Ice statues in Harbin

In January, when snow was a permanent fixture on the hills surrounding  the company house and the river was frozen to the depth of a metre, we were sent to an even colder place. Every year the company hosted a 'Summer Camp' , at a different location. Students were invited from all over China to take part in an English debating  and speaking competition held over five days.

Because of the SARS epidemic, it hadn't taken place in 2003 but now was to be held in Harbin, famous for its Winter Ice Festival. As usual a group was dispatched by coach, loaded with electrical equipment. My five fellow English-speaking editors and I were to act as judges, as well as take part in activities.

‘ Ooh, look at those transparent  plastic traffic bollards!’ I rubbed  at the windows of the coach, scarcely able to contain my excitement at arriving in Harbin, China’s northernmost city.  My UK colleague Katharine gave me a withering look and I remembered that Harbin, was famous for its January Ice Festival. The bollards were carved from ice, as were various oversized street statues. The subjects ranged from the  Buddhas of all sizes to a pair of drinkers in Tudor dress, sitting either side of a beer barrel­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­---. All glittered in the -30C temperatures under the city lights.

We reached Harbin around 5.30pm, surprised at the unexpected glamour of the city, with its wide highways, brightly lit hotels and high-class restaurants. Huge square factories and office buildings sprouted Chinese characters in neon in lurid reds, pinks and green that looked as if they were floating in the sky. Windows were outlined in more neon, between illuminated hoardings advertising washing machines, cars, or apartment blocks. Snow lay thick on the ground, and pedestrians and cyclists alike were bundled in thickly-padded coats, men sporting the ubiquitous northern-style deerstalker hat, with fur-lined earflaps flopping over collars, flying out sideways in the breeze or tied on top, like  tea-cosies .

The city glamour and the wide streets, however, were soon left behind; our lodgings were on the outskirts.  In a few minutes the company coach  bowled through  a run-down residential area, a complete contrast with the city centre. It was a whole district of shed-like buildings separated by narrow lanes or ‘hutongs’ piled with rubbish. The shortage of the usual Chinese street scavengers with their sacks was evident from  litter piled up on the pavements, alongside ten foot heaps of coal, apparently for sale on a takeaway basis. The dark dwellings, of brick or tin, all had iron chimneys belching smoke. It was a depressing scene, enlivened only by the street traders’ stalls with steaming yams and noodles, tiny shops, and hutch-like eating houses.

The newly-opened campus of the Harbin Number 3 Middle School was like an outpost on the moon, with its mix of silvery cylindrical shapes and domes. We climbed down from the coach and the first icy blast of cold sent us scurrying and sliding towards the porch steps of the visitors’ accommodation. The air in Tonghua had been cold, but not actually painful; here it felt as  if a  a thousand little daggers were attacking one’s cheeks.

‘Report after dinner to collect coats,’ said Mrs. Chang, the department head in charge of keeping an eye on us. She was equipped with a mobile phone for instant contact with her management superiors. All the ‘extras’ from the coach, including plastic- wrapped bottles of mineral water and transparent bags, split open and spilling down-filled jackets, had been piled into a downstairs room off the lobby.  We had already seen these heaped  at the back of the aisles in the coach which brought us from Tonghua, bright blue ski-style jackets lined with yellow, with ‘National Speaking and Debating Competition, Harbin 2004’ printed in yellow across the backs.'