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Summer ’25: VII – Dali (again) x Nanning

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A cuddly panda left behind. It needed rescuing. A stop in Dali was a necessity. Between wanders to temples and another cable car ride, things were taken easy, in a way holidays should be taken. Slowly and steady.

Stomach bugs are horrid. Talking on the porcelain telephone to the Almight above between vomiting and laying liquid pooh at a dramatic rate is no fun. A day of rest and little else felt like a waste. Sometimes you have to stay still to move forwards. Such crappy days demand rest. And water. Lots and lots of water. No matter how much was drank and how much medicine, it didn’t seem to shift. Until it shifted. And then it took a day for an appetite to reappear.

Cable car ride two (Zhonghe ropeway) required dangling legs and the breeze in our hair. The climb upwards had close views of squirrels on treetops and butterflies drifting below. At the summit of the ride, midway up Cangshan’s slopes, the Zhonghe Temple spreads across, underneath a relatively level footpath stretching for miles in each direction. The Cloud Pass (or Jade Belt Road) pathway runs for 20km (12.5 miles). Crossing waterfalls, jutting views, and numerous pools of water make the walk through fresh air and greenery a pleasant one.

Yunnan is famous for its connection to Tibetan living, Buddhist beliefs, cats, and nature. The mountains, valleys, and produce of the region are all closer to nature than other Chinese provinces. Behind the commercial fronts, there is a more open conversation being had, and with that more freedoms. It is rare to see women smoking, same-sex relationships, or plentiful pet dogs and cats around China’s huge cities and metropolitan areas. In Yunnan’s Dali and Shangri-la, this is the norm. Old values and West met East refusing to let go. The attraction of Yunnan is visible and bold. Fresh air and nature invite tourism and migration. This Tibetan plateau is much more than a tourist spot. It makes you feel. Connection never switches off.

A journey to Nanning would break our return to Guangdong. A late night arrival and a late morning departure made finding a hotel close to the station essential to the plan. If you enjoy living underground like the Teenage Murant Ninja Turtles, then Geli hotel is for you. Located in the shiny expanse of the Nanning East Railway Station there is little reason to see daylight again. A choice of late nights foods, drinks, and delivery services help you to chill deeper underground.

The railway check in level is just above the lair, so be prepared for bright light when you choose to resurface. A decent room with an unusual view behind massive curtains. Expect comfortable beds and a decent rainforest effect shower. The toilet pumps are a tad loud, like the underground railway system, but sleep comes as easy as a fox in a den. With sleep in the bag our 1128 train to Guangzhou South was easy. The 17 minutes to transfer at the other end was a tad tight. All in all, we did it. We connected well. Job done.

From wanders on high to hours on trains, the pleasantries of travel made way for return.

Diary of my own metamorphosis.

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Throat burns. Blood in mucus. Ears ring with tinnitus. Joints burn. Each knee and my ankle feel vulnerable. By sunrise, the test confirmed it. Monday night to Tuesday morning, a rancid blur.

Aches spread to muscles. Deep rasping cough. Aches. No taste. No smell. A headache like a spear into the cranium. Thudding heart. Cramps in calves, thighs, and arms. Sleep. Awake for soup. Struggle to keep it down.

Wednesday’s test once again shows it is still here. Cough syrup, useless. Painkillers fail to silence the drumming head. Up and down, burning pee, constant walks from bed to bathroom to bed.

Tortured night changes to grim day. Thursday, a day I was born on, gives no relief. I crave fruit and air and freedom. The twisted bug grips me. I test again. Not positive. Negative. Yet symptoms come and go, and ache me.

By evening I recall Kafka’s Metamorphosis, rewritten by Sissay. Missed it. Can’t go out. No focus. Not well enough for work, nor play. Rest. Recoup. Battle the symphony of the virus’s stampede through my head and body.

Friday comes soon. What next? Dear CoViD-19, what will you bring?

Brick Walls

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What I’m trying to say, is that I don’t want your throat to hurt so much, I don’t want you feeling so sick, and I’d take every ounce of the pain and suffering away, if I could take it from you. I’d kiss every drop of this evil bug from you.

I’d run through walls to defend and support you. Travel oceans, climb mountains, and rattle off clichés to make you understand that I am here and I am there for you. I’ll hug you closer and suffocate loneliness from you. You’ll be embraced so much that our skins will fuse. It’s that strong that even your farts smell of roses.

You have a way of doing things, and I respect that. Don’t push me away. I need you more than I need air. Without air, I might just be able to survive through some sort of chemical restructuring. Without you, well, what’s the point?! A sore throat comes and goes. I’m here forever. Until you get bored of me, that is.

Watching you sleep, restless and sweaty, face in contortions resembling a gurning competition, I am reminded of Egremont Crabbing Fair. Let’s go together. By then, you’ll be still, calm and feeling much better. Or, we could stay at home and do nothing. Just spend time wasting time and enjoying time in great company. You’re the best. I’m blessed. Let me treasure you. Stay strong. Stay positive. This bug will pass.

COVID-21.

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Good Tuesday to you.

It is a little past 2pm on Tuesday. I had an ECG some time before noon. It was a little abnormal. Oxygen levels at 95 up to 99 with a piped blast of nasal oxygen support. Blood pressure seemed a little higher than low but I couldn’t tell… (possibly over 110 but it’s all in Chinese and seems Greek to me). Questions and answers with two doctors.
Blood taken.

“Do you smoke?” Answered in the negative. “Are you an alcoholic?” I thought back to my last beer. Probably, with Stephen in Shenzhen… about a month ago. I didn’t even drink on my birthday. Too sleepy. Did nothing last Thursday. Worked hard. Slept early. Friday at the movies? Just a coke. Saturday sleepy and terrible all day. No energy. Lazed and couldn’t go party. Devoid of strength. A swollen left nostril and a throbbing headache.


Paid 1000RMB deposit. Can claim on the insurance; but that was quite an unworried and hasslefree process to understand, because Betty from Human Resources assisted me brilliantly. Then a sit down and “you can got for lunch, but first…” more monitoring and more blood. 8 vials. “This may hurt” Ouch. Actually, OUCH. Jesus wept! Vampire on the wrist. Push deeper. Can’t find your car keys in there? Shove. Wiggle. Totally normal. And out you go. An empty syringe.

Take 2. Tag team. Reinforcements. She’s brought a friend. I respect you nurse but that’s unfair. Two versus one. Clean area. Feel for pulse. Hover over wrist with a dull metal sharp needle as wide as a car tyre, give or take a yard. Hover some more. Hesitate. You’re taking a deep breath. Need a blindfold? Dig in! Do it! Do it! Take your time. Change position. Plunged. Still uncomfortable. Horrid. OUCH. Syringe empty. And then dark red oil. We’ve struck gold! Nice of you to join us. One gallon later she whips away the needle. My impact crater is duct taped to my arm with a cotton but the size of candy floss.

The beautiful and graceful vampires withdraw. I know they’re doing good. They’re sent by angels. I hate hospitals. I don’t have too many experiences with them thankfully. Off go the nurses and I remain wired on my right arm to a 13.1cm by 23.5cm bladder that from time to time inflates and feeds data to a grey box placed by my arse. My left hand meanwhile has a clip monitoring oxygen or trying to copy my fingerprints to enter my apartment door. The jury is out. Three suction cup sticky pads cling to my chest hair and upload episodes of Squid Games into my vulnerability. Something like that.

I’ve been 39 years old for less than a week and I feel crap. I’m starting to plan for the worst case scenario. “I’m sorry sure but you have a condition that doesn’t allow you to work here.” I question, “what is it?” They reply seriously, “You’re British.” Time for my own personal Chi-Xit? It’s a fear. Incalculable and illogical. I have no heart myocardial infection or disease history, but that’s what they want to check out. I hope my time to check out is long off in the future. There are still valleys and mountains to wander.

So what could my demise be? COVID-21? COVID-19 is probably due a reboot like all good, average and bad movies. Vimto underdose? Deficient of viewing Manchester City? A sadness because of the latest 007 movie No Time To Die? Excessive consumption of Coco Pops? I ate two bowls last night but that’s nothing unusual for a male about a year shy of forty.

For now, I lay and await instructions. Attached to wires and the grey arse-hugging box. Bed 9 by bed 8 in a double room far higher in cost than a five star hotel. The window view by the bathroom is the TWIS athletic field and farm. The situation is that I’m sandwiched between my apartment and school in an unfamiliar role as a patient. My goal is to know, what exactly is wrong with me? My audience are my students and colleagues. I don’t like letting them down. I’ll be assessed by standard hospital practice here: which seems profitable. Now I perform my recovery. The reason I’m here. I was terrified for a few moments. Mortified. Is this it? The final act?

Goodbye for now. Hopefully I’ll post again.