I looked up from my morning paper (Yahoo news) to see a tour group gathered in the lobby. Its leader was urging them to take part in one of two pre-breakfast activities: painting or tai chi. Unfortunately, I'd seen several of them in the bar the night before, a bar that boldly advertises its creative cocktails, among them the Long Island Ice Tea, the Sex on the Beach, and the Bangkok Happy Slutmaker. Most of the people looked liked they'd had several of each. And they'd had more than enough of activities.
We'd managed to avoid all that, so instead, we embarked on a restful day in beautiful Yangshuo, in preparation for a late-night plane flight to Guangzhou. We sipped at a coffee, took a turn around town. Then we lunched on beer fish – the specialty of Yangshuo (excepting stewed endangered turtle and stir fried dog—and I'm not joking this time). How can I describe the complex symphony of flavors that caressed our palates? How about: "It sucked." Guanxi food is, in general, flabby, lifeless, and uninspired. Beer fish is no exception.
But beyond food, it seemed we'd been cursed. There are only a few cardinal rules in travel. You should never, for example, fly with an airline that asks if you have pilot training. You should not rely on a train's bathroom. And you should never arrive in a city after midnight without a hotel reservation.
By a long chain of unfortunate circumstances, this last thing is exactly what happened to us. Our first hotel rezzie fell through; our second never got back to us to confirm or send us directions. Any attempt to book afterwards was stymied by an inability to communicate by phone. And so, we found ourselves mulling about the Guilin airport, wondering if we should take off for Guangzhou. We did, taking odds on the likelihood we spent the night in anxious slumber on the airport floor.
We needn't have worried. Our plane arrived a half hour early, and a hotel booking service located at the baggage carousel found us a cavernous room near the airport for about $38. We woke to an excellent breakfast of noodle soup with eggs, and were soon hurtling in a taxi through old Canton (which looks like the worst parts of the Bronx times ten), and then on a very modern train towards Hong Kong. As I write, we are arriving in Kowloon, with more details to follow.
2 comments:
I'm really not sure about this recommendation..... this will just about destroy any credibility I had, but here goes. If you are at a loose end, do consider going to Disney World. I know, I know... you came to sample the delights of the orient, not just to visit Florida with more noodles. It's just when we went to Hong Kong, I managed to persuade the group that this would be fun. Although none of them believe this, I think they gave me the benefit of the doubt and treated me as 'I'd been good, hadn't had a tantrum recently, and had eaten all my greens the night before.' However, to everyone's surprise we all enjoyed it. Now, I wouldn't presume to suggest that it's a deeply meaningful experience, but it was fun to see Disney, with a chinese perspective. Oh, that and the trains had windows that we in the shape of Mickey's ears. You can't beat that.
The other thing to do is to get a 'real' Hong Kong massage. This takes the form of a short and quiet evil looking woman walking up and down your back. Primeval male instincts told me this could be interesting. I was wrong. It was just very very painful. Then to add insult to injury she then tried to tell me in broken English how I should tip her heavily as she wasn't paid very well. I thought about it. Pain. Tip. Right. When it was time to leave, strangely no tip was forthcoming (I did ask her not to hurt me, but her selective English seemed to fail at that point.....)
Still loving the blog though - It's nice being able to live vicariously through other people's travel right now.
I'd be all over Disneyland, being a big fan. But we've only got a day. However, I'll pass on the Hong Kong massage. I've noticed in all parts of China and SE Asia, you are offered a particular, local massage. I've always wondered what would happened if you turned to the person giving you one and said, "What do you mean, this is a Bangkok massage? Clearly, this is a Malaysian massage, and don't think I'm such a damn fool that I wouldn't know the difference. Bring me a real Bangkok-style masseuse or I'm taking my business elsewhere." I'm guessing their selective English would also fail them at that point.
Post a Comment