It was the last city in the last country I was visiting on this so-called "last big trip". Beijing, the 2008 Olympic City was spread before me as I stepped from the train at 7:30 AM on August 1st. Accommodation this time was of a form I'd not used since leaving Australia, Couchsurfing. For those not in the know, a quick rundown is that it is a website full of travelers and people who like to meet travelers, perhaps showing them around, perhaps giving email tips, perhaps meeting for coffee, or, perhaps, offering up a couch or spare bed (or floor) to sleep on. I had vague directions for a guy named Aaron's home. Essentially, a subway ride to Ji Shui Tan station on the circle line, and then I was supposed to say the name of Aaron's apartment complex and a taxi driver would know it and bring me. From there, no idea. And, in fact, the more immediate problem was the same. I was standing outside the west train station with no idea how to get myself to a subway.
Oh, I knew where it was. Somewhere between 1-2km north of the train station if Lonely Planet was to be believed. And I had, I felt, a pretty good feeling of where north was. But I lacked energy or ambition to trek there with my loaded backpacks, so I did what anybody too tired to think clearly would do: I jumped on the first bus I saw and hoped it would head north and cross a subway line. It didn't. In fact, it headed south and, as near as I could tell, away from any and all civilization. No matter, aside from that Aaron was waiting for me to arrive to go to work, I hopped another bus in the opposite direction. It also did not go north - well, it backtracked north to the train station and then proceeded east for some time. East was still okay (I WAS at the West station) as it was generally correct, and soon, sure enough, we were headed north and I got off as soon as I saw a metro line.
For a city that has been pulling all the stops to be ready for Olympic visitors, I was really shocked at the lack of any indication of how to get to the city centre. Although the metro, once found, is really easy to use, the bus lines are another story. On the street, even pinyin (the english-letter version of Chinese) is absent, leaving you to ponder bus numbers and Chinese characters. Once on the bus, the route is marked in Chinese and pinyin, but that is a lot less helpful as you can probably guess. Regardless, I made it without resorting to taxi to the subway and then to the correct stop and was hoping to find Aaron there but no go. That had been the plan as of our last email, but I thought I'd try anyway and see if he was home so I grabbed a cab and sure enough, he knew exactly where we were going. I didn't. So when he dropped me off, I looked up to see rows and rows of apartments and no idea which one might house Aaron. Luckily, he saw me from his place and yelled out my name and soon I was in my Beijing home comfortable and set.
The location was truly excellent. It's only a 10-minute walk from the subway, past little restaurants and in a very local area that I never would've seen were I not staying with a local, of sorts. Aaron's actually an American who moved here partly on a whim and now works in R&D for P&G which is a lot of A&As (acronyms and ampersands). So he has some interesting insights on China, Chinese, and the way things work and don't work in this country, or at least he knows what someone from the west would find interesting about day-to-day life. After a bit of chat and some tips, maps, brochures, and discussion of my final days in Beijing, he was off to work and I was off, after a bit more rest and recuperation, for Tienanmen Square and the Forbidden Palace. The sky, contrary to reports, was blue, the sun was shining, and I had a whole lot of city to see. When I exited the metro I saw an area gated and fenced off that I assumed must be the Forbidden City. As I walked towards it I could discover no entrance though there seemed to be a few people mingling. It was, I'd later discover, an area built to look like it was from the turn of the century with trolleys and so on, and was completely off-limits to any tourist unlucky enough to be in Beijing before but not during the Olympics.
After a short time there I made my way to the real Forbidden City, but that meant walking through Tienanmen Square. That's great, I could go and visit Chairman Mao in his mausoleum; the old dictator's wishes had been ignored and instead of being cremated he was embalmed and is on public display. Or rather, he USUALLY is. Prior to the Olympics, the closest I was getting to Mao was his portrait hanging on the Gate of Heavenly Peace (for which the square is named). While wandering around I noticed I had someone following me and/or surreptitiously taking photos. Locals being fascinated by foreigners is pretty common, although not so much in larger centres, but with the Olympics Chinese are in from all over so it wasn't too surprising. What was surprising was how much he followed me - even after he asked me to have a photo with him I would still turn from a site and see him snapping photos of me looking at the gate or Olympic decorations or whatever. Beijing is crawling with spies and security, so maybe it was that but as I sat down to have a bit of water and ponder it I was approached by three more Chinese who each wanted photos with me. And once they'd worked up the courage a line formed. I later discovered that I had also been filmed by CCTV (Chinese news) looking around the city. Truly bizarre.
By the time I was finished with photos and made it to the Forbidden City, I was forbidden to enter. It was after 4:00 and there was no getting in, so I wandered east and found myself on a street lined with food stalls, pretty much exactly where I'd have gone had I planned it. On Wangfujing Street was everything: snake, starfish, silk worms, crickets, beef, pork, skewered fruits (with or without honey), you name it. So, I had some snacks, starfish included (crunchy but so-so) and went along to the main shopping street. This street is about as western as it gets - big shopping malls, McDonalds, you name it. I did a bit of looking around at the Oriental Pearl mall in particular and stumbled mainly on a movie theatre. So, a quick stop to watch Hancock as I was already exhausted and I was too tired to continue so I went home and slept like a superhero. Soundly.
The next day was likewise beautiful and blue. Aaron invited me to go to a pretty posh pool party but with the clock ticking and time running out on my stay in China and Beijing, I couldn't afford the time to sit around a pool. Instead, I hopped the bus out to the Summer Palace, a beautiful park which, aside from a pool party, is probably the best way to pass a hot summer day in Beijing. Pagodas on the distant hills, a lake named after my first stop in China (Kunming), beautiful bridges, women walking by with umbrellas and boats slipping along in the water, what more could a person want? The park was truly beautiful and a must for anyone visiting Beijing, though I would wait for a nice day to do so. I spent the better part of three hours wandering around and then decided that I would try to take in a few of the Olympic venues that evening. So I hopped the bus (960) from the Summer Palace and found myself across the highway from the Bird's Nest Olympic Stadium and the Water Cube in a sea of people.
Perhaps my timing was unfortunate, but even though I was there, I couldn't get anywhere near the places. Everything was fenced and guarded from a good distance back and I got yelled at trying to take a picture from the pedestrian overpass of the Bird's Nest (I took two anyway). But as I got to the gates I discovered it was a dress-rehearsal for the Beijing 2008 Olympic Opening Ceremonies (tm) and my timing was not so lucky. Even so, I'd been warned by Aaron that without tickets to the Olympics I wasn't going to get anywhere near the stadium or other Olympic venues. So I joined the growing number of people standing along the freeway waiting for dusk to fall and the show to begin. The crowd grew and I was surprised to see how disobedient they were. People jostled for position as close to the front as possible and soon my good spot was usurped by people waiting on the road and then those lining the grassy barrier between the onramp where we were and the highway itself. So I moved up and was the first to sit on the opposite side of the grass along the highway itself. A few people laughed and soon everyone was there and finally the police showed up and sent us all back to our previous line.
I was also the last to leave. I got off the highway but sat on a manhole cover in the middle of the grass that I thought should be perfectly acceptable. Not in traffic or even on the shoulder, not trampling flowers, a good compromise. I played dumb and/or refused to move back as politely as possible and somewhere, someone out there has a great photo of me being told to move back by two police officers losing their patience. Finally I gave in but soon they were gone and the edge not only resumed its original place but crossed to the barrier between either directions of the highway. If it's a dress-rehearsal for the Opening Ceremonies then I feel it's important to show the police what they have to watch out for, so I feel I did my part. The sun set beautifully and then we were treated to bursts of fireworks at unknown intervals which meant that I was never quite ready. If what they showed tonight was a small taste then those attending the actual opening ceremonies are in for a treat.
I tried to make my way back to meet up with Aaron for some Cantonese food at his favourite restaurant, but all the subway lines in the area were closed so I walked three kilometres to a different line and we had dinner. It was quite nice and the closest thing I've had to the Chinese food we get back home. The following morning, we had an interview with Singapore News about Couchsurfing. They chatted with Aaron first about hosting and living in Beijing and then with me about visiting and my couchsurfing experience. To round things off, they took me to my first stop for the day, the Temple of Heaven to do some shots of me touring the city and sights. Hopefully I don't look too much like a bumbling tourist; that little piece should be on the air in the week following the opening ceremonies. As for the Temple of Heaven, it is quite a pretty building set in park grounds that are less pretty but lined with lanterns concealing speakers playing traditional Chinese music which did a lot to compensate.
And finally, I made it to the Forbidden City and managed to enter after someone running the art scam tried to have a go at me. This was impressive but I don't think it was worth the money to enter, which Aaron had told me. That said, I felt I had to enter despite that - it IS the Forbidden City after all - and I didn't feel cheated after, so I won't advise anyone to give it a miss either. But it was some big gates and small buildings and to be honest, the most interesting thing for me - aside from the Hall of Clocks (admission extra) - was the massive copper cauldrons that served as the fire prevention system. They're just, well, massive copper cauldrons, filled with water near all the buildings in case a fire should break out. But it somehow gave a picture of a different time more than the gates and buildings really could. I had dinner at Megabite, a Chinese food court in the Oriental Pearl mall with lots of (expensive) options and pretty good food and then went home.
My final day in China and of this whole trip was reserved for something truly special. It is one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, it is a ribbon of human achievement, and it is something I have wanted to see since I was in third grade. The Great Wall of China awaited. But the wall itself is almost 6500 km long and near Beijing there are several spots regularly visited by tourists. A friend had been there recently and told me how crowded and horrible Badaling (closest and most accessible from Beijing) was. On the contrary, both Aaron and Charlotte were recommending I go to Simatai and look at the section of wall around that area. It is remote, beautiful, not restored (so in some places you are walking on the original wall and not newly replaced bricks) and as an added bonus, furthest from Beijing and the smog that had settled on the city that morning. I had been lucky with the weather up to this point but now things were a bit more back to normal. To their credit, the Chinese said if it was going to continue like this they were going to go from driving alternate days to once-per-month which is commendable. Can you imagine that happening in western society?
So down to the bus station where a woman dressed as an Olympics volunteer offered to help me get where I wanted to go. No busses that direction anymore (I'd missed the early ones) but I could get a mini-bus. That sort of agreed with what I'd read, so I let her lead me... and lead me... and lead me until my suspicion grew quite great. We turned a corner into a small road/alley and I knew I wasn't being brought to just any minibus to split with tourists. I've been in Asia long enough to know a scam when I see it. So I stopped, looked around affecting a tone of worry, and asked if she knew this driver and I would be safe with him? Oh, he's my husband, she assured me, and then I laughed and walked away. That didn't stop them from chasing me down. 400?? We'll give you very good price. Wait for you, bring you back! You tell price. I said 50 which I knew was low but I could take the bus for 15 yuan now that I knew she was lying so I walked away and got myself on bus 980 to Miyun.
The problem with going somewhere less touristed is the difficulty, especially in China. When I revealed my plans to the ticket lady on the bus, she made a big deal about the bus not going where I wanted, but I knew that I had to get off in Miyun and get a mini-bus from there so I wasn't too concerned. Aaron happened to call me in the middle of the exchange and I passed him to her and got everything sorted out and paid my 15 Yuan. 1.5 hours later I was dropped across from a gas station with some eager mini-bus drivers. The prices started high but I worked them down to 50 yuan and still decided I wanted to verify there wasn't a bus or someone to split the ride with in that direction. I hopped back on the next bus but discovered that no, there actually was no bus this time. I also discovered an American-Albanian couple going the same direction and that the prices here were higher. They had been looking around and negotiating for an hour so I took their word that there were no busses and whatsmore, they were being followed by a guy that yelled and screamed at anyone who offered a fair price, and aside from knocking him out there was nothing to be done for it. We even got in a van from someone who offered the three of us a ride for 100 and he jumped in too and started yelling. I was dangerously close to throttling the man, but soon we were underway for 50 yuan - each.
So I went through a lot of extra trouble for nothing but soon we arrived. Not as Simatai, I should've made clear earlier, but at Jinshanling from which Simatai was 10 km away along the Great Wall, though there was at least one part of the wall that was so ruined that the trail actually goes off the wall and comes back on at the next tower. The Great Wall was, well, great and everything I'd hoped for. It was hazy even out here, mostly due to heat and humidity though and not pollution, but still offered breathtaking views of the wall making its way along mountain tops far far along. The initial section near Jinshanling was maintained and an easy walk, but soon was the genuine article, making its way along the countryside in timeless glory, crumbling in parts, steadfast in others. As the trek was along a mountain pass, it was a lot of up and down, sometimes quite steeply, but I was still in good shape (and full of red blood cells) from my time in the Himalayas and I did the four hour walk in two and a half. Which isn't to say I wasn't stopping every 100 metres to gape at the scenery and sheer magnitude of the wall, but it was over before I knew it and I descended the mountain, crossed a river on a suspension bridge, and took a flying fox down to civilization again.
After paying another 50 Yuan to get back to Miyun and catching the last bus (6:00) for Beijing, I got home and Aaron had made dinner which was unexpected and very welcome since I'd not really eaten aside from breakfast. Then we went out with a friend of his for drinks and before I knew it, I was waking up to the day. The day when I go home, when I board the plane for that one final journey, and at the same time the day I get to see friends and family again. I said goodbye, thanked Aaron, and did some last minute shopping before getting on the train for Beijing's new airport. One last stamp in the passport, and suddenly I was on an Air Canada plane and they were talking English and French, though I was still saying 'thank-you' in Chinese. The journey home would be a long one that would doubtless continue well after my physical arrival in Vancouver four hours before I left Beijing and in Saskatoon an hour and a half after. But I was now on the plane, the doors were closed, and it was taxiing to our spot on the runway. The pilot opened the throttles and as I was pressed back in my seat, I watched China slip away as the skies opened above.
I arrived in Xi'an by plane from Shanghai. Or rather, I arrived 50 km from Xi'an by plane and into the city proper by bus. Not far from the central area where I was dropped off is the southern gate of the city walls beside which are two youth hostels. Ori, an Israeli I'd met in Kunming, happened to be in town already and so I went to the hostel he was staying at and checked myself in. In spite of being in a new city with some world-renowned sights, however, I felt myself more checked out than in. It was already July 29 and I was flying home August 5, and I think as time wound down I was starting to mentally prepare. As well, you may have noticed that since northern Vietnam, my pace of travel has been restless, relentless, and reckless. In any case, I arrived wanting to leave, ready to go home, and not at all in the mood for exploring a new place, finding my way around, and so on. But it was July 29, and I had only one week in China left, so regardless of how I felt, I hit the town.
The day's explorations brought me back through to the centre where I'd arrived and then north into the city's famed Muslim quarter. Despite what you may have heard, people in China do have religious freedom. That is to say, they have the right to believe or not believe what they want. What they don't have is the right to organization that in any way that the state feels threatens its total control over the lives and minds of its peoples. So while there are Catholics, for example, you won't be finding catholic schools. While there are Tibetans with their own language, schools in Tibet do not and cannot teach in that language. And so yes, there are practicing Muslims all over China and I was wandering around the streets where many of those living in Xi'an dwell and work. Aside from the mosque, the main sight here is one of my favourites: food. Fried flat bread, lettuce, and potato made into a sandwich with some sort of spread for the low low price of 2 kwai (30 cents). Mmm. Mutton soup with sesame, noodles, peanut, and more? Yum! Honey and sesame desserts mingling with a dry powdery sugar-almond concoction? I wandered the streets for quite a while sampling various fares until I could sample no more. On the walk home, I passed a bunch of people dancing in the streets while a band played and watched and listened for some time, realizing again that I was lucky to be here. Home would be coming soon enough.
The next morning I woke up early, which is to say too late, to check out the Terracotta warriors. They're outside the city and I was booked on a trip through the hostel leaving at 9:00. I grabbed a breakfast to go and was second-last on the bus and then we were off. I'll say here that I never realized how much there is to do around Xi'an, albeit all in different directions. There's a small panda sanctuary here, though it doesn't come close to being in the same league as the more famous one in Chengdu (which just celebrated two cubs, I hear). There's the warriors. There's a collection of impressive imperial tombs. The city itself. And enough more (that I can't recall right now) to make me consider a stop there on my return to China. For now, just the terracotta warriors. On the bus with me was an English expeditionary group that was combining travel with philanthropy and I thought it a great trip. They're doing a project near Lijiang soon and I gave them some tips for the area.
And then, at last, we were at the Terracotta warriors. It's amazing to think that this find was not made until a farmer stumbled on it 30 years ago digging a well, especially when you see the size of the endeavour. Old emperor Qin (China's first emperor, 230 BC) decided when he died he wanted enough soldiers to continue his rule into the afterlife. While my idea of heaven doesn't include a Chinese emperor or stone warriors, he certainly took enough with him to give someone a headache. Almost 8000 soldiers were hand-crafted, painted, and buried in a tomb he had made for himself. In the meantime, he went on to standardize the Chinese characters still in use today, gather the disparate pieces of China under one banner, and start the building of the Great Wall of China. To be fair, he had an early start as a 13-year old. What he left, the wall, the army, and the country, are in various states of disrepair but all remain to this day. The soldiers themselves fought and lost their first battle not long after his death and so many were found in pieces hacked apart by angry peasants but some remained intact. The main location of them, Pit 1, is a sprawling covered area with buildings and a healthy dose of soldiers some repaired, some intact, and some scattered on and in the ground.
The army had structure, and there was a general's tent, there were archers, chariots, infantry, cavalry, and different ranks. Every soldier had a unique and interesting face which itself is a marvel. There are two other pits open to visitors, both of which are neither as big or as populated, but which have their own charms as archaeological sites. After a visit to all three and a factory where souveneirs are made (I got to craft my own soldier but didn't recruit him) it was back to Xi'an for more muslim food and a bit of catchup with Ori. We were both pretty tired and were going to go see a movie but settled on a DVD of Stardust which is a fair adaption of a good book by a great author (Neil Gaiman). My final day in the city on the final day of July was spent visiting sites I'd been too lazy to investigate before. I went up to the bell tower and drum tower, witnessing an excellent performance at the latter, and then grabbed a bike and rode around the 14km of city walls in just under an hour. While it's not especially interesting visually, it is simply one of those things that must be done because it can, and despite the bad bike and cobblestoned thumping I received, it was well worth the effort.
As I returned my bike atop the walls, I heard some very ominous and powerful drums being played in the south gate and went to investigate. Although it was being played by smiley women in costume, it was an imposing sound and I could imagine it striking terror into people attempting to attack the city. It had been a busy day and was growing late, so I went back to the hostel and grabbed a pizza while I caught up on my internet. The pizza took an hour and I was worried about missing the train but I managed to get it finally and shared a cab to the station with two English girls that I'd met earlier. The three of us, after boarding our overnight train to Beijing, my final stop on this oh-so-long tour, played a Chinese dice game in the dining car as the countryside passed unheeded in the night. Of the many, many rounds we played, I did not win even once. It was good-old embarrassing fun and before long I was in my hard-sleeper bunk crying myself to sleep. I woke up and July had turned to August, the people in my cabin had stayed up talking the entire night, and I was in the Olympic city. Beijing awaited, and unlike my arrival into Xi'an, I was thrilled.
From my remote station in Fei Lai Si I made the trek back to the relative civilization on Shangri-La (Shang-guh-li-La since the name itself is not Chinese) with a minivan full of Chinese. I, however, was beside a Malaysian-Japanese couple who were very friendly and indeed didn’t leave me alone until they were sure I was okay once we arrived. I was faced with a bit of a dilemma... on the one hand, I was behind schedule and discovered Chengdu would take an extra day of travel above what I’d expected as a result of my remote origin. On the other hand, with a pricey plane ticket I could be close to back-on-track though still rushed to make it to Beijing with time for sightseeing. Complicating matters, Charlotte and Gerri were back in Kunming the next day and it would be great to catch up with them. And finally, it should be noted, that to get to Chengdu without the pricey flight, I would need to backtrack to Dali or Kunming anyway. So it was that, at the bus station, I found myself on the last seat of the last bus out of Shangri-La, en route to Kunming and old friends.
I slept quite well compared to my last sleeper bus experience in China and, coincidentally, bound for the same city. This time, a seat to myself. This time, no Chinese spooning. This time, ridiculous amounts of traffic. The traffic was so bad coming in that our bus driver gave up attempting to reach the bus station, parked, and led us all on foot to the station about 1 km away. I went to have a look at bus and train tickets to Chengdu and couldn’t help but notice all the security in the place. I had been here before, but I didn’t remember seeing them. Hmm. Eventually, I gave up attempting to interpret the signboards and caught the number 3 bus to the Hump Hostel. This, by contrast to the bustling and jammed roads, was empty. Where last time I’d barely secured a seat, this time I had the bus almost entirely to myself. None of this really registered as especially suspect, rather, it was a small series of observations that accrued like snow on a mountain slope until enlightenment finally triggered the avalanche. There had been two busses bombed in Kunming only a few days prior.
It all made sense then, though it didn’t change anything. I still had places to go and in particular two people to see. I waited around at the Hump, getting caught up on photos, internet, and day-to-day life until I looked up to see Charlotte standing over me and shaking her head in quiet shock. It was a happy reunion with her and Gerri and we caught up over a customary bowl of popcorn, beer, and swapped travel stories. Xixuanbana and its black and white pagodas had been a disappointment to them, even if the weather was a lot more balmy than the Himalayas and they did come back with a funny story about rice whiskey and being obliged to drink with the locals. We went out that evening to a happening district and attempted to ‘club it’, but between loud/horrible music and being interrupted every five seconds so that some other Chinese person could come and campay us (bottoms up!) it was a pretty disappointing night too.
The next day, perhaps out of shock from the day prior or perhaps because we had all been rushing around China for the last three weeks straight, we did not leave the hostel. Not for breakfast, lunch, nor dinner. We spent the day lounging on the patio looking over the square, and snacking, discovering little by little that most of the food at The Hump is pretty poor indeed. Draught beer started around 4 PM and then we used up the rest of our supplies from the night prior – they sell beer in 12-packs at bars here, like it or not, and we hadn’t gone through much. It was a relaxing and quiet day and nice to just sit around, visit, and snack. All we needed was some knitting, but in its place I attempted to caption photos and create a Facebook account for Charlotte. And I attempted to decide where I was going next. Chengdu was no longer in the cards, or at least that decision appeared best. I had likewise heard from fellow travelers that going to the Three Gorges to see the world’s largest dam was not quite what you’d expect: you are actually not allowed anywhere near the dam itself so you have to settle instead for a binocular viewpoint. The three-day cruise was a relaxing break from traveling China, but given my day of relaxation and waning time, probably not the wisest decision either.
For these reasons and because I would not be reaching Hong Kong this trip, I decided to fly out to Shanghai. I booked my ticket on the internet but received no confirmation even after a few hours. I’d booked with my AMEX and had been asked for the CVN. On American Express, I thought, that was a four number code printed on the front of the card but the site had wanted only three so I entered the three on the reverse side. Maybe the payment hadn’t gone through? Another hour and I decided to try booking with my VISA, and again no confirmation. I attempted to call the booking site but no answer. Hmm. I sent an email and no answer. Uh-oh. I woke up the next morning to a reply stating that my booking could not be found and urging me to login and see if I had really booked. So I wasn’t going anywhere, apparently, but then logging in I had both tickets booked. I was even more afraid of this. Urgent response, please cancel the more expensive ticket. And then the three of us were off to the airport.
At the airport, scanning my passport revealed I had two tickets under my name – though you’d think this would flag some sort of security warning, I never had any problems. In the end, I chose the earlier flight and, after a scuffle with some Chinese line cutters (the line cutters part is redundant in this country, as the concept of a queue is mostly foreign – here, the sharpest elbows win) we passed through security. The girls’ flight, contrary to their opinion, was not for a few hours, so we walked to my gate, said farewells, and once again I was on my own, sitting on a jet, just as I would be in ten days bound for home. I captioned yet more photos on the flight, arousing the interest of the Chinese woman beside me. I had to explain where they were from to her as I went along and then suddenly she got up to – I presumed – use the facilities. She returned with her English-speaking daughter and had her sit beside me while she took photos and then disappeared. The daughter, about my age, also wanted to see the photos and then we talked a bit about life in China as the plane descended to Shanghai.
Or so I assumed. There was no real way to know there was anything below us as the sky was carpeted in brown cloud also known as smog, and the girl was quite embarrassed by this. Charlotte had warned me that I wouldn’t be able to see much of anything skyscraper-wise due to the heavy pollution and it appeared she was right. That we found an airport at all is largely thanks to computer guided ILS (instrument-landing system). Off the plane and onto bus 925, which drove 2 km and parked behind a mob of busses and everybody got off and boarded bus 941. Now I had no idea where I might end up but managed to discover from the ticket lady that we would be passing a metro stop where I could reach my hostel near Peoples’ Square. This lady became quite protective of me, which was kind of cute. A little later I offered my spot to a father so he could sit next to his wife and kid and when the lady came back she berated the poor man for taking the spot from me though I tried to defend him. They both eventually insisted I take the spot and there was nothing I could do about it but thank him, apologize, and sit.
When my stop was approaching – I had dozed off due to a lack of rest the past few days – it turned out that she had found someone else who spoke English and was getting off at the same stop. She organized that girl to walk me to the metro which, again, wasn’t necessary but just try to say no in this country. So I had a guide to the metro and then on it since she was heading the same direction as me and, it turned out, getting off at the same stop to meet some friends. But before she did that she insisted on walking me the 10 blocks to the doors of the Hiker Hostel I was hoping to stay at. Ah, China, so full of people happy to overcharge you exorbitant amounts and then turn around and bend over backwards to help out a visitor. It was lucky she left because I had no reservation and therefore no bed that night in the crowded hostel. I booked a bed for the next day and then went off in search of a reasonably priced hotel nearby.
I awoke the next morning surprised that I had no only fallen asleep again while taking a rest before hitting the town but also that the rest had lasted twelve hours. I was refreshed, showered, and had myself a bed in the Hiker Hostel before noon and finally did hit the town. It seemed I had been blessed. The brown skies were vanished without a trace leaving blue sky, sun, and scattered cloud that was perhaps bluer than anything I’d seen in Kunming. After munching on some giant but delicious wontons and treating myself to a blizzard, I walked to the Bund, the famous Shanghai riverfront, and admired the skyline stretching in all directions but definitely peaking straight ahead around the gaudy Pearl Tower. I stayed as long as I could bear the hear and seriously considered walking around like a Chinese man, with my shirt half-rolled up to unleash my belly upon the world. I decided that cooling the belly was a good idea, but opted for internal treatment instead and resorted to a DQ Blizzard liberally applied.
Then further down bustling Nanjing Rd, a pedestrianized and wall-to-wall strip of shops and neon signs with the towering Shiamo building capping the west, and guided me toward Peoples’ Square. Everywhere, the city feels like Disney’s Tomorrowland, trapped in a perpetually 1960’s view of what the year 2010 could look like, except that it has actually materialized here – and only here. Oh sure, the flying cars are missing, at least in the literal sense, and one can only be thankful for that in the hustle and bustle here, but here we have a city with one of the world’s first Maglev (magnetic levitation) trains whisking travelers across the city skyline at the mind-boggling speed of 430 km/h. Here we have a city with, it has been said, more skyscrapers than Manhattan. Here we have a city where, if a flying car were to buzz 30 metres above the freeway, nobody would look up from their bowl of noodles.
Yes, here, the home of the 2010 World Technology Expo, in a city that is pushing the boundaries of things that are still dreams in other parts of the world, is still a city where, beneath twinkling skyscrapers, 40-storey television screens, and an endless barrage of light and activity, you can still sit down in the streets on a dilapidated chair across from a shirtless man who is slurping up Shanghai noodles after a long day moving goods from factories to various stores on his bicycle. A positive side-effect of the indoctrinated Chinese mentality to not question the universe, the law, or the system is that when something like rising world gas prices become a reality, they accept and react rather than sitting around moaning about price-fixing, greedy oil companies, and OPEC. So bicycles, electric motorbikes, and increasingly green methods of transport are definitely on the rise here.
But, back to Peoples’ Square. There is not much here but a small urban park surrounded by tall buildings, a few museums and theatres (including the highly recommended Shanghai museum which I just couldn’t fit into my schedule). A wander a little further along Nanjing Road to the west yielded nothing but more megamalls and so a turn south was in order, bringing me smack into the fringe of the French Concession. On the periphery, it’s a motley collection of old European and modern Chinese buildings, but heading east eventually yields the untouched tourist-heart of the area, a collection of French buildings with stony courtyards, cafes, bakeries, and expensive wine. Walking along with a chocolate éclair, the area started to grow on me though I think I prefer to be a few blocks away from this trim and lean heart where boutique shops and Chinese restaurants sit side by side.
It was nearing sunset and I found myself back at Peoples’ Square, so I hopped the metro across the river to the base of the Pearl and watched the sunset with camera in hand (or rather, on tripod). I’d actually contemplated paying the 150 yuan to ascend but wouldn’t have made it in time, missing the actual sunset to wait in line for an elevator. Afterwards, I did something that must surely have been on fellow travellers’ lists whilst here in China mid-2008: I went to the theatre and watched Kung-Fu Panda.
From the hiker hostel I’d been west and east. To the north was nothing of note, blocked as it was by a small river a few blocks up, and so the next morning found me heading south into the town’s oldest Chinese area. I just want to take a quick second here to say that the hostel is in the perfect location, walkable from all the major attractions, and though it is pricey at 60 yuan/bed/night and the warm water is more adequately described as “not freezing”, I recommend it. Anyway, the old town. More shopping, and for once I gave in. I was going to be home soon and not only did I want to pretty much eject all my clothes before boarding the plane, but I still wanted to get something at least small for friends and family back home. First stop, a tea house where you sit and sip various teas with a little Chinese lady who extols the relative virtues of hundreds of types of teas.
All the while, walking the streets of Shanghai, you are constantly assailed by people trying to sell “watches, DVDs, shoes, t-shirts”. I did actually want a pair of shoes to wear home as my hikers are destined for yard work and my sandals should’ve been fumigated and discarded ages ago. So it was that, after munching on some mangosteens I was approached by number 82 who asked me what I was looking for. “Somewhere to wash my hands,” I replied and she offered to let me wash them in her shop so we went up the stairs, dunked my hands in a faucet, and started browsing. It really felt like a black-market shop… narrow, ill-lit staircase leading up, a hallway-sized space filled with shoes, shirts, DVDs, everything promised and more. I looked at some ‘Diesel’ shoes which they swear are authentic and for which the asking price was 450 Yuan ($60). Ha! After a lot of work and them pretending to be grumpy taking my money, I got these rather flimsy but good-looking shoes for 80 yuan ($12) with a pair of socks thrown in and I still think I paid too much. Then it was time for shirts and DVDs, the latter of which I left alone, but a Beijing 2008 Olympics shirt couldn’t hurt, and again on the wheel from 80 down to 20. It should be fine until it’s washed. Plus they threw in the new Batman movie for free, which I definitely won’t watch (I hate cam jobs).
Back at the hostel, I met my new Swiss roommate and a Dutch girl and the three of us went for dinner somewhere good but really pricey (by which I mean it cost $5/each) before I went off to Shanghai’s famous acrobats. It was a bit of a rushed dinner, so rather than catching the metro and walking, I hopped on the back of a motorcycle and whizzed through the nighttime streets of Shanghai. This is NOT to be missed, it doesn’t matter if you have nowhere to go, zipping around the beautiful buildings and neon signage of Shanghai is a surreal experience that the metro robs visitors of. And from this surreal experience to yet another, a woman balancing six plates full of glasses while doing some extremely bendy work. The show had started when I arrived, but it was only the start of the first act. It is something special to be in a foreign country and, for a pretty reasonable price, behold the type of spectacle that maybe only 50 years ago, would be reserved for a dictator or emperor and his court. We sat as one and oohed, ahhed, and gasped as we witnessed everything from a man riding a unicycle upside-down on a tightrope to nine chairs stacked precariously on a table one by one as women climbed up to, well, you name it. It was a spectacle.
I joined in “the races” when I returned to the hostel and went out that night with three English guys and two Polish girls. Tired or not, Shanghai has a world-famous nightlife and I was determined to see some of it. Unfortunately, the place we ended up was just a crappy little bar called “Windows Too” about which there is nothing positive to be said except that drinks weren’t too expensive. And then, before I remember going to sleep, I was awake again, packing up for the trip to Xi’an. But there was one more thing left to do in Shanghai. I rode the Maglev train, finally, passing cars so quickly that they appeared to be driving backwards. Even planes coming in for a landing were no match for us. As I stepped off the magnetic train and turned to look at it in wonder, I was struck by how unassuming it looked. A white bullet sitting in a giant gun barrel about to be fired back into Shanghai’s heart like a shot of adrenaline. The magnets buzzed, a jet engine whined in the distance, and I departed the city of tomorrow for a city of a long-passed age. Xi’an awaited.
The van wove along the Himalayas as the sun fell behind them, lining the clouds hanging between us and Shangri-La in gold. Soon, colour fell from the earth and Charlotte, Geraldine, Eric, and myself watched the world pass by in short flashes from our headlights until the lights of Shangri-La at last lit the night. It was 9:30 and after checking in to the Dragon Cloud Guesthouse we wandered around and found some drinks and fun at a nearby bar. It turned out to be quite a great night, we were all having a blast and probably too many drinks (especially at an altitude of 3500m, where one drink is effectively two) until finally we left and let our hosts close their very profitable bar for the evening. It was now past 2 AM and we had slightly missed our guesthouse’s midnight curfew, and so we stood knocking and pounding on the doors until we realized nobody was going to answer and we were stuck outside in the chilly mountain air and drizzling rain. Eric saved the day by scaling a wall and opening the door for us from the inside.
The way the day prior had gone, sitting in Tina’s with Eric and the girls, I was worried. Even so early, it felt competitive. The girls had gone up to Jade Snow Mountain and loved it, gushing excitedly. Eric and I had used that day to start our Tiger Leaping Gorge trek and it was likewise a great day. In telling this, Eric sounded defensive on price especially, as though they’d paid so much for a great time where it had cost us virtually nothing. Which, of course, upset the girls who felt the implication was that they were stupid or rich and foolish with their hard-earned money. So I took the middle line (which was easy as it was exactly how I felt) that yes our day in Tiger Leaping Gorge had been great but their photos at the top of the mountain (4600m) looked great and I would’ve loved to do it if I had more time and I could afford it. And so it went on every topic until this tension was discussed over drinks the night prior. After this, we had a great time together.
So it was rather unfounded worry that I would always be in between them. I should’ve been worrying instead about a good place for breakfast. The girls don’t do Chinese for breakfast and after so many drinks a western breakfast was sounding like a great idea. We … dined? … at Rose Café in the old town. Eric’s curry rice came first, then five minutes and my American breakfast did. This meal is one egg, two pieces of cold toast, some dried bacon (?), and fries. Gerri’s English breakfast never came despite asking and reminding them twice. Finally a third inquiry revealed they’d forgotten and it very slowly came out, tasting horrible; Inedible, even for me. There was a mystery meat permeating the translucent gook that left a yellowish stain. Eric and I got her breakfast taken off the bill after a lot of arguing from him and me finally giving a 30 second slightly angry summary of why we weren’t paying for it.
It was a bad start to the morning, especially after so much searching and hunger. We eventually made our way to the famed Shangri-La monastery after some rest, and the sour mood was lifted almost instantly. It stood majestically on the hillside, with three golden towering buildings surrounded by homes for 60,000 Tibetan monks. The first building we went in was filled with religious paintings of the Circle of Life, the Path to Enlightenment, and various deities of whom I have neither knowledge nor understanding. The temples were red and ornately carved and painted and a massive and spell-binding Buddha sat in the middle as all four stories wrapped around him, giving an even more imposing air. We saw the other buildings in the monastery as well, of course, but they weren’t as awe-inspiring. And naturally, there were plenty of monks lingering around. On our exit, we were even on the bus with many monks and a few other Chinese and Tibetan people. I attempted to get the photo I’d missed the first time, the view of the monastery from further away, dug into the hillside. I noticed the bus stop and was thankful, thinking we were picking someone up. I took my photo and then noticed the whole bus staring at me and smiling. The driver had stopped the bus to let me take a photo. Ah, China!
That night was a quiet one, perhaps because we spent far too much money on a hotpot that was decent but definitely not worth how much we paid for it and left us all smelling of yak. On the positive side, this allowed us to wake up early and this time Eric and I got a local breakfast (8 quai/yuan each) and the girls seeked out their western fare while the two of us went looking for some hiking shoes. He was coming up to Fei Lai Si for some hiking with me and his shoes were in a dire state so this was a necessity. We didn’t find anything and made our way to the square to meet the girls at 1:00, where all four of us had some grilled eggplant, zucchini, chicken, mushrooms (yes, Mariah, mushrooms!), and various other tasty selections before walking up to a big temple we’d seen over the city yesterday.
The temple did, in fact, turn out to be a temple on a hill, and a massive prayer cylinder spun beside it. We were shocked to learn that the cylinder was turned by hand, and then gave a push ourselves. Unsure of what else to do in Shangri-La, we opted to get lost. We had been making fun of Charlotte’s uncontrollable desire to go places that were blocked off after she was scolded for entering a Tibetan monk’s room accidentally at the monastery, and she would now go peeking in slightly ajar doors and things like that. One door she noticed was the Cultural Preservation Centre though she didn’t go in this one. I decided if a door was going to be opened, this was the one, not someone’s home, so we opened the door to take a look and wound up having the best experience of our time here. We were greeted by some painters and a woman showed us some of their paintings and what they were trying to do with the centre. And then she invited us to have tea with the monk living there which we eagerly did.
It was an excellent hour. We chatted over tea, had watermelon, and asked him questions about his life, Buddhism, Tibet, and being a monk. He showed us photos of his training in India and the students he teaches about Buddhism and art and, well, it was just a great time. We all left smiling and feeling like we had turned the corner on Shangri-La after the breakfast debacle and had, in fact, had a very cool experience. The four of us wandered around, glowing a bit, and found Eric some shoes and fixed his belt, then grabbed some dumplings and had a few drinks. It was to be my last night with the Belgian girls and in the short week I knew that I knew it was going to be a hard goodbye. They’re very positive and upbeat people that I will definitely miss but that is traveling and at least I wouldn’t be continuing on to the Tibetan border on my own. Eric was coming with me. Or was he...
In Asia, taking the first price is often taking the worst price. You try to haggle, you shop around, and then you buy. In China, this sometimes works and sometimes doesn’t. Most Chinese want something simple and can’t be bothered haggling with calculators or speaking numbers slowly enough to be understood. Some would rather just avoid attempting to communicate with foreigners altogether and will tell you things like the bus is full. This, unfortunately, was not the case as I priced out tickets from Dali to Lijiang. The first bus with availability was at 1:00, 45 Yuan non-negotiable. OK, thanks, I’ll be back. The next place had no bus until 1:30, same price. 1:00, it appeared was sold out. Back to the first place to get a 1:00, and they now had nothing before 2:00. I ran back to the other (friendly) place to find nothing until 2:30 and finally just booked a ticket. So it was that I arrived in China’s prettiest town at China’s best guesthouse just in time for dinner.
I literally walked in the door of Mama’s Naxi Guesthouse and was told to have a seat as plate after plate of food was brought to our table. This veritable feast cost 10 quai or about $1.50. After dinner and some chit chat around the table I claimed the bed that Eric (my friend from Montreal), Charlotte and Geraldine (both Belgian) had saved me as a result of my ticket plight. It was quite conceivable that my first night would be passed in the guesthouse chatting with nothing seen of Lijiang except the bus station from which Mama picked me up, but I wanted to get a feel for the place so, camera in hand, I hit the cobblestone streets and meandered. The town is sectioned by three main canals (and many smaller ones) that once served as Lijiang’s water supply. Today, you’d have to be a xeno-biologist to draw water from the wells and canals, but regardless of these new inhabitants, the town exudes an undeniable charm that immediately whisked me away from Mama’s.
I came first upon a small square selling various snacks. One side of the square is bordered by a canal, the first one I came across with a small bridge leading to a restaurant and a chef sitting on a bench watching the waters disappear around a bend. There was a hubbub of activity here, almost all Chinese tourists, which I found rather entertaining. Further into the streets things quieted again and crossing another bridge I looked into the water myself to see a string of lily-shaped candles floating along the canal like stars in the midnight sky. I watched as a few more candles straggled along and then looked up to see that I was on a smaller canal lined with shops and each shop had a plank crossing the canal; its tenuous connection with the rest of the world. Chinese lanterns lent a red hue to the scene and inside one of the shops, a man demonstrated a traditional Chinese flute with a melody that floated through the streets like the canals that give Lijiang its charm. And charmed I was, to an almost hypnotic state by this quaint town.
Perhaps visited in a different order, my impression would’ve been different. Further along the flute faded and was replaced by clashing music from various nightclubs all vying for the hordes of Chinese customers. ‘Traditional’ bands, entertainers, DJs (they still have that annoying “I’m a DJ, drinks are $2.99 at the bar, I love the sound of my voice” voice), karaoke, and loud music. And I’m not sure whether a horde or throng is a larger unit of measurement, but there were both. Rather than being revulsed however, I was thoroughly amused at the Chinese partying, dancing, and having a great time. Sure, they’re tourists, but they’re still Chinese, and I’m here to learn as much as I can about Chinese culture. Surely the way that they let loose is a part of that? Still, any with a fear of crowds, touching, or furtive photography had best stay well clear. I made my way between the competing sides to a stall where a young couple was buying two of those flower candles I’d seen floating earlier in the hope of a good and long life together and watched them walk down to the canal and kneel before the waters, at last placing them in the mild current and releasing their destinies to the whims of fate.
I walked along some more to the end of the strip of bars and saw the smoke from one bar dropping from above and giving the water below a bridge a mystical appearance and snapped what is one of my favourite photos of China. Here, in this touristed and loud quarter of the old town, I think I captured the essence of why I love it here. And, I hope, I managed to make my point to those who might find themselves here yet. After some more exploration of stone bridges, twisting side streets, and hilly backdrops, I returned to the bar strip and saw Charlotte and Geraldine waving me in. They were sitting with a Chinese couple who were quite plastered but having a great time. There were no less than a dozen beer on the table for the four of them, most of which were untouched, and the Chinese woman pushed one in front of me then raised her cocktail in a wobbly but enthusiastic “campay!” The battle was joined. We had a great night, myself and the Belgians, and paid not a cent for it. The Chinese were quite happy to supply drinks for the honour of sitting with us (or more accurately, I suspect, two good-looking – and blonde - Belgian girls). And we were quite happy to party with them. I did pull my weight as best as possible with my disappearing popcorn trick(s). Hot blondes of the world, watch out!
The next morning merited a sleep in and some overdue time on the internet. Eric had invited me to the small village they were going to bicycle to, but I just couldn’t be bothered. It also allowed me to wander the old town a bit more by day, in some of the smaller streets I’d missed at night. For dinner, I was joined by Charlotte and Gerri and then Ori, our Israeli friend from Dali, arrived. The three of us went for drinks at Cherry Lane (next door) and were later joined by Eric and a couple pretty cool German guys, whose names I can’t remember. It was one of their birthdays and we closed out the Cherry Lane taking a few beer for the road and then found a nice spot to sit on the steps and visit some more (as well as a place to pick up yet more beer). The night was capped by a serenade from some wandering Chinese guys, one with a shirt with built-in VU-meter and one with a guitar and a karaoke voice. It was a great group and I was sad to be leaving them in the morning (which came far too early, by the way) to go with Eric to Tiger Leaping Gorge. But the gorge would provide its own adventures and surprises, including two old friends.
It was a bit of a rush, though I didn’t know it yet. I was at the Vietnam-China border at Lao Cai-Hekou trying to figure out which line to enter. At last I did (it took about five minutes) and that was when the trouble began. Three of them peered over and through my passport as though it was missing something. They kept flipping and looking and a Chinese couple came behind me and the officers gladly dropped my passport in favour of something easier. Everyone and anyone, it seemed, could get ahead of me, so I took the liberty of redirecting those walking up to ‘my’ window to another locale when at last a supervisor showed up. He flipped as they did and I showed his where the Vietnamese entry stamp was as well as the visa and the ID page. He didn’t like that the passport was not crisp and neat, but you trying wearing it on your body in the tropics and see how well it holds up. At last I was through Vietnamese customs, and that was supposed to be the easy part.
The Chinese customs officers were every bit professionals. They knew where to go, what to look for, and so on. This did not make their processing of my entry and faster, however, just more thorough. I had nothing to hide, so I wasn’t too worried, but it crossed my mind that if for some reason they refused entry I would be stuck in no-man’s land between two countries I had no ability to be in. Thankfully, this was not an issue as I finally got my visa stamped and moved onto to have my baggage x-rayed. They weren’t concerned with anything except for my books, which I had to take out and let them flip through. I know that the Chinese Lonely Planet is banned and often confiscated from travelers because its map draws Tibet too large and counts Taiwan as its own country but otherwise I guess they were looking for anything political or offensive. I had neither and at last I was in China, standing on the street, and looking at a bewildering display of Chinese characters and buildings surrounding the chaos on the streets.
Now what?
Bus station. Find out when I can get the overnight to Kunming. Finding that, or anyone who spoke English, was not as easy as I’d expected – and I expected a challenge. In the end I did not find an English speaker but did find the bus. It was 5:50 and the overnight bus left at 6. And she would not accept either dollar or dong despite being on the border. She also had a 6:30 bus but waved in a negative way that I assumed meant it was full or not a sleeper. So, ten minutes to get my money changed. I failed. I couldn’t find anywhere to change and every time I asked a local where I was pointed in a different direction. Finally I went into a store (one of many I’d tried) and a woman came with to show me where and then saw the bank closed. So the store did the exchange for me and I ran back to the bus station as fast as possible, making it at 6:25. I had the money, I had no breath, and still the woman shook her hands that I couldn’t take the bus. Then, seeing I’d run and gone to great effort, pointed me towards the bus with my money. Kunming? He nodded and asked me for, I assumed, a ticket.
I pointed at the window which accomplished nothing and then took out the money so he understood I had yet to pay for it. And they found me a spot on the bus for 120 Yuan, at the very back, a big bed for 5 people with room for three comfortably. You haven’t been properly welcomed to China until a 70 year old man is dangerously close to spooning you or else playing footsy as you hug your backpack in terror. But I made it, I passed my first ordeal and somehow found sleep that night. I awoke in the morning as the bus emptied in Kunming and pulled myself off the bed, off the bus, and figured out that it was bus “san” (three) to the place I wanted to go. When I got on the bus, I let the driver know assuming that if I missed it, she’d let me know. There were only seven of us on the bus and I sat at the very front trying to follow our progress on the map. And soon I realized we’d passed it. She looked back at me and waved her finger in a circle in disdain and I assumed meant we’d be there on the way back. But twenty minutes later we were on the same roads back as we’d taken. I figured out where we were at one stop and resolved to get off – it was walkable. But she waved me to sit until the next stop and at last, at last, I found a hostel.
Yes, China was to prove a lot more difficult – and fun – to get around than other countries in Asia. At times, this would be frustrating, but the necessity of communication and lack of English means I’m hoping to learn a bit of Chinese in my one month here. Already I’m learning some of the characters as I go from place to place and I can count to one hundred rather shakily. I don’t expect to be speaking it, but I’m hoping to at least make getting around more fluid. Anyway. There I was on Jin Bi Lu in a fairly good part of town and my hostel was right there, The Hump. It was a good place and I really didn’t realize how much I miss the hostel experience as a solo traveler. I met up with a German guy named Grieg that morning and over a shake at the hostel met a girl from New Zealand named Aimee. The three of us wandered the town, heading north to the university district and Green Lake park, then getting lost as we made our way south to the Bamboo Temple bus.
It was a 45 minute ride out of Kunming to the Bamboo Temple and 20 Yuan ($3) return, but worth it and the $1 entry. It was an expansive temple filled with clay and papier-mâché figures. It is famous for two things, one is a temple whose walls are lined with surfing Buddhas riding the waves on various animals. They are not painted, however, they are clay and project from the wall like a 3D movie. The other is a small room that is filled with over a hundred clay figures of ordinary people from all walks of life, sculpted in fine detail and very lifelike indeed. After this, we returned to Kunming and decided that since Yunnan is one area of China with a large Muslim population (esp. Kunming) we should get a muslim meal. We finally found a place listed in the Lonely Planet as having dozens of muslim restaurants and found one, but we ate there and the food was delicious even if we ordered far, far too much. We were treated like VIPs there, with two girls standing over the table ready to answer to our most random whim, top up glasses, and whatever we may require – or not require.
The next day I took another excursion with the Grieg and three Israeli girls staying in my room – they’d come to the table and invited us to go with them the day before. We went to Xi Shan (she-shan), in the hills on a lake outside Kunming, and it definitely was not worth it. The pollution here is unbelievable, honestly. The smog here – in the countryside – is worse than Jakarta, worse than LA, worse than anywhere I’ve ever seen. The lake itself, which apparently hosts a lot of heavy industry on its eastern banks, is full of algae and a toxic shade of green. We were on the west bank (with Israelis, hahaha!) in the hills and maybe the pollution was good in that we couldn’t SEE what was causing it. We climbed the hills passing many-a-stall on the roads and paths and ate our picnic lunch up near Beauty Peak. Then it started to rain a bit and we went up to the pagoda at the top then back down and returned to Kunming.
That night, we went out to the ‘bar area’ to see Kunming’s famous nightlife. The girls had already been here and loved it but when we returned there was little open and still less happening. That didn’t stop us from sitting in a busier place and grabbing a drink and some food – not to mention sitting on the steps of the police station drinking a really cheap and awful bottle of vodka. Before long, it was time to call it a night. And the next morning, I was on a bus to Dali with another Israeli who I’d traveled around with yesterday, a guy named Ori. The girls were staying another day in Kunming (which I probably could’ve used but at the same time my time is limited) and Grieg is heading south rather than north so we said goodbye and made our way to the bus station. I am excited to find myself somewhere new in a country that is still new to me.
As my clothes were finally finished in Hoi An, it was time to start thinking about my plans for Northern Vietnam. It was already June 30, and not only did I want to maximize my time in China (I’m allowed 30 days all of which I want to use), but my visa for Vietnam expired on the July 10. As I sat and plotted, I came to the stark realization that I didn’t have time to see everything I wanted to in northern Vietnam. So great had the south been that I was out of time and I hadn’t even crossed the DMZ border to the north. I can’t imagine how I would’ve traveled this country in 2 weeks. So it was that I took the morning bus to the nearby city of Hue, a city with emperors’ tombs, walled citadels, concubine housing, pagodas, and the Perfume River. Arriving just before lunch, my first order of business was getting an evening ticket out to Hanoi – as much as there was to see in the city, I was confident I could use my travel skills to get a taste in an afternoon. Overnight busses – booked. Trains – booked. So my options were spending a whole extra day here or a plane for $30 more than the train. With plane ticket in hand, I set out to unravel Hue’s secrets in time for dinner.
On so short a schedule, the best bet was a driver, and I found one for 40,000 ($2.75) to take me to the citadel, pagoda, and one of the tombs. The citadel: a massive enclave of temples, homes, gardens, and areas once forbidden to the public now have the gates thrown open (for 55,000) to explore. Where that money is going is anybody’s guess, it certainly isn’t being spent on maintenance. The place is crumbling all around, overgrown with weeds in many areas and restricted in others. Some of the key areas (Queen Mother’s House) are pristine, and to be fair, parts ARE under restoration, or at least there’s scaffolding to give that appearance. It is surrounded by two walls and two moats, too. It’s funny to think they went to so much effort to protect it and now can’t even be bothered to keep it up.
Next stop: The Pagoda. About 4km from the city sitting on a hill overlooking the Perfume River and looking like the Tower of Babel or perhaps the Leaning Tower of Pisa. It was worth a quick stop, especially as it’s free, but nothing to write home about in more than two sentences. The final major destination, and one in which I had to argue to get included on the itinerary (he claimed we’d not agreed on the tomb), bringing total cost to 60,000 was the tomb of Tu Duc. En route, we passed a bunch of incense makers rolling sticks of aromatic elixir. The tomb itself was beautiful. It was littered with lakes, ponds, and streams, and had separate tombs for the Emperor, his wives, concubines, and other affiliates. It is essentially a large and elaborate hillside garden dedicated to the emperor. By himself. He died just over twenty years after it was finished.
And then the night flight to Hanoi, arriving in the city proper around 11:30. Arriving on a fairly dark street in front of a Sinh Café somewhere in the Old Quarter. It was tempting to simply take him up on his offer of $12/night and be settled, but I had until midnight to come back and I thought to shop around a bit even though most guesthouses, hotels, and even shops and restaurants were closed. And sure enough, $8 a couple blocks away. It was still June 30 and I needed three days each for a cruise of Halong Bay and a trek in Sapa, but before I could do either of those, I had to book a flight to Bangkok and nevermind exploring Hanoi. So I stayed in Hanoi the next day, explored the Old Quarter, and discovered that I couldn’t afford Hong Kong in any way. $300 for a flight there, nevermind over to Kunming after. This was something I’d been looking forward to since I decided to go to China, up there with the Great Wall, Three Gorges Dam, and Yangtze River.
But I took a little solace in the fact that this meant I definitely DID have time to do both Halong Bay and Sapa fully, and so I booked a trip to Halong Bay for the next morning, spending one night on the junk and one in a hotel and three days in total. I return to Hanoi at 4:30 on July 4th and catch an overnight train that night to Lao Cai where I begin my trek in Sapa, finishing on the 7th and catching an overnight bus into China and Kunming. I will be absolutely exhausted, I have little doubt, upon my arrival in China. But I wasn’t there yet, I still had to explore Hanoi some more, and I did just that after also booking a seat for the water puppet show that evening. Then I discovered the best Bun Cha in all of Vietnam, where Hang Mam becomes Hang Bac (C3 for LP readers). It’s right on the corner, and they barbecue what are basically meatballs (they taste like rissoles) and thin-sliced pork (like bacon) and throw them into a brown almost citrusy broth (lemongrass?) with vermicelli and some greens and mint. I’m not a soup lover, never have been, but I had two bowls of the filling stuff.
I had dinner sometime later in Cam Chi, the food street of Vietnam, and was the only white person there in the hour I looked and sat. I thought it amazing there weren’t more foreigners and was proud of myself until I got my meal and discovered that being a foreigner, at this particular restaurant anyway, meant getting the worst pieces of chicken, greens, and not getting one of the dishes you asked for. I didn’t even want to pay but what can you do? Indicate displeasure and then off on a cyclo for the water puppets. They were really good, mostly because of the traditional music which was in danger of stealing the show. The puppets themselves were cute and at times, despite a language barrier, had everyone laughing out loud. And then another short night in the hotel and I was off yet again for Halong Bay. It was already a tiring two days and the busy part hadn’t even started yet!
The road was perilous. It writhed and undulated around mountains as though the pavement itself was trying to shake us from its spine. The irony is that out the window, this vengeful road is nowhere to be seen. Only the earth falling away below is visible, ever waiting to swallow you whole. Dalat is situated 1500m above sea level and as any physicist will tell you, that's a long way to fall. Almost 5000 ft for the metrically challenged and for those who've been up flying with me, about 5 times the height I generally fly around the city. The driver would let the bus accumulate speed to the maximum possible turning speed, holding down the brake just enough to keep us on the road. An hour and a half of this and there was more of the brake pad in the air than on the wheels, so acrid that even the driver couldn't ignore it and pulled over. 15 miuntes overlooking the abyss while they dumped cool water from a mountain stream onto the brakes and then we were back on the bus, still not using the engine to slow our mad rush to the bottom. It was only a matter of time, I knew, before our brakes would fail entirely. I just hoped that it would be somewhere near a runaway lane or where we wouldn't have too far to fall.
Although I'd brought a book to read and was quite tired due to a lack of sleep there was no closing my eyes. The valley floor materialized in the distance and the brake pads were vapourizing once more and I watched intently in the hope we would reach it. As fast as we seemed to be moving, the valley seemed agonizingly far but finally we turned one last corner and there was no longer a dizzying drop out the window. I was going to make it to Nha Trang, a city on the coast of Vietnam, after all. I arrived with Nathan, the Kiwi I'd met up in Dalat and a couple other girls we'd met on the bus and began the hunt for a place to stay. The first thing we noticed were how aggressive the touts are here. Where others would take a "no" or two, they'd eventually leave you alone. Here, short of ripping them off their bikes and introducing them to a left and right, they will stalk you no matter how much you ask, demand, and yell. After all, they want to claim the commission for herding you in to a hotel even if you did your level best to shake them and ignore and do the opposite of everything they said.
Nathan and I checked into a place called Sunflower Guesthouse, quite central and $4/night each. We had the worst meal I'd had in some time at a place that had relatively decent and cheap beer, explored the city, and I booked myself on a SCUBA dive for the next day. Nha Trang is pretty well known as the place to dive in Vietnam, and while not comparing with other dives, it was well worth the price. For $45, I had lunch and three dive sites and saw my first octopus! Finally!! I have been wanting to see an octopus since I first started diving and there, where I least expected it, an octopus left the shelter of the rock and swam off, quite a big one. We dove off an island not far from land at three sites, Madonna Rock (my favourite site), Pipe Beach (home of many many pipe fish, relatives of the seahorse), and Moray Beach (famous for Frog Fish and where I saw my octopus). On the dive I met a nice couple from Melbourne and after dinner they invited me back to their five star hotel for a swim. I didn't turn them down.
One more day wandering the beaches and relaxing around Nha Trang and we were off on a night bus to Hoi An twelve hours north. Hoi An is also a beach town, but more importantly it's famous for the sheer number of world renowned tailors at quite reasonable prices. So after getting off the bus at 7:30 in the morning, checking into the Grassland Hotel (equally far from everything, but beautiful rooms and free bike rental) I was tailor shopping. The hotel gave me a free ride into town, or rather, the tailor "Blue" did, and I checked them out. My first inclination was to simply get prices and start shopping around, but I quickly realized this was more complicated than a simple "a suit costs x" and moreover, I had no idea what I wanted. What colour? Black? Gray? Brown? Stripes? Even if different fabric cost different amounts, how could I compare prices when I didn't even know what fabric to look at. And so I spent over an hour looking through magazines and realizing that I definitely wanted a gray suit as well as a black one. And I thought a brown one would be nice too after seeing them in the catalogue.
Finally, I'd decided on three suits and styles and therefore fabrics after a lot of comparison and gleaning what knowledge I could from Ms. Yum Yum, who ran the store with a sister and a few other friendly girls. I got a price from her, quite reluctantly, and then went on the town. I got a really good price from Nhu Trang - the owner came to see me personally. I didn't feel so confident there, although I had no reason not to. She certainly told me of some things to be wary of with other tailors, and then I went comparing some more. Another tailor seemed quite good and I'm somewhat convinced I could've gotten a great gray suit from. It gave me some confidence that after our chat and picking out some materials to price out, and when I was about to leave, she wanted to assure me of the quality and brought a suit jacket out. It was one she'd done for her husband, in gray, and - I quietly noticed - the same material that she'd picked out for me. As well, there was an Australian couple in the store who swore by her and said this was their fourth time here. And she offered, reluctantly, to match the price I'd gotten from the other tailor. I probably would've stayed there, truth be told, but for two things: 1) I really didn't think her black fabric was anywhere near as good as at Blue. 2) I couldn't remember the design for the black suit I liked - quite unique.
So back to Blue, where not only could she not match the price, but she realized she'd made a mistake in her math and couldn't give me the price she'd quoted. Perhaps a wiser man would've left at this point and gone to the tailor with a much better price who was either honest enough to pick me out a suit the same as her husband's or devious enough to let me fill in the blanks on my own. But Blue had the design, it had better material for the black and brown suits, it had people who I could communicate with a bit better, and she had the design for the black suit I wanted. I don't want to get an average suit, I want a nice, quality, tailored one. So I stayed with Blue and while it took a few days and fittings (the Aussies I'd met, who admittedly didn't look that savvy, said the other woman always got it right the first time), in the end everything turned out exactly as I'd hoped it would and I'm very excited to wear these clothes at home in a not-so-sweaty environment. And more importantly, I'm pretty sure the extra I paid was worth the extra attention to detail, the quality, and the experience.
Enough about suits and clothes, though. While my tailoring was never far from my mind the whole time and while I was in and out time and again throughout my stay, there is much much more to Hoi An than tailors. The old town is exceptional, authentic, and alive today as ever. Towards the end of the year, it is transformed and more specifically submerged as the water level rises 3m and motorbikes are kept in attics while boats become the primary mode of transport. Families move upstairs and the entire town bears only the vaguest resemblance to what it is. The famous Japanese An Hoi footbridge, rather than being a simple decorative piece or a backdrop to a really bad band, actually crosses water. Obviously I never had the opportunity to see it this way, but you can imagine the magic of such a place that people have been living in for many years, moving up and down as the river floods and ebbs.
The food of Hoi An also gives the city its charm. In addition to many places for great Vietnamese food, it has some delicious specialties that would probably be world famous were their recipes not closely guarded secrets. Cao Lao, for example, a delicious noodle dish that I call the Vietnamese Phad Thai. All I was able to find out about its creation is that water comes from a certain well, they take certain types of wood and leave it in the water around sunrise, mix in 'some ingredients' later in the day, strain the broth, heat it and then moisten the noodles which are mixed with some greens, pork, fried croutons of a sort, and enjoyed. Fried wonton, with a homemade sweet and sour. Special 'Quang' noodles. In addition to finding a great restaurant with cheap beer and delicious Cao Lao and a restaurant called Co Dam that Nathan discovered with amazing dishes the owner made us that don't even have a name I decided to take a cooking course here. I'd met a couple having some street food the night prior and joined their cooking course at Hong Phuc the next evening. We stuffed a fish with some fresh ingredients we chopped, diced, and sauteed, wrapped it in banana leaves and barbecued it. We shredded, wrapped, and booked our own spring rolls. We sliced, diced, and fried up some squid with lemon grass, garlic, and chili. And we brewed up our own sweet and sour sauce and smothered some fried wonton in it. Yes, Hoi An has some of the best and most unique food in Asia and I definitely took advantage.
Nearby are some ruins called Me Soon (spelled My Son) that are 1800 years old. Unfortunately, the Viet Cong took to hiding here during what they call the American War over here and naturally the Americans dropped bombs and leveled many of the ancient towers including the crown jewel, a once 24m high tower now 2-3m high. Some of the buildings were still intact, however, or listing into a bomb crater, and the red brick seemed to age the buildings all the more against a fresh blue sky and green landscape. We took the boat back, a mistake as there's little to see except a small village that is essentially a tourist trap. And the old town is filled with historical buildings and sites worth a visit. But if that's not what you're in the mood for, you can always head to the nearby beach, which is nice and hawker free compared to Nha Trang. I spent my last evening there and maybe stayed a little too late as it was getting pretty dark on the way home. But a local guy pulled up beside me and drove alongside or behind to light the way. And, eventually, pulled alongside again and basically pulled me home. Yes, it will be a hard place to leave, but tomorrow morning I'm off once more to Hue a few hours north.
The small plane flew over the flood plains of central Cambodia, the green rice paddies of its western borders, and down to the sprawling city that was Saigon, Ho Chi Minh. From above, it was an interesting study in organic urban design. Streets sprawled along paths of least resistance between commons and the rest, it seemed, sprouted from those in random directions as the buildings alongside grew fat on the traffic of the more successful roads. I was in jeans so that I wouldn’t have to pack my large shoes in my backpack and a long sleeved thermal top to protect against the air conditioning. At 31 degrees in Vietnam’s largest city, both would prove a bit warm. Waiting at customs, an English girl came up to me asking if I was Dean. It turned out I had met her when I was hanging out with James in Siem Reap, however briefly, though I not only didn’t remember that her name was Sanna (short for Susannah) but I couldn’t recall her face. Having quickly admitted this, we passed easily through customs, grabbed our packs, and headed out to negotiate our way into the city’s heart.
We grabbed a taxi for $3 and he drove about 20m before stopping and asking for the money up front. We refused and were about to leave the cab when he grunted and started driving forward. Then we got to the gate and he wanted $5 from each of us to pass through. This hadn’t
