Nice Karst
Yangshuo, China
HANOI TO CHINESE BORDER
APRIL 3
The train from Hanoi to China was a ratty monstrosity, with vinyl-
covered berths. I shared my compartment with two Vietnamese men who were en
route to a job conference in central China, and a 31-year-old Chinese man. The
Chinese man spoke a smidgen of English, as did the Vietnamese. The Chinese
spoke no Vietnamese, and vice-versa.
Occasionally, we'd have group conversations. They'd go something like
this.
Vietnamese man #1 to Chinese man: blahblahblah?
Chinese man (looking totally confused): blah??
Vietnamese man #2: blah.
Chinese man: blah??
(Vietnamese man #1 pulls out passport and shows from where it says "Vietnam.")
Chinese man: Ahhh. (pulls out passport to show he's from China.)
(Vietnamese man #2 shows his passport. Not surprisingly, it also
reads "Vietnam.")
(All three men look at me expectantly.)
Chinese man: blah?
Vietnamese men: blah blah?
Me: Ahh... (I pull out my passport. USA is where I'm from.)
All: Ah.
(All nod and smile. Conversational exchange has been difficult but successful.)
The conductor approached me in the hallway.
"Change money?" she asked. I had some spare Vietnamese dong left.
Her rate wasn't good. I'd checked the official rate that morning, so
I refused her. She looked miffed, stormed off for a bit, and returned later,
ready to negotiate. We completed a deal and I left her happy with the 50 yuan
in my pocket.
About three and a half hours into the trip, the outside scenery
became dramatic. Limestone cliffs lined the tracks. We were in an area
named "Lang Son," and it was as spectacular as Halong Bay. I felt a bit foolish
for having spent 25 US dollars on my Halong Bay trip, but those penguin-shaped
trashcans had made that trip worthwhile.
Time advanced an hour, and the infrastructure about ten years, as we
crossed the border to China. It was midnight by the time we'd gone through
Customs and switched to a Chinese train. The Chinese passenger in our
compartment swelled with pride. It was a beautiful, new train.
"Chinese train," he said loudly. Everyone understood that, and the
two Vietnamese men in the compartment nodded politely.
NANNING TO YANGSHUO
APRIL 4
After a fitful sleep, I was woken up at 6:30 by railroad employees. I
tried to ignore them, but they tapped me.
"Get up," motioned the conductor.
We were thrown off the train and into Nanning, for the train's
morning cleaning. The Chinese passenger said goodbye and headed off to a
different train to Shenzhen. The two Vietnamese passengers, looking worried,
left the station to hunt for breakfast. I sat in the waiting room with other
westerners. One of them broke the first rule of traveling, and introduced
himself prior to starting up a conversation.
"My name is James," he said. "What's your name?"
This so startled me that for a minute I just stared at him without
speaking. But then I answered, and three other westerners joined in. Couple
Ellen and Dave, along with solo traveler Steve were all on their way to
Yangshuo, like I was. James was continuing up to Beijing. We were all seasoned
road veterans, and all admitted to being nervous about China.
I headed to the bank to change money.I braced myself for the usual
developing world scene -- honking horns, swarming masses, all manner of
haphazard motorbike traffic, postcard sellers.
Instead, I found an orderly city, with traffic lights, cars, and
neatly marked bicycle lanes. Both women and men drove taxis, and no one tried
to rip me off.
Where was the "third world" chaos? The China I'd been worrying about was nowhere in sight.
We were suddenly rushed back onto the train at 10:30. Many cars had
been linked to ours for the trip north.
I went into the dining car at lunch time. No one bothered to serve
me. In fact, no one acknowledged my presence. I drank my Coke (they still have
pop-tops in China), ate Pringle's as a meal, and headed back to my car of
sleeping Vietnamese men.
I didn't really want to eat Pringles for lunch, and I'm not sure how
Pringle's became as ubiquitous worldwide as Coca-cola, but somehow, they're
everywhere. They've been everywhere for as long as I've been traveling; I
remember eating them for breakfast when stranded at the top of Machu Picchu
in '92.
Staring out the window, I saw the green fields and forested
landscapes of Southern China. Where were the crowds? The hawking spitters? So
far everything was immaculate, and China's world-famous spitters were nowhere
in sight.
All of the westerners save James left the train with me at Guilin.
Ellen and Dave had lost their guidebook, so I sussed out the transport to
Yangshuo for the three of us. We knew the rate for the bus, but the conductor
wouldn't let us on for less than twice the rate. We were stuffed into a minibus
with a bunch of snickering locals, and driven through an hour of limestone
cliff scenery, to Yangshuo.
Yangshuo
There was a bus station in Yangshuo. I have no doubt that the bus
terminated at the bus station. But first, it stopped in front of the "Happy
Hotel," to drop off the foreigners. In a shocking coincidence, the proprietors
of the Happy Hotel were waiting curbside, with photos of their hotel rooms. We
declined the rooms, and started walking. But because we weren't at the bus
station, we couldn't get our bearings on the map. We hired a woman pedaling a
bicycle taxi to bike us to "Lisa's Guesthouse."
But my pronunciation of "Lisha Fandian" must've been off a bit. We
biked past beautiful, uplit, limestone cliffs to the "Li River Hotel." Dave,
Ellen, and I paid the bicyclist and got out to walk. Surely we could find "West
Street" by ourselves.
We did, eventually. It was a walk street, full of small guesthouses
and closed to traffic. Once it was called "Foreigner Street," and it has been a
haven for backpackers for years. You can even get banana pancakes on West
Street.
Yangshuo
By poking around on the internet, I had learned that Intrepid stays
at Lisa's Guesthouse. Intrepid has operated in Asia for years, and is tuned in
to the needs of travelers and the local hotel scene, so I followed their
example and checked into a five dollar room at Lisa's. Dave, Ellen and Steve
followed suit. Lisa seemed pleasant enough, but my cheap room was damp. I'd
think about upgrading to a better room tomorrow, but for tonight, damp would do
the job.
YANGSHUO
APRIL 5
I walked down to breakfast and agreed to buy Lisa's breakfast buffet
before realizing it was cold, expensive, and unappetizing. I was pushing a few
slimy eggs around a plate when I was addressed from a few feet away.
"I know you," said a man's voice, with great certainty.
I turned around to politely explain that the man was mistaken,
because I knew no one in China save the westerners I'd been on the train with.
I was wrong.
It was Hans, the 70-year-old Swiss man that had been in Wendy's
Intrepid group last year. I had traveled through Laos with him, and had always
had to repeat Wendy's instructions to him. He could understand my American
accent, but struggled with her Australian speech.
We caught up. Hans was on an Intrepid trip -- the group was all
around me -- that went all through China. They had come to Yangshuo from Hong
Kong, and had a few more stops to make en route to Shanghai.
"What day are you in Shanghai?" I asked, a realization dawning on me.
"The 14th," replied Hans.
Yancey was flying into Shanghai on the 14th. We were joining an
Intrepid group on the 15th.
"Does this trip end in Beijing on the 29th?" I asked innocently.
"Yes, yes."
This was the group Yancey and I would be joining. I introduced myself to Rob the leader and met a few of the others. It looked like a good group,
with a range of ages and nationalities. But I never would've expected to run
into Hans again, much less to be on the same trip as him.
The Intrepid group went off to catch a train, and I negotiated with
Lisa for a better room. She said she'd give me a nice room for ten dollars, but
I refused to commit until I saw it later.
"What are you doing today?" asked Lisa.
"I thought I'd rent a bicycle and go for a ride in the country," I
said.
"Do you have a map?" she asked innocently and helpfully.
"No."
She kindly provided me with a map. And then she charged me three
yuan.
I rented a bike from down the street and rode through the countryside
to Moon Hill. It was overcast, but the towering limestone karsts still put
Halong Bay and its plastic penguins to shame.
The roads were smooth and paved. The air wasn't filled with diesel,
and people smiled politely whenever the overtook me on their cycles. I followed
the map Lisa had sold me, smelling flowers and rain.
There was a scenic view from a bridge. I stopped to take a photo;
four grandmothers materialized out of nowhere to try to sell me trinkets.
Nice Karst
Moon Hill is a limestone cliff that features an arch at the top of a
1251-step climb. A water seller followed me all the way to the top, in spite of
the full bottle of water I clearly had in my right hand, and waved in her face
every three feet.
Moon Hill, Yangshuo
Rock climbers were scaling Moon Hill. They looked very brave -- and
crazy -- swinging from the rocks.
Crazy rock climbers on Moon Hill, Yangshuo
Back in Yangshuo, I signed up for a boat trip through Uncle Bob's
Travel. It's the thing to do in Yangshuo --
take a scenic boat trip up the Li River to view the limestone karsts. Bill
Clinton did it when he was in town. "Well, then, by all means..." I thought as
I forked over payment.
One of Lisa's staff showed me a variety of rooms ranging in price
from $6-8. I settled on 404, for eight dollars.
Later, long after I'd moved in, the staff member cowered and
apologized -- she'd told me the wrong price. I must pay ten dollars for that
room. The manager was very mad at her.
I paid the ten but wasn't too happy about it. I had haggled and
negotiated the price in good faith. Everything at Lisa's cost extra, and I
couldn't work out whether Lisa was a helpful, shrewd businesswoman, or a
cheeky, money-hungry brat. My western pals, who had a new bottle of beer
stuffed in their faces every twenty minutes, agreed with me.
YANGSHUO
APRIL 5
Here's what passes for news in the English language "China Daily."
"Taiwan independence forces" have been making a lot of noise along with the DPP
and other stubborn separatists, saying they are going to establish
the "Republic of Taiwan."
I was sitting in the Rosewood Cafe, a charming little restaurant near
Lisa's, and was sipping morning coffee while reading the paper. Just as I
finished the article about Taiwan, the cook went into the kitchen, dragging a
fluffy white cat on a leash. The cat resisted. The cook gave it a kick. Could
it be..?
Nah.
I spent the day on Uncle Bob's river trip. He walked me to the bus
station and put me on the bus (for the right price this time). The driver
lifted my rented bicycle to the roof, the Chinese passengers all lit up
cigarettes with no consideration for ventilation, and we drove to Xingping,
stopping only to pick up Xingping's mail at the post office.
Loading bikes onto the bus.
Uncle Bob's friend Mary met me a the Xingping end, and walked me to
the tourist boat. She took my bike for storage at her travel agency.
Yangshuo.
It was still gray and overcast, and the karsts that were all supposed
to resemble shapes just looked like hills to me. "Grandpa watching apple," for
example, looked nothing like a grandpa or an apple. The crew did try to sell us
postcards of the karsts, in case we wanted to try to work out the Rorshach-like
blobs later.
One postcard 5 yuan! They follow the boat into the water.
I got my bike from Mary and, using Lisa's map, started the two hour
bike ride back to Yangshuo. The scenery was beautiful, and the Chinese kids
screaming "hello" were charming, but the ride was long. I bet Bill Clinton
didn't ride a bicycle back from Xingping.
I watched the local English teachers congregate in "Drifter's," an
Australian-owned restaurant. They came from all the nearby villages, and seemed
thrilled to see each other. Meanwhile, their students appeared to congregate in
the internet cafe on weekends. Dozens of Chinese students were online, chatting
by typing away frantically. The connections were wildly erratic, and cut off
constantly. I gave up quickly and left the kids to their chats.
Yangshuo.
YANGSHUO
APRIL 6
An adorable fourteen-year-old cornered me to practice her English. I
hung on for a while, desperately trying to communicate in first-year English,
but eventually made excuses.
The other big event of the day was somehow acquiring fake money. I
passed off the high-quality color copy in a restaurant. Uncle Bob had spotted
it in my wallet and advised me to use it somewhere dark.
Uncle Bob was pretty with-it, and definitely trustworthy. He had sold
me my overnight-bus ticket to the Hong Kong border, and walked me down to the
bus station to wait with me.
He explained to me that tourists come from all over China to look at
the foreigners in Yangshuo. That explained why everyone was always trying to
take my photo.
A Chinese man walked by.
"Hello," said Uncle Bob. The Chinese man stared at him.
"Nei ha," rephrased Uncle Bob. The Chinese man laughed and responded.
The only other passenger getting on in Yangshuo was one of the rock
climbers I'd seen at Moon Hill. He sat next to me, and suggested I use the seat
belt.
The bus was comfortable -- I'd opted for the Greyhound-style luxury
bus instead of the Chinese sleeper bus. I was seated right in front of the
video monitor, and got to watch "Rumble in the Bronx." It was intercut with
abrupt commercial breaks, one of which was for a Disney-style theme park. The
musical accompaniment was a Muzak-style rendition of "I Want to Live in
America."
SHENZHEN TO HONG KONG
APRIL 7
Shenzhen is a Special Economic Zone; in other words, it's the first
Chinese mainland city next to Hong Kong, so all economic bets are off and
capitalism rules. It's a rich city, with rapid development and a lot of smog.
There were border formalities at Shenzhen, and our busload of
travelers disembarked and went through Customs while the bus was examined.
While waiting for the bus on the other side of the border, I spotted a sleeper
bus. The shallow berths looked uncomfortable, and there was no room for
passengers to sit up. The driver had a bong stuck to his lips, and was taking a
toke before driving off.
I was glad Uncle Bob had sold me on the luxury bus.
My rock-climbing pal showed me to the local Shenzhen bus station,
and I took the bus to the Kowloon-Canton Railway station. After going through
Hong Kong border formalities, I changed money, took the train to town,
transferred to the subway, demolished a Big Mac, and ended up at my guesthouse
by noon.
Hong Kong - it rained non-stop.
Hong Kong, like New York, London, and countless other expensive
cities throughout the world, suffers from a shortage of budget accomodations.
Even a dorm bed at the YMCA costs twenty dollars a night. I'd found Sealand
House on the web (http://www.sealandhouse.com.hk) and although the rooms were
tiny, it was clean, modern, and reasonable. And it saved me from venturing into
the terrifying, delapidated Chungking Mansions, a high-rise fire hazard with
tons of tiny guesthouses.
Hong Kong was a repeat for me. It is a city like New York, with
crowds of important people, old districts, and gleaming modern skyscrapers. It
is a city of garbage, and a city of smells. But most memorable are the constant
drips of air conditioners, plopping onto your head any time you venture out
from under the eaves of a department store.
Hong Kong at night.
I checked my e-mail at the Central Library. Mark from Dili had been
attacked by Timorese with pipes while on the beach. Were they militia members?
He wasn't sure. He'd rammed their car with the Hotel Turismo pickup truck, and
forced his way out of the situation.
HONG KONG
APRIL 8-11
I went to buy a ticket to Shanghai. Unfortunately, everything was
sold out. The Hong Kong Chinese were all headed home to the mainland for
Easter -- I didn't even know they celebrated Easter in China, but chalked it up
to the British influence -- and I'd have to travel in four days if I wanted to
go overland to Shanghai.
Four days were enough to get film developed, bleach my roots, eat a
lot of western-style food, and buy new hiking shoes. I boarded the Shanghai
train on the 11th, ready for a 26-hour ride on a top bunk in "hard sleeper."
NEXT: Finally, some Chinese-style spitting! The Mah-jong game that never ended,
and Yancey comes to town.
