Brr. We shivered through our al fresco breakfast of noodles and wondered if summer was over for good in this part of the world. Heading out of town on Shaoshan Street (naturally), I thought how much I liked this burg. I know that Fred has developed an aversion to anything connected to Hunan province, but I found Xiangtan to be a happening friendly city, full of old tree-lined streets and touches of \"Old Cathay.\" The highway leading West was pretty busy, but not nearly as bad as the 322, the north-south road we'd been traveling for several days, and the main truck route connecting Beijing and Guangzhou.
Today's route felt like a country lane in comparison, passing through farming towns and carrying lots of tractor and animal-drawn traffic. It got even quieter once we made the turn toward Shaoshan, up through tree-covered hills. We noticed that most of the peasants here were dressed in \"Mao suits\", the navy blue working uniforms one associates with the Cultural Revolution. Many of the locals were of the sturdy smiling variety, looking like living tableaux of Maoist propaganda posters. It all seemed appropriate given today's destination, the closest thing to a pilgrimage site in a country whose state religion is atheism. The scenery got increasingly beautiful as we approached Shaoshan.
Unfortunately, the low-lying clouds made the mountaintops invisible, but we appreciated seeing forests for a change. The actual village of Shaoshan came as a serious disappointment, though. It's a place of tourism gone awry, where the locals appear absolutely desperate for cash. Shaoshan has the air of a faded pilgrimage sight, an outmoded Lourdes for hard-line communists. In the middle of the village stands a huge bronze statue of the Great Helmsman --the only one we've seen in China so far. The main attraction here, though, is Mao's childhood home. We were anxious to see it, but decided to get settled first.
--Not exactly an easy task in grotty, commie-style Shaoshan. All the places we inspected looked like they hadn't been cleaned since Mao left town, and none had hot water before late in the afternoon. Adding insult to injury, all were quoting ridiculously high rates. We probably should have made a quick visit to Mao's house and got the hell out of Dodge, yet settled on the cheapest (and possibly grossest) place we looked at: fifty yuan for a serious dump, run by an overeager woman who spoke a little English. After a quick \"whore bath\" using a bucket and a towel, we head off in search of the Chairman's birthplace, just down the road.
Mao's family was the richest in town, and they had the biggest house. It has been lovingly preserved and furnished; signs at the entrance entreat visitors not to spit on the floors, and for once people seemed to be obeying. We saw the kitchen \"where comrade Mao sometimes helped his mother in the preparation of meals\", the stable \"where comrade Mao took care of the family's livestock\" and the bedroom \"where comrade Mao slept.\" Inane placards in Chinese and English were posted everywhere, just in case visitors needed to be reminded what a closet was for (\"where comrade Mao hung his clothes\").
After a quick tour through the sanitized attraction, we were starving. An entrepreneuse of the desperate variety literally dragged us to her nearby restaurant, where we waited endlessly for the few simple dishes we ordered. We also ordered tea something like six times before anyone would admit, \"*Meiyou*.\" A Chinese restaurant without tea? Something was definitely amiss here. Next we headed to the Mao market, selling a surprisingly narrow variety of Mao paraphernalia. The pushiness of the vendors drove us quickly out, though not before we bought some postcards and a silk tea towel bearing the face of Stalin. The Mao museum was also a big disappointment.
Formerly the building housed two identical museums in order to deal with the throngs of pilgrims, but now they've busted down the wall, giving the visitor the chance to walk bewilderedly through a vast maze of dusty unlit rooms, many holding nothing but a stepladder. Aside from some workers painting and the inevitable trinket sellers, we were the only people in the whole place. The best part by far was the \"reliquary.\" Here we were instructed to take off our shoes and slip plastic bags over our socks before entering a place vaguely reminiscent of the vault holding the Crown Jewels in London, only with filthy carpeting and grease-smudged *vitrines*.
Housed behind glass was comrade Mao's toothbrush, his Ping-Pong paddles, and --best of all--- the swimsuit he wore during his famous dip in the Yangtse late in his career. I first mistook this sacred relic for a slipcover for a couch, or maybe a tablecloth. Mao was one large dude. It was only four o'clock or so and we felt like we'd already \"done\" Shaoshan. A nap felt in order, so we returned to our truly vile lodgings for a mini siesta before dinner. When we went downstairs, the woman running our guesthouse blocked our way out the door to the street, pleading for us to eat there.
We gestured to the karaoke machine and covered our ears, and she ran over to turn the nasty music down to a bearable level, at which point we made the mistake of conceding and sat down. Our hostess recommended we try \"comrade Mao's favorite dish; it's pork.\" We agreed, and as soon as the order had been taken the karoke was cranked up again. Mao's favorite dish turned out to be huge chunks of pig fat in a mildly spicy sauce (explaining the obscene swimtrunks). A bite or two was all I could handle without getting nauseous. I was miserable, telling Fred I would settle for nothing short of the best hotel in Changsha tomorrow night.
Fortunately he agreed with me wholeheartedly. After many days on the gritty, deafening roads of Hunan, staying in tatty bordellos thinly disguised as hotels, we are definitely ready for a princess fix. I slept fitfully. First of all, I was cold for the first time in ages. Second, I distinctly heard the ping-ping of rain on the roof of the shack next to our dingy hotel. All I could think of was riding in the soupy mess and shivering all day. When I finally got out of bed I was in an absolutely foul mood. We loaded our bikes and readied ourselves for departure.
Somehow the hotel staff had convinced Andy that we should eat in their restaurant. I couldn't imagine we would after the karaoke experience the night before. We sat down and began to drink our respective hot beverages. (I have virtually given up coffee at this point. Now I only occasionally have a cup, leaving Andrew to believe that I am actually an alien.) Just after the waitress/desk clerk/maid took our order and ran back to the kitchen to assume her new duties as cook. As soon as she did another hotel employee dashed into the dining room and turned up the karaoke machine to full volume.
Her action startled us into action. We grabbed our bikes and left without breakfast. The rain had deteriorated into a weak cold mist that made me shiver as we sought a quiet non-karaoke breakfast. It was easy enough to find some *jiaozi* (little won ton like dumplings) in soup to warm us before our ride. We started to ride out of town. As I pedaled the wet dirty road mess slopped up my leg. We looked at each other and put our bikes on a bus. The fare seemed inexpensive to go all the way to Changsha and it seemed strange that the driver wasn't interested in us putting the bikes on the roof and getting our bags out of the way.
I wasn't so surprised when we were told to get off at the next town and that we'd have to switch busses. However, we had been told that our fare would get us to Changsha and it was too much to take us only a few kilometers so we had yet another bus dispute that ended in our favor. The bus ride to Changsha was well advised. The rain continued and the road was a slippery and dangerous mess. We saw no fewer than three accidents on the way. One was a grisly bus collision and we passed while people were wandering around the crash scene covered in blood and dazed.
Another had involved a car and bicycle, making me happy we decided not to ride. Fortunately when we arrived at the Changsha bus terminal the rain had stopped and the ground had begun to dry. The bus station was still several kilometers from the city and we would have to ride. It was one of the bigger cities we'd been in. Huge roads crisscrossed the center with massive complicated intersections providing passage for bikes, cars and pedestrians through mazes of over and underpasses. We settled ourselves in Changsha's finest hotel (brand-new and forty-seven stories high!) to make up for the rustic nights before.
I was looking forward to Changsha. We had read about a museum that \"had to be seen\". We wound our way through town looking for it through a park that had moon festival displays set up all over it. The cheesy displays and carnival rides reminded me of my childhood and Purim carnivals at our local synagogue. When we finally found the museum it was 11:15 AM and they were about to close for lunch. We insisted that they let us in promising only to see the premier display -- the two thousand year-old woman. She'd been found in the countryside buried in a series of lacquer boxes, the largest the size of a huge room.
Her body had been exhumed and put in a massive refrigerator in the basement of the museum. Visitors could look down through glass at her body. Her organs had been placed in a separate fridge and you could view them as well. She was hard to see through the fogged up windows. Wiping them we got a decent view and I decided she looked a lot like Ho Chi Minh. Changsha is a happening town of over five million. At night the streets are full of people walking and shopping. I'd decided that it was cold enough to buy a pair of shoes.
My sandals just won't cut it on cold days like the ones just passed. I found a Nike knock-off that really amused me. Not only was the brand name hilarious but the shoe was attractive. They were called \"Kike\" and I couldn't wait to have a pair. Unfortunately they could only be found in Asian sizes. Leaving me only the possibility of imagining the response if I wore them to a Rosh Hashanah celebration at the temple. While shopping and walking we noticed a strange sight. Remember we are in the center of a town of over five million inhabitants, many kilometers from the nearest rice fields.
Yet at nine at night right we observed a man driving three water buffalo down Changsha's main street. Was he lost? A little later we happened upon the closest thing to a gay bar we'd seen in China. The black façade of Comrade's bar beckoned us. We entered to find a clearly homo staff, several bored looking clients and a drag queen. Our two beers cost us ten times what they would on the street, but it was worth it to see this glimpse of 'cosmopolitan' China.