Shortly after arriving in St Martin to live on a friend’s sailboat for a few weeks, we took a drive to Sunset beach.

With a name like that, I had visions of a stunningly romantic scene perfect for admiring the setting sun with a mojito in hand and toes in the sand.

The warning signs along the roadside suggesting I might lose my life should have been my first clue that this wasn’t your average beach.

At the beachside, people were studying a chalkboard with what looked like airline arrivals information. Being close to the airport, I presumed that many of the beach-goers were awaiting friends arriving by plane and were just killing time near the airport until the plane landed.

Little did I know…

While settling into my beach chair, suddenly there was increased activity. People stood up and grabbed their cameras, looking expectantly at the ocean. Some people even ran to a point in the middle of the beach, and positioned themselves carefully and strategically near a fence post.

My gaze followed the collective’s, to discover that coming straight towards us over the ocean was a very large airplane. A very large, very low-flying airplane.

Like, I-could-see-detail-on-the-landing-gear sort of low.

Panic struck me. Is this normal? A plane like that, flying so low? Is it making an emergency landing somewhere close by? Will the plane even make landfall, or are they preparing for an emergency water landing?

And for god’s sake, should we not be moving out of the way?!

Before I had a chance to save my own life (much less the hundreds of other beach-goers who were way-too-casually contemplating their own impending deaths), the plane flew directly overhead with a deafening roar and landed 100 feet away on St Martin’s airport runway, which perpendicularly meets the beach.

I could have practically touched the plane. I could see individual bolts on the belly of the plane. The sound of the jet engines was so loud I had to cover my ears. A small sandstorm erupted beneath the plane’s flight path and a wall of sand flew violently and horizontally towards the ocean. People tumbled into the ocean along with the sand.

The plane touched down on the runway and cacophonously turned all thrusters on to slow its thunderous body down.

A wave of gratitude washed over me for surviving such a near miss, along with the other beach-goers and plane passengers. We all survived.

Then people cheered, and raced back to the “arrivals” board to see when it would happen again.

Welcome to Sunset Beach in St. Martin.

I’m not sure there’s anywhere else in the world you can go and actually find yourself standing directly underneath (and so close to) the flight paths of landing aircraft. The blast of air that gets displaced from a plane landing is incredibly dangerous, and can knock you off your feet – or worse.

But here, despite the warning signs, some people are brazen enough to grab onto the fence and brace themselves for this event, as if it were an amusement park ride. If the plane is big enough (and low enough), its final approach will actually lift these thrill-seekers off the ground, their feet waving almost horizontally behind them as they hang on to the fence for dear life. Other people stand closer to the water and allow the airflow to carry them into the surf where they tumble and giggle.

It’s surreal.

I don’t know about anybody else on the beach that day, but with each landing, I had to work hard to ignore the knowledge that if something should go just a little bit wrong with the landing, we all could be in a world of trouble. I do believe that Sunset Beach in St Martin must be tops among the world’s most dangerous beaches.

So it was with gritted teeth and a charge of adrenaline that I joined the ranks of the other beach-goers with my camera in hand to capture an experience that I wasn’t likely to see again (assuming I survived).

For your viewing pleasure (or terror, depending on how you see it), check out this video of the experience:

Can’t see the video here? Check it out here on Tripfilms or Youtube.

I slam on the brakes. On the bank is a goat grazing dangerously close to the road. In front of me a driver stopped suddenly to chat with a friend on a road-side porch. In front of him is a wheelbarrow, inexplicably sitting on the road. In trying to manoeuvre around these obstacles, I skirt between a massive pot-hole with a muffler sitting in the bottom and the road’s edge (which involves a steep drop-off). Just ahead are more parked cars I’ll have to get around once I’ve let traffic coming the other way through. Adding further to the chaos, I plan to stop randomly at the side of the road myself to get some barbecued chicken.

Many of the roads in Grenada aren't in nearly as good a condition as this abandoned one!

Driving in Grenada is an off-road adventure, even when you’re on the road. A standard jaunt will probably result in your vehicle (at at least a few junctures) being on a highly vertical angle, navigating pot holes, broken concrete, and speed bumps that will take out the undercarriage of a car, and braking hard for anything from goats to buses to falling coconuts.

Anything goes.

Arriving and Driving

Having just come from the chaos of Vietnam and experiencing Saigon’s mad bike-filled streets, I learned that even among chaos, there is rhythm. And feeling that rhythm from the back of a bike in Saigon was one of the best preparations I could have had for Grenada.

It all boils down to “flow” (something I’ve often said encapsulates my attitude towards Grenada in general). In Vietnam, as well as Grenada, driving is about being alert to the possibility – nay, the probability – that anything can happen, and you just need to react to and move around it.

Avoiding Hazards

Here are some specific things you just might have to navigate and “flow” around while driving in Grenada. Put them all together on a short stretch of road and you’ll get a sense of the adventure!

Speed Bumps

You ain’t seen a speed bump until you’ve seen one so big that a regular car has to stop entirely and take it on an angle across the whole road in order to avoid scraping the undercarriage. These bad boys are not to be messed with, they’re all over the place, and they’re easy to miss at night.

Speed bumps are one of many reasons why the best vehicle to have in Grenada is a 4wd, or at least a jeep-style vehicle with certain “off-road” capabilities.

Narrow Roads

The roads in Grenada are reminiscent of some of the shockingly narrow roads I navigated in the south of France a few years ago. These roads which barely have any business fitting two cars side-by-side, also boast great views – which often means a sheer drop on at least one side.

Parking

There doesn’t seem to be any rules on where you can park. Need to stop somewhere? Then stop. Let’s just hope the guy behind you knows you’re stopping and moves around you instead of banging into you. But on a narrow roadway (see above), a parked car often also means only one car can get by in either direction. So be prepared to wait in line for cars to come through one way, before you can pass yourself.

Communicating

A system of light double-toots of the horn seems to say anything from “hello” to “thank you” to “get out of the way” to “I just slept with your wife”. You know how it goes.

Potholes

Potholes are everywhere, they’re often deep, and sometimes wide. One in particular that plagued me regularly was (literally) over 1.5 metres in diameter and at least 0.5 metres deep. And it was smack-dab in the centre of the road. This pothole eats cars. And considering the entire width of the road isn’t much more than 2.5-3 metres, this puppy didn’t leave much room to avoid it either.

Twisty Turns

With lush green foliage dotted with houses and small streets making up most of the countryside (which in turn makes up most of the country of Grenada), the roads bend and flex with the land itself, curving up, down, and around the mountainous landscape. And when the roads are as narrow as they are, you’re often forced to cautiously roll around the corner (with its uneven pavement and potholes), ever-watchful for a car coming the opposite way (ideally driving just as cautiously).

Vertical Pitch

As a Canadian, if I see a highly steep road or driveway, my first thought is “how do they shovel and get up these roads when it’s icy in winter”? Despite not having seen winter for over five years now, this somehow remains ingrained in me.

But here in Grenada, you’ll turn up a nearly vertical road that looks more like an alleyway than a two-lane road. It might then degenerate into a pot-hole-ridden dirt path (which is still considered a two-lane road). These sorts of roads eat cars, and yet, they are thoroughfares.

At least there’s no snow to shovel.

Buses

In Grenada, buses are high-top minivans. Onboard there’s a driver (who drives), and a “conductor” who hangs out the window looking for people who need a ride, helps passengers to shift around to make room for new passengers or let off old ones, and collect the fare (which varies according to your destination). They’ll stop anywhere for anybody, just wave them down.

Now. If the bus has seats available, it crawls at a painful pace, beeping at everybody they see in the hopes of finding a fare. They’re also fairly easy to pass, and the driver will often stick their hand out the window to indicate that it’s safe to go around.

If the bus is full, they rocket through the countryside, taking the frequent sharp turns like they’re not the tall awkward minivans that they are. If adrenalin is your thing, all you need in Grenada is bus fare.

Animals

Stray dogs (of which there are many), cats, chickens, and goats tied up and grazing at the side of the road are frequent streetwalkers, requiring diligent attention. But don’t just watch for animals; quite literally anything could find its way into the road and make itself a hazard. Be prepared!

Drinking and Driving

What’s that?

People laughed at me when I asked what the drinking and driving regulations are in Grenada. And with a local rum shop every few hundred metres, you’d better be prepared to navigate all the above hazards – in addition to other drivers – like a pro.

Putting it all Together

I love to drive in Grenada. Although it requires a sharp mind and ability to move around just about anything in a pinch, it’s also actually quite easy if you get into the groove.

Here’s a very short video that gives you a bit of an idea of what I’m talking about:

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photo credit: Johnnie Reynolds

I’ve been in discussion with people here in Grenada about their meaning of Christmas, and it seems to boil down to harmony, company, and the spirit of joy throughout the holiday season more so than a specific day of celebration.

This year, I’m going with the flow, which seems to be a Grenadian way of life.

One of the reasons why love this time of year because I always take the time to reflect on the year past.

In so doing I’ve put together an annual video holiday card of sorts (here’s my card from 2010), so you can come along on my journey of 2011, which traversed 13 countries and involved over 73,000kms of travel.

It was a busy year.

In the new year, I’ll be summarizing my 2011 finances, and the cost to travel full-time (just like I did for 2010). Stay tuned.

My plans for 2012 are vague for now. I’ll be back in Grenada for sure by the end of March for another few months of beautiful house-sitting. Between January and March I haven’t solidified my plans, but am toying with options like cruising the Caribbean islands on a sailboat, learning salsa in Cuba, and doing yoga in the Bahamas.

It’s a tough life.

Please enjoy my video holiday card: Happy Holidays! From The Professional Hobo. This was 2011.

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This Was 2011 (in words)

I started the year in New Zealand at Mana Retreat (a favourite haunt of mine for volunteering), where I enjoyed much contemplation, jubilation, and meditation.

I also traveled around the North Island a bit, checking out the bays, beaches, volcanoes, caves, and even performing a few songs at an Auckland cafe.

After 6 months it was time to move on, and return to my home town of Toronto for a visit – something I usually do every two years, and always in the summer if I can help it!

The city had changed a bit since I was last there two years ago, and I found myself occasionally not recognizing major intersections because they had changed so dramatically.

But the people were awesome as ever, the weather was fantastic, and I even got a chance to enjoy a few weeks of respite in cottage country with some family.

I also took on the No Baggage Challenge this summer, and made a few trips without any bags at all, using Scottevest travel clothing with lots of pockets.

My first trip was a flight to Florida to visit an old friend.

My second No Baggage Challenge trip was to visit Quebec City; a beautiful part of Canada that has the feel and look of a European city. I enjoyed the summer festival and stayed with some good friends.

All of a sudden it was August and I was saying “see ya next time” to my family and friends.

I hopped over to Sweden to explore and spend time with a Swedish friend and his family. I caught some of the action of the city-wide Kultur festival in Stockholm, before heading north to Ornskoldsvik – the town with a giant ski-jump in the middle – to stay with my friend’s family.

Here I experienced northern Sweden’s beautiful nature by hiking and climbing, and explored the colourful fishing towns.

I also tried my hand at a number of Swedish foods, including the Swedish delicacy of Surstromming, which is fermented fish – a “love it or hate it” sort of food with a world-renowned smell. (Here’s a video recount of the event).

With only two weeks in Sweden I’d have liked to stay longer, but September called, as did the Ultimate Train Challenge.

This was a collaboration with fellow travelers and bloggers Michael Hodson and Jeannie Mark to travel from Lisbon to Saigon – all by train – in 30 days. (Good thing I love international train travel).

With about 25,000kms to traverse, the month was fast and furious (29 trains in 30 days), but I did get a few chances to get off the train to visit friends and explore.

My first stop was Granada, in the south of Spain.

Then it was up to Barcelona for a quick stop….

Before heading on to Zurich – and even talking my way into the engine car enroute.

Prague was my next stop,

Before hopping over to Lviv, in the Ukraine.

By this point I was already exhausted and still had a long way to go, so I refreshed myself with a quick camping trip in the Carpathian mountains – just what the doctor ordered.

Then it was a few more nights on trains over to Moscow to reunite with Michael and Jeannie, who I hadn’t seen since Lisbon.

Together we hopped aboard the Trans-Manchurian train to experience the world’s longest railway – from Moscow to Beijing. What can I say about this epic week-long journey? I pretty much say it all here.

Reaching Beijing one week later was a victory, we were still only 2/3 of the way through our journey and the clock was ticking. There’s no rest for the wicked – so we headed straight for the Great Wall of China: a place I first visited 18 years ago on my first-ever overseas trip, which brought up some amazing memories.

Hot on the heels of the world’s longest train ride, we took the world’s fastest train ride from Beijing to Shanghai, before moving straight on to Guilin, also brought up many memories of my first trip to China.

One final leg remained on the Ultimate Train Challenge: the massive journey from Guilin to Nanning to Hanoi, and on to Saigon. Fatigue aside, this four day trip (namely the train from Hanoi to Saigon) earned a spot among my favourite train trips, with beautiful changing views, warm weather, good company, and lots of characters along the way.

And celebrating for 10 days in Saigon was the ultimate way to conclude the Ultimate Train Challenge. In addition to getting almost-daily massages and catching up on work, I managed to experience Saigon motorcycle traffic from the inside with a culinary tour led on motorcycle, as well as simply drink in the culture and beauty in the randomness.

Oh yeah, and lots of good food!

With so much packed into the last few months, I was reeling, and it was time to take it down a notch again, to my preferred travel pace of staying at least a few months and “living” at various destinations.

So my last stop for the year was the Caribbean island of Grenada, to house-sit for three months. Despite a rocky start I’ve grown to love this island nation – its people, nature, and the way of life – and I still feel Grenada has a lot more to show me.

So I look forward to returning for more house-sitting in late-March 2012.

What Travel – and the Holidays – are About for Me

But what typifies my travel experiences and really makes them what they are, is the people. I travel to experience “life” around the world, and for me that involves nurturing human connections. I made new friends, rekindled old friendships, and amassed a plethora of experiences and memories sharing culture, harmony, and joy around the world.

For me, celebrating and giving thanks for those experiences is the spirit of the holidays.

I’ve always known celebrations on the last day of the year (December 31^st) to be called New Year’s Eve.

In Grenada, it is called Old Year’s Night.

I think I like that term even better: celebrating the year past and allowing tomorrow to come with its own ocean of experiences – as it always does.

I lounge on a rock with my feet soaking in the crystal waters of the Caribbean. Is this really my back yard? Pinch me.

Some of the more subtle joys of living on a tropical island for months at a time is the ability to get a real feel for the rhythm of nature. You need to be present for a while to sense and understand things like the ocean’s tides, and the cycles of flora and fauna that take place so very quickly in this warm humid environment conducive to explosive growth.

One beautiful barometer I’ve had to observe these cycles of life is my (almost) daily walk.

I enjoy following the beach I live on to the end, climbing through some mangrove roots, and heading up into the forest enroute to the adjacent bay – a beautiful crescent that has lots of “emerald pools” of beautiful water that begets the beauty of an aquamarine.

Although this is a destination unto itself perfect for a swim, the swim can wait. Another push of energy takes me up a hill to an abandoned road sheltered by trees that eventually leads me to the end of the next point. Here I’m tousled by the wind and surrounded by deep bays on both sides; one with a harbour nestled next to shore, the other a wide shallow quiet bay.

I described this walk in greater detail in a recent post when I was just discovering my surroundings and learning to be alone in Grenada.

Having become so enamoured with this (almost) daily sojourn, I’ve put together a video of the experience so you can come along! Enjoy.

Email subscribers click here to see the video.

Email subscribers: Click here to watch this fun and frenzied trailer of riding in Saigon bike traffic!

The bike culture in Saigon (and to a larger extent, the whole of Vietnam) is immediately evident on arrival. From pedal bikes, to electric bikes, to scooters, to motorcycles and other incantations thereof, two wheels is the (vastly) preferred mode of transportation. This manifests itself in a number of ways:

No Sidewalks

My first lesson in Vietnam pedestrian culture was that there aren’t really any pedestrians. Since just about everybody has a bike, there’s little reason to walk more than a few blocks. So my preferred method of exploring (being walking) was looked on bemusedly by others.

And I can only imagine how strange I looked as the “token white person” in my area out for a walk; with more broken pavement, bikes, planters, street food stalls, and other obstacles than actual pavement, walking on the “sidewalks” was more of an “off-road” exercise.

An expat friend of mine said he was leading a conversational English class in Saigon. He flashed a picture of a road and asked the students what it was. “Road,” they of course replied. When he flashed a picture of a sidewalk, they immediately chimed in with “motorcycle parking”. It seems that sidewalks in Saigon are just about anything but.

Parking

There are a lot of bikes in Saigon. A lot. The sheer number and concentration is almost incomprehensible. And although sidewalks are glorified parking lots for bikes, it’s still not quite enough space. Many businesses also double as bike parking.

For example, the bubble tea place I regularly frequented consisted solely of a small counter at the front. The back of the establishment was home to about two dozen bikes, which regularly came whizzing in and out through the front of the store, bubble-tea-customers be damned.

Crossing the Road is a Leap of Faith

The biggest test of Saigon comfort (this also extends to the rest of Vietnam, but as the country’s largest city Saigon is an exaggerated example) is how easily you cross the road. With a never-ending river of bikes traveling in both directions (some periodically – nay, frequently – going the wrong way), crossing the road involves simply launching yourself into the fray and trusting that you won’t die.

Admittedly there is a little more science to crossing the road than that; the mantra is “avoid the cars, and the bikes will avoid you”. Cars and buses take precedence on the roads, and pedestrians are wise not to test that theory or they’ll get honked at (at best; run over at worst). Beyond that, walk slowly and predictably, and the bikes miraculously move around you.

Imagine walking into the middle of this

The key is in being predictable. Walking one day with Jeannie, we got halfway across the road before we realized we needed to double back. Jeannie wheeled around without a thought, and had I not caught her and held her back, she’d have been Saigon’s next bike-pedestrian casualty. Bikes will avoid you, but do something unpredictable and all bets are off.

Taxi!

At just about every street corner (and often in between) are people sitting on bikes. Sitting, lying down, plucking the hairs on their faces (seriously – I saw it more than I’d care to), eating meals, whatever. Just hanging out on their bikes. For the longest time I couldn’t tell why they’d choose to spend so much time balanced precariously on a parked bike (when they could be at home perhaps), until I learned that these people are motorcycle taxi drivers.

Approach anybody who’s hanging out on their bike, and you can negotiate a fare to wherever you want to go. In fact, try to walk past them, and they’ll likely call out to you and ask you if you want a ride. (Because, like I said earlier, people just don’t walk in most parts of Saigon; surely if you’re walking you must be looking for a ride).

Family Affair

You name it; if you look long enough you’ll find it on a bike. From loads as large as full-size refrigerators and huge lengths of rebar, to three generations of families, you’ll get it all – piled on one bike.

A precarious - yet standard - load

Riding with Rebar

Yes, those are snakes

Bakery on Board

After the fevered pace of six countries (that I stayed in, making no mention of the ones I passed through) over 17 days in Europe, followed by the constant vibration of a solid week aboard the Trans-Manchurian, the last week of my Ultimate Train Challenge travels through China and Vietnam was no less adventurous or storied.

We blew through Beijing, gazed at Guilin, said Hello to Hanoi, and eventually settled in Saigon.

Some of the more interesting (and random) rail experiences happened on this last part of the Ultimate Train Challenge, and my favourite train ride for scenery and photographic friendliness (due in part to windows that opened) was the last two-night ride from Hanoi to Saigon.

Please enjoy the third and final part to my video trilogy of the Ultimate Train Challenge adventures of The Professional Hobo. You’ll see from some of the shots and footage in the last half of the video why I liked the final train ride – and ultimately, Vietnam – so much.

Enjoy!

Email subscribers, please click here to watch.

Although the Ultimate Train Challenge involved 30 days and almost 25,000kms of train travel, the Trans-Manchurian section represented the biggest “challenge” of the trip in being the longest stretch of uninterrupted train travel – one week and 9,000kms.

Spending a week solid on a train from Moscow to Beijing, in small quarters with no showers and two people I’d only just met for a day a couple of weeks prior was no small task.

The good news is that we’re all still friends, and actually, I consider myself very lucky to have shared such an epic experience as the Ultimate Train Challenge with two other dedicated nomadic travelers and bloggers.

Please enjoy this video diary of my week on the Trans-Manchurian train through Russia and China. It’s a good thing “smell-o-vision” isn’t a big hit, and you’ll see me wearing the same outfit up to three days in a row. But rest assured the continuity is genuine; you’ll detect signs of wear-and-tear throughout the week, including increasingly flatter hair and growing bags under my eyes.

But don’t worry – you don’t have to look at my sorry face the whole time; I’ve crammed the video with clips and pictures of the amazing changing scenery along the way, as well as some of our food stops and “beer chats” with new friends, a few time-lapse clips, and some tense moments at the Russian/Chinese border.

Enjoy!

Email subscribers, please click here to watch the video on YouTube.

When I signed on to the Ultimate Train Challenge, I didn’t really have a true sense of the sheer distance I’d be covering by train in just 30 days. Sure – I knew that 25,000kms was a lot, but that was just a number, which I couldn’t really comprehend.

It was when I started planning the next step of my travels that I realized “popping back over to Europe” involved a lot more than a pop. More like a 12 hours of flying sort of pop.

In the first 17 days of the Ultimate Train Challenge, I covered a huge distance and quite a laundry list of countries: Portugal, Spain (both Granada and Barcelona), Switzerland, Czech Republic, Ukraine, and Russia. This says nothing of the countries I also passed through (but didn’t leave the train or station), which includes France, Austria, Slovakia, and Hungary.

Please enjoy this video of my Ultimate Train Challenge adventures through Europe. This is Part One of a three-part video series of Ultimate Train Challenge fun.

Email subscribers, click here to watch the video on YouTube.

When I was last in China (18 years ago – eek!), my ballet tour took me to six cities. But by far, my fondest memories were of Beijing and Guilin.

So it is a blessing that these are the two places I get to revisit (or rather, breeze through) on my return to China as part of the Ultimate Train Challenge.

We’re all very grateful for the two whole nights we get to sleep in stationary beds at How Hostel - I realize with slight horror that the last time I stayed this long anywhere was in Zurich, which feels like lifetimes ago.

River City

With two rivers meeting near the centre, Guilin is a very water-centric city. And if you can hack it, the best time of day to experience Guilin’s river culture is early in the morning; the earlier the better.

My first morning in Guilin I witness this phenomenon around 8am. An elderly woman (she must be in her 60s or 70s) has her leg propped up on a bridge and is stretching her hamstrings as part of her morning exercises. She is so flexible, she’s actually overextended the splits – and she makes it look like nothing (can everybody in Guilin do the splits? I wonder).

Further down, a group of ballroom dancers are waltzing in the user-friendly park space that lines the riverside.

Next group another 100 metres away is a tai chi session with about 10 people practicing.

Then, a group of costumed women with drums, apparently rehearsing for a performance.

Following, some sort of meditative dancers with flags.

There are periodic public exercise “playgrounds”, but instead of slides and monkey bars for children, the playground-esque equipment is comprised of stationery bicycles, rowers, and cross-country ski contraptions commonly seen in home gyms.

Between all these groups practicing different modalities of exercise and meditation are dozens (hundreds?) of pilgrims; power-walkers to wanderers, many exaggeratedly swinging their arms or hitting their shoulders or other pressure points in what I surmise is an eastern practice for total body health maintenance.

And amazingly despite the murky colour of the water, there are even people – many people – swimming in the river (either doing “laps” across and back, or swimming along the length of the river) alongside motorboats and bamboo rafts.

The following morning I’m out before the sun has even fully risen, admittedly not so much for exercise as a quest to enjoy one last bowl of Guilin’s famous rice noodles for breakfast before catching a 7:30am train.

Guilin's awesome rice noodles, for only 3 yuan! Enjoyable at any time of day.

But walking through the park enroute to breakfast is a magical experience. The entourage of scooter/motorcycle traffic hasn’t begun for the day, which creates a subdued – almost muted – ambience. Quite a few people are out to enjoy the early morning peace along with me; a dozen people practicing tai chi, two women out for a morning stroll, and lots of individual arm-swinging pressure-point-pounding power walkers and tai chi gurus.

The water surrounding us, with Guilin’s famous and unique mountain landscape as a backdrop is a perfect setting for these early morning meditations. What a way to start the day.

River Tours

With such a water-centric culture, it stands to reason that one of the biggest tourist attractions for Guilin are the river cruises along the Li River.

This is one of the experiences I most fondly recall of my visit to China in 1993. Cruising along the quiet Li River with its clear water and stunning scenery was a peaceful afternoon that left me feeling like I’d “discovered” an untouched and very special part of China.

Imagine my surprise 18 years later when I realize the rest of the world has caught on to cruising this “untouched” and special part of China..

This time around, it’s very much “touched”.

Our Guilin guide Sherry (of China Odyssey Tours) leads us through the fray to our boat, which heads out to cruise along this 83km stretch of the Li River in an assembly line fashion. Every picture along the length of the twisting river in either direction includes at least three identical river boats.

18 years ago, I remember a man on a bamboo raft pulling up and tethering to the boat. He had a basket of fruit and offered his wares for sale to the passengers. I found this unique, charming, ingenious, and fascinating.

Today, the man on the bamboo raft is still there (along with dozens of other bamboo rafts). But in addition to selling fruit, he also sells pop, and even souvenirs of little men on bamboo rafts selling stuff to passengers on river cruise ships. I kid you not.

Bamboo raft man...

...pulling up to the boat...

...and selling little men on bamboo rafts selling stuff...

Initially my stomach turns at the exploitative nature of this river cruise and how “touristy” it has become. I long for the feeling of being “off the beaten path” that I had before, oh so many years ago.

But as the hours pass and as I aim my camera out at the (still stunning) mountain scenery instead of the other tourists and boats, I realize the views are still the same. The unique mountains with imaginative names and tales of folklore are still there, and just as majestic as before.

There’s a reason so many people have caught on to the river cruises of Guilin. It’s an amazing experience. And there’s no reason why I should be the only person to know it.

Touring the Countryside

“So do you like bicycles?” Sherry asks us. Jeannie and I eye each other, having seen the bicycle tour listed on our itinerary and feeling nervous about our respective injuries that prevent us from riding very well.

“Um, they’re okay…” we reply, not sure how to navigate the second part of our tour planned for the day.

“How long do you think you can ride?”

I’m grateful for this question, since I’m not averse to riding, but have no ability to do it for more than very short distances. “No more than half an hour,” I reply.

Sherry’s eyes widen and I detect a note of panic. “Really? That’s all?”

I go on to describe my chronic hip injury, and Jeannie nods, chiming in with her bum knee.

Sherry takes this information in stride and immediately adjusts our plans for the day by instead taking us on a ride in an open-air golf cart through the countryside. We appreciate the customizable nature of the tours we’ve received throughout China with China Odyssey Tours, and the ease with which we’ve been able to travel through China in our almost-delusional state of travel-exhaustion.

Ever Onwards

Sadly, that’s it for our time in China. Our itinerary presses us ever onwards towards Saigon. Traveling about 25,000kms in 30 days by train requires constant movement; movement that now has us feeling dizzy, confusing events and locations, and largely unaware of what day it is or even what time it is.

the bustling Nanning

But the end is now in sight; we have six hours by train to Nanning (where we get a chance to walk around for a few hours), followed by 12 hours to Hanoi (which sadly entails getting off the train twice in the middle of the night for border formalities). After a day in Hanoi, our final train (36 hours) delivers us to our ultimate destination of Saigon. Despite the fact that this last portion of schedule actually equates to half of the epic Trans-Manchurian train, at this stage it feels like a drop in the bucket; we can do this in our sleep. And in fact we will – three nights’ sleep.

Check out this video of my Guilin experience, from peaceful tai-chi filled mornings to the chaotic (yet beautiful) river tour!

Email subscribers, click here to watch the video.

Thanks to HostelBookers for arranging our Guilin accommodation at How Hostel, and to China Odyssey Tours for arranging all our tours and transfers throughout China.

We get off the Trans-Manchurian train after 150 hours of straight train travel from Moscow to Beijing.

Aah….China.

I was last here in July of 1993 – 18 years ago – at the tender age of 16, when I toured the country with a ballet. It was my first overseas trip, and an instrumental experience in fostering my love of travel, which eventually led to my adopting a life of full-time travel as The Professional Hobo.

On Arrival

“Andy” – our tour guide from China Odyssey Tours (whose Chinese name obviously isn’t Andy) – meets us at the station at 5:30am when we arrive, feeling a little worse-for-wear given our last week on board a train (not to mention the two weeks prior of careening through Europe). We’re eager for showers, stationary beds, and a decent meal.

But Andy has other designs for our day. Given his expertise, he has two strong recommendations; One: that we head straight for the Great Wall of China to avoid traffic and crowds, and Two: if we can wait long enough, that we return to the city to eat lunch at a local place instead of a “touristy” restaurant in the mountains.

Given our paltry 24 hours in Beijing, these turn out to be amazing recommendations that we end up repeatedly thanking him for.

China Then…China Now

My first time in China – also being my first overseas trip – I felt like I’d landed on another planet. Nothing was familiar, and I was traveling through some remote areas that hadn’t seen white people. I felt uncomfortable at being the object of curious attention, overwhelmed by the cultural differences, and intimidated by a heavy military presence. Although the experience of visiting China as a whole was an amazing eye-opener, there were more than a few occurrences that left a sour taste in my mouth.

Now, having been to well over 30 countries since that trip, China is a very different place for me. (And I’m a very different person for China). With the advent of the 2008 Olympics and globalization in general, my white skin and red hair isn’t a head-turner the way it once was. I’ve also got much more “travel street sense” under my belt, and am less phased by cultural differences, and more knowledgeable about (and respectful of) Chinese culture.

So this time around, I’m both comfortable and happy in China. I immediately notice a difference when the smiling friendly Chinese customs officials breeze through the train in the wake of the grim and intimidating Russians. This friendliness only improves throughout my entire trip in China.

Enroute to The Wall

We’re thankful for the lack of Beijing’s notorious traffic on this early Saturday morning, and for the extra rest we get on the 1.5-hour journey in a comfortable car enroute to “The Wall”.

I certainly remember more bicycles and less cars, but aside from that, Beijing looks quite similar at first blush.

Including the smog.

The pollution is so thick that I look at the rising red sun – directly – without even squinting. It would be more beautiful if I didn’t understand that the root of my sun-watching pleasure is in the layers upon layers of smog.

In many parts of China, I remember that clear skies can only be identified by the slight blue tinge directly overhead. You can see that it’s sunny because there are shadows on the ground, but the hazy sky looks overcast. It’s bizarre. This effect has only worsened with time, as you would reasonably assume given a lapse of 18 years.

But 70km out of town at The Great Wall, the blue skies are bluer – in more ways than one.

The Great Wall of China

When we enter the gates at Badaling, I don’t have recollections of anything around me, and I assume that the last time I was here I visited a different section (an entirely reasonable assumption, given the many different sections of the Wall you can visit).

Since it’s so early, there is almost nobody here to begin with, and given a choice from the entrance, most people turn right and climb to the nearest viewpoint. Our guide – and our intuition – tells us to go left.

We have this section of wall almost entirely to ourselves. There are two people about half a kilometre away. It’s a photographer’s bliss, at The (empty) Great Wall of China on this early Saturday morning.

Choosing to get lost in memories of the last time I was here, I take a few photos along with Michael and Jeannie, and begin my pilgrimage up the steep steps to the viewpoint a little faster while they set a more languid pace with their cameras.

I reach the top, and something happens.

A plastic bag lining a garbage bin in the watch tower is rustling in the wind in an eerily familiar way. I look out, and a cable car line that was obviously shut down long ago sits below. I look left. I look right. Can this be?

Suddenly it’s 18 years ago. I stood in this exact spot on top of The Great Wall of China, marvelling at the 1054 steps I took to get up there, and celebrating with my best friend Chris who was also in the ballet with me.

18 years ago, we reflected on the history of this amazing wonder of the world, looked out over the beautiful mountains, remembered the adventures that brought us to that moment, and dreamt of our vast futures that lay ahead.

That's me - 2nd from the right!

18 years ago, we took a picture sitting on the steps at the top, geeking the camera after the exhausting climb. A vendor beside us looked on us bemusedly as she said “Hullo! Hullo!” and tried to sell us something.

This time, it’s just me (no vendors, no ballerinas, and no tourists) and I’m not so much exhausted as exhilarated.

The exact same spot I sat with my friend 18 years ago

Like last time, I reflect on the history of this amazing wonder of the world, look out over the beautiful mountains, remember the (many more) adventures that brought me to this moment, and dream of the vast future that still lays ahead.

Please enjoy this video of The Great Wall of China – then and now.

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I’m very grateful for the chance to revisit my favourite Chinese city of Beijing after all these years; it has been an amazing “full-circle” experience. Many thanks to HostelBookers for arranging our one-night stay (our first night in a stationary bed in a week!) at the very nice Happy Dragon Courtyard Hostel, and to China Odyssey Tours for arranging our Chinese tours, transfers, and even the world’s fastest train from Beijing to Shanghai. You’ve made our trip through China an absolute stress-free breeze – something I can’t be happier for after the last few weeks of exhausting travel.