A Journey to the End of the World: the Chinese industrial park: an expedition

Introduction: disillusioned with the Chinese tourist trail, the author recently decided to do a little exploring of his own invention. Having found a nearby industrial park on Google Maps , he formed a crude sketch of its location in his trusted notepad and then set out on a journey. Some might call it a crusade for justice or truth. Some might call it a birth or awakening or some other metaphor that indicates the dawning of fresh hope. Some might call it a voyage to the very heart of China. Whatever hackneyed phrase we use, there is no doubt that the author showed great courage and ingenuity in executing this expedition, and should therefore be commended, highly, by everyone. See directly below for a first-person narrative of the day, written with the unblinking joy of a child but felt with the weary soul of a man.

The blog, proper: I rose early with the sun, although I suspected the moon was still hovering somewhere or other. Clouds loomed. Probably hiding the moon, I pondered. I shuffled around pointlessly for several minutes. I meticulously dressed and exited the building. I felt weary and feeble and considered abandoning my plans. I looked down to see my shoes slowly disintegrating. A lone Chinese child unenthusiastically hurled a stone in my direction. There were no trees anywhere to be seen. All seemed lost, quite lost. Thankfully, fate has a habit of intervening at such moments. As I stumbled along, checking and rechecking my rucksack, a stray dog growled at me as though to say: ‘go forth and discover’. So on I stumbled. This industrial park isn’t going to discover itself, I reckoned.

After one and a half hours of brutal purgatory aboard the metro, I arrived at my destination. I had finally made it, I told myself with a wry smile. All the effort and planning over the last few days had begun to bear fruit, strange fruit. Equipped only with my disposable camera, a wallet, my room keys, some sweets, a milkshake, a hand-drawn map, a compass and my trusted rucksack (although not necessarily in that order), I marched onwards, content in the knowledge that so far, things were going pretty well. Pretty damn well indeed.

Fastforward seven hours. Words fail me. I have had better hours in my life, but have I had better seven-hours? Any one of the past seven hours, on its own, would have been a decent but unremarkable hour. Perhaps one would have qualified as semi-remarkable. But once combined, there was nothing unremarkable about them. Collectively, they were positively remarkable. Now where to begin?

The industrial park was so intriguing that I temporarily forgot I was only wearing one-and-a-half shoes. No longer afraid of being lamed by a rogue pebble, I confidently strolled the perfectly arranged avenues. I checked my map. I re-rechecked my map and the contents of my rucksack. I perused the names of various companies. I could not discern at any stage what any of these companies did. There was something mysterious and wonderful about this, a modern-day battlefield strewn with inert armies and discarded cardboard boxes. Above me the clouds collapsed in on themselves and the sun triumphantly looked down (the moon was nowhere to be seen, thankfully) as though to say, ‘My dear child, here you are. You made it. This is China. Gorge yourself’. And so on I went, feasting on this sino-smorgasbord, picking off a box-factory here, an administrative headquarters there. I photographed without restraint. I briefly paused to contemplate the absence of other tourists. Their loss, I chuckled. I settled on a curb in the fatherly shadow of a Vodafone packaging headquarters and dined on a lunch of Haribo and Yazoo (though not necessarily in that order). Then it was off again: off to drown in the sheer music of the place, off to anaesthetize myself with joy. I had never realized before just how impressive right-angles are. Half a cross. There is half of Christ in every right-angle. They knew it well, the old masters of the industrial park. They knew it well indeed.

At last, like a falling leaf or a bomb in slow-motion, the pity of it all descended on me. It was time to leave. Behind, the final embers of the sun mournfully peered over the rooftops of a Lidl-office-block. Lidl, I thought, my old foe, mocking me again. An owl circled overhead before landing, inauspiciously, on a lampost. I was reminded of Bill Connolly’s death in The Last Samurai. The moon was back: celebratory, jeering and vile. Yes, it was time to go: the presence of Lidl and the moon and that owl indicated as much. But before leaving I could not resist a concluding half-glance over my shoulder, and it struck me. Here it all is. This is the pyramids. This is the hanging gardens. This is the Great Wall. It’s all here. This is the one wonder of the world. Time beckoned. I mouthed a silent prayer to the unsung gods of industry, hailed a cab and, having briefly lived, prepared to carry on with the sorry business of dying.

Opiumblogger

Epilogue: having overdosed on the sheer opium of this experience (and overdosed again on finishing his final paragraph) the author was unable to continue with his further blog-based plans. These plans (as out-lined in last time’s ‘next time’ section, you may remember) were as follows: to visit a Chinese delicatessen, to obtain a chopstick-based anecdote, to investigate deforestation-as-the-result-of-chopstick-production and to ruminate on the existential niceties of communism. Perhaps these things will resurface at a later date. Perhaps not.

Where can I find this industrial park? The author has neglected to include any specific detail for one reason: he does not want to see this hidden gem contaminated by tourism. To press this point home, the author has just finished ceremoniously burning his disposable camera – film intact – harming himself and his own property in the process. If you really want to glimpse this secret world, take the time out of your supposedly precious day and go to your local industrial park. Alternatively, contact me in private proving your credentials and I will direct you through Google maps.

Next time: Things get serious as the author, with the help of various insider sources, investigates recent conspiracy theories surrounding the existence of the Great Wall. Finally, someone dares to ask the question: ‘Does the Great Wall of China really exist?’