On The River Li

This week's blog comes from a small café built on  the edge of a forest overlooking the River Li just outside the famously picturesque town of Yangshuo (pronounced 'Yang-Shore'). This side of the river is almost cliff-like in this location and so, of necessity, there are some very steep steps leading down from the café’s precipitous verandah to a small landing stage below. This place is known as the Durian Café, although café seems too simple a word for this rather strange, almost Gothic establishment. I am composing the blog sitting at a home-made table in the small garden to the side, trying to focus on the writing whilst being constantly tempted to play by a very lively  four month old kitten who goes by the name of Bai Ban, or 'white plank' (something to do with Mah-jong tiles apparently).

Inside, the café consists of numerous tiny rooms and spaces, one of which manages to hold a drum kit and guitar, leaving enough room for at least three in the audience. Two of the rooms lead out onto the vertiginous verandah via some outlandish doorways. Strange seats adorn the walls, most of which are far too angled for the task of comfortably consuming coffee and would seem more suited to the smoking of a shisha pipe or the imbibing of some narcotic or other. 

The owner of the establishment seems to be the final piece to the tableau; her long angular features framed by dramatically dark and straight hair. The clothes seeming oddly out of place in the China of today, but perfect for this place. Her skirt, made of some heavy, dark beige material, hangs down to the floor and for a top she wears a light lace blouse that would have been very much in vogue in the 1920s. She is very friendly, well-read and intelligent. Originally from Beijing, she turned her back on the city life and settled in the outskirts of Yangshuo some ten years ago.

Although this place could not be described as typical of Yangshuo, the small town near Guilin in which I find myself in this week, it is typical of the way that this town, and this area, seems to attract the more quirky and interesting characters both from within China and from without. There is something of an ex-pat community here too, although they seem to be of a very different type to those one meets in Thailand.

There are several aspects of Yangshuo that are exasperating in exactly the same way that the rest of China is exasperating. The air in the town itself is not great, for example. Nothing to do with industry this time, but more to do with the presence of so many cars. The Chinese, for the moment at least, are very much in love with their cars, and this has had, and is having, a very unpleasant effect on the environments in the towns.  The quality of the fuel, particularly the diesel, is much, much worse that what would be allowed in America or Europe, hence even a relatively few cars can make the air smell quite foul. Unfortunately, it is not until gone midnight that one ever sees few cars on the streets in Yangshuo; they are busy from early in the morning until late at night, complete with the compulsive sounding of horns and the fact that the drivers seem to obey no recognisable set of rules or laws makes for an unpleasant environment.

Fortunately, Yangshuo is blessed with an old town of many winding streets, lanes and alleys that are more or less bereft of cars. The transformation is immediate. One turns off the main thoroughfare and feels as if one is in a different world. Pretty boutique hotels, coffee shops, book shops and esoteric paraphernalia of all sorts give the area a generic East Asian feel. The area has the happy knack of feeling both quiet and colourful at the same time.

Another very pleasant side of Yangshuo is that it is set in some of the most stunning scenery you will ever see in your life. The karst mountains rise majestically and in magnificent isolation from each other, thus creating the most dramatic of scenic effects. I have meandered through many a land in my time and seen many mountain ranges from the Pyreness to the Alps, from the Atlas mountains of Morocco to the Ural mountains of Russia, I even saw Everest once many moons ago, but the mountains of Guangxi Province are the most impressive, the most aesthetically pleasing, the most awe-inspiring that it has been my good fortune to see anywhere.

All of the photographs on this week's blog were shot in the last few days during bicycle tours of the area. The hills may be dramatically steep but the valley floors between them are, for the most part at least, remarkably flat. Gently cycling along the dedicated thoroughfares that have been built exclusively for bikes (although in China this includes powered bikes) is a pleasure indeed amongst such splendour. One's main problem is the desire to stop again and again and take a picture or two of yet another phenomenal landscape.

This area is also home to many Tai Chi schools. The location gives itself quite naturally to such practices. I often wonder at the value of doing any physically exerting exercise in a Chinese city as the quality of the air is generally so poor. This is not the case here in the Yangshuo area (as long as one gets away from the traffic in the centre of town), the air seems crisp and clear and even the water in the many rivers seems much cleaner than anywhere else I have seen during my travels in China.

Food is also good here, although often the price reflects that it is something of a tourist trap. There are ways around this though, at least if one has the help of a Chinese friend who 'knows the ropes'. A pretty decent meal for two can still be easily had for under £4 ($6) and a beer, even in a bar, for about 8 RMB (about £0.80). If one just wants a beer without the company, then one does not need to pay more than 4 RMB for 500ml.  Along West Street, the main tourist drag in the centre of town, prices may be way beyond this and very similar to Western prices, but the way to avoid such expense is to avoid the rather ersatz version of China that place like West Street represent.

Another plus for the Westerner in China that Yangshuo offers is the fact that it attracts many visitors from the Occident and, perhaps because of this English is much more widely spoken by the natives than anywhere else that I have been to in China, including such cities as Shanghai and Shenzhen.

This week's blog seems to have taken far longer than usual due to the sometimes painful, but always distracting, interactions with Bai Ban. For one so young, he has some sharp teeth and claws which he seems to enjoy sinking into me whenever he gets the chance. Hard to be annoyed with him though. At present, he is just a bundle of the whitest fur with a pair of piercingly beautiful ice-blue eyes.

This is a place that one could settle. It is one of the most beautiful on earth, despite the annoyances of the traffic. Once one is away from the town, say at such a place as this, then the quietness envelopes you, holds you, stills you. I feel tempted to order another Americano. The last one came with a chocolate, half a dozen tiny oranges and a large slice of pomelo. They don't seem to have many customers here so they rather spoil the ones they do have.

If one were wishing to settle down and just find a place to write, to think, maybe to further one's understanding of Mandarin, one could do a lot worse than this place.

Off Piste and Occasionally vice versa...

Sometimes, in order to continue the flaneurial process, one has to jump through a few hoops put there for the entertainment of administrators from various lands. So it is today that I find myself in the delightful 'Coffee Happy & More' in the backs streets of Ratchprana 3 in Bangkok. The coffee shop is much to my liking and the owners friendly and helpful. I am having a quick Americano and metaphorically girding my loins before setting off for the challenges of the Chinese consulate. It has the reputation of being a somewhat difficult process so I have tried to cover every eventuality that may arise but … I still find myself somewhat less than confident of success today. Reading several accounts from the internet, others have come along similarly well prepared and failed.

I am only a day out of Kanchanaburi, but already I find myself missing the place. Somehow, apart from my initial enthusiasm a few years back, I have never really enjoyed Bangkok. In the constant heat the noise and the traffic become very wearing after a time and, apart from a few of the main roads, it is no place for a quiet and thoughtful saunter as befits the role of a flaneur. One of the things that one very quickly notices about Thais is that they don't really have very much use for their legs, apparently being there solely for the purpose of keeping the torso upright when need be which, in itself, is not very often; the preference being for sitting or, if at all possible, being completely supine.

For the indigenous population it seems, even the shortest of journeys warrants the use of some kind of mechanized transport, the ubiquitous scooter being the mode of choice. One will often see the girls in the local bars, when in need of some supplies from a Seven Eleven or a Tesco Lotus, will invariably take their motorbikes, even when said store is but 50 metres distant. The pavement, or what the Americans call the side-walk, is there for the purposes of parking these bikes or for the purveyance of various 'street foods' and not, perish the thought, for actually walking along.

I was very tempted to use an old joke at this point along the lines of 'what do you call a pedestrian in Thailand?', the answer being 'a farang (a foreigner)', but I thought I had better resist the temptation …

The pavements here, perhaps because of their lack of use, are invariably either not fit for purpose or so obstructed as to be unusable. This means that those who would choose to saunter around town often have to do so with the ongoing risk of being scooped up by a pre-occupied scooter rider, often engaged in either texting or attempting to hold their child in one arm while tryiing to control the bike with the other, or flattened by a mini-bus driver who has perhaps chewed a few too many betel nuts (they sometimes do this in an attempt to keep themselves awake in order to attempt to complete an overly rushed schedule).

For all this though, I must say that I have a preference for the driving here in comparison to China. In Thailand it is lazy, a little carefree or maybe even careless but there is a kind of consideration, a generosity to the attitude of the drivers and the riders that you just don't see in China. In that land one is often struck by the meanness and ruthlessness of those on the roads, one might even say callousness, whereas in Thailand, for all their laissez-faire attitude, one rarely feels the same sense of threat.

To some extent, this reflects the differences between the two cultures, the first is very focussed on whatever it is that they want whereas the second is, in general, far more generous and far less selfish. This is, of course, a sweeping generalisation but going from one to the other one is immediately struck by the differences in cultural attitudes.

Having said that, I will still opt for the slowest means available to get back to Kanchanaburi tomorrow. This will either be the slow coach (quite literally) from the Southern Bus Terminal or maybe even the train. Mini-buses are available and are a cheap and cheerful alternative, but I sometimes wonder if the sheer stress of riding in those things will takes years off of one's life, so any time gained is strictly illusory.

Part of the role of the flaneur is to move slowly and, in this case, travel slowly. It seems to be that there is almost an inverse ratio between the speed that one travels and how much one can allow oneself to enjoy the travelling. Speed is fine, in context. I very much enjoy being wafted across continents at slightly less than the speed of sound in huge metal tubes; it is a very practical solution to the problem of long distance travel. Once I have actually reached the desired destination though, my preference is very much for the more sedate and gentle means of moving one's body from place to place.

The world is an increasingly fast-paced place in which to live. Our means of communication go on forever getting faster and faster and it is very easy, and all too common, to become convinced of the necessity for rushing everywhere. Part of the role of a flaneur is to show that there is another way and that many of the best things in life are a whole lot more fun when they are taken slowly. Such an attitude though, does take a little attention, it takes a little patience, but the rewards far outweigh the costs.

Back in the coffee shop, the young man who served me my Americano is just performing what must be his daily rites. Their is a small shrine next to where I am sitting and two more at front and back of the shop. I am the only customer in here at present and I have to admit that it is quite lovely to see the sincerity with which he carries out his devotions. This is not the first time I have seen this and, I have to admit, each time I come across it I find it really rather touching.


There is much cynicism about Thailand and the Thais at the moment, which is not overly surprising given the political problems and the degree of corruption here, but there is also at times something very charming and really rather beautiful about the culture and the people here. I think that is just one of the reasons, despite my fears of the ongoing unrest and political turmoil, that has me coming back to this land on a regular basis. In my experience, there is nowhere else quite like it.

Finally, together with a friend I was taking the time to ponder an appropriate theme song for the blog and an ancient number from Guy Lombardo came to mind. A good candidate...