Chapter 3. Two Passengers Set Sail That Day for a Three Hour Tour. A Three Hour Tour.

My Big Fat Guangxi Honeymoon

Chapter 3.  Two Passengers Set Sail That Day for a Three Hour Tour.  A Three Hour Tour.

 

Part of the joy of a cross-cultural marriage is learning about your spouse’s culture and teaching about your own.  Conversely, one of the frustrations can be that you can put a second Gilligan’s Island theme song reference into a blog about your honeymoon and watch it fail to amuse your spouse again.  At least she thought the part above the Chapter 1 title was adequately poetic.  I think it’s about time I go down to visit the video pirates, buy the complete series, and make her watch it. 

We went out for breakfast and had yet another bad sitcom joke failure.  Sunday morning breakfast was more special, famous, auspicious Guilin rice noodles, this time with horse meat.  My dearest one didn’t quite get why I said W-i-i-i-i-l-b-u-r.  P-u-u-t down the g-u-u-n. It’s n-o-o-o-t br-o-o-o-o-ken.  W-i-i-i-i-l-b-u-r, N-O-O-O-O-O!!!  I’ll be nice and not make her sit through a complete screening of the amazing adventures of Mr. Ed. 

Speaking of cross-cultural communication failures, she wondered why I was laughing so hard at a simple hotel sign on Saturday and was even more confused when I insisted on going back Sunday morning to take a photo.

 

 

I had no idea there was a Fawlty Towers Hotel in Yangshuo.  I resisted the urge to go in and ask if Basil Fawlty was at work that morning.   

Sunday morning was mostly wandering around town and then having an early lunch.  My darling had scheduled us for a raft trip (3 hour tour?) in the early afternoon on the Dragon River.

 

 

Our mighty ship raft was made from 10 pieces of the finest Guangxi bamboo, firmly held together with the highest quality bailing wire.

 

 

The luxurious cabin was a couple of wooden lawnchairs shaded by a large umbrella.  Propulsion was provided by a slender bamboo pole wielded by the boat’s raft’s captain, as well as by the current, since we were heading downriver.

 

 

The scenery along the way was magnificent.

 

 

Every kilometer or so, there was a small dam.  Sometimes we had to get out and the captain shoved the boat over.

 

 

Others we rode over.  The first of these had a floating photo/printing setup where the girl got some good pics of us.  We ended up buying 2 of them (hanging on the edge and then splashing the nose of the raft – 15 yuan each) and chatting.  While that was going on, I took videos of 3 other rafts taking the plunge.

 

 

There was another photo station at the last plunge.  This dam had a MUCH bigger drop than any other, but I didn’t spot this minor detail until we were on the way down.  I had about 3 milliseconds to decide whether to pick up my feet to keep my shoes and socks from getting soaked vs. focusing all my attention to curling myself around the camera to protect it from getting ruined.  I chose to save the camera.  My lovingly sympathetic wife told me I should have been ready and could have protected the camera while also raising my feet. 

 

 

We discovered a small dilemma at the end of the raft trip.  We had taken a bus to get to the launch point.  The place where we got out was conveniently empty of bus traffic.  The choice was to do one-way bike rentals (without a good idea as to exactly where we were and which way town was) or to pay a van to take us back.

 

 

Happily, another couple came up and we split the 40 RMB cost of the van ride.  The other girl had a puppy with her, so I managed to catch up some on my lack of opportunities for dog petting in China.

 

 

We went back to the hotel so I could ditch my shoes.  I had the foresight to have packed a pair of sandals, so abandoned the shoes to dry while we went back to further explore the shops and alleys of West Street while seeking more tacky tourist stuff essential cultural items to buy.

 

 

Last year during Spring Festival, we were in her hometown and I was freezing assorted portions of my anatomy off.  I made it a quest to find one of those classic Chinese/Russian furry hats.  I found them for sale, but none were large enough to accommodate my skull (scholars are still debating whether the circumference of my head is due to my superior sized brain  or just because of my massively inflated ego ).  West Street had an abundance of such hats in various levels of quality and sufficiently large to fit my head.  List price was about 80 RMB.  After my darling wife beat a street vendor until he was bleeding carefully negotiated the price, I got one for 35 RMB.

 

 

We also passed the official factory shop for the very special, famous, auspicious Guangxi Three Flowers brand of baijiu.  My darling waited until we were well past it before mentioning that it wasn’t just another place selling alcohol.  She must have assumed I’d never find it again in the tangle of streets.  She forgot that once I get my bearings, I can navigate most Chinese street mazes very well, so I carefully noted the location and plotted my return later. 

 

 

This was also the day that the great “we can make it all fit” debate began.  We came with one carry-on each.  My carry-on sized suitcase containing some clothing and the laptops.  Hers was a backpack with some clothing and snacks.  The one checked suitcase had some clothing and a few other odds and ends.  It was half empty.  We planned to return by train, so the weight limits for any one bag wouldn’t be an issue.  Despite our growing pile of overpriced, low-quality tacky souvenirs treasured local artwork and cultural relics, my darling was convinced that we could make everything fit into the existing luggage.  Being well trained in 3 dimensional geometry  as well as having had the best rating in my geology classes in 3 dimensional crystal structure identification , I was quite confident that my volume estimates clearly showed that we were already well past the limits of what could possibly be fitted inside the existing luggage (barring access to any 4th dimension hyperpockets).  My darling is of the “if we just squeeze things into this nook and shove other things into that cranny, there will be enough space to pack an entire closetful of stuff into my handbag” school of thought.

This debate went on for some time during the honeymoon.  The final answer will be revealed in a future chapter.

 

<– Back to Chapter 2.          –> Chapter 4.  Going down and the return of the naked(?) moon goddess. –>