NOTE: THIS ENTRY SHOULD APPEAR AFTER THE “DESTROYING THE PAST….KUNMING” ENTRY)
Kunming to Lijiang to Tiger Leaping Gorge to Kunming Nov 5-14, 2009
When we were at the Forbidden City in early Oct, we thought half of China had followed us. Now we’ve learned where the other half were–waiting for us in Lijiang.
Lijiang is the home for the Naxi minority tribe, cousins to the Tibetans. A 1400yr old culture (babies compared to the Chinese at 5000yr old), the Naxi have a strong matriarchal tradition. We’ve come to see that with the diversity of China, the people also have differing physical features, as well as differences in dialects. The Naxi look somewhat like Tibetans. Contrasted to them are the hordes of Chinese tourists, a significant number of whom would fit in with frat boys at an open bar. Middle class and vacationing are still new phenomenas for most Chinese, so it’s a hoot to see their luggage wrapped in old boxes, bags of fruit and veggies when travelling, and the obvious glee they feel. And while it’s embarrassing to see Europeans with the straw conical hats, the locals with the Stetsons are equally hilarious.
Dwarfed by the snowcapped Jade Dragon Mountain, Lijiang is the best preserved and restored ancient village we have seen. Massive cobbled marble stepped roads test your ankles, wood framed homes and stores resting on earthquake proof stone —-all hugging a web-like artery of narrow canals–its all picture postcard like.
OK, except for the open air karaoke contests, the rush hour like gridlock of tourists, and the pungent smell of yak meat (yummy in hot pot, but sickening to smell in the streets if you’re not feeling well) and the all night partying. The locals partied late, and rarely showed their faces until after 10, so we often had the alleyways to ourselves to wander.
We did however, discover the local market, which like most, is devoid of stetsons, tour groups and gringos. No dogs for sale, but a more chaotic and disorderly market would be hard to find. Below are pix of the eatery—semi shelter, choc-full of workers, and highly acrid smell thanks to the charcoal and oil. Not a hand sanitizer in sight.
We re-connected with Curtis and Linda, whom we met on the 6th in Kunming. Both speak some Chinese, Linda being fluent. It’s a godsend travelling with people who have the local dialect, are travel savvy, interesting and possess a sense of humour. We may even go home via San Francisco in Jan so that we can visit them in their hometown.
You know you’re a loser when you do something wrong and keep going back for more, hoping it’d be different. Well ordering western food again and again in China, hoping they’d get it right is our offense. It would be like asking the hot dog vendor to russle up Lobster St Tropez. But one place that did get it right, that actually made whole wheat homemade bread and a killer breakfast was, The Prague Cafe. Overlooking one of the canal streets, with soft jazz in the background, a book exchange, and free WIFI–it’s one of those places that sustains an unhappy belly and homesick soul.
Wayne finally slowed down in Lijiang, but only because of a 48hour bug. By the time we got to the jaw dropping Tiger Leaping Gorge, he was bedridden. The Gorge is supposedly the world’s highest (but you can’t trust the Chinese who are the masters of hyperbole and overstatement). It is still largely a western destination. The locals board the day tour buses that take them to the rock where the tiger supposedly leapt across the river while escaping the hunter (hence the name), and not much further. Most westerners take the 2 day hike in. We compromised and drove along bone jarring, vomit inducing, cliff edged ‘roads’ to a guest house and did short hikes from there.
The owner of the guesthouse Sean , a local legend of Tibetan ancestry, is the colourful type of innkeeper who can’t keep an opinion to himself–not a very local trait we’d imagine. His Aussie wife of 26 years had just recently died mysteriously in a mountaineering accident. Sean consulted his shaman who said it was an accident, though he suspects an aborted robbery attempt. We met one of their 3 daughters, Daisy. She doesn’t look at all bi-racial and her English is painful, but her warmth and grace so soon after her mom’s sudden passing were inspiring. She said her mom’s body will eventually be cremated instead of the usual Tibetan practice of chopping it into pieces and left out for wildlife.
The Gorge towers over the Yangtze River. Nearby, is the Mekong. Together these mighty rivers are sourced from the Himalayas and they run parallel together, as close as thirty miles at one point. Then the Yangtze hits a massive rock and changes direction, and flows east. There it germinates the Han Chinese culture, feeding and drowning millions over the years but ultimately creating a civilization and impacting world history. Astonishing to think of, really. We’d love to someday see this world shaping rock, perhaps with our nephews.
Anyway the Gorge isn’t just so much spectacular. The hike gives something so infrequently found in China–peace. We didn’t see one tourist in the high ground, only farmers, pigs, yaks and donkeys. To sit at ease by a rippling waterfall surrounded by towering cliffs, and sloping farms, without a human sound about, is as far from reality as one can get.
We thought we’d overstayed in Yunnan Province as a pull to Vietnam strengthened. Didn’t help that our credit cards were declined and we missed a flight. But it gave us another night with Linda and Curtis and killer massages in Lijiang, and we stumbled on a hole in a wall with some of the best noodles and pork/chive dumplings, in China.
Also had to kill a final day in Kunming, which ordinarily would seem like a free cloudy day in Hamilton, Ontario. But we discovered the beautiful university grounds and a hip, and trendy expat/local hood with great local eats (ask Trish about the Belgian chocolate cake at Salvadors ). Suddenly the clouds parted and we were in a really good vibe. The streets were just as dirty, the air just as choking with pollution, the volume switch stuck on max. But, it came to me as I watched the blind street musician playing the two string.
It matters less where you are, and what the scene is; than it does the head space we create. We went from stressed out thinking we were penniless because none of our credit cards were working, to elation and pride at hitting the half way pole intact. We were hours from Vietnam, 52 days after we landed in Beijing, with innumerable experiences in the bank. Not one we’d take back.
Favorite Sale: Unused, leftover Beijing Olympic condoms stamped…”Higher, faster, stronger”
Favorite Bad Translation: Wait For Self’s Lover In the Night (name of inn)
Favorite Food: Tough call, had some killer porks and chive dumplings in a whole in the wall, and the yak hotpot was interesting as was the karaloke war around us. But the gold star goes to the Naxi fish in Shuhe village, freshly gutted, marinated then fried whole and topped with roasted peanuts, ginger, peppers, coriander, onions…Trish, a notoriously fickle fish eater, lapped it up, skin and all.
Most interesting people:
1. Sean the Tibetan guide and innkeeper, who recently lost his wife. See SeansGuesthouse
2. Inge and Herbert, 2 Belgians on a 1yr bike trip through Asia. He’s a prison psych, and she just learned to ride a bike. Both are heavy smokers and speak as little Chinese as Trish. But they’ve shared roofs with nomads, farmers, and whole villages have come out for them. Wish we had more time with them.
