Across Continents

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Cafe convenience

November 4th, 2010

Food is plentiful. Small eateries everywhere. And cheap. A substantive main course no more than a few pounds. Often considerably less. I’d normally choose a cafe with a reasonable number of customers. Not crowded. Just enough to get around my inability to read the menu. Obliged to have whatever someone else is having. True, I’ve got people to jot down the characters for my favourite dishes, but the cuisine does vary between the provinces.

Late evening in Juining. Dark. Gentle rain. Glad to be off the road. Finding a small cafe close to my lodgings, I wander in. A couple of young men inside, feverishly devouring large bowls of pasta. A woman appears from the kitchen, seems startled by my presence and quickly disappears. A few moments later the chef emerges. I indicate I’d like the pasta. He nods.

A short while later a fearsomely hot bowl of pasta. Smooth squares, fiendishly difficult to grip with chopsticks. And spicy peppers, burning my palate. My eyes and nose streaming. Strips of meat, unrecognisable but delicious. Curious. Not dog. Told it’s no longer allowed in China. Still a delicacy in South Korea. And survival in the North.

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Places to stay

November 3rd, 2010

Accommodation - montage

For the Western traveller at least, accommodation in China is remarkably affordable. Few exceptions, mostly international chains catering to the business community. And quite diverse. A bed – just a bed – in a truck stop for the equivalent of a few pounds. Provincial three star hotels for between ten and twelve pounds. Even the odd generously sized business suite in the cities for around twenty. Many with wet rooms. Always handy for cleaning the bicycle and kit. Discreetly.

You may have to barter a bit, the aim being to pay what a Chinese person would, no more. I’ve learnt what to expect. Like a forty to fifty percent discount on the room rates displayed at reception. Which is usually what I’m offered at the outset. Takes the fun out of it, but not unwelcome at the end of a hard day.

Anything other than a truck stop usually comes with the standard complimentary items – always neatly presented – toothbrush and paste, comb, soap and shampoo. But, wherever I’ve stayed, the bedding is always clean. Never seen a bed bug. And I do look. Carefully. And rarely an objection to the bicycle in the room. In which case I go elsewhere.

Just two challenges. Assuming you’re not on a guided tour, haven’t pre-booked, and don’t have a reputable guidebook with decent maps. Finding the various establishments. And being allowed to stay. Cities are straightforward enough, big enough to accommodate places that actually look like hotels. Often showing their names in English. Provincial towns a bit more tricky. Often just a small foyer, usually distinguishable from neighbouring businesses by a line of clocks on the wall behind the reception desk.

In smaller places, or if you want a cheaper option, a case of asking around. In the towns the bus station is a good place to start. Requires quite a bit of patience, but I’ve never failed to find somewhere. In the end. And what the more basic establishments lack is often made up with by really friendly, helpful staff.

And being allowed to stay? Strictly speaking, only establishments registered with the authorities should admit aliens. Obliged to register your presence with the local Police. That’s the theory at least. In practice, rock up on a heavily laden touring bike, light failing, and you’ll be met with compassion. Warmly welcomed. Not sure what reception you’d get if you pitched up in a four-by-four.

And what of the other options? For the solo traveller, there’s always the a question of security. Flat, featureless desert providing little cover for wild camping. Further east, so far at least, opportunities for discreet pitching equally elusive. Besides, why take a risk if there’s a very affordable alternative. And backpackers hostels? To be found only in tourist destinations, and I’d passed through just a handful of those.

[Author’s note: Guidebooks and websites seem to be very vague on the requirement to register your presence with the local Police. My understanding is that the onus lies with your host, be it a hotel or a family home, to do so within twenty four hours of your arrival. I might be wrong, but nobody’s arrested me yet… And in hotels expect to pay a cash deposit – known as “yajin” – as much as two or three times the daily rate – refunded when you check-out. Assuming no breakages to pay for. They always check]

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The long mile

November 2nd, 2010

Jingning. My next stop. No more than five miles away. So, so close. But, separating us, a tunnel. And no alternative. No goat track around. Nothing. Just an extensive list of prohibitions above the entrance. And a reasonable amount of traffic in both directions.

Tunnel - web

I’d a long-standing love hate relationship with Chinese lorry drivers. True, they’d come to my rescue on more than one occasion. But their overtaking, head on, often bordered on reckless. The thought of being enclosed in a tunnel with them, just one lane in either direction, wasn’t in the least bit appealing. Especially as I’d no idea how long it was. A mile perhaps. Assuming the officials at the entrance tolls would let me sneak through.

Lights on. Front and back. And my head torch. Bold, confident approach. Wave to the officials. They smile back. Into the tunnel. It’s lit, but the absence of ventilation fans means visibility is poor. The air heavy with fumes. But inhaling the noxious mixture is just a transient, an irritation. And a gentle downhill gradient helps. No, the real risk to health is overtaking lorries. Whether unaware of your presence, or just plain ambivalent, matters not. Forcing you to pull up sharply, lean against the tunnel wall. And hope.

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Puppet on a string

November 1st, 2010

Come to China and you can’t but help become more aware of North Korea. Chinese Central Television doing their level best to put a positive spin on the secretive hermit nation. A country with so few real friends its had to resort to Facebook to bolster numbers. Not sure how that’s going. Can’t access it from mainland China.

One’s a puppet…
Kim montage - web

I did chance upon a promotional film on one channel that seemed to convey Dear Leader Kim Jong-il’s megalomaniac tendencies in a rather endearing fashion. A mad uncle. The sort quite a few families have. Admittedly without a nuclear arsenal at their disposal. By all accounts, and there aren’t that many from the secretive state to choose from, Kim’s been a bit unwell. Which explains the string operated stand-in the movie. An uncanny likeness. Just remember one’s a puppet.

[And the film? “Team America: World Police”. Watchable only for its portrayal of Kim Jong-il. If that doesn’t appeal, then at least watch the news reports for some particularly fine examples of synchronised clapping]

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