Further life and times of *liltayinchina*

NOTE: I began this entry a little while ago and the event occurred quite a while ago, so I apologize for tense confusion and literary license with events. I’m pretty sure this is how it went, though Mike might disagree…

After getting off the train, we found a taxi driver who knew the Camellia hotel. Upon arrival at the hotel entrance at 6 o’clock in the morning, the lobby was deserted, save a semi-snoozing bellhop who sat slumped in his chair behind a desk near reception. He walkie-talkied our arrival and seconds later, a door behind reception opened and a mostly-fresh looking woman registered us and handed us a room key.

Before I go into details about the hotel room and our experience there, I’d like to mention that this hotel was registered under BUDGET SLEEPING in my guidebook and, for Mike’s sake, I had reserved a higher-end room in the establishment. We COULD have been sleeping four or eight to a room, in bunk beds and sharing a bathroom.

The lobby’s appearance instilled us with a false sense of security. The receptionist told us to exit the lobby (and the hotel) walk across the way and into Building #3 in order to find our room. We did so, and in between the lobby building and Building #3 there appeared to be a nice courtyard in the early morning light. As soon as we entered Building #3, our high spirits were hampered a bit by the smell and the encroaching wetness in the air. Being familiar with mold, mustiness and mildew, I’ve become adept at preparing for the type of onslaught such bedfellows will wreak upon you in your sleep.

We climbed the over-plush stairs and found the door with our number on it: 3224 I think it was. There was a minimal control panel-type thing to the left of the door and then a simple knob on the door itself. The key, however, was shaped like the end of a tongue depressor, only much larger and was as flat as a credit card. Now, remember, it’s only 6 o’clock in the morning and we had been on a train for 30 hours so our general understanding of the world had been dulled a bit. With that said, I must then say that I’m brilliant and figured out how to use the key without having to return to the lobby and ask for directions on its use.

The doorknob was as simple as they get. Nothing, not even a small, hidden LED, hinted that the door was magnetically locked, yet we both swiped and brushed the knob, the panel above the knob and the point where the lock was in the wall. Nothing. A couple of times I pressed the doorbell on the outside of the door – an extremely loud doorbell – and we stared and stared hard at the simple drawing markered on one side of the key fob, an actual credit card-like device. I was on my way to ask for directions when I studied the knob on our neighbor’s door. I looked underneath and there was a slot the width of our tongue depressor. I returned to our door and slide the tongue depressor into the slot. The lock unlatched and we entered our 24-hour palace.

Yuck. The stench of mildew was overwhelming. The room was on the fringes of sleaze, but it was fine. We’d been sleeping in moving beds for two nights now and were happy to sleep in still beds, at least. I showered in cold water and hid under the stinky blankets while Mike enjoyed a warm shower (still not sure what I did wrong there). Mike had this “interesting” habit of turning the TV on as soon as we arrived at a hotel and then immediately ignoring it while going about his business, which, for the rest of the trip mostly involved washing his clothes in the sink and then drying them with the complimentary hairdryer in the various bathrooms of our hotels.

INTERLUDE – I realize that by finishing the documentation of this trip, I’m giving Mike incentive to write rebuttals (and inform all of you of my odd behavior along the way), but I’m risking this potential he said/she said because he’ll be honest, at least and you, dear reader, will surely benefit.

Once we had showered and I had thawed out, we left our room and walked through the courtyard, which turned out to be the nicest part of the hostel, I’d say. We purchased plane tickets for the following morning to Lijiang and went in search of the Bank of China so that Mike could change over his US dollars. We found another bank, which was either the Construction Bank of China or the Agricultural Bank of China or the Real Brite Bank of China (no, it wasn’t that one, though I’ve always wanted to go inside of one…), and bellied up to a window. Confusion immediately ensued and the English speaking guard was asked over to oversee the transaction. I can’t remember how much money Mike was trying to exchange, but among his bills were several new $20 bills. The guard apologized profusely and said that the bank couldn’t exchange the new bills. At this point, Mike and I conferred about collecting his money and trying to find the Bank of China after all. But, the guard had gone to attend to a woman in a purple hat and the cashier had disappeared in search of the necessary form for making the transaction. Through her actions, it became apparent that the bank either had lost all of the original forms or had never had any to begin with. She tried searching for the form on the database and then printing it out but the printer wouldn’t let her. Finally, we collected Mike’s money and left the bank. After walking some more and consulting the map in my China guide (that cursed albatross of a travel guide), we found the Bank of China. We took a number and waited. It didn’t take long and I will never enter another bank other than the Bank of China while in this country. I was warned and I’ve lived the reason. The other banks might as well be called, “The Agricultural (specified business goes here) Bank of China and Therefore the Non-foreigner Bank of China”.

Next we walked a ways and found an across-the-bridge noodle shop that we think was recommended in the guidebook. It was a hole-in-the-wall and there were diners at almost every table. At the front, a small, weathered man sat at a short table with a box of money in front of him. He looked at us as if to say, “Do you want something to eat?” and I pointed to two bowls at neighboring tables. He nodded and asked about drinks. There were crates of a Fanta-like drink stacked in the corner and we each took a flavor. The noodles arrived and we ate and slurped delightedly. During the meal a sleek black cat hopped up on the cashier’s table and declared its territory. We ate quickly and after paying, moved on.

Mike was in charge of our direction. I had no clue where we were direction-wise and it mattered little to me. We walked down one leafy-tree lined road and did some window-shopping. I saw a fun skirt with circles of red, blue and black on a white background with a think navy band circling the base. The fabric was amazing to the touch but the price seemed much too high. We kept walking. We stumbled across a semi-hidden flower market, which made its presence known to me through the fragrance of the lilies often used in wedding arrangements.

The market began with exuberantly died dried flowers of all shapes and sizes. The arrangements were gaudy and over the top, but the individual flowers were really something to look at. All colors and all shapes were exploding and dripping from every nook and cranny. It was beyond colorful and the crispness of the colors almost hurt. To me, nature was barely present and I was much happier when we found the women and men bundling up large bouquets of hydrangea, lilies, roses, Gerber daises, tulips and orchids. We turned a corner and came across a man simply dressed in dark, worn clothes. As we passed him, he growled. On his head he wore a band of cloth with a flapping blue fabric fan attached to the side. We moved past him and came to an area where songbirds were trilling in various cages. We stopped to admire their songs and the man with the flapping blue fan came up and started singing to the birds in believable twitter.

Further on, it became apparent that we’d come across a throng of wedding bouquet shops. In China, on the day of a wedding, a huge procession of cars rides through the streets of a city, showing off flamboyant flower arrangements stuck to the hoods and roofs to present the wealth of the marrying families. We walk through the luxury cars, admiring the extremely crafted bouquets and I find a fallen orchid, fuchsia in color. Mike finds a fallen rosebud. Off in the distance, as we’re leaving, I see a bride standing by one of the stretch limos. She’s wearing normal clothes and she’s talking away on a cell phone. But, on her head, a white veil stays put thanks to a few hair pins, the rest of the veil fluttering in the wind as if wishing to take flight. In her hand, she carefully holds a bouquet of red roses and white lilies.

We return to our hotel, collect our plane tickets and purchase some beers in the hostel’s café/bar. We take them to the courtyard and are weighing our options for the rest of the afternoon when two Germans introduce themselves and ask to borrow the guidebook. They’re gone for thirty minutes or so and in the meantime, Mike and I enjoy our beers and the afternoon sun in the courtyard. The Germans return with the guidebook and I chat them up for awhile. It seems they’re very much into partying and eating Western food. I find out after talking with them for another thirty minutes that their room is across from ours. They suggest often that we meet up for drinking “fun” later in the evening and I make no promises. I return to the room to find Mike so that we can continue exploring Kunming.

We take a taxi to the East/West pagodas, I enjoy one of the nicest public restrooms I’ve seen in China to date and then we walk towards Greenlake, losing our way. I notice that there are a lot of beggars, especially begging children in Kunming. Many more than in Wuhan. One little boy latches on to Mike as we’re crossing the street. The boy can’t be more than four years old. He’s whimpering and not letting go. Even now, I don’t remember if we gave him money. I don’t even know how we got him off of Mike. I do know that not a single adult was coming after him.

Once we’re good and lost, having circled an area and seen little to point us in the right direction, I ask a woman who’s walking her bike uphill if she can give us directions. She says she’ll take us to the lake herself. I’m able to converse very superficially with her and my repertoire is over quickly. Traffic is at a standstill and we continue up the slight incline, following along behind her bicycle.

We come to the crest of the hill, cross a large intersection and start going down the other side of the hill. The area becomes less populated and large trees pop up to break the monotony of the concrete. The woman points to the lake down below us, we nod and thank her and she hops on her bike and pedals off. Our jaunt around the lake is brief. We snap photos in the dying light of the day and catch a taxi back to the hostel. A Yunnan dinner theater is connected to the hotel and we make it back just in time for the 6 o’clock start of the show. We’re taken to a balcony table. The lights go down and a waiter brings our food. Neither the food nor the show left much of an impression, but the theme park nature of the experience slaked my thirst for kitsch, no matter the country of origin.

And that completes our first day exploring Kunming. The evening turned into a pink-lady nightmare, but I must save that story for another day. I’ve got three classes worth of tests to grade and it’s already 11:23pm, Sunday night. Nothing like procrastinating on one thing to end procrastination of another. So is life. (My life, at any rate.)