Two months

Travelling creates many differing perspectives on life, the universe and everything. Some days are abysmal; where a chain of events causes a cataclysm of negative emotion and the whole world seems populated with detritus. Others are seemingly uplifting, demonstrating beauty, friendship and acts of kindness that right the wrongs of everything that’s gone before; making you smile as you fall to sleep with great fondness for those around you.

Today was another of the latter, beginning with a complete overhaul of travel plans and ending in a tremendously enjoyable evening spent with the two girls working at the Riverside Hostel I’m staying at. Lulu and Shan Shan have known each other since being bunk-buddies at College four years ago, studying Practical English. In a country where very little is spoken and symbols are indecipherable, it’s delightful to meet fluent speakers. Much like their Western counterparts, they long to travel the world and broaden their knowledge. Presently the bookies wouldn’t offer them favourable odds, however, I do not doubt their resolve and wish them the best of luck.

Having collected enough tat and random memorabilia (paper, receipts and the like), to fill a small parcel, Shan Shan has located the Post Office on my map for me. Sending a box from mainland China is certainly not easy and I’m glad to have both the assistance of Sister’s Cantonese (success rate of around 10% thus far), and my Mandarin dictionary app. To say communication is strained without mediation is an enormous understatement. There are no queues here, it’s every citizen for themselves; so get up to the front and don’t be fearful of barging as it’s not rude. Once at the desk I am ready and armed with iPhone in hand, pre-prepared with “Parcel” in Mandarin (邮包). There’s little point speaking, so I point and in return receive one flat-pack box. Do I pay now or once I have packed it ready for shipping? Rubbing thumb and forefinger are universal and after some exchanged words I decipher it’s 9 Yuan (90 pence), for the cardboard.

Red tape flows in China like the sweat on the brows of the overworked and underpaid sweatshop workers, and this is no different. Having my contents inspected and completing a form in sextuplicate, I return to the postal window to have each of my forms stamped in turn by three differing designs. Almost eighteen pounds gets me an overland service, 9,674 Kilometres back to London and as I press the phrase on my app for “When will it arrive?”, my Mandarin voice by proxy causes everyone around me to giggle (thankfully it’s male). A few words are exchanged with a nearby female co-worker and as she turns to me says; “Two months”.

Back to the Hostel and my ticket to Guangzhou is booked; this time tomorrow and I’ll be en route to Hong Kong in T-Train style. Being only a few years old, I’m looking forward to some railway luxury, especially after Vietnam. Lulu has arrived for work and she seems keen to join me for a run – she’s dressed in jeans so after a quick change in to Sister’s borrowed running shorts, we head off for what ends up as roughly 3K jogging and the remainder walking. I’m happy for the company and as we discuss her life ambitions of travel and backpacking, it’s easy to see just how stifled and restricted she is. Her dreams are to visit Turkey, Australia and London and she works incredibly hard to achieve her goal, as all women in Asia seem to. When asked about men she responds “Chinese men are lazy and stupid, very dishonest, I prefer Western men”. Freakonomics aside, there is no suggestive tone to our conversation and I am glad for her honesty.



Changing at the Hostel and heading out to dinner, it’s like having two new best friends taking care of us. Whilst in Vietnam I was certain of an undertone to instant friendship with women – here I feel it’s genuine and out of kindness that they order for us and act as our translators for the remainder of the evening. The cheapest meal in the whole of my travels in China; the evening surely wouldn’t be complete without a traditional massage found in a random back street, costing £2.50 for an hour and ensuring I hobble back to the Hostel. It’s deep tissue work, not unlike Thai massage minus the wooden stick and knuckle kneading. My guy works his thumbs in to my back, head, feet and legs untangling every knot with brute force – it’s excruciating but I’m determined to see it through without flinching. The girls giggle at the noises I make and as the hour is up I’m too agonised to stand and dazed from being pinched, pulled and compressed in to a relaxed pile of muscle and blubber.

As we all conclude, I offer to pay for everyone – it’s just a tenner afterall. There’s no tip culture here and neither Lulu nor Chan Chan expected payment for anything all evening, but I’m glad to show some financial generosity in return for their unquestioning thoughtfulness all day.