Hello China

Nanning, China

We couldn’t believe that we were coming to our second to last destination as we crossed the border into China. We would have stopped and reflected on this fact even more had we not managed to lose our group. It’s amazing how all the English signs and speakers we’d been seeing over the past few months vanished the second we left Vietnam. We were the only Western people on the bus and were soon left behind as the others meandered through security with ease whilst we blundered painfully through each step, eventually emerging alone outside the checkpoint with no idea where to go. Just as stress levels were about to peak, we were saved by a Vietnamese boy who came over to help the hopeless, stupid white people.

We soon forgot about the ordeal as we took in the view on the way to Nanning, but things didn’t get any easier once we stepped off the bus.

We, being the organised people that we are… - Sorry, Kerry, being the organised person that she is, had our hostel name written down in Mandarin on her phone. So, we thought we would have little difficulty in getting a taxi to the hostel. We flagged one down and showed him the address. He shook his head, and drove off.

Strange.

We stopped another and tried again… same result.

Very strange.

We tried again, and again.

That’s when we started to panic. There was no way we could get our bearings either, the signs and symbols meant absolutely nothing to us, we didn’t know what street we were on, we actually started to wonder if we were even in the right city at all… what kind of taxi driver doesn’t know the city they drive in. To make things worse, there really wasn’t anybody around who could speak any English whatsoever, so the taxi drivers couldn’t even begin to explain why they wouldn’t take us.

Just as it was getting dark and we were deciding which bin to spend the night in, we tried one last time. Once again, the driver shook his head. I tried asking him why, asking him which way we should go and, in my desperation, asking if we were in Nanningat all.

He didn’t understand a word.

He was, however, a very nice man. Either out of sympathy, or perhaps pure frustration at our lack of understanding, he told us to get in. By this point we didn’t really care where we were going or how much it would cost, we just wanted somewhere to stay.

5 minutes later, we pulled up right outside our hostel with just 2km and about a pound to pay on the meter. To say we were relieved would be understatement. We thanked him to the point of harassment and finally arrived at the hostel: English speaking staff, maps, help desks and a bar… everything we needed.

We were told by the staff at check in, that taxi drivers won’t take clients if the fare isn’t good enough, the fact that we were just 2km from the hostel meant the ride wasn’t worth it for the drivers, the fact that they couldn’t speak English meant that they couldn’t explain why they were leaving us on the pavement.

Well, now we know.

Besides the hassle of getting here, we’re already enjoying China. Although stressful at times, the lack of English and illegible writing actually makes travelling here quite exciting, we don’t know what we’re eating, where we’re going or what we’re buying, but it’s all part of the experience. As a result, we’ve had some incredible street food and seen ridiculously big markets selling things I don’t even know the English name for. Let’s just hope we manage to get our flight out of here when the time comes.