Gobi Free

A 30 hour train ride is usually a pretty boring affair, and so too is a blog post about it. On April 20 I made my way to the main railway station in Beijing, waited around until about 7:30 am, then boarded the Tran-Mongolian K3 train that leaves once a week for Mongolia and Russia, connecting to the main Trans-Siberian line in Ulan Ude, Russia. I will be making the trip to Moscow in three legs, with this being the first, from Beijing to the capital of Mongolia, Ulan Bataar.

My roomate in the four-berth compartment was another American, Tom, who had just retired and returned from a tour of North Korea. My questions about North Korea, along with all our common experiences as Americans, provided endless topics for conversation on the train ride through the Gobi Desert. While I love getting to know people from all parts of the Earth, there is something about meeting a good fellow American, especially in Asia where they seem to be a relative rarity, that cannot be matched. No longer do you have to call college "university" and you can speak of home as something real and present, not as a far away and foreign thing. We had some good conversations.

As we grew more and more distant from Beijing, the landscape outside our window became more and more desolate and dusty. We were slowly coming into the Gobi Desert. Eventually the last vestiges of real civilization faded away, and all that was left was the brown expanse dotted with the occasional crumbling ruin of a village. There is really only one thought that entered my head upon realization of the fact that I was in the middle of the Gobi Desert: WTF am I doing in the middle of the Gobi Desert? It was an existential crisis. It just seemed like such a strange place to find myself, a place where I never would have thought I would end up in my life.So what more can I say. We rode all day on this train, and then upon nightfall were joined by two burly Mongolian guys in our cabin, who got a kick out of looking at books in English. One of them claimed to be the Chinese correspondent for the Mongolian national news agency, and I did not doubt it. He said he knew one of the authors of Tom's Lonely Planet. Perhaps he did.

The border crossing was not one of my favorites thus far. Upon reaching the Chinese exit point, we disembarked from the train and sat for three hours while they changed the wheel-base of the entire train, to allow it to run on the Mongolian and Russian tracks. Apparently they lift each train car individually and put it onto a whole different set of wheels. At least this is what I am told; everything looked the same to me. Finally right about midnight, we pulled away from China and entered Mongolia, stopped again to get our passports stamped (no visa required for Americans staying up to 90 days, in case you're thinking about a holiday in Mongolia). We gladly retired to bed at this point and passed through Southern Mongolia in our sleep.When we awoke around sunrise the next morning, we we truly in the desert. Nothing but dirt, sand, and the occasional scrub brush or patch of melting snow. It was a pretty magnificent sight, not quite like any desert scene I have ever laid eyes on.

Thus we passed the next few hours until our our arrival at 13:30 hours in Ulan Bataar. UB is a strange city. It has nearly a million people I think, and it is such a contrast from the rest of the country that we saw. For hours we passed total desolation, with the occasioanl Ger (a Mongolian round tent). No one and nothing but shepherds and grazing animals. And then suddenly this concrete city rises from the desert, and it seems unnatural.

So arriving in Ulan Bataar, I had about 30 hours to kill before I had to get back in a train. Tom and I joined forces and headed for a hostel, where we checked in and then set about exploring this town. Going out, I put on every article of clothing I could muster to brave the nearly freezing temperatures and gusty winds. What a contrast from Malaysia! We took care of business, Tom picking up his return plane ticket and I my onward train ticket, then went to a Mongolian restaurant to find sustenance. We got a true taste of Mongolia in the Chingis beer (a vile liquid), and our hearty meat and bread dishes, which was an interesting cross between some Chinese dishes and things that seemed more Russian.

In fact Mongolia is really a crossroads between the two superpowers of China and Russia. During my brief stint here, I couldn't really decide whether I was in Asia proper or Siberia. The people looked a bit Chinese but had a different twinkle in their eye. The writing system utilized the cyrillic alphabet, as does Russian, and the architecture seemed more Soviet than Chinese.
Mongolia is an interesting place that I can't fairly judge from so little time there, but what I found most interesting is that this was the birthplace of one of the largest empires ever seen on this planet, but there is not a single ancient monument to show for it. Sure, the modern Mongolian state has built statues in honor of Chinggis (aka Ghengis) Khan and his decendants, but The Khans never built any grand structures. There are no ruins to visit in this country, as far as I can tell.

So Tom and I hung out for the rest of the day, relaxing and going out for a couple drinks (we found a better Mongolian beer). The next day he headed out to the countryside and I spent the day killing time in this rather boring city, doing what I do best by walking around aimlessly, bouncing into and out of cafes and antique stores. Eventually I had killed all the time that I could, so I picked up my bags and tried to hail a taxi, which in this country means raising your hand at every passing car and seeing who is willing to gve you a ride for money. I nice peace corps girl helped me find a ride to the train station and I boarded the next train to Irkutsk, Russia.

And now I am in Irkutsk and would love to tell you about it, but I need to get back out into that world and explore it, because I leave at 2:30 in the morning for the next leg of my journey, and it promises to be a grueling one: 84.5 hours to Moscow.

On on to Beijing

As that lonesome train pulled away from the station in Kunming on the night of April 15, I took my place in the six-bunk compartment that was occupied by a group of Chinese geriatrics (that means old people). I laid down for the night and was disturbed by strange dreams throughout. In one of them I became lucid and flew into the sky, but soon lost control and fell softly back to earth.

There's not too much to say about being on a train for forty hours without anyone with whom you share a common language. I finished reading Mark Twain's Innocents Abroad, which I have been working on nearly since I disembarked in Malaysia, and started reading some Carl Jung, because sometimes I am comforted by the way he tries to rationalize the human spirit. I wrote endlessly in my journal and even wrote postcards to some of you people. I listened to music that reminded me of isolation and transportation, like Radiohead, Sufjan Stevens' Age of Adz, and anything from Iceland. I ate nothing except for a bag of warm milk that one of the old women insisted that I take, because I seemed to have no appetite. And then I spent another night on the train.


In the morning on April 17, I awoke to the passing agricultural flatlands of Northeastern China, having left behind the majestic Karst formations and subtropical foliage of the South. By 11:00 that morning the train abruptly entered an urban zone and we soon pulled into the Beijing western railway station. I managed to meet a Polish-German couple and with the use of their guidebook and a decent amount of non-verbal communication, we were able to navagate two metro lines and a long walk to find a good hostel, that was booked completely. Instead I checked into a subpar, windlowless room in a hotel with a staff that enjoyed talking about me in Chinese and laughing (or maybe I'm just being overly self-conscious). Thus began an underwhelming two-and-a-half day stint in this nation's capital.

Beijing is, from the accounts I have heard from other travelers, an interesting and fun-filled city. And I do not doubt that. I even saw some of it myself. But I hardly think that the two days I spent there were time enough to really get to know this city or find the right places to enjoy myself. I'll give you a briefish recap of those two days and try to spare you the more boring details.


Upon arriving and settling into my room, I set about looking for Mr. Shi's restaurant based on a business card I had from there, given to me by Sasha. Eventually I was able to find my way there and ate an outrageous amount of fried dumplings (jow-dza!), which filled my completely empty stomach more than sufficiently. That night I did next to nothing.


My first full day here, I slept in a bit and then went in search for the travel office where I could pick up my train ticket to Mongolia. Navigating the metro and the huge (nearly unwalkable) city blocks of Beijing, I found the office, and with my task for the day being complete, I got back on the metro for Tian'aman Square, the center of the city. Once there, I navigated the throngs of tour groups and scam artists and entered the huge walls of the forbidden city, the capital of the nation during much of the dynastic period. I took lots of pictures and tried to be impressed by the architecture and history.


After that, I hung out in the concrete desert that is Tian'aman Square for a brief time, hoping to find the spot where that guy stood in front of the army tanks in the 1980's, but for some reason there was no monument to mark the spot, so I gave up looking for it and left. I went back to Mr. Shi's for some more jow-dza, boiled, not fried this time, and then passed the evening uneventfully in a non-social sort of way.


My final day I had a list of tasks to accomplish, including catching up on this here blog, buying a camera memory card and a jacket for Mongolia and Siberia (I got a sweet US Army jacket), emailing friends and family, changing currency (finally got rid of the HK$'s that have been weighing me down), researching a place to stay in Ulan Batar, and taking a shower. I'm proud to say I accomplished everything on my list, nearly at least. After a good day's work, I got some more jow-dza (I'm not always this monotonous with my food choices), and then passed another uneventful evening, observing a Chinese bar scene.


I awoke at sunrise the next morning and made my way to the metro station, through the quiet Beijing streets of morn, and to the Beijing main railway station for my departure from China.

China, I can't say I knew you well, though as for your southern pearl of Yunnan, I feel I gave it a fair shake. I know one day I will come back and see more of this land, but it may be years yet (although my visa will allow me one more entry before January 28, 2011). In China I saw true beauty, in the land, in the people, natives and foreigners alike. I saw true charity and some disgusting habits, but it is a time in my life I will not soon forget.


And now, lady's and gentleman, begins the grueling portion of my journey, in which I am unlikely to spend more than two days in any one place; meanwhile I travel endless days and nights by rail, from the capital of China, through the desolate expanses of Mongolia and Siberia and the great civilizations of Europe, the airs of the Atlantic and the barren ashes of Iceland, and finally, once again, land on the eastern shores of my native country, the land of the free, and travel the vast plains and deserts and mountains by bus and train and arrive rapturously in Flagstaff on the night of June 14.

I am more than halfway through my trip by time standards, but I have 2/3 of the Earth's longitude to cross yet. The days of warmth and comfort and bargain prices are over, but I remain myself, however changed by my experiences in South Asia. I feel like this is the end of one thing and the beginning of another, and if I let myself to it, I could keep writing pretentious things for hours (I'm in the mood), but I'll save it for my diary; it's time to explore the capital of Mongolia before I leave for yet another country.

Yunnan Catch-up Part 3: The Road to Goodbye

The friendships that one makes on the road are some of the most intense relationships that I can fathom. They often form in an instant and are snuffed out within a matter of days or even hours. Such is the case when you cross paths with truly like-minded people whose journeys coincide with yours for only a short time, and in nearly all cases you never expect to see them again. It is for that reason that having to say farewell to someone you've only known for a week can be one of the most painful goodbyes you will ever have to face. At the same time, the experience really teaches you to live in the moment.

Upon arriving back to Lijiang on April 9, our group of four checked back into Mama Naxi's to be sheltered from the Saturday night tourist fest outside on the streets. Sasha and I went out after midnight, at first looking for a bar but then finding it cheaper to enjoy a bottle of sour Chinese red wine and explore the now nearly deserted town. We observed a sort of Chinese-hippy drum and music circle and then explored the maze of alleys of the ancient city. After say 1:00 in the morning, the tourist vibe of the town fades nearly completely and all that you are left with is the bare cobblestone streets with streams running alongside them, and the seemingly imperial-era architecture. It was more magical than disneyland on steroids.



The next day more stuff happened, like exploring the nature park with Sasha and eating dumplings (jow-dza?!). That night we went to a bar run by a sloppy, bearded Irish guy and it was a truly life-changing experience. Not knowing what I was doing the next day (I was still mulling over going to Shangri-La), I decided on a bit of a whim to head back down south towards Kunming and on to the Yuanyang rice terraces with Sasha, and in turn, Mary as well. So upon break of the morning on April 11, I got in a taxi with Sasha and Nadya to the Lijiang train station and hoped to the sweet lord Buddha that they would still have a ticket available so I could join my friends. They did and we boarded the train towards the capital of the province, Kunming.

And now I feel like I'm just giving a dry recap of my mundane travel activities without any artisic flourishes that any decent writer should employ. I just got off a train from Beijing to Ulan Batar, Mongolia, and for hours was reading Henry Miller's account of his travels in Greece. I was hoping I could try to emulate his powerful prose, but instead I am at the end of my patience as this girl on the computer next to me shouts at inanimate objects because Skype isn't working, and I'm not in such an artisic mood. I'll end this tangent but my feelings remain.

So we were on the train, I and my two friends from other ends of the earth. We passed the time as people do by talking and drinking beer until the sad moment when Nadya had to disembark in Dali to follow her diverging path. It was an emotional moment. The train continued on and Sasha and I continued doing what people do, you know, talking and drinking beer, and sometime that afternoon arrived in the city of Kunming. We navigated the train station exit and then the city bus routes and evenutally even found our way to the Cloudland Hostel whereupon, almost immediately, we were reunited with our good friend Mary, our Irish mother, to whom we had said our fare-thee-wells two days prior in Lijiang.

The night was mellow after the tiring journey (perhaps from too many daytime beers), and aside from a dinner with a miserable vegetarian australian and some other wonderful things, was not noteworthy.

The next morning was another long travel day beautifully-spent with Sasha and Mary. We arrived into the region of the Yuanyang rice terraces just in time to catch the tail-end of the water festival, where the locals throw water (via buckets or supersoakers) on each other and any unfortunate passing tourists. We were protected from the onslaught by the windows of a bus, and later a van.


We got off the bus in a mountain town called Xiejie or something to that effect, which in the fading light of evening and the parting mists of a passing rainstorm, turned all shades of orange and red and the beauty was astounding. We demanded that our taxi driver pull off to allow us to enjoy our beautiful sun setting over the terraced hills, because you know how we love our sunsets.


We arrived into a small village that started with a "D" as darkness set in and were led through a labyrinth to a lovely hillside guesthouse looking east over the terraces. After that we took care of our basic needs, finding shelter in the form of a room, sustenance in a family-style dinner, and joy in the form of Dali Beer and Bai-ja (a sort of rice-moonshine). Sasha and I enjoyed the quiet solitude in rocking chairs as the fog rolled back in, promising to ruin our sunrise view.


Nonetheless, we woke up before sunrise to try and see the sun breaking over the eastern mountain range, but it was totally foggy (I believe this is where it would be appropriate to use the simile, "it was like pea soup"). We ambled between the borders of the terraces and found a spot where the fog was particularly beautiful over our immediate surroundings and took some pictures. After then it was back to bed until 11:00 when our hired driver came to drive the four of us, including Mary and another American woman with whom we had met up, around the region in search of sublime views and interesting experiences.


Our driver for the day was hilaroius and spoke not a word of English, which only added to the humor. Along the way we saw lots and lots of hills carved out into snaking levels of rice terraces, as well as tea plantations being tended by local women with children on their backs. We saw some small villages where women wore bright tails of textiles like peacocks and pigs were butchered up in the streets. We were taught how to eat rice the proper way and drink bland noodle water from a bowl. And we even tried to see another sunset; the sun itself was obscured, but the time spent was not wasted, as I was in good company.

don't worry, this beautiful device is used for smoking tobacco

We drove back to that village that starts with a "D", our lives nearly ended by an oncoming truck on a mountain road, and then we spent another night (refer to my entry on the prior night for details). Again we awoke early, this time to catch a bus back to Kunming, but were treated to a decent sunrise. I took some pictures to show you. Here is one of them:


And then there was another long and tiring bus trip back to Kunming. This was not noteworthy.

That night, upon arriving back to the Cloudland Hostel, Sasha and I were determined to have a good night out, Chinese-style, knowing that tomorrow we would have to part ways. We wandered the city for ages in search for a restaurant or a bar, as if in a desert looking for an oasis (ok, there's a sort of metaphor, or is that another simile?). We chanced upon an unassuming bar and entered to order our beers and drink them the good old American way: out of the bottle. But our plans were upset, perhaps for the better, when a group of Chinese youngsters insisted that we join them at their table to drink in true Chinese fashion.

Let me tell you some things about drinking in China, so you may perhaps better understand the progression of this night. In China, one does not drink beer from the bottle, but rather pours their beer into large shot glasses from a communal bottle (of which there is an endless supply). Upon filling your glass, the Chinese guy across from you will undoubtedly raise his glass to yours and demand that you clink them together. Once this part of the ritual is done, and perhaps a one-word toast is said, the glass must be immediately drained into the respective mouths of the involved parties. This is repeated until the foreigners surrender and leave the bar. And by no means will the foreigner have to pay for the beer.

So we stayed at that bar for a while until we'd had quite enough, then walked back down towards home, getting some street food along the way, and then happening upon another joint that seemed to be inviting us in. This place was a true Chinese nightclub, with maybe hundreds of small round tables around which young people were standing. Needless to say, we were the only white people in the bar and drew some attention. We spent the next indeterminate number of hours roaming from table to table until a group invited us over and repeated the whole beer drinking process. When the scene got boring, we moved on to our next hosts.

I describe these things not to brag about my shenanigans (maybe a little bit), but more to describe a chapter of life in China as experienced by a foreigner; think of me as an anthropologist and not a drunkard. It was a memorable experience, to the extent that I can remember it. We miraculously made our way the last two blocks back to the hostel.

The next day I was set to leave on a two-day train to Beijing to start the next chapter of my spirit wandering (but not until 9:00 pm). The day was a bit dreary and was spent arguing with waitresses over whether french fries were ordered or not, and going to post offices. This was the saddest day of my journey. Perhaps I have not described all my newly-made friendships in detail, nor do I feel like this is the place to do it, but I'll just say that when you meet a truly special person and spend endless days with them, there is bound to be considerable pain in the parting. And there certainly was.

So thusly, in the city of Kunming, we said our goodbyes, and I watched as my friend walked away. Then I gave 20 Yuan to a guy on a motorcycle and he drove me and my bags to the train station. Then began the train of tears which, 40 hours later, would bring me into Beijing, a small town in the northeast of China.

And fyi, as of early this morning, I am in the land of Chingis (aka Ghengis) Khan, in its capital city of Ulan Batar. I have seen the Gobi (check).

Yunnan Catch-up Part 2: The Tiger Leaping Gorge

Squeezing between the two 5,500+ meter peaks that rise majestically north of Lijiang, the Yangzi River has dug a trench 3,000 meters deep called the Tiger Leaping Gorge (an English translation, of course). A myth says that a tiger leapt across the raging river to escape a hunter, thus the name. This was my next destination and I was blessed to join up with the three people named at the end of the last post.

The four of us plus two others from Mama Naxi's loaded into a van on the morning of April 8 and drove a rough road for four hours to Qiaotao, the village at one end of the gorge. It was there that we got some lunch and I dropped my main backpack, before Mary, Nadya, Sasha and I joined forces for the hike of the gorge.

The high trail ascends from the village and winds its way up and along the western side of the chasm, heading north for about 15 km until the other end. Not far into the hike, one gets their first glimse of the powerful, jagged, snow-capped Jade Dragon Snow Mountain rising high above the opposite side of the gorge. The view along this trail is so unfailingly beautiful that it becomes monotonous (in the best possible way), as the mountain is always in sight.

Periodically we would pass through a small village built into the mountainside and get some tea, but mostly we just hiked and got to know each other.

The premier member of our trail gang was Mary, a 69 year-old Irish woman with five children and seven grandchildren (with an eighth on the way). For the past several years she has set out solo for at least six weeks per year to travel to various places around the world. She is no package tourist, riding the tour bus, but a real, hardy backpacker as true as, or perhaps truer than, the rest of us. Last year she summited Kilimanjaro, so this trek was no problem for her. We came to call her our Irish mother.

Nadya is a solo Russian traveler and she has been traveling in China for several weeks (or months?). She was a quiet yet integral part of our trek and her laughter was contagious. I hope to see her again when I pass through Moscow in a couple weeks.

My fellow American from NYC, Sasha and I became close and had endless trail coversations about youthful escapades and life stories. She has been the first American I have really gotten to know on this trip. I can't say enough about Sasha but I won't say too much. It truly was a great group we had.

Underestimating the time it would take us to complete the rugged 12-km hike to the Halfway Guesthouse (including the crux of the trek, the 28, or 26, or 29 Bends, depending on whom you ask), we watched the apenglow of sunset cast its orange hue onto the Jade Dragon Mountain, and in turn as the shadows of Mt. Haba on our side of the gorge slowly engulfed it, and us, in darkness. We arrived at our trail guesthouse just as total darkness set in. We checked into a dorm room before getting dinner and a bundle of Dali beers (almost as drinkable as Beerlao). Sasha, Nadya and I stayed up late, after the lights of the mountain guesthouse were shut off, and stretched our limbs while admiring the bright constellations above us.

The next morning our gang of four was made five with the addition of Barak, a relatively chill Israeli dude. Together we hiked the remaining 4km or so down to the road, then decided to hike from there all the way down to the river, which turned out to be a lot more arduous than we expected (think: inner gorge of the Grand Canyon).

The amazing part of this portion of the hike is that once we were at the river, we were literally looking at the base of the mountain which rises 3,000 meters (nearly 10,000 feet) directly to the summits of the Jade Dragon Mountain. We spent too long at the river hanging out on boulders and soaking our feet, but it was for the better, because it gave me an excuse to return to Lijiang with my new friends rather than try to move on to Shangri-La as I had planned.

After braving the hike back up to the road and enjoying some food and Dali beer, we had a lovely and relaxing ride back to the old town.

The landscapes we witnessed at the Tiger Leaping Gorge were some of the most beautiful I have ever seen (maybe second after Thousand Island Lake in CA), and the friendships made were some of the strongest and fastest growing of my life. They were friendships that due to my shrewd decision to forego Shangri-La (yes, that is an invented name), continued to grow over the next week.

And this is another act break.

Yunnan Catch-up Part 1: Dali and Lijiang

In Jinghong on April 3, I awoke early in the morning and with bus ticket to Dali in hand, I walked the several blocks down to the southern bus station before most of the city had started their day.  I entered the confusion that is a Chinese bus station and through a series of pointing and gestures, was able to board the correct bus and thus began my 16-hour journey to the ancient city of Dali at 9:00 a.m.

This was a sleeper bus with rows of bunk beds in place of seats, so despite my best intentions, I slept a great deal of the day away.  Otherwise, the trip was spent looking out at passing rice paddies and rugged green hills, listening to music, not communicationg with people (I was once again the only foreigner on the bus), and stopping for meal and bathroom breaks with of course the occasional obligatory Chinese cigarette (because despite how you feel about smoking, every Chinese man wants to offer a cigarette to the only white guy on the bus).  I learned to deal with the incessant spitting and loud cell phone talking, and finally, at about 1:00 the next morning, I arrived in the new town of Dali, which is about 30 minutes from the more picturesque old town.

Again gesturing wildly, I managed to employ a taxi driver to the old city for 50 yuan and have him drop me off inside the walls of the ancient city.  And I know what my esteemed readers must be thinking now: "But Brett, how would you find a place to stay upon arriving in a foreign town at 2:00 in the morning?"  And that's exactly what I was thinking to myself.  I wandered around the deserted old town following the map in my trust Lonely Planet and knocking on the gates of every hostel, guesthouse, and hotel in town, but to no avail.  No one was answering.  I began to scout around for a dark alley to crash in until daybreak.

Finally at about 2:45 a.m., I chanced upon the only joint in town that seemed to be open still, the westerner-run Bad Monkey Bar.  My bag in tow, I entered, sat down at an empty table and figured I would just drink until closing time and then wander into an alley.  I skillfully pleaded with one of the bartenders as to whether he knew of a place in town that would still be open at this hour.  He gave me the name of a place across town to try but I didn't hold much hope; I ordered another beer.  Eventually a Kiwi girl and an Aussie guy that were working the bar, seeing that I looked destitute and demoralized, invited me over to play drinking games which was great fun, and by and by I gained their trust and sympathy.  They generously offered to put me up for the night in an extra bed at their apartment.  Trust the universe and it will oblige. 

With a nasty headache the next morning, I headed over to the Jade Roo hostel at the advice of one of my bartender hosts and got a bed, then proceeded to watch BBC World News for a couple hours as I recovered from the previous night.  The rest of the day was spent wandering the streets of this ancient but over-touristed town.  The tourism here is different from SE Asia though, as it is mainly composed of Chinese nationals rather than foreigners.  I enjoyed the sense of being in China as it was centuries ago, until I looked around at all the tourists and realized that it was only manufactured authenticity. 

The next day I felt a bit more adventurous and decided to trek up into the 4,000 meter peaks rising just west of town.  I walked the 1 km to the chairlift which takes you to a minor temple on the mountain at 2,000 meters, ascended, then began my hike from there.  I went rogue and ignored the signs telling me to stay on the paved tourist path.  I had heard that there was a trail leading all the way to the 13,000 foot summit of the mountain and I wanted to see how far I could get in that direction.  I managed to find the rough trail heading steeply up the pine forested slopes using my eagle scout skills, then followed it.

I climbed higher and higher and gained inmpressive views of the snow dusted peaks.  As I continued along however, seeing not a soul, the trail became increasingly overgrown until I was bushwhacking through a combination of pine boughs, young growth bamboo, ferns, and stinging nettles.  I turned back down, but only after traversing to a place where I gained one last view of the still distant peaks from perhaps 3,000 meters. 

Back in town, I followed a variation of that old adage, "When in tourist town, do as the tourtists do," and did a bit of shopping.  After a mundane evening, I booked a ticket on to the next tourist town, Lijiang, for the next morning. 

On April 6 I boarded another bus for the "ancient" town of Lijiang (which in fact has been laregly reconstructed).  The road was rough but relatively brief at only four hours, and after a short taxi ride from the Lijiang bus station I began wandering the maze of cobblestone streets, shops, and the gauntlet of Chinese tourists that is the ancient city, in search of the renown Mama Naxi Guesthouse.  As there seems to be no logic to the planning of this city, I was wandering for at least an hour before a guardian angel appeared in the form of a german girl named Flor.  "Are you looking for Mama Naxi's?" she inquired, already knowing the answer.  She led me there and then disappeared, never to be seen again. 

The Mama Naxi GH is named after the owner and main force behind the hostel, who, as her name suggests, is a member of the Naxi ethnic group that is native to this region of China.  It is a quaint wooden structure with many rooms and dorms.  I checked into a room and was told to be back for the family-style dinner (and I'm ecstatic that I listened to that advice, for it began a beautiful chain of events, each of which might not have happened were I not there for that delicious dinner).  At the dinner that evening, I met three fellow travelers whom I befirended for a 24-hour period: A Dutch girl, a Swiss guy, and a Canadian guy. 

Those 24 hours were mainly uneventful, but to sum it up, the four of us shared some drinks on the town that night and went to bed, then the next day I did some shopping (Chinese antique stores are superb), ate dinner again, whereupon I met the people with whom I would share the most amazing experiences of this trip.  These people, in no particular order, were Mary, a 69 year-old Irish lady traveling independently, Nadya, a sweet and soft-spoken Russian girl, and my fellow yankee Sasha.

And this is the act break.

Message Relayed from Brett:

Dear friends and family,

I apologize for being out of contact lately, but a combination of
incredible adventures, China's Internet restrictions, and a special
lady friend have prevented me from posting. I promise to update you
all within a few days.

It pleases me to tell you that these past few days have been the best
of my trip so far.

Love you all,


Brett

The Road to China Pt. 2, AKA , OMG! OMG! OMG! I'm in China

Well I am now in the country where about 18% of the Earth's human population currently resides. I have effectively gotten around the government censors in the town of Dali so I can access my blog (for now). I'm staying at a guesthouse which must have a proxy server set up. Wow is this place beautiful, though I'm not ready to talk about Dali yet.

I awoke early on April First (no kidding) and walked down the road to the bus station in Ousomxay. I was hoping to catch a direct bus to Jinghong, a small city about four hours past the border into China, but that route wasn't running so I settled for the bus to Mengla. This was my first taste of Chinese culture shock, as most of the passengers seemed to be Chinese. Two things that I just can't seem to get past are the incessant hawking of loogies, and the comedically loud way they speak on their cell phones. Does anyone remember that bit from Trigger Happy TV, the late Comedy Central show, in which a man walks around shouting into a giant cell phone? It's like that.

Anyways, the bus got to the border around noon. I checked out of Laos at their quaint little border office, reboarded the bus, then checked into China 2 km down the road at their frighteningly modern office. With no hitches, I got back on the bus and we pulled away into China. Some interesting things I took note of in the two hours between the border at Mohan and Mengla: Although the landscape is similar to that of Northern Laos (slightly less-rugged Karst mountains), the architecture of the villages changed from the typical thatched palm and rattan stilted homes to concrete or cinderblock boxes with tin rooves. Also, the road here was amazingly modern with several dozen long tunnels built through mountains. I imagine that the journey we completed in two hours might have taken about seven in past times.

The Laos border with China

The hills were covered with terraces harboring rubber trees which were quite picturesque, and of course the regular old rice paddies. When the bus wasn't overtaking a truck and nearly barreling into oncoming traffic, I enjoyed gazing upon the hills.

So the bus pulled into the Mengla bus station and I got another wave of culture shock. I walked into the ticket office to catch an onward bus to Jinghong, looked around, and realized that nothing was written in roman script; everything was in Chinese (and yes, you may say, "But Brett, you are in China, what did you expect?", to which I would reply that up until this point in my journey, there was always some form of translation into English, or at least transliteration into Roman characters). I think you can attribute this to the fact that the transportation infrastructure in most SE Asian countries is geared for Western travelers, but in China, many of the locals have money to travel within the country and therefore it is geared to the Chinese traveler.

I walked up to the counter and just said 'Jinghong', my intended destination. The woman working the counter peppered me with a spray of Mandarin at which I just smiled. I gave her a 50 yuan note hoping that would cover the cost, which it did. I did regain some dignity by saying 'Xeixie', or 'thank you' in Mandarin, which I had conveniently learned from the Lonely Planet book.

Another two hour bus ride and I was in Jinghong. I wandered the city trying to follow my guidebook map, which seemed to have some inaccuracies. I got a bit lost, and whereas in SE Asia I would have had at least a few other Westerners to follow off of the bus, I was alone in a Chinese city. Somehow I did manage to stumble into the small traveler zone and a French guy, owner of the Mekong Cafe in Jinghong, helped me find a place to stay and translated for me. I settled down in my room and reflected on how much more difficult it will be to travel in China than it has been in any previous country I have traveled, then went out and got an old familiar Beer Lao at the Mekong Cafe and spoke with the owner for a while.

I had hoped to leave the next day as this city did not hold to much appeal to me, but I learned that they no longer offered overnight bus service to Dali, my next destination, so I would have to wait until the next morning to leave. I did my best to enjoy Jinghong for a day, hitting the city on foot and admiring the foreigness of this place. It's like Chinatown in SF times a million. Here was one of the more interesting sights:

perhaps it's just my squeamish western sensibilities,
but does anyone else notice something wrong with this picture?

I found my way to the botanical gardens, the main tourist draw in Jinghong. Tsvet and Brenda, I thought of you. Though there were lots of people there, they all rode around the park on electic cars, so I had the place to myself on foot.

A really big version of a plant that I used to have

A Durian tree, Durian being the smelliest fruit in the world in my experience

I spent the rest of the day walking and drinking coffee and bought my bus ticket to Dali for the morning. And oh, what an adventure the next 24 hours would be, but I'll wait to tell you about that.

bridge over the Mekong (they call it something else here)

On another note, I have made some plans for my travel over the next couple months. Iceland Air offers cheap flights across the Atlantic with a stopoff in Iceland so they can try to boost the economy through tourism; I bought a ticket from London, Heathrow leaving June 3 for Reykjavík, then flying on June 9 from there to Boston to visit my cousin Lisa. I will meet Robbie in Chicago on June 13, arriving by Greyhound probably, and we will take the train to Flagstaff for Sara and Dan's wedding.

As for the more immediate future, I expect to be in the Yunnan province of China for the next two weeks (I hope to get as far North as Deqin, which is at the foot of a nearly 7,000 meter peak just over the border from Tibet) before taking a two-day train to Beijing and then taking the Trans-Mongolian/Trans-Siberian Railway from there into the West.


So Ni hou, I'm in China, and I'll be seeing everyone soonish.