On the bus to Changsha. Jeff, Hunt, Kenny, and Scott giving the "V".
Visiting the student compartment on the train. Honey hanging onto Rob. Mr. Sun stayed with them for most of the night. They all had hard seats; some had to share. Seed husks accumulated on the floor as they joked the night away, played cards, smoked. It was nice to see the students being themselves outside of the classroom. Had an interesting conversation with Frank about relationships. The train would arrive in Guilin just after 5 o'clock, the students and teachers staggering blearly eyed into lines and wondering what the hell was next.
The intersection in Yangshuo between the street our hotel was on and West Street (西街) the morning we arrived. I was impressed with Rob, who instead of sleeping rented a bike and went out for a ride. I consigned the morning to rest.
Sharing orange juice! The girls didn't seem to think much of the pasta they ordered. Of course all the food you find on West Street, Chinese or Western, will be more expensive than elsewhere; it is catered to the foreigners who ostensibly have more money to blow and aren't more familiar with the local restaurants on the outskirts of town. My favorite treats in Yangshuo were the chilled deserts such as Eight Treasures Congee (八宝粥) and Red Bean Congee (红豆粥). You won't find that in Xiangtan or Changsha, the students said. Sammi, Selina, Cythera, Emily, and Cicely.
Helen and Honey taking out bikes.
Class 10 friends, Kandy and Mitchy chatted with me on the bus ride to the boat landing. Mitchy gave me a cake which proved to stave off my hunger later when the boat ride stretched on longer than anticipated.
Vivian in a very unusual and cute getup.
True to their Chinese heritage, the students rushed to get on the boat. I was afraid there was going to be a stampede; we had been waiting for some time for the boats to arrive. It's a good thing they were sensible enough not to push each other, and with Mr. Sun giving everyone a hand, always the gentleman, we boarded the boats without incident.
Alisha gives in under pressure and dons a cowboy hat too. It seems very fitting for her.
Cruising down the Li River (漓江). We quickly discovered that the best place to enjoy the scenery was on the roof of the boats. The owners complained and urged us to get down, but we ignored them. It was more beautiful than I remembered; though a bit hazy, the weather was quite nice in general, certainly better than the rainy conditions which persisted during my last trip to Yangshuo with Katie.
Anywhere other than on top and your view is limited. Why sacrifice the panoramic view? Besides, we couldn't even stand up in the rear of the boat without bumping our heads on the ceiling. And none of us even thought about sitting inside the boat.
Ninal, looking very cute!
Rob knows how to enjoy the natural surroundings.
A metaphoto. Judy records Lily's vivacity and the misty mountains beyond. Instead of tying it in a ponytail as she usually does, Judy let down her hair during the trip. It looked great.
Mr. Sun and me.
Uh-oh, they're treating me like a movie star! Thanks for the glory, guys! Sammi and Cythera.
Hunt bought some small purple socks expressly for the game of Assassin, and I was totally amused by this. How embarrassing would it be to be killed by that sock?
Sally was sifting through the water-smoothed stones alone, looking for ones which she fancied.
Lookin' good, Clark!
The top of Han's head. Yes, those sexy legs on the bottom right are mine.
Machree, Nerissa, and Amo (or William to some). Kicking back, enjoying the hum of the engine and landscape stretching along the clear river.
Hans again. Where are your glasses, Hans?
Ivy, have you seen the movie Titanic?
Jason and the boatman. Jason's always thinking about something. Ready to joke around, sure, but the moment he isn't laughing his face assumes a serious expression. What are you thinking about so deeply?
On the bow. The sun crept lower in the sky and the temperature dropped. By the end it was completely dark out and we could see the stars outside. At first I huddled with the others inside the cabin for warmth, but then ventured outside again, despite warnings from the captain's wife. They were afraid we would do something stupid and fall in the water, which admittedly would be very dangerous at night. The evening air was fresh and starlight the bounteous. It reminded me of the Queensbury night sky. Cloaked figures ascended from the water and towered like gods, mysterious, not menacing.
Who is this beautiful girl? I'm a fan!
A bike trip to Moon Mountain was slated for the next day. I rolled out of bed and took my time getting to the meeting spot. All of the students were grabbing breakfast along the way. I ate some of Mitchy's bready cakes. Incredibly, some students apparently did not know how to ride bikes! How can they call themselves Chinese? Luckily, many tandems were available for this contingency. I would have liked to try one but had already rented a normal mountain bike.
Bicycle city. I wonder if the locals thought the city was being invaded by Hunan students. Everywhere I went I bumped into students. It gave Yangshuo, really a small town, a communal, festive atmosphere for me.
Mitchy was my water boy. Thanks, Mitchy!
Catch, taking a drag out of his shit-stubbed cigarette holder.
Must've taken a million pictures with students in front of this waterwheel, which for the record is just for show. Wasted potential energy. I bet you could grind some corn into meal with it or something. This was at the Third Liu Sister's old residence (刘三姐故居). And this is Lily, striking a lovely pose.
It's harder than it looks. You must slip the pole quickly into the water, plant your feet firmly on the floor of the raft, and push straight back; deviations in the angle will cause the raft to drift to the left or right. The man in the hat was expert, deftly poling on the left and right, helping us survive near collisions with the other watery wafarers. In this case Aileen was doing most of the work, while Zino and Jack just watched and made comments from the peanut gallery.
Dressing up in minority costumes. Michelle on my arm. With the sun beating down like a bat, it was too hot for me.
Ethnic minorities, resolutely looking into the uncertain future. Denver, Cleo, Eleven, and Nimo.
Grace and Michael were a cute tourist couple. She would never elope with a mere camel.
Class B, wilting as they wait for the people with cameras to get their acts together. Endless locals with digital cameras rushed for the opportunity to take and peddle their own versions, printed on the spot, which usually had imbalanced greenish tints. Denis, pay attention! Sing, don't pick your nose! For posterity, we have in the front row (left to right): Max, Tina, Vivian, Aileen, Rebecca, Yvonne, Eleven, Crystal, Camille, and Cleo. In the second row: Sunny, Apple, Martina, Daisy, ?, Amy, Windy, Nerissa, Cora, Cathleen, and Helen. Forming the meta row: Michelle, Aurora, Ivy, Honey, Dien, Hans, and Deeenis. Finally in the back row: Jabez, Kenny, Denver, Ben, Sing, Allen, Jeff, Tiko, Romnel, ?, Hunt (from his hair), Alex, and Ling.
Some students wussed out and refused to hike Moon Hill (月亮山). Mr. Sun was one of the first to the top. Passed Windy and Gina resting in the shade on the way up. I started out hiking with Mitchy, and picked up Hunt along the way. A merry trio.
Of course, everyone who arrives at the top must have this photo. Maybe the arch will crumble and fall someday, dizzied and weakened by the myriad flash photos taken of it by all passing tourists.
Climbing out to the ledge we were permitted to go to (Mr. Sun blocked the path to the summit, saying it was in the interest of the students' safety), I experienced moments of vertigo which I think is expressed in this photograph of Lane and Ling, best friends.
Hanging out at the top. Local women came by selling water for RMB 10 apiece. Even so, their eyes flicked to the near empty bottles of water we had brought from the bottom, wanting to collect the empty ones to exchange for nickels. A cool breeze flowed through the moon.
On West Street helping the students engage foreigners. Camille, Dien, Cleo, and Jacky are sandwiched between two Hollanders, an insurance saleswoman and a banker. In general our experiences with the foreigners we met in Yangshuo were very positive; most were willing to chat through dinner and even into an after-dinner drink or two.
Who are these crazy drunks? Laura, we can see you hiding in the back!
Jacky, putting on his malcontent face. Speeches in the morning, and the students just wouldn't shut up and show some respect to the students who had worked hard all week to put them together. I had to play the policeman, walking around glaring at the students who carried on conversations in full volume while their classmates stuttered at the podium, issuing many warnings. Too bad I couldn't issue fines and collect on them. They're great kids in many ways, but they just don't know how to behave appropriately in ostensibly formal settings, owing to both a lack of training and the presence of their jabbering peers.
General chaos preceeded the selection and performance of the skits. Crammed into the same room, some students grabbed the microphones and blared their dialogues while others traipsed around half acting, half reading from their scripts. I tried to make sense of it all. For this crew, Tracy practiced her narrative lines, Ninal warmed up her harmonica, and Denny was the sound engineer.
It's too hot out!
Empowered by Steven's earlier declaration of love, Leo put on a powerful performance as White Snake, easily defeating Jason and Scott, hungry mantises from what I gathered.
This time two German girls who seemed very easygoing and ready to laugh. Cleo is the common factor, with Vivian and Michelle making appearances and asking some good questions too. Nobody could believe that I was a teacher, which was well and fine; in Yangshuo we were all friends.
Chinese Picasso? Well, this shirt painting in which Aileen and Amy were made to look the same seemed rather mediocre. But all in the name of fun, you know. The festivities on West Street didn't end there, but nevertheless convinced me of the smallness of Yangshuo. Most of the restaurant/bars which pressed up against each other had hosts and hostesses standing out on the street looking expectantly at all passerby. Some of these individuals have become so blinded in their pursuit of foreign gold that they have forgotten basic civility. When I sat down at a table adjacent to the one where some students were having a lively conversation with a Mexican woman, her French husband, and their British friend, a bitch of a woman came out and told me nastily (in Chinese), “Don't sit here if you're not eating here!” Do you think they won my patronage?
A chance meeting with Sandy (陈华) in the park on Thursday morning, the day we were scheduled to leave for home. I stayed in Yangshuo while everyone else packed off toward Guilin, because I knew there would be nothing interesting waiting for me in that shadow of Yangshuo. I remembered from last time that you could get through the gate for free before 8:00a, so I popped in just before the hour. She recognized me first. Her questions about our trip to Sanjiang in 2002 stirred my memory.
Sandy's friend Liang Bin (梁斌) was so short, maybe even shorter than Mom. She grew up on a farm, and spoke endlessly about the rice paddies, the various fruits and vegetables being cultivated, chickens, and other countryside elements which I had never been exposed to, to my great interest and amusement. On our bikes in the countryside, I felt that only on this my last day in Yangshuo did I rediscover my previous sense of wonder of its beauty. Exploring the dirt lanes with a local is the only way one can really experience the mystic depths of these landscapes.
They are not doing farmwork. They are trying to sell me something. Anything.
C'mon, buy a postcard. You know you want to.
Finally, a picture on the bridge, heading toward lunch.
This picture was taken while we waited for our chicken soup to be served on a raft. Farmer's cuisine, they say. It wasn't our chicken, but I saw the process of preparing the chicken for other customers. The chicken is held by its legs upside down. The throat is slit, and the thick red blood flows out and is collected in a metal basin. The chicken is then dipped in another basin full of scalding hot water. The carcass kicks violently once, twice, then is more or less still. The chicken is then completely soaked in the water, after which the feathers and skin are all peeled off in one fell swoop. All this in plain sight of other free range chickens (土鸡) idling around. Poor, stupid creatures. Every part of the chicken was added to the soup, not excluding the congealed blood, which had a texture I can't quite describe, maybe like liver but a little gelatinous, not gritty. Liang Bin told me that you can tell that a chicken you've cooked was free range by looking at the color of the oil floating in the soup; if it is very yellow, then the chicken was free range, but if it is transparent, then the chicken was farm raised.
A final picture of Sandy and Liang Bin. Farewell!