Xi'an Aura

I arrived in Xi'an by plane from Shanghai. Or rather, I arrived 50 km from Xi'an by plane and into the city proper by bus. Not far from the central area where I was dropped off is the southern gate of the city walls beside which are two youth hostels. Ori, an Israeli I'd met in Kunming, happened to be in town already and so I went to the hostel he was staying at and checked myself in. In spite of being in a new city with some world-renowned sights, however, I felt myself more checked out than in. It was already July 29 and I was flying home August 5, and I think as time wound down I was starting to mentally prepare. As well, you may have noticed that since northern Vietnam, my pace of travel has been restless, relentless, and reckless. In any case, I arrived wanting to leave, ready to go home, and not at all in the mood for exploring a new place, finding my way around, and so on. But it was July 29, and I had only one week in China left, so regardless of how I felt, I hit the town.

The day's explorations brought me back through to the centre where I'd arrived and then north into the city's famed Muslim quarter. Despite what you may have heard, people in China do have religious freedom. That is to say, they have the right to believe or not believe what they want. What they don't have is the right to organization that in any way that the state feels threatens its total control over the lives and minds of its peoples. So while there are Catholics, for example, you won't be finding catholic schools. While there are Tibetans with their own language, schools in Tibet do not and cannot teach in that language. And so yes, there are practicing Muslims all over China and I was wandering around the streets where many of those living in Xi'an dwell and work. Aside from the mosque, the main sight here is one of my favourites: food. Fried flat bread, lettuce, and potato made into a sandwich with some sort of spread for the low low price of 2 kwai (30 cents). Mmm. Mutton soup with sesame, noodles, peanut, and more? Yum! Honey and sesame desserts mingling with a dry powdery sugar-almond concoction? I wandered the streets for quite a while sampling various fares until I could sample no more. On the walk home, I passed a bunch of people dancing in the streets while a band played and watched and listened for some time, realizing again that I was lucky to be here. Home would be coming soon enough.

The next morning I woke up early, which is to say too late, to check out the Terracotta warriors. They're outside the city and I was booked on a trip through the hostel leaving at 9:00. I grabbed a breakfast to go and was second-last on the bus and then we were off. I'll say here that I never realized how much there is to do around Xi'an, albeit all in different directions. There's a small panda sanctuary here, though it doesn't come close to being in the same league as the more famous one in Chengdu (which just celebrated two cubs, I hear). There's the warriors. There's a collection of impressive imperial tombs. The city itself. And enough more (that I can't recall right now) to make me consider a stop there on my return to China. For now, just the terracotta warriors. On the bus with me was an English expeditionary group that was combining travel with philanthropy and I thought it a great trip. They're doing a project near Lijiang soon and I gave them some tips for the area.

And then, at last, we were at the Terracotta warriors. It's amazing to think that this find was not made until a farmer stumbled on it 30 years ago digging a well, especially when you see the size of the endeavour. Old emperor Qin (China's first emperor, 230 BC) decided when he died he wanted enough soldiers to continue his rule into the afterlife. While my idea of heaven doesn't include a Chinese emperor or stone warriors, he certainly took enough with him to give someone a headache. Almost 8000 soldiers were hand-crafted, painted, and buried in a tomb he had made for himself. In the meantime, he went on to standardize the Chinese characters still in use today, gather the disparate pieces of China under one banner, and start the building of the Great Wall of China. To be fair, he had an early start as a 13-year old. What he left, the wall, the army, and the country, are in various states of disrepair but all remain to this day. The soldiers themselves fought and lost their first battle not long after his death and so many were found in pieces hacked apart by angry peasants but some remained intact. The main location of them, Pit 1, is a sprawling covered area with buildings and a healthy dose of soldiers some repaired, some intact, and some scattered on and in the ground.

The army had structure, and there was a general's tent, there were archers, chariots, infantry, cavalry, and different ranks. Every soldier had a unique and interesting face which itself is a marvel. There are two other pits open to visitors, both of which are neither as big or as populated, but which have their own charms as archaeological sites. After a visit to all three and a factory where souveneirs are made (I got to craft my own soldier but didn't recruit him) it was back to Xi'an for more muslim food and a bit of catchup with Ori. We were both pretty tired and were going to go see a movie but settled on a DVD of Stardust which is a fair adaption of a good book by a great author (Neil Gaiman). My final day in the city on the final day of July was spent visiting sites I'd been too lazy to investigate before. I went up to the bell tower and drum tower, witnessing an excellent performance at the latter, and then grabbed a bike and rode around the 14km of city walls in just under an hour. While it's not especially interesting visually, it is simply one of those things that must be done because it can, and despite the bad bike and cobblestoned thumping I received, it was well worth the effort.

As I returned my bike atop the walls, I heard some very ominous and powerful drums being played in the south gate and went to investigate. Although it was being played by smiley women in costume, it was an imposing sound and I could imagine it striking terror into people attempting to attack the city. It had been a busy day and was growing late, so I went back to the hostel and grabbed a pizza while I caught up on my internet. The pizza took an hour and I was worried about missing the train but I managed to get it finally and shared a cab to the station with two English girls that I'd met earlier. The three of us, after boarding our overnight train to Beijing, my final stop on this oh-so-long tour, played a Chinese dice game in the dining car as the countryside passed unheeded in the night. Of the many, many rounds we played, I did not win even once. It was good-old embarrassing fun and before long I was in my hard-sleeper bunk crying myself to sleep. I woke up and July had turned to August, the people in my cabin had stayed up talking the entire night, and I was in the Olympic city. Beijing awaited, and unlike my arrival into Xi'an, I was thrilled.

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Shanghais and Byes (and Buys)

From my remote station in Fei Lai Si I made the trek back to the relative civilization on Shangri-La (Shang-guh-li-La since the name itself is not Chinese) with a minivan full of Chinese. I, however, was beside a Malaysian-Japanese couple who were very friendly and indeed didn’t leave me alone until they were sure I was okay once we arrived. I was faced with a bit of a dilemma... on the one hand, I was behind schedule and discovered Chengdu would take an extra day of travel above what I’d expected as a result of my remote origin. On the other hand, with a pricey plane ticket I could be close to back-on-track though still rushed to make it to Beijing with time for sightseeing. Complicating matters, Charlotte and Gerri were back in Kunming the next day and it would be great to catch up with them. And finally, it should be noted, that to get to Chengdu without the pricey flight, I would need to backtrack to Dali or Kunming anyway. So it was that, at the bus station, I found myself on the last seat of the last bus out of Shangri-La, en route to Kunming and old friends.

I slept quite well compared to my last sleeper bus experience in China and, coincidentally, bound for the same city. This time, a seat to myself. This time, no Chinese spooning. This time, ridiculous amounts of traffic. The traffic was so bad coming in that our bus driver gave up attempting to reach the bus station, parked, and led us all on foot to the station about 1 km away. I went to have a look at bus and train tickets to Chengdu and couldn’t help but notice all the security in the place. I had been here before, but I didn’t remember seeing them. Hmm. Eventually, I gave up attempting to interpret the signboards and caught the number 3 bus to the Hump Hostel. This, by contrast to the bustling and jammed roads, was empty. Where last time I’d barely secured a seat, this time I had the bus almost entirely to myself. None of this really registered as especially suspect, rather, it was a small series of observations that accrued like snow on a mountain slope until enlightenment finally triggered the avalanche. There had been two busses bombed in Kunming only a few days prior.

It all made sense then, though it didn’t change anything. I still had places to go and in particular two people to see. I waited around at the Hump, getting caught up on photos, internet, and day-to-day life until I looked up to see Charlotte standing over me and shaking her head in quiet shock. It was a happy reunion with her and Gerri and we caught up over a customary bowl of popcorn, beer, and swapped travel stories. Xixuanbana and its black and white pagodas had been a disappointment to them, even if the weather was a lot more balmy than the Himalayas and they did come back with a funny story about rice whiskey and being obliged to drink with the locals. We went out that evening to a happening district and attempted to ‘club it’, but between loud/horrible music and being interrupted every five seconds so that some other Chinese person could come and campay us (bottoms up!) it was a pretty disappointing night too.

The next day, perhaps out of shock from the day prior or perhaps because we had all been rushing around China for the last three weeks straight, we did not leave the hostel. Not for breakfast, lunch, nor dinner. We spent the day lounging on the patio looking over the square, and snacking, discovering little by little that most of the food at The Hump is pretty poor indeed. Draught beer started around 4 PM and then we used up the rest of our supplies from the night prior – they sell beer in 12-packs at bars here, like it or not, and we hadn’t gone through much. It was a relaxing and quiet day and nice to just sit around, visit, and snack. All we needed was some knitting, but in its place I attempted to caption photos and create a Facebook account for Charlotte. And I attempted to decide where I was going next. Chengdu was no longer in the cards, or at least that decision appeared best. I had likewise heard from fellow travelers that going to the Three Gorges to see the world’s largest dam was not quite what you’d expect: you are actually not allowed anywhere near the dam itself so you have to settle instead for a binocular viewpoint. The three-day cruise was a relaxing break from traveling China, but given my day of relaxation and waning time, probably not the wisest decision either.

For these reasons and because I would not be reaching Hong Kong this trip, I decided to fly out to Shanghai. I booked my ticket on the internet but received no confirmation even after a few hours. I’d booked with my AMEX and had been asked for the CVN. On American Express, I thought, that was a four number code printed on the front of the card but the site had wanted only three so I entered the three on the reverse side. Maybe the payment hadn’t gone through? Another hour and I decided to try booking with my VISA, and again no confirmation. I attempted to call the booking site but no answer. Hmm. I sent an email and no answer. Uh-oh. I woke up the next morning to a reply stating that my booking could not be found and urging me to login and see if I had really booked. So I wasn’t going anywhere, apparently, but then logging in I had both tickets booked. I was even more afraid of this. Urgent response, please cancel the more expensive ticket. And then the three of us were off to the airport.

At the airport, scanning my passport revealed I had two tickets under my name – though you’d think this would flag some sort of security warning, I never had any problems. In the end, I chose the earlier flight and, after a scuffle with some Chinese line cutters (the line cutters part is redundant in this country, as the concept of a queue is mostly foreign – here, the sharpest elbows win) we passed through security. The girls’ flight, contrary to their opinion, was not for a few hours, so we walked to my gate, said farewells, and once again I was on my own, sitting on a jet, just as I would be in ten days bound for home. I captioned yet more photos on the flight, arousing the interest of the Chinese woman beside me. I had to explain where they were from to her as I went along and then suddenly she got up to – I presumed – use the facilities. She returned with her English-speaking daughter and had her sit beside me while she took photos and then disappeared. The daughter, about my age, also wanted to see the photos and then we talked a bit about life in China as the plane descended to Shanghai.

Or so I assumed. There was no real way to know there was anything below us as the sky was carpeted in brown cloud also known as smog, and the girl was quite embarrassed by this. Charlotte had warned me that I wouldn’t be able to see much of anything skyscraper-wise due to the heavy pollution and it appeared she was right. That we found an airport at all is largely thanks to computer guided ILS (instrument-landing system). Off the plane and onto bus 925, which drove 2 km and parked behind a mob of busses and everybody got off and boarded bus 941. Now I had no idea where I might end up but managed to discover from the ticket lady that we would be passing a metro stop where I could reach my hostel near Peoples’ Square. This lady became quite protective of me, which was kind of cute. A little later I offered my spot to a father so he could sit next to his wife and kid and when the lady came back she berated the poor man for taking the spot from me though I tried to defend him. They both eventually insisted I take the spot and there was nothing I could do about it but thank him, apologize, and sit.

When my stop was approaching – I had dozed off due to a lack of rest the past few days – it turned out that she had found someone else who spoke English and was getting off at the same stop. She organized that girl to walk me to the metro which, again, wasn’t necessary but just try to say no in this country. So I had a guide to the metro and then on it since she was heading the same direction as me and, it turned out, getting off at the same stop to meet some friends. But before she did that she insisted on walking me the 10 blocks to the doors of the Hiker Hostel I was hoping to stay at. Ah, China, so full of people happy to overcharge you exorbitant amounts and then turn around and bend over backwards to help out a visitor. It was lucky she left because I had no reservation and therefore no bed that night in the crowded hostel. I booked a bed for the next day and then went off in search of a reasonably priced hotel nearby.

I awoke the next morning surprised that I had no only fallen asleep again while taking a rest before hitting the town but also that the rest had lasted twelve hours. I was refreshed, showered, and had myself a bed in the Hiker Hostel before noon and finally did hit the town. It seemed I had been blessed. The brown skies were vanished without a trace leaving blue sky, sun, and scattered cloud that was perhaps bluer than anything I’d seen in Kunming. After munching on some giant but delicious wontons and treating myself to a blizzard, I walked to the Bund, the famous Shanghai riverfront, and admired the skyline stretching in all directions but definitely peaking straight ahead around the gaudy Pearl Tower. I stayed as long as I could bear the hear and seriously considered walking around like a Chinese man, with my shirt half-rolled up to unleash my belly upon the world. I decided that cooling the belly was a good idea, but opted for internal treatment instead and resorted to a DQ Blizzard liberally applied.

Then further down bustling Nanjing Rd, a pedestrianized and wall-to-wall strip of shops and neon signs with the towering Shiamo building capping the west, and guided me toward Peoples’ Square. Everywhere, the city feels like Disney’s Tomorrowland, trapped in a perpetually 1960’s view of what the year 2010 could look like, except that it has actually materialized here – and only here. Oh sure, the flying cars are missing, at least in the literal sense, and one can only be thankful for that in the hustle and bustle here, but here we have a city with one of the world’s first Maglev (magnetic levitation) trains whisking travelers across the city skyline at the mind-boggling speed of 430 km/h. Here we have a city with, it has been said, more skyscrapers than Manhattan. Here we have a city where, if a flying car were to buzz 30 metres above the freeway, nobody would look up from their bowl of noodles.

Yes, here, the home of the 2010 World Technology Expo, in a city that is pushing the boundaries of things that are still dreams in other parts of the world, is still a city where, beneath twinkling skyscrapers, 40-storey television screens, and an endless barrage of light and activity, you can still sit down in the streets on a dilapidated chair across from a shirtless man who is slurping up Shanghai noodles after a long day moving goods from factories to various stores on his bicycle. A positive side-effect of the indoctrinated Chinese mentality to not question the universe, the law, or the system is that when something like rising world gas prices become a reality, they accept and react rather than sitting around moaning about price-fixing, greedy oil companies, and OPEC. So bicycles, electric motorbikes, and increasingly green methods of transport are definitely on the rise here.

But, back to Peoples’ Square. There is not much here but a small urban park surrounded by tall buildings, a few museums and theatres (including the highly recommended Shanghai museum which I just couldn’t fit into my schedule). A wander a little further along Nanjing Road to the west yielded nothing but more megamalls and so a turn south was in order, bringing me smack into the fringe of the French Concession. On the periphery, it’s a motley collection of old European and modern Chinese buildings, but heading east eventually yields the untouched tourist-heart of the area, a collection of French buildings with stony courtyards, cafes, bakeries, and expensive wine. Walking along with a chocolate éclair, the area started to grow on me though I think I prefer to be a few blocks away from this trim and lean heart where boutique shops and Chinese restaurants sit side by side.

It was nearing sunset and I found myself back at Peoples’ Square, so I hopped the metro across the river to the base of the Pearl and watched the sunset with camera in hand (or rather, on tripod). I’d actually contemplated paying the 150 yuan to ascend but wouldn’t have made it in time, missing the actual sunset to wait in line for an elevator. Afterwards, I did something that must surely have been on fellow travellers’ lists whilst here in China mid-2008: I went to the theatre and watched Kung-Fu Panda.

From the hiker hostel I’d been west and east. To the north was nothing of note, blocked as it was by a small river a few blocks up, and so the next morning found me heading south into the town’s oldest Chinese area. I just want to take a quick second here to say that the hostel is in the perfect location, walkable from all the major attractions, and though it is pricey at 60 yuan/bed/night and the warm water is more adequately described as “not freezing”, I recommend it. Anyway, the old town. More shopping, and for once I gave in. I was going to be home soon and not only did I want to pretty much eject all my clothes before boarding the plane, but I still wanted to get something at least small for friends and family back home. First stop, a tea house where you sit and sip various teas with a little Chinese lady who extols the relative virtues of hundreds of types of teas.

All the while, walking the streets of Shanghai, you are constantly assailed by people trying to sell “watches, DVDs, shoes, t-shirts”. I did actually want a pair of shoes to wear home as my hikers are destined for yard work and my sandals should’ve been fumigated and discarded ages ago. So it was that, after munching on some mangosteens I was approached by number 82 who asked me what I was looking for. “Somewhere to wash my hands,” I replied and she offered to let me wash them in her shop so we went up the stairs, dunked my hands in a faucet, and started browsing. It really felt like a black-market shop… narrow, ill-lit staircase leading up, a hallway-sized space filled with shoes, shirts, DVDs, everything promised and more. I looked at some ‘Diesel’ shoes which they swear are authentic and for which the asking price was 450 Yuan ($60). Ha! After a lot of work and them pretending to be grumpy taking my money, I got these rather flimsy but good-looking shoes for 80 yuan ($12) with a pair of socks thrown in and I still think I paid too much. Then it was time for shirts and DVDs, the latter of which I left alone, but a Beijing 2008 Olympics shirt couldn’t hurt, and again on the wheel from 80 down to 20. It should be fine until it’s washed. Plus they threw in the new Batman movie for free, which I definitely won’t watch (I hate cam jobs).

Back at the hostel, I met my new Swiss roommate and a Dutch girl and the three of us went for dinner somewhere good but really pricey (by which I mean it cost $5/each) before I went off to Shanghai’s famous acrobats. It was a bit of a rushed dinner, so rather than catching the metro and walking, I hopped on the back of a motorcycle and whizzed through the nighttime streets of Shanghai. This is NOT to be missed, it doesn’t matter if you have nowhere to go, zipping around the beautiful buildings and neon signage of Shanghai is a surreal experience that the metro robs visitors of. And from this surreal experience to yet another, a woman balancing six plates full of glasses while doing some extremely bendy work. The show had started when I arrived, but it was only the start of the first act. It is something special to be in a foreign country and, for a pretty reasonable price, behold the type of spectacle that maybe only 50 years ago, would be reserved for a dictator or emperor and his court. We sat as one and oohed, ahhed, and gasped as we witnessed everything from a man riding a unicycle upside-down on a tightrope to nine chairs stacked precariously on a table one by one as women climbed up to, well, you name it. It was a spectacle.

I joined in “the races” when I returned to the hostel and went out that night with three English guys and two Polish girls. Tired or not, Shanghai has a world-famous nightlife and I was determined to see some of it. Unfortunately, the place we ended up was just a crappy little bar called “Windows Too” about which there is nothing positive to be said except that drinks weren’t too expensive. And then, before I remember going to sleep, I was awake again, packing up for the trip to Xi’an. But there was one more thing left to do in Shanghai. I rode the Maglev train, finally, passing cars so quickly that they appeared to be driving backwards. Even planes coming in for a landing were no match for us. As I stepped off the magnetic train and turned to look at it in wonder, I was struck by how unassuming it looked. A white bullet sitting in a giant gun barrel about to be fired back into Shanghai’s heart like a shot of adrenaline. The magnets buzzed, a jet engine whined in the distance, and I departed the city of tomorrow for a city of a long-passed age. Xi’an awaited.

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I Trek, Yubeng

It was a hard slog in every way. Finally, my luck with the weather ran out and it rained almost the entire trek into the Tibetan village of Yubeng. Between trekkers and donkeys, the trail was often times a soup (with ingredients you don’t want to think about) and a largely uphill one at that. I’d gone with an Austrian couple but they weren’t acclimatized and were feeling pretty pressured to keep up with me so I wound up ahead and on my own. A hot bowl of soup helped restore my water supply and core temperature at the chilly peak and then downwards the rain finally began to abate. There was a big chain of donkeys carrying supplies that I had to endeavour to stay ahead of (it’s painful to pass them or be stuck at their pace even though only slightly slower than mine) but as I got below the cloud the village could be made out amidst the shadows of some imposing mountains.

I found a place to stay in a Tibetan guesthouse (this village really is Tibetan in everything but name) and went back to show the Austrians where I was staying. Our host asked if we were hungry and then brought us to his pantry and kitchen to point out ingredients we wanted. I wanted more than just vegetables and remembered that chow mein is fried noodles, so I managed to get that tacked on to our list of veggies as well as some meat (he couldn’t stop laughing once he figured out why I made a ‘moo-ing’ sound). The end result was a fatty soup of noodles, pork fat, and veggies that was edible but not my favourite dish. But, I suspect, we were eating the way they do.

It’s cold up here in the mountains (current elevation around 3700m) and the three of us sat around the hearth in their living room with the grandmother of the family. She could only speak Tibetan, not Chinese or English but we tried to initiate a conversation with her regardless. I pointed to myself and said, “Dean” and then pointed at her. It turns out that both “di” and “dean” are numbers in Tibetan (1 and 7 respectively) and so that initiated a counting lesson that the Austrians were more than happy to see me struggle with. I then tried to find out her background and found (I think) she’d been born in Lhasa, had moved to Shangri-La and Lijiang when she was younger and then had lived here the rest of her life. We didn’t want to overstay our welcome so we said goodnight, grabbed some tea, and then went to sleep ourselves, praying for better weather tomorrow.

I awoke at 6:30 in the morning to see the sun begin to light the tall mountain out my window. And then I realized that I could actually see that mountain. I hurriedly dressed, ran outside past the cows to the washroom, came back and packed, and bolted out the door. There was hardly a cloud in the sky though they seemed to be forming as the sun warmed things up. Aside from the locals (and let’s face it, there still are not a lot of tourists here anyway) I felt I was alone in the town to observe their morning rituals. A woman milked her yak, a man tended to his mules, and somewhere a small bell was ringing every five seconds or so. This turned out to be a woman turning a prayer wheel (you walk in a circle around a cylinder, pushing it) that hit the bell every revolution. Another woman joined her in an unlikely little temple and I watched quietly for a time before moving.

Knowing how the weather changes in the mountains and fearing rain and cloud, I resolved to make good time while the weather held. After admiring the views from above and then making my way down to the lower village (where I’d observed the prayer), I set out on the path towards the Secret Waterfall. The path ambles through a valley forest along a snow melt stream which is never too far away. On the way, I passed a tree covered in bracelets, cloths, earrings, and other trinkets. I have no idea what this indicates, but it was a departure from the streamer-like prayer flags. Further along and further uphill I went, admiring the mossy forest still wet with morning dew and catching glimpses through the canopy of the Himalayas that surround Yubeng and isolate it from the rest of Tibet. While cloud seemed to move here and there, offering glimpses and then taking them away, it soon became clear that weather was not going to be an issue. It was an absolutely perfect day, and the third of four in a season where one nice day every couple weeks is lucky. I think blessed is the word to describe the weather here this July.

At last, my journey neared its destination. The surrounding mountains, beautiful Miancimu and the Buddha’s Head framed the green foothills below with snowy peaks and wispy clouds, the two mingling only via a river of snow cascading down from the heights. On the right, two massive waterfalls. In the middle, a cloudy landscape of snow and low, jagged peaks with the higher mountains partially peeking through. On the left, green and white and blue. The funny thing is that these massive waterfalls are, when viewed from afar, an almost insignificant part of the mountain itself. I climbed up along a stream and accidentally washed my shoes to the top where, of all things, a pair of rainbows sat at the end of the waterfall illustrating that I had indeed found the pot of gold.

I’m sorry for the flowery prose (or whatever you might call it), but I’m not quite sure how to convey the feeling that goes along with a walk of this sort. And if you’re cringing at the pot of gold remark, well, I made my way off the path down the moraine on a very steep and foolhardy descent and was rewarded with two 100 yuan notes that must have been lost in the winter or were deemed irretrievable. So, that would pay quite nicely for my trip back to Shangri-La not to mention the guesthouse. I played around in the snow, the first time I’ve seen snow since leaving New Zealand almost two years ago and shoe-skied my way down to where the snow ends and the stream collects the run off. Back to Yubeng, a quick lunch that quite resembled last night’s dinner, but with yak meat instead. I was tired, hungry, and probably would’ve grabbed a horse back up but that nobody offered me one.

Just as well, once I had my Snickers (this is not a paid advertisement) I had a bit more energy and I doffed my shirt in the sun and virtually ran up the slope. People stopped me, no word of a lie, to give me thumbs up or say things like “strong”. One Chinese guy was so startled, I merited a heavily accented “Oh my god”. If you know me at all, you’re wondering the same thing as I am – what on earth are they talking about? I think they were surprised I hadn't opted for a horse. Still, I felt good and made the hike back in what I consider a speedy 2.5 hours. The view on the way was spectacular – all the mountains were out in all their resplendence. Back in Fei Lai Si, I thought about waiting a few hours for sunset and passed some time having beer with an English guy but got tired waiting and retreated to Tashi’s for dinner and a warm bed. It had been a big day, a big four days in fact, and I was looking forward to the morrow’s ride southeast to, well, wherever I could reach. But if I haven’t been convincing in my delivery, let me just spell out in plain words what a wonder this area is. If you are coming to Yunnan, I definitely recommend a stop here in Fei Lai Si, even if only for the drive up.

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4660 Metres Above the Sea

We started at Tashi’s and walked to the Reringkha village proper, taking a path up to a Stupa and then veering off into an ethereal forest. The climb through the forest was at times steep but trees had mossy beards, pine needles were soft and leafy, and soon we were above the tree line. Tashi’s is situated at almost 3500m already, so it is not too far up before the trees yield to meadows. Perhaps the end was a bit premature as we crossed a small farmyard and had lunch at a little logging shed. The cloud that had been hanging in the morning was continually lifting as though we were pushing it with our efforts, the result being an increasingly beautiful backdrop and a sense of our altitude. Although the tops of the Himalayas were well and truly obscured, their bottoms still stood imposingly in the distance.

The forest gave way to indescribably beautiful alpine meadows absolutely covered in wildflowers of all shapes, sizes, and colours. The trail had ended and we bounces our way up the meadow, avoiding flowers as much as possible though it quite simply wasn’t possible. They were everywhere and the smell of honey filled the crisp mountain air. We made our way to the first summit, a green top with strewn rock among the flowers at 4500m, but saw another peak with more prayer flags atop it not too far away. The cloud continued to clear and revealed Dechin far below on our right and the Himalayas far away on our right. We were at the snow line (though there is no snow here for some reason) and scrambled yet further up a rather steep incline where we sat and admired the view at the top of the world. The Mingyong glacier was fully visible and all but the tops of the Himalayas were, too. I really wanted to get up as high as possible so we made our way up the rocky peak of the next highest summit and it was here that we were genuinely terrified.

We got as high as we could without climbing a broken rock face and looking down we knew that the slightest misstep was death. A very real sense of our height was suddenly perceptible and that, we decided, was as far as we were getting that day. Mary took out her altimeter and declared our height to be 4700 metres above sea level – about 14,000 feet! Cloud had started moving in a bit as we all held tightly to the rocks and we began our scramble back down. It took a long time to get down this steepest first part but the going got easier and we practically ran through the meadows once the danger was past, although my knees kept me to a fast lope. I really think we were blessed with our weather. Neither day did we have rain or fog – yes, it’s true we couldn’t see the mountain tops aside from the day of our arrival, but we still had great views – and now the cloud I’d feared was coming in seemed to disperse until we passed below. We returned to Tashi’s and I decided that yes, I will trek to Yebung village and stay a little longer than intended. It’s not everyday you can visit a Tibetan village that has only a solitary path over a 3900m mountain inaccessible by any modern form of transport.

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Mingyong Glacier Hike: Journey of Legends

The best thing about staying at Tashi’s Mountain Lodge in Reringkha, about a half-hour walk from Fei Lai Si, is its owner. Richard has trekked the area quite extensively and has all sorts of unique walks in the area not to mention advice and maps. We had just arrived and were treated to a large feast for 30 Yuan (expensive for China, but not for the area) and then I was picking his brain. As I did so, some of our other new arrivals came and listened and soon five of us were pouring over a map trying to decide what we could see in a rather short time. There’s Yubeng, a Tibetan village one day’s walk from the lodge, sitting at the foot of the mountains and offering nearby waterfalls, glacial lakes, and of course staying with a Tibetan family in a place that is a six hour walk from the nearest road. There’s the Mingyong glacier, the foot of which can be reached by car and a 1.5 hour hike. And there’s a mountain summit just behind the lodge that is a trail rather unique to Tashi’s. With three days, what was I to do?

My plan, eventually, was to do a one-day hike down (and then up and then down again) to the glacier, passing an abandoned village, crossing the Mekong into Xigong village, up along a mountain ridge and down into Mingyong town. There, we’d spend the night, hike up to the glacier the next morning, admire it for some time, and then make our way back to the lodge by car. Mary and Alden (two Americans), Michelle (Aussie), and Malak (Moroccan) were also interested, and so the five of us set off the next morning after breakfast making our way down a knee-wrenching descent from Fei Lai Si to the Mekong. The clouds were unfortunately of a height that they obscured the Himalayas towering over the Mekong but it was special to be, once again, on this river that has played so large a part in my journey. I had thought our travels together completed when I made my way down to the delta in Vietnam and now here I was so near its origins, sharing a wooden suspension bridge with cattle.

We crossed into the Tibetan town which appeared deserted until we ventured further in, and up in a valley before turning up a path to give us a nice ridge walk over the Mekong. On our left, the Himalayas, on our right and far below, the Mekong once more. We soon found ourselves in Mingyong, the glacier town, far ahead of schedule. So far, in fact, that rather than taking an extra day we decided to hike up to the top of the glacier now and we set off. Here, the altitude really affected me and I had to walk quite slowly and stop often which was embarrassing. The glacier was impressive and would’ve been more so if only we could see its top through the cloud, but it was great to sit there and watch it in the late afternoon sun. What was all the better was that because we’d arrived so late – about 4:00 – we pretty much had the glacier to ourselves. It was peaceful, sunny, and cool. We were back down in the town by 7:00 and my knees were killing me, but we had done our two day hike in one and caught a cab up to Fei Lai Si to watch the sunset and grab dinner.

When we returned to Tashi’s, everyone knew of our ‘legendary’ trek from some people we’d run into on the glacier. It was pretty funny to be there and have people slapping us on the back and saying that we were machines but we sat around exchanging hiking stories and Alden, Mary, and myself decided that we would take the day we gained and hike to the nearby summit the following morning. I was apprehensive about my knees, but they weren’t too bad and I went anyway. Thank goodness I did! The prior day’s hike may have made us into legends but the scenery did not feel like anything I couldn’t have seen elsewhere, except the glacier, and that was more ‘sightseeing’ than trekking. The scenery on our summit hike was varied, beautiful, dramatic, and terrifying at various stages.

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The Road to Fei Lai Si

Since receiving an email about Fei Lai Si from Dan (my Alabama friend), I’d wanted to go there. His letter was filled with such hyperbole and excitement that I unquestioningly added it to my itinerary. I had spent the last couple days in Shangri-La with Charlotte, Gerri, and Eric and now Eric and I were to head up to Deqin (pronounced Duh-cheen) near the Tibetan border while the girls made their way south to warmer climes of Yunnan’s tropical regions. So the four of us were at the bus station when we discovered that, in a lesson I’d still not learned in all my time traveling, the busses for Deqin were full that day. Even though we’d known for two days we’d be taking a bus sometime that day, we hadn’t booked it. I guess I like the freedom, but when you know where you’re going it makes a certain amount of sense to plan ahead. I didn’t.

There were two options. One was to wait another day and take a bus first thing in the morning – buying my ticket today, of course. The other was to negotiate a decent price for a car. I’d asked around and the going rate seemed to be 500 Yuan, which is, to be quite honest, a lot. Still, time was precious, another day in Shangri-La was not needed, and really, it’s a journey into the heart of the Himalayas of six hours. So I was soon in a car for 400, probably still too much, but bound for Deqin. Saying that the road there was magnificent is an almost criminal understatement. My driver, whom I initially liked, then had a bad feeling about, turned out to be quite a decent guy though he tried to bring on friends that hadn’t paid at my expense. We tried to sing Yellow Submarine, he tried to teach me a Chinese song, and eventually we just admired the scenery while he sung and I listened to my iPod as the inherent drama of the surroundings played itself out.

The drama starts soon after leaving Shangri-La. The car rises into the hills and on the left, the Chinese Grand Canyon plunges into the earth. As you lament that this marvel is passing by unexplored, the car rises over a ridge and drops into another canyon. The road follows the lay of the canyons so closely that it is as though the meager traffic on the highway has somehow worn the earth away after thousands of years. Soon the real culprit appeared as we moved off the valley floor – the Golden Sands river also known as the Yangtze, the mightiest river in China and one of the most important waterways in the world. My driver pulled over and I walked down a little path to see a spot where the river actually executes a complete hairpin around a mountain in its path.

Further along as the road climbs, villages cling to mountainsides and the gilded roofs of Tibetan monasteries boldly shine in the sunlight. The hills are mostly dry but from time to time, and especially near villages, rice terraces snake down the cliffs like vines on a stone wall. The road is making its way up to 4000 metres and getting better with every metre of altitude. Soon, asphalt gives way to cobblestone – and the road remains cobblestone for almost 50km! There is something to be said for being high in the mountains looking down a steep cliff and passing nomads walking with various baskets of goods in the middle of nowhere while the car bumps along like a wagon on a cobblestone road. Forget the van and you are back in the 1800s bumping along a road that has been used for centuries by traders with various wares to carry over the Himalayas. And as you bump and pass locals and look into bottomless valleys and the rolling hills you inexorably make your way up yourself.

Soon, you come around a corner and there – there – are the Himalayas in stark black and white, beneath a blue sky, and just behind a few hills topped with nomads’ tents and grazing animals. At last, I could see Tibet from my vantage point, 4000m above sea level on the eastern edge of Yunnan. For all intents and purposes, I was already in Tibet. The locals and nomads I met atop the mountain as I scoured the alpine meadows for photos were Tibetan as were most of the people in all the villages I would pass and stay in over the next few days. Only a Chinese cartographer had foiled my ambitions of being ‘in’ Tibet. Or perhaps I should be grateful for the opportunity to experience Tibet without the hassle of paperwork and permits that go with crossing that imaginary line.

Now, you’d think that the scenery had reached its climax, and perhaps it had, but even as our van descended the ridge to the other side of the mountain chain and towards Deqin, the drama did not follow. The sun was shining beautifully, mountains of red and green basked in the afternoon light, stupas lined the road of a Tibetan village, prayer flags carried their messages in the wind, and Deqin laid in the valley floor below. The weather, so unpredictable and often cloudy in this region, was impeccable. The Himalayas were laid out on the horizon awaiting our arrival like folded napkins on a dinner table. Some of them reached heights of over 7000 metres and absolutely dwarfed the massive hills in the foreground. We arrived in Fei Lai Si, just past Deqin, a little while later. And when I say we, I mean my van and another van of travelers who were also keen to go to Tashi’s Mountain Lodge.

Like Indonesia, I had done this trip alone - it was just me and the driver again. Eric had taken the lack of tickets as a sign that he was not destined to do the trek north and also bought himself a ticket south to reach Chengdu. Unlike Indonesia, I felt quite alone sitting in the passenger seat without the chorus of Belgian giggling or in depth discussions on film, politics, Canada, and China with my Montreal mate, especially at the beginning of the journey. It soon passed as the scenery filled my vision and my thoughts and now here I was arriving at Tashi’s with six other travelers just in time for an expensive but excellent dinner laid out on the table awaiting us. I was here at last, seven hours after leaving Eric at a bank in Shangri-La and the girls on a bus headed south, at the start of four of the greatest days on this trip.

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Shangri-La Di Da

The van wove along the Himalayas as the sun fell behind them, lining the clouds hanging between us and Shangri-La in gold. Soon, colour fell from the earth and Charlotte, Geraldine, Eric, and myself watched the world pass by in short flashes from our headlights until the lights of Shangri-La at last lit the night. It was 9:30 and after checking in to the Dragon Cloud Guesthouse we wandered around and found some drinks and fun at a nearby bar. It turned out to be quite a great night, we were all having a blast and probably too many drinks (especially at an altitude of 3500m, where one drink is effectively two) until finally we left and let our hosts close their very profitable bar for the evening. It was now past 2 AM and we had slightly missed our guesthouse’s midnight curfew, and so we stood knocking and pounding on the doors until we realized nobody was going to answer and we were stuck outside in the chilly mountain air and drizzling rain. Eric saved the day by scaling a wall and opening the door for us from the inside.

The way the day prior had gone, sitting in Tina’s with Eric and the girls, I was worried. Even so early, it felt competitive. The girls had gone up to Jade Snow Mountain and loved it, gushing excitedly. Eric and I had used that day to start our Tiger Leaping Gorge trek and it was likewise a great day. In telling this, Eric sounded defensive on price especially, as though they’d paid so much for a great time where it had cost us virtually nothing. Which, of course, upset the girls who felt the implication was that they were stupid or rich and foolish with their hard-earned money. So I took the middle line (which was easy as it was exactly how I felt) that yes our day in Tiger Leaping Gorge had been great but their photos at the top of the mountain (4600m) looked great and I would’ve loved to do it if I had more time and I could afford it. And so it went on every topic until this tension was discussed over drinks the night prior. After this, we had a great time together.

So it was rather unfounded worry that I would always be in between them. I should’ve been worrying instead about a good place for breakfast. The girls don’t do Chinese for breakfast and after so many drinks a western breakfast was sounding like a great idea. We … dined? … at Rose Café in the old town. Eric’s curry rice came first, then five minutes and my American breakfast did. This meal is one egg, two pieces of cold toast, some dried bacon (?), and fries. Gerri’s English breakfast never came despite asking and reminding them twice. Finally a third inquiry revealed they’d forgotten and it very slowly came out, tasting horrible; Inedible, even for me. There was a mystery meat permeating the translucent gook that left a yellowish stain. Eric and I got her breakfast taken off the bill after a lot of arguing from him and me finally giving a 30 second slightly angry summary of why we weren’t paying for it.

It was a bad start to the morning, especially after so much searching and hunger. We eventually made our way to the famed Shangri-La monastery after some rest, and the sour mood was lifted almost instantly. It stood majestically on the hillside, with three golden towering buildings surrounded by homes for 60,000 Tibetan monks. The first building we went in was filled with religious paintings of the Circle of Life, the Path to Enlightenment, and various deities of whom I have neither knowledge nor understanding. The temples were red and ornately carved and painted and a massive and spell-binding Buddha sat in the middle as all four stories wrapped around him, giving an even more imposing air. We saw the other buildings in the monastery as well, of course, but they weren’t as awe-inspiring. And naturally, there were plenty of monks lingering around. On our exit, we were even on the bus with many monks and a few other Chinese and Tibetan people. I attempted to get the photo I’d missed the first time, the view of the monastery from further away, dug into the hillside. I noticed the bus stop and was thankful, thinking we were picking someone up. I took my photo and then noticed the whole bus staring at me and smiling. The driver had stopped the bus to let me take a photo. Ah, China!

That night was a quiet one, perhaps because we spent far too much money on a hotpot that was decent but definitely not worth how much we paid for it and left us all smelling of yak. On the positive side, this allowed us to wake up early and this time Eric and I got a local breakfast (8 quai/yuan each) and the girls seeked out their western fare while the two of us went looking for some hiking shoes. He was coming up to Fei Lai Si for some hiking with me and his shoes were in a dire state so this was a necessity. We didn’t find anything and made our way to the square to meet the girls at 1:00, where all four of us had some grilled eggplant, zucchini, chicken, mushrooms (yes, Mariah, mushrooms!), and various other tasty selections before walking up to a big temple we’d seen over the city yesterday.

The temple did, in fact, turn out to be a temple on a hill, and a massive prayer cylinder spun beside it. We were shocked to learn that the cylinder was turned by hand, and then gave a push ourselves. Unsure of what else to do in Shangri-La, we opted to get lost. We had been making fun of Charlotte’s uncontrollable desire to go places that were blocked off after she was scolded for entering a Tibetan monk’s room accidentally at the monastery, and she would now go peeking in slightly ajar doors and things like that. One door she noticed was the Cultural Preservation Centre though she didn’t go in this one. I decided if a door was going to be opened, this was the one, not someone’s home, so we opened the door to take a look and wound up having the best experience of our time here. We were greeted by some painters and a woman showed us some of their paintings and what they were trying to do with the centre. And then she invited us to have tea with the monk living there which we eagerly did.

It was an excellent hour. We chatted over tea, had watermelon, and asked him questions about his life, Buddhism, Tibet, and being a monk. He showed us photos of his training in India and the students he teaches about Buddhism and art and, well, it was just a great time. We all left smiling and feeling like we had turned the corner on Shangri-La after the breakfast debacle and had, in fact, had a very cool experience. The four of us wandered around, glowing a bit, and found Eric some shoes and fixed his belt, then grabbed some dumplings and had a few drinks. It was to be my last night with the Belgian girls and in the short week I knew that I knew it was going to be a hard goodbye. They’re very positive and upbeat people that I will definitely miss but that is traveling and at least I wouldn’t be continuing on to the Tibetan border on my own. Eric was coming with me. Or was he...

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Tiger Leaping Gorge

With three hours of sleep and a very good night behind us, the morning held less promise. I was quite tired, though thankfully excited enough to get myself moving, but Eric was downright hungover. We got a quick breakfast from Mama Naxi and grabbed our van to Tiger Leaping Gorge – Eric grabbed the bag I had my sandwich in for the road and we set off. We came across what I assume was some roadwork, the result being a backlog of stopped traffic in the middle of nowhere. After about 15 minutes of waiting the line inched forward and then stopped again. Or at least, most of us did. The woman behind us appeared not to notice this stoppage and relied on the mass of our van and its cargo (us) to bring her own van to a halt. The way people drive in Asia, it was bound to happen sooner or later, and I was happy it was a rather harmless rear-end rather than a serious accident. We picked up our bumper from the asphalt, stowed it in the trunk, and drove off without so much as a word between the two drivers. And without further incident (except a stopoff at some Tibetan-looking temple) we arrived in Qiaotou and specifically at Jane’s Guesthouse, where we stored our packs, grabbed lunch, and began our two day adventure.

Lunch, by the way, was delicious fried goats cheese with sugar, yak meat, and baba, a Tibetan flat bread that is pretty dry but hits the spot when combined with other foods. The start of the trail is 2500m ASL and climbs to 3000m. Eric and I were okay at first but soon found ourselves feeling the effects of the altitude (probably worsened by a lack of sleep and excess of alcohol). Still, we soldiered on and found a more steady rhythm which brought us up to a minority Naxi village where we stopped for tea and a snack. Regular readers may remember how I raved about that cup of tea in Malaysia’s Cameron Highlands, well, this was almost as good but far more simple (I assume). Simple green tea with a fresh mint leaf and perhaps something I couldn’t quite detect, set over a breathtaking (literally) view of the village and gorge with some crisp fried snow peas to munch on.

It was well that we stopped there for a break as the most arduous part of the trail lay ahead. 28 Bends snake their way up the mountain so steeply that whoever named the place couldn’t find the energy to keep track and invariably miscounted. Whatsmore, all subsequent hikers have noted the discrepancy but none have had the fortitude to produce a correct number. Men pass with horses hoping to snag weary and desperate hikers, and one we turned down became quite irate as though we were obligated to take a horse from him. This was more than compensated for as we reached the top and met up with the others we’d shared the van with and a cheery old man who had developed and maintained a path down to a great viewpoint for the gorge. He charged 8 quai to take photos from the vantage point he carved out and it was well worth the money just for his quirky and friendly personality. We were happy to pay it, in contrast with the grouchy horsemen.

We went ahead of the rest of our group – an Australian girl, Dutch woman, and an English mother-son combo – and came upon our home for the night, the Tea Horse Guesthouse. Rooms were basic, food was decent, and the view – unless you paid a lot for it – was non-existent. In short, I’d recommend others try to make it further along to Half Way Guesthouse. I didn’t stay nor eat at the latter, and I object to the misleading name, (Two-Thirds Guesthouse doesn’t have the same ring, I suppose) but the views and rooms did look nicer here. Still, Tea Horse did the job. We ate in what is essentially an open basement and were sound asleep just after 8:00. Breakfast at Tea Horse was decent and then we were back on the path, stopping in the village for a peak at Half-Way.

This peek cost us some time as we, somewhere, took a wrong turn and wound up on a trail to the low path. Both of us knew something was wrong pretty quickly, but we discussed it and neither had seen a branch since the village and after that branch we’d seen a sign pointing out that we were headed in the right direction. So we pressed on until finally I stopped and we both admitted the obvious. But rather than backtrack, we cut cross country. There was no danger or fear of being lost. The low trail – a road – was quite visible below us, and the high trail was somewhere above us. I thought I could see it cutting through the tall grass. So cross country looking for a good way to make our way onwards and upwards. In the end we followed a goat path up the hill and tested our rock-climbing mettle until at last we merged with the upper trail again.

Further along and soon we were at Tina’s for a decent lunch. We thought we’d see the whole gorge and walked along the road about 4 km towards (and past) Walnut Garden then came back to Tina’s and did the final crowning glory of the trek: the walk down a steep path to the Yangtzi River and the stone from which the tiger leaped once upon a time. It was steep alright, and as our weary legs brought us down I did not envy our upwards return. We cleared a ridge and started down the REALLY steep part when I saw someone who, without my glasses, looked familiar and at the very least, good. A little further along and I was shocked to see it was Charlotte standing on the path. I hadn’t expected to run into her again and was happy to see her but she seemed a little perturbed so we exchanged pleasantries and made our way further along. Much further along, in fact, where we came to a tired Gerri sitting in a shelter summoning the energy to climb on. She was a bit more affable and we had a snack and chatted with her before clambering down the rest of the way.

By now it was getting late in the day, our detours off track and to Walnut Garden leaving us behind schedule. So Eric and I both dipped our feet in the Yangtzi, which was roiling and flashing by with a violence and speed I’ve previously only experienced in Stanley Cup semi-finals. And it started to rain. We made our way back up the increasingly slippery rocks and a very vertical ladder to Tina’s in record time. Our venture down and back had cost just over an hour but there was nobody waiting for a van out of the gorge and they wouldn’t cut us a two-person deal. Our collective impatience set us on the road walking and hoping to either flag down a van or grab one at Zhang’s, but no such luck. One van passed us half empty but refused to stop – they get paid 80/van so they have no interest in picking up more passengers. We were coming up on a hairpin bend when a van with four empty spots passed by blatantly ignoring us. Eric sprinted after it and I darted over the ledge and scrambled quickly down to where the road weaved back from the hairpin, just making it in time to jump in front of the van and stop him.

But instead of the customary 15/person, this pirate wanted 50. From each of us. So it turned out that trying to flag down a van was not a bright idea and we let the jerk go on his way. In retrospect, I would’ve liked to blockade him until he agreed on a reasonable price but maybe next time. We eventually stopped someone who gave us a ride for 20 each and made it back to Jane’s where Charlotte and Gerri were recuperating. I half suspect they were waiting for us, though neither will admit to it, but we grabbed dinner and split a van between us to Shangri-La, where we would spend our last days together.

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The New Old Lijiang

In Asia, taking the first price is often taking the worst price. You try to haggle, you shop around, and then you buy. In China, this sometimes works and sometimes doesn’t. Most Chinese want something simple and can’t be bothered haggling with calculators or speaking numbers slowly enough to be understood. Some would rather just avoid attempting to communicate with foreigners altogether and will tell you things like the bus is full. This, unfortunately, was not the case as I priced out tickets from Dali to Lijiang. The first bus with availability was at 1:00, 45 Yuan non-negotiable. OK, thanks, I’ll be back. The next place had no bus until 1:30, same price. 1:00, it appeared was sold out. Back to the first place to get a 1:00, and they now had nothing before 2:00. I ran back to the other (friendly) place to find nothing until 2:30 and finally just booked a ticket. So it was that I arrived in China’s prettiest town at China’s best guesthouse just in time for dinner.

I literally walked in the door of Mama’s Naxi Guesthouse and was told to have a seat as plate after plate of food was brought to our table. This veritable feast cost 10 quai or about $1.50. After dinner and some chit chat around the table I claimed the bed that Eric (my friend from Montreal), Charlotte and Geraldine (both Belgian) had saved me as a result of my ticket plight. It was quite conceivable that my first night would be passed in the guesthouse chatting with nothing seen of Lijiang except the bus station from which Mama picked me up, but I wanted to get a feel for the place so, camera in hand, I hit the cobblestone streets and meandered. The town is sectioned by three main canals (and many smaller ones) that once served as Lijiang’s water supply. Today, you’d have to be a xeno-biologist to draw water from the wells and canals, but regardless of these new inhabitants, the town exudes an undeniable charm that immediately whisked me away from Mama’s.

I came first upon a small square selling various snacks. One side of the square is bordered by a canal, the first one I came across with a small bridge leading to a restaurant and a chef sitting on a bench watching the waters disappear around a bend. There was a hubbub of activity here, almost all Chinese tourists, which I found rather entertaining. Further into the streets things quieted again and crossing another bridge I looked into the water myself to see a string of lily-shaped candles floating along the canal like stars in the midnight sky. I watched as a few more candles straggled along and then looked up to see that I was on a smaller canal lined with shops and each shop had a plank crossing the canal; its tenuous connection with the rest of the world. Chinese lanterns lent a red hue to the scene and inside one of the shops, a man demonstrated a traditional Chinese flute with a melody that floated through the streets like the canals that give Lijiang its charm. And charmed I was, to an almost hypnotic state by this quaint town.

Perhaps visited in a different order, my impression would’ve been different. Further along the flute faded and was replaced by clashing music from various nightclubs all vying for the hordes of Chinese customers. ‘Traditional’ bands, entertainers, DJs (they still have that annoying “I’m a DJ, drinks are $2.99 at the bar, I love the sound of my voice” voice), karaoke, and loud music. And I’m not sure whether a horde or throng is a larger unit of measurement, but there were both. Rather than being revulsed however, I was thoroughly amused at the Chinese partying, dancing, and having a great time. Sure, they’re tourists, but they’re still Chinese, and I’m here to learn as much as I can about Chinese culture. Surely the way that they let loose is a part of that? Still, any with a fear of crowds, touching, or furtive photography had best stay well clear. I made my way between the competing sides to a stall where a young couple was buying two of those flower candles I’d seen floating earlier in the hope of a good and long life together and watched them walk down to the canal and kneel before the waters, at last placing them in the mild current and releasing their destinies to the whims of fate.

I walked along some more to the end of the strip of bars and saw the smoke from one bar dropping from above and giving the water below a bridge a mystical appearance and snapped what is one of my favourite photos of China. Here, in this touristed and loud quarter of the old town, I think I captured the essence of why I love it here. And, I hope, I managed to make my point to those who might find themselves here yet. After some more exploration of stone bridges, twisting side streets, and hilly backdrops, I returned to the bar strip and saw Charlotte and Geraldine waving me in. They were sitting with a Chinese couple who were quite plastered but having a great time. There were no less than a dozen beer on the table for the four of them, most of which were untouched, and the Chinese woman pushed one in front of me then raised her cocktail in a wobbly but enthusiastic “campay!” The battle was joined. We had a great night, myself and the Belgians, and paid not a cent for it. The Chinese were quite happy to supply drinks for the honour of sitting with us (or more accurately, I suspect, two good-looking – and blonde - Belgian girls). And we were quite happy to party with them. I did pull my weight as best as possible with my disappearing popcorn trick(s). Hot blondes of the world, watch out!

The next morning merited a sleep in and some overdue time on the internet. Eric had invited me to the small village they were going to bicycle to, but I just couldn’t be bothered. It also allowed me to wander the old town a bit more by day, in some of the smaller streets I’d missed at night. For dinner, I was joined by Charlotte and Gerri and then Ori, our Israeli friend from Dali, arrived. The three of us went for drinks at Cherry Lane (next door) and were later joined by Eric and a couple pretty cool German guys, whose names I can’t remember. It was one of their birthdays and we closed out the Cherry Lane taking a few beer for the road and then found a nice spot to sit on the steps and visit some more (as well as a place to pick up yet more beer). The night was capped by a serenade from some wandering Chinese guys, one with a shirt with built-in VU-meter and one with a guitar and a karaoke voice. It was a great group and I was sad to be leaving them in the morning (which came far too early, by the way) to go with Eric to Tiger Leaping Gorge. But the gorge would provide its own adventures and surprises, including two old friends.

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Dilly Dali-ing

I arrived in Dali with Ori (an Israeli I'd met in Kunming) and Phil (an American we'd met at the bus station, though he had been a roommate) and as usual, the first step was finding a place to stay. After the usual place searching, complicated by balancing our three travel styles, we wound up at a hotel for 15 Yuan per night ($2) each. There was an intermediate bus change at the new Dali but now we were just outside the old city walls which proved a great location. We crossed into the Dali walls and wandered around the town, again compromising on our different dinner options. Traveling with people, it's as important that you like and get along with each other as that you have similar goals in your travels, not to mention similar budgets. We didn't but we made it work for the night. As we were eating on Peoples' Street, Aimee walked by and sat with us, and then we were joined by her Montreal friend, Eric. We had a regular coterie and soon we were sitting in a much more authentic local dive drinking papaya wine (or shine) and talking about all those boring topics like politics, music, and so on. The lack of westerners in China certainly makes it more easy to meet them, which is a funny irony about human nature.

The next morning, Ori, Phil, Eric, and myself were to hike up the mountains that back Dali and have a look around. Unfortunately, Ori's stomach was misbehaving and after a short while returned to town. And then there were three. The walk up was great exercise and more importantly, cheap, though there is a cable car up for 30 Yuan. We were literally giving off steam, though attempts to photograph it were unsuccessful. We also had to pay admission to the park which we managed to get for student prices because Eric and Phil were both students, so that was only 15 Yuan. Eventually, the endless stairs, well, they ended, and we were on the high path. This is when the hike got interesting. The views of the plains below were spectacular and we came across a little waterfall in Zhong Stream and made our way up it. We played around there and taking photos of a small gazebo near the waterfall for probably 45 minutes before continuing. A Chinese company passed us all wearing the exact same clothes - the very epitome of communism. The beautiful scenery, slightly marred by the city below with scores and scores (literally hundreds) of identical Chinese workers walking by was, to my mind, a snapshot of China.

Eventually, we came to our goal for the day, The Highlander Guesthouse. It seemed a charming place in a charming setting and we had some lunch and dessert in the wooden house. It was quite cool and started raining but our efforts to start the wood stove were thwarted by a lack of kindling (or perhaps technique). We met two Belgian girls who arrived just as the rain started and sat with them laughing at the rather raunchy antics of the three pets cavorting around us and had a drink with them, too. Eventually the rain subsided and Phil stayed on the mountain while Eric and I had to forego a very nice looking dinner to get back before dark - and hopefully before the cable car closed. Unfortunately we didn't make the cable car, but we did descend pretty quickly and were in town just as the sun set and the world turned red. Eric and I met up with Ori who still wasn't feeling great, had dinner, and called it an early evening after watching a bit of George Carlin. Dali was a nice old town and the mountains surrounding probably merited another look, but I was off for Lijiang the next day and would see a far more beautiful - and crowded - old town. See you there!

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Kunming Into China

It was a bit of a rush, though I didn’t know it yet. I was at the Vietnam-China border at Lao Cai-Hekou trying to figure out which line to enter. At last I did (it took about five minutes) and that was when the trouble began. Three of them peered over and through my passport as though it was missing something. They kept flipping and looking and a Chinese couple came behind me and the officers gladly dropped my passport in favour of something easier. Everyone and anyone, it seemed, could get ahead of me, so I took the liberty of redirecting those walking up to ‘my’ window to another locale when at last a supervisor showed up. He flipped as they did and I showed his where the Vietnamese entry stamp was as well as the visa and the ID page. He didn’t like that the passport was not crisp and neat, but you trying wearing it on your body in the tropics and see how well it holds up. At last I was through Vietnamese customs, and that was supposed to be the easy part.

The Chinese customs officers were every bit professionals. They knew where to go, what to look for, and so on. This did not make their processing of my entry and faster, however, just more thorough. I had nothing to hide, so I wasn’t too worried, but it crossed my mind that if for some reason they refused entry I would be stuck in no-man’s land between two countries I had no ability to be in. Thankfully, this was not an issue as I finally got my visa stamped and moved onto to have my baggage x-rayed. They weren’t concerned with anything except for my books, which I had to take out and let them flip through. I know that the Chinese Lonely Planet is banned and often confiscated from travelers because its map draws Tibet too large and counts Taiwan as its own country but otherwise I guess they were looking for anything political or offensive. I had neither and at last I was in China, standing on the street, and looking at a bewildering display of Chinese characters and buildings surrounding the chaos on the streets.

Now what?

Bus station. Find out when I can get the overnight to Kunming. Finding that, or anyone who spoke English, was not as easy as I’d expected – and I expected a challenge. In the end I did not find an English speaker but did find the bus. It was 5:50 and the overnight bus left at 6. And she would not accept either dollar or dong despite being on the border. She also had a 6:30 bus but waved in a negative way that I assumed meant it was full or not a sleeper. So, ten minutes to get my money changed. I failed. I couldn’t find anywhere to change and every time I asked a local where I was pointed in a different direction. Finally I went into a store (one of many I’d tried) and a woman came with to show me where and then saw the bank closed. So the store did the exchange for me and I ran back to the bus station as fast as possible, making it at 6:25. I had the money, I had no breath, and still the woman shook her hands that I couldn’t take the bus. Then, seeing I’d run and gone to great effort, pointed me towards the bus with my money. Kunming? He nodded and asked me for, I assumed, a ticket.

I pointed at the window which accomplished nothing and then took out the money so he understood I had yet to pay for it. And they found me a spot on the bus for 120 Yuan, at the very back, a big bed for 5 people with room for three comfortably. You haven’t been properly welcomed to China until a 70 year old man is dangerously close to spooning you or else playing footsy as you hug your backpack in terror. But I made it, I passed my first ordeal and somehow found sleep that night. I awoke in the morning as the bus emptied in Kunming and pulled myself off the bed, off the bus, and figured out that it was bus “san” (three) to the place I wanted to go. When I got on the bus, I let the driver know assuming that if I missed it, she’d let me know. There were only seven of us on the bus and I sat at the very front trying to follow our progress on the map. And soon I realized we’d passed it. She looked back at me and waved her finger in a circle in disdain and I assumed meant we’d be there on the way back. But twenty minutes later we were on the same roads back as we’d taken. I figured out where we were at one stop and resolved to get off – it was walkable. But she waved me to sit until the next stop and at last, at last, I found a hostel.

Yes, China was to prove a lot more difficult – and fun – to get around than other countries in Asia. At times, this would be frustrating, but the necessity of communication and lack of English means I’m hoping to learn a bit of Chinese in my one month here. Already I’m learning some of the characters as I go from place to place and I can count to one hundred rather shakily. I don’t expect to be speaking it, but I’m hoping to at least make getting around more fluid. Anyway. There I was on Jin Bi Lu in a fairly good part of town and my hostel was right there, The Hump. It was a good place and I really didn’t realize how much I miss the hostel experience as a solo traveler. I met up with a German guy named Grieg that morning and over a shake at the hostel met a girl from New Zealand named Aimee. The three of us wandered the town, heading north to the university district and Green Lake park, then getting lost as we made our way south to the Bamboo Temple bus.

It was a 45 minute ride out of Kunming to the Bamboo Temple and 20 Yuan ($3) return, but worth it and the $1 entry. It was an expansive temple filled with clay and papier-mâché figures. It is famous for two things, one is a temple whose walls are lined with surfing Buddhas riding the waves on various animals. They are not painted, however, they are clay and project from the wall like a 3D movie. The other is a small room that is filled with over a hundred clay figures of ordinary people from all walks of life, sculpted in fine detail and very lifelike indeed. After this, we returned to Kunming and decided that since Yunnan is one area of China with a large Muslim population (esp. Kunming) we should get a muslim meal. We finally found a place listed in the Lonely Planet as having dozens of muslim restaurants and found one, but we ate there and the food was delicious even if we ordered far, far too much. We were treated like VIPs there, with two girls standing over the table ready to answer to our most random whim, top up glasses, and whatever we may require – or not require.

The next day I took another excursion with the Grieg and three Israeli girls staying in my room – they’d come to the table and invited us to go with them the day before. We went to Xi Shan (she-shan), in the hills on a lake outside Kunming, and it definitely was not worth it. The pollution here is unbelievable, honestly. The smog here – in the countryside – is worse than Jakarta, worse than LA, worse than anywhere I’ve ever seen. The lake itself, which apparently hosts a lot of heavy industry on its eastern banks, is full of algae and a toxic shade of green. We were on the west bank (with Israelis, hahaha!) in the hills and maybe the pollution was good in that we couldn’t SEE what was causing it. We climbed the hills passing many-a-stall on the roads and paths and ate our picnic lunch up near Beauty Peak. Then it started to rain a bit and we went up to the pagoda at the top then back down and returned to Kunming.

That night, we went out to the ‘bar area’ to see Kunming’s famous nightlife. The girls had already been here and loved it but when we returned there was little open and still less happening. Tha