Hustle and bustle in all honour, we longed for some peace and quiet and headed for the beautiful national park Zhangjiajie in the Hunan province. It is heavily promoted as the Avatar mountains.
This is exactly how I picture Chinese poetry; misty karst formations, pine trees and bamboo.
Although very poetic and serene looking, this is pretty far from the truth. The paths are narrow and there are thousands of tourists (mainly Chinese), often in tour groups with leaders shouting hysterically in microphones. I never complain about touristic places, I always find it ridiculously easy to get away from the crowds. OK, maybe not in the Sistene Chapel, but we have spent hours by ourselves in Angkor Wat as well as in Machu Picchu and many other places. Unfortunately, this place was another matter.
Park management is very concerned about security, the poetic landscape seems to influence their writing.
Although I find this confusing rather than poetic.
We were hoping that Feng Huang, a beautiful ancient river town a few hours away, would provide some tranquillity.
Feng Huang is 300 years old, its epithet “ancient” surprises me considering how far back China’s history goes. I always thought of the word “ancient” as something that would stand in relation to the regions age, but what the hell do I know, I’m hardly an historian.
Pretty stilt houses. Feng Huang has UNESCO status and there were a lot of tourists around, but it was easy to escape them. Order restored.
There was a park with Cherbourgian influences. If you are thinking about buying a fancy brolly this is the place by the way.
I always thought it was the force?
Outside the restaurants you could pick your dinner. Those little fingers holding on to the bars broke my heart. It’s terrible how the animals are kept, but on the other hand I think it’s good that meat eaters get to see with their own eyes how much their dinner has been suffering. I find it hypocritical to eat meat if you can’t face its origin.
Speaking of hypocritical, I am sure that these laying hens has a marvellous life… Anyway, these eggs were cooked in batter, tasting like an EggMcMuffin. Another hypocritical thing I succumb to, I bloody love EggMcMuffins! I’ve tried to reproduce a fancy version with sourdough buns, aged Gruyere and homemade ketchup but mysteriously enough McDonalds do them better with their plastic Cheddar and sad looking eggs. That multinational, greedy, rainforest trashing company simply must have brainwashed me somehow.
I love how the Chinese people always walk around with their tea pots, like the Uruguayans carry around their mate (as in tea, not friend). Disposable Starbuck cups feel less romantic.
Bye for now.