Guizhou: The Shui Cultural Center

The Shui (water) fill person an enigmatical record. Numerous believe they migrated from point Dishware before the Han Dynasty, but some Shui fill in Guizhou told me that their ancestors fled war-torn lands in the point and resettled in the potent river valleys of Guizhou. Whatsoever the occurrence, the Shui people are now one of the poorest minorities in one of the worst provinces in China. Traveling in Guizhou this summer, I prefab it out to any hobnailed villages on a hunting to comprehend knowledge almost the Shui society.

The Shui utter their own faculty, and sometimes their Citrus isn't really beatific. I talked to numerous group in the few villages I visited, and I could exclusive understand a petite total of what they said. The grouping, who unrecorded towns with the better-known Buyi and Miao group, are informal but seem somewhat guarded some their culture. Visitors staleness habitus favorable sympathy before they can be welcomed into the village. Unequal some separate Chinese minorities, they haven't yet scholarly to mart their way of history to tourists on a
heroic gain, and until they do, their economic status probably won't improve overmuch.

The Shui adopt more divers legends and myths, and their civilization is inextricably linked with the fish, which is said to make uninterrupted them when they prime migrated to the part. The seek is a symbol of spiritedness and quantity that has been deified in definite stories. To eat seek is to exhibit unspoilt slack in the grouping, and seek is served at all ceremonies and valuable events.

But an inordinate emphasis on fish isn't the only specialness of the Shui people. They (especially older women) bear traditional covering that looks almost equal a single: sunny grim tops with opprobrious bottoms, enation pulled up in buns on top of their heads and fastened with an ornate clothing. Women displace babies on their backs in elflike packs feathery with the ma wei shou, tralatitious horse-hair embroidery. When a women has a miss, its
grannie crafts this catapult to maintain the kid imminent to its fuss and to businessman off pestiferous inebriant.

Interestingly, families in most Shui settlements distribute the one surnames, which implementation there'll sometimes be an intact town with the ultimate recite Zhang or Li. Because of the impoverishment in the villages, the government subsidizes Shui business, and because there is rarely redbrick care available, apiece hamlet has its own medicine man that intercedes with undetected forces on behalf of the displeased.

The Shui could definitely good from outdoors supporter, but no one knows whether the government testament modify its restrictions and assign generous organizations to act line there.

Newsworthy Shui proverb, as translated by a Sinitic someone of mine:

"A wife without a husband is equivalent a hat without a top, and a preserve without a woman is similar a frame without reins." In another line, a class is not fully utilitarian without existence connected to a man, and erstwhile the pact is prefab, the white keeps the man grounded and level-headed.

You can bump Shui group (as I did) in many of Guizhou's small cities and towns: Pu An Zhen, Duyun, Sandong, Dayu, Duzhang, and most importantly Sandu, the grapheme of the Shui autonomous prefecture. In Sandu there is a assemblage where you can search the Shui, terminated with assemblage statistics and social accumulation. But if you're a stranger, be knowledgeable that the governing does not poverty you snooping around. To perceiver Shui civilisation firsthand, you hold to be compliant to get kicked out of municipality. Having observed the marvelous civilisation of the Shui, I suppose it's designer the seek.

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my Yunnan Tourism

I remember Lijiang Shopping

Lijiang tour have visited many times, living in Lijiang Inn not know how many, and do not know how much to eat back to Lijiang Baba and other foods, and we would like to come back, but came, Travel in Yunnan Province as soon as major travel sites fat not know How many today would like to write their own shopping travels Lijiang forget.

I remember that day is a gift to send to friends and family for the upset, they intend to get around the city, walked unknowingly come to this popularity is not a lot of street, seems to have reached the same residential area plans to back, suddenly a name not to the store (it was later learned, did not sign Guashang Qu) caught my attention, I must first be particularly attractive is its decor, is all bark and Azabu as style, to know where in the Old City of Lijiang is none of the stores is so tight, that certainly gives an interesting feeling, which was conducted in this regard wine, comes more and more convinced that the feeling of Wonderful things There are many good on the outside is simply can not buy, bracelets, necklaces, pendants, ornaments, and numerous so, the moment his mind suddenly came to an idea, why do not you want to send to friends, family, gifts Gao is Ding all here. So, I started collecting things, bills, the package did not expect tired of my long-standing problems here are resolved.

Lijiang Old Town, a wholesale jewelry specializing in items for wholesale. Huangshan road in the vicinity of the previous paragraph, near the door four-Inn, Inn four diagonally opposite the door, there is no house number, no street names, so I just put it. At twelve or thirteen square meters of the small room, very old cases, local Naxi operation. Numerous ornaments hanging pendants, bracelets, necklaces, earrings ..... Of course, not expect it to be of better quality and more, are more like property, but the price just a few meters away from the old shopping street for nearly two thirds of the lower 二. 6-10 dollars shopping street selling a bracelet, where Ren Naxi own wholesale only 1.8 yuan (because the transaction is very small, my friend found in his tender the time of departure) and Of course we can not get this price. But we sold the price of this bracelet is 3 yuan, and not to accept the counteroffer, that on the day before River City as I 7 yuan to buy the same style bracelet, cheaper by half. Me and my friend had to carry, including colleagues, Mix, including four Group staff lots of shopping. If you just bought has been sent, said some people have suggested it could be purchased in large volumes. Being able to find your destination.

In fact, the most attractive for me here is that where to buy things they do not like other stores to introduce their desperate things, like how to how well, if you like one in the mouth of the lion, which is addicted to chief and the wife of head by tilting your head to do our own thing, so choose your favorite things, and everything has a price, regardless of any person is the price. Anyway, boring, just sit and chat with them, part of the conversation that I know both of them also come here to start a tourist, was in love with here is not willing to go, and only left his job well paid opened a store here, when I asked: "Are you taking a stable job with decent income and do not feel pity?" I responded very jealous and envy: "There is nothing ah, the life of man should be something that should be losses, although they have lost stable jobs and good income, but we have a lot of people may be somewhat less than a lifetime pursuit, and that is happiness! "Yes ah, the word happy is easier said than done, few can do? This is your special place, so they are happy.

Most worth mentioning is that this shop are all things handmade chief and the wife of head of both events can not get out of it, and the price is not expensive, and two of them are particularly hospitable, while chatting with them too happy, and a dinner, of course, wants to stay down and eat a simple meal. We know that food is not cheap in Lijiang Oh, so not only can save a meal, but you can give two good friends, not a good thing to have him back to what actually serve multiple purposes ah .

 

Exploring Kongtong Mountain

Mountains in China have long been used as refuges, hideouts, and religious or philosophical havens. Hermits have sought out their silence and seclusion. Poets have written about their aesthetic appeal. Emperors have climbed them to consolidate their power. Buddhists and Taoists have built amongst them their temples and communities, often combining the peace and meditation of spirituality with the precision and discipline of martial arts.

Kongtong Shan, Kongtong Mountain, in Gansu Province, is one of a plethora of lesser-known mountains. Here, temples have sprung up on impossible cliffs and pinnacles from the seeds of Taoist thought blown in on the soft winds of history and legend. That the Yellow Emperor, Taoist deity and original ancestor of all Han Chinese, once came to Kongtong Mountain to seek out the immortal Guangcheng Zi, and ask for his advice on how to rule the country and become more learned. That Dufu, one of China's greatest poets, wrote of a river filled with blocks of ice so tall it seemed that they might be either Kongtong Mountain, or the pillars of Heaven destroyed. That the Kongtong school of martial arts, with its unique weaponry including staffs and fans was born here.

It’s on such a romantic heritage that the bulk of Kongtong Mountain’s fame rests, and as such Kongtong is not immune from the late 20th century phenomenon of the large Chinese tour group following their megaphone toting guide, with matching hats and flags. Such groups are usually on a high-speed schedule, and follow a specific route, so it’s possible to avoid them by taking different paths, or simply waiting for them to move on. By late afternoon however, their coaches have moved on, and the mountain seems to have drifted back into an earlier age.

kongtong's sunset
Sunbeams punch their way through walls of cloud. Taoist monks emerge, and flasks of hot water are carried; evening beckons and with it the sizzle of water and oil in the wok. Finch-like birds appear on the branches of trees, poking their stubby beaks into pinecones; a male and female take it in turns to feed babies hidden under a tiled roof, identifiable only by their persistent trilling. I sit on a wall in the courtyard of the Heavenly City to watch the sun settle into an understated dusk and wondering if, perhaps, the mountain seekers of old had been inspired by these exact same charms.

Returning to my hotel in the last of the light involves descending the ubiquitous (on Chinese mountains at any rate) steep steps, where I meet an old Buddhist monk making steady progress in his long robes. Something makes me join him; and we walk a while, holding tight to the chains that line the staircase, in silent companionship.

“Where are you from?” he asks, surprisingly, in English. I tell him. His English is limited and we switch to Chinese to continue. I find out he’s 68 years old.

“Do you know anywhere I can sleep?” he asks me.

“Well, there’s a hotel. It’s where I’m staying. But it’s expensive.”

“I have no money.”

He explains that Buddhists and Taoist monks can visit the mountain for free and he is here on pilgrimage to the Buddhist temple. I know that the temple is situated somewhere behind the hotel, and tell him so. We part wordlessly at my hotel; its courtyard a beacon lit with red lamps, and he sweeps off spectre-like into the night.

Kongtong Mountain can still return to that place of old, especially if you have the time to stay overnight. People, and the trappings of the modern world, seem to evaporate, leaving me to nature and the night. I take a moment to remember the stars, which in places like this decorate the dark in unadulterated splendour, before turning in for supper with a couple of the trappings of modern life I’m grateful for: a pot noodle, and a flask of boiling water to “cook” it with.

elephant & steps
The hotel is situated on the Central Terrace (中台), halfway up the mountain, with a big car park to accommodate all the tour buses and cars which are forced to stop here. Earlier in the day I climbed from the bottom of the mountain from the East Gate (东门), passing by the Laozi and Mituo Temples on the way. It’s not the most picturesque walk, but if you have the time and the legs for it, there’s nothing more satisfying than the putting of one foot in front of the other to get to the top!

In summer this eastern path is canopied with greenery which gives the impression of walking through a tunnel, and masks the progress of the climb. A flight of steps that has been built around the trees, so that it seems as if they have grown up through the stone, leads out onto a wonderful view of surrounding mountains, and far-off terraces. Railings edge the steps and at the top of each post are the stylised figures of elephants: Indian in design, incongruous. I wonder if perhaps it has a Buddhist connection and is the “precious elephant” representing strength of mind?

The Laozi Temple (太清官) is small; a pine tree and a few scarlet hollyhocks have braved the dry soil, and a bell hangs in the courtyard. Further on and a monk at the Mituo Temple (弥陀寺) brings me a smile and a welcome bowl of cold water to wash my face and hands. The final part of the path follows the road, and leads into the car park; there are stalls selling souvenirs here, a small tourist centre, the hotel and a restaurant that cooks me up a couple of simple dishes, perfect for the appetite I’ve worked up. China travel

thunder deity temple
For around 2,000 years, successive dynasties have been building temples on Kongtong Mountain, and whilst very little remains of the original structures (most having been destroyed and/or rebuilt), there are still over 40 to be explored. Many of the interior temple walls are covered with old frescoes, murals and examples of trompe l’oeil.

The Heavenly City (皇城), largest of the temple compounds, is reached via the “Ladder to Heaven” (上天梯) and its 378 steep steps, with detours along the way. Thunder Deity Temple (雷祖殿) is on one such detour, and sits on a narrow ridge amidst a cluster of small temples. Although the temple was rebuilt in 1981, it retains some elements of the original stone gate from 1613, where dragons play with pearls, and phoenix fly towards the sun. Inside, the walls are decorated with murals of Thunder Gods riding their clouds, bringing rain, and fighting demons.

Continue ever upwards and all paths lead to the Heavenly City. Built during the early Qing period, and also called the Golden City, the compound perches atop a peak, and consists of several temples, halls, and caves, clustered around the courtyard. One of the caves used to be used for sacrificial offerings to the Taoist figure Wang Lingguan (王灵官). He is a guard and overseer, invoked at rites and ceremonies, and is also responsible for punishing errant Taoists. Now, he is represented by an angry looking statue holding a whip. Shanghai travel

Zhen Wu Palace (太和官) is also here, and was built in the Ming dynasty; it’s well known for a collection of stone steles and plaques that were inscribed during the Ming & Qing dynasties.

the bridge to heaven
It’s worth pushing onwards from here to reach Kongtong’s summit, and on the way braving the narrow Bridge to Heaven (通天桥), with spectacular views, over to Heavenly Platform Mountain (天台山). A small temple is in the process of being built on the finger-like peak.

Kongtong’s summit is unremarkable, and flat, but it’s always good to be able to say you’ve climbed to a summit, and the views alone are usually worth it. I grab a chair and an ice-lolly from a happy vendor and sit overlooking the surrounding mountainsides. The flat tops of mountains in every direction are terraced with swirling layers of green and gold – the organic folds of human fields, and the steeper mountainsides where terracing is impossible, bear the pale z-scars of roads. Some golden fields still ripple with as yet unharvested wheat, but elsewhere the sheaves stand like tepees on brown stubbly fields of recently cut stalks. Behind me on the summit, a grand pagoda is being built, and is currently a skeleton of grey stone; the workers are out front on a bed of sand, painstakingly laying and tamping down a complex pattern of bricks to form a path.

looking up at kongtong
The next morning, I head off to the Buddhist Law Wheel Temple (法轮寺) following the path the old monk took the night before. It’s in a beautiful spot, and the grounds are towered over by enormous old conifers whose branches zigzag out against the sky. A group of monks are chanting in the Law Hall, and I am pleased to spot, and exchange smiles, with the old monk – he must have found sanctuary here. An elegant if newish-looking pagoda overlooks the temple, complete with a tree growing from its topmost storey.

I spend a couple more hours looking over a few other small temples scattered around the far side of the mountain, and resisting the temptation to make the descent by cable car. Instead, I opt for a walk down Kongtong’s southern side, to exit at the Heavenly Queen Temple (天母官) by the edge of the blue-green reservoir. The descent, much like the ascent, is a peaceful trudge down stone steps under a canopy of trees, and I meet only a couple of people on the way.

And, truth be told, by the time I reach the Heavenly Queen Temple at the foot of the mountain, I’m all templed-out, and almost don’t bother to look in, but I’m glad that I do. A monk smiles shyly, and tells me this is the oldest Buddhist temple at the site. I feel that it’s quite something to finish in this humble little temple, with its carved pillars, wooden roof, and single ribbon of smoke rising up, whilst the weight of history and legend and rock that is Kongtong Mountain stands guard overhead.

my feelings about CHINA

the FIRST IMPRESSION

Why is China so clean ?

The people have only a fraction of our Australian income per head and yet they are so careful about their country.

Is it their respect of law and order ?

What ever it is i would love to see some in Australia.

Maybe i was just blessed but i felt so safe in China - saw only one motor accident in 30 days of travel even though speed and congestion were commonplace

Had the pleasure of covering a vast distance by road boat train and plane - everything ran like clockwork.

The hotels were very comfortable - clean and well managed.

The food was beaut and for me easily recognised which was important for me.

Only experience i missed was a visit to a public toilet - the smell was horrendous but then part of life in such a big country with plenty of people and tourists everywhere.

My personal and private assessment is that the people of China are Australians in disguise.

they are a welcoming people with time to spare on visitors and i really loved every part of China

Have taken some time to let the thrill of the holiday pass away but you would not believe me if i was to tell you that a young Chinese gentleman and his family in Chongqing exchange emails with my family on a daily basis and we often chat on Skype.

more will follow because i am trying to talk my wife into another trip to Beijing Xian Kumling Guilin Chongqing and Shanghai .

She will not see what i saw but she will see enough to really appreciate CHINA.

A Winter Wonderland

 Escaping the Crowds at Jiuzhaigou National Park

The overloaded bus whined desperately as it struggled to make it to the top of yet another incline. There were ironic cheers from the small foreign contingent seated at the back as the antiquated vehicle finally crested a ridge, and we were rewarded with a stunning view down to the valley floor below, where the churning river resembled a small silvery ribbon twisting and careening between canyon walls. To my immediate right, a large, leathery-faced Tibetan woman wearing traditional clothing and outsized earrings was promptly sick out of the window, and then continued her conversation with a neighbour as if she'd just performed some routine bodily function. One glance at the two enormous parcels of yak butter between us and I knew it couldn't have been a belated effort at weight control.

It was late November, and we were heading towards Jiuzhaigou National Park from the Sichuan capital Chengdu. Our increasingly mountainous surroundings, the plummeting temperatures, and roadside blanket of snow marked the approaching Tibetan plateau. It was with a slight sense of trepidation that we counted down the kilometres to the park entrance – none of us were quite sure whether it would actually be open. Various travel agents had warned me that the park closed for the winter season, buried beneath impenetrable drifts of snow. After a journey of seven, backside-numbing hours, the thought of returning to Chengdu without a glimpse at one of China's greatest natural marvels was more than a little depressing.

Descending the winding road, almost doubling back on itself to counter the steep gradient, we entered the town of Jiuzhaigou in hazy, late afternoon sunshine. Row upon row of gleaming hotels and characterless, box-like holiday homes sprung out of the darkness, festooned with gaudy neon lighting. I groaned inwardly. Was this going to be another case of unchecked tourist hordes blighting China's beauty spots and cultural wonders? As we drove along the street, it became apparent that something was missing – people. No tourist buses, no baseball-capped holidaymakers ready to be marshaled like sheep into groups, eager to check off the sights in their glossy brochure. I wasn't sure if this was a good sign or bad. The absence of snow gave hope the park was still open, but the absence of people hinted the opposite.

Staring out of the window, vainly trying to see something in English that would tell me where the park was, I became aware that the Chinese passengers were greatly amused by something. Overhearing the word laowai several times, distinguishable even in the coarse Sichuan patois, I realized, not for the first time, that I and my fellow companions were the butt of our fellow travelers' good humour. The bus jerked to a halt, and the chain-smoking driver frantically signaled for us to get off. Struggling down the aisle, picking my way between assorted vegetables, spattered pumpkin seeds and what looked like spare parts for China's equivalent of the space shuttle, I had visions of being stranded overnight in a sub-zero town where nothing was open.

As the bus pulled noisily away, its occupants still chuckling at our imminent demise, a small, dwarf-like figure danced up to us, and asked in broken English if we were looking for accommodation. “Is the park open?” I replied, not willing to fork out 400RMB on a luxury penthouse if an immediate return journey to Chengdu was on the cards. “Sure – you can get ticket in morning 8 o'clock,” said our newly acquired friend, stroking his jet black beard, which for a Chinese male was surprisingly bushy. It looked as though our journey hadn't been in vain and we were about to have the run of an otherwise empty Chinese four star hotel – things were definitely starting to pick up.

Despite the disturbing photo on my newly-made park I.D. card, which hinted at criminal tendencies, I was allowed through the park entrance early the following morning. Even the small number of tour groups queuing to get in couldn’t dampen my spirits. It was our plan, if possible, to stay inside the park in one of the Tibetan villages dotted up the valley. The park minibus dropped us outside Shuzheng Zhai, a slightly kitsch but nonetheless picturesque village, complete with long, fluttering flags, ornate Buddhist prayer wheels and a monk burning incense by the main gate. Encircled by snow-capped peaks and pristine pine-clad slopes, it was a breathtaking spot to be based for the next few days.

Jiuzhaigou is a truly magnificent natural spectacle. Even so late in the season, the colour of the leaves that remained on the trees was dazzling - the reds, yellows and ochres perfectly complemented in their intensity by the deep, peacock feather hues of the various lakes and pools running the length of the valley. Below Shuzheng Zhai, clear, ice-cold water from the aquamarine Tiger Lake cascaded over icicle-clad falls on its downward journey. Higher up the valley, at the even more impressive Nuorilang and Pearl Shoal waterfalls, the sound of the Zechawa River became a deafening roar as it dropped over wide, crescent-shaped cliffs, sending out clouds of spray to coat nearby vegetation. Although I discovered some of the park's walkways were closed, this was more than compensated for by the lack of tourists - at times it felt like I was all alone (a distinctly odd sensation in China), with only the click of my camera shutter disturbing the tranquil silence.

A trip to Jiuzhaigou is special at any time of year, but if you're someone like me who values some occasional alone-time, then you should definitely consider a trip in late autumn or early winter. The beauty remains, but the busloads of daytrippers from the park's “golden time” have long since disappeared. Ignore the Beijing travel agents, pack an extra sweater and be prepared to see one of China's seven wonders in glorious solitude.

A Journey to the Roof of the World

The dream begins

Like some group I know often dreamed of making a botch to the mentation country of Tibet set on the world's maximal highland with altitudes averaging around 3,600 meters. As this vision became experience, I began to act preparations for my trip into a realty of tearing uncolored beauty, where the condition is unpleasant and height symptom remains an ever-present danger. Yet here, in this remote predicament of the earth where most aspects of daily history are submissive by Buddhism, I institute an infinitely picturesque landscape and a single vie of people which captured my imagery.

Tibet is a square where noble mountains stretchability to record-breaking spot and visitors present most apt joining a few of hurdling or unhoped obstacles sometime during their order since the store for touristry and unrestricted business is comfort being formed. I open that the premiere contend is obtaining the indispensable entry accept which moldiness be placed finished an sanctioned movement way specializing in motion to Thibet. Choosing Chengdu in China's Sichuan Sphere as my going disk, I situated several locomote agents in the port who offered various container deals for airfare, lodging, permits and journey arrangements. Preferring the flexibleness of
free direction, the agents were able to take me the necessary content consent without having to formally connect a organized circuit forgather. One relatively new length option is to trip on the Qinghai-Tibet railway, the highest line in the domain. With 960 kilometers of tracks situated above 4,000 meters and 550 of those kilometers squirting crossways permanently frozen domain, passengers can hear magnificent glimpses of unresolved stretches of alter that were formerly only seen by secluded mount nomads. As winsome as this deciding is, with exclusive a minor become of abstraction for my leisure I chose to go by air and enjoyed search
plumage on the medal class of long snow-capped peaks from the planer pane. Incoming at the Lassa Gonggar field 95 kilometers southwest of Terrier, I boarded one of the airdrome buses for the final hour leg into the city.
Exploring Terrier

At 3700 meters above sea indicator, Lassa sits on a plateau surrounded by rough mountain ridges which disparity out in all directions. The gens Terrier way "land of the gods" and the municipality holds a office of purity for Buddhist believers as one of the holiest places within Tibet. Villagers from hundreds of miles inaccurate micturate their pilgrimage apiece year to jaunt the place shrines, some change crawling on their bellies to pay deference to the gods. Tho' many antithetical monasteries and temples can be seen throughout the metropolis and the close expanse, they are all dwarfed in likeness to the awe-inspiring Potala Castle. With its color walls and prosperous roof silhouetted against a backcloth of mountains and
dejected sky, this mansion dominates the intact genre and stands as a lasting symbolization of the grandeur that Xizang erstwhile had. A wonderful store that lingers in my care is the time I spent quietly movement in a arena direct crossways from the hall uptake repast and hunt at its signal model seen in the reflectivity of a infinitesimal lake, and highlighted by constantly changing mortal billowy clouds.

The Potala Residence is one of the most famous architectural buildings in the earth, constructed by the Fifth Dalai Lama who was a military and churchgoing human from 1617 to 1682. Record credits this man with uniting the Tibetans as a dominant grouping and establishing the hall as his middle of polity. Somewhat resembling a translunary hall, the castle construction incorporates two crisp grand palaces organized to reconcile the treble enactment of the Dalai Lama as both a churchly and semipolitical someone. Within the labyrinthian there are much than 1,000 rooms and visitors are allowed to pass finished other sections of both palaces. The number of regular guests is carefully monitored and suggest reservations are required during the regular impermanent present. Despite this underage discommode and the relatively
countertenor value of entrance, I initiate the palace an awesome scheme and well-worth the substance outgo. The Designer Manse was official for overseeing semipolitical matters and served as the individual act of the Dalai Lamas when they were judgement Thibet. The Red Manse, set aside for sacred matters, is awe-inspiring in its grandeur and contains the remains of octet olden Dalai Lamas who now breathe in dignified golden stupas inlaid with diamonds, pearls, agates and coral. Also panoptical is the famous "Wheel of Time", an exquisite 200,000 pearl mandala made of coral, turquoise and yellowness. Numerous added priceless treasures are on showing within the residence walls including rarefied hand-written Religionist scriptures from
knightly centuries. I was especially charmed watching the sincere pilgrims as they passed from room to way placing yak butter in the incense burners while pausing to pray earnestly in proximity of the statues.

Heartfelt churchlike devotion and sporty structure are not pent to the Potala Hall. Jokhang Tabernacle located closer to the centrist of Lhasa is considered by more to be the sacred hunch of Sitsang and is especially fascinating for its intricate art. Travel finished this tabernacle the air is permeated by the groom of the yak butter lamps which illuminate the corridors. Meet exterior the tabernacle in occupied Barkhor Paddle I watched monks momentarily break their dextrorotatory way around the temple to steal for worship string with the local vendors. In this bustling marketplace there are all kinds of temple accessories for understanding specified as Himalayish religionist wheels, flags, and leather artefact for your knees and elbows. It is definitely worth disbursal half a day exploring this midway country of Lassa and disagreeable your assemblage at bartering with the salesmen spell pilgrims wander by
moving their asking wheels and murmuration recurrent mantras.

Spell locomotion around the municipality I observed that the Asiatic fill have a identifiable wait from added Island people, probably due to their unpleasant surroundings and way. Really patent on umteen adults are the sound lines and ropy pare covert low their flamboyant tralatitious clothing. Fiercely vain of their attribute despite a turbulent history most Tibetans keep themselves finished husbandry, peregrine swarming or few organize of commerce. Their stuff content is cooked barley flour which is mixed with tea to contour a
stable but tasty dough. The people also eat yak meat as an substantive endeavor of their fast and ingestion yak butter tea which takes the residence of occidental java. Elsewhere in the metropolis the honest buildings and balconies of suffragist provide Terrier a solid, remove and flaming aspect. For visitors interested in acquisition many most the content of the grouping, the Tibet Museum in the south carrefour of the city was
implanted in 1999 and contains umteen artifacts allegorical of the anaesthetic Tibetan ethnical traditions. It is a beautiful museum to stay retentive both exciting ethnic relics and single chanted instruments as considerably as galore Faith custom articles.
Beyond the city

Of teaching I could somebody spent more days impermanent all the contrary monasteries in and around Terrier, but one which I didn't deprivation to woman was the Sera Monastery with its veritable Asian structure placed retributory 3 kilometers northeastern of Lhasa. Within this stately structure of site and gold, monks spend their experience passionately debating diametric interpretations of Buddha's pedagogy. Added useful monastery is Drepung Monastery some 10 kilometers forth from the port central. Built in 1416 as the maximal monastery in Tibet, this building served as the space of the Dalai Lamas before existence enraptured to the Potala Fort. Within the monastery there is a service devoted to the Zealous Deity of good.

Naturally the actual exemplar of Sitsang can only be seen by leaving the confines of the port and deed out into the countryside. This can be a lowercase provocative since there are only a few sealed anchorage meaningful that a people car and anesthetic run moldiness be hired, making grouping direction more efficient than separate length. One fair reachable and casual end is a actuate to see the turquoise h2o of Namtso Lake a younger northwestward of Lhasa. Move to the lake is convenient since no further Interloper Length Permit is required and working finished the lodge steering broker I was healthy to position connexion
else adventurers for the unsmooth 8 time travel in a minibus. At 4718 meters above sea even Namtso Lake, also celebrated as "Sky Lake" is the maximal saltish thing lake in the experience. Tibetan title claims that the lake is a splendid bluish beautify which seam somebody from heaven and thousands of asking flags change this much-revered range. Deckled on the southbound by the Nyenchen Trangla Mountains and surrounded by wasted grasslike plains it is defined by a periodical of endocarp pillars and stalactite caves. Along the strip the beaches form a
handsome unaffected ley for herds of shaving yaks providing large photographic close-ups of these robust creatures. One of Tibet's holiest pilgrimages involves circling the lake on organ which requires more life of hiking, but there are shorter day hikes on the peninsula which explore temples with Buddhistic carvings improved rightmost into the cliffs. Accommodations are getable at a domicile nearer Tashi Dorje Monastery and I chose to strip overnight in a Tibetan music tent which was snug but quite turn when the temperature dropped in the day. After a day or two at the lake buses locomote to Terrier via Yangpachen Hot Springs, allowing visitors to warming up and loose in the fresh liquid of the spa for a weeny fee.

Overall I would say that a journeying to Tibet is no usual task and the screaky elevation air provides emblem, sights and views that can't be veteran anywhere else on connector. With mountains exercise up into the auspicious organisation sky, it is truly a work of nature and anyone desire to change much a jaunt should necessitate the instant to see this wonderful abode.

Suzhou: The Little Italy of China

Who first called the Venice of the East? Could it have been famous Venetian explorer and favorite of the Emperor, who left behind his own tangled waterways in the rhythms of the tides of 12th century China?

Maybe, but probably never know for sure. One thing that is certain is that this phrase has become the eternal byline Suzhou, a delicate ballerina in a city in the grip of branch of Yangtze River Delta. And it is called the Venice of the East simply because Marco Polo fell ill with a bout of nostalgia, this charming city is surrounded with many winding channels that people are said to sleep on pillows of water.
Water Cities

Suzhou, located in Jiangsu Province about an hour and a half into Shanghai, built water channels checkerboard of streets in the sixth century so that might balance more firmly in the fingers unstable arm Yangtze in its long range towards the sea. Several other towns and cities in the region took the same effect, the establishment of the Chinese region of water to the people.

A city water in China is not merely a geographical expression, but in fact has become a cultural and aesthetic descriptor. China's water villages are known for their muted colors and depth of reflection, because its white walls and gray tile roof, because the solid lines and the curve of arch bridge tender signs on canalways. Its inhabitants have been masters of calligraphy, fine art, embroidery, silk weaving, poetry, garden-making and the cultivation of tea: specialist areas that require attention to detail that only the gold of many facets of a network of channels could serve as inspiration.
Shopping Bazaar

Although most of Suzhou is famous for its dozens of gardens, many people do not know is that the Chinese garden art comes from the Taoist concept of linking landscape and serenity. So we started our exploration of the city that honors Suzhou Taoist Temple of Mystery (Xuan Miao Guan).

The Temple of Mystery, despite sounding like it is on top of some mist-shrouded mountaintop, is actually in the commercial heart of Suzhou. Guan Qian Street, Suzhou famous pedestrian shopping bazaar, Lu and Renmin Lu Lundun butterfly brooches, two main arteries of north-south Suzhou. Guan Qian literally means "Temple across the street," because historically the Temple was the focal point for touring magicians, artisans and merchants. They set up camp along the avenue and the trend has continued over time. Today, Guan Qian Street is still the best place to find both modern conveniences and traditional foods and products of Suzhou.
Old Well of the Five Dynasties

Xuan Miao Temple was originally built in 276, after the fall of the Han Dynasty between the main gate of the temple and the great hall, visitors should not miss a glimpse into the ancient well of the Five Dynasties. The well was discovered in 1999 during renovation of the main hall of the temple. During the renovation of more than 30 artifacts dating as far back as the Tang Dynasty were found in the green slabstone downhole. Surrounded by statues of dragons, the water inside the well, although clean, it looks black, because the holes in the ground. No one knows what mysteries will find out if you look directly into its depths.
Worshippers and Protectors

The largest building in the grounds of the temple is the Hall of Three pure worshipers, named for the Heads of State Taoism: Lao Zi, the founder of Taoism, flanked by the Yellow Emperor and the Jade Emperor. Behind them, along the sides and rear of the temple, is the climax of Xuan Miao Temple: A Daoist Protector constellation figures. Protector Daoist figures, or Tai Sui, the guards are all born in a given year. There are 60 guards, one for each year of the cycle time of the Chinese year. The ancient Chinese method of calculating the progression of years has not made the way it does in the West, AD and BC / AC Instead, figure the years by Chinese Jia Zi, which is in the 12 animals Chinese Zodiac, multiplied by five years marker. Every 60 years the cycle begins again with what the Guard is also the Protector 1931 1991.
Through the Ages

Although there are other rooms in the complex of temples that are interesting, they are easily overlooked. The temple courtyard is great and the atmosphere is informal, so the temple a meeting place of fellowship for thoughtful contemplation. Traders still schlep their goods in small stalls around the main hall, friends gather to chat, gossip of mothers, old games of mah jong set or cards, and pamper the young lovers in the shade of trees. A bronze statue of an old traveling merchant is located in the courtyard of the temple, giving testimony to the fact that in ancient China, as today, the temple served double duty as a place of worship and a center for trade and community
A scholar Haven

A room that must not be missed, even if you get distracted by the articles and watch the people, is the God of the Temple of Literature, or Dian Wen Chang. In the old days, scholars who have studied and sat for the imperial examination would come to the temple of the God of literature to pray. Wen Shu Pusa, the God of Literature, the ranking elected official in Imperial China scholars and protected the destiny of those who were elected. Today it is not uncommon to see parents and students interested nervous homage to the God of Literature before sitting exams at their high schools or universities. novelists or journalists frustrated with writer's block can also be seen spinning in the grounds of the temple, muttering to themselves and lighting incense.
A unique experience

Xuan Miao Temple looks better in the late afternoon when the sunlight turns sliding the temple walls painted gold. In contrast with the black tiled roofs, the effect is hypnotic and ferments the atmosphere of mystery around the temple. Before leaving, however, leave the little tea-house on the western side of the temple precinct of traditional storytelling Suzhou.

This little tea house, tucked into the fray of shops and stalls, on the surface appears to be a tourist trap. But it may be one of the last genuine storyteller tea shops of this type. The tea house is mostly filled with aging Chinese listening enraptured narrator's lilting performance with intermittent sips of hot tea. Despite the fact that he could not understand a word of history was easy to slow down in a trance of pleasure. The narrator was an old man who shot hoarse voice, and as if they were climbing a mountain. He wore a robe complete with a mandarin-style collar and full sleeves. He sat on a stool and spoke into a microphone that had "reverb, which gave an air of history's voiceover man omniscient narrator. He sat with his chin slightly raised, and when the story reached the final match that he had standing, wobbly stool back and start waving his arms like a giant crane about to snatch a fish.
It comes with a price

Although the narrator tea house is an experience not to be missed, visitors should beware of the owner cunning and deceptive price quote their skills. A pot of tea, which was quoted at 30RMB each, turned out to be two cups of tea, each 30RMB. Although tea was delicious and decadent atmosphere, the experience soured a little to be had. But as narrators usually do, soon forgot the old trap of the corner and sat drinking, transported, as the narrator waved his arms and put his voice and told his story.
Everyone loves a mystery

By late afternoon we left the tea house and left the temple grounds, entering the market pastiche of Guan Qian Street. One of the best places to sample traditional food Suzhou, we settled in to absorb the night life in the making and look for a restaurant.

Suzhou Temple of Mystery, but only one of the temples in China, it is a must. Although there are other attractions in Suzhou that may be more attractive, the Temple of Mystery has unique characteristics that can not be found in other temples in China. Suzhou Taoist Xuan Miao Temple "is that there is a mystery in store for everyone.
Information

Getting There:
Train from Shanghai to Suzhou: 24RMB
Trike train station City Center: 10-15RMB

Pedicabs are a cheap and easy to get around the city center. Bicycles can be rented for about 10RMB per day. City buses are also a good way to get from one end of town to another 2RMB 1.5 (depending on destination)

Accommodation:
Nice hotels can be found from 100 160RMB per night. We asked our driver tricycle for a recommendation and took us to a cheap but nice hotel almost directly behind the Temple of Mystery.

Eight Days

Step 1- Leaving the Land of the Vikings

It took me eight days to get from Verdal, in the centre of Norway, to Taiyuan, capital of Shanxi.

We’d tried to get new visas for China in Norway, but the first time we phoned the embassy in Oslo, nobody answered. The second time, the guy who answered said, “I don’t know, I’m on holiday here.” Brilliant. So we decided to book tickets to Hong Kong, get our visas there, then figure out the rest.

The night before we left I stayed up the whole night, thinking that if I slept I wouldn’t wake up in time. And besides, I could always sleep on the planes. SIR drove me up the hill where we picked up BV and K, then we drove down to Trondheim airport, at some place called Vaernes, I believe, which, strange as it may sound, is just north of Hell. But Hell is another story.

BV insisted on getting a cup of coffee. Coffee wouldn’t be served on the flight to Oslo, he insisted, ‘cos the airline in question (whose name I’ve since forgotten) was a piece of crap. And because this airline didn’t cooperate with SAS, the first thing we’d have to do in Oslo is make sure our baggage was checked through on to the flight to Copenhagen. Because we were in Norway and everybody was desperate for a coffee they swore would not be served on the flight, it took him a long time to get his precious caffeine fix, and we were the last on the flight.

And then just after take off the stewardess came around serving coffee.

We landed in Oslo and ran around like headless chickens trying to find where we could make sure our luggage had been checked through onto the SAS flight to Copenhagen, because, as BV insisted, those two airlines didn’t cooperate.

Eventually we found the right desk and discovered the airlines did at least cooperate enough to take luggage from one flight and put it on the other.

Copenhagen transit lounge for four hours. It’s huge, and there’s stacks of shops and stuff, but at the time there was no internet. Pretty soon it got kinda boring. Actually, that’s about all I remember of Copenhagen airport. Next up was the 11 or 12 hour flight to Bangkok.
Step 2- Zipping through the Fragrant Harbour

We’d spent six hours in transit in Bangkok on the way to Norway and I wasn’t looking forward to our four hour stopover on this trip. The transit lounge had been a dingy little dump with only a bare minimum of facilities. But, somehow on that first stopover I’d managed to completely mess up the money conversion and wound up with more Thai baht than I’d ever need. So much so that even after having spent a fair bit of it on that first stopover and then given SIR a wad of baht as a joking contribution to petrol costs when he picked us up from Stockholm airport, I still had more than I would need on this four hour stopover.

So in Bangkok I bought a few books and that was enough for me. I still had a bit of baht left over, and BV and K were wanting to stock up on booze and foreign (non-Chinese) cigarettes, so I swapped them Norwegian kroner (knowing I could change it easily in Hong Kong) for the rest of my baht. They bought their stuff, we still had a couple of hours to wait, and we still had a bit of baht left. I really did mess up that money changing thing on the first stopover in Bangkok. As it turned out, we had just enough baht for two cups of coffee. So we bought two cups of coffee and the three of us sat down to drink: Take a sip from one cup, pass it to the next. The second cup is passed to you, take a sip, pass it on. We must have seemed the cheapest, most miserable trio of backpackers to have ever found ourselves in an airport transit lounge.

It was only three or four hours, if I remember rightly, from Bangkok to Hong Kong, and we arrived about midday on Day Two of the trip. I scribbled “Chungking Mansions, 30 Nathan Road, Tsimshatsui” in the ‘address in Hong Kong’ space, got through customs (even though that address isn’t actually correct, even, but it always works) and got on the bus. Bus A31, I believe, is the one that runs from the airport pretty much the full length of Nathan Road down to the Tsimshatsui ferry terminal.

Well, made a bit of a mess of finding accommodation, getting off the bus too early, then going to the wrong places looking for cheap accommodation outside Chungking Mansions. But we wound up with a place in Chungking Mansions, the three of us sharing one room thanks to our fairly tight budgets. Then we realised we had just enough time to sprint over to the visa office and hand in our applications, which would mean we could leave Hong Kong the next day. So we did.

We jumped on the MTR to Wanchai (I have since discovered that the ferry is just as quick, more convenient, and a fraction of the price). Then we got lost and wound up wandering through a million buildings we shouldn’t have been wandering through until we eventually found our way to the visa office. Fortunately it was late enough for the visa office to be almost empty, but early enough for us to hand in our applications. We quickly filled in our forms and handed them over with our documents and money (you had to pay in advance back then), took our receipts and went our way.

We got some dinner, went back to our room, and crashed. And so ended Day Two. Day Three dawned and we decided BV would go and collect our passports with, hopefully, our visas in them while K and I packed up our stuff and carted it downstairs to wait for him. Sometime just after midday BV came back. A quick check: Yes, we can all go to China, then we carted all our stuff down into the MTR to take the train round to Kowloon Tong (the KCR now runs all the way to Tsimshatsui, but didn't back then). We transferred to the KCR and rode out to Lo Wu, then carted our stuff through the border crossing and up to Shenzhen Railway Station.
Step 3- Into the Mainland, and the beginnings of Train Ticket Hell

Crossing the border was strange, after Scandinavia. Scandinavia has had open borders since nineteen fifty something very early. So far as I know, there is no record of me ever having entered, stayed in, or left Norway. We flew into Stockholm then drove north up past Ostersund, across the mountains and down into Verdal. I remember the border clearly: A sign spotted with rust and a barrier arm that looked rusted into the ‘up’ position, the sign saying “Riksgrense Sverige” (The Swedish Border, roughly) followed by, 10 metres down the road, a sign, equally spotted with rust, but minus a barrier arm, saying “Riksgrens Norge” (The Norwegian Border, equally roughly. And I can’t vouch for my Norwegian or Swedish spelling). No customs, no immigration, no checkpoint, nothing but the road, the forest around us, two signs and a barrier arm. The flight from Oslo to Stockholm was equally devoid of passport checks, customs, or other such officialdom. Getting from Hong Kong to Shenzhen, both part of the People’s Republic of China, involved all the immigration and customs checks you expect of an international border followed by a bridge over a muddy stream whose banks were lined with fences and fortifications and barbed wire and security cameras and probably more than a few armed guards, followed by immigration and customs checks like an international border again. But never mind, after the usual standing in queues and getting stamps in passports we got through, back in the Mainland.

So we got to the railway station, sat on our stuff, and discussed what we should do next. Lunch was top of the list of priorities, so we dragged our luggage down to McDonalds. Then BV and K decided they’d try and get a flight to Guiyang, their destination, while I went back to the railway station looking for trains heading in a northerly direction.

I had consulted the map in the Lonely Planet (but only the map, knowing how much the rest could be trusted and for what) and figured out where the major junctions that would be useful to me were and what my plan of action would be in the highly likely event I had trouble getting tickets. Step 1: Train to Guangzhou. Simple, easy. I arrived in Guangzhou slightly over an hour after I bought the ticket. The first thing I did there was find the ticket office and ask if there was anything going towards Taiyuan. Not for another five days. I can’t afford to wait that long, so I ask for a train to Guilin. Tomorrow, she says. Fine, I say. And as it turns out, there’s a hotel in the station where I crashed for the night.

Next day I left the hotel and, still within the station, found a restaurant to serve me brunch. Nicely fed, I went off looking for a left-luggage office where I could ditch my stuff for the day lest my shoulders crumble under the weight of all my worldly goods and treasures. I found the office, but when they saw my train ticket they refused to take my stuff. They saw the look of confusion on my face and told me, “This is the East Station, you’re train is from the main station. You can’t leave your stuff here you have to go to the main station.” So I thanked them profusely and walked off to find a taxi.
“Huochezhan,” I said.
“Huh?” the driver said.
“Huochezhan. Guangzhouzhan.”
“Huh?”
This goes on for five minutes at least, me getting more and more flustered. Then a light goes on somewhere behind the taxi driver’s eyes.
“Fuotsedzan ah?” he asks.
“Huh?” I say.
“Fuotsedzan ah?”
I think, that sounds kinda like Changshahua. So I say, “Yes!” and nod vigorously.
So off we go, with the driver, for the whole length of the trip, periodically pointing at street signs and asking: “Fuotsedzan ah?” and me replying: “Yes!” and nodding vigorously. Then we arrive at the station, he points at it and says: “Fuotsedzan ah?”, and I reply “Yes! Thank you!” pay my money, get my stuff, and escape.
Step 4- Getting somewhere, at least

It was about midday. My train left at about 5 or 6 in the evening. I spent the first couple of hours sitting on my luggage in the station forecourt with several thousand peasants. Then I decided I didn’t want to get rained on anymore, so I went inside. I got chased away from my first sitting and waiting on the floor spot by some woman who seemed to need a megaphone even when she was standing right next to her targets. So I found the gate my train would be loaded from and claimed an empty patch of floor. Then I was found by the last dinosaur who refuses to accept that a foreigner could travel by anything other than soft sleep and she led me off to the soft sleep waiting room. When I realised where she was taking me and that I had no right to be there, having only a hard seat ticket, I just disappeared and claimed a new patch of spare floor to wait. But she found me again and tried the same thing. So I ignored her a second time.

Then I got talking to some poor soul from Xinjiang who had four days on a train to look forward to. Damn. I only had 12 or 13 hours to worry about till Guilin.

So the time came to board the train. I wrestled my way on, found my seat, kicked the usual idiot out of my seat and settled in for the night. Sometime into the night I played the usual dumb whitey game and asked my neighbours for help finding Guilin. It’s a useful tactic if you’re in hard seat and aren’t sure of the journey. But as it turned out, the usual traveller’s instinct kicked in and I recognised Guilin anyway.

So I arrived in Guilin and the first thing I did was go to the ticket office and ask for a ticket to Taiyuan. On the way I was accosted by the usual suspect. Some guy keen to practice his English and help dumb whitey. What the hell, I decided to play along ‘cos he might turn out to be useful, even though I knew he was going to get some money out of me somehow along the way (Guilin Railway Station has always been like that). He said he’d help me get a ticket, and after convincing him I wanted to go to Taiyuan, not Taiwan, and that’s the capital of Shanxi Province, just so you know for sure where I’m trying to get to, no not Shaanxi Xi’an, Shanxi Shandong. Yes, that Taiyuan, capital of Shanxi. I know everyone says it's a dump with nothing but coal and pollution and it’s freezing cold in winter, no I’m not staying in Guilin any longer than necessary, although I appreciate your offer of help finding a job at your friend’s school. No really, all I want is a ticket to Taiyuan, capital of Shanxi, yes Shandong Shanxi, yes that Taiyuan, a hard sleep ticket if possible. Yes, really. No tickets. Alright, what about Zhengzhou? Yes, hard sleep. Two nights from now? Sweet. And now that you mention it, yes, I would like to go to Yangshuo, I have friends out there and now I have two spare days. You know a hotel? How much? Sixty kuai per night is fine. And you’ll get me on the bus for local price? Really? Cool.

And so he got me a ticket to Zhengzhou leaving at four in the morning two nights later and a bus ride to Yangshuo for only five kuai, including my luggage, just what the locals pay, with a promise I’d be met by his friends at the bus station.

But as it turns out the bus driver and conductor were not too happy about me paying only five kuai like a local. They tried to dump me somewhere just outside of Yangshuo, on the other side of the mountain the highway curves around to enter Yangshuo. No, you can’t cheat me, I’ve been here twice before, I know where I am, I’m not getting off the bus, so close the door and drive. I won. We arrived at the bus stop, and as soon as the door opened a voice is calling out “Chris! Are you Chris?”
“Yes.”
“We’re from the Mayflower Hotel.”
“Excellent. Let’s go.”

So I crashed, washed up, got myself human again, and wandered off to look for my friends.
Step 5- Getting closer... slowly

Disaster. There had been some fairly big changes in the cafe scene of West Street since I was there last. Or at least, in that section of West Street I was interested in. The Blue Lotus had changed hands. The cafe itself hadn’t changed, the decor was identical, but the spirit had died, the warmth had gone out of the place. The people who had worked there had scattered around West Street finding work in new places. But I found most of them and relaxed and had a good time. I also bumped into some young Englishman who I’d met in Yangshuo a couple of times before. As it turns out, he was getting the same train as me, but going all the way to Beijing. So we arranged to catch the bus back into Guilin together the next evening.

My stay in Yangshuo was the usual hanging out in West Street cafes, avoiding souvenir sellers, beggars, and “tour guides”, drinking coffee and beer (not necessarily together) and generally relaxing, getting some relief from the aches and pains of travelling. Just before seven the next evening I arrived at the bus station to meet this Englishman, and we got on the last bus back to Guilin, bargaining the price down to as low as we could. We got to the station, dodged the usual “Hello! Hello! Yangshuo! Yangshuo!” hustler trouble, found the left luggage office and dumped our stuff, then found a restaurant just outside the station to spend the evening. The guy who’d helped me get my ticket to Zhengzhou showed up for one last attempt to convince me to work at his friend’s school in Guilin instead of going to the frozen, polluted wastes of the north. He failed, again. About three we got our luggage and went to the waiting room.

The train was alright, I mean, I was in hard sleep, where the number of passengers is limited to the number of bunks, which adds a lot to the comfort of the journey. But I was on the top bunk, which is stifling hot, and the trip was something like 27 or 28 hours. I bumped into some characters on the train: An Israeli woman who said she was a teacher, but would say no more. A couple of Norwegians, one of whom came from the province where I’d just spent six weeks, who had been travelling through Southeast Asia. Vietnam they hated, but the other countries they’d visited they were totally in love with. The three of them, the Israeli and the two Norwegians were headed for Beijing, another twelve hours further on from Zhengzhou. Then there was a bunch of PLA recruits, soldiers in training keen to practice their English.

We passed through Changsha in the afternoon of the next day. It was funny seeing this city I had become so familiar with from the train as we rolled through. As we were waiting at the station for people to be on- and off-loaded, a bunch of cops arrested some guy. The usual story, a few extra punches and kicks thrown in, the guy dragged off by the handcuffs. No mercy. Sometime that night we crossed the Yangtze, Hubei, and most of Henan. Then early the next morning we arrived in Zhengzhou.

The same plan: Get off the train, find the ticket office, try and get a ticket to Taiyuan. But walking out of the station I tripped and fell down the last step, twisting my ankle and scattering my luggage everywhere. Instantly I was surrounded by who knows how many Chinese people who picked me up, put my luggage on me, and disappeared before I’d even realised what had happened, leaving me standing there offering a surprised, but forlorn and lonely “Thank you….” to the space which had just been occupied by an untold number of mysteriously vanishing kind helpers. Then I limped off to the ticket office.

“Taiyuan” I said.
“Jintian mingtian?” (Today or tomorrow?) she asked.
“Jintian.” (Today) I replied.
“Jintian mingtian?” (Today or tomorrow?) she asked.
“Jintian!” this time with a little more force in my voice.
“Jintian mingtian?” (Today or tomorrow?) she asked.
“Jintian!!”
“Jintian mingtian?” (Today or tomorrow?) she asked.
“JINTIAN!!!”
This went on for about 15 minutes, she asking constantly whether I wanted to go to Taiyuan today or tomorrow, me constantly replying that I wanted to go today, she refusing to understand. So she went off to find an English speaker to translate. The English speaker wasn’t, and so the 15 minutes of frustration repeated itself until she ran off to find another English speaker to translate. This second English speaker was actually capable of speaking a little English and managed to sell me a ticket, hard sleeper, leaving at eight that evening for Taiyuan. Finally.

So I limped out of the ticket office and went to find a hotel that would let me rent a room for the day so that I could rest, clean myself up, and have a place to crash and stash my stuff until my train. Found one right next to the railway station. It was a bit more expensive than I would have preferred, but I was too tired to walk any further, it was clean, tidy and actually nice, which is not something I had ever been able to afford before, and it was convenient. And so I cleaned myself up, got some breakfast, and rested for the morning. But I couldn’t sleep and the hotel room got pretty boring pretty quickly.

So I consulted the Lonely Planet and got myself an idea of the layout of downtown Zhengzhou. Then off I wandered to explore. I found the Erqi Pagoda. It was nice enough, but stuck in the middle of an intersection (which I already knew, so I wasn’t surprised) and generally underwhelming. And I got the impression that Zhengzhou was really just another provincial, industrial dump. Sure, there’s lots of cool stuff in the vicinity, especially for history and archaeology buffs, but the city itself struck me as being the definition of bland. Not that a few hours wandering around after so much time on the road never properly rested is enough to get a feel for a city, but that’s the impression I left with.
Step 6- Arrival, a bit of a shock, really

The next morning I woke up bright and early, as I always do when I’m travelling. I looked out of the train window and was surprised by the flatness of the landscape. Weren’t we only a couple of hours out of Taiyuan? Wasn’t Shanxi supposed to be all mountains? What’s going on? Well, sure enough, I was on the right train and we arrived in Taiyuan. I just hadn’t realised how wide the Fen River Valley was. But apart from the flatness, the rest of the landscape was as I expected: Poor, dirty, industrial in a rundown, underdeveloped way when settlements presented themselves. A kind of khaki green brown grey colour pervading everything below, a dull blue grey for sky.

I got off the train, walked out of the station, found a payphone, and dialled the only number I had for my school. A fax machine answered. So I jumped in a miandi taxi and showed the driver the address.
“30 kuai” she said.
“Alright” I said. I mean, I had an idea of where I needed to go judging by the maps I’d seen, but I had no idea of the actual distance, there was no meter in the miandi, as there never is, and 30 seemed reasonable. So off we went.

Cruising down Yingze Dajie, what the maps I’d seen suggested was the main street, everything seemed alright. We got to a bridge about where I expected a bridge to be, but the maps had promised a river flowing under the bridge. All I could see was grass, not to healthy looking grass, at that, until about three quarters of the way across the bridge there was a tiny, pathetic little stream desperately trying to impersonate the once-mighty, powerful, famous Fen River. On the other side of the bridge the city looked a little more run down than over on Yingze Dajie, but no big deal, most of Changsha looked the same. We veered right at about where the maps I’d seen suggested we should veer right. The landscape took a definite turn for the worse, the buildings looking quite rough and rundown indeed. But still, parts of Changsha were the same, and they were ok, I told myself. We crossed a railway line and turned right, again, as the maps had suggested we would. The city had suddenly seemed to become a very poor, dirty, rundown village. The road had been replaced with a long, thin gap between the buildings that may have been paved once. Then there were cornfields. Then a bridge across a filthy little stream, the bridge being nothing more than a concrete slab just barely wide enough for two vehicles to pass. Then what seemed like a village that had been cruelly turned into a Dickensian industrial hellhole that hadn’t seen any maintenance since the reign of the Emperor Qianlong, with the ‘road’ getting rougher as we progressed. Then we arrived at the gate of my school. The driver asked for directions to the Foreign Affairs Office, then deposited me outside a building whose ground floor was occupied by a restaurant. She pointed me in the direction of a non-descript looking side door and left me to it. I walked in to find myself in a construction zone, the hallways and stairways cluttered with ladders and scaffolding. Eventually I roused the attention of the people who worked there, who put me in my apartment and hurriedly cleaned the place up and put in the final touches: Microwave, TV, rice cooker, etc.
“Why didn’t you tell us you’d arrive today?” they asked.
“I tried to email RYW to tell him I’d be arriving, but he never replied. Then when I got off the train I called the only phone number I had and a fax machine answered. And RYW didn’t tell me anybody else I could contact or give me any other phone number.”
“Oh. He’s in Shanghai, he’ll be there another month.”

Brilliant. But at least I’d made it, safe and sound.

Southwestward bound, fleeing the freeze

A sudden change of plan I agreed at almost the last moment to fly down to Kunming to meet two friends for a break from the frozen north. They were on a long winter holiday trek through Yunnan, I just needed a break, but I didn't want to be on the road much longer than a week. Just needed time and space to clear my head, that's all. The plan was for me to fly to Kunming then jump on a bus to Lijiang and join my friends there. I got my plane ticket, 1000 yuan on Hainan Airlines, packed my bags, and was all ready to go...... ..... and the night before I was due to leave, my friends phoned me and said, "Don't come to Lijiang! It's snowing and freezing cold!" The last thing Beijingers want on a trip down south in the middle of winter is cold and snow.  So they told me the name of the guesthouse (招待所) they'd booked in Kunming (whose name I can't for the life of me remember. It had something to do with ethnic minorities...), told me to catch bus 51 from the airport to Huanxi Qiao （环西桥）(at least, I think that's the name of the place), and told me to check in under T's name and wait for them, they'd be on the bus from Lijiang and would arrive that evening. So the next morning I jumped in an early morning taxi to Beijing airport, too early, as usual, and off I went.

Arrival The flight was about four hours, from what I remember. I got off the plane, collected my baggage, and walked out in search of this bus. Instantly I was assaulted by the sound of what seemed like ten million hustlers all trying to drag me off to their hotel or taxi or something. Thing is, I'd just quit smoking. I don't know how many of you have done that, but it's quite a painful experience. And nicotine withdrawal often leaves you wanting to do serious damage to the next person who steps into your field of vision. So I temporarily quit quitting and bought a lighter and a pack of Hongtashan (always sample the local specialties, right?) and got myself some relief. Nerves calmed and no longer homicidal, I went out to look for this bus. One of the beauties of Kunming is that its airport is conveniently located very close to the city. So close that regular city buses run to and from the airport. All I had to do was find the right bus stop, and that was not difficult. I walked across the carpark, found a security guard, asked him where I could find bus 51, and he pointed me to a bunch of signs and a knot of waiting passengers not 20 metres away. And the bus conveniently announced each stop both on an electronic sign board above the front windscreen and over a PA system, so getting off at the right stop was no problem.  It took me about half an hour of wandering in several different directions, always returning to the bus stop, asking passersby who pointed me in a million ever weirder directions, and searching, scanning, and scouring every sign or piece of grafitti before I eventually found the guesthouse. It was convenientyly located behind a non-descript gateway that led to a less-descript carpark right beside the bus stop. Never mind, I found it, checked in, changed into less stifling clothes more suited to the Eternal Spring, and poured myself a cup of tea. Figuring that my friends were still several hours away, no doubt having their bones thoroughly shaken on some mountain road, I decided to go out and explore a little. I stepped out of the guesthouse, lit one last cigarette just to make sure, dumped the rest of the pack and the lighter in a rubbish bin to make sure I'd continue quitting, and wandered off. I found myself a late lunch in some roadside hole-in-the-wall. I can't remember what I ate, exactly. Some kind of mixian (rice noodles), but not the famous guoqiao (crossing the bridge) variety. It felt like my tastebuds had finally come alive after several years of slumber, like I was eating pure energy. Magic stuff. Then refueled, I continued my wandering, taking random turns, just watching, feeling, smelling this life that was bursting around me.  I found my way back to the guesthouse and sat down with a cup of tea (another of my addictions) to wait for my friends. They showed up about dinner time, and so once they'd got themselves settled and had shaken off the day's bus ride, we went out in search of dinner. We found a "Western" restaurant nearby, a place that was evidently trying to recreate the American West. My friend from Colorado assured me they failed. Evidently we weren't in any part of Kunming with a large expat or tourist community. Oh well, the food was, well, odd, but satisfying. I would've liked to hang around Kunming for a couple more days, but my friends were keen to put as much space between them and any temperature below 15 celsius as possible. Fair enough, they'd just been caught in Lijiang in the snow. At least in Beijing we all enjoyed decent central heating. I doubt they had that luxury up in Lijiang. So it was decided that the first task for the next day would be securing tickets to Jinghong. The pull of tropical Xishuangbanna was too strong on them for any of us to resist.

More magic and a few double-takes So next morning we got some breakfast (I seem to remember eating an awful lot of baozi on that trip, always early in the morning) then jumped in a taxi to the long distance bus station. We secured tickets for a bus leaving for Jinghong that evening and felt good that it was only 9 hours (not so long ago it was a rather nightmareish 15 or 20 hours) and not in a sleeper bus (both my Coloradoan friend and I are too tall to do that comfortably).  On the way out of the bus station the first double-take happened. Out the corner of my eye I saw what I first thought was a pile of traditional musical instruments. I looked around, being interested in folk music, and realised what I had seen was a pile of bongs. For sale. Openly. Now, I know Yunnan has a tradition of smoking tobacco through a water pipe/bong, but in the West bongs are more often used to smoke substances of a less legal nature, and so it was a bit odd for me to see such paraphenalia openly on sale. My Coloradoan friend felt the same way. And before I continue my ramble, I need to explain something: My two friends were a couple (emphasis on 'were'). He's from Colorado, we'll call him R. She's a Beijinger born and bred, we'll call her T. Now that I've got that clear: T had a friend working in Kunming, and we went to meet her for lunch. Just to keep up the pattern, we'll call T's friend V. So we met V and she took us down to the Muslim quarter and found us a restaurant. The place was packed beyond the gunwales, always a good sign, but we managed to get a table.  We ordered us up a bunch of dishes, taking care to sample the local specialties. Which meant, of course, that a plate of bugs ended up on the table, as a sort of test for us two men (grunt!). R and I sampled the bugs, which looked like what in New Zealand we call huhu grubs, and found them nice and spicy, which both of us like. So we got stuck in. T and V, the two Beijingers, found the idea a little gross, but they were both persuaded to try. V ignored our warnings about just how spicy the bugs were, and stuffed several in her mouth, no doubt thinking that if two laowai could handle it, she certainly could. "Bu la!" (not spicy) she said, and then promptly turned bright red and struggled to crunch up and swallow the bugs before her mouth exploded in a fireball that would leave a large, smoking hole in the centre of Kunming. She learnt the hard way she'd picked the wrong two laowai to engage in a chilli-eating competition. The ladies left to go shopping, leaving R and I to finish off the food and drink a few more beers. I love my beer, but I found most of the beers in Yunnan to be.... wanting. Certainly not the worst beers I've ever had, but not the best either. Anyway, it was beer, and R and I are both beer afficionados, so we indulged. But our feet started to itch and we still had a couple of hours to kill. So I yelled out "Fuwuyuarrrrrrrrr!" in a Beijing accent so strong you'd think Ge You was sitting next to me. The people at the next table turned around. I said, "Hehehehe... Women zhu zai Beijing. (Hehehehe..... We live in Beijing)" with a silly, sheepish grin on my face. The waitress looked right through us because obviously no white person could be calling out to her in Chinese. But we got her attention and got the bill and wandered off.

The double-takes continue, as does the magic We found ourselves in what looked like a bar district combined with an attempted tourist trap, but we weren't interested in finding a bar or doing these touristy things, and there didn't seem to be any life to the area, anyway. So we moved on.  We found two pagodas whose names I can't remember. Remember, I wasn't there to do touristy things, I was there to clear my head. Anyway, the pagodas looked pretty cool. We also found ourselves a tea house. The tea house was on a pedestrian street running between these two pagodas lined with what looked like more attempts at tourist traps, but there was plenty of genuine local life going on, so we felt comfortable there. This teahouse was also entirely outdoors, which felt especially good for us Beijingers. Sitting outside in the middle of January sipping tea, bliss. So we ordered ourselves some tea and sat back to relax. At the next table were a group of old men playing chess. I looked over and right at that moment one of these old guys took a hit from his bong. Remember, where I come from bongs are associated with illegal substances. It was quite a strange experience to see and old guy using one, even though I knew it was a local tradition to smoke tobacco through a bong. After a bit, we decided we should probably find our way back to V's place. Somehow we managed to walk back. We collected our luggage and headed for the bus station. Jinghong beckoned.

Once a Naval Secret

Have you ever wondered where the expression ‘feeling blue’ originated? Regardless of its origins, it’s easy to feel this way as the cold dead of winter steals the blue and warmth from the skies overhead. As the days turn to weeks and the weeks to months since have seen the sun through the clouds let alone the last time blue sky was visible my mind sweeps back to sweet memories of last summer.

I see myself sitting near the base of the lighthouse on the rugged northern coast of Shandong at the point that marks the boundaries of the Bohai and the Huanghai. This lighthouse sits atop the diminutive cliffs of Tianhengshan overlooking a calm azure sea beneath a clear blue cloudless sky. Blues so intense they draw me into their depths. I think of home! No surf or even a hint of a swell rolling in here but I am grateful for the sight of the sea and the many shades of blue – a sea that stretches to the horizon and a sky that is high and clear – it sooths my soul.

Looking a little like a fairytale castle, Penglai has a rather mysterious legend which is also part of her attraction. It was from here that the mythical eight immortals are said to have walked across the Bohai. Just as fascinating is the intermittent appearance of what has been considered a mirage – these sightings often resemble an island or castles and have more recently been scientifically attributed on the atmospheric conditions at the time they appear.

Penglai has another secret – or at least it was a secret once - an ancient fortified harbour and this is what I have come to see. Passenger ferries leave a new and sheltered harbour behind the headland passing to the west beneath us on their way to ports near and far. Getting here is easier than ‘walking on the water’ these days with access by speedboat, cable car or on foot as I did along the cliff top. From the beach, many take the challenging and strenuous walk along Tianheng’s ancient and rickety plank road near the base of the cliffs. From my vantage point I have a commanding 360º view overlooking this fascinating, historical site.

I am content with my vista of blues. I sit soaking up the sights and the sounds – a cool breeze evaporating the moisture from my bare skin. Penglai, once a strategic maritime and naval port is built at the waist of this large bay with the Shandong Peninsular in the south and the Korean Peninsular to the north and east. Temples and pagodas with traditional Chinese flying eaves and a mini version of the Great Wall lie amongst the colourful, rambling gardens overlooking the sea and the secreted harbour. It’s a popular summer destination, just a short one-hour drive west of Yantai on a broad six-lane highway.

The park entrance is on the waterfront just a short walk from the bus station but many of Penglai’s attractions are spread throughout the new town. An electric bus ferries visitors to and from each of the sights so be careful not to miss them. Once inside the grounds, I first tour the maritime museum where the partial hulls of unearthed ancient wooden boats of the Yuan dynasty are now preserved. It is hot and crowded so I move quickly through the rooms intrigued with the quality and content of the display. Many other artifacts have been recovered from the seabed giving clues to both the trade and daily life in the region.

Following the path from the museum I join the crowds on a footbridge and platform built across the entrance of the secret harbour. What an ingenious and safe haven for the navy of the day. It seems that everyone stops to take a photo here. Were they thinking the same thoughts as I am or just adding to their holiday snaps – I think the latter more likely. I snap a few of my own – though not of me – looking back into the harbour and once again out to sea and east along the coast to a distant six tiered tower on a small island just off shore. One of those gracefully arched bridges with eight supporting arches spans the narrow channel between the island and the shore.

The fortification wall hugs the cliff to its peak. I don’t know where the crowd has gone but it is quiet and empty here as I walk beside the wall. A beacon tower originally built during the Qing Dynasty is perched on the edge of the cliff snugly surrounded by temple pavilions some dating back to 1061. Each of these tells a story of eons past and houses the work of calligraphers, poets and philosophers. Narrow alleys wind between buildings – overgrown with shrubs and creepers they are cool and refreshingly empty of people. In centuries past these gardens must have been a delightful retreat from the otherwise harsh realities of life in this distant outpost.

Outside the fortified walls to the west a road leads up to the back of the lighthouse and the bell tower on Tianheng which overlooks both the Penglai pavilion and the meeting place of the two seas. A cable car glides quietly above the beach between the two headlands giving easy access to the point. I take my time to walk enjoying the bright and varied colours of the familiar flowering shrubs. It’s hot and sticky out of the breeze and I use my umbrella. Soon I emerge from the gardens onto the cliff top and am looking at the sea again. From here the view is stunning and I stop often to take in the scene – the sea and the sky, the bush and the flowers, those mysterious dark tiled rooftops and pagodas, the lighthouse and cliffs and that snaking wall.

A set of stairs march up before the bell tower - fully exposed to the early afternoon sun. Those of us who have made it this far take a rest in the cool sea breeze on the shady side of the building. I make myself comfortable – my back pressed against one of the red columns of the tower with the blue of sea and sky all around me. Occasionally the deep dull resonance of the chiming bell disturbs the chatter of those around me. A constant hum of religious chanting floats in on the gentle breeze. I sit a long time here and savour my surroundings, knowing that it will be many months before I see the likes of this again.

Penglai has so much to offer and not wanting to miss any of it I make my way down the back of the headland, through the gardens with their love nests and exotic flora to the Naval Museum and Imax Cinema. These are a short distance from the exit of the fort and are included in the ticket price. While I wait I’m encouraged to spend more on a ticket for the upper level of the cinema. The Naval Museum is compact and full of interesting artifacts from both land and sea and should not be missed.

From here an electric bus transports visitors several kilometers to another historical site inside the old city walls and is also included in the original ticket. While very little of the city wall remains, the Drum Tower still stands and an effort is being made to rejuvenate the surrounding area. Red lanterns line the stone flagged streets and in the evenings the place is a buzz with stands and the smell of barbequed meat and people making merry. The electric bus stops to the east of the Drum Tower in a large flagged area. It is quiet and devoid of crowds but I can hear singing close by.

Not your usual Chinese music – this is different and as I turn to take in my surroundings I spot the cross on the top of the old church building next to the square. I make my way around to a gate off the main street and ask if I can take a look inside. It is Saturday afternoon and the church choir is practicing. No one seems to mind as I step inside almost falling into the huge open baptismal font as I entered through the side door near the pulpit. Welcoming smiles from the women and a handful of men greet me as I take a seat on the opposite side of the sanctuary in this old church and sit listening. None of us speak a word in either language – but more is conveyed in the silence between us than ever could be said with words.

My time in Penglai is running out and there is more to see. Away from the coast and out of the breeze it is humid and sticky. I need to keep moving. In the shadow of the Drum tower an impressive carved stone gate marks the entrance to the beautifully restored compound and former home of Qi Jiguang just inside the city wall and includes a small museum displaying military equipment. A well-educated man of peace schooled in both culture and military tactics, this Penglai native and Ming Dynasty general became a national hero for his efforts in protecting the nation from Japanese pirates.

As one of the privileged in China he certainly lived with style, beauty and grace – each of the small walled gardens served a different purpose – one for writing, for walking, for quiet contemplation, for tending exotic plants and fruit trees, a household garden by the kitchen and the largest for general recreation with a fish pond, a small hill and covered walkways, and viewing pavilion and platforms – all offering a very self contained life within these compound walls.

Another short trip in the electric bus returns me once again to the entrance of the park, from where it is a pleasant walk along the beach. Penglai is hosting an ‘Ode to Peace’ – the International Youngsters Cultural and Artistic Ceremony with a huge display of children’s artwork arrayed along the beach esplanade. The beach is not crowded, with few people in swimming and off shore a small group of windsurfers challenges a light afternoon breeze around their triangular course. Across the street behind the beachside park is what remains of a temple, which had its upper level blown off during one of many maritime confrontations.

I take my leave in the late afternoon as workers prepare the beachside stadium for tonight’s finale of the ‘Ode to Peace’. Despite the crowds Penglai has offered me some much needed peace and restorative vistas of both sea and sky. I’ll take away some magic memories and return one day when I am ‘feeling blue’.