When I got off the PVC raft in Xingping Town it wasn’t
immediately obvious which way to go. There were a few boats but no
signs of a town. I walked along the muddy road surrounded by farmland
and mountains. There were some other travelers out on walks away from
town, including these absolute kooks: an older guy from Europe and a
Chinese woman. This guy had “wacky professor” all over him. He
greeted me with “Hello friend!” and came over, eyes bugging behind
glasses, gray hair all awry. We spoke as we walked. He’d said he was
from Germany but his accent sounded more French to me and when I asked
about this he explain “well yes, I lived there once, but I am an
Earthling you see. We are all from Earth!” OK, earthman….which way
to town? There was a possibility they were actually dosed at the
moment, if not, obvious they had spent much time in such states as
they were so easily distracted, calling out things they would scurry
across the mud road to examine, “Flowers! Chickens! A Garden!
Butterfly!!! My god, look at that butterfly!” It was Eden 101 for
these two and they were hilarious. When they called out “Fish!” and
darted for a pond, I kept on toward what they had told me was town,
eager to find a room and deposit my pack, maybe catch a nap. “Goodbye
my friend!” He called after me when he realized I was several hundred
meters down the road.
I turned right and crossed a bridge into what was obviously
Xingping. The “main street” had an ancient Chinese feel: large cobble
stones ascending from the river, tightly packed vendor stalls and
restaurants in very old buildings. At the top of the slight hill, the
street widened enough for vehicle traffic but was still unpaved. I
inadvertently made a circuit of most of the town when I turned left
onto the main road looking for a hostel I’d read about. Finally
arriving at one with a very similar name, my basic Chinese afforded me
enough direction from one local to the next to work my way back to
were I realized I should have turned right. The hostel was
multi-story, cheap and cool. The only problem was a huge group of
teenagers waiting for several hours on a bus that had broken down
somewhere and took most of the day to get to them and take their noisy
asses on to where ever they were bound next. Despite their raucous
commotion echoing up the stairwell, I managed to crash for a while in
the blessed AC.

When I awoke I went on a stroll around town with a specific test
for my limited Chinese: score long shoelaces for my boots. It took
several shops, but I finally did so. I’d eaten lunch earlier at one
literal hole in the wall and went exploring elsewhere for dinner. The
entire town (village) seemed to shut down around 8, but as I happened
by one place, a group of eaters called out for me to join them and I
did so. Thus I met Franch, who was from Brittany and had been working
on some sort of theater project in Shanghi, and two younger Chinese -
Michael and Gillian, who were not a couple. They had all come that
day from Yanghsuo, which was only about 45 minutes away by bus.
Gillian worked in what she described as a “regaee bar”. During the
meal, they realized they had missed the last bus back, so I took them
to my place where they were able to find rooms. Back at the hostel,
we also met two French speaking guys, Nicolo and Pierre. Nicolo was
actually Italian, but as a photo-journalist he was currently working a
French publishing house (like a French A.P.) and had lived many years
in Paris. They’d had an active day and had not yet eaten, so we tried
for the one other place in town we thought might still be opened.
I only had some drinks and they wolfed down vittles as the kitchen
graciously stayed open for them. The place was run by a Belguin guy
who chatted us up for a bit. Then it was back to the hostel for more
drinks and pool, joined now by two German girls. But as they were
“too many dicks on the dance floor”, I was 10 year older than everyone
else, and Gillian at 19 was the hottest one to me anyway, I retired
before the rest. It did fill my heart with pride though when young
Michael and Gillian took me aside at on point to ask if I was familiar
with an American writer they were currently enjoying named Kerouac.
“Yeah kid, I’ve heard of him… I could tell you some stories.”
But the Beat history lesson could only go so far with the language
barrier. The next morning we caught the bus for Yangshuo, still with
amazing mountains the entire ride.

Gillian paid my fare and was a useful guide when we got to town. I
was actually a bit dismayed to see Yangshuo at first, it seemed huge
and commercial. But after being there a while I realized it’s true
size. It is however very tourist centered and someday might be a
charmless shithole. Gillian showed me the bar when she worked, which
was much fancier than I was expecting (I was picturing a mud floored
shack with a boombox and some Bob Marley discs – as seen ubiquitously
in Jamaica). It was actually a really fancy and expensive bar
connected to a boutique hotel. As it was early in the day, all rooms
vacant, I got to tour several, as I did need a place to stay and there
was a chance I might choose here. It had a urban loft feel to it,
with original art in the rooms, glass floor lofts and multiple flat
screen TV’s. At $30 a room, it was very expensive by local standards,
but of course a joke to one who comes from a country where this price
gets you a room in a stabby crack den at best. Even the penthouse
suite was only $100 or so a night. I considered it, just for the
luxury factor, but in the end decided it would only be depressing
without someone to share it with. What good is an all glass shower
for one? The place had “love shack” written all over it. We moved
on.

She next took me to cool hostel that butted right up to a mountain,
one wall stone. It was raining, as it did every morning, and water
was dripping into buckets all over the place, but it was more
atmospheric than annoying. Being China, there were banks of computers
and electrical chords and bare light bulbs running all over the place,
but somehow no one was being electrocuted. It was like the computer
system I’d seen back in Reef Flute Cave ready to print tourists photos
on the spot. I asked about the lifespan of a system in such
conditions but the owners claimed it wasn’t a factor -
“meysha”:doesn’t matter – it is nothing. Whatever.
My room was a little more than the others but still very cheap, with a
private balcony I never ended up using. l thanked Gillian who went off
to work and I went for my nap. I later realized West Street was the
center of the bar action and was glad I was situated well away from it
where noise wouldn’t be a factor for me. It was over the top and
obnoxious, not quite Koh San Road in Bangkok but sort of a mini
version of that crossed with Gatlinburg, TN. Tons of cheesy bars, and
some OK places to drink, many foreign food restaurants, junk and
trinket shops, smaller alleys leading off the main action. Lots of
lowei and Chinese tourists, hawkers out front trying to get them to
come into this spot or that. But after so many months in a town
without a bar scene, I didn’t mind a bar scene – such as it was.
And it was on that quest for my first burger in a long time I found
Music East and West cafe, Yo yo and her co-workers, and what would
become my home base for the next few days. I think they were playing
Beatles pastmasters vol. 2 which is what pulled me in. But come to
think of it, I never heard “Rain” so it must have been some other
collection. How to describe the charm of Yo yo? She was a natural
comic, a smooth talking waitress. When seated, you were “customer”
and she would often jokingly refer to me as her “master” or even
“God”, but when you stood, you were just another chump and you should
buy her a shot. They were cheap enough during happy hour, which went
from 4-12, so I ended up doing this plenty. Occasionally she even set
me up. But in fact, as a guide she was indispensable.
“Sit down sweetie. Pick some music” was the first thing she said to
me. There was a short somewhere in the speaker wiring so one channel
would often go out, especially unfortunate and surreal with Beatles
recordings as you may know, but the place was comfortable anyway -
electric fans to combat the heat, great menu of western and chinese
food. Yo yo looked more Hawaiian, Samoan, or possibly half black,
than Chinese to me. But she talked like a small town diner waitress
with a Chinese accent. Soon Franch wandered by and seemed as pleased
with the place as I. It turned out he was a saxophone player and had a
little portable one with him he would take to practice by the river
daily. I wasn’t surprised to discover he was good.
So the tale gets a bit blurry from here, but essentially followed a
pattern of our meeting here, eating and going off on outdoor
adventures, to be followed by dinner and copious drinking into the
night; or a buzz with lunch, followed by a nap, then meeting back up
in the evening for copious drinking. Yo yo’s perpetual suggestion of
shots was not helpful.
“Wanna do a shot of Jameson, baby?”
“Yo yo, it’s 11 AM…”
“Yes, my Lord, but I am here to do one with you.”

I’m not gonna obsess on the order in which things happened from there.
It might have been after one night or two, I moved to another hostel
further up the valley I’d heard about and there met Jennifer, the
American who lives in Ko Samui, Thailand briefly before she headed on
to Xian. That other hostel was owned by a Belgian guy with a super
hot Chinese wife. Jennifer had some cross words with them before I
arrived, but I didn’t get this story until later in Beijing when we
met up a third time.
It was a full service hostel: bike rentals, arrangement of other
tours. Most of the other guests were couples, and I had to overhear
some obnoxious conversations over breakfast:
“Oh yes we were there the other day, and found it just lovely..”
“Did you?”
“Oh yes, quite, and we’ll be trying the kayak adventure today”
“Oh that sounds fun!”
“Yes, doesn’t it?”
As Camus complains of in The Plague – the trite, egoism of
lovers…and he didn’t even have to deal with the British, ee gad.
I’d wanted to try a balloon ride in that setting and was ready to pay
a heap of money, but that operation had been shut down a few months
before when one had exploded and several Dutch had died, Chinese
safety standards being what they are – but apparently the owner of the
company had been executed as compensation, Chinese justice standards
being what they are… I settled for a bike rental and set off with my
MP3, some water and a vague map along with some instruction from
Jennifer.

It was a little harder than I’d imagined getting out of town, but
after a bit on a highway going south, I turned off on a dirt road and
it was just me and the mountains, amazing views all around.
Infrequent other bikers, scooters but equal in number to water
buffalos, often tended either by old ladies or very young girls. Only
a little way out of town it was very rural, Iron age, but with signs
of more development on the way. I came to the bamboo ferry Jennifer
mentioned and rode on. I would sometimes pass through cool little
villages. In one I met an older guy who wanted to be my guide on his
own bike. It didn’t seem necessary, but I’m glad I did it, as he took
me out on tiny trails through rice paddies I wouldn’t have ventured
into on my own, as it felt like trespassing. His tour consisted
mostly of tiny bridges which I dutifully photographed. He was a
retired solider who had worked with artillery, or so I gathered from
his charade acting. I couldn’t understand most of what he rattled on
about of course, but nodded politely. In time, we came to the main
bridge of Dragon Bridge Village and had a drag moment when I went for
a beer, and offered to buy him a coke from a guy with a cooler, who
insisted on charging a crazy lowei sucker price, so I said no dice,
ranted for a bit that I was no fool. Then, going to part ways with
the guide, I realized his weird pronunciation of 4 was actually 10 and
the tour was more than twice what I’d thought, but this was my own
foolishness – as 10 is a far more logical price than 4. Still China,
nothing can be as it seems can it? No matter, it was still quite
reasonable. I rode back on the highway, well tired as I’d been gone
several hours, and after climbing a large hill, came in on the north
end of town. I showered or drank, or I’m not sure what then, but it
was nice to have the bike, as where I was staying was now a 20 minute
walk from town through utter darkness and a construction site which
will soon be dozes and dozens of vending stalls catering to the
Chinese day tourists who come in on the boats just to shop and move
on. I rented the bike an extra day just to make this trek to and from
town easier.

One day Franch and I convinced Yo yo to skip work and take us to Water
Cave which took quite a while to get to on various buses and the wait
for a full tour to be gathered. As a local, Yo yo was our “guide” and
got in free. We entered on a small boat and had to duck down beneath
the very low overhang. Soon out of the boat we followed the walkway,
much more rustic and wet than RFC had been, just bare bulbs over
head, no psychedelic lighting. We came to the mud baths, but they
were freezing so I didn’t linger. I was more psyched for the
hotspring area, which we eventually found. It was a cascading hill of
rock with several pools, perfect for one or two, ending in a pool at
the bottom. The water at the top was much too hot and at the bottom
nice but not quite “hot tub”, while the smaller pools going down could
be perfect to suite depending on your tastes, while a stream of
freezing cave water ran down the side. I was lying there after
yelling instruction to Yo yo, who seemed unable to operate the camera
she held for us well away from the water (she didn’t swim or do the
mud), when it struck me that the entire thing might be fake. The
brochure claimed this was a “recently discovered” portion of the cave,
but once there, it was part of one big chamber they surely had to pass
through to get to other parts. It was quite possible the entire hill
of stone had been fabricated and there was some sort of mechanism
beneath heating the water, which would explain why it was so hot at
the top and got better as it mixed with the natural water going down,
with absolutely no sulfury smell. The Chinese are masters of forgery:
antiques, designer labels, media and software piracy. I’ve opened
sealed bottle of liquor which seemed very cheap to realize half way
through they’d been watered or cut with something. Fake or not, the
hotsprings were neat. On the way out, I apologized to Yo yo for being
a spazz about the camera. With the noise of the cascading water
apparently I’d been yelling and she was rather embarrassed. By now,
my nickname had become Hou Tai Lang, who is the wolf from the Pleasant
Goat kids cartoon here I am semi-obsessed with. I called all the
girls Mei Yang Yang (the cute girl goat from the show) when I hit on
them, all of us knowing as respectable Chinese girls nothing was ever
going to happen without a wedding ring, which wasn’t going to happen.

“You bad man Hou Tai Lang”, Yo yo said as we headed back on the
insanely bumpy bus ride. “I feed you many drinks tonight and calm you
crazy ass down!” Franch and I pitched in and paid her more than a
days wages or missing work and taking us to the cave, which sadly
wasn’t much.

At some point we met back up with Pierre and Nicolo, who for some
crazy reason decided to WALK from Xinping to Yangshuo like fucking
Green Berets or something. They had met some girls they had plans
with and so I met them one night (might have been after the cave…)
and we were out to entertain these young ladies. They wanted to go to
this very loud and smoky club with “Chinese rock” where we split a
crazy expensive bottle of Absolute and washed it own with Red Bull. I
couldn’t hear a thing in there and was sweating like mad, but this one
girl seemed into what I might be saying and I convinced her to walk
with me outside where we could hear one another. She was in the
middle of college and trying to figure out what might be next for
herself. We sat on a bridge and I drunkenly babbled on about a life
of self-discovery where parental opinions aren’t the most important
thing (or even considered in my case, a very non-Chinese concept), Lao
Tsu, walking the roads of adventure, paying the price of solitude, but
generally dining on honeydew, standing within the pleasure dome,
drinking the milk of paradise etc blah blah. Soon it was time for her
to go meet up with her young tour group and I walked her back to her
hotel.
But her wide eyed cute stare had me rather wound up and rather than
trying to go and find the Frenchie dudes I went in search of a massage
parlor I’d seen earlier, wondering about the price of the “full
release” services. But before I could find it again, a woman in a
dark alley approached me with the age old question “are you lonely”
and whisked me off to a seedy hotel, when I had fleeting relations
with a lovely, young and svelte Mei Yang Yang, possessing just enough
Chinese to be granted the locals price (supposedly the hawker herself
came from Shandong where I live, and this fact impressed her.) So
there I was back out on the street as the town was shutting down, not
believing I’d stumbled upon what had taken me much longer to find and
figure out in Liaocheng, for the same price, with a much hotter woman
than the average. But positively JACKED on the vodka and Red Bull, it
felt more like coke at that point, so I wandered on to find Yo yo, who
after some brief reservation was OK with selling me after hours beers
to take back on the dark trail where I might be able to sedate myself
toward sleep before the dawn.
“You be careful crazy Hou Tai Lang! I no want see you tomorrow with
smash face!”
“I’m a pro, baby. A blessed magical maniac, worry not”, and indeed I
didn’t even drop one on the bumpyass ride back.

Another day, we took Lisa and Lucy for a day outing, which only seemed
fair as they had minded the restaurant while Yo yo had gone with us to
the cave. We went kayaking, again Yo yo able to beat the price they
had quoted me back at the hostel. Now we, Franch and I, were joined
by an ad hoc group with a Norweign guy and an English girl and this
Swedish guy who I seemed destined to perpetually argue with. He had a
Ramones shirt on, but didn’t recognize the Stooges when I played them
(though too be fair, I might not have at his age either). The fucker
just didn’t want to believe me when I insisted that Johnny Ramone was
a right wing ass… which is a matter of public record. Ok I might
have used the word ‘fascist’ which tends to come easily from my lips
when drinking and certainly means a very different thing in
Scandinavia. The funniest part is when he wanted to ask me about
another of his favorite bands, “Someone once told me, but I can’t
believe. Is it true Hatebreed are nazi’s?”
“Oh my Christ on a bike, I can’t believe of all bands you mentioned
that one! Yes! Yes, it’s true.”
“But common, no! How do you know this?”
“Look; I don’t know if they’ve read Mien Kampf, or polish jackboots or
fly swastikas. But I promise you they are north-eastern thugs. I
personally saw them kick the shit out of some poor clueless suburban
Oregon kid who didn’t know what he’d wandered into outside one of
their shows when I worked for a promoter out there. They get off on
violence and pack mentality.”
“But that doesn’t mean nazi…”
“Not as a political movement, no. Call it what you want. And I’m not
saying listening to them makes you a nazi or a thug, the divide
between artists life and their art etc. Enjoying the films of
Polanski doesn’t mean you condone statutory rape (never mind the dated
facts of that whole debacle). But I’m telling you first hand, those
assholes are bad news.”
“I just can’t believe it…”
“You believe what you want, kid” and round and round we went. But
this was back in the bar. Out in the kayak I had other problems.
Lucy was my boat mate for what turned into a several hour English
lesson, which was fine. But when she got tired, she quit paddling,
and as I was in front, we’d just go in circles. It was amusing at
first. But by the end, when it came time to get out, and we needed to
navigate to the far side of the river current, the sun and fatigue got
the better of me and I spazzed out on her verbally, the word “useless”
being used several times. Even safely on land, my bitter pouting
continued and the others rebuked me. An exhausted and sunburned
(fake, useless, overpriced fucking Chinese sunscreen!) fat guy on a
bender is rarely as amusing as it sounds. But back at the bar a few
hours later, re-hydrated then re-inebriated, all was forgiven, but I
assume Lucy will choose not to boat with the Wolf next time.

Eventually my time in Yangshuo ran out and I ate one last burger with
Yo yo, said my goodbyes and took the bus back to Guilin. Shefen and I
had a dinner date, though she was off that day, and she came to my
room WAY early while I was trying to catch up on some sleep. But we
went on anyway for a good Chinese meal with a hilarious chinglish menu
and another wander in the night market.
On the way into town, I’d seen a hilarious looking “Bear and Tiger
Mountain Village” with big animal statues out front. But asking
around it seemed there was a distinct possibility that it had neither
tigers not bears. So in the end I decided that what I needed was free
pictures of the front entrance. So the girls back at the Riverside
Hotel helped me arrange with the cabbie a brief stop by there the next
morning. I got my shots, and as we headed on to the airport, there
was suddenly a naked man walking along the dawn highway, his head one
massive tangle, very unhip deadlock. A “wildman” who looked for all
the world like he’d just spent the night in, then escaped from, Bear
and Tiger Mountain Village. The cab driver was very amused that I got
his picture. It was bizarre sight. A few hours later my flight
landed back in Beijing.

Woo..this has taken forever for me to write and has been rather long
so I will sum up the rest quickly: took the cheap shuttle train back
to Sanliturn where I stay in PEK and walked to the hostel, actually
bumped into another traveler I’d met in Tsingtao back in Feb on his
way out. Turned out two of the girls from my school were in town so I
met up with them, also Jennifer for a third time and we checked the
area around Hou Hi. Went back to the 798 arts district before
catching the train home the next day. All in all, the trip of a
lifetime. Feels very long ago now, as the school is in “high season”
and we are doing six day weeks.
When I come back to China in 2011, I’d like to get a job in the south,
though I can’t imagine how hot it is down there right about now. The
mountains though definitely did my soul good!