archived diary · part 4 · beijing to hong kong

This archived section of the diary reads in chronological order covering the journey from the approach to beijing to christmas and new year in hong kong.
For a full, chronological version of the diary click the 'Full Diary' button at the bottom of the left panel.

5th December 2001

China: Before Beijing

After a Mongolian border town with sand billowing around the streets and cows grazing out of skips that Scott compared unfavourably with the stone age we suddenly found ourselves in Erlian, a busstling, modern fast growing Chinese city with all mod cons. We were very pleased to discover, after 3 months or so in culinary purgatory, that there is a choice of foods for vegetarians in China and the concept does not cause great bewilderment, amusement or apoplexy. We can eat tofu, beansprouts, beans, eggs, rice, noodles, a variety of pancakey and fried things, and many interesting vegetables. Compared with gretchka, rice, or potato with fried eggs three times a day, every day, this was heaven. The honeymoon would not last forever though, as every traveller knows, there's only so many egg fried rice's, biriyanis or doses of the shits you can stomach before you are yearning for the nearest MacDonalds or Pizza Hut! This point was to be reached somewhere between Beijing and Wuhan.

We spent the night in a cheap hotel which, like many of the cheap hotels we have stayed in, served as a place of work as much as a place of rest. Apparently there was a steady traffic along the Trans Mongolian Railway from Ulaan Baatar of those looking for "work" in Erlian.

The road out of Erlian across Inner Mongolia (the Chinese side of the Mongolian plateau) turned out to be an absolute dream. After nearly two weeks of having our backsides and bikes taking a battering from the ruts and rocks of the Gobi here was an absolutely brand new road on which the paint was barely dry. Progress was rapid, rising from around 60 km a day to between 100 and 120. The desert continued for a while though but after a while we began to see signs of Chinese engineering attempting to green the desert. Slowly we began to see some agriculture and also a few trees. We were still around a mile high though and temperatures had not improved.

We had not known what to expect of China. We knew that it was the current bete noir of the United States and that it has a pretty repressive regime in some respcts. We also knew all independent travel outside cities to be illegal for foriegners and free camping to be illegal. Naturally we were concerned to be discrete on our first few nights in China. It was not to be, due at first to the distinct lack of anything that could be called landscape or vegetation and latterly due to the fact that every inch of available land is flattened and cultivated, leaving no clumps of trees in which to hide.

So when we finally saw the peoples police up ahead, standing around by the side of the road we opted to put our heads down and cycle straight on trying not to catch their eye. It was with some surprise then that we saw them waving and smilling, giving us the thumbs up sign and saying hallo. This happened several times and they never even batted an eyelid when we cycled along the motorway (actually quite a pleasant experience since it cut through some large mountains and gave us a birds eye view of the valleys between). So much for "avoid the police at all costs".

Crossing Inner Mongolia we had some howling winds, most of them headwinds but at times they got behind us. The most incredible of these was when we left a city in the morning with the wind belting us along at between 30 and 40kmph. This carried on for around an hour until we turned a few degrees west and headed up a minor pass. The hills channelled the wind into our faces and as we reached the top it would get worse. As we reached the plateau the wind was the strongest I think I can remember with the exception of the gale that blew across southern England back in October 1987 taking most of our trees with it. It blasted us from our left and we cycled along leaning 20 or 30 degrees into the wind just to stay on our bikes. If it had been in our faces cycling would have been litterally impossible. So would pitching tents. Lucky it wasn't then. This only lasted a short while as we crossed between two peaks and then for a few golden miles we turned so the wind was behind us, coasting along at 40kmph. It was still quite sandy at this point so the wind blew the sand along the road with us making wonderful patterns as it went. Again, having this in our faces would have been hell.

Within a couple of days we reached the 40km downhill off the Mongolian plateau we had been told of. This was not a moment too soon. At the top of this we passed through a steep valley in late afternoon sun and encountered original stretches of the Great Wall. At this point the "wall" only ever consisted of communications towers every few hundred meters from which fire signals could rapidly raise the alarm. The mountains were pretty effective anyway and Chinngis Khan (that's Ghengis to you westerners) knew that a wall is only as good as it's guards and all guards have a price. Chinngis Khan was a rich man and China was his for the taking! The towers did not fit any classical image of the great wall being circular rather than the square ones on the wall itself but were very beautiful sillouetted against the darkening sky.

Passing out of the ravine we wondered at the prescence of leaves on trees and wondered why the hell it wasn't getting any warmer. We actually began to see snow on the ground for the first time which seemed perverse but the plateau is very cold and dry, the lower ground is warmer and wetter thus more amenable to snow. This also meant the begining of the haze that would cover China for most of our journey southwards.

The attention we recieved in cafes only increased on the road to Beijing. We would regularly draw crowds as the owners would drag friends, neighbours and relatives to see the white boys they had managed to catch. We felt like we were in a human zoo, being unashamedly stared at whilst trying to eat. It was mostly harmless but when you are tired or feeling run down it can begin to get to you. In one of these cafes as we walked in a man walked out clutching a live rabbit by its feet. We sat down inside and five minutes later the man returned, still clutching the rabbit by its hind legs only this time it had no skin. Within half an hour it was in several small pieces in a bowl in front of Rory and not long after that in his stomach. They say you should make sure the food you eat is fresh in these countries.

Another amusing site on the road to Beijing was at one of the many newly erected petrol stations. These take an interesting form in China with large pyramids on their roofs - imagine the roof over a large petrol station forecourt and then imagine a square bottomed pyramid that size. Sometimes they even look like temples. Anyway a new one was being opened as we passed, so the Chinese being the Chinese were celebrating it... with fireworks! This seemed a little strange to us, letting off fireworks near so much petrol. Still these guys have been playing with fire for thousands of years so I guess they know what they're doing.

We breezed the last few miles into Beijing along the motorway and then through the endless suburbs eventually finding our way to the infamous Tiananmen Square, site of the Forbbiden City, Mao's Mausoleum and the events of 11 years ago when reactionary students massacred brave Peoples Liberation Army soldiers before finally being subdued - trust me, I've seen the photos and I could have stuck those guns on with Pritt Stick glue better myself. People don't talk about that here though.

Beijing is a cyclist's heaven, at least in terms of cycle path provision. Bikes almost rule the road. Bike lanes take up about a third of the road and are packed. Bikes, bikes, everywhere. Cycling is quite fun because of the density of the traffic and the fact that they're all going so much slower than you on their one speed Flying Pidgeon bicycles so you can weave in and out of them at will.

After our celbratory beer we found our way to a relatively cheap hostel popular with packpackers. It had a good bar run by the friendly and generous Wayley. Her bar had a free juke box, a pool table (free if you played her) good food, cheap beer and good beer (note the distinction). Chinese beer is weaker than it tastes and has some kickass chemicals in it that let you know the next morning. Your body does get used to it though so we were able to get drunk by the end of the week without feeling too bad.

We spent a week in Beijing, of which more later.

27th December 2001

Beijing

We spent a week in Beijing, recovering from the rigours of the Gobi, taking care of things that needed to be done, such as tending to our bikes as well as our bellies, developing films and just having fun.

We arrived in Tiannanmen Square after spending some time trying to find it, although I must say Chinese roads are generally well signposted. We posed for photos in front of the portrait of Chairman Mao, benevolently smiling down and I couldn't help but think of him smiling down upon the events of the 4th June 12 years ago. It was bizarre. Here we were, within metres of the site of the massacre of hundreds of non violent protesters and yet everything seemed serene, with the exception of certain driving manoevres. Chinese and foriegn tourists taking photos in front of the Forbidden City, and Mao's mausoleum. It was only later that Andy would see the very rapid arrest of a woman within seconds of unfurling a banner in Chinese which I can only assume was of political content. She was arrested by the police patrolling the square who radioed for help and within seconds a van careered round the corner and she was bundled into the back. Never to be seen again...?

A lot of our time was spent in Waley's bar at the hostel at which we stayed. It made a welcome relief after a relatively austere few weeks since Ulaan Baatar, the beer was cheap, the hospitality was very good courtesy of Waley who was good enough to treat us to the occasional free drink or food, not to mention supplying us with personalised T Shirts explaining our trip. The bar was almost exclusively patronised by the westerners who populated the hostel and it made a pleasant change just to be normal, doing normal things like getting pissed.

My first couple of days in Beijing were spent getting my bearings, wandering the streets, taking in the sights, sounds and smells of a city on the move. Beijing is a fast changing city. The phrase "warning, country under construction" might well be used to describe the state of the whole country. Sky scrapers are springing up all over the place, joining the many already there. Shiny office blocks, public buildings and shopping arcades exist cheek by jowl with sleepy alleys, insipid open sewers and crumbling slums.

The city is also choc-a-bloc with bicycles, a welcome change given the low status given to bikes along much of our route. It's not so much that bicycles rule the road here, as that they fill all the gaps left by motorised transport and often through sheer weight of numbers award themselves a de facto right of way. Weaving in and out of the traffic on our multi geared bikes, rapidly accelerating and decelerating to avoid collisions, outrunning both motor transport and the ubiquitous Chinese Flying Pigeon bicycles. It was only later when I hired a Flying Pigeon for the day that I realised that although you can make quite a respectable speed on one if you put in the leg work, it is impossible to stop without considerable forewarning. I didn't feel safe going at much more than the same gentle pace that the Chinese cycle at. Perhaps improving brake technology is the next necessary step on the Chinese's road to world economic domination!

Whilst wandering the streets on my second day, I found myself in a tiny backstreet buzzing with life as street vendors stir fried meals over open coal stoves. Actually, I didn't find myself there at all, I purposefully followed the stream of people taking styrofoam cartons into shops for the owners lunch. They must know a good thing I reasoned.

Along the alley were self service stir fry stalls. They gave you a container and you stuffed it with as many of the multitude of vegetables (or meat if you're that way inclined) available, indicated whether you wanted chilli, garlic, salt etc and passed it to the man with the wok. They are cooked of an interesting kind of stove consisting of a vertical clay tube just larger than a special type of briquette used as fuel. These are cylindrical bricks about 15 cm high with multiple 1cm holes drilled vertically through. They are made from a mixture of coal and clay so as they burn they hold their shape but crumble when prodded hard enough, allowing them to fall out the bottom. For just a few Yuan (11 to the pound) I had an excellent personalised stir fry and rice in a cool setting as people bustled past and clouds of steam rose into the air.

When I left I was persuaded to buy a sugar cane. Always up for a new experience, I didn't quite know how to eat it but was delicately shown the suck, bite, spit action. Unfortunately I was not able to expel the fibrous remnants with the same expertise as the locals. I made a mental note to learn to spit like a true Chinese.

Speaking of which. Amongst the other sounds of the street is the regular sound of people hawking and the expelling at high velocity. It seems to be a national hobby, to be practiced anywhere that does not have a carpet - street, shop, cafe, home, classroom etc. To be fair, when it is a really big one it is polite to withdraw outside before depositing on the ground.

It was in Waley's bar that we met Nick, a Quebecois travelling in China for six months or so. Waley, in her true quiet and unassuming style offered to buy us all a drink if Nick were to walk up to two Belgian girls sitting on the other side of the bar and do a mock bird mating dance ritual. Eventually he agreed and walked across, stood in front of them and waved his wings as he made cooing noises and raised one foot then the other. They thought he was mad but were basically amused and later joined us.

The next day was to be Liesbeth and Katelijne's last day in China and they didn't know whether to do the Great Wall or the Forbidden City. Nick and I had been planning to do the Great Wall the next day and persuaded them that if you're into temples then the Forbidden City would be great but we were going to see the wall and thought it was probably much more unique and special. They concurred and we arranged to meet at seven the following morning to catch the several busses needed to get to Hui Hot, an unreconstructed, relatively tourist free section. Nick and I then proceeded to drink until four in the morning.

Hui Hot is described in the Lonely Planet as a quiet, tourist free, unreconstructed yet relatively intact section of the wall where you go for that "real" experience. Thanks to the Lonely Planet it probably has a year or two at most before it is crawling with backpackers. It's the travellers dilemma - what we value in a place is destroyed by the very value we place on it! You cannot visit and observe remote places without leaving your mark. The more unspoilt a place, the more you want to see it and the greater the imperative to stay away. Unfortunately there is no Star Trek Prime Directive to police the observation of remote cultures.

Unsurprisingly we woke late and it was 11am before we left. This was compounded by the fact we walked around in circles trying to find the long distance bus station for an hour. We had to take a local bus to Tiananmen Square, a metro to the bus station and then two busses to Hui Hot. It was between 2 and 3pm by the time we arrived.

On arriving we found ourselves in a valley with just a few houses lining the road. There was a river running down it which had been dammed at the point where the wall must have spanned the ravine. No prizes for guessing where the construction materials came from. We had to cross the dam to reach the section of wall we were to climb and this was a somewhat hairy task. The top of the dam was no more than four feet wide and only inches above the water which lapped onto the top. There was no rail or even lip on either side of it and it had snowed the night before which had turned to ice on parts of the dam.

Finding no obvious route onto the wall, the cross section of which rose vertically leading up the steep hillside in front of us, we scrambled up into the watchtower facing us. This was not the regular route we discovered on our way back. I didn't feel particularly sure footed wearing my decrepid cycling shoes, hardly designed for grip or support and took it slowly as a result, at one point dislodging a brick that had lain in place for hundreds or thousands of years.

Riding steeply up a mountainside, the wall was not easy going, particularly in the snow, requiring a certain degree of balance and care to avoid falling along it or, in places, off it. The views were spectacular though. We walked for about an hour before realising that there was only one bus home and it would take us at least an hour to get down.

Again I found myself trailing the others with their fancy trainers or hiking boots. And then within a minute of starting the descent my legs began to cramp up. It was cold and I was probably slightly dehydrated from the night before. I slowed to a snails pace and wondered if I could get down in time for the bus. Not a problem for me if I didn't, there were guest houses in the town but the others had to get back for their flight the next day. We made it however, with a modicum of slipping and falling. At the bottom was the necessary minibus driver offering to take us for five times the bus fare and insisting there would be no bus until tommorow. We smiled broadly at him as the bus approached. He smiled back.

It was only when we returned that I remembered that we had promised a student we met in the street that we would speak at his university. Scott had forgotten too leaving Rory and Andy to keep the British end up. Apparently they did this very well, getting themselves into the Beijing Youth Daily and being treated to an enormous meal, not to mention the smiles of some beautiful Chinese students.

The previous day we had met Stephane, our 5th man. He had broken his foot weeks before departure in May so been unable to come, flying out to Beijing once he was fit. Before departure we had all collectively misread his name as Stephanie and Andy had emailed him to say how disappointed he was not to have a woman aboard, after the accident.

When we returned from the wall, we were having a drink with Stephane when he called a girl he had met on the street. He invited her to join us and told her it would seem like an eternity as he waited. When she finally turned up Stephane turned on his silky smooth patter. She wouldn't take a drink though. She said that she got drunk once and didn't like it. She came home and went to bed without taking a shower first. She felt so ashamed. What could we say.

Before long she said I looked like that English actor... "Hugh Grant?" I said. "Well, um, actually" I said, "don't tell anyone this, because, you know, I'm trying to keep it quiet, but I'm actually taking a few weeks off, trying to hide from the Hollywood pack" Like Divine Brown she swallowed it whole. She also thought Nick looked like Brad Pitt and it was easy enough to persuade her that we were on an incognito break in Beijing. After she had left (without Stephane) we joked that Andy looked like Anthony Hopkins, Scott like Mel Gibson and Rory, well Rory!

Nick at this point broached an idea that had been brewing in his head for a while. He wanted to buy a bike and some panniers and join us. Like some of the best decisions it was spontaneous. The others were basically positive providing he was prepared to see how it went and if it was too much, go his own way. This was not to be a problem however.

So the following day Scott, Nick and I went out to buy a bike. There was a fair choice of Chinese quality mountain bikes including a few obviously pertaining to be made by manufacturers who wouldn't put their name to such bikes, most notably Giant. Whilst there was a good choice, the choice of really suitable bikes was slim. Nick ended up coming away with a middle of the (Chinese) range bike, two panniers and some sundries all for less than US $150. And the bike would pay for itself easily by reduced (zero) transport costs and very low accomodation costs since 80% of the time we would be free camping. It seemed slightly strange to us but I'm sure to Nick the feeling of just walking out and buying a bike to cycle to Hong Kong was even more bizarre.

The last days in Beijing were spent tying up loose ends and getting drunk. As ever, there's never enough time so you just have to prioritise. My liver didn't thank me for this but sometimes you have to do what needs to be done.

We met some great people in Beijing, most notably Waley our very generous hostess (in the bar if not the hostel), her friends and our fellow travellers. I came away from Beijing with a good impression of a city on the move, changing rapidly and on something of a high in the wake of the decision to award it the 2008 Olympics. Evidence of this was everywhere, even to the extent of overhearing station attendents on the underground practicing their English as all people with jobs in public service such as taxi drivers, are obliged to do.

We left the city glad to be on the move again and keen to reach warmer climes. This would take rather longer than we'd hoped and involve some real adventures on the way.

1st January 2002

Beijing to Wuhan: How not to show your appreciation of hospitality.

We left Beijing glad to be on the road again, as we usually are after a while in the city. It's not just the money thing (presently in Hong Kong we must be spending over 10 pounds a day, maybe more, compared with around one pound on the road (two meals plus snacks, accomodation free). It's also that we get itchy feet. We feel (I think I can speak for the others) like nomads, uncomfortable in the same spot for too long, eager to move. It's almost like running across water, slow down and you drown! Coming home will be interesting in that respect. I'll have to find another outlet for my energies!

South of Beijing, our newly expanded group (Stephane and Nick joined in Beijing) took the National Route 107, a fairly major trunk road, although as in Russia, you never know when a trunk road will transform into a country lane with passing places. The landscape was completely flat, although unlike Siberia every inch of it was cultivated. The only trees were those in and very close to villages. And it was to be some time before we saw the sun again, although there was no sign of rain or even cloud in any aqueous sense! We were in China's main eastern industrial belt and visiblity was probably less than a kilometre.

One of the most striking things about the landscape was the phenomen of earthmoving. The Chinese obviously like to move earth. It's one thing terracing a mountainside to make maximum use of space. But here there was a basically flat(tened) landscape, with the occasional regularly shaped column of earth protuding or similar regular hole. These holes did come in handy for camping in sometimes though.

As is bound to happen, we all go through periodic ups and downs, loving or hating the country we're in, having fun or being pissed off. What is interesting is the way this happens to us collectively. At times we take on a collective mood or consciousness. The group moves and feels together. South of Beijing this happened quite noticably. There was a general malaise about our physical and mental health for a while. We all became sick to some extent, ranging from a mild under the weather feeling to quite unpleasant heavy colds. The pollution wasn't helping and perhaps I was finally begining to become proficient at the national passtime of hawking. I don't know where it all came from! The road was basically busy, dirty and not desparately interesting. We felt like we were in Groundhog Day, not for the first time on our trip - get up, cycle on flat road, get dirty and endure the same dull conditions. At one point when the sun finally came out Scott remarked, "The sun's coming out, quick, put some more coal on the fire!"

We spent a lot of time taking advantage of the flat roads and relatively slow speeds of trucks, tuk-tuks and other vehicles by slip-streaming them. The basic principle is this. Hear a vehicle approaching from behind that sounds like it's about the right size and speed, match its speed as it comes alongside and then duck in behind it as it passes. With a large enough truck going at the right rate we were able to sustain 40kmph (25mph) for some time without too much effort. This may not sound too fast but on a 50kg touring bike you're doing particularly well. This was of course particularly welcome when we were facing a headwind that was otherwise holding us to under 10mph. It's fun racing along behind a truck but it's still hard work maintaining that kind of speed and it takes a lot of mental effort too, constantly matching the speed, holding your distance and being aware of the road conditions and ready for emergency manoevres!

A few days out of Beijing we had our first major cross cultural experience of this leg of the trip, although I'm not sure how good an ambassador for Blighty I made. We were sitting in a pleasant enough cafe, getting ready to settle the bill when the 18 year old girl serving us got chatting to Stephane and rapidly invited us to stay at her parents house.

This sounded like an interesting idea and since we were just about ready to call it a day we agreed to check it out. She had a bike too so she finished work early and led us a few hundred metres to a track that led to her village.

It was a village of narrow straw lined streets, livestock wandering about and with a sleepy feel. Cool I though - that genuine local experience. We got back to hers to find ourselves in a smallish courtyard surounded by a brick wall, with single storey buildings on two sides. One of these was clearly still in the process of being built or converted. There was more of the Chinese earthmoving going on. The buildings were a couple of feet above the level of the courtyard they bordered, the courtyard showing signs of having been lowered at some point. Unless they had piled up 2 feet of earth on which to build, with no surrounding ground to hold it up. Now however there was fresh earth being piled into the gaps, apparently the courtyard was being filled. There was work in porgress, whatever the final outcome would be. And in the corner was, a brick shithouse, of which more later.

At this point it should be noted that back in the cafe I had been unable to finish my food. Most unusual for me, I wasn't quite sure why.

Stephane and Mi-Ow were getting on famously and at one point he came up with a comment which he hasn't yet lived down. "Her parents are away, her sister's been sent to stay with friends, it's all been arranged." Not long afterwards we heard the familiar sound of a mini tractor idling outside the gate as daddy opened it to let himself in only to find our tents pitched in his parking space. You could almost hear the game show style "not this time" sound and the look on Stephane's face was priceless.

After moving onto the bare concrete of the house under conversion we were treated to grand hospitality by Mi-ow and her parents. We went to the local shop and bought beers and asked Mi-ow what her father liked. Rice Wine. We tried to buy this but somehow Mi-ow got in first, unfortunate since we were trying to buy a gift to show our appreciation. He got pissed either way though.

After a large meal had been forced down our throats, a few beers had been consumed and we'd been shown off to friends, neighbours and relatives, thinking I'd got my appetite back and was basically ok but tired I decided to take it easy and go to bed. I slept for a short while before being rudely awakened by a dangerously explosive feeling in my belly. Basically it felt like it had been pumped up with air and was going to explode! Seconds later, I became aware that I was going to have to run like hell to make it to the earth closet just outside my tent (closet is actually a misnomer - it had a wall on two sides, but more of that later). Grabbing my toilet paper, left in a convenient position and grappling with the tent's zip I emerged and made it to the toilet in time for the previously mentioned gasses to explode violently, taking a fair amount of liquid with them. Here we go I thought, I've finally got the shits.

So I went back to bed, fully expecting to be up again before too long, and needless to say I was. After my second trip I heard a rapid fumbling with a zip followed by the sound of someone in a hurry and then the most godawful explosion. I was not alone!

Sticking my head out when I heard footsteps returning to a tent I saw Scott and we exchanged pleasantries. We would be leapfrogging back and forth to the loo all night.

At around 10pm - it seemed much later but I'd been in bed for hours already - I awoke again - here we go again I thought. All went as normal until I steadied myself by resting my hand against the wall behind me as I squatted. The lightest of pressure was too much and my heart leapt into my throat as I felt the wall disintegrate behind me. There was an enormous crash. Everyone must have heard this I thought. I just stood and stared, completely unable to think what to do. Really there was nothing I could do except perhaps put the bricks into something of a neat pile. They had been held together by mortar that had degenerated into wet sand. I couldn't really feel too guilty. Just embarassed. I rearranged the bricks and again pondered my situation before going back to bed. I had no idea what to do in the morning, but for now that would wait!

When I did get up I found that a makeshift shield had been errected around the toilet to protect the dignity of those using it. I can only assume our hosts knew it was me - afterall, it was me that disappeared off to bed early. Nothing was said and we gathered our things and prepared to leave. Mi-ow was very upset that we couldn't stay an extra day, but all things considered, we thought it best we didn't impose any further. We thanked them and continued our journey.

A couple of nights later, as my gastric problems continued, we camped late in a field on a crop. The fact that abosolutely everywhere was cultivated made it very difficult at times. As it got dark we tried to avoid giving away any signs that we were there, such as making unnecesary noise or shining lights. I was in bed shortly, preparing myself for another night of interupted sleep, making sure I knew exactly where my toilet paper, torch and shoes were. At around three in the morning, on one of my regular trips outside, I saw three shooting stars in quick sucession. Unusual but I thought nothing of it. It was only the following morning that I discovered that I had missed the biggest meteorite shower in 100 years because the others had thought I was ill and wouldn't want to be disturbed. I wasn't getting much sleep any for Christ's sake, I might as well have been outside enjoying the show.

We were all sick to death of the road 107, being noisy and polluted as it was. We took an early opportunity to take an alternative road that was far quieter and passed through some wonderful villages. It was at this stage that we really began to get the star treatment. At every cafe, a crowd would gather, sometimes of 50 people or more. Whilst we sat and ate, they stood and stared. It was truly like feeding time at the zoo! Most of the time it's friendly enough but there are times when you just want to be invisible and left alone. This will be both one of the strange and nice things back at home - to be Joe Normal again! Patience is the only way to deal with it though. It is entirely understandable really - when the first westerners you have ever seen turn up in your village you're going to want to have a look, see if they really do look like Pamela Anderson of David Hasselhof. It's something akin to aliens landing in our hometowns!

It was not long before we discovered the joy of fireworks. We had stopped to by snacks but our eyes were quickly diverted by the large strips of firecrackers on sale. Rory was the first to buy, needing absolutely no encouragement whatsoever. A roll of firecrackers 40cm across and about 8 deep was my choice whilst Rory bought some slightly smaller firecrackers and several bangers the size of about 15-20 cm high and about 5 across. These were later to be used to blow up his decrepid cycling shoes that had lasted an impressive 10 years.

That night we camped in a ditch and full scale warfare ensued. Andy discovered that his catapult made a very good delivery system for his firecrackers, firing them at Rory and not even desisting when Rory sought shelter behind Andy's tent. There'll be tears before bedtime I thought. Next we discovered that Rory's seat tube made a very effective mortar when a lit firecracker was dropped down it and followed by a projectile. The most effective projectile we found was a stick glue container, fitting snugly into the tube. We managed to make this fire several metres over the roof of Nick's tent. Scott seemed a little concerned that his tent would be damaged and probably wasn't too amused when I informed him that the correct attitude was to damage yourself or your equipment, find it hilariously funny and then continue until something worse happened!

We reached Zhenzhou a few days later, which really resembled something out of Blade Runner - spotlights scanning the sky and a constant public address system basting out over the central square. It actually had some beautiful boulevards which we passed on the way in but we weren't staying anywhere near there. We arrived looking filthy and exhausted, sitting on the steps of the hotel whilst Andy and Nick negotiated a price. I thought I had recovered from the shits at this point but on the last night I ate at a dodgy cafe by the station and was off again.

Our quiet country road was in the process of being converted into a major highway, meaning that many stretches of it consisted of mud or gravel. This slowed progress considerably, and it was at the end of a tiring day that we pulled into a cafe in a small town called Mang Zhang Dian, to find something to eat.

We were quickly thronged by a million and one school children, not to mention all the other passing souls. Managing to order, eating was a little difficult due to the sheer weight of numbers. Before long the childrens' English teacher turned up and we were able to explain what we were doing and where we were from. He seemed very interested and eager to speak to native speakers.

He asked us if we would be so good as to speak to his school the next day. We were quite happy to do this if he would help us find a cheap binguan (guest house). Of course, he was more than happy, after we had paid up leading us through the streets and eventually reaching a guest house where we were ushered in. We had negotiated a price and were in the process of unloading our bikes when who should turn up but the people's police.

They talked to the English teacher and through him explained that they wanted to take us to a hotel where we would be more comfortable. Nearer the police station. For our own protection!!! We weren't quite sure what to make of this and tried to explain that we were perfectly happy with this hotel and felt quite safe. They explained again that it really was in our interests to come with them, and that we would be safer there. After some dialogue it became perfectly clear that there was not to be any negotiation, they wanted us where they could see us! The comment that finally persuaded us was when the English teacher said fairly bluntly "It WOULD be better that way". Ok. Anything for an easy life. The closest we got to negotiation as insisting that we would pay no more than we had agreed for the current hotel.

After a long walk through the town, pointedly avoiding the main roads where people might see us, we reached the other hotel which was similar to the first really. The major difference was that the police were there and ready to bed down for the night, "to make us feel safe". Of course we felt very safe once they had secured the place and made sure there was no way in (or out) for those who should not be wanting to enter (or leave).

Before long the police chief for the town turned up with many forms to fill in just in case we weren't entirely sure of our own identities and needed help with the documents. They were of course, all very friendly and not intimidating in the slightest, mainly it was amusing to see such a fuss being made over us. We felt sure that the officer who had masterminded the operation was angling after a promotion, and given the unusual nature of the case, was probably going to get one, just so long as he didn't mess up and allow us to escape into the Chinese countryside. After much fuss the police finally left us to our beers, two of them remaining downstairs for our protection. We prepared ourselves mentally for the task of being ambassadors for our countries at the local school the next day.

The English teachers turned up early and fed us at a local restaurant before taking us to the school for our first class. We were somewhat perturbed to discover that they wanted us to speak individually to classes of around 100 children. When we had done this kind of thing before it had been as a group and we had been able to play off each other. This was another matter entirely.

Taking my first class, I was asked to talk a little about my country and myself and then about the trip. Naturally I spoke of my home town and what a great place it was and also what I had been doing with my life. So, I explained that I had worked at the Houses of Parliament which is where the British people elect people to represent them from whom our Government is chosen. This done I spoke a little about our trip and what a good thing it was to travel, to meet people and see how other people live and how their countires and cultures work. Then came the questions.

What is your name was an early one. I thought I had got this out of the way at the begining by introducing myself and writing my name on the blackboard but apparently not. There were a few questions about the trip but the children seemed remarkably uninterested. They seemed far more interested in asking "What do you think of China joining the WTO" to which I replied that if it meant more contact with the outside world then that was a good thing, and "which do you think is better, Beijing or Taipei?" Never having been to Taiwan this was a difficult question for me. I said "is this a political question?" being somewhat surprised by the 8 year old's spontaneous interest in such an issue and then went on to explain that I had only been to one of the two cities and couldn't realy compare them. But if they really wanted a political answer I could give them one. Fortunately this wasn't required.

After speaking to another two classes, covering the entire school of around 1500 kids between us, we were taken downstairs for tea. I was amazed to see in the room we were taken to a row of mugshots of great communists we have known. Ok, the obligitory Mao is to be expected but I wasn't aware that Stalin was still revered as a great man here. The full line up included Marx, Engels, Lenin, Stalin, Mao, three other Chinese revolutionary leaders plus Deng Xioping.

Marx, Engels even Lenin I could understand. They still have their admirers in Russia and the west. But Uncle Joe? The Russians gave up on him nearly 40 years ago. And what seemed more strange was the fact that the Soviet Union and China were at each others throats for many years. But apparently it is still drummed into Chinese youth that Stalin was a great man. Something of the attitude became clearer later when I was speaking to someone else and said, yes but Stalin killed 10 million people, more than Hitler (actually there are documents coming out of the Soviet archives that suggest it was actually closer to 40m), he killed people for merely disagreeing with him. The reply came, "Like chairman Mao!" It seems murdering your opponents is acceptable here. This was the first time I think I had seen an official image of Stalin although there are plenty in Russia who believe that Russia too needs to be ruled with an iron hand. I said to one of the teachers that Russians (generally) accept that Stalin was a murderous tyrant but whether that meant anything to them I don't know. After this we were taken to the junior school for much the same routine before being bought lunch and recieving a police escort out of town. Just to make sure we really had gone!

It was another couple of days to Wuhan where we would take a well earned rest. Unfortunately the night before arriving it began to rain and this was not to truly abate until we were close to Hong Kong nearly three weeks later.

Along with the rain, Wuhan was to be the begining of the major mountains which though hard work made a welcome break from the somewhat boring and polluted lowlands. But more of that later.

8th February 2002

Liu Yang to Hong Kong - broken spokes prevail

From Liu Yang we had to move quickly to make up for the time we had lost, cycling further into the mountains. The peaks became higher and the river valleys deeper and one evening we found ourselves camped at an idyllic site beside a beautiful river where a bamboo raft just happened to be tied up. Seizing the opportunity Rory and Andy punted their way across the river to the steep slope of the other side. We slept to the sound of the gurgling of the river and in some of the most stunning scenery yet.

The following morning we were to follow the river upstream meaning a steady gentle climb. This continued for some time before quickly turning to a steep climb up the head of the valley. We reached a village nestled in the crook of the valley and ate lunch thinking that we were near the top of our climb. The road headed out of the village uphill but it could not go much further, there didn't seem to be anywhere to go.

We continued for a few kilometres, finding ourselves in the bottom of another steep sided valley. Continuing along this one, it was not long before the road became unpaved and headed up the thickly forested valley sides. The road seemed to go on indefinitely. Everytime we reached what seemed to be a natural end, the head of a valley or what appeared to be a gap leading to the long awaited downhill, we would turn the corner only to find yet another mountain of similar proportions to the last, challenging us to climb it. What was truly amazing was the degree of cultivation this high up the mountain. However steep the hill, the Chinese still manage to terrace it and make use of the land. One moment the road would be clinging to the side of the hill where the only way was down, the next you would turn a corner and find a village with terraced fields growing out of the hillside.

The views from this climb were truly stunning. We rose up through the cloud and were able to look down and watch as a misty white sheet of cloud worked its way into the minor valleys and crevices filling the space below before dispersing and reforming continuously.

The climb eventually turned out to be around 1000m, taking us to an altitude of 1600m, about the height of Ben Nevis. When we finally did reach the top it was 4pm and cooling rapidly. We had lost Stephane somewhere on the way so headed down the (thankfully paved) road in search of the first cafe where we could wait out of the continuous rain.

He had not turned up an hour later so we decided we had no option but to try to leave a message at the cafe and move on to the town below, hoping that he would try to contact us through email. In one of life's little coincidences, while we were booking into the hotel, I was thinking that we would meet up easily, just bump into each other and that he would cycle past at some point, if only someone happened to be looking at that moment. I looked over my shoulder and saw Stephane's trademark white helmet flash past on the road outside. Dropping everything (literally - my bags were only half off the bike), I jumped on the bike and cycled after him at high speed and with little regard for traffic regulations (blending in quite nicely there!). I caught him and we were reunited at the hotel in time for a beer. It turned out he had had three punctures on the way up. Bad luck comes in threes.

Eating in a cafe the next evening, we were approached by a young local man whose English name was Jason. He spoke excellent English and wished to talk with us, at first as we ate and then inviting us to stay at his parents home. He said that they were very hospitable and would love to have us. It was cold, raining and our clothes and tents were wet. Faced with the choice of a soggy field or Chinese hospitality it was not a hard decision. So long as his parents were happy, we agreed to stay.

That evening we were treated to a fantastic meal courtesy of Jason's mother, his father's homemade spirit (quite what sort I'm not sure but it did the job for him). Father's friends came round to visit and joined in the party, we sent one of our number out to add some beers into the mix and a great time was had by all. Such a great time was had that father had to be put to bed by his wife and son and the following day Rory was suffering from the combined effects of too much alcohol and the snails he had eaten the night before.

That morning Rory was to perform a fairly impressive task given his condition. Rory and I were cycling along, a little way behind the others, when Andy came to a dramatic stop, wobbling across the road. His derraileur had exploded into his wheel taking a spoke with it. It was completely unsalvageable, but fortunately for Andy, I was carrying a spare. We removed the remains of the old one and inspected the damage. The frame was not damaged but the dropout that holds the deraillieur and takes the bullet for the frame, was twisted quite badly. We managed to straighten it enough to fit the new derailleur and within the hour were away again.

The ride through southern China continued through stunning scenery as we tried to make it to Hong Kong for Christmas. The mountains were steep but lush and beautiful covered with bamboo, bananas and lush foliage. It was around this point that I began to have problems with my back wheel.

It started with one spoke. And then another. These were easily replaceable but seemed to make little difference - they just kept breaking one after the other becoming almost comical after a while. Replacing a spoke on the left hand side of the wheel, away from the chain is easy - the old one unscrews and you feed the new one through. On the other side however the gearing is in the way and all this has to be removed in order to get at the hub and feed the spoke through. So when one broke on that side we had the job of trying to remove the gear cassette from my wheel. This was not an easy task since when my bike had been repaired previously it seems the mechanic had screwed it as hard as he possibly could, leaving me screwed at this point! To remove the gear you have to secure the gear cog (usually with a length of chain) and then turn the screw inside it to remove the cassette. This involved Scott wrapping a length of chain around the cassette and bracing him and the wheel against a tree whilst Rory put the spanner deep into the wheel and hit it as hard as he could. This resulted in us going flying rather than the screw turning. It proved impossible to remove and thus impossible to change the spoke.

We stayed in Renhua, a small town with a frontage on a river that seemed to me to have an almost European sub Alpine river resort feel to it. The hotel was large and spacious with good sized rooms and facilities. On the staircase was a peculiar art form that we had come across on a couple occasions - that of gay horses frolicking freely across a plain. Really rather comical. Scott, Nick and I spent the evening in our room watching a film in Chinese called The Emperor and the Assassin. Our understanding was aided by the fact that like much Chinese TV, it can be appreciated on a purely visual level (lots of fighting and thunderbolts) and also that Scott had seen it with subtitles in the US. Based on a true story of a paranoid, tyrannical emperor it was quite enlightening really.

The following day I had four missing spokes by noon and no way of replacing them without removing the cassette. So I hopped on a passing tuk-tuk and rode the next seven kilometres to a village where I found a mechanic's shop where they had a vice. It was time for some brute force.

When Rory and Andy caught up we put the wheel in the vice, clamping the gear cogs and then forced the screw undone with a larger spanner. Once done, replacing the spokes was easy and we were soon on our way again, albeit about an hour behind the others who had cycled on. Rory, Andy and I continued at our own pace for the rest of the day and camped on a track leading into the undergrowth within a very short distance of a gently burbling river. The sky was overcast (what's new in China) and it looked like rain. The only place left was in the centre of the track, along the fall line of running water. Ignoring "sensible" advice to look further up the path for somewhere off to the side I camped in the middle of the path and woke up in a large puddle of water!

We set off, riding the first 30 km out of the mountains before breakfast. At one point I was separated from Rory and Andy and apparently they saw a dead body, probably of a vagrant, beside the road seemingly left unattended for someone to recognise as a family member and pick up.

When we stopped at a café the other three who we'd parted from the day before were just leaving so we synchronised watches and arranged to cycle until a certain time and then look for camping, leaving signs for each other. As Rory, Andy and I left the café 45 minutes later we approached a hill and about halfway up, a truck was passing me at just about the right speed so I grabbed hold of it and got a tow. At the top I slipstreamed behind it and rode for several kilometres at about 40kmph before it had the temerity to go a different route, but by that stage I was on a roll and kept pushing, cycling at between 25 and 30kmph unaided. I managed to slipstream a couple of other vehicles but basically cycled for two hours at around 30kmph hitting 50 miles and making up the 45 minutes the other three had on us, by noon. The four of us stopped for lunch and as we were leaving some time later, Rory and Andy arrived somewhat bemused at my having taken off at high speed. I was just in that kind of mood where you feel like pushing it for no particularly good reason. On leaving I decided to check my wheel for broken spokes and was not surprised to find another. This really was it. I was out of spares and could only assume that they would continue to break.

With some regret I decided I would have to catch a bus down to Hong Kong to try to get it fixed so I cycled into Fougang, the nearest town to make arrangements. It felt good to be alone again, just following my nose. I was out of money so decided to find a bank. Cash machines were out of the question so it was a matter of changing my last dollars into Yen. I found the Bank of China and was loitering in the lobby when I was approached by an earnest young man who worked there, wanting to talk to me to practice his English. First things first, I got him to help me change my money and then was happy to sit and chat. He told me about the town and himself and asked what I was up to so I explained my situation, that I needed to find out information about buses to Shenzhen (on the border of Hong Kong) and also needed to find various other facilities. As he walked me out onto the street I thought he was going to point me down the road in the right direction but he walked me halfway across town to an internet café, tried to pay for me and then said to come back to the bank at 5pm when he would find out about bus times for me.

When I did this he had information prepared and wanted to talk to me over food. His initial suggestion was to go to the bank kitchen where staff could cook their own food. There was a rather unattractive selection of food left out on the table from earlier in the day and general odds and ends, he didn't seem to know quite what to do so I suggested eating out, i.e. a noodle stall, on me. We did this and a friend of his joined me but before I could pay the bill he'd thrust some Yen into the hands of the woman who served us. The next morning he showed me to the bus station helped explain the bike and even tried to pay my bus fare! Obviously I couldn't allow this but I had a hard job making him take the money. The generosity of people you meet on the road is absolutely incredible. The people you meet have so little, but they have so much to give!

As I took the bus down to Shenzhen crossing the Tropic of Cancer on the way, the sun came out and the landscape appeared somehow warmer. Shenzhen is China's answer to Hong Kong, a capitalist special economic zone bordering Hong Kong. Chinese citizens need a special permit to cross the border into Shenzhen and westerners must show their passports. It felt rather bizarre sitting on a bus, entering a region of China watching ordinary Chinese people being escorted off the bus for not having permits.

Once within the border there was a very showy civic feel to the place. Well watered lawns and blooming flowerbed signs bounded brand new dual carriageways leading straight to the city centre. This was Chairman Dung's dream of a dynamic wholly Chinese city built from scratch within twenty years. Reaching the central train station I was met by Ida, a friend met in Beijing who would put me up whilst awaiting the others and trying to fix my wheel.

Shenzhen was an interesting place, though no great tourist attraction. It was something of a sprawling metropolis of Asian capitalism, as far as I could see, having no real centre as such. It was even more of a building site than the rest of China, full of skyscrapers and as I visited holes being dug on every street to accommodate the new Shenzhen metro. All material needs are provided for in Shenzhen and it seems it is common to order take away food on a daily basis - Ida and her flat mates didn't even possess a kitchen to speak of, just a sink and a fridge!

Two days before Christmas I swam in the South China Sea, being accused of being crazy by Ida for swimming in the sea on a day that was roughly equivalent to a hot day in May in England. This was mid winter and people wrap up in winter, seemingly irrespective of how warm it actually is - it's all relative to where you're from.

I had some interesting conversations with Ida and her family and friends in Shenzhen, providing some insight into the Chinese character. When I saw a large icon of Dung Xiouping I asked if he was a great man, a strong leader and they said yes. So I asked if he was a great man in 1989 when he ordered the massacre of students in Tiannanmen Square. They knew of the event and that some people had been killed but could not believe that the figure ran into hundreds. If that were so, surely there would be thousands of family members speaking out. Fear is a great silencer, especially when others have already been disappeared. More disturbing was the acceptance of this action to keep law and order. "China is a large country with divergent tensions. It needs to ruled with an iron hand". If these people had to be killed to hold the regime's grip on power, so be it! Bread on the table comes before human rights, understandable in many ways but it was the complete acceptance that bothered me.

I explained that I had seen the pantheon of Communist leaders and theorists displayed in schools in a row on the wall - Marx, Engels, Lenin, Stalin, a Chinese revolutionary, Mao and two of his premiers and Dung Xiouping. Leaving Mao out of it for discretion's sake, despite the fact that he was probably as much of a tyrant I asked about Stalin. I was particularly surprised at Stalin being present in schools. Firstly because China and the Soviet Union fell out around the time of the end of his leadership. Secondly, because the global consensus seems to be pretty much that he was a paranoid, murderous tyrant who killed between 10 and 40 million of his own people and was little (if at all) better than Hitler. They were taught that he was a great man I was told. "But he killed all these people, you could die for simply disagreeing with him, he killed his political opponents" I said. "Just like" [the great] "Chairman Mao" I was told. I was pretty much gobsmacked. Kill millions of people, crush all opposition and get your country into an unsustainable arms race that will eventually bankrupt it and lead to it's demise, and you too can be on the wall of a Chinese primary school. The strength of feeling of a Hong Kong Chinese guy living in Shenzhen also surprised me - I thought that Tianannmen Square scared the shit out of Hong Kong and led to a rush on British Passports. He was very pro Beijing and told me that Hong Kongers had been surveyed and preferred the Beijing government to their own. I was later to find out that the elected government Hong Kong was going through a rough patch and had low ratings. This is what happens in democracies and when this coincides with an election you get a new government.

There is a lot of learning to be done for westerners of the Chinese mindset.

I crossed into Hong Kong on Christmas Eve, not considering the hundreds of Hong Kongers returning for Christmas. I queued for well over an hour to get through customs before boarding the shiny new train that leaves every five minutes for Kowloon.