Travelling during Spring Festival
I'm apprehensive as we set off to buy tickets for the two-hour trip from Zhanjiang, Guangdong, to Hepu in the adjoining province of Guangxi, as I've heard how busy the public transport is during Spring Festival. The station, however, is quiet and the queues minimal, but the bus we want to catch has been cancelled! No reason given, and no alternatives other than one leaving much later, so we try another bus station on the other side of town. Here the queues are much longer and I'm intimidated by the mass of people milling around with boxes of fruit, trussed up chickens, and babies tied to their mothers with a blanket, and am assaulted by great boards of unintelligible ‘hieroglyphics’ mounted above the row of ticket booths. As I acclimatise to the action I see it is really fairly civilised with nice neat lines that move reasonably quickly, and the tracts on the walls simply list all the destinations, the minimum price, the maximum price at normal times, the current price (which, given it is Spring Festival, is close to or above the highest price) and the ‘time to drive the vehicle out of the station or the parking lot’.
Finally the bus driver arrives with his flask of tea and the passengers; the lǎo wài (us, the ‘foreigners’), the locals and their babies, the fruit and the live chickens, are all loaded onto the bus. I'm fascinated by the chickens; why are so many people travelling with chickens? Is there a Spring Festival chicken supply problem so visitors must BYO-chicken, or can’t the family egg ‘factory’ be left at home over the holiday? We find out later that it is a local tradition for a returning daughter to give a chicken to her parents.
I'm apprehensive as we set off to buy tickets for the two-hour trip from Zhanjiang, Guangdong, to Hepu in the adjoining province of Guangxi, as I've heard how busy the public transport is during Spring Festival. The station, however, is quiet and the queues minimal, but the bus we want to catch has been cancelled! No reason given, and no alternatives other than one leaving much later, so we try another bus station on the other side of town. Here the queues are much longer and I'm intimidated by the mass of people milling around with boxes of fruit, trussed up chickens, and babies tied to their mothers with a blanket, and am assaulted by great boards of unintelligible ‘hieroglyphics’ mounted above the row of ticket booths. As I acclimatise to the action I see it is really fairly civilised with nice neat lines that move reasonably quickly, and the tracts on the walls simply list all the destinations, the minimum price, the maximum price at normal times, the current price (which, given it is Spring Festival, is close to or above the highest price) and the ‘time to drive the vehicle out of the station or the parking lot’.
Finally the bus driver arrives with his flask of tea and the passengers; the lǎo wài (us, the ‘foreigners’), the locals and their babies, the fruit and the live chickens, are all loaded onto the bus. I'm fascinated by the chickens; why are so many people travelling with chickens? Is there a Spring Festival chicken supply problem so visitors must BYO-chicken, or can’t the family egg ‘factory’ be left at home over the holiday? We find out later that it is a local tradition for a returning daughter to give a chicken to her parents.
Fireworks and couplets
In Hepu, walking to our friend’s home we pass colourful street stalls selling fruit or fireworks, and doorways with crisp newly-hung red paper couplets with simple, and dramatic, black text. The laneways are littered with mounds of scorched red paper, from numerous firecrackers, swept and left in piles so you can see red, for luck, from your home. Later we indulge in fireworks, spending ¥60, about $10, for a huge bag; they are made locally and, from the English instructions and the names, apparently for the American market. Joining the children of the household, and more chickens, on the roof we set off our fireworks, along with hundreds of other families across the neighbourhood. Though we rather regret buying the firework that looks like a hand grenade; its soundwaves shuddered through my chest and temporarily deafened our host in one ear. I don’t like to think what the chickens thought of it all.
Lantern FestivalIn the middle of the two-week Festival we head to Hong Kong to renew my Chinese visa, and we discover some amazing lanterns for the final day of Spring Festival celebrations. The Olympic mascots, all playing sports, are big, bold and very engaging.
Later, in the parks of Xiamen and Zhangzhou, we see equally elaborate metal framed and fabric-covered constructions. Some are traditional, but many are sponsored by local companies and government bodes, resulting in the odd sight of lanterns shaped as energy saving light bulbs, canned food, or aeroplanes, while in Zhangzhou we find a display of the Chinese National Women’s Volleyball team, who train here. Despite the cold weather people stream into the parks, causing considerable congestion in the surrounding streets. Adults and children alike relax, eat snack food, clasp small electric lanterns on sticks either traditionally shaped or, more often, like popular toys, and wear illuminated devils horns or angel wings. 
For me the highlight are two massive dragons sitting face-to-face adjacent to the Xiamen island park, their graceful curves and elaborate whiskers reflected in the water. Chinese design often leaves me confused in its elaborateness and, in my mind, over complication; yet these dragons leave me breathlessly impressed.
