Funky stupa

I can’t complain too much because I made it to where I wanted to go, but it was not a pleasant experience. It started at 7:00, when the Tibetan woman who runs the guesthouse took me to a car she had hired to take me and three others to a little town that isn’t in Lonely Planet, where we could supposedly catch a bus.

I had a bad feeling about “just catching a bus” in a remote part of China, and it was indeed a nightmare. There were too many people trying to get seats on passing busses (many of them Chinese backpackers), and the Chinese are sticklers about seats. No sitting in the aisles in this developing country. So each bus only took one or two people.

When the situation became apparent after two hours, I joined forces with two unpleasant Canadian guys, a nice Chinese backpacker couple, and two Tibetan women wearing elaborate headdresses to hire a van.

Once we finally got going, the scenery was astonishingly good, and the road, the Sichuan-Tibet Highway, Southern Route, was astonishingly bad. We passed through lush valleys, and kept going up and up. We crossed three high passes, where the trees gave way to tundra, and the limitless mountains were visible in all directions. The passes must have been at least 5,000 m, considering we descended to our destination. En rout we passed countless Chinese tourists taking pictures.

I though the ride would be four hours, but we were treated to four additional hours of bumps. After the first four hours my legs were numb because I couldn’t move them. I was grateful when we finally arrived in Litang, which looks ugly and is noisy, with construction everywhere. There are some interesting Tibetans about, though.

Nomad

One of them hailed me on the street and started talking to me in English. I thought he was a monk, because he was wearing the bottom part of monk’s robes, but it turns out he wanted to take me to a monastery on his motorcycle. His price seemed reasonable, so I figured what the heck.

Then he and his monk friend took me to a Tibetan tea house. They are strange little places with little booths covered in carpets and posters of lamas, famous monasteries, deities, and yak skulls on the walls. Tibetan music videos are shown non-stop. All sorts of characters hang out there: monks, old guys in leather jackets and cowboy hats, nomads in cloaks, daggers dangling at their waists, and long haired youths with nowhere else to go.

Since I can’t drink yak butter tea I opted out and had black tea instead. The food was good: a big round piece of bread with yak meat

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On the holy mountain

My “monk” friend picked me up on his motorcycle and drove me out to the holy mountain. It was nice, with beautiful views and prayer flags everywhere. Unfortunately it was cold on the bike and it rained on the way back. Luckily, I had moved to a hotel with showers, and I was able to take a steaming hot shower (located downstairs in the courtyard), my first since I left Chengdu five days ago. Tibetan territory is not a place for hedonists. Today was also a good chance to do laundry (using the hose outside), since I’ll be here tomorrow.

I’m not staying because it’s great (Tagong was better), but this week is the big Chinese “golden week” holiday celebrating the founding of the People’s Republic of China, when everyone travels. Even though I have seen a lot of Chinese tourists, most are just passing through. I’m worried that when I get to Yunnan I will meet up with the hoards.

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Hapy family

I’d been lucky as far as the weather goes so far. But today my luck ran out. It was rainy, and it was cold, making for a miserable day. It was really cold; you could see your breath. Even though I’ve been at high elevations for much of this trip, it has never been this cold.

I canceled my plans to walk up the big hill behind the town, and hung out in my room, taking full advantage of the electric blanket, the only source of heat available. Nothing is heated here, and the restaurants are all open to the cold air. They provide all the hot tea you can drink, which helps a little.

After a delicious lunch of fried vegetables in a tasty sauce cooked by a friendly Chinese man, the rain mostly stopped, so I walked through the Tibetan part of town towards the monastery. The children were all on their way home from school, and they all said “hello” and some said “welcome to Litang.”

When I reached the monastery, an expansive complex, the rain started again. The place was mobbed by Chinese tourists. It never fails to amaze me how group tourists, of any nationality, never venture from the sites. They all missed out on the nice walk through the Tibetan town. Of course they had a nice warm, dry bus to take them back to their hotels, while I had to walk back in the rain.

Inside the monastery

Since it was so difficult to get here, I was worried about getting away. Especially since the town doesn’t have a proper bus station, making the prospect of buying a ticket difficult if you don’t speak Chinese. As I was contemplating my dilemma, there was a knock at my door. A German backpacker couple, probably the only other foreigners in town, had been trying for two days to get tickets, but there aren’t any. So they are looking for people to share the cost of a van to the next town. What luck! No more worries about getting out of here.

My initial reaction to this town was dislike, but it has grown on me. The surroundings are beautiful, and the people are fascinating. Walking down the street is like watching cowboys and nomads. They’re as interested in me as I am in them, and they will stop and stare, which can be a little annoying if I’m eating. But even doing mundane tasks is interesting. While grocery shopping a family of nomads came in to stock up on supplies, and while doing laundry a couple of curious monks wandered in to watch (men don’t do laundry here).

The food is excellent too. A little Sichuan restaurant across the street makes the best sweet and sour pork I’ve ever had, and an amazing chili chicken. I’m afraid I will be ruined for Chinese food now, as the Chinese restaurants back home aren’t as good.

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Nice place for a monastery

The van driver didn’t show up. Luckily, the daily bus was about to leave, and I was able to get a seat. The ticket lady refused to sell me a ticket, so I was worried I was going to get thrown off the bus. But I was OK, and after a few hours we stopped and the driver asked me for money by extending his thumb and index finger. The Chinese have their own system of finger counting, and you can count to nine using one hand, but I haven’t mastered it yet, and when I hesitated, he counted in English “one… two… three… four… five… six,” invoking laughter from the rest of the bus.

It was another ride through spectacular scenery. We went up and up and over two more high passes. There were actually nomads at the top of the first, with their herd of yaks, well above 5,000 m! We were on top of the second pass for a long time, and it was an eerie, rocky tundra moonscape. No yaks up there.

A lot of prayer flags

Xiangcheng is an ugly little town, completely under construction, with piles of rocks everywhere, and huge trucks and tractors driving around honking loudly. There were crowds of people hanging about, I think because of the holiday.

But the unpleasant town is in a beautiful valley setting, and I walked out into it. Once I left town it was quiet and peaceful. Xiangcheng means “string of pears” in Tibetan, and the little clusters of whitewashed Tibetan buildings did indeed look like pearls.

The weather here is pleasant, as we came down a considerable amount. I was actually sweating a little during the walk. It’s even nice at night.

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Monk-ey business

Yesterday I went to the ticket “office,” (a little shack) next to the “bus station” (a muddy lot full of piles of rocks and tractors) and a guy watching TV told me to come back tomorrow morning. I arrived at 6:30 to try to beat the crowds buying tickets for the once daily 7:00 bus to “Shangri-la,” but the office was closed.

Finally at 6:50 a lady showed up. I managed to get to he first, but she said mei yu mei yu (no have no have), while she sold tickets to everyone else. Finally when everyone was gone she looked at my phrasebook where I pointed at the characters for “tomorrow,” and she reluctantly sold me a ticket, since I wouldn’t go away.

After than fiasco I had a whole day to kill here. I walked out of the mess that is the town, and followed a trail into the hills. It was a strenuous climb all the way, but I really got into the wilderness; not a soul was around. It was nice. I headed back exhausted after three hours. I wonder where the trail went? It always bothers me when I don’t follow a trail to the end or climb a mountain to the top.

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Old town Shangri-la

There were more people with tickets than seats on the minibus, but luckily I got one. It was another long (10 hour) ride through the mountains. Most of the road was good, until we got to part that was missing: it became a bumpy dirt road. Unfortunately this was high up on the side of a mountain with a nice view of the sheer drop to the raging river far below out my window. The diver barley seemed to have control of the bus as we careened around corners, having near misses with oncoming trucks. This went on for an hour.

The city of “Shangri-la” is in a nice setting, on a wide flat plain, with mountains all around. It reminds me of Lhasa: a big spread out bland Chinese city. The authorities actually changed the city’s name to try to cash in on tourism. But it’s hardly Shangri-la.

The best feature of the city is the charming little old town, which I briefly wandered before succumbing to the temptation of pizza. It’s got cobbled streets and beautiful wooden buildings with Chinese lanterns hanging on them. It’s also got a lot of construction.

Why is there construction in the “old town?” They seem to have designated a few streets as a tourist district with restaurants, bars, souvenir shops, and guesthouses, and are reconstructing the buildings from scratch with beautiful wooden fronts. Local people live in much simpler buildings.

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Looking over Shangri-la

I successfully took the “back door to Yunnan.” Sane people take a train from Chengdu to Kunming. It was hard work, and I am exhausted. I managed to sleep until 10 this morning, a feat that is only possible in China with earplugs and a sleep mask. My goal was to a) not take any bus rides and b) not see any sites. I needed a Day of Rest.

But a Day of Rest meant doing laundry, which meant it started to rain right after I hung it out to dry, which has happened every time I’ve done laundry on this trip. It was also my first chance to do email since I left Chengdu.

I went for dinner in the old town. Just as I was thinking it was a charming but artificial tourist attraction, I saw that hundreds of local people were dancing in a big circle to some interesting music, many of the women wearing colorful costumes, with orange scarves in their heads. They danced for hours in the cold. Even after it started raining many still danced. Each song had its own moves, all perfectly synchronized.

Chinese temple draped with Tibetan prayer flags

The people weren’t Tibetan. Shangri-la is the end of the Tibetan world for me. There are Tibetan monasteries here, but I haven’t seen any women wearing chubas. Yunnan is famous for all its minority people, and the dancers came from another group, but I don’t know which.

Yunnan should be interesting, since it’s China’s most colorful province, with a higher percentage of minority people than Han Chinese. It had always enjoyed a high degree of autonomy, even independence, from the Empire. It broke away from China after the fall of the Qing dynasty in the early twentieth century, but the Communists brought it firmly into the Chinese fold. Despite this, its history and people make a trip to Yunnan similar to visiting another country, a fact that makes it popular with cowboy hat wearing Chinese tourists.

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Shangri-la's dancers

I woke up with stomach trouble, which meant I had to spend some time squatting among the turds in my hotel’s horrifying bathroom. I decided not to eat until dinner.

My stomach, coupled with the fact that it was another cold, rainy day, made me not want to go anywhere. But I forced myself to take a bus out to Ganden Sumtseling, and I’m glad I made the effort. It was a huge monastery complex, surrounded by Tibetan buildings, on the side of a hill. Even though it was being renovated, it was still nice.

Prayer wheel, size XXXL

Back in town I climbed up to the Guishan Gongyuan, a little Chinese style Tibetan temple. There was also an enormous prayer wheel. It must have been three stories tall. I couldn’t turn it by myself, but with two Tibetan guys we got it going.

The people were dancing again tonight. They really enjoy it, and watching them is fun, except for the cold, which forced me back to my room where I put my feet in a bucket of hot water. The music they dance to is excellent. So I found a little shop that sells the CD.

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Old town Lijiang

It’s nice to be back in civilization. I was able to sleep in, then buy a ticket to one of the hourly (not daily) busses to Lijiang. It was effortless.

My first reaction upon arriving in Lijiang’s new town was horror at the terrible, ugly mess. But once I got to the old town I was charmed. It’s a delightful maze of cobbled streets, canals, and traditional houses. It’s especially beautiful at night, with Chinese lanterns everywhere.

I arrived just after the Golden Week holiday, and was able to get a great deal on an en suite room with a Western toilet, only the second time I’ve had this luxury in China! There aren’t that many people here, but there are still plenty of Chinese tourists with huge cameras everywhere, spoiling my shots.

I’ve left Tibetan territory, and have entered Naxi territory. The Naxi are actually descended from Tibetan tribes, but are now distinct from them, with different costumes, language, and religion.

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Lanterns light up lovely Lijiang

My stomach problems made a comeback lat night, and I got my moneys worth out of my private, Western toilet. It’s quite a luxury not to have to get dressed, go outside, and down three flights of stairs in the cold when I have to go to the bathroom.

My guesthouse is a charming little Naxi compound on a quiet alley with a babbling canal. I’m not in a hurry to leave after the rigors of Western Sichuan.

I went to see the sites today, which charge expensive entrance fees. Looking at the Past Pavilion was a new Chinese pagoda on the top of a hill that had nice views over the old town, which is very big. The surrounding new city is even bigger, though.

The Mu Family Mansion was the home of the Naxi chieftains. It was destroyed by the 1996 earthquake, and was rebuilt from scratch. It was nice. It’s interesting that the buildings were Han Chinese style, reflecting how the leaders wanted to integrate with the dominant culture.

Costumed locals

I walked to the Black Dragon Pool Park, but the entrance fee was exorbitant, $8, and nobody was going in, so I passed.

Lijiang is charming and beautiful, bit it is crowded. There are a lot more Chinese tourists out today (there are hardly any Westerners). Maybe because it’s not as cold. In fact, there are so many Chinese, most being led around by flag waving guides, it’s actually difficult to walk down the streets. With the crowds and the costumed natives posing for photos, it feels a bit like Disneyland.

I’m reaching the halfway point on my tour of China, and I haven’t covered much ground. I’ve met a lot of travelers furiously racing from city to city and country to country, but I’m more of an “explorer.” So this will be more of a tour of Southwest China than China as a whole.

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Looking over the roofs of the old town

I got up early to try to beat the crowds. At 7:00 am only some locals were going about their business. At 8:00 I saw the first tour group, and by 9:00 the masses were out in full force.

The first two hours were nice, and I wandered through a residential district. The streets that people live on are simple, and only white walls and gates are visible, hiding the courtyards. The tourist streets have buildings with elaborate wooden fronts. I wandered into a newly gentrified area, full of empty wood buildings waiting to be rented by entrepreneurs.

When the streets became too crowded I had breakfast: a local specialty called baba, flatbread with vegetables baked into it. I relaxed for the rest of the day.

I’m ready to get out of town. The crowds have become too much for me.

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The Tiger Leaping Gorge

The next day I rode a bike to a small Naxi village. Tourists were being bussed here, but they confined themselves to one street that was full of tacky souvenir stalls. Once I got beyond that, the village was nice. I rode further to the base of the beautiful Jade Dragon Snow Mountain. It’s actually possible to take a cable car up 4500 m to the top, but with the requisite tour, entry fee, and tickets to go up and back down it is prohibitively expensive. I rode to a place up on a hill where they are building a huge… thing. Artisans were making carvings on a huge stone stairway up to an enormous stone platform with stone pillars. I wonder if the authorities decided to create a new tourist attraction. Whatever it is, it is very elaborate.

The following day it was time to leave, so I took a bus to the start of the Tiger Leaping Gorge mini trek. The gorge, at the start of the might Yangtze river, is one of the deepest in the world, and is spectacular. The trek was easy but rewarding. There were many people, mainly budget minded Israelis, but I hardly saw anyone outside of the guest houses.

Inside the Gorge

The first night I stayed at the lovely Tea Horse Trade Guest House, which is not in the Lonely Planet, which is the reason it is so nice. Fewer people stay there, so the owners are friendly and their food is good. It was a pleasant place to talk with laid back travelers. The second night I stayed at the Mid Gorge Inn, also not in the Lonely Planet. There was nobody else here, so the owners were happy to have me, and their food was wonderful. If you’re doing this trek, rip out the worthless pages about it in your Lonely Planet and give these nice people your business.

Today I made a complicated trip to Dali. First I flagged a car down to take me back through the gorge to the start of the trek, a terrifying ride over a bumpy road with a sheer drop on one side. Then a minivan back to Lijiang, where I caught a bus to Dali.

Dali is a bigger version of Lijiang. More shops, more Chinese tourists, and Bai women trying to sell me junk every two minutes. Boo yao (no want) makes them go away. This place sounded nice on paper, but I don’t think I’ll be spending too much time here.

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Lake pagoda

I woke up this morning feeling not quite right, but not quite wrong either. My throat didn’t hurt, but it didn’t feel right. Same with my stomach. And I was tired. I didn’t want to do anything. I think I have the “China slump.” China takes a lot out of you, and I am starting to dream of a beach holiday on Hainan Island.

My bus didn’t leave until 8:00 pm, so I forced myself to walk to a cable car up to a temple on a mountain behind Dali. I walked for three hours and never found it. I walked up a dirt road with piles of rocks everywhere towards a huge structure I thought must be the cable car terminal. Eventually the dusty little road turned into a huge concrete highway. That is so typical of China. Things go from primitive to modern and back unexpectedly.

The structure was massive, and wasn’t for tourists. Eventually I was forced to accept a tuk tuk guy’s offer of 1 RMB, which is negligibly cheap. The catch was that he would sell me a ticket on the cable car for 40 RMB ($5).

Dali pagoda

I am tired of the extortive entry fees, and resolved to walk up myself, which my friend wasn’t too happy about. It was not easy. After 30 minutes of searching, with my driver desperately telling my it was impossible the whole time, I eventually found a way past the ubiquitous huge concrete walls that are everywhere in China, and panted and sweated up a steep, muddy trail for an hour. The temple was mobbed by Chinese tourists and wasn’t interesting, but was amazingly free.

I got on the cable car going down without buying a ticket. Should I feel guilty for cheating some rich officials out of 30 RMB? From now on I resolve to cheat as many officials as possible, but they are normally smarter, so I will be visiting fewer tourist attractions. I’ll save my money for the important things like the Forbidden City and the Great Wall.

I don’t know what awaits me in my next destination, Ruili, which I can’t pronounce properly (something like way-lee). Western backpackers don’t go there, since there are no attractions. But it’s a border town, with lots of goods being shipped in and out, since China is Burma’s only friend. It should be an interesting change of pace from artificial tourist towns.

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Naxi musicians

Sleeper busses seem like a good idea on paper. You can enjoy your overnight trip from the comfort of a bed. Unfortunately, the reality is hellish. The beds are designed for tiny stick people, and are about five feet long and six inches wide. There are three of these beds across, with two aisles between them, and upper and lower bunks. The back of the bus dispenses with the aisles, so five people fit on the bottom and five more on top. All the beds leave no room for a bathroom or for luggage storage (most Chinese travelers only have a tiny bag).

I got stuck in the very back, which turned out to be good, since there were only four of us, so I got a nine inches instead of six. Still, there was no room for my arms. The guy next to me got off halfway, leaving me with a luxurious 15 inches.

Ruili isn’t as exciting as I imagined, or as Lonely Planet makes it out to be. It’s just a big Chinese town. But if you wander around there are some interesting tidbits: Burmese wearing longyi, Burmese writing on signs, Burmese food, sticky rice in bamboo, and tasty Burmese shakes blended for you on the sidewalk, made either with fresh fruit, or sweet syrup imported from “Myanmar.” The place is especially interesting at night, with people eating at little tables on sidewalks everywhere, and the food is excellent. But all this is maybe 10% of the place. The town is 90% typical Chinese.

There are no sights in town. But sometimes it’s fun to visit a place where there are no foreigners.

Unfortunately, due to my continuing malaise and the fact that I didn’t perceive Ruili to be visually interesting, I didn’t take any photos.

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Street food

I’m fascinated with borders, especially those with isolated countries like Burma. So I rode a clunky gearless bike out to it. There wasn’t much to see. On the Chinese highway was a huge structure. But it was manned by only one guard, and cars, trucks, and bikes came and went as they pleased.

I rode along the river through Burmese villages with bamboo houses and dilapidated stupas. It was indistinguishable from being in Burma. Tantalizing views of the Burmese town of Mu-se were visible across the river. There were a couple of tall buildings, probably the only outside of Yangon, most likely hotels for Chinese tourists.

I rode to the “One Village of Two Countries,” where the Chinese border guard in his smart uniform looked confused. I don’t imagine too many Westerners ride through on bikes. But an unshaven Burmese border guard in a shabby uniform came out of a shack and waved me away.

I rode through some more villages where the children didn’t even know how to say “hello” and just gaped at me in disbelief. I think if I were to keep going though the fields I would be in Burma.

Now I have to back track 10 hours to Dali, then a further six to Kunming. At least this sleeper bus is bigger and more comfortable.

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Traffic

Yesterday my malaise transformed into a full blown cold, with runny nose and sore throat. The bus arrived in Kunming, the capital of Yunnan, at the ungodly hour of 4:30 am. I managed to sleep relatively well on the bus, but was still exhausted. I checked into a dorm, pissing off an Australian guy, and managed to sleep until 9:00 am.

I woke up exhausted and miserable, and resolved not to leave the hostel, which is self contained with internet and pizza. I managed to sit around reading all day.

In the evening I started to feel better, and briefly wandered out into Kunming, another pleasant, clean, gentrified provincial capital like Chengdu.

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Kunming's temple

I rode a bike around the city. Kunming is big (population four million), but not huge like Chengdu (population 11 million). There are many skyscrapers, but they are not everywhere. While a nice enough city, it isn’t as polished as Chengdu.

What strikes me about these big Chinese cities is their newness. New wide roads, new bridges, new tunnels, new skyscrapers, new shopping centers. They feel as if they’ve been designed from the ground up to be modern cities, which I imagine they have been. The urban planners did well, but because everything is new, there is no sense of China’s thousands of years of history. Almost everything of historical significance was destroyed during the Cultural Revolution, so practically everything you see today is post 1976.

I rode to Yuantong temple, which was a nice surprise, as it was an active Buddhist temple, with pilgrims burning humongous joss sticks (joss logs is more like it). It was refreshing to see a temple that wasn’t an artificial tourist attraction in secular China.

Joss sticks for sale

I can’t help comparing mainland Chinese to their ethnic Chinese counterparts in Bangkok, who do not live under a Communist regime that tried to stamp out religion (“the opiate of the masses”) and tradition, and who did not experience the self destruction of the Cultural Revolution. There tradition is still followed, and you can see it just walking down the street. Big houses, which are invariably Chinese, have a shrine room for the Buddha, and a room devoted to the families’ ancestors, and both rooms remain lit at night, making them visible. Shops and restaurants, which are often owned by ethnic Chinese, have a Chinese shrine on the floor. Grocery stores have an aisle selling joss sticks, candles, hell money, and other “hell paraphernalia” such as cardboard mobile phones. Yawarot, Bangkok’s bustling Chinatown, has busy temples full of monks and pilgrims. After one month in mainland China I haven’t seen any of this, besides the active temple today. It’s amazing that if you want to see traditional Chinese culture, China is the worst place to go. Your local Chinatown is much more Chinese. That’s Mao’s legacy.

People may not go to temples anymore, but they do go to parks, which provides an outsider with a glimpse into contemporary Chinese culture. I observed people playing mahjong and cards, groups playing musical instruments, and old men flying kites.

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Do it yourself

At last I felt like I was getting over my cold. Maybe I will be able to enjoy the rest of the trip.

I still wasn’t feeling up to par, and the temperature plummeted today so I could see my breath, so I had to force myself to visit the Bamboo Temple. What made this place unique were hundreds of lifesize statues of arhats, or “worthy ones,” each with remarkably detailed expressions. Some were so detailed they looked real, and others were cartoonishly bizarre.

Most bizarre and remarkable of all were two easily missed walls along the sides of a temple you could not enter, making them hard to see. Both walls were covered with figures surfing, yes, surfing(!) on various mounts: fish, turtles, crabs, bulls, birds, and dragons. One figure walked on stilt-like legs, and another hovered in the lotus position. Strangest of all was the figure reaching his arm out ten times its natural length to the ceiling. It was wonderful and weird, and seemed to have no place in a temple. Unfortunately, photography was prohibited.

Back in town I had a local specialty called Over the Bridge noodles for dinner. Legend has it that a scholar’s wife would bring him his lunch in his garden every day. She had to walk a long distance over a bridge, and eventually discovered that a layer of oil would keep the broth hot, and the raw ingredients could be added later. Today you get a big bowl of steaming broth, and dozens of little bowls of meat and vegetables, which you dump into the broth. Finally you add noodles and you have your soup.

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More of Kunmin's temple

Last night I acted in a Chinese TV series. I played the role of “guy cheering on two guys playing Russian Roulette,” and had to laugh manically as they passed the gun back and forth. One of the players was the star, a Mandarin speaking Frenchman, and a real prima donna.

Going through the process gave me some insight into the work of an actor: waiting to get makeup, waiting while they get the set ready, trying to understand (Chinese) directions, acting the part, which I have zero ability at, and repeating many times. And that’s just for one ten second scene. The whole process starts over for the next scene. But being an extra is pretty easy, and best of all I earned 400 RMB, about $50.

So watch China Central TV 1 for my debut.

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Beautiful Yangshuo

From Kunming I had a day and a night of travel. The night on the train was very nice, and I slept like a log. There is nothing “hard” about Chinese “hard sleepers.” Unfortunately, I could only take the train as far as Nanning, capitol of Guangxi Zhuang Autonomous Region. It seemed like a nice city, but there’s nothing to see there, so I walked across the street to the bus station, which was being demolished. Luckily Lonely Planet indicated that there was another bus station a block away, so I walked to it, but it was locked up. So I had to take a taxi to a bus station miles and miles away outside of the city, which was exorbitantly expensive.

At the massive, shiny, new bus station in the middle of nowhere I was able to buy a ticket for a bus to Guilin, four hours away. The bus had huge reclining seats, only three across, which was nice after the run down old busses of Western Sichuan.

Yangshuo fisherman

Guilin is one of China’s most famous attractions, with huge limestone karst peaks everywhere. The landscape inspired many Chinese paintings, and served as the Wookie homeworld in the latest Star Wars movie, along with the similar landscape of Southern Thailand. But fame draws huge numbers of Chinese tourists, and Guilin itself is a big city of a million people. To escape the crowds I immediately bought a ticket to Yangshuo, the legendary backpacker mecca an hour away.

It’s legendary for a reason: it’s really nice. A small, manageable town, with the same limestone peaks everywhere. West Street, the “foreigner street,” is the first place I’ve been to in mainland China that is geared to foreigners, with countless “same same but different” cafes serving good food, and English is widely spoken. And it has more Western tourists than I’ve seen anywhere in China. After months on the road, it’s the perfect place to relax and take a holiday from China.

As much as the place is geared to Westerners, there are many more Chinese tourists, perhaps here to observe the Western backpacker in his native environment.

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Yangshuo's Birdman

Another 30 days is almost up, which means it’s time to pay a visit to the local Public Security Bureau, which means a wander through back streets and alleys in search of a nondescript building. Yangshuo’s PSB had a big sign in English, but “go to Guilin” is all they would say.

So I hopped on a bus for the hour trip back to Guilin and wandered the city’s deepest, darkest alleys for an hour to find an apartment building with the five gold stars of the People’s Republic of China above the door. After a careful comparison of the Chinese characters above the door with those in my guidebook, I decided they were similar enough that this was probably the right place, so I waited for the staff to return from their three hour lunch break.

Crowded

It was the right place, and I’ll get to pick up my passport in seven days. I was considering spending a week in lovely Yangshuo, and that settles it. It’s the perfect place to relax and forget about the rigors of travel. The karst peaks around town are amazing, the food is good, the beer flows at night, and traditional Chinese massages are available. I’ll have to try not to spend all my money.

Like Lijiang and Dali, Yangshuo is a victim of its own success. The number of Chinese tourists has exploded, and it’s difficult to walk down West Street at night. Strangely, Yangshuo has two faces. During the day, the cafes are full of banana pancake eating foreign backpackers, and hardly any Chinese are around. At night there’s not a foreigner to be seen, and the cafes are packed with Chinese tourists. What’s the best way for a bar to draw Chinese tourists? Provide good live music, which most places don’t do, or provide dice, which most do. The Chinese must be the worlds most avid gamers.

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