Censorship and Cities; Mandarin and Mountains

I am sick. And I’m sleepy. And I miss my family and friends and England and western food and the dog that I haven’t even met yet. And I’m having a sulk. Worse still, I’m feeling all sick and sulky from a nasty, seedy, potentially dodgy hotel room somewhere in Beijing and I don’t even know where in Beijing because I arrived 2 nights ago and am yet to leave the hotel. Woe is me!! I do however have a (prehistoric) computer in my room and so I thought it was the perfect time to rewrite my blog entry for the Nth time and actually get around to posting it. All of this should be better explained…

Run-down from running around

October is quickly running away from me! Whilst this marks the time when I should be moving on from China to the big trans-Siberian adventure, this also means that I’ve been on the road for nearly 3 months now. Everyone that I spoke to before I left, and many with whom I have spoken since being away, have all talked about the importance of ‘down-time’ when travelling. Honestly, I’ve been pretty bad at this. I always have reputable intentions, but then I get all excited and burn out. This has happened quite a few times, and not just in the last 3 months. Two days ago I flew from Chengdu to Beijing (yes – I know that backpackers aren’t meant to fly places, but I’m sick and also running out of days!) and on arrival finally gave into to the subtle-as-sirens warning signs my body had been giving me for a few days, and checked into a hotel for some quiet and some proper sleep.

I love hostels, really I do. They’re friendly places where no-one else cares that you’re making do and look like hell and on they whole, they’re very homey places. You can’t, however, always be guaranteed a good nights rest when you’re all dormed-up. Let me give you an example. This was way back now in Guilin the second time, the night before I took off for Kunming. I had the top bunk (fine, no problem), under the air-con (less fine, but still, no real problem) but my bunk was next to the loudest snorer this planet has ever sustained. Usually I’m pretty tolerant of this kind of stuff, being a “heavy breather” and chatty sleeper myself (every man’s dream, I know) but this guy was beyond all measure of snoring comprehension. So much so that I was actually forced (from something within the depths of my soul) to hit him, across his (sizable) belly, with my pillow. This did nothing, and so I resigned, pushed the earplugs (which worked FINE when I was sat next to a BOAT ENGINE) in further, rolled over huffily in protest (he was asleep so a really great protest) and kept to my grumpy self. THEN, not satisfied with his own bed he stretched his feet over and rested them on my bed, near to my head, across quite a wide gap between the beds. Intolerant. Indignant. Inconsolable with rage. Unladylike. All of the above. I hit him again, this time without the pillow, but with my wash-bag. This time he woke up and I yelled at him in a hushed, repressed whisper in case any of the other poor souls in our dorm actually had managed to sleep though the thunder symphony. He didn’t speak English. Brilliant. He farted, reluctantly swung his feet back onto his own bed and slept silently, for a whole 30 seconds. On the upside, I did sleep for nearly the entire train journey to Kunming the next day. (and before you think I’m really evil, the wash bag wasn’t that full). So dorms, whilst they can be great, can also bring out my tired murderous side and so I decided that seeing how I was sick, I needed a hotel room, with a TV and a western bathroom.

I was too busy pretending I wasn’t sick and doing stuff in Chengdu to research and book a Beijing hotel so I arrived at the airport and thanked my lucky stars when I saw a “hotel reservations” desk in front of a pretty legitimate looking taxi rank. I dragged my backpack (yeah, it didn’t last long) over to the desk and explained that I wanted a “business hotel” with a TV and nice, western bathroom. She made a reservation for me and even wrote out the address in Chinese to give to the taxi driver (who I couldn’t help but eye, suspiciously). Now, when I said “business hotel” what I had in mind was one of those semi-cheap, characterless hotels you find in every city, with Jack Vettriano paintings adorning the walls of the worn-down rooms and the art doesn’t matter because jet-lagged business men will check in for two nights at most and sleep as much as they can before catching the next flight to the next negotiation. I MAY have been misunderstood. MY hotel is pretty seedy really. It’s not particularly ‘nice’, but I don’t mind because it’s also not particularly ‘expensive’. But, I DO object to the items on offer for sale in my mini-bar: coke, beer, sprite… condoms, lubricant, etc… I am desperately trying to convince myself that this is a proactive approach by the famously socially concerned government to prevent the spread of HIV, but I’m not very convincing. My reaction resembled that of a certain welfare officer’s when she came back from the meeting about welfare items available on request (for the shameless few). For sale? IN MY ROOM? Eiw. I don’t care (that much) because all I currently care for is sleep and watching the one English ‘Propaganda Channel’ on the TV and trying hard to avert my eyes from said mini bar. “Business hotel” is NOT a phrase I shall be using ever again. And I was so excited for 2 nights of relative luxury.

So I’m here (somewhere) in Beijing and intend on getting back on the tourist horse tomorrow. It has been a super busy 2 weeks though, and there’s a lot to update you on.

Censorship

I have actually had this blog entry written, and frequently amended it for at least the last 5 days now. I was part way through typing it up last week, when the proxy I’ve been using to get around the censorship of google (this is a google blog) crashed on me – only me – and hasn’t worked since. I spent an awfully frustrating hour watching everyone else’s computers, but mine work. This was even the case when I changed computers, and the next morning. So I gave up deciding I would type it into an email and get someone to post it onto the site for me.

The ban from Facebook I don’t mind so much, and the ban from google sites is a bit annoying, but the censorship controls really stood out to me and in a quite a frustrating way, as I began to read more of the Chinese press and watch the media. On the whole I do think that western media has a negatively biased view of China in it’s news reporting, and I have thought this speculatively for a while now. Travelling further north into the bigger cities, I can understand the frustrations that western journalists much feel trying to extract information about China and Chinese politics. The pervading attitude that I have encountered, tends to be one of “us and them”. I frequently read or hear the phrase “China’s relations with the US/Italy/Rest of the World”. This is a political nation that is very aware that it’s ostracized. I’m nowhere near qualified to be able to develop a reasoned opinion on this, but the more time I spend in ‘modern’ China, the cities, the more suffocated and controlled I feel the media is. Positive propaganda has a daily drip drip drip effect here, and in one sense, that scares me. In another sense, it also fascinates me and to watch it happening and to be in the middle of it is such an interesting experience, but one that is happening quickly and will probably not be fully processed until I get back to the UK. Being here does challenge a lot of my previously held and accepted ideas though.

Cities

“Complex” is the word I consistently used to describe what I saw and experienced in Vietnam. My word for China is “Epic”.

There is nothing about this fabulous country that is on a small or moderate scale. I took a bus from Kunming to Lijiang a while back, and for the entire 8/9 hours I stared out of my window completely enamoured and in awe of how vast and beautiful the landscape was. (see below for more ‘china is pretty’ gushing). The cities also are epic and huge, and after the quiet of the countryside, really rather imposing actually. The buildings, the crowds, the traffic; everything is completely overwhelming, and if not overwhelming, very, very big.

Mandarin

The Chinese character for "landscape" is comprised of the characters for "mountain" and "river" respectively. Cool, huh? The characters for "mountain" and "river" each have their own stories, both of how the symbol has developed from the ancient into the current symbol, but also how the symbol represented it's meaning in the beginning. When I was in Yangshuo, I was joined for breakfast one morning by an elderly Chinese art teacher who had some time on his hands, and was given a spontaneous 45 minute lesson in the history of two particular characters, for "sun" and "moon". I've heard a few of these histories now, and each time I excited by just how rich, ancient and loaded this language is. I love it, and I love being completely surrounded by it, both audibly and visually. I was always pretty rubbish at learning languages, so this has come as something as a surprise for me. But it's a really wonderful thing to communicate with someone with whom you cannot converse, but have to rely on wide smiles, the good-old lonely planet guide and ridiculous demonstrative miming. I'm also pretty bad at drama, and so miming is of limited utility really, so I remain very grateful that those who are able, are frequently so delighted and willing to teach me a little bit of Chinese. I've been here nearly 2 weeks (I think) and aside from the ability to barter (which I cannot get a handle on because I can't pronounce the numbers) I think I might have picked up as much Mandarin in the last two weeks as I did Vietnamese in two months. I'm having fun - but I'm pretty bad.

Mountains: Tiger Leaping Gorge-ous

Interestingly, the Chinese character for landscape wouldn't make much sense in Britain, or many other parts of the World. Here, however, it couldn't fit more perfectly, and I couldn't experience it more vividly than I have here this past fortnight during my time in Yunnan province, to the west of my previous location.

You might recall from previous entries, mention of my somewhat optimistic/naive level of confidence in my ability to take on new things. Like with driving the motorbike in Hanoi, and various other things I am surprisingly not already perfect at on my first try, trekking Tiger Leaping Gorge (no actual tigers - just 'of legend') this week was definitely one of these occasions when I stood there, out of breath and bewildered, and questioned why on earth I thought I'd "just be able to do this". (Incidentally, as the weather starts to turn and I am realizing that I am acclimatized to 28C heat - minimum - I am asking the same questions about why the hell I ever thought "sure, I'll go to Siberia in THE MIDDLE OF WINTER") Having come close to death on two occasions; one from sheer exhaustion and the other from falling boulders (eh hem - sorry dad!) I am happy, delighted in fact, and extremely proud to sit here and say that I trekked it and it was spectacular!

After losing one set of Germans (sniff, sniff) a few days back, I accidentally found myself hooked-up with another, equally wonderful pair, to make this trek with. Germany is being good to me this trip, and me and my two trekking buddies - because there's no way I would take THIS by myself - set off for the trek, after an overnight stay in the mountain village of Qiaotou. For the first four hours that we walked, it rained, which meant that the first four hours of walking were super-slippy and the path frequently consisted of 4" deep "silver mud. Nice. It was horribly steep, and every time we finished a nasty bit of up-hill trudging, I kept thinking "well, it just can't get harder than THAT". But it did. About 8 times. Then, when we thought we really had done the hard bit, we came across a massive sign advertising snacks to give us energy for the 28 bends up ahead. The 28 bends are the most notorious part of the trek, and no, we hadn't done the hard bit. Our sunken and somewhat dejected but determined hearts were lifted when we saw the "snacks" on offer for sale. There was the standard honey and ginger tea, bananas, snickers bars and, erm, marijuana and magic mushrooms! I kid you not. Surely that's the last thing you want to put into your system before you climb across the face of a cliff. I don't know, it might have helped dull the pain in my thighs and slow the pace of my heart, which was about to explode.

I enjoy trekking, although I'm, quite evidently, not much of a natural hiker. But the reason I keep on doing this, regardless of the level of stamina it will actually require, is that the scenery when you make it to the top is just outstanding, and pure exhilaration buzzes through your spine and your tired limbs. I am incredibly lucky to have seen a lot of really beautiful parts of the world the last few months. Each time something new makes me gasp I get excited and think that's more beautiful, no, THAT'S more beautiful! And each time I am wrong because they're just different types of beautiful that are equally and incomparably spectacular and exciting. There is, however, nowhere that I have been, or nothing that I have seen this is on such an enormously imposing scale and has given me quite the thrill as this gorge. It is stunning, and everything you could want from hiking in China. Not only is there a roaring, gushing ochre river at the centre, fed by a million waterfalls, but the mountains run up to 4000m, are richly green in places, exposed, dramatic rock-face in others, and at the peaks are snow covered and glorious! It's amazing, and under-rated.

After the first four hours of up-hill mud slushing, the path evened our quite a bit and the sun also started to clear away the clouds. The next part of the trek was easier, and allowed more time to absorb the surroundings and atmosphere. My favourite moment occurred just after we passed the half-way marker, indicated by a decorated rock, congratulating us. A little further ahead, we crossed a bridge which joined two sides of a mountain, separated by a giant waterfall. I stood on the bridge, camera in hand and was distracted from being all Ansel Adams-esq by a big rush of cold wind that blew through me, also spraying me with the cold, fresh mist from the waterfall. It felt amazing.

I appreciate that I've spent too many words inadequately gushing about the glories of nature, and I also recognise that this is best left to the poets, so I'll move on. The trek can be done in a single day (apparently!) but is usually completed in two or three. We spent the night after day one at a gorge-ous (haha) Naxi guest-house, which had a roof-top terrace with one hell of a view, a hot shower and a damn good apple pie. There was a great buzz about the guest-house that night. Everyone was as cold and tired as each other (apart from the lazy woman who hired a donkey to carry her!), as excited about what they had seen and as grateful for the warm water and hot food. We met a great Dutch couple, who, both in their 70's, had completed the same part of the trek that day 90 minutes faster than us. Oh the shame!

The next day we woke up, freezing cold and discovered that we actually had electric blankets that we hadn't noticed the night before, in the haste to climb under the covers and get some body-heat circulating. Opps - that would have been really nice. We had banana pancakes and coffee, sitting on the roof terrace - in a cloud. The remainder of the walk was downhill mainly, and took us through three waterfalls! These I managed wonderfully, the previous day I had maneuvered across narrow rock ledges, but when it came to the firm red clay path heading down to the next village, you guessed it, I slid down said hill on my backside twice. Sometimes I really do think I'm too stupid to live. I think it happened this time because I was being all secretly cocky about how maybe I had learned, finally, how to walk properly. Nope! Clearly not!

And the mountain came tumbling down... 

No, this isn't some cliched biblical metaphor. Actual crumbling mountains. Read on:

When we reached the next village, triumphant (and muddy) a fleet of minivans were waiting to drive us back to the start village from where we could connect to onwards transport. There was a slight problem however, we learned from an American also waiting for the next bus back to Qiaotou. With all the rain in the previous two days (of which we caught the tail end) the road was officially closed because of a landslide. We waited for a while, saw a few digger-trucks filled with mud and rocks pass us, and were informed that the road had been “mainly cleared” but that one section remained impassable by car and that we could be taken that far. Okay, sounds fine. At least it sounds better than making the two-day trek back again.

Oh holy hell! I haven’t ever been more scared, or I think, closer to death and a 300ft plunge into a powerful river than on that 40 minute drive. When I heard “landslide” I imagined a section, perhaps even quite a large section of the road being blocked by fallen mud and rubble. This happened when we were in Sapa, and took about 4 hours to clear. No. The entire road, and I mean the entire road, and the sections of the road that apparently hadn’t even been built yet, had the top layer of fallen cliff along the edges where it had been ‘cleared’. In some places this looked fairly landslidey – in others we passed fallen boulders the size of a truck at most, a small child at least, strewn across what was left of the road. In other parts the falling rocks had knocked the barrier between the road and the fall and then, as if I wasn’t scared enough (and I really was scared) I looked behind the van as we drove through to see more boulders, 5ft wide at least, actually still falling down the cliff face! Now, there are quite a few people I promised that I would be safe (or at least alive) to – thus far this is the one real occasion when this has been seriously called into question. It was not a fun 30 minutes.

You might be wondering, given the description that I have just given of the part of the road that was open, how the closed section of the road could possibly be worse? Well, that part of the road had actually caved in and was in the river. Yep. We climbed across to the other side and stared down in frank disbelief.

I caught a pretty uncomfortable local bus filled with Chinese men smoking away back to Lijiang, which is a town between the gorge and Kunming. Lijiang is a pretty town, with a gorgeous park in the centre and surrounded in all directions by towering mountains. A big part of the town has been preserved either as original or restored Naxi old town, and is a maze, and actual maze of cobbled streets and small wooden and brick shops. It’s much like how I imagine Hogsmede would look and feel and it’s pretty fun to wander around. Because it’s such a maze however, I gave up any hope of being able to successfully navigate early, on day one. I have no inner compass, or if I do it’s stored next to a box of spare magnets, and Lijiang is not a town that I could do anything but get lost in. The “Naxi” are ancestrally a Tibetan tribe and now a minority that live across Yunnan province. I like the Naxi for the “baba” (delicious sweet or salty bread), the strong matriarchal traditions and yak yoghurt! I ate a lot of yak meat, drank a lot of yak milk and yoghurt and found it pretty darn tasty, if a bit on the ‘gamey’ side. The Naxi use the yak like the Indians use the buffalo, and so I also have a yak leather handbag (that I am a little bit in love with) and received a Tibetan massage, with an instrument made from yak bone.

Now, should you ever be offered a Tibetan back massage I want you to run, quickly and in the opposite direction from the offeror, okay? I AM BRUISED!! My back is covered, actually covered, in violent looking bruises from where my Tibetan masseuse ‘scrape away the tension and the pain’. I am a fan of massage, a big fan, and have enjoyed experiencing different types and traditions as I have travelled across Asia, and usually at less than 6USD a pop. I was trying to be all open minded and trust different traditions for what they could teach me, so I didn’t object or run, as I should have, out of the room and down the street, but instead lay there for 40 minutes with a screwed up face. Lesson learned. And now, you also have been warned!

The weather is getting much colder now, will be getting colder still and it feels as though everything is changing. I’m going to spend about a week in Beijing, and then depending on if I have time or not, go to a city called Haerbin which used to be Russian controlled and has a lot of residual influence. It’s also the only place in China where I can see Siberian Tigers! (which I want to do). The highlight of the last 2 weeks, I have definitely left for closing and it is this: I HELD A PANDA!!!!! I travelled to Sichuan (at the expense of my time in Xi’an) for this sole purpose and it was wonderful! I went to the Chengdu Panda research reserve and caught breakfast time as the cutest, clumsiest and squashiest animals I’ve ever seen stuffed bamboo into their mouths and lumbered around the enclosure. I was offered the chance to hold a 1 year old, which I jumped at. My panda was about 2ft high, really cuddly, really, really heavy and sat contentedly on my lap has I fed him honey-dipped bamboo and stared into his huge brown eyes. People, I’ve found another reason to move to China, and this is far more tempting than life on a Yangshuo farm…

Backpacks, Bicycles, Bumps and Bruises

I crossed the border this week into China-proper, and I also proudly became a backpacker-proper. During my trip so far I’ve experienced some different types of travel, from living and working in a foreign city (albeit for a short while)，to the vacuum packed, just-add-tourist tour and the week-long escape to a plush apartment in New Territories, Hong Kong.
I arrived in South China, in a city called Guilin a week ago. Thinking it was time to man-up, I unzipped the straps on my rucksack and discovered just how much my life for the last 2 months weighs. I’d also swapped the pristine power-shower and panoramic Hong Kong views for a Youth Hostel with a flooded bathroom and sink with a bug in it. Oddly my heart did a little glee dance (which I think was more than more than a recovery from carrying my bag up the stairs - but I can't be sure) and I breathed in the smelly, damp air, feeling pretty happy.

China has actually taken me completely by surprise, and I think I might be pretty close to upping-sticks and moving here. If it weren’t for the lure of the Russian borsch, vodka and the seven thousands hours I am going to be spending on a train in snowy Siberia （and that I have a new puppy waiting for me at home）I might just be tempted to marry a Chinese farmer and spend my days making jam, feeding chickens and playing mah jong. Whilst of course, this is a little hyperbolic, I really love this country, and I didn’t expect to. This feeling of being absorbed into and completely enamoured with a country isn’t something I ever experienced in Vietnam. This naturally, may have a lot to do with the type of travel I have/am doing in each country, and perhaps also that no-one here has stolen my passport, but even though parts of the landscape in there area I have been in look very similar, and could very easily be mistaken for being across the southern border, the atmosphere, culture and people are very different.

The history of course, is also very different, and it would be foolish of me to expect to be able to draw direct comparisons between such different countries, but I have found China to be more peaceful and self-assured than it’s southern neighbour, and even without my dazzling language skills (which are currently struggling to transition from Vietnamese to Mandarin), the people are more open and warm and I feel more at ease here than I ever did in Hanoi. I prefer these oranges a little more than I did the previous apples, shall we say?

Third-wheeling around the South

I’ve been really lucky this past week to have met and traveled with two strappingly handsome, intellectually curious and linguistically able German guys called Tammo and Flo. We met on our first morning in Guilin, where they invited me out for lunch. Over noodles (which are different to, and also much tastier than the Vietnamese variety) I learned that they has spent the last 2 months in China and had completed their first year (of four) at the University of Hamburg studying Chinese language and culture. I am still not over how cool this is (and I am pretty jealous of their continuing studentdom). Our first lunch together turned into something of a crash-course for Tamara in Mandarin, which, given it’s complexity and impossible pronunciations, became more of a crash course for the boys in how much of an idiot I am. Nevertheless, it broke the ice, and any illusions of pride I may have had, which I figure is good given my propensity to fall over and do stupid stuff; better to get this out of the way early on.

Guilin has been my first “Chinese” and “Chinese city” experience. I have read that this is a particularly nice city and that the landscape in southern China is uniquely sublime. Besides this, China is such a huge place I don’t anticipate much uniformity. Nonetheless, the boys have been doing this for longer than I and pointed out some trademark staples of Chinese cities. The first of these apparently is the traffic. I am completely un-phased by this having been initiated into Asian motor-etiquette in Hanoi of all places, so fingers crossed, this should be a synch. The second stamp is the inclination to illuminate everything. Especially at night and when this can be done in neon. Thirdly, and I’m sure I’ll be able to add to this as I continue to travel around, everywhere you go you are walking through a light mist of noisy, cheesy Chinese music. It’s still a novelty for me and is nothing compared to my 8-hour Vietnamese culture-bus induction, so thus far, it’s fine. I’ll let you know how the music tolerance holds out.

The landscape in this particular part of southern China is lusciously green and made up almost exclusively, of limestone mountains and sapphire rivers. We climbed a few of these mountains and the view from the top is quite a confused yet happy jumble. Guilin city essentially spreads outwards, much like any city, but is punctuated by spectacular limestone peaks, which the city snakes around, seemingly unconcerned by. Also dotted in amongst this confused jigsaw are a number of lakes and the Li River.

When you have been in Asia a while, and I get this impression also from chatting to other travelers, you get what I like to call “Pagoda Fatigue”. There are a lot of pagodas in Asia. They are all very beautiful, but sadly after pagoda number fivehundredandtwentysix, they are also pretty samey. That is, I would hazard to say, the case except for the two/twin pagodas in the lake in Guilin. These pagodas are silver and gold and respectively represent the moon and the sun. By night they are lit up and we climbed to the top (of the first – the second has a lift) and looked out at the city by night. Whilst this is a nice memory for me, the reason I mention this here without bursting into song about reflections and mountains (how very “Mulan”), is what happened on the way to visiting these two uniquely beautiful pagodas.

As mentioned, Tammo and Flo speak a bit of Chinese. If you ask them, they will tell you that they’re not very good, but they also say this about their near-perfect English, and so they are not to be trusted. They are at least, perfectly adept at asking for directions, which, this evening, they did, to a shop keeper on the way to the pagodas. This shop/stall keeper was wonderfully friendly and chatted (in Chinese, and not to me) for a long time, periodically trying to make a sale. He had on offer a variety of dice; one was a drinking game; one a selection of activities (such as “eat western food”) to help you decide what to do should you find yourself bored with this helpful dice to hand; and one pretty questionable “romance dice”. All the while he had been talking to Tammo and Flo, but then he stopped, spotted me, and handed me a dice “for woman”. The roll of my dice would help me decide whether I wanted to cook, sweep the floor, take out the garbage, buy the groceries, etc. I have this dice, a gift from Tammo, and think it’s brilliant – at least I would do if shop-man hadn’t been quite so sincere about it!

Ecstasy is a glassful of tea…

One thing I really love about China, and perhaps unsurprisingly if you know me at all, is the tea. It’s very different to British tea, and dare I say it, infinitely better and more enjoyable. I was first introduced to my new vice in Hong Kong when I escaped from the rain into a traditional Chinese teahouse. It was a very expensive teahouse, with pots of tea running up to hundreds of HKD, and so I ordered the cheapest on the (extensive) menu and ran to the bathroom to dry my hair beneath the hand-dryer (they have these in Hong Kong and I considered this quite the luxury). When I returned, my tea hadn’t arrived and so I amused myself while my own personal kettle boiled, reading the section in the menu about the tea ritual and traditional importance of Chinese tea.

I learned, and then watched as my tea was prepared for me, that the tea “instruments” are first to be warmed with hot water; the tea is them brewed (for 30 seconds – 4 minutes depending on the type of tea) and then the tea is poured into a small jug for serving in small clay cups. Now that I’ve tasted proper Chinese tea (and this was the cheap stuff!) I am somewhat disillusioned with PG Tips, so much so that I reduced my emergency travel-stash by half – not that this really cut out much weight or made that much more space in my bag, but I’ve got to carry the thing now. I had another tea experience in Guilin. This experience was beautifully serendipitous, but not strictly limited to tea, rather it involved also a lot of beer, and a christening of sorts.

One day in Guilin we hired bikes and cycled around the city. When we returned to the hostel, Flo was talking to a Chinese man who introduced himself by his English name – David. He owned a tea shop and invited us inside to sample some local specialties. My favourite was Osmanthus tea, which is currently in season and is made from the bud of a yellow flower. We had a really nice chat with David, and I ended up, after lustful admiration, buying a beautiful small clay teapot, cups and some Osmanthus tea. I did, momentarily, have grand notions of choosing tea sets especially for each of my friends, but given that each tea pot is handmade, unique and signed by the ‘artist’, they are also quite pricey and so said friends will have to visit me to sample some Osmanthus delights.

We ended up spending the entire evening with David, and later with all the men in his family, drinking beer. It is customary to take beer in a small glass (about 75-100ml) and to fill it to the top as a gesture of good will. The corresponding/responsive gesture of friendship is to drain the cup. If you drink all in one go we are friends. Lucky for me I really like beer and in China it’s like 3%. (I had a Corona the other night and it almost knocked me over). I managed to impress the men at the table by being “good drinker”, for a woman of course, and as much as I would like to do my bit for upholding Britain’s binge reputation, the truth is that these men just couldn’t drink. I have do doubt that they could stomach some hard liquor, but the fizzy was a bit much. My white skin and their beer-goggles meant that I was called “beautiful” a lot that night, and even given a Chinese name with this meaning, but it was decided that seeing how I was going to be a lawyer I must be too clever for a Chinese man to think me a good wife. Bye bye farmer wife dream.

Yangshuo and the Li

From Guilin we traveled by bamboo boat down the Li river to Yangshuo. The day prior to this we had visited the ‘Dragons Backbone’ rice terraces in Ping an. The terraces were much like Sapa, and we walked up and around for a few hours. True to form I slipped and fell – this time down steps of all things (muddy, slippy steps made of mud and slippiness and slate) and I now have the mother of all bruises across my backside, in a perfect purple and green line. Typical. It was worth the slip however, because stepping off the track, we walked down a cleared roadway for about 30 minutes and were met with the most spectacular view of the day. The weather that day wasn’t very clear, and we had huddled under big umbrellas eating lunch waiting for the rain to stop. Whilst this did have an effect on visibility, it also gave the mountains and terraces a mystical, illusive atmosphere, which I really love. The view from the roadside was like standing on the bank of a great lake of mist and out of this lake stood tall, proud and majestic mountains, framed in the foreground by the silhouette of pine trees. It was beautiful, and the beauty was matched only by the quiet and peacefulness – occasionally interrupted by the sound of a car horn from somewhere within the mist.

Our cruise down the Li river (to get us back to Yangshuo) was slightly different in that the scenery was outstandingly beautiful, but there was a distinct lack of stillness or quiet thanks to a ridiculous engine powering us along. I feel pretty smug in reporting that ear plugs did the trick (almost) and there wasn’t anything capable of spoiling such beautiful scenery.

In Yanshuo we spent two nights in the party hostel, mostly playing drinking games (ouch) and then we escaped outside the town to the countryside. Here we spent an idyllic evening under the stars (supplemented by candlelight) playing cards and the following day, less the hangover, we hired mountain bikes! Now, there is a sense of freedom and adventure commonly associated with the notion of “getting off the beaten track”, but for me this does tend to involve some form of injury or embarrassment. On this mountain biking excursion I nearly slid over the edge of a bridge. Before my dad has a heart attack and bungee-jump flash backs, I should say that this ‘bridge’ was about 3ft high and also made of mud and slate (and slippiness) and covered only a muddy stream. I don’t think I could have injured myself if I tried.

Having prefaced this however, you will be pleased to know that when we went rock climbing (something for which Yangshuo is apparently famous) we booked a proper company, guide, equipment: the works. Perhaps ironically I am more battered and bruised after that one morning that I have been the entire trip. My legs are a veritable constellation of bruises, scratches and mosquito bites – super attractive. Apparently, I don’t suck at climbing up rocks, and I really, really enjoyed it! The first climb was hellish, and my bottom-man was less than helpful and I’m convinced he thought my legs were 10ft long (which would have been pretty useful), but the rest were simply awesome. Sadly the spider-girl act was cut short by the rain, but a hot shower and hot chocolate was waiting for me back in the town, so I cant complain really (but of course, I did).

The next leg of the journey for me is still quite uncertain. I arrived in Kunming in Yunnan this morning after a cosy comfortable 18 hour train ride, and I need to make a plan. I have two weeks left, but I have fallen in love with the country and don’t want to leave, so I need to put together a strategy to get the best out of my remaining time here. In case you think the communists have gotten to me and I have been brainwashed into loving China, I do have one bad thing to say. The toilets are, frankly, evil in its purest form. When we were in Vietnam we had a scoring system for toilets according to whether it was (a) western, (b) had toilet paper, (c) had soap or (d) had a towel or hand-dryer (this was rare). Oh golly, if only I had known they were the glory days…

Interlude.

The turn of the week, and month, marked the mid-way point of my journey, and 2/3rds of my time in Asia. I have been in Hong Kong for just under a week, and tomorrow evening will be crossing the border into 'China proper'.

Before I left Vietnam, I did what many (admittedly Colonial) Europeans had done before me, and holidayed in Dalat. Having a 'holiday' whilst travelling, I appreciate, is a strange concept, especially if you're reading this from your office desk, so think of it more of a change of scenery. Dalat is much cooler than the rest of Vietnam, is very green and luscious, and according to my guidebook (which varies as to reliability) is pretty bohemian. Not being very bohemian myself, I didn't appreciate this vibe, if there even was one, but I did enjoy the multitude of art galleries, bakeries and adventure sports operators. After my assigned day of rest, which mainly involved camping out in the bed to which I was allergic in my cheapo hostel, sneezing and trying to get my head around 'The Rough Guide to China' (which I later traded in for a preferable Lonely Planet of varying reliability) I decided I wanted an adventure before I left Vietnam and ventured out to the 'Groovy Gecko' to see what might be on offer. Whilst there I met two lovely guys who were, the next day, planning on going 'canyoning'. I jumped aboard this plan, and the next morning found myself at the top, and on the edge of various rock crags and waterfalls with a rope, reassuringly duck-taped at intervals, attached to my waist. I believe the last time I did anything involving climbing and harnesses I was still in a 'Rainbows' tabard, and this extensive experience was, unsurprisingly, of limited utility. After a few practice drops, we did the real thing. And it was amazing. 

We started off with two 'dry drops', which were the standard rock-face abseiling, and gave us the opportunity to perfect the wide-legged straddle and frog-jumps - and to learn to hold on to the somewhat counter-intuitively correct part of the rope. After these, we trekked further through the forest, the terrain making Sapa look like a child's playground. I employed the full-body climbing quite frequently, and also, quite frequently, ended up on my backside, sliding down the rock/mud/into the river. 

I can only describe the waterfall climbs as 'interesting' and 'exhilarating'. The first went well, I thought. I fell about 1/3rd of the way down and it took a lot of concentration, and all of my pitiful upper-body strength to find a footing (there is no grip) and to pull myself back up to standing with the torrential water splashing down with full force on my face and body. Before the climb, our grumpy instructor had warned us, at all costs, against letting go of the rope behind us. I did of course do this when I fell, clinging to the rope above me, but instinctively corrected myself after I slipped again. The second attempt saw success and the rest of the climb was fine. At the end of the waterfall, as I came to the bottom, I ran out of rope. It is here that you have to jump, let go and fall into the pool at the bottom. I doubted whether I was capable of mustering enough actual courage to do this, and so I just did it. It was awesome. After a picnic lunch and some more trekking, this time with deliberate slipping and sliding along and through river currents, we approached out final climb. This one is nicknamed, and I would say appropriately so, the "Washing Machine" (it was nice to be told this before the climb). For this climb there was only 3m of overhanging rock to climb down before it concaved in beneath where we were standing and it was just fast and free flowing water, which we had to lower ourselves down through, using just the rope controls. I literally have only one thought about this climb, which is: "so that's what it's like to be completely inside a waterfall". The water is so very powerful, completely envelops you within it and you are powerless to do anything except be buffeted around in a torrent of falling river. It is amazing though; quite a humbling, disorientating experience but one pumped with adrenaline and excitement!

The next morning I took an 8 hour bus back to Saigon ahead of my flight. It went fine, except for the continuous 8 hours of Vietnamese music (of all genres) which I tired of after hour 2. By hour 5, "Disco Hour", I'd had enough. Luckily Dad was pretty hot on the sound-reduction headphone research and it was me and the Chilli Peppers flying away on my happy little zephyr for the remainder of the trip.  

The original 'plan' was to fly from Saigon straight to Beijing and loop down to Xi'an and Shanghai and then go through Mongolia to Ulan-Ude. The diplomatic relationship between Vietnam and China is tense, and I am told (by my bent policeman friend) that a few weeks ago the Chinese embassies in Hanoi and Saigon stopped receiving visa applications from non-nationals. To get around this I flew to Hong Kong, where an entry visa is not required and it would be fairly easy to apply for a Chinese visa. One potential hiccup that luckily didn't scupper anything  was my ill-informed timing. Upon arriving in Hong Kong I learned that Friday was the first of a 10 day national Chinese holiday, which presumably the Chinese Embassy would also observe. Enough things have gone wrong for me to realise, as Clare said I would, that a plan is rarely a plan, but merely a notion about that which I would like to do. Spending two weeks in Hong Kong was certainly not the worst case scenario. Luckily though, my visa has been processed and was returned to me yesterday, leaving me free to see more of China, and at a more leisurely pace that I might otherwise have done. Tomorrow evening I am going to make a start on this and will be flying to Guilin in SW China. I had initially purchased a bus ticket to make this journey, but was informed post-purchase, that to cross the border this way would involve taking a train to near the border, walking across it and then getting a taxi to a bus station - which could potentially be quite dangerous. Having had enough passport and visa drama for one trip, I bought a plane ticket.

As convenient a lay-over as Hong Kong has been for obtaining a visa, it has also been a fantastic mini-trip in itself. Not only have I had fabulous hosts (yes Terence, please take note - fabulous), but the city is also quite an exciting place to be. My first day here was really happy-making simply because everything seemed so Western and familiar. I had a wonderful feeling of safety and being able to relax wandering around a city that is much like London, where signposts are bilingual and if you get lost all you have to do is find a tube (or MTR) stop. I've also appreciated the countless malls, which have enabled me to replace my frankly nasty old travelling wardrobe with some new, better fitting clothes (I've lost some weight) and to buy a proper, reliable backpack that is not going to break on me in the middle of Siberia, as my knock-off Vietnamese night market bargain certainly would have. Also, and I'm really not as ashamed of this as I should be - I've visited Starbucks every day and it has made my very happy indeed. I also like coffee now, apparently.

Two days in particular stand out for me as incredible from this week. The first was the day I took the tram up to Victoria Peak. The view from the top of the peak is quite outstanding, and I loved feeling the gusts of wind from that height. But it got so much better than this. I decided to walk back down the peak to the central district, which was clearly signposted along a neat pathway. In doing so, I did, of course, get lost. But the 'long way down' worked out quite spectacularly. As I walked I noticed a few eagles flying up above me, so I stopped to watch and photograph them. As I got further down the mountain I turned a corner and witnessed literally hundreds  of eagles flying over the forests and ocean. I've asked a few people, one of whom informed me that the eagles are actually quite famous and a reason that people will visit Hong Kong, but I am yet to find out the type of eagle and why there were so many of them. It was quite spectacular to stand there in the dusk watching them, and so very beautiful.

Secondly, and even more excitingly, today I jumped the world's tallest bungee jump! It's the first time I've done a bungee jump - was incredible - and definitely wont be the last jump I do. The jump is from the Macau Tower, and is officially the highest in the world at 233 metres or 764 ft. It is the most vivid, adrenaline-pumping and stimulating experience I have ever had - and the 6 seconds for which I was falling felt like an intense rush of excitement and wonder, that was definitely much longer than 6 actual seconds. I had my eyes open the whole time, not wanting to miss a thing, and was most scared at the top, when the weights fastened around my ankles dropped from the platform before me, and I could feel the drag tugging down before I was allowed to drop. As excited as I was at the prospect of falling through so much space and so freely, there was a physical instinct that kicked in with fear, nano-seconds before the fall. The crew members counted me down and then I just went. If you ever get the chance, just say yes. You wont regret it.

ALSO. The lovely bungee jump people gave me a CD of my photographs from the jump, and so peruse away. Golly. It's almost like it's a proper travel blog!