river life

After a quick American-style breakfast - which included the best coffee I expect to find in the Orient - my father and I were met by our guide. The night before I had booked a ferry through the most scenic regions of the countryside, and "Harry" as our guide styled himself, was going to show us to the docks.

Picking up a few others along the way, we were soon at the Guilin Docks. I was somewhat unnerved by the sheep-like behavior I began exhibiting in response to my surroundings: slowly herding onto a ferry with the rest of our group. Among those traveling down the river with us included five Swiss folks, with whom we carried on the longest English-language conversation we had since leaving the States. By 10:30 the ferry was underway and we hurried up to the observation deck. Our boat was steaming ahead of the other river traffic, and we had soon put some distance between ourselves and the other boats.

The flotilla departing Guilin harbor. 

We were floating past massive pillars of limestone, thick with vegetation. Trees and vines hung to all but the most parlously vertical cliffs. A misty haze floated through the peaks, painting the far-off hills in increasingly lighter shades of blue.

The hills.

The views were magnificent, and the ferry was moving just quickly enough to keep a light breeze blowing. We watched as our captain deftly drifted his keel-less boat by sheer limestone faces and around scrappy grass-covered islands. Here and there, a waterfall would appear where a stream carved its way through the limestone to find the river. Small villages occasionally lined the shore, their harbors filled with little fleets of bamboo boats. It was a peaceful way to spend the morning.

Cooks hard at work.

There was a small buffet lunch around noon, featuring meats of questionable origin. My father seemed to enjoy what I am almost certain were chicken feet, though I found the over-abundance of bones to be irritating (past readers may recall that when I choose to dine on whole-bird, I prefer that it be boiled before its fried, that the bones might be easier to chew). 

Eventually, our ferry terminated in Yangshuo. Yangshuo is a beautiful mountain town beset by a commercialism that both suffocates the space, yet strangely keeps it alive. Without the commercial potential of tourism: it would go the way of so many other towns: industrialized and without character. Yet by exploiting that potential to the fullest, the town has leached out much of its authenticity. Nevertheless, if you could see past the souvenir stands and the occasional western fast food chain (the Colonel's ongoing campaign in China has left few towns without a KFC) Yangshuo can be pleasantly charming.

Along that market in Yangshuo.

We walked around for about an hour, during which I took one of my signature detours down an abandoned road. This led us to a complex that was likely once a thriving resort. Sitting on a prime piece of real estate beside the town pond, the resorts Zen Garden was now untended and overgrown. Exploring the space made for an interesting diversion, and the whole adventure would have been worth it just to see the look of incredulous confusion on the face of a Chinese guard watching us leave.

Before heading back to Guilin, we had arranged to stop by one of the minority villages to have a look around. Shuttled there in a goofy little air conditioned bus, we arrived outside the town center looking so much like a camera-strapping, fannypack-adjusting, doofy tour group that I unconsciously began putting physical distance between myself and the group. 

Nevertheless, despite the absurdly contrived visit with the water buffalo, I was enjoying the village. We spent some time on "The Dragon Bridge" which, our tour guide informed us proudly, was not only the site of two major motion pictures (one American, one Chinese), but also the vantage point from which photographers from Microsoft captured a background image featured in Windows 7. Cheesy though it may be, I am looking forward to verifying this claim when I return home.

We then watched a local fisherman using commerant birds for fishing. With string tied around their necks to prevent the birds from swallowing their catch, the fisherman sends the commerants into the water. The two birds excel at pursuing fish underwater. When they catch one, the commerants rise to the surface and are scooped up by the fisherman. The fish is retrieved from the bird's mouth, and the commerant is rewarded with a bait fish. With fish stocks strained by an ever expanding population, this ancient tradition is preserved only for the entertainment of tourists.

Holding up the commerants.

There was a second part of the guided tour that my father and I opted out of. While waiting for the rest of the group to explore "Shangrela" we purchased a few provisions, and I went exploring in the countryside. It wasn't long before I found myself criss crossing rice patties, thoroughly enjoying myself. I came upon an intricate stone and clay aqueduct system, which so captivated me that I jogged back to find my father. Finding him smoking one of the Cuban cigars we purchased in the Toronto Airport, I guided him to my find, and he was suitably impressed both by the aqueduct and the countryside.

Finally returning to our bus, we were driven back to Guilin. We visited an excellent restaurant with absurdly large portions of fantastic Chinese food. Doing our best to not let too much go to waste, we both ate entirely too much, and walked off our meal on an evening stroll along the city river. Following a winding tourist path, sheltered by brightly-lit trees, we meandered back to our hotel.  While my father relaxed at our hotel's bar, I went exploring in the market area. Without the trappings of a tourist, I enjoyed a stroll bereft of the interjections of pushy merchants and dubious touts. I was the only Westerner in site, and it was interesting to see young Chinese men and women assailed with the same methods that so frustrates our interactions with public spaces.

Pagodas lit up along the river.

I've now made it back to the hotel, and it's time to get some sleep. Tomorrow we catch a train to Kunming, and I have to say that I'll be sad to see Guilin go. This has been a wonderful little town, and I couldn't be happier with our quite little Lakeside Inn. Tomorrow we trade rivers for mountains; let's see how it goes.