Zhouzhuang “Venice of the East”

“Venice of the East”

Not far from the pulsing steel and concrete jungle of Shanghai lies an entirely different China. Away from the hectic nonstop traffic and revving engines of darting metallic Lamborghini and Ferrari sports cars is a land that harkens back across the ages to a simpler time, a time of dynasties, tea culture, and silk. Adventure cycling destination: Zhouzhuang.

Beyond the shadows of the shiny steel and glass ultramodern skyscrapers only a short jaunt across the Yangtze River delta through an intriguing  jumbled mishmash of farms and factories and just about everything in between exists an ancient village of arching black tile roofs, aging whitewashed plaster walls, and centuries-old stone bridges spanning a labyrinthine network of narrow canals and waterways that is this ancient water town.

The cycling gods smiled on me as a small gap in the calendar opened up presenting an opportunity to ride. Itching to get in the saddle again, I jumped at the chance to get off the divan and on my trusty steed to set off exploring the magical mayhem that is modern China.

Our destination: Zhouzhuang, an ancient water town and popular tourist destination dubbed the “Venice of the East” (a description given to several water towns in the region) located in Jiangsu province a little less than 80 kilometers west of Shanghai, which is just the right distance for a little multi-day cycle tripping adventure out of the city.

History of Zhouzhuang

With origins dating back hundreds of years to 770 BC during the Spring and Autumn Period, Zhouzhuang is one of China’s oldest water towns and was known as a thriving distribution center for silk, ceramics, and crafts. The town is comprised of a houses and businesses built along a network of irregular and winding canals, rivers and small ponds. The townsite has around fourteen stone bridges connecting the narrow cobblestone streets and alleyways. As a popular Chinese tourist destination, locals still live in the village and keep the homes and structures clean and in a fairly high state of repair looking much as it did centuries ago.

Two Kindred Souls

As luck would have it, my trusty riding partner Zhang Wei Lei and companion of many miles had a little break between projects at work and was able to get out on the road for a few days too.

Wei Lei was as eager to jump on his bike and ride as I was. It was our sixth journey together in the past three years. We were two kindred souls who grew up worlds apart and were now fast friends longing to live the dreams of our youth — just two old trail hands with many dusty miles on the road between us and were riding for a bit of adventure and a bit of excitement we innately craved.

French Town

Our little soiree began with a late afternoon start as Wei Lei wrapped up the final touches on an animation project he was working for large U.S. motion picture company.

Preparation for the journey was minimal. A simple set up was all that was required. A few tools, just enough to repair a flat or tighten a loose bolt was all that was needed. Help was only a phone call away. A quick inspection of the bike that included pumping the tires, squeezing the brakes and tossing some clothes in the panniers completed the load out. With two small panniers hanging on the rear rack and the dependable Divide was ready to roll.

Riding north along Hengshan Road through French Town to link-up and Wei Lei’s home, the traffic was congested and added to the excitement. Shiny black SUVs, slick sports cars and an endless stream of ubiquitous horn-honking taxis jammed the streets forcing me onto the sidewalks most of the way (which is pretty common in China).

Cycling in Shanghai is never a dull proposition. Right of way is primarily determined by the audacity of the driver and the size of the vehicle. And being right near the bottom of the food chain, just above the lowly pedestrians, every trip is an adventure.

Working my way along the tree-lined boulevards and the early twentieth-century western mansions, chateaus and walled estates, I am continually amazed at the opulence that has and continues to exist in the “Paris of the East.” Gilded wrought iron gates provide glimpses into sprawling bourgeois estates of polished marble and red brick manors.

Boutiques and gourmet restaurants offering the latest fashion and finest fare line the streets. Hip foreigners and happening Shanghainese sporting chic form-fitting attire congested the sidewalks and coffee shops along Hengshan Road. It’s the happening place to be.

In the past, just as it is today, fortunes are made quickly and lost even quicker in the city that is arguably the most prosperous place on the planet. Capitalism is in full swing in the Middle Kingdom. One has to see it to believe it.

Beginning near the golden Jing’an Buddhist temple in central Shanghai, Wei Lei and I snaked our way west along Suzhou Creek to the Inner Ring Road and out to Beidi Road westward out of the city. Off the main thoroughfares and winding our way along clogged backstreets past food stalls hawking steaming open pots of noodles and turning down an occasional slick alley reeking of rancid grease, we pedaled our way under the city’s shiny veneer and through the perpetual stream of beeping mopeds and overloaded cargo tricycles that is the life’s blood and the magical mayhem of Shanghai.

Urban flyways and bumper to bumper traffic gradually gave way to congested highways and fairly open country roads. Thick black smoke belching tractors and overloaded lorries moving their precious contents to who knows where replaced flashy sports cars and wallowing water buffalo city buses.

The silky smooth asphalt morphed into pitted, moped-infested gravely bike paths where the movement was slow and steady. Traveling light and holding a fairly quick pace, we rode towards the Hongqiao Airport and into the rural countryside. Continual streams of overloaded carts and trucks made their way in and out of the city. Mopeds scurried in and out of traffic, sometimes carrying as many as four or five riders and often ignoring traffic lights and common sense.

Land of Many Faces

Pedaling the short distance to Zhouzhuang meant crossing a varied and culturally diverse land that is much different that what exists in Shanghai today. Interspersed among the modern factories are small villages and farms, whose inhabitants are living life much as they have for hundreds of years. Working the fields by hand with a hoe is as commonplace today as it was a hundred years ago. Modern China is an exciting cacophony of sights and sounds coming from diverse groups of people, their cultures, and changing landscapes that begs exploration by bike.

China’s meteoric rise onto the world stage has created manifold layers of society that blend the chic ultra modern lifestyles of the huge cities, such as Shanghai and Beijing, with the simplistic agrarian rural society of the past. Breaking away from the well-trodden tourist’s path and into the surrounding countryside one is able to explore “undiscovered virgin territory” not often seen by tourist’s eyes. Travel a little ways outside of the big cities and you are in another land. And the surprised looks on the locals faces tell me foreigners rarely come this way.

Under the massive A20 viaduct on Shanghai’s outer ring elevated freeway near Hongqiao Airport, dozens of fruit and vegetable sellers had parked their trucks directly on the side of the road and set up shop selling truckloads of watermelons, corn, cantaloupes, lychee, all manner of bananas large and small, bushels of celery, bok choy, lettuce, and any other type of produce they can haul in from the neighboring farms.

Passersby were stopping their cars and carts in the middle of the road and getting out to see what there was to buy, causing massive traffic jams and grinding the flow of traffic to a trickle of incessantly honking lane-cutting maniacs that were going nowhere. From the looks of things, this little cluster of impromptu fruits stands appeared to be a regular activity in between the massive concrete columns of the Outer Ring interchange.

Outside Shanghai’s elevated freeway system, the cityscape changes bit by bit into the open countryside of the Yangtze River delta that is slashed with an endless maze of rivers and canals weaving their way among the myriad of interspersed high tech and low tech factories and farmland that transports one into a world most foreigners probably never imagine when thinking of China.

Out in the countryside, Chinese hospitality towards foreigners is warm and inviting. A little surprised at the appearance of foreigners, locals are always quick with a smile and a wave, wanting to invite the laowai (foreigner) in for a bit of tea and conversation. Some may be a bit shy or standoffish, but warm quickly with a grin and a hearty “ni hao” or “hello.” Engaging the locals is a special treat.

Out of Shanghai

About every hour or so, we swung into a roadside SinoPec gas station for a shot of canned coffee and to gulp down a bottle or two of fruit juice to fuel the ride. These clean and friendly staffed service stations had become a staple for our long distance riding ventures in China. They’re always a good place to stop and take a break, the restrooms are clean, and the attendants can be a good source of current information on the road conditions ahead. It was good to be back in the saddle again.

Throughout the first part of our journey, troubled gray clouds overhead and to our front continually threatened rain. Our rain gear was at the ready, and though a few drops fell, we never got soaked, which was unusual for Zhang Wei Lei and me.

Just as in the city, most of the countryside in eastern China is a hive of activity too. The factories and farmland bustle with life. Transport trucks are always coming and going and cutting you off on the bike paths (remember the Chinese rules regarding Right of Way). Many Chinese refer to America as the “nation on wheels,” which is exactly what China has become.

On the surface Chinese society appears homogeneous but underneath is a highly nuanced and subtly varied and stratified civilization of many peoples and different dialects. China’s society is not so much a soup but rather a chunky stew, whose spices and flavors change from region to region, even village to village.

For all that the Chinese have in common, they have just as many differences too. Each region, almost every town has its own special brand of food, its famous dishes, and its language other than Mandarin. Though Mandarin is the standard language, local dialects abound. Often, Wei Lei has trouble understanding locals speaking in their local vernacular, which they frequently use when bargaining. “I can no understand these peoples,” Wei Lei ejaculates out of frustration while negotiating for a few cut stalks of sugarcane.

Plopped down in between the scattered hamlets and villages are growing numbers of newly constructed high-end premium resorts that cater exclusively to China’s nouveau riche and the affluent elite jetting out of Shanghai in shiny black sports cars or SUVs for the weekend to play a few rounds of golf at an exclusive club or to have a gourmet meal served at a highly manicured estate.

Wei Lei and I quickly fell into our rhythm on the road. One is leading while the other followed. Changing up at times, then riding close together for awhile and at other times far apart. Our cadence was steady and smooth. It’s a style we’ve established over the past three years of riding together. I can speak a little Chinese and Wei Lei can speak a little English. Friends and family find it amazing we can get on so well for long periods of time on the road. Sometimes we chat about this and that, and at other times we say nothing at all. Locals think our style’s a bit odd, but it’s just how we roll.

Busy highways and bustling country roads took us past farming villages, crab ponds, and high-tech factories. The roads were fast and flat, and the riding easy. The rhythm was smooth and reminiscent of our recent Silk Road adventure. Our legs spun effortlessly pushing us along the even terrain. The kilometers melted behind us as we steadily made our way into the warm yellow light of a sinking sun.

Impromptu Bike Twister Session

Another friendly cyclist curious to chat us up joined us along the way and struck up a conversation with Wei Lei as we pedaled along, which is quite common as other riders and pedestrians are always checking out our kit and inquiring as to where we’re headed. On or off the bike, most Chinese are quite curious and want to talk with foreigners, especially other cyclists. The conversation continued as the three of us rode on together for several kilometers or so.

Without any warning, a pedestrian with his face glued in his smartphone and oblivious to our presence stepped into the bike path directly in front our new cycling acquaintance, who was fully engrossed in talking to Wei Lei and not paying attention to his direct front — the perfect recipe for disaster.

Seeing the errant pedestrian at the last second, our cycling friend panic jerked his handlebars to the right sending him and his bike careening into Wei Lei’s bike just behind his front wheel, locking the two riders and bikes together in a highly ballistic session of impromptu “road Twister” that ended in a high-side flip slamming the two riders and bike to the pavement at 20-25 kph.

Breaking hard, I was able to stop and avoid the bicycle melee piled up in front of me making it a crash of three. Shocked and embarrassed, the other rider began shouting Chinese expletives and shaking his fist at the stupefied and speechless pedestrian standing agape and staring blankly at the tangled mess of bikes and cursing riders. I popped my bike up on it kickstand and assisted the two was they worked to extract themselves from the tangled mess.

Our new friend’s bike’s derailleur was caught up in the spokes of Zhang Wei Lei’s rear tire locking the two bikes together in a tangled and perverted “velo-esk” embrace. Our cycling friend’s shouting and cursing at the stunned pedestrian, who was now in the process of making a hasty getaway.The cyclist’s mouth fired off another string of Chinese swear words spraying fleeing pedestrian like a runaway machine gun, who had thought better of sticking around until this cursing madman had gotten himself free of the knotted bikes.

Beyond a couple of skinned hands and knees, the only damage was our friends bruised pride caused from crashing into Wei Lei. The bikes checked out with no major damage and were all okay to ride. No harm, no foul. The three of us mounted our bikes and resumed our journey, with our red-faced and profusely apologizing friend soon taking a quick right turn not to be seen again. We continued our trek toward Zhouzhuang.

Crossing the Lowlands

Rural China is another world. Pushing beyond the burbs into the land of farms and among the factories east of Lake Tai, the traffic waned some. The innumerable rivers, canals and waterways cutting across the fertile delta began to catch my attention and set my mind a wandering. Silhouettes of farmers meandering across open fields had finished hoeing for the day and were headed in for the evening. High-tech factories disgorging hundreds of hardhat-clad blue collar workers for the day on streams of mopeds spewing onto the bike paths and roads. Ever-present traffic streamed to and from Shanghai.

Electric powered bubblers hummed away as they aerated the murky green waters of dozens manmade ponds used for raising thousands little green crabs that were just coming into season. Especially popular in Shanghai, the best of these crabs would fetch about 300 yuan ($50) apiece in the city and find their way into top Chinese gourmet restaurants in the area. Darkening outlines of partially hidden pagodas and small Buddhist temples known only to the locals cut along the horizon as we rode farther and farther off of the beaten path into the Yangtze countryside.

Occasional pee stops and smoke breaks for Wei Lei at SinoPec Stations came naturally. Riding with another, one gradually becomes a tuned to knowing when it’s time for a break. Chugging Nescafe espresso shots kept me frosty and fed my caffeine addition. Gulping a bottle or two of orange juice provided the needed fuel to keep firing my guns for another hour or so or when it was time to stop again.

Rolling through intermittent villages, Wei Lei and I threaded a line in and out heavy traffic to keep pace with the flow. Out of the towns and along the fields, kilometer after kilometer of flat and level cruising along poplar-lined backroads set me into a certain meditative zone, a time for contemplation and taking stock.

Spinning up an occasional overpass and gliding down the backside, buildings whizzing past I thought of how lucky I am to be here doing what I love and not slaving away for nothing in some God forsaken office whiling away the best days of my life. And then I affirmed a universal truth that most every adventure cyclist knows: the worst day on the bike is better than the best day in the office. Smiling to myself, I pedaled on confident in the knowledge I’m doing the right thing. This was the place to be.

On the rivers and the canals, thousands of barges plied the swirling patchwork of coffee-brown waters carving up the Yangtze delta, forever moving heaping piles of gravel, coal or other cargo onto its destination. Most of the crewmen operating the barges and tugs live on their boats rarely going to shore for any length of time as there is always another load to haul and money to be made. Pumping away over the handlebars, I considered the lives they must lead living on the river and often thought of hitching a ride to see what it’s like.

In the Shadows of Early Travelers

Both Marco Polo and Ibn Battuta wrote of traveling through the nearby water town of Suzhou on their historic treks through ancient Cathay, which lies about 30 kilometers north Zhouzhuang. It would be interesting to know what they had seen and if they had ever wandered out this way. There’s a certain magic, an odd sense of connection that’s experienced when going places historic travelers have written about or visited.

Reaching the outskirts of Jinxi, we turned off the main road and cut down a few side roads and slender back alleys until we rolled up along the saffron-yellow walls of a local Buddhist temple skirted by a lotus pond near the Chenmudang Lake. A few Chinese tourists took in the view while silently strolled along the water’s edge.

Wei Lei and I drew our cameras and began making images in the last rays of the fading light. The clouds had cleared a bit creating a soft glow from the waning sun. The freewheel on my Rohloff hub steadily clicked as I idled from spot to spot snapping images with my camera as I went. Cool air off of the water sent a slight shiver through my body as I remained fixed on capturing the rich yellows and greens growing dull in the fading light.

Shooting images and making pictures during the “golden hour” at the end of each day riding was a ritual Wei Lei and I instinctively performed, usually not communicating our intentions, but rather just stopping to take in the moment of beautiful light and a striking bit of scenery while snapping pictures along the way. It’s a simple observance that occurs virtually at the end of each riding day, even if it means a long period of riding in the dark is to follow. After all, wasn’t it the reason we were here in the first place?

Benighted on the Delta

Our late afternoon start and requisite picture snapping session had us night riding to Zhouzhuang, an activity we’d done many times before. Headlamps glowing, we pushed on through Jinxi. An occasional a silhouette silently peered at us in the darkness through the light open doorway of a traditional whitewashed house capped with an arching black tile roof.

On the far side of town, we decided to score some grub before all the restaurants and noodles stalls closed for the evening, with most country businesses shutting their doors by 8 or 9 pm. Pulling up to the first descent noodle stall we came across, which appeared to be a Muslim establishment based on the Arab writing on the sign over the door, several convivial locals soon chatted us up and while gathering to check out our rides and to see just what these strangers on bikes were up to.

A Chinese Muslim man and wife graciously showed us a table and promptly plopped down two huge bowls of steaming noodles and a plate of sliced lamb meat carved from a large slab of meat sitting on a wooden stump in a small screen enclosure at the front of the restaurant that kept the flies off of the meat, or was supposed to anyway.

Hungry enough to eat the hind leg off of the lamb of God (just kidding), Wei Lei and I slurped and sucked half of the noodles down before removing our helmets. Nothing beats steaming chicken broth and noodles on a chilly fall evening. We dipped the strips of lamb in chili sauce and chased them down with slugs of ice cold Tsingtao beer. After reaching the bottom of his bowl, a much satisfied Wei Lei fired up a cigarette and took a puff. We were in heaven.

With our bellies full and spirits reignited, we said our goodbyes, pointed our bikes into the blackness and continued our journey to Zhouzhuang only a short fifteen or twenty kilometers or so down the road. Taillights flashing from behind and headlamps lighting the way, we resolutely followed the jiggling beams out of town and into the night. Black shadows and images floated by on the periphery. The clouds thinned and stars glittered across a moonless sky.

My watch said 8:50 pm as we rolled into Zhouzhuang. We pulled into the first local convenience store to purchase groceries for next morning with only minutes to spare before the store closed. We’d hit the little mart in the nick of time.

Flush with orange juice, yogurt, and a few snack bars, we made our way to a block of low-rise apartments on the edge of Zhouzhuang where we would spend the next few nights. It was a new property with it’s apartments owned mostly by people from Shanghai, who used them as weekend condos for family and friends or rented them out to guests visiting Zhouzhuang.

Wei Lei’s wife had hooked up the apartment for the week through a bit of “guanxi” or personal connections with a friend of a friend who owned the apartment and was willing to let us use the apartment free of charge. After convincing the gate guard we weren’t there to rob the place, we were soon at our apartment where we promptly dropped our bags and beat a hasty path into the ancient water town in order to check out the village at night. Curiosity burning, we sped across the bridge over the Baixian River and down a lit up boulevard and past the entrance gate into the ancient town. We had made it to Zhouzhuang.

Zhouzhuang at Night

Arriving at the main entrance after 9:30 pm meant not having to pay the 100 yuan admission fee. The entrance was unmanned so we coasted on through the gate quickly vanishing into the shadows of the houses along the maze of stone-lined canals.

Zhouzhuang conjures images of China’s dynastic past. The ancient town site consisted of a conglomeration plastered brick and wood buildings with whitewashed walls topped with upward arching black tile roofs set along a series of canals and waterways designed to provided access into and out of the town. Small stone bridges spanned canals allowing pedestrian traffic from one section of houses to the next.

Pedaling down the narrow walkways and dimly lit alleys evoked a sense of intrigue. Muffled conversations added to the curiosity. Silhouettes moving at the end of walkways along the water’s edge cast ancient shadows on the water’s glassy surface. An old woman in a traditional blue quilt jacket approached and offered to sing us a song — for ten yuan of course. We obliged and the woman sang. She wasn’t half bad so we tipped her an additional five yuan. Pushing our bikes up and over ancient stone arched bridges crossing still dark waters underscored the town’s distance past and of life long ago.

Though it was late, a few street hawkers were are still out in front of their stalls hoping to make one more sale. Techno bands in a couple of throbbing nightclubs designed to draw the younger crowd banged away on their last sets. A kaleidoscope of lights flashed from inside casting abstract images on the traditional buildings. In other shops, bored sellers were trying to pedal cheap goods and high prices, much like any other tourist trap. Open sacks of tea, spices, nuts, and dried fruit were there for the sampling in the hopes passersby would make a purchase. But being it was the off season and late at night, the prospects weren’t looking good. Most of the streets were all but abandoned.

One by one the lights went out and the water town grew dark. The time had come to retire to our apartment for the evening. Tomorrow would bring a whole new adventure. It was a quiet ride back to the apartment as Zhang Wei Lei and I make our way along the now darkened deserted streets. It had been a pretty adventurous day.

Zhouzhuang by Day

Morning came early. We were up at 0500 and on the road by 0530, to save ourselves the 100 RMB entrance fee by getting into the water town before the ticketing gates opened at 0630. Zhouzhuang was still asleep. The streets were virtually empty and the shops remained boarded up from the night before. A gray mist rose lazily off of the still canal waters as we pedaled through the crisp morning air of early fall.

Our bikes bobbed up and down as we rolled over the uneven cobblestones. The streets and alleyways, bridges and benches were surprisingly clean. There wasn’t any trash floating in the water. All of the buildings were in a high state of repair. Like the rest of China, what was old was being kept new.

At the water’s edge, a lone fisherman probed the canal waters with a long buzzing electric wand that electrically stunned any nearby fish which would then float to the surface to be scooped up in a net by the fisherman. I wondered what unsuspecting tourist’s plate this morning’s catch would end up on.

After awhile doors began to creak open one by one. Little old ladies in blue and red quilted cotton pants and tops scampered from one building to another. Low voices emanated from behind closed wooden doors. The locals were beginning to stir. One by one, local business owners diligently removed and stacked the wooden slat boards from the front of their shops, flipped on their lights and began looking for business.

Before long, women were squatting down and washing vegetables, cleaning fish and chickens, or doing laundry in the canals on stone steps the water’s edge. Little by little, sleepy Zhouzhuang came to life.

Exploring by Bike

Slowly riding along the undulating cobbled streets and stone walkways in between well preserved centuries old houses under moss covered black ceramic tile roofs, Wei Lei and I searched for what could be seen. Who knows what we would find pedaling down the unassuming paths off to our left and right.

Becoming agreeably lost among the narrow cobblestone walkways, along the quiet picturesque canals and whitewashed, slightly leaning dwellings, and we felt a little like early travelers, foreigners in a foreign land, as we carried out our micro-exploration of the ancient little water town surrounded and divided by rivers and canals. Walkways that were narrower than the handlebars of our bikes, we explored on foot. It was as if we had the entire place to ourselves.

Spanning the numerous rivers and canals are some fourteen stone bridges, with the most famous being the Twin Bridges consisting of the Shide Bridge (round arch) and Yongan Bridge (square arch) that cross over Yinzi Creek. Pushing or portaging our bikes over the bridges while briefly stopping on top to snap a couple pictures was a special treat.

Winding our way beyond the heavily touristed areas, we soon found ourselves among Zhouzhuang residents washing clothes just outside their doorways or tending small gardens hacked out on little plots of dirt. Initially startled at our appearance, they quickly smiled and motioned for us to continue our little trek, which we did until we reached a moored houseboat upon which to men were playing cards while puffing on cigarettes and drinking tea.

One of the men shouted, “Chu nar?” (Go where?). Wei Lei told him that we’d cycled over from Shanghai to spend a few days visiting Zhouzhuang. “Ni nali ren?”, (Where are you from?) barked the second man at me with a nod of his head towards me. “Wo shi Mei Guo Ren.” (I’m and American), I replied. Both men smiled and nodded their heads approvingly. After a few more minutes of small talk, Wei Lei and I bided them farewell and continued on our way back into the heart of the water town in search of something to eat.

Tasting the Local Fare

The aroma of steamed dumplings and pan-fried cakes wafting up from bamboo steamers whetted our appetites for a hearty breakfast. It was time to score some chow. Near a pagoda at the water’s edge along the Baixian River, a woman waved us over to her little restaurant. Seeing no better options we pulled in for some tasty grub. Several old men, who’d been standing in a circle chatting and smoking pipes, gathered around our bikes to study and converse about the odd looking machines sporting newfangled bags, lights and electronic gadgets.

For breakfast we dined on handmade rice noodles in steaming chicken broth with strips of pork meat, a few steamed dumplings, and Long-Qing tea steeped in gathered rainwater to make it a pure as possible (so the hostess said). Hot noodles on a chilly fall morning is the only way to go. Yummy.

Feasting on local delicacies is what traveling in China is all about. It’s a great way get to know the people and their culture. Virtually any region or village you visit in China, there’s a different type of cooking or a special dish that the locals are known for. In Zhouzhuang, their famous dish is Wansan’s Elbow or pig hoof, which consists of an entire section of the pig’s leg skin to bone — odd looking to the uninitiated, but a most delicious piece of pork nonetheless. China is a carnivore’s delight. In addition to their famous hog leg, we dined on some steam Mandarin fish, sipped a little eel stew and sampled a few ginger snails along with some dried tofu.

Starbucks Incognito

Being a self-described coffee aficionado and always jones’ing for the next caffeine fix, I was getting a case of the jitters not figuring to be able to get a mid-morning jolt of the brown gold. Slowly pedaling along on of the main canals past a long row of shops, I just happened to peer through a wooden glass paned window into a shop and could have sworn I was seeing a menu on the inside of a Starbucks. I was.

Out of sheer dumb luck, we’d just stumbled onto a “hidden” or Starbucks disguised facade designed to blend into the traditional architectural genre. Had I not looked inside the window, I would have ridden right past the coffee shop incognito. From the outside, there was none of the traditional Starbucks signage. The coffee shop was tucked into the white plastered building and the Starbucks sign was written in Mandarin that says, “Xing Ba Ke” (pronounced “shing-ba-ker”) meaning Starbucks Coffee. It was the perfect camouflage.

Jumping for joy, I motioned Wei Lei over to see my find. The baristas were pleased to see a laowai (foreigner) patronizing their establishment, so much so that they graciously allowed Wei Lei and I bring our bikes into the shop for safe keeping while we took our espresso in the lounge upstairs. How cool is that? Many Chinese will make allowances for foreigners they wouldn’t normally extend to other Chinese. Reclining on leather sofas upstairs with our bikes safe and secure below, our sumptuous little pad offered elegant waters views up and down the canal and cobblestone walkways below. Occasionally a young Chinese girl preparing lunch in the adjacent house across the walkway would peer over at us to see what we were up to.

Tourist Central

By midmorning the narrow walkways had become so crowded we can hardly move our bikes through the surging mass of people. The water town morphed into a frantic labyrinth of noodles stalls and trinket shops. Riding a bike became untenable. Even though Zhouzhuang receives far fewer visitors in the off-season but is still packed to the gills.

By 10:00 am the tourist onslaught was in full swing. Scads of tour buses had launched a massive assault on the tiny village and disgorging thousands of weekend package tourists eager to suck the marrow out of this quiet little town.

Shop owners counterattacked with barrages of cheap touristy souvenirs  like many other tourist destinations throughout the country, as commerce and the almighty Yuan underpin virtually all social tourist spots in modern China. Like virtually all of the famous sights in the Middle Kingdom, Zhouzhuang’s a bit touristy, but that’s modern China.

Interspersed among the hordes of tourists were brides and grooms in full wedding regalia having wedding photos taken in the quaint little town as the Chinese spend everything on their weddings.

All in all, you have to take the good with the bad and have to look past the touristy crap to see the real city that lies beneath. As an intrepid traveler, you have to look beyond the stalls of cheap trinkets and seek out genuine authenticity and it’s there if you look.

Meeting the Family

Short rides are a great way to include the family in your cycling adventures. Both of our families were able to get together and drive out to meet us for a dinner and a day at Zhouzhuang followed by brunch at a local resort near Tongli. For dinner we were able to sample their famous local pork and fish dishes, to include polishing off a bottle of baijiu (Chinese white liquor that’s reminiscent of gasoline) as well. In Chinese tradition, once the cap is off you much drink the entire thing.

Back to Shanghai

Our time in Zhouzhuang passed quickly. Soon it was time to make our way back to Shanghai. With the family departing ahead of us, Wei Lei and I rolled out through the gate onto the street nodding to the watchmen as we rode by and pointed our bikes east towards the concrete jungle. With the sun at our backs, we were on the road again.

An hour or so into the ride we went spinning past a group of about 30 Chinese cyclists all sporting full lycra riding gear and high-end Giant or Specialized carbon framed road bikes pulled along the side of the road taking a break and smoking cigarettes. Only in China, I thought.

The sun at our backs and twilight coming soon, the traffic never ends and gets heavier and thicker the closer we get to Shanghai. Careening sports cars and bullying city transit buses replace the overloaded tractors trailers and three-wheeled motor carts. As the last rays of sun warming our backs fell below the horizon, the chilling night air made a windbreaker and gloves mandatory.

Incessantly beeping maniacal mopeds and meandering bicycles increasingly congest the bike path as We Lei and I roll under the towering concrete flyways of A20 Outer Ring road and blend into the tumultuous traffic mix. The fruit and vegetable sellers parked along the roadway are all gone, with only stains on the asphalt and a few empty wooden crates remain. We’re in the city again.

Wei Lei and I split up at Zhongshan Road, the Inner Ring. He’s heading east to Jing’an while I’m going south to Xujiahui. Parting is quick and simple. Broad smiles, a knuckle bump, and a quick glance into tired but gleaming eyes were all that was needed. The light turned green and we went our separate ways.

Rolling up Tian Dong Lu at night. Automobile lights flashed in my eyes. Stop lights glowed red, then green. My muscles were warm and so was my heart. I was a bit tired, but it was a good tired. Coasting up to our high-rise, the guards smiled, raised the gate and welcomed me in. My family was upstairs with dinner waiting. For a couple of minutes, I sat outside and considered our little adventure to Zhouzhuang. It had been a good ride, yes it had.