From the Land of the Limestone Giants
Ni hao! Katie Matza here, guest blogging for Ashley since she spent yesterday sleeping off flu-like symptoms. But don’t worry—she’s back and better than ever (as evidenced by the increased banter among the group). But I’ll be telling you a little bit about yesterday so everybody at home can stay up-to-date on our awesome trip.
We woke up in Guilin City, had a big breakfast clearly tailored for Westerners (pancakes and syrup, scrambled eggs, and egg rolls—a total American Chinese gimmick, by the way—made their first appearance in China so far), and hopped on the bus with our tour guide, Fran. We made our way through the drizzle as Fran regaled us with more tales of Guilin, watching the limestone peaks rise on either side of us and farmers with pointed hats and water buffalo trek along the side of the road.
Armed with bargaining tips and warnings about the vendors who would immediately spot us as gullible Westerners and try to sell us “junks,” we departed the bus, trooped through the boat station, and boarded a big double-decker steamer boat that would take us on our cruise down the Li River to Yangshou.
It rained all the way to Yangshou, but that neither degraded the view nor deterred us! Out on the aft and fore decks with umbrellas and rain jackets, we marveled at the limestone mountain range that peaked and valleyed its way down the river. Guilin (pronounced “Gway-leeng”) is famous for these mountains, as is Yangshou (pronounced “Young-shoe-uh”), and it’s obvious why. They’re beautiful! They were so unlike anything we’d ever experienced, coming from the flat-as-a-pancake land of Texas and Louisiana, and I think for the first time we really felt the weight of China’s thousands upon thousands of years of history. We watched water buffalo ford the river and drink from its shallows, Chinese natives wash their clothes, and vendors ride bamboo rafts, hawking their wares with one hand on the rail of the steamer as it dragged them down the river. They would ride from boat to boat, grabbing on and talking to the passengers through the first-floor windows. They were so talented!
After lunch, which included French fries with a sauce that was definitely not ketchup and shortbread with a sauce that was definitely not strawberry syrup, we disembarked in Yongshuo. What salesmanship! The Chinese vendors sold everything from 5 yuan, or less than one dollar, pictures with local birds (we steered clear) to “100% silk” and designer chopsticks, and their cries of “hello, hello, postcards?” (or whatever they had to offer) echoed after us as we hiked up the hill and down the market street through the rain.
We stopped at a bank to change our money while we waited for the “bus” that would take us to the mountain resort about two miles outside the market street (called “West Street”) in Yangshuo. Imagine our surprise when the so-called “bus” showed up, and it was actually a 9-seater van! After all, there are fourteen of us with tour guide and driver. Nevertheless, we loaded up and pulled out. And we thought the driving/traffic was bad in Shanghai. Shanghai is practically orderly compared to Yangshuo. If you've never hurtled, shoulder-to-shoulder with your friends, around muddy bends between mountain peaks at 80 miles an hour in the rain and in the wrong lane while passing four or five cars at the same time with techno music blaring from the speakers as buses bear down on you with their lights flashing and your driver holds his door shut with one hand while he steers, honks his horn, and shifts gears with the other, you have never lived. But the drivers are actually extremely good at this kind of driving, and we have arrived everywhere we've gone completely and totally alive, and getting less worried with each sojourn, unbelievably enough. I guess everyone driving insanely is the same as everyone driving meticulously—safer, actually, than drivers all driving different ways. Predictable chaos, at least.
The Yangshuo Mountain Retreat is so beautiful. It nestles beside the river, and our windows open to expansive views of the mountains, the river, and the homes of local Chinese citizens. It’s such a relaxing place—despite the fact that we can't flush toilet paper and the showerhead opens up right into the bathroom, effectively turning the entire bathroom into a shower stall—and we're taking full advantage of our rest day here to recoup from the culture shock we've been experiencing of late. China really is a neat place, and I’m so glad I came on this Module.
After a quick nap, we were off again to West Street for dinner on an open second-story balcony overlooking the mountains and the town. A street vendor below us played away on his Chinese flute and recorder, showcasing his wares, and the warbley treble trills set the entire scene to an authentic soundtrack. I feel like we’re living a brochure sometimes, and it’s so cool. Once we finished dinner, we split up, some going back to the hotel for a night of good rest and some going on to a show designed by the director of the Olympic shows that will be performed in Beijing in just a few months. We battled the elements and the populace, hanging onto each others’ ponchos and following our point-woman, Fran, through the crowds to our seats in the open-air theater. The show highlighted the native minority culture here, an extravaganza of folk music, lights, mountains, dancing, and traditional costumes, all played out atop rafts and platforms on the Li River with giant searchlights lighting the mountains as the backdrop. We heard 600 performers graced the floating stages of the show, and I'd believe it! It truly was an amazing experience, despite the rain, as the natives sang in their language, the foreign sounds cascading around us until it didn’t matter that we didn't understand what they were saying. The power and the beauty beneath their words, in their voices, communicated their history well enough, and we felt connected to them as people rather than as encyclopedia entries.
Another eventful van ride later, we were back in the hotel, enjoying chocolate banana milkshakes, coconut milk, and banana pancakes in the lounge before hot showers (excuse me, bathrooms) and bed. The rain pattered outside our windows as we fell asleep and the Chinese crickets chirped in the same language as those at home, and we had no trouble drifting off.
Obviously, we’re pretty jazzed about our experiences here (I apologize for the length of this entry. Feel free to skip to the picture blog), and we’re all so glad we made the choice to jet off to the PRC (People’s Republic of China). More from Ashley later, and thanks to her for having me on as a guest on her blog! Hope everyone is staying safe (i.e. obeying speed limits and capacity laws, and closing their doors!)
Katie
