15/6/25
Jan met us at breakfast. He sourced us some noodles without any meat. Then he helped us workout the next part of our route towards Kunming. He was keen on the large fresh water lakes that graced the area. We could also nibble some of the steamed buns and watermelon.
Jan convinced us to stay another night. He was keen to emphasise that there were few tourists here and told us of the local market being extremely good. The date ended in a ‘5’ after all. We didn’t rush out of the hotel. There was a coffee bar on the upper floor so we took the lift up. They had Oatly. Chinese Oatly.
After our coffee we headed into town. It was cool and cloudy. It felt unbelievable for it to be so temperate. After months of high temperatures this was a blissful 26C. Along the road to the town were many traditional style buildings with classic oriental roofs. Though we were searching for the market, we stumbled upon the Confucius temple first. It had a wonderful gateway, a bridged pond and a hall at the back with statues.
It didn’t take long to look around. We couldn’t see the market so we asked a local. It was literally down the street over the road. Many stalls of vegetables and fruits. Frankie found a woman making gelatinous rice cake stuffed with red bean paste. Jonathan bought some lychees from one of the many huge piles. As we were about to leave it started to rain.
At first it spattered lightly. So we hid under a gazebo. As it got heavier, everyone did the same. Then it began to hammer it down. Heavy, heavy rain. We didn’t have an umbrella. We huddled under a gazebo and watched. The water started to get deeper and deeper. The people watched on. No one was on their phones. They just stood and watched. We did too. After a few minutes the water level started to rise. We watched as an army of cockroaches started climbing out of a nearby drain then scuttling away. We ate our red bean cake thing. It tasted like rose water.
Soon the water met our ankles. Produce began floating away down the streets, taken by the torrents of water. We looked down and could see what was almost certainly sewage flowing around our feet. This was hopeless. It wasn’t stopping anytime soon. We made a break for it. Stomping through the water. We felt awful as food bobbed around our legs.
We took a turning to escape. It was drier. It was also a dead end. We bagged up the passports to prevent them getting wet, then trudged through the water to the main street. It was a shame we couldn’t take any pictures. Wet smartphones don’t work. There were plenty of opportunities. Groups of women sat huddled in doorways behind umbrellas. We collected many bemused looks as we waded back to the hotel.
Our room wasn’t underwater. After hanging everything up to dry, we watched some programmes and waited for the rain to stop. It took quite a while. In the late afternoon we took a walk. We went to see the old city gates, both of which had little shops underneath, one also had huge mobile phone adverts pinned to it. There was a large covered market, almost vacated for the day, with a group of men playing a vigorous game of cards. Near the north gate a bakery had Oatly ice cream. We’d never see these oaty lollies before. Creamy synthetic goodness. The nearby train station was French colonial in style. A large black steam train with a few carriages. It was now only a tourist line.
We walked a mile back to the same buffet again. We couldn’t resist. It was heaving with people. The woman was pleased to see us again. The locals stared again. It was the same food with only slight variation. We didn’t mind. We guzzled it back happily. It was a very busy place. We had lucked out finding such a place.
Jonathan had a hankering for fruit. As always. We bought a mango, some lychees, a single banana and four apples. We slinked back into our rooms for the second evening. There was time to watch Motherland. The second series had got a little silly. A little too far fetched. We couldn’t be more grateful that Jan had convinced us not to leave. Cycling in the thunderstorm would have been hellish.
Surly They Won't Make It 