Literal Mandarin doesn’t translate all that well, so my first day in the Khaosan Road of China will be soulless as I head off for a run. Transit along the River Li passes some interesting rock formations; some of which have been named for the semblance to things. Personally, I can’t perceive the nine Horses on the Karst our English-speaking guide is getting excited about, or the two birds back to back, let alone the scull everyone is point-and-clicking over. And in any case, these are very similar to Ha Long Bay and South Thailand, so I’m struggling to get worked up about them. “It’s the same old shit, dude”, says my Sister filling her bowl with rice and veg – and I’m fairly tempted to agree.
Much like my rants of blogs past, this conveyor belt differs only in sheer numbers; with 15 million visiting each year, but all looking to fill their soul with telescopic-flag equipped guides whisking them around the many attractions on offer. Calculate that as a daily rate and I’m fairly certain the guide is at least one order of magnitude out though cynicism aside, I’m most looking forward to the expected ease at which I can order food and get some exercise in.
Sadly, fate has a way of massacring your hopes and with three fifths of the stay a heavy downpour, I’m glad to have run and toured by bike on the days I did. Take that Sod’s Law, in your face. As tourist hotspots go, this one is same same to everwhere else on the planet; hiked prices, densely packed souvenir shops and best of all – rip-off clothing and jewellery for the punters. Scanning West Street (the main walking and shopping street), I see every Westerner adorned in the same mock North Face or Columbia clothing and shoes; from Father to little boy, all of which clearly completely unprepared for the weather and changeable climate of the Guangxi region of China.
I hate being the same as everyone else, though sadly my bag consists purely of a selection of shorts, T-Shirts and running apparel; so I’m in dire need of some warm winter clothes. Bartering Sister in tow, we manage to secure a waterproof (-ish), double coat that seems of good quality for only £35. In Thailand I was used to starting the bidding at half the asking price; here it’s a quarter. Nearly twenty quid for a necklace and two bangles; you must be kidding love – threaten to walk away and hold your ground and it’s easy to strike a deal, mine being £7 for the lot. Check the quality though, for one shop had to find a belt for the trousers I was keen on, and then tried to sow the drawstring back together as it disintegrated just by looking at it. The Chinese are incredibly talented copiers, though sadly much like Italian design; it only has the appearance of quality as under the shell it’s complete rubbish.
The following day and having secured an average-quality bike for a deposit of £30 and a rental of £5, a four-foot tour guide offers to take us around for the same price as the latter. Cynicism immediately sets in and as both me and my Sister bombard the poor soul with questions and lower prices, he succumbs to the Gweilo and Scot and we debark.
It’s a worthwhile investment, Daniel is our guide for the day and having taken us 30 Kilometres, explaining all manner of tradition, symbolism and culture, he’s earned his four quid admirably for the 7 hours of work. I take a shine to him so buy him lunch and tip him a pound at the end of the day; it’s not even minimum wage for one hour at home and he’s pushed hard to keep up with me racing ahead, on his single-speed women’s touring bike.
Without the sun to create contrast, photography becomes more memorable than interesting and the highlight of the day is a self-powered pump, raising water on a 45° incline 10 metres up in order to supply the nearby fields. I’m still waiting patiently for an engineer to indulge me in the knowledge of the science behind it.
Having filled belly in the evening, and with soul equally as full with interesting sights and experiences, a woodfired Pizza is in order; shared with some friends that we had previously travelled with.
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