Sunday, 6th December, 2015
- Day 96/298
- 32%
Leaving the friendly family motel I find myself condemned to the slippery shoulders of the G208, where there is little to distract me from my money worries until I reach Zhurihezhen.
Leaving the friendly family motel I find myself condemned to the slippery shoulders of the G208, where there is little to distract me from my money worries until I reach Zhurihezhen.
Morning reveals quiet pinky hues over an uninspiring backyard.
My brand new bed was warm and comfortable, but of course my brand new shower lacked the prerequisite taps. I can’t find my toothbrush, toothpaste, moisturiser, or soap, and have to assume these were left in the bathroom of the apartment, that I was so rudely evicted from.
After all the effort to get 4G, I’m also disappointed to find that I can only get EDGE at the hotel, perhaps the 4G was only available in store.
Heading downstairs, I enjoy a couple of elaborately folded buns from the breakfast buffet.
Then the hotel staff come to see me off, obliging for a friendly family photo.
A little way down the road, I spot a police car and stop to ask for directions.
I want to know if I can get off the two-lane G208 and onto the four-lane G55, which runs parallel to it. The latter is modern and sexy, with pop-music toll gates, and wide shoulders, perfect for avoiding the regular snow drifts.
But unfortunately the officers say no, it’s not suitable for bikes. They do however want to take a photo of me and I decide that this is fine as long as they reciprocate. We take photos of each other in our winter gears and it’s all very amiable.
But I think this means that I’m stuck on the G208 the whole way through China, which is kind of disappointing. But what can you do?
Out on the road, the scenery is dull but the traffic is fairly light, with most likely opting for the faster toll road.
That leaves a few cars and gangs of the big FAW trucks.
Heading north to the border at Zamiin-Uud, they resemble mechanical baboons, their swollen loads wrapped in canvas and netting to prevent them from bursting all over the road.
In the other direction, they haul long trailers bearing massively oversized windmill blades, white with red tips. Unlike Russia, they sound their horns and leave enough room for me, but it is just enough and I get well off the road when they come rumbling through.
My hands are a bit numb and I blame the pogies, which seem to force them into unnatural positions.
But with my mind dwelling on my dwindling savings, my mental suffering far outweighs any physical pain.
In just three months, I’ve managed to spend around ninety percent of my twelve month budget. It’s impossible to single out any one culprit, but transport, extra camping gear, Western food and internet connectivity have all played a substantial role.
When I think about it, I’m often spending just to make myself feel better. But when I treat my hard won savings as disposable income, the net result is that I feel worse, much worse.
And I didn’t expect to have to hotel my way through China, either. I’m a bit over paying ¥ 100 (NZD 23.90) every night, that’s a lot to me. I’m pretty sure that they jack up the price when they see me coming, because quite often someone guides me to that hotel and I’m sure that they take a cut.
The other option, of course, is to camp. But it’s difficult to find a pitch out here and I’m a bit over winter camping.
No doubt I’ll feel better about things after I’ve been paid for my contract work. But at the moment the amount of money I have left is probably just enough to fly back to New Zealand, and that’s a depressing thought.
With little in the way of relevant advice, my mind then wanders to an earlier web problem from Ulaanbaatar. The solution it presents distracts me from my burning financial issues. Thanks, brain!
In the late afternoon I stop to check out some interesting vehicles parked on a side road.
The two in front could be bulk people or animal carriers, while the one behind them piggybacks a squat machine which looks like a cross between a tractor, a forklift and an airport fire truck. This vehicular entourage is the highlight of my day, which is saying something. They wouldn’t be out of place in a Thunderbirds movie.
The Golden Hour strikes at 4pm, sending long shadows down the highway. At 5pm I roll into Zhurihezhen, having ridden just over 42k.
In Zhurihezhen’s main street, a friendly tout intercepts me and leads me to a nearby hotel.
It’s a multi-story building, but the sweeping staircase and patterned carpets give it a relaxed, European feel. In the reception area, I’m surprised to see a health poster which advocates a message of don’t smoke, be an example to others. It appears to be old and the glut of cheap cigarettes and smoking men here indicates that the war on smoking was lost a long time ago.
Hauling my bags upstairs is hard work, but the room is okay, similar to every other room in China, with the odd thing not working (lamps). It does have an interesting view out over the town center and the frigid plains beyond.
At a nearby restaurant, counter trays display unidentified fish and meats. My meat dish resembles beef, attached to the bone and dipped in tasty marinade. I partner this with some lovely garlic noodles and chilli, before a massive bowl of soup, tofu and egg appears, which I don’t remember ordering! All up it comes to ¥ 59 (NZD 14.12).
After dinner, the chain-smoking owner invites me over to the family table. He appears to be quick tempered, but equally quick to back down for the sake of family harmony. Case in point is the boring melodramatic soap we are watching, which appears to facilitate quality time with his wife.
Meanwhile, their handsome son snaps off covert photos of me, while his mother or sister does the same, but without hiding it. They bring out a large bowl of water and the boy proceeds to wash his own hair, then spends a long time combing it.
The father passes me a bottle with an English label. It’s a plant-based product which claims to both prevent itchy scalp and promote hair growth. He points at a bald patch on his head and asks me if it will work. My diplomatic reply is that there’s no harm in trying, but secretly I think that he would have more chance of success if there was still something worth saving. Keen to action my promises, he spends a long time rubbing the product through his hair, which I find amusing, as surely it would be much more effective to simply quit smoking.
Back in my room, I have an interesting chat with a Chinese friend over WeChat. She asks me about relationships and this seems harmless until she enquires about my age, and is shocked by my response.