Chungking to China

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After a week of sad farewells we downed a last few hoppy US beers with Derek before boarding the 2 a.m. Megabus to New York. Apart from some interminably long waits, not least overnight in the architecturally magnificent but freezing new Beijing airport, we made it to Hong Kong in good shape some fifty hours later and headed straight for the backpackers’ mecca that is Chungking Mansions. Have to say that Chinese transit immigration were friendliness personified and readily granted us a day visa in case we wanted to wander outside during our wait in Beijing. I did however get a stern reprimand for my stash of lighters in the day pack which necessitated three x-rays before they were satisfied that they had located and confiscated them all; obviously American security had missed all four in their security screen.

Although we’d been to Hong Kong a couple of times some twenty years ago we’d never stayed in Chungking before, previously having endured the single-sex dorms, morning chores and day time expulsion of the Mount Davis YHA on the island; it did have wonderful views though and was – then – extremely cheap. Nevertheless, this time it was to be Kowloon and the legendary Chungking. This place is, to our knowledge, as cheap as accommodation gets here. You enter via a rather grand opening that sits on the main thoroughfare Nathan Road into what looks like a bazaar. Well, enter is a rather simplistic description as you must first negotiate the welcoming committee of room touts and other hawkers who greet you before you even pass through its hallowed arch. Really, who is going to want to get fitted for a new suit or invest in some hashish before they have even deposited their rucksack? Anyways, having made it in you pass the massed ranks of money changers and come to the first of the lifts (I almost said elevators – been in the US far too long), the surrounding walls of which are covered in adverts for guest houses, eateries and a surprising number of laundries that sprawl maze-like across the crumbling 15 floors above you. This is block A of six. The mass and range of humanity gathered here is astonishing; this is not just some backpacker crash pad. There is an assemblage of every Asian creed imaginable, Africans, Arabs and Europeans, presumably here doing business - legal or otherwise (and staying in the classier joints/apartments), plus the phlebby travellers who’ll willingly fill what scummy corners remain. We, after some legwork and negotiation, now proudly occupy one of the scabbiest options of this vertical Kho Sarn. The first room prices we were offered by the pre-entrance touts were HK $450, then $400, and on the back of our total scorn $250. Standing at the A Block lifts we spoke to a current inhabitant who said she was coughing up $300 (where was the guy who’d offered $250?). However, after visiting the three establishments on randomly selected floor 7 we managed to negotiate a bijoux (6ft square) box, with en-suite (extremely flattering term) and hot water for HK $160 per night (a tad over US $20) – same price over the weekend too: truly a result. Double 7 guesthouse gets a recommendation from us. Nevertheless, we did overhear an angry German complaining that his internet booking was to no avail (guesthouse full) – nothing beats on the ground bargaining for ensuring a decent cheap and vacant room… The ground floor of the mansions is a mishmash of stores, stalls and messes – the latter being tiny halal Indian/Pakistani eateries that typically comprise a miniscule kitchen and a few tables in the nearest alleyway (and are happy to let you crack open a few BYO tinnies). Chungking has character, an endearing edginess that suggests just a hint of danger. We both like the place very much.

Kowloon itself, like Hong Kong island, is charming although both are creeping ever closer to Japan’s developed vibe. Trekked up Victoria Peak to view the new additions to Central’s skyline which, not surprisingly, is far more crowded than years ago and is now seen through an almost constant haze due to the encroaching smog from industry on the mainland. It is still some view though and wonderfully illuminated at night.

We had intended to treat ourselves to the foodie delights missed previously due to budget constraints, but once again found ourselves forced to subsidize real food with McDs as the latter are still the cheapest eating option in Hong Kong (has to be said though that McDs here are head and shoulders better than their American or British versions). Cheapest beer is to be had at International supermarkets: 2 large cans for HK $10.80 (US $0.7 each).

Contrary to what we were told by some guy at Beijing airport, Chinese visas are once again (may have been different over the Olympic period) easily attainable at the embassy and there is certainly no need to employ the services of specialist visa operations that you see advertised everywhere.

Getting to China was simplicity itself, efficient and totally painless. Most people it seems opt for the direct express train that goes straight to Guangzhou (immigration sorted this end; HK $170), although there are cheaper local train/train or train/bus combinations for as little as $120 or, better still, direct bus services for a bargain $80-90.

Wow, China has changed. Guangzhou used to be a mass of bicycles weaving between the buses, now the roads are full of cars; dress is as varied as any European city and indeed the mini skirt and tottering platforms appear in vogue for young women whilst many lads have adopted the punky look so popular among the Japanese youth. We hopped off the bus and found a metro station directly across the road; and what an underground it is: spotless, organized, super-fast trains that glide in and stop Tokyo-like at designated queuing spots behind sliding glass doors. The Chinese have even started to queue – well, at least until it becomes busy. We made our way to tiny Shamian Island towards the south of town. The island lies in the Pearl river just a dozen metres off shore and linked to it by willow pattern style humpback bridges. It is as quaint and sleepy as ever with its broad tree-lined streets, colonial architecture and peripheral promenades. People sit on benches talking, smoking, knitting, whilst huddles of old men play mahjong, cards or Go and others practice taichi or play badminton. Of course there are changes though. This used to be among the cheapest areas to stay, but the YHA has had a serious facelift and we were forced to pay a whacking ¥130 (US $36) for, admittedly, a room far grander than we are accustomed. It also seems to be the place to stay whilst organizing adoptions as we saw five separate older western couples with Chinese babies and toddlers in tow. Discovered where trains head West from and with minimal fuss we were booked onto the sleeper train to Kunming the next evening – such a difference from years ago when you would spend hours queuing/fighting for a place at the booking desk only to be shrugged at and sent elsewhere until some kindly ancient (pre-cultural revolution = English speaking) gent befriended you and wrote your requirements out in Kanji that could then be handed over following more queing/fighting. So, chores for the day completed, our minds turned towards a beer. This was to prove the most taxing effort of the day with the only bars open charging way more than we were prepared to pay. Having scoured our locality thoroughly we turned in desperation to the Lonely Planet that mentioned the Baietan Bar Street area in Fangcun across the river. Indeed there is a cheap local ferry that makes the trip (US $0.08) and the back street shops here have big 600cl bottles of Tsing Tao or Pearl River for an extremely attractive ¥4 (US $0.6). There are also fantastic street eateries that materialize around 7 in the evening doing Sukiyaki (cook yourself stews in pots inserted into your kerb-side table) and barbeques. We bought a few BYO bottles of beers and stuffed ourselves at one of the latter: roe-stuffed Ayu; larger, even more delicious oily fish; curtains of green beans, string mushrooms and spring onions threaded onto skewers; sweet and spicy sausages; mild green peppers; oysters and mussels and corn. A complete feast for less than US $7: heaven. Replete and rather merry we headed back to the ferry only to find that it had stopped running at 10 p.m.; fortunately the Metro runs much later.

I am currently prone on my bunk some 12 hours into the 26 hour train journey to Kunming. Delighted to say that you are no longer woken at 5 a.m. with piped propaganda announcements and fierce fluorescent lighting, and that the spittoons once dotted about the trains have now disappeared (although the sound of morning expectorate – sink directed now - still acts as a wake-up call). Indeed, with the exception of blocked Facebook (and other revolutionary media, ha), the Big Brother aura seems very much diminished and local people appear so much more relaxed, comfortable in themselves and easy going than they were. Whatever else has changed, for better or worse, this pretty much trumps everything: without a doubt people here are happier, they’re not constantly looking over their shoulders, they’re no longer afraid, and this is obviously very good.

Arrived late into Kunming at almost midnight and although our targeted hotel was only half a mile away we agreed to take a motor rickshaw as the old guy indicated it was only 2 Yuan. However, on arrival an almighty row broke out as he was after ¥20 (cheeky bastard, as if we’d said yes to that); it seems two fingers raised as in a peace sign does not mean two in China, but twenty… So, it isn’t just a spoken language barrier here but also a sign language one too. He got a compromised ¥10 and only because a policeman had taken an interest in developments; he was still furious. We weren’t chuffed either. We’ve since learnt that a clenched fist with thumb and little finger raised means six and that two fore fingers crossed equals ten.

So, this brings us to Dali, a picturesque fortified old town that was a total hippy-travellers’ circus twenty or thirty years ago. Today it is tourist central, but with very few westerners in evidence: it is over-run with moneyed Chinese. And are the locals happy? They are not. One blatant example of their influence is that the ferries that used to crisscross lake Erhai Hu (¥ 3-5) no longer run having been replaced with tourist boats (¥ 180) that only run on market days…

Anyways, Ali has just run off to buy some honey-stuffed bread for breakfast, I’m recovering from having drunk an entire bottle of Chinese liquor (saki-like) last night (was given to us by a fellow train passenger en-route to Dali) and we need to find out where to catch a bus tomorrow to Ligiang. For those of you who are unfamiliar with Travelblog: if you scroll right to the very bottom of the screen there are many more photos…

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Comments

[Polly]

Sounds like you are having a great time, and learning a new sign language too! it's always useful to know your numbers.... Where are you going to be on Christmas day? I wonder what you'll be eating when we are tucking in to our turkey? What is the weather like over there? We still have no snow but it's cold and wet, slippery under foot this morning. Hope you enjoy the next few weeks, looking forward to hearing the next installment, whenever that will be... P xxx

[Rahel]

wohooooooo! :)

[Mel]

Looks amazing!
Looks likw you are having a fabulous time so far.The photos are great, Mikey reckons youre nearly as good as him!!

[john c]

Don't go kissing any chickens, watch out for the bird flu!

[john c]

Or should I say watch out for the symtoms. Thousands of birds killed at hong kong poultry market round time u were there