Welcome to China

 We had thought we were through with the close attention of Plod since leaving Uyghur country, but having now crossed another provincial border—from Sichuan into Yunnan—we find there are a few more candidates for our little black book.

At an ETC (electronic traffic control)—think péage—the nice lady in the booth took rather a long time to process us (our car number plates do not register on the system), drawing the attention of a bluebottle who sauntered over to us with that special swagger some of them have.

It remains a mystery how any of them think we have got this far into China (5,500 km since the border) without having the proper papers. But there we were, being given the full runaround, as if we had somehow escaped the ever-present and watchful eyes of the apparatus.

Enough said before the compliance officer (or worse) complains.

It was a short drive to Dali (Grandpa Steve likes to know), and on the way we visited a properly old city called Jinchuan, with reasonably old buildings. It was much like Japanese old cities, and one wonders how the cultures merged and assimilated some 700–800 years ago. (That is not a request for all you Sino-Nipponese experts to educate me; I was simply musing on the point.)

Arriving at the hotel—in fact, a very upmarket guesthouse—just before the rain started caused us to reassess the afternoon’s activity, which had been oil changes and greasing. What’s the point in getting properly wet without travelling anywhere? We fear the weather, which hitherto has been remarkably kind, may be turning against us, and rainwear will be needed for the next period (not tempting fate by declaring for how long).

We are by a lake, playing bridge (those who know me will understand…), waiting for drinks.