I made a move, over the weekend in a new digital home. From now on the blog is going to be here: www.utcplus8.com update feeds. I ll leave with a useful? fact, the beautiful pictogram above is designed by Yukio Ota a Japanese designer. So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish!

Having my passport happily residing inside some immigration office drawer we made worst case scenarios for our accommodation. Without one you can’t book a hotel room which is quite a drag, James is in the same boat with me, having forgotten his one back home. To our surprise a cheap hotel finds us (through the form of an English speaking girl, which also happens to be the daughter of the bus owner, a thriving business) the moment we step out of the bus, no questions/passports asked, a room is produced and we settle inside for 40RMB per head. Taxi ride to the entrance of the mountain and after a hefty fee we browse through waves of people searching for the path to Lotus peak. Back home i ‘ve only experienced crowded beaches but here mountains are the place to be. That brings numerous armies of internal tourists and an impressive supporting structure on the whole mountain surface dedicated to them.

Starting the ascend all dreams of seclusion were scattered, swarms of people were descending with a 500 to 1 ratio (500 down 1 up). This strange phenomenon was attributed solely to the existence of a cable car, you pay, reach the top and then climb down the slope with rose cheeks and a sweatless shirt. Stone steps were followed by more stone steps, a few hours later we realise that the whole path was made out of steps like an endless ladder. It was the first time to climb a mountain without stepping on a dirt path. Soon we start panting as the steepness of the rock increases, we seem to amuse the people who climb down in disproportionate effort, business men and fat guys cheer us. At one point i put my backpack down and a middle aged man jumps from nowhere and tries to grab it quite persistently, after weighting it in his hands he springs a proud smile, satisfied, shouts “Gooooooood” and gives me the victory sign. It seems i passed the: laowaicarryinglotsofheavyuselesscraponmountains test cause nobody else tried to scale my bag after that.

As we get higher the scenic beauty unravels, granite rocks in sculptural compositions, a stone colour palette that flirts with red and pine trees in intricate distorted shapes. An increasing amount of downward hikers are wearing gold medals, wondering if we missed our chances for fame and glory we stumble upon the first medal engraver, it seem to be a thriving business were people buy, nominate and award a medal to themselves marking the heroic descend of the yellow mountain (preceded by an unheroic but more relaxing cable car ride to the high grounds). Laowais are few so we gather our fair share of intense stares and random halloooos, but it’s all in the game. Small kiosks sell souvenirs and cold cucumbers, prices increase together with altitude. People walk happily holding fresh cucumbers like swords, saving them for later consumption.

Countless steps ahead and we reach the root of all evil, the cable car station, were it feels like you suddenly stepped outside a busy metro station at peak hour in a big city. You literary have to push your way to reach a place with a view. Classic photo spots are so crowded that you can’t see the ground, only a moving mass of bodies and victory signs. Here lie the famous locks, couples put one in the wires and throw the keys down the cliff, sealing their feelings forever and ever. ( inspired by another couple that was forced to put an abrupt end, jumping from these very rocks after stubborn families refused to recognise their love, or so the story goes). I start getting dizzy with the noise, tour guides climb on rocks, scream through their portable loudspeakers and wave green flags to snap group members out of their photo frenzy and direct them to the top.

Classy middle aged ladies with shades and gold jewellery pay bamboo chair carriers to lift them in between peaks. These guys are hardcore, teams of two along with a bamboo chair with protruding handles, run up and down the mountain, searching for customers, which then have to bring up and down for a ridiculous price. I start hating all floating monarchs who use these human taxis. Path becomes really narrow as it traverses the slope higher and higher, angle increases incrementally and at points you have to turn back some evolutionary steps and walk on four. I count 11 steps till my eye level and make a semi wild guess that the angle is 65-75 degrees. Having 2 English men in the group brings laughter as they compare the health and safety rules of England and China, numerous times they proclaim wide eyed: “This would be illegal in UK!!!” (Same guys had previously went to a safari were you could feed live chickens to cheetahs, lowering them to the pit with a rope…).

Pushing, twisting and waiting patiently the queue to move, we manage to reach Lotus peak, were the situation is impenetrable. Sorry madam you are stepping on my oxygen, ni hao sir you are pushing me to the abyss, urghh, something is boiling nearby, squeezing our way we discover a table with two Chinese engravers, making custom medals for 10RMB, next to them is a printer in it’s full glory shining his green LED in contempt (first photo), in retrospect he had all the reasons to gloat reaching the top before us… that puts an end to the adventure, we leave the busiest peak every seen in search for a pic nic rock. The sight of 3 laowais munching sandwich is too much to resist, for a moment we surpass the peak in popularity as couples stop to take a photo with us, first the wife signaling the familiar victory gesture and then the husband (who was waiting patiently for his turn) he is a little more expressive, shouting: “HaaandSOMEE”, “SUPERRRRMANN” while his mother in law encaptures this happy moment in a memory card. Nothing worth mentioning happened after that, climbing down the stairs is much easier, although now it was the time for our calves and knees to start their little protest and stubbornly refuse to operate. We manage to reach the entrance just as the day disappeard. The idea to count all the steps suffered a quick death, it’s easier to say that it was the longest and most beautiful ladder i ever climbed. 20km of constant stairs… More photos here.

What a better way to start the race, cursing cheap fake shoes i squeak my way through the start line making barefoot plans if the sole detaches without warning. Few minutes before the beginning, the race announcer is a crowd pleaser, he bursts through the mic: “Weeeeeeeeeeelcome to Hanghzou marathon, OUEEEEEHAAAA (scream).”, “NOOOOWWW MAAAIOUKOULLL JACKSSSSON SONG!”. I don’t hear a gunshot but when the tidal body wave moves you start running, first kilometer you bounce your way through people, a mixture of participants from all the races (marathon, half, small, mini). We reach west lake and people start cheering, 2km, hordes of colourful grandmothers scream JAAAYIOOO (COME ON) in unison. Lake on our right, small tai chi groups practicing with big swords, scenes fly by. In 5th K people have clear distances, the small race participants sprint past us huffing & puffing. 8K we bid them goodbye. Warming up everything goes fairly well despite the crappy shoe and a banana that bounces rhythmically making constant escape attempts. I wonder if i should grand the favor or just digest it. People pass me en masses, quite annoying, but this is just an illusion of looking only forward. Glimpses behind my back reveal a long running line, before i secure that thought an old man zooms past me. I start recognising faces. Cheering from passerbies, Jaaayiooo! Jaaayio! water stations, splashing the cups in your face and throwing them on the street. Volunteers everywhere. 12km and the half marathon twists leaving only the full marathon participants.

We run heading for the river, familiar route, pass tiger spring, first encounter with traffic (it will be present for the next 15km) cutting right on the highway in a beautiful scenery between tea fields. 21k (half marathon distance) in 1:58 and good spirit. People start walking, stopping, getting left behind, 25km and we ‘r back in traffic, fumes and honking. E-bikes zoom around us, people offering bananas and snicker bars. From 27K onwards I battle with a persistent 70 year old man. The first goal is to reach 30k before the 3h30m time limit (after that you get scooped by broom buses and disgracefully dropped back to the stadium). I manage to keep up the 10k/h pace crossing the 30km marker in 3 hours. Suddenly lower body starts complaining, feet resist feeling like 2 oscillating weights on every step. It is the point when you are drained from the stored energy and you just keep going burning whatever is internally available . High spirits, i only have 12 more km and 2 hours to do them, but the more i run the worse it feels, i start walking which is also bad as your feet start pounding. The last 7 km prove to be the most difficult i have to drag myself forward counting the markers 38,39,40,41 finally the stadium appears on sight, a few more meters, the volunteers rave in joy, i barely pass the finish line 5 minutes before the time limit.

(needless to say that these guys finished a long time before me proving that age has nothing to do with youth).

Road accidents seem to settle in a different way, if you hit someone you can pay compensation on the spot, cash, while police seals the deal. You don’t see street brawls like in London. At night parts of the city are empty, deserted, big streets give a feel of total abolishment. Riding your bike at 4 A.M. 15km through the city, alone, doesn’t feel abnormal or frightening. I feel that criminals would be more amused by the sight and we could end up having a laugh out of my terrible Chinese pronunciation over a bottle of Qing-tao beer, (my Chinese are pretty good if the need to order beer for local mobster arises). Groups of unofficial taxi drivers can become a nuisance, but are easily avoided, taxi drivers are universal nerve breakers. Haggling skills have developed over numerous times were one of them tries to charge 5 times the regular price. Fear for my life i have experienced only on zebra crossings, green both for pedestrians and cars means that they won’t stop for you, eyes peeled on both sides, also tricycles, bicycles and electric scooters pass whenever/wherever they want, curse in whatever language you possess. Electric scooters need a whole chapter and as this post seems to be transforming into a: “survival guide for the unaccustomed laowai”, maybe i need to write a line.

Electric scooter in China means: i chuck a battery on a contraption with 2 or 3 wheels and i baptise this abomination a vehicle. Sold cheap when mass produced, easy to be made in your kitchen with a blowtorch, no need for a driving license (if i judge by some of the drivers) and you ‘r good to go, topped with the fact that they don’t make a sound (a drawback of electric vehicles) and drive with no lights at night, to preserve precious battery and you have the perfect road ninjas (also in summer they dress to the part). Is more likely to get run over by a ninja grandma in China than any other terror that keeps you from travelling, i bet you never thought of them as a drawback… be warned. Of course the other most common danger is the dreaded: Montezuma’s Revenge, or Delhi Belly or Tokyo Trots, depending on your geographical coordinates. Colourful names for a disease that can make your life miserable, the infamous traveller’s diarrhea. It hits without a warning, and can keep you grounded begging for redemption to the toilet gods.

Not a funny subject, although i have to confess it provided some amusing conversations with Ben, whose English student stomach (to my surprise if i count all the shitty food he ate back at the uni) couldn’t handle China. He seems to have stabilized after 4 months and countless packs of Imodium. Bicycle thieves have a notorious reputation and the usual life expectancy of normal priced bicycle is 6 months. Electric scooter batteries are the second most stolen thing here. To avoid bike theft, you either: a) don’t leave it from sight, the no-lock concept (take it with you everywhere) or b) lock it with all the metal you got. To close the circle and go back to our mugshot superstars, crowded buses provide ample ground for itchy finger pickpocketeers. Recently a wallet was snatched from a friends bag, without a trace, full of cards and things that will make your life a bureaucratic hell if you loose (much more than loosing cash). A couple of hours later she gets a call from police to collect her stolen wallet, intact, apart from missing cash. In another story i heard, the thief mailed the wallet back to the owner, a little lighter but still with the cards attached. The only constant violence in China is the needless honking that hurts my innocent ears and maybe the nasty smell of smelly tofu in street markets…