I had failed to find a guide, so equipped with our road map I set out on foot from our hotel across Nanchang to the bus station. I queued in line to buy a ticket and when I reached the window I showed the lady my map and pointed to the town I wanted to go to. Her vociferous head shaking, arm waving and chinese indicated that I was in the wrong place. It was dawning on me that I had no "plan-B" when I was rescued by two female students who spoke some english - apparently I had to catch a bus from the road opposite. The students kindly took me there and told me to stay on the bus until it terminated - however their conversation with the driver, which involved more vociferous head shaking, arm waving and me being trapped in the closing doors suggested something was amis, as did the 1 yuan (10p) fare. The bus started off in the right direction but after 15 minutes went the wrong way into a district of wholesale markets and stopped. I had no idea where the hell I was, which must have been obvious by the look on my face as some of my fellow passengers sought to help. I pointed at my map and there was some discussion, following which they indicated I should get into the trailer of a motorbike cart (these are a bit like a Robin Reliant van without a chassis and mainly used for transporting goods). I did as suggested and cruised several blocks of the wholesale markets much to the amusement and disbelief of onlookers. I was deposited at a different bus station, queued in line again and pointed at my map and this time got a ticket. For the journey I bought what looked like a blueberry muffin but once unwrapped was in fact a dry bun with jam on top. I nipped to the toilet before boarding the bus - as I stood at the urinal I noticed that along from me a man was squatting, pants down, shitting in the trough.
The bus ride was fairly uneventful. At one point the sun broke through the grey smog and the passengers closed all the curtains, enabling me to focus my full attention on the drivers attempts to kill us. Eventually we arrived in the town that I didn't know the name of and enquired if there was a bus to Wu Cheng village. A lady drew me a map of how to find the bus but it resembled a chinese character so I took up the offer of a motorbike taxi, who took me to a mechanics yard across the street where two battered, filthy minibuses were being taken apart for scrap - or so I thought until it was indicated that this was the bus to Wu Cheng. I settled in for a long wait.
Next to me an old lady was dozing with her young grandson in her lap. The child was wearing crotchless "porno" trousers and started weeing all over the lady, which woke her up enabling her to direct the piss onto the bus floor. After an hour all the moveable wooden benches and stools that constituted seats were full, but we didn't leave until we were packed in like sardines - and only once we had reached a bumpy, unsurfaced road did the conductor attempt to collect fares. Ten minutes into the journey and the lady in the seat in front of me stuck her head out of the window and vomited down the side of the bus. She was sick the remainder of the journey and I did my best to avoid the strands of puke being blown back into the bus. We passed a sea of fluffy cotton plants and stopped at the edge of Wu Cheng.
I pointed at my phrasebook for directions to the wildlife reserve office and set off on foot. It was further than I thought and I was tiring of being stared at so I took up the offer of a motorbike taxi for the remainder. When we arrived at the reserve HQ it was all shuttered up, which was a major blow as I had planned to stay there the night and get them to hire me a guide and boat. I tried using my phrasebook to get information from the taxi driver but it was looking hopeless when three young science academics from a visiting university appeared. One spoke english and knew the reserve. It was a month before the cranes arrived. They arranged for the taxi driver to take me to a spot to look for birds and if necessary he would also find a family in the village who could put me up for the night.
I clung onto the back of the motorbike as we slid around on the muddy riverbank. The "ferry" across the river was full of sacks being unloaded into a waiting truck by two old men. My taxi driver went off to get his jacket and left me at the waters edge. I figured we would be waiting hours for them to unload the boat so I boarded, shouldered a sack, covering myself in smelly shrimp powder and carried it to the truck. As far as the men doing the unloading was concerned this was like a gift from heaven - they were laughing and cheering and couldn't believe their luck. I had lifted about four sacks when another boat docked alongside, which with a sinking feeling I realised was the one we were waiting for. Taxi man reappeared, we boarded, everyone had a go with my binoculars and we departed.
There was no road on the other side only a bumpy, sandy path and as we sped along it was a little bit like riding a bucking bronco. We went through a small pond at speed soaking my right leg and then through a dilapidated village with no vehicles before reaching the lake shore - a vast flat wetland receded to the smoggy horizon. For the next two hours I would use my binoculars to spot a speck in the distance and taxi man would drive us there along tiny tracks or just through the grass to get a closer look. It was fairly futile and a cold wind got up so we headed back to Wu Cheng.
There were no more buses, which was probably for the best, so I hired two blokes with a minivan to take me back to town. They spent the journey hacking up greenies and gobbing out the window, chain smoking and blasting their horn at anything that moved - the holy trinity of chinese driving. I took a bus back to Nanchang and it was dark when we arrived. I had no idea how to get back to the city centre so I boarded the first bus and hoped for the best.
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