Xian

Sitting up late in our hostel in Xian trying to get a job application finished. Less than a week now till I will be back in New Zealand (Penny is visiting friends in Darwin for a few days, so is back a bit later). We arrived in Xian on a less than inspiring train ride from Xining along the Yellow River. 2000 years of civilisation sure puts some pressure on the environment, exhausted and ruined soils sift out of ancient terraced hillsides. Motorways and railways cut through hillside and flow down catchments.

Xian is a nice city, the inner part at least, plenty of interesting street food (allowing a lovely progressive dinner tonight as we walked across town), a bustling Islamic market, bright neon lights and interesting older style architecture including a vast square town wall.

Today we visited "the eighth wonder of the world". The Terracotta Army. Catch bus 206 from near the railway station to get there. The Terracotta warriors themselves were only rediscovered in 1974. They stand in giant filled pits some distance from the mausoleum of one of China's Ch'in dynasty Emperors. (Ch'in being the word that China is derived from). The lines of soldiers stand in narrow tiled corriders between thick walls of packed earth. The walls over the centuries have carried the weight of giant timber beams lined with matts then covered with soil. The beams can still be seen where they have sagged and slowly turned to stone.

I couldn't help thinking about the circumstances that may have lost such a treasure from the historical record for so long a time. Were the terracotta warriors covered over when the great Emperor die, or did work continue under some passionate collector until the House of Ch'in fell soon after. As the great unwashed rose to tear down the Empire, how were the terracotta warriors protected or hidden, or why weren't they looted and broken further? What human tragedys were played out in the defense of this, the greatest army of earth? Tomorrow (or today really) we plan to visit Hua Shan, the most deadly 'mountain hiking' route in the world. We will see. Its quite apt really, we have visited one of the holy mountains of Tibetan Buddhism (Kawa Karpo), one of the sacred mountain of Chinese Buddhism (Emei Shan) and now we will visit one of the five mountains of Taoism. One last natural scenic adventure for us in China. (update: we delayed Hua Shan a day to focus on job applications and other organisational tasks, we can't wait for a bit of exercise and scenery!)

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.

Into The Tibetan Borderlands

It was a big decision; from Danba do we head north and east to the wonderful tourist attractions of Jiuzhaigou and Huanglong (for a few photos of these amazing places check here) or do we head west, on the road less travelled, through the Tibetan borderlands of Sichuan and on into Qinghai province, looping back to the north (eventually) through the cities of Xining and Lanzhou. For discomforts sake we chose the latter and three days later sitting in our little room in Manigango we have no regrets. It just keeps on getting better and better out here!

From Danba there is a good road up a river and over a mountain pass to Bamei on the edge of the Tagong grasslands. The effect of heading west was obvious, suddenly we were in Tibet. The bus was full of monks in crimson and gold robes with wacky hats of different colours and design, nomads in their bulky wrap arounds with who knows what tucked away and beautiful women young and old with the colourful trim to their traditional clothing. The closest comparison we have in NZ is the staff seating at a university graduation. Just add in a ragged and slightly festive air and the layout of a bus and you have a pretty good picture.

For most of our time in China, we have been travelling through the harvest. Stacks of corn and bags of rice, people working together in the fields. Now we are sprinting on the froth of winters tide. You can see it in peoples faces that the months of cold are almost upon them, and they are ready to endure again. We asked a guest-house worker in the Yubeng what they do in winter, “sit around with our friends and drink”. Sweet as! The Tagong grasslands were only the beginning of the barrenness. Up-river the terrain is big, rounded and unforgiving. Buddhism is flourishing,. White glistening chorten dot valleys and triangular paddocks on the hillsides are filled with thousands of prayer flags. Many in this area white, although maybe these flags are the bleached, worn bones of the common colourful arrays.

A gentle mountain pass and our bus is halted temporarily by a herd of yaks, ugly hoary yaks, no wonder the meat is tough and requires good cooking! We have been having an ongoing discussion concerning what exactly is a cow and what is a yak (these were definitely yaks). Relieved we recently found out that the ancient Qiang civilisation crossbred yaks and cows about 2000 years ago, creating the “Pian niu” (cattle yak). Past the yaks we glimpsed for the first time the Chola mountains. A long glaciated and broken range blocking our passage to the south-west. We planned to cross this range via a road pass of around 5000 metres.

Our destination for the night is Garzi, we arrive there win time to appreciate the fading light. The hotel opposite the bus station provides us a comfortable twin room for 60 yuan (the prices out here are nowhere near as bad as suggested in the Lonely Planet). Out on the street men with giant carts sold great slabs of meat. We went vegetarian, or at least unidentifiable, the bbq courgette kebabs came complete with staring monks. Are we that strange? We followed this up with our cheap back-up option the small steamed buns with filling, sometimes cabbage or potato but mostly meatish. We still lack the language skill to distinguish, and both feel ashamed for not really trying with our mandarin (or putongwah), but we get by alright.

The night was cold and the next morning we found out why. Snow covered the streets. Ice hung from the powerlines and trucks choked in the street. We were up early casting the streets for food and checking out the local monastery. So alive! Two buildings, each with a route for “circumambulation”(is that a word?). You start out front, merging into the human traffic when it allows, spin the big prayer wheel on the left of the main entrance then follow the trail of smaller prayer wheels through a hall around the remaining three sides of the building. You spin the prayer wheels if you dare. The person directly in front of you is much more practised and they send each clacking with a casual flick. You pay for confidence with crunched fingers. “Tashi Delek” is the greeting to anyone that meets your eye, or a grin and nod of the head. The people are amazingly friendly to us outsiders.

All the advertised buses are gone early but we count on finding a mini-van, they seem plentiful on the road. Sure enough as we approach the main road with our packs we are sniffed out.....”(something in Tibetan)”, “Manigango”, “(something in Tibetan)”, “how much”, “(an amount we agree with according to Penny)”, and we follow him to his van and he locks our packs in it (mistake: always keep your pack so you can negotiate with rival drivers). But our guy comes through and after an hour we are off. Its an easy ride through rolling country, with the snow quickly melting and the road clear. Monasterys and villages appear regularly in the barren valley. What is there to keep this many people here? And construction seems to be booming as well. At least it is largely in the traditional style. On our left the Chola mountains keep us company and occasionally pop a pointy head over the lower hills.

Manigango appears, perched on a broad spur at the junction of two valleys. We expect wild west and get nothing less. It is rugged Tibetan out here. Monks and wild haired nomads on bikes. Yaks and saddled horses tied up at street corners. Pool tables and gaggles of young men behind every door and on the muddy road fringes. Cheeks vary from rosy to blackened. Frost nip. Hair is wild and long, giant great manes. The red balaclavas favoured by some remind Penny of Ruatoria while the travel worn pilgrims are constantly at you, begging for yuan, they are often weathered old women constantly spinning prayer wheels.

Our bus companions from the morning seize the opportunity of foreigners to share a mini-bus and we are soon en-route to Dege. We hadn't expected it to happen but we are off to cross the Tro La pass to visit one of the most special of Buddhist sites, the Bakong Scripture Printing Monastery. The scenery is amazing, the broad brown valley is quickly enclosed by rugged peaks, we pass the glacial moraine lake of Yihun Lhatso, icey blue on our left. While ahead of us we see a giant zag cutting back across the valley, our road! Its good going and safe though up to the pass. The road is too icy to walk on, but traction for the van is fine. At the pass the tradition is to hurl notebooks of prayers to the skies, guaranteeing safe passage. I have already prayed to the mountain, honouring its beauty and asking for its protection, so can understand the beauty and power of the local superstition.

The descent was steeper and uglier. Off camber curves on icy roads wth drops of hundreds of metres. At one stage we come across a stuck truck, that snarls traffic, but the spires of rock surrounding us provide plenty of the sublime to keep us happy during the wait. Down valley the mountains continue to unfold until the gorge cuts deep and towering rock walls of the canyon enclose us. Wow. We pop out eventually into Dege, a small town suffering for lack of flat ground. High rise apartments and precariously perched houses kneel on either side of a swiftly flowing river, now contained by the concrete jungle. Our bus companions recommended a super guesthouse. Tibetan styles (always preferable to the Han businessman monstrosities) and good value at 50 yuan for a snug colourful room.(cross the river by the top bridge and it is on the rivers edge, second on the right). Today we rose early, too early for town. The Tibetans are not a nation of morning people. We found an open fried bread shop and greased our stomachs for the day. Penny is into the rice porridge but I find it overhydrating and still well remember the 10 hour day at Meili Snow Mountain, including the 1500 metre climb out of the Mekong gorge, where I was still pissing clear despite drinking only 500ml's of water that day, after having rice porridge for breakfast! We then found the monastery, it was easy, the line of pilgrims circled its square red walls like swimming kids making a whirlpool. They must make more than a 1000 circuits to reach their spiritual goal, we joined in for one to be polite before entering the building. The door charge is now 50 yuan, but it is worth every jiao. The rectangular atrium was empty but we were quickly usshered through doors to the left. We walked through darkened corridors of engraved wooden blocks, kind of like chopping boards with handles stacked like books in a library. The blocks are engraved with Tibetan scholarship, religious but also other disciplines; astronomy, geography, music, medicine. 70% of Tibets literary heritage is stored in this one building, over 270,000 blocks! It was amazing to be in such a place of knowledge, I wondered what other places in the world may have such a vibe and came up with this list with the help of the internet. Possible future travel destinations?

Moving further into the complex we came to the printing room. Amazing. Pairs of men sat in perpetual motion. One holds the plate while the other places a piece of cloth and applys a roller to make a print, the cloth is removed and stacked while dye (ochre?) is applied to the block, then the process is repeated. Again and again, and quickly. The men are in fast forward, they are built these guys, professional athletes. One of the most amazing things either of us had ever seen.

Further up and we were in the sorting and binding room, older men with giant sheaths of prayers to order in the dim light. Then we were on the roof, flat and concrete, with a small temple and many sculptures. Looking over the edge we could see the pilgrims 15 metres below on their endless circuits while the town was splayed all around. A row of golden poplar trees hid the direct sunlight. It has taken me a while to realise that some of the landscape features that we think of as “kiwi” have such a Chinese influence. The combination of larch, fir and rowan trees that make Naseby are direct from the Yunnan, the golden poplar trees that dot Central Otago replicate those in the barren western valleys of Sichuan.

Heading back down we stumbled across the room dedicated to Indian Buddhism. 555 plates written in Tibetan, Sanskrit and Hindi that are the only surviving set in the world. The Lonely Planet is great for interpretation when there are no other sources! Our final highlight was the glaucoma cat and his friend in the sun. A Mad Eye Moody of the feline world!

We strolled down through Dege past the meat market. I can't wait until next time a bandwagon vegetarian tries to tell me what the world would be like if everyone in China ate meat. They eat truckloads. The only bits that seem to be remaining are the skin, the stomachs and the head!

Our next mission was getting out of town, back over the pass to Manigango. We are worried about the potential of getting snowed in somewhere in the next week or so, and are therefore proceeding more quickly than we might otherwise. The ride over cost us 50 yuan. The cartel at the mini-bus station tried to get 100. We weren't having a bar of it. “No, piss off, you're dreaming, go and find someone else to rip off, rip off the fat monk”. I have developed a habit of just talking in english, I think it helps get the message across, enabling the body language, intonation and facial expressions. We had settled into a holding pattern when Maria and her Tibetan fixer arrived. Maria is a blond Polish PHD student at a Berlin University studying under a Kiwi professor in the field of Tibetan studies. She has spent the last few months visiting remote sites gathering data on Buddhist meditation retreats. We talked for 10 minutes with a large crowd watching , while her fixer sorted us out a taxi costing 70 yuan each. It would have been good to talk for longer, but we were off.

The taxi was a bright yellow Honda Civic, and we were squeezed in with the fat monk and a travelling minstrel type who played us a few tunes on his zither as we headed up the canyon. Having seen the scenery we could tune into the people a bit more. Pilgrims marched down the road performing their prostations, prayerful burpees on the tarmac. They wore aprons, gloves and kneepads to cushion the impact. Others towed their carts, long wooden contraptions with all their worldly possessions. You wouldn't have thought a little car could be so powerful, but before long we were back up on top of Chola pass. The driver handed me a book of prayer notes and I threw them high into the air. But instead of scattering they clumped together and the book fell to the ground as a brick. In panic I picked them up and threw them again, this time scattering them successfully. The driver gave me an ashen look and turned away, the fat monk gulped and the travelling minstrel played a long mournful tune...well at least I think they did.

Quickly we were back at Yihun Lhatso and Penny was determined to have a better look at the lake. She hauled me out of the car and into the fields. We thought we could slip past the gate and avoid the entrance fee (you really get sick of entrance fees travelling in China), but were soon accosted by three young rascals who produced tickets. I threatened to come back and strangle them if the tickets weren't kosher but it all ended in laughs.

In fact it didn't quite end there for as soon as we had sat down for lunch on a hill overlooking the lake we were invited into a lonely house by a friendly monk for a cup of tea, and no sooner had we sat down than the three young curious rascals arrived. It was a fun 30 minutes or so, trying to communicate, showing them our passports (because they wouldn't believe our ages) and nibbling at the monks bowl of doughsticks. We had food to share as well, fried bread and mandarins. The monk was very much the way we imagine monks in the west, quiet, smily and humble, living a very simple lifestyle in the most beautiful of places. Not wanting to overstay our welcome we quietly took our leave.

We walked around the lakeshore, taking photos of the Tibetan script carved into shoreline rocks and bathing (only metaphorically) in the beauty of the lake and mountains. We sat down in a white pavillion on a little rise and took a photo of us.

Later Penny went for a walk along the lake shore while I sat and read poetry. We acquired a book back in Chengdu, an english translations of two eighth century Chinese poets, Li Po and Tu Fu. The book starts with a quoted observation that;

“Great men have a curious way of appearing in complementary pairs. This has happened so often in history that I don't think it can have been invented by symmetrically-minded historians, but must represent some need to keep human faculties in balance”

Li Po is a dreamer, Tu Fu more workmanlike. A Taoist and a Confucian. But anyway I sit above the beautiful lake reading them aloud trying to make a connection, when halfway through Li Po's “The Road to Shu is Steep”, it clicks...

”And taking nine turns every hundred steps, I clutch for Orion, pass through the Pleiades, And gasp for breath; Then, beating my breast, I sigh, Sinking to earth:

'Tell me Sir, this Western Way, has it any end? I fear its awful steepness, and can climb no more!'

I only see Mournful birds, Summoning mates From ancient woods, Cock follow hen Into thicket, And hear a cuckoo call On moon to light Sad, bare slopes...

The Road to Shu is steep, steep as climbing to the Sky!

It ashens those who only hear tell of it, From its peaks to the sky can hardly be a foot: The withered pines there have to lean over canyons Filled with contending dins of waterfalls, Gullies thundering a thousand rolling stones!

Such perils, aye, as this, Why, oh, why, Travellers from Afar, come ye to suffer them?

(...)

The road to Shu is steep, steep as climbing to the Sky! I half turn, but gaze West; with a long, long sigh”

I think not so much of the rugged country that Penny and I have encountered in Yunnan and Sichuan (Shu) but of the ancient paths we have seen, carved into cliffs, winding up passes and crossing quick flowing rivers by rickety bridges. I feel the history beneath our feet, but also understand the poet, tired of the journey but drawn west. Does the last line means he stops? And is it his choice? I know now how I will feel when we start to head back east towards home. But anyway I'm inspired maybe I'll attempt to write my next blog in verse!

We started to walk the 10km back to Manigango, trying to flag down anything that moved. The big rumbling trucks full of dirt did not stop, but a minivan did, 10 yuan each back to the village. The hotel at the top end of town stinks. It has the atmosphere of an empty uncleaned mental insitution. We moved on. Down the road towards the junction with eyes peeled. A lady gestured to us from a second floor balcony, the universal sleep symbol. A cosy room for 30 yuan with a chair in the sun on a deck to drink beer, and watch the end of the day. We are visited by two nomads, identical manes and aviator glasses. Full length robes, like thick dressing gowns, with arms so long they touch the ground when hanging, but are normally wrapped around, or worn over one shoulder. They peer at us, weird twins, a foot from our faces. I was too slow with the camera and one disappeared, but I snapped a picture of the other with our hostess.

We had dinner at the junction, “fried vegetables and the dish you recommend”. It was yak stew with pasta floaties, Yummy. The whole chillis challenged even my acclimatised palate (I have been eating chillis and dodgy meat for two). I love the runny nose and the hot lips, although dread the chilli hiccups! Our last challenge for the day was the absence of a cesuo (toilet). The hostess pointed to a little hollow on our deck, drained by a pipe, feeding straight out high above the street. We held on. Another great day travelling.

Memories of Chengdu

My memories of Chengdu are vague already. The vast city of Han China feels so distant, so unreal, up here, high on the Tibetan Plateau at Ganzi. It is noisy outside our window at the moment, it's Friday night, in Chengdu it was noisy all the time.

We arrived there late, tired from Emei Shan and the Giant Buddha of Leshan. The bus dropped us at a mysterious station in the outskirts. It was raining. There were no official looking taxi's, only motorised rickshaws and a gaggle of men looking for business. Twice we negotiated price only to have the driver show us to a private unmarked car (normally part of our travel survival strategy is to avoid these characters). The second time we gave in. He took us straight to our destination, Sims Cosy Guesthouse.

Sim's is one of the most highly regarded guesthouses in China, but it has changed. They have relocated and upsized, creating a backpacker barn. It suits some people but not us. The prices for a double room are also twice its competitors. We stayed there for a night in a dorm, then quickly relocated to Mix Hostel, which I recommend highly. From here we explored cloudy Chengdu. Skyscrapers loom out at you like gendarmes on a misty ridge while traffic howls past like wind jammed up into the end of a valley. Despite trying, my mountain metaphors will never be as good as Don McGlashans...,

“Oh and he's still climbing, see him try to cross the street, He tests his footing like he's up 10,000 feet, Above the clouds, halfway down Dominion Road”

But we weren't drunk, only slightly out of place, slowly finding our way in a Chinese city. And we certainly weren't above the clouds. In fact we were getting wet. Even Penny beneath her umbrella. We found our way to the old quarter, then the statue of Mao, before finally the Peoples Park. The home to famous Chengdu teahouses. We did eventually find a great cup of tea, well so Penny says, it tasted all right to me but I'm no connosieur.

The weather cleared up slightly the next day and we headed back into town, first goal to buy our bus tickets (the hostels charge a big commision for booking in Chegdu). Mission accomplished we went and sat by the river and watched men fishing and staring into the murk. What were they thinking? Lost in the limpid, turgid waters. The most desired spot was where one particularly nasty looking sewer emptied into the river. It reminded me of a couple of places. Firstly the Mataura meatworks (rumoured to have the biggest eels in NZ) and secondly a small pool down from my primary school at Waitati, where our little gang speared a big eel which had been feasting on a rotten sheep a flood had brought down. We all learnt our lesson when the maggots spewed out of its mouth.

Throughout the city there were regular exercise areas, with abdominisers, treadmills and any other machine you have ever seen on infomercials, plus lots more which looked more like torture instruments, weird devices for the sexually experimental and buzzy bees. Penny posed for a photo, then I had to drag her away.

We looked around a bit more and tried several types of street food , a convenient progressive dinner, but the final highlight came when Penny needed her cuppa. The lady at the tea shop performed a very elaborate tea ritual with us sitting around like she was about to deal cards. Rinsing, washing, rinsing, washing all with tea, or even the particular type of tea we were about to taste, while maintaining a very correct manner and carefully managed facial expressions. We tasted several types of tea and sat there nervously wondering how much it would cost. As it turns out the tasting was free, our only expense being 9yuan for a big bag of Crysanthemum Tea.

And thats it. Thats all my brain pathways reserved for Chengdu...

Tiger Leaping Gorge

I'm not quite sure to say about Tiger Leaping Gorge. So much has been said and so much of it bullshit. Despite the carnage that tourism, wealth and ohh too many roads have wreaked on the landscape it is still a pleasant stroll, a nice way to spend a down day. Several years ago Simon Winchester described it in a blog here, making the tame path sound like a scramble up and around the gates of Mordor. But he also predicted what has come to pass:

"The pleasure that one took particularly in Tiger Leaping Gorge, by virtue of its peace, its isolation and its beauty will now soon have gone forever. By tarmac and pollution and crowding, it will have been utterly and comprehensively ruined. The village of Walnut Grove will, in a way, have lost its soul. Somewhere special will have become merely commonplace, and worse."

Tiger Leaping Gorge is now merely commonplace. And soon they will probably drown some more in another lake and kill the rumble of the river. Anyway our day out...

The path was scraggled with dead and dying worms. We tried to hypothesise what their story was, were they shat out by all the horses? No I think they were too big. Were they enticed onto the track by the piles of dung in the rain then stood on, or then stranded when the track quickly dries? Whoknows. The strange things you think about when you are walking.

Apart from the amazing rock walls of Jade Dragon Snow Mountain rising across the gorge and the continuous rumbling and occasional sighting of the whitewater of the Yangtze (both which you soon forget about) the track is highlighted by the continual advertising for guesthouses. The Naxi family guesthouse is first, red paint on rocks. There are Nashi pears at the Naxi house. The track steepens after here shortly, the infamous “28 bends”, a good hill for an old man with a stick carrying a basket of potatoes. Tea Horse Trading Inn was next, the yellow brand on the rocks. We stopped here for a relaxing lunch, what a view!!

Halfway House (someone has a sense of humour) was probably the most obtrusive of the lot. Their graffitti was constant. We rebelled by not even sticking our heads in for a beer, but stopped for a photo.

The track now followed a water-race around a steep face, akin to the lower Yubeng but less spectacular, before rolling down to the road at Tina's guesthouse. Thats it? The famous Tiger Leaping Gorge trek is a pleasant romantic stroll and would have its purpose as a pub crawl.

Before wandering the 40minutes back down the road to (the lovely) Seans Guesthouse in Walnut Garden, we stopped at the Bridge Cafe for an orange juice.

Sitting in the cafe reading a book on the minorities of the Yunnan, we saw many interesting photos of the places we have been and discovered the proper names for a couple of objects, the fuzzy purple flower and the crazy easels and chairs for the gods. Any guesses?

From Shangri-La to the Tiger Leaping Gorge

Its only a couple of hours by bus from Shangri-La to Tiger Leaping Gorge, but we went the long way (although I'm sure someone could find a longer way, there is plenty of potential).

The bus was supposed to leave at 9.10, it was 9.00. The ticket lady said sales were closed, the lady at the gate said the bus had left. Out in the middle of the three lane street a suspicious looking bus was waiting at lights, "Baishutai?", the door is ripped open and we're in. Our good fortune amuses everyone and gives us a good buzz for the day. The ride to Baishutai, a silica pool sort of tourist attraction, is about 4 hours. The road rises and curves over more of China's endless hills, Penny sits biting her lips!

Arriving in Baishutai we prepare to be underwhelmed. For the first time in China touts ruin the experience, there are not enough tourists here. The attraction is pleasant but its management is shoddy. Water from a nearby stream is water-raced in to spill-over the silica and then halfway down the formation is whisked away to irrigate drops, leaving the bottom half dry and weedy. The tourist infrastructure; giant boardwalks and handrails, is broken down. People walk where they want, all over the formation. They say it is an important part of Naxi Dongba culture...so where is the respect? That said there are parts of it you can take pretty photos of.

We got out of there as quick as we could, which took us about 2 hours in a cafe eating yummy instant noodles and 2 hours sitting on the side of the road getting sold walnuts by insistent old ladies. Eventually when a van came it took us 20km down the road to the little village of Haba where we were surprised and happy to find a very nice little guesthouse called Haba Snow Mountain Inn with photos of trekking and mountaineering in the local area all over the walls. The hostess took us down to Naxi dancing that night at the village square. The big circular group dance with a verry happy feel. We had seen the dance at Shangri-La but this convinced us that it wasn't just a tourist set-up. Awesome thing to watch and see these people celebrating their lives and community

We arranged to join up with a German family that was there to hire a guide for the next day to show us up the hill. They would then all go back leaving us to explore and try and climb the mountain (they also hire ice axes and crampons...we took advantage of the former). It worked a charm. The climb up the next day with the guide and Germans took us from Haba at 2500odd to an amazingly beautiful little lake at 4100 and took us above the bushline.

On the way up one of the highlights was going past a small log cabin where a man was milking his cows, we took the opportunity to check out his pad and some of his tools.

Freed of the larger group we took off up the mountain, rising first then sidling when we could see the obvious route up a vast grey slab. We dumped Pennys pack at a group of rough and wrecked shelters which we presumed was basecamp, only to find just over a minor ridge a new basecamp with a newly completed guesthouse! Wilderness experience blown we made a bid for the top in what would be record time.

It was quick up the slab but things started to slow down when we hit ice, we were running out of time fast. The view kept beckoning out north. All the way back to Meili Snow Mountain we could see, the ridges then dropped as we panned around to the east until the sacred peaks of the Yading raised their snowy heads and the mighty 8000m Gonga Shan thrust itself into the distant skyline.

We gave up just below the big snow dome, nothing more than a plod to the summit, but it would have taken us 90minutes to the top, and broke into the bag of ginger we had saved for a special occasion since Thailand.

We then got the hell out of there, one of the most beautiful places I've ever been.

Camp that night after we had rejected the advances of the new guesthouse owners was near the ruined huts of the ghost town.

Next day was porridge for breakfast at sunrise.

We had skipped past some of the scenic highlights of the area the previous day, so decided to go back a similar way, checking out a few viewpoints and saddles and of course the gorgeous lake before descending again to Haba Snow Mountain Inn for lunch.

The ladies didn't quite know what to think when we told them we planned on walking to Tiger Leaping Gorge that day (we were either very strong or naive or both as it turned out). I was convinced we got on the right track, it was sidling around Haba Snow Mountain just where I would make it if I was making a track to sidle Haba Snow Mountain into Tiger Leaping Gorge. Then the damn thing stopped, we tried 3 dead ends having to walk numerous times past a vicious looking dog on a small fragile looking leash, which gave Penny the heebie jeebies. Daylight running out again we bolted for the road, 45 minutes down the hill and from a distance we hadn't seen a car all afternoon. 5 minutes later we were safely enconsed with some wealthy Chinese out on a tiki tour who couriered us all the way to our accomodation. Pennys chinese was impressive, there was at least a 10 line exchange, which given our lack of language learning motivation was awesome.

We completed the day by having a nice long yarn to a young couple Matt and Mary, biking from England to Australia, to begin a new life there and build their own dream backpackers on a small piece of coastal land there. And Chinese beer, particularly Dali, continues to impress with its tasty, refreshing and alcoholic qualities.