China existed in my imagination long before I arrived, painted by my father’s stories and my own curiosity about a culture so rich and complex. From the bustling streets of Beijing to the mystical landscapes of Sichuan, traveling through China felt like stepping into a living history book. These are my attempts to capture a country that defies simple description.
Beijing existed in my mind as an abstract painting, fragments taken from my late father’s many tales of arriving in this mysterious land. Visions of tranquil ancient penzai gardens danced with the buzz of a post-modern metropolis. The city was all these things at once and still somehow more; a breathing, gyrating, living contrast to itself.
The tales from my father I had collected over time, gorging myself on them over and over until China had become a world almost entirely constructed in my imagination. When he died, I grasped those memories even tighter, desperate to seek out these corners of the world that he treasured so.
Home to some of China’s most famous landmarks: the forbidden city, the Great Wall and endless blossom gardens, temples and tea houses. A gentle gateway into the cultures of the far East. Yet Beijing was, as I found all of China, nothing as I had expected.
My entrance was uneventful, I braced for public transport chaos, yet the trip through the metro system and into the hive of Beijing was remarkably simple. The city itself was not the throbbing hum of relentless crowds and mind-boggling skyscrapers, and many of the inner city suburbs provided a tranquil space to stroll, uninterrupted, along the magnificent walls, structures and ancient housing of the gentle tree lined streets.
I stayed for a week, living close to all the things one might want. To my great pleasure we discovered a superb restaurant serving up cold noodles from the Shanxi region of Northern China. Chilled noodles tossed in sesame oil with spiralised cucumber, peanuts and chilli. A dish that would linger favourably in my memory for many months to come.
Quite the opposite of the cold jellied pig foot that has become the epitome of things I dislike of the Chinese cuisine, an anecdote not dissimilar to the stories my father would share with us as children, of bizarre foods lost in translation from his business trips into China – a fond memory full of love and belly laughs.
I explored the ornate, leafy slopes of the imperial Jingshan Park, with its twenty three manicured hectares of peach blossoms and gardens of budding peonies. A tranquil getaway overlooking the chaotic beating heart of the forbidden city below. I took a stroll through the infamous Tiananmen square, whisked away into a feeling of communist times past – a jaw dropping expanse of grey. Stony faced military guarded and the Chinese flag was high and we were overlooked by the most well known of Chinese leaders, including the notorious Chairman Mao.
Wriggling scorpions and starfish lay immortalised on skewers, impaled and displayed and perhaps eventually eaten. Or more likely disposed of, as despite throngs of selfie-wielding tourists flocking to capture the bizarre delicacies, there were very few actually eating them.
I speculated on the validity of these delicacies, and questioned whether perhaps this has all come about for the shock-factor of tourists, as I had not seen the more local parts of China feasting on such things.
Much like Cambodia, the country has come about times of extreme poverty & famine. In these challenging time the people were driven to eat whatever protein sources they could find, insects proved a life-sustaining meal. Necessity, not delicacy.
Beijing is famous for having a world class aquarium, an impressive building housed on the fringes of the sprawling Beijing Zoo. For two large attractions that are one-in-the-same land, they do not bear a striking resemblance. The Zoo was on a beautiful and large piece of land with blossoming trees and a massive variety of exotic animals. However, the care of the animals ranged from the desolate and heartbreaking through to the well cared for and clean. I’ve never had such mixed feelings on such a place. Charging merely a few coins to get in, I ponder why they wouldn’t raise admission and put more time and money into the upkeep.
The Aquarium, however, costs many many times more and it shows. Gorgeous, clean and modern with incredibly exhibits and well cared for fish. An unusual contrast, providing a reflection of China as a whole.
The visit was capped off with samplings of Peking Duck, the most magical set under a sea of ferry lights on a warm spring night, seated next to the glass windows peering through to the preparation room.
My fifteen year old self at the time was incapable of imagining the delight of this dish, the importance of when and how it is served, nor the imagination to comprehend how a pancake may be involved in all of this. Yet my father persisted – planting ideas and memories I would come to treasure for many years to come.
Leaving Chengdu bound for Xi’an provided a yellow fringed landscape until dusk, and a third-tier top bunk to rest the night and reflect. As much as I love traveling by rail, more and more so these nights turned to battles with insomnia and emotions as I strained harder to try and find my father in the long nights framed by the clackclacking of the rails.
Amidst the darkness of the carriage and the otherworldliness of Asia I would lie awake in my bunk, listening to the same songs on repeat and reliving memories. The purpose of this trip was to visit his places, to grieve the loss and experience the hole that was left. So many overnight train-trips provided a perfect opportunity for such a thing, but I can’t say these were easy times – only that they were necessary for my healing.
As the eggyolk sun crawled up above the fields, we crept slowly into early morning Xi’an as people were just starting their days. Disembarking from our carriage out into the heart of one of China’s oldest cities, the beginning of the Silk Road, and home to the Terracotta Warriors, I realised Xi’an was already everything I’d hoped to find, and I believe one of the best places to visit in China
It was during this early morning pilgramage across the old city of Xi’an that I stumbled upon the tiniest baozi house I had ever seen. It sat around four people, and a flour-covered couple were working away at pillowy mounds of snow-white lotus leaf dough to turn into baozi – steamed buns filled with a deliciously oily pork filling and served up alongside a broth starter and a dipping sauce.
These baozi are breakfast buns, and this tiny hole in the wall was already popular with takeaway breakfast orders at five in the morning as we sat there and took in the new environment, the rose wallpaper, the endless kneading of the old couple and the delicious smells emanating from every corner.
I was enamoured, I could return here to eat every day for the rest of my life. These buns make up one of my all-time favourite food experiences since on the road, and I can’t express highly enough how good such a simple looking bun might taste.
The best Bao in China
Handmade bao each morning
When I was younger and my father would return from trips to China, Xi’an is the kind of place I would imagine as I would rifle through my imagination to try and place something as different and exotic as I could possibly envisage. As far as I am aware, he never made it to Xi’an himself, but I have no doubt it would have charmed him in all the same ways it did me.
Every turn provided glimpses of dancing, martial arts, and beautifully manicured trees and gardens to walk through. The city is flanked by a four-sided old city wall, and maintains a very traditional feel of an old-world China. Tea houses and calligraphy stores line ornate alleyways and bustling night markets serve up excellent streetfood until late in the night.
Barley Market Street comes to life at night
I was in love again, with yet another facet of Asia I hadn’t before experienced, and much like leaving Ao Nang in Thailand, it was difficult to choose to move onwards.
This is a city steeped in incredible culture and national importance, and visiting was such a pleasure. After a far too short time spent in magnificant Xi’an, it was time to hit the rails again and make way toward Beijing.
As ancient Chinese legend would have it, here in the Sichuan region of Southwest China there was a fierce dragon lurking in the Minjian River, a 735-kilometer-long tributary of the famed Yangtze River that we were visiting from nearby Chengdu.
After a complicated journey involving a luxuriously sterile bullet train ride, followed by a slightly bewildering bus trip, we finally arrived – well, that is to say, we were either at Mount Qingcheng or the Dujiangyan irrigation system. Both historical sites are in a similar area surrounding the Minjian river, and our local bus gave little indication as to which stop I had arrived at.
We were later to discover that it was the Dujiangyan irrigation system that we had reached.
Dujiniang waterway
The expansive waterway of Minjian bisects the modern from the ancient – on one side, the city of Dujiangyan. On the other, the Guanxian ancient city. Laid down as far as the eye can see is a visual feast of flowers, trees, and monasteries. Pagodas teetered on the cliff faces and each turn reveals a manicured Chinese garden, robed monks lighting joss sticks with craned legs practicing tai chi.
One of the great technological achievements of ancient China, Dujiangyan has prevented yearly flooding and served for almost two and a half thousand years of irrigation. Implemented first in 200 B.C, the irrigation system still provides a major source of water for many fields and farmers in China.
This impending mythical crisis was unfurling at the time Governor Li Bing began construction on the Dujiang Weir. The man and the dragon were at odds, fighting over the river construction. The governor was displeased. Not to be outdone by the bellowing, ferocious dragon, he arranged for an opulent feast – an excuse to meet and negotiate with the fearsome beast.
Sketch map of Guanxian Ancient City
Yet, the dragon, as dragons have a tendency to, did not arrive on time – sending him into a furious rage. He became so angry that he transformed into a rhinoceros and plunged into the river to battle. They fought tirelessly in the foaming waters, neither losing ground. Eventually, Li Bing returned to the platform and tied a ribbon around his waist before returning to his opponent. He instructed his soldiers to shoot arrows only at the dragon, telling them he would be identified by his ribbon.
They succeeded in the end, shooting and killing the dragon in the river Minjian, giving a name to the Fulong Temple, meaning subdued dragon in Chinese. And here we stood, on the Douxi Platform overlooking the magnificent Dujiangyan irrigation systems and down the hill slopes, decorated with ornate pagodas and cherry blossom trees right to the Minjian’s edge. It was hard to imagine being anywhere other than an ancient land steeped in a rich mythological heritage.
Wind chimes tinkered in the distance and the courtyards and hillside walkways ambled through ancient temples and the perfect setting for an ancient kung fu story. Visiting Dujiangyan waterways is less a tourist escape and more a practice in time travel.
Pagodas and potted trees
Bonsai at Dujiangyan
Wandering the Dujiangyan hillsides
Archways in Dujiangyan
These areas are home to the Panda Village in Pixar’s Kung Fu Panda 3, and if you travel across to the nearby Mount Qingcheng you can visit the precise temple it was modeled upon.
After many hours meandering and exploring, taking in the breathless beauty of a truly ancient place, we found ourselves back at ground level in the Guanxian ancient city on the banks of Minjian. Built around a 340m long street which begins at the Songmao Ancient Path, this town has been an important regional jade market for more than 3,000 years. The ancient Shu people unearthed Xiu Jade from the Minjian river to be turned into sacrifices for their gods. Guanxian Jade is popular across the world, and during the ancient cities more prosperous period, it was home to dozens of different jade shops. Now it has been done up to capitalize mostly from tourism, however, they’ve done so in a way that still maintains the traditional feel and authenticity of the area.
Forested Pathways at Dujiniang
Bonsai overlooking Minjian
Misty tunnels
After a thoroughly enjoyable day spent negotiating local Sichuan buses, exploring vast hillsides of ancient history and devouring candied fruits in the town below, we made our way back to Chengdu to spend our final days exploring the Sichuan capital.
We eventually left Chengdu by an overnight train bound for Xi’an around noon, arriving at the central train station early with time to spare. The station entrance is located in a large square populated by touts & hawkers, bordered by convenience stores and low-grade restaurants. We choose a restaurant at random, but the C food grade rating complete with red, sad face should’ve been enough of a warning to try elsewhere. The owner took only one order from both of us, then returned with two of that, leaving me no chance to order. I sent my dish back, and once again was not able to order. The food quality was bad and in the end, we paid our bill and left. I didn’t want to try my luck twice so immediately headed to one of the many convenience stores to pick up snacks – prunes, ramen, and snickers to eat along the way.
The curious thing about train stations in China is the sheer length and number of queues you must stand in. The first, on this occasions, was the longest and we waited to enter the x-ray + pat down area. Once inside, we were to find which waiting area our train left from – an area full of seats, although none free and bordered by restaurants, McDonald’s, and yet more convenience stores. Soon it was time to board, and we were to stand in another long, snaking queue along with the rest of the passengers for our 19-carriage long train.
Train from Chengdu
Tiny notices about the place
We were hard sleeper class, the cheapest sleeper carriage with 3-high bunks in 6-bed open berths. Much more comfortable than the Indian equivalent, and not sold full of people either. We were on the bottom berth, with excellent large windows and a small table between us. The countryside was beautiful – many yellow flowers, hills, valleys and mountains, some cherry & peach blossoms passed our views. We got to see many small towns with great scenery and questionable Chinese architecture, tons of factories, massive overpasses, log mills and many abandoned buildings. It was a very relaxing journey and we enjoyed wonderful views and a comfortable ride on to our next destination of Xi’an.
The drive into Chengdu was like a movie set in modern-day Tokyo. Everything in a foreign script, flashing lights, neon signs and the bus driver riding the horn the whole way. By sheer luck, we disembarked in the centre of the city. The rest of the evening passed walking in the cool air through the downtown Chengdu, admiring the amazing buildings and Chinese feel of it all. Very clean, very relaxed. Nothing like I’d expected. Once we had completed the expert challenge that involved finding our hotel, we unpacked our things and set out for a late-night dinner.
The Sichuan cuisine of Chengdu fascinates me, and as a lover of particularly spicy food, I was hoping to find myself in food heaven. We settled on a small restaurant with an illegible menu (as they would all be). A friendly group welcomed us in, but a hostile owner was not too happy about our arrival, yet served us up a plate of pork and green peppers, none the less.
After some rest and recalibration, we set out to explore Chengdu. I was finally in my fathers China. A surreal and unusual realisation of bittersweet joy and curiosity. A sub-provincial city in the Western region of Sichuan, Chengdu is known for two things: fiery red cuisine and pandas. A city far removed from its busier siblings, I was to find none of the over-crowded mania most visitors warned of.
Chengdu – flashy, modern & clean
It came as no real suprise to find ourselves in a city where nobody spoke a word of English. Where flocks of businessmen skimmed past on yellow rental bicycles, briefcases in the baskets, dinging their bells as they passed. Chengdu was a bright and happy city, a rare find. 14 million inhabit this sprawling metropolis.
A city full of matching condo buildings, train stations and bustling malls. It was a unique opportunity to explore a country in such an authentic way. Somewhere unblemished by the Western tourism that plagues and transforms the more popular cities. The touting is very minimal, as we passed people in the streets they took pleasure in saying ‘Hello’ with beaming smiles, practising the very little English they knew.
Yet, dear readers – to understand and experience the city of Chengdu one mustn’t take it at face value. On wandering the streets you might notice a distinct lack of street food and hole-in-the-wall eateries. You know, the kind that spring to mind when uttering the word China. Don’t get me wrong – it exists, but not in the swarms I was hoping for. This is partly due to a recent ‘clean up the straights’ bylaw that was targeted towards getting the vendors off the roads. It is also because you’re looking at entirely the wrong level… For this exploration, we had to head underground.
Streets of downtown Chengdu
The mysteries of the Chengdu tunnels
In my travels, I have yet to experience anything quite as post-apocalyptic sci-fi as the unusual tunnel land that was to greet us in Chengdu. The tunnels of Chengdu are not like anything I was prepared for. Not mentioned in the guidebooks I read, nor something I have encountered much elsewhere in my travels. I never quite came to understand why – perhaps the summers are too hot, the winters too oppressive? Maybe people prefer a life spent underground? For whatever reason, almost all the interesting discoveries we made were at least a few meters under the earth.
The first land of tunnels we stumbled upon looked like the entrance to a metro station opening. Yet, there were many of them spaced 150m apart down the entire length of the street. An unusual expanse of derelict underground lands unfolded in front of us. For long stretches, the storefronts were uninhabited and abandoned. The ones still holding on? Lonely islands stocking underwear or iPhone cases, the owners glued to their soap operas like captains of a sinking ship. It only took one descent into this absurd wonderland to know that we would be back again.
Entrance to the underground worlds in Chengdu are dotted all over the place.
Tianzuo Shangcheng Entrance
Another Diyi Dado Tunnel Entrance
So many tunnels, but why?
That night I toiled away on Baidu. China’s answer to Google in a land where most websites are censored, to see what I could discover of this underground discovery. As it turns out, Chengdu has had an elaborate system of underground passages long before even the metro was constructed.
They were known as the Tianzuo Shangcheng, and date back for over 40 years. Back then it was home to many shops before business tapered off and the entire complex was closed. This was while the first Metro line construction began.
In 2010, the land of tunnels was to be given a revamp. A hefty sum to the tune of 289 million yuan was paid for development rights, and this large 40,000 square meter network of tunnels was to be given a facelift. The final shopping centre was to total 90,000 square meters and become known as the Diyi Dado (????). Part of a grander scheme of underground shopping districts across the country.
The mysterious tunnel lands lie multiple layers deep, connected by escalators.
A series of abandoned projects
As with many, if not most, things I have discovered in China; new projects start with a fanfare – a huge pile of money and a lot of promise. Most dwindle away into incomplete renovation projects, lost amidst the capitalist maze of Chinese construction. The promises were grandeur – connections between many downtown buildings, rainbow passageways leading to 24-hour shopping centres. The area around Tianfu square appears to be a spectacular success, resembling more of a modern-day Tokyo than much else.
Housing modern shops, expanses of arcades and restaurants with as many as 10,000 merchants vying for a storefront space on opening day. Today it is home to many of the unusual nuances across China. The aptly named ‘A La Fried Dumplings’ which, does not sell fried dumplings at all. The fast food ‘Happy cat’ haunts me – it’s probably not cat meat, but why the happy dancing kittens in the video?
A deserted, underground wonderland
It is in the tunnel lands further afield, a short stroll away from the Tianfu hype, that things get interesting. Large stretches of an abandoned mall with large chunks deserted. The majority of remaining stores house hair salons and underwear stores. There are a couple of small restaurants, tattoo parlours and plenty of iPhone covers to be coveted.
Down the far end, completely abandoned. There is an area with the walls painted to be Parisian, welcome to Paris, it informs. Another stretch painted with tulips & windmills claims itself Dutch. Eventually, we arrive to the sea life-themed tunnel. A deep underpass decorated with fish and undulating blue neon lights, the paint peeling, and eerie music coming from a worn speaker in the corner.
Inside semi-abandoned Chengdu Tunnels
Traditions and Cuisines of the Sichuan Region
Up above the tunnel land, spring is taking hold and rural China is alight with bright yellow flowers. In the city, there are many displays of plastic yellow flowers and fake peach blossom trees, the most popular selfie haunt in town. We enjoy a rare moment of clear skies and sunshine to see what culinary delights might await. Chengdu is famous for being spicy, thanks to world-renowned Sichuan peppers. They add a noticeable citrus flavour & numbing mouthfeel that is omnipresent across the region.
Karaoke booths were always popular
Delicious Sichuan Cuisine
Due to a series of misunderstandings, bad translations and planning errors we never managed to sample the famous Sichuan Hot Pot. In the centre of the table lies a bubbling caldera of spicy hot broth to dip your chosen skewers, poaching them in lava until done. The skewers range from simple vegetables to more complex items such as intestines pulled from a live duck, or a pig’s stomach lining.
Chengdu, A city famed for Pandas
But there’s no disputing Chengdu’s true claim to fame, one you will see reflected in every second shop window. The region of Sichuan is the native home to China’s most beloved mascot, and provides many an opportunity to admire, and even volunteer with pandas if you’d like. If you were ever in dire need to outfit your home, restock your wardrobe and dress your child in panda-themed gear, the shops in Chengdu would be a good place to start.
The city also happens to be home to the largest panda research base in the world. Located in what used to be rural Chengdu, it has been devoured by the expanding city and is now in an outer-city industrial area. But, you wouldn’t know it once you get inside. Well-kept pathways lead through towering bamboo in this massive, immaculate park. Trails lead to museums, exhibits, the research centre itself and of course, many pandas of both the giant and the red variety.
Being one of the major tourist attractions for panda lovers worldwide, it should come as no surprise to learn that with one wrong move or miscalculated step in planning, you will find yourself sandwiched between tens of thousands of tourists. You’ll be unable to see the pandas because they hate rampant tourism as much as I do, and choose to hide away and nap during the park’s peak hours.
Visiting the Chengdu Panda Research Base
Carefully we plotted our visit, catching an early morning local bus and utilising GPS to establish the correct stops. Arriving 15 minutes before opening time, and we were relieved to find only a handful of other die-hard panda fans who had the same idea. We waltzed ourselves in, the fourth and fifth visitors on this day, and made our way straight to the pandas.
Many hadn’t been let out yet and were still milling about in their sleeping quarters, munching on bamboo and pacing about waiting for playtime. We were mere centimetres away from them, separated by a glass window. I’ll be honest with you here – the first panda I spotted looked so fuzzy and had such round teddy bear ears that I couldn’t tell if it were real or a picture. Then it moved. I was rather taken by how unreal they look.
An inundation of tour groups
Throughout the first hours of the early morning, there were few people, and we enjoyed most of the exhibits to ourselves. The pandas were playful little clowns and enjoying breakfast time. The cubs rolling about their mothers and doing headstands in the trees.
By 9.30, there was a dramatic change in the landscape. School groups, tour groups, masses of undulating people everywhere. Claustrophobics nightmare. The pandas were gone – hiding in their huts, in the trees, pretty much anywhere to get a break from the crowds. When people on Tripadvisor complain of the pandas being hard to see or asleep, this is why.
Amidst the flurry of culture shock and Sichuan peppers, of tunnels and giant pandas, Chengdu provided a glimpse into a side of metropolitan Chinese life that I was not to find again in my travels. With an awareness that we were to experience China in this way for the last time on this journey, we bid farewell and boarded an overnight train to Xi’an.
Despite many years of working in the airline industry, the unique and often baffling rules of Chinese airlines still managed to surprise me. On arrival into Bangkok airport we were told , in no uncertain terms, that we were to pay another five thousand baht in overweight baggage fees to this small Chinese airline I had previously never heard of.
I checked our ticket, then again the flashing red display – 15kg of luggage, exactly what we had. Needless to say, it didn’t improve from here.
After some more prodding and general inquisitiveness, it turned out that with Spring Airlines, everything you carry-on is counted in this figure. As a frequent traveller I’m pretty good at maintaining two things = the weight of my check in luggage, and the size of my carry-on. Those are the standard, defining points for every flight I’ve ever caught – every one except for this one.
Steamed dumplings in Chengdu
So, as she patiently explained once more, we were around 20 kilograms overweight, and the fee would be 280 baht per kilogram. After some more re-shuffling, reconsidering if we might want to get rid of anything, and generally questioning this unusual new rule, the check-in agent eventually remembered that although this included all our carry-on bags, it actually was not to include our wallets, laptops, phones and electronics, however it was to include anything in our pockets. After removing everything we could possibly get away with to meet the new rules, we were left with only a small amount of excess to pay and a complicated procedure of many different desks, receipts and countersigning to attend to before having our passports returned. But perhaps this was just a warm up for what was to come.
On boarding, we were to discover that we were the only foreigners on board this all-Chinese flight to Chengdu, in the Sichuan region of China. As the focal point of entertainment for this event, we garnered many inquisitive stares and smiles from small children. As the flight unfolded, we came to learn that only the most important of in-fight PA’s were recorded into English, and that in any case they should just play us the ‘in case of turbulence’ PA as a general translation for whatever was happening.
Planes in China are a curious business, with rules and customs unlike any other. Mobile phones are not permitted to be switched on during any point of a flight – flight mode or not, and the inflight meal options in a class of their own with dried squid, pumpkin porridge, and a few particularly mysterious options that are not only unrecognisable from their image, but unlike the rest, don’t even offer a written translation.
Chengdu, full of mysteries
Signage in Thai toilets
After the novelty of playing us an English announcement periodically wore off, the rest of the 3 hours was spent in almost constant loud Mandarin with no break, and no translation. A young Chinese flight attendant stood up the front and patiently described, demonstrated & marketed each item from the duty free catalogue, one by one, punctuated occasionally by a brief recorded English reminder about turbulence, just to make us feel included. This lasted the entire duration of the flight – an unusual welcome to a new and very foreign land.
Our arrival into Chengdu was a rather nippy 8 degrees, and we were taken on a long shuttle bus ride to the terminal. After quickly filling out my arrival card, I ducked over to the bathroom a few meters away. When I got back, I discovered my bag & passport sitting unattended at the table & everybody was gone. Simply another baffling moment amidst a series of mysterious events. I wasn’t entirely sure whether to feel annoyed that my boyfriend had simply abandoned my belongings, or concerned that he had been abducted.
Heart Chengdu
It turns out the customs officers had descended and he had been left with little choice other than to leave without me. I discovered this once the customs officer was finished yelling loudly and repeatedly in Mandarin, and had finished processing my arrival with a look of complete contempt.
But, in the end we got through fine, baggage intact and into China.
Taxi drivers tried to coerce us out, but after a quick ATM hunt, we got out 10 yuan tickets into the city and hopped on the bus, once again as the only tourists, and with only a vague glimmer of hope as to where this bus might take us. The drive was a movie set in modern day Tokyo – everything in foreign script, flashing lights, neon signs and just for a touch of China, the bus driver riding the horn the whole way. By sheer luck, we were dropped off vaguely in the center of the city, and walked in the cool air through the downtown Chengdu, admiring the amazing buildings and Asian-ness of it all. Very clean, very relaxed. Nothing like I’d expected.
Once we had completed the expert challenge that involved finding our hotel, we unpacked our things and set out for a late-night dinner. Sichuan cuisine has fascinated me for a long time, and as a lover of particularly spicy food I was hoping to find myself in food heaven. We settled on a small restaurant nearby with an illegible menu (as they would all be), a friendly group of men sitting who welcomed us in, and a hostile, female owner who was clearly not to happy about our arrival. We used our translation app as best as possible and settled on ordering what turned out to be a delicious plate of green peppers and pork on rice. A little spicy and very tasty, but we were clearly imposing and ate quickly to get out of her way.
It was a bizarre but not unpleasant welcome into China, and it was definitely time for bed. I was certain there would be many more unusual things to explore in the days that would follow.
