(Not So) Easy Rider
Yangshou, Southern China - 26 September 2004
I was quite sad to leave Hong Kong, not just because I had been kindly provided with lovely accommodation but also because, I have to admit, it was easy. I didn’t get lost (well, only twice), people understood me (most of the time), the food was good, the internet connection was supersonic and there was plenty of gin and tonic. However, the clock was ticking. I had to get going in order to see western China and Tibet before meeting Mini Rover Mark II (Bridget) in Nepal mid November.
The hustle and bustle of Hung Hom station in Kowloon was my departure point, where border controls were exercised as I was re-entering China. After a two hour train ride to Guangzhou I was to take a bus to the southern tip of the mainland and then a ferry to the tropical island of Hainan Dao. Guangzhou was formally known as Canton and is one of the most prosperous cities in China although it is more famous for its involvement in the Opium Wars. The British brought opium (at that time a cure for diarrhea) from India to Canton in exchange for tea and other Chinese goods and by the 1830s over 30,000 chests, each containing approximately 150 pounds of the drug, had been traded which led to mass addiction amongst the Chinese people. Despite the Imperial government banning its import, trade continued to flourish resulting in the authorities at Canton confiscating and burning what they managed to seize. In response, the British surrounded Canton and war ensued. Thankfully, I was not hanging around long enough to see if the Cantonese still held a grudge!
I had hoped to store Hamish in left luggage while I went to buy my bus ticket but the left luggage lady was not amenable to my request because I didn’t have a train ticket to leave from Guangzhou. While I stood there, trembling at the thought of having to traipse around with him for a few hours, I heard the infamous ‘Chhhhwwwwwwwwwwweurgh’ and splat! Spitting. Stupid rules. Yep - I was back in China!
My fairy godmother decided to break me back in gently though and sent an angel in the form of Xiu, a young Chinese man who spoke English, who not only took me all the way across town to the bus station but also helped me dump Hamish, took me to an internet café and then somewhere to eat, before ensuring that I was not totally ripped off by the bus driver and got on a half-decent sleeper bus. All he wanted in return was the bus fare back into town (the equivalent of 12p) and to practice his English.
The half-decent sleeper bus was a moving dormitory of 36 ‘beds’ - 3 rows of 6 on the floor and then another 18 above, bunk-bed style. I was on a lower bed behind the driver and, unfortunately, right in front of a TV which, over the course of the evening, broadcast three Chinese films back to back followed by some very loud pop music. It was like trying to sleep in a disco. The earplugs on this occasion proved useless. I eventually dropped off in the early hours and the next thing I knew it was 6.30 am and I was being prodded by the driver and chucked off. We had reached Hai’an, the ferry terminal. A quick jaunt across the Qiongzhou Strait and I arrived on Hainan Dao where I was accosted by about 20 people within 10 seconds of coming ashore, all screeching at me to stay at their hotel, rather than the one of the person standing next to them – it was like 20 chickens fighting over one piece of corn. Being more than slightly over budget in China already, I picked the cheapest, which was not actually that cheap, and stayed one night, during which I lolled in the luxury of a comfy, clean double bed, drinking a beer and flicking the TV remote on the off chance that I might find a channel in English. No such luck, but I did see an advert for ‘Great Britain’ which made it look like a wonderfully sunny and happy country (?????) – ye olde English tea shoppes, pubs called the Dock and Duck, morris dancers, the seaside, mountains, stately homes, London, Irish Guinness, Edinburgh, highland dancing, whisky distilleries and even Eilean Donan Castle! I was homesick for about five minutes then remembered I was on a tropical island.
The following morning I was heading for Sanya, the beach on the south of the island where I hoped the sky would be significantly less cloudy. One of the things you notice about China is the severe lack of blue sky. It is always hot but the sky is so polluted that it hangs grey and overcast day in, day out. While I was waiting for my bus, a Chinese boy started to communicate with me. I wasn’t sure if he was mute or not - he mumbled sounds and didn’t seem to say anything in Chinese but he took my notepad and wrote in perfect English. ‘I like football – Beckham. England is very good place. I like dancing. You are very nice lady.’ It was a really lovely experience for me but seemed to provide amusement for the other people waiting around who all came over to see what he was doing with the ‘guaila’ (Chinese slang for foreigner). I must have heard that word hundreds of times over the coming days. I ended up becoming a tourist attraction with a few people wanting to have their photo taken beside me or to shout HELLO! before running off giggling.
Sanya was very pretty, very hot and had a very blue sky. There were scores of Chinese on the beach, all in their matching Haiwian-print shirts and shorts. Chinese tourists are snap happy and will take photos of anything and everything, but mostly of themselves. Some girls were assuming catwalk model poses for the camera while the men tried to look as macho as possible in their comical outfits, complete with white ankle socks and smart shiny black shoes – not exactly typical beach footwear. It’s hard to believe that the island used to be a place of exile and poverty, where undesirables were sent from the mainland. Apparently, when a Prime Minister of the Tang dynasty was exiled here he described it as ‘the gates of hell’. Much has clearly changed then as it looked more like heaven to me. Local records say that over a 700 year period only 18 people chose to visit. That compares to about 18 per second these days as it is one of the main attractions for Chinese tourists. Luckily for me, it was low season and was not terribly busy.
A large outdoor restaurant was my hostelry of choice that evening, where music was provided by a man and his guitar. He sang mostly in Chinese but did and excellent job of murdering a rendition of ‘Yesterday’. Suddenly….(ho ho ho!) a second man and his guitar burst into song at the other end of the terrace. All well and good until they got too close together while singing separate songs, at which point it became a complete din, exacerbated by the onset of karaoke somewhere in the far corner. I decided my ears didn’t deserve this kind of torture and retired for the evening. Still no English channel, but I saw the Great Britain advert again and a program about Nessie which showed the famous old hazy clip of her in Loch Ness - I would have loved to understand the commentary! I drifted off to sleep with the wailing of bad karaoke emanating from the beach.
I had planned a visit to Yalong Bay resort for my last day on the island, famous for its 7km stretch of powdery white sand. The guidebook said it was 3km from Sanya but it was SO hot I couldn’t possibly walk there! I tried to find a bus but after brief communication with three different people i.e. Me: “Sanya gonggongqiche?” [pronounced gonggongcheechuh] and them shaking their heads: “Mayo” [none], I realized I would have to resort to some other means of transport. The taxi drivers, of which there is always a ready supply (unlike in London!), sensed a good opportunity to make a nice profit and offered to take me for 50 yuan (£3.50), a ludicrous amount for a 3km trip. I brushed them off and hesitantly opted for a motorbike taxi. Now, I have to admit at this point that I’m a bit nervous of any form of transport that only has two wheels but motorbike taxis are a very common form of transport in Asia so I figured it would be okay. We had not gone very far down the road, however, before I was regretting my decision - visions of us skidding on some oil in the road and me being thrown onto the tarmac only to be squashed by an oncoming lorry, or someone not looking where they were going and crashing into us (there seem to be no ‘rules of the road’ in China) kept flashing through my mind.
“Get a grip Lynnie,” I told myself, “it’s only a few kilometres down the road and you are supposed to be a fearless traveller-type!”
Except we seemed to have been driving for more than a few kilometres with still no beach in sight and, despite me protesting at the speed and indicating at the speedometer for him to slow down to a nice 40kph, he crept speeding up to 60or 70 again. I couldn’t take it any longer and made him drop me off at the side of the road while I decided what to do. Go back or carry on? I had come to the realisation that Yalong was considerably further away than 3 kilometres but I’d read that it was pretty spectacular so I decided to proceed - with caution. Still no bus in sight so I opted for something that looked a bit safer than a motorbike – a motorbike with a side-car cum golf buggy attached to it. It was slower and there were more wheels so in my mind it was less risky. That is, until I realized it was a Blue Peter home-made job with bits taped together or bound with string. All went well though until we reached a roundabout (with a large hoarding saying “Well done Miss World – Yalong Bay” – blast, I missed it) where a policeman stopped us and told me we couldn’t go any further. Or rather my motorized vehicle couldn’t. I stood in the middle of the roundabout and shouted at the policeman, gesticulating wildly and saying, “Right, WHAT am I supposed to do now then? Are you going to leave me here in the middle of this roundabout?” Obviously he couldn’t understand a word of my rant and just laughed, which of course made me even more cross. (NB: Now, I know I am seeking inner calm on this year out but sometimes you just can’t help yourself. Besides, I have come to the conclusion that inner calm will elude me until the Tibetan Monks and the yoga gurus in India because I’m damn sure it’s not going to happen in China).
Just as I was about to look up the Mandarin for MORON! (which, incidentally, is ben dan, literally translated as stupid egg) he pulled over a gleaming air-conditioned Range Rover and told the driver to drop me off on his way past. Eventually I reached the beach and it was indeed stunning. Palm trees, clear blue water the temperature of a warm bath and sand as soft as talcum powder. I spent a very relaxing day there but funnily enough opted for a taxi on the way back which didn’t cost 50 yuan (a ‘guaila’ scam) but 30, which is only £2 and quite reasonable for a 30km journey. I made a mental note to inform Lonely Planet of their error.
I left the following day on an overnight ferry to the beach resort of Bei Hei in the southern province of Guanxi, which sits on the border with Vietnam. I’d paid for a 2nd class berth and was hoping it might be as comfortable as the cabin on the boat up the Yangtze. Sadly not. It was dank, dark and the mattress was about 10mm thick with dirty sheets. I opted to avoid it for as long as possible and sat out on deck for a few hours watching the sun set and drinking tea. The deck had no proper rails to speak of, just 3 very sagging steel ropes between two posts, so I made sure I was well wedged back on a welded down stool as I did not fancy being thrown into the South China Sea as shark food (I never saw any but I know they’re in there!). I was woken at around midnight by a very drunk Chinese man who, while making his way to the bunk beneath mine, was feeling his way along using me as a navigational tool. I shouted, his mate switched on the light and I saw Drunky smiling up at me. He had such a funny face and was mimicking me “Stop it…GET LOST!”. I couldn’t help but laugh.
I wasn’t laughing at 3am though when I woke up with the realisation that I needed the toilet – and fast! I made my way to the stinking trough, only to find someone had been sick all over the floor. My brother, who always did have a keen sense of timing, texted me: HOW R U? I replied: NOT GOOD. HOVERING OVER STINKY TROUGH ON MINGING BOAT THAT STINKS OF VOMIT. WANT TO COME HOME. YOU CAN’T, he replied, YOU HAVE READERS TO ENTERTAIN – EASTENDERS IS CRAP THESE DAYS!
Of course I changed my mind when I arrived at Bei Hei, for whilst Yalong Bay had been tropical, this beach was as vast as Morecambe Bay and wildly beautiful without the trappings of tourism. I walked for hours along it that afternoon, beachcombing and watching the local fisherfolk haul a long net in from the sea. It took five of them about half an hour – as if they were having a tug of war with Neptune - but when they eventually dragged it out it was full of fish, crabs, prawns, shellfish of all descriptions squid and jellyfish, which were all trying their best to escape. Squid are not very attractive at the best of times but when they are trying to rise up and walk they look positively creepy. I found a beautiful long, thin shell with a tiny hermit crab in it. The shell was perfect and I wanted it – just without the crab. I tried for about half an hour to trick it into coming out but it wasn’t having any of it and every time it peeked out to see if the coast was clear, it saw my penknife glinting in the sun and jumped back in. It was just too quick for me. I carried it to the restaurant that night and one of the waiters managed to extract it. At least that’s what he told me. For all I know it could be crawling around in Hamish’s bottom amongst my knickers.
That night, as I sat at a beachside restaurant watching the sun go down over the horizon whilst drinking a beer and smugly thinking how lucky I am compared to all you lot back home working in the horrid rain, my waiter told me there was to be some entertainment. The restaurant had just opened the previous night so they were putting on a show and then a disco. I sat back and watched the Chinese version of a Butlins night out unfold as the compere, resplendant in a black velour and gold trimmed suit, introduced dancers and singers before opening the stage up for dancing. The sight of 50 or so Chinese people dancing to hard core trance was very amusing. Then of course, it was karaoke time. Sadly I could not participate as they had no English songs but they did play a Blue number “….in honour of our western guests”. “What do you mean? I’m the only Westerner here,” I said. “No, two boys there,” pointed the waiter. I turned round and there, like an oasis in the desert, sat two very un-Chinese looking blokes – Dan and Ali from England – the first westerners I’d seen for almost a week. I joined them for drinks and we ended up staying out very late drinking Baijo, celebrating one of their birthdays (we got a free beer each from the Taiwanese owner who was most impressed with having ‘guailas’ in his place) and watching the stars. Alas the boys left the next morning. I could have stayed for a while longer but I was getting restless with no books to read and bored with no company, so I packed up Hamish and we set off for Yangshou which is in the north of the same province.
Yangshou is a backpackers paradise where you can find western food, bars and lots of internet facilities. It is surrounded by scores of huge karst peaks, rising out of the paddy fields, with the River Li and several other waterways running through and around it. Basically, it’s beautiful and once you get here, you don’t want to leave. The only trouble is it’s very hot and so doing anything is exhausting so you end up sitting with other backpackers, swapping stories and enjoying the odd beer. I have it on good authority that there is an English karaoke bar and I am determined to find it before I leave.
The day I arrived I met Kirsten from Belgium and we took a walk through some paddy fields, weaving in and out of the karsts (for the non-geologists amongst you a karst is ‘…..an area of irregular limestone in which erosion has produced fissures, sinkholes, underground streams, and caverns’). We passed water buffalo enjoying a leisurely dip to cool off; old men and women carrying fruit, water, bricks and other goods across their backs on yokes; farmers tending to their rice fields or vegetable plots; children on their way home from school and many people to-ing and fro-ing on bicycles or motorbikes. It could have been a hundred years ago, save for the motorcycles.
While I was doing my best to impersonate Annie Liebowitz and shoot some hot shots, I heard Kirsten shouting at someone. She was in the middle of a tug of war with an old man who was trying to steal money. Not hers, but that of a young man who had whizzed past on his bike and lost his wallet. 100 yuan notes were flying around and the old man was trying to take them. Our hero, Belgian Batgirl, seized most of it and ran after the guy on the bike to give it back. The old man went off with his cow, but when he’d realized he’d lost his wallet, the young guy went after him. He got some back but altogether had lost about 800 yuan which is about £53 and a small fortune to a farmer. We weren’t sure whether the old man had just not given it all back or whether the cow had eaten some in all the furore.
Last night I went to a show on the river with Phil, and Englishman from Luxembourg who has been here for a few days. The show was spectacular. Some of the mountains, which were used as a backdrop, were lit up and the stage was the river itself. The performers and props were moved around on rafts, which at certain times, because of the stage lighting, you couldn’t see, so it looked like the performers themselves were walking on water. I have to commend Phil on his storytelling prowess as we only found out at the end what the story was about when a local Chinese man explained it to us, but Phil had more or less got the gist of it and was giving me a running commentary all the way through while I concentrated on getting the photos. The only bit he got wrong was Mary and Joseph being involved somewhere along the line! In actual fact, the tale was the classic tragic love story with a happy ending - a young girl who hoped to marry her farmer boyfriend but the evil landlord wanted her for himself so he killed the farmer. The girl could not be consoled and drowned herself, being reincarnated as the moon and then being reunited with her lover in another world where they got married (after she changed back into a girl) and sailed off into the sunset. It was an amazing feat of lighting and co-ordination and truly beautiful to watch.
So, tomorrow I am off on a bicycle ride with a local lady farmer called Ying. Given my feelings on two-wheeled modes of transport I have opted to go on a tandem with her. At least that way she can control the steering and all I have to do is pedal. I will be here until Friday. I had wanted to stay a bit longer but because the 1st October is the 55th anniversary of the founding of the People’s Republic of China, the whole country has a week off and I’m being kicked out of the youth hostel. I’m attempting to get a ticket back to Chengdu for that day but it might be a close run thing. Still, the lovely Lulu at the Green Lotus Café where I am hanging out has told me I can stay with her if no ticket presents itself so all is not lost yet. But even so, a 21 hour bus journey through the mountains will still have to be endured at some point. The bad news is this one isn’t even a sleeper bus! Blimey, the things I do to entertain you lot eh!
