Written March 2015.

I stood consulting my map in the main square of Lijiang’s old town. A women had taken a few steps closer from nearby, into hearing range. After saying excuse me in Mandarin I began to carelessly chat a few words in English. Eventually asking for directions. “Minzhu road?”.

“Can I help you Mr?”

“Minzhu road.” I repeated. Eyes still down on the map. Then I looked up. And I saw the expectant look in her eyes. She was also making some motions with her hands. While the anatomy of this was questionable, her meaning was obvious.

“Come with me Mr. Upstairs.”

“No no no.” I said, now with the realisation that I’d been approached and propositioned by a prostitute.

“No no no.” She mocked back as she walked away. I was still none the wiser with directions.

In this square there is also a large statue celebrating UNESCO’s designation of the town to a world heritage sight. But it’s not just the prostitutes that suggest a strange kind of commemoration. By night, it’s filled by lights and by noise. The buildings, footbridge, and an old style waterwheel lit rather unhistorically in garish greens, blues, and purples. And on the narrow paved street that meanders from here along a canal, these colours take on further intensity. Disco balls across the streets. The buildings here all converted into bars of a very Chinese fashion – completely without subtlety. Jarring dance clubs; something that takes on the semblance of an entertainment show, the host shouting and pressing a button that sounds a harsh and fast electronic drum beat; karaoke bars; female singers in tiny pants, and their male counterparts in leather jackets; young dancers on show borrowing the ethnic dresses that show the most skin; mediocre guitar bands. They’re outrageously loud. Speakers pointed out into the street, they’re competing for custom. The result is the most disjoint of symphonies. I have no desire to go into any of these places, but it’s a street thronged with locals. A Chinese friend of mine tells me that for the domestic tourists, Lijiang is the country’s one night stand capital.

By day there may be some respite from the music, but there is no respite from the crowds. The streets instead become the domain of the tour groups. 50 people in each group, they chat loudly, their guide yelling out information and instruction via a megaphone. The older tour groups always seem to wear matching caps, meandering slowly as to block your way via a sea of yellow or red heads. These groups have no museums or more traditional attempts of historic preservation to see. Instead, every building has become a shop or restaurant. And most buildings seem new, simply built to try and fit in with the old style. It’s a place that seems to have been largely lost for the promise of fast cash from booming domestic tourism. I’ve read that through last year 25 million foreign tourists visited China. Negligible compared to the 2 billion holidays that the Chinese take within their own country. Western sensibilities have little say here.

I further visit Dali, another city a two hour train ride away with it’s own old town. This one is more picturesque, set away from a city centre, and sandwiched between a mountain rise and a large calm lake. Over the years it’s attractive it’s own population of ex-pats. Finding here a calm life and cheap living. But they too are being steadily overwhelmed by the domestic day trippers. At least in Dali, on a bike or on foot, you can escape the crowds into the countryside in no time at all. It’s a pleasant spot.

I found the same in Guanxi province. Here you can find the small tree covered limestone peaks that have adorned Chinese illustrations over the centuries. But the main bases of entry, Yangshou and Guilin, have been transformed by the crowds. Noise, lights, street karaoke, souvenir photos, overpriced boat trips, the commoditisation of a view. Entertaining for a view hours, but then jump on a bike to escape.

It was only a little more north in Yunnan that I found the peace so evocative of rural China. On the steep hike of the Tiger Leaping Gorge the sharp upwards bends leave the tour buses behind. After a days walk, we found a hostel perched across from the mountain side. Quite but not for the gentle roar of the river below. And just far enough from the cities that the stars shone bright through the smog that night. I wanted to continue. Through the mountain scenery where few people go. North into rural Sichuan province or even West into Tibet. These are the places that Chinese urbanisation hasn’t yet found. Left in poverty and serenity, a landscape where Buddhism thrived. Only my time was short in Yunnan. After a few more hours of peace, I was back towards the cities. And then a flight to the biggest and brashest of them all: Shanghai.

For all china’s rich history and beautiful landscapes ready yourself before coming to this country. The crowds and the construction. The cultural indifference. While fascinating, if you want to escape it, bring time, patience and a very good phrase book.