April 16th: the road to Hangzhou
[ posted by mcdeviltoast ]
Day 212
Woke at 5am, had some coffee and Bailey's, some bakery goodness and we all groggily made our way out the front gate. I was amazed Rhys was conscious and had the motor skills for bipedal locomotion. The cabbie we got actually had some cabdriver savvy and guided us through the empty Haimen streets at an action film pace. At one point he launched us over a small mound which sent my stomach to the basement floor. Not good.
He got us there in decent time and we boarded our coach, easily claiming the title of most ghetto bus in Haimen if not all of China. Filth-ridden seats that smeared my white T-shirt with dirt streaks, uneven floors that would have felymore at home on a neglected houseboat, and great holes filled with litter in the sides of the interior as if they'd taken anti-aircraft flak and only repaired the outer skin. At least it would only be a four hour bus ride, though.
Heh. It took 7 hours to get there. Seems we took the slow bus that made every backwater stop along the way,dropping off and picking up boxes from companies too cheap to send via China Post. The shocks on the bus were in such disrepair or nonexistence that both Heather and Jeni remarked an essential piece of riding equipment should be a sports bra.
Once there, we experienced some static checking into the hotel. Rhys and Jeni's pal Jessie had been kind enough to reserve us a couple rooms at a fairly decent place that was ultra strict about paperwork. Rhys and Jeni had not brought their passports (keeping them under lock and key understandably after the Shandong mishap) and the staff ladies (who seemed more interested in keeping their arms crossed and crunching on nuts) fancied themselves Gestapo checkpoint guards bent on halting the proceedings unless they proved they were themselves.
After a couple hours of bad noise, they let them check in by having Allen phone in and give the exact same information (passport numbers and such) they had already given. We got the last two rooms in the place on the 8th floor which was being renovated. The hallway carpet was sprinkled with drywall dust, strewn with electrical wiring, great rectangular holes in the walls as if sledgehammered out by a fresco artisan with ADD.
Heather and I's room smelled like something had been spilled in the carpet and was trying its best to ferment into some chemical weapon. I lit a few matches, shrugged. At least we were off the bus. We wanted to watch the sunset from West Lake, a nearby popular feature of Hangzhou, so we set out, guided by Jessie, accumulated beer and ice cream bars on the way.
The streets on the way to the lake were slightly reminiscent of Chengdu, but with more trees and less coal-tasting air. Stores with sincere titles like Unisex and Yuppie passed by until at last we reached the grand lakefront, secured a recently vacated bench and began to relax. We had no opener for the beers so a geat deal of banging them on the bench edge and jimmying with keys was needed before achieving success.
Many boats dotted the lake, some self-piloted, some with gondoliers and roofs. A bridge with many balloon-kite fixtures was along one edge, misty mountain outlines beyond with pagodas and towers distant. Serene if not for the consistent fray of pedestrianity. A gent sat by us and drew an ink landscape drawing, declared that he wouldn't speak to Japanese people, admonished me for speaking English (via Heather's transalation: "In China, speak Chinese"), asked for some beer (I gave him the rest of mine) and after making fun of the handrolled cig Rhys gave him ("for a woman, small") he smoked it, realized the quality and asked for an additional one. At this point he took his leave and we left our perch.
Jessie led us to a restaurant where we sampled such delights as lotus root stuffed with sticky rice, potatoes and peppers, a corn kernel tostada of sorts, two savory pork dishes, and the signature dish (a Hangzhou delicacy) Beggar's chicken. It's wrapped in lotus leaves and mud, baked until the meat is incredibly moist and soft. Stunningly delicious, a meal that raised the bar on all Chinese dinners to come. It was a little too good.
Afterwards we went to the night markets, a single restored traditional Chinese street lined with shopfronts, most of which touristy and equipped with shopkeepers barking their wares like carnies on the midway if you gave a shop a couple seconds glance too long. After some refreshment, we were all starting to lose our steam, as it had been an eary day and a bus ride twice as long as we were expecting.
I stopped in a woodcarving shop and found a unique Buddha statue to grace my mantle. He has a content expression rather than outright laughing, unvarnished, and a woodgrain spiral right on the top of his head, a perfect place to rub, and with time the hand oil from touching it will stain the spiral and make it look even better. One of my goals in coming to China was to find a unique Buddha statue and now I had accomplished it. Huzzah!
I picked up a couple more items on the way out for Steve and my dad, then we said goodbye to Jessie, thanked her for all her help, cabbed it back and crashed hard.
Woke at 5am, had some coffee and Bailey's, some bakery goodness and we all groggily made our way out the front gate. I was amazed Rhys was conscious and had the motor skills for bipedal locomotion. The cabbie we got actually had some cabdriver savvy and guided us through the empty Haimen streets at an action film pace. At one point he launched us over a small mound which sent my stomach to the basement floor. Not good.
He got us there in decent time and we boarded our coach, easily claiming the title of most ghetto bus in Haimen if not all of China. Filth-ridden seats that smeared my white T-shirt with dirt streaks, uneven floors that would have felymore at home on a neglected houseboat, and great holes filled with litter in the sides of the interior as if they'd taken anti-aircraft flak and only repaired the outer skin. At least it would only be a four hour bus ride, though.
Heh. It took 7 hours to get there. Seems we took the slow bus that made every backwater stop along the way,dropping off and picking up boxes from companies too cheap to send via China Post. The shocks on the bus were in such disrepair or nonexistence that both Heather and Jeni remarked an essential piece of riding equipment should be a sports bra.
Once there, we experienced some static checking into the hotel. Rhys and Jeni's pal Jessie had been kind enough to reserve us a couple rooms at a fairly decent place that was ultra strict about paperwork. Rhys and Jeni had not brought their passports (keeping them under lock and key understandably after the Shandong mishap) and the staff ladies (who seemed more interested in keeping their arms crossed and crunching on nuts) fancied themselves Gestapo checkpoint guards bent on halting the proceedings unless they proved they were themselves.
After a couple hours of bad noise, they let them check in by having Allen phone in and give the exact same information (passport numbers and such) they had already given. We got the last two rooms in the place on the 8th floor which was being renovated. The hallway carpet was sprinkled with drywall dust, strewn with electrical wiring, great rectangular holes in the walls as if sledgehammered out by a fresco artisan with ADD.
Heather and I's room smelled like something had been spilled in the carpet and was trying its best to ferment into some chemical weapon. I lit a few matches, shrugged. At least we were off the bus. We wanted to watch the sunset from West Lake, a nearby popular feature of Hangzhou, so we set out, guided by Jessie, accumulated beer and ice cream bars on the way.
The streets on the way to the lake were slightly reminiscent of Chengdu, but with more trees and less coal-tasting air. Stores with sincere titles like Unisex and Yuppie passed by until at last we reached the grand lakefront, secured a recently vacated bench and began to relax. We had no opener for the beers so a geat deal of banging them on the bench edge and jimmying with keys was needed before achieving success.
West Lake vista
Heather and 'Toast Manchu
Jeni-O and that dashing lovable hungry bastard Rhys
the sketchy guy who sketched
Many boats dotted the lake, some self-piloted, some with gondoliers and roofs. A bridge with many balloon-kite fixtures was along one edge, misty mountain outlines beyond with pagodas and towers distant. Serene if not for the consistent fray of pedestrianity. A gent sat by us and drew an ink landscape drawing, declared that he wouldn't speak to Japanese people, admonished me for speaking English (via Heather's transalation: "In China, speak Chinese"), asked for some beer (I gave him the rest of mine) and after making fun of the handrolled cig Rhys gave him ("for a woman, small") he smoked it, realized the quality and asked for an additional one. At this point he took his leave and we left our perch.
Jessie led us to a restaurant where we sampled such delights as lotus root stuffed with sticky rice, potatoes and peppers, a corn kernel tostada of sorts, two savory pork dishes, and the signature dish (a Hangzhou delicacy) Beggar's chicken. It's wrapped in lotus leaves and mud, baked until the meat is incredibly moist and soft. Stunningly delicious, a meal that raised the bar on all Chinese dinners to come. It was a little too good.
a famished Jeni-O and Jessie
Beggar's chicken banquet
Afterwards we went to the night markets, a single restored traditional Chinese street lined with shopfronts, most of which touristy and equipped with shopkeepers barking their wares like carnies on the midway if you gave a shop a couple seconds glance too long. After some refreshment, we were all starting to lose our steam, as it had been an eary day and a bus ride twice as long as we were expecting.
I stopped in a woodcarving shop and found a unique Buddha statue to grace my mantle. He has a content expression rather than outright laughing, unvarnished, and a woodgrain spiral right on the top of his head, a perfect place to rub, and with time the hand oil from touching it will stain the spiral and make it look even better. One of my goals in coming to China was to find a unique Buddha statue and now I had accomplished it. Huzzah!
I picked up a couple more items on the way out for Steve and my dad, then we said goodbye to Jessie, thanked her for all her help, cabbed it back and crashed hard.
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[ posted by mcdeviltoast @ 4/16/2005 03:10:00 AM ]
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The dumbtronica act Montana & McDeviltoast, along with their friends, keep each other updated on their activities. Much fun having by all, and Pockys fear for their lives!