Chitty Chatty China. Sometimes.

On the 24th August in crossed the frontier of China - there was a feeling of somewhat impending doom gurgling in my gut. THIS was going to be what travelling was going to be all about. Within half an hour, I'd unpacked my rucksack at immigration, revealed all my books and DVDs I had o my person, had my Lonely Planet guide to China confiscated due to mapping issues, and so, with a sickly and significantly ironic "welcome to China", I'd had a full expose to the Communist streak of China's system and robbed of my passport to understanding China, where the hell I should go and by saying what utterly decimated...yes, to travel without a travel guide.... guess someone did it once upon a time... (Hmm, the sweatiest eaters suddenly slobber into my stream of consciousness as they munch on the innards of some mystery fodder encapsulated in a banana leaf. Chloe, you would have a nervous breakdown. HA-HA! Quite poignant that the old iTunes chooses to mute the chomping with 'Consequence of Sound', by the lovely Regina Spektor!!). Not to fear, I am a seasoned traveller now and who needs a guidebook? Hustled myself some noodles and a bus ticket outta there, before being herded onto the relic of a bus with highly desirable beige upholstery and packed with perspiring parents, children and, erm, cargo ain't lookin' so comfortable either! Hmm... A disconcerting cluck resounds around the bus. I find it difficult to locate the source, as there are definitely no immediately cosy places for a chicken to reside. The clucking slowly descends into a pitiful dull crow or pain and resentment. Only then do the owners decide to life the heavy box off the basket in which several hens have been hanging out. Needless to say, they are the sprightliest poultry I've ever been audience to.

After several hours of breaking down and hen CPR, I finally managed to get up into the Chinese mountains of the Yunnan province, to Yuangyang, the home of beautifully swirling rice paddy fields and various ethnic minorities. Stumbled out the bus and into a guesthouse, and then found that I only actually had 3 Yuan. Yes, that is about 20pence, and even in China that doesn't get you very far!! Not to worry, I'll go utilise the ATM facilities. Alas, the Rural Bank of China isn't keen on the old Visa card. Oops. So apples it was for tea and a mooch around the town at the top of a mountain in the recesses of China, without another Westerner or English speaker to be seen. Raw maaaannn. Cool to check out the costume of the locals with their brightly coloured woven hairpieces and skirt embellishments, touting their wares by dull yellowy bulb light.

Bank says 'No' to any attempts of cashing travellers cheques, exchanging Vietnamese Dong or English quids. Bummer. Alors, if in doubt, go to the poshest hotel you can locate and look a bit vacant and lost until someone chimes, "you need help?" Yes, if worked...so some cash was obtained and rice paddy fields could be perused from the back of the bumpiest three-wheeler I've ever encountered, and all was well...next stop...a Chinese city.

Kunming looks excellent at 3.30am, pitch black and hardly any cash. But I managed to get myself to the good old Youth Hostel International (YHA), a chain of hostels that has proven to be my saviour in this land of incomprehensible script and unpronounceable syllables. Sleep, wash, mooch around. Invested in some Converse trainers for £2.80 and then was off to the tourism Mecca, Lejiang, knocking closer to the west of China, towards Tibet.

Here is a little exert from my tirade whilst on the bus to this lovely destination. Enjoy:

'The bus. My bed is too small. About 50cm wide and a few centimetres too short for my non-conformist body. Much like being in the bath, but you cannot fully submerge yourself in water. Stunted. I'm awake. Now I know this wakefulness isn't from needing the toilet. My senses frustrate me in their acuteness. So astute, so bloody observant and so expose me to the onslaught of stimuli that becomes so magnified in the dark; a 3am darkness. Fidgety and rustling. Why, for God's sakes, have we ceased the progress of our journey?? Why stationary?? The sound of the bloke arrogantly taking a slash galls me. No squatting, no fussing, no troublesome consideration of angles.

Musty. Used. The smell of my urchin bed. Then the searing tang of fleshy orange ricochets up my nostril before I've even breathed it in. What a luxury, that citrus scent, to have it invade me so unscrupulously, relinquishing my sniffing senses from the 'lived-iness' of my inadequate cocoon.

The man beside me snores. A short, almost becoming tremble soon descends into the grotesque rumbling that reverberates through my bed. It is lie a small nail that you continuously catch your foot on, as you always forget it is there until it sears through you again, inflicting its continual presence on you. The chorus begins, whilst my neighbour plays baritone to the onslaught of grunting and grating of air, struggling to escape the folds of alveolar; the asphyxiating oesophagus. Fooking snoring, I ask you?! It is nicely offset by the liquid cousin - phlegm. Hoicked up in a gravelling thrust, shoulders stagger forward I the blighted attempt to projectile the trapped mucus. Flapping in its wet, thick self, it won't leave. HOICK! The perpetrator (the chap to my right this time. Haven't I done well?) staggers off this god-forsaken vehicle to evict the offending gob. My chest heaves a little and my skin shimmers with revolt - but I'm not so squeamish as to actualise a hoick-spit-grob induced vomit. Oh no, my foot has gone dead. Oh, and now...A MASSIVE FART echoes around the shell of this tin can hellhole. Lovely times.'

Hehehehe - that give you a little taster of bus journeys in the land of China town?? Jealous? You know you are. Well, I know you're now green with some emotion, but not necessarily jealously. Arrive at Lejiang and a couple of other travellers also unload, off together we trot to the legendary 'Mama Naxi's guesthouse.' Mirjam, Owen and I scoot there and then pick up a French chappie on the way and check out the old town. Little bridges, cute Chinese architecture...and generally the biggest Chinese tourism venture we have yet to encounter...Chinese tourists EVERYWHERE. Very entertaining. Owen and I engaged in a spot of tea ceremony, sampling lots of famous teas at a fancy oak tea serving table and it was all very enlightening. 'Downey Pearl Tea' (white tea) was rather tasty, as was, 'Wang Zhong Wang' (King of King tea). All very cultural. Followed by brews of a different kind at the fantastically named bar, 'Sexy Tractor.'

Next stop - Tiger Leaping Gorge. A batch of us set off early the next morn to take on one of the deepest gorges in the world. It is 16km long and towers 3900m from the mighty Jinsha Jiang river. Yes, it was a mission, but the most beautiful and rewarding trek I think I have done. We covered much more than 16kms (probably about 32 over the 2 days) and there were some massively steep bits and massively knackered bits (the knees of my freebie trousers were wet with sweat. Sweaty knees = hardcore, duuudde). Claire, Aron (USofAs), Baptiste (Frenchie), Mirjam (Swiss, but lives in London), Owen and I (UK) absolutely dominated the first day and were rewarded with double rainbows, sheer drops and adventurer photo stances on jutting rocks, framed by vivid rainbows...and then the best beer at the quiet and tranquil guesthouse that looked out over the gorge, down the crashing, raging river below. Perfect. And the Converse trainers were still looking pretty clean! Impressive. The following morn awoke and headed off down to the crazy tiger rapids...bloody powerful I tell you...and then up the 'dangerous ladder' back up...and it has to be said, it was a bit bloody dodgy!! Then westward bound to another tiny town, Shangri La. Not in the guidebook, but getting nearly as close to Tibet as you can without actually venturing in. And it was beautiful. With almost a population of 80% Tibetans, we got a real insight into the culture - and the cold climate! I wore the most clothing there that I had in four and a half months of travelling! We scootched about the old town, and then stumbled across a Saturday night paaarrtttaaayyy in the central square! Local folksy style beats echoed around the town square and a spiral a people swirled around, clapping and swinging their hips in unison - a Tibetan line dance stylee! Mirjam and I hopped straight in there and were twirling our hands and weaving together the moves quickety quick quick! Great fun!

On the 'morrow, we sampled the delights of Yak hotpot! A yummy cauldron of veggies, potatoes, yak meat and tofu, simmering away in a soup was a taste sensation! Yummy, yummy...alas, the same could not be heralded for the yak-butter tea...an encounter with artery solidifying liquid, that tasted like lard, especially when cold. You have been warned. Then off on the bus to check out one of the oldest Buddhist monasteries in this district in China, where a nice monk placed a rope thingy round my neck and then bopped me on the head with a yellow sponge brick thing. Interesting. As was watching the young monks have a water fight and hit each other with sticks. I think this branch of Buddhism is a little different from that encountered earlier in Asia...maybe it is because it is closer to India...the imagery here was had a greater resemblance to that in Hindu temples...death and damnation and hideous looking gods in a multitude of gaudy colour - highly engaging!

Bye-byes all round, and off we went in our separate ways ( :( ), for now was to begin my week of intense travel across the stretch of China in order to get to Nanjing for Saturday night japes with my friend, Carrie. Sunday night - bus from Shangri La back to Kunming. Monday 8am arrive...leave for Chongching at 11am...arrive at 8am the following day (yippers, 21hours, baby!!), where I at least had a Chinese name knocked together for me - Lun Fu Ling. Something about flowers, apparently. Better than 'son of red headed man' that Flynn apparently means (or so Jord informed me with glee a few years ago). Missioned the Chongching (fastest growing city in china, apparently), and tinkered around the ancient town of Ciqikou, dating back to the Song Dynasty (998 AD - 1003 A.D). Checked out the 'Po Lun' temple, then wandered the back streets away from the Chinese holidaymakers, to stumble across the old folks playing card games and crazy domino/scrabble. Coooool. Then, the bus back to the centre of the city, before getting hopelessly lost in the rain in a labyrinth of houses up rickety streets. Not sure any other western person has jaunted through some f those places...interesting, to say the least!

Wednesday morn, 6am, I'm on the move again. A bus to get the boat down the famous 3 Gorges that weave their way across central China, in the Hunan province. I follow a lady in silver leggings and a little red flag as she shows me to my next bit of transport - yes, one of those people after sitting beside a mad old coot with funny eyes and bad breath, who insisted in chunnering at me in Chinese, despite my exclamations of 'ting bu tang' (I don’t understand). Shame, as it has been 3 days at this point since I have met another traveller. But, consumed with a book, aptly named and themed 'On the Road', by Jack Kerouac -An excellent novel that I would highly recommend...especially when travelling fervently across a large country – kept me highly engrossed. Well, the 3 Gorges were ok, but is was a bit misty as we sped along on the public hydrofoil (cheapest way to do it, our kid!) and again, like a forlorn lamb, I'm ousted from my pen and sheparded onto a bus in a town pretty far from my intended destination. "Wuhan?? I enquire, several times. A nod all round and on my bag is slung. Alas, no one is there to greet me...and my little slip of paper means crap-all from the hostel where I booked all the buses and boats and things in advance! Bugger. Give the old hostel a call and find out I was shoved on the wrong bus and subsequently missed the scheduled bus I was supposed to take. What-ho?? But again, a mystery appeared to take place and soon I was sat tucked up a snug as a giraffe in a beehive in a sleeper bus (yes, you know all about that now) and was on my way to Wuhan. Magic.

Wuhan was cool, despite the excessive amounts of rain! Arrived at the good old YHA at 00.15am, which ain't too bad and soon was tucked up in my thinny mattressed bed and awoke at 8.30am for a brekkie of steamed dumplings and a mission to find a bookstore that didn't sell books for 10quid a pop. Successful! With names such as Joyce and Dostoyevsky, for less than 6 GBP. Then stumbled into an old Taoist temple, where yings and yangs decorated the place, with the usual golds and reds and some menacing and sinister looking deities, their burning gaze drilling down upon you. A nice nun with a spot of Yingwhen (English) befriended me and became my little tour guide, which was fun! Then I zipped on down to the 'Golden Crane Tower' complex, and pottered in the realm of poetic inspiration and beauty, then scooched through the market and chomped some well-deserved noodles for the bargain price of 3 Yuan! Budget! That's the way I roooollllll. Then return to the hostel to grab the bag and, BAM, on the move again to Tunxi, Anhui province, a good 8 hours. Lovely.

So, arrive in Tunxi at 5am on Friday morning, 5th September. Quick nap and then to be the only westerner on a Chinese tour around the ancient surrounding villages of Tunxi. Xidi village and Hangcun village, both in the Huizhou style of the Ming and Qing dynasties. Beautifully scattered with budding art students, their umbrellas a frill around the south lake. Lunch was cool - a spicy cabbage/meat thing, vinegary egg crème thingy, tofu soup, plenty of greens, a fishy and plenty of rice!

And so...the next train is to Nanjing...which holds promise of chatting with an old friend, meeting new ones (of which can speak my language) and getting well and truly drunken. Despite looking utterly disgusting and feeling pretty crap from my mission across China, sangria and dancing went down 'Behind the Wall' and at 'Castle Bar', enough so that I awoke with a distinctly bad hangover. Carrie (a friend from my Rolls-Royce internship a couple of years ago), is teaching English there and so I got together with her entire crew of English teachers, from England, Ozzieland, but mainly, America. 'The Americans' as they are so termed, are hilarious! Bloody funny, I tell you what. And Sunday we all went adventuring around Nanjing Purple mountain, up in a cable car and then adventuring down the side of the mountain, sprawling ourselves across a big Buddha along the way! There was Becky and Matt (UK), Taylor and Eddie (USA), Stephen, Carrie and I (UK) all trooping the mountainside together. Super duper. Was so nice to natter and chatter away about stuff other than 'what is your name' and 'where are you from', following my several days muteness, to be sure, to be sure!! Only to return to the darkness of Carrie's apartment!! Ho-ho! The electricity had run out so a candle light eve was to be in store for us! Hurrah!

Monday was bicycle around Nanjing whilst Carrie Warrie cracked on with WORK. Hit the absolutely incredible Nanjing Holocaust Museum, which was massively interesting and impressive, if such adjectives can be applied to a memorial monument to a horrendous violation of every basic human right that can be conceived. Essentially, in 1937, Japan was working on the invasion of China. By early November, the Japanese army had essentially surrounded the city, and then began utter decimation of all life within the city walls in a mere three weeks. 300,000 people were killed on mass - piles of bodies lined the river, rising high into the horizon as soldiers had to burn their rotting carcasses as quickly as possible. 2,000 rapes occurred in these eternal three weeks, with girls being violated many times over, even as young as 10 years old. It was definitely a hell on Earth, perhaps some of the most bestial behaviour I have encountered on mass - two chaps were trailed for the greatest number of decapitations they could exercise. They faced execution once the travesty was taken to international court. What is perhaps most interesting is that no one knows about it. The international community are aware of the tragedies of the WWII Holocaust, things that are happening in Sudan, and even what happened under Pol Pot in Cambodia, but this has been almost omitted from the history books - some even still deny it happened in Japan and in some parts of China. Can definitely say Asia has emerged from some of the most catastrophic political regimes and wars in very recent history, and has emerged strong and optimistic, regardless of economic strength. Yet, the political agendas - the macro-structures and objectives of government - aren't the most liberal on certain counts. Perhaps it is reactionary considering the recent histories of these nations.

New Job Time!

Wednesday morning and I'm off on the Nanjing - Shanghai Express choochoooooooo....and Wham Bham! I'm checked into a nice little number in Fudan University hotel, with complimentary clippers, and free tea and a bath...but who cares when you have such a lovely bed all to yourself that’s not in a room with anyone else??? Lush! Nice hot shower, and within 20minutes, I've transformed from grubby traveller type with tortoise shell backpack to the European marketing representative for Click Netherfield LTD. Yes, yes, purchased from new threads from the H&M in Nanjing and I'm all clean and crisp. And having my virgin banquet lunch with the Professor of museology, my boss (John French), my fellow Chinese colleagues and, well, learning how to blag what my position is rather swiftly!! A lecture for the museum curators of museums from across China on the history of the museum (first one wasn't until mid 17th Century, don't you know) and an elaborate discussion on presentation of artefacts and design of exhibits and I feel a little more enlightened as to what the company I'm sat representing actually get up to. Yes, they are perhaps the world's best museum cabinet manufacturer and designers, with contracts in Dubai and the Guggenheim in Bilbao! And there is me sat not knowing a blinkin' sausage! Teehee!

That eve was a Shanghai night...off to the old town for a banquet with three of the curators who had attend the conference in the day, and I got my first expose to Chinese business negotiation...eating and drinking. GAMBAY!!! Yippers, the cry that would get even then most hardcore shot slurper feeling a little anxious! As the various arrays of Chinese delicacies emerge from the kitchen - including duck tongue! Yummy! Bit bony though - one cannot take a cheeky sip from one's beverage without someone else also doing so at the same time. A little raised glass and salute and down from of the Tsingtao beer goes down...and again...and again...and again. Round the table I go, inviting each chappie to drink to their health, to drink to the investment of their government allowance into our company, to drink because I can't actually speak and Chinese and its the only means of business relationship development I can easily communicate. GAMBAY! Then off to a rather swanky bar on The Bund, a super cool area along the river that looks out onto the Shanghai skyline and is home to a multitude of architecture and people. Sixth floor jazz bar, packed with expats, I slurp on a posh cocktail and am embedded in an obscure bunch of Chinese amongst the self-supposed cool of the city. Comic. Next day, another lecture in the afternoon and another banquet in the evening. But this time, this is a serious hosting event on Click's part. Around 50 museum curators from the conference have come along and are arranged around four large tables and are geared to having a GOOD TIME. Kick off - 5.30pm. By 7pm, I have been individually introduced to every single one of them, have a business card from the vast majority of them (which you receive with both hands and a little bow, so you know for future reference), have eaten some glutinous rice balls in white wine and a spot of crab, but mainly have been skipping around the table and playing 'you drink it, no you drink it' and 'but you have less in your glass than I have in mine. Here, have s top-up before we gambay'. Managed to not get absolutely sozzled, but was pinkie enough to find the industrial session of karaoke highly amusing as the faintly talented itched to get their clammy paws around the mic to croon to 1980s Chinese love songs - the old classics are the best, it seems. Ahh, they belted them out...and it’s only early! Oh-oh! No time to observe the warblers...for I'm being swept off my feet by the zealous wine-guzzler that was sat it my right at the table and I'm soon being whisked around the 'dance floor'. As my father would say, "thrown around the dance floor like a rag doll." He might be onto something there. But once one starts, they're all at it. The gender ratio was definitely favouring the male population, so much shuffling around for me - including with the Professor! Then out again onto the Bund for more Jazz and champagne cocktails, then Tim (the English designer guy that came to lecture) and I scooted off into the night and found some dodgy club to rave into until the early morn! Shanghai is cool!

Awoke the next morning at 12.10pm...I was supposed to checkout at noon! AGH! Feeling terrible, my things were thrown into my rucksack (not very effectively) and I scampered out of the hotel in search for a backpackers...what a come down! Ha-ha. Its Friday and I have the day off (already!!) but not really in any state to sight-see around the city, so I mooch into a coffee shop and have a caffeine/sugar fix, before taking on the challenge of the Subway...easy as pie to navigate compared to London Underground, so next stop, 'Nanjing Road', the Oxford Circus of Shanghai, in order to try and sort my big-footed self with some shiny new shoes...alas...size 6 appears to be the limit...what I am to do? I have a pair of Converse, a pair of 4-inch stilettos and some shoddy flip-flops. Not suitable for work, to be sure to be sure. EEK!

Saturday is sightseeing day in Shanghai and I mooch around the old town and try and see some Chinese garden action, but the city is large and my train is at 3pm, so I just potter and observe. Train back to Nanjing!!! Hurrah! And it is Saturday night and everyone is out and about...so, having only just pushed myself out of the quagmire of a horrendous hangover, I am to submerge myself deep into the boozy underworld of NJ with a whole crew of 'craaazzzzyyy Americans' whilst munching on Teppenyaki that is cooked right in front of us! Plenty of red vino and saki, and Carrie and I are up having a bash at cooking steak on the hot griddle. Woop! Then a rave up at 'Castle Bar', some confusion and alleged abuse in the local Mc Donald's (apparently I took someone else's meal...) and awake to have a stormer of a hangover. Hurrah! But, the weekend is young, for it is Autumn festival, the time of moon cake munching, family loving and full moon gazing. So, it off camping up the mountain for us! With our budget tents, dubious choice of camping fodder (onion, mushrooms, peppers and a potato. What an exotic barbeque skewer that would conjure up), and plenty of vino and beerage. Dynasty - or 'Die-nasty' as it has come to be known as - was the red vintage of choice. The Americans cracked on that they could rustle up a corking campfire, but, they were somewhat wanting in fire starting skills, so much so that a swimming capped Chinese ladette scootched herself over, kicked their incompetent asses outta the way and soon had a roaring blaze whipped into shape. Then something somewhat unnerving happened. Out of the pitch-black darkness, a sea of Chinese students with orbs of lights descended into our field. 45 students from Nanjing University floated like spectres under the yellowy light of suspended Baby Bell in the inky black sky.

Not to fear, we were all soon partying together, with our new friend being christened 'Geronimo', much to his confusion (he later, after being fed copious amounts of voddy, complained that his name was too difficult, as he couldn't pronounce it correctly. "Jjjeeerrraaaannniiimmmuuuuu?? It is very hard, my name."), and we joined the large seated circle on the grass, singing Oasis and 'Gin and Juice’, whilst the Chinas looked on, and basically crashed their talent show with a scrappy rendition of 'Bohemian Rhapsody', which really died a dead when we got to the 'durdurdurdurdurdada...' musical interlude: a bunch of boys got up and sang their own song. Hahahaha.

All was going well - a swim in the lake and a dance around the campfire and then I went for a little explore into the dark, dark, forest. A chuckle later, accompanied by an elaborate hand gesture, launched me into a back flip down into some sort of ravine...6ft down allegedly! Ooopsie!! Alors, a gigantic egg on my forehead and a badly sprained ankle, was the reason on Monday morning that my new jobbie colleagues got a texty saying "I've had an accident. I will not be able to fly to Chengdu this evening." And so, the unforeseen week in Nanjing begins! My tourist visa needs renewing, so a sentence in NJ begins and ensues until Tuesday after (wow - I actually blagged a visa extension - hurrah!). So, a temporary resident in NJ I become. And, a frequent visitor to the hospital, for on Monday night, my nose begins to omit a bloody snot. Not just your bog standard greeny snot, but good, brownie red mucus. Great stuff when you have cracked your nut good and proper from on high! My friend, Wade, accompanies me to NJ l'hopital, and is sprawled on the floor suffering the repercussions of his 5-day 'die-nasty' bender, whilst I'm getting my 12GBP CAT scan. I then get a text from Eddie, who has been put on a drip for 'a severe throat infection' and rumours of Jonathan enduring extensive bouts of vomiting, and also frequenting the local medical services. Ah, the aftermath of an innocent camping weekend. I'll assume that you'll be pleased to learn that my scan results did not harbour any signs of brain damage, and that a spat of 'microwave therapy' to the head and some anti-biotics was all I needed. Microwave therapy, may I add, consists of shorter waves than that of a microwave, and so, reassuringly, the doctor seemed to be under the impression it would not cook my addled grey matter any further than my previous antics may have done. A super duper black eye developed over the subsequent days, as did my hobbling limp. Turned a few heads, but with the cunning props of glasses and side-fringe, the wounds were somewhat concealed.

And so, a week passed and everyone has his or her war wounds from the previous weekend, and it is all pretty calm and quiet at 'Behind the Wall.' A few sangria's and some banter chat was all that was on the cards, with bike rides around the lake being the order of the day for Saturday. Football, vino and cards were Saturday night’s antics, and all would have gone smoothly and without a hiccup if it weren’t for that blasted McDonalds. The scene: a MaccyDees brown paper bag resides on the coffee table between three boozed girlies at 2am. Within is an unclaimed Quarter Pounder and fries. "Just a cheeky bite", one quips. "And maybe a chip," chimes the other. But, what-ho?? The entire thing has been devoured in the blink of an eye, the last morsel sitting on the wrapper in the hands of the perpetrators when the owner strides into the room. A strapping Scot's angered stare beams down onto the MaccyMunchers, and spits, under savagely heated breath, "Arrr youuuu teeelllin' meh, that I've been all t'way d'haarrreee for nuttthin'??!!" Under babbling apologies and offers to replace the stomached meaty patty, he stalks out, but merely shutting the door to behind him. "Click". The chink of the door punches the thick, gherkin laced air with a bout of guilt and desire for redemption. So off we went, scampering through the rain to get a new burger. Ooopsssie!! Well, who leaves their burger alone in such an environment?? A fool, to be sure. Hehehehe.

And so, my extended stay with the beautiful Carrie, and her new side-kick, Stephen 'Big Mac' McNally, a zany chappy from the lands of Sherwood Forest with a weakness for the very food his nickname more than suggests, draws to a close, for my visa is due to be ready tomorrow, and I may well get myself to my new apartment. It has been absolutely lovely to simply live somewhere for more than a few days. To not be continually on a mission to ones next destination, to weigh up if every attraction has been seen, captured and documented. To live in an alien country and feel at home.

But the next chapter is thought to begin, although I have yet to be informed of the flight I have a shadow of an impression I need to be getting tomorrow. Unexpected, unassuming, unorganised. The unknown: China.