In which our hero struggles mightily yet ultimately fails to resist the urge to make a joke about "pandamonium"

I like puns, sue me. Take your "wit" and your "satire" and your "biting social commentary." I like plays on words.

Last week in China. It actually didn't rain on Tuesday so we seized the opportunity to visit the "Chengdu Research Base of Giant Panda Breeding." This is the largest single location for giant pandas and their picky and particular procreative habits in the world. I will be the first to admit that I went into the endeavor somewhat cynically, and was determined, to reveal the creatures as the animatronic robots, or tibetan dissidents in panda suits that I suspected them to be.

The base is really a big zoo, albeit one devoted entirely to the Giant Panda, and its completely unrelated beyond the name compatriot the Red Panda. Giant Pandas, according to recent genetic research, they are actually more closely related to their namesakes, bears. Red Pandas, on the other hand, are raccoons.

When we actually came upon their enclosures, all of my jadedness melted away. Instead of the depressing inactivity and boredom you usually see exhibited by animals in zoos, these pandas were very active. Granted, they were very actively lying on their backs and shoving bamboo nonstop down their throats, but occasionally one would get up and waddle over to where more bamboo awaited.





Go ahead, try to be jaded about these guys. I dare you.

Apparently bamboo is of little nutritional value, and as they lack stomachs, they are only able to actually digest 20 percent of what they eat. Thus, the enormous amount of time they spend each day eating, as well as the amount of time they spend lying down and eating as they can't afford to spend too much energy moving about.

Also, and this tidbit might soon be filed away in the way too much information about the giant panda file in your brain, so read on at your own peril, did you know that baby giant pandas can't poop on their own? Yes, if the mother doesn't ORALLY help her babies void their feces, then they will die from toxic shock. Sometimes, the mother will let her cubs die because she finds helping them poop with her mouth to be TOO GROSS. Can't say I blame her.

So, if the Giant Panda (procreative quirks, digestive and dietary inefficiencies, and baby fecal blockages and all) is not the perfect argument against intelligent design, then I don't know what is.

Later, we saw pandas playing with each other, wrestling, and fake fighting, and climbing all over the structures provided for them. Witnessing these animals clearly enjoying themselves melted even the ice encrusted piece of coal and clockwork machinery that passes for my heart.

In the Panda museum, I read that Pandas have a protothumb that allows them to grasp bamboo with a single paw as they eat, unlike other bears which have to grasp with both. When I learned this, I came to realize that it is only their natural sickliness, reluctance to breed, and the steady destruction of their natural habitat that keeps them from rising up and enslaving us. When that day inevitably comes, I want it on internet-based record that I was one of the first to say, "all hail our adorable cuddly panda overlords!"


Proto-Thumbs!


Battle Pandas!

The next day we booked passage to the Wenshu Bamboo Sea, about 375 km south of Chengdu. Its a known fact that that nonnautical things that are so massive in size and scope that they are known as "Seas" are breathtaking and awesome to behold. See Tatooine's Dune Sea as a prime example.



Wenshu was the location chosen by Ang Lee for the tree top fight scenes in "Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon" and much of "House of Flying Daggers" was filmed on location there as well. We were excited to get off the beaten tourist path as well. Wenshu is not one of Sichuan's most popular tourist destinations, and unfortunately we were soon to find out why.

Typically agonising and cramped bus ride took us to just inside the gates of the park. 3.5 hours = just over 6 hours in Chinese time.

Upon disembarking, we were immediately assailed by taxi drivers offering their services for tours of the park. Nobody had any English, but our steady stream of "Wo ti bu dong"s (I do not understand) didn't dampen their enthusiasm in the least.

We finally got in a cab with a particularly persistent individual named Mr. Wong (just like my high school Spanish! Teacher) who would become our guide and constant companion over the next 36 hours.

Mr. Wong soon dropped us off at the Bamboo Sea hotel, a grand old establishment that had definitely seen better days. Although we were VERY clearly the only guests, I feel like we did get gouged a bit on the price. 300 yuan a night, our most expensive accommodation to date, excepting the seller's market that existed atop Mt. Emei Shan. I even rather rudely asked what price Chinese people paid, but fortunately, no one understood me.

It's hard to figure out who the hotel was built for. Its expansive grounds were in a state of decay, and the enormous staff seemed to be fighting (and losing) a constant battle against entropy. Did high ranking party officials stay there back in the day? Was it used to show off China's lush bamboo forests to visiting foreign dignitaries? There were none of the hordes of Chinese tourists we had come to expect everywhere we went, but there were tons of mosquitoes, the first of their blood-sucking I'll wed had to deal with.

After checking in, we met Mr. Wong at his cab for our tour of the park. The bamboo forests were at our lowest elevation since Beijing, and the heat and humidity were merciless. I felt like i was melting, even in a moving car with the windows down.

It turns out that the Bamboo Sea is not a popular tourist destination for a reason: there just isn't that much to see. The groves of bamboo were admittedly very impressive, growing to heights of up to 60 meters and almost 12 inches in diameter. (I realize that I'm mixing metric and English measurements, but while its easy for me to imagine a meter as a little over three feet, I have next to know conception of a centimeter.) However, they were also kind of monotonous. Very quickly, I got the feeling that if you've seen one majestic and stately grove of bamboo, you've seen them all. Plus, bamboo is a grass and not particularly long lived so you lack even the gravitas of "this stalk was here when the mongols came, and it still stands today..." like you get with a place like Muir Woods or Redwoods.



Soon we had exhausted the parks somewhat meager offerings: Forgetting Worries Valley (a spectacular, if hazy view), man-faced bamboo, a rickety and somewhat terrifying chairlift ride offering a relatively impressive bird's eye view, Shaking Heaven Bridge, a fairly impressive waterfall...





Mr. Wong shuttled us back to our hotel were we spent a hot and mosquito infested night before returning to Chengdu to round out our China experience with some serious eating.

The Food

I was particularly excited about coming to Sichuan Province because of the food. I'm a big fan of Chinese food in general, but Sichuan food in particular. Sichuan dishes tend to be the spiciest items served in Chinese restaurants. If its got a couple of tiny chili peppers next to it on the menu, then odds are it is a Sichuan dish.

In this regard, Chengdu and the rest of Sichuan have been somewhat of a letdown. We've had some wonderful meals, but I wouldn't say that anything has been miles beyond some of the best Chinese food I've eaten in the states. Granted, there are so many first generation Chinese immigrants in America that finding truly Authentic cuisine is not too much of a problem for the determined gourmand.

Some highlights:

We've had some great hot pot meals (the food is cooked in a steaming cauldron of boiling oil right in front of you) including one where we were lead to the kitchen and allowed to choose our own fish, but this style of cooking is both labor intensive and time consuming, two things I am most definitely NOT looking for when I'm hungry.


Actual hotpot menu...

Ma- I don't know how to accent it properly, but when said correctly it loosely translates to mean "Sichuan Numbing Spice." It is a tiny black pepper corn that is served in everything here from the oil in the hot pots, to the sauces of the stir fries. It is not particularly spicy in the scovile unit sense of the word, but as the translation suggests, it produces a not unpleasant numbing sensation on the tongue. The effect is somewhat akin to putting your tongue on a battery: it's mildly disconcerting, yet you keep wanting to do it.

Mapo Doufu - Turns out the way to make tofu palatable is to soak it in chili sauce and cook it with rendered pork fat. The taste is incredible, although I still couldn't escape the texture issues that have always plagued me with tofu.

The greens- my god, I don't know how the Chinese do it! With each meal we would order some sort of stir fried green (spinach, bok choi, broccoli rabe, etc...) to supplement the main course. I eat a lot of vegetables these days, but nothing like this. Once again, I suspect that the secret has something to do with rendered pork fat, and maybe some garlic as well.

Some disappointments:

The spices- Not once did I feel like a dish was sufficiently spicy for my tastes unless I ate the chili peppers that everything is cooked in. Waiters tried to warn us off spicy dishes every time we ordered them, and I wonder if they've dealt with complaining Americans (we don't exactly blend in here) before. I even wonder if they had the kitchens back off the spices just in case. I can't imagine that my pallette is so seared by this point that I find mild what the Sichuanese consider to be spicy.

Street Food- ordinarily a highlight of any trip I take, the food cooked and served on the street seemed particularly lackluster. I'm sure there is amazing street food somewhere in this country, but we never found it. The same thing could be said for dumplings, which, with the exception of the ones we ate at the night market waaaaay back in Beijing, were consistently greasy and slimy.

Chinese approximations of western or other Asian dishes- here are some things I'm looking forward to eating upon my return ( NE locals take notice in case you'd like to go and eat any or all of these things with me when I get back) 1. A cheeseburger 2. Cheese in general 3. Sushi 4. Ice Cream (particularly a hot fudge Sunday) and 5. Cheesecake 6. A Burrito

Here are some things I will need to detox from upon my return: 1. Snickers Bars 2. Oreos. Most of you know that I've been trying to avoid sweets as a general rule these days, but those were often the only recognizable items available for sustenance on interminable Chinese bus rides. Trust me when I tell you that a choice between a Snickers and a vacuum sealed bag of spiced chicken feet (available everywhere and quite popular if my observations of the locals are any indication) is really no choice at all. I'm a pretty adventurous eater, but even I have my limits. Yes, processed and prepackaged chicken feet lie somewhere beyond the horizon of my culinary daring do, past yak butter tea, past snake, and even past scorpions.

Overall, we enjoyed some very delicious meals, especially a shredded pork and green pepper dish that was so deliciously beyond the sum of its apparent parts that we thought the secret ingredient might be ambrosia or that magical elf bread they eat in Lord of the Rings, but in truth, we spent the rest of the trip chasing the quality of the Peking Duck we had during our first two nights in Beijing.


The best part was the head!

Chris leaves tomorrow, and because we were idiots about coordinating with each other, I leave on Sunday. Not sure what I will do with an entire extra day in Chengdu by myself, but I'm sure I'll find something.

China's had some real highlights (Tibet, Everest, Tiger Leaping Gorge, monkey assaults spring immediately to mind) with some ridiculous lows (bus rides, air pollution, big cities in general) sandwiched in there for spice.

Next time I travel, I promise to visit a country comfortable enough to allow people access to such dangerous sites as YouTube, Facebook, and blogspot. That way you can read the blog if you want, but your inbox will not be constantly inundated with unsolicited emails full of my rambling and digression-prone accounts of my adventures.


Sign in the Chengdu Airport bathroom as I was leaving. Bye Bye China!

Re: In which our hero learns the true meaning of the phrase "monkey trouble"

It all started with a surprisingly (and mercifully) delay free bus ride from Chengdu (more of a Chengdon't as far as Chinese vacation destinations are concerned) to Emei town.

We were leaving for a three day hike up, over, and down China's most sacred Buddhist mountain, Mt. Emei Shan. Along the way we hoped to sleep at monasteries, summit a 10,000 foot peak, and, if we were lucky, get an up close look at some adorable monkeys!

Emei town has become a premier destination for Chinese tourists as it serves as the launching pad for trips up the mountain, and it shows the boom that has occurred everywhere since the birth of the leisure class in new China.

Restaurants and souvenir shops line the main street leading up to an artificial pavilion complete with carefully managed waterfalls, the world's largest obviously fake ruby, and erstatz wall carvings of the Buddha and his disciples. Despite the obviously staged scenery, Chinese tourists were milling about by the hundreds, snapping and posing (peace sign to the side, number one, OK!) for pictures as if they were on the Great Wall or something, and as if there wasn't a real, historically significant mountain towering over their heads and disappearing into the mists above.

We'd soon had enough of this and retired to the hotel room for some conditioned air and Chinese television. There is literally at least one Kung Fu movie on Chinese tv at any given time, but the action scenes are wanting compared to what gets released in the states, and god help you if you try to decipher the "plot."

We settled instead on a Germany vs China ping pong match, something surprisingly easy to follow with no Mandarin beyond "hello," "thank you," and "I do not understand." Timo Bollinger withstood six set points in the first set to overcome Ha Min 16-14, but succombed to a merciless onslaught in the two subsequent sets, 6-11, and 7-11. I'll let you try and figure out who played for whom...

The next day we got up early and hoped to be on the trail by 8 am or so as we were told to expect a 9 hour day of hiking.

Day 1

Could not get a straight answer from anyone regarding where to even purchase tickets to get into the park. Not only did every person we spoke to have a different idea, but those ideas often directly contradicted the previous person's. One slightly less than helpful lady in the tourist office just kept telling us "on mountain, on mountain!" of course, the whole thing would have been a breeze if my mandarin extended beyond the three words and phrases I mentioned earlier. Anyway, after an hour or so of false starts and walking in circles, we finally got some righteous intel, and we were headed in the right direction.

Emei Shan, being a holy mountain and all, is covered with temples on every face of its slopes. Our intention was to sleep in these monasteries each night on our way to the top. We entered the park through the gates of Leyin temple. From here we had nowhere to go but up. Emei town is situated at about 500 m above sea level, and the summit awaited above us at over 3000 m asl. We would need to gain over 1200 m each day in order to reach the peak which, for you metricphobes out there, is over 10000 ft asl.

The trail to the top of Emai Shan is surprisingly easy to follow. It is essentially a stone road paved every step of the way. Perhaps this is a reconstruction of the ancient routes traveled by monks as they made their way from monastery to monastery, but the current path is clearly new, a creation, like so many other things we've seen in China, designed to lure in that new class of tourist and their disposable incomes.

But Ben? How did they build a stone path all the way to the top of a 10,000 ft mountain? Isn't it too steep? Yes, you'd think so, but the Chinese have built in steps to handle the ascents, thousands and thousands and thousands of steps. I looked, and found estimates that ranged between 10,000 and 20,000 steps total, but trust me when I say that when you are climbing up every single one of them en route to the summit, it might as well be 10,000,000,000,000 (ten trillion)

As we began to climb the first of our many many many steps, we passed a few hikers, but for the most part had the trail to ourselves. Despite the heat and humidity, hiking through the tropical forests of Emai Shan's lower slopes was very relaxing. It reminded me a lot of some of the trekking I've done in central America.

Then, after two hours or so on the trail, we began to hear voices. We came upon a bus depot filled with tourists who were disinterested in hiking to some of the earlier temples. Given the heat and soreness that I was already feeling in my calves, I can't say I entirely blamed them, but I was also pretty annoyed as well.

If turns out that the tourists were less interested in temples (in fact, the vast majority of hikers we saw were secular in nature-excepting a dedicated cadre of super hardcore little old ladies- we saw very few pilgrims and even fewer monks outside of the monasteries) and more interested in the region of the trail we were about to enter: the Joking Monkey zone, or, if you prefer the slightly off diction of the Chinese signs, Ecological Area for Monkeys.

The monkeys in question, Tibetan Macaques to be exact have been living on this mountain since long before the Buddha became enlightened. However, during this stretch of the trail they had grown accustomed to being fed by tourists and hikers. In fact, you can buy a bag of corn kernels to feed them if you so desire.

As we hiked on, sure enough we began to see the monkeys. They came right up to the trail and were utterly unafraid of humans. We delighted in taking their pictures for a while, but soon came to realize that they were more like zoo animals than something living in the wild. In fact, some of them appeared to be a bit out of shape as if a life of handouts and an unnatural diet were somehow detrimental to their health.






I spit my best game at this fellow, but he wasn't putting down what I was picking up, so to speak.

Shaking our heads, we prepared to hike on. Just as we were turning back up the trail, one of the guides grabbed Chris by the shoulder and began speaking and gesturing rapidly. Eventually, we figured out that she was referring to a package of peanuts which was exposed in an outside pocket of his pack. She was only satisfied when we shifted them to the more secure main pocket of his pack.

Thanking her (xie xie!) we began to ascend yet another brutal series of steps. We climbed for a while before stopping to rest. Exhausted, we slurped down water and eagerly broke open the bag of peanuts. When we were rested, hydrated, and sated, we reshouldered our packs and pressed on. Neither of us noticed that the peanuts ended up back in the outside pocket.

Eventually we left the hordes of tourists behind, and were enjoying the solitude and the cloud forest ( we had already ascended several hundred meters and the fauna had changed significantly). I was slightly ahead of Chris and hiking with a renewed sense of vigor and purpose.

Ahead I saw a lone macaque slowly ambling toward me. Beyond Joking Monkey zone the animals are truly wild and there are signs posted throughout the trail warning you about them and their aggressive tendencies. (Some advice to deal with "terrible"- the words from the sign, not mine- monkeys: never hike alone, and carry a rock)

Interlude: At this point you also need to know that we had been hiking with the aid of bamboo walking sticks which we jokingly referred to as our monkey sticks, or our " Hellz Wind Staffs." End interlude.

"Hello Monkey." I said amiably as it strode past me. I continued on my way before I heard Chris say, "This monkey is totally not afraid of my monkey stick..." then I heard a surprised cry.

I turned and saw the monkey on Chris's back clawing frantically at his pack while he yelled and ineffectively slapped at his simian assailant with his monkey stick.

I'd like to say that my first reaction upon witnessing this tableaux was to altruistically spring to the aid of my besieged friend, but alas I cannot.

My first reaction was hysterical laughter followed by a frenzied digging in my pocket for my camera. Unfortunately, before I could preserve this moment for posterity, the monkey snatched its prize from the pack and beat a hasty retreat, jabbering and hissing as its compatriots, drawn by the noise of the struggle I assume, rushed in to get a piece of the prize.
Fortunately, Chris was unhurt, laughing, and came out with the best prize of all: the ability to tell that story firsthand.


Moments after this picture was taken, this fellow made his move...


As we continued to climb (it takes roughly 15 minutes to climb 1,000 steps at a steady pace if you were wondering) a light rain began to fall. Hoping to err on the side of caution, I decided to use the "wooden" railing to steady myself. At first touch it felt off, too smooth and cold to be actual wood. A closer examination revealed it to be some sort of polymer designed to look like wood. If you looked carefully enough, you could even find the point where the fake knothole patterns began to repeat themselves. The Chinese had created god only knows how many miles of this stuff to line the entire length of the trail. I applaud their instincts for safety, but the whole endeavor (in each way station on the trail the garbage receptacles are identical, artificial hollow tree stumps) ridiculous and unbelievable. Or, based on just about everything I've seen in New China thus far, ridiculous and perfectly believable.

Several thousand steps up later, we came upon our first monastery. We never did catch it's name, but it was downright spooky: shrouded in fog to the point that you had no idea of its presence until you are upon it. Ghostly pagodas loomed out of the mist and I took some great faux arty pictures of fir trees, incense burners, and a sad and lonely basketball court that looked completely unused.






We had the option of sleeping there, but as we had several hours of daylight left, we decided to push on to Yuxian monastery, another 7 km down the trail.

Not only is infestation not too strong a word to describe the monkey situation at Yuxian Monastery, I don't know if it is strong enough. After hiking for another hour or so, we finally made it to Yuxian only to be confronted by dozens of monkeys. Monkeys in the trees, monkeys on the roof, monkeys in the courtyard, monkeys furtively sneaking into the kitchen, and monkeys literally ducking when the exasperated monks would raise their slingshots at them. Now I finally know how the marines at Khe Sanh felt. We took some amazing pictures and watching them plot and scheme made every grueling step, every drop of sweat shed, every frustrating tour group, and even the spartan accommodations and bland meal that the monastery served totally worth it.

Day 2

We woke up early (the monkeys had better sense as they were relatively inactive at that hour) and hit the trail after stomaching as much of the completely tasteless rice porridge the monks served us as I could.

Lots more stairs, followed by even more stairs. These ascents were brutal (let's put it this way, I'm really glad my place has an elevator) but I will say that they are great for gaining vertical meters quickly, no dealing with the ambling meandering of switchbacks, just unrelentingly straight up

By 9:00, at the top of 1600 or so (this time I counted, something I would do periodically until the physical exhaustion made even the most basic of arithmetic impossible.) more steps we came upon our next temple, the Elephant Bathing Pool.

EBP sits on the side of a cliff so high on the mountainside that it looks down upon the clouds. As you gaze forth from its terrace, you see a sea of clouds with occasional peaks sticking through like islands. We were able to get there early enough that it was not thronged with people, and the isolation, solitude, and quiet were all things I've always associated with Buddhist monasteries, and something that I felt was missing from the overcrowded (with tourists, ourselves included), massive, and quasi-urban temples that we visited in Tibet.

We continued on, climbing, always climbing. Other than passing occasional groups of hikers on the trail (Chinese almost exclusively) we mostly kept our own company. We finally reached a ridgeline, and were treated to some spectacular views of the valley below, as well as our first glimpses of the summit and the giant Buddha statue that crowns it.

We heard it before we saw it. The revving of engines, the honking of horns, amplified music, and literally thousands of voices. Rounding a bend, we came upon a massive parking lot busy enough to make Disneyland envious. There were at least 50 tour buses jammed into the lot, and more were creeping their way up the mountain road as we watched. The buses disgorged their passengers, each group lead by a guide shouting through microphone so tinny as to make their voices as discordant as possible.

Most shuffled toward a massive line that lead to a cable car that would take them within spitting distance of the summit. A tiny percentage of them (although still a huge number given the total number of people present) turned to walk up the final sets of stairs to the summit

We watched, flabbergasted. At this point we were about 12 hours by foot from Emei town, and once again we found ourselves behind hordes of Chinese tourists who had simply rolled out of bed and hopped on a bus. Throughout the hike we had met porters on the side of the trail who literally offered to carry us in sedan chairs, but it was only here that we actually saw people riding in them. I don't know how any adult human could ride in one of those things unironically, and not hate themselves.

It was kind of like busting your hump to get to the top of Mt Washington in NH only to find the parking lot full, the restaurant packed, and people proudly affixing "This Car Climbed Mt Washington" bumper stickers to their cars as if that were some sort of accomplishment.

The final distances from the parking lot to the summit are 3.5 km (not bad at all) and 500 vertical m (agonizing, especially since we had been walking since the bottom.). We were caught in queues of tourists also trudging upward, but managed to make steady, if not slow progress.

When we reached the top, we were greeted with more restaurants, souvenir stands, and the by now obligatory Chinese tourists. However, we also reached the Golden Summit Temple which remained staid and impressive despite the swarms of tourists. We also beheld an enormous (60 ft? 80? 100? I'm terrible at estimating) golden statue of a multifaceted Buddha. Despite the fact that it is obviously a new or reconstructed artifice, its sheer size made it very impressive to gaze upon.

The view from the summit left a bit to be desired as it was still very foggy, although even more so than the Elephant Bathing Pool, there was a sense of gazing down upon a sea of clouds.

We elected to stay at a hotel on the summit (as opposed to another monastery closer to the parking lot) in hopes of catching the sunrise through the clouds in the subsequent dawn.

Day 3

We woke at 5. We had set an alarm, but the proprietress walked to every room banging on the doors with a cudgel and yelling at people to get up for the sunrise. I know this, because the walls were paper thin and I heard every single one of her announcements.

We pulled on our warmest clothes and trudged back to the summit with several hundred of the hardiest and earliest rising Chinese tourists on the mountain. Apparently, in certain situations, the rising sun interacts with the perpetual cloud cover in such a way that an effect called buddha's areola is created. This is considered to be one of the miracles of Emei Shan, and monks used to consider it a message from beyond and treated it as a signal to rapturously jump to their deaths.

Alas, this was not to be for us. Cloud cover remained thick, and no sunrise, Buddha's Areola or otherwise, was visible to us. We shrugged it off. We'd had two great days on the trail, and were looking forward to walking down some stairs (for once) and the showers that were awaiting us back in Emei town.

The rain had the decency to wait until we were 20 minutes or so down the trail before it opened up in what I can only imagine was its most torrential fashion. I don't know if I've ever seen raIn come that hard or fast. Despite our raingear, we were soaked through in a matter of minutes. My fancy schmancy North Face shell may as well have been a torn garbage bag for all the good it did me.

We found ourselves descending stone steps that had now become raging waterfalls as the rain overwhelmed whatever rudimentary drainage systems that were in place. We tried to find the least suicidally quick pace to descend, but I have to admit we often erred on the side of way too fast, especially once we became totally soaked.

We decided to reevaluate our plans and put ourselves out of our misery so to speak. We made it back to the parking lot and bought a ticket on one of the very same buses that I had been mentally complaining about the previous day.

What followed was all to typical given our bus experiences in China. Regardless of specific miseries, two hours later we finally arrived back in Emei town cold, wet, and exhausted. As I type this, it's still raining, and I'm beginning to think that we might have cursed ourselves somewhere along the way. Perhaps we weren't pious enough in Tibet. I'm really coming to regret a crack I made about the future incarnation of the Buddha, Maitreya, being part robot. I may not know much about Buddhism as a whole, but I understand that it is centered around a vengeful and wrathful deity.

Last week in China, and we're headed back to Chengdu tomorrow morning. What we have left to do all depends on those ever reliable Chinese bus schedules, and what the weather is like.

Thanks for reading everyone, and I'll see you in a week or so!

Ben

In which our hero does his darndest to objectively capture the agonies of overland travel in the People's Republic

Hi Everyone!

I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but airlines in China bring it. Full meals, weird ginseng pills, drink, after drink, after drink, and I'm talking about full bottles and cans, not little four oz. cups like you find on American airlines. The staff are friendly and dedicated, and most of them are at the very least bilingual. China Air and China East? Two thumbs way up.

I really wish I could say the same thing for the country's bus system. As an observer, I don't want to do anything that might perpetuate negative stereotypes, so I'll try to recount our experiences as objectively as possible and let you draw your own conclusions...

With very few exceptions (I'm thinking of taxi rides with durations of less than 20 minutes) EVERY minibus or bus ride we've taken has been delayed by some sort of car accident or another. We've seen head on collisions, read endings, and no less than three buses overturned on the side of the road. (It doesn't help that all Chinese roads, including the highways, have have no shoulders and sheer dropoffs into the adjacent fields on either side of the road. Thus the preponderance of overturned buses and the delays resulting from the fact that in the event of an accident, there is no room for the affected cars to pull off to the side of the road to let other traffic pass. Accidents paralyze traffic in either direction until they are resolved, and in our limited experiences they are alarmingly frequent.

Our bus from Lijiang to Dali encountered three accidents in the space of an hour, and the third (an overturned bus, surprise, surprise) kept us stuck on the side of the road for well over an hour.

Fortunately, we stopped in a relatively scenic section of the Yunan Province. We finally had descended from the mountains enough to see our first rice patties, and I spent my time trying to snap the perfect picture of traditionally clothed women harvesting the crop with awesome looking sickles. Unfortunately, upon reviewing them on the bus (many minutes later once we were finally on our way again) they all appear to show an indistinct indigo blue blob hunched over in a field of green. Oh well, maybe Chris got some good ones, he's got the better camera.


A typical Chinese Bus "Ride"

As promised, an indistinct, indigo, blue blob

Some things you might want to bring with you on the "3.5" hour bus rude from Dali to Kunming:

Extra batteries for iPod, iPhone, etc...
Several books
Toothbrush/toothpaste
A change of clothes
Headlamp or other independent source of illumination

If all started so promisingly. We caught a shuttle to the Dali bus station, and had only a brief wait before our Kunming bound bus pulled up. We had paid a little extra for the "express" bus so it was our roomiest ride yet. The bus was half empty so we each had seats to ourselves.

Then, as we left Dali. We realized that the bus would only be about half full allowing us to each have a seat to ourselves. Leaving Dali, we soon pulled onto one of China's virtually brand new highways, and were soon chugging along at close to 100 km/h. Our bus fortunes were definitely looking up...

After less than half an hour on said highway we got off on a local backroad. Apparently the highway was a little too brand new to the point were it wasn't quite "completed" yet.

What I thought would be a slight detour turn into close to an hour and a half of bone jarring, ass shattering ruts and potholes. Yes, the only road to Kunming, the largest city in and capital of the Yunan province seemed to be this muddy, unpaved and cratered monstrosity.

Our driver valiantly tried to keep up the pace, agressively passing dirt trucks, mini buses, and private cars, but our km/h had plummeted precipitously to around three or so. Little did I realize then that I would soon be pining for those days of three km/h like you wistfully remember trick or treating, summers at the beach, college, or anything else that you lacked the foresight to appreciate at the time.

Soon, surprise, surprise, I was writing in my journal on the side of the road as we attempted to wait out some unseen traffic stoppage on the far side of the distant horizon.


Again, a typical bus "ride"

After about an hour we heard the sound of engines starting and hurried back to the bus. I shudder now thinking of the naive feeling of excitement and optimism that gripped me as I took my seat. I was impossibly young and callow on that fateful July evening. If I met that Ben today, would I even recognize him?

The bus soon stuttered forward and over the course of the next forty minutes or so, we proceeds to travel maybe half a mile in distances that ranged from one half to two bus lengths at a time.

After one particularly long pause our driver gave up, put the bus in park, turned off the ignition, and opened the doors. Urgent pressure in my bladder combined with the sudden cessation of the conditioned air soon drove me outside the bus.

Remember back to my list of things to take on this bus ride. Notice that I did not include a strong bladder (not that they're optional or portable, but they certainly help!) or extra food. You don't need the former because there will be frequent opportunities to relieve yourself on the side of the road (provided you're comfortable doing that), and you wont need the latter because the locals are so used to this sort of thing happening that every quarter mile or so a quasi-permanent lean-to like shack has been erected selling such delicacies as cup o noodles, bottled water, and strange individually wrapped dinner roll things complete with single servings of apricotesque spreadable fruit flavored paste.


Nothing but the finer things on Chinese buses

This time we stayed along the side of the road for over two hours, but at least I was sort of sated and I didn't need to go to the bathroom.

When we finally started rolling (again in tiny fits and starts with frequent comes stops in between) we soon encountered what I can only assume was a disabled bus (my Mandarin consists of hello, thank you, and I don't understand). Regardless of the exact scenario, additional passengers were soon streaming onto the bus. What was once my only consolation about this godawful journey through the bowels of rural Yuman province, my solo seat, was shortly taken by a mercifully silent bus refugee. I say mercifully silent because his brethren were not so taciturn. The back of the bus was soon a cacophony of different mandarin conversations between our new passengers. My iPod had shut down during the last stop, so I lacked any refuge from the noise.

As of midnight, I estimated that we had traveled maybe two miles in four hours. My new seatmate fell asleep almost instantly, and I spent I good while ruminating on the perceived injustice of the fac that the bouncy road that knocked him into me constantly did nothing to disturb his slumber, while it was more than enough to keep me from getting comfortable, much less asleep.

We finally pulled into Kunming in the pouring rain around 3:30 in the morning, 10 hours after we left Dali. Of course, every other Kunming bound bus had been in the same situation as us, so literally hundreds of passengers were disgorged at the same empty intersection in the middle of the deluge. Competition for cabs was scarce, but we managed to snag one and spent several quasi restful hours in a Chinese business class hotel before trying our luck at the Hump Hostel, a local backpacker haven.

I was excited, because my Grandmother flew supplies over the Hump as a WAC during WWII, and I was thrilled to be in the same city she must have stayed in over 60 years ago.


"The Hump"- Not as dirty as it sounds

Unfortunately, modern Kunming is a charmless and sprawling city of several million or so. That congested feeling of breathing congested air is back, and when we tried to buy train tickets for Chengdu, we waited in several different chaotic "lines" before deciphering enough of the departures board to realize that the only tickets available for the next several days were 22 hour rides that put us into Chengdu at two in the morning. After our bus experiences, we decided to shell out for the flight. No one who endured it with us could blame us.

So. as I write this, we are Sichuan bound! Spicy food, Pandas, sacred mountains, bamboo forests, and temple to temple treks await us on the final leg of "Little Trouble in Big China: One Month Across the People's Republic."

Talk to you soon!

Ben

In which our hero finally unlocks the secret of the Wu Tang*

Rain seemed to paralyze everything in the Yunnan Province except for wireless Internet, but we eventually were able to break free of the lethargic black hole that is Shangri-La. Spent several hours in the bus station fending off adorably tiny feral dogs (no prayer bells now that we're back in China proper) and watching groups of men play unfathomable card games that involved decks of waaaaay more than 52 cards.

The bus ride to Lijiang alternated between beautiful and bucolic, and horrible and industrial. Followed a tributary of the Yangtze down the mountains past several different dam complexes culminating in the Southern China Power Grid station (according to the sign.)

Lijiang is a welcome relief from Shangri La. There's no question that it's just as touristy (although once again, few Westerners), but it doesn't seem nearly as fake. The Old City actually seems old as opposed to a carefully constructed facade designed to separate as many Chinese tourists from their money as possible.

Cobblestone streets lit by red lanterns, with gurgling canals flowing through everything. Yes, there are the same three different types of trinket shops on every block, but it's nice to be in a place that has not quite yet completely bull-dozed its own history.






The next morning we headed out for Tiger Leaping gorge, one of China's premier treks. Took a mini bus from our Hostel (The Panba- amazingly nice and under 10 dollars a night per person. I whole-heartedly recommend it to anyone passing through Lijiang) to Qiao Tou, the town at the start of the gorge.

As we set off, a light rain was falling, and ahead of us loomed mountains shrouded in mist and clouds. We ascended gradually, and as we passed through local villages, I couldn't help but feel that I was in a Vietnam movie. Fortunately there was no need to keep my eyes peeled for trip wires or punjee pits, so I was free to take in the rather breath taking scenery.


Charlie don't surf!


The rain continued to fall steadily, and by now it was definitely more than a drizzle. We entered "The 24 Bends," a tortuous hour plus ascent through, you guessed it, 24 switchbacks. Halfway up we encountered a woman selling water, fruit, snacks, and...pot. She said that Americans were very strong and needed their marijuana to rest. We politely declined and continued on our way.

Throughout the trek, locals wait along the trail with donkeys offering to hire themselves out to tired hikers, either to ride, or to carry packs. The higher you get into the 24 bends, the more of these guys you see. It's actually pretty clever, as people are much more inclined to hire a donkey when their calves are burning and they can hardly catch their breath, then when they are fresh at the bottom of the trail.

Anyway, we were soon sandwiched in between two different groups of these poop machines of burden. In front of us rode a lone Korean man in a green poncho who gasped and groaned with each step the burro took as if it were he who was exerting the effort, and behind us was a surprisingly rugged Sino-Australian family whose two young girls traded the burro. Each donkey also had a bell around its neck, and the ringing was maddening until we were finally able to get by them at the top of the bends.

What to say about Tiger Leaping Gorge? Easily one of the top three most beautiful natural experiences I've ever had...From the top of the 24 Bends, the trail leveled off and we had uninterrupted views of the opposite wall of the gorge: waterfalls, forests, mountains, all of which were beautifully framed by clouds and mist.





Below us the Yangtze river raged along the in-construction paved road that the Chinese are currently building in order to make the gorge more accessible to its legions of tourists who don't seem to be too big on stretching their comfort zones. I highly recommend this trek, but if you're interested, you'd better do it quickly as it will be completely different (resorts, chairlifts, golf courses, etc...) in five years...

After about 6 hours of hiking we arrived at the Halfway House, located, appropriately enough, halfway along the trail. This place (once again under ten dollars a night per person) is one of the nicest places I've ever stayed location-wise, and it's showers had heat lamps which really made for a relaxing and pleasant experience after six hours hiking through the rain.


The Halfway House (Something might have been lost in translation)

Halfway House also has a rooftop deck. Here are the things you can look at from it:1. Gaze upwards and watch mountains disappear into mist hundreds of meters above you, look directly ahead and watch clouds form at literally eye level, look down and watch waterfalls plummet into the Yangtze below. Simply spectacular, there's no other way to describe the location and the view.


The Roof Deck


Day 2 took us to the bumbling and fumbling portion of the trek. Chris and I are both very experienced hikers, so I'm really not sure what was to blame for the debacle that the day turned into....

It started out when we neglected to buy water when we were checking out. We assumed that we would be able to fill up down the trail, but we inexplicably failed to read the map, or we would have seen that there were no more guest houses on the high trail (as opposed to down on the road) within hours of us.

As we hiked, the day began very pleasantly. We passed under waterfalls, and had to hustle our way through a local farmer's herd of goats. shortly after we passed them, they turned as one and galloped down the nearly vertical slope to graze. Quite impressive.


All aboard for the Goat Train!

soon the trail wound away from the river and followed a tributary up a supplementary gorge. We descended through bamboo forests only to realize that after hiking all the way down to the river, we would now have to hike all the way back up the other side. This ascent was as bad, if not worse than the 24 Bends, and our misery was compounded by the fact that we idiotically declined to fill up on water before we left.



I promise Chris is not peeing in this picture

After climbing out of the bamboo forest, we again started to descend through a beautiful alpine meadow that had one horse tethered contentedly while munching on the local flora. Throughout the trek we had been relying on painted arrows to show us the way. Somehow (even in retrospect we can't figure out what happened) we followed the wrong set of arrows down from the high trail. We didn't make it all the way down to the road, but we were somewhere inbetwein betweenin a series of corn fields and (occasionally) pot fields as well. For a while I was disconcertingly reminded of Alex Garland's The Beach where naive European and American backpackers stumble upon fields of Thai marijuana only to meet disaster at the hands of the growers. Reefer Madness Indeed

Of course, my paranoia at this point has a lot to do with the fact that I've been hiking strenuously for several hours without water. Fortunately, Chris kept his head together enough to get us to backtrack to the last dwelling we passed.

Here we encountered several men lounging about, clearly amused at the plight of the lost, foreign backpackers. They chuckled amongst themselves, but eventually a woman with some english emerged. She was nice enough to fill up my water bottle, although she wasn't much help at helping us relocate the trail.

About this time, a tiny, adorable feral dog (adorned with bells, Lhasa-style) started following us. It would prance several steps ahead, the pause and look back at us. We named him "Laddie." Since Laddie was heading down the mountain (at this point we had given up on linking back up with the high trail, and decided to hike down to the road.) we decided to follow him.


Our canine hero, Laddie

As we hiked downward we heard a tremendous explosion from somewhere up the river from our location.

He lead us right to a very faint trail that slowly and steadily switchbswitch backedhe mountain. each time we would pause to try and figure out the best route, he would turn and look back expectantly. we eventually came to realize that his knowledge or instincts were right on and just started to follow him.

He lead us all the way to the precipice of the road, but unfortunately, there was a sheer fifteen foot cliff from where the Chinese had carved the road out of the mountainside. Fortunately there was either a water or drainage pipe not too far from our location. We used it to stumble/slide/climb down the remaining distance. Laddie pranced down as nimbly and agilely as one of the mountain goats we had seen earlier.

From the road we were able to flag down a minibus back to Qiao Tou. Along the way, we picked up two other American backpackers along the way, but soon halted as the road ahead of us was impassable due to rubble from dynamiting. (Remember the boom we heard earlier?) After waiting for an hour or so, we finally were able to pass.



It took two other minibuses, one sick driver, two car accidents, and one awesome Mandarin app fror the iphone (Pleco) to get us back to Lijiang.

Pleco is amazing because not only will it tell you how to say certain things in Mandarin, but it will also give you example sentences. If you look up the word "want," it will tell you how to say it, but it will also give you such communist-inspired gems as "I want to see the Commisar." or "The wants of the people will be met!" Thanks to Pleco, we were able to determine that our driver had a headache, but not due to beer, and that she did not have diarrea!

All in all, it was one of those travel days where everything seems to go wrong, but seems funny and adventurous after a shower and a nice meal back in the hostel. Knowing how it turned out, I wouldn't have had it any other way.

We're in Lijiang for another day, then pushing on to Dali tomorrow...

* It means sugar free

In which our hero comes face to face with the death of irony in New China

Hi Readers!

Today I'd like to tell you a story about Zhongdian, a tiny little town in the western Yunan province of China. For many years Zhongdian looked enviously toward the south at its neighbors Dali and Lijiang and all of the coveted tourist dollars the two towns brought in every year. How can we get in on this calvacade of foreig money? Zhongdia wondered. There is't much to speak of here, and there's even less to do here in the winter when the we are shut down for the better part of six months.

About a decade ago, Zhondian had a great idea. They would rename themselves Shangri La after the fictional Himalayan paradise in James Hilton's novel The Lost Horizon! Several other Chinese and Tibetan towns had for years claimed to be Hilton's inspiration, but Zhongdian was the first two have the audacity to actually rename themselves, and thus Shangri La ne Zhongdian was born.



And low and behold it worked. The tourists (both Chinese and foreign) started coming in droves, and Shangri La ne Zhongdian started building what it thought these people wanted: giant western style hotels. The Old Town, traditional locations of markets, hot pot restaurants, laundries, and other businesses was igored in favor of new construction. What was once a one yak town was fast becoming one of China's favorite tourist destinations.

But wait a minute, said these foreign (and occasionally Chinese) tourists: where are the markets? Where are the traditional restaurants? OK, OK, said Shangri La ne Zhongdian. We hear you. Give us a second here... And thus, New Old Town was born in the rubble of Old Town. New Old Town is full of traditional-looking architecture that is no more than two years old. It is chock full of travel agents, souvenir stands selling "traditional" Tibetan (we've seen the real thing, so no thanks.), restaurants serving "western" breakfasts, "coffe", and "hanburger." New Old Town has all the authenticity of a country of the world exhibit at Epcot, and feels like a wild west tourist town in the west. Even the street food is cleaner and more organized than it has any right to be, and the "traditional" dancing in the square could not seem more like a staged photo op.


The lovely, yet nonancient streets of New Old Town

The only dagger game in town

Our Lonely Planet Guide is less than two years old, and NONE of New Old Town is featured in it, letting us know that 90 percent of it is also less than two years old. As you explore its erstatz cobblestone streets you are greeted by the sound of nailguns and table saws, signs that New Old Town will soon be competing with the likes of New New Old Town as the last vestiges of Old Town are buried beneath faux pagodas and artificially aged hand carved signs advertising book exchanges and free wireless internet.


New New Old Town: Coming 2011

Yes, Shangri La ne Zhongdian destroyed or abandoned Old Town in favor of building western style hotels for tourists, only to build New Old Town when it became clear that that's what the tourists really wanted. Nonetheless, were staying an extra day day to do laundry and back up our photos. Tomorrow we'll continue our way south to trek at the spectacularly named Tiger Leaping Gorge.

Thanks for reading, and I'll talk to you all soon!

In which our hero makes his way through the tedium of despotic beauracracy in order to experience Qomolama's Resplendence, and it ends up being totall

It takes about two solid days of driving to get to Everest (Qomolangma in Tibetan) basecamp from lhasa, so we saw a lot of Tibet over the last couple of days, but most of it was through the windows of our minibus. We left Lhasa on Friday morning accompanied by "Jesse," our guide (whom i believe everyone met in a previous email) and our driver, Tawa.

Tawa certainly deserves more of a mention, because despite not speaking a word of English, his presence loomed large over our trip. A tall, lean, Tibetan man of indeterminate age, Tawa was prone to barks of hysterical, guttural laughter (especially when I thanked him for things), and had a speaking voice that rarely went below a shout. This made him seem perpetually angry, as NO MATTER WHAT SOMEONE IS SAYING, IF THEY ARE SPEAKING TO YOU LIKE THIS, IT SEEMS AS IF THEY ARE ANGRY WITH YOU OR AT LEAST VERY UPSET ABOUT SOMETHING! Tawa would also occasionally (for no reason or pattern that I could discern) occasionally pull on a pair of white, woolen gloves liike Mr. Hands from Treasure Island. I would like to explicitly state that this resemblamce is merely superficial, and I am in no way implying that Tawa was a murderous sociopath.

Tawa loved the horn on our minibus. When takilng hairpin turns in the mountains, it is a good idea to give the horn a toot to let oncoming traffic know you're there (in fact there are even signs reminding motorists to do so), but Tawa took this rather logical idea several thousand steps further: he honked when passing people,, he honked when people passed us, he honked at oncoming traffic completely within its own lane, he honked at pedestrians who dlearly had no intention of entering the road, he honked at yaks, cows, and other livestock, he honked at pretty girls, and once, just outside of Lhasa, I swear he honked at a fallen tree limb at the side of the road.

Leaving Lhasa we followed the Brahmaputra River along the "Friendship Highway" that eventually winds its way all the way south to Kathmandu, Nepal. Soon we started seeing ladder-like patterns painted on the cliffs alongside the road. According to Jesse, these indicated sky burials that had been conducted. In a land where soil for burial is scarce, and wood for cremation is even scarcer, sky burials remain the preferred method for dealing with the dead. In a sky burial, the body is kept for three days so the spirit can pass through the levels of Bardo, the period between death amd rebirth. Then the body is broken (apparently it can fit into quite a small space once the spine is broken) and carried to the burial site by a dutro (friend). At the site (the top of a nountain) special attendants called rogyapas cut the hair of the deceased, and then cut the body into pieces. They pound the bones together with roasted barley flower to make the remains more palatable for the vultures! These ceremonies are designed to reflect the impermanence of life, and there is little sadness associated with them. This same attitude also explains why you will see so many artifacts here made from human skulls. It seems like such a simple and elegant way to deal with the dead, and its fascinating to think about how the desolate geography of Tibet directly affected its culture. See graphic pictures here, and especially here. Don't say I didn't warn you!

Moving on, we ascended the first of many high passes in our minibus, and where afforded our first views of Yamdrok-tso, one of Tibet's holiest lakes. Honking horns aside, this was the quiestest place we had yet experienced in Tibet, although this stillness was soon shattered by busloads of chinese tourists angaging in whatever the chinese equivalent of yodeling is.


It was much nicer, and less Chinese-touristy from this vantage point

Moving on we continued to ascend and descend passes between different river valleys, often driving literally through the clouds in order to reach the top. We soon arrived at Kharalo Glacier which extended another 1000 m or so above us into the clouds.



I took a lot of pictures of it so one day I can explain to my grandchildren what a glacier was, and that all of Asia was not always am arid, desertified wasteland. (That check is in the mail once these Himalayan glaciers go for good.)



There were also traditional women and beribboned yaks posing for pictures for money. Ordinarily I hate paying people for pictures, but I had already taken a few of the yak,


The picture that cost me 8 entire dollars.

so I was kind of obligated. I ended up paying more than I should have (about 8 dollars), and was a little upset, but realized that they weren't laughing over my foreigner gullibility back at their mansions, so I relaxed a bit.

As we moved deeper into the interior, we saw Tibet at its most lovely: crystal clear blue skies looking down over acres and acres of yellow-flowered barely fields,


Barley Fields

distant mountains framing tiny mud brick villages. As we moved into the heights again, the landscape became more desolate, but no less beautiful. We saw nomad encampemts and free range yak herds. Rushing rivers tumbled down from impossibly high peaks, whose summits nonetheless seemed close at hand due to the elevation of the road itself.

We also saw the less picturesque side of Tibet: there's a very laissez faire attitude toward littering here, so there's garbage everywhere. The Chinese influence is strong so there is lots of construction everywhere (villages seem to spit the difference between rubble and construction), and there where many occasions where the landscape seemed freshly bulldozed. Ah, "progress," is there nothing you can't tear down and make "better?"

Soon we pulled into the town of Gyangtse. There we visited the Panchu monastery which was memorable for housing the burial stupa of the first Pamchen Lama in a multi-leveled, Guggenheim-like level.



Panchu had very few pilgrims, but lots of working, chanting monks which definitely added to the ambiance. Leaving town, there is an impressive, medieval looking fort thing that looms over the road. We asked Jesse if it was an old palace, and he respomded, "not palace, but where the king lived." which sums up his english much better than I ever could.


"Not palace, but where King lived."

Next was Shigatse, the traditional seat of the Panchen Lamas. Unlike Lhasa, Shigatze was heavily damaged during the Cultural Revolution, and it looks it. There is no charming old quarter there, just block after block of drab concrete buildings, 75 percent of which seemed dedicated to selling either motorbikes, or major home appliances such as refridgerators or washing machines.

We visited the Tashilanpo Monastery, home to the stupas of the 9th and 10th Panchen Lamas. This trip has been quite an education for me, Buddhism wise. Apparently the Dalai Lama is more of a political leader in Tibet, and the Panchen Lama, although slightly secondary, is still an incredibly important spiritual leader. This lead to rivalries between the two positions (I love thinking that even Buddhists lust for power at times. Religion aside, human nature is human nature.) for hundreds of years until it was finally decided that each would have a hand in choosing the other, thus establishing a series of checks and balances between the two. When the 10th Panchen Lama died in 1989, the Dalai Lama named a boy of 5 as his successor. The boy and his family were promptly swept up by the Chinese authorities, and have not been seen in public since. Most people believe that when this Dalai Lama dies, the Chinese will trot out their own fully brainwashed and indocrinated Panchen Lama, who will, in turn, name a pro-Chinese Panchen Lama. Creepy.

The next day we were up early and on our way to Everest Base Camp, 360 km away. Before leaving we enjoyed a traditional Tibetan breakfast of yak butter tea (like spoiled milk only warmer and saltier!) and barley flour. Apparently you are suppossed to take a small amount of flour into your mouth, then a sip of tea, and allow the two to form a sort of porridge in your mouth before swallowing. It was quite disgusting, although I will say that having a mouthful of rapidly congealing barley flour in my mouth is about the only thing in the world that would make me want to take another sip of yak butter tea. I will miss many things about Tibet, but Yak Butter tea is not one of them.



Yak Butter Tea: Get it while it's hot, salty, and rancid!

We entered what I refer to as "The Checkpoint Zone." Readers, if I didn't make this clear earlier, it is not easy to travel in Tibet. Since the pro-independence demonstrations of 2008, the Chinese have become very strict about what you need to do to travel here. You can only travel a spart of an organized tour, you need tourist letters, and an "Alien Visitor's Permit." And, as you near Everest, you need to stop time and again to have these documents checked by Chinsese soldiers. Going there and back, we probably endured 12 checkpoints. Some were so close together that I can't imagine where we would have snuck in since the last checkpoint.

The soldiers seemed like little more than bored children (at one checkpoint, his uniform was so ill-fitting that it seemed like a costume), but after listlessly going over our passports and papers we were always waved through.


Hilarious, yet socially insightful caption

I tried to take a picture of the queue at the final checkpoint but a soldier came and made me delete it! I don't know what sort of top secret information I might have accidentally captured (I seriosly only wanted to take a picture of the line), but I have found that it's best not to argue when confronted with agents of a ruthless and brutal autocracy.

Everest is about 360 km away from Shigatse, one covers the first 270 or so along the "Friendship Highway" in 3 hours, and the last 90 on a rutted dirt road up and over several passes in 3 hours as well. The road is butt-busting, but well worth enduring. As we neared tent city, the presence of Everest became more and more palpable. It was overcast, so our views weren't great, but the air was getting thinner and thinner, and there was no doubt that we were fast (ok, 30 km/hr, hardly fast) approaching the roof of the world.

We passed Ronpu Monastery, Tibet's, and therefore the world's, highest monastery which lies directly in the shadow of Everest,


Ronpu Monastary

and finally pulled into tent city. I don't know if it has any other name, but it is composed of 50 or so quasi permannet nomad style tents. Each is its own "hotel" and "restaurant" and the owners stood outside beckoning in each jeep and tour group to arrive. We ended up at the Gong Ke, run by a very nice woman and her two young daughters.


Tent City


L to R: our hero, "Jesse", Tawa (love the exprssion on his face). Center: Proprietress moving faster than they human eye can follow.

(Speaking of, have I discussed Tibetan "diapers" yet? All children under potty training age seem to wear pants with giant open flies in the back. Therefore, instead of soiling their cothes, when they need to go, they have only to squat where the urge strikes them. Gross, but also ingenius, if you ask me.) The "hotel" consisted of padded benches surrounding a central stove that ran on a surprisingly not horrible smelling amount of yak dung.


It's (slightly) less gross when you remember that there's no wood to burn.

The altitude was very taxing, and it was difficult to move anywhere at all, much less quickly.

As the afternoon wore on, the weather cleared and we got our first uninterrupted views of the summit. What can I say about it? It was magnificent, mezmerizing, awe-inspiring, and humbling. All of these things are true, but at the same time woefully inadequate. I feel like I'm taking the Lovecraft (he was prone to describe things as indescribably horrible) way out here, but it will take a better writer than I to fully describe what it's like to stand looking on the highest mountain in the world.

The next morning we were herded into buses and driven towar the Base Camp. We disembarked right before the final checkpoint, and then jhiked the rest of the way in. Even in July, the season must be over, because there were no tents, just more bored and listless soldiers perfunctorily going over our passports and perits. If anything, the weather was eve better that morning, and our views of the summit were crystal clear. As I stood gasping for breath at 16,000 feet, I wondered how anyone could make it up another 13,000 feet to the summit! Seeing Everest remains one of the most magificent things I have ever done, and the rest of China will have a lot to live up to.

Two long bus ride days later, we were back in Lhasa, and this morning we flew to Shangri La in Yunnan Province. We're looking to do more trekking here, and I'll update as I can. I'll end this post with some of the hundred or so different pictures of this planet's highest point that I took: