It’s not the Gulf Stream collapsing. It’s not going to be the coldest winter in 1000 years. The North Atlantic Oscillation is in a weak phase though, and yes, “if the simple model is correct, the cold winters we in Europe are experiencing at the moment are a consequence of global warming.”
It may be one of the last. Today it rains, the snow is slush and trickling, dripping water beating a tattoo upon Uferstrasse. It’s warm even; 4º. Grey though, of course. Yesterday in the cold a peek of sun set the whitened trees aglow, shot with colour between me at the window and the scraps of undressed sky behind.
The day before as the heaviest of falls yet this winter brought a haze across the canal and Hallen, air dry and cracking, the Berlinerwasserbetrieb still out making tunnels and therein tunneling, the light that particular intensity only of winter in the north caught in this, as if eyes unfocussed and drained of colour these very colours become overwhelming, in this I took some photos.
Still coming back to myself. Daniel arrived with much cheese and bread. Later I ate three steaks. Salt and meat, salt and meat.
A strange adventure with Daniel accompanying me and Matti translating on occasion. Kreuzberg near my old home, Dieffenbachstr, time too short for cheesecake. Into the celler, waiting, talking, blood, waiting, talking, scanning, waiting, talking, talking, leaving. To the sixth floor, waiting, talking, leaving. Much paperwork. Waiting in the rain. Yoga for breakfast. The chronology is out but it was important. Tante Horst to eat a late, late lunch, perhaps an early dinner, though breakfast for one. A long day in emotions more than merely hours.
Returning to near home, finding the book for me had arrived at St Georges, a monster to beat anthropologists with. Home barely in time for the storm. I am thinking of a new camera. It is somewhat expensive but has full manual functions and many other proper camera things. Tomorrow though is more of the same and then perhaps perhaps I shall depart…
Summer, it has been decided will be stormy with displays of thunder and lightning. Much blowing of wind also. It reminds me of course of Guangzhou. Though certainly I enjoyed the monsoon and typhoons in Manila and Taipei as well as Hong Kong, for me it is always a memory of Canton. Vast hulking behemoths trawling in, blackening the skies, and the torrent, the noise and thrill as if the air itself was possessed.
Berlin has brought a string of, well in no way comparable, not the least for absence of thick, languid sopping heat, but yes, storms. Happily, Berlin has quite beautiful storms. I would have never guessed. Though that was some days ago, and in the meantime, thehof below nears its finish after some three months of ausgrabend und zuschütten. I stood under the tree, now taken by spring and looked up. In six months I have not done such a thing from under its trunk. And there, in the top corner is my room and hobo attic.
Half a million people stuck in the Guangzhou Train Station, over 100 trains carrying thousands of people each stranded in the worst winter snowstorms in 50 years, a million houses destroyed or damaged, power outages in more than half of China’s provinces, and two million troops deployed to deal with it. Even Wen Jiabao came to Guangzhou and apologised.
I guess I’m blogging it again today because I’ve been hearing from Guangzhou and besides a bit on SBS World News website, there has been no coverage of this in the Australian media.
China: Storm in the way home
Tuesday, February 5th, 2008 @ 03:52 UTC
by Bob Chen
It’s just a 20-hour travel, but I have lost contact with my 3 kids for 3 days! The train must have been stranded in somewhere unknown, in the wild far from any station. The only cell-phone text message they sent yesterday told that they were out of money, the train short of food and hot water. Anyone could help me!?
A worried mother posted an aid-seeking message on Tianya.com 8 days ago, asking for information regarding her three children who set out for home before the snowstorm by rail. Their whereabouts, along with that of the train, had lost. This kind of posts flooded on the many net forums these days, while most replies, despite compassionate greetings, could deliver no help, as during the most serious snowstorm China met in as long as 50 years, there were over 40 thousand passengers were stranded along the Beijing-Guangzhou railway at the peak, hard to contact.
Because of the continuous sleet and freezing rain, the power lines in Hunan province were overwhelmed by the frozen rain, and under the unusual weight, a lot of power pylons were toppled by the ice.
The power failure bogged down most of the trains, which were led by electric locomotive, along the Beijing-Guangzhou line, and further paralyzed all but the entire north-south railway artery. To make the matter worse, it ran into the busiest traffic season in China, the Chinese New Year, when millions of people that had worked hard for the whole year were looking forward to a reunion at hometown. They, most of them migrant workers, would usually jostle and bustle in the carriages as crowded as sardine cans to go home. But this year the travel was far more hard.
Many train passengers didn’t know the situation until they found themselves motionless in the wild for many hours. A netizen recorded his terrible experience.
We set out on 27th. There were about 2 times as many passengers as allowed (very usual as most passengers buy stand tickets to save money. —translator). In the evening we arrived in Hunan and the progress was punctuated by stoppages, some of which lasted 4 to 5 hours. The whole Hunan was covered by the ice, like a huge sugar-glazed-haw (a kind of snack). The sleet, chilly and thick, kept falling. The carriages were crowded. We tried not to drink much because to go the toilet we had spend 10 minutes to hustle through people…… There were as if people under the feet, and people above the head.
The smell stink as if hundreds of men exhaling to you without brushing their teeth.
The situation continued till the next night. The food carts were not seen anymore and we had nothing more to eat. The water tank dried too and soon the heating stopped. Complaints turned into vituperations. Somebody smashed the window to jump out. People came to be so testy that a casual controversy would turn to be a fight. Outside the window it was wholly dark. The cold rain persisted. No one knew where we were.
The train was like a prison. Everybody were impulsed to flee out of it……
There used to be 130 trains going like this, waiting on the track. The airproof carriages and the shortage of supply would drive passengers to the merge of insanity.
Chinanews reported that in a 128-seat carriage over 200 travelers were crushed in. During the 30-hour delay in an unfrequented small station, a man yelled to the trainmen that he was being pursued and killed. Another man reported people around tried to hocus him.
A train police said they had to spend half an hour to go through simply one carriage, because there was hardly a space to set the foot on. Meanwhile, they had to sooth the nervous passengers and stop those trying to break the windows and jump out. To all the people on train, it was quite an uneasy challenge.
The waiting drove people to desperation, especially when a 12-hour travel was prolonged to be over two days, as in many cases. Those stranded on the way dreamed of warm home and a greeting from the anxious families. But those still stayed in the railway station, on the contrary, would spend everything to board on a train. Affected by the paralyzed railway, over half a million passengers were congested in the railway hub of Guangzhou, a southern metropolis.
Crowded, crazy; gigantic flow of noise and hordes of confused people. Even this can’t tell how the hell on earth has been.
A passenger recorded what he went through in the station:
I walked out of the D2 exit, and could not help but marveled at the place I saw. Such a packed crowd, so noisy, people crying, shouting, smiling, voices were everywhere. Endless heads in front of me, all black heads.
I felt a flood-like power behind me and was helplessly pushed forward, staggering. I had to walk aside, and then found a girl had fallen down ahead, with a bag on the back, hardly climbing up. An imploration glistened in her eyes, face flushed, as if going to cry out hard: “don’t jostle, you step on me!” The weak voice was so faint among the seas of crowd.
Another netizen told his terrible experience:
Even though I don’t close my eyes, I could clearly see the scenes I witnessed last night at the Guangzhou station. Screaming, people falling down, people crying, people waiting, and the tread, broken, scattered luggage packs.
Thousands of people piled up at the east side of the square. I was clamped among the crowd. Some beside me took pains to make out a little space for the metal pails on which they could rest. A covey of military police organized a flesh wall. Police then stood still to form a laneway through it. They called the sitting people to stand up. If the crowd surged up, they might have no chance to do so.
11 pm. People surged forward. Some ahead shouted that some was pushed down. But no one listened to that, people marching on. An elder tripped over before me, and I took a chance to pull him up, while all he took with him had been rolled to under the stream, including a big pan. A kid tripped over too and I again pulled him up. Shouting such as “Some got stepped” and “stop” never ceased. But of course, no one stopped. To those who had waited for a few days, a stop was impossible.
I was dragged forward for about ten meters before I found myself out of the crowd. A woman was crying hard that her kid was not out. 3 to 4 people were also crying in hysterics, calling for the names of their families. The luggage scattered around and some were trampled to be a mess.
According to a report, one passenger was trampled to death. Singly on 31st, January, more than 100 passengers fell in faint due to hunger, cold and congestion.
Expecting to go home, many migrant workers would cancel the rented houses by the end of the year, which means they had to take the station plaza as a shelter during the several days’ suspending. Bone-chilling drizzle trembled them; shortage of food stirred their stomachs; extreme crowd jam choked them. At chilly night, they cuddled up under the pedestrian bridge, some lucky men going to the temporary shelter set by the government. But these were not the reasons of giving up the hope to go home.
Accordingly, the food price around the station was going up. 30 RMB for each set of fast food. 5 RMB per bottle of water. There were so many people concentrating, and so hard to find somewhere to relieve oneself. Someone made it at where they waited. The sanitation was so bad.
Mr. Sheng, along with his 2 colleagues, prepared straw mats and quilts, sleeping under a bridge near the station for 4 days, awaiting the train. Ms. Sun, a migrant worker, 36, had been waiting with her 8-year-old daughter inside the railing and barriers overnight. An apple and a piece of bread were all that they had. They, as well as most passengers, dared not to go out of the plaza once getting in, because they feared that they wouldn’t be so lucky to jostle back. Because of the limited space, most people had to stand on feet, and the only way to comfort the sleepy eyes was to nap for a while upon a shoulder of a stranger nearby. source
Therefore, the waiting was a challenge, both physical and mental. The temporary medical post was super busy on taking care of both passengers and station staffs, including police and volunteers.
These days, the whole city was mobilized. A great many police, guards, military police and even soldiers were mustered to control the powerful flood of crowd. They organized flesh walls to hold out waves of anxious people, keeping the order. A mass donation has been launched to help those stranded at the station, and many volunteer workers were dispatched to the front line.
Guangzhou, and the southern region, was trying its best to comfort the migrant workers, who have been contributed so much to the prosperity of the coastal cities.
It was a national disaster. But even the most staggering statistical number (the billions of loss, millions of affected people) could not tell how deeply a heart of going home was ravaged. But who could deny, on the other hand, that the unbelievable snowstorm reunioned the whole country again, the entire society fighting together because we share the same dream of going home？
Pictures from sina.com, 163.com, Southern Metropolis Daily, Xinkuai, Tianya
John is responsible for much of my email. He only knows this now. But I read it all, after-all, I was the one who said to him, “spam me with g-town stuff I might wanna blog”, while wistfully nostalgia-ising over my favourite city. I don’t really read the Australian news anymore, or only in the same juvenile context I read trash-mags, so I suppose the storms and floods and other sundry disasters sweeping Lingnan have gone mostly unregarded, though I was sitting in BBQ-heaven a couple of weeks ago (that goes by the completely untranslated name of 大家好…somethingsomething) and watching Hong Kong news while doing a poor commentary on the floods in Sichuan to everyone else at the table, so I guess the news reached some Australians.
Once in the monsoon season in Guangzhou I schlepped into computer city somewhere along Tianhe Road, it was a sultry afternoon, heavy with lighting, more liquid than air. Maybe twenty minutes later I emerged into absolute blackness, not just the blackness of night that exists at a distance, but an enshrouding vacuum rendering dead even buildings mere blocks away. The deluge itself obliterated what remained, and having nowhere to go submerged the wide street thigh deep in a murky yellow-brown swamp, added to by exploding manhole covers and fat geysers of raw sewerage from swollen drains, a street became a torrent. 洪水猛兽, a deluge is a wanton beast.
China: Where’s the disaster relief blogging?
Back to 56.com, now the top Chinese video sharing website. Like Flickr, the space it provides for reader involvement is often used—abused?—for larger discussions. Looking at 56.com’s current events channel, the fifth post from the top contains video, photos and personal accounts uploaded by users. Is it blogger coverage of the massive destruction seen all over southern China—where, from Guangzhou, 56.com is based—earlier this month? No, these videos, photos and accounts, although posted this past week, all date back to last summer when Saomai, the strongest typhoon to pass through China since the Communist Party seized control [zh], ripped through the country’s coastal east and south.
So where to find live disaster blogging from this past month’s catastrophe? This blogger has looked but still doesn’t know. Is Chinese media coverage sufficient? Project Diaster’s video blog seems to only bring us training videos and clips from old TV shows. So what’s the problem?
An ominous bruised horizon, warnings of thunderstorms and a deadening, electric heat tense to snap, I was hoping for a funpark joyride of a flight with plenty of turbulence punctuated by occasional vertiginous, stomach-voiding drops in altitude. Nothing of the sort. The sky though became progressively shrouded, even at twelve thousand meters, in a vague diaphanous white haze, plunging deeper into a hadean, thuggish gloom, but all the while descending across South Australia, the sun cutting a feeble, jaundiced glaze through sweltering up-wellings of the guttering cyclone Isobel and its conjoined southern ocean trough, it was anticipation disappointed.
Wet when arriving, and stormy with fecund humidity, I continued my series of extraordinarily strange dreams last night, then this morning, dehydrated and woozy dragged myself into class, on a Saturday, with Gala, taught by Gabrielle. So once again, I am with old and very dear friends in Adelaide, and seeing again new ones from Crush and my other adventures in the murder capital below the Tropic of Capricorn.
Before I left Melbourne, I had one last destruction of language and faces at The Wall with Emile, who is off to Europe before I return, and is very happy with his new airport fascination. So here for Emile are some more photographs of runway aprons and other fun impedimenta of economy class.
A plan to catch a taxi home from rehearsal fell apart when I really couldn’t pretend I can catch taxis across town every day, and the 192 bus fortuitously arrived, me pulling out play money trying to find the elusive correct change. The storm was already scintillating across the north-west horizon, behind and between the low apartment blocks and concave ascents of the mall-draped towers.
The 192 is my bus, from start to finish, minus one stop at each end. From Shaheding in the north-east, the slightly forgotten suburb, a buttress of Baiyun Shan wedged between the canyon boulevards of Tian He and Huanshi Dong Lu, in a meandering always descending path to the river, across and tying oxbows in the streets of Haizhu until it falters beside Jiangnan Hospital, a choleric spit from the Nantai Road market. I have my iPod, and my favourite seat, and for 45 minute or and hour I’m in happy-bus-land.
By the time I reached Jiangwan Bridge, much of the north-western twilight sky, clear from a holiday of industry, and swept by the storm-front’s precursors was a-light with desaturating pulses of lighting, the dropping pressure like a plane falling in turbulence, both the stomach-wheeling apparent loss of gravity, and the sense of flying upwards. Guangzhou for all its other charms, knows how to put on a good storm.
Tonight, again catching the bus back with the Gun Club and Exile on Main Street for a soundtrack, the silent inscribing of a new storm illuminated the night and overlit the city. My little bus holiday.
It’s really cool to have a hurricane with your name on it, even if it has been ‘down-graded’ to a tropical storm. But while Florida is whining about being ‘almost shut-down’ by a bit of a shower and stiff breeze, and we get to see beautiful saturated colour satellite photos of Hurricane Frances swinging over Miami, the big floods and storms in Sichuan show that if you don’t have a catchy name, you don’t get the column inches. A quick search on Google shows 90 deaths and 77 missing from a no-name storm gives 192 news items, but two deaths and many squashed oranges from a hurricane with a name as good as mine gives… oh… i lost count after 4185.
Reuters has this to say about Hurricane Frances:
The hurricane virtually shut down the fourth-largest U.S. state, home to 16 million people, for two days and promised damage not only to buildings but to the state’s economy on the usually busy Labor Day weekend, normally an end-of-summer bonanza for Florida’s $53 billion tourism industry.
The state’s largest population center and big Latin American business hub, Miami, escaped the worst of the storm but the impact on Orlando, the main tourist playground, was uncertain as massive Frances lumbered across central Florida.
The $9.1 billion citrus industry, badly damaged by Hurricane Charley three weeks ago, was likely to take another hard blow as the storm moved across the state’s best growing regions.
And this to say about the storm and floods in Sichuan:
Floods and landslides have killed 76 people in southwest China in the past four days and washed away homes and roads, knocked down power lines and cut off at least one city, state media said on Monday.
“We’ve never seen such heavy flooding,” a government official said.
Heavy rain sparked flash floods and mud and rock flows in the southwest province of Sichuan, destroying crops and severing transport links, Xinhua news agency said, citing provincial disaster relief officials.
At least 55 people were killed in Sichuan, with 52 missing, and at least 21 people were killed in the city of Chongqing, to the east of Sichuan and 900 miles south of Beijing.
No immediate respite was in sight with rain expected through Tuesday, provincial officials said.
The most destructive storms this year had battered Dazhou, Nanchong and Bazhong cities since Thursday, Xinhua said.