It’s no good; try as I might I’ve resigned myself to the fact that any Asian language is far beyond my comprehension or understanding. I’m currently on the coach headed to some caves (I think), with a train ride (I believe), later on and a drop off or end at 6.30pm (I’m fairly certain). I’m the only
gweilo on the coach and as the tour guide picks up the mic, the best I can do is listen for words that
sound like English. Mandarin is an incredibly complex language – made far worse by the convolution of the written form; it’s the Cockney Rhyming slang of Asia.
It’s a new white noise that I must learn to switch off to, but as she speaks I’m instinctively drawn to listen – there’s plenty of “sh” and “ch” sounds to go along with “eue-uure” and thus far I’ve ascertained the following: Temperature, Pluto, yeah shit, sunning, power pull, chicken, tomato and hello. Rearrange to form an interesting sentence. Either way it’s not what the tour itinerary said; but the broken English in to which it was translated was equally as incomprehensible. Pictorial representation is needed every step of the way; I think I’m going to starve here.
I’m glad I have two girls to take care of me for the day; one an ERP developer and the other her closest friend, both of which as considerate and warm as any I’ve met. Throughout the day Coco and Tracey ensure I get on the bus on time, am fed, go the right way through the caves and call “Louis!” when attention is needed. Sometimes in synchrony.
Piracy is an awesome thing, and without it I would have struggled to communicate even the basics; but with two
apps for my iPhone assisting with translation, we three facilitate talk all day. And it’s good fun; Tracey’s mother offers me dried Shrimp and cakes, so in return I share my Strawberries, purchased from a stall. They retort by defending me from the most aggressive selling old lady in the solar system, who is mystified why it is I don’t speak Mandarin and won’t buy her small orange-looking things. And here was me thinking shaking the head was universal language for “no”.
Our first stop is a religious building of some kind – I’m not permitted to photograph so I put the lens cap on. After a briefing – where I kick my feet until she’s finished – we are led to the rear, where a ceremony – of some kind – is put on for us and I am expected to kneel, clasp hands and close eyes whilst a prayer – of some sort – is said. Three bongs later and some are chosen to speak with the monks – of a type – and then donate money. I’m not chosen – funnily enough – so I head out and wander around before Coco runs up to fetch me, takes a snap and leads me briskly back to the bus. And good thing too; the little English she speaks is a blessing, for no one else can converse with me. It’s taken three months but finally; I now genuinely feel like a tourist.
Departing, we head to the caves, where a mass of underground formations and flowing water have been garlanded with multi-coloured lighting and rides that rival Thorpe Park. I later discover that it is called the “flute caves”, where we have an electric car ride, boat through the caverns, train between a long crevice and final trip along the River Li back. The formations inside are interesting, but more of the day’s fun is had struggling to communicate, rather than taking self-portraits of
me in front of something every 5 minutes. These sea turtles are kept solely for punters; pay 5 Yuan to enter and stroke for luck. I feel like stealing them and running back to the River to release them; they’re most likely eaten when large enough.
After lunch, where I watch Coco’s mother suck every scrap of edible material from a Cat fish and hack up the bones on to the pre-fitted plastic table-cloth (for the expected mess), we head on from the caves to a “7-star waterfall”. It has again been kitted out for children and adults, making the natural beauty seem worlds apart from the national parks of Thailand. “Sing a song”, Coco says as we pull in to the car park and wondering what she means, I press the phrase on my phone that says “I don’t understand” and a prerecorded male voice speaks for me. The tour guide leads us by carrying a flag on a telescopic pole and speaks only in Mandarin through her personal PA speaker; I think I’m beginning to filter it out. As the group begins to sing at the first sign post (presumably these being the lyrics), they turn and look at me inviting me to join in; bemused at my ignorance of the song and why I don’t know it by heart. The next stop and we are greeted by a woman stood on a small island in the middle of the stream, who throws a bouquet back to us after we have exchanged songs. I’m confounded, but it’s something to fire off shots at I guess.
Throughout the day, Tracey insists on taking photographs of me in front of waterfalls, shrines, buildings and other places of significance. I can only assume she thinks I must want these kind of pictures and though I am grateful for the gesture; I can’t find a phrase on my phone to click that says; “I don’t want cheesy shots, but thank you for offering anyway”. So I relent and say thank you all day instead – it’s sweet of her and will make for facebook profile pictures should the need arise.
As we climb the various levels, some waterfalls are decked with Chinese symbols; others with games for children and adults – balance on a seesaw to check your weight or try to lift the heavy bamboo sticks. The locals are drenched in their own sweat and struggling by the halfway mark and just as unfit as their SE Asian counterparts. By the time the top has been reached, some are panting and stopping every few steps, while others have given up altogether. I guess from their tone of voice the Mandarin translates in to “how many more of these bloody steps are there” or similar. An expensive rollercoaster ride to the bottom and it’s 30 Yuan I’d rather have not parted with.
Back to Guilin (which if pronounced a slightly different way means something altogether different and rude), and a convenient stop by a tea house offering various beverages, which we are treated to sample. These things are magical, some offering the properties that medical scientists have been struggling to find for decades: Osmanthus flower will “beautify the appearance and fade the freckles”, whilst Wild gynostemma Pentaphyllum will “prevent hepatitis B and reduce the bad cholesterol” and The tea of prostate “obviously relieves the prostate inflammation”. I’d like to see the scientific proof for that please.
No comments:
Post a Comment