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.

The Baluta Experience

(dredging up some Indonesian stories now, have a few of these forthcoming)

Our work on Pulau Pulau Batu was mainly focused on the central island Pulau Tello. Tello is a transport and social hub to the hundred or so other, and often larger islands around it. It commands the trade routes from both Nias and mainland Sumatra. While Tello itself can safely said to be out of the way the outer islands are another step into the void.

Mother, baby and protective face whitener

It was a Wednesday, we had finished morning clinic and we were still thinking about going to Baluta. The stars had aligned and there were 14 of us, a Troppodoc record. We weren't going to squeeze into the local boat Dr Derek had lined up, it was only really a canoe with a small shelter, and it was already piled up with supplies and locals. Dr Derek and the sick baby Leone squeezed in, along with Bronwyn the nurse, Johanees the physio, and their children Rose and Brianna.

Bronwyn and Leony, ready for a voyage!

“Maybe you can find another boat, or maybe tomorrow” Derek suggests as they putter off across the bay.

I agitate along the wharves, “Baluta”, “Baluta”, “Saya harus pergi ke Baluta”. I'm getting funny looks. Back on the main street, the ripples have spread and a tout approaches.

“You want Baluta?”

We bargain and I drive him down a bit, then he drives me down to the boat hiring mafia on the Chinese side of town. It turns out his boat is broken but maybe we can hire the speedboat, “berapa (how much)”

Twice what we agreed. His boss shows up, and everyone else. They debate. I try my indonesian on them “We medicine to Baluta gratis, Dr Derek already gone, me medicine have here need to go to Baluta”, they're not looking keen, “Arrghh we help your wives, your daughters, now we help Baluta please”, still double, “Arrghh, I'm healthy I don't need to go”, they laugh,

“We'll take you for the petrol money”.

I race back to Hati Saro's and grab the others. The two young translators Udi and Denny are coming to. We find Kate and Eban passing back through town,

“Be there in five”

We are stoked at the boat, massive single hull canoe, and bright blue with big curved outriggers. You want to be at the front though. The girls in the back get soaked as we pick up speed through the chop. The boat steers through some narrow channels between smaller islands before we emerge in the open ocean the long green mass of Tanah Masa, Pulau Pulau Batu's largest island, stretching away to our left. Baluta refers collectively to a stretch of coastline maybe 7km long including 13 or so villages. Our first problem arises, we don't know exactly where on Baluta Dr Derek is. Or where for that matter we are, as the speedboat drops us off in a sandy bay and we wade ashore

We walk straight into a village. Wooden houses with intricate carved framing surround a large rectangle. Wealthier houses have corrugated iron roofs and maybe even a tiled floor. Pigs and chickens forage in the jungle behind each row of houses, sweating and clucking in the watercourses. Villagers unsurprisingly stare at us, white people emerging from the sea. Regrouped we ask around for the Doctor...blank expressions the only response. They gesture that we head south along the coast and we turn that way, a line of porters. Suitcases of medicine slung over shoulders.

We pass through several small villages, creating much excitement, but the team is increasingly sceptical of our chances of finding Dr Derek. In the end it is Penny and myself sent ahead to find him. We walk several miles of beaches and tracks through coconut palms, before stumbling into the village Derek had chosen. They are already engrossed in a chat and clinic in one of the larger houses. As always people fill the room and those only interested peer en masse through the windows. The locals look amazed as we struggle in one by one, although Derek assures us this is nothing compared to when he put down in his chopper on his last visit (to recap Dereks chopper is currently being held hostage by the Indonesian police following a dramatic rescue of an Australian surfer from the distant Siberut). After a night time foray to the next door village we had secured enough instant noodles to feed the team. Penny slaving out back over the fire did us proud. Noodles and rice a great 2 carb meal.

We figured for our one whole day in Baluta we would try and cover as much ground as possible, maybe stopping in every second or third village relying on sick people to visit us at the neighbouring village (this is only about 50m to 500m distance). Baluta isn't that simple. At te first village we came across we told the head honcho that we were setting up a clinic at the next village,

“No, that is bad, that village is no good, no good, have clinic here”.

Turns out the villages aren't on speaking terms. How crazy is that, such a small world they live in, yet they make it even smaller. We split the team, half going to the next village. The patients were generally old woman sick, way too hard a life in a place without good drugs. Although one very malnourished baby was presented. The mother couldn't feed her and they hadn't managed to figure out the milk powder properly. The mother and baby went on the list for temporary removal to Tello for a bit of education.

The clinics moved on down the beach, not before we had our lunchtime feed (crackers and crappy biscuits) and swim in the gentle surf. We had plenty of Doctors and Browyn the nurse and Johannes the physio and we also had a great distraction team. Penny Bond (Dr Nicks Penny) led the way in engaging the local kids, drawing and chanting and all kinds of carry-on. Rose and Brianna, 12 and 10 years old, backed up in this and the nursing and the pharmacy. Kate Willimans (a friend of ours come to visit) and her friend Eban also chipped in where there was need. There was not really much for me to do apart from set-up and look dangerous. So once this was done at the 3rd village for the day I went exploring.

Penny Bond reading with the kids

The idea was to find the next village, so I wondered off into the hot sweaty jungle (why I didn't choose the beach I don't know). Thankfully after only ten minutes or so I looked out towards the beach and saw some sheds and fences. I slipped into the village the backway , through the snuffling pigs and scruffy chickens. It was a small place only maybe 5 houses and I found some people playing cards in the biggest. They were somewhat surprised to see me and it took a while for me to explain that I was here with a bunch of doctors and nurses down the way and was there anyone sick in the village. Eventually though ther message got through and I got to do some preliminary diagnosis. Reading back in my journal its is quite amusing,

“my diagnosis of elephantitis in the testicles turned into a hernia, while my infected foot was in fact coated with betadine, the coughing guy that didn't make it to the clinic got a penicillin injection with a blunt needle for his trouble”

Dr Derek and Bronwyn returned with me to this little village that Derek hadn't visited before and it was a very enjoyable clinic watching Derek work for the first time. Very fast and informal with the group. Focusing on the genuinely sick people . Derek walks a borderline with his medicine, by abandoning the western practice paradigm and focusing on the very sick, but so to do the young doctors if they can't move beyond what they have learnt to what they could do, right now with the resources available to them.

We left this last village late and walked fast back along the coast, but not fast enough, the rain engulfed us. The others had left earlier and made it back dry but Bronwyn, Rose, Derek and I slithered back to our accomodation, saturated. It would be pushing things to say our hosts were stoked to have us, but they put up with us, and Penny again joined them out back creating some delicious instant noodles. It reminds me of the best ever Australian movie, “The Castle”....“whats this love?. For some more "The Castle Quotes check here”

The next morning we were due to leave and word had got round that the boat guy from the village was going to try and make some money off these “bulli”, white people. We were a little bit pissed off. I tried some calm negotiation with the offender, then a bit of evil stares and co-ercion but nothing was going. Some of the others thought they had found a boat as well but this turned out to be a false lead. In the end we decided that the simplest solution was to walk 50metres down the beach to the nearest village and bribe them with free medicine for a fairly priced boat trip. It worked. The lunancy in these two villages not talking was not lost on any of us. The boat drivers were happy until they realised we had to go up the coast and pick up the mother and baby and an old lady with TB. They through a bit of a hissy fit but we managed to feign enough Indonesian incomprehension to get everyone on board. There must have been about 20 people on board this tiny boat, a very very slow boat. At less than a knot we putted across the pancake like open ocean (fortunately it is the doldrums) pausing occasionally when the motor died and more permanaently when we ran out of fuel, fortunately in the vicinity of a friendly fishing boat. Eventually we made it back to Tello, what an experience!!!

What is this?

After Ross's victory with the prayer wheels, thought I'd chuck this one into the fray. What are these lovely people selling in the markets in Shangri-La?

The Gimpiest Guy in China

Nominations:

Winner:

(how could I compete look at the size of his yak!)

Plan for the next wee while

Since yesterday evening we have been lavishing ourselves in the tourist orientated town of Shangri-La. Last night was calzone and pizza, tonight was tortillas and quesidilla (or whatever that word is). Both were followed by chocolate brownie and ice-cream at our great hostel, Noah's cafe and inn.

Shangri-La used to be called Zhongdian, but in a big marketing ploy the name was changed for a nice summary of the situation read the article here.

Today our main adventure was to hire bikes and totter out to a pretty cool Tibetan monastery, apart from the huge monastery and its associated adobe dwellings, liquid history on a hillside

the highlight of the landscape was the giant wooden chairs or easels made for drying crops. They sit in paddocks or peoples backyards uniformly facing the sun like Muslims face Mecca. Photos will follow if I left our camera at the restaurant we ate dinner at.

Our plan from here is to get up early, find the camera and suss out when the bus leaves for the crazy white water terrace place. From there we will head up onto Haba Snow Mountain maybe, or just walk around it to Tiger Leaping Gorge, then to Lijiang. Take care out there.

Goodbye Kawa Karpo....

The magnificient massif of Meili Snow Mountain or Kawa Karpo said goodbye to us (or is this being a little egocentric?) in the most beautiful way the other morning. First the moon dipped over its ridges then the sun rose and spread across China to creeep onto its mighty faces...

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.