I have already provided evidence that Yangshuo is beautiful through my testimonies and my photography. And I have alluded to the quietness of the countryside, the slowed pace of practicing tai ji five-hours-a-day, and the pensive silence of staying in a village outside the city limits. Obviously, I am thoroughly enjoying my time in Guangxi's gem.
But, I am a cynical traveler (as referenced in my last post and my general tone throughout my posts). So here are a few opinions, observations, and reflections that could either be read as informed criticism of Yangshuo or as a whiny lack of appreciation.
Firstly, Yangshuo is not the cheapest destination in China. Whereas I could live on a budget of twenty renminbi per day in Shenzhen, I cannot lower my budget below fifty renminbi per day in Yangshuo. (These numbers exclude the price of accommodation since I did not have to pay for that in Shenzhen.) And the city has not even begun its peak tourist season yet!
The price of this city (and its beauties) make it virtually inaccessible to the majority of the Chinese people--who, on average, make less than 2500 renminbi per month. Because Yangshuo is a tourist draw for the middle and upper classes, the town's businesses and overall attitude target these demographics (along with foreign visitors who are financially equivalent to upper-middle or upper class in China) with aplomb.
Although my tai ji school is set a few kilometers northwest of Yangshuo proper, my school has not escaped the pitfalls of being in the vicinity of the tourist industry. Every morning, I practice tai ji on the wood planks of a stone garden on the rooftop of the school. I take in the scenery, control my breathing, and center myself for the day. Usually, the afternoon is too sunny and hot or too rainy to practice on the roof; we move to the ground floor, which is a shared space with the hotel in which all students stay during our training.
Practicing tai ji is not easy while a front desk man is playing computer games, shouting on his phone (normal for Chinese telephone conversations), or assisting the rare guest. The hotel also has rooms which charge eighty reniminbi by the hour; practicing tai ji is that much harder when "Johns" are walking by with prostitutes once an hour. And lastly, the front desk man partakes in shady dealings with the men who stay in the room on the ground floor: Many black plastic bags come in and money changes hands. I doubt their lunch is being delivered considering our geographic location.
And before addressing my last criticism and/or complain for this post (though far from genuinely last, assuredly), I feel it worthwhile to mention that I have acclimated my eating habits to Chinese table manners. When eating noodles or soup in China, one can expect to hear a lot of slurping. Additionally, Chinese meals are usually communal: there are several dishes in the center of the table (on Lazy Susans), and everyone uses his or her chopsticks to take as he or she likes.
However, no amount of exposure could prepare me for the appetite-spoiling meals at my school. The food is good: vegetable heavy and light on oil, which is rare in China. But, the front desk man from above often eats with the masters and the students. His personal hygiene aside (though I think it should be included for the purpose of truly emphasizing how unappetizing of an experience eating with this man is), he is the loudest and most offensive eater I have ever witnessed. I think he has an over-active salivary gland or something to that effect. His slurps and lip smacks are so loud, I gave-up trying to ensure I could sit on the opposite end of the table from him: The distance does not matter. Now, I try my hardest to eat as quickly as possible and be wrapping-up my meal by the time he joins us.
Beyond that, the generous grandmother from the noodle shop across the street cooks us a fantastic chili sauce. There is always a serving spoon in the sauce bowl. Everyone except for one British guy who has been here for two months spoons out a portion of chili sauce into their own rice bowl; the British guy always dips his food in the communal sauce bowl. He often says, "Y'know, the Chinese just give it a li'l...dunk...y'know?!?" And he dips the carrots and tofu held by his chopsticks that have been in his mouth several times during the meal. He cares not that he leaves behind a few veggies to drown in the sauce. Essentially, he single-handedly highlights how each dish in the middle of the table is a festering petri dish of strangers' germs. Thanks guy. (Also, he pokes around in dishes to find the juiciest or biggest pieces of pumpkin or meat--a big "no-no" in Chinese table manners). Now, I try my hardest to scoop a serving of chili sauce before the Brit-poorly-posing-as-a-Chinese-guy can get to it.
Otherwise, Yangshuo has the potential to be serene. But everything has its cost.
Tomorrow will be my last day of training, after which I will spend a few days rock climbing and exploring tea plantations en route to Guilin and the rice paddies of Longsheng.
Music, Movies, Books, T.V.: "Gypsy Eyes" by Jimi Hendrix, "ep" by Junior Boys, "Daisy" by Fang Island, "Eleven" and "Rubies and Rocks" by Thao and Mirah, Nostalgia, Ultra by Frank Ocean, A Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce, Thunder from the East by Nicholas Kristof and Cheryl Wudunn, The Wire (season 2).
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| Serendipitously lotus blossom season |
Firstly, Yangshuo is not the cheapest destination in China. Whereas I could live on a budget of twenty renminbi per day in Shenzhen, I cannot lower my budget below fifty renminbi per day in Yangshuo. (These numbers exclude the price of accommodation since I did not have to pay for that in Shenzhen.) And the city has not even begun its peak tourist season yet!
 |
| Main village thoroughfare |
Although my tai ji school is set a few kilometers northwest of Yangshuo proper, my school has not escaped the pitfalls of being in the vicinity of the tourist industry. Every morning, I practice tai ji on the wood planks of a stone garden on the rooftop of the school. I take in the scenery, control my breathing, and center myself for the day. Usually, the afternoon is too sunny and hot or too rainy to practice on the roof; we move to the ground floor, which is a shared space with the hotel in which all students stay during our training.
Practicing tai ji is not easy while a front desk man is playing computer games, shouting on his phone (normal for Chinese telephone conversations), or assisting the rare guest. The hotel also has rooms which charge eighty reniminbi by the hour; practicing tai ji is that much harder when "Johns" are walking by with prostitutes once an hour. And lastly, the front desk man partakes in shady dealings with the men who stay in the room on the ground floor: Many black plastic bags come in and money changes hands. I doubt their lunch is being delivered considering our geographic location.
And before addressing my last criticism and/or complain for this post (though far from genuinely last, assuredly), I feel it worthwhile to mention that I have acclimated my eating habits to Chinese table manners. When eating noodles or soup in China, one can expect to hear a lot of slurping. Additionally, Chinese meals are usually communal: there are several dishes in the center of the table (on Lazy Susans), and everyone uses his or her chopsticks to take as he or she likes.
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| Village corner |
Beyond that, the generous grandmother from the noodle shop across the street cooks us a fantastic chili sauce. There is always a serving spoon in the sauce bowl. Everyone except for one British guy who has been here for two months spoons out a portion of chili sauce into their own rice bowl; the British guy always dips his food in the communal sauce bowl. He often says, "Y'know, the Chinese just give it a li'l...dunk...y'know?!?" And he dips the carrots and tofu held by his chopsticks that have been in his mouth several times during the meal. He cares not that he leaves behind a few veggies to drown in the sauce. Essentially, he single-handedly highlights how each dish in the middle of the table is a festering petri dish of strangers' germs. Thanks guy. (Also, he pokes around in dishes to find the juiciest or biggest pieces of pumpkin or meat--a big "no-no" in Chinese table manners). Now, I try my hardest to scoop a serving of chili sauce before the Brit-poorly-posing-as-a-Chinese-guy can get to it.
Otherwise, Yangshuo has the potential to be serene. But everything has its cost.
 |
| Outside the village's cooking school |
Tomorrow will be my last day of training, after which I will spend a few days rock climbing and exploring tea plantations en route to Guilin and the rice paddies of Longsheng.
Music, Movies, Books, T.V.: "Gypsy Eyes" by Jimi Hendrix, "ep" by Junior Boys, "Daisy" by Fang Island, "Eleven" and "Rubies and Rocks" by Thao and Mirah, Nostalgia, Ultra by Frank Ocean, A Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce, Thunder from the East by Nicholas Kristof and Cheryl Wudunn, The Wire (season 2).
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