Sinking our teeth into local experiences

"You are so brave," the dentist exclaims over and over again, tapping Michael's shoulder, until my husband explodes and lets her know that he is not indeed brave and that he wants an injection.

Quite surprised, she walks away and looks for a syringe in her drawers.

Despite the sophisticated amenities, dentists in the Guangxi Zhuang autonomous region seem not for wimps. We are happily reminiscent of the dental service in Thailand, where the patient's face is covered with a warmed cloth, where a smiling assistant gently removes excessive saliva from your open mouth and inquiries about your well being every few.

Here, there is neither the assistant nor the angelic saliva ejector. If there is too much saliva in your mouth, you simply spit it into the bucket that is handed to you upon arrival and that you hold in your hands. If it hurts, you just wait until it gets better.

However, the result can be shown and with each new crown, my husband even gets a credit-card-like guarantee in plastic. The after sales service, should it be needed, is free of charge. The whole setup is extremely professional, yet very affordable to Western standards (about 600 yuan, or $89, per crown).

There are many dentists in China, but people who visit them are few and far between. Only when really nothing else works, the man (or woman) in white is consulted. Dental checkups are literally unheard of.

The quality of dentists varies. At the farmer's markets, which are held every few days in small towns, a dentist usually sits on a tiny plastic stool, waiting for patients with a pair of rusty pliers in his hand. Dentures are lined up nicely on a wooden stand and sold to the public for a few yuan like the juicy apples and oranges nearby.

Slightly larger towns have dentists operating in shop cubicles, open to the front. There is a dentist chair for the patient, a wooden stool for the doctor, a long bench behind for the waiting patients.

No one has an appointment. You arrive, sit down and look around until it's your turn to be seen. Dominating the room is a large television set playing loud soap operas. Every consultation seems to cost a standard 40 yuan.

And then there is the luxury version for the newly rich of the cities (which is where Michael is having a root canal treatment and crown fitting done today). Attached to the largest hospital in Guilin, is a dental clinic.

The spotlessly clean welcoming entrance hall and the nearby waiting room are reminders of the modern age and feel very welcoming. A long reception desk, a bit like the types used by Sheraton hotels, makes an invisible barrier to the examination rooms.

Each type of treatment is assigned a cubicle and in each one of them sits a specialized dentist. There is a crown fitter, a cavity filler, etc. Some of them offer incredibly advanced technologies. You can even have dental implants done. The rooms are bare, but practical; a comfortable chair and a stool surrounded by shop windows that permits curious spectators to watch the work.

Of course, it's never a pleasure to visit a dentist, but there's no gain without pain.