Black markets and cold smiles

Crossing into Southern China was another milestone.  China was a country that sounded so strange and foreign, like it was in its own remote corner of the world.  With a few billion people, China was big and, for the last five years, we’ve constantly heard people talk of China, China, China.   But, what was it like on the inside?  Lifting billions of people out of poverty over the last 15 years can’t have been easy – surely there were those that got left behind?  I was eager to find out and had plenty of riding to do through a diverse range of landscapes and, at the end of the run, was the Himalayas.

The very first thing I noticed about China wasn’t even in China at all.  The last 200 km from Luang Prabang seemed to be under construction by Chinese workers.   A special economic development zone exists between Laos and China near the border.  With China’s influence it’s basically acquired a city on Laos soil.  There were very few Lao people in Boten but plenty of Chinese.  I had trouble finding people that spoke Lao and even more trouble finding a store that would accept my leftover kip (Laos currency).

The Laos side of the border was as to be expected.  I tried riding straight to the small window in a large demountable building and was immediately yelled at by a customs official because I failed to stop at the designated stop sign.  It seemed there was order to this border crossing.  After apologising profusely, I quickly got the required stamp in my passport and started cycling toward the border.  Once again, I was waved down by the border guard, told to get off my bicycle and show him my stamp.  I did and, as he handed back my passport, I took  four steps before getting back onto the bike and riding the 100 metres to the China customs.

This was the very first land based crossing I’d made on the Expedition.  Australia to Indonesia was by sea, as was Singapore.  The crossing from Malaysia to Thailand was via Langkawi Island and the Thailand/Laos crossing was by a quick longboat ride across the Mekong.  I laughed entering China at the imposing bold statement under construction.  A huge gateway (in Chinese style with the curved roof), which served no apparent purpose other than to look big and powerful, was being built so people could walk under before arriving at the recently built immigration check point.  There I found a large modern building, complete with marble floors, X-ray machines, huge open air atriums and lots of official looking staff in clean uniforms.  Having previously travelled through Europe and America, this was the kind of immigration control I was used to.  It was impersonal, very cold, simple and limited communication and, at the end, you still got your stamp but without the smile.  I was in China!  The roads were smooth, well paved and had gutters.  I thought to myself I was going to like travelling in China.

I’d spent all my leftover kip on noodles, soy milk and instant chocolate drinks.  There wasn’t much to choose from.  I had no Chinese Yuan and the instant noodles would have to last the two days ride to the first big town of Mongla where I thought I could get money.  I arrived in Mongla on a Saturday and cursed my timing.  The banks were closed; none of the ATM’s would give me money and nothing was open until Monday.  How would I pay for the accommodation and food? For the first time on the expedition I discovered what it was like having no money. I booked the accommodation and told them I would pay when I left.  I was running out of noodles and had no yuan to buy food.  Worst of all, I had reserves of American dollars in my bags in case of emergency, but the banks weren’t open till Monday!

As favourable winds had it, I happened to bump into a foreigner passing through Mongla on Sunday.  The bad news was that, using a foreign card, I couldn’t get access to money from any ATM in Mongla.  I would have to travel to Jinghong, three days ride north.  The good news was that he knew a guy at the bus station who would exchange money on the black market.  Although totally illegal, I had no option.  I discreetly asked around for someone who might be able to change money and found a dodgy guy who pulled me aside into a corner.  I showed him the money; he proposed a rate.  I laughed, playing the game.  I proposed a second rate (half way between the official rate and his offer).  He declined.  I began to walk away and he stopped me with a lower offer.  I shook my head and he agreed to my first offer.  I knew I was getting fleeced; he knew he’d probably not get a better offer and so, in a matter of seconds, I was bounding out of the bus station heading for the supermarket with a wad full of yuan!