Before I start on this week's topic I need to clarify a few things. What I aimed to do with this blog was to create the anti-travel guide i.e. a guide of what not to do. My dear companion Elizabeth notified me that it sounds like I'm whining which I never do. I can happily tell you that although our trip has not always been smooth sailing we have gotten past any problems and, for the most part, been able to laugh our way through it. I would like to think that this would give hope to other potential travellers; if I can do it, by God, so can you.
Now, back to the subject at hand. Ah yes, Watersports.
For anyone who has ever met me this title will produce humour in itself. I am not what you would call a naturally atheletic person in the way I detest any form of physcial exertion. So, when I say that we decided to go kayaking you can only imagine the laughter that is now eminating from my friends' and familys' lips.
It started as all well meant things do with trying to please someone else. Lizzie said, and I quote, that she "liked" kayaking.
We were in Luang Prabang in Laos and had spent a few days there seeing the Wats and the markets and sitting in Cafes in the sunshine. Nearly every other shop in Luang Prabang offered treks or excursions of some sort and we saw that a few combined Kayaking with an elephant ride. Lizzie said that kayaking might be fun. Not wanting to dampen her spirits I said that I also thought it sounded like fun and simply tried to block out previous experiences I had of boats. I thought that plenty of tourists must do this with next to no experience so we signed up.
The day was supposed to start with kayaking up the Nam Khan river before stopping for a ride on an elephant. We then would carry on canoeing and stop for lunch with a visit to a small village just outside Luang Prabang and then continue kayaking for about another two hours. In total that would be about three to three and a half hours of kayaking. Surely it wouldn't be that hard would it?
It was only that evening at a lovely dinner that Lizzie and I began to worry about our kayaking abilities. "I haven't actually kayaked before," Lizzie confessed.
"Then why the hell are we going?"
"I thought it would be fun and you said it would be too".
"Because I thought it was some hobby of yours you hadn't told me about before".
We convinced ourselves it would be fine. It would have to be now we'd handed over our money and wanted at least to see an elephant. Our other worry was the American couple who had signed up for the same trip earlier that day. We feared that they would be really sporty athletic types who would race off ahead of us while we failed to launch ourselves off the bank.
By the time we arrived at the excursions office the next day we were nervously giggling while trying to take deep, calming breaths. We were guided to a tuk-tuk our guide and two young preppy Americans got in too. Preppy we could handle.
We were introduced to our guide and our fellow day trippers. The couple were just in Laos for a week and seemed very nice. What was bad is that when the guy talked about Laos I couldn't shake the image of the colonel in Apocalypse Now with a cigar hanging out his mouth. Not that i'm one for stereotyping.
Our guide was a very sweet young man from Luang Prabang who did day trips with tourists during the day and then went to the University in the evening to study English and Tourism. He also informed us that in the days prior to our trip he had been in hospital because he had collapsed and had to be put on a drip for three days. Sweet he may have been but he was hardly filling us with confidence.
We arrived at the starting point and loaded the boats, oars, helmets and life jackets off the tuk-tuk and climbed aboard. The life jackets were all a little too large which meant that when you sat down in them they pushed up as if you had no shoulders or neck and made it incredibly difficult to move.
Our guide pushed Lizzie and me, in our double kayak, off the shore and down stream. For the first few seconds we seemed to be going straight. Then we began to paddle. To reach the elephants took perhaps double the time it should have done because we couldn't keep a straight line and kept veering off towards either bank.
The elephant ride lasted about an hour and was blissful. We had a slightly stubborn elephant; he kept wandering off to grab food before trundling on. I felt we had a bond. They were such gorgeous creatures but we didn't have time to admire them for too long before we bundled back into the kayak and tried again. It did not get better. The Americans and our guide had to keep waiting for us which was embarassing in itself. More so because our boat kept sinking which turned out was not our fault (there was a leak in the kayak and it kept filling with water) but it did mean we had to keep emptying it on the bank.
After what seemed like years the guide began gesturing to us to stop for lunch. "Yes!" I thought. We crashed into the bank and I leapt up so happy to once again be able to walk on dry land. I stepped out with my right foot and was happily about to place my left on the shore when I tripped over my oar and fell into the shallows. Lizzie was hysterical. The guide rushed over, "Are you hurt?",
"Only my pride", I mumbled.
Our lunch was practically eaten in silence. It was after this that we walked up to a nearby village and saw the few houses and the Wat (temple) and our guide explained to us about the importance of Buddhism in Laos. It was really interesting and along with the elephants made the whole Kayaking ordeal worthhile. He explained that almost every young Laos male becomes a monk at some point or you are not viewed as being "whole" but you are free to leave whenever you want. I coudn't imagine such a laid back view to monkhood in the Catholic Church.
When we returned to the boats our guide suggested that me or Lizzie take his single boat and he ride with the other in our boat. Lizzie went with the guide while I rowed on alone.
Weirdly enough the afternoon picked up from there. I was still going at a snail's pace with blisters emerging on both hands, but it was easier to navigate and it really was a fantastic way to see the river an surrounding area; beautiful palm trees,mountains, some minor rapids...as well as people washing and fishing in the river waving and smiling and we floated passed.
After another two hours we'd finished and with aching arms and blistering hands I felt like we had achieved something. Lizzie too had enjoyed her afternoon but had a slight eye opener when chatting to the guide.
It turned out that Lizzie had asked our guide what it was like to live in Laos. He replied, "What do you think it's like to live here?"
"I imagine very chilled and laid back" ventured Lizzie.
The guide went on to inform Lizzie about the poverty of the Laos people and even said that no one really liked the current government because of the corruption and that the rich could get away with anything.
When talking about his family the guide revealed he's had ten brothers and sisters but two died. One of his brothers died of dissentry and he'd had to carry his dying brother to the hospital.
I am not even going to pretend we could begin to understand life in Laos but it made us view the smiling face of Luang Prabang to tourists a little differently.
We left Luang Prabang a few days later fully rested and ready to take on everything we'd heard about the bizarre town of Vang Vieng.
The main attraction to Vang Vieng is tubing. For those who have yet to experience this phenomenon- tubing is getting a big rubber ring and floating down the river while stopping off at bars along the way to get drunk. About one person dies a month in Vang Vieng from this activity.
We ventured down to the riverside bars a little apprehensive and a little intrigued. It did not disappoint. While we failed to go tubing we stayed at the bars on the riverside and drank while occassionally taking a dip to cool off. Other people seemed to really go for it drinking buckets of Laos Laos whiskey (the local spirit and deadly) and Coke before taking to a 20 ft zip wire above the river and letting go.
We were there for two nights and it was fun while it lasted but it was just such a bizarre place. There were a few Buddhist monks walking around the town next to the drunken westerner while Friends was playing on screens in most of the restaurants.
The next day, slightly groggy we were on a bus to Vientianne with 30 others who all looked equally bad.
I'd managed to have a good wholesome day out in the open air Kayaking and then ruin it all with Tubing (without the tube). Ah well.
Tuesday 23 March 2010
Friday 19 March 2010
Week 3 and a half: Transport
Every year since I was born I was taken up on long (often arduous) car journeys to Scotland to visit relatives etc. These on would often take between 7-8 hours depending on traffic, vomiting siblings or the unpredictable weather that hits as soon as you get to the Midlands. This I felt had made me quite good at the act of travelling by giving me the required patience such journeys. I obviously wasn't expecting to travel to China and Southeast Asia in my lifetime.
It had started so well when we decided to leave Xingping, a small town we visited outside of Yangshuo, to get onto Kunming. We were to get back to Guilin by bus and then a train onto Kunming which our guide told us was an eight hour trip. We would be there by 11.30pm and therefore thought it was pointless to pay more for a sleeper carriage and went for the cheap "hard" seats.
We thought since we were getting in so late at night that we should book a hostel in advance. I called our chosen hostel and said that we were coming from Guilin and would be with them that evening. On the other end of the phone the girl sounded a little confused, "You want to book tonight? Are you on the train?"
"No we're just about to get on it but yes we'd like to book two beds for this evening".
"I think you will be arriving tomorrow"
"No the journey only takes eight hours we will be there at 11.30 tonight so could we book for tonight"
"If you're coming from Guilin it will take 18 hours I think"
"18 hours!"
I suddenly had a horrible flashback to buying the tickets at the station a few days before when the man pointed to the screen at the arrival time "11.30" not "23.30". I came off the phone and explained to Lizzie our current situation. She was unamused. But at this point we could do little else but plough on hoping that no one else would be stupid enough to book hard seats for such a long journey and our carriage would be empty.
Despite leaving plenty of time for the bus we still managed to be running for our train and found that our carriage heaving with people and also that a mother and her young children were in our seats. We couldn't ask them to move so we found some spare seats and sat tight.
About two hours into the journey a man walked up to us and began pointing at his tickets and the seat number. We had to move because we were in his seat. With no other seats now available and still 16 hours to go on the train we had to ask the family to move. We could feel the rest of the carriage turn against us.
Sleep was near impossible. There was nothing to lean against and my neck pillow was little help. I tried to lie face down on it on my lap like on a masseur's bed but this left my back hurting and lines on my face.
It was 3am Lizzie and I had had about 3 hours sleep between us and were becoming tetchy. The only thing to placate us was a few women, all with very small babies, who were irresistibly cute sitting around us. They kept us thoroughly entertained for at least a few hours. I soon lost interest though when the mother sitting next to me with her baby half on my lap quickly lifted him up and squatted him over a bin in the aisle.
*Quick cultural note: Small children in China wear hundreds of layers but have a slit all the way through their trousers so that they can be held over drains in the street (or bins on a train) by their parents and do their business.*
Being sleep deprived I was not immediately sure what had happened. It was only when the mother began wiping the yellowy-brown stain on her trousers that I realised the child had shat itself. The only small mercy was that it wasn't on me. Or not that I noticed.
By the time we got into Kunming I was ready to never get on a train again but I thought buses were still safe.
It was after a few days in the laid back city of Kunming with it's shopping, cool nightlife and beautiful parks that we decided to head to the renowned YuanYuang rice terraces for a night.
The journey started fine. There were two women in front of us wearing brightly coloured, patterned clothing and beautiful bits of material swathed around their heads. We guessed these were Hani women who lived in more rural areas of the Yunan province. The Hani people are a small ethnic group who originated from Tibet and now occupy smaller villages and towns in South West China.
Their allure was somewhat diminished when they began being violently sick into plastic bags less than an hour into the journey and didn't seem to stop for the subsequent 7 hours.
Prone to heaving myself I was relieved when the bus arrived in Xinjie in the Yuanyuang area. We managed to then buy bus tickets back to Kunming for the next evening and settle down for the night in our hostel.
To see the gorgeous rice fields in one day it is imperative to get up before dawn head over to the top of the valley and watch the sun rise over the famous terraces. Or so a tour operator told us. We rose at 5.30am to get a tuk-tuk, that smelt of petrol and was incredibly bumpy, over to a viewing point. It was worth it though and made what happened over the rest of the day worthwhile to have seen this sight if only briefly.
By the time the sun had fully risen and we had taken all the pictures we wanted it was only 8.30am and we were ready to go. On the way down the driver kept stopping and suggesting more sites for photo opportunities. This was thoughtful on the part of the driver but we stopped almost twelve times and it was hot and we were hungry and we no longer cared that what we were seeing was practically a masterpiece in irrigation. Two hours later we were returned to our hostel.
Later in the afternoon we decided to go and see a small Hani Village it was quite hot by now so we thought we'd treat ourselves to a tuk-tuk up the mountain slope.
While it may have treated my feet the journey did not treat my arse so kindly. Lizzie, being tall, could wedge herself between the benches lining either side. Being short, I could not. I was thrown all over the place and very nearly fell out the back. It didn't help that I had my camera in one hand that I foolishly thought I could take scenic pictures as we were ascending up the hill. The fact that I was holding on one handed and didn't fall out the back was quite an achievement in retrospect. It didn't help when, to turn a corner, the driver had to reverse towards the cliff edge. By this point I thought death by falling off a cliff might be preferable to the rest of the journey. Lizzie however had already informed me how to escape from a vehicle that is careering off the side of a cliff. Who knows what gems of information are held in that head.
When we reached the top we were battered and bruised but still had time to admire the beautiful views and see a few farmyard animals running around before descending (by foot) to catch our bus.
To top off our the day we hadn't noticed that the lady at the bus station had given us tickets for a bus that morning not the one in the evening as we'd asked. Much more finger pointing, raised voices and the like ensued but resulted in us having to buy new tickets.
After these few days of travelling disasters a 26 hour bus journey from Kunming to Luang Prabang in Laos was really not that bad. This includes dealing with Chinese officials, getting across the border, getting a new visa and remaining sane.
I am now in Luang Prabang and think that opening a nice little cafe here might be quite nice if it meant I never had to ride a train, bus, car, tuk-tuk ever, ever again.
It had started so well when we decided to leave Xingping, a small town we visited outside of Yangshuo, to get onto Kunming. We were to get back to Guilin by bus and then a train onto Kunming which our guide told us was an eight hour trip. We would be there by 11.30pm and therefore thought it was pointless to pay more for a sleeper carriage and went for the cheap "hard" seats.
We thought since we were getting in so late at night that we should book a hostel in advance. I called our chosen hostel and said that we were coming from Guilin and would be with them that evening. On the other end of the phone the girl sounded a little confused, "You want to book tonight? Are you on the train?"
"No we're just about to get on it but yes we'd like to book two beds for this evening".
"I think you will be arriving tomorrow"
"No the journey only takes eight hours we will be there at 11.30 tonight so could we book for tonight"
"If you're coming from Guilin it will take 18 hours I think"
"18 hours!"
I suddenly had a horrible flashback to buying the tickets at the station a few days before when the man pointed to the screen at the arrival time "11.30" not "23.30". I came off the phone and explained to Lizzie our current situation. She was unamused. But at this point we could do little else but plough on hoping that no one else would be stupid enough to book hard seats for such a long journey and our carriage would be empty.
Despite leaving plenty of time for the bus we still managed to be running for our train and found that our carriage heaving with people and also that a mother and her young children were in our seats. We couldn't ask them to move so we found some spare seats and sat tight.
About two hours into the journey a man walked up to us and began pointing at his tickets and the seat number. We had to move because we were in his seat. With no other seats now available and still 16 hours to go on the train we had to ask the family to move. We could feel the rest of the carriage turn against us.
Sleep was near impossible. There was nothing to lean against and my neck pillow was little help. I tried to lie face down on it on my lap like on a masseur's bed but this left my back hurting and lines on my face.
It was 3am Lizzie and I had had about 3 hours sleep between us and were becoming tetchy. The only thing to placate us was a few women, all with very small babies, who were irresistibly cute sitting around us. They kept us thoroughly entertained for at least a few hours. I soon lost interest though when the mother sitting next to me with her baby half on my lap quickly lifted him up and squatted him over a bin in the aisle.
*Quick cultural note: Small children in China wear hundreds of layers but have a slit all the way through their trousers so that they can be held over drains in the street (or bins on a train) by their parents and do their business.*
Being sleep deprived I was not immediately sure what had happened. It was only when the mother began wiping the yellowy-brown stain on her trousers that I realised the child had shat itself. The only small mercy was that it wasn't on me. Or not that I noticed.
By the time we got into Kunming I was ready to never get on a train again but I thought buses were still safe.
It was after a few days in the laid back city of Kunming with it's shopping, cool nightlife and beautiful parks that we decided to head to the renowned YuanYuang rice terraces for a night.
The journey started fine. There were two women in front of us wearing brightly coloured, patterned clothing and beautiful bits of material swathed around their heads. We guessed these were Hani women who lived in more rural areas of the Yunan province. The Hani people are a small ethnic group who originated from Tibet and now occupy smaller villages and towns in South West China.
Their allure was somewhat diminished when they began being violently sick into plastic bags less than an hour into the journey and didn't seem to stop for the subsequent 7 hours.
Prone to heaving myself I was relieved when the bus arrived in Xinjie in the Yuanyuang area. We managed to then buy bus tickets back to Kunming for the next evening and settle down for the night in our hostel.
To see the gorgeous rice fields in one day it is imperative to get up before dawn head over to the top of the valley and watch the sun rise over the famous terraces. Or so a tour operator told us. We rose at 5.30am to get a tuk-tuk, that smelt of petrol and was incredibly bumpy, over to a viewing point. It was worth it though and made what happened over the rest of the day worthwhile to have seen this sight if only briefly.
By the time the sun had fully risen and we had taken all the pictures we wanted it was only 8.30am and we were ready to go. On the way down the driver kept stopping and suggesting more sites for photo opportunities. This was thoughtful on the part of the driver but we stopped almost twelve times and it was hot and we were hungry and we no longer cared that what we were seeing was practically a masterpiece in irrigation. Two hours later we were returned to our hostel.
Later in the afternoon we decided to go and see a small Hani Village it was quite hot by now so we thought we'd treat ourselves to a tuk-tuk up the mountain slope.
While it may have treated my feet the journey did not treat my arse so kindly. Lizzie, being tall, could wedge herself between the benches lining either side. Being short, I could not. I was thrown all over the place and very nearly fell out the back. It didn't help that I had my camera in one hand that I foolishly thought I could take scenic pictures as we were ascending up the hill. The fact that I was holding on one handed and didn't fall out the back was quite an achievement in retrospect. It didn't help when, to turn a corner, the driver had to reverse towards the cliff edge. By this point I thought death by falling off a cliff might be preferable to the rest of the journey. Lizzie however had already informed me how to escape from a vehicle that is careering off the side of a cliff. Who knows what gems of information are held in that head.
When we reached the top we were battered and bruised but still had time to admire the beautiful views and see a few farmyard animals running around before descending (by foot) to catch our bus.
To top off our the day we hadn't noticed that the lady at the bus station had given us tickets for a bus that morning not the one in the evening as we'd asked. Much more finger pointing, raised voices and the like ensued but resulted in us having to buy new tickets.
After these few days of travelling disasters a 26 hour bus journey from Kunming to Luang Prabang in Laos was really not that bad. This includes dealing with Chinese officials, getting across the border, getting a new visa and remaining sane.
I am now in Luang Prabang and think that opening a nice little cafe here might be quite nice if it meant I never had to ride a train, bus, car, tuk-tuk ever, ever again.
Wednesday 17 March 2010
Week 3: Tourism
In our early attempts at planning our travels we visited a certain reputable travel agent who, when we suggested that China be part of our itinerary, strongly advised against it. "They don't need your tourism and so will make little or no effort to help you", we were told.
This is pretty much the opposite of what we have experienced in China. If anything we were a novelty for most people and this meant that people were often keen to practise their english and help us. There is thriving tourist industry in China but rather than revolving around Westerners a larger part of it accommodates Chinese tourists. We witnessed both sides of this when we visited Guilin and Yangshuo.
We arrived in Guilin having been told that it was quite a small and beautiful city. In fact it seemed almost as industrial as Shenzehn but with the odd peak making a break between the buildings. But we thought we should make the most of the dramatic peaks surrounding the city and would rent some bicycles in order to see more of it. Cycling was one of those things that every tourist winds up doing in Guilin and we were not about to become an exception to the rule. Our guide book suggested a relaxing trip to some small ancient village about two hours out of the city. Perfect.
So after repeatedly singing Katie Melua's classic "There are nine million bicycles in Beijing" we rented bikes and set out. The first problem with this plan was the weather. It was very cold again. Cold enough that we needed gloves but for the life of us couldn't find any. It was then Lizzie's genius idea to wear our socks on our hands (we were each wearing two pairs on our feet at that point). So that is what we did.
We thought it best not the to tackle the main roads at first because neither of us had been on a bike in some time and Chinese traffic is crazy. So we walked our bikes about half a mile up the pavement, getting slightly odd looks from locals, but this could have been the make-shoft gloves, before consulting the map and settig off.
Lets just say that the guide's directions were bad and be done with it. After much anger and pointing at the map we gave up trying to find the picturesque little village and just thought we'd cycle north out of the town until we got bored and then turn around and come back.
It actually turned out quite well. The terrain was relatively easy and it wasn't too cold when we were cycling and we soon saw the peaks and fields and it was really quite stunning. We stopped briefly to admire the scenery and then decided to go back to the hostel.
I was so relaxed and confident with my cycling skills that when we re-entered the city I didn't see the problem with tackling the main roads. There is something that is worth mentioning here and that is that not only were these roads akin to the big main roads in London but also the Chinese have a slightly odd order when it comes to crossroads; at traffic lights there is the standard procedure of stopping at red, going at green but not when it comes to turning left or right. Apparently that part of driving is a free for all.
So by the time we were in a hoard or electric bikes and motorcycles at a massive junction all going different ways it was too late to hop off and wheel onto the pavement. I thought Lizzie was trying to call to me before I realised that it was just a succession of screams as she avoided oncoming traffic.
We came away unscathed and decided the following day to head to Yangshuo. A smaller and more picturesque town about an hour away.
We had been warned that Yangshuo was extremely touristy but that it shouldn't put us off. The best way to describe it would be a Chinese take on a Spanish seaside town. By this I mean that it had loads of signs in English and all offering happy hours and western food. Saying this it was a very beautiful place with even more mountainous terrain surrounding us.
After a day of soaking up the sights we felt we should reward ourselves with a night on the town. Plenty of bars and clubs lined the road where we were staying so after having a happy hour cocktail at our own hostel (which was to have a beer pong championship later that evening. Sigh) we trundled along and found a bar called "Marco Polo". It seemed to be quite busy and look like good fun. So, in we went.
Here is where the confusion began. Yangshuo as I have mentioned was very touristy with both Chinese and Western tourists. We were no longer the white novelty we had been in Beijing or even Guilin. However we were the only white people in Marco Polo and this was enough to draw attention to ourselves. We were approached by both Chinese businessmen wanting us to dance with them and young Chinese guys who bought us flowers, drinks and bar snacks. We found out later that it was Women's Day in China and that is why people bought us flowers. The drink-buying I think was a bonus to us but perhaps not the best way to celebrate our own sex.
Eventually the two young Chinese guys joined us and although they didn't speak a word of English took photos of us constantly on their phones. After a pole dancer came out and then one of the Chinese businessmen tried to climb the pole in his vest we knew it was time to leave.
We tried to thank our new friends before swiftly departing but they just looked ocnfused. And by departing I mean running back to our hostel before they could figure out where we had gone.
We felt visiting Yangshuo was somewhat cheating on the ideal of backpackers "to really see the country" but then again we had seen the Chinese tourist industry at it's height and that was a sight in itself.
This is pretty much the opposite of what we have experienced in China. If anything we were a novelty for most people and this meant that people were often keen to practise their english and help us. There is thriving tourist industry in China but rather than revolving around Westerners a larger part of it accommodates Chinese tourists. We witnessed both sides of this when we visited Guilin and Yangshuo.
We arrived in Guilin having been told that it was quite a small and beautiful city. In fact it seemed almost as industrial as Shenzehn but with the odd peak making a break between the buildings. But we thought we should make the most of the dramatic peaks surrounding the city and would rent some bicycles in order to see more of it. Cycling was one of those things that every tourist winds up doing in Guilin and we were not about to become an exception to the rule. Our guide book suggested a relaxing trip to some small ancient village about two hours out of the city. Perfect.
So after repeatedly singing Katie Melua's classic "There are nine million bicycles in Beijing" we rented bikes and set out. The first problem with this plan was the weather. It was very cold again. Cold enough that we needed gloves but for the life of us couldn't find any. It was then Lizzie's genius idea to wear our socks on our hands (we were each wearing two pairs on our feet at that point). So that is what we did.
We thought it best not the to tackle the main roads at first because neither of us had been on a bike in some time and Chinese traffic is crazy. So we walked our bikes about half a mile up the pavement, getting slightly odd looks from locals, but this could have been the make-shoft gloves, before consulting the map and settig off.
Lets just say that the guide's directions were bad and be done with it. After much anger and pointing at the map we gave up trying to find the picturesque little village and just thought we'd cycle north out of the town until we got bored and then turn around and come back.
It actually turned out quite well. The terrain was relatively easy and it wasn't too cold when we were cycling and we soon saw the peaks and fields and it was really quite stunning. We stopped briefly to admire the scenery and then decided to go back to the hostel.
I was so relaxed and confident with my cycling skills that when we re-entered the city I didn't see the problem with tackling the main roads. There is something that is worth mentioning here and that is that not only were these roads akin to the big main roads in London but also the Chinese have a slightly odd order when it comes to crossroads; at traffic lights there is the standard procedure of stopping at red, going at green but not when it comes to turning left or right. Apparently that part of driving is a free for all.
So by the time we were in a hoard or electric bikes and motorcycles at a massive junction all going different ways it was too late to hop off and wheel onto the pavement. I thought Lizzie was trying to call to me before I realised that it was just a succession of screams as she avoided oncoming traffic.
We came away unscathed and decided the following day to head to Yangshuo. A smaller and more picturesque town about an hour away.
We had been warned that Yangshuo was extremely touristy but that it shouldn't put us off. The best way to describe it would be a Chinese take on a Spanish seaside town. By this I mean that it had loads of signs in English and all offering happy hours and western food. Saying this it was a very beautiful place with even more mountainous terrain surrounding us.
After a day of soaking up the sights we felt we should reward ourselves with a night on the town. Plenty of bars and clubs lined the road where we were staying so after having a happy hour cocktail at our own hostel (which was to have a beer pong championship later that evening. Sigh) we trundled along and found a bar called "Marco Polo". It seemed to be quite busy and look like good fun. So, in we went.
Here is where the confusion began. Yangshuo as I have mentioned was very touristy with both Chinese and Western tourists. We were no longer the white novelty we had been in Beijing or even Guilin. However we were the only white people in Marco Polo and this was enough to draw attention to ourselves. We were approached by both Chinese businessmen wanting us to dance with them and young Chinese guys who bought us flowers, drinks and bar snacks. We found out later that it was Women's Day in China and that is why people bought us flowers. The drink-buying I think was a bonus to us but perhaps not the best way to celebrate our own sex.
Eventually the two young Chinese guys joined us and although they didn't speak a word of English took photos of us constantly on their phones. After a pole dancer came out and then one of the Chinese businessmen tried to climb the pole in his vest we knew it was time to leave.
We tried to thank our new friends before swiftly departing but they just looked ocnfused. And by departing I mean running back to our hostel before they could figure out where we had gone.
We felt visiting Yangshuo was somewhat cheating on the ideal of backpackers "to really see the country" but then again we had seen the Chinese tourist industry at it's height and that was a sight in itself.
Tuesday 16 March 2010
Week 2: Immigration
At the beginning of this blog I said death was possibly the worst outcome of my trip. It turns out deportation is a pretty close second. Or being in a separate country from the person you are travelling with. But let us not get ahead of ourselves.
In the second week of our trip we ventured to Hong Kong which although is now part of China is it still considered separate to the "mainland". Entering Hong Kong resembled airport immigration with a health check and another stamp in the passport.
Hong Kong itself seems to be a conglomeration of immigrants from the various Chinese ethnic groups to African, Middle Eastern and a whole host of European expats. All have landed on these tiny islands and been forced to practically live on top of one another. This was no more evident than in our accommodation. The "Paris Guesthouse" looked very nice and clean on the website with free tea and coffee available. The latter alone convinced me. Unfortunately this "guesthouse" was housed in the infamous Chungking Mansions. Anyone who has tried to stay in Hong Kong on a budget will have heard of this apartment blocks and will either look at you with disgust or fear. We experienced both. The massive apartment block is home to mostly curry houses and mobile phone vendors on the ground floor and then hostels and flats reaching 14 floors. We found the reception with the help of a tout who worked there and directed us to our room.
To describe the room... It had two beds and a window and air-conditioning. It also had stains (they resembled blood) splashed over one wall, a questionable stain on the sheets and a communal bathroom that I feared held endless ecoli. Oh yes, and a meat cleaver under the bed. I dropped my purse went to pick it up and facing me was a 10 inch long meat knife. For the rest of our stay (unbelievably we stayed) I checked to see if it was still there. I didn't know whether it being there made me feel safer or not but I knew it's disappearance would definitely cause panic.
The only benefit to these hideous lodgings was that we had no inclination to stay in our rooms longer than necessary. The city itself was spectacular and bizarre fusing all that was recognisable in the west (there were countless Starbucks, H&Ms, Pizza Expresses, a Marks and Spencer and everyone spoke good english) with Chinese culture. It did seem though that Hong Kong was far more inclined to hold on to its western roots than embrace the motherland. The Cantonese culture was there but it seemed overshadowed by the rest of the city.
We enjoyed our time in Hong Kong but were looking forward to getting out of the city and onto the greener, smaller city of Guilin. This meant travelling to the economic centre Shenzhen just outside the Hong Kong district to catch a bus onto Guilin. We left plenty of time and had at least two hours when we arrived at Shenzhen train station before we had to get our bus.
We once again went through the rigorous Chinese customs. In hindsight it was a blessing that Lizzie went through customs first or goodness knows what we would have done. Lizzie handed over her passport, the woman flicked through it and handed it back saying she needs to go to the visa office. But we have visas? "One entry" the woman replies. I look at mine and it says next to the box "Entries""2". Lizzie's reads "Entries: 1". Despite being part of China once more entering Hong Kong means leaving mainland China (where our visa was valid) and despite using the same visa company and filling out identical forms, Lizzie could not return to the "mainland" with her current visa. The shit had hit the fan. We were forced into a visa office and the people there didn't really speak english but from what we could make out Lizzie could buy a visa today for the bargain price of fifty pounds but this would only be valid for Shenzhen. She had to come back the following day to get a passport for the rest of China. Safe to say we didn't get our bus to Guilin that day. We stayed in a delightful youth hostel in the art district of Shenzhen and vowed to rise early the next morning to return to the visa office to make Lizzie a legal citizen again.
That didn't happen. We arrived back at the train station and were told we couldn't enter the train station without a ticket. We tried to explain that we didn't want to go anywhere but to get to the visa office to which we were answered only with blank stares. I will admit that we did the truly awful foreigner abroad thing where when someone doesn't understand you you point more emphatically and say it louder. After almost an hour of being passed on from one official to another we found a passerby who spoke english. He explained our situation to a guard and they explained we couldn't go in because we'd be crossing the border. We finally understood that the visa office was on the Hong Kong side and we couldn't cross it. When the visa office had said come back tomorrow they had either presumed we would return to Hong Kong or they were just trying to get rid of us. The english speaking chinese man directed us up some stairs and said to find a help desk for travel. We went up the stairs and found no such desk. Eventually we came across an airline desk and begged for their help. A nice man called "Tim" said to return the following day at nine am where Lizzie could be taken to Hong Kong to renew her visa for a further one hundred pounds.
Now those more astute readers among you may have noticed a fundamental flaw in our plan. Lizzie could go back through to Hong Kong because she was getting a new visa to re-enter China anyway, I had already used the two entries on my visa. Contrary to everything we had promised our family and friends before our trip we were going to have to spend the day apart. In different countries.
The following morning's journey to the train station was a little tense to say the least. These were the list of things that I had begun to worry about-
1. Lizzie would not be able to get a new visa.
2. She would be forced to fly back to the UK and I would be alone in China.
3. With both our backpacks.
4. That "Tim" would not be there and the other travel agents would have no idea what we were talking about.
5. That when we returned to the travel desk it would have disappeared with just a small, old chinese man in its place.
Thankfully Lizzie crossed the border with little difficulty and returned to our hostel nine hours later with a new visa valid for a further three months.
We finally left Shenzhen and although it had been a nice area being forced to stay anywhere against your will will always mar one's view of a place.
In the second week of our trip we ventured to Hong Kong which although is now part of China is it still considered separate to the "mainland". Entering Hong Kong resembled airport immigration with a health check and another stamp in the passport.
Hong Kong itself seems to be a conglomeration of immigrants from the various Chinese ethnic groups to African, Middle Eastern and a whole host of European expats. All have landed on these tiny islands and been forced to practically live on top of one another. This was no more evident than in our accommodation. The "Paris Guesthouse" looked very nice and clean on the website with free tea and coffee available. The latter alone convinced me. Unfortunately this "guesthouse" was housed in the infamous Chungking Mansions. Anyone who has tried to stay in Hong Kong on a budget will have heard of this apartment blocks and will either look at you with disgust or fear. We experienced both. The massive apartment block is home to mostly curry houses and mobile phone vendors on the ground floor and then hostels and flats reaching 14 floors. We found the reception with the help of a tout who worked there and directed us to our room.
To describe the room... It had two beds and a window and air-conditioning. It also had stains (they resembled blood) splashed over one wall, a questionable stain on the sheets and a communal bathroom that I feared held endless ecoli. Oh yes, and a meat cleaver under the bed. I dropped my purse went to pick it up and facing me was a 10 inch long meat knife. For the rest of our stay (unbelievably we stayed) I checked to see if it was still there. I didn't know whether it being there made me feel safer or not but I knew it's disappearance would definitely cause panic.
The only benefit to these hideous lodgings was that we had no inclination to stay in our rooms longer than necessary. The city itself was spectacular and bizarre fusing all that was recognisable in the west (there were countless Starbucks, H&Ms, Pizza Expresses, a Marks and Spencer and everyone spoke good english) with Chinese culture. It did seem though that Hong Kong was far more inclined to hold on to its western roots than embrace the motherland. The Cantonese culture was there but it seemed overshadowed by the rest of the city.
We enjoyed our time in Hong Kong but were looking forward to getting out of the city and onto the greener, smaller city of Guilin. This meant travelling to the economic centre Shenzhen just outside the Hong Kong district to catch a bus onto Guilin. We left plenty of time and had at least two hours when we arrived at Shenzhen train station before we had to get our bus.
We once again went through the rigorous Chinese customs. In hindsight it was a blessing that Lizzie went through customs first or goodness knows what we would have done. Lizzie handed over her passport, the woman flicked through it and handed it back saying she needs to go to the visa office. But we have visas? "One entry" the woman replies. I look at mine and it says next to the box "Entries""2". Lizzie's reads "Entries: 1". Despite being part of China once more entering Hong Kong means leaving mainland China (where our visa was valid) and despite using the same visa company and filling out identical forms, Lizzie could not return to the "mainland" with her current visa. The shit had hit the fan. We were forced into a visa office and the people there didn't really speak english but from what we could make out Lizzie could buy a visa today for the bargain price of fifty pounds but this would only be valid for Shenzhen. She had to come back the following day to get a passport for the rest of China. Safe to say we didn't get our bus to Guilin that day. We stayed in a delightful youth hostel in the art district of Shenzhen and vowed to rise early the next morning to return to the visa office to make Lizzie a legal citizen again.
That didn't happen. We arrived back at the train station and were told we couldn't enter the train station without a ticket. We tried to explain that we didn't want to go anywhere but to get to the visa office to which we were answered only with blank stares. I will admit that we did the truly awful foreigner abroad thing where when someone doesn't understand you you point more emphatically and say it louder. After almost an hour of being passed on from one official to another we found a passerby who spoke english. He explained our situation to a guard and they explained we couldn't go in because we'd be crossing the border. We finally understood that the visa office was on the Hong Kong side and we couldn't cross it. When the visa office had said come back tomorrow they had either presumed we would return to Hong Kong or they were just trying to get rid of us. The english speaking chinese man directed us up some stairs and said to find a help desk for travel. We went up the stairs and found no such desk. Eventually we came across an airline desk and begged for their help. A nice man called "Tim" said to return the following day at nine am where Lizzie could be taken to Hong Kong to renew her visa for a further one hundred pounds.
Now those more astute readers among you may have noticed a fundamental flaw in our plan. Lizzie could go back through to Hong Kong because she was getting a new visa to re-enter China anyway, I had already used the two entries on my visa. Contrary to everything we had promised our family and friends before our trip we were going to have to spend the day apart. In different countries.
The following morning's journey to the train station was a little tense to say the least. These were the list of things that I had begun to worry about-
1. Lizzie would not be able to get a new visa.
2. She would be forced to fly back to the UK and I would be alone in China.
3. With both our backpacks.
4. That "Tim" would not be there and the other travel agents would have no idea what we were talking about.
5. That when we returned to the travel desk it would have disappeared with just a small, old chinese man in its place.
Thankfully Lizzie crossed the border with little difficulty and returned to our hostel nine hours later with a new visa valid for a further three months.
We finally left Shenzhen and although it had been a nice area being forced to stay anywhere against your will will always mar one's view of a place.
Saturday 6 March 2010
Week 1 - Eating
I would say I am an accomplished eater. Some would even call it a forte. It certainly did not strike me as being in a problem in China where there would be noodles, dumplings and odd looking meat for as far as the eye could see.
Unfortunately this was not the reality when we arrived in Beijing. After checking into hostel we decided to explore and get something to eat. The hostel was located in a set of hutongs in the north of the city. The hutongs are small alleyways leading into courtyards around which shops, houses and restaurants are based. It seems that with all the redevlopment in Beijing there is a desire to hold onto these streets as a connection to an older way of life.
So we set off blearey eyed and hungry and eventually stopped at a place that seemed to look nice enough and had a menu with pictures. We have three words of Chinese between us so the pointing method was to be our saviour. We were seated by a stern looking hostess in the middle of the restaurant. There was a lot of staring. People generally stared a lot at us in Beijing and took photos of us with and without our consent. We flicked through the menu cautiously and when the waitress came over we pointed to what looked like a meat dish some noodles and some pak choi. The waitress then began asking us questions. We kept smiling and just made a motion as if to drink and pointed to something on what we hoped was the drinks menu. They brought us two cokes. Good start.
In the middle of our table was a gas ring that other tables seemed to be using for their main dishes. While waiting for our dish we were brought two small china plates, two metal dishes and two pairs of chopsticks (thank god for grandparents who thought it was cultural to be made to use chopsticks for a takeaway when I was 8). A huge dish of dark meat was soon brought out (what I later learned to be a "hot pot" and a traditional dish) and placed on the gas ring with the veg and dried noodles on the side. The whole restaurant was now staring at us and waiting for our first cultural faux pas. We did not disappoint. I, trying to take the lead, clumsily picked up the slippery meat successviely guided it to the metal dish then tried to take a bite. It was cold. The hostess came rushing over and barked something at me while pointing at the main dish. Caught like a rabbit in the headlights and still with the meat clutched between my chopsticks I stared blankly back. I realised she meant I should return my half mawled meal back to the pot to heat up. It also turned out that the metal dish was for the bones. I was kind of eating out of a dog bowl. When heated and with the noodles and pak choi added to the broth it was delicious. We convinced ourselves that the meat was lamb although there was a wing in there. We thought it best not to dwell on the creatures origins and continued picking away at the meat. We managed to pay the bill and leave so ended our first cultural outing in Beijing.
For the next few days we managed to stay in our hostel for breakfast, get snacks for lunch and choose restaurants where the menus were in english or had lots of pictures. That is until the day we decided to visit the Great Wall of China. It was freezing cold and the city had been covered in smog since we got there but we thought out of the city we would see beautiful countryside (it turns out that the fog was thicker out by the Great Wall and we could only see about 100 yards in front of us). We went on an organised day trip which included transport, entry to the wall and a lunch.
We stopped about an hour into our trip and a jade factory. Anyone who has been to Beijing can tell you that all the tours like to take you to a jade factory or something similar where you can spend your money on ugly green dragon figurines. Lizzie and myself declined this chance to shop and went to sit in the cafe to wait for lunch. We sat at large round tables for about ten people and it was only as people began to join our table that it struck us; we were going to have to eat in front of these people. With no idea of chinese table manners all we could do was smile and hope for the best. Each table was brought a large bowl of rice which was passed round, a whole fish on the bone, some spare rib pieces, some cauliflour in an orange sauce, tofu in orange sauce, celery and ham in broth and unidentifiable veg plate (possibly marrow but looked a bit like melon). We waited to see what would happen and contrary to everything I had been taught as a child people began leaning accross the table to reach plates, using their licked chopstocks in communal dishes and, most impressively, an old woman sitting across from us had taken most of the fish and was proceeding to spit out all the bones on the tablecloth. We simply kept to the plates near us taking modest amounts of food until the old spitting lady picked up a few plates and passed them over for us to try. It seemed we had been accepted into ther group and we began to relax and enjoy the meal all of which tasted lovely. However a mere ten minutes later we looked up from our bowls to find not only our table but the entire adjacent table peering at us. We sighed into our rice. We were still outsiders.
My final tale of the week didn't happen while we were eating but in the vicinity of a popular coffee house. We decided to take the time to wander some shopping streets we had yet to visit and popped into a Starbucks yo use the toilet (we were not going to come all this way to get a Latte but Chinese toilets take some practise and these practises are not suitable for a blog about food). It was the first time in a week that we had been surrounded by white people. It was a little strange but quite amusing to see that everyone would nod and smile at one another just because for the first time we were all a minority banded together by an intenationally recognisable coffee chain. In the queue for the toilets some Amereican students who were studying in Beijing began chatting to us and when we had exchanged where we were from one said, "Yeah for the first few months here every time I saw another white person I thought 'there's another American'. It's hard to believe there are countries outside of America." At least there was one person in Beijing guranteed to be more culturally ignorant than us.
Unfortunately this was not the reality when we arrived in Beijing. After checking into hostel we decided to explore and get something to eat. The hostel was located in a set of hutongs in the north of the city. The hutongs are small alleyways leading into courtyards around which shops, houses and restaurants are based. It seems that with all the redevlopment in Beijing there is a desire to hold onto these streets as a connection to an older way of life.
So we set off blearey eyed and hungry and eventually stopped at a place that seemed to look nice enough and had a menu with pictures. We have three words of Chinese between us so the pointing method was to be our saviour. We were seated by a stern looking hostess in the middle of the restaurant. There was a lot of staring. People generally stared a lot at us in Beijing and took photos of us with and without our consent. We flicked through the menu cautiously and when the waitress came over we pointed to what looked like a meat dish some noodles and some pak choi. The waitress then began asking us questions. We kept smiling and just made a motion as if to drink and pointed to something on what we hoped was the drinks menu. They brought us two cokes. Good start.
In the middle of our table was a gas ring that other tables seemed to be using for their main dishes. While waiting for our dish we were brought two small china plates, two metal dishes and two pairs of chopsticks (thank god for grandparents who thought it was cultural to be made to use chopsticks for a takeaway when I was 8). A huge dish of dark meat was soon brought out (what I later learned to be a "hot pot" and a traditional dish) and placed on the gas ring with the veg and dried noodles on the side. The whole restaurant was now staring at us and waiting for our first cultural faux pas. We did not disappoint. I, trying to take the lead, clumsily picked up the slippery meat successviely guided it to the metal dish then tried to take a bite. It was cold. The hostess came rushing over and barked something at me while pointing at the main dish. Caught like a rabbit in the headlights and still with the meat clutched between my chopsticks I stared blankly back. I realised she meant I should return my half mawled meal back to the pot to heat up. It also turned out that the metal dish was for the bones. I was kind of eating out of a dog bowl. When heated and with the noodles and pak choi added to the broth it was delicious. We convinced ourselves that the meat was lamb although there was a wing in there. We thought it best not to dwell on the creatures origins and continued picking away at the meat. We managed to pay the bill and leave so ended our first cultural outing in Beijing.
For the next few days we managed to stay in our hostel for breakfast, get snacks for lunch and choose restaurants where the menus were in english or had lots of pictures. That is until the day we decided to visit the Great Wall of China. It was freezing cold and the city had been covered in smog since we got there but we thought out of the city we would see beautiful countryside (it turns out that the fog was thicker out by the Great Wall and we could only see about 100 yards in front of us). We went on an organised day trip which included transport, entry to the wall and a lunch.
We stopped about an hour into our trip and a jade factory. Anyone who has been to Beijing can tell you that all the tours like to take you to a jade factory or something similar where you can spend your money on ugly green dragon figurines. Lizzie and myself declined this chance to shop and went to sit in the cafe to wait for lunch. We sat at large round tables for about ten people and it was only as people began to join our table that it struck us; we were going to have to eat in front of these people. With no idea of chinese table manners all we could do was smile and hope for the best. Each table was brought a large bowl of rice which was passed round, a whole fish on the bone, some spare rib pieces, some cauliflour in an orange sauce, tofu in orange sauce, celery and ham in broth and unidentifiable veg plate (possibly marrow but looked a bit like melon). We waited to see what would happen and contrary to everything I had been taught as a child people began leaning accross the table to reach plates, using their licked chopstocks in communal dishes and, most impressively, an old woman sitting across from us had taken most of the fish and was proceeding to spit out all the bones on the tablecloth. We simply kept to the plates near us taking modest amounts of food until the old spitting lady picked up a few plates and passed them over for us to try. It seemed we had been accepted into ther group and we began to relax and enjoy the meal all of which tasted lovely. However a mere ten minutes later we looked up from our bowls to find not only our table but the entire adjacent table peering at us. We sighed into our rice. We were still outsiders.
My final tale of the week didn't happen while we were eating but in the vicinity of a popular coffee house. We decided to take the time to wander some shopping streets we had yet to visit and popped into a Starbucks yo use the toilet (we were not going to come all this way to get a Latte but Chinese toilets take some practise and these practises are not suitable for a blog about food). It was the first time in a week that we had been surrounded by white people. It was a little strange but quite amusing to see that everyone would nod and smile at one another just because for the first time we were all a minority banded together by an intenationally recognisable coffee chain. In the queue for the toilets some Amereican students who were studying in Beijing began chatting to us and when we had exchanged where we were from one said, "Yeah for the first few months here every time I saw another white person I thought 'there's another American'. It's hard to believe there are countries outside of America." At least there was one person in Beijing guranteed to be more culturally ignorant than us.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)