Yushu and Xining

(We are now safely in Xining, the million strong capital city of Qinghai province. Tomorrow we have train tickets booked for Xian. We arrived this morning and have had a pleasant day mooching around town and another very good Hostelling International set-up. This one has goldfish and a guitar with six strings.)

We are sitting now in an internet gaming room inthe southern Qinghai town of Yushu, the prospect of a 20 hour sleeper bus ride to the provincial capital of Xining looming. We have had a quiet couple of days in Yushu. Pennys not really sure why we came here, and I don't really know either. It seemed a good idea at the time, and in retrospect may prove to be an interesting experience.

But anyway, straight out of the bus from Serqu and we were quickly found by a random english speaking dude who helped us find the bus station, then a hotel, but then proved hard to dislodge. Nice guy but we were tired and ready for a period of Chineselessness. The hotel he found us was sort of nice at first glance, but its grottiness grew on you like bamboo sprouting on a fertile slope. Nothing like opening the toilet in your room to find the last occupants festering shit.

The next morning we went strolling to find a new place to stay, and to have a little walk. The first highlight was the very impressive statue of King Gessar of Lind. King Gessar is a Tibetan and Central Asian folk hero and he lived somewhere around these parts. He is a sort of Jesus like figure sent by the Gods to address some evils then reascended back to heaven. Although given that he was around about 700AD there is very little evidence of him actually existing as a person. His epic story, the longest in the world at about 60 million words, has being passed down orally to this day, which is quite an impressive feat, although you have to wonder at the Chinese whisper effect! For more on King Gessar, wikipedia isinformative.

I had a thought that maybe King Gezar was an example of Tibetan entymology creeping into english with the word "geezer", but upon investigation, this word, dating back to the 19th century, is apparently from "guise" and further back "wise", although its quite possible I reckon that the Gezar allusion contributed to its adoption...

We then caught the no2 bus (which does a handy L shape from the bus station down to the centre of town that out east past the hostel I will shortly recommend then to the mani wall) out to the famous mani wall, home to a pile of 2 billion stones with prayers engraved in them. Theres a whole lot of hopes, dreams and wishes in this vast collection of rubble. We joined the locals and pilgrims for the now familiar circumambulation.

Catching the bus back into town we spied a Hostelling International sign. Very lucky. The place is cheap (60 yuan) and clean and friendly. (its in a three story pink building on the main road out of town below the monastery). It also boasts a worn copy of Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy which Penny eagerly devoured. We went to grab our bags and witnessed the "Dead Yak Bus".

That afternoon we wandered up past the monastery and its styly toilets,

past the transmission towers and prayer flags, to the Yak pastures high up on the hills with a near aerial view of the city. With a full day a nice loop could be had, up this ridge and circling back to town via another. I forgot Pennys family history of cattle death and got her on edge by telling her this yak was looking at us funny.

It was a pleasant spot up there, and oh yeah there were vultures circling and soaring. They are massive graceful birds when you are two far away to see the small head and beady eyes. Dare I say their flight reminded me somewhat of the Royal Albatross on Campbell Island!

The next day we had a sleeper bus bound for Xining booked for 1pm. We finally got out of town at 4pm but still somehow seemed to arrive on time. The bus was a somewhat surreal experience, lying down chatting with each other across the corrider as our window froze over and our bus crept along frozen roads. Around 11 we awoke as the bus stopped and had a big feed of fried vegetable and chilli chicken peanuts at a roadside restaurant in the middle of nowhere. The whole experience was somewhat surreal but the stars were amazing.

Trek 2: De Ma Lo to Cizhong

(note: this trek occured after the cross-cultural kiwi/sino relationship building time but before the Meili Snow Mountain adventures).

"You are so strong, so fast" Gero gasped as we chucked our packs down. A good bit of ego stoking for two puffed tourists. Since leaving De Ma Lo we had climbed for an hour out of the valley to the mountain village. The marvellous church stands behind the basketball court, it us under active repair, or is that scaffolding holding it up?. The crops glow golden as we look back down into the valley past De Ma Lo towards Gongshan and towards the bluffs of Bingzhongluo with the snowy mountains of the Gaoligong Shan behind.

Gero is a lovely guy, full of smiles. Alou's little brother he ran away from home and school escaping the claustrophobic village life. Life was har din Shenzen though and he has returned. You sense he yearns for the action of the big city.

From the village we continue our long ascent of the Biluao Snow Mountains, we are enroute to the Catholic enclave of Cizhong on the Mekong. Up and up and up with heavy packs, but whereever we go we are accompanied by music be it bells from the animals, singing or the traditional tibetan instruments wafting up the valley. We head mainly through fallow land. Grazed extensively by pigs and mules. A hut every now and then shows where someone is trying to make a living. The adaptability of these people is amazing!

Its our first clear day in China, to see the tops all around is amazing. The top of our ridge is still in forest, a precious and beautiful remanant. Light slides into it like cheese through a grater.

We summit the ridge and peer across the high valley below us where we will camp. Tomorrows climb zig zags opposite shorn through the alpine grass. It is great to be above the cloud of the river valleys and in the fresh air of the mountains.

We descend through tall fir trees admiring the slab houses and the beautiful waterfall in a narrow gorge opposite. Our spot for the night is a little shack on the valley floor. Gero cooks us up noodles and egg and bok choi while we sit in the smoke. We tell stories and teach each other languages. Penny and I camp in our lightweight tent for Thailand, its a solid little thing just big enough for the both of us, sort of.

From here I copy from my journal, "the misty mountains drove us from their tops with fleeting sleet, we descended quickly to the fir and rhododendron forests then dropped through a succession of hanging pastures with huts. From one hut Gero emerged with fresh green apples and at the next we met a group of De Ma Lo men and their horses stopping for lunch on the long return journey.

Eventually the track sidled out of the valley following newly slashed powerlines then descended viciously through a ruined landscape to Cizhong. Someone had tried to make something of this side valley many years ago and built a water-race to irrigate it, but the soils had not held and now it is rocks and weeds, although from one part of the track Gero emerged with a pile of grapes. Gero had a plan for us to stay at the Rose and Honey Guesthosue, which we agreed with. Its a peaceful place, outside chairs and ornate carvings. We already had our post match beer but they brought us sunflower seeds and green tea to add to the chill out process. We sat on the edge of a courtyard which descended into the pig sty, waste disposal and easy sweep away.

Then dinner, we order rice, vegies and...chicken. The young man strides out of the kitchen shirt sleeves rolled up, he swoops quickly. "This one mum" he asks the old lady, complete with her traditional garb, "No, thats too fat get the skinny one with no meat" she replies. He swoops again and disappears inside. Minutes later the other chickens and the cats are fighting over the tasty innards.

They bring us rice, thickly minced chicken (bones n all), tomatoes with sugar, bok choi, fried potato, steamed squash and another unidentifiable and completely forgettable vegetable. It was a feast. Then the old lady plies with a big jar, it looks like coffee, but is actually a dark red wine, a wine making tradition still exists in the area from the influence of the French missionaires. It is very nice, but Penny has had enough, the old lady insists filling her cup and tipping the rest all over her. They give us the bill in the morning.