The Rickety Bus Lottery
I love Chinese buses.
The rickety thrill of not knowing where you are, or if you’re going to end up where you think you’re going.
There’s something to be said for doing things the way the Chinese do. All the way across the world, the thing that gets me the most is the chance to experience how other people live their daily lives. I love the terrifying, ramshackle confusion of indecipherable bus timetables, of minuscule print stop names, the hurly-burly locals bustle for seats.
The lurch and groan of the buses in Chengdu screech of ancient machinery, and the rattle of tin-trap assures me the metal contraption has never seen a safe test, let alone heard of one.
Who knows where I’ll end up.
I’m sure it’ll be exciting.
The Chengdu Noodle Man.
Time for lunch and I’m sitting in a Xingjiang Muslim noodle restaurant that’s at most the size of a small bedroom. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a mattress hiding somewhere amongst the cupboards at the back.
I manage to smile politely enough to let the suspicious young chef kindly allow me video him literally pulling the noodles for my lunch, even though he clearly thought I was batty.
He’s got serious skills, and is extremely polite.
You sure don’t get noodles like this in your ramen-pack folks.
Thanks Noodle Man!
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