Chengdu

The hostel he's staying at, the Loft, was once a printing factory in the 1970s. A group of artists spent seven months working on it, transforming it into the hostel that it is today. It's very hard to describe it. It's very simple. Yet kinda hip and groovy.

It absolutely poured early this morning. He awakes to the thundering sound of the rain on the roof. Hopefully the haze - which seems to be endemic in all major Chinese cities - clears up after this.

Here in Sichuan, everything is spicy. He's always having to tell the waitress not to put any chili into his food. He just can't understand their obsession with it.

He's been rushing ever since he left England. Got to catch the first bus. The first train. He's been rushing ever since. And it's beginning to show: the calluses on his feet, his early nights, his lethargy, his being easily disappointed and irritated nature, his constant thought of giving up. He's got to take it slow again and where better to start than the laidback and relaxed city of Chengdu?