26th July 2007
Now that the computer realises I speak English…

It’s amazing what a difference it makes when your computer finally acknowledges you aren’t fluent in Mandarin. I’m now inspired to add a bit more to our blog without having to decode every button like I’m in a Dan Brown novel.

Today was a leisurely one; we all mostly flopped about the hotel and beach like happy seals. Sarah and I tried a bit of snorkelling, but visibility was poor, the sea was murkier than a politician’s tax return. Jamie occupied himself crab-hunting along the shore, and Sue watched our antics from the safety of her sun lounger (possibly in amusement, possibly in judgment, hard to say).

Last week, I stumbled upon a little bar tucked away down the beach, the sort of hidden gem I absolutely love. Right on the sand, out of the way, quiet, and with a perfect table for people-watching, or in my case, ship-spotting through binoculars while sipping lukewarm Tsingtao (a local beer that tastes like disappointment and always arrives just above room temperature). Jamie discovered my hideaway, and naturally, the rest of the family followed. So now, instead of peaceful solitude, I have company. And of course, the company must be fed and watered, which the bar handles admirably with a good little barbecue. The owners don’t speak a word of English, but we smile at each other a lot, which seems to do the trick. I think they enjoy the novelty of my arrival, binoculars and all.

Yesterday we slid down a mountain. Sounds exciting, right? In reality, it was more “gentle coast” than “white-knuckle ride”. Sue rather enjoyed it, but the rest of us were frustrated by the compulsory lead sledge, whose job was apparently to ensure we couldn’t pick up enough speed to endanger a passing butterfly. Afterwards, Sarah and Jamie fed some surprisingly friendly pigeons for the bargain price of 15 yuan (mine, of course), despite Sue muttering something about bird flu. They haven’t started coughing yet.

Later, we ventured into Sanya City for lunch and, yes, more shopping. It’s a lively, colourful city, a real hive of activity, and even boasts a McDonald’s, which made me question why we’d dragged the kids halfway across the globe.

We got chatting to another British couple who’d gone to the fish-nibbling spa (clearly it’s catching on), only to find their taxi driver had promised to wait… and then didn’t. They’d already paid him, naturally. It took them eight hours to get back. A lesson learnt the hard way: never pay a Chinese taxi driver in advance unless you enjoy unplanned day-long hikes.

Some of the other Brits have flown off on whirlwind trips to Beijing and Hong Kong. It seems like a great idea if you’ve never been; you might as well squeeze them in while you’re here. But their itineraries are like an episode of Challenge Anneka, they’re doing in a single day what took us the better part of a week.

Sanya itself is still a bit of a hidden gem. It’s a large island, mostly unspoilt, and aside from a generous helping of Russians and the 160 Brits who came in on our flight from Manchester, it’s delightfully under-touristed. That flight only comes fortnightly, so we’re quite the novelty. I suspect all that will change post-2008 Olympics, when China really flings open its doors to tourism, and this quiet corner will be swamped.

The locals are charming and clearly still getting used to Westerners. They do enjoy watching us eat, no pressure there, and they’re visibly delighted when we attempt chopsticks, even if they immediately rush over with a knife and fork just in case we start flinging dim sum across the restaurant.

We are having a lovely time here, but I think we’re all quite looking forward to Thailand next week. The Thais are a bit more relaxed about health and safety, and while that may not comfort Sue, it promises a bit more adrenaline. China’s famous one-child policy has led to children being doted on to the point of royalty, and you do get the sense they’re growing up knowing no one will ever tell them no. It’ll be interesting to see how that plays out in the long run.

You can always spot a Chinese family, matching outfits, travelling in large, chatty packs of 10–12. If one person starts doing something, the whole group does it, and usually very enthusiastically and very loudly. Mealtimes are a riot: a table for 12 seemingly has around 3,000 dishes, the musical clatter of chopsticks, and an aftermath that looks like a food fight just ended. Meanwhile, we four sit with our individual plates, politely eating our way through portions that would comfortably feed a rugby team, while the locals watch us with a mix of curiosity and pity.

Last night we dined at a local restaurant with some unexpected guests: rats. Sue politely pointed them out to the waitress, who responded with something that probably translated to, “Oh yes, little mice, aren’t they sweet?” They kept us company throughout the meal, scampering between the tables and, to be fair, looked quite adorable. Maybe they are relatives of the previous night’s entrée. Later, while seated at a bar,  screaming erupted from some European new arrivals who’d just noticed our rodent dinner guests joining them for a post-meal drink. Honestly, it’s a wonder they weren’t provided with little menus.