I think there is a rule of thumb to be followed when purchasing wine. When forced by economic times to buy cheap Chinese wine, remember that if there is no mention of the type of grape on the bottle, then it is most likely ribena laced with antifreeze.
Yesterday we finally left Shaxi. After a quick scramble over the roof to retrieve items of clothing, we headed to catch one of the minibuses that go to Jianchuan, the main town near Shaxi. These don't leave at set times but wait until a minibus is full before leaving so we waited for around 10 minutes as our bus slowly filled. The thing about Yunnan is that the four seasons do not occur throughout the year. October and July and December and March are fairly similar. Instead the seasons come during the day so we left while the field were covered in winter frost to arrive in Jianchuan just as spring started to warm the place. I had been a little worried that we wouldn't get a bus to Lijiang as Spring Festival is approaching. Last week, there were 36 million more passengers than usual using the transport system. However we got seats on the 11:30 and after a breakfast of dumplings and a wait on the bus, which I used to peruse the AIDS poster I could see out the window ("Our enemy is the AIDS virus, AIDS sufferers are still our friends!") we were off. The bus journey was rather memorable as we ended up climbing endlessly up and up through the mountains. In the distance we could see proper jagged, snow covered, behemoths towering in arrogant might. I felt rather small.
On the way up our mountain the driver kept inexplicably stopping for a couple of minutes before restarting. I couldn't work out why. Do buses need a breather when going uphill?
At the top was a wide plateau that would have been nothing spectacular unless you noticed the Edge to one side...
Eventually we arrived in Lijiang. We found the hostel by peering at our map until a random woman walked up to us and said "are you looking for the Garden Inn?" before marching off. Her demeanour did not suggest we should follow at all so it was rather surreal to be asked accurately what we were looking for and then receive no help. We did follow, however, after a glimpse of her back and hey ho arrived at the Inn.
The receptionist filled in my name as "Louise Elizabeth British Citizen"
We headed to the train station to get tickets for Saturday to Kunming which, despite my foreboding, we got. Although not without a bit of hassle as the woman kept asking me what literally means "which number" so after telling her the train number, which annoyed her, I realised she wanted the day we planned to travel. I said Saturday. She had a mini tantrum over how annoying dealing with Laowais is until we realised that the trouble was because she couldn't be arsed herself to work out what date Saturday was, despite having a computer in front of her, so was not satisfied with our answer of what day as she wanted what date. Customer service for you.
We had a wander through Lijiang. Lijiang is 2,400m above sea level and is famous for its old town. The old town is composed of pretty buildings, narrow alleys and little rivers running through. And thousands of Chinese tourists with souvenir shops and pricey restaurants to keep them happy. So my first impressions are that this place is a little annoying. Everything is expensive. Loud music is blaring out. This was added to when we stopped at one of the less expensive places for some tea. I inquired as to how many slices were included in the toast before ordering mango cheesecake. Becka order yak butter with wine or something. The cheesecake was foul and not cheesecake. Becka drank an inch of what turned out to be butter mixed with egg mixed with rather a lot of alcohol. We tried to leave after paying but one of the waitresses got very agitated and jabbered at us about "to se" which we didn't understand. We tried to leave and then one of them rushed up with a plate of toast... which annoyed us even further as we explained, very carefully, that inquiring as to how many slices of toast there were was very different to ordering. The waitress opened her mouth to contradict. Thought about it. And then hurriedly removed the toast. We left.
We retired to an empty cafe and licked our wounds. Then a cat jumped on my lap. We had a rose petal cake thing. Free refills of tea. We felt better.
Then our friends from Shaxi walked by, Stacy and Caroline, and we happily set off on an odyssey to find wine and dinner which resulted in the foul wine but ok food. The guobaorou was WRONG though :(
Today we headed off to Baisha, where Stacy lives. It was an improvement on Lijiang purely because it was a laid back village. We had breakfast, banana pancake yum, and then perused the many shops selling this and that. I bought some hairpins which were probably still far too expensive even after some rather exhaustive haggling! Then we had the nicest dumplings I've ever eaten. I think the cook used different flour to normal as these were lovely and crispy instead of flabby. We had a good natter sat in the sun in a courtyard surrounded by lovingly dilapidated buildings. There is one feature of Baisha I'd better mention which is the Famous Dr. Ho. Dr. Ho appeared in one of Michael Palin's travel programmes apparently and he has lots of newspaper clippings mentioning him posted outside his house. Becka was stuck listening to how great friends he is with Michael Palin while I loyally escaped...
We also went to a Naxi cultural centre. the Naxi are the local minority here and are famed for having a pictographic writing system. In this particular centre, however, was an embroidery school. But not just any embroidery school. I have never seen such skilled sewing in all my life. Apparently there are 52 different types of stitching they use. The pictures were of everthing from a superbly lifelike portrait of a hauntingly sad Tibetan girl (apparently the sister of one of the exiled Lamas) to vibrantly coloured pots and more traditional scenes of birds and blossom. There was an amazing picture of the edge of a horse head caught in the light, with the rest completely black in the shadow. Another of swans dancing, with a blue hue in a dusky twilight. Another of cranes fishing with the effect of water so realistically captured it was hard to believe it was sewn and not painted. The most impressive one was of a bowl of green glasses. This was the last work of the centre's master, her eyesight is now too poor to sew, and it is breathtaking at how the green glass is captured. This is because while students use a whole thread to sew, the master used only one fibre from a thread. By using such impossibly thin thread she could sew glass. It was valued at around £2000.
When I am rich I shall return and buy it.
Then onto Shuhe. Via a minibus with this conversation: "how much to Shuhe?""20""pffft"*walk away**minibus drives after*"10!""That's more like it"
Shuhe is inbetween Lijiang and Baisha and is really a mix of the two. It is dusty and wonky but there are still cafes selling western food. Here and there were men with little, sociopathic horses they were offering rides on. I bought some silver tipped chopsticks for far more than they were worth but still after a good 10 minutes arguing. And it should be noted that it was far less than the asking price and I am programmed to always suspect I have paid too much... I think Shuhe is one of my favourite places so far as it is a good mix of activity and peacefullness. There were lovely clear streams through the town and here and there were green vegetable patches. They have a three well system where the first, and highest, well is used to drink from. The water from this flows into the second which, being less clean, is used to clean vegetables. And then all this flows into the third which is used to wash pots and clothes. Yes, I liked Shuhe.
As we waited for a bus to Lijiang, a dusty car pulled up with some familiar faces. It was the Shaxi hostel owners and their dog! We had thought they were in Dali so it was rather a shock to see them-particularly so randomly. If either of us had been seconds earlier we would have missed each other. Even China is a small place...
I walked to get a potato and corn-on-the-cob on sticks and as I walked back munching on them, through cobbled streets under quintessentially Chinese pointy roofs I thought I had come a long way from Kirby Muxloe.
While in Shuhe, I was stroking one of the horses when an old man suddenly started stroking my hair instead. This led to the rather bizarre sight of a man stroking me stroking the horse... Becka and Stacy had a good cackle at this...
2011-01-27
2011-01-25
The Concept of "Taking a Breather"
Becka and I have noticed something. All the men here transport things, such as firewood, using mules and ponies. All the women carry it themselves. And sometimes the bundles they carry are horrifying. Becka and I were mesmerised by what appeared to be a large bush walking down a hill followed by a dog. On closer inspection, there was a woman underneath.
Saw some youths today that were skulking in the village centre with music blaring out on their phones, fancy hairstyles and leather jackets. Teenagers are teenagers the world over!
Becka and I went for a bike ride today. Every now and then we'd hear shouts of "hello!" that we were duty bound to reply too and I suppose it was rather sweet to see the hailer grin proudly at being understood. One kid virtually got a round of applause from a gaggle of adults when it uttered those trusty syllables. Although three kids started to run after us shouting "hello!" and if we hadn't cycled as fast as we could, who knows what could have happened...
I'm not sure how far we cycled but in my mind it was Very Far. This was partly because it is a lot harder to cycle on stony roads ("g-g-golly t-t-this i-isss b-b-b-bump-p-py!") as well as the annoying abundance of unnecessary uphills. We are still undecided as to whether our breathlessness was down to us being unfit or altitude. I'll leave you to judge which is more likely on that one...
"Hello!"
"Hello..."
"Teehee!"
At first we cycled along the valley but eventually this narrowed and, confronted with a fork in the road with the left going uphill and the right, flat, we chose the right. This led along a c-c-c-cob-b-bbled path besides the river. The river was this fantastic aquamarine colour that just gleamed in the sun. Our eyes haven't seen that much colour in so long, I swear they swelled up with so much greeeeeeeen.
Although there was one thing about the river. We could have sworn we were cycling upstream but then we reached a dam that demonstrated quite plainly that we were going downstream. But it looked so like it was flowing the other way... *Chinese mind interference*
We carried on through little hamlets, occasionally passing a man with a goat, before being confronted with a hill that required Determination Mode to be engaged before we could ascend. This rejoined the road we had left earlier and thus we followed. The valley at this point had narrowed from a kilometre to around 100m. The sides were steep and had a few trees hanging on for dear life. Here and there were neat squares of grey tiled houses. Some of the hills still had a blanket of snow, which was odd to see from our sunnny, 15 degrees, road. On the fringes of the river were terraces. Again these were so green (green!) we had to stop and admire the patchwork pattern. There are a few places famed in China for their terraces but I bet Shaxi can rival them. Especially as Shaxi lacks the hordes of Chinese tourists venturing forth from their steel towers.
"Hello!"
"Hello..."
"Teehee!"
Chinese weddings have this very annoying tradition of throwing firecrackers everywhere. So you'll be snoozing in the sun and then "BANG BANG BANG". Shaxi seems to have a bloody wedding every day so my patience is wearing thin... I saw two 7 year olds playing with some yesterday. The boy was holding his lit one in the girl's face.
As always happens after I've been doing exercise, I am Very Hungry. Shaxi is beautiful and peaceful and remote but I would kill for a McDonalds Chicken sandwich and extra large fries right now.
Tomorrow we leave for Lijiang. This is another 500m up in the air. There is a yak meadow. You can ride yaks there. My health insurance only specifically excludes riding ostriches so nihao yak methinks!
Saw some youths today that were skulking in the village centre with music blaring out on their phones, fancy hairstyles and leather jackets. Teenagers are teenagers the world over!
Becka and I went for a bike ride today. Every now and then we'd hear shouts of "hello!" that we were duty bound to reply too and I suppose it was rather sweet to see the hailer grin proudly at being understood. One kid virtually got a round of applause from a gaggle of adults when it uttered those trusty syllables. Although three kids started to run after us shouting "hello!" and if we hadn't cycled as fast as we could, who knows what could have happened...
I'm not sure how far we cycled but in my mind it was Very Far. This was partly because it is a lot harder to cycle on stony roads ("g-g-golly t-t-this i-isss b-b-b-bump-p-py!") as well as the annoying abundance of unnecessary uphills. We are still undecided as to whether our breathlessness was down to us being unfit or altitude. I'll leave you to judge which is more likely on that one...
"Hello!"
"Hello..."
"Teehee!"
At first we cycled along the valley but eventually this narrowed and, confronted with a fork in the road with the left going uphill and the right, flat, we chose the right. This led along a c-c-c-cob-b-bbled path besides the river. The river was this fantastic aquamarine colour that just gleamed in the sun. Our eyes haven't seen that much colour in so long, I swear they swelled up with so much greeeeeeeen.
Although there was one thing about the river. We could have sworn we were cycling upstream but then we reached a dam that demonstrated quite plainly that we were going downstream. But it looked so like it was flowing the other way... *Chinese mind interference*
We carried on through little hamlets, occasionally passing a man with a goat, before being confronted with a hill that required Determination Mode to be engaged before we could ascend. This rejoined the road we had left earlier and thus we followed. The valley at this point had narrowed from a kilometre to around 100m. The sides were steep and had a few trees hanging on for dear life. Here and there were neat squares of grey tiled houses. Some of the hills still had a blanket of snow, which was odd to see from our sunnny, 15 degrees, road. On the fringes of the river were terraces. Again these were so green (green!) we had to stop and admire the patchwork pattern. There are a few places famed in China for their terraces but I bet Shaxi can rival them. Especially as Shaxi lacks the hordes of Chinese tourists venturing forth from their steel towers.
"Hello!"
"Hello..."
"Teehee!"
Chinese weddings have this very annoying tradition of throwing firecrackers everywhere. So you'll be snoozing in the sun and then "BANG BANG BANG". Shaxi seems to have a bloody wedding every day so my patience is wearing thin... I saw two 7 year olds playing with some yesterday. The boy was holding his lit one in the girl's face.
As always happens after I've been doing exercise, I am Very Hungry. Shaxi is beautiful and peaceful and remote but I would kill for a McDonalds Chicken sandwich and extra large fries right now.
Tomorrow we leave for Lijiang. This is another 500m up in the air. There is a yak meadow. You can ride yaks there. My health insurance only specifically excludes riding ostriches so nihao yak methinks!
2011-01-23
A Special Shaxi Celebration
There is a St Bernard here called, most frequently, Mali. This is the Chinese for Mary but, to Americans, this sounds like their pronunciation of Molly. Thus there was a heartwarming moment on Friday where an American expressed prolonged and vocal wonderment as he had once had a St Bernard named Molly and what an amazing coincidence it was to find one here.
When Mali shakes her head, drool flies over a 5 metre radius. This is further than you would expect so a rather large number of people, despite their best efforts, still have dog drool on their trousers.
Yesterday was my 21st birthday. This is the “flowering” birthday or something in Chinese so my cake was covered in flowers. I will never forget that cake, not because it was covered in inches of whipped cream, and decorated in a way surely even no Chinese would find tasteful, it was organised by my fellow travellers here quite spontaneously. Becka and I were playing pool before having dinner with everyone at Allen's cafe (he cooked some rather beautiful pizzas) when suddenly everyone burst into “Happy Birthday” and walked in with the monster of a cake. I blew out the candels, unfortunately not all in one go, and we all had a slice. The cake was typical shop bought-nice but not my as good as my mother's...- but I think icing supercedes whipped cream in my humble, Western opinion...
I was very, very touched by the kindness of what were strangers merely hours before. We had a lovely meal and for once, not too bad wine. They were great to talk to as, like all travellers in far flung places in China, they had, by necessity, interesting stories. One, now an Aussie, is the great great etc gradndaughter of Flora McDonald. Another teaches English in Xinjiang, which is the last place you expect to hear an expat say they work. Allen, the oowner of the cafe has perhaps the most interesting history of all, although I only heard it second hand as he is understandably reluctant to talk about it to people he doesnt know too well. In brief, he was at Tiananmen Square in 1989 and was arrested before spending some time in jail. He then emigrated to Holland and spent some time there before returning and setting up shop in one of the remotest places he could. His cafe was not large at all and was full of random objects he had received as gifts, such as a stone Buddha's head and a replica of the Last Supper. He had some French wine, which we snaffled. I'm planning to return and get him talking about his life. Although he sounds rather reticent.
During the day we went on the hostel's free weekly hike to Shibaoshan. This is a mountain that is 3000m above sea level. But as we are already at 2000m in the hostel, it was not so very far to climb. It was a lovely walk, first through farmland and small villages, where we saw about 30 people building a house that was finished by the time we got back! Then we got to the mountain itself and walked along soft sandy trails, occassionally scrambling up rocks, listening to the wind in the trees and beathing in the thick pine scent. Every now and then we'd glimpse a waterfall or some far off shrine.
Eventually, after some very steep stone stairs, we reached the carpark at the top.
A quick walk from there was a pavillion overlooking the valley of Shaxi and a path leading to the grottos. As we had climbed all the way we, and the Chinese in high heels who'd driven up, paid our 10 kuai, walked past some men building the ancient monument and viewed the grottos. The grottos are shrines that incorparate every oriental religion going including Daoism, Buddhism (Tibetan and some other other type) as well as native animistic beliefs. Those latest beliefs were best exemplified by the fertility shrine which featured a stone carving of a vagina.
In order to protect the shrines we were forbidden to take photos. These would be the same grottos vandalised by successive waves of Japanese and Cultural Revolutionaries... I fail to see what a camera, with the flash tuned off, could possibly do.
I once again failed to be remotely interested in the religious side of China. The Aussie with us was enjoying explaining all the different influences but I was left unmoved. I still remain far more intereested in China's 20th century history.
The climb was not easy but I was pleasantly surprised that the altitude did not seem to affect me. Becka reckons she needs her inhaler more but I suppose we are not quite high enough yet. Although we are still 700m higher than the hghest point in the UK- Ben Nevis.
I have never seen so many stars in my life as last night in Shaxi. It was genuinely special.
The St Bernard just threw up on the floor.
So, after a quick skype to Sara, that was my 21st birthday.
2011-01-21
Market Day
I have discovered a skill I never knew I had-namely that I possess the power to hit a white snooker ball, bounce it off all four sides of the table, thread it through the maze of balls left to be potted whilst touching none of them, before neatly slotting it into a pocket. I can also hit a white ball at a row of coloured balls in front of a pocket and somehow still get the white ball in while potting none of the coloured ones. Impressive, no?
The Tibetan dog here is not allowed to make a noise but as it is a guard dog breed, inevitably it will bark when people come in. This leads one of the guys here to get very cross and hit it with a stick or wrestle it against the wall and tell it off. Eventually the dog got tied up and put on the naughty step. On the other hand the St Bernard here howls along when someone plays the mouth organ so the Tibetan dog looks on rather confused as we all laugh and praise the St Bernard for howling while he gets told off...
There are also two cats here who are rescues. One has a broken paw so walks on the back of it while the other is deaf. As I sat down for breakfast the deaf one launched itself at me and demanded pettings NOW THIS INSTANT before settling down on my lap. As I sat there in the morning sun, stroking its long white fur, I though “excellent.. yes, excellent....”.
Yesterday Becka and I went for a wander in the valley. Many of the houses are made of packed mud and the roads tend to be cobbled or just dirt. The fields are terraced with buffaloes and the odd horse grazing amongst them. As I am on a quest to find a certain breed of horse I was interested in the various ponies around but they weren't too keen on me approaching. If we passed children they'd all shout hello! And get very excited when we replied.
Despite China's drive for mechanisation I have still only ever seen terraced fields which are rarely more than a few square metres and certainly aren't tilled with anything more sophisticated than a hand held plough. Or a buffalo. Certainly a tractor had nothing to do with the process. I suspect if China wants to grow enough food, terraces may have to go.
For lunch we were again confronted by the cabinet of random ingredients and again ended up standing awkwardly while the owner beamed at us.
“Er, potato?” I asked.
“Yes yes!”
“And, er, tomato?”
“Yes yes! Do you want spice!?”
“Er no thank you”
And then she disappeared. Eventually she reappeared with our random ingredients all chopped and fried together and it wasn't half bad! Although we tried that again today at a different restaurant, which I think was Muslim although the owner did not wear a headscarf but that wouldn't surprise me as those are Arab things, we weren't quite as successful as instead of all being mixed together everything came by itself which left us with slightly more than we needed. Still we tucked into a pancake made from fried potato strips, mounds of carrot and another of broccoli. I don't think I will ever need to eat again...
There are two middle aged English women here. The one to whom I have talked the most is in to conservation and has been here before. She is quite pally with the owner here although I heard her telling the owner off for having sugar in paper sachets as these cause Waste. Considering how sustainable this place is aleady it seemed a little unfair:P
At night here you can see the stars. Lots of them. Haven't seen them for a while... and it is so dark, the moon shines very brightly.
After Becka had retreated to our ex-horse stable I remained in the common room. Eventually there was an uproar and I was informed we were going to go and milk a cow. We all piled out of the hostel very excitedly and down a narrow alley and into someone's house where an old man was sat by a pail of milk. He slowly poured out three bottles for us with the air of someone used to the excited Cantonese tourist next to me excitedly taking excited pictures. Then we all piled back into the hostel and set about boiling the milk for milk tea. I asked one of the guys in Chinese if they were pasteurising it and he said no, just boiling. I felt rather pleased he understood me:D
Today was Market Day. I had been looking forward to this.
The streets were filled with hundreds of people from the surrounding countryside, all selling and buying. There were stalls of spices, stalls of vegetables, jewellery, clothes, shoes, meat, DVDs, cookers, pet fish as well as two stalls belonging to dentists. These had bottles carefully laid out on top as well as fake teeth and the dentist was sat behind on a stool peering into a wizened peasant's mouth. Just outside of the town was the animal market selling cattle, buffalo, pigs, goats, and horses. We had been warned it wasn't a pleasant place but on the whole everything looked healthy and happy, at least as happy and healthy as their owners who lead a hard life themselves. There was one small, grey pony that had large sores on its side. It didn't strike me as mentally very happy either. But there was nothing either Becka or I could do so we patted it and moved on.
Most of the crowd are of some minority or other, mostly Bai, and many of the women had dressed up in traditional clothes for the day. These consist of a headdress made from embroidered cloth, a long colourful skirt and a colourful shawl. They carried their purchases in square wicker baskets slung on their backs. The men tended to wear old army coats. There were also youths lolling on motorbikes wearing jackets with misspelled English and long hair their grandmother wouldn't approve of. I suspect that lads are lads the world over, whether they are Bai minority or Glaswegian...
One speciality on display was the mouldiest cheese I have ever seen. It was practically a small furry animal. We didn't buy any.
Becka and I bought some silver hoop earrings that would have verged on the Chavvy if they hadn't been bought in Shaxi as well as a fried bready thing for a snack. It was good. Tasted rather like batter.
They have electric blankets here. I think electric blankets are up there with the wheel as one of the greatest inventions of all time. I am definitely getting one when I return to Edinburgh!
2011-01-20
Dallying in Dali
I am writing this sat in a traditional Bai courtyard in the market town of Shaxi. Shaxi is one of the last surviving trading posts on the old Tea Horse Route, where tea from Burma was swapped for horses from Tibet. This trade has obviously stopped now and Shaxi is now just a village in a valley surrounded by fields and high mountains. Albeit one UNESCO is worrying about. The sun is just clearing away the last of the morning mist.
I do get to some special places!
My last two days in Dali were miserified a little by a drizzle straight from Scotland but there was one more adventure. Warning: the next part is about Becka and I being young and reckless...
We decided to hire an electric bike and head up the lake to several fishing villages. Neither of us had ever ridden an electric bike before and I hadn't even ridden pillion on a moped or something like that. Our induction consisted of being shown how to turn the power up and put the stand down. I had a brief try as I was driving first. I jerked forward, ascertained the brakes weren't so good at braking, before waving Becka to hop on the back. We jerked off again, narrowly missed a woman and baby before zooming onto the highway, hair flowing in the wind as we hadn't bothered with bourgeois helmets. We wobbled up to a junction where we turned around and then zoomed along at the bike's top speed of 40kph. As I didn't dare turn my head in case we lost our balance, Becka was put on checking behind duty while I hunched over the handlebars. Every now and then the rest of the traffic roared past, preceded by Becka's yell of “TRUCK”. We headed along the highway before the highway stopped as it hadn't been finished yet. Then down a bizarrely grand link road, pillars with inscriptions and grey marble like we were heading up to some palace, before pulling out onto another highway, with only a cursory check to see what else was coming. Then we carried on with Becka yelling “TRUCK BIG ONE BIG ONE” while I planned how to fit this in with the oncoming bus overtaking a truck and an old man pulling a cart full of vegetables on my side of the road, all of which left little room for two laowais and an electric bike.
But we survived.
We had been heading for a village called Zhoucheng but hadn't bothered finding a map so we ended up turning off the road at some point and pootling along through a village. The houses were all old and small and the road was dusty and not incredibly well-maintained. There were flowers growing from the roofs and paintings on the whitewashed walls. Every now and then through gaps in the houses we could see the blue Erhai lake and green fields.
“TRUCK”
We had a niggling feeling that we might not be leaving enough power to get home so we turned back down a road that we didn't really look at first... I say road it was more a collection of islands of concrete surrounded by the eroded valleys of sand. This wasn't so comfortable.
And then we zoomed on back to Xizhou which is a Bai minority town. On the way I'd been pedalling a little to save electricity but then one of the pedals fell off... So we had a brief stop at a repair shop to fix it. The bike fell on Becka and it started to rain. She wasn't happy. We ate some fairly disgusting fried rice at Xizhou which instead of a menu had a display of Stuff that we looked at, admired and then went for the safest option we could think of. I dragged Becka for a walk around Xizhou which was much like Dali. Everything was ever so slightly too pristine so I got the feeling it had been redone a little in the past few years. There was a square with stalls and a small antique shop to the side that had an ancient saddle that I was interested in. And then back to the bike through more small streets dodging youths on mopeds and old men driving small carriages pulled by grumpy ponies.
Becka drove for a while. Then we ran out of power. Then we pushed the bike. Then we realised the bike might have enough power to get Becka home on the bike while I walked. Becka rode off and I walked the 10km back. It rained a bit. My feet hurt.
Moral of the story: take the charger...
For one meal, we had yak steak and Tibetan butter tea. The yak tasted like beef and the tea was rather buttery. In fact it seemed to me to be just melted butter... Still, not bad! I suspect it was better than the pizza covered in chocolate and fruit on offer...
For our last meal in Dali, we headed to one of the countless small pub-like restaurants that serve lovely, lovely western food. We sat down at one and were slowly perusing the menu when we attracted the attention of the group of Chinese men next to us. One of them proceeded to take charge of us and ordered two burgers for us as well as two bottles of Carlsberg and, when he spotted Becka sniffing, he also ordered a a concoction of coca-cola, ginger and pear to cure her cold. They then returned to their game which seemed to be who could smack their cards down on the table hardest. We had sporadic conversation with them and they invited us to go to the hot springs with them the next day but we declined.
As our Chinese improves I've noticed that the standard question has changed from “how many months have you been in China” to “how many years have you been in China”. *Pride*
While randomly walking through the streets I spotted the freshly peeled skin of something brown and hairy on the floor. I wasn't keen on investigating closer so I don't know what it was exactly. I also bought a 1 yuan note from 1960 in an antique shop. It cost 30 to buy, I suspect I should have haggled more, but I love it. On one side is a happy woman driving a tractor and on the other a happy shepherd on a mountain pasture. Becka bought a sword.
Finally we had to leave Dali. My final conclusion on the place is that it is nice to visit, and the ancient architecture is appealing, but there was something missing...
To get to Shaxi was rather complicated. We walked down to the main road where we waited for the bus with Jianchuan written in the window. The first one ignored our waving but by leaping up and down, we got the second. It was rather full. I ended up squeezing onto the back seat, basically sat on an old granny, with my bags added to the mountain of packs in the aisleway while Becka perched on a stool in the last available space. We rocked and shook over a mountain road for 3 hours to Jianchuan. It was quite a spectacular ride through steep mountains, many covered in snow, past villages and towns, overtaking, being overtaken, precipices down one side, old men on bikes on the other. Eventually we reached Jianchuan where we climbed into a minibus to Shaxi. Our driver was a bit of a Michael Jackson fan as he had various pictures of the guy as well as continuously playing his music on the radio. I suspect his hairstyle was also modelled after the star too... The minibus was not large but we still managed to squeeze 10 people and a lot of boxes in.
The road to Shaxi was small and winding and as a consequence the woman in front of me spent the journey being sick.
We got dropped off in Shaxi. I had both directions to the hostel and a map but both proved useless and after circumnavigating Yunnan and asking most everyone where to go we eventually stumbled across it. The hostel is a renovated traditional courtyard house and our room looks like it might have been the old stable. There are three dogs here, one small and sandy, one big, black and Tibetan and what looks a St. Bernard. When we arrived there were two bones for these three dogs which left the black one anxiously trying to persuade the others to give it their bone. The small dog hid under the table and the St. Bernard just growled.
There are three very, very old Americans here. I have no idea how they made it this far without falling apart.
Shaxi is not big. It is a town with old style buildings and roads as well as the odd corner with really old buildings, like ours. Outside is a square with a temple and a theatre stage. The stage is fascinating as it is the classical style and surprisingly small. It is decorated with lots of figures. There is a small pack of children outside who run after us. Two tried to hug my legs. One lifted Becka's top up to stare at her stomach. I asked one how it was but, as always happens when I try to speak to rural children, it just stared back blankly.
2011-01-17
Dali Delights
I was glad to be back in China. Vietnam was lovely but I much prefer being able to speak the language, however tentatively, and China is definitely safe ground for me.
In Nanning, where we waited for around 5 hours for the next train, we stumbled across a Brit playing the tuba in a park. We also walked past a shop that had tanks in the window. In one of these tanks was a baby human swimming. I had missed these random moments in Vietnam...
We are currently in Dali which is a town in Yunnan province in the South-West of China. Yunnan is famous for having many of China's ethnic minorities and indeed there are lots of them wandering around Dali in traditional dress to keep tourists happy. Dali used to be the capital of the Nanzhao empire in the 8th and 9th centuries before becoming the capital of the Kingdom of Dali for another 5 centuries before once again being conquored by the Chinese. The Nanzhao Empire extended south and west into Burma, Laos and Thailand as well as Sichuan province in the north but did not last long. Nowadays it is a collection of small towns and fishing villages around the expansive Erhai lake. What makes it interesting to me is that for the large part it is still made up of brick and stone buildings. Whilst I doubt many are very old, the new ones are nonetheless designed after a more classical style, built of blueish grey stone, sides whitewashed, with curving roofs. The streets are narrow and cobbled with streams running down the middle as well as plenty of greenery. There are plenty of shops selling silver, there is a minority around here that loves it, and marble vases and "paintings" (slabs of marble whose natural colourings and markings look like mountain scenery). Dali is famous for its marble and the Chinese for marble is Dali stone. To the west of the town loom some rather menacing Cang mountains, steep and cloaked in dark green firs. Brooding fits rather well here. To the east are much smoother hills which, from my shadowy side, look always in the sun.
It all adds up to make Dali rather pretty.
The other thing about Dali, and which surprised me about Hanoi, is the number of children running around and playing together. Obviously Hanoi has no child restrictions but Dali stays young because ethnic minorities are allowed as many children as they want, and there are many here, and Dali could almost be counted as rural, so again 2 kiddies. Plus as we are thousands of miles from Beijing, one senses that its influence becomes thinner...
The first day we were here we walked down to Erhai lake which was about 2 miles away. We walked along cobbly paths through fields and then through some winding streets before, unexpectedly, coming across the lake. The sun was shining so the water was a brilliant blue. (I should, at this point, mention Dali's climate. Due to a number of factors it gets cold at night, 3 degrees or so, and then warms up during the day to 15ish. This makes evenings very, very chilly. Particularly as they do not have heating here. Very chilly.) There was an old woman washing trainers in the lake and someone wandered over with a goat.
Over lunch we were treated to the sight of two lads chasing a chicken, which took a while, then wandering around swinging it upside down before finally putting the thing out of its misery with a sharp cleaver. The other chickens watched, huddled under a tree.
A couple of kids bounded up yelling "hello" and were delighted with our response. I then asked one of them its name, in Chinese, which met with a blank expression before the kid siddled away looking freaked out.
After plodding back up to the main town we went to visit the famous Three Pagodas and temple complex. There were three yellowish pagodas. And the temple complex went on for ever up and up the mountains behind. The boards informed us it was 1100 years old. With the caveat that it all got knocked down in the 70s and rebuilt in 1999. So more like 11 years old then. I don't really have much to say about this place, it had all the temply things of incense burning, giant gold statues and gift shops. Although when you got to the highest one, with coloured strips flying in the wind, you did get a whisper of what Tibet must be like. Indeed this place, to my Western eyes, has many things that I can see came from Western Treasure House, as its known in Chinese.
Did I say it gets cold at night? Especially when you only have one jumper because the others are in the wash? I think this is the first winter I have spent, in 20 years, where I have actually been cold. Imagine that, being cold in winter!
The next day we went horse-riding. I had been looking forward to this. The horse breed here is short and skinny. It originated from Tibet and horses were exchanged in Yunnan for tea brought from the south. Ours had padded saddles with large hoops to grab onto and were covered in bright strips of cloth. We were led at first by an equally short and skinny man who is as used to hard work as they. After riding along the road we headed up past Dali University, which is beautifully built and designed and then up into the mountains. I must say, those ponies were incredibly sure-footed. We were going up some very narrow, rocky paths that they managed very well. The man, who was walking, hung onto the ponies' tails to help him up. At the top we got off and went for a walk to a waterfall. This area is a Scenic Spot, which means it has been designed for walkers in high heels. They do like heels in China. There was a teahouse and the paths were paved. Everyone else had got there by taking a cable car.
The waterfall was dry. It started to hail. We headed back to the horses and down the impossibly steep trail. The man showed off his one English word, "hossridding" and we taught him how to say "how are you". He told Becka his life story, which she didn't completely get due to his thick accent. The one thing I picked out though, is how small his world is. He had vaguely heard of Shandong, but not Qingdao. He had no idea what Becka meant by Arabic. Outside his valley the world is in constant change and development but it all passes him by. He just has his horses and his business. Which, as none of his children have shown an interest in walking up and down mountains, the eldest has opened a shop in Dali, won't be here for much longer.
There was one moment where a truck passed by over some speedbumps and rattled which had our horses jumping around. I got mine back under control fairly quickly which allowed me to watch Becka's jogging off, with her bouncing around on top, and the man swinging from the horse's tail trying to stop it. There was another condition at work here, which I shall not mention so as not to worry my mother, which made this scenario even scarier. Bearing in mind we're a long way away from a head trauma unit. *Shiver*
That evening it began to rain. We scuttled out to a pub called Bad Monkey which, according to rumour, sold roast dinners on a Sunday. And they did. A proper huge plateful of roast potatoes, vegetables, sliced beef, stuffing and, thank you God, yorkshire pudding. It was cooked by two Brits so there was no hit and miss. It was the real deal. The first in nearly 5 months. I nearly cried. I'm sorry China. I know your food is world renowned. I know it has infinite variety. But it doesn't deserve to be even cooked in the same restaurant as a roast beef dinner...
By a bizarre coincedence we discovered our flatmate, Boram, is also in Dali. We are meeting up for yak burgers tonight.
The mountains are covered in snow (just rained here down in the valley). It is very pretty. But I wish I wasn't so cold...
In Nanning, where we waited for around 5 hours for the next train, we stumbled across a Brit playing the tuba in a park. We also walked past a shop that had tanks in the window. In one of these tanks was a baby human swimming. I had missed these random moments in Vietnam...
We are currently in Dali which is a town in Yunnan province in the South-West of China. Yunnan is famous for having many of China's ethnic minorities and indeed there are lots of them wandering around Dali in traditional dress to keep tourists happy. Dali used to be the capital of the Nanzhao empire in the 8th and 9th centuries before becoming the capital of the Kingdom of Dali for another 5 centuries before once again being conquored by the Chinese. The Nanzhao Empire extended south and west into Burma, Laos and Thailand as well as Sichuan province in the north but did not last long. Nowadays it is a collection of small towns and fishing villages around the expansive Erhai lake. What makes it interesting to me is that for the large part it is still made up of brick and stone buildings. Whilst I doubt many are very old, the new ones are nonetheless designed after a more classical style, built of blueish grey stone, sides whitewashed, with curving roofs. The streets are narrow and cobbled with streams running down the middle as well as plenty of greenery. There are plenty of shops selling silver, there is a minority around here that loves it, and marble vases and "paintings" (slabs of marble whose natural colourings and markings look like mountain scenery). Dali is famous for its marble and the Chinese for marble is Dali stone. To the west of the town loom some rather menacing Cang mountains, steep and cloaked in dark green firs. Brooding fits rather well here. To the east are much smoother hills which, from my shadowy side, look always in the sun.
It all adds up to make Dali rather pretty.
The other thing about Dali, and which surprised me about Hanoi, is the number of children running around and playing together. Obviously Hanoi has no child restrictions but Dali stays young because ethnic minorities are allowed as many children as they want, and there are many here, and Dali could almost be counted as rural, so again 2 kiddies. Plus as we are thousands of miles from Beijing, one senses that its influence becomes thinner...
The first day we were here we walked down to Erhai lake which was about 2 miles away. We walked along cobbly paths through fields and then through some winding streets before, unexpectedly, coming across the lake. The sun was shining so the water was a brilliant blue. (I should, at this point, mention Dali's climate. Due to a number of factors it gets cold at night, 3 degrees or so, and then warms up during the day to 15ish. This makes evenings very, very chilly. Particularly as they do not have heating here. Very chilly.) There was an old woman washing trainers in the lake and someone wandered over with a goat.
Over lunch we were treated to the sight of two lads chasing a chicken, which took a while, then wandering around swinging it upside down before finally putting the thing out of its misery with a sharp cleaver. The other chickens watched, huddled under a tree.
A couple of kids bounded up yelling "hello" and were delighted with our response. I then asked one of them its name, in Chinese, which met with a blank expression before the kid siddled away looking freaked out.
After plodding back up to the main town we went to visit the famous Three Pagodas and temple complex. There were three yellowish pagodas. And the temple complex went on for ever up and up the mountains behind. The boards informed us it was 1100 years old. With the caveat that it all got knocked down in the 70s and rebuilt in 1999. So more like 11 years old then. I don't really have much to say about this place, it had all the temply things of incense burning, giant gold statues and gift shops. Although when you got to the highest one, with coloured strips flying in the wind, you did get a whisper of what Tibet must be like. Indeed this place, to my Western eyes, has many things that I can see came from Western Treasure House, as its known in Chinese.
Did I say it gets cold at night? Especially when you only have one jumper because the others are in the wash? I think this is the first winter I have spent, in 20 years, where I have actually been cold. Imagine that, being cold in winter!
The next day we went horse-riding. I had been looking forward to this. The horse breed here is short and skinny. It originated from Tibet and horses were exchanged in Yunnan for tea brought from the south. Ours had padded saddles with large hoops to grab onto and were covered in bright strips of cloth. We were led at first by an equally short and skinny man who is as used to hard work as they. After riding along the road we headed up past Dali University, which is beautifully built and designed and then up into the mountains. I must say, those ponies were incredibly sure-footed. We were going up some very narrow, rocky paths that they managed very well. The man, who was walking, hung onto the ponies' tails to help him up. At the top we got off and went for a walk to a waterfall. This area is a Scenic Spot, which means it has been designed for walkers in high heels. They do like heels in China. There was a teahouse and the paths were paved. Everyone else had got there by taking a cable car.
The waterfall was dry. It started to hail. We headed back to the horses and down the impossibly steep trail. The man showed off his one English word, "hossridding" and we taught him how to say "how are you". He told Becka his life story, which she didn't completely get due to his thick accent. The one thing I picked out though, is how small his world is. He had vaguely heard of Shandong, but not Qingdao. He had no idea what Becka meant by Arabic. Outside his valley the world is in constant change and development but it all passes him by. He just has his horses and his business. Which, as none of his children have shown an interest in walking up and down mountains, the eldest has opened a shop in Dali, won't be here for much longer.
There was one moment where a truck passed by over some speedbumps and rattled which had our horses jumping around. I got mine back under control fairly quickly which allowed me to watch Becka's jogging off, with her bouncing around on top, and the man swinging from the horse's tail trying to stop it. There was another condition at work here, which I shall not mention so as not to worry my mother, which made this scenario even scarier. Bearing in mind we're a long way away from a head trauma unit. *Shiver*
That evening it began to rain. We scuttled out to a pub called Bad Monkey which, according to rumour, sold roast dinners on a Sunday. And they did. A proper huge plateful of roast potatoes, vegetables, sliced beef, stuffing and, thank you God, yorkshire pudding. It was cooked by two Brits so there was no hit and miss. It was the real deal. The first in nearly 5 months. I nearly cried. I'm sorry China. I know your food is world renowned. I know it has infinite variety. But it doesn't deserve to be even cooked in the same restaurant as a roast beef dinner...
By a bizarre coincedence we discovered our flatmate, Boram, is also in Dali. We are meeting up for yak burgers tonight.
The mountains are covered in snow (just rained here down in the valley). It is very pretty. But I wish I wasn't so cold...
Vietnam. I was there.
I have finally found both a computer and some time and energy to write about what I've been up to! As I write I am in the town of Dali, in Yunnan Province, China but I shall devote this post to Vietnanm and its shenanigans...
We spent a couple of days in Hanoi wandering around, seeing the sights and eating the food. Hanoi is best described as a complete mess of roads, houses, electric cables, vines, trees, people and mopeds all tangled up together. In the middle is a large, green lake, Hoan Kiem Lake, with two tiny islands and several balloons tethered to the middle. One of our favourite haunts was Highland Cafe where, from the balcony, you could gaze over the lake or at a crossroads just below. The crossroads were fantastically entertaining to watch as from above you could really see the Vietnamese driving style in action. First a wave comes from the left until those they are intercepting push forwards too much and they are forced to stop at which point a new wave begins... All of this punctuated by pedestrians walking straight through the middle. Inevitably we did see one accident where a car hit a motorbike and it was touching to see how concerned the driver was as in China they tend to hurry on... There is a famous story going around of a student who ran over another in his flash BMW and drove off shouting "Sue me if you dare, my father is Li Gang! (the local magistrate)". Charges were brought, but then mysteriously dropped....
Apart from the traffic there were other things to see, including what turned out to be, by far, the weirdest thing I have ever done in my life. Ho Chi Minh, former president of Vietnam now dead, lies in a mausoleum in the north of the city and Becka and I, both never having seen a dead person (she reached Mao's spot 30 minutes too late) decided to go and visit. The tomb itself is a plain, dark grey monument, rather tastefully done, set overlooking a larger square. You line up on a red carpet, you are waved through by smart guards in white, you climb some marble steps, get prodded by a guard for either having your hands in your pockets or behind your back, turn a corner into a darkish room and there he is, waxenly lying in a glass casket surrounded by poker straight guards. You walk around the room, out, down some steps and there you are back outside. With a shiver.
Ho himself wanted to be buried but his wishes were ignored. As the guy, whilst inevitably posessing a less than innocent reputation (let's face it, dirty deals must be done to become a Communist dictator) was nonetheless not quite as murderous as Stalin and Mao, I felt very sad that he was instead an exhibit being gawped at. There is a lot to be said for being laid to rest.
Having said that I have no qualms about visiting Mao. And I suppose I should get Lenin in when I go to Moscow...
We also visited the museum dedicated to Vietnamese history. The only truly notable thing about Vietnamese history is that they were pretty much the only ones who ever defeated the Mongols. The rest of us never fully achieved it but the Vietnamese stopped them in their tracks. Unfortunately they were not always quite as successful with the Chinese, 1000 years of rule there, or the French...
An inevitable consequence of the Chinese rule was the adoption of Confucianism in Vietnam and indeed Becka and I wandered off to the Temple of Literature, a university founded in 1076 based on Confucianism. I don't really have much more to say about this temple. It looked like a temple. With gift shops.
I was far more interested in where we went for lunch-and not just because of the real battered fish and chips I had to eat! The restaurant is called Koto and works by rounding up street kids and giving them training so they can get good jobs in the food business. All of the employees there are former street kids. They are smart, very polite and speak excellent English so I can say the restaurant is doing a fantastic job. I much prefer charities such as this one, which educate the children, to the ones that donate goats or mosquito nets which, whilst seeming a great idea, just traps communities in poverty. We went to another restuarant which employs Koto trainees and it was great to see them getting out of the poverty cycle.
Whilst in Hanoi we did try Vietnamese food on a couple of occasions, although it was hard not to go for the lovely cheap Western food, and I had something called Bun Bo which was bits of meat and vegetables mixed up with noodles. There was a rather unwelcome addition of about a kilogram of peanuts which did not go with the meal and which I had to shovel to one side. So basically my impression of Vietnamese cuisine is not so very different from Chinese, although with less oil. Hanoi, because of its French colonial period, has a small yet significant cafe culture and as well as one place with superb ice cream, we found another where we could sit outside on this narrow street, watching the motorbikes zoom past, with the street lamps hidden behind some vines. (Hanoi does rather give off the impression that the Jungle is Coming Back). It was the first time that I felt I was in an Asia I could recognise from the story books.
The only other episode worth recounting was that I managed to drink a whole bottle of beer down a funnel in one go. In doing so, I was told, I had now achieved Man Status.
And thus we moved onto Ha Long Bay. Becka and I had a few apprehensions before we started this tour as the posters in the hostel were like "skinny dipping yeah!" and we weren't sure we wanted to do that... Our tour guide was 30 minutes late and rocked up looking slightly pickled. We squeezed into a minibus and set off. Samples of conversations overhead did not raise my spirits. My fellow females, dressed in tie-dyed baggy pants and sunglasses, simpered at the pierced, smelly, unshaven males whose main achievement in life was drinking 20 beers in a night. Becka and I cried inside.
The drive was very nice, though, through the countryside. There were lots of buffalo in the fields which despite the time of year and chilly weather were lush and green. Eventually we arrived at Ha Long Bay and the first thing we saw was a boat on fire. It was one of the hundreds of tourist boats in the area and the entire back end was blazing smoke high up into the air. A rather feeble tuft of water was being directed at it, presumably to put it out.
The last I saw of it, it was definitely sinking. Becka and I felt better.
Then we were herded onto our boat, past a Saga tour that had some really rather frail looking ladies. One's zimmer frame blocked the path so we had to climb around.
After arriving at the boat most people headed for the bar. I went onto the top deck and enjoyed the slow crawl through the bay. I should probably explain now that Ha Long Bay is a large shallow, er, bay that as it is basically flooded land, still has the mountain tops poking through. These are all covered in trees desperately clinging on and give a certain Lost World appearance to you and your fellow thousand passengers. After mooring just off a rock with a face like the one from The Scream, a few brave souls decided to jump off the top deck into the water. Considering the water was pretty cold, points to them. Becka, I and some other half sober souls went kayaking and pootled around a cave and a "fishing village". You can guage the calibre of some of our fellow kayakers from the following quote "but where do they shower?".
The night was basically a ploy by the company to spend as much money in the bar as possible disguised as a chance for everyone to be all hedonistic and daring by drinking more than everyone else. Becka and I went to bed instead but didn't sleep a wink due to the very loud music. At this point we were in a very, very bad mood.
After being roused at 7:30am (the company has a very slick turn around timetable I must say) some of us carried on to Castaway Island and others returned to Hanoi. Becka and I had found a couple who were also hating the booze culture and we spent a chilly journey on top deck simmering with resentment. Eventually we arrived at the island, which was basically a tiny beach with a few huts on. I say hut, I mean roof. Nowhere was enclosed. We were going to have a very cold two days.
And they were cold. But, despite my expectations, they were also a two days that I enjoyed very much. We went kayaking and found this little inlet that seemed all peaceful and beautiful until we realised it was basically a fetid swamp and that plus a blonde equals horror movie giant anaconda scenario so we kayaked very quickly out again. We went rock climbing which Becka loved and I was merely content with. The rocks were very sharp though and our hands were very sore afterwards! There was an English instructor and a Vietnamese helper. We all climbed in helmets and proper shoes but he wore only a teenage scowl and flip flops. Although when it came to try a difficult one he did take it seriously in that he brushed the sand off his flip flops first... We had mounds of BBQ chicken and chips to eat and I felt very proud after our 2nd tour guide said he was impressed with how much food I could eat, considering I didn't look like much. On the second morning, as everyone else was only spending one night and had thus left, Becka and I had the place almost to ourselves. I braved a swim in the sea, which was very cold at first but I got used to it. I paddled up and down, careful not to go too far out in case the first recorded shark in Ha Long Bay was passing by. Becka and the two dogs, Lunch and Dinner, sat and watched me. And shivered. Eventually I crawled out, had an even colder shower, and then curled up in bed with the dogs curled up on me. Nice. A smaller contigent of mostly Aussies turned up and despite an even colder day than the one before we had a good laugh. We climbed up a rather treacherous path/collection of boulders to a lookout hut whereupon I was quizzed on which films I'd watched as it turns out, I have a very poor film education... Not even seen The Matrix! Tut tut. Then another BBQ and a night of silly drinking games before curling up next to one of the ludicrously energetic Aussies to keep warm. There were a pair of them and they never kept still, always running around playing ping pong or something. They had some great stories to tell though, mostly about their encounters with sharks whilst surfing... "Yeah when we saw the second one go by we decided to go in"
And then back to Hanoi, onto a night train to Nanning in China (braving a Vietnamese taxi which is just asking to be ripped off but we got away with it phew), another night train to Kunming (in a compartment with a 6 year old whose favourite game was SHOUTING. I fell asleep and he moaned at Becka that I was sleeping and then Becka got fed up and climbed to the top bunk to sleep as well but he got cross and moaned to his mum that he wanted the top bunk whereupon she said he should ask "Aunty" (Becka) if she would swap whereupon Becka growled "Aunty doesn't speak Chinese anymore"). Then a bus to Dali (this is where we made our first misstep and despite being shown, twice, a busstop to wait at we were told, 10 minutes too late, that we were at the wrong bus station and after haring across town and missing our bus had to buy another ticket grrrr). Then a short bus hop to Dali Old Town and a plod to our hostel.
All in all 55 hours travelling. And we hadn't showered in days. My hair had even begun to dreadlock. We smelt. We were slightly crazy.
It's amazing what a long, hot shower can do...
Mountains, lakes, chicken hunting, horse-riding and roast beef to follow...
We spent a couple of days in Hanoi wandering around, seeing the sights and eating the food. Hanoi is best described as a complete mess of roads, houses, electric cables, vines, trees, people and mopeds all tangled up together. In the middle is a large, green lake, Hoan Kiem Lake, with two tiny islands and several balloons tethered to the middle. One of our favourite haunts was Highland Cafe where, from the balcony, you could gaze over the lake or at a crossroads just below. The crossroads were fantastically entertaining to watch as from above you could really see the Vietnamese driving style in action. First a wave comes from the left until those they are intercepting push forwards too much and they are forced to stop at which point a new wave begins... All of this punctuated by pedestrians walking straight through the middle. Inevitably we did see one accident where a car hit a motorbike and it was touching to see how concerned the driver was as in China they tend to hurry on... There is a famous story going around of a student who ran over another in his flash BMW and drove off shouting "Sue me if you dare, my father is Li Gang! (the local magistrate)". Charges were brought, but then mysteriously dropped....
Apart from the traffic there were other things to see, including what turned out to be, by far, the weirdest thing I have ever done in my life. Ho Chi Minh, former president of Vietnam now dead, lies in a mausoleum in the north of the city and Becka and I, both never having seen a dead person (she reached Mao's spot 30 minutes too late) decided to go and visit. The tomb itself is a plain, dark grey monument, rather tastefully done, set overlooking a larger square. You line up on a red carpet, you are waved through by smart guards in white, you climb some marble steps, get prodded by a guard for either having your hands in your pockets or behind your back, turn a corner into a darkish room and there he is, waxenly lying in a glass casket surrounded by poker straight guards. You walk around the room, out, down some steps and there you are back outside. With a shiver.
Ho himself wanted to be buried but his wishes were ignored. As the guy, whilst inevitably posessing a less than innocent reputation (let's face it, dirty deals must be done to become a Communist dictator) was nonetheless not quite as murderous as Stalin and Mao, I felt very sad that he was instead an exhibit being gawped at. There is a lot to be said for being laid to rest.
Having said that I have no qualms about visiting Mao. And I suppose I should get Lenin in when I go to Moscow...
We also visited the museum dedicated to Vietnamese history. The only truly notable thing about Vietnamese history is that they were pretty much the only ones who ever defeated the Mongols. The rest of us never fully achieved it but the Vietnamese stopped them in their tracks. Unfortunately they were not always quite as successful with the Chinese, 1000 years of rule there, or the French...
An inevitable consequence of the Chinese rule was the adoption of Confucianism in Vietnam and indeed Becka and I wandered off to the Temple of Literature, a university founded in 1076 based on Confucianism. I don't really have much more to say about this temple. It looked like a temple. With gift shops.
I was far more interested in where we went for lunch-and not just because of the real battered fish and chips I had to eat! The restaurant is called Koto and works by rounding up street kids and giving them training so they can get good jobs in the food business. All of the employees there are former street kids. They are smart, very polite and speak excellent English so I can say the restaurant is doing a fantastic job. I much prefer charities such as this one, which educate the children, to the ones that donate goats or mosquito nets which, whilst seeming a great idea, just traps communities in poverty. We went to another restuarant which employs Koto trainees and it was great to see them getting out of the poverty cycle.
Whilst in Hanoi we did try Vietnamese food on a couple of occasions, although it was hard not to go for the lovely cheap Western food, and I had something called Bun Bo which was bits of meat and vegetables mixed up with noodles. There was a rather unwelcome addition of about a kilogram of peanuts which did not go with the meal and which I had to shovel to one side. So basically my impression of Vietnamese cuisine is not so very different from Chinese, although with less oil. Hanoi, because of its French colonial period, has a small yet significant cafe culture and as well as one place with superb ice cream, we found another where we could sit outside on this narrow street, watching the motorbikes zoom past, with the street lamps hidden behind some vines. (Hanoi does rather give off the impression that the Jungle is Coming Back). It was the first time that I felt I was in an Asia I could recognise from the story books.
The only other episode worth recounting was that I managed to drink a whole bottle of beer down a funnel in one go. In doing so, I was told, I had now achieved Man Status.
And thus we moved onto Ha Long Bay. Becka and I had a few apprehensions before we started this tour as the posters in the hostel were like "skinny dipping yeah!" and we weren't sure we wanted to do that... Our tour guide was 30 minutes late and rocked up looking slightly pickled. We squeezed into a minibus and set off. Samples of conversations overhead did not raise my spirits. My fellow females, dressed in tie-dyed baggy pants and sunglasses, simpered at the pierced, smelly, unshaven males whose main achievement in life was drinking 20 beers in a night. Becka and I cried inside.
The drive was very nice, though, through the countryside. There were lots of buffalo in the fields which despite the time of year and chilly weather were lush and green. Eventually we arrived at Ha Long Bay and the first thing we saw was a boat on fire. It was one of the hundreds of tourist boats in the area and the entire back end was blazing smoke high up into the air. A rather feeble tuft of water was being directed at it, presumably to put it out.
The last I saw of it, it was definitely sinking. Becka and I felt better.
Then we were herded onto our boat, past a Saga tour that had some really rather frail looking ladies. One's zimmer frame blocked the path so we had to climb around.
After arriving at the boat most people headed for the bar. I went onto the top deck and enjoyed the slow crawl through the bay. I should probably explain now that Ha Long Bay is a large shallow, er, bay that as it is basically flooded land, still has the mountain tops poking through. These are all covered in trees desperately clinging on and give a certain Lost World appearance to you and your fellow thousand passengers. After mooring just off a rock with a face like the one from The Scream, a few brave souls decided to jump off the top deck into the water. Considering the water was pretty cold, points to them. Becka, I and some other half sober souls went kayaking and pootled around a cave and a "fishing village". You can guage the calibre of some of our fellow kayakers from the following quote "but where do they shower?".
The night was basically a ploy by the company to spend as much money in the bar as possible disguised as a chance for everyone to be all hedonistic and daring by drinking more than everyone else. Becka and I went to bed instead but didn't sleep a wink due to the very loud music. At this point we were in a very, very bad mood.
After being roused at 7:30am (the company has a very slick turn around timetable I must say) some of us carried on to Castaway Island and others returned to Hanoi. Becka and I had found a couple who were also hating the booze culture and we spent a chilly journey on top deck simmering with resentment. Eventually we arrived at the island, which was basically a tiny beach with a few huts on. I say hut, I mean roof. Nowhere was enclosed. We were going to have a very cold two days.
And they were cold. But, despite my expectations, they were also a two days that I enjoyed very much. We went kayaking and found this little inlet that seemed all peaceful and beautiful until we realised it was basically a fetid swamp and that plus a blonde equals horror movie giant anaconda scenario so we kayaked very quickly out again. We went rock climbing which Becka loved and I was merely content with. The rocks were very sharp though and our hands were very sore afterwards! There was an English instructor and a Vietnamese helper. We all climbed in helmets and proper shoes but he wore only a teenage scowl and flip flops. Although when it came to try a difficult one he did take it seriously in that he brushed the sand off his flip flops first... We had mounds of BBQ chicken and chips to eat and I felt very proud after our 2nd tour guide said he was impressed with how much food I could eat, considering I didn't look like much. On the second morning, as everyone else was only spending one night and had thus left, Becka and I had the place almost to ourselves. I braved a swim in the sea, which was very cold at first but I got used to it. I paddled up and down, careful not to go too far out in case the first recorded shark in Ha Long Bay was passing by. Becka and the two dogs, Lunch and Dinner, sat and watched me. And shivered. Eventually I crawled out, had an even colder shower, and then curled up in bed with the dogs curled up on me. Nice. A smaller contigent of mostly Aussies turned up and despite an even colder day than the one before we had a good laugh. We climbed up a rather treacherous path/collection of boulders to a lookout hut whereupon I was quizzed on which films I'd watched as it turns out, I have a very poor film education... Not even seen The Matrix! Tut tut. Then another BBQ and a night of silly drinking games before curling up next to one of the ludicrously energetic Aussies to keep warm. There were a pair of them and they never kept still, always running around playing ping pong or something. They had some great stories to tell though, mostly about their encounters with sharks whilst surfing... "Yeah when we saw the second one go by we decided to go in"
And then back to Hanoi, onto a night train to Nanning in China (braving a Vietnamese taxi which is just asking to be ripped off but we got away with it phew), another night train to Kunming (in a compartment with a 6 year old whose favourite game was SHOUTING. I fell asleep and he moaned at Becka that I was sleeping and then Becka got fed up and climbed to the top bunk to sleep as well but he got cross and moaned to his mum that he wanted the top bunk whereupon she said he should ask "Aunty" (Becka) if she would swap whereupon Becka growled "Aunty doesn't speak Chinese anymore"). Then a bus to Dali (this is where we made our first misstep and despite being shown, twice, a busstop to wait at we were told, 10 minutes too late, that we were at the wrong bus station and after haring across town and missing our bus had to buy another ticket grrrr). Then a short bus hop to Dali Old Town and a plod to our hostel.
All in all 55 hours travelling. And we hadn't showered in days. My hair had even begun to dreadlock. We smelt. We were slightly crazy.
It's amazing what a long, hot shower can do...
Mountains, lakes, chicken hunting, horse-riding and roast beef to follow...
2011-01-08
Hello Hanoi
Vietnam is not like China.
So on Thursday, Becka and I escaped Qingdao as the sun rose and landed in Guangzhou airport a few hours later. We were due to head straight on to Hanoi a few hours later so weren't able to go into town but I am revisiting Guangzhou in late February so will give you my opinon then. From the air it looked rather promising as it was filled with trees and the buildings seemed older and more picturesque than Qingdao. The green was rather a shock to us Northerners as obviously everything has lost its leaves back home. As we landed there was a gas blowing from one of the wings. And a funny smell.
Then we messed around in Guangzhou airport for rather a long time. We would have retired to a cafe but the cheapest one was around 6quid for a coffee... there were television screens everywhere, all showing The Karate Kid. Which is about a kid learning Gongfu. And a piano being advertised for sale with a man bashing away playing scales because, I suspected, he couldn't actually play anything else.
Eventually, after having our passport and visas inspected about 5 times, we boarded a plane. Which went nowhere for over an hour due to "excess traffic". Becka and I passed the time learning Vietnamese from my ipod. I tried to use this Vietnamese to order apple juice and it was not entirely successful. English worked great though.
Finally we landed in Hanoi. It was dark by the time we started to descend but I could tell by the lights that Hanoi was not on the same model as Qingdao. And when we had finally wrested our passports back from the Visa Men and were being driven to our hostel, the differences soon became apparent. China loves broad boulevards and lovely modern skyscrapers, all shiny and new. Hanoi is quite happy to wear the same old clothes it has for decades and is a warren of narrow streets, with a jigsaw of small buildings lined up either side. The buildings are all covered in fading green or yellow paint, with vines curling down from the windows. Trees line all the streets, great big green ones not China's neat poplars. The pavements are stuffed with parked motorbikes, stalls, people eating, people fixing motorbikes and, once, a basket of puppies that I had to tear Becka from. There are old women carrying produce using two baskets hanging off a plank over their shoulder.
There are also a lot of motorbikes in Hanoi.
Which brings us to crossing the road. In China there are, at least, an attempt at rules. And whilst when there is a green man, cars are still coming atcha, there is,at least, a reduction in the number. Hanoi doesn't even do green men. Instead you take a deep breath, check that the nearest vehicles have time to see you, and walk slowly and steadily across the road while motorbikes whizz around you.
And it works pretty well, actually. Becka and I are now daring to walk across really quite packed streets. Although we do pray first.
Another thing that has become apparent is that Vietnam is not what I thought it was. I thought that Vietnam, in many ways, would be behind China. It's not. Western food is easily and cheaply available. Many people speak English, and well. Some even speak French. Toilets are Western, filled to the brim with loo roll, and clean(ish). The street sellers take your first "no" for an answer and don't follow you squeaking "taxi! taxi!". They don't stare, or take photos of me.
However this is partly because Hanoi has a large number of tourists, both families and Gap yah students. Which brings me to the Gap Yahs...
Gap Yah is a phrase from a popular youtube video mocking students who go travelling around the world to "find themselves" and get trashed on cheap beer. There are a lot of them here, beclad in shawls and ponchos. Why can't people wear normal clothes? None of the Vietnamese are walking around with waterproof trousers, complete with pockets and detachable lower legs, clutching their rucksack to their belly... They wear jeans and carry handbags. I think a rather Orientalist perception stills persists in Western countries when in fact these places are really, rather Mundane...
Becka nearly lost $100. But we found it phew. Then we had an embarrasing argument with the Hostel over whether we'd paid them or not. Becka and I were in the wrong, as we finally worked out, but the man wa very nice about it and gave us free beer. *Shrivels inside*
Shall write more about today and yesterday soon.
So on Thursday, Becka and I escaped Qingdao as the sun rose and landed in Guangzhou airport a few hours later. We were due to head straight on to Hanoi a few hours later so weren't able to go into town but I am revisiting Guangzhou in late February so will give you my opinon then. From the air it looked rather promising as it was filled with trees and the buildings seemed older and more picturesque than Qingdao. The green was rather a shock to us Northerners as obviously everything has lost its leaves back home. As we landed there was a gas blowing from one of the wings. And a funny smell.
Then we messed around in Guangzhou airport for rather a long time. We would have retired to a cafe but the cheapest one was around 6quid for a coffee... there were television screens everywhere, all showing The Karate Kid. Which is about a kid learning Gongfu. And a piano being advertised for sale with a man bashing away playing scales because, I suspected, he couldn't actually play anything else.
Eventually, after having our passport and visas inspected about 5 times, we boarded a plane. Which went nowhere for over an hour due to "excess traffic". Becka and I passed the time learning Vietnamese from my ipod. I tried to use this Vietnamese to order apple juice and it was not entirely successful. English worked great though.
Finally we landed in Hanoi. It was dark by the time we started to descend but I could tell by the lights that Hanoi was not on the same model as Qingdao. And when we had finally wrested our passports back from the Visa Men and were being driven to our hostel, the differences soon became apparent. China loves broad boulevards and lovely modern skyscrapers, all shiny and new. Hanoi is quite happy to wear the same old clothes it has for decades and is a warren of narrow streets, with a jigsaw of small buildings lined up either side. The buildings are all covered in fading green or yellow paint, with vines curling down from the windows. Trees line all the streets, great big green ones not China's neat poplars. The pavements are stuffed with parked motorbikes, stalls, people eating, people fixing motorbikes and, once, a basket of puppies that I had to tear Becka from. There are old women carrying produce using two baskets hanging off a plank over their shoulder.
There are also a lot of motorbikes in Hanoi.
Which brings us to crossing the road. In China there are, at least, an attempt at rules. And whilst when there is a green man, cars are still coming atcha, there is,at least, a reduction in the number. Hanoi doesn't even do green men. Instead you take a deep breath, check that the nearest vehicles have time to see you, and walk slowly and steadily across the road while motorbikes whizz around you.
And it works pretty well, actually. Becka and I are now daring to walk across really quite packed streets. Although we do pray first.
Another thing that has become apparent is that Vietnam is not what I thought it was. I thought that Vietnam, in many ways, would be behind China. It's not. Western food is easily and cheaply available. Many people speak English, and well. Some even speak French. Toilets are Western, filled to the brim with loo roll, and clean(ish). The street sellers take your first "no" for an answer and don't follow you squeaking "taxi! taxi!". They don't stare, or take photos of me.
However this is partly because Hanoi has a large number of tourists, both families and Gap yah students. Which brings me to the Gap Yahs...
Gap Yah is a phrase from a popular youtube video mocking students who go travelling around the world to "find themselves" and get trashed on cheap beer. There are a lot of them here, beclad in shawls and ponchos. Why can't people wear normal clothes? None of the Vietnamese are walking around with waterproof trousers, complete with pockets and detachable lower legs, clutching their rucksack to their belly... They wear jeans and carry handbags. I think a rather Orientalist perception stills persists in Western countries when in fact these places are really, rather Mundane...
Becka nearly lost $100. But we found it phew. Then we had an embarrasing argument with the Hostel over whether we'd paid them or not. Becka and I were in the wrong, as we finally worked out, but the man wa very nice about it and gave us free beer. *Shrivels inside*
Shall write more about today and yesterday soon.
2011-01-04
Money Matters
I went to the bank to get some US dollars to use when in Vietnam. I had to withdraw some People's Money first as I wasn't allowed to buy the dollars with my pound sterling-filled debit card. I bounced in to the Qingdao branch of the Bank of China and eventually, after a few false starts, found the desk where you buy dollars.
"Please fill out this form"
"And this one"
"And sign here"
"Where are you going?"
"What is your passport number"
"Your address"
"Sign here"
Eventually, after giving them details of my mother's maiden name, my inside leg measurements and what I had for dinner yesterday, I handed over a large wad of red notes to be given 3 rather pathetic looking American ones. I know technically they are worth the same but still...
I had my Oral Exam today and it went ok apart from one obvious mistake. Oh well...
"Please fill out this form"
"And this one"
"And sign here"
"Where are you going?"
"What is your passport number"
"Your address"
"Sign here"
Eventually, after giving them details of my mother's maiden name, my inside leg measurements and what I had for dinner yesterday, I handed over a large wad of red notes to be given 3 rather pathetic looking American ones. I know technically they are worth the same but still...
I had my Oral Exam today and it went ok apart from one obvious mistake. Oh well...
2011-01-03
4 months and 1 day anniversary
I have not posted recently but this is partly due to the fact my days have been spent doing revision. Or rather anything but. I have mopped the floor, planned my holiday, written letters, plotted career paths and forced my computer to read foreign DVDs. And then watched those DVDs.
And now I'm writing this blog :D
New Year's was spent in a typical Western fashion with Becka, Koreans and I indulging in what the Daily Mail calls "binge drinking". I took this opportunity to try out not only 白酒, baijiu-the national liquor and FOUL, but also a shot called "brain haemorrhage" (I spelt that right first time hah!), and absinthe. Also foul. Which after an afternoon of working through some Qingdao beer whilst singing along to Rihanna led to Saturday being spent in bed listening to radio 4 on my ipod. I love that thing. It means I never have to leave bed again! All the world is at my fingertips... It does mean that now I spend 15 minutes before getting up perusing the weather forecast, newspaper headlines of the Guardian and the Daily Mail, and if I really don't want to get up, El Pais and Le Monde.
We had our last lessons of B 班 last week. Sad moment. I'll miss our Reading teacher as she rather kicked ass. The scary heights of C 班 await in two months time...
What to do for the next two months? Well Becka and I are flying to Hanoi on Thursday with the aim of also spending a few days in Ha Long Bay. Then about two days of continuous travelling to a small town in Yunnan province in the south of China. We shall spend the next two weeks travelling around there before spending New Year (the lunar one) in Kunming, where Sara will join us. I've instructed her not to leave the airport if I'm not there to pick her up. Otherwise we'll never see her again. Then Becka flies home to see her dog, boyfriend and family, the order there is significant, and Sara and I are whizzing through Northern Laos, Northern Thailand and a sneaky day trip to Burma. After a day in Bangkok and a couple of hours snatched between flights in Hong Kong, Sara flies to Spain and then I have two weeks to wander up China's east coast to Qingdao.
Jealous? :D
It is snowing here! Somehow it doesn't really suit Qingdao. It feels like Nature is trying to sneak into our land of Concrete and Steel but will soon leave after an awkward interlude of not really fitting in...
I have ransacked iTunes's app store for free language apps and have learnt some Korean to try on my flatmates. They love it. Particularly as my phrases consist of "don't shoot!" "you have a beautiful smile" and "those drugs aren't mine". I'm tempted to get them to teach me Korean properly in return for English. Might as well eh?
I am also planning to travel home on the train in July through Russia and I suspect Russian would come in very handy there so might get one of the Russians hanging around in class to teach me...
I love being a native English speaker. Especially when I ring up airline companies for Boram to check her flights are booked because the hotlines are Chinese/English only. Especially when I can swap it for other language/erhu lessons. Or lots of money.
To be born an Englishman, is to win the lottery in life...
I have now spent 4 months and one day in China.
And now I'm writing this blog :D
New Year's was spent in a typical Western fashion with Becka, Koreans and I indulging in what the Daily Mail calls "binge drinking". I took this opportunity to try out not only 白酒, baijiu-the national liquor and FOUL, but also a shot called "brain haemorrhage" (I spelt that right first time hah!), and absinthe. Also foul. Which after an afternoon of working through some Qingdao beer whilst singing along to Rihanna led to Saturday being spent in bed listening to radio 4 on my ipod. I love that thing. It means I never have to leave bed again! All the world is at my fingertips... It does mean that now I spend 15 minutes before getting up perusing the weather forecast, newspaper headlines of the Guardian and the Daily Mail, and if I really don't want to get up, El Pais and Le Monde.
We had our last lessons of B 班 last week. Sad moment. I'll miss our Reading teacher as she rather kicked ass. The scary heights of C 班 await in two months time...
What to do for the next two months? Well Becka and I are flying to Hanoi on Thursday with the aim of also spending a few days in Ha Long Bay. Then about two days of continuous travelling to a small town in Yunnan province in the south of China. We shall spend the next two weeks travelling around there before spending New Year (the lunar one) in Kunming, where Sara will join us. I've instructed her not to leave the airport if I'm not there to pick her up. Otherwise we'll never see her again. Then Becka flies home to see her dog, boyfriend and family, the order there is significant, and Sara and I are whizzing through Northern Laos, Northern Thailand and a sneaky day trip to Burma. After a day in Bangkok and a couple of hours snatched between flights in Hong Kong, Sara flies to Spain and then I have two weeks to wander up China's east coast to Qingdao.
Jealous? :D
It is snowing here! Somehow it doesn't really suit Qingdao. It feels like Nature is trying to sneak into our land of Concrete and Steel but will soon leave after an awkward interlude of not really fitting in...
I have ransacked iTunes's app store for free language apps and have learnt some Korean to try on my flatmates. They love it. Particularly as my phrases consist of "don't shoot!" "you have a beautiful smile" and "those drugs aren't mine". I'm tempted to get them to teach me Korean properly in return for English. Might as well eh?
I am also planning to travel home on the train in July through Russia and I suspect Russian would come in very handy there so might get one of the Russians hanging around in class to teach me...
I love being a native English speaker. Especially when I ring up airline companies for Boram to check her flights are booked because the hotlines are Chinese/English only. Especially when I can swap it for other language/erhu lessons. Or lots of money.
To be born an Englishman, is to win the lottery in life...
I have now spent 4 months and one day in China.
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