 |
| Zhengzhou |
 |
Today Zhengzhou is an almost entirely modern city, rebuilt virtually
from scratch after suffering heavily in the war against Japan. Its
main streets have the slick look of prosperous Chinese cities, but
there is still a little catching up to do - some of the citizens,
still dressed in Mao suits, don't look entirely comfortable with the
new China, and plenty of the streets, including some small, useful
roads in the centre, are narrow, muddy tracks that regularly get blocked
by cars. Although there are plenty of modern facilities, the town's
few old sights are neglected. Droves of foreigners come here to do
business, but no one expects them to go sightseeing.
At the hub of downtown Zhengzhou, the Erqi Pagoda (daily 8am-5pm;
RMB5) is a seven-storey structure built to commemorate those who
were killed in a Communist-led strike of rail workers in 1923 that
was put down with great savagery by the warlord Wu Pei Fu. As the
exhibition of photos inside is badly maintained and has no English
captions, the pagoda is best thought of as a landmark. The streets
that lead off it are modern, store-lined boulevards, the largest
and most interesting being Erqi Lu and Renmin Lu , which lead north
to the east-west Jinshui Lu , the most exclusive district. East
of the huge and complex roundabout at the junction of Jinshui Lu
and Renmin Lu (and a host of smaller streets) is a string of classy
restaurants and hotels. Just on the west side of the roundabout,
a statue of Mao, whose view of the gleaming, foreign-owned luxury
monoliths on the east side is fortunately obscured by a flyover,
stands outside the old city museum, now closed. Most taxi drivers
will bring you here if you ask to go to the museum and don't specify
where it is. A giant glass pyramid at the end of Jing Qi Lu, the
new Henan Provincial Museum boasts a good collection of Shang-dynasty
relics.
The old city to the east is cut through by the Shang city walls
, rough earthen ramparts 10m high, originally built more than two
thousand years ago, though frequently repaired since. They were
made by constructing a wooden frame, filling it with earth, pounding
it down, then removing the frame, a technique that is still used
in domestic architecture. There is a path along the top, and you
can walk for about 3km along the south and east sections; the west
section has been largely destroyed by development. The south section
is open to the street, and you can scramble up anywhere. You have
to descend to cross Nan Dajie, then walk through an alleyway to
pick up the path again, and repeat the process at Shangcheng Lu.
Planted with trees, the walls are now used by the locals as a short
cut and a park, and in the early evening the path is full of courting
couples, kids who slide down the steep sides on metal trays, and
old men who hang their cagebirds from the trees and sit around fires
cooking sweet potatoes. Some people grow vegetables at the wall's
base, others throw their rubbish here. Indeed, the charm of the
wall comes from the way it has been incorporated by the inhabitants
- it doesn't seem to occur to anyone to treat the walls as a historical
monument.
A short walk from the eastern wall, on the north side of Shangcheng
Lu, the Chenghuang Miao (Temple of the City God; daily 8am-4.30pm;
RMB6) is worth a look around. The attendants regard visitors as
an interruption in their day's knitting and usually keep the doors
closed; you have to shout through the gap to gain admittance. Though
the temple has the look of an abandoned warehouse (which it probably
is), with tumbled trees and odd boxes lying around and, outrageously,
a toilet built right next to the Main Hall, it retains a glimmer
of its past glory in the roof decoration. Well-observed images of
birds decorate the eaves of the first hall, underneath roof sculptures
of dragons and phoenixes. The East Hall now contains a small art
gallery; upstairs is one of those exhibitions of African body art
that the Chinese seem so fascinated by. The interior of the Main
Hall is modern, with a mural on three walls whose style owes much
to 1950s socialist realism. In the centre a sculpture of a stern-looking
Chenghuang, magisterial defender of city folk, in a judge's costume,
sits flanked by two attendants. |
 |