5:45 on Day Five

5:45am on day five our alarm sounded and I went to work boiling water in the provided electric kettle for a breakfast of instant noodles and instant coffee. The smallest container of noodles I found seemed only just shy of a quart once prepared, and both Jeanne's and my coffee and hot chocolate, respectively, included packages of jelly to go with the bubble tea straws. 

Larry arrived a few minutes early, and we found him standing on one of the market buildings admiring Moon Hill. On the way back into town he continued trying to sell us anything we still might need from other tours to transportation leaving China. We politely declined at peace with the knowledge that an actual plane waited for us in Guilin. Deciding on spending an extra day at our Yangshuo Village Inn while losing a day on Hong Kong's hustle seemed our wisest so far. 

Again an unmarked bus arrived in front of his hostel, but this one contained no one else and without further instruction it whisked us away to an unknown destination. We found the drive quite relaxing as we coasted through an endless farmland. Whether or not this is the "real China" or just some relic leftover to preserve a simpler way of life remains unknown to us, but we appreciate this being the China we saw. 

Women waited along the roadside with bundles of footlong beans going to market, others burned stacks of rice stalks, and my favorite farmer herded a few hundred ducks down a road keeping them all in a line filling the width of the road with the lead ducks at least ten feet from her position at the rear using nothing but a pair of bamboo poles as gentle reminders to stay on the path.

In less than an hour the bus dropped us off in Xingping at what seemed only a random intersection at this early hour. The driver pantemimed that we should stay then sped off. A few minutes later a woman approached us, apologized for being late in excellent English, and led us past her restaurant to a pebble beach covered with traditional rafts. She left us with her son who either spoke no English or just played the part of a dispondent teenager too well. Carrying a jug of gasoline he led us to his boat that we now saw was made of 6" PVC pipe bent up at the bow and fastened together just like the bamboo ones. We walked over many boats before reaching his and seemed confused that our river journey would be a private one since almost no other tourists waited around the area. 

We sat on wooden benches beneath a plastic canopy while he started the tiny lawnmower of an engine that put out just enough power to propel us upstream. We found so much peace along the Li River that I actually found time to catch up on my blog entries. Due to the cell phone towers hidden atop random karsps we even caught others actually texting. Ducks swam in groups while early risers did laundry and yaks grazed from grass growing beneath the swallow waters. Every single view begged to be photogrsphed since rather than being surrounded by the karsps from afar we drifted between them. On the few boats we did pass passengers photographed the many barren faces since each rock's exposed parts boast some resemblance to every day objects from horses to grandfathers staring at apples should you have the right guidebook. 

By the time we turned around the river just began to get crowded with a later run of tourists almost all of them Chinese, almost all of them featuring similar family groups we'd seen this whole trip, and almost all of them said "hello" or at least waved.  

On the shore and in the town countless women wearing fanny packs offered us passage on the boats from which we just came. Here we learned more than just Larry but everyone not employed as a farmer sought a cut from the tourist industry. We politely declined almost continuously until we reached a point deep enough in town to have only the shop owners try to lure us inside. Even every restaurant both here and in Yangshuo staffed a hostess outside to greet passersby and offer a glance at their menus.   

A cab waited to retieve us from the madness that the shoreline had become and took us back to the restaurant in Xingping. When asked whether we prefered to catch the bus now or later we chose to explore the city and its market, so the proprietaress handed us cash to use to pay for a later bus on our own.  More tourist fare lined the streets and filled the shops but on our way to the market we found many interesting fish mongers using large tubs with aquarium aerators because in China fresh means still beathing. In the main market people hawked their wares using headset mics and speakers, women knitted shoes to soles, and we caught our first glimpse of a litter of dogs among live chickens, ducks, and rabbits.

We snacked at a pastry shop that had benches all hung from the ceiling like swings with artificial flowers covering the ropes then took the bus back to Yangshuo. Much more crowded than our ride from Yangshuo even a live chicken fresh from the market poked its head out of a shopping bag from time to time. 

After more wondering around West Street we dined at a French cuisine themed restaurant that served mostly Chinese and local dishes. We finally ordered the town's famous "beer fish" but chose the cheaper, bonier carp rather than opting for the catfish. Jeanne really enjoyed it but I had problems with the infinite amount of tiny bones.