How I came to spend the night sleeping in a pig sty: With a man that looked a bit like Jesus

November 17, 2014

Mojiang was a hectic and crowded town that, if one sign I saw in town was to be believed, marked the Tropic of Cancer; that invisible line across the Earth that meant I was now officially in the tropics, and that also meant I was nearing the end of the long push south. Somewhere beyond the Tropic of Cancer lay the Equator, and somewhere beyond that lay the Tropic of Capricorn, and somewhere beyond that lay Australia. Yes, I was practically there now.

As always I stocked up on silly little packaged food in a small shop on the way out of town and prepared to continue. But as I was about to hurl my tired leg over the frame once more and ride on towards another day of certain mediocrity I happened to see a wild and crazy bearded man heading along the road towards me. Such a sight would not always arouse in me very much excitement, but he was on a bicycle, and at this moment in time another European bicycle tourist going the same way as me was a vision of such magnificent splendor that I almost fell to my knees and wept. "HELLO!" I cried with great joy, "Stop! Stop! Are you from Italy!?!" I asked, referring to his bright blue top emblazoned with that country's name across it.

"No," came the response, "I am from the Basque country of Spain."

"Well, who cares, you can speak English!!" I shook the man's hand with great voracity. My saviour had arrived, and he looked like Jesus.

The man's name was Alex, which was good because it was an anagram of the last European touring cyclist that I had met, (Axel in Mongolia two months earlier,) and was therefore easy for me to remember. Alex had cycled from Spain, although he had used other transport at times, including, sensibly, across most of China. Even so his visa was expiring on the 23rd (two days after mine) and he was worried that he wouldn't make it to the border on time.

"I think I will have to take other transport, the hills are too steep and it is too far" he said.

"No, no," I replied, "it's not so far as you think, you don't have to take the main route. There is a shorter way, and it goes along a river so it will be flatter for a while."

"I don't know man. I think it is better to stay on the main route."

"No, come on. This other way is better, trust me, a Danish man told me."

"What?"

"A Danish man told me. He's planning my route."

"What?"

"I have a Danish man planning my route. I've never met him but he lives on the Internet and tells me where to cycle so that I don't have to think about it. I really think you should listen to the Danish man. He knows what he's talking about."

"Okay" Alex shrugged.

And so the two of us cycled onwards together, the company providing my spirits with a much needed boost at just the right time. And our timing was just right, with the turn off from the G213 for Peter's shortcut being only five kilometres outside of Mojiang. Had we not met when we did my Basque saviour would have shot off in the other direction and we would have never known of one another's existence. And fortune favoured us further, with the turn off indeed taking us alongside a river. It was a brilliant time suddenly; cycling with company along a good, flat road.

There were a couple of big dams along the river

The sheer joy I felt at having a simple conversation should not be underestimated. Alex and I compared stories and bad-mouthed China together as we dodged stray chickens and dogs on the quiet road. Having somebody else who knew how I felt about the beeping and the spitting (turned out I wasn't the only person on Earth who found that grotesque noise cringeworthy) made it all the more easier to bear. But not all of Alex's experiences in China were negative.

"Have you noticed how Chinese girls have a thing for Western guys?" he asked.

"Erm. No, I haven't actually."

"Really, they love Western guys. They are always saying hello and flirting."

"No, no, I haven't had any of that. I think it's just you."

"No they love Western guys."

"They don't love me."

"They love Western guys."

"I think it's just you."

"No, they love Western guys."

"Lets talk about something else. Your bags aren't waterproof?" I asked.

"No but it never rains much."

"That's true actually. I can't remember the last time I got rained on."

"I only had a few days with rain."

"And the rainy season here is over."

"Yes it is the dry season, it never rains here this time of year."

"I only had one day of rain in the last six months."

"It never rains."

"No, it really never rains. People think it rains but it doesn't"

"No, it never rains."

"It never rains."

I told Alex it was his fault that it was raining. He shouldn't have tempted fate like that

Despite the rain it was a great day cycling with Alex alongside that river and we covered a big distance that put the border firmly within our sights. The only difficulty we had was finding somewhere to camp. We had the river below us to one side but we decided going down to camp by it was a bad idea. I thought the Chinese might suddenly let a load of water through the dam in the middle of the night, which would lead to certain death, whilst Alex was scared of snakes. In any case there was no way down, and so we were stuck on the road, the other side of which were steep mountainsides. Any flat land, including little patches of verge at the edge of the road, were cultivated by the locals that lived in little homes at the roadside.

Eventually we found a patch of land that wasn't currently being used for anything and decided it was a good spot for the tents. But it was close to a house and we were spotted, so we asked if it would be okay to sleep there for the night. Anywhere else in Asia we would be greeted with smiles and invited in for tea, but seeing as this was China we were instead told to clear off.

With darkness starting to close in we were a little stuck, but we continued and before long came across a few buildings that lay empty. The main house was boarded up but on closer inspection of the other buildings we found that there was a little brick thing with a corrugated roof that was just big enough for our two tents. The fact that this was almost certainly the former living quarters of a pig or two did not deter us in the least. We put up our tents and settled in for the night.

And so that was the story of how I came to spend the night sleeping in a pig sty with a man that looked a bit like Jesus.

Today's ride: 130 km (81 miles)
Total: 33,748 km (20,958 miles)

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