Traveling in China is a pain in
the ass. The language barrier makes it difficult, there is endless haggling
with taxi and scooter drivers, and the bus, train, and boat stations are
unsanitary at best and unbearable at worst. But in Yangshuo, a small tourist
town an hour south of Guilin, bicycles prevail as the main means of
transportation. And as I sit on the back porch of the Cosy Garden guest house
watching the sun go down, a pillow under my bum after a long day of riding, I
can tell you that bikes cause pain in the ass, too. Here’s the story.
Life carried on as usual after
deciding to walk to Beijing to raise money for New Day foster home. But it was
also different. My mind became obsessed with the idea to the point where I
couldn’t eat or sleep. I could hardly breathe, think, or speak without each
word leading each conversation toward the walk. It was a feeling very similar
to being in love- that sickeningly powerful drug that draws you to another, compulsively.
Upon gaining the commitment of a walking partner, Ann (the wife of Jerry, one of
the men who biked across China….go figure), I shifted my focus to a new
project: entertaining JB.
When he got off the plane from
San Francisco, JB seemed fresh as a daisy. It wasn’t until we arrived back home
to Zhongshan that the jet lag caught up to him and he slept a full day. After a
weekend of bumming around Zhongshan in-between my lesson schedule, we bought
two bus tickets to Guilin and hit the road. This was no ordinary bus, but a
sleeper bus. It had two aisles separating three rows of beds, one lining each
side, and one row in the middle. To each row, there was a top and bottom bunk.
We made our way to the back and found our bunks. Thankfully, the bus was not
full, (as we were traveling on the holiday of the Chinese Moon Festival) so we
were free to spread out. We talked and slept and arrived in Guilin 12 hours later,
at 6 in the morning. We got off the bus, braved the disgusting bus station bathrooms, and
haggled with a taxi driver to take us to our riverside hotel. Thankfully, the
man at the front desk let us check into our room even though it was early in
the morning and our reservation was for that night (the great thing about China
is that people make their own rules; the awful thing about China is that people
make their own rules). The second we got through the door, I flipped on the TV.
On the other side of planet Earth, the US Open final was being played by Marin
Clinic from Croatia and Kei Nishikori from Japan- the first ever Asian man to
reach a Grand Slam final. The picture was terrible; through the static, I
couldn’t see where the ball was, but had to guess, judging by which side of the
screen the fuzzy players ran to and swung their racquets. I only caught the
last two games of the short match before Clinic won in straight sets. I tried
to listen to the players speak their minds during the press conference following
the match, but I could hardly hear them over the obnoxious woman translating
their words to Chinese. Frustrated, I gave up and went to find coffee.
Guilin was nice, but not what I
was looking for in a vacation. It is a city more beautiful than Zhong Shan, but
a city nonetheless. Our first day was a blur of US Open tennis, sleep, and watching
old women do Tai Chi by the river. When we finally felt rested, we set out on a
Guilin adventure. We decided to walk across the main bridge over the Li River,
where we turned up an alley and found a street lined with bustling outdoor
restaurants and street vendors. I tried a stir-fried snail from a food cart (I
wouldn’t recommend it) and JB bought a bracelet from a Chinese woman who had
her jewelry spread out on a large rug on the sidewalk. We decided on a
restaurant by looking at the food on the plates of people already eating there,
resulting in strange, uncomfortable glances from the patrons. My language
skills were tested as I ordered three traditional Chinese dishes, two beers,
and hot water to wash the dishes with (a Chinese normality). The meal was
delicious and the conversation was scrumptious as well. Unfortunately, a large
chunk of our time in Guilin was spent resolving minor financial issues, as the
airhead that I am forgot my debit card on the bedside table at home. After a
New Mexico bailout, we were back on track.
Getting to Yangshuo was a
production, but I knew it would be worth it. After a half-day of traveling, we
made it to the Cosy Garden guest house, which is a 10-minute bike ride out of
town and is surrounded by fields and limestone mountains covered in foliage
that make Yangshuo unique and beautiful. JB took a long nap and I took a long
walk, exploring the area and the neighboring villages. I counted the flattened
frogs on the concrete road as I walked, and moved to the side of the road so a
woman holding a big stick and herding her three cows could pass by, staring me
down all the while. That night, JB and I went out for dinner and drinks,
meeting up with an American who we had met on our way into town. We found him
at Demo bar, a favorite for the Westerners who have settled in Yangshuo. Many
of them have the similar stories; they came to visit and decided to stay. I can
see why. Yangshuo is a town kept alive by adventuresome tourists. There are
many things to do, ranging from kayaking the Li River to rock climbing and
bamboo rafting. The towering limestone mountains are like nothing I’ve ever
seen, and remind us of landscape from the movie Jurassic Park. At Demo, we
played bar trivia and lost (who knows or cares how many spikes the Statue of
Liberty has?). After the game, we chatted with the Western crew for a while
before navigating the streets back to our bikes and riding home. When we
arrived back at the Cosy Garden, I immediately sprawled myself out on a picnic
table out on the porch. I needed to be in nature after spending three months in
the concrete jungle. I needed to see stars after seeing only city lights all
summer. I needed to hydrate after drinking three gin and tonics. A few hours
later, I made my way up to the room and crawled into bed.
The morning was beautiful. I
slept too late and enjoyed my first cup of coffee in the shade on the back
porch as the day heated up. JB was up and gone somewhere, but he returned and
we discussed what to do with our day as caffeine entered my veins and I began
to think clearly. I wanted to swim. He wanted to bike. We made a plan to bike
across town to a swimming hole on the Yu Long River that one of our new friends
had tipped us off to the night before. In my pocket I found a crumpled little
map based on her directions that I had drawn on a small piece of paper torn off
of the trivia answer sheet. With my makeshift map in hand, and an actual map
that JB decided to grab, (some people have no faith) we set out on bikes.
Before you go ahead picturing a beautiful
scene of JB and I cruising through peaceful rice fields, waving friendly
‘hellos’ to rice farmers and laughing the day away, you should know that I am
not a biker. I will hike all over this world. I will run until I drop. I will
walk to Beijing for heaven’s sake; but if you put me on a bike, the best I can
do is try to keep up and not cry. JB, on the other hand, is a natural. On a
bike, he is in his element- as skilled and comfortable as a Comanche warrior on
a horse’s back. I watched enviously as he nimbly fishtailed in patches of dirt,
hopped up curbs, and rode down stairs as if he was using his very own legs.
Meanwhile, I pedaled heavily to catch up, nervously pulling off of the road
every time a tour bus or dump truck whizzed by. My knuckles turned white as I
held onto the handlebars tightly, steering to avoid the many potholes and oncoming
scooters. Mind you, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the efficiency of a
bicycle. They are no doubt an earth-friendly, efficient, and reliable form of
transportation. It’s just that every time I get on a bike, I feel that I might
fall over or get hit by a car. On a level road I can manage fine, but take me
off-road and the bicycle becomes a mere accessory that hinders my hiking. Plus,
bikes HURT. I’ll spare you the details, but I believe it’s possible that Lance
Armstrong got cancer because certain parts of his body were revolting against
the abuse he put it through day in and day out. As I struggled through the
ride, I somehow managed to breathe in and appreciate the scenery around us. We
had made our way to the southern edge of town, along the Yu Long River. Well out
of Yangshuo, we biked on dirt and paved roads that wound though small villages.
Each village was similar, consisting of buildings that were falling apart that housed
small convenience stores, and old men asleep in the shade. In one of these
villages there was a collection of women selling various hand-made goods. JB
bought a few scarves and hand-woven sandals made of dried reeds and re-purposed
plastic cord. One sweet old woman convinced me to buy a flower head piece that
she had made. I put it on my head, then gave it to a little girl- the daughter
of the woman JB had bought a scarf from. JB bought me a new one that was even more
beautiful than the first. We stopped to watch people ride down the river in
bamboo rafts, then at a ‘restaurant’ that looked more like someone’s living
room. There, we bought two local beers (think watered down PBR), then turned
down a bumpy dirt trail toward the
After groaning, complaining, and
pedaling my way back to the Cosy Garden, JB and I inhaled stir-fried vegetables
from the local kitchen, popped the cap off of two Tsing-Tao beers, and let the
sun go down as we played ping pong, trash talking our way through three sets.
Currently, I find myself back on the porch, where I started the day, watching
the last of the sun’s glow disappear from the horizon- the last bit of evidence
that the sun has come and gone, creating this beautiful day. Though, my own
evidence of a great day remains in the form of a sun-kissed nose, tired
muscles, and a calm spirit. The first stars twinkle in the sky, the beginning
of another beautiful night in Yangshuo.
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