The Peoples Republic of China is a country of immense size, and since on this particular trip it was part of a larger and longer itinerary, we had to make some hard choices about where we would be visiting (and of equal importance, where we would not be visiting).
The time of year we found ourselves in really helped nail things down a lot. The north, and anything far inland (like Inner Mongolia etc) was simply too cold. Reports of one metre thick snow blanketing the land sounded not too fun to be honest. Thus, as a result, we’d be skipping four places synonymous with the great land of China; Beijing, the Great Wall, Xi’an (and it’s Terracotta Army) & the Yangtze.
Naturally, as a traveller keen on seeing such world-famous sights, it was difficult to swallow. As a traveller and a keen amateur photographer, I was as bitter as the icy winds blowing across the plains of Siberia.
But I’m young(ish), and I shall return one day no doubt. And let’s not forget, I still had some of those other inspiring places to see in the coming weeks.
Unfortunately, Shenzhen isn’t one of those inspiring places. In fact, if ranked on a scale of 1-10, with 10 being truly inspiring, and 0 being not at all inspiring, Shenzhen would score -12 (somewhere around wanting to kill yourself).
And for an altogether peculiar reason, Lise chose to spend 2 months working here, in a summer several years ago. And therein lies the reason for our stopover... I guess you could call it a pilgrimage of sorts. We saw her truly dull former apartment block, and dined in one of the restaurants she used to frequent with her boss, who for some bizarre reason had chosen the name “Dandy” as his Western name. (Apologies to anybody reading out there named “Dandy”, but unfortunately you’ve got a crap name.) Incidentally, her main friend had chosen the name Hank, leading me to a suspicion that maybe they hadn’t put a lot of thought in to these names... or quite possibly too much thought.
I considered the potential candidates for my “Chinese” name, and pegged it down to “Bruce”, “Jackie”, “Jet” or “Chuck”, until Lise broke the news that these were also Western names chosen by their respective Chinese movie star owners, and that Chuck Norris was not even Chinese. I was devastated, but was careful not to say Chuck’s name out loud, as you never know when he’s lurking around the corner, ready to inflict one of his deadly roundhouse face kicks.
I eventually settled for the quintessential Chinese name of “Tin Tin”, but kept it a secret from Lise, in case she had some other “facts” to shoot me down with.
After the delightful few hours in Shenzhen, we made our way to Guangzhou – the only other city Lise had visited whilst living in China with the exception of Beijing. Her glowing view of the city was short and to the point; “I hated Guangzhou”. Something to look forward to then I thought.
Actually, I didn’t half mind the city in the end. Smoggy, loud and ugly it surely is, but it has some key things going for it.
Guangzhou is the city for gourmet enthusiasts in China. Cantonese food’s most iconic dish, the dim sum, was born here, and you won’t find them tastier anywhere else in the world.
We managed to locate a truly local restaurant, and despite its presence in the Lonely Planet, there wasn’t a tourist in sight (something evident for the entire city). Chinese only menu’s confused at first, but eventually we figured out we just had to go up to the many ladies wheeling around the carts and take what we want, and pay at the end. 5 Yuan per dish (2x Dim Sum) was a steal, and we appropriately proceeded to stuff ourselves.
The seating arrangements were set out so that Lise and I shared the large round table with three women, possibly of three different family generations (the oldest one kept a senile smile which indicated she’d seen her fare share of Chinese history first hand – possibly as far back as the 17th century).
I’d always known Lise spoke a bit of Chinese, but up until now I’d never really seen it in action. Her English was perfect, and when she spoke her native French I even understood good portions of it these days. I’d seen her go from knowing barely ten words in German to speaking fluently in less than a year, and although impressed which such a feat, the Chinese language was another matter altogether.
Even given the fact that Lise knew only Mandarin, and the ladies across from us were from Guangzhou, and thus spoke Cantonese, the conversation flowed fairly smoothly (considering). Sure, I understood not even a single syllable, and perhaps this was the main reason for my astonishment, but at that moment I felt immense pride for ma cherie.
For the rest of the conversation I felt like a mentally retarded man who Lise had brought out for a day excursion; not able to take part in the “grown-ups” conversation, laughing loudly whenever the “grown-ups” laughed (so as to not feel excluded), at the same time consuming copious amounts of dim sum at ridiculous speeds. It was perhaps appropriate then that I was seating next to the grinning, senile great-great-great grandmother, who also couldn’t take part in the conversation. I think she must have spoken an ancient dialect no longer understood by modern Chinese, as each time she mumbled something, the other two ladies ignored her.
Lise was kind enough to take me back the next day, where we again devoured 10 kilos of dim sum each. Absolutely delicious!
The other attraction Guangzhou offers is also one of physical pleasure... cheap massages!
We went for the 45 minute foot massage as an introduction, knowing we’d probably have many more in the coming weeks in various cities and villages.
Lise had always said that Chinese massages can hurt a little, but I dismissed this as a symptom of her being a girl, and I’d be just fine as a big strong man etc.
Nevertheless, Lise insisted I know what I have to say in Chinese should I want them to rub less “aggressively”. I replied with a “Yeah, yeah, no worries”, forgetting what she’d told me in 2 seconds.
What unfolded over the next 45 minutes consisted of a small petite Chinese girl introducing me, in her own special way, to about two dozen points in my feet I never knew existed! Whatever happened to a light rub of the sole and some oily action on the toes???
I managed to save some pride and resist the urge to ask Lise to tell them to ease up a bit, whilst at the same time pulling every ounce of strength I had to my face in order to not show the pain screaming up from my feet.
In truth, some parts were good. Very good. In addition, I felt like I’d been given a brand new pair of feet as I walked out the door. All for the same price as a Cheeseburger and fries.
One of the most curious details about China is its ongoing awkward dance with that big bad establishment – the internet. We’d forgotten all about the blockage of social networking and blogging sites, and so when I couldn’t access Facebook or Blogspot, I guess you could say I felt a little cut off from the world. Facebook is a shallow indulgence though, and it’s not long until you forget why you paid so much attention to it in the first place.
I couldn’t resist the temptation to do a quick Google search for “Tiananmen Square 1989”, and although plenty of results were displayed, scarcely any of them worked. As I clicked on each one, I could almost feel the brooding eye of the CCP directing its burning stare directly through my screen. I abruptly deleted my browsing history. Can’t be too careful in a nation of such a reputation concerning the death penalty.
Although the choice had been tough to not include the far North in our Chinese itinerary, it was an easy decision when confronted with the option of whether to head to Shanghai or not. This was a city we both wanted to see, regardless of the 17 hour train ride required.
We opted for the hard sleeper, and despite the beds being more suited to someone like Frodo Baggins, the trip went by relatively quickly and without too much discomfort. We shared our cabin with three Middle Eastern men, one of which bore a striking resemblance to “Azamat” (Borat’s obese companion in the movie). I shuddered when thoughts turned to the naked wrestling scene. The three of them were, as we figured by the presence of multiple drawings and plans, architects, on a business trip. No doubt they’re just trying to get their piece of the vast Chinese construction pie.
It was considerably colder in Shanghai, and as a result Lise was doing her best impression of a Babushka doll by wrapping up in twenty-seven layers of clothing.
18 Million souls. When you ponder that the population of Shanghai is almost on par with that of Australia, a feeling of overwhelming insignificance engulfs you. As we made our way across town on the metro/subway, swept along by the flowing masses, playing witness to the glorious harmonic co-ordination of human existence, my eyes deceived me. I saw ants. Worker ants. All scurrying about on their daily duties just as they did every other day.
We were in a mega-city on the move.
Our stay in Shanghai stretched out to 1 week, which was longer than planned. Truth be told, Shanghai felt like a home away from home for Lise and I, both of us city-dwellers at heart. It’s not necessarily a city you can enjoy on a shoestring though.
This was never more evident when we stumbled up to the 58th floor of the Jinmao tower. The observation deck is on the 88th floor, but we didn’t fancy shelling out the small fortune to get up there, so we snuck up as “guests” to the Grand Hyatt, where there was a bar and some restaurants. We thought we could grab a drink and enjoy the view on the cheap.
However as we ran our eyes over the menu (whilst underneath the world’s highest and most spectacular atrium - left), we quickly came to the realisation that maybe we were a little out of our depth. I glanced around and saw only suave looking business men, no doubt all closing multi-billion dollar deals etc. It turned out that the price of a coke was more than the price of admission in to the observation deck. Our cunning plan had backfired.
It took all of my experience in weasling out of things to get us out of there, and as we walked out, I think our standing as “rich westerners” still stood... just. It’s fortunate for them that they treated us so well, as no doubt we’ll be back in 10 years time, when Lise is one of those business people earning six-figure salaries, and I’m her personal bag carrier.
Eating and drinking in Shanghai didn’t have to break the bank though.
We became almost immediately addicted to Ajisan Ramen Noodles, a Japanese chain dotted all over town. The noodle soup and dumplings were perfect after a chilly day outside, and it was cheap. We did try other more “local” establishments, but you never quite knew what you were ordering when things like “noodles with cheese bacteria” made their way on to the menu.
I think it was whilst eating at Ajisan that I graduated to a “Grand Master” of chopsticks. No longer was I the clumsy rookie I was only a few weeks earlier. I could now pick up single grains of rice, and handle with sublime skill even the most slippery of noodles. It was a moment of great pride for me, and like a four year old child who had just recently learnt a new trick, I showed off to Lise at every opportunity.
Eating in China is certainly sometimes a unique experience. Witnessing the slaughter of a goat right in front of your eyes, incredibly as you wait for your meal in the same restaurant, is something you wouldn’t expect to see in the west. The sounds of an animal knowing certain death is at hand, coupled with the vision of spurting red blood spraying across the deck; vegetarians become who they are after such experiences. Thankfully Lise and I withstood the onslaught, soon banished the encounter from our memories, and still eat our meat in blissful ignorance. (Sorry for any offence caused to any vegetarians out there...)
The day before departure from the city, once all the sights had been seen, we had the opportunity to celebrate the 28th anniversary of the day of my birth. We dispensed with our “backpacker caps” for the day, and indulged in a truly perfect day. After a good sleep in, followed by an afternoon in bed reading, we had all you can eat sushi at a relatively pricey (€20 per head) Japanese restaurant in the French concession. After we’d well and truly stuffed ourselves (we were getting quite good at that), we headed over to a late night Jazz bar, where we sat on the bar enjoying great music, a drink, and each other’s company. A perfect end to our time in Shanghai.
Waiting to board the plane that would take us to Guilin, I realised I had been singing the same song for the past 6 days. I am a Man of Constant Sorrow (from the movie O Brother Where Art Thou) is a catchy tune, but as Lise would eventually point out, hearing it every day for hours from someone who can’t really sing (that’s me), or doesn’t know all of the words (me again), isn’t really a pleasurable experience. I wish I could have stopped... I really do... but it was a 4 more days until our ears met respite. Lise insisted of filling the void however, with the odd choice of the Chinese language version of Anything Goes (sung in the opening scene of Indiana Jones & the Temple of Doom, fittingly set in Shanghai).
We had originally planned to stop over for a few days in Wulingyuan, before heading to Guilin and the rest of Guangxi Province. Do a Google Image search on it and you’ll see what the attraction was. Unfortunately, we were again forced to make a tough choice on our Chinese itinerary, and Wulingyuan was another place that eventually made it on to the “next time” list. We had the provinces of Guangxi and Yunnan still to see, and we knew these would command a decent amount of time.
Guilin and environs is the place to see all those big limestone peaks everyone raves about. For Sunshine Coasters, think Glasshouse Mountains, but twice as spectacular and ten times in number (all huddled together around picturesque Chinese villages and pretty winding rivers).
Our first experience in Guilin however was of the truly deranged middle-aged woman taxi-driver variety. You know the ones. They shout Chinese at you from the driver’s seat at incomprehensible speed (even for Chinese), and at the end of each sentence laugh out loud like some fanatical psychopath who’d just killed a man (or several), and stolen a taxi. We managed to escape her clutches when upon failure to find our hostel, we happily said “we’ll get out here and walk, thanks!”
The smaller town of Yangshao, an hour South of Guilin, is overrun with Western and Chinese tourists, but with its setting on the Li River next to clusters of peaks, it’s one of those “must see” destinations in China.
We hired bicycles for a day trip up the smaller but equally gorgeous Yulong River. I’m not usually one for long distance bike-riding – my backside doesn’t seemed to be shaped correctly to seamlessly fit on to those God-awful seats. It’s like trying to fit a square peg in a round hole. However, on this particular day, the discomfort seemed to subside in to nothingness, as different feelings came to the fore... nice feelings.
Picture Chinese farmers herding a buffalo or two in between blossoming green pastures, eventually in to the pristine waters of the river for a bath. Picture old ladies tending to their crops in fields as far as the eye can see. Picture the amazing backdrop of the limestone peaks, encircling you completely.
Now, 6 hours later, lost, tired, on the main highway, arse feeling like I’d dropped the proverbial prison soap... picture me.
On the return journey, we’d managed, somehow, to ride 15km past where we were supposed to be, and I was cursing the world for it!
By the time we made it back to our village guesthouse at around 5pm, we ridden roughly 40km on empty stomachs, as we hadn’t eaten anything all day.
We placed our order for food; 15x steamed pork dumplings, 1x large basket of fries, 1x chicken fried rice, 1x Hangshou eggplant. We also knew that servings in China were very generous, and thus the rice, fries and eggplant would be big.
The waitress, God bless her, questioned our sanity in broken English. “Are you sure? I think this is maybe too much.”
I assured her that Lise was extremely hungry, and that I was a pig. “Oh that’s ok then”, she hurried off.
We devoured everything they brought us like it was our first meal in a week, and the last meal of our lives.
Predictably, we felt quite ill shortly thereafter, and spend the remainder of the evening feeling sorry for ourselves and vowing never to do such a thing again (knowing full well it’d probably happen again next week). Your diet takes a bit of a hammering on these long backpacking journeys.
But, at least we hadn’t sampled the “Noodles with cheese bacteria” we’d spotted on a menu a few days earlier, no doubt a by-product of the weird and wonderful world of “Chinglish”.
For those of you who’ve used Google Translator before, you’ll sympathise with me no doubt on those moments where you think you can impress someone with your language skills by secretly typing something in to Google Translator, only to find that the translation makes absolutely no sense, and you’re left with the person you were trying to impress laughing at your obvious linguistic deficiencies.
I get the feeling, quite regularly, that the Chinese love Google Translator, and when they combine the resultant translation with a thesaurus, the outcome is strangely hilarious.
Lijiang in Yunnan Province was full of “Chinglishisms”, but none got more of a laugh out of us than this one;
The humour wasn’t limited to public notices though. A shop in Shanghai had chosen the business name of “Hot Wind”. What they sold I’ll never know. Answers on a post-card.
Different travelling folk (not Pikies mind you - Backpackers) put different emphasise on the varying aspects of meandering about the world, like Lise and I are doing now. For those globetrotters amongst us fortunate enough not to be undone by the constraints of time, there are traditionally two schools of thought on this. Many will preach that in order to get a good feel for a place, and to get the most out of it, you need to settle down and let the sands of the hourglass do their work. Immersing yourself in the local culture by taking your time in discovering it is indeed a pleasure, if a sometimes elusive pleasure given pockets are not bottomless.
For others, the attraction of it all is somewhat simpler; the travelling itself. The feeling of moving from place to place like some 21st century nomad almost encompasses the whole idea of backpacking itself. Almost.
You have to combine the two, experiment, and discover what makes you happy. For me, I like a healthy mixture of both, but admittedly prefer the nomadic style of training/bussing it from place to place, seeing just enough to get a general feel for the place, before moving on to the next different and amazing place you’ve heard of.
And it’s the in between which I might in fact enjoy the most. The feeling you get when you’re on the way to somewhere you’ve never been before, combined with the experience of being able to see landscapes change before your eyes, each one a host to countless souls living a life you’ll never know... these visions are what inspires me to travel.
It is perhaps fortunate then that our trip did require a fair bit “in between time”. An 18-hour overnight train from Guilin to Kunming, in Yunnan Province, was one of many such journeys.
Yunnan just had to be on the itinerary to be fair. Yes, it was slightly out of the way, and yes, it ate in to time we could have spent more of in Guangxi. But reading about it, and looking at photos of it... I don’t think Lise or I would have forgiven ourselves if we had chosen not to investigate the hype.
Kunming, the provinces capital city, was a necessary first port of call in order to spring us on to the more interesting places in this part of China. We didn’t mind though – the city was big enough to warrant Ajisan Noodles planting one of their delicious fast-food joints in. An evening of worship (ie slurping perfect noodle soup) followed.
The hostel in Kunming rates a quick mention – Cloudland Youth Hostel. A great common area with free internet, great food, a well-stocked library, a bar, tons of movies to watch, a pool table, and in the Chinese tradition – a table tennis table (...tennis table tennis table tennis...). The resident Chinese were, naturally, masters at ping pong, and if there had only been a Forrest Gump type amongst us Westerners, we could have challenged them for the table in an East meets West, neo-Cold War type face-off. Unfortunately the only force I could muster consisted of a German and an Englishman, both of whom had been out on the town all night (getting plastered in Karaoke bars), and as a result had lost not only their voices, but any will to live.
The East had won this battle.
We headed North to the towns of Dali and then Lijiang, spending a few days in each. Beyond Lijiang, it’s Tiger Leaping Gorge, Shangri-La, and eventually, Tibet.
We also were forced to forfeit our chance to trek the famous Tiger Leaping Gorge, again due to time constraints. We wanted to be out of China by Christmas, and the gorge is a 2-3 day hike. Lise had also read that a few people, including several Westerners, had fallen in to the gorge and died since the start of the decade, so that was all the convincing she needed.
So we spent our days hovering around the charming ancient towns of Dali and Lijiang, predictably brimming with endless bus loads of Chinese tourists.
Lise, not surprisingly, was still getting all the attention and stares from the Chinese. Men, women, boys and girls alike, would sometimes stop dead in their tracks and stare starry-eyed at this rare creature crossing their path.
I was to have my day of glory though after the “mini-bus” (actually a beat up old Toyota Hiace) trip from Dali to Lijiang. We had been travelling with a couple of young Chinese girls, and they insisted on a photo with us the moment we arrived. Well, when I say us, I don’t think Lise was in their plans to be honest. I think there might be a bit of cropping action on this photo once they're done with it. You be the judge...
Lijiang was undoubtedly beautiful, and a stroll around the old streets early in the morning before the buses had arrived was an unbridled pleasure. Despite a little bit of tackiness, and the presence of an infinite number of picture snapping Chinese, I give it two thumbs up.
We had only days before Lise’s one month visa for China expired, so after a one night stopover in Kunming for a last Ajisan Noodles run (I should buy shares in that place!), we made our way South towards Yuanyang, and it’s famous rice terraces.
The bus trip there will probably haunt Lise for years to come.
The last hour of the 6 hour trip consisted of a run up a fairly steep mountain, with more twists and turns than the Pikes Peak rally hill climb. It seems our bus driver got caught up in the moment, and most probably believed that it actually was Pikes Peak. Unfortunately, no amount of fantasy could change the fact that the vehicle beneath him was still a bus. Not that this dampened his enthusiasm mind.
It felt like something of a cross between a creaking old rollercoaster and those NASA motion simulators they use on the astronauts.
I always wanted to be an astronaut, and I reckon I could’ve been, given that it looked like I was the only person on the bus with a smile on their face, and thoroughly enjoying it. Lise had chosen to occupy the back-middle seat in order to see through the front window (possibly so she knew sooner when death was approaching), but when I looked back at her with my silly grin, she looked horrified, and pointed towards the front.
I heard it before I saw it. A lady in about the third row was throwing up her entire set of internal organs in to a small plastic bag. I had a chuckle and looked back at Lise, who was now blocking her ears and looking a tad worse than before.
After barely a minute of the wonderful sounds of the lady producing a techni-colour yawn, a gentleman behind her couldn’t take it anymore, and although I didn’t hear anything, I saw his head dip in to his lap, not to come up for several minutes.
At this point, Lise was on a fast-track to sickville, and the fact that she’d held on this long, given the fact she was almost in the fetal position, was an achievement in itself. I gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up, but all I got in return was a look which said “if I throw up, I’m going to make sure it’s all over you.”
Suddenly, another development! Victim number three was about to fall, and this time it was right on my doorstep. The old lady sitting in the very seat in front of me had a bag to her mouth, and was leaning forward anxiously.
Lise’s eyes were wider than a Pokemon, and she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
Soon after, the dam burst. The poor old lady (who’s middle-aged son was sitting opposite her, calmly smoking a cigarette) had caved, lasting barely half a minute.
Lise was now frantic. I could almost read her mind. Oh my God! Oh my God! What the hell is this thing?? It’s sweeping up the bus like some possessed vomit demon!! And I’m next!! It’s coming for me!!!
People began to shout forwards at the bus-driver, no doubt demanding he slow down and take it easy. But he, too, was a man possessed, and he ploughed on like a mad-man, oblivious to the chaos happening behind him. It was like a horror film.
Then, suddenly, the bus slowed. People groggily raised their heads from their laps. It was like a cease-fire. A rising sun. Lise’s look of terror slowly faded. My ear to ear grin slowly receded.
I yawned.
I yawned.
We had arrived.
After the bus episode, it took a minute to realise where we were and why we were here. After achieving those, I looked around me, and started to comprehend what an awful place we were in.
We were somewhere on top of a mountain, supposedly in a small village called Yuanyang. My confusion was in no small way compounded by the fact that I could only see about 5 metres in front of me. We had entered a cloud of mist so thick, we didn’t realise we were at our designated hotel until we’d accidentally walked in to reception area.
This wasn’t good news for my dreams of catching sunset and sunrise shots of the jaw-dropping rice terraces dotted close by to Yuanyang. We visited a small tourist office, and after a long discussion in Chinese between Lise and two young girls, they confirmed the worst; the weather was forecast for more of the same for the next 48 hours.
It was a low point, as I’d seen so many great pictures of the place, like this one. Unfortunately, the whole area was under mist, as thick as in the picture to the right.
We decided to head off the next morning, a day earlier than planned, and head for the Vietnamese border.
Although it ended on a downer, our time in China had produced images and sensations I’ll never forget.
China is a land of clichéd contrasts. Sprawling, modern mega-metropolises stand at one end, and lush, time-frozen country sides stand at the other. Everything else lies in between. There’s something for everyone.
China is massive, with areas worth seeing that’d take years to cover. And perhaps nothing illustrates this vastness more so than the feeling that although we travelled through this great land a whole month, it feels like we haven’t even begun to discover even the tip of this great, red iceberg.
And I was never even asked to join the Communist Party.
No comments:
Post a Comment