Guangxi: Guilin and the Dragon’s Backbone Rice Terraces

After an arduous 35 hour journey filled with restless sleep and the ever present churning stomach, sprinkled with mad dashes to the bathroom, I finally arrived in Guangxi province at six am. Rather than heading to the province’s capital and largest city of Nanning, I opted to pass straight through it and continue east, onto the famous river city of Guilin. The popular tourist destination of Guilin is situated on the Li River and is most famous for its karst mountains, which can be seen on the 20rmb note, and are regularly depicted in traditional Chinese art.

I had heard great things about Guilin, Yangshuo and the Dragon’s Backbone Rice Terraces and I had planned to spend a good ten days travelling between the three locations. My first stop was to be Guilin itself, before heading north after a few days to see the rice terraces then turning back south, and taking a boat down the Li River to Yangshuo.

Because I felt I had wasted most of my time in Yunnan I decided to get this tummy situation sorted. I was closing in on 10 days of barely eating and was rapidly running out of Hydralyte and patience. I had been in contact with a friend back home in Australia who told me she was pretty sure I must actually have a parasite rather than just a bit of standard food poisoning and I would need antibiotics. So after arriving and making my way to the really excellent Wada Hostel I took myself to the nearest chemist and began a ridiculous round of broken Chinese and charades with a most helpful girl behind the counter. I left feeling hopeful, returning to the hostel to wait for my room to become available, discreetly trying to translate the instructions on my Chinese antibiotics.

Since I was still feeling very delicate I spent the rest of this first day doing the usual boring business of washing my filthy clothes, booking accommodation for my Yangshuo and Dragon’s Backbone trips, and working out how to spend my next few days in Guilin. By the end of that very night I was already feeling a little better and even managed to eat a proper meal… Chinese style stir-fried potato never tasted so good.

Feeling braver than I had in a long time I decided to head over to the Two Rivers and Four Lakes Scenic Spot for the evening. I had seen pictures of the Sun and Moon pagodas that the spot is famous for and I knew I wanted to see them at night to get the full effect. The bus journey there was brief and the walk from the main road to the lake side garden was only a matter a minutes.

One thing that still leaves me in awe of China is the way one moment you can be in a completely modernized busy urban street, and the next moment you turn a corner to be faced with beautiful gardens filled with traditional Chinese structures. The Two Rivers and Four Lakes scenic spot did not fail to disappoint in this respect. I spent the next few hours winding my way around the Mulong River and Guihu River, admiring the carved marble frogs and weeping willows, waiting for the sun to disappear from view. I sat for a while beside Taohua River watching families and young couples pass by, as they regularly stopped for photos beside the peach blossom trees.

The lights on the Sun and Moon pagodas were turned on and I could see them shining in the distance. I began to make my way closer in hopes of taking some great photos. On the way I ran into a particularly curious bunch of Chinese children who wanted to chat with me.

Being above average height in China and having blonde hair I tend to stick out in a crowd. I am fairly used to the constant stares, the whispering of ‘waiguoren’ and ‘laowai’ and the sneaky photos being taken of me, but it is still fairly rare for locals to talk me unless I speak first. I am almost always happy to let them practice their English on me in the same way that I love to practice my Chinese with them, so when three little kids ran over to me asking me if I was from England, I stopped and chatted with them for a while. We ran through the usual rhetoric of where I was from, how old I am, what I do, and if I liked China, while their parents stood nearby grinning from ear to ear. It never ceases to amaze me how something as simple having a chat with me can excite Chinese people. After talking with them for bit I was able to ascertain they themselves were travellers to Guilin, having come from Qinghai, a province in the West of China that borders with Tibet. I know very little of Qinghai, except that it is fairly remote, which was proved to me when the eldest child told me she had never seen a foreigner before. Again, this is something that always comes as a little shock to me, which comes from having grown up in such a multicultural society. We chatted for maybe twenty minutes before taking some photos together and then going our separate ways.

New friends in Guilin.

I forged my way through the thickening crowd of people wanting to see the pagodas and managed to take some fantastic photos of the structures reflecting theirs lights onto the calm lake. The Moon pagoda stands at seven storeys high while the taller of the two, the Sun pagoda, peaks out at nine storeys. The Moon pagoda is made of coloured glaze and the Sun pagoda is made of bronze, which goes some way to explain their being also known as the gold and silver pagodas, as they shine beautifully in the night. I stood at the water’s edge for some times taking photos before making steps to head back to the hostel where I made a night of it and slept the deep sleep that only the truly exhausted can appreciate.

Sun and Moon Pagodas.

The next day, thanks to the wonderful advice of my dear friend Hannah, I was feeling 80% better and that percentage was more than enough to motivate me to get back out there and explore. I grabbed a free map from the counter and headed out on my way to see the sights Guilin had to offer. My first destination was Jingjiang Prince’s City, which I was told housed an isolated karst mountain known as the Solitary Beauty Peak, which offered a superb view of the entirety of Guilin.

Guilin.

I spent some time wandering throughout the ‘city in a city’, discovering its halls, temples and pavilions. Toward the very back of Jingjiang Prince’s City I could see the Solitary Beauty Peak thrusting itself into the sky. In the harsh 30 degree heat I trudged my way to the peak of the tall column-like mountain and was not disappointed by the gorgeous panoramic view of Guilin City. The view was phenomenal, the sky was blue, and I was able to see the more famous karst mountains beside the Li River in the distance.  After spending far too long taking photos and attempting selfies my jelly legs began their slow decent back down to the bottom. I then hid in the shade of some beautiful willow trees, slurping down sweet fresh watermelon I had bought from one of the many opportunistic vendors waiting at the bottom for exhausted and thirsty tourist, just like myself. The efforts of my day after so many quiet ones were taking its toll on my weak body and by around four in the afternoon I decided to splurge on a taxi back to the hostel where I took a quick nap, hoping to wake-up in time to participate in the free dumpling banquet the hostel was offering.

I awoke refreshed and hungry. I made my way to the enclosed garden in the hostel where the reception staff were setting up for the dumpling banquet. A group of around 14 foreigners were crowded around the dumpling table, all attempting to make dumplings, mostly for the first time and it was great fun. I spent most of the dumpling time listening in to a conversation between a fellow Australian and a Canadian, who were attempting to outdo each other on who knew the most obscure alternative bands, leaving me to ponder the universality of hipsters.

Soon enough we had made enough dumplings to feed a small army and so we all settled down around the communal table, beers in hand, waiting for the dumplings to cook. During this time I got to do one of my favourite things that arise from travelling; I got to know some of my fellow travellers. Most of my time in Yunnan was a missed opportunity here, as I was usually in bed or hiding from the world, and after over a week of near solitude I was aching for some company. Basic introductions were made, swapping of Chinese travel stories, as well as the ubiquitous talk of how different the Chinese are from Westerners. I soon learnt that the two girls sitting to the left of me were planning to head in a similar direction as me on their Guangxi trip and that we had booked to stay in the same hostel in Yangshuo. I took an immediate liking to the hilariously sarcastic cousins from England and Northern Ireland and we made plans to visit the night market together the next day. A few hours later I was full to bursting from dumplings and tired again from all the action, so I hit the sack in preparation for another day of sightseeing.

The next day I was feeling better than ever. I tucked into a hearty breakfast in preparation for a full day of touring Guilin. After speaking with the super helpful girls behind the counter of my hostel, I decided to take the bus journey out to see the Reed Flute Cave, a forty minute bus ride out of the city centre.

The caves are an exceptionally famous landmark in Guilin, and while I had been told the previous night that there was a fairly high tack factor coming from the multicoloured lighting, it was still quite breathtaking. After arriving I paid the unusually high entrance price and began to realise that the rumours of Guilin being a money pit were shaping up to be true.

I queued for some time before being led deep down into the caves on a Chinese tour, very little of which I could understand, but would still prove to be quite amazing. The caves themselves were sweet relief from the summer heat outside and I was happy to be feeling cool for the first time in many weeks.

The Reed Flute Cave is a natural limestone cave over 180 million years old and is now decked out with the luminous multi-coloured lighting that the Chinese seem to love so much. The name of the cave come from a particular type of reed the used to grow at the entrance many years ago which can be crafted into a flute.

The water eroded Reed Flute Cave is truly a sight to be seen filled with a large number of stalactites, stalagmites, stone pillars and rock formations in wide range of shapes. As I followed the Chinese speaking guide and the rest of our large group I tried my best to listen into her talk but I struggled with most of what she said.  I did realise however that each point throughout the cave we stopped at was given a name to reflect its view and sprinkled throughout the cave there were poetically mistranslated English signs. Pines in the Snow, Mushrooms Hill, Sky-Scraping Twin, Lettuce Forests and Towering Pisa were some personal highlights. As we wandered through the cave there were plenty of opportunities to throw money away on professional photographs and turtle petting, but I skipped these and took the time to sneak away into areas off the tour path, revelling in the cool atmosphere. It really was a most impressive site and I was glad to have visited.

"Mini Guilin Karst Mountains" in the Reed Flute Cave.

All too soon the tour was over and we were herded back out into the heat. As I passed through the ubiquitous gift shop area, I ran into an Irish guy who I had met the night before at the hostels dumpling night, and together we made our way past the boisterous vendors to a shaded area by a lake to wait for his friend Angela. As we waited we were approached by a sweet young lady offering us a boat ride, for a price of course, and after a few minutes of bartering I managed to get her to agree to give the three of us a ride across the river to the bus stop for 10rmb each.

I was very excited to board her bamboo raft. I have always been a big fan of doing anything on, in or near water, and Guilin was providing us with amazing weather. The perfect blue skies and the warm sun had me desperate to run my hands through the cool water and the low bamboo raft provided an excellent opportunity for me to do so. I had fantasies of taking my hiking boots off and cooling my heels but before I even looked at my laces we had crossed the river and it was time to wobble our way to shore.

After busing back into town and grabbing a quick bite to eat I parted ways with my new friends and decided to head back to the hostel for a rest before hitting the night market. I was excited to visit the market since my mother had visited it three years earlier while visiting me and had told me it was a highlight. I had been really tight with my money for my entire trip but I was willing to part with a bit of cash if this market really was as good as I had been led to believe.

I met up with Melissa and Debra, the cousins from the previous night, as well Angela who I had met at the caves earlier that day and we bussed our way downtown to visit the night market. Immediately we were surrounded on all sides by never-ending stalls of overpriced touristy crap. From the typical traditional style watercolour paintings, to extremely expensive rip off jade bracelets, to the most revolting looking fake gold and diamante laden necklaces, everywhere we looked we were surrounded by tack. I was somewhat disappointed as I wandered from booth to booth only to encounter more of the same. I found nothing here I had not seen a hundred times before on my travels, often for twice the asking price I had previously encountered, proving to me that Guilin really was the money pit I had been lead to believe it was.

After spending an hour or so wandering about the market we decided to grab something to eat. We found a stall on the side of the road serving up fresh dishes of cold noodles, a perfect complement to the warm night, so Debra, Melissa and I each ordered up some to try. Our fourth companion by this stage was starting to act very strangely.

Angela had previously told us some amazing stories of her life, how she was a published author, having written her first book at the age of 25, and also how she is a freelance travel writer currently hired by Lonely Planet to write about China. However the more time we spent with her, the more her story was starting to be at odds with her actions. This particular evening she refused to eat the noodles with us, claiming to never eat outside of hostels where possible, due to the cleanliness and higher safety standards (which is completely at odds with my entire experience as a traveller so far). What kind of travel writer could possibly write about a country without having ever experienced real local food?

Previously that day she and I had walked and talked around the Flute Reed Cave and where she told me she loathed to take public transport and preferred to take taxis instead. Yet another element that to me seemed at odds with being a genuine budget travel writer. She also had an intense dislike of any physical activity and had whinged and complained as we hiked our way up the karst hill to a great view of the city. Angela seemed to be a walking contradiction.

So the three of us ate our delicious noodles in relative silence, while listening to this strange girl talk about how revolting everything smelt and looked, before she suddenly bolted out of the market.  Debra, Melissa and I collectively sighed a breath of relief and finished off our noodles before heading off to wind up our tour of the market, before heading back to the hostel. The next day I was taking off for an overnight trip to the Dragon’s Backbone Rice Terraces and the girls would be making their way down to Yangzhou. Since we would be staying at the same hostel down there we made a loose plan to meet up again when I headed that way myself in a few days. We parted ways and I returned to my dorm to pack in anticipation of my trip north.

The Rice Terraces are considered to be one of the top ten sights to see in China and I had long been wanting to check them out. I had read extensively about them and the best times to photograph them. The general consensus seemed to be that spring was best, when the rainy season floods out the paddies, reflecting the skies throughout the hills. Unfortunately I had well and truly missed that opportunity but I was still anxious to get up to Longsheng County and see them for myself.

The next morning I locked my large backpack in the storage facility of my hostel and took my smaller overnight bag with me to the bus station. From there I was on a three hour journey north of Guilin to the Dragon’s Backbone.  Aside from the poor small child next to me constantly nodding off and falling onto me, the trip was mostly uneventful, just an overcrowded bus slowly winding uphill.

By eleven o’clock the bus ground to a halt outside the traditional style Chinese gates of Dazhai Village, and the usual mass exodus from public transport began, I waited impatiently to alight myself.  I had booked myself a night at a hostel here in the terraces so I headed off in search of my abode using a map I found on the back of a flier. It claimed the hostel was not far from the entrance and I followed the vague instructions as best I could. After nearly an hour of looking I had come up with nothing. I asked several local shop owners if they knew where it was but the responses I received ranged only from head scratches, vague pointing and slightly dubious offers of better, cheaper accommodation.

I was beginning to tire, I was badly in need of a bathroom, and was beginning to become frustrated with the lack of help I was getting. A phone call to the hostel itself was even less fruitful, and as I stood in the middle of a busy walkway with the summer sun beating down on my neck, I had a moment where I felt like laying down and thrashing my limbs. I opted against this line of action and instead closed my eyes and took some deep breaths.

When I opened my eyes I saw a sweet middle aged lady staring up at me. She asked me if I was lost and offered to call back the hostel for more info. I gratefully threw my phone at her praying that her Chinese conversation would prove more rewarding than mine. A minute later this kind lady was leading me up a steep and winding path out of the village that rests at the entrance to the Terraces, further up into the hills than I ever thought possible given the vague instructions I had been reading. She guided me on for a while before reaching a fork in the road and telling me this is where we would part. I thanked her profusely and began to hike the steep path further up into the rice terraces.

Longsheng is home to four minority nationalities: Miao, Yao, Dong and Zhuang. It is the Yao people who are the most striking, having a unique style of clothing and hair which set them apart from the other ethnic groups. Yao women are famous for never cutting their hair, instead wrapping it into a bun on top of their head in a style resembling that of an Indian turban.

Local Yao woman in Dazhai Village.

As I laboured my way up toward my hostel I was often overtaken by local Yao women, who can be seen striding up and down the hills from daylight until dark, carrying the luggage of tourists for a fee. I was in utter awe of these women. Most of them appeared to be well into their sixties, all of them tiny in height and weight, brown and weather beaten from being in the sun day in day out. They were powering up the hills, carrying woven baskets on their backs, loaded with other people’s backpacks and suitcases that in some cases must have been equal to their own weight. I would see them stop intermittently, waiting for their unburdened tourist companions to catch up with them, seemingly never tired or out of breathe. Rather, they all seemed merely exasperated at the laziness of these non locals.

I was glad I had chosen to only bring my day pack and not my huge backpack, as I struggled up the seemingly never ending hills. I kept up what I considered to be a decent pace, passing a constant stream of slow moving Chinese tourists, taking in the lush green scenery all the while.

By two o’clock I had reached the next village, Tiantouzai Village, and my hostel. Like most of the buildings in the area, the hostel was a beautiful timber structure build into the side of the surrounding mountains, rectangular and three stories high. In the end I had had to trek for hours up winding cobbled paths before reaching it.

I fell in the doors exhausted, sweaty and in dire need of the bathroom. “Booking under the name of White” I pant heavily at the woman seated behind the tiny desk. She leafs through her bookings several times before informing me I didn’t have a reservation. Suddenly it occurs to me that I had researched hostels and selected this one, but somewhere along the line actually booking a room had escaped me, I had completely forgotten to do it. I was relieved to learn however that there was still room available in a three bed dorm, despite it being peak season, which I gratefully accepted before throwing money and my passport at her and running off to find my room.

I threw my belongings on my bed and took in my surroundings. The interior of my rooms mirrored the outside exactly, made from a beautiful light coloured timber, with huge windows facing out into the terraces. The sky here was the kind of blue I was used to seeing back home in Tasmania, but is rarely ever seen in the more populated areas of China, and there was not a cloud in the sky. The rice fields were a stunning verdant green creating one of the lushest landscapes I had had the pleasure of seeing in a long time. All labour in the area is completed by hand, there was no sound of construction or any kind of motorised equipment, and the serenity I felt looking out my window was profound.

The view from my hostel room in Tiantouzhai Village.

I wandered back downstairs in search of nourishment, which I took sitting outside in the summer sun, looking out at the beauty that surrounded me. Even now I can still close my eyes and see the vibrant contrast of the blue and green, hear the breeze gently moving through the rice paddies, and it calms my heart. I sat in silence sipping my cold beer feeling relaxed and content to just sit.

I was planning to stay only overnight, intending to have an early night so that I could wake at 5:00am the next morning and hike the rest of the way to the top of the mountain before sunrise. I had heard that the view of the sun rising up and flooding the terraces with sunlight was incomparable and I was so hoping to see it myself. I decided to do a dry run that afternoon in order to check how difficult the path would be to navigate in the dark and see if my intended 45 minute window would give me enough time to make it to the summit. I set off, camera in hand, and spent the next three hours hiking up and down the terraces. The beauty of this place still haunts me.

I came back to my hostel in time to sit on the porch and watch the sunset while I ate an early dinner. As the sky darkened I could see stars shining brightly up above me. In Wuxi where I now live, I can sometimes see a handful on a really clear night, but this was something else. It is amazing how a small thing, such as a sky full of twinkling stars, can flood me with such happiness. I realised, not for the first time in China, just how much I had taken them for granted when I was back in Australia.

The small dots lining the hills, indicating local houses along the paths, suddenly cut out. The power supply up in Longsheng is erratic at best, and I had heard the government can even completely off cut access at will, and I took this as a cue to begin my early night. I took to my room, relieved to see my two room-mates were still out, and prepared myself for getting up at my newly revised time of 4:00am.

Sure enough, in the pitch black dark, I dragged myself out of bed and wearily made my way downstairs to let myself out of the hostel. I unlocked the door and stepped out into even more black. I carefully began my way up and out of Tiantouzai Village to the peak of the mountain. Stupidly I had managed to overlook taking my torch out of my main backpack and into my overnight pack, so I proceeded to use my only other form of light to guide my way up the path, my ever trusty iPad mini.

The climb was long and the rugged paths were quite difficult to navigate in the almost pitch black of the morning but by five thirty I had managed to get as near to the top as possible and decided to settle in to watch the sunrise. I perched myself on a cement seat and quietened my growling stomach with some yoghurt and fruit, scanning the now softly illuminated horizon for a glimpse at the first sun rays. Soon I began to realise that the misty skies above me were not going to clear. I had initially assumed it was mere early morning fog but I was wrong. As I finished my yoghurt I began to feel a cool damp breeze on my face; the beginning of what was to be a morning of drizzle. The light rain felt great on my hot face, and despite the lack of clarity the haze had cause, the view was still fantastic. My photos did not do the sunrise justice as it was far more beautiful that I was able to capture. I sat for the longest time just enjoying the silence and the splendour of the place.

The slightly misty morning view from the top of the terraces.

My bus ride back to Guilin was due to leave at one pm, so by nine I decided it was time to begin my descent, taking it slowly to both continue enjoying the view and not slip over in the rain. In the end I managed only one of these tasks, instead falling into a rice terrace at one point, and burying my foot in mud up to the top of my hiking boot. I only wish I had fallen again so as to even out the amount of dirt on my shoes.

After getting back to the hostel with plenty of time left, I showered, packed, ate and checked out, all well before my departure time, giving me more opportunity to slowly walk down from the village to the bus stop. I could feel how recharged the trip had made me. My time of travelling around China during peak season was beginning to take its toll. The constant noise, traffic and the blistering heat were all starting to become frustrating to me, but being able to escape it all just for 24 hours was enough to calm me and reinvigorate me. As a result I was now eager to head back to Guilin for one night before leaving early the next day on a cruise down the river Li to Yangshuo. I could not wait to get down there! 

Yunnan Part Two: Lijiang and Dali.

Part Two:

I awoke early and tucked into a full English breakfast since I was pretty sure I wouldn’t eat again until I got home that night. I rented a mountain bike and pushed off in the direction of Baisha by 8am. The day was warm and after sometime the buildings began to thin out and look less like a city and more like a country town. After nearly an hour of peddling I found myself cycling along winding roads that passed through paddocks filled with blooming yellow flowers. I felt the sun beating down on my face and heard birds chirping as they flew overhead. In the distance I could see the white peaks of the Jade Dragon Snow Mountain looming above the horizon. It really was utterly idyllic.

Jade Dragon Snow Mountain in August

After riding for another half an hour I arrived in the ancient town of Baisha. Early in the Tang Dynasty (618-907) the ancestors of the Mu clan began to settle and build homes, temples and roads in what is now known as Baisha. I instantly fell in love with the place. It was in complete contrast to Lijiang, with quiet and empty streets surrounded by original dilapidated buildings, not yet overrun with hordes of tourists and commercialization. The town still retains its ethnic character and was a breath of fresh air after the overcrowded and overdeveloped Old Town of Lijiang.

Toward the end of Baisha Old Street, there is a large cluster of temples that were built in the Yongle era (1402-1424) of the Ming Dynasty. This area is famous for its ancient frescoes, the most famous of which are known as Baisha Mural of the Dabaoji Palace and the Liuli Dian Temple. The number of murals in this area used to exceed 200, however hundreds of years of neglect means that there are now only 55 pieces left in good condition. The frescoes themselves are a diverse representation of Chinese religious insignia. Baisha is located close to the Tibetan border and subsequently has taken on many Tibetan religious practices. This blend of Tibetan Buddhism, Mahayana Buddhism and Daoist art is also heavily influenced by the cultural practices of the local Naxi inhabitants. 

I parked my bike in the shade of a large willow tree and headed into Dabaoji Palace where several of the best Lijiang Murals are stored and kept on display. The Palace itself was more like a standard Chinese temple, with several small buildings sprinkled throughout traditional gardens. Unlike most well-kept and heavily manicured gardens I have been in throughout China, Dabaoji seemed almost wild and untamed. Its grassy areas had not seen a lawn mower in sometime, the tree branches were heavy with leaves and bowing down as if to sweep the ground, and everywhere I walked I saw tiny flowers trying their hardest to push their way up and out through the stones laid on the ground, trying to reach the sun. With hardly any other visitors within the Palace walls the place felt entirely serene.

After wandering through several buildings, holding numerous glass displays with ancient artefact labelled with terrible Chinglish, I finally came upon a room where I found my first fresco. Despite the room being dimly lit and the amount of damage to the murals it was still an amazing view to behold. The frescoes were large, roughly two metres tall and three metres wide, covering three walls. They now had many black areas which were once brightly coloured, but have oxidized over the years, and have not yet been restored. Even with hundreds of years of degradation it is still easy to make out their compositions. On each fresco there are deities, Bodhisattvas, monks, goddesses, and other celestials, all pulled from the areas various religious influences. I stood before them for a long time imagining how awe inspiring they would have been when freshly painted and gilded.

Baisha Mural

After a couple of hours of leisurely strolling in and out of the temples, I found a large cordoned off garden in one far corner and took the opportunity to sneak in and sit in complete solitude. Compared to the previous day in Lijiang, Baisha was very quiet and Dabaoji was virtually empty, I had passed only a handful of people the whole time I was there. I sat myself down at the base of a statue and enjoyed the isolation. I could hear birds tweeting, the swaying of the tree branches as the wind began to pick up and virtually nothing else. I spent nearly an hour just sitting quietly, enjoying being outdoors, but becoming increasingly worried about what was happening to the sky.

Grey clouds were rolling in, the kind of grey that portends doom, and I began to feel the occasional drop of rain on my face. With sadness in my heart I picked myself up and decided to try and ride back to Lijiang before the skies opened right up and poured on me.

I sped my way down the main street and headed out into the countryside again when the rain truly began to sheet down. Despite feeling like a drowned rat, the summer rain felt great as it beat down upon my face, and I could feel myself grinning like the Cheshire cat as I raced through the storm. The beauty and peacefulness of this place had left me feeling recharged again and my soul was smiling. Up ahead I could see a break in the rain and I flew down the road in an effort to chase it down.

I got back to the hostel at around 4pm and decided to treat myself to a tasty beer. Nearly four hours of mountain biking had taken it right out of me, so I sat myself down on the balcony overlooking the lake, and gulped down my beer while considering how very hungry I had become. My stomach suddenly started churning and making noises, but not out of hunger, it felt much more sinister. I finished the dregs of my beer and decided a nap was in order. Perhaps I had overexerted myself and needed more of a rest before eating?

As it turned out that was not the case. Starting around two hours later I began to experience some of the worst food poisoning I’ve ever had the misfortune to encounter. I spent my remaining two days in Lijiang in my hostel room, moving from bed to bathroom in frequent and rapid succession. Soon I was due to check out and make my way to Dali, a two hour train ride away, and I was becoming increasingly unsure of how successful this trip would be.

The following day I hopped on a bus, a bus I was lead to believe would take me to the train station, and headed on my way. After an hour on the bus things were beginning to not look or feel right. It felt as though we were in the middle of nowhere and had begun to loop back around the way we came. I was certain we had not passed the train station and there were no more passengers left on the bus. In a moment of panic I jumped up and asked the driver if the train would go to the train station. He looked at me like I was mental and replied in the negative, so with half an hour to go before my train left, I jumped off the bus and immediately regretted it.

The sun was beating down and as I looked around me I realised I had made a terrible mistake. I was in the middle of a street that was devoid of people and more importantly, completely devoid of taxis. In my head I was going to immediately jump in a cab and be rushed to the train station thus solving all my problems. I felt queasy, dizzy and very tired and there was an increasing level of panic building in me. The ticket I had purchased that would take me from Lijiang to Dali was one of the few left available when I had bought it and that was 6 days earlier. If I missed this train I would be stuck in Yunnan for who knows how much longer.

I looked around me, quietly swearing at myself for being so careless, mentally weighing up my options. Several large, darkly tinted vans drove past me while I was standing there and I considered the possibility of hailing one to the side of the road and begging for a lift. An internal voice of reason, who sounds suspiciously like my mother, told me this was not the best idea for a single woman travelling alone and I gave up on that idea. Minutes were ticking by and my stomach was cramping again and I knew I needed to find both the station and a bathroom very quickly.

Before long I spied a young Chinese girl pull up across the road on an ebike. I saw my opportunity and struggled with my big backpack and slightly smaller carry bag over to where she had parked. I waited a few moments while she went into a small corner shop. As she came out the look on her face was priceless and I could almost hear her inner dialogue… “Why on earth is there a sickly, sweaty looking foreigner standing beside my bike?”. I quickly explained to her in awful broken Chinese that I was terribly lost and in desperate need to getting to the train station. Using the power of mime and more bad Chinese I begged her to dink me to the station in exchange for as much money as she wanted. Who could pass up such a deal? She certainly did not. Moments later I was squished onto the back of the bike holding on for dear life, doing my best to supress my nausea, praying there wherever we were was not so far from where I needed to be.

Sure enough, with 15 minutes to spare, we arrived at the train station. I spent the next five minutes struggling to give my money to the sweet girl who drove me there who told me she was happy to do it for free. I was so overwhelmed with gratitude at the kindness of this stranger that I couldn’t bear to leave her with nothing, so I shoved a hundred kuai in her pocket and tried to run away, not an easy task when you are exhausted and heavily weighed down. She chased me up the path to the station and I was sure she was going to try to give me my money back but then I saw she was thrusting her phone at me and asking for a photo. And so it is that somewhere out there is a sweet Yunnanese girl showing her friends a picture of her and a clammy, pasty waigouren, no doubt laughing at the silly events that happened to her that day.

I boarded the train and I lay down across my bench seat in the foetal position in an effort to discourage my increasingly painful abdominal cramps. Soon a lovely young woman joined my cart and sat opposite me. We struck up some polite conversation and she began offering me some delicious looking fruit, but even though I had not eaten now in 48 hours I did not feel brave enough to eat anything. I politely declined, telling her I was unwell and she quickly agreed while telling me I looked like I was dying. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I felt like I was.

Soon, though not soon enough, we arrived in Dali New City. I jumped in the nearest taxi and paid too much to be taken to my new residence for the next six nights, Five Elements Hostel, located 13 kilometres away in the Old City. Not unsurprisingly the woman behind the counter told me yet again that I looked awful and proceeded to check me in. I went straight to my room and began to familiarise myself with my bed and the bathroom. I went to sleep that evening hoping that after 72 hours of this, everything would begin to improve.

Sadly it did not. I spent my first two days in Dali alternating between lying in my bed and sitting outside in the hanging chair. I was still unable to successfully eat anything without bringing it back up, so I lacked the energy to do anything other than sleep, read or watch the many episodes of Community I had the good sense to load onto my iPad before I began my trip. Despite the pain I was in, this time I spent in the hostel was quite nice. Five Elements was a peacefully quiet hostel, and had a large garden I was able to privately writhe in pain in, while sitting in the warm sun.  By this point I was four days into not eating and only drinking Hydralite. I was still convinced that this would pass and just hoped it would be sooner rather than later.

After a while I began to realise that unless something changed, I was not going to get to see any of Dali. I decide the next day I would get up, head out and explore the town and just take it really easy… and not eat anything before I went! I was also hoping to find a chemist who might be able to give me some for my terrible tummy.

It was a successful plan. I slowly meandered my way through the beautifully cobbled streets of Dali, under the clear blue sky, enjoying the warm summer breeze which was helping to cool my hot, clammy forehead. Dali Old City was built during Ming Dynasty (1368–1398) and because of the large distance between the old and the new sections the old city is still peaceful and quiet. Despite being at the height of the peak season, Dali did not feel as nearly as cramped at Lijiang. There were still lots of Chinese tourists passing through Old City but everyone seemed much more relaxed here and in less of a rush.

As I strolled around the streets, I found a chemist and bought some medicine, and also decided to try and attempt to eat something. I found a restaurant close to my hostel, just in case I need to dash back, and settled down to a cup of mint tea and a baked potato with mushrooms. After what was now five days of no solid food, that potato was the most amazing thing I had ever tasted. I sat under a sun umbrella, wolfing down my lunch enjoying the refreshing taste of my tea. Soon enough I felt a familiar churning and decided to call it quits and head home. But at least I had finally gotten out of my hostel! I looked forward to the next day, feeling certain my new medicine would kick in by then, and I would be able to get out and trek Cangshan Mountain which I could see thrusting itself into the horizon behind my hostel.

Alas… It was never meant to be. Over my remaining four days in Dali I shuffled my way slowly between my bed, the sitting area in my hostel, and occasionally into the old town itself when I was feeling brave and had not eaten. I managed to check out the city wall, most of the main streets and even managed to do a little shopping. However, despite the new medication I had bought, there seemed to be no end in sight to my discomfort.

I was incredibly exhausted and dreadfully hungry all the time, but I was so frightened of eating and the ensuing abdominal cramping that I had almost given up on the process completely. By this point I was surviving only on ginger tea, Hydralite and the once a day nibble of dry toast. I contemplated visiting a doctor but decided against it, hoping every day that the medicine would kick in soon and everything would go back to normal. I gave up on the idea of seeing Cangshan, Erhai Lake or the famous Three Pagodas. I was starting to feel depressed knowing I had wasted my time in Dali Old City, a town that from what little I had been able to see, was truly a gem of Yunnan.

My last night rolled around and I was lucky enough to discover it was the Naxi Torch Festival. I had had a feeling something was brewing during my previous days, as I had seen large bundles of sticks and logs being organised and sold in the streets when I had ventured out.     

Bonfire and torch materials being sold in the streets of Dali.

This festival is an ancient folk custom that has been passed down for generations. Villages have different legends as to how the festival originated, but most are based upon giving thanks for both the coming and previous year as well as the tradition of driving evil spirits out. Just after dark the hostel owners and workers took a small group of us visitors outside to light a large bonfire. I stood from the sidelines and watched as the started a huge blaze in their driveway and placed large torches into the flame which they would later take around the town.

Soon it was pitch black and because the hostel was nestled into the side of a hill it afford a great view of the old city and the many bonfires that were now being lit throughout the streets. Our hostel hosts picked up their torches and shouted for us to follow them as they made their way to the next building. Once there the locals exchanged greeting and good wishes for the coming year, before throwing small amounts of gunpowder at each other’s torches. It really was quite amazing to see the torches flame up.

The staff of 5 Elements Hostel gearing up for the Naxi Torch Festival.

Before long we moved on and headed down into the centre of the city. Everywhere I looked I could see locals revelling in the streets, shouting joyfully to each other, with groups of people gazing into bonfires as they sang songs, while others ran around chasing each other with torches and gunpowder. It was shaping up to be a great night. But soon enough my feelings of joy began to be overshadowed by an all too familiar feeling in my stomach. I bade farewell to my new friends and turn to make the quick dash back to my hostel.

Then next day I sat in the hostel garden and drank in the beautiful surroundings and gorgeous warm weather for the last time. Soon I would be boarding for a 35 hour train journey to Guangxi Province. The churning into my stomach was still ever-present and I was dreading this trip unlike anything I had ever feared before. Over the last 8 days I had been spending a lot of time in bathrooms, and anyone who has ever experienced long distance train toilets in China will tell you, you want to do your absolute best to avoid those cesspits. While sitting in the garden I devised a cunning plan for my trip. I would not eat anything solid and crack open my small stash of hard core Chinese sleeping pills in order for the journey to be as quick and painless as possible. It would prove to be a good plan!

I boarded my train to Guangxi, took my knockoff Chinese Valium and proceeded to sleep my way through the next 35 hour journey, hoping all the while my endless tummy torture would miraculously disappear...

  

Yunnan and the "City of Eternal Spring": Part One.

Yunnan

The next part of my trip was yet another province I was really looking forward to exploring. Yunnan is renowned for its lush flora and ideal climate. After travelling for some time now through filthy hot Chinese cities, with the exception of the beautiful Jiuzhaigou, I was really looking forward to exploring a less humid area. I had been eagerly checking weather reports of all my destinations since I left on my trip and I knew Yunnan was yielding some very desirable results.

My first port of call was to be Kunming, the province’s capital, and a place referred to as the “City of Eternal Spring” because of its perpetual spring like weather. Simply stepping off the train onto the platform, and not to be greeted with the thick humid heat I was becoming so used to, was enough to immediately endear me to Kunming.  Although I was only staying one night here, before making the long journey up to Dali, I was anticipating walking the city streets in climatic comfort, thrilled at knowing I would not end up returning to my hostel damp with sweat.

I made my way to the hostel with the help of a free pickup, and while on my journey I was joined by a lovely couple from Germany who had also just been in Sichuan and who were following a similar route through Yunnan to me. After chatting with them for the 40 minute trip, we parted ways at reception and I checked in my dorm and began the usual clothes and body washing routine.         

Next up I headed out to explore the city and try and find a post office in order to offload the large amount of panda paraphernalia I had acquired in Sichuan. The area I spent time in gave me the impression that Kunming was a little different from the usual Chinese cities. It was very quickly evident to me that the warm climate there allowed the city gardens to thrive and be wonderfully verdant. While searching for a post office I walked up streets lined with trees and saw boxed flowers growing all along the pedestrian mall. Perhaps all this flora had something to do with it, perhaps it was just psychosomatic, but I felt a change in the atmosphere here in Kunming. I feel the air was fresher and cleaner than any other large Chinese city I had visited.

In the few hours I spent exploring Kunming that first day, I walked through several temples and pagodas and passed by numerous gardens, all flush with blooming flowers and leafy shrubs. The sun was warm but not offensively humid and I felt revived and recharged.

West Bell Tower on a perfect summer day. 

Unfortunately however, my time in Yunnan was not destined to be much fun due to a series of ill-fated events. The first of these disasters came in my choice of accommodation. I was only staying one night in Kunming before heading North West into Yunnan and onto Lijiang. Knowing I would only be staying one night, I gave little heed to my hostel choice, and simply booked the cheapest available with the best reviews. Not my best decision. I never normally name names here but this is going to be the exception.

I booked myself in to stay a night at The Hump Hostel. According to the website I book all my accommodation through, it had the best reviews of all the hostels in Kunming, and offered a reasonably priced dorm bed. My stay here was truly awful. I have a high tolerance for average lodgings, I understand that its temporary, and I am usually willing to overlook things I could never tolerate in my permanent home. That being said The Hump was a huge disappointment from the get go. I had booked into an 8 bed dorm, which admittedly was my own mistake, with full occupancy. The room was large enough, but lacked both curtains over the windows and any kind of decent fan. The communal bench was strewn with stuff left over from previous guests and nothing seemed to have been cleaned in sometime. The room itself was flush up against a busy road and was directly opposite a large bank which came complete with bright red LCD lights, as I discovered later that evening when I tried to go to sleep.  These factors, combined with the three inconsiderate girls who found it perfectly acceptable to come in at 2am and turn all the lights on, led to my getting perhaps less than 3 hours sleep all night.

Let’s just take a brief moment now to discuss hostel courtesy. To me it seems obvious, that if you are sharing a room with several strangers, it is just common sense to be polite. My experiences however are starting to make me think I am wrong. As a general rule, when I’m in a dorm I expect most people who are in the room after 10:30 at night, are probably there to sleep. Ergo, I creep in, leave the lights off and attempt to make as little noise as possible. I know I am not the only person who thinks this is normal, I have spoken to other travellers at great length about this, but apparently there are a large number of travellers who think this politeness is unnecessary. They think it is okay to come barging in well after midnight, flick on all the lights and engage in heated discussions at a high volume. I discovered an alarmingly large amount of Chinese people think it is okay to have their phones ring and ring and ring at full volume at 5am before answering it to have the worlds loudest conversation. And the packing! Oh, the packing… I still do not understand why, when you are checking out pre 7am, would you choose to not pack the night before? And why are these people apparently choosing to pack with the noisiest, scrunchiest plastic bags in the entire world?  GAH! I think it must just be one of life’s mysteries.

Anyway, back to my previous rant…  The next day I got up, used the filthy smelly showers and proceeded to get myself ready to head to the train station. I was greeted coldly by one of the three staff working behind the counter after patiently waiting 10 minutes for them to stop having their clearly vital discussion about their night out together, who found my checking out to be a huge inconvenience to her, where I was thrown my deposit money back without so much as a thanks or a goodbye. I left feeling deflated.

I took myself to the train station and clambered my way up to the obligatory top bed. After taking of my hiking boots and tying them to my backpack, I suddenly realised my pack was much smaller than it usually was, and I was hit with a sudden realisation. While packing that morning (after 8am I might add) I had missed removing my duck down jacket from the back of my storage locker. I was filled with a sense of dread that I might not see my favourite and most expensive travel item was gone, but I called the hostel in the hopes that someone had found it and put it aside. After a couple of calls and a few half Chinese/ half English conversations I pinned it down that yes, someone had found my coat and I could return to collect it. Given that I was already one hour into a seven hour train journey that would keep me up in the north of the province for a week, I asked the lady I was speaking with to keep it for me for a week, to which she shrieked back down the phone at me “A WEEK?!”. I apologised profusely and told her I would call back again when I arrived in Lijiang and set an exact time.

It was not to be however. Upon arriving into Lijiang in the dark during an epic rainstorm, I wandered around the maze like hutong until I found my new hostel, hopeful that my accommodation would prove better than the previous nights. I checked in, leaving a large water mark in the foyer and asked the polite and well-spoken receptionist if she would call my last hostel and arrange a time for me to pick up my jacket. I stood dripping, struggling to understand half a conversation, but becoming increasingly agitated as I picked out words such as “bù cúnzài” and “méiyǒu”. The mother-flippers were telling her they did not have such a jacket and nothing had been found. I can only imagine how disturbing I must have looked to this lovely hostel worker as I proceeded to wail loudly, stamp my foot and fire off expletives. I was cold, completely soaked through, exhausted and now really, really pissed off. After taking a few minutes to release my pent up rage, I then thanked the girl with a smile and calmly walked to my room, silently plotting my revenge.  

The next day I decided to head out early and explore the world heritage listed Lijiang Old Town. After a night of bucketing down, the weather had taken a turn for the better and the sun was shining and there was hardly a cloud in the sky. The old town itself has a history going back over 800 years. It consists of beautiful old stone pathways and bridges, thousands of tiny shop, and endless areas to explore. There are no cars or bikes allowed in the area, so I was free to get lost among the winding cobbled streets and steep, narrow stairways in relative peace.

I was travelling during the peak tourist season in China, and Lijiang has become immensely popular among the locals. When I first arrived I decided to hike up the side of the town that was built into a large, in order to take some photos while the sun was shining. This was possibly the best idea I could have had, the steep incline must not have seemed worth the effort to the Chinese as I was virtually on my own during my walk, and I found plenty of empty avenues to admire and photograph. 

The vista I was greeted with at the top was well worth the hike. From the top I was able to see just how vast the town was, there were charcoal coloured sloping rooftops as far as I could see, surrounded by mountains and covered by a crystal clear azure sky. It was gorgeous and I managed to stay sometime, perched at a lookout, taking photos and avoiding the increasing foot traffic below me.

Soon though, I felt the need for some food, so I slowly wound my way down into the bustling hub that was the central square of Lijiang Old Town. Each street I found myself passing through seemed to be lined the same kinds of stores, souvenirs shops touting local cloths, silverware and yak meat, all with eager staff shouting and pulling at me as I walked passed. The combination of the maze like lanes and the repetitious nature of the stores all contributed to my ultimate loss of direction. I ended up spending a good two hours just trying to weave my way to the main square. When I finally found what I was looking for, I moved out from the shadowy alleyways and into a bustling sun soaked square, where I sat myself down to warm up my bones.

The hordes of tourists were increasing, swelling up to what seemed almost bursting point, unlike anything I had ever seen outside of Beijing. I gave up my seat to a little old man and decided to brave the crowds and push my way through to the other side of the square in an effort to find somewhere to eat. After maybe ten minutes, after much pushing and shoving and ignore requests for people to move, I had progressed only ten metres. To avoid any kind of claustrophobic panic attacks I pulled away from the crowd and ducked down yet another tiny cobbled street and thought to try my luck there. I manage to find more of the same souvenir shops I had seen everywhere but this time my growling stomach made me determined to go in and try some of this famous Naxi yak meat.

As soon as I entered the store I was greeted by a worker who thrust several samples of this local delicacy at me. Chinese snack food for me has always been hit and miss. Their sweet foods that mimic European bakery items always look appeal but ultimately lack a certain je ne sais quoi. Their meat based snacks also leave me confused, with chicken feet being mildly tasty, but lacking almost anything on it to actually eat. Once, in my very early days of living in China I bought something that resembled a sweet doughnut, and I bought it without batting an eyelid, looking for a taste of home. Oh how naïve I was. The brown sugary floss that sat atop the doughnut looked unlike anything I had ever seen back home on such an item but I figured it had to be delicious.  Perhaps it would have been had I not been conditioned to think of doughnuts as a sweet food. I learnt two hard lessons that day: the first is that the brown sugary looking floss is in fact a meat product known as ‘pork floss’. The second lesson was never judge a Chinese snack food by its presentation. But I digress…

The point is I willing to try this very popular treat but was preparing myself to be at best, underwhelmed and at worst, revolted. I found myself pleasantly surprised when I tried my first piece. It was reminiscent of beef but with slightly different texture and a milder flavour. In the end my growling tummy appreciated the roast yak samples greatly and I managed to stuff enough of them in my mouth to work out to be about the equivalent of a decent steak I think. I thanked the girl who took me through them and bought some dried spicy versions to send home and share with my friends back in Wuxi.

As the morning slipped into after noon, I spent a few more hours walking around Old Lijiang hoping the crowds would thin out, but they never did. By 5pm I was finding myself increasingly irritated with being jostled, bumped and jabbed. I was beginning to frown heavily and snap loudly, at the rude Chinese people pushing me to get by, knocking me about without so much as an apologetic glance. I took this as a sign and spent the next hour working my way out of the maze of streets to find a bus to take me back to my hostel.

By the time I got back I was cold, hungry again and desperately in need of some quiet time. I ordered a huge steaming plate of stir-fried noddles, an enormous cup of delicious ginger tea and settled in for the night. Lijiang Old Town had proved itself to be both startlingly beautiful and horrible all at once, but it was easy to see that the horrible parts were a direct result of excessive tourism and commercialisation, which was proving to be quite prevalent throughout China. I tried to put it out of my mind and think of better things. The very next day I would be mountain biking it up to ancient village of Baisha. I had found very little in the way of information on this place and so I was having high hopes that it would be less touched by tourism and a place where I could explore in relative peace.