South of the Nanchang’s centre the marshals faded away and the bicycles drifted back onto the highway. Chaos resumed. Order restored. Soon reaching what I thought to be Fengcheng, my intended night’s stop. Far earlier than anticipated. A few hours of daylight remaining. Opportunity to gain a few more miles south. To the provincial town of Zhangshu.
Except everyone I spoke to, showed the map to, assured me I was there already. Confusing. People’s concept of distance unreliable beyond their immediate neighbourhood. But you’d think they knew where they lived. Eight different passers-by. Luckiest of numbers in China. Open questions. Same result.
Amidst the confusion, certainty. Of sorts. Between the towns about a quarter of a degree of longitude. Doesn’t sound much but it equates to about twenty miles. Placed my trust in my GPS receiver. Knew where I was on my map with sufficient accuracy to assure myself this definitely wasn’t Zhangshu. Onwards then. Besides, I was buoyed up. Fresh sandwiches. Proper ones. Tuna. And fruit scones. Little shop in Nanchang.
