Bamboozled.

When in China, be sure to follow the wise words of anyone who says "local guide". We started out our Thursday morning by getting mangoes and strawberries for breakfast and heading out to the countryside on motorbikes. We had planned to hike Moon Hill, a beautiful archway atop a karst, which is where we met Mama Moon. Mama Moon is a spunky lady who has to be at least 70 years old, who advertised herself as a "local guide" who could get us entry tickets for a "local price" and show us the "local trail". We would be getting a 75% discount on the price, which is hard to argue with. Turns out the local way is parking our motor scooters in the forest, climbing over a mossy stone wall, and crawling through the overgrown bamboo on a muddy and very obviously human made pathway in the mud. In between shushing us to be quiet and having us duck down so we wouldn't be seen, Mama Moon kept assuring us we were on the right path. Eventually, we did meet up with the paved walkway and made it to the top for some spectacular views. It was only awkward when 11 sweaty and muddy Americans clamored on the paved path in front of some rather shocked Europeans who had no idea where we had emerged from. Thanks, Mama Moon. 

Bamboo is the only way to travel. 

The rest of the afternoon was idyllically cruising the countryside on our little motor scooters. We took the same scenic route we found on the bikes, and made it to the same cafe for more mango sorbet and the chance to maybe float on bamboo rafts. Call it creatures of habit, but the mango sorbet and the views make it a hard place to only visit once. The rafts weren't running that day, so we ordered a leisurely lunch, but the minute we had finished, we saw someone untying the rafts to float on the river. We took our chance; this whole trip, the river had been too high to even think about rafting it. While not being able to raft all week, it also meant we were the only rafts on the water that afternoon. I highly recommend slowly floating the river being gently paddled by a man wielding a huge bamboo stick as you gaze up the catawampus mountains carpeted in green around you. It's lovely. 

Our last remaining days in Yangshuo were spent soaking up the scenery by finding little hikes and pathways to wander, riding through the countryside on bikes and motor scooters, and again on foot while munching on mangoes and those egg crepes I've come to love. Evenings were spent swapping stories in the many cafes that line the offshoots of West Street, and considering how much tea is too much tea to bring home for friends and family. One afternoon was spent doing a cooking class with the Cloud 9 restaurant; Hannah and I myself joined two French women and the restaurant's head chef for a market tour and then a tutorial on how to make 4 or 5 dishes.  The lack of photos is only because we were instructed to keep cameras and phones away while we strolled through the enormous market and later cooked our meal. The vegetables were beautiful; deep plum eggplants neighbored piles of lotus roots and bamboo shoots while huge bags of cumin perfumed the air. Baskets of eggs were precariously stacked to be inspected by those interested; teeny speckled quail eggs, soft mint and beige chicken eggs and larger duck eggs all piled high to be admired. I could talk all day about the produce, though I intentionally skipped out on the butcher block. However, detour didn't save me from spying the bags of turtles, bins of eels, and buckets of snails that rimmed the entrance. 

(Rule breaker; impromptu market shot). 

The kitchen was a long room framed by windows that overlooked the city. Each station was lined with well loved woks and containers of seasoning staples like salt, sesame oil, garlic  ginger, black vinegar and oyster sauced. First up was a mushroom and scallion stuffed and steamed dumplings, then spicy green beans sautéed with numbing sichuan, a stir fry of Chinese lettuce root and carrots, and little parcels of deep fried egg plant stuffed with the remaining dumpling mixture. While the French women split their meals with their interpreter and had extra to take home in a takeaway box, Hannah and I had no problem polishing off the delicious meal. The package included a little print off of the recipes, meaning I'll be recreating the meal as best I can when it comes time to go back home. 

Don't be fooled by the print on the currency; there are about 172,192 bamboo rafts in that river if the 20 yuan note wasn't in the way. 

Before leaving Yangshuo, we had to get a photo by the so called "20 yuan shot", the scenic stretch of the Li River that appears on the back of the 20 yuan note. True to the TripAdvisor review, after you will come to despise the word bamboo after your visit. The entire walk through dusty streets lined with people selling fruit and little fish in tiny bags, I was bombarded with about a thousand offers for a ride down the river on a bamboo raft. Dozens of tiny women shouted "Bamboo! Bamboo!" as we all made our way down to the river and tried not to melt in the scorching sun. On our walk back to the bus, we were chased down by one last woman shouting "Bamboo, bamboo!". I would had brushed her off as just another vendor, but I recognized that spunky grin anywhere- Mama Moon had come to the neighboring city Pinxing to work her "local guide" magic. True to form, she tried to have us spend the afternoon hiking up a karst to see the view from a bird's eye perspective, telling us we could get in "no charge, just for locals!". Sadly, we had a bus to catch, and couldn't fit it in. I fully expect to see Mama Moon sneaking tourists onto the Great Wall next month. Until then, it was a bumpy bus ride before catching a tuk-tuk, then another coach to Guilin, where a bullet train took us to Liuzhou and a sleeper train (full post on THOSE adventures to come) and a taxi before arriving in Zhangjiajie; the Avatar Mountains.