But before I delve into that, let me talk about our visit to see one of China's greatest treasures- the PANDA BEAR (for some reason, we keep saying this in an American Deep South drawl). For once, we chose not to brave the Chinese public transport and instead took a hostel tour of Chengdu Panda Breeding Base. This turned out to be a great decision, as our driver got there early, and seemed to know all the best panda spotting places. The first hour was the best- it seemed like we were the only ones in the whole park. Pandas really are adorable- they potter out in their peculiar way, like both of their back legs are broken, then slump down on their backs, grab the nearest bamboo stem (or just steal their friend's), and chow down for hours. They seem completely oblivious to our gawping stares and incessant picture-taking. As Patrick pointed out, their laid-back postures are so akin to a human guy lounging on a sofa that it's hard to believe that they're not just men in bear suits! We've probably just fallen for another big-scale scam- we're pretty good at that, after all...(I'm only joking, those pandas are very real...I think...)
Anyway, we also had the privilege to see some red pandas (the love child of a raccoon and a fox), and some bubba pandas, 5 months old, all laid on their backs in a square yellow cot like human babies (I'm not continuing with my theme, I'm sure they're not real babies...). From an educational film, we learned extensively (ahem) about panda breeding processes, including a 'massage and electrical stimulation method' to extract semen, and that mama panda bears tend to slap their baby around the floor as soon as they've given birth, as though suspicious of this pink thing that's one thousandth of the mama's size, and screaming like a banshee!
Pandas were the main draw to Chengdu, but it would be rude not to try the local fiery Sichuan cuisine. To spice up our lives, we headed to a restaurant that specialized in 'hotpots'. Probably our favourite Chinese dish to date, the hotpot, or 'huoguo', is a VERY spicy broth, dotted with chillies and mouth-numbing (literally) peppercorns that acts as a king of meat-and-veg fondue. There's a possibility of a 'yuanyang' version, a milder broth alongside the spicy one, that the non-English speaking staff assumed our lame Western taste-buds would need. Little did they know that they were dealing with Patrick Martz, King of the Spice (but they did anticipate Jenny Smith, Queen of the Mild). Anyway, we were shown to the kitchen to choose our meat and veg (because we couldn't read the Chinese menu) and took it back to out hotpot, already bubbling away atop an alight stove set into the table. Predictably, I let my veg soak in the mild broth first, before precariously dipping it in the spicy hotpot and quickly placing it in the 'cooling' peanut, soy and garlic sauce bowl in front of us. However, proud that I could handle this much spice well, I turned cocky and took a veg directly from the spicy side, straight into my mouth...I was fine at first, then of course you always are. The closest thing I can liken it to is a tiny, manageable fire suddenly being doused with gasoline. My throat felt like it was closing, I was motioning for Patrick to do the Heimlich maneuver (which thankfully he didn't; we were already a laughing stock...) My flapping motions even alarmed a poor Chinese man outside. Eventually I calmed down, took a piece of veg from the mild side, dipped it quickly into the spice, and vowed to leave the hardcore stuff to the King of Spice.
We put ourselves through that ordeal (of the very tasty kind) a further two times, once more in Chengdu and another in Chongquing. The latter was particularly memorable for the intimate, 'local restaurant' feel: the sweet restaurant owner who accidentally took pictures of her face instead of us, the fish's head that kept bobbing ominously in the broth as though conveying a sinister omen, the suspicious meat that may, or may not, have been spiced snail.
Speaking of suspicious meat, I have to mention out discovery along a diverted path, as we got lost in Chengdu in post-hotpot delirium. We found ourselves walking through a random market when, opposite the pick-n-mix sweet stall, was a stall with pig's faces- and snouts- hanging from the metal beams. A little disquieting, I have to admit- I'm still in the semi-vegetarian camp where I find it difficult to eat a meat when I see its head!
Unfortunately, we didn't leave with the best impression of Chongquing, but the sweet hostel girls contributed to us having one of the most thrilling rides of our lives! 'Tina's Hostel' was a bit iffy at first: difficult to find, down a back alley, writing on the walls (to which I added various unfunny limericks), but those girls really helped us when we needed it. Needing to get to the train station, we'd tried to hail a taxi from the busy road outside- very difficult when its rush hour and you're non-Chinese, as we quickly discovered when a racist bigot of a driver refused to take us. Getting desperate for time, we ran back to the hostel and asked if they'd help us. Bless them, the girls jumped up, ran outside, and separated down the road to help find us a taxi. But there was just nothing; I couldn't help feeling how hopeless this was. Then, the girl that stood with us suddenly said 'If there's no taxi, it will have to be motorbikes'. 'Ummm...' I stuttered, but before I had a chance to comprehend what she'd said, the other girl came running down the road, with two motorcyclists pulling up beside us. 'Two bikes for you!' she said triumphantly, and before we could question or thank the girls, we were being hurried onto the back of each bike- with our 15kg bags and small bags in tow- and were VROOMING down the highway.
I've never felt such a whirlwind of fear and excitement as I did on that 10 minute ride to the train station. Fear that Patrick would crash, fear that I would crash, fear that my small bag, swinging from my elbow, would fling onto the highway, fear my heavy backpack would fling ME onto the highway, hope that we were actually going to the train station, and not being kidnapped...but most of all, EXHILARATION, with the wind blowing in my face and the lights of the Chongquing night skyline racing past me. At one point, my motorbike was level with Patrick; I shared a crazed smile with him, one cheek stuck to my driver's helmet, before my driver zoomed off again. He told me later at the station, when we incredulously reflected about how the hell we'd just got there, that the smile I'd given had conveyed all those emotions I'd felt...and more...Taxi service with a difference, eh? Can't see that taking off as a form of public transport in either of our home countries!
So, from the length of this blog post, you can probably tell that we're on another epic train ride- 25 hours- this time to Kunming in the Yunnan province. Highs and lows of the journey so far: Pat deciding that he will 'never poop again' after a lady guard interrupted him by barging into the toilet- twice- when the train was stopping (maybe TMI?....) Also, meeting a very sweet Chinese guy in the dining cart who was very enthusiastic about learning English; after excitedly looking through my Lonely Planet guide, he asked his English-speaking friend what 'deep-vein-thrombosis' was, and was eying up the very useful phrase 'Can I breastfeed here?'.
So, see you in Kunming- hopefully in the WARMTH! Bye bye, coat- see you in Vancouver next March!
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