Well, I like to think so, yes! 'What is Google's fault?' you say...read on and find out.
My alarm went of as 5am reared its ugly head and I woke Sydney so she could take the first shift in the shower (meaning I could go back to bed for 10 minutes, safe in the knowledge that "boys get ready faster"). I had spent the last week badgering Brian from work about his trip to Huangshan, AKA the Yellow Mountains, in preparation for this trip and roped Serena, one of the local teachers at my school, into helping me to book the bus tickets and sending me the address of the bus stop.
We were all set, just a quick journey on line 9 of the metro and we arrived in good time at...the wrong bus station! Here's where the Google blaming comes in: so, upon typing an address into Google that it doesn't recognise, you get a list of alternatives (unbeknownst to me) one of which, in this case, was a bus stop close, but not close enough, to the one we needed to be at.
We sought help and the poor woman at the ticket desk finally managed to decipher what we were attempting to ask about and directed us to the other bus station - the one we were supposed to be at already...we arrived just in time to be 10 minutes late for our bus, which was happily on its way to Tunxi. The woman at this ticket desk informed us that there were, in fact, no more buses that day and asked is whether we wanted to book tickets for the following day. We went into a two-person huddle to rethink our plans, all the while being watched by a group of locals, who had been gathering to watch the show, so that when an English speaking employee was ushered forth to help the little lost laowais, she was joined by about 10 interested faces. She told us that there was another bus we could catch that day and that we should follow her. It was all a bit unclear really as there was a lot of swapping back and forth between English and Mandarin with occasional contributions from the local audience but we ended up boarding this huge bus that she led us to, with no tickets and no other passengers on the bus and only a vague idea that it was probably going where we wanted to go. We ended up at another bus station in Shanghai, where a man came and all but carried us off that bus and onto another bus. I asked whether it was the bus to Tunxi and received some waving accompanied by "Tunxi, Tunxi, Tunxi...!" So there you have it. A bit of luck and some can do attitude and missing your bus means nothing.
The bus dropped us of in Tunxi and the driver pointed over the road and said something in an encouraging tone of voice. We headed over and asked about buses at the information desk, after having spent 10 minutes furiously tapping symbols into or dictionaries to try and make sense of the timetable on the wall. She pointed us the gate eight and another women ushered is onto the bus after we asked her "zhe ge qu Tongkou ma?" AKA "This one go Tongkou?
We wedged offshore on the back seats, bags on laps, and settled in for the spine-rattling journey, all the while being regarded with curiosity by the other passengers - I guess the art house film I made was big out here too? The ticket was 19元 or £1.90 to you and me and took us to what appeared to be the front of a restaurant on a random road through Tongkou. We got off the bus and called Mr Zhang, or host for the reneging and he sent one of his lackies to pick us up.
Since leaving Shanghai, Sydney has been on the lookout for a memory card for her fancy-ass camera, as she'd forgotten hers (like a boss) and was hoping to find one here. I didn't gold or much hope as we were at the foot of a mountain but when we got to the hostel Mrs Zhang hit the phones and in no time we were loading into her car to go to a tiny shop that looked like someone's kitchen with an assortment of camera accessories in a class case. No luck there though. We went back and had dinner consisting of some of the spiciest green peppers and pork I've ever eaten, smoked ham and salami with mushrooms and tofu and egg fried rice. It was outrageously good and the spiciness definitely helped keep the cold of the mountain out - the red wine helped too.
After dinner we popped outside so Sydney could have a smoke and I could play my flute at the mountain a bit. Of given up smoking about a month before and was still going strong.
The next day began with another 5am start and a lift from Mr Zhang himself to the bus stop. Another 19元, apparently the going rate for all four-wheeled transport, saw us to the entrance to the track up the mountain and another 230元 each saw us on the path. We strolled casually up the stone steps through the trees and marvelled and the stunning sight of the mountain above us. The causal nature of the stroll was not to last...
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