There’s such a lot of world to see

Right, I have a feeling I might need to apologise in advance for this one, as I might get a bit Ben Elton-ish (little bit of politics for you, folks), and this isn’t really the right forum for that – I don’t have the time or space to write about the ins and outs of the Chinese political system, and I’m certain you don’t have the inclination to read it. However, that said, the political regime invades every single aspect of everyday life in China, and it’s impossible not to come away with some thoughts about it. And this, being my metaphorical thought-bucket, is where I have to unload those thoughts, more for my own sanity than anything else, and you, dear reader, are my hapless prisoner. MWAH-HAH-hah (that’s my evil laugh).

In actual fact, you’re not my prisoner, so I wouldn’t blame you in the slightest if you left this post now and went and read Heat magazine and found out all about Shiloh Nouvel Jolie-Pitt (and if that child’s not headed for a lifetime of therapy with a name like that, then I’m a baby giraffe).

OK. Anyone left? Anyone? Hellooooo?

Ah.

The thing is, China is, more so than any other country I can think of – or at least have been to – a country with a simply astounding past. Regularly in museums do you see artefacts dating to thousands of years BC, and the cultural history is there to see, with every ancient pagoda or jade sculpture, and for this reason alone it is worth a visit.

4,000 years and counting of provable history, mostly of a nation of innovators, conquerors, survivors, and artists. Not too shabby, all in all. In fact, incredibly impressive.

Sadly, though, the lasting impression will be of an odd system that bears no resemblance to my understanding of communism. Now, I’ll be the first one to put my hand up and admit that my understanding of how communism is meant to work is limited, apart from a short time studying it for my history A Level. Most of which I have since forgotten. However, the vast majority of Chinese people seem hell-bent on pursuing some kind of paradise through the acquisition of material goods, which seems to me more like capitalism. I’m certainly not going to get into a discussion here of communism v capitalism – I know where I stand politically and am secure in that, however it’s never been my mission to be a political individual – but, if this is communism, I’m confused. There seems to have been a tacit agreement between the government and the people – we’ll do politics the old way, you carry on with life exactly as you want to, so long as you don’t cross the line. The shops on any given day are certainly thriving, and adverts for status symbols bombard you wherever you go, it’s inescapable.

And, goodness, do they come down hard on people who cross the line. Did you know that, seventeen years on from the Tian’anmen Square massacre, there are still people imprisoned for having the sheer gall to have staged an entirely peaceful protest against their dissatisfaction with the regime? People who have still not – and probably never will be – brought to trial. People who cross the line simply disappear. In Hong Kong, which is as close to democracy as can be seen in China at the moment, there are notices in certain areas telling the tale of certain Falun Gong (a form of meditative religion) practitioners who have been taken from their homes, apparently never to return, and even more disturbing than that, reports of body organs being taken from still-living people, for onward sale. I have no real evidence as to how accurate these reports are, but I’m inclined to believe there’s no smoke without fire – even if there is one grain of truth in it, it’s incredibly disturbing.

As I said, I’m not about to start a communism v capitalism debate, but another disturbing thing, and one that affected me personally, even as a non-Chinese national, is the sheer lack of information available to the average person. Everything, literally everything, is carefully monitored and controlled in order to give the best possible image of China, and filter through to an infinite level the information about the outside world. If the regime – any regime, not just communism – is so fantastic, why not let the people judge for themselves? Why not let them see what is happening in the outside world, and still decide to vote communist? Watching the CCTV English Channel, one has an insight into what it would be like to be bombarded with this at all times. All the news is ‘happy’ news, and there are such headlines as “And now, for the sports news the whole world is talking about – a Chinese sprinter has won his heat at an American Athletics tournament”. It was easy for me to watch with my ever-present cynical head on, as I’d only been absent from the liberal media for a few weeks, but imagine a lifetime of that, and it’s easy to see why you would probably start to believe it unconditionally. That, for my first few weeks in China I couldn’t access hotmail was incredibly annoying and frustrating, and also made me incredibly indignant, that (allegedly) the government of a country could decide to block an email site simply to better monitor what was being said, and also, that said email site would play along with the site, insisting that it was a technical error. My eye. Allegedly.

On the plus side, this leads to an incredible pride in their country, and a sheer conviction that China is best. When it is its simplest form, such patriotism is to be commended, surely. Children are encouraged to do well at school so they can serve their country to the best of their ability and, while I’m not sure about indoctrinating children before their opinions have had the chance to be formed, I think a smattering of this could be used elsewhere to encourage pride in your mother country. It was also noticeable that this was the first country where nobody, not once, asked me whether I like the country. In India, in Sri Lanka, everyone’s third question (after “Where from?” and “You are married?”) was “How do you like India/Sri Lanka?” Here, nobody asked. It was assumed that I liked it. It has also led to, I suppose, a fear of foreigners – not that many people speak English (not that I would expect them to – after all, I speak no Chinese), and you could sometimes see the terror in people’s eyes if I approached them. This was understandable. Less welcoming were the shouts of ‘laowai’ everywhere you go – a term for ‘foreigner’ that has an element of ‘old buffoon’ about it. Some people were blatantly rude, others were stand-offish (probably the fear), while a good percentage were open, friendly, and protective, even if they spoke no English. Certain things stand out, such as my memorable encounter through sign language with the train conductor, and the truly lovely Ivy who ran the cafe in Gulangyu that I frequented. Hopefully, with the upcoming Olympic Games and the ensuing influx of laowai, this fear will disappear entirely. On that note, I must say that I think they will do a wonderful job of hosting the Games. Beijing is a marvellous city and, human rights issues aside, they will do an amazing effort to present China in its best light. I’m looking forward to it already.
The other issue that really upset me was meeting the beautiful Carmen from Germany, currently 6 months pregnant, and her boyfriend, Jimpa (I’ve most likely spelt that wrong – it’s a Tibetan name). This is her first baby but, because Jimpa is from Tibet, he cannot get a passport. Simple as that – because of the region he is from, he is not allowed out of the country. So Carmen must have her baby in China, a prospect she is not relishing, because she understandably wants to stay with the man she loves, the father of her child. That’s the real face of today’s China.
I heard – again, I have no evidence to back it up – that China purchases 29% of the world’s steel. It cannot need so much and, if true, is surely stockpiling. Add this to other concerns such as the flooding of the Yangtze River by the Dam (for water to the Gobi desert and, more likely, for the incredible hydro-electric power it will produce) is displacing thousands of people and villages. The pollution is dreadful, just dreadful in some places, not helped by the over-reliance on cars. I have talked elsewhere about the smokers in China – I heard that China now accounts for one-third of all the world’s smokers. For these reasons, I would seriously urge you to think twice before you buy anything made in China. It’s up to you to make your own mind up, and I would never, could never, presume to tell you what to do, but please, think about it?
This, I know, is coming across as incredibly negative, but it truly isn’t meant to be so. There are some amazing things in China, hopefully by reading my other blog entries for the country this will become apparent – and I have had a wonderful, memorable month there – but there are some negatives that we need to start talking about as a global community, and soon. The world leaders aren’t doing much of a job, and it’s as if there’s a pink suede elephant in the room but no-one’s mentioning its presence. China certainly has huge potential – 1.3billion people, generally with an impressive patriotic work-ethic, under the right leadership they could be the world leader, not just a world player. Hopefully in the future, this will be the direction the country goes in. Above all, my experience at the candlelight vigil in Hong Kong shows that people there, and presumably that can be extrapolated to the rest of the mainland who do not have the luxury of political protests, peaceful or otherwise, are determined to make the country fair and equal for their children’s legacy and therefore, presumably, the world’s.

This will be another quick one, folks, so CLS you won’t burn the toast! Basically I just wanted to use and abuse the free internet connection at HK airport. This really is a great airport, how every airport should be in fact (Bangalore, please take note). Good job I like it here really, as I’ll be passing through it a total of three times on my jaunt through Asia. Two down, one to go.

On my last night in HK, I wandered down to Kowloon harbour as I wanted to watch ‘A Symphomy of Lights’ (their words, not mine). This is a light show put on every single night, using something unique to HK – the beautiful, futuristic skyline on Hong Kong Island. It’s so strange, I’m a bit of a philistine when it comes to architecture really, but I never thought something so man-made and recent could be so beautiful. And beautiful it is, there is no other word for it. I showed my usual lack of restraint with the camera, so I’ll put the photos online as soon as possible. The light show lasts 15 minutes, and is accompanied by atmospheric music. Basically, all the skyscrapers on the opposite side of the bay put on a light show in time with the music, and, despite sounding quite corny, it’s actually quite pretty.

And again, it sums up what I like best about HK. They put something like that on for free, every night, just to show off what a great place it is.

Come immediately, if not sooner.

‘High expectations are disappointments under construction’. So wrote the fabulous Marian Keyes. Sometimes it’s true, other times I find that things that are hugely hyped-up (such as the Taj Mahal and Terracotta Warriors) are popular for a very good reason indeed. I had high hopes for Hong Kong, and hoped that it wouldn’t let me down.

And boy, did it not let me down. I fell in love with it immediately. It reminded me of the time I went to Venice. The best thing about Venice, and I think now the best thing about Hong Kong, is that they are exactly like you imagine they will be. Hong Kong is completely crazy, it’s China meets London meets New York, meets Crazy Town, but it’s wonderful. It’s jumped right in there into my ‘Cities I would love to live in – quick, pass me the Vacancies section from the local paper’ category. FYI, other cities in this category include Paris, Prague, Rome, New York, Miami, Udaipur. Other categories I have are ‘Cities I would be happy to live in if someone offered me a fabulous job’ – London, Mumbai, Bangalore, Colombo (though, sadly, not at the moment as it seems to have kicked off big-time in Sri Lanka – here’s hoping it doesn’t last), Beijing, Shanghai; down through various combinations of possibilities to the lowest, ‘Cities I would not live in even if Jimmy Choo was run from there and they offered me the top job and they offered to pay my salary in shoes’ – Delhi, Dundee, Chengdu. (Apologies to all inhabitants of these cities, I probably don’t appreciate them or something).

Honestly, were it not for the fact that it’s insanely overcrowded already, I would recommend that everyone gets up right now and moves here.  It has everything you could ever want from a city.  (Including 100% humidity – I’ve given up on the hair, and I’m wandering around looking like Sideshow Bob).  It has fabulous shops, cheap markets, amazing food (I had the best Dim Sum ever on Saturday morning, including these little spinach dumpling things that actually made me say “Oh, yum” out loud, forgetting that I was at a big table with lots of other people.  Still, at least they gave me a wide berth with the soy sauce), and it’s literally the city that never sleeps – step outside at any time of night or day and there’s so much going on, including the avalanche of people who surround you with their offers of “copy watches, copy bags”.

I was staying in Kowloon, which is the 4km strip of land actually on the mainland across from HK island, which was ceded to the British along with the island and so forms part of HK.  I was in Cosmic Guest House (far out, man), in Mirador Mansions.  Mirador and Chungking Mansions are two famous (or rather, infamous) big blocks on Nathan Road, both are about 20 storeys high, and both contain a mish-mash of market stalls, restaurants, and cheap guest houses.  It’s a tad wierd, granted, but the people here are friendly, and the room feels safe and clean, the main thing in a city.  Actually, overall, HK feels like a safe place to be – another reason to come here.

On the first morning, I wanted to get my bearings, so, after aforementioned Dim Sum, I caught the famous Star Ferry across to HK island to go up The Peak.  The highest point on the island, it’s famed for its fabulous views across HK bay and the surrounding islands.  I got the Peak Tram up, which in actual fact is a furnicular railway, and oh my goodness that’s a steep track.  At times it felt as if I was lying vertical in my seat.  Any steeper, and I would have got to know the guy in the seat behind me a little better than either of us would have been comfortable with.  Unfortunately, the HUGE guy in the seat in front wasn’t bothered with such considerations.  Stepping out of his chair to let his lumbering girlfriend take some photos, he stepped with real precision on my toe.  He was as heavy as he looked.  (EA, I took a photo just for you).  Rubbing my toe and grimacing, I was distracted from my pain at the sheer angle at which we were passing nearby skyscrapers.  It’s so completely odd, and throws your perspective all out.

In about 8 minutes, we were at the top, and I was greeted with a stunning view right down the harbour.  Well, I would have been, had the blanket of fog that appears to be following me not swamped the peak.  I could see precisely nothing.  Still, I took some photos, more for amusement than anything else, and had a delish hot chocolate at the old, colonial-built Peak Lookout bar.  It’s strange, when I was inside, I looked out to the swirling mist, felt the absolutely fierce aircon that seems to be mandatory here in HK, and felt almost wintery.  That is, until I stepped outside and the humidity hit me like a warm, wet flannel.

The rest of my time here I’ve spent wandering about, I bought a weekly museum pass so have visited quite a few of the good standard of museums they have here.  I loved the HK Museum of History, it started way back in the prehistoric age and showed the development of the city, through the British and Japanese times, right up to the handover back to the mainland.  I also had such good fun in the HK Space museum.  It’s very ‘hands-on’, and I did a moonwalk (just call me Neil), flew a glider, and worked a rocket backpack.  OK, they were simulations, but still, it was great fun.

I had another slumming day, when I went for afternoon tea in the Peninsula Hotel (I’m still sticking to the budget, though – afternoon tea is one of my favourite treats, plus if you time it right you don’t need to – or won’t want to – eat again all day.  The Peninsula was ace, the cakes were most fabulous, but the tea itself let them down.  Look alive, people!).  This is attached to a veh, veh upmarket shopping arcade, so I had fun going into expensive shops and trying on clothes I can’t afford.  Well, it was fun until I tried on a too-small dress in Prada, and heard that sickening ‘rrip’ sound of a seam that has stretched a bit too far.  Did I ‘fess up, or did I run?  You decide!

For cheaper versions, I headed to the Ladies Market (it should be called the Missy Market, as that’s what you hear everywhere you go – “Hello, Missy”.  Although I was sorely tempted by the ‘original’, I’m sure, Chloe and Hermes bags (I want a Kelly!  I want a Kelly!  Maybe if I repeat it enough and click my heels like Dorothy, it will happen).  I even turned away from gorgous ‘Gucci’ sandals at 3 quid.  Wow, how strong am I?  I consoled myself with some lovely hair accessories, two cheapo vest tops, and a belt to go with my too-long jeans (tell me people, would it look terrible if I took some scissors to them myself?  I don’t trust my own judgement on this one).

On June 4th, it was the 17th anniversary on the Tian’anmen Square massacre, and, every year since then, the people of Hong Kong have held a candlelight vigil in Victoria Park.  They remember and honour those who died, and they show their determination to have a completely democratic system, not only in HK, but throughout mainland China.  Of this I will write more when I get to another country, but enough for now to say I went to the vigil, along with about 20,000 other people, and it was incredibly moving and dignified.  It’s something I’m grateful to have had the chance to be involved in.

Another strange thing about HK is how many people I’ve met here who I met elsewhere in China.  For a big country, it seems awfully strange at times.  I met one guy from Beijing, two from Xi’an, two from Chengdu, one from the Yangtze river cruise, and one from Shanghai.  And I think this encapsulates what I love best about this place.  It’s a big city, a world player, but still is small enough to feel like home.  So pass me that newspaper with the job ads.

Those of you who have been following this blog for any length of time – first of all, thanks, it can’t have been easy – and secondly, will know that most journeys I undergo seem to be a bit wierd.  Well, the journey from Xiamen to Guangzhou tops them all in terms of surprises.

Train journeys in Fuijian, the province in which Xiamen sits, are depressingly circuitous, and you board any train in the area knowing you are definitely in it for the long haul.  So the first surprise – a pleasant one, I’ll grant you – was the state of the train.  I got into the hard sleeper carriage, where I had booked a bed, and thought I was in the soft sleeper carriage, it was so plush.  OK, maybe I’ve just been on the backpacker circuit a bit too long, as I was impressed by a bit of carpet on the train floor, but after a few months of travelling round Asia by train, this was pretty top-notch and put me in a good mood immediately.  A nice guy helped me get my ever-weighty backpack up to the luggage compartment at the top, and we got chatting once the train moved on.

He spoke really good English, compared to a lot of Chinese people we met.  He is a (mature) student at Xiamen University, and was returning home to Shenzen for a short trip to see his wife and 6 month old son, and he was telling me of his ambition to become a univeristy lecturer when he’d finished his studies.  He had to read a lot of reports in English, which I think is why his language skills were so impressive.  We were talking about all sorts, politics, schools, football (we talked at length about the World Cup, I think I bored him on this one but he was too polite to say), and finally, places in China I’ve been to.  When I mentioned Shanghai, he said he liked it and he used to live there.  However, the next thing he said nearly made me fall out of my bunk.  He asked me,

“Do you know the English company Pilkington?”

(FYI to those of you who don’t know my history, I used to work for them – of which I will say no more, except for the fact that I got voluntary redundancy from them, without which I would not be here). (In a nutshell).

I confirmed that he did, wondering if he was a spy, a mindreader, or both.  The next thing was even more surprising:

“I used to work for them in Shanghai”.

Now imagine – I’m on a slow train in the middle of a lesser-visited Chinese province, speaking to a random guy on a train, and it turns out not only did we work for the same company (our time overlapped a bit), but some of the same names were familiar to both of us.   I was well and truly freaked. The ultimate ‘small world’ experience?

The next surprise came in the form of a seranade. As we chatted, we heard a loud and tuneful voice singing ‘My Heart Will Go On’, absolutely word-perfect. Fortunately, Celine Dion hadn’t joined the train (fortunately for her, that is – I don’t know if I could restrain myself), but we were in fact listening to the precocious warblings of Logan, aged 3. He was so cute, in that ‘I’m glad I’m only with this child for a few hours max as he’s a bit too full-on’ sort of way, but he was very entertaining. (And, Elephant Apple, rest happily – I got his photo, as per your request).

We drifted off to sleep, listening to Logan and the heavy rain outside performing a duet.
I woke up a few times during the night, vaguely aware that we had, at various times, either stopped, were going very slowly, or were shunting about vigorously on poorly-joined-up* tracks. None of these prove for happy and peaceful slumbers.
*technical term

So it was with my grumpy, not-enough-sleep head that I faced the world the next morning. This was not helped in the slightest when Gerry, my Pilkington colleague, turned to me after listening to one of the announcements and said “We are 8 hours delayed”.
“Pardon me?”
“We are 8 hours delayed. The train is 8 hours late”. God love him, I don’t think he could have put it any simpler if he tried, but I have this theory that if you refuse to believe bad news, it doesn’t really happen. I tried one last tack, hoping that the translation was somehow breaking down:
“So, what time will we get to Guangzhou?” (We should have been arriving at 7am, I was hoping that “8 hours” was somehow meant to be “8am”.)
“Umm, about 3pm, if not later”.
“Ah”.

Believe me guys, I was not prepared for that. I’d never done 24+ hour train journeys before this trip, and I’ve learned it takes a certain amount of preparation, both physical and mental. Physical – you need food, for a start. The Chinese are big, big fans of their versions of pot noodles, and I have joined in with gusto. In actual fact, it may surprise you to hear I don’t think pot noodles are as bad as they are made out to be, so when I saw the food-obsessed Chinese slurping away out of these huge tubs of noodles, I thought, hey, when in Xiamen. In addition to a few tubs of noodles (there is a constant supply of hot water at the end of each carriage, and indeed everywhere you go here), you add a couple of bags of Lays crisps (very good and tasty, I can recommend the roast drumstick flavour), the greasy-yet-strangely-delicious vac packs of peanuts, some chocolate (the Chinese brand, Dove, is again surprisingly good), and some other random treat – my favourite so far being a big bag of marshmallows I bought in Wuhan. You also need drinks, obviously, so throw in a big bottle of water and – get this – my old-Chinese-lady style tea flask. Everywhere you go you see people (mainly of the older generation, although a good proportion of the younger ones as well) drinking strange concoctions out of these glass double-insulated jar-type flasks with screw top lids. Mainly it’s for tea, but occasionally you see something that looks a teeny bit scary, like they’ve stolen a test-tube from Frankenstein’s laboratory. So, a few weeks back, I bought one, and a bag of delicious jasmine tea, and have been slurping away happily ever since. The slurp, incidentally, is one of the major sounds you hear in China (along with the big rasping sound of someone hawking up a greenie. All. The. Time. Bad enough outside, but when they start inside… shudder…). Apparently, slurping the food makes it taste better. It’s also a great chance to revert to childhood without being looked at funny.

Like an athlete about to run a marathon, you also need mental preparation for such a long journey (including going to the loo – I’m sure Paula Radcliffe can back me up on this one – Chinese loos at the best of times are grim, and at the worst of times, can resemble that scene in ‘Trainspotting’). You know you’re in it for the long haul. You accept that the next 24 hours will be spent under a duvet. You need to charge your ipod, stock up on Sudoku puzzles and books and, my latest trick, I bought the world’s most tackiest object, a ‘Hello Kitty’ Rubicks cube. It’s actually quite difficult, before you point and laugh, because now I have mixed it up, all the Hello Kittys are facing different directions, and now I’m thinking I might give it to a little Cambodian child, a la Angelina Jolie, rather than face the fact that I will NEVER be able to complete it. It’s got to the stage where I’m having nightmares about Hello Kittys laughing at my incompetence.

Anyway, to pass the time, I found myself helping Logan’s half-sister with her Immigration application for the USA. As you do. And as I heard myself explaining the concept of half-brothers and sisters, and how they are distinct from step-brothers and sisters (she did ask, by the way, I didn’t just launch into it), I thought what a very strange journey this had been.

We pulled into Guangzhou station, only 7 hours late, and I was actually delighted that we had made up one hour, rather than angry at being 7 hours late, which is the strangest thing of all.

PS As an end note, actually the best surprise of all came in a phone call from Caroline and Michael, asking me to be their bridesmaid next year. I’m completely honoured, guys, and can’t wait. I think my squeals and laughing woke up the rest of the carriage but hey, it was worth it.

Right, I might be cheating a bit by adding this as a new country. I didn’t even get my passport stamped, and it will surely be the briefest entry on this blog as I was there for less than an hour, and technically didn’t set foot on Taiwanese soil. BUT! I was in Taiwanese waters, and the boat parked (or whatever the nautical term is) right off the coast of Jinmen, part of Taiwan. And dammit, if Prestwick Airport can still proudly proclaim that it’s the only place in the UK where Elvis has been, then I will grant Jinmen the same honour. Only with me, not Elvis. And I don’t plan to die on a loo in a white jumpsuit anytime soon.

From Gulangyu it’s possible to go on boat trips around two Taiwanese islands. Having exhausted the possibilities for this tiny islet the day before, I decided to go on one. It only lasted an hour and 40 minutes, most of which time I spent feeling as sick as a dog on the choppy sea. Truly, I don’t know why I keep going on boats in China. I am to sailing what Dan Quayle is to gun safety.

To add insult to nausea, I could see precisely nothing in the thick fog that encased us as soon as we left Gulangyu.

So all in all, a non-event.

However, should the question of Taiwan ever arise in a pub discussion (it often does; my friends are very cultured, and we never talk about Chantelle and Preston, Big Brother, chocolate etc), I will nod vigorously, and proclaim myself to be an expert, as I once went there.

I was particularly excited about coming to the seaside resort of Xiamen, because it’s known as Amoy in the West, and I’m a big fan of soy sauce.  Also, it’s in the province of Fuijian, which is one of the least-visited areas by western tourists, surprising really, as it’s a)lovely, and b)right on the main route from Shanghai to Hong Kong.  I decided to use it as a breath of fresh air, both figuratively and literally, between these two major city hubs.

I’d been told that there was a lovely islet (too small to be called an island, how cute is that?) just off the coast of Xiamen, called Gulangyu, so I decided to stay there.  And what a good decision it was.  *High fives self*.  Gulangyu, up until the second world war, used to be Xiamen’s foreign concession.  Historically, because of its place on the coast, Xiamen has been one of the major ports for both imports and exports from China, so it drew a lot of foreign people here.  Wise people indeed.  It’s now a completely peaceful haven, the perfect antidote to mainland China, as no cars or motorbikes are allowed there, so you have to carry your own luggage *high fives backpack*.  In addition to this, the narrow, twisting streets are like stepping into old time London, Paris, or Rome – certainly more Europe than China.

As I’d just survived an epic 27 hour train journey from Shanghai to Xiamen (although, truthfully, I’d spent most of it under a duvet, eating crisps, reading, and drinking tea – throw in June Sarpong and a guilty ‘homework’ feeling and you’d have my average Sunday at home), my first afternoon was spent checking into my (damp) hotel room – meant to be a treat! Bah humbug – and having a mooch around.

On the second day, I’d gone across to the mainland to book my train ticket to Hong Kong (the strange thing about travelling about is that as soon as you get to one place, you have to think about moving on – just buying a ticket and jumping on a train is either impossible or not recommended here). I got talking to some Polish/German guys (dual nationality, before I’m accused of not knowing the difference), Lukas, Adrian, and Artur – who was a knight in shining armour when I didn’t have enough cash to buy my ticket, he gave me a loan depite knowing me for all of 5 seconds. I must have an honest face. Or a threatening one. They were staying on the island as well so we went over together, somehow managing to get on the wrong ferry and ending up on the wrong side of the island. Most islands – say, Australia, this would be a tad problematic. Not on Gulangyu, though – even with backpacks, we did the walk to the other side in about 10 minutes. In heavy rain. The guys giot settled into their hostel while I took a nap (it had been a very trying morning!), and we met up later at their hostel for mucho piju (the Chinese for beer. Actually, the word for ‘beer’ is nearly always the first one you learn in any new country. Or maybe that’s just me). We were invited to eat with two Chinese guys also staying at the hostel who had cooked up the biggest pile of seafood you’ve ever seen in your life, and boy was it delicious. Loads of garlic going on, but mmmmmmmmmm.

They also invited us to go to a free concert with them later that night in Gulangyu concert hall (which looked disconcertingly like the Bridgewater Hall) – the island has a long musical tradition, and this evening’s concert mixed traditional Chinese styles with traditional French. I liked it, although Artur seemed to be listening with his eyes shut for most of it. Back tot he thostel for more piju, and the hostel lady actually turfed me out at 12 because she wanted to lock the door – it’s that kind of island. Getting back to my hotel was fun when I realised that was locked as well. I went from a couple of polite knocks and “helloooo”s, to full-on hammering and shouting “nee-how” (Chinese for hello). It worked though, and a sleepy guy with a cig in his mouth came and let me in.

The next day I proved just how small the island was, as I walked all over it. In flip-flops (the rain was depressingly continuous). I got a multi-site ticket and went to a couple of parks, containing statues of dignitaries I have never heard of, a gorgeous piano museum, a little cable car ride, and a great aviary (although the disadvantage of visiting an aviary during a rainstorm is, every time you feel something hit your head you pray to heaven above it’s a raindrop). It was lovely, and fabulous to be somewhere so small and so self-contained.

I met up with the guys again later and went with them over to the mainland, where they were catching the train to Hong Kong. I still had another day here, so came back and went to my favourite cafe – I had a favourite cafe already – where the gorgeous Ivy shouted out a greeting, and made me my favourite drink – I had a favourite drink already – of plum green tea. What a peaceful way to end the day – sipping sweet, fruity green tea, watching the rain fall, and chatting to a new friend. Island fever, indeed.

The rest of my days in Shanghai passed in a contented, but relatively lazy, blur.  I spent a happy morning at a famous tea house where QEII stopped when she was in Shanghai (I wonder whether she used the squat loo?), book in front of me but mainly engaged in my favourite past-time of people watching.  I don’t know if I’m just an insanely nosy person, but I’m fascinated by other people – their expressions, their quirks, their dramas.  I could (and do) watch them for hours.

Shanghai also has some impressive foreign concessions, a relic of the time when it was the most colonial city in China.  I’ve already mentioned how it reminds me of Liverpool – you can now add Paris to that list, as well.  I went on a (fruitless, as it turned out) search for a tailor who could shorten the jeans I bought in Beijing.  So not only were they a completely superfluous purchase, now they’re being a burden as they’re too long, and I have to wear them with trendy turn-ups.  Add that to the mix and match bikini for false trends I’m claiming in the UK at the moment as a way of explaining my fashion faux-pas.  However, judging by the look of horror on these upmarket tailors’ faces when I pulled the jeans out of my bag (and yes, I had washed them, before you ask), they don’t ‘do’ jeans.  Trousers, of course.  Jackets, no problem.  Kilts, plus fours, trilbies, naturellement.  But jeans… heaven forbid.  Anyhow, the streets where the posh tailors live are very reminiscent of the Paris boulevards, complete, evidently, with exclusive shots.  I managed to get a few surreptitious photos for ideas of things I want to get copied when I’m in Vietnam.  But that’s two countries in the future.

The rest of the time I just wandered, absorbed in the streetlife of one of the most populous cities in the world – 19million people, and counting.  Truly, all life is here.  I found a great restaurant – if you’re ever in Shanghai, go to Xinghoalou at lunchtime (preferably a rainy lunchtime when it proves a warm and steamy refuge from the deluge outside), and have beef noodle soup, with a side order of spring rolls.  I was so absorbed in the yummy fare, I’m sure I must have been making little happy noises as I slurped my way to the bottom of the bowl.

Back at Captain’s Hostel (resplendent with bunk beds with portholes, and staff in sailor uniforms – as grumpy as you’d be if someone made you wear a sailor uniform for work.  Unless you are actually a sailor), I met Chris, the first fellow Mancunian I’d bumped into on this trip (yay!).  Turns out we’d been working about 5 minutes from each other, and had oft been standing at the same tram stop, no doubt cursing the same overloaded trams.  With Chris, and other friends Clare, Louise and Katie (all stunning redheads from Ireland), and Americans Solomon, Matt, and Matt’s Friend, we headed out for a huge meal, involving many shouts of “More broccoli!  We need more broccoli”, “That’s the biggest bowl of beef I’ve ever seen in my life”, and “Who ate all the pork?”.  We somehow befriended the owner, or at least he said he was the owner, and they showed their cracking hospitality when they didn’t flinch in the slightest when Matt’s Friend went over the road for ice-cream – Chinese restaurants, as a rule, don’t tend to serve pud – and came back with six huge tubs (including my new favourite flavour, Green Tea).  They even gave us bowls.  And more beer, God love ’em.  On to a bar called I Heart Shanghai.  Well, not really I heart, but that thing where they put the heart to show just how much you love Shanghai.  Though I don’t love it enough to buy a t-shirt declaring it, as they were selling in the bar.

The next day, Chris, Clare, Louise, Katie and I had a lunchtime date.  We were really slumming it that day, really enjoying the backpacker experience.  We were going up to the 87th floor of the Hyatt Hotel, to a bar called Cloud 9, where a minimum 100 yuan spend got you an awesome view over the city.  And what a day we’d picked – the sun had its hat on, for the first day in ages.  Hip hip hip hooray.  We had to go up in three different lifts to get up to the 87th floor, but boy, was it worth it.  The views were fabulous, as were the cocktails.  And at 8 quid a pop, they’d better be.  We sat in a contented haze as we supped our fruit and booze concoctions.  From memory mine was either called a Vega or a Veda.  I actually prefer Veda.  It was delish, a mix of vodka, cherry something, and ginger.  To get our spend up to the mandatory 100yuan, and just so we wouldn’t keel over in the afternoon having had nothing but a cocktail to sustain us (how very Mrs Robinson!), we had small snacks as well.  Pork and shrimp rolls were goooood.

All the others were heading off that afternoon, and I was the following morning, so I packed, had an early-ish night, and chatted to my room-mates.  I was definitely sad to leave Shanghai.

On second thoughts, I might go back and get one of those t-shirts.

I’m going to keep updating this entry. It’s dual purpose, both for my own memory and also as a public service sort of thing. If I’m inflicting my blog on you, I might as well give something back to the community, eh? So… ta da! Book reviews from my time on the road.

A Suitable Boy – Vikram Seth
Set in India in the early 1950s, this is possibly the longest novel I have ever read, but also one of the most absorbing. It captures India perfectly with its imagery, its difficulties and struggles, its uniqueness. I could have read this book forever, and its characters will stay alive forever. Read it now!

The Virgin Suicides – Geoffrey Eugenides
Strange, whimsical, confusing, this story of a family of sisters who all commit suicide will leave you thinking about the confusion of relationships, both inside a family and with the world at large. You could cheat and watch the film.

The Narnia Chronicles – CS Lewis
Up until now I’ve only read The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe from this series. While it is without question the strongest in the set, the others have some magical moments as well. Reading them instantly transported me back to childhoood. Comfort reading at its most powerful.

Digital Fortress – Dan Brown
Rubbish. But you knew that already.

A Hundred Years of Solitude – Gabriel Garcia Marquez
I’m ashamed that, despite owning this book for a number of years, it took a deserted beach in Sri Lanka to motivate me into picking this up. Marquez is well derseving of the accolade ‘genius’. His imagination is outstanding in creating a city where the real seamlessly merges with the imaginary.

The Romantics – Pankaj Mishra
This has a very nostalgic air, with a certain sense of detachment that led to me being frustrated with the main characters. There were also a few non-starters in terms of plot lines. It didn’t really grab me, and I was glad to finish it.

What I loved – Siri Hustvedt
What I loved was this book. It fools you into thinking it’s a memoir of the New York Art scene in the 70s and 80s, but turns into something altogether more gripping. Recommended.

Portrait of a lady – Henry James
Ooh, he’s a cynical one, that Henry James. This is a wonderful novel, although deeply frustrating in terms of how it ends up – but I suppose that is the point. I really enjoyed this, and will look out for other Henry James novel in the future.

Prep – Curtis Sittenfield
Sittenfield is a very, very talented writer, and I enjoyed this book immensely. It manages to capture the cringing horror that is the average teenager. Lee, the protagonist, is highly self-aware and self-critical, as she fights to find her natural place at an upper-crust prep school. It contains endearing features and laugh-out-loud moments in equal measure.

Eve Green – Susan Fletcher
Well written and sculpted into a clever story, this brings the Welsh countryside to life – although not always in the most flattering way.

Star – Danielle Steele (especially for Sarah!)
In terms of candy floss reading, nobody does it better than Danielle Steele. I ripped through this in about half an hour, but I guess it wasn’t the worst half hour I’ve ever spent.

Tears of the Giraffe – Alexander McCall Smith
I’m a big fan of McCall Smith, with his Ladies Detective Agency series. Not the most challenging literature, but the descriptions of Botswana and the gentle people who live there make you want to pack your bag and go. The second in the series, this is much the same as the first one, but there’s nothing wrong with that.

Billy – Pamela Stephenson
I’ve wanted to read this for a long time. Despite the obvious bias – Stephenson is Billy Connolly’s wife, and so isn’t entirely impartial – this book blends the hilarity and insanity of living with the genius that is Billy Connolly with the tragedy and harshness of his early years. I howled with laughter, but was also close to tears on more than one occasion. A testament to the strength of human nature.

Trading Up – Candace Bushnell
Disappointing, really. I mean, it was never going to be Pulitzer stuff from the woman who gave us Sex and The City, but the wit and empathy present in SATC is completely missing from this. Don’t bother.

First They Killed My Father – Loung Ung
A moving first-hand account of life in Cambodia under the Khmer Rouge. The author tells in tragic detail how her family was torn apart. I was especially moved by the note in the front that says: if you had lived in Cambodia during 1975-1979, this would have been your story, too.

White Teeth – Zadie Smith
Clever, funny, addictive, I loved this book. It’s a bit predictable at parts, with some of the characters becoming caricatures, but this story of three families coming to terms with race, immigration, history and life in modern-day Britain is essentially very well done.

Currently reading: The God of Small Things – Arundhati Roy
Will review when I’ve finished it!

I must be a glutton for punishment. Despite my memorable-for-all-the-wrong-reasons bus journey from Udaipur to Mumbai in India, when I heard there was a night bus from Wuhan to Shanghai that was marginally (and we’re talking nanofractions of a hair’s breadth) cheaper and quicker than the train, I decided to take it. Who knows why? Maybe after my caterpillar and dog culinary adventures, I decided to put myself into training for ‘Fear Factor’. This was no better. I’d learnt enough from my first trip to insist, via sign language of course, that I would only have the bottom bunk. Agreed. No problem. The bunk, though short, was more comfortable than in India. No problem. So what was the problem, exactly?

Well, in China, they seem as a nation to be going all out to win the cigarette stakes. Everybody smokes, and I mean everybody. Just about everywhere allows smoking. Including on a confined night bus. Now I’m quite a liberal, live and let live, kind of person, except when it invades my breathing space. When the couple next to me lit up, I looked at them in a combination of shock and disgust, but thought that maybe it was just until we set off. Not so. This went on all night and would maybe have been ok if the window next to me had opened, but again, not so. I was the oddity for not smoking. I didn’t get much sleep, and arrived in Shanghai feeling grubby, sleepy, and pretty nauseous.

Still, I was able to check right in to Captain’s Hostel, where I’m staying, and have a hot shower. And doesn’t the world always seem a better place after a hot shower? Even better when, sitting in the lobby for breakfast (the chocolat chaud and croissants an indication of Shanghai’s multicultural past), I bumped into Alex and Paul, who I’d met in the hostel in Beijing. Actually, it’s a strange thing for such a big country, but here more than anywhere, I’m seeing more people over and over. Maybe we’re all just so incredibly unimaginative that we all end up coming to the same places in China?

Alex and Paul had just arrived that morning as well, so we all headed out together to see some of the sights. First stop was the great Shanghai Museum. Spread over four floors, and housed in a fabulous building that combines history and modernity, there are some great displays, both permanent (historic Chinese ceramics, paintings, calligraphy, and costumes), and visiting – two spectacular ones when we were there were a gem collection, owned by the first president of Apple Computers and which made me want to go out and buy an amethyst the size of my fist, and the other a collection of drawings which spanned masters such as Picasso, Cezanne, and Jackson Pollock (I’m not a fan, think he’s very much the Emperor’s new clothes, but maybe I’m just a philistine).

From here, we stopped for a lunch of dumplings….mmmm, dumplings…. and then headed down to The Bund. This is the main riverside road in Shanghai, and is most people’s first stop. It was mainly developed by the British in the 19th century and, one of the reasons why I like Shanghai so much, someone has taken the trouble to put up signs on every building telling the original date, owner, and use of the building, plus the style it was built in. The first headquarters of my bank (the wonderful HSBC, in case my bank manager is reading this and gives me lots of money for the plug) has a couple of bronze lions outside, which are considered lucky, so I rubbed their legs lots. Just further along is the sublime Peace Hotel, which a few years ago was voted The Most Famous Hotel In The World by, and I kid you not, The Most Famous Hotels In The World Commission (get me a job there, please!). Originally owned by one of the Sassoons, it’s a beautiful building, very art deco, which used to play temporary home to Shanghai’s wealthy foreign visitors. One of my heros, Noel Coward, actually wrote the play ‘Private Lives’ here, in just four days when he had the ‘flu.

We went up to the roof of the Peace Hotel to have a proper look down at The Bund, and something clicked with me straight away. Shanghai is the mirror image of Liverpool. The buildings, for a start – I know Liverpool well, but show me a picture of The Bund, and I would swear blind I was looking at a picture of the Pier Head. The dates of the buildings, and the purpose, are all similar. It doesn’t stop there, though. The whole feel of the place is similar. Shanghai is having a huge amount of investment at the moment, as to a certain extent is Liverpool in advance of Capital of Culture, but both places have the air of somewhere that got its fortune back in the glamorous days of shipping, attracting wealthy and less salubrious elements alike, but have since fallen on harder times. Despite this, the popluations of both seem to be cosmopolitan, funny, and optimistic.

We crossed by ferry over to the other side of the Huangpu river, to visit the tallest tower in Asia, the Pearl TV Tower. This is an indication of the huge investment happening in Shanghai right now – I think in order to make it a serious opponent to Hong Kong – it looks like something out of the 22nd century, or a Smash advert (as in, ‘For Mash, Get Smash’), and is surrounded by something akin to a mini USA – Starbucks, McDonalds, KFC, Hooters (and if there’s Hooters in China, how come I haven’t seen one in the UK?). We paid a slightly extortionate 100 yuan to go the ear-popping 342 metres up to the observation platform, and were rewarded with a very smoggy view over Shanghai. Still, as the sun began to go down and the neon lights went up, it looked pretty. Very pretty indeed.

Not wanting to walk the considerable distance back to the ferry terminal, I persuaded the guys to go back under the river via the supremely tacky Tourist Tunnel (there should be an extra ‘Spectacular’ or ‘Experience’ in there for it to be an accurate description), which is basically an underground cable car that takes you past a tacky light show – think Blackpool Illuminations but in a tunnel. A couple of Chinese girls in our cabin were oohing and ahhing, but I think it would have only been impressive if you had never seen electricity in action before. I loved it, naturally, but that was for its sheer tack than any other reason. Alex and Paul were distinctly underwhelmed.

So that was my first full day in Shanghai, aka the Liverpool of the East. And no, nobody stole my handbag or offered to mind my car.

For reasons that are inexplicable, the train from Chengdu to Chonqing, the port at which I would board the boat for the Yangtze cruise, takes 12 hours.  Fairy nuff, it’s a big country.  However, the bus from Chengdu to Chonqing takes 4 hours.  Riddle me that!  This is no superbus either, it’s a regular bus, except for some reason we got a free bottle of water, and for that – hey, it’s me and free stuff, you know I’m not complaining.

Because they were digging up the Chengdu to Chonqing highway, though, we spent the first hour and a half sitting in a traffic jam.  The Chinese passengers weren’t bothered – they had an apparently hilarious kung fu movie to watch, judging by the reactions of the guy sitting next to me, who kept hitting me and laughing at the funniest bits.  He nearly got to see my best karate chop.  The boat left from Chonqing at 8pm, and those of you who know how very relaxed I am about punctuality will know just how much of a sense of humour failure I was having on the bus.  It didn’t help that I was trying to speak to my pre-arranged pick up, Amy, who was having difficulty understanding what I was saying.  I was trying to explain that the bus I was on was about 20km from Chonqing, but this was not happening.  Again she gave up on the idea of the pick up, and told me to get a taxi to the Chiananmen Hotel.  Sounds easy enough, but I didn’t know the Mandarin for ‘Hotel’, my pronunciation of ‘Chiananmen’ is so unlike that of the Chinese that I might as well be saying ‘Baby Giraffe’ (and might well be, for all I know), and I didn’t even have the Chinese characters to show to a taxi driver, which is the favourite stand by.  In the end, I called Amy and gave the phone to my (female) taxi driver, who was sporting a fetching Gucci bag – fake, I’m guessing, unless she’d been overcharging a LOT of passengers, and skin tight white polyester trousers with a diamante dragon on the thigh.  Don’t think I can describe accurately enough how lovely they were.

I got to Amy’s office eventually, and there met the couple who I would be sharing a cabin with.  Hugh and Alice are both from Melbourne, and it was such a relief to see immediately that they were fun people to be around.  Hugh had a guitar with him, which always makes me like a person (yes, I’m easily pleased!  None of this business about personality or whatever, just carry a guitar and I’m your buddy for life), and Alice had the hugest bag I have ever seen in my entire life.  She’s quite a petite little thing, and could easily have carried herself in her bag, probably twice with careful packing.  Though I’m not sure how that would work, unless in some kind of Doctor Who parallell universe.  It turns out they have been travelling for a few months now, and, instead of sending things home, they have been carrying everything they buy or WILL EVER NEED in their bag.  I honestly lost track of the amount of times we had a random conversation about, say, a chess set or a flute or a Vietnam Lonely Planet or a baby giraffe or, you know, a whole edam cheese or a chopper bike and they would say “Oh yeah, we’ve got one of those in the bag”.  The bag was a legend in itself, and I will die happy now I have got a photo of Alice carrying The Bag.

We got to our cabin, a tight sqeeze for three not insanely tidy people, and our prayers were answered when no-one took the fourth bed.  We set off on time, had a couple of cold beers to toast the journey, and went up on board as we pulled away.  I had one of those moments when I couldn’t stop thinking “I’m on the Yangtze River.  The Yangtze River.  The Yangtze River.  The Yangtze…” you get the idea.

The next day was lovely, but quiet, as in fact were most of the days.  We wouldn’t get to the first of the famous Three Gorges until Day 2, so much of the first day was spent snacking (naturellement), chatting, reading, soaking up the scorching sun, and relaxing generally.  We got ripped off big time that night though, having gone ashore when the boat docked in search of cheap eats.  We went to a noodle stall with lots of different fresh veggies and meat that you could pick out for a personal stir fry. I asked how much it was and she replied “Noodles are 4”. Stupidly though, we took this as a sign that the other stuff would be reasonable as well, and she took this as a sign that she could rip us off and charge 4 each for the noodles, and 90 – yes 90 – for veggies and a couple of bits of tofu, some sausage, and a bit of dog meat. (No, not dog meat in the cans like Pedigree Chum, but actual meat of a dog. It tasted…smoky. More like bacon than chicken. And see what a service I’m doing, trying all this wierd stuff so you don’t have to? When the next conversation comes up about eating dog, as I’m sure it does all the time in your circle of friends, you can say authoritatively, “Hmm, dog, a bit too smoky for my tastes”). Grousing and grumbling, we headed back to our cabin.

This rip-off incident had left me distinctly short of cash, so I formulated a plan whereby I would eat only a Magnum for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the next two days, costing only 12y a day, and hey, I can think of worse diets, eating broccoli and brown rice and stuff like that. Magnums are the way to go. Cheap and nutritious*!

*One of these is untrue.

I was up early the next day, ate my Magnum breakfast, and bagged a good spot on the top deck for our passage through the first Gorge.  And, well, this is another case I’m afraid where I think I’ll have to be brief for fear of running out of superlatives.  The scenery is unbelievably stunning, you find it hard to believe either the scale of the cliffs bordering the river, the closeness of them, or that you’re not on a film set – it has that air of unreality about it.  I stopped taking photos after a while as I realised that the scale of them, or the sheer beauty of them, can’t be captured on camera.  I heard that sigh of relief, people!

In the afternoon we changed to a smaller boat that would take us through the Little Three Gorges.  Battling our way through the million people also trying to follow their tour guide, we somehow (miraculously) ended up on the right boat.  It soon didn’t feel like the right boat, though, when the Chinese tour guide came up, stood right next to us with a mini megaphone, and started blurting out non-stop commentary in Chinese (obviously) and a somewhat painful tone to her voice.  I smugly pulled out my ipod from my bag, but even that turned out full whack couldn’t drown out the droning.  We made our escape, and spent the rest of the trip on the small deck at the front of the boat, enjoying in peace the even more stunning scenery, if possible, and getting mega tans from the glaring sun.

We’d realised that it was both Saturday night and, more importantly to me as a tack-loving Brit, and Alice and Hugh as ABBA-loving Aussies, that it was Eurovision night, so we decided to go out in the small city of Wushan, where our boat was docked overnight, and live it up.  Donning our glad-rags (I even wore make-up which is a minor miracle even when I’m at home, let alone when I’m away), we got the bus into town and I was amazingly relieved to see an ATM right next to the bus stop.  Although, I admit, I was quite sad to see the end of my enforced Magnum diet.

I liked Wushan immediately and immensely.  In the main square, old people were doing ta’chi and, later on after we’d eaten, they were waltzing round.  There seemed to be no other tourists about, this wasn’t for show, it was just how they entertained themselves on Saturday nights.  We climbed a gazillion steps (sheesh, it was a steep town), lured by a neon sign in the shape of a beer bottle, and were delighted to find ourselves in a Karaoke Bar.  It was a slightly odd place – children drinking beer were happily mingling with adults on a big Saturday night out – but very friendly, and we jumped in with both feet.  Each table had a turn at singing karaoke, and we gleefully glanced over the two available songs in English.

Let me say one thing about the Chinese – boy, do they love Celine Dion.  So ignoring the irony of being on a boat tour and singing this particular song, Alice and I tentatively launched into ‘My Heart Will Go On’.  And wow, I can’t remember such a reception.  It’s like they actually thought we were Celine Dion.  We had drinks bought for us, they got us up dancing, they just thought we were the bees knees.  We sang the same song once more and, for our grand finale, we sang ‘The Power of Love’.  This time, they actually cheered after the first line, in the style of ‘Stars in Their Eyes’.  The beers and our confidence added to a more, shall we say, exuberant, style of performing which we thought sounded just dandy but Hugh reassured us was much worse than the first.  Hey, what do we care, we’re Wushan’s answer to Celine Dion!

It was late, nearly 3am, by the time the taxi got us back to the boat.  We were slightly peturbed to be faced by a locked gate at the end of the long jetty we needed to go down to get to our boat.  There was only one way round – or, should I say, over.  The gate was about 7 feet high, and there was a small gap at the top we had to squeeze through.  Of this incident, I can say only two things; firstly, I’m glad I’d had a few beers, and secondly, I wish I hadn’t worn a skirt.  All I’m saying.

The next day dawned greyer than the previous two, probably a blessing all in all, and I was up early again, though Alice and Hugh slept off the excesses of the previous night.  I’d previously booked a trip out that day to see the Three Gorges Dam, which is an ongoing project which will, sadly, see much of the Three Gorges Flooded, people and villages close by to the river moved and rebuilt elsewhere.  This is, according to the official line, to help people living in the parched Gobi Desert get more available clean drinking water.  I’m not convinced, but went along because I was interested in the project.  It was so disappointing – most probably because of the pouring rain (but my Sri Lanka spectacular palm tree umbrella did cheer me up, it’s true), but also because of the limited views we had.  I took a few desultory photos, but was glad to get back on board and to a hot shower.

We were due to get to Yishan, the final port and disembarkation point, at 2am the next morning, so we all packed up, Alice and Hugh stayed in the cabin while I sat out on deck, in the quiet and fresh night air with Omar from Holland, Dawn and Kenneth from South Africa, and Andre from Australia.  We were having such a good time chatting, seeing the huge locks open, and generally relaxing, when suddenly, at 10pm, Alice came and told us that we’d docked at Wuhan – 4 hours early – and we had to leave.  So it was a quick goodbye to the others, one of whom in particular I’d really clicked with in a short space of time – but will be part of the happy memories of the trip – and boarded our bus to Wuhan.  This wasn’t the most fun journey I’ve had, as the guy sitting next to me decided to stare at me ALL NIGHT LONG (have you ever tried to sleep when someone’s staring at you?  Not easy… so I gave him a few elbows to the ribs).  We arrived in Wuhan at the sociable hour of 4am so found a good-looking hotel, negotiated a discount – even at 4am and barely any sleep, it becomes second nature in Asia and literally something I can do in my sleep – and collapsed into bed until 12pm, kick-out time.

Naturally, though, before we left, we stripped the place clean for all the freebies they were handing out – shower gel, toothbrush, comb – I was back on form, people!