It All Started With Asia the Strange When the Chinese stop making you laugh, it's time to go home." I made it home after an exhausting 6 months then lived in Mexico for 2 years, before making England my temporary home. But don't be fooled by this seemingly one-place-kind-gal attitude...

Hello Readers!

I feel obliged to let you know that there is a truly disturbing thing going on in China: one CD is circulating this country at rapid-fire pace and doesn't show any sign of dying out. We've confirmed that this true on the entire of eastern, southern, and western China so far and, like I said, "disturbing" is the only way to describe this trend...if word gets out to the rest of the world (which it just has) that the Chinese are enamoured slash obsessed by every '90's boyband that you ever hoped would be obliterated from the history of music so that you'd never again have to listen to the prepubescent, harmonized sound of their voices brought together only by gelled, blond locks and general "good looks," they will surely lose face...every restaurant, every city park, every store sings the same songs by Boyzone ("Words"), Backstreet Boys ("Everybody"), Five ("When The Lights Go Out"), Michael Jackson ("Billy Jean"), and some song, "I'm A Big, Big Girl" (?) which is by a chick, but is equally undeserving of being called "musical art" as we know it. When you go into a store named "Everything Is Pleasant" and you hear Ronan Keating bleating "Words" everything is NOT pleasant, trust me.

I'll take off where we left off. Following a very forgettable 4 hour bus ride into Haikou, we reassessed our aspiration to take the overnight boat to Beihai through the raging winds and threatening clouds when we learned that we could take an overnight bus direct to Guilin instead. I wouldn't say we were "overjoyed" at the prospect, but it seemed the easier option between the two and we all know that easy is always better. So, we were whistled over to a 8-person minivan by a top-heavy bus station employee who opened the only passenger door that wasn't taped shut and used her unusally short index finger to direct us where to go from here, which was onto the seat INSIDE of the minivan. Completely unassuming, we placed our packs on the back seats and waited patiently in the middle row seats for our driver to take us to this place where we did not know we were going :) Just as I was about to mutter, "Spacious...," the same top-heavy bus station employee returned, this time with two families and, I swear, all of their domestic belongings and a lifetime's supply of nourishment needs. Our packs were removed from the vehicle, the back seat pushed flat (thus eliminating 3 much-needed seat spaces), and the minivan re-packed so that our 2 packs (including one Yellow Schoolbus - this is my pack when it is wearing its cover and I treat it like a bus to push people, it's a powerful thing this pack and a grand defensive tool...), 4 bags of rice, 5 large plastic-mesh bags, 2 adults, and a small child fit comfortably into what was originally 3 seats. Jess and I resumed our position on the middle bench, along with two other people, and when we looked back, Small Child was pressed up against the window with her hands tucked into the space between a mesh bag and the car frame, Dad was chin-up over another mesh bag trying to peer upfront, and Mum was...missing? No...we thought we had lost her, but when Jess pushed a mesh bag backwards as it fell onto her and heard some rustling, we realized that we had found Mum - she was sitting on the bags of rice behind a mesh bag. So one complete family in the back, Jess and I and Man and Son in the middle, and up front, Lady and Boy on one seat and Driver on the other. If I could have chosen any ride to buckle in for, this would have been it, but incidentally, the driver was the only one who put on his seatbelt and could reasonably do UP his seatbelt, so it was that the rest of us put our prays into the mesh bag fillers and the tape on our doors and windows. We arrived (safely) at what we supposed was a bus storage area and were pointed to our sleeper. Realizing that it was a sleeper bus with beds this time, we probably got a little over-excited, but this energy was quickly diminished when we realized that the beds were only suitable for those who are 5'3" or shorter. Yes...I know...no problem for us because we're dwarfish but the beds were, in addition, narrow (and the aisles between the beds narrower) and therefore only suitable for those who are 150lbs or less. So pretty much, you have to be Chinese to comfortably ride these buses. Once I got over the excitement of the bed-sleeper, the exhaustion of taking off my shoes before getting on the bus and then getting onto the top bunk, and the disappointment that was my damp blanket for the night, I counted the beds from my eagle-eye perspective. 3 rows, 7 per row front-to-back, and 2 levels - you do the math, I'm tired. And then there were the "aisle seats" which were created when we picked up a handful of people on the other side of the ferry ride from Haikou - thinking about their night on the floor with pistachio nuts and spit bags made me view my little bed in a whole new, perhaps glorified, light. Whatever the case, it helped me sleep.

The ferry ride back to the mainland was, much to our relief, during the daytime - a definite advantage when you are required to locate your people and bus once on the other side - and over the course of "dinner," which was, not surprisingly, pot noodles. Jess and I dreamed of BC Ferries for the better part of the duration of the ferry ride with its White Spot options and to-die-for cheesecake, it's clean seats and air-conditioned spaces before we were pulled right back into China, and worse, we were pulled right back into China via yet another bathroom experience (it always comes to this, doesn't it). Just like everyone else who thought it was a good idea to use the washroom before departing from the ferry, we hopped into the mass that was some poor excuse for a line-up in our sandals and stood on the sopping wet floor - it wasn't that it was wet, it was more that we didn't know what it was wet with. I had an easy enough time getting into a stall, but Jessica gave Olivia Newton-John's "Let's get Physical" a whole new meaning...and all this just to stand over a communal stream that ran underneath all three stalls and would "flush" and flow like a river at random intervals.

Now, here's something about the buses. Relying on someone else to stop for the likes of your bladder makes for an interesting, sometimes excruciating, most times frustrating, and always unpredictable ride. There were times, I'll admit, when my verbal ineptness was an issue and I didn't feel like miming the bathroom category for charades (there's only two ways you can go from there anyway...), I would catch a glimpse of my water bottle and assess its potential to be an emergency lavatory, but was fortunate enough that this "potential" never came to fruition. Different from the previous sleeper-bus we'd taken, not in anyway better - just different - was the 4am shopping pit-stop. The bus came to a halt, the lights came on, everyone piled into the aisles with their shoes in bags, and purses in tow. Even more perfect than the 4am disco we were lucky enough to be a part of on the last sleeper bus, was the 4am shopping trip for breakfast food that we were lucky enough to be a part of on THIS sleeper bus. Also, while the previous sleeper had smelled resolutely of warm weather and diapers, we were intoxicated by the smell of feet all night and the sight and smell of real diapers that were left in the aisle exclusively for our pleasure, I'm sure, on this bus. So, between the two sleeper experiences so far: better in some ways, worse in others, but different in most.

We were finally relieved of the Hainan heat carried with us on the bus when we arrived with the sunrise in Guilin the next morning, and a relatively straight-forward two-hour bus ride from there delivered us to Yangshuo by mid-morning. The hotel touts, whose harrassment techniques involved pushing our packs in the direction that they desired us to move, were nevertheless harmless, numerous, and eager to bargain, but we still ended up at an inn recommended to us by some foreigners and our guidebook: Bamboo Cafe & Inn. Keeping in mind our particular ability to feed the economy when it is at its most expensive (you may recall Hong Kong - the convention. Or Macau - it was a weekend. Or Guangzhou - Asia's largest trade fair), we had managed to visit Yangshou during China's Golden Week - the Chinese get three holidays a year, none of this Labour Day business or two weeks vacation: Chinese New Year, Golden Week (May), and a week in the Fall. This small time off means that ALL modes of transportation to popular, and even not-so-popular, destinations all over China are entirely booked and even a decently grotty room is difficult to find...but we lucked out arriving in the pouring rain AND a couple of days ahead of the May crowd. In addition to these factors, our planned 6-night stay had some appeal to the owners and they awarded us with a discount on our final two nights when the room prices were to be quadrupled. For the "reduced" price, we agreed to move out of the Inn and to The Backyard for our last night in Yangshuo - what this was, we weren't sure, but presumably there would be a bed and so we settled for these conditions.

Being the seasoned bargainers that we felt we were at this point, Jess and I wandered the wet cobble-stoned streets that would lead us to the tourist market in pursuit of a deal on some hand-painted scrolls. The only difference between the guys that browse the Red Light District and us at the art stalls on this day was the product. If the price was too high, we refused and were onto the adjacent store with the previous seller chasing us with a "lower price, for you"...one after the next. Eventually, we ended up with 5 scrolls between us and were chuffed with the prices we'd paid - until Debbie, one of Bamboo's employees whose brilliant English accent could easily outmuscle Arnold Schwartzenegger's, raised her head to our bragging, laughed at our victory, and turned back to her work unmoved. Apparently we were ripped off, but it was no matter because we felt the artwork worth every jiao. To feed my subsequent buyer's remorse and relieve our pockets of the day's expensive event, we had incredible rice and spice at an exceedingly cheap, hole-in-the-wall claypot cookery that provided us with more than enough fill.

Yangshuo is a town contained by enormous limestone peaks that sees hundreds of new faces daily and is absolutely bursting with tourists come to relax on the Li River. The "tourist strip" consists of a main, cobble-stoned pedestrian artery called Xie Jie, West Street, from which narrow alleyways and lane veins branch off of. The entire pedestrian sector is host to, even in the small square kilometre that it is, literally hundreds of cafe guesthouses, hotels, Western-style restaurants, and establishments that are bars by night, restaurants and climbing shops by day. While Yangshuo sounds as though it is too crowded, too busy, and too touristy, you'd be surprised to know that it's the closest to an authentic China that I've found, and I'll explain why. Yangshuo's Xie Jie was constructed sometime during the mid-to-late seventeenth century and has managed, through careful management, to maintain something of the folkloric charm that I imagine most of China once was. The buildings are no higher than three stories in this valley village and most have been restored to maintain the traditional architecture of this region (see pictures). While it is overwhelmingly crowded at times, the town is remarkably beautiful and you don't have to travel far to find solitude.

Not quite craving solitude, we searched for cheap drinks our first evening, which proved to be easy and placed us in a wooden cafe-restaurant-bar for the duration of the evening. A middle-aged man who had been reading at Bamboo earlier in the day spotted us and asked to join us...so it was that Steve, the once-married, presumably once-divorced, 12-years a nomad, occasionally cynical diving instructor currently living semi-permanently in Egypt with his dog and only real commitment, Skanky Bitch (there IS a story behind this one believe it or not), traded life lessons with Jess and I.

The unrelenting rain continued through to our second full day in Yangshuo, so we sought out the company of Steve once more and drank the day away playing Nomination Whist and sipping on Osmanthus wine. Jess and I, excited at the prospect of yet another game of Nomination Whist, made a booze run to the "grocery store" (they sold noodles, alcohol, and green tea - lots of it) 100m around the corner, where we were immediately met with a shopping aid. While we scanned the shelves for anything in the 20-30 yuan price range, this girl explained to us that the osmanthus wine was a regional specialty. Although we were suspicious of the "wine's" 40% proof, the price was right, the box was spectacular...and it was something different. We returned, just 5 minutes' deliberation later, to find Steve behind the counter with a bottle of Bailey's in his hand and the alcohol cabinet empty, its contents on display. After a cork had been blown out of a bottle of wine because it was so old, Steve had taken it upon himself, in his drunken state and lacking supervision, to "dispose" of everything that was beyond its Best Before date and had managed to talk Debbie into selling him two near-empty bottles of vodka for 10 yuan. Debbie, who had been busy working at the front counter, had spent most of the day just giggling at us so I offered her a glass of osmanthus wine (infact a liqueur) that was not ultimately to her taste - or anyone's for that matter. But we finished it, and we finished 3 more games of Nomination Whist before we were introduced to a couple, come to collect their laundry from Bamboo. Coincidentally, they happened to be from Vancouver and had both studied at UVic. A lone traveller, originally born in England, from Israel, but living in Japan with her fiance, joined the conversation before we all went for a bite, and it was in Shamira that we soon made a companion for our first few excursions in Yangshuo (and Jessica, a vegetarian friend for a few meals).

It rained on into Sunday, and though we were worried that this would prevent us from doing some of the activities we'd planned on doing, we were determined not to spend yet another (fun as it may be) unproductive day inside playing cards and drinking that obscene osmanthus wine. Plus Steve had departed for Hong Kong by the time we got up. We teamed up with Shamira to go caving; if we couldn't play IN the rain, we would play OUT of the rain. Once we had located the ticket office, we were shuttled off to the cave's discreet and shallow entrance. Our guide spoke some English, and after screaming loudly in Mandarin to the four other visitors, was kind enough to switch over to his limited English, for some reason, huddling us in together and almost whispering his translation to us everytime. The three of us departed from the group when we reached a mud slide which landed in a mud pool and decided to have a swim...this was a great source of entertainment for both the passers-by and us! We rinsed off in cave water that was sucked up a hose and sprayed onto us, and changed back into our rainwear in preparation for the return trip. We used the remaining daylight hours to browse the tourist market once more so that Shamira could make a couple of purchases, which she did, but we also succeeded in getting kicked out of a store for an insultingly low offer on an item that we didn't want to bargain for in the first place but were forced to by a very pushy lady eager to make a sale. Mud still in our hair, and not feeling that showering was a priority when we could be eating and drinking, we befriended a couple of guys from Shanghai, Steve and Nathan, and an English couple, Jon and Lucy. Steve, who could speak Mandarin fluently, took us to a cheap place for dinner where Jess and Shamira were finally relieved of the effortful task of trying to order something, anything without meat in it. AND we were introduced to China's own breed of liquor, bai jiu - it comes in all sizes at low prices. I kid you not, they sell bai jiu by the 4-litre bottle in grocery stores and it's not expensive, the only catch is that it's disgusting. Just when I thought it couldn't get any more vile, Steve spotted a vat of snake bai jiu on our way out and bought a glass between the seven of us. As I suspected, it tasted like bai jiu with a dead snake in it. And maybe some dirt. Ugggghhh....there were even scales floating around, bleh...it was a memorable experience that my tastebuds will never forget or forgive me for.

The snake bai jiu hadn't satisfied the boys' appetite for alcohol and I needed something to flush that nastiness beyond the confines of my memory so we walked the 500m to a bar called Si...If. Jon was particularly inebriated by the time we discovered that brandy was the cheapest item on the menu and had Nathan running out to the grocery stores to buy it by the bottle and smuggle it into the bar, which made it all the easier to convince Jon that the snake bai jiu would sterilize him. This sparked a toast to sterilty between the "men" and later, Nathan made a toast to "being single, drinking double, and sleeping triple." If there was ever an end to the night, WE were toast.

On 3 hours of sleep, Jess, Shamira and I took an early bus to the town of Xing Ping, across the Li River and an hour northeast of Yangshuo, with the idea that we would bike along the river for the day. It was the most undescribable day - certainly one of the best days of my life, not so much eventful, but an event - full. And if you see the pictures, you'll know why the scenery is so undescribable. Xing Ping itself is considered an ancient town, which is most evident when riding its grid of residential backstreets, and is little more than a beginning or end for Li River boaters and bikers. We rented some sturdy mountain bikes and biked bridges and dirt roads to get to the more secluded paths alongside the river which themselves passed through several villages and orange groves only to conclude AT the river. From this point, we were required to cross the river on a ferry but were advised by a student not to take our bikes because, as he indicated using his hands, the paths were very narrow. We'd rented the bikes so we were bringing the bikes. We thanked him for the advice, finished chewing on some oranges, and packed ourselves - and our bikes - onto the ferry, ready for crossing. The path on the other side switched into a wide, rocky road which made things incredibly slow-going, but we were far too enraptured by the scenery to notice the extra effort we were going to just to maintain momentum. Jess and Shamira delighted in some fresh cucumber and I munched on a kebab of deep-fried baby crabs before we set out on that rocky road again...we stopped for a bath in a stream after we'd crossed it with our bikes and realized how refreshing it was, walked our bikes along the narrow paths (and this was why we were advised not to take our bikes - because we ended up walking them across ride paddy paths only a foot wide, carrying them UP streams, and across bamboo bridges), were literally passing through villages (with our bikes. It was weird), AND we only saw two other tourists during the 7 hours that we were biking. About 6km into the ride/hike it was pointed out to me that my tire was flat, and after failing to find a pump with the correct diameter for a mountain bike tire, and having others just laugh then follow us and point it out to their friends instead of helping us, we found ourselves stuck walking. Me, at least. It didn't matter, and only gained us more time on the trail to enjoy the mountains. We reached our end around sunset and, since we had to return the bikes in Xing Ping, took a boat back down the section of river we'd just explored and pushed my bike right back to where we'd started. After 7 hours of being with us, Shamira was only an "eh" away from being Canadian. We got off the bus, walked to a vegetarian restaurant, and feasted, unshowered, on the best tofu steak I've ever had. I was already drunk with fatigue and decided to forego another night out, just this once, in an attempt to make a dent on the sleep debt I'd accumulated over the course of the weekend. In Yangshuo, everyday is a Saturday.

The next morning, we bid adieu to Shamira and joined the Shanghai crew, which had grown to a healthy 5-man, 1-woman team by now, at a cafe to organize rental equipment for climbing. Steve and Brent had some equipment and knew how to lead, so we took a DIY trip out to a spot called The Egg. This was the much cheaper option, between going with a guide or not, but it wasn't exactly more efficient...the difficulty of the easiest climb on the particular face we'd chosen, the Fried Egg Face, was a 5.9 - to get an idea of this difficulty, it took Brent and Steve almost 2 hours to lead the route, and with a couple of beginners in the group, we became concerned. During those two hours, we wandered the grounds for a) a cave for Nathan, Steve, and Brent to sleep in overnight so that they would be able to avoid Golden Week hotel prices, and b) easier routes to climb. We achieved a). By the time we'd returned the first route was ready for top-roping, so we got Jessica set-up for climbing, and me set-up for belaying. Jess climbed it monkey-style and pretty much blew the socks off the guys - it was determined that Jess would lead the next climb since she was clearly the better climber...although it was definitely the hardest climb I've done to date - the rock was sharp and had some overhang, I made it to the top of the climb. One of our first-timers injured herself straight away and didn't quite recover enough to give it another try, and the other rocked the rock, getting right to the top in good time. Jess made it a good portion of the way leading, and Brent finished it off (but he was the only one who could make it up to the anchor again!). Nathan got freaked with the height and resolved to medicate this fear with some brandy, and continued to self-medicate once the ropes were down, the sun had set, and the fireflies were out...all the way back into town, infact. Brent, Nathan, and Steve dropped their packs off at the cave, and we went to the main road to meet with our minivan. The ride back was a fiesta of fireworks being shot out of the van while driving over a bumpy road with beer in one hand, fireworks in the other.

With the arrival of two more Shanghai-ers, Pat and Dave, we set off, at the instruction of Jamie's culinary craving for burritos, to Red Star for a late dinner. Nathan brought the brandy, Steve brought the mixer and Pat Kelly brought the entertainment (and we did actually buy food). And it did actually make me sick. It could very well have been the brandy, also.

Because we just couldn't get enough of each other, Jess and I decided to rent bikes for the day - just me and her, only a tandem bike away from an epically romantic, tragically dangerous adventure together traversing the low roads of China's most beautiful landscape... Helmetless yet unfittingly confident once on the road, we learned that the bikes, which take over the roads during national holidays such as this, have the right of way. Though the occasional accident does occur, drivers are very aware of their biker counterparts and, if the bike and the car were dance partners, the bike would lead, the car would follow. Thus is the ebb and flow of China's traffic, literally swaying to the tune of its own rules and to the wheels wherever they may go. We made to Moon Hill safely, where we hiked some steps-turned-trail to its highest point, and on our descent, rounded one corner to find an unabashed woman crouched in the middle of the trail peeing. The hill wasn't the only moon in sight that morning. Oh, China...

En route to our self-guided countryside bike tour, we took a left when we should've taken a right, and Jess lost her camera. The lesson learned was always turn right. Not yet a kilometre in, our countryside bike tour came to a sad and abrupt end as we decided that a trip to the police station would be a much better way to spend our perfectly sunny last day in Yangshuo. We got back on the saddle and even though Jessica was wearing the long face and determined to file a report, I was dehydrated and persuaded her, by means of a free, fresh pineapple on a stick, to park for a short minute. We ate the pineapple, all the while cursing all of China for the unfortunate loss of her camera. The police station resembled something out of a western, with its block desk (complete with wooden chair) intruding on the entrance, a TV accounting for the majority of the noise, and a single cell looking out at both the desk and TV for the day's entertainment. Jessica sat at the desk recounting her loss to a sheet of paper while the four boys in the cell took it in turns inquiring-by-eye her writing with their arms hanging between the bars and watching Chinese drama on the television. An hour later, we were without Jess' camera and with a half day to waste away - and what better way to drown your sorrows than sipping away at a watered-down Happy Hour pina colada?

We met up with the Shanghainians at their hotel where we were coerced (I swear) into taking a boat ride down the Li River to a restaurant on the water. The meal was nothing short of a feast - a total of 15 dishes were ordered, including 3 lots of beer fish - and the conversation nothing short of hilarious. We were all enlightened by Pat Kelly, who described to us the differences between girls and boys when they fight, and also included a dialogue on this topic incase we were having difficulty in understanding his explanation, and then explained the reasons for the cultivation of bai jiu - because Mexicans had their tequila, and Russians had their vodka. The Chinese needed their own alcohol so they made it from nothing other than the country's staple: rice. It's too bad that it tastes beastly. On the return, and on any other night, I might have just passed the massage parlours, but on this night at 11:30 someone decided that it would be a good idea to get a massage. Having had a massage once before, and not in any way hoping to compare this $10 one to THAT one, I joined the 4 others as they were led to this set of rooms underneath a parking lot. The last two rooms in the corridor didn't have massage beds in them, just double beds and I'm certain that this place was a brothel by demand...the stained sheets and mosquito-ridden lamp in the corner said enough and I politely removed myself from the room. Then, with the masseuse in the room, I was instructed to remove my clothing. She watched, it was awkward. I don't know if she knew what body parts were what, but she managed to "discover" a "knot" in my shoulder and spent most of the hour strumming it - it was actually my trapezeoid muscle and didn't hurt to begin with. I think she was trying to kill me actually. Rubbing my down with a starchy towel and then using IT to massage my back took a few layers of skin off and her elbow method left me with bruises.

Jess and I had been moved to The Backyard for our final night in Yangshuo, as we'd told the staff that we would "stay anywhere" to save ourselves a few pennies. The Backyard was "unfinished" really...I had a reasonaly comfortable night on my mattress on the floor, but the lack of water pressure, and then water all together, was a small issue. We met up with Jamie, Kateri, and Nathan (one of the Cavemen) for a continental breakfast, then picked up our packs ready for motion once more.

As par usual, we had timed our departure so that we would coincide with the noon hour, when everyone who wanted to leave Yangshuo did so. The line-ups were hellish and the 2-hour delay plodding, but somewhere between the wait, the ride, and the arrival, we managed to transfer ourselves to a bus headed for Long Sheng. The plan was to take a local bus from there to the village of Ping An, however, we scratched that when we realized that all local buses to Ping An had finished for the day by the time we had arrived in Long Sheng. A taxi took us to the entrance of Ping An where even in the 9'o'clock dark we were approached by hoards of local women with baskets trying to pile our things into them for the hike to the village and for, no doubt, a modest fee. Since we had travelled with backpacks for a reason, we held on tight to those, but at some point in the obscure darkness, we had lost our scrolls to one of the basket ladies. She insisted that she didn't want any money and, after we'd communicated that we were cheap, even offered to show us to a hotel that wouldn't cost us much. The 20-minute hike took us to the lantern-lit village of Ping An, host to a pocket-sized nightlife and quaint in even this, where we were delivered to an unofficial hotel. The rooms AND floors were divided by thin planks of wood and unceasingly felt on the verge of collapse. We had beds (this was a bonus coming from the floor of our last residence) and a squat toilet, no sink. No problem. Haggard, we slept to the sound of fireworks and lightening.

6 a.m. + noodles. Outfitted for the Matrix in our black raingear, we set out for a foggy view of the rice terraces that this region of the country has become so famous for and despite the haze, were hardly disappointed. With four hours to peruse the area, we visited the two "view spots" and made for the neighboring village of Zhong Lin, an hour's hike away, encountering only farmers on our way through the not-just-for-viewing-but-f