THE COMING OF SPRING

I sit outside the shacks in the sunshine and begin to feel that spring may finally have arrived. The sun is quite hot and although there is a cooling breeze I am actually getting a little sunburned so I cannot sit outside without shade for too long. Therefore after a short while I go inside the shack and a feeling of calm settles over the area. The sun is bright and colours filter through the yellow, green and blue tarpaulins forming the walls of the shack: it's peaceful and relaxing. I decide to stock up on supplies and do some more home cooking: although I tend to save fish dishes for when I have guests which I seldom do at present. Steadily even the Chinese are beginning to shed their heavy coats and settling for light jackets and sweat shirts.

There comes a time when the arrival of spring has to be acknowledged as it tends to be a little uncertain in its arrival, like a guest at a function who is not sure they have been invited. It approaches slowly and hesitantly, often briefly withdrawing then poking it's welcome nose cautiously and shyly in again. Spring is the least importunate of seasons, always unsure of it's timing. Yet the most compelling sign in its favour is the fact that the groves of trees around the campus are now rapidly turning green as the leaves emerge. There can no longer be any doubt that spring in its uncertain fashion has now bumblingly eased its way into the year.

 A small drama enters into the weekend as the university closes for Qing Ming Festival (honouring one's ancestors.) Around the shacks I notice a young Chinese man apparently asleep on the pavement, a bottle of water at his side. I imagine, due to the Chinese habit of sleeping anywhere, that there is no cause for alarm. However shortly afterwards I bump into James and Iris (my neighbours) and chat for a few minutes, then on passing the spot again I find that he is still there, about 10 minutes later. So I stop and try to see if I can wake him up, but there is no response. I try a pulse but can't feel anything although I'm sure I' m doing it wrongly. I can't feel his breath and I don't have a mirror with me (of course.) It does not occur to me to check airways or try mouth to mouth, perhaps that would be unwise anyway, but I'm worried. I check his eyes and they haven't rolled up which may be a good sign. As it happens James and Iris pass by and see me with this chap looking anxious, so they walk over and Iris notices he is breathing so calls an ambulance. I'm grateful for this and pull him into recovery position, a useful thing I learned in some previous jobs, and it's evident he has peed himself, probably as a result of losing consciousness. A crowd gathers and Iris announces the ambulance is on its way.

Gradually however the guy slowly comes round and wakes up. He seems dazed and probably drunk: Iris points out that he doesn't smell of alcohol but this sometimes happens with spirits. Eventually he staggers to his feet and starts to lurch drunkenly around and babbling with a few Chinese guys good naturedly trying to hold him up. At length Iris calls the ambulance service and they cancel the vehicle, which is something that wouldn't happen in the UK, they would still expect to examine him. So in the end we all wander off to our respective afternoons with the locals still around trying to make sure this chap does not pass out again. It seems clear to me and to most of us that he is drunk on Chinese rice wine.

I go online and manage to find some accommodation in London for my return to England three and a half months away: this proves difficult as I can't find a YHA room, and the hotels of course are enormously expensive or fully booked. I sometimes wonder how anyone can manage to stay there at all unless they are rich. In the end I book one of the university halls of residence, basic, but cheap. I also consider going to Beijing again in the next Chinese holiday: normally I don't tend to because of the overcrowding and difficulty finding trains and hotels. At least another part of my homeward itinerary is completed.