Leaving the brand new, gleaming railway station, the taxi travels down the ancient streets of a city in transition. Whole neighborhoods have been moved, the city looks new, and offers an unusual amount of recently built western coffee shops whose menus feature exotic delights--at least here in western China, such as quesadillas and chicken pesto Panini and wraps and cheesecake, all with great coffee as well. I was here to meet up with my favorite Brit in China, Paul from Baoji, who had made a reservation for me at the Lete Hostel, a place that had come recommended in the somewhat slim pickings of Xining recommendations. Immediately, it became apparent that this was not the best choice. Upon checking in, the female clerk scrutinized my passport, and began to grill me about phantom irregularities only she could see. My passport was up to date and my visa valid and I have been questioned less by border guards, and just at the moment I was about to walk out, she smiled and accepted my money. But that was just the beginning of the ridiculous, sad, saga of the Lete Hostel. My single room had no bathroom though it charged the same price as a standard China room with bath included. Even worse, one common bathroom was out of order forcing the occupants of the floor of approximately eight rooms to share the same bathroom. Wanting to clean up, I looked around for a towel. Finding none I went back to the front desk with the unfriendly clerk and asked for a towel. I was informed that towels cost an extra 5 Yuan, and even though that is less than a dollar, it pissed me off that I wasn╒t given that choice upon check in and had to go back downstairs to get something that is usually supplied in even the most basic rooms. I laid down 5 Yuan, collected the scratchy towel, and went back to take a shower. And right here I admit I wished I had taken a photo of this bathroom so I wouldn't have to describe it; I can only feebly attempt to conjure up its absurity. First of all, it had a speed bump in the middle of it, except it was not rounded, but sharp-edged, and really treacherous at night for those not expecting it. Then, you had to climb up to the toilet on a high pedestal edged with tile as sharp as a coral reef. Mounted thus on this ludicrous precipice, you did your business only to watch in humiliation as you flushed and your deposit was repeatedly rejected. Then, there was the shower. Turning it on full, it burped and gurgled and finally managed a tepid drizzle. No . . . wait! . . . A drizzle is far too generous. It was more like camel sweat, or a dripping seagull drying itself in the sun. You soaped up, but the force of the stream was not even enough to push the soap around some, and you finally exited in disgust, clammy with soap, stubbing your toe for good measure on the square speed bump. After which, I met up with Paul who just shook his head sadly at the state of the place and we went out seeking a good dinner. On the way we passed the wonderfully named 'West North Korea and US Eatery.' The menu offered lots of western choices as well as Korean food but it was far too adventurous right at that moment so we decided to save it for another day. It was now on the eve of the Chinese New year and a lot of places closed up the next day, including this one, so we never got a chance to try it. That night we were seeking Tibetan food, yet on the way there we stumbled on some guys selling yoghurt out of the back of a truck, so we bought some to tide us over. It was explosively good--sweet, sour, creamy, delightful and it became a post-dinner habit for me during the week I was in Xining. After a few false starts, we finally found the Black Tent Tibetan restaurant tucked up on the third floor of 18 Wenmiao Square, a lively bar street. It was open, but deserted. The staff had all gone home for the holiday, but the owner, Tenzin--the friendliest guy in Xining, took care of us and personally cooked our momo dumplings and tsampa (roasted barley) serving them with beer from Llasa and delicious yak-butter tea. Wenmiao Square was also the home of the Blue Louts bar, which we had high hopes for, but it was dead and entirely not living up to its colorful name. Back at the Lete Hostel, I was trying to settle into my room. I just wasn't used to not having a bathroom en suite. Every time I opened the door to attend to some getting ready for bed function, a monk and some other character lounging on the community couches stared at me on my way to the bathroom, then stared at me as I returned to my room. But worse was these two slept on those same couches and snored their way merrily through my night of no sleep. Not only could I hear them, it was like they were boring their way into my brain. The bed was uncomfortable, and when day broke, the weak curtain surrendered to the light, making my last ditch effort at sleep impossible. Somewhere in that defeated morning I groped my way to the kitchen without contacts in, tripping and stumbling and passing even more monks sleeping on couches. The place was deserted except for one early rising traveler pecking vigorously at his laptop. I waited; no one came. I tried to speak to the laptop pecker, but he shook his head and waved me away. I waited some more, then finally knocked on the counter louder than the laptop pecker pecked and when someone appeared, I groaned--COFFEE. This person informed, me in very good English, that they didn't serve coffee in the winter. I stared blankly . . . What! I pointed to the coffeepot. She shook her head. I pointed to something that looked like an espresso machine. She again shook her head, clearly enjoying this. I said, "Just give me some dry coffee and I'll eat it." She was unflinching. How could you run a hostel for foreigners and not have coffee available, winter or no? It was the last straw. I went back upstairs, put my contacts in, and headed back out into the bleary morning, determined to find better quarters. I didn╒t have to go far. I remembered passing a Jinjiang Inn on my way from the train station, a chain of hotels in China that I have had good experience with. It was literally around the corner. I went in. Did they have a room? And did they have coffee? Yes on both counts. The room was clean; the bed was comfortable, with TV, writing desk, en suite bathroom with plenty of towels, hot, forceful shower with no-slip rubber mat, an Internet plug-in for your laptop, thick curtains to block out light and complimentary comb, toothpaste and toothbrush, shower cap and white slippers, with╤hallelujah, a plug-in coffeepot. I signed up for the week. Lete Hostel single room: 120 RMB, plus 5 RMB for towel. Jinjiang Inn single room: 149 RMB. Towels and everything else included, excluding snoring monks. And, by the way, the check in clerk didn't grill me about nonexistent issues with my passport and visa. No disclaimer: I receive no monetary payment for my recommendations. That done I set out to explore, setting the stage for miracles and momentum. Both would happen the very next day. Late winter, Xining, Qinghai Province, China Part 3 will follow.
1 Comment
Mary
5/19/2015 07:49:47 am
You are a brave soul to stay there for a day!!!!!! Your patience must have been high that day.lol pretty scarry sounding why should you even have to pay 120 RMB for that kind of Hostel and treatment..it should be free. I guess the NO COFFEE was the last straw I am so happy you found such a clean nice place for the week. Your dinner was interesting and looked artfully arranged. Looking forward to the Part 3.
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