Mad Docs and Englishmen

It was surely the longest pizza delivery in Chinese history. From a Pizza Hut in Guangzhou to our lonely campsite in north-east Yunnan Province, we reckoned it came to around 3,000 kilometers. The trip took our friend Lu Sitao 36 hours, and by rights he should never have got to us at all. At least, that's what news from Beijing had led us to believe.

We were told the SARS epidemic had blocked travel across China, especially from infected areas such as Guangzhou. If Sitao tried to make it, we thought, he would be arrested and quarantined like a dog. Our pizzas would be confiscated and scoffed by some health official.

Sitao found us at dusk. We had just emerged from a hastily built shelter after the day's second thunderstorm. The rain had scuppered efforts to reach safe harbor, but already the sky was clearing and a full moon lighting our work as we pitched camp. We hugged our friend in delight. How on earth did you get here, we asked. No problem, he said. Health workers had checked his temperature twice en route, taken his phone number, and let him pass.

Checkpoint Charlies
Sitao's experience chimed with ours. We first met a SARS (or fei dian as the Chinese have it) checkpoint two weeks ago crossing the Beipan River close to the small Guizhou town of Baiceng. A man in a white coat chased us across the bridge.

Tired and grouchy, we ignored him as we thought he was just looking for an English lesson until he summoned uniformed reinforcements to convince us otherwise. We had just endured one of the toughest legs of the whole New Long March, six days in searing heat through the bleakest, most benighted areas we have seen.

Dr Wang frowned at the thermometer. "Your temperature's a bit high," he told Ed. No bloody wonder ...

Dr Wang read the thought on Ed's face. He relaxed, shook the thermometer and said: "But it's not by much. It's no problem. Sorry to bother you." Over the bridge we met a second, more familiar obstacle ?dogs. First one pack attacked, then another. Ed hit the lead cur in the face with his stick. He looked around for more, but they had fallen back. The adrenalin surge carried us into town, smack into the third hurdle of the evening -a guesthouse owner who turned us away for fear of fei dian.

Luckily, her paranoia wasn't shared by the rest of the townsfolk. We found a welcoming guesthouse with a balcony overlooking the leafy main street, and the police were soon

on hand to ensure our safety. "Phew," said Andy. "It's ages since anyone copied down our passport details." Said Ed: "I feel safer already.:"

Not From Around Here, Are You?

Other than making us worry about friends back in Beijing, SARS hadn't concerned us before that day. Since then, though we remain in officially SARS-free areas, the plague has dominated life on the road. It has trapped New Long March coordinator Tracy Jia in Beijing, obliging her to try to re-supply us by post. It has blocked interviews, cancelled a press conference, and nixed morale-boosting visits from friends. Worst of all, it has changed the atmosphere surrounding our journey.

Last week, we approached a river crossing below the village of Tudipo, Yunnan. A group of laborers were about halfway through building a new bridge. As we approached, a supervisor yelled at us, waving us back.

We are sometimes stopped at road-works while blasting takes place, and so our first thought was they were preparing to let off dynamite. But when nobody else moved away, we called across: "What are you yelling at us for? What's up?" More hand gestures. We repeated our question. Three times. Finally, the man came over, bringing a group of lieutenants. "It's about fei dian," he said.

"Oh, you've got fei dian, have you?" said Andy. "We're not allowing strangers into the village." Ed explained we had no interest in their village; we just wanted to walk along the road. We were allowed to pass. "If they're so worried about outsiders," said Andy, "they should stop building that bridge." Half an hour later, another group intercepted us. "No outsiders allowed in our area," they said. It was a bridge too far. Ed saw red. "Who told you that?" he demanded. No answer. Ed resisted an urge to cough on them.

"Come on, who says we shouldn't be here? We've been tested enough times. What about you?""There was an announcement," was all the explanation we received. We scorned them and moved on. Nobody tried to stop us.

Follow the Leader
Before SARS, we felt we could count on people in the countryside for support -directions, food, sometimes lodgings. Now we feel nervous entering a new village. After breaking camp with Sitao, we headed for Qinglong, our planned meeting point before the rains had forced an early stop. We reached the village after about seven kilometers, hoping to take a quick break and refill our water bags before pushing on to Zhujie for lunch.

A "welcoming committee", however, had other ideas. A minivan with darkened windows pulled up. Dr. Lei Yusu emerged, and barked at us to STOP RIGHT THERE.

"All right, calm down," said Andy. "What do you want?" "WE'RE FIGHTING FEI DIAN." "There's nothing wrong with our ears, you know," said Ed. Dr Lei glared. "FOLLOW ME." The mysterious minivan guarding our rear, we were led to the village weishengsuo -what passes for a health center in rural China. Once inside, we were shut in the "Fever Observation Room?" Qinglong had two thermometers. Foreigners were tested first. Dr Lei checked our temperatures.

"So, everything OK then?" asked Andy. "Can we go now?" Dr Lei ignored him and walked out. He shut the door. It was time for a scene, which went something like this: We open the door. We walk out of the room. We shout at the doctor. He shouts at us. We denounce our treatment and the filthy condition of the health center. He says nothing is his fault. He says we must wait for "higher leaders" to arrive from Qujing. "When will these ' leaders' arrive?" says Ed. "Soon." "Who were those people in the minivan with you?" "The local leaders." Qujing to Qinglong is about an hour's drive. After two hours' waiting without food or information, we decided to take our chances.

We put on our backpacks and walked straight out. Dr Lei's lungpower was exhausted. The local leaders were skulking in their government building up the hill. Since they hadn't bothered coming to see us-except inside their blacked-out vehicle -we popped in to see what they had to say for themselves.

"Just wait a minute," said Party Secretary Li. "Have a rest. We'll have lunch." Under the circumstances, we think we were remarkably polite.

An hour down the road, the "higher leaders" finally arrived in a Jeep and black sedan. Mr Fang of the Foreign Affairs Office greeted us. "Terribly sorry," he said. "It's all a mistake. These locals don't understand the situation." A flunkey proffered three bottles of Lancang Jiang beer and a bag of sticky buns. No thanks, we said. The officials drove off to have a word with the Qinglong leadership. We plodded on for a very late lunch.

Fang got out and clambered up to Sitao. They talked for two minutes, then Fang descended, waved goodbye, and off they went again.

"What was all that about?" asked Ed when Sitao rejoined us. "Oh, nothing. He just gave me his phone number and said to give him a call if we needed anything." Andy brightened up immediately.

"Let's ask him if he can get us a pizza."