisine and as the birthplace of Mao Zedong. He hopes to visit again when the lights are back on.
By John Ruwitch
CHENZHOU, China (Reuters) - I stepped nervously from the over-crowded sleeper onto the frigid platform with no hotel, no contacts and no plan other than to find out what it was like to be in a city of 4 million in the midst of a 12-day blackout.
The ride aboard the L44 train should have taken 4-1/2 hours. Across the snowbound country it had taken four times as long by the time we pulled into Chenzhou, only the second stop on a northbound slog to Beijing from the southern city of Guangzhou.
Freezing rain and snow in late January coated much of south-central China with a thick layer of ice, contorting tree branches and crumpling some 1,000 high-tension power pylons.
Chenzhou was at the heart of the freak winter disaster that halted transport and stranded millions in the days before the biggest holiday on the Chinese calendar, the Lunar Yew Year.
The slush-lined streets were alive with activity, and I learned over the next few days that stoic resignation bolstered by a dash of hope can go a long way under such conditions.
I headed to a hotel that a motorcycle driver said had power and was offered a cup of hot water at an empty dentist's office with a diesel generator chugging away on the sidewalk outside.
"This is an ice disaster," said Liu Weibin, jazz in the background. "There's nothing anybody could have done about it."
The dentist's tap had water because it was on the first floor, he explained. Those higher up weren't so lucky because there hasn't been enough pressure in the city pipes. Most of them had to haul water upstairs by the bucket.
Hours earlier, Premier Wen Jiabao had visited the city on a well-publicized tour of weather-hit areas -- a sign of how seriously the stability-obsessed ruling Communist Party takes any crisis with the potential to cause unrest.
LIGHTS OUT
People with money and connections crowded the few hotels with generators, like the four-star place where I found a room. But even in these oases of light, life wasn't normal.
At the entrance a hand-written sign told guests that heaters, rice cookers, electric stoves and other household appliances were not allowed because the power supply wasn't strong enough. Another said: Proper Dress Required.
The elevator was off and I walked up 16 flights to my room. The heater was off, too, so I ordered another quilt. There were no towels because they were not doing laundry to conserve energy, but that didn't matter because there was no hot water.
Outside, snow covered buildings were outlined in shades of grey, windows dark. A hospital nearby had power and lights. A red neon sign from another shone miles away.
By day, in a crowded outdoor market, people grumbled about price hikes for everything from peppercorns to dog meat.
Rumors circulated of deaths in crushes at grocery stores. I was told a food stall at the train station had been looted. Petrol was almost impossible to get.
I spent an afternoon with a prominent Chenzhou resident looking for fuel. Two stations we passed had dozens of cars queuing. A third was closed. Through connections, he finally secured a 25 kg (25 liters or 6.6 gallons) jug full. "I had to fight for it!" said the middle-aged man.
The city government sent a text message to local mobile phones urging people not to drive.
As I shared tea, rice cakes and sips of white lightning with a family in an old section of town where their ancestors put down roots some 300 years ago, the matriarch eagerly read old newspapers I'd brought, her first news in days.
Ahead of the New Year, which begins on Thursday, I spent an evening huddled near a coal stove talking with four bitter ex-employees of failed state-run enterprises.
One, a maker of beancurd, cursed the heavens for the foul weather and aimed a barrage of abuse at the Communist Party.
"The problem is that the government is too corrupt. They don't think about these things happening. They weren't prepared and they don't have the ability to solve a problem as big as this," he said.
When the candle on the table burned out, I turned on my headlamp and we continued talking for a while. I wished them a Happy New Year and left them talking in the dark.
(Editing by Sonya Hepinstall and Sean Maguire)
http://www.reuters.com/article/reute...080207?sp=true
John Ruwitch is a correspondent for Reuters in south China. He has been studying or reporting on greater China since 1992, and has lived in Beijing, Taipei and Hong Kong, where he is currently based. In the following story he describes three days spent in Chenzhou, a city without power for nearly two weeks. It marked his first trip to Hunan, which is known for its piquant cuisine and as the birthplace of Mao Zedong. He hopes to visit again when the lights are back on.
By John Ruwitch
CHENZHOU, China (Reuters) - I stepped nervously from the over-crowded sleeper onto the frigid platform with no hotel, no contacts and no plan other than to find out what it was like to be in a city of 4 million in the midst of a 12-day blackout.
The ride aboard the L44 train should have taken 4-1/2 hours. Across the snowbound country it had taken four times as long by the time we pulled into Chenzhou, only the second stop on a northbound slog to Beijing from the southern city of Guangzhou.
Freezing rain and snow in late January coated much of south-central China with a thick layer of ice, contorting tree branches and crumpling some 1,000 high-tension power pylons.
Chenzhou was at the heart of the freak winter disaster that halted transport and stranded millions in the days before the biggest holiday on the Chinese calendar, the Lunar Yew Year.
The slush-lined streets were alive with activity, and I learned over the next few days that stoic resignation bolstered by a dash of hope can go a long way under such conditions.
I headed to a hotel that a motorcycle driver said had power and was offered a cup of hot water at an empty dentist's office with a diesel generator chugging away on the sidewalk outside.
"This is an ice disaster," said Liu Weibin, jazz in the background. "There's nothing anybody could have done about it."
The dentist's tap had water because it was on the first floor, he explained. Those higher up weren't so lucky because there hasn't been enough pressure in the city pipes. Most of them had to haul water upstairs by the bucket.
Hours earlier, Premier Wen Jiabao had visited the city on a well-publicized tour of weather-hit areas -- a sign of how seriously the stability-obsessed ruling Communist Party takes any crisis with the potential to cause unrest.
LIGHTS OUT
People with money and connections crowded the few hotels with generators, like the four-star place where I found a room. But even in these oases of light, life wasn't normal.
At the entrance a hand-written sign told guests that heaters, rice cookers, electric stoves and other household appliances were not allowed because the power supply wasn't strong enough. Another said: Proper Dress Required.
The elevator was off and I walked up 16 flights to my room. The heater was off, too, so I ordered another quilt. There were no towels because they were not doing laundry to conserve energy, but that didn't matter because there was no hot water.
Outside, snow covered buildings were outlined in shades of grey, windows dark. A hospital nearby had power and lights. A red neon sign from another shone miles away.
By day, in a crowded outdoor market, people grumbled about price hikes for everything from peppercorns to dog meat.
Rumors circulated of deaths in crushes at grocery stores. I was told a food stall at the train station had been looted. Petrol was almost impossible to get.
I spent an afternoon with a prominent Chenzhou resident looking for fuel. Two stations we passed had dozens of cars queuing. A third was closed. Through connections, he finally secured a 25 kg (25 liters or 6.6 gallons) jug full. "I had to fight for it!" said the middle-aged man.
The city government sent a text message to local mobile phones urging people not to drive.
As I shared tea, rice cakes and sips of white lightning with a family in an old section of town where their ancestors put down roots some 300 years ago, the matriarch eagerly read old newspapers I'd brought, her first news in days.
Ahead of the New Year, which begins on Thursday, I spent an evening huddled near a coal stove talking with four bitter ex-employees of failed state-run enterprises.
One, a maker of beancurd, cursed the heavens for the foul weather and aimed a barrage of abuse at the Communist Party.
"The problem is that the government is too corrupt. They don't think about these things happening. They weren't prepared and they don't have the ability to solve a problem as big as this," he said.
When the candle on the table burned out, I turned on my headlamp and we continued talking for a while. I wished them a Happy New Year and left them talking in the dark.
(Editing by Sonya Hepinstall and Sean Maguire)
http://www.reuters.com/article/reute...080207?sp=true
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