Huizhou Style

As I was journaling about my adventure on the bus, the door opened. A young kid walked in wearing rain gear that was dripping wet. Pulling off his hood, he said, “Hello.”

“Hi,” I said. “I’m Zach.”

“Jacob,” he said. He was Caucasian and his accent sounded eastern European. “Where you are from?”

“The US,” I said. “And you?’

“Czech Republic,” he said.

I smiled. “I studied in the Czech Republic last year.”

“Really?” He said. “You are the first person like this I have been meeting.”

“I was at Vysoka Skola Economizke,” I said.

“Ah in Prague,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

“I studied in Prague for a year,” he said. He told me the name of the town he was from on the German border but I didn’t recognize it. We talked as he changed into dry clothes. I hadn’t really brought extra clothes, but as he set up a little drying rack, I decided to get out of my shorts and put on dry pants. When I pulled my khaki's from my suitcase, I realized I hadn’t worn them since coming to China. They still smelled like the fabric softener back home. Putting them to my face and inhaling a deep breath, I smiled before putting them on.

Jacob gave me the password to get on the WiFi before connecting himself to start planning his next trip. I texted my Mom that I had made it safely and made a quick post to Facebook before taking some time to read a little in my history book. The history of China was striking. It certainly was sinuous and complex, and a very different story than some of the museums in Shanghai have presented.

While I was reading, another guy came into the room. His name was Pierre and he was from France. His English was pretty broken but he was friendly (and also dripping wet, so he added his clothes to the collection of to-be-dried items.)

Around 6:00, I headed downstairs for dinner. The hostel was a little far from the city center so I decided to eat in. Their prices were a bit expensive (comparatively speaking—everything was still under $7USD) but it was worth the extra money to me not to have to walk in the rain. I took a seat by the window, forgetting that in China you generally order by the bar, pay first and then sit down. The man at the counter recognized my American mistake and brought me over a menu. I ordered roasted bamboo with rice before settling in to enjoy the view.

The dining room was quite nice, with wood paneled walls and red stringy curtains along the windows. The building was built in Huizhou style, which dates back to merchants in the Qing and Ming dynasties. Basically, the exterior of the building is white washed with a black decorative roof and a large exterior doorway. These houses were designed to show off opulence, while also keeping away thieves, preventing fires, and symbolically warning local boys to stay away from the merchant’s wife.

As I looked out the window at the rain splattering down in the grassy courtyard behind the hostel, I thought to myself, if this works, it will be one of the most bad-ass things I’ve ever done. I would never do something like this alone back home, but I guess that’s what makes it all the more exciting.

While I was waiting for my food, Pierre came over to join me.

“What brings you to China?” I asked him.

“For school,” he said. “We have project to travel alone for two months and write about it so,” he shrugged, “I choosed China. And you?”

I guess my answer was kind of the same. “I’m interning in Shanghai,” I said. “But it’s not for pay, it’s for a school project.”

“Very good,” he smiled.

“How long have you been in China?” I asked.

“For two weeks,” he said. “I start in Shanghai, then I go to Suzhou, and then I come here.”

“And how did you like Shanghai?” I asked.

His face contorted as he said, “For me it was not so nice. I am from the countryside in France and Shanghai was very loud and very dirty. Chinese people are very odd and I could not figure out the traffic or the subway. I did not like it so much, but that is just for me.”

“And what about Suzhou?” I asked.

“Is much quieter than Shanghai,” he said. “And I think the people are more friendly, but there is not really a city center or anything to do.”

“I’ve been there,” I said. “I was there last week. It is different than Shanghai, but there isn’t much to do there.”

“No,” he said. “Maybe some shopping or something but not much history or many cultural things to see.”

“Except the chicken feet,” I joked.

His eyes got big, “Yes!” He said. “They are very scary looking!”

“They are!” I agreed. “So have you been staying in hostels?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “I also have tent with me but there is no good place to set it up. The towns are so big I have to go far to find a place, and it is very strange to set up a tent in the city center.” He laughed.

Pierre’s curry came out first and I told him to go ahead and eat while it was warm. Mine came out soon after and it tasted great! The bamboo was cooked with shredded pork and various spicy peppers. I really like the flavor of the bamboo (almost like an artichoke heart but not as rich) and the spicy taste of this dish was awesome!

“I do not like eating with those things,” Pierre said, pointing to my chopsticks.

“I’m getting so much better at them,” I said. I have to admit, I even kind of like eating with them. It isn’t particularly graceful, but it is convenient. And I really am getting pretty good at them. I still drop things from time to time, but so do the locals, and I don’t mess up nearly as often as I used to.

“I don’t like the bones in my mean,” I said. “I don’t mind the big ones like in chicken wings, but the little tiny ones bother me.”

“Yes!” he said. “Is very strange to westerners I think.”

It was funny to hear him say that. Even though there was an ocean between our countries, we were both westerners. Here in China, we had a lot in common. The things that were new and different were new and different to both of us. Our mindsets in approaching them were different, but we were now on the same playing field, facing the same challenges…an American and Frenchmen, both lost and confused in the East.

When I finished eating I went up to the front desk to ask about getting to Huangshan. The young girl who had checked me in pulled out a map.

“Tomorrow morning,” she said, “the bus leaves from in front of the hostel at 6:20. It will drop you off at the bus transfer depot in Tangkou. You take the shuttle to either trailhead,” she circled the trail head up the Western Route from Mercy Light Temple and up the Eastern Route from YunGu Cable Car. My plan was to go up the Eastern Route--which was half the length--and come down the Western Route (unless it was still raining, in which case I’d take the cable car up and down.)

“You can buy bus ticket from us fro 20RMB. For 40RMB you can get bus ticket, breakfast, and a lunch to take with you.”

“I’ll do the 40RMB,” I said.

She pulled out a menu, “Would you like American Breakfast with eggs and sausage, English breakfast with oatmeal, or French Breakfast with French toast?” I selected the French Toast.

“Would you like a cucumber and sausage sandwich or the fried rice for your lunch?” I went with the fried rice.

She wrote down my order while her father printed my ticket.

“And which hotel will you stay at on the top of the mountain?”

“Let me look,” I said, pulling out my iPod. “The Behai Hotel.”

She circled it on the map. “So you will go up the Eastern Route, it is 7 kilometers and will take about 3 hours. You can drop your bags at your hotel and then go to these peaks,” she circled the peaks on the map. “You can also go over to these loops in the canyon and then take the bridge down to the caves. Then you can come down the Western Route.”

“When is the last bus back to Tunxi from Tangkou?” I asked.

“4:30pm,” she said.

“I need to get back to Shanghai,” I said, realizing that my pronunciation of the city is changing. Most Americans pronounce it Shang-High, with an emphasis on the “a” as in “shane.” The correct pronunciation is more like Shong-Hi or Shung-Hi (not exactly but close-ish.) I don’t think I’m saying it correctly yet, but I have evolved away from the American pronunciation to something in-between that and the Chinese pronunciation.

She pulled out a sheet that had the bus schedule. The last bus back to Shanghai was at 4:10. I thanked her and told her I might need to buy that ticket as well, although it doesn’t look like going back on Monday will be possible.

With my ticket in hand, I went back over to the booth by the window. Pierre showed me the route he took up the Eastern Route, over to the caves, and then back down the Eastern Route. It was raining when he went so he didn’t spend the night. He did however get lost at the top which did not do much for my confidence.

“Did you go to the hot springs in Tangkou?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “But there are lots of little waterfalls along this path,” he pointed at the Eastern Route up. “So I just step off the trail, take of my clothes and swim around a little.”

“Skinny dipping in China,” I joked. “There’s a bold move.”

He laughed. “Yes. I waved to people and they just laughed at me.”

Pierre stayed downstairs to read while I went upstairs to get ready for bed. Jacob was booking train tickets. I sat on my bed and looked over the map, comparing it to the descriptions in my book. In my head, I created several different plans for several different scenarios—rain, crowds, nobody else on the mountain, etc.—and figured I’d just be flexible (which really is not one of my strong suits.)

I also texted John to let him know that the bus schedule did not look promising for returning to Shanghai Monday night. He told me to take Tuesday off and come back with lots of good stories we could use.

After taking a shower I did a little more journaling about the day. I have to say, I’m really glad I’m alone. It’s allowing me to meet some really cool people, to be flexible with my schedule, and to test myself to remember how much I am capable of doing.

This is either going to be an incredible adventure, or an absolute nightmare…but either way, I think it’ll make a great story!