Last Chance to See

are from home.
    In New Zealand even the telephone dials are numbered anti-clockwise. This has nothing to do with the laws of physics—they just do it differently there. The shock is that it had never occurred to you that there was any other way of doing it. In fact, you had never even thought about it at all, and suddenly here it is—different. The ground slips.
    Dialing in New Zealand takes quite a bit of concentration because every digit is where you least expect to find it. Try and do it quickly and you will inevitably misdial becauseyour automatic habit jumps in and takes over before you have a chance to stop it. The habit of telephone dials is so deep that it has become an assumption, and you don’t even know you’re making it.
    China is in the Northern Hemisphere, so its washbasins drain clockwise, like ours. Their telephone dials are numbered like ours. Both those things are familiar. But every single other thing is different, and the assumptions that you don’t know you’re making will only get you into trouble and confusion.
    I had a kind of inkling that this would be the case from what little I knew of other people’s experiences in China. I sat in the plane on the long flight to Beijing trying to unravel my habits, to unthink as it were, and feeling slightly twitchy about it.
    I started buying copious quantities of aftershave. Each time the duty-free trolley came around, I bought a bottle. I had never done anything like it before in my life. My normal, instinctive reaction had always been just to shake my head and carry on reading my magazine. This time I thought it would be more Zen-like to say, “Yes, all right. What have you got?” I was not the only person I caught by surprise.
    “Have you gone completely mad?” Mark asked me as I slipped a sixth different bottle into my hand baggage.
    “I’m trying to challenge and subvert my own fundamental assumptions as to what constitutes rationally constructed behaviour.”
    “Does that mean yes?”
    “I mean that I’m just trying to loosen up a bit,” I said. “An airplane doesn’t give you much scope for arbitrary and alternative types of behaviour, so I’m just making the most of the opportunities that are offered.”
    “I see.”
    Mark shifted uncomfortably in his seat and frowned deeply into his book.
    “What are you going to do with all that stuff?” he asked a while later over an airline meal.
    “Dunno,” I said. “It’s a problem, isn’t it?”
    “Tell me, are you feeling nervous about something?”
    “Yes.”
    “What?”
    “China.”
    In the middle of one of the biggest, longest, noisiest, dirtiest thoroughfares in the world lives the reincarnation of a drowned princess, or rather, two hundred reincarnations of a drowned princess.
    Whether these are two hundred different reincarnations of the same drowned princess, or the individual reincarnations of two hundred different drowned princesses, is something that the legends are a little vague about, and there are no reliable statistics on the incidence of princess-drownings in the area available to help clear the matter up.
    If they are all the same drowned princess, then she must have led a life of exquisite sinfulness to have had the conditions of her current lives repeatedly inflicted on her. Her reincarnations are constantly being mangled in ships’ propellers, snared in fishermen’s nets full of hooks, blinded, poisoned, and deafened.
    The thoroughfare in question is the Yangtze River, and the reincarnated princess is the baiji, the Yangtze river dolphin.
    “How do you rate our chances of seeing a dolphin?” I asked Mark.
    “I haven’t the faintest idea,” he said. “It’s very hard to get information about anything out of China, and most of it’s confusing. But the dolphins are to be found—or not—in just a few parts of the Yangtze. The main one is a stretch of the river about two hundred kilometres long centered on a town called Tongling in Anhui province. That’s where there are people working on saving the baiji, and that’s the main placewe’re headed for. We get to Tongling by boat from Nanjing, where there’s a man called Professor Zhou, who’s a major authority on the animal. We get to Nanjing by train from Shanghai. We get to Shanghai by plane from Beijing. We’ve got a couple of days in Beijing first to get acclimatised and see if any of the travel arrangements are actually going to work out. We’ve got thousands of miles to cover and travel