Li River expedition, Pasta Yangshou style, cooking class and a trip to the local food market

This morning after breakfasting on dumplings which have become Livvy’s go-to food at all meals, Leo and our mute driver picked us up and we drove to Yangshou, about 45 minutes away, for a Li River bamboo raft ride with a mercurial boatman. The boatman grunted at us to don the rust stained orange life preservers sitting on the rickety bamboo chairs affixed to the equally rickety bamboo raft. The raft was more of an open concept Tom Sawyer-like contraption made of 4 long bamboo poles tied together with twine upon which two bamboo chairs were secured by more twine.

The boatman basically punts the craft down the river and over multiple rapid chutes, occasionally grunting for you to step off the raft and perch precariously on the makeshift stone walls abutting the rapids while he slides the raft over the ledge and then grunts at you to jump back on as the raft begins to shoot down the rapid. This is not for the feint of heart nor for those with balance challenges, and our boatman in particular seemed to enjoy shocking us along our journey down the river and smiling with each shriek of terror we produced.

The river is surrounded by beautiful limestone mountains and sadly also inhabited by dozens of “hallo ladies”, which is what I dubbed these local women on their own makeshift rafts that shout out, “Hallo, hallo lady, you buy, I make-ah cheap prihe foh you,” and hold out everything from Coke cans to pashmina scarves as you float by clutching your bamboo chair terrified of drowning and keeping an eye out for the next unannounced rapid. The river is also home to a myriad of fish fry flotillas, where chain smoking couples prepare sumptuous feasts of river fish for the Chinese tourists who stop to board the restaurant rafts and ingest this local delicacy. The fish fry flotillas are devoid of running water but river water is ample and used to both prepare the food and clean the dishes, and the remains of fish skeletons (for the locals pick all the meat clean off the heads) are tossed back into the river to maintain the natural nutrient balance of the river. 22 rapid chutes and a very soggy pair of tennis shoes later, we arrived at the end of the ride and were met by Leo.

Lunch at a local hot spot was an experience as the menu advertised spaghetti and meat sauce as well as pizza marguerita, and so Livvy asked if we might share both. Something deep in the pit of my stomach told me this was a mistake but the thought of yet another meal of dumplings and rice got the best of me and I acquiesced. What arrived at our table quite literally brought tears to Livvy’s eyes, as the pasta was seriously undercooked and steeped in what I can only describe as fake ketchup (a syrupy cherry colored semi-gelatinous sauce that clearly contained no tomato whatsoever) and then topped with some stir fried shredded meat and green onion. Livvy did her best to swallow a forkful out of politeness. The pizza was a hard round cardboard-like substance covered in the same cherry colored gelatinous sauce with some melted cheese-like product on top. We gave up and ordered some dumplings and rice, and agreed never to order Western food again while on this holiday.

To regain our good humor we spent the next 2 hours in the local markets with Liv bargaining like a champ. I found a fabulous linen tablecloth but wanted it in a larger size and watched in amazement as the elderly woman stall owner sprinted from stall to stall in search of the 144 inch cloth I desired until she finally found it.

Then we were off to our half day cooking class with Ellen, Liv’s new best friend, a 22 year old Dutch tourist Livvy hopes to retain as a penpal. Our chef was “Kelly” and she guided us first through the local food market, an experience a la Fear Factor, which instantly turned me into a vegetarian for the duration of the trip. Imagine dogs in cages (so you know they are fresh), 1000 year old eggs, frogs tied in bunches like lettuce, eels by the pound, snakes, sows ears, and 17 different ways to prepare pork intestines. Kelly was quite clear that above all else “don’ photograp tofu lady,” or something bad, very bad would happen. As we passed the tofu lady yielding her machete, I found myself avoiding her gaze altogether.

Kelly’s instruction style can best be characterized as firm, “now you do ehh, fasser like me noh slow, you too slow, muss go fasser or foo’ tays oi-el-ee.” I think my pretending to be a vegetarian caused some consternation as the clearly carnivorous Kelly espoused her love of all meats and handed me some taro root and tofu with noticeable disdain. Our kitchen was a river side hut with a beautiful view of the Li River and the backdrop of the towering limestone mountains. There were 2 Dutch couples in our class, plus Ellen and her South African friend Malcolm. Our kitchen was equipped with 9 propane powered woks, 9 bamboo steamers, 9 machetes, some tableware and the food Kelly had bought at the market. There were a few assistants on hand to step in should the need arise and to rinse our woks between courses.

The operation of the wok’s control switch was a matter of much import. As Kelly explained and then demonstrated, the handle controlled the temperature and was to be referred to in nautical terms. “Sweech on is sree o’cloh, medium hee is seez o’cloh, high hee is seven thirty” (I am not kidding), were Kelly’s instructions. I failed to locate the seven thirty position repeatedly and Kelly was forced to walk over and adjust my wok each time. How one is meant to find a half hour with a one handed switch is beyond me but Kelly no doubt was sure I had some sort of learning disability brought on by vegetarianism.

My one relief was the fainting Dutch woman in our midst. One of the Dutch ladies was suffering from some sort of lightheadedness, quite possible brought on by the propane rich environment of our poorly ventilated riverside kitchen hut, and kept needing to pop out and faint ever so briefly, thereby forcing a most unamused Kelly to cook the Dutch woman’s dishes as well as demonstrate for us all. In the end I cooked a very tasty vegetarian meal while Livvy did exceedingly well with her meat laden version, and after finishing up and thanking Kelly, although declining her generous offering of a discounted price for her very own cookbook printed on 9 x 11 sheets of paper and stapled term-paper style, we drove home with Livvy asleep in my lap.