I haven’t hiked properly ever, but my Dad is a big fan of long walks, so for his birthday I hiked with him along the Li River from Yangdi to Xingping - all 20km of it! We got up earlyish and headed to Yangshuo bus station, just off Die Cui Lu, to catch one of the many daily buses up and down the river. We’d taken the precaution of having the characters for “Yangdi” and “Yangshuo” written down, as well as having my phrasebook in our well stocked backpack (water, dry towel clothes, fruit pastilles, cameras, money and waterproofs – all the essentials) but over each parked bus were signs for where each bus was heading and my Chinese was good enough to ask if this was the right bus (score!) and we were fine. Dad and I got seats with our knees up by our chins over one wheel arch – the last two seats that were actually seats – and off we trundled. You pay for tickets on the bus once it sets off, and two tickets from Yangshuo to Yangdi set us back the almost unbelievably low sum of 18RMB for two; less than the price of a Starbucks coffee.
The journey took about two hours, winding through the town and its outskirts then fields, rice paddies, villages and the spectacular karst mountains that were shrouded in cloud at the top. The bus gradually filled up as we drove along, the lady who got on with a bunch of leeks in one hand and a live chicken in the other was the last to get a seat – perched on the edge of a study wooden box with a piece of newspaper under the chicken in case it disgraced itself. A couple of stops after that, when the bus was essentially full, we managed to cram on another twelve or so people who all seemed to have their faces in each other’s armpits. Cosy wasn’t the word, but at least it wasn’t a hot day; that could’ve been uncomfortable!
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| The dock at Yangdi, looking south |
We were sat in front of a German couple who were doing the same hike as us. When we arrived at Yangdi, we lost them for a little while in amongst the tiny old lady-hawkers offering bags of peanuts, mangy looking kumquats and the interrogative calls of “Hello? Hello, bamboo?!” from everyone in sight but it wasn’t long until we bumped into them trying to get across the river too and agreed to join forces. The Li trail crosses the river three times – the official ferries cost 4RMB per ticket, but unfortunately, the first ferry was out of action when we arrived and we were all at the mercy of the local bamboo rafters who were quite happy to charge a premium. Dad and I got separated from the Germans and were tailed for fully forty-five minutes by one particularly irritating tout who appeared and interrupted whenever I was asking a different rafter to take us across the way. He managed, every single time, to dissuade them from helping us which was hugely frustrating. Eventually we caved and, along with two American guys, paid him 40RMB (for the four of us) to motor us across. The Germans managed somehow to get across first.
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| Monsoon! |
The first part of the trail that we followed at first cut through a small farm before descending to a sort of meadow beside the river then back up and away through the trees, but it varied hugely along the route from cobbled pavement to a concrete embankment literally along the edge of the river to Dad and I scrambling over muddy banks (though I think we weren’t on the proper path at that point.) I think because we didn’t go on the official ferry, we started in a slightly funny place, but heyho it didn’t matter – we could see the river and that was the point. We caught up to the Germans, who had waited to cross the river with us and the six of us were punted over the river by a somewhat sceptical rafter who didn’t like the idea of 7 adults on his bamboo raft, and carried on walking. After about half an hour, we heard an ominous rumble. The sky was black above us and we all scrambled into waterproofs before continuing – just as well because before we’d gone ten paces (pretty much) the heavens opened and I experienced my first monsoon. The rain was so heavy that the others decided to shelter for a while and have a break for lunch – Dad and I pressed on. The Yorkshire-man’s logic here was that we’d get cold as well as wet if we stopped, and we’d still have 15 clicks to tramp, so, on we went. I’ve never seen rain like it! It lasted at least two hours and walking through it was one of those surprisingly exhilarating feelings – sort of sublime, seeing the power of nature in an already indescribably magnificent setting, but also definitely ridiculous; what the sheltering natives thought of bedraggled me tramping along looking like a drowned rat and Dad in his blue poncho, bushman’s hat and brogues as we passed, I do not know.
One definite bonus of the downpour is that it stopped the droning succession of motorised bamboo rafts (and larger boats) that follow each-other up and down the river like a watery motorway. When you look at the back of the 20RMB note, or any other pictures of the karst landscape along the Li River, and go “wow!” you don’t imagine seeing it with the constant thrum of outboard motors as your soundtrack. I’ve lived in China long enough now that I really ought to have expected the hawkers and the calls of “hello? Hello, bamboo?!” that followed us along the river, but I didn’t. Silly me. I definitely didn’t realise how much of an alien concept the idea of hiking along the river was; apparently no-one could get their head around the idea, hence the “hello, bamboo?!” calls that followed us as ubiquitously as the outboard motors.
The day cleared up after a while and walking was pleasant. We didn’t bother to stop for food anywhere, except for me buying a very disappointing pomello and a couple of teeny fish on a stick from a couple of smiley and toothless farmers by the side of the path – fortunately we had the somewhat damp tube of sweets in the backpack for an energy fix. The fruit pastilles were lucky to get away with just dampness, we discovered just how not-waterproof the backpack was on the last river crossing - Dad wrung out the towel and my “dry” shirt, but there was no hope for his poor sandals!
The route that we took stuck closely to the river the whole way down. Although the trail isn’t exactly marked and we were kind of following our noses, it didn’t matter particularly – the route is pretty obvious and we saw plenty of other foreigners on and off. We also saw plenty of mountains, boats and river scenery (thoroughly gorgeous) but not as much rural life or farming as I’d half thought we might. Just as we were coming to the end of the hike though, an old lady led a water buffalo (I think) down to the river. Not knowing anything about the habits of buffalo, I was just expecting it to have a drink but it carried straight on into the water, turned around to face us and settled in to wallow. I swear it scowled at the Chinese guy snapping pictures next to me. Its owner squatted down on the water’s edge to await its convenience, and since it showed every sign of being in for the duration, we pressed on again.
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| Xingping |
After a last half hour or so, we arrived in the charming tourist trap that is Xingping… to find the German couple and the Americans had already arrived. We hadn’t seen them since we marched off into the rain, so I’m fairly sure witchcraft was involved and was tired enough that I said so! I asked the way to the bus station (Chinese lessons finally paying off) and we wended our way through the traditional houses and souvenir stands to the bus station and managed to get the last couple of seats and some standing room on the bus back to Yangshuo. The Americans, who were standing, had to keep ducking down to the floor to pass police checks, but apart from that the journey back was without incident. The whole hike took about 5 hours. I was thoroughly worn but mostly dry again by the end of the day, and I’m so glad I did it – Happy Birthday Dad.
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