Back at the hostel I meet another girl. Her name in Wanna and she is also nice.
She invites me out to dinner with her friends, for my last supper in China. We walk for miles to find a particular restaurant. Once inside, we enter Room 666 and seat ourselves around the large glass table.
We number 13. There’s me, Wanna, the two guys I went camping with, a Chinese motorcycle adventurer, a couple of other young guys, a young family of 5, and a surly, wu-stachioed man, who looks like he is packing a pair of long, sharp swords.
The motorcycle adventurer has ridden his motorbike across China and, in the process, stripped me of any mojo that I might have once had. I’ll have to ride hard to earn some mojo of my own.
They tell me that it’s a classic, famous or special Chinese meal. Which one it is I am not sure, as the beer is flowing freely and I am more focussed on the weird and wonderful food items finding their way into my chopsticks.
There are small but perfectly formed fish, deep fried caterpillars, tofu, pork, oily translucent things and crunchy green things. The group tucks hungrily into the metal serving dishes, and at each turn of the Lazy Susan, I refill my tiny eating bowl.
Stumbling out to the toilet, afterwards, I pass a bathtub of fish. They are thick and eel like, and seem to be right at home in this foreign and slightly unforgiving place.