Of Trees and Troglodytes

The Li River experience, sadly, had to come to an end. Luckily, it came to end in Yang Shuo, described by the Lonely Planet (my bible, though often out of date in China) as "a backpacker's paradise." Sure enough, as I trammed my way around the town I passed many a bar, coffee shop, sky-diving service, 'spider climbing' outposts, and a whole lotta English. The availability of English might have struck the loudest and oddest chord, as nearby GuiLin, a much larger city, didn't have so much. Perhaps this is one of the many reasons adventurous Occidentals label Yang Shuo a 'paradise.'

But i had no time for these things, as my full day tour quickly whisked me onward to the late afternoon's activities. Four were promised, and I didn't need to translate the guide's spiel to understand one would incorporate another whole-sale outlet, conveniently included into the package for my shopping disgust and my guide's commissionable delight.

1. The Requisite Temple
OK. By this point in my China time, any old temple was just going to be any old temple to me. The trip to this holy spot outside Yang Shuo's populated area provided more entertainment and wonder then then temple itself. The scenery included more of those karst uprisings, but instead of river in between, people and farmland. Sure, we passed over one (dis)tributary that came complemented with a small docking of river-folk, but for the most part water had been supplanted with crop.

Oh? The temple itself? Well, I didn't take any pictures and spent most of the time just keeping out of the way of the masses. I didnt even bother to try to remember the name of the shrine. If you want an in-depth review of a more positive temple experience, search other spots along this blog. I promise more than enough.


2. The Big Banyan Tree
Across the street from El Templo Aburrido sits THE BIGGEST BANYAN TREE I HAVE EVER IMAGINED!!! Sure, I don't spend much time imagining anything hornicultural, and yeah, maybe I didn't even know exactly what a banyan tree was before seeing this barky brain, but that's not the point. If you want to become a banyan buff, check out this site for some more detailed info from one who knows more than I: http://www.plantcultures.org.uk/plants/banyan_landing.html

Walking through a brief line of trees likely established to keep freeloaders out than benefit nature in any sense I followed the path through a large field of wild flowers till this cerebellumesque growth rose up in front of me. It might be difficult to discern from the picture, but the circumference of the big banyan might have been over 30 yards, and someone told me the total area underneath the branches totalled more than a couple hectares. Simply put: this baby was massive and deserved the name "Big Banyan." I know none bigger.

Aside the shade of the banyan ripples a small lagoon with a few sampans drifting around. Not a big deal after navigating Hong Kong's harbors, but I did find a kindred spirit. Perched within one of the small boats sat a hunched old man with a simple squirt gun of the pull to suck full/push to shoot variety. He kept his gun pretty active, hitting as many women in the backs of their heads as possible, snickering to himself the entire time. I, too, snickered to myself. This was far better than that temple.


3. The Neolithic Village
This might have been the dumbest thing I saw in China. Getting off the bus my two dogged ears picked up some odd sounds echoing from out between the karst, but I paid them no heed. We were supposedly going to inspect an archaeological dig, one giving evidence towards some of the earliest signs of human culture. Stone-age tools and weapons were promised. Anthropological data would be in both Chinese and English. My inner Indiana smiled.

The entranceway led to large bamboo huts with a path marked around their edges. The walls held posters and beneath glass cases displayed artifacts. This went on for maybe two huts. Cool enough, though nothing terribly exciting. Then we reached the "Cave of Time..."

Ooooohooohoohoohoooooooo!

"Be careful from here on, because now we are going to walk through this cave and travel back in time to the days of the earliest man in Yang Shuo," so sayeth the guide, unconvincingly.

Great. We walked down the steps to enter "The Cave of Time" and I half expected a Sleestack attack until I realized Sid & Marty Krofft would never allow for such shoddy effects. Emerging on the other side the guide explained to us the rules of the locals, to be followed if we wished to keep our lives:
- Dont look them in the eyes, and dont touch them
- If they say "ungababunga," its a sign of friendship, and you should say "ungababunga" back or dishonor them
- If you hear a "tunkatunka" cry, bop your fist against your chest then throw it in the air shouting "dugdug." Someone is testing to see if you are an armed enemy or not.
- If they rub their fingers together, they are asking for a sacrifice to their gods. Cash will do.

From this point on I didn't know how to react. Part of me wanted to crack up and laugh out loud at the ridiculousness of it all. These "tribals" were wearing cheap bikinis and loinclothes made out of leopard and zebra print polyester and many had bones stuck anywhere they found room. Faces were painted (and we all required a smudge across the cheek to enter the village) and spears chucked. Numerous men tried to get the jump on us by hiding in trees.

But part of me almost lost temper. Again, I'm white with blue eyes and stand about 5'10. In southern China, I stand out rather easily. This grabbed the attention of too many villagers. Countless poked and prodded me, let it be swirling my hair, grasping my arms, or getting up close to my face, that I swore the next primate that so much as touched me would face the wrath of my boomstick. At one point they invited me to blow on their horn, which they said no one could do without proper practice. I didn't want to do it, but I was forced, and thanks to many years in elementary band where I played a plethora of horns, I got a good blow going. So much that a half dozen tribesmen dropped to their knees and began rubbing their fingers for a sacrifice. Finally was a song and dance deal that I avoided by making a sprint for the bathroom (behavior i perfected while at day camp many years ago) successfully avoiding a major money trap. These might not seem like great annoyances when blogged, but as it was constant and invasive and I was alone, it was a test.

I can't begin to sufficiently express my annoyance at this site. I don't even want to think about it any longer.

4. Mandatory Shopping Outlet
On the way back to GuiLin we stopped at a crystal emporium. Nothing to note. Seen it before, hoped I wouldn't see it again.

He Jes' Keeps Rollin' Along...

Al Green hit the nail on the head. While wrestling with the tempting evils of a vile seductress he called for the cleansing promise of the river to heal his tattered soul.

After a year of flirting insanity through employment and the nasty adventus interruptus in Hong Kong my soul had a few tatters. And then I found my river.

I was raised close to the rough beaches of Cape Ann, Massachusetts, setting for yarns like "The Perfect Storm" and many a Lovecraftian tale. The proximity to the cold Atlantic instilled an awe towards the beauty and power of the mystic water and I'm never truly happy when I'm too far landlocked. If I needed to join the armed forces I'd bee-line to my nearest Navy office because I know that no matter what else is happening around me that I can find calm staring out over moving water.

And on that day in March I found the most beautiful stretch of river I have been lucky to roll down to this day.

It was an unforgettable experience, and a pillar of my China experience. Despite any complaint I have or ever will file against anything in the Middle Kingdom, memories of the Li River will quickly distract me to forget them.

Signing up for a day-long tour package I met an early morning bus to go out to the docks. The Li River tour is incredibly popular, and the local tourist board has prepared itself to meet high demands. Dozens of large cruise boats awaited throngs of passengers, rows of ships four deep stacked as far down the banks as I cared to look. I shuffled aboard what resembled a giant goldfish, found a window seat, and patiently awaited to disembark.





Despite the large number of ships heading downriver that day (though not the max, as it wasn't peak season) there was never a crowd as we puttered through the day. In fact, at many a time I couldn't see another vessel of our size. Sure, there were tons of small craft making their way this way and that, but it only added to the majesty of the travel. They also added some delicious snacks, as many of the gondoliers would push up alongside and hawk fresh fruits and sugar cane.

The weather wasn't quite as clear and blue as one might have wished, in fact, it was quite foggy. But much as with my time in Xi'An, this only added a mystery to the landscape that jumpstarted my imagination. So making my way to the top deck I found a corner to lean into, plugged into the ol' 40G, and opened my face to the wind and the beauty.



The green of the foliage rollede down the steep karst formations, falling pellmell into the green of the water that cut amongst it all. Along the banks we past a few huts, some quite large, but none too crowded or threatening. At night, with the proper score, proper lighting, and proper drugs, you might think you were cruising deep into Coppola's darkest Apocaplypse. But in the wet chill of my day, it was a calm refresher.

Now and then some private boats pulled into caves carved into the rockside, but our ship had no time for such frivolity. We just kept pushing down river, sending out horn blasts to oncoming tour boats (no others seemed to benefit from our own's carp-like appearance) and weaving through the shallows till we reached Yang Shuo.

I'll let the pictures fill you in on the rest of the details.

In Chinese, "Moutain" + "Water" = "Scenery"

I would eventually make it back into China, though with less time and much less cash than expected. But this wasn't going to upset a seasoned China Traveler such as yours truly too much: there was adventure to be had.

But first I had to get to that adventure. The successful route went as such: from Wan Chai on Hong Kong island I boarded a bus that took me to the border crossing in ShenZhen. Getting through immigration (yes!) I found another bus to go to GuangZhou.

GuangZhou, someone once told me, was the "Los Angeles of China." Taking a quick look around, I agreed: GuangZhou was huge and there was nothing to hold my interest to keep me there any longer than I needed to be. I strolled a few kilometers to find the train station, bought a ticket, then ran some errands, one of which meant going to a bank (I had a handful of HK$ left in my pocket that was now useless). Going to the bank never really scored high on my excitement chart, but my eyes bulged when I witnessed the wad the woman whipped out (more alliteration! more GENIUS!). Hefting two bulging plastic shopping bags, little ol' Grandma dumped piles upon piles of 100RMB notes on the counter. There was easily more than I had earned within my year's salary. Why so much cash had taken so long to reach the safety of a bank, I don't know, but I'd heard that many Chinese are skeptical of stowing their savings away anywhere they can't see it. As for the shopping bags: anyone's guess.

Eventually the train would depart, me in my sleeper bunk. Early the next morning (around 6AM) we hit my destination: GuiLin.


There are so many proverbs, folktales, and historical anecdotes attesting to GuiLin's scenery that little is left to be said. Apparently this region of China was once submerged under the sea, leaving incredibly drastic karst formations every which place you look. Civilization creeped in around this uprisings and along rivers like the Li. And since my bags were safe in my hotel room by 7:30 AM, I had plenty of time that first day to take as much in as I could.

Much of GuiLin followed the tried and true civil planning of any Chinese city: big public square, market street, pedestrian/high end shopping street, park, temple, etc. And while all this was everything I had seen before, GuiLin executed it in a laid back manner that made everything their own. If only for the constant reminder supplied by those huge rocky up-croppings. I'd spend a log of time walking a few streets and playing it easy here; sure enough if there was any time during my travels in China when I actually slowed my pace and relaxed; it was here in GuiLin.

Lazy mornings spent in coffee shops along the boulevard. Strolls up, around, and under hallowed rocks. Nights sitting on the promenade enjoying frozen treats as fishermen hawked sampan tours. Meals of noodles with horse meat and "beer fish." I'm not sure what "beer fish" is, but I present Exhibit A in the argument for culinary synergy. As for horse meat: not as tender as donkey, nor nearly as flavorful.

A couple years ago a fellow Hoya and SFSer came through this town and left an indelible mark. I guess he gave some speech on global environmentalism and preserving natural wonders. His name was also Bill. You might have heard of him. This Bill left a mark of his own, well, maybe more of a memento. But I guarantee whoever found them won't forget them anytime soon.

Red Cornered

The slash of light from what I presumed would be my feeding window awoke me a slick on the rough concrete floor that could only have come from the room's sole occupant: yours truly. Whether that slick and the sweet sick twisting my mouth were one and the same I couldn't know, but that wasn't might biggest worry of the moment. Neither was reclining, for in a 1.5 meter by too short space I was bunched up against the wall no matter where I tried to lean.
I hoped they would be pushing something through that window soon, though. I was getting hungry. But I didn't hold my breath. Nor did I expect a fresh sorbet to clean that foulness from my palate.
The last thing I could remember before finding myself here was jamming my paw into the inside of my jacket. I vaguely remember hitting the floor after that. I don't really remember the blow to the head, but the after-effects were certainly present as cribnotes.
The ordeal took place at the border crossing: a hot, sweaty, crowded foci of confusion, angst, and ill-temperment. Making my way through as a sole speck of salt in a sea of saffron certainly solicited several sequential stares (alliteration! GENIUS!), and yes, more than the ordinary. But while exiting Hong Kong emersed the traveler in the pleasant bubbling mass I had become accustomed to during my time in the Mainland, re-entering threw me into an odd solitude.
Then it tured out I didn't have the proper papers, resulting in an even solitude. Of a cell. Preceeded by a beating.
Why did this all happen? I had a visa, recently re-newed. I should have been let in, for all I knew. But confusion erupted and I tried to make due with my Chinese, but I guess when I said "my friend will settle this matter" and reached for my cell phone someone thought my "friend" was a firearm and "settle this matter" meant kill anyone who opposed my point of view, which conveniently enough is the predominant understanding of the American attitude towards any international affair by most non-Americans.
Now i wish I could claim this was true, especially because then there would certainly be a happy ending (since I'm now in the glorious Commonwealth of Massachusetts) but the true story is not this interesting. To set the record straight (and cage my overactive hyperbolic tendency):

FACT: I was booted out of the mainland and back to Hong Kong
FACT: I did have a visa but apparently not the right one
FACT: I did reach (and use) my cell phone against the wishes of some officer
FACT: I was sequestered in a cubicle all by myself with no clear explanation
FACT: I did use my Chinese to get through this, but all was understood just fine
FACT: I was escorted out of the mainland by armed guards
NOT-FACT: I was beaten
NOT-FACT: I was locked in a cell of any sort
NOT-FACT: Paul McCartney's post-Beatles work exceeds that of John Lennon's

Turns out some genius (likely the same who left getting me the new visa TILL THE LAST MOMENT after I had set the wheel in motion 2 months in advance) gave me a visa to get back into China that wouldnt let me back into China. It wasnt an extension, it was a "zero-entry" visa. What good a "zero-entry" visa is, I dunno. Its not even thick enough to be a good coaster. And it certainly isnt good enough to get back into the Mainland. So I got booted back to the Fragrant Harbor for 3 days and 2 nights of chasing down visas and affordable accomadations. All in all, during that short period of time I was forced to spend the equivalent I would spend in almost 2 WEEKS in the mainland. I was pissed. Low point of my travel. And I do hold a grudge against the putz who fucked it all up for me.