Serious Travel Article 10: From Zhengzhou to Dengfeng; and accidentally to the top of Song Shan (Mount Song) Part 1

I was staring into a pit of oblivion.

If you have ever lived in a large Chinese Metropolis you probably know the feeling. I was surrounded by towering apartment buildings which seemed to have no end, just becoming more sparse the further from the center you got. Theoretically they should have become so sparse at some point they would just run out. But that point never came, there was always just a new center, and it was impossible to traverse the vast territory of abandoned factories and humungous building sites expanding the city ever further.

The endless smoggy metropolis that is Zhengzhou. In this photo is the Henan TV tower, believe it or not, this is the very edge of Zhengzhou.

The city was expanding so quickly and was already so vast and smoggy that it felt to me like a universe in its own right. (Zhengzhou is considered a small city in China).

I needed escape, work (Teaching English as a foreign language at Zhengzhou New Dynamic Institute) was breaking me down. It wasn't hard and it's semi-enjoyable but after 6 months with no break the natural erosion of the soul caused by the 9-5 (in my case the 2-8) was taking its toll on me. I asked for more days off, maybe some holiday time, fat chance, I was the only European teacher my school had, they weren't going to lose their poster boy (yes, many Chinese people are that shallow (and yes I'm aware that I'm making a sweeping generalization about the Chinese tendency to generalize)).

Da Shanghai, in Central Zhengzhou. This monster of a shopping center is my current place of work, well ish.

I then asked for consecutive days off.

"No".

So I had a 24hr window to get out of this hideous city.

The day after my revelation I dragged myself out of bed at 6am and with my girlfriend, got the first bus to Dengfeng (1hr to the west of Zhengzhou).

Nested in the Song Shan Mountains, the Beautiful city of Dengfeng.

The bus was crowded, like most transport in China but it wasn't dirty. The on board television was playing Henan Opera, a favorite in Zhengzhou. From the window of the bus Zhengzhou looked smaller, more penetrable and eventually it gave way to a gravelly wasteland, comprised of rubble, scrap metal fences and lonely looking derelict towers. This then gave way to trees, then hills, the trees turned to forests and the hills to mountains. Soon enough the bus was driving towards the Song Shan range of mountains, at the foot of which was the city of Dengfeng.

As seen on CCTV (Yep, Chinese state television has quite an appropriate name for an authoritarian regime right?) Henan Opera.

On a Chinese scale Dengfeng isn't much of a city at all. More of a village, population maybe 300,000. At the bus station, the usual hordes of chancers and opportunists were trying to sell their illegal services to vulnerable tourists and hardy travelers.

"Shaolin Si! Shaolin Si!", they screamed excitedly at seeing the obvious foreigner.
"Bu yao, xie xie ni",
"Shaolin Si! Shaolin Su! Shaolin Si!!!", They insisted,
"I said no, aren't you listening to me?"
"Shaolin Si",
"NOOOOOO!",
"Shaolin Si", they whimpered disappointingly.

The Shaolin Temple (Shaolin Si), birthplace of Zen Buddhism and top tourist attraction. Here it is with some monks outside posing for the camera. 

We exited the terminal post haste and quickly soliceted the help of a local man with a Mian Bao Che (Bread Car). He said it was 50RMB a person to get up Mt Song. Apparently it was one of the five sacred Taoist mountains in China. Not only that, Song Shan is considered to greatest. I was skeptical, I was convinced he was just trying to rip us off, get a bit of dosh at the expense of some foreigners. Despite my skepticism of the dodgy man near the bus station (every terminal in the world seems to attract the same type of people) my girlfriend was convinced of his honesty, so we climbed into the funny little truck and were on our way.

An overcooked Mian Bao Che, our little bread van was much less on fire than this one.

The truck climbed high above Dengfeng and into the forested mountains. Eventually we came to a dried up old riverbed along witch was a bridge and a checkpoint. The man told us to get out and cross the riverbed, we climbed down and ran across as fast as we could without being spotted by the guards, eager to charge us 50 yuan for entry. We scrambled up the other side and hopped back into our ride. Our diver had convinced the checkpoint that he was just bringing some much needed supplies to the monks who lived in the temples dotted around the mountains. We drove along more precarious mountain roads, first tarmac, then dirt before we being dropped off in the middle of nowhere. Just us, a path into the forest and a Taoist Temple.

End of Part 1

Warning of the Day: Public Urination/Dumping in China

This is a warning for anyone looking to come to China. In most Chinese Cities (I'll exclude Hong Kong and the more developed metropolis') you will discover that the pavement glistens with crystal clear saliva and emerald green snot. Now, I'm sure that many of you will already know this, the Chinese people of course are world famous for their eagerness to hoick up a loogie during an inappropriate situation.

However, during the summertime, the relentless hoicking seem comparitivley hygenic compared to the street shitting.

A Child of Zhengzhou having a good old poo in public!

Whether it's pissing on the walls or squatting quietly next to a tree, the people of Zhengzhou will not be confined to just on toilet! No! For the people of Zhengzhou, the world is a toilet!

In Zhengzhou, China, young and old alike often wear trousers with an open bum. Fresh air and easy shittin'. Welcome to China!

So lets learn from the people of Zhengzhou! Break free from the shackles of toilet training! No more holding it in! The next time you're bursting for the loo, just go! Break out of society's bubble. "I'll poo here and there's not a thing you can do about it"!!!!!. 

Belated Birthday Message of the Day: Happy Birthday Adrian!

Sorry It's a bit late, (I can't believe I forgot!!!) but happy birthday, I hope you had  great day. I wish I could have been there, you have to come visit!

Adrian at Heathrow Airport

Im going to post you a little present on Monday, it's nothing big, only a silly thing.
Miss you loads and loads,

Samuel

For all you regular travel blogewoggers out there, the Generic Travel Blog will be back to its old self in just a few minutes.

Dish of the Day: Huo Guo (Chinese Hot Pot)

If you've ever stumbled upon one of my articles before, then you'll know that I'm no "foodie". In fact even using the word foodie makes me wretch with ineptitude (as a writer, I should be able to conjure up a better word than foodie). I like food, but a pallet is something I am yet to possess.

I like bananas and biscuits, but today I experienced something wondrous. When I first arrived in China, some of my foreign colleges told me all about the miracle that is Hot Pot.

A traditional Chinese Hot Pot, very popular in China but yet to catch on in the Western World

"Man, you gotta try this stuff, Hot Pot, it fucking kicks ass", raved Samir, the Iberian Yank.

"But isn't Hot Pot British? They're always on about Hot Pot on Coronation Street", I replied.

He looked befuzzled.

"Nevermind",

A Lancashire Hot Pot, but don't tell anyone from America that British food isn't just Eel Pie and Fish & Chips, it would just confuse the poor buggers. I reckon they need to think that British food to make them feel better about their own Kentucky Fried Crap. 

Eventually I found myself in a Hot Pot restaurant, at 5 'o Clock in the morning after a drunken night out with Emmanuel, a South African expat who had become a successful businessman in China, a group of Africans from various countries who were paid by SongSong, Zhengzhou's hottest nightclub, to party there (Having black people at your club makes it cool, this is the way in China) and some Estonian girls who because of their Aryan appearance, got work as models in China. The Hot Pot was disgusting. I swore there and then that I would never have another experience like this so long as I walked this solitary planet.
 
For five months I stuck to this regime, "Avoid Hot Pot at all costs", every time I saw Samir he asked me,

"Did you try Hot Pot yet?",
"Yep",
"What did you think?"
"Shit",
"Seriously!?!?! What the fuck kinda place did you go to? Hot Pot rules" he repeated day after day after day after day, like a stuck record.

The Hot Pot at Hai Di Lao, Yum!

 
Eventually, long after Samir left the country, to start an exciting career in fuck knows what in London, wo de lao po took me to a little place called Hai di Lao(Finding Treasure Under the Sea), reputed to be the best Hot Pottery in China. It was at the end of a long days cycling and I was in no mood to argue.

"This place has great tomato soup",
"Oooooh", I said, disinterestedly,
"It has free penuts and watermelon seeds!!!!"
"Thats nice dear",

I faded out of the conversation after wo de lao po said something about noodle dancers.

We sat down at a table with a massive hole in the middle, I peered inside, curious as to what was at the bottom, was it like a well in which a cursed child came through the television to kill unsuspecting victims, or was it more like a wormhole, connecting our planet to distant galaxies. In the end it was just a cooker, an indent to keep our soup boiling hot. An over zealous waitress waited on us hand and foot, this was the way in Hai Di Lao, she made Jeeves from Wooster and Jeeves look like a deranged chimp throwing around its own poo. Never have I experienced such dedication to customer service. The waiters and Waitresses cook your food, serve your food, refill your drink incessantly, clean the smallest food splash rigorously and bring you more hot wet towels than a Singapore Airlines trolley dolly on speed.

The Whirly, Twirly Noodle Dancers of Hai Di Lao, China.

The noodle dancers were out of this world! Men with noodle dough, whirling and twirling their bodies in sync with noodles up to 10 meters long. Noodles were flying everywhere! Noodles here, noodles there, there was no end to the men casting their noodles off into the world, they made noodle sculpting into an art form, incomparable with anything else.

The food was delectable but I'm no "foodie", all I can say is they make a mean tomato soup, i thoroughly recommend it if you're ever in Zhengzhou, Henan.

I guess I should listen to wo de lao po a bit more, she's a clever gal who knows her stuff! 

P.S. Girls, they'll give you a free manicure while you wait to be seated, no joke!

Rant of the Day: Why Travel Writers Shouldent Travel

Sammy's Generic Travel Blog has been up and running for almost ten months now, and after a slow start, it became more and more popular. I was blogging away, writing stories about my travels, romanticizing those days when I was on the road with the wind in my hair. It diddn't matter that the reality diddnt quite match up to what I wrote, people loved it, I loved it, and thats all that mattered.

Paul Theroux, a grumpy old git

When Paul Theroux wrote his masterpieces, we all know it's an exaggeration, we all know he changes reality to make himself look articulate, quick witted and bold, but we don't mind (I don't anyway) because its funny, entertaining and tantalizing. And before I started my travels, I saw myself as a writer with the same qualities (Paul Theroux also being an arrogant fucktard). 

An assortment of Chinese Hot Pot ingredients, fried in filthy Chinese street food oil. Yum!

But now I realize that traveling and successfully running a travel blog are incompatible, unless your some sort of superman like nomadic Matt. Real travelers just don't have that sort of time, life gets in the way, and to be honest, the great firewall of China doesn't really help.

Well sorry for wasting you time. I guess this rant is an apology to myself for running my blog into the ground, for losing most of my page views (from 200 a day to 20) and for being a lazy bastard. I promise at least two new posts a month from now on, there's so much to blog about!

Feng Jie (Sister Feng), widely considered the most beautiful woman in China. Her ambition is to marry Barack Obama. I wonder what the first lady will think of dear old Sister Feng?

Again, apologies, next time you visit my blog, you will be captivated by a flurry of poetic words with will sweep you away to a land beyond the horizon, to land of communists and dragons, to a place of filthy noodles and blind dates.

Travel Tip of the Day: Bananas

The wonderful thing about bananas is that they are universal! They are everywhere, and everywhere they are they rarely disappoint. So next time your in a weird foreign land, and you don't fancy that smelly old Durian, look out for that easily recognizable old friend, the Banana.

The Banana, a travelers best friend!

Bananas not only taste good, but are good for you too! Put a banana in your ear! The bad in the world is hard to hear when in your ear a banana cheers!

 

Hahaha, look at the frown on Charlie's face, he doesn't care for anything! What a silly post this is!

Rant of the Day: Beijing Capital Airport (Hub of Nightmares)

A long term move to a strange and distant land is never going to be an easy transition. There is the daunting feeling that you disguise as anticipation, there are the inevitable culture shocks and language barriers but that is all to be expected. Travel is exciting because it wrenches us away from our normal, comfortable life and crashes us, unceremoniously into the dumpster of change. Of course we soon find out, our dumpster is packed full with riches more vibrant and wonderful than those of El Dorado.

The Dumpster (Skip for Brits) of Travel can Transform into an exotic new wonderland before your very eyes. Here is a picture of a picture of something made up. El Dorado. I don't even know what that means. I'm just making a stupidly long caption for search engine optimization.

But however wonderful that dumpster might turn out to be, we expect our flight to be the last bit of comfort we can enjoy before the great crash (metaphorical of course, Air travel outside Papua New Guinea is all about safety). I smashed into the Chinese dumpster of Change when I arrived at Beijing Capital International Airport.

I had Two hours to catch my connecting flight to Zhengzhou, plenty of time right? I could get a drink, read my book (Plato's Symposium, a homoerotic masterpiece, causing me to cower with horror when it described the tradition of middle aged men chasing after young boys as necessary) and even write some notes. No Chance, Beijing's Capital Airport is Chaotic, with seemingly no constant rules, no system, and no knowledge of what to do and where to go.

Beijing Capital Airport, Shiny and New on the outside, Chaotic, Unorganized and Backwards on the inside.

I said goodbye to my single serving friend from Amsterdam (Yes I stole that from Fight Club! Sue me, I dare you!) And headed to Domestic Transfer, surely just a passport and security check, and through to the other side. But not this time, I could see the departure lounge in front of me, with the usual route blocked with nothing but a few cardboard boxes, I tried to make my way past the boxes and into domestic departures but I was seized upon by the border police, whom only a few minutes ago had taken half an hour to decide I looked enough like my passport picture to allow me into their country. They told me I was going the wrong way and then escorted me into arrivals. Wait Arrivals!

Chaotic Scenes at Beijing Capital Airport as officials fail to organize any help for confused passengers.

I now only had 60 minutes to get from arrivals (China Proper) to my departure gate, unless the plane would leave without me. I got out my phrasebook and started asking questions, Where is departures? Why am I here? Where do I go? I stuck my boarding pass under the noses of officials and screamed Where (Zai Nar?) Eventually I was led to a queue the length of a football pitch and told to wait. Time wasn't on my side but what could I do? All I could think of was going into a Basil Fawltyesque rant. Ive just been through passports and security and now I have to go through again, I mean what it the point I mean what is the bloody point, whatever happened to this country since bloody Mao?

In a mad scramble I passed through security (not without being frisked extensively by a man whom I suspect noticed my copy of Symposium and got the wrong idea) and found my gate, but it really was a close call. As I boarded the plane to Zhengzhou, I wondered whether my luggage had fared any better than me.

Don't hold Plato's Symposium as you go through airport security gates, you might get frisked!

I was reunited with my big blue suitcase about a week later.