4 Out of 3 People Have Trouble With Fractions
. . .Life here is primitive, at best. Electricity is something of a guessing game, not knowing when it will shut off next, or who even has it. I’ve showered, but don’t remember the last time I’ve felt so fresh and so clean. This morning I found a street-side table serving noodles out of a boiling pot that looked like it came from the Xia Dynasty, topped with three kinds of meat and finished off with a few indigenous spices. For 3 Yuan, I have the feeling I sinfully enjoyed my first meal with dog. I’ve since had a persistent itch behind my right ear and a continuing desire to find my owner’s couch and lick my testicles.
I’ve stopped caring about what I look and smell like and have long since accepted the fact that no matter where I go, I will return to my room with soiled socks and severely contaminated pant legs. I suppose I deserve that since my Sambas are over 8 years old, of which, at least 40% of the soles are completely worn away. I haven’t made pooh in at least a week, which is a stark contrast from my last trip to this region. I’ve started drinking the water from the river with dim hopes of getting back to our regularly scheduled programming.
We continued our day with a brief drive to Moon Hill; just outside the inexplicably beautiful city of Yangshuo. A cool, misty, mystical paradise this place is. I have yet to find the words in the English language to give its description justice.
We arrive at Moon Hill to find a flock of farmers tugging at our arms to buy postcards, water and whatever other crap they think they can sell to the ignorant white man (I just don’t have the energy to Google that term). My dad and I make a B-line to the toilet, absent of our newfound friendly panhandlers. To our surprise, we find two porcelain contraptions bolted to a wall. Excellent. As I’ve always been a window-seat kinda guy, I go wide. As I stand there, my junk in my hand, I find I’ve lost my sense of self as I gaze out the broken window at the hazy, limestone beauty only meters beyond. It’s not long before I come back down and as my focus shifts closer to my proximity, I notice a funny-looking S-shaped, rusted “pipe” sitting on the window ledge. For a moment, I disregard it as I re-holster my junk and zip up. I look down and put two and two together. It seems as though that this S-shaped “pipe” was at one time, intimately involved in complicated network of “pipes” connecting this porcelain contraption to a hole in the ground.
I stood there for a moment. Soiled feet, without pride, contaminated pant legs and all. And quickly realized that this was the first time I’ve stood and soaked in my own urine puddle and had been completely at peace with it. I sloshed out, weary of my travels but in high spirits, and proceeded to make the rainy hike up the 819 steps of Moon Hill.
Here, success is measured not by numbers and items, but by internal peace and humility.
Today I have conquered. I smell like dog shit, but I have conquered.
