Reminiscent of time attempting to tick away on the novelty ‘Mao watch? Mao watch?‘ persistently being hawked in Tiananmen Square; time stood still this week. Any attempt to capture the period in a post, would be inaccurate and, akin to Mao’s arm weakly attempting to wave time away, I’d fail to do my subject justice. Subsequently this post becomes a smoking hot, and completely metaphorical wok, in which I’ll rustle up a table full of south China’s finest backpacker delicacies derived from a colourful selection of event-fuelled ingredients, descended from the iconic bookshelf to the left of the open shop front. Imagine it as just one day, you’ll join me in the evening at the cafe to catch up over dinner. We’ll gratefully accept the fragrant yellow tinted jasmine tea to our table, before leading the cleaver-clad chef to his rustic shelves; ‘ok boss, we’ll take some of this, that, this and, whatever that is, we’ll take it. Oh, and some rice, just one bowl. And a couple of píjǐus (beer). And don’t get any ideas, clean chopsticks this time’. Continue reading ‘The Blind Leading the Blind’
Monthly Archive for August, 2007
I’ve been shocked many a time when using the internet, but the following session took me totally by surprise. I’d wrestled my way through a final round with the heavyweight Diaheorra Demon and was catching up on the latest football news, back in England. A soft whisper carried its way across the hostel, ‘Ant!’. My team were doing alright, life was rosy. I continued clicking ignorantly, ‘Ant?!’. The rivals were failing to live up to their summer spending sprees, ‘Ant!?‘. The next weeks fixtures seemed in our favour so I clicked on some more. A hand lightly touched my shoulder accompanied by a mellow ‘Ant!’. My eyes spared the voice a glance and my heart seemed to acquire a passport and whizz around the world, without the merest of consultation. My glance was greeted by familiar eyes. My K471 friend, Mr Wang. If you haven’t read my previous post, I suggest you do. Continue reading ‘Why did the Chinaman cross the road?’
Tired of walking, I decided to exercise my lifelong avidity to fly like a bird. I swiftly span upon a silver yuan , donned my colourful cape and followed my outreached fist over classical scenes of paddy fields and rice terraces. Moments later, I became caught in a ferocious crosswind which brought me tumbling back down with a bump. I awoke recumbent in my sleeper berth aboard train K471. “Superman caught in a crosswind” is the most acurate description of an overnight train journey I have offered to date, and on this particular journey – 47hrs and 2000 miles from Beijing to Kunming – the views I was granted from my berth, through a slither of a dirt splattered window will stay with me for the duration of my – somewhat clumsy – flying days. Continue reading ‘Mr Wang and The Curse of the Airag’
Beijing is to China, what a fried egg is to an English breakfast. I simply couldn’t leave it unconsumed at the side of my plate so I’ve returned to burst it’s yolk, all over my chin. The chef needs a medal, it’s almost cooked to perfection. It’s said, you should never judge a book by it’s cover. In my recording of my previous arrival in Beijing I “felt like a borrower rolling through a Monopoly board, contested by two heavy smokers”. Now I feel myself timidly muttering ‘do not pass go, do not collect £200.’. In hindsight I judged the cover of a book I couldn’t even read, the illness had crippled my senses and the only thing I had to go on, was the cloak of smog cozily settled over central Beijing. Continue reading ‘Beijing. Sunny side up.’
It’s maybe slightly ironic, but sometimes the joy of ‘travelling’ is actually staying in one place and not ‘travelling’ at all. For the last week I’ve been doing just that in the Chinese city of Xi’an. As soon as I stumbled off the night train from Pingyao, I knew I’d end up staying a while. The city was fresh, it had that big city feel but was surrounded by one of China’s most charming additions; the city wall. I like the freedom it allows me, the ability to just drift off knowing that before long an ancient wall will snap me out of an everlasting day dream. Continue reading ‘Peachy in Xi’an’
As I stuffed boxer shorts and guidebooks into my spotted handkerchief, I became consumed by the romance of floating through countries chatting with locals about their culture and perhaps exchanging ideas over a pot of peculiar tasting tea. In reality however, my ignorant approach to learning their language and omitting to carry even the simplest of phrasebook has left me in some unfamiliar, and at times frustrating territory. On reflection, my previous jaunts within our sphere have been to places that share at the very least a common alphabet. I can imagine your nonchalance towards my daily predicament, seeing a sign that says “最后外国人走在这里结束下在面条” is easy to translate, right? In reality that sign means “The last foreigner to walk down here ended up in the noodles”. Could you tell the difference between dog (狗) or chicken (鸡) on a menu, when they’re hidden with “Where’s Wally” expertise among the pepper (胡椒), rice (米) and other Chinese delicacies (威胁肚腑). This is my way of admitting, China is a hard hard country to “float through”, let alone order a pot of tea. Continue reading ‘Me and my Shadow(s)’
