The best thing about Guilin and Yangshuo, is a local man called "Bill" - but we didn't find him right away...
We arrived at Guilin South Train Station in a state of near-delirium. It was approaching 10pm and the city of 4.7 million was abuzz with flashing neons, night-vendors, and an array of noisy bumper-to-passenger-door traffic from hell. At the unofficial taxi rank we were bombarded by keen drivers who quoted all sorts of insane prices to take us 10 minutes up the road. After learning how much money these people actually make in these touristic zones of China, and how cheap their fairly decent, new apartments are in these rapidly developing areas, any sympathy I may once have fleetingly felt towards their desire to illegally and immorally scam "wealthy" Westerners has completely disappeared.
It's testing to be patient in a sweaty, alien world, when you're carrying a heavy backpack and haven't urinated for 26 hours. One by one I abruptly asked each approaching driver: "meter?", "meter?", "meter?" ... "No, no meter" they'd all respond in alliance. (The cars all had working meters.) We had to negotiate, at length, using a calculator and elaborate hand gestures and eventually got into one of the hundreds of identical rusty red old bangers. 35 yuan we had reluctantly "agreed". The same distance on the bus would have cost us 1 yuan each - but we had no idea where to catch it, which one to catch or where to get off, nor were we motivated to investigate continuation of public transport at that time.
Clearly unhappy with our "final price", the cab took us to the wrong place - despite us showing him the address and directions in Chinese, a photo of the building, and a map. Simply, he hated us.
The bright lights of a corner shop shone invitingly as we stood lost and exhausted in the dark. We showed the shop owners (a couple about our age) the name of the hotel, and instantly they poured their kind hearts right through the language barrier and helped us out. First they drew us directions, then after we'd been walking for five minutes they appeared beside us on a scooter, to ensure we reached our destination safely. They waved their arms indicating we should follow them and lead us all the way to 68 degrees hotel before disappearing with a wave and a smile. A pair of humble heroes. (We are increasingly aware of a stark contrast that exists in attitudes towards western tourists in China.)
68 degrees cost us just $12 per night for an exceptionally clean, modern, en-suite double room with air con and cable TV. It's out of the way a bit, and hidden down a narrow, bumpy alley full of flies, but nonetheless we were many types of elated just to have arrived. We had booked only two nights in Guilin, but the girl at reception insisted on listing all 800 activities we could over-pay her to organise for us, before handing over the room key.
After the longest, deepest, most welcome sleep of our lives, and a spa-like experience in our hot water-dispensing luxury bathroom, we were ready to venture out into the chaos once more...
There was no bus stop as such by our hotel, but there was a distinct pile of rubble by which locals stood, shading themselves from the relentless sun with colourful umbrellas. Buses frequently pulled up here and let people on and off. For one yuan we were taken to the centre of town where I drank ice-cold, blended water melon for seven yuan and Guillaume had a chicken burger for cheaper than that.
Although surrounded by the same karst mountain pillars, Guilin is a painful grey mess compared to beautiful, peaceful Yangshuo. The trouble is, the government own all the tourist attractions in and around Guilin and are able to pay to widely and inaccurately advertise the now heavily-commercialised sites. When you type 'Guilin' into Google, and click on images, nine out of ten are actually of Yangshuo, which is a 90 minute bus ride down undeveloped roads to the South.
Not knowing if, when, or how long we might return to Guilin for after Yangshuo, we (fortunately) postponed (unknowingly indefinitely) our intended visits there, including Elephant Trunk Hill, Monkey Hill, Flute Cave and river drifting. (all of which we later heard from multiple others are not worth the money or effort). And instead we found the cheapest eatery, far from the travellers hot spots...
It was less than $2 for two noodle dishes (served in silver dog bowls) and two large bottles of beer - but it had its "drawbacks" shall we say... Not only did Guillaume's meaty dish come with the hefty and compulsory serving of a murky broth, scooped up with a ladle from what was once a large paint bucket, inside which the chef revealed a bald, beige bone the size of his own leg (presumably to further entice Guillaume to enjoy the soup), but while we ate a young girl pulled down her pants and proceeded to poo in the gutter at the entrance of the restaurant. I think we're growing immune to such incidents, as we were nothing but thrilled by the low price we had paid for dinner.
We had to go to great lengths to ensure we were not cheated on our journey to Yangshou. We'd read several accounts of the seemingly cheaper buses (which you are literally bundled onto by screaming touts from roadsides all across the city) dropping you quite far from Yangshuo, insisting you have reached your destination - then, their friends who are in on the scam, will invite you to stay at their guest house - the only accommodation in the area, leaving your stranded self with no choice but to accept their offer. The driver and the tout get a cut of what you pay the hotelier. It's all rather naughty.
To be safe, westerners need to go to Guilin bus station, which is not as easy as it sounds when there are several in the city, and areas where private buses sneakily congregate to appear like a genuine transport hub. After visiting a number of these, spending almost three hours walking, questioning strangers, referring to our out-dated internet research and taking at least five local buses in all directions for one yuan a time, we eventually found the official departure point for the most legitimate of Yangshuo coaches, where you purchase an actual ticket in advance for 22 yuan per person and the driver heads directly to Yangshuo in formula-one-wannabe fashion.
If I haven't sold Guilin to you - good. Go straight to the heavenly haven of Yangshuo.
The core of the small village centre is completely pedestrianised - that means no scooters, motorbikes, tuk-tuk's or electric taxis. Just a few bicycles with squeaky breaks and flat tyres that are available to rent on every corner. The streets are cobbled and much cleaner than elsewhere in China. At least two percent of the tourists here are Westerners, which doesn't sound like a lot but it's really noticeable - to the extent that "West Street", the old towns main road, was named after the foreign visitors from more developed nations who, in the late 1970's, came to this magical fairyland in "great numbers."
Kung-Fu Panda is televised 24/7 on one of the 50 or so Chinese cable channels. Only, it's not the original cut. In fact, it's a nonsensical amalgamation of both movies one and two, intercut without any consideration for chronology - a confusing muddle of scenes played in a never ending loop. Why they would chose to air this jumble over the TV Series, (if they must have panda ninjas broadcast infinitely to the masses) we cannot fathom. But presumably Paramount Pictures can as they must have agreed to it?...
We met Bill the day we discovered just how horrific the "October break" is in China. We had been warned that this week long public holiday would make things tricky for us. All things touristic increase in price by as much as 400%, as the entire country of 1.6 billion takes their annual vacation at the same time. (Seems like a really forward-thinking way to manage the planets most populated country. ...Oh, the frustrations.)
We had been hoping to book a bus to Hong Kong on October 6th, to have time there before our already booked flight with Vietnamese Airlines from Guangzhou on October 14th. Bill sat alongside the travel agency booth, at that time appearing to us as a 'local helper', translating the requests of English speaking info-seekers to the young, clueless agents.
He told us it wasn't possible to know the price so far in advance, as the bus companies will decide how much to increase their usual rates, just days or even hours before the October holiday schedule. We can't quite remember how this valuable friendship with Bill (born and raised merely meters from where we met him) began to evolve from there, but in my mind it's a dusk-time montage of laughter, pointing and nodding, and inquisitive and educational chat.
Guillaume introduced himself as "Will", saying "that's my English name" - which technically it is an abbreviation of. Whereas "Bill" is a name he chose at random. Both Bill and Will are decidedly easier to pronounce than their original names. From that day on, we happily bumped into Bill nearly every morning, afternoon and night for the next three weeks.
Apart from showing us where to get the most traditional food at the prices locals pay (Ten yuan for a large plate of rice and whichever selection of vegetables, eggs, tofus, and/or meats you want, chosen from their fresh array of wholesome goods and cooked to order, or five yuan for a filling bowl of rice noodles, again with your choice of spicy toppings and flavourings - a popular breakfast choice for Yangshuo natives and the preferred option over bloaty wheat noodles favoured by the tourists), the best thing Bill did for us was invite us to experience "teaching" at a local school...
A friend of his for more than 25 years; Helen teaches English at a suburban boarding school, where roughly 600 students in their early teens reside Monday to Friday in dorms secured behind locked metal gates. Helen (that's her English name), looks like a teacher. The place made me wonder if this is perhaps how an Asian Malory Towers would operate, with prim and proper lecturers who, of course, always wear glasses and their hair in a "tight-bun."
However, unlike Enid Blyton's 'politically incorrect' characters, these Chinese children did not have an ounce of adventurous mischief in them. Despite being aged 13-15, every member without exception of the class we "taught" were so eager to please, keen to learn, attentive and wide eyed. (Well... fairly wide.) They were undoubtedly shy and it took several minutes of awkward silence to get the group discussions going.
One by one they'd nervously stand up. "Hello, Lucy. What are you favourite things?" Open ended questions like these when you're literally on the spot in front of 35 Chinese adolescents are quite terrifying. The first of my "favourite things" that came to mind all related to the comforts of home, and I wanted to reply: "Memory foam mattresses, watching Game of Thrones or Breaking Bad with a nice bottle of red, soft couches, nights out with friends, a good meal with family that doesn't contain MSG, London in the weeks leading up to Christmas, smoked Gouda, the majestic Rocky Mountains.... Snow... " but instead I responded, "My favourite thing is to travel and meet people like you", which although is most certainly not a lie, it is a statement that's truest when I'm at home.
At least I didn't get the question they posed Guillaume, "what's your favourite festival in China?" .... "Urrrrr, the one with the dragon?"
Bill sat at the back of the class, watching and smiling as Guillaume and I took it in turns to speak to the children. They seemed to particularly enjoy Guillaume's explanation of how to play ice hockey, and hearing that his favourite fruit is "banana" - for some reason this was most hilarious to them, and to their teacher.
After an hour was up, the class were free to relax and approach us at their will. We were immediately swarmed - all the boys circled Guillaume while the girls ushered me into one of their tiny seats and surrounded me, holding out books and pens, asking me to write my name and if I would have my photo taken with them. Helen too, was equally excited and after insisting I accept her offer of a moon pie, told me she hoped we could become good friends.
It was overwhelming, and flattering, and a bit weird, and a bit special, and a bit scary. A lot to observe and consider. We told them that school classes in England and Canada are similar to theirs, and in some ways they are, but in most ways they're a million miles apart and I haven't yet decided (and possibly never could from such fleeting exposure) which bits I think are better, which I think are worse, and why. It would be a book in itself, and a controversial one too. When we left, the kids, lead by Helen, followed us to the gate, waving, shouting "bye" and "thank you" and even blowing kisses.
On the bus back, a spider bit me on my big toe. (I saw the little bugger do it before scampering off at a terrifying speed.) It's been swollen and painful ever since, and that's all I have to say about that.
It was our first wedding anniversary on September 6th, and we decided it was worthy of increasing our usual daily budget. So we had coffee in the morning, in a pretty, quaint, stone walled cafe with small wooden bar and low wooden tables that inspired my brain to design an open plan basement den of similar interior design in our dream home on the Mediterranean. Guillaume and I often discuss the lofty dreams we fortunately share, as if they'll actually happen one day... It keeps life very exciting indeed.
We had dinner at Pure Lotus Vegetarian Restaurant, which was highly recommended on Trip Advisor. Unfortunately our experience did not match most of those who had written reviews. We were served fake wine. Admittedly it was our mistake not to do more than raise a suspicious eyebrow when the waitress delivered the bottle, already opened. The bottle claimed to be Spanish and 12% ABV. We've no idea what concoction of liquids was thrown together in there but it was neither wine, nor alcohol and definitely not from Spain. We opted against the hassle of complaining. They'd only lie through their teeth, insist it was real wine and refuse any sort of refund or replacement. Rather than putting a dampener on things, we found it shocking and funny and we burst into laughter every time the other one reacted to a sip of the unidentifiable, tasteless juice.
After 'Lotus', we headed to Mojo Rooftop Bar at the river end of West Street. Accessible only by venturing through a jewellery store, the kissing fish spa, then to the back of a hotel to the fourth floor in the elevator and to the sixth on foot. The 360 degree panoramic views are spectacular. There's a dance floor in front of a large projection screen playing old black and white movies and 70s music videos that never match what the mostly drum and bass tunes the DJ plays. There's a jar on the bar housing a giant pickled snake. Apparently it has something to do with a special shot they offer. We didn't investigate further.
At the Riverside Retreat (the second place we stayed in Yangshuo) on the other side of the river via a small frequent ferry reminiscent of Cowes floating bridge on the Isle of Wight, we were upgraded for free owed to the place being like a ghost town. We'd booked it as a "post-anniversary treat" - still only $30 a night. It had a 'pool' apparently, but all we could see was a stagnant, slimy, green pond occasionally braved by naked children. But the location and countryside views more than made up for the few hyper swamp monsters disturbing the peace.
We were in a small village where bulls stroll casually in the middle of the road, scaffolders in pointy hats and flip flops use bamboo to frame crumbling construction sites, and farmers water endless crops by hand. I saw a bee four inches long and a spider whose length from the end of one leg to another easily matched my forearm. Squashed frogs and lizards decorate the unkept roads as if they had rained from the sky. This was real Chinese countryside.
There were four giant moths in our room but we didn't mind because we'd been given a family suite with balcony and it was enormous. Room for everyone! From the hotel terrace an ever changing colourful panorama of near and distant karst pillars covered in jungle, tucking-in the tiny town of Yangshuo, can be seen across the river. If we thought the pace was slo-mo over there, it was almost going backwards here.
There was no shop, cafe, or street vendor by the hotel. The nearest was a 25 minute walk and a short ferry ride away. But you can eat cheaply at the hotel, if you an find the staff, who were always hidden and silent.
We took the opportunity while we were there to rearrange our plans and see if we could leave the country before the crazy October holiday begins. Luckily, Vietnamese Airlines were incredibly helpful and were able to change the date of our flight for only a very small fee. By leaving China three weeks earlier, we would save loads of our budget - meaning we could comfortably afford a four star hotel in Hong Kong for four days and still have extra cash for Vietnam. Brilliant. ...And it's this that we focus on, rather than mourning the missed chance to see Zhangjiajie (a national park whose unique, other-worldly landscape inspired the set design for Avatar), Fenghuan (a beautiful ancient water town which actually dramatically flooded in September, displacing thousands and making world news) and Shanghai.
Just a 20 minute local bus ride away, Silver Cave is one of a number of caves in the county of Yangshuo. Many more most likely remain undiscovered. It took just over an hour to walk through the cave. The formations are stunning and definitely get the imagination going. ...I'm absolutely sure dragons once lived there. The way the mighty stalagmites and stalactites are lit is spectacular in parts, but in some areas it's very tacky, with fairy lights wrapped around them... ? I think that's an unnecessary over the top shame and preferred the areas of the cave which were more simply lit with just one colour rather than a full fake-looking rainbow-rave effect. There are parts where pools of water reflect the formations perfectly - very psychedelic.
An activity which will undoubtedly become one of our most treasured life-time memories was drifting on a bamboo boat down the River Li. We took Bills advice to do this trip from Longjin to Xingping, where there are fewer tourists, the water is clearer and calmer with perfect reflections and the are absolutely no big steam paddle boats or anything motorized. It's not so easy to get to the starting point - but Bill took us to the north bus station and found the right local mini van for us, packed with wrinkly, toothless locals on their way to other villages. He told the us driver where to let us off and arranged for his friend to meet us there and introduce us to our boatman. To make sure we trusted the non-English speaking fellow in camouflage print attire and a cap who greeted us while rolling a cigarette, he handed us his mobile phone so we could speak to Bill who had called to reassure us in anticipation of our arrival.
Our boatman knew one English word, "beautiful" - but it was the only word relevant as he pushed us slowly down the river. For much of the two hour ride there were no other people around (let alone tourists) and the scenery was breathtaking. The water was like a mirror.
Guillaume and I sat side by side on chairs wedged between logs crossing the bamboo. This was the most basic marine vehicle I had ever been on. I'm sure they were using the same, or sturdier, 10,000 years ago. It floats, and that's all that matters.
Along the way were a few small drops in the river - mini rapids that soaked the raft and splashed over our knees every time plunged down a level. But these adrenaline generating moments of fun were evenly spread and infrequent, most of time we were drifting romantically through the serene tranquility in one of the quietest, most magical parts of China. Real, raw nature.
We passed under Dragon Bridge, which is built of ancient dark grey stone, overgrown with tropical greenery and marvelled at by intrepid cyclists. There's a collection of dwellings around the bridge, but very few people. Just rows of old yellow canvas parasols shading bamboo platforms, and a dozen half built, half demolished buildings varying in size, colour and style lining the river bank.
Guillaume offered our boatman a break and took the long wooden pole he used to push the raft. He realised after about ten minutes that it's pretty hard work, perhaps moreso as the area had recently seen the tail end of typhoon Kalmaegi which dumped hours of torrential, stormy rains on the county, raising the water level and making it almost impossible to reach the river bed as these boatmen usually can with ease.
The karst mountains each appear to have their own personalities, as they stand completely independent of one another, each one home to exotic botanical-giants and whatever wildlife can stand the humidity of a South-Asian summer. I wonder if one pillar is preferable to another for the animals who reside there? I'd say they have a superb abundance of choice.
Bill invited us for dinner at his home twice - with his wife "Kathy", and son "Michael". Kathy is one of those loveable, motherly women who loves to cook and entertain. She too speaks excellent English, and works with Bill for their 10 year old company Light Travels, which is currently going through a new stage of development with a new website - which I agreed to proof read and attempt to improve for Bill, in an obvious exchange (and the least we could do) for how kind, generous and helpful he has been to us.
When Bill had asked, "you're vegetarian? You like cucumber?" I had bee rather dubious about the meal he was inviting us to. But Kathy made the yummiest cucumber salad I've ever eaten. Simple, but delicious and incredibly moreish - most likely because it probably contains at least a weeks worth of ones recommended salt intake and is smothered in dark vinegar, soy sauce and spices. Crunchy, juicy, refreshing and easy to eat with chopsticks in front of the experts. She made a multitude of traditional dishes, including a bok choy soup, egg dumplings and a few carnivorous options such as steamed duck with its decapitated head left in the bowl, which Guillaume almost blindly ate whole. And of course, there was plenty of steamed, sticky rice.
The food was served on a low, round table which we sat at on slightly lower wooden stalls. Above their apartment is a very grey, concrete roof terrace where they keep all the belongings one would usually house in a garage. The peaks of the tall karst pillars can be seen towering around the roof, and Bill and Kathy (perhaps, quite rightly), consider supper in this spot to be nothing short of five star dining.
Michael is ten years old and has been learning English at school for one year. He does a minimum of two hours of homework every night without complaint. He was quiet and content. Kathy told us that she would like a second child, but it's not easy in China. Even in the countryside (where the law is more lenient on family-size than in the big cities), Kathy would expect a fine of around 100,000 yuan (about $18,000) if she were to give birth to, and keep, a second child - whatever the gender.
I asked her what would happen if someone had three children. She said the fine would be so great they would not be able to keep it. When this happens, the children are almost always given up for adoption.
These laws came into effect in 1980, the same year Kathy's mother was pregnant with her sixth child, Kathy's younger brother. Still today, her brother has to pay the government a monthly fine just for being alive. His punishment for being born.
Interestingly, Bill told us most people in Yangshuo, and he believes right across China, do not follow an organised religion. "Most people don't believe in anything" he said, which I was surprised to hear as although that's certainly the case these days in the UK and probably Canada too, I thought China had a strong spiritual culture, particularly of Buddhism. Although now I think about it, the only places of worship we recall seeing since we arrived in the country five weeks ago are historic sites.
When it comes to foreign affairs, Bill and Kathy did not have much to say other than they hate Japan, and think India is a good place to invest (as their PM is telling the world right now). They don't have much desire to venture outside of China. Living in Yangshuo, we find that more understandable than if they were living somewhere like Beijing.
We learnt that local teachers here, like Helen, make less than 3000 yuan per month (around $500) but that a brand new, two bedroom apartment equipped with basic appliances can be purchased for the equivalent of just $10,000. (It costs less to buy a home than it does to have a second baby.)
Guillaume braved not one, but two haircuts during our time in Yangshuo. The second was in a dirty shack of an establishment where the hairdressers cute toddler kept offering me her dribble soaked, soggy poppadom from inside her cot. It wasn't the most symmetrical trim Guillaume has ever had, but it's more suitable for the heat of the now, and it will grow back long before we're turn to sub zero Canada. So much for his earlier intentions of just letting it all go wild...
It was nearing the end of our time in Yangshuo when we discovered Monkey Janes - another roof top bar above a slightly creepy hostel, and well hidden down a back street off the main strip. An Australian guy who looks just like Toadie from Neighbours handed us a flyer offering a free 'bucket' if we showed up at the backpackers dive. It was not quite 8pm when we spontaneously decided to investigate this 'bucket' and it was well past 1am when we left. From 6pm to 9pm happy hour was in full swing with two for one offers on all cocktails and beers, which were already priced lower than any of the outrageously expensive touristic, themed bars catering to the Chinese holiday makers, on the main road.
Like Mojo, this place had stunning views of the town and surrounding scenery, which at night is lit by lanterns and lasers alike. But unlike Mojo bar, Monkey Janes was small, more cozy and personal - with Jane herself (a local character who loves to explore the world when she's not behind the bar) - chatting with customers and joining in with the drinking games.
A group on an organised tour who were mostly from the UK and aged between 24 and 30, invited us to join them for a lively beer pong tournament, followed by several other games in which each person was encouraged to embarrass themselves by mimicking chickens and wiggling arses before downing booze and flipping cups in some sort of team race. Every time I hastily downed the contents of my seemingly never-ending bucket, most of it went down my front... I could just not drink that shit quick enough. ...Guillaume's bird-flapping moves were especially impressive.
The group were a collection of uni graduates, those taking a gap year from work, and some "recovering" from break ups/forcing that last minute late 20's/early 30's surge of adventure seeking before the biological clock dictates finding a mate and reproducing must be imminently prepared for if you want it to happen... Indeed, many of the singletons on tour were hunting for a like-minded partner for that very reason. We can't deny that this very trip is part of our intention to cram in as much "irresponsible" fun whilst gaining an intense, extensive and unbeatable education before we nest, settle and pass on what little we've learned to our next generation. Of course, in reality we will NEVER know enough to teach them... We can't wait to have kids, we talk about it all the time. But we will wait a wee bit longer... Just a wee bit.
Monkey Janes hires westerners to serve beer, cook food, clean rooms, renovate, decorate, all sorts - for a few hours, a few days or a few weeks in exchange of free food, booze and accommodation if you're working hard enough... The Toadie-lookalike from Aus is doing exactly that and told us he intends to live in magnetic Yangshuo for as long as his repetitive visa renewals will allow. In strictly governed China, I doubt it will be for very long.
We're glad we spent 22 days in Yangshuo. For a short time, it was home.
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