The biggest city you never heard of

If you step outside onto the balcony on the 8th floor of our hotel you can take in a spectacular view of the Yangtze river, barges slowly floating by, people strolling and playing in the park that stretches for miles (I guess I should say kilometers) along the waterfront, gigantic billboards across the river boasting Chinese characters lit up in neon reds and greens, and in the faint distance, if you squint, you can see the cables of the suspension bridge connecting two halves of the city, split in two by this little stream…the third largest in the world. Truth be told, the view is bittersweet, for almost all day long the practically washed out bridge fades faintly into the sky, which wilts into the water, and the horizon across the way is hardly visible, the boats seem to float in a vast sea of grey, not of water, and all the sky, the ground, and everything in between is awash in a “haze” of pollution.

Our final lengthy bus trip landed us here in Wuhan (WOOOO-hahn!) last week, our last city before flying up north to Beijing. Wuhan is probably the biggest city you never heard of, with a population of around 9 million people, and simply walking around our neighborhood has given me a sneak peek into this city’s excessively inhabited life force.

I could feel the pollution in my lungs as I traveled through the “Bund” area, past the port that invites thousands of touring cruises every year to hop onto land and head towards the “walking streets” for shopping, restaurants, and night-life. But in this town not intended for Westerners, I got much more out of exploring the back streets and day-to-day life of the locals. To walk on the sidewalk that is usually crowded with bicycles (or cars, in some cases) or steps that protrude all the way out to the street (some design flaw that was), means that you have chosen to swerve around the obstacle course of hanging laundry and loose wires dangling just about every ten feet, and to avoid the puddles of ungodly liquids and other repulsive rubbish that has made its way onto the street.

One street corner has a woman in rags with her wooden box of tools, squatting down over the black stiletto that she is polishing, trying her best to expedite the procedure so her customer wearing the short black skirt can go on her way, texting on her tiny cellphone. There’s the man waiting patiently outside his office that contains two massage tables, a desk, and a poster of a spine, and nearby are two cops sitting on their motorbikes, chatting over their cups of noodles and fishballs they bought at one of the many vendors one street over, selling everything from dumplings and steamed bread to kebabs and any other unimaginable food item.

I walked through what I can only describe as “the projects,” taking pictures of a man standing on a thirty-foot pile of bricks and rubble as a crane tore down a decrepit building behind him, leaving behind a puree of cables, blocks, and dust. For blocks there was nothing but devastation on one side of the street, as if the wrecking crew had been working for weeks but the cleanup crew was yet to come, and as I meandered through what was clearly not a place I should be meandering, I couldn’t help but wonder whose houses and buildings were being torn down and where those people were living and working now. What was being built? Where is this city going from here? How many millions more can it hold?

Each city we’ve visited has a specific feel, a texture constructed by the people, the smells (oh the smells), the sights, the air and the traffic, the trees and the restaurants, the families and children. It’s very easy to forget we’re in China and sometimes all it takes is a stroll down the street to remind ourselves.