panshan (tianjin)

it began badly.
an hour plus after leaving beijing, smoke started to emerge from the hood of the van. we pulled over on the side of the highway and waited for a replacement vehicle to arrive. and waited. and waited. 3.5h passed before it came. the souring mood was not helped by the vehicle which arrived - cramped and stained, and as it turned out, slow and driven by thugs.
we reached our first stop panshan (mount pan) in time for lunch. qianlong claimed that had he known about panshan, he would not have gone south of the yangtze river. guess the experience is different if you're looking at scenery from royal comfort; no wonder emperors always picked the least accessible spots to gush about. most of the original architecture was destroyed during the war with the japanese and the madness that was the cultural revolution did the rest.
the sights were what they were - calligraphy of leaders inscribed on the rock walls, man-made set-pieces for photo-taking, temples with the acrid tang of smoky incense. we made it to the peak around sunset, thanks to the tireless urging of our guide. due to the unexpected delay, we were moving against the flow of human traffic for much of the way up and were pretty much the last group on the peak. the serenity and the sunset were a welcome bonus. as we made our way down from the top, the workers who lived there were already settling down for their evening meal. we reached the second stage of the ropeway at about 8 and found that it had stopped running. the prospect of stumbling down the mountainside in the dark was not attractive, but would have capped the day off splendidly. alas, after some time, they managed to rustle up the duty personnel and reactivated the ropeway for our group to travel to the foot of the mountain.
to find our luggage taken hostage. some payment problem which had yet to be settled with the thugs who drove van no. 2, so they refused to open the door. nothing to do but stand in the dark, hungry and tired, and think warm and delicious murderous thoughts. it took about 30 minutes before a phonecall by our guide to someone further up the authority chain did the trick. van no. 3's driver turned out to be a qinhuangdao old hand and more importantly, not a thug.
by the time we reached qinhuangdao and sat down to order in a restaurant, it was past midnight. the first round of order of 11 bowls of noodles fell through when we were informed that there were no more noodles. nor dumplings. nor eggs!? they had seafood though. so we left, hungry and tired and pissed-off. good thing for 24h porridge places where we finally managed to eat.
the hotel (ocean hotel), located next to a picturesque commercial container port, was large but worn, with an air of neglect palpable in the lobby. disappointment seeped in like dankness into the lobby sofas. the room contained dubious sheets, a stained tub and a shower curtain that was really a living breathing creature.