Meili Snow Mountain Adventures

We are back in Fei Lai Si, at our friendly safehaven of Sham Bala Hotel (complete with friendly English speaking hosts) somewhat worse for wear after a long dry day from the Lower Yubeng village. We have had a fantastic five days exploring the inner tracks on Meili Snow Mountain, the outer loop is a 12 day mission which locals do regularly to honour the mountain but we skipped on it to avoid the complications of going into Tibet.

Meili Snow Mountain or Kawa Karpo is an absolutely magnificent massif with a succession of amazing summits, from Miancimu in the south, to the crazy Buddhas heads and the elusive Kawa Karpo high summit to name a few. It was a privilage to explore part of this area.

Day 1: Hiking Chinese Style

It was drizzly and horrible on our rooftop in Fei Lai Si. We delayed packing, somewhat foolishly it turns out, hoping for a change in the weather. We had heard of a friendly hostel, the Sham Bala, so went there to drop off some excess gear, no problem, and they organised us a taxi to, 120Y to the hot springs on the other side of the valley, we were pleased to avoid the 1500m descent and 600m ascent to start the day. There was also a National Park fee of 83Y, a bargain for 5 days in this paradise, although I would preferif it went to some sort of environment programme. This consciousness doesn't seem to exist here, our first hostel had a genuine furry bear face pinned to a board while our second featured a stuffed red panda and mountain goat.

Our first day walking was very much trekking China style, we are learning to appreciate the regular sprite stops on the beaten track and when you are very lucky a lady cooking baba or fried bread on the side. Our favourite joint on the way over was located deep in a groove of massive trees. We relaxed, watching the lady cook and the squirrels rustle through the trees.

It was about 1000metres climb to the pass and we raced the limping old Tibeten man with Emphysema, just loosing out to him, although he stopped at the yak butter tea outlets on the pass to take a break. Every now and then we found ourselves walking through forests of prayer flags...

The descent was much more pleasant, just the occasional tinkle of bells as mules or dogs went the other way. Chinese seem to love horse trekking. Its strange. I imagine horse trekking where you are sort of trotting if not galloping, but this horse trekking consists of going on a horse which is being pulled along by a horse boy. I can't imagine anything worse, although they all seem very happy, "ni hau", "ni hau", "tashi deli", "hello". It was not long until we were down in upper Yubeng and had a bit of a mystery to solve, what are these things? (hint: they are the same just different technology.

We decided to stay at the Tibetan party hostel, which featured, terrible food and loud music. I quite enjoyed watching the Tibetan dancing to house music. The Israelis we had befriended, Eran and Adi made a good effort at dancing, and Penny put in a cameo before tripping over a bench. sleep was sweet.

Day 2: The Ice Lake and Adding a bit of Kiwi Style

From Upper Yubeng the established trek is to base camp and the ice lake. Base camp was where the ill-fated Sino/Japanese expedition set off from, their bodies were discovered a year later over the ridge in the Mingyong glacier. Kawa Karpo is now closed to climbers, a pristine, untrodden mountain into eternity, brilliant. We wandered up to base camp early in the morning, again passing many struggling mules, step by step up the muddy track with their placid riders. Base camp was all about noodles, big bowls of steaming noodles, watching the early risers arrive. Ice lake is another 30 minutes, a small lake beneath a big cirque. We had eyed up a bit of a loop from the lake up some slabs and around to a saddle on a ridge coming down from the mountain. Unfortunately the slabs were out of bounds for avalanche reasons, but we still ascended to the saddle up some alpine grassland then a bush bash through rhododendron forest to some open tops and awesome views.

On the return we skipped the rhododendron forest, but nearly lost Penny in a patch of colourful subalpine scrub.

Day 3: The Secret Lake

Travelling up the road from Cizhong I had eyed up a little grassy high point in front of the big beautiful mountains, “wouldn't it be awesome to go up there”. Again on the walk in it had caught our attention and by looking at the several maps we had (mostly pictograph) we figured that the little basin to the left of this peak was the home of the secret lake. The jewel in the crown of the Yubeng for more experienced hikers. A sub-alpine paradise in the middle of the alpine sublime.

We left the party house early, with all our gear, the plan was to drop it at a guesthouse in the lower village, grab breakfast, and get on up the hill. The sunrise was sweet as, the truly impressive Miancimu reared above the lower Yubeng.

After checking out several guesthouses we settled on the “Mystic Waterfall Hotel”, an awesome little spot, complete with functioning kitchen and most importantly guitar. They served us some steamed buns and a nice greasy omelette for breakfast...power food. To find the start of the track hang a left before the monastery and look for the little bridge by the prayer flags. Take a hard right straight after the bridge and follow your nose. The track sidles up to the right to begin with then heads straight up in zig zags through thick forest. It is easy to follow if you have done this sort of thing before.

After an hour or so we arrived on the ridge proper that descends all the way from Miancimu's Mr Whippy heights. For the first time we heard birdsong and spotted long tailed birds skipping away through the bamboo. Sunlight streamed in, highlighting the autumn colours and as we climbed the vegetation changed from fir to bamboo to more subalpine forest. Through gaps in the forest the occasional window opened in the clouds allowing us to see down to the 6000metre mountains near Shangri La or the wild ranges back behind Deqin or the barren hills of Tibet. What a spot. Only on the high ridges could the larch out compete the fir, strips of bright yellow running down the mountainsides. The little triangle peak, our destination beckoned.

Leaving the bushline the track sidled into the basin. First there was a primitive shelter, then after a succession of small dry basins the secret lake, a pleasant little tarn in our language. The omnipresent rock cairns and prayer flags lined the shore. We sat for a bit, eating our museli bar chunks before climbing higher.

We climbed higher and higher, developing a little plan to scoot around the top of the basin on the snowy ridges before descending to our summit. It was very beautiful, all the mountain ranges splayed around us like smashed pavlova (loving the diary metaphors today). We reached a point where we could see the southern flank of Miancimu and the dirty great glacier rolling off it, before suddenly the ridge got a little steep. Nothing for it but a little traverse through snow to some delightful yellow buttercups (maybe). Coaxing Penny who was feeling a bit woosy at about 4700metres.

We regained the ridge and traversed its sharp edge, great views back down to the lake and into the valley of the sacred waterfall. Our summit was reached and a quick break had as it started to snow. We could see all the way down to our guesthouse in the lower Yubeng, this proved useful as we relaxed later pointing out to fellow guests the little hill we had climbed.

Then down down down. Beautiful alpine plants, edelweiss, dwarf rhododendrons, crazy caterpillar fern, bright red leaves round and lush and small and pointy. Penny got away from me as I tried to take photos. Back down below the bushline and we stopped for a nap. Everything was looking like a picture. Decaying prayer flags strung up in the rhododendrons, bright rowan branches glaring above the canopy, you be the judge.

We still had a 1000metre descent in front of us, but we came up with a great technique. Pick up all the rubbish you find. We made a bag out of a discarded plastic poncho and set off down the hill on a spotting mission. Cigarette packets, red bull cans, plastic wrapping, and bottles (too big for the bag these were strapped on my pack, 12 of them festooned on me by the end). Before we knew it we were down, back at the guesthouse with a Dali on our table. China has fantastic beer 10% and delicious, lovely fruity after taste. I am starting to suspect our alcohol laws imposing more tax above 9% alcohol are a conspiracy to make sure we buy crap beer and more of it. Dinner was yak meat and spices accompanied by tasty plates of chilli onion and cabbage. Yummy! What a day.

Day 4: The Sacred Waterfall.

Despite all intentions we were up early again, the sunrises were getting better and better. Miancimu was joined by his friends the mighty Buddha Heads showing their craggy features.

A quick tastless and watery breakfast of rice porridge, steamed buns and green tea (Penny is over the oil but I say bring it on!) we were off up into the mysterious valley. After the pasture, great trees rose up from mossy boulders, the tinkling river running down to our left as we strolled up the well trodden pilgrims trail. We had eyed the valley up from above the day before and it had appeared flat from so high, but it rose steadily, emerging again in pasture and the first of the tuck shops. There was a family of Tibetans here on their pilgrimage and they cooked rice and babas (traditional bread) on the fire, roasting chillis on the edge of the cast iron stove. We sat around the fire for a bit warming our hands before moving on.

Futher up the valley the track steepened further into a series of zig zags rising beside some snow debris. The giant cliff of the waterfall reared above us with the snowy mountains peering down over it.

We had seen forests of prayer flags before but this was a jungle. They were everywhere and more were coming. Heavily decorated Tibetan women lay them out, burnt incense and prayed to the mountain. A beautiful scene and great time to contemplate and thank the mountain for our safe travels in the spray of the holy waterfall.

We were back at our guesthouse by 11am. A quite afternoon followed, washing, increasingly terrible guitar and a bit of an afternoon nap. The mountains kept us company for most of the day before their veils returned by evening. We celebrated the birthday of Richard an Englishman resident in Singapore we have got to know along with his wife Wendy, very interesting stories, of Wendys time as a principal dancer in Chinas top ballet company and Richard's Nepalese adventures. We are enjoying meeting other travellers given our inability to communicate to the locals. Great conversation, watching the sun go down over beautiful mountains.

Day 5: Out and Up

It was time to leave the paradise of the Yubeng, we had seen what there was to see and it was time to move on. The alternative route to the mountain pass we came over is a descent of the Yubeng river to its confluence with the Mekong and then up the Mekong by a variety of routes to Fei Lai Si. We had heard this walk described as the most beautiful in the Yubeng, but were sceptical, “maybe they hadn't seen what we had”, but it sure was pretty.

We got up early to leave before Richard and Wendy who were taking a guide along with a group of 5 Israelis and an Irish girl. Penny was feeling a little bit crook but she soon perked up after some watery rice porridge. Tasteless but hydrating (more on that later). I also ordered some extra steamed buns that Penny was stoked with, especially when we garnished them with our chilli sauce.

The walk down valley started in forest dotted with yak pasture and fallow land. We are growing used to stone buildings, ugly cattle (I still haven't figured out the yak/cattle thing its somewhat of a spectrum) and observing rural China. What an incredibly different world from the one we inhabit.

The river eventually gorges, and rushes steeply through massive boulders. An Israeli guy died here a few months ago when he slipped into the river while taking a photo. Rivers are beautiful but unforgiving. The track is good though, traversing high at times but well benched and its not long before it descends into a more open area complete with ruins and the remnants of maize fields (maybe they get a spring crop here). Walnut trees like always are sprinkled though cultivated areas. The river doesn't relax for long though, soon it begins its final plunge for the Mekong and here we leave it. Suddenly the track sidle on river left a narrow path following a water race. On one side is the gurgling water on the other an increasingly sheer and high drop down into the canyon. At times the dry path is only a plank, although there is always an option to wet ones feet in the ditch if the exposure feels too extreme. Amazing.

We round the corner and see far below the green of the Yubeng get swallowed by the brown of the Mekong. In the space of two hundred metres we have gone from Central Otago into Pakistan. Life is hard and hot and dry. On the far side of the river ruined earth walls and terraces show were people tried to make a living in this harsh environment. The water race still gurgles beside us a lifeline for the village two kilometres up river. We see the corn it feeds drying on their roofs from a distance.

We have chosen a hard route, we could follow the water race to the village on this side then walk a further couple of kilometres to the road end and waiting taxis, but instead we cross the Mekong on the first bridge and head intoo bandit country, erratic rocks and scraggly bushes on a barren river terrace. We follow tracks into a canyon, sidle up it and cross on an old wooden bridge. The village above the canyon is an oasis, laden fruit trees topple over ancient earthen walls. But no one is home, we had hoped for sprite and apples, but we are out of luck. As we leave we see one old lady scuttling around in her backyard but we don't disturb here.

The tale turns into pain and suffering now. We have the small matter of 1300metres up to Fei Lai Si. The track is a gash on a giant spur, off camber and the pebbles we kick tumble down the slope. It keeps on going we run out of water, although fortunately the rice porrdge is still working for me. It turns into a bush bash, our relationship is threatened, but finally we make it. Woohoo.

Kiwi/Sino Relations; Journeying from Tongdian to De Ma Lo

I think it was early this year that NZ and China signed a free trade agreement. I remember my American political science lecturer raving on about it, how it was wierd that no one cared. I think he missed the point of representative government. We elect people, they make decisions, we don't have to think or worry. But anyway this agreement entered into force on the first of October and perhaps explains why all the Chinese people we encountered were so free and friendly with us in our travels. I attempt here to document this new high in kiwi/sino relations following in the footsteps of Sanlu and Fonterras magnificent partnership.

Tongdian is really a working class town, not many whities wash up here, they stare at me as I walk down the street. We have figured out that if you go into a restaurant and point at eggs and tomatoes you end up with an omelette, this place is awesome.

I have rarely seen women taxi drivers anywhere in the world, but here like in the roadworking teams they stand tall beside their comrades. The typical taxi driver is minority cow-girl. Tight blue jeans, faded shirt, long black hair and beads, windswept Tibetan like features. We caught a pleasurable ride through to Lanping wuth one of these ladies in the back of an old Datsun.

Lanping isn't exactly a tourist mecca either. Its a town by Chinese standards. Tall buildings, fruit on the sidewalk, we don't see much of it apart from the inside of the internet cafe. Chinese internet cafes, or "wangba" are normally vast gaming chambers where people can service their addiction to virtual worlds. World of Warcraft is big here and the service is surly. The punkish teenage girl doesn't get it that mandarin script means about as much to us as a pile of twigs.

We are a novelty here too, as we seek mini-vans a small crowd gathers. I blow it. I am convinced our destination is Kanping (for some reason I had it in my head we were going camping in Kanping). They try to tell me that we are in Lanping, which I agree with, but that still doesn't get us anywhere. A crowd really starts to gather now to watch this foreigner lose face, it must be 30 people edging in on us. I go for the map in the top pocket of my pack, damn its the wrong one, China central not south. It must be deeper. I unpack my bag carefully in the melee, "oh its here" Penny says, in our daypack where I carefully organised it this morning. Where are we going, oh "damn Yongpin", "Yongpin, oh ar Yongpin"...they gesture us to the minibus five metres away and two minutes later we are on the road.

Its another of the cowgirl drivers, and she drives well, climbing a high pass to the west before we begin our giant descent into the Mekong gorge. We feel like a point on a spirograph, creating butterfly wing shapes as we curve around tributaries. Fir forest gives way to golden fields at harvest time. Wheat or is it barley, scythed then bunched up to dry, standing like a minature teepee. I think I know the name for this technique, aren't these things Snooks like my old friend Zane. I search wikipedia and they are not a type of fish, a Canadian comedian or a rap group based in Sweden, So i don't know what they are called those bunches of wheat or is it barley standing like miniature teepees in lines at harvest time.

We eventually arrive at the Mekong, the mighty Lancang as it known here. The town of Yongpin clings to its side 500 metres up. From the roof of our hotel looking down we can see clearly how the traditional skyline has been pierced by the recent high rises. Down in the valley we stare at the mighty brownness of the river, where it bends and a bridge crosses. Adjacent to us on the far side of the valley is a mighty spur that leads up and over the Biluao snow mountains to the Nu Jiang to the west. We were thinking of walking this way, but a 2500 metre ascent when we couldn't see the tops and an uncertain descent on the far side deters us this time. We travel on.

But not before we discover dumplings, or steamed bread, the big ones are plain, the ones with brown stuff spilling out the side have some sort of chocolate paste. The small ones are packed with mystery meat, yummy. There is fried bread as well, wads of it to take on the bus. The bread doesn't last for long as we bus south down the Mekong. The road is rough and at one place we get out to walk where someone is stuck coming the other way. I get to thinking about the Mekong and the NZers who traversed its length during the first Hillary Expedition. With a bit of research it is slightly disappointing to see the spin illustrated by comparing these two articles here and here. The first descent of a river must surely be in it aye?

From the Mekong we climb high, high, awesome views to the southeast down the valley or for that matter straight down. We keep on climbing into the clouds, before we cross a quick spur and begin our descent, down, down, down into the third of the three great parallel rivers that make up Chinas "three parallel rivers". The Yangtze, the Mekong and now the Nu. We hit the Nu at Liuku, an unwieldly town on both sides of the river which features a golden buddha standing on a little hill. We couldn't get out of there quick enough, on another bus and off up the river. There are two water features, the almighty river, surging in places like a Peter Jackson special effect. Imagine a rapid named "horse of the apocalypse" and you'd get close. The Nu isn't brown like the Mekong its evil silty grey, the colour of dirty socks, you can imagine it sucking you in, you and your horse and your little flock of goats. The other water feature is manmade. Many tributarys are damned higher up, piped and dropped the last 100 or so metres into the Nu. The Chinese appetite for theatre sees the overlows piped from the most unlikey spots. Straight out of knife edged ridges fountains of water cascade into the valley.

We change buses again at Fugong and meet our eccentric bus driver Tobi. I have now met my Chinese counterpart who likes dancing while driving, body shaking, hands gyrating in the air. he stops for us at the scenic place, the hole in the rock and has the rest of the van in stitches with his whistle which be blows at startled passersby and witty comments he makes to stragglers on the road. We giggle along with the crowd. It gets dark and the road becomes a tunnel, we surge on through occasional villages, lights at night in a car always remind me of arriving home at Waitati after a long trip from Christchurch. In a daze we arrive in Gongshan. When we tell Tobi the fanciest hotel is too expensive he takes us to his house and puts us up for the night. His wife cooks us dinner, we drink beer and communicate with our respective mandarin-english books. Random. The next morning Tobi and I fetch breakfast, tasty dumplings and a new treat, fresh soy milk. We sit on their floor and enjoy each others company for one last time.

Tobi drops us off at a bridge over the Nu and we navigate to De Ma Lo, the famous Tibetan village (not quite sure why). We take a tributary when both a sign and a little girl point the same way and enter a construction site. The river descending from De Ma Lo is next on the list of hydro projects. Rough shanty town camps dot the valley, the trees have been stripped from lower slopes and the dam lies ready to fill, at least to our eyes. Just out of reach of the dams final extent we find De Ma Lo and Alou's guesthouse. Alou is a famous conservationist, unfortunately we can't communicate to work out exactly what he does, but we choose to visit and support him anyway.

The guesthouse is very much a family affair and very open to visitors. We walk in and before we know it we are sitting on the couch with a cup of yak butter tea (this stuff is fine but watch for a day or two later when they evolve to giving you fermented rice wine complete with soggy rice and rotten egg). I get used to turning down the constant offer of cigarettes the male bonding technique in China (no dammit I don't I'm almost tempted to smoke). The Tibetans here are Catholic with crazy old churches based on a french desuign. We visit the Church first, then attend mass the next day on sunday. I wish I had an audio recording of the Gregorian chanting in Tibetan, very primal.

The tradition is church, then cards, then drink then basketball, three games, young fellas, old fellas then women. We didn't realise, instead going home for a nap. I shot some hoops with a local later on, slowly getting into the zone.

That evening another group of tourists arrived, these Chinese. They had just been in the Drung valley where we were thinking of going, we checked out their photos and decided to move on, where is the snow?! We organised a guide to take us across the Bilauo Mountains to Cizhong on the Mekong, another story to write up!

1st Trek: Liming to Weixi (no Lamshe)

A week or so ago now we bravely ventured forth from Liming seeking to follow old caravan trails to the town of Weixi, famous for being the middle of nowhere Yunnan. Guiding us we had 70 year old Russian topographical maps at 1:250,000 downloaded from an American website which we could look at only when the laptop was removed from the depths of my pack. We also had our mandarin skills, consisting almost in their entirety of the ability to point in one direction and hiss "Weixi"!!!

It all started off so well, a tarseal road through more of Limings outstanding sandstone formations. Picturesque villages lined by sunflowers and sweet corn greeted us regularly, their shops selling us lemonade and their walnut trees providing us shade from the early morning sun.

Out of the sandstone landscape and into more typical rolling hills the river gorged in and the road deteriorated, locals seemed more and more disturbed by our grunts and gestures of Weixi, maybe these were the people that actually knew? Deeper into the valley the forest grew less disturbed until primeval fir trees reared up above us on both side. Who said we wouldn't see a red panda? (Well we didn't). With the steady gain in height we obtained autumn, yellow, gold and the occasional bright red above the surging river.

Then all of a sudden the gorge spat us out into a massive grassy basin, and there were people. They had umbrellas but not much more. Wooden log cabins, with slat wooden roofs hewn from the surrounding landscape. Irrigation likewise, hollowed logs directing water. And fences wooden too, around special areas of cropland, glowing silver, ready for harvest! Pigs, yaks and horses graze and then there are dogs. They bound towards us from two hundred metres away "shit" teeth bared, savage. My umbrella is at the ready. Penny doesn't like the thought of rabies. The owners watch, hunched, clustered dark lumps with brightly plaited bands. Finally they call the dogs off.

The road now a track, meanders up a grassy valley towards a saddle, and there is another village. Real rustic stuff. But there a basketball hoop, wooden as well, but there, crazy.

The day is drawing to a close, we cross the saddle and camp just down the other side above the mossy murky forest. It is surreal, smoke rises from the forest at various points around us, and we hear the soft chatter of voices and occasional excitement as dogs are fed. There are people up here living, hiding in the forest. Forest people. Like the Hindu gods created out of Siamese animals we witnessed in Indonesia, again I could feel the creation of myth.

The next morning we were full of hope. I had figured out where we were on the old maps and it was all downhill to a bit of a settlement then hopefully on to Weixi maybe hitching. It went well for 20 minutes, a track took us down into the spooky forest, where we could track humans but not see them. But it got smaller and smaller, how far were we prepared to go across China on a rough bearing? Not far. We turned back and tried another road but it to faded. Nothing for it but retreat, back up the hill and into the grassy basin.

There was a new problem now, just how to avoid the savage dogs, we contoured high above the valley, heading towards what we thought was a close by village people had been mentioning "Lamshe". There were many people out in the late morning, families harvesting their crops. at another small settlement dogs blocked our way and we were rescued by an old stone throwing woman. Many thanks.

On again and we struck a road, with tread marks and powerlines heading an alternative way out of the basin, not down the long twisting gorge to Liming. We asked people how far to Lamshe "not far", "1 km". Then luckily stumbled upon a lady heading the same way with her horse, presumably to trade the goods it carried on baskets on its back. Penny reported to me "its a little bit up, then down, then up again". The little bit up was 300 metres steep through stony single track, rhododendron shrubs, underneath the fir canopy. Down unsurprisingly was further, I think about 1200 metres straight down a forested spur. The horse did well, the lady wasn't trying we kept up. She said her goodbyes at the bottom, staying at a friends house for the night, but amazingly while we were still packing our packs after giving her a little silver fern souvenir that has been travelling tucked in our first aid kit, a group of Chinese men walked past and offered us a lift, they had two spare seats out to the main road. Sure we paid $10 each, but the jeep carried us through 70km of rough road, impassable by all but the crazy tractor buses and jeeps, safely to tarseal at the little service town of Tongdian. We passed the hamlet of Lamshe a foot deep in mud 20km into this journey. What a day!

The Long Winding Road to Deqin!

Well here we are in Deqin, the last stop in the Yunnan on the way to Tibet. What a day, what a road. We started off this morning in the small hamlet of Cizhong on the banks of the Mekong. Cizhong is famous as an outpost of Catholicism in China. Marauding French missionaries indoctrinated the area descending from the Tibetan Plateau with their Tibetan converts. As unusually we had come across the mountains to Cizhong from the Nu Jiang village of De Ma Lo we were familiar with this influence and the crazy buildings in the middle of nowhere. Indeed we experienced a Catholic mass Tibetan style on Sunday, but more about are travels from Liming to De Ma Lo later plenty of tales to tell!!!

We checked out the Church quickly, aching from carrying our packs after the recent excursions. Hidden from the Mekong by a subtle terrace Cizhong is a cobbled civilised oasis. It is harvest time and the people are out in the fields below the village scything rice, gathering it and dehusking. Preparations for winter are in full swing everywhere in open attics under wooden roofs things are drying; grains, fruit and meat.

The Church is surrounded by a high white wall, the inner courtyard peaceful in a cottage garden way. In the outer buildings historic photographs document the lives of the enthusiastic, earnest and happy young missionaires who came to this far part of the world. It shows them high up snowy mountains, posing with local inhabitants and growing old with big bushy beards. There is a bizarre Indian influence to, with pictures of bearded Sikhs (of Sikhalikes) which I am yet to understand. The inside of the church is beautiful, colourful motifs cover the ceiling providing another layer to the gaudy decorations and pictures of saints.

Satisfied and keen to move on we strolled down to and across the Mekong. After a nervous wait the second bus picked us up and we were off not really having any idea what was instore for us. The road first skirted low above the Mekong but then gradually it climbed till a series of switchbacks saw us 100's of metres above the brown heaving mass. The Mekong gorged in below us, vicious snake bends and the road soared ahead a thin line on giant slopes of rubble. Villages far below us look to have roofs paimted bright yellow until we realise it is the harvest of corn drying for the winter. As we got higher the lower part of the massif of Meili Snow Mountain appeared across the valley, giant glaciers rumbling down out of the cloud. We eyed up routes and ridges for our next few days exploring. When the nerves started to catch up on me the road turned to buckled gravel, but with nerves of steel the bus driver swerved his way to Deqin, where we are now, from our small room on the roof of a backpackers the mountains soar to nearly 7000metres opposite, with the Mekong Canyon nearly 1500m below, awesome! Hopefully the weather comes to the party tomorrow

The Yangtze bends and we eat too much!

Yeah so what I was meaning about eating too much food. We rolled into Shigu the other day, a small town famous for its location on the first bend of the Yangtze river. This place reeks of history. The Red Army forded the river here during one of its marches and before that Kublai Khan and his hordes floated across on inflated sheepskins. We couldn't be bothered walking up the hill to get a clear view so we took a photo of an artists impression from our restaurant.

We did wander up the hill aways to the Red Army memorial. Everything around these parts is very picturesque, or maybe that is just my mood.

Anyway back to the food. Penny was hungry. She ordered not only noodles, but mungbeans, some other beans and green beans. Each turned out to be a dish, the noodles would have fed us. I did my best, but there was still a bowl full at the end to be fed to a lucky passerby.

Lovely Liming

Ok, so we were meant to be going into the wopwops, but it turned out that Liming has been developed, theres a tarseal road and at least one lovely guesthouse with hot water and a great cook. Its hardly surprising really because this place is absolutely stunning, massive sandstone formations and cliffs rise high above the tangle of valleys, awesome.

We spent one day in Liming exploring the local trails, taking photos of maps on digital cameras is such a handy technique. The dotted lines of indistinct trails attract us like a magnet and this day turned out to be absolutely magic, heres a memory from my journal...

"We found the right saddle. The left one. Our first attempt had seen us stranded high on a curve of bedrock a staggering view of the Liming landscape at our feet. We lunch on a little outcrop that we climb by its tortoise back (apparently these formations resemble swarms of tortoises clambering to heaven). We can see the hamlets up the valley we started out in and can hear the bells of their cows and the occasional barking of dogs.

The wind is picking up and whistling through the trees. We have our choice of three passes between giant rocky pillars. The furtherest right is safest as we have seen the way down. the way left looks interesting a giant snail formation beckons with overhangs at the bottom that could just be caves. I glance around one last time, rain threatens from the north, terraced fields of maize rise below to the left, west more rolling mountains which we must cross on our way to Weixi beckon. Time to move on".

That evening we returned again to our lovely guesthouse and feasted, no Yunnan mushrooms this time, which caused restless dreams, but rice and bok chai and carrot. The only problem with food in these parts is sometimes you order too much. But anyway great day, to sum it up...