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.
No comments:
Post a Comment