A Few Chengdu's and Chengdon'ts, Pandas and Bamboo

So I've not written about the food much or in a while. Typically, the snack food is strange to us- chips flavored like pork, beef, chicken, 'piquancy,' blueberry or corn (I tried the corn ones- they didnt taste like corn, but they did taste like the corn flavored candy I had, which, Amelia and Ben, sadly did not taste like candy corn). Then there are things like vacuum packed pig snouts, chicken feet, etc, and other odds and ends we don't generally eat back in the states, though I admire the Chinese ability to use the whole animal. Anyway, Szechuan Provence is of course world renowned for its food and we've had some very good and very spicy meals here. Restaurants typically showcase the freshness of their offerings with beautiful displays of fresh vegetables and greens that would make a locavore foodie swoon, next to the somewhat more depressing overfilled tanks of catfish, bullfrogs, turtles, eels, snails and "young dragons" (The amazing Mandarin to English translation of crayfish). These they happily slaughter for you and toss into the hotpot- an interesting dish itself, extremely spicy (la) but tempered by so-called Szechuan numbing spice (ma), which makes the tongue kind of vibrate, and then heaped into bowls of scallion, peanut, cilantro and chilis. Delish. You wash this all down with walnut milk, which also cuts the spice somewhat. Unfortunately, the meat cuts at hotpots are usually offal, so we perused a menu of duck tongues, sheeps blood, pork gristle, etc etc that someone had painstakingly translated, (see photo) and our waitress in belabored English very cheerfully informed us that the black tripe was very fresh today. Ermmm, we'll just stick with squid and fatty pork I guess. In general, the locals are typically very surprised to see the likes of lao wai such as ourselves in their restaurants, and helpfully offer to take us into the kitchen to pick out whatever we want cooked/slaughtered/hacked up/deep fried/"explode fried" - (the also awesome literal translation of stir-fried), smoked, stewed or whatever. The menus are also typically hundreds of items, which can be a bit overwhelming, and confusing to peruse and prioritize (strange flavor pork or fish flavor pork... with eggplant or with peppers... the permutations predictably go on and on...) Everything is also served very much on the bone, even tiny bits of chicken, which requires significant amounts of delicate chewing and spitting. No big deal to the Chinese, who have plates of spat-out bones piled high on the plates next to them by the end of the meal, except at fancier places where the staff regularly whisks away your plate of bones and gives you a fresh plate. Which reminds me- the things you've heard about the Chinese and spitting is absolutely true. Everyone from wrinkled and stooped old men to well heeled young professional women to infants seems in a constant state of hawking and spitting phlegm everywhere from bus stations floors to sidewalks- its just no big deal here. Is it the wretchedly polluted air, the fact that everyone smokes? Who knows, but we had a cab driver spit out the window the other day not realizing his window was rolled up, and with no shame at all just wiped it clean with his sleeve. Cultural differences, I know, I know, I'm not trying to suggest anyone is a barbarian or anything, but its just, well, different- to be eating a meal in stereo surround sound of the constant refrain of phlegm spitting. And I've no doubt committed numerous faux-pas in the course of the past month- the least of which has been my absolute ignorance of the language, probably furthering ignorance of my own boorish behavior, or else the Chinese are too patient and polite to bother mentioning anything to me, so I'm not trying to judge...

So what else have we been up to? Mostly based out of Cheng-du, which we have increasingly taken to referring to as Cheng-don't (and not to be confused, when you buy your ticket to fly here with Cheng-do or Chang-du, or Chungdu), which apparently means, no irony intended, "perfect metropolis," which is interesting for a city that seems hotter, humider and possibly more hellish than Delhi if thats possible- no wait, its not. But it is insanely polluted, can hardly see a few blocks in the yellow-white air (kind of a lovely pale urine color), but is otherwise your standard megalopolis in the developing world. Entire blocks of concrete open air shops seem dedicated to one product, (our current hotel is on a street which only sells shower heads and gas burners, though we are conveniently located near the gas-pump district- yes, stores that are filled with gas station gas pumps- very odd!), tons of motorbikes and bicycles, though at least half the bicycles are electric bikes, thus hard to understand where all pollution comes from. Weird also that there seem top be Starbucks and ATMs on every corner, (which are amusingly called "Cash Recycling Machines"). Chengu also some charming rebuilt/built from scratch fake old timey neighborhoods (called new ancient style shopping districts) complete with pagodas and little coi ponds that actually have dry ice and make mist and always where you can find a Starbucks. And I will say that this town has some great buses, and it looks like the subway will be opening any day now even as tuktuks bearing wooden cages filled with puppies putter past. Weird how things can both feel behind the Western world and be leapfrogging ahead at the same time.

The few attractions nearby include some giant Buddha statue that we skipped, though we did make time to see the Giant Panda Breeding Research Center, aka the Panda Brothel, which all told was pretty damn cool. I dont know if I ever actually have seen Pandas, and they really ARE quite adorable, both the giant pandas and the smaller red pandas (technically, apparently, a type of raccoon) although NOT cute are the infant pandas which look like DREN, and the infant pandas being the most adorable. Oh yeah, and I totally took this video of one sneezing.

The other activity we decided to do was go off the beaten path and view the so-called Bamboo Sea, a huge expanse / nature preserve of bamboo, with like a million kinds of bamboo or something and where movies like Crouching Tiger's flying scenes were filmed. We expected a minor debacle in getting there as its completely off the western tourist map, and got, well, a moderate debacle. The three hour non-ac busride was closer to six, the only hotel around conveniently inflated their prices, and absolutely not a soul spoke a word of English. Still, what little we got to see was very cool and beautiful, and it was worth getting out of the city for and having a bit of an adventure. The hotel was also positively enormous, perhaps awaiting a future of tourists that will never come, or reflecting a past glory that maybe was, but it was strange to be staying in hotel- no, complex, that was completely empty excep

t for Ben and me, and we were hoping that all work and no play would not make the general manager Mr. Zhou a dull boy. Thankfully, nothing Shining-like went down, and we left peacefully on our 8 am bus, only feeling moderately extorted.

I will also add at this point that our two year old Lonely Planet Southwest China (and the LP Tibet for that matter) have proven repeatedly to be utterly and hopelessly out of date. Neighborhoods that are now rubble. Multiple hostels that no longer exist. Subways where there weren't subways and trains where none had previously existed. Its made for an adventure in some ways, but I really haven't had a guidebook this bad since LP's Colombia book, also completely inaccurate (and according to someone who owned a hostel there, never researched by the author, who just emailed him for advice on sights and places with the promise of a good writeup without even visiting.) So the point I suppose, is that China is changing fast and a very foreign feeling place overall- perhaps the most foreign feeling country Ive been to, which otherwise would have been India, except for the fact that India is the largest English speaking country in the world. Other weird observations- it's strange to be in a country with a one child-rule. There are not so many kids, and you never see families. Though apparently China's population will be almost halved in another 40 years. The strangest thing about adopting/aborting away female children is China's so-called "bachelor bomb" -think about this: 40 million Chinese men who will never marry or have kids.

Anyway, kids, thats it for now. See you all soon, and think of me on my 2 hr, 19.5 hr, and then 1.5 hr flights home tomorrow. China's been amazing, but I'm also really looking forward to seeing you all. Haven't ever really been so ready to be back from a trip.

Grumpy Monks, Monkey Attacks and More on China's Holiest Mountain

Started out the other morning to hike Mt. Emei Shan- one of China's holiest Buddhist mountains. It's about 10,000 ft and a 52k climb. Emei town, at the base of the mountain, is your standard tourist town full of little restaurants and trinket shops and has a lot more fake waterfalls and Christmas lights than most holy sites I've been to in the world. Anyway, first order of business was trying to find the trail head, a task that was not so east given that topographical maps are illegal in China and so the map we had to use- a hand drawn cartoon-like thing that looked like it belonged in the front of a children's fantasynovel and would be better suited to locating the Pevensies in Narnia or tracking Frodo's progress across Middle Earth than it would be for staying on course for a 52k mountain climbing excursion. The names listed on the map- joking monkey tollgate and elephant wading pool (see picture attached) only furthered the sense of the fantastical. But a few hours of searching and we found the correct trail in off to a somewhat late start.

Thousands of years of history and thousands of climbers a year mean that someone, sometime along the way had decided to make the trails all stone steps-which made it interesting to be climbing a mountain by stairs. Ben was helpfully calculating thenumber of empire state buildings we were ascending and descending as we progressed. The mountain is also dotted with temples and pagodas - 72 to be exact, and we were planning on staying in monasteries on the way up. All the monasteries and stone paths created the feeling of being on an Indianna Jones movie set- no not in an Indianna Jones like setting, but set- like. A thin veneer of touristy artifice continued to pervade the whole mountain. But it was beautiful and realtively unspoiled, crews were picking up litter as fast as the Chinese tourists could drop it, and we saw some amazing flora and fauna- we hiked past tea trees, bamboo groves, rhododendron hedges and different biomes the higher we got. Multicolored butterflies floated past and we stepped over weird leaf like slugs

in what was really a rain or cloud forest, though mercifully no rain. And then of course, monkeys- the other fauna.

We approached the so-called joking monkey toll zone, (Tibetan Macaques, technically) so named because its swarming with monkeys (and Chinese tourists), and the monkeys block your path and you have to give them something to get past. For the most part though, they were fat, lazy and sated by the tourists feeding them, so we got our pictures (you can get right up next to them), and progressed onward and upward, away from the monkeys and away from the tourist hordes. Upward we went- the ascent getting more intense, with regular 500 stair ascents with no landings and a few monkeys here and there, or the occasional snack stand offering water, red bull, tomatoes, cucumbers and all manner of fungus. Finally we came to a flattersection, and a monkey stopped in the path in front of me. I rapped my monkey stick on the ground (my bamboo hiking pole that we'd taking to calling our "Hellz Wind Staffs." Nothing, he just stared back at me. "Hey Ben, check out how fearless these monkeys are!" I shouted up, and looked back down he was gone. Suddenly, a weight on my back. Shit. I turned and could barely make out a furball on my backpack. "AAAAGH!" I started spinning backwards in circles, frantically (and very, very awkwardly) swatting at my pack with my bamboo stick. It was all rather slapstick and I must have looked like Chevy Chase in Chinese Vacation if there were such a thing, though I was also having a hard time standing up- not just off balance from the monkey on my back but laughing so hard at the absurdity of it and how I must have looked. He didnt let go either- not until he'd gotten into the backpack and extracted my bag of peanuts I'd been saving for later did he leap off. He stood there staring at me, peanuts in hand. I took a step forward, he bared his teeth and hugged the peanuts closer. I attempted to bare my teeth back, but even though I never had braces, my teeth are not very scary. Okay my simian friend, you've won this round fair and square. Besides, the peanuts here are stale and always dusted with MSG. (as it everything- yes, thats the secret to Szechuan cooking- and they even give you a dish of it with your meal to season your food a little more should you so desire.)

Monkey episode behind us, we pushed onward, on the lookout now for monkeys and food more securely stored in our packs. The fog was coming in thick, and I could barely see Ben ten paces ahead. We found the next monastery by literally walking into it- and it was quite beautiful and dramatic in the fog, the sound of gongs and sweet smell of incense that we couldnt see, pagoda roofs sliding in and out of the fog... very cinematic. We rested for a while but a good sized tour group came up behind us, and we decided to press on to Yuxian, the next monastery seven or eight kilometers up the path.

An hour or so later we arrived at the dramatic clifftop Yuxian temple, where we checked in with a grumpy young monk who kept a slingshot for monkeys tucked into his robe, and mostly sat around smoking cigarettes and watching kung fu movies. (educational movies perhaps? After all, Emei Shan is purportedly where the Shaolin martial arts style originated. And by the way, there is ALWAYS a kung movie drama on TV here!). The views were dramatic, and this place too was literally crawling with monkeys and monkey families, dozens probably that would keep running into the temple, the kitchen, the hallways, and were admittedly quite cute in spite of my newfound monkey paranoia.

A decent night's sleep and an extremely bland monastic breakfast and we were up early for more insane stair ascents through the fog in the quiet of the morning and up to the elephant bathing pool temple, where we paused and looked out over the other mountains- the other temple-topped peaks poked out of the fog like islands floating in the clouds, a really incredible sight like out of an old Asian painting. We paused for some pictures and a break and pressed onward, listening to the sounds of the forest, the streams running and... honking horns? We heard the parking lot just below the summit before we saw the dozens of behemoth buses belching out diesel and letting off seemingly thousands of tourists. It was a similarly dispiriting feeling I had climbing Mt. Washington- up early to hike, only to arrive at a parking lot of folks who'd driven it and were just looking for souvenirs and bumper stickers. We pushed through the crowds to the trail the last few kilometers to the summit, which was clogged with new tourists, those who werent taking the gondola the rest of the way, and the last few steps hindered by demands by schoolgirls that we get in pictures with them- (really should start charging for these!) And ultimately the summit was pretty spectacular, a massive gold Buddha and temple crowning the dramatic peak with some phenomenal views. Lunched at the summit and decided to stay up there as well, and awoke early the next morning for a somewhat disappointingly cloudy sunrise before heading down. And about ten steps down the clouds broke, and I mean, seriously broke- within minutes the stairs were transformed into rushing two inch deep rivers and waterfalls as we scrambled to the lower summit to find a bus in the parking lot we'd been disparaging less than a day before. But boy was that ride home in the rain sweet, even though my clothes are still drying a day later.

So its back in Chengdu now, a few more days in China for Pandas, Bamboo and hopefully some more interesting culinary adventures. Probably one more email before I head home Saturday. Meanwhile, thanks for reading and really looking forward to seeing everyone next week! By the way, great NYTimes article about contemporary Tibet here...

Hello Dali, Goodbye Kunming, (Hello Chengdu)

Starting this email on my iphone while sitting on the side of the road waiting for the bus to Dali to get going again. Dali being the next overtouristy "traditional" old Chinese town on the trail south. By overtouristy I generally mean overpopulated with Chinese tourists not Westerners. Lijiang was lovely, in spite of the rain (flooding apparently washed away a few towns and people with them here in the past few days), and I highly recommend the Panba hostel, in spite of its inexplicable Christmas themed decorations- (we had a Merry Christmas stocking hanging on our door- perhaps we are close to the factory?)

Yes, our bus is not broken down, but once again, something has happened in the distance and we are stuck waiting. So I realize I've written a lot about the driving here, and i relize also that there are certain unfortunate stereotypes about driving out there that I don't want to perpetuate, but I will say that there are unique qualities to road travel in a country where 95% of the drivers learned to drive in the past five years. For example, heading out of town in a taxi to the bus station (in a car whos brand uses the starfleet/ star trek logo), we drove on a three lane road- no, not three lanes in either direction, just three lanes with white dotted lines. Our taxi to the bus station took us down a terrifying but not atypical three lane road- sort of a lane for one direction, sort of a lane for the other, but most cars, including ours seemed to prefer swerving in and out of the middle lane, feinting left and right at oncoming traffic like some insane video game. We talk in America about cars being an extension of ourselves, and its true here, but people drive the way they walk- a line is more like a funnel shape, and occasionally someone will be just stopped at an intersection reading a newspaper as we saw yesterday.

Secondly, without exaggeration and without exception, every single busride of over two hours has resulted in waiting for well over an hour for the bus to wait for an accident. Sometimes a minor fender bender, often a truck or bus gone over the side. And you just wait, meanwhile, police appear, sirens blazing, but only seem to have on their sirens to get PAST the accident, not resolve or help with the issue by exercising any kind of authority whatsoever that could speed things up. Eventually, some settlement is reached, perhaps by the crowd who stand aroud taking pictures and watching and contributing to the debate of fault. Of course, when one lane of traffic stops, the traffic in that direction merely crosses the line and doubles up both sides of the road, resulting in miles of cars and buses backed up in either direction again taking up both sides of the road with both directions of traffic. At least today we are waiting in a scenic rice paddy. Ah, and moving again, and now that the movie has ended, the bus is now showing Karaoke videos, which the passengers thankfully are (mostly) not singing along with.

Anyway, now in Dali, aka Xiaguan, an "ancient" town on the shores of a lake with some holy 1000 year old pagodas nearby. I have to say, these towns are starting to blend together like the Unesco-fied colonial cities of Latin America. Beautiful to be sure, but we are ready to do sonethong else pretty soon. I have to say though, although tourist, Dali is less touristy than Lijiang and Shangri-La, and more oriented toward western tourists than Chinese ones, and feels a little down at heels/rough around the edges which lends it some authenticity that I like. Either that, or its a little more friendly and familiar to me as a Westerner, and its nice to get a decent cup of coffee and even, yes, a slice of cheesecake. We checked out the temple in the rain (Which has not let up in what feels like weeks), which in the rain and fog, bore little resemblence to the photo attached.

With the rain, we only stuck around Dali for a day and headed out by bus for Kunming, a small Chinese city of a few million in Yunnan. The trip started well on the expressway, past traditionally dressed women harvesting their rice paddies as they have for millenia seemingly oblivious btoy the sudden sprouting of an expressway in the middle of their rice paddy. But soon we were off the expressway and going very slowly chugging up nearly washed out dirt roads pocked with craters. We were moving along decently until gradually things slowed and then heart sinking feeling as the bus shuddered and the engine shut down, just before nightfall. A few more hours waiting on and off the bus as the sun set on the side of the road, walking up and down past villagers, and Chinese texting, eating and chatting and a makeshift casino where men were shouting in Mandarin- with cigarettes and cards in one hand and fistfulls of Yuan in the other. I have to admit I was starting to grow suspicious, given that the villagers had a strong economic incentive to cause breakdowns given the money they were making selling tea eggs and boiled corn. During the wait we even watched a local set up some logs, stretch a tarp over them and start boiling water, making soup and setting out benches. In our hunger by midnight we found ourselves busily slurping soup with dozens of other Chinese denizens of the makeshift restaurant. Finally a ways after midnight we were moving again, but not before the passengers of whichever bus had broken down had piled into ours. Note to all planning to travel by bus in China- don't forget to pack four meals, three books, a headlamp, raincoat, pillow, tent, extra money and hopefully a strong bladder- be like the boy scouts, be prepared...

Kunming was pouring with rain when our bus pulled up at three AM along with every other bus that had been stuck in the same traffic. Cab competition was predictably fierce but manages to get one to the weird Chinese hotel that our last hostel had booked for us. We arrived and fell immediately to sleep, waking up the next day to discpver that our hotel room was on the 8th floor of an anonymous skyscraper and our room was next door to various business offices- the hotel rooms seemed to alternate with office suites and apartments. With no clue where in this giant city we were, we successfully navigated ourselves from filled up hostel to filled up hostel until we decided to just leave our bags at the Hump Hostel- Kunming's primary megahostel, and try to get train tickets OUT of Kunming. The station, while not more insane than Indian rail stations, was impressively insane and of course entirely in Chinese and no foreign ticket office as in india. We tried waiting in a few different lines as we attempted to decode the Chinese characters on the schedule boards, only to deduce that the next three days worth of trains to Chengdu were sold out. A plane ticket was a no brainer though, at less than $100 and less than an hour, compared to 60$ and twenty-two hours. See you later Kunming.

But not before we attempted to find the comforts of home in this foreign city. We wandered in the worst rainstorm I've been in since Cambodia in '06, around Kunming's answer to Times Square, made ourselves sick on Big Macs and attempting to take in an American movie. After much pointing and then photographing and showing the picture of the movie we wanted to see, we settled into the air conditioned theater. A few Chinese subtitles popped up in the credits and we relaxed, looked like not dubbed but subtitled. Until Tom Cruise starting speaking Mandarin and we began wondering if the movie was dubbed into Mandarin with Cantonese subtitles. Oh well, we killed enough time to beat the rain and escape to Chengdu that night, the largest city in Szechuan provence.

More on Chengdu, its amazing food and its charming whitish yellow air in a few days. We are currently in Emei, site of a holy buddhist mountain which we will be climbing for the next few days while crashing in monasteries. Hopefully the smog won't kill us here either!

And I don't mean to sound so negative- the trip remains quite a memorable adventure, in spite of some illness and travel difficulties. Still, looking forward to getting home and seeing everyone and acting like an incorrigible snob about Szechuan food!

PHOTOS: Rice Paddie where bus broke down, Dali, Dali...

Lijiang is Gorges or How I Learned to Love Commie Naxis and Wu-Tang Cola

Arrived in Lijiang a few days ago and checked into a great hostel (Panba!) after some linguistic confusion (two person room, not two person bed). True to the word of other backpackers we encountered, its at least as touristy here as in Shangri-La, but way less artificial feeling. Lijiang has one of those old towns that you would think exists only in our imagination about ancient China - traditional pagoda roofed buildings, flagstone streets, old canals rushing water between the streets. Strolled the alleyways and backstreets eating some random street food, the whole place has canals and bridges and views of Jade Dragon Mountain and is reminiscent, for me, of Hoi An in Vietnam, though somehow now quite as charming, but still, quite charming.

Tiger Leaping Gorge is apparently THE trek to do in Southern China- China in general for that matter. I was ready for a little bit of hype, but the place exceeded my expectations and then some for a pleasant surprise. The gorge is so nam

ed for a legend about a tiger leaping across it or something, which strikes me as unlikely, but still. Unfortunately, the fact that it lives up to the hype also means that the local government is furiously planning hotels, golf courses and theme parks. For now however, it remains unspoiled. We headed out in the rain unfortunately, and day one was mostly up- the 28 bends (switchbacks) to be precise and about 6 miles or so to the guesthouse at the halfway point. Only an hour or so in however, we were pleased to see a sign reading "halfway." A few minutes later, another sign reading halfway. Okay, well, maybe its approximate. A good deal later, another sign, and we realized that it was an advertisement for the amusingly and unironically named "Halfway House" guesthouse. Upward we pushed through the rain, c

lambering up the clay trail, and pretty easily passing the few other gringos on the trail, slowed by hangovers and their constant cigarette breaks. Local kids with donkeys followed us much of the way, asking if we were interested in renting a donkey, but we were doing okay. Almost lost the trail a few times, but the one good thing about the donkeys was that the trail could always be found again by following your nose or eyes back to the donkey shit. And in spite of the rain, or perhaps because of the clouds and mist, the views were spectacular across the Yangste roaring below and over to the mountainous cliffs on the opposite side of the gorge. Thousand foot waterfalls pouring down sheer cliffs, mist forming and unforming around the mountains, the nearest description I can make (lame reference alert) was that this place was clearly the inspiration for the hanging mountains of Pandora from Avatar. But real. After an hour and a half we made it over the 28 bends and through a villages to the Halfway House. That place too had the most spectacular view I've about ever seen in my life, looking out across the gorge. The place itself was incredible Swiss-Family-Robinson-Esque place that even had hot showers and great food. Spent the evening shooting the shit, in fact, having the most ridiculously utter nonsense conversation with an Irishman (my favorite of the anglophone travellers) and the drollest Dutchman, and just spent a few hours laughing and swapping stories.

This morning, after a great night's sleep, we headed out again ambitiously for the next town. A clear but slightly misty day, we traversed through ancient Naxi tribal villages with stone walls and those pagoda-y, Chinesey looking roofs, terraced farms cut into the mountain, past goat-herders and wild horses, over waterfalls and through bamboo forests and down through a... marijuana field? Wait a minute- you don't need to have read The Beach to know that when you stumble onto someone's private marijuana patch in Southeast Asia you have definitely gotten yourself lost. And lost we were, doubling back, tripling back, running out of water, stumbling through farms to find villages that seemed completely empty we were starting to lose steam. Finally we pantomimed to some peasants tending their pigsties who pointed us one way, and stumbled into another farm where the girl there spoke enough English to say "This way road!" Well, basically we crashed our way down the gorge and to the low road where we caught a van and picked up a nice young couple who'd gone to Brown and even knew a few people in common. Drove about ten minutes until we reached a point where the new road was covered in rubble from a dynamite blast we'd heard a few minutes before. And by rubble, I mean gigantic boulders that a front end loader was busy clearing away. While we watched. For another hour. As the rain began. But soon enough we were on our way, swapping travel and America stories with Nate and Emily, and learning about his great iphone app (pleco- check it out) that translates characters that you draw on the touchscreen instantly into English, or at least into amusing Chinglish. It is a GREAT way to pass time in traffic jams... We also learned some great phrases that we tried out on our poor driver, including the wonderfully onomonopaetic "oo-uhh" which means "to vomit." And the other delightful piece of Mandarin? Wu-Tang means sugar-free. So if you want a diet coke in Beijing, order a "Wu-Tang Cola."

Starting this email on my Iphone while sitting in yet another traffic jam, and with a GI system on the fritz and temporarily tamped down with a steady regimen of Cipro and Immodium on the way to Dali- the next overtouristy "traditional" old Chinese town on the trail south. At least we are in a scenic rice paddy, though too bad its raining again. So- I'm well aware that there are stereotypes out their about driving, and well aware that I keep harping on the traffic in this country and don't want to play into it, but I do just want to comment a bit more on the insanity of road travel in a country where everyone has just learned to drive in the past five years. Its insane. We left our great hostel, Panba in Lijiang, probably the best hostel I've ever stayed in, although Christmas themed for some inexplicable reason- Merry Christmas written everywhere and a stocking hanging on our door. Our taxi to the bus station took us down a terrifying but not atypical three lane road- sort of a lane for one direction, sort of a lane for the other but most cars seemed to prefer swerving in and out of said middle lane. Furthermore, without exaggeration I can say that every single trip we've taken of more than two hours has involved waiting around at an accident scene watching people who've crashed their cars / buses/ trucks /tractors into each other argue for hours about who is at fault, with no sign of police or any kind of officials doing anything beyond putting on their sirens so that they can get past the scene of the accident. And half of the trips have spotted a car, truck or bus thats gone over the side and into a ditch. Uh-oh, This accident appears to be an overturned bus, which is sort of changing my appetite for taking an overnight bus from Dali to Kunming... Good thing we are moving becuse the movie on the bus has ended and it is now on to showing Karaoke videos. No, I'm not kidding. That god the passengers arent singing along- not too many of them anyway...

Okay, now in Dali, AKA Xiaguan. These towns are starting to blend together like the Unesco-fied colonial cities of Latin America. Beautiful to be sure, but we are ready to do something else pretty soon. And the rain isn't helping, and apparently Lijiang had a few deaths from flooding yesterday. Dali however has a bit more of a run down feel than some of the other towns we've been to- seedy almost, dirty, a bit rough around the edges, and more more for Western backpackers than Chinese tourists. Is that why I like it more, or is it the seediness- not sure.

No other particularly enlightening observations at this point. Some wacky things- I went to buy potato chips and all they had were chicken, beef, pork and corn (!) flavored chips. I opted for corn, which were very strange, though not as strange as the corn flavored candy. There is also some weird brand of car here that makes the collectivo style minibuses that have as their logo the starfleet insignia, which is kind of awesome. Bus station sold lighters that had Bin Laden on one side and George W Bush on the other. Food continues to be good if Szechuan, some fun deep fried ribs and Kung Pao chicken, and the other odd things about restaurants are that there are no napkins, place settings come to the table shrinkn wrapped and you have to unwrap them, and they sell the local rotgut alcohol in single serving shot glasses that are sealed. And if you ever do go to China, I know I mentioned it before, but the Pleco app for Iphones is super fun way to pass the time. Draw Chinese characters as best you can on your screen, and they translate automatically. (Watch video here). The other news is that our two year old Lonely Planet is also hopelessly out of date- there are now trains everywhere, and tons of stuff exists that didnt when the last edition of Southwest China came out.

Confucian Confusion

Well, farewell Tibet for now. Had a interesting final chat with our guide/minder "Jesse/Tsetse" as we stood urinating next to a bridge draped with prayer flags on the way to the way to the Lhasa airport and he expressed for the first time some emotion for the first time about the Chinese occupation. I told him that many in America and the West care about Tibet, but thought to myself later about how our actions- the desire for cheap Chinese anything, ultimately belies and betrays our words. The scene at the airport itself felt somewhat laden with meaning, arrivals seemed to be full of soldiers and departures full of monks. Symbolic? You tell me, or maybe we just arrived on a particularly ironic day.

Anyway, the flight to Shangri-La in Yunnan Provence was easy enough. And let me say a few words about airlines. Chris, you might ask, you're an intrepid traveller, what are the best and worst airlines in the world? We all know the American ones are decades past their glory. Europe? Please! Not much better. What about Japan Airlines, please fulfill my stereotypes about the orderly and clean Japanese! Nope, the same shitty food, seats and attitude as the major Americans. The best airlines my dear reader are found in developing countries, aspiring countries. Royal Thai, India's Kingfisher, China East, I bet Korean Airlines is great. They load you up with swag beforeyou're even sitting down- various bottles of tea and water, stuffing your pockets with pens and mints, multiple full meals on 45 minute flights, even today on China East it's a complementary mystery box of four tablets from "Yunnan Mingjing Pharmaceutical Ltd."

Regardless. We made it to Shangri-La, and so now, here's the story of Shangri-la, not to be confused with the legend. The scenic Himalayan town of Zhongdian in Yunnan Provence decides a few years back to rename itself Shangri-la to boost tourism for the great and growing middle class in The New China. Tourism booms, and charming old neighborhoods are demolished for high rise hotels. Tourists and their yuan stop coming because quaint village is now gone. Local town fathers come to see the tragic irony, but no so aware of irony that they decide to build overnight from scratch an ersatz "old city" with antique style buildings and suspiciously even cobblestones that now overflows with trinket shops and hotpot restaurants. Yep- irony dies faster in The New China than a nascent democracy movement. The whole place feels a bit disney-esque, or like a movie set. Peek down an alley and catch a glimpse of workers furiously building a new old style building, saws humming and hammers swinging and the whole place still smells of sawdust and fresh wood varnish with probably none of this here even a few months ago. Giftshops sell more Tibetan crap than I saw in Tibet, plus tons of animal pelts, real and fake, and overall its a bit of a shock to see so many tourists, both Asian and Western after Tibet, which had at most about 200 westerners in the whole region last week. Had the most expensive and worst meal in China yet (okay, the barleyflour and yak butter tea was worse), at an overpriced tourist joint (hard to find much else) where we had the yak hot pot- 80% gristle and fat, 19% bone, 1% meat. The streets are full of tourists and the occasional tribal woman from the hills wearing an elaborately embroidered vest and fuchsia turban, of course she is getting crowded out by the Chinese women in their fake tribal costumes.

Our plan to do some trekking north of here was shattered by the disappointing news that due to construction, only one bus every 10 days goes north. So looks like we're stuck here and then tomorrow its on to "Tiger Leaping Gorge." We've now made it down to Lijiang, another scenic town with a real old town. Buses were sold out so we waited in the rain at the Shangri-La bus station- fairly typical developing world bus station (which is to say, generally nicer but more chaotic than those in the states). Watched the weird apple-green three wheeled taxis pull up, which look like a 70's vision of the future, (kinda like the cars in "Sleeper"), and unload passengers with laundry baskets of live chickens- not so unusual, but then seeing someone unload a BAG of live chickens- that was a new sight for me. Horribly uncomfortable busride, though through some beautiful foggy mountains with scenic villages looking straight out of Crouching Tiger or something, and then some pretty grim communist era "new villages" where the pigs and dogs fought over the trash- which was ironic, because really there was plenty to go around.

Anyway, Lijiang is beautiful and now I'm feeling a little more optimistic about China. Tomorrow we'll be trekking the gorge...

No Rest 'till Everest

I'm trying to stay calm after accidentally deleting the last three days of writing... But here goes...

If I didn't explain this before, one needs an "alien travel permit," many permits in fact, to travel here in the so-called Tibetan Autonomous Region. And a Chinese government approved guide. And to leave Lhasa of course you need a driver because you can't just hop on a bus alone. So after months of emailing and document mailing and money wiring we got things all arranged for said permits and guides and drivers, and allow me to introduce the characters: We have a tall grumpy driver named Tawa- who continually presses cheap Chinese cigarettes on us despite our protestations and "Jesse" a soft spoken guide who speaks a bit of English and and Mandarin but mostly of course Tibetan, which is a little frustrating. But hey, we really didn't pay much for this so...

So off we went in our van (that had a sticker on it that said "land cruiser") out of Lhasa p

refecture and into the countryside, first nosing our way through the insane traffic of Lhasa, past the Muslim butchers on the edge of town, standing proudly in frontof massive yak carcasses in their shops, and onward past soldiers at attention in bulletproof glass boxes looking like mannequins or like toy soldiers still in their plastic boxes. Finally we made it out onto the "friendship highway" (friendship between who and whom I wonder?) a charming two lane country road where the insane driving and honking began in earnest, and I began toget a flavor of hinges driving I've heard so much about. At regular intervals there were five cars passing each other at once, with ample use made of both shoulders. And the road itself was filled with all manner of machine and beast- dogs and cats, goats and yaks jostled for space with tractors, pilgrims, nomads, trucks and land cruisers (a

nd Buicks of course) and EVERY ONE of which Tawa, our driver honked at. Commencing the honk from a distance of about a half a mile from each object which meant of course more or less constant honking. It was like a child getting to play driver as if the best thing about driving was gleefully honking. Even in the countryside, without much around it seemed incessant- I swear Ben and I looked at each other once and asked each other if Tawa had just honked at a tree. Yet, somehow either Tawa's driving or the dashboard ornamented with Boddhistavas and Buddhas and prayer flags kept us safe.

No matter, there was a lot to see along the way out to the city of Shigatse, where we'd spend the night and then onward to Everest. We paused at a mountain where our guide pointed out ladders painted on the side and explained that the mountain was still used for sky burials. A sky burial is a traditional Tibetan funeral, in which the body and organs are chopped into pieces and left ona mountaintop to return to nature,and the skull harvested to make a drinking cup (yes, we saw them for sale in the market) and the human femur made into a flute (yep, them too!). These serve both as offerings to the natural world and reminders of life's impermanence.

Stopped briefly at the scenic and holy salt lake of Yamdrok-tso, the shores of which pilgrims ceremonially circumambulate for seven days and which busloads of Chinese and Korean tourists unceremoniously dump their candy wrappers and plastic water bottles. From there we stopped briefly in what looked like a dusty town straight out the American West (save the Chinese and Tibetan signs) to the amazing monastery of Gyantse where there was also an amazing hilltop fortress straight out of the Tibet of my imagination. Onward past more monasteries nestled in the mountains, bright red and gold against the brown mountains, past one with a female incarnate lama and the monastery famous for practicing mediations that superheat the body to survive for days outside in the Tibetan winters.

We drove onward through the Himalayas about 20 miles north of the Bhutanese and then Indian frontier and finally arrived in Shigatse, second largest city in Tibet a depressing town by any standard, and its most redeeming quality being that the feeling of occupation by the Chinese was less apparent than in Lhasa. Still, the crackdown a few years ago and subsequent steep decline in tourism meant almost no restaurants that cater to westerners (as I mentioned in an earlier post, there can't be more than a few hundred westerners in all of Tibet right now) so we found the one restaurant with an "English" menu, passed on the steamed yak tongue and fried sheep lung specialties and got some delish pork with chilis that we only hoped was pork and not the enormous rat we'd seen scurrying around that suspiciously disappeared after wed ordered. The spiciest thing I'd ever eaten, it was delicious, so spicy that the pungent garlic tasted almost sweet. And much better than the breakfast offered this morning- yak butter tea and barley flour. Yes, take a spoonful of barley powder and a sip of tea and make porridge in your mouth! God it was awful. And yak butter tea, the ubiquituous beverage of the Tibetans- imagine if you will hot rancid milk, but saltier and greasier, and that will give you some sense of yak butter tea, which is just yak butter melted into hot water. Ugh, just the smell of it now makes me nauseous.

Anyway, onward we went, over 16000 ft passes bedecked with prayer flags, through flourescent green barley fields, all the while mountains looming in the background and the clouds barely above us in the enormous sky. We passed valleys dotted with nomad encampments and wild yaks and goats, hilltop hermitages and temples ancient and crumbling and temples more recently restored, past smaller and smaller villages of traditional tibetan architecture- whitewashed walls and mud bricks drying in the sun. We passed a monastery with a female incarnate lama, and the monastery best known for the monks who practice meditations to superheat their bodies to meditate outside in the Tibetan winter. We even passed within a few miles of the cave of Milarepa- Tibet's most famous magician-saint. Multiple miltary stops (Checkpoint Charlie Chans?) where we waited around while barely pubescent People's Liberation Army soldiers triple checked our passports and "Alien Travel Permits." Finally we came to last village of any size where the only thing they sold was water, cigarettes and oxygen cannisters, (really, I could have used those more in Beijing!) bought our water and turned down a dirt piste for the last bone jarring five hours. Everest (Qomolongma to the locals) began to appear, revealing a bit of her shoulders or flanks from behind a cloud then disappearing again. We finally passed the photogenic Rongphu Monastery - highest in the world, and one of the places one can stay near the base camp. We pressed on a bit further to a small nomad tent village where we ultimately spent the night in the shadow of Everest. We were well fed by our nomad family- some soup with homemade noodles and unidentifiable yak parts floating in it, and dipped outside for a now fully clear view of the world's highest mountain as the setting sun lit it up. Then, to bed, where we slept on blankets and carpets, kept warm by a stove that burned yak dung. The mother of the family sat around knitting and tending the yak dung stove while her kids ran around in their crotchless pants (cheaper than diapers I suppose, and greener? maybe?)

Up early to drive and then clamber the rest of the way up to base camp. Don't really know how to describe it- it was amazing and inspiring to be standing on that mountain. Base camp wasnt much- a hut, another army post, Tibet's worst toilet, and a whole lot of prayer flags and yaks. But just incredible, indescribable to be standing on that mountain... And to be at 16000 feet and knowing that the mountain is another two miles up vertically. So I suppose can say I came within a few miles of the summit of Mt. Everest?

I wonder what will happen when the glaciers melt on these incredible peaks, it will make climbing different for one thing, but certainly impact all of the rivers across asia- the Yangtse, the Mekong, the Indus and the Ganges...

The ride back, though beautiful, was interminable, now that we were just heading back to Shigatse. But we got to see the impressive Tashilunpo Monastery, seat of the Panchen Lama, second highest lama in Tibet and who chooses the next Dalai Lama (thus the Chinese are trying to control the Panchen Lama, in an long story of intrigue I wont get into but you can read about at Tashilunpo.org or probably on wikipedia). Tashilunpo is in great condition, probably because, as rumor has it, the place is riddled with Chinese spies and monks who have collaborated with the communists. It is like a medieval walled village, the outer wall lined with prayer wheels, and then a kora or circuit for pilgrims to walk inside, and it was again packed with pilgrims carrying their yak butter in nescafe commuter mugs tucked into their silver and turquoise clasps and pushing us along on the tide through the various temples. There was Tibet's largest Buddha at 26m (sitting down!), and numerous gold and silver stupas towering above us,and outside just amazing little cobblestone alleyways to wander around.

And from there, it was another five hours back to Lhasa. Uneventful with the exception of an amazing Szechuan lunch with a menu completely in Chinese. Our guide, who's English is limited and Mandarin apparently even more limited, unhelpfully pointed out everything on the menu and explained it as "meat with vegetable." Yes Jesse, but what meat, with what vegetable. We ultimately resorted to "menu dipping" pointing at random to two items on the menu. At least we knew the chicken and eggs would be fresh, local and free range as they were wandering aroud the front yard. And what we got was incredible- spicey chicken with ginger and squash and an amazing sliced potato with pork belly stirfry. Wow. Much better than the yak burger I had later (which incidentally, tastes just like a veggie burger. So my vegetarian friends, if you are thinking of eating meat- start with a yak burger).

Well, that was a long entry. Now, in a few hours we depart Lhasa and fly to Shangri-La. Yes kids, there is a Shangri-La, or at least a town the Chinese government decided to rename Shangri-La to boost tourism!

(Pictures: Ben & I at Everest, Yak, Gyanstse, Jesse & Tawa in the Nomad Tent, Map of Everest,)

Yakity Yak- Don't Talk Back (especially not to the People's Liberation Army) or You Must be Jokhang

I don't know whether the terrible night's sleep was due to indigestion from the yak BBQ I had for dinner or the altitude or delayed jetlag or what, but I was thoroughly exhausted waking up this morning. I even fell asleep on a table over lunch. There is also only one time zone in China, which means that I even though I woke up at 6ish, crack of dawn was still hours away. Anyway, we got up and basically watched the sunrise over the Potala from our hostel's roof, while below the police loaded themselves into their armored personnel carriers and the garbage trucks collected the garbage to the incongruous bleeping electronic tune of happy birthday to call people to bring their garbage out. (And I wonder if Chinese tourists to America write emails back to friends in China saying they sing each other the garbage song on birthdays in America). Overlooking the the city were plumes of smoke and I wondered momentarily if there were riots or fires in the old quarters, but realized it was plumes of incense smoke drifting up from braziers on the pilgrim circuit as pilgrims tossed juniper and barley in by the fistful, and lending the city a sweet, if suffocating smell.

We headed down and wandered a bit around the Barkhour circuit- an ancient pilgrimage circle weaving through ancient alleyways around the Jokhang temple, the holiest site in Tibet, (the Vatican of Tibetan Buddhism I suppose you could say) with all the hundreds of pilgrims and prostraters (and definitely no protesters). Many wore pads on their hands, leather aprons with rubber reinforcements and even reinforced shoes to protect themselves from the hundreds or thousands of full body prostrations they made around the temple, their foreheads bleeding and filthy and bodies surely weary by the day's. Many held out their aprons for pilgrims to stuff money into to earn merit for their reincarnation. There was even a man with one leg who we saw in the morning and then again later in the day, still at it making his way around doing full prostrations. The circuit and temple were packed with pilgrims from all over, with traditional yak wool smocks, brightly colored yarn braided into the hair of both men and women, and somewhat incongruous but ubiquitous cowboy hats. There were also dozens of feral lapdogs in the procession, yes, Lhasas and Pekingese, adorable if a bit shaggy, but likely rabid. The people here in Tibet are also also consistently genuinely friendly and curious, very soft spoken and, not to be creepy, but Tibet easily has the highest percentage of beautiful women I've seen in any country, even Colombia.

We then entered the Jokhang itself, jostling our way through claustrophobia inducing crowds in the tiny medieval corridors thick with smoke and lit only by yak butter lamps. Many pilgrims had purchased thermoses of melted yak butter to add to the lamps as offerings as they muttered prayers over the flickering lamps. The smoke stained murals of demons and boddhisatvas combined with the smell of incense, sounds of chanting and throngs of traditionally dressed pilgrims really felt like something out of a fairytale storybook stereotype of "Mystical Tibet." Of course, the obnoxious hordes of Chinese tourists didnt allow the feeling to last, and the greasy-with-spilled-yak-butter floors also made it critical to focus on watching your step.

Our guide/minder was unfortunately not very helpful in his broken English, and there was also that awkward and uncomfortable interactions that can happen sometimes when travelling where one know more (factually speaking) about certain cultural sights and such than the locals (actually Tsetse I'm pretty sure that's the fifth century, not the twelfth century...). And what is up with my terrible habit of speaking back to people with accents in accented broken English right back to them, as if they can understand me better. Yes, yes- tomorrow go with taxi Potala Palace? Ugh. it makes me feel like such an ugly American...

The afternoon was spent at Norbulinka, the Dalai Lama's somewhat run down summer palace, parts of which we couldn't visit because there were pictures of him there, and yet some wonderful gardens and lakes to wander around and relax, kind of what I'd hoped the forbidden city would be but wasn't. There was also an amazing broken English explanation of the place, that I tried to photograph here.

From there onto another temple, Sera, the second largest monastery, once home to almost 7000 monks, then none after '59, now back to about a tenth its former size and slowly rebuilding itself as evidenced by the tittering girls pushing around wheelbarrows full of cement. Admittedly, by this point the statues and stupas were starting to blur together as temple fatigue started to set in, but the grounds themselves were breezy and pleasant for a stroll until we came to the courtyard of the debating monks. We sat in a circle as young monks drilled each other on questions of theology and Tibetan history, demanding answers with a sharp stomp of the foot and clap of the hand, almost like a baseball pitcher's windup. Near-full-contact academic debate, which, in spite of understanding no Tibetan beyond "Teshe Delek" (hello) was extremely amusing.

Now for a stroll around town and some dinner. Oh, and today's best Chinglish? Well Simpsons fans, I'm not making this up but a shirt that read "Nestle Chocelate Malk."

POTALA PALACE:

I'm writing from an internet cafe, in fact the only internet cafe in Lhasa and what advertises iself as "the best toilet in Tibet." And from what I've seen so far I'd have to agree, though still amazing that you can't flush toilet paper in the best toilet in Tibet. Its also packed with white people, the most we've seen- there are probably no more than a hundred or so in all of Lhasa right now.

So today was a trip out to the Drepong monastery- largest in Tibet and nicknamed the rice pile due to it's extensive rambling of white buildings and temples on the side of a mountain. Very cool and just unique enough to not feel exactly like all the other temples which do start to blur. From there it was down to the Potala Palace, well down and then very much up, the 300 year old hilltop palace of the last nine Dalai Lamas, until thee 14th fled in '59. First of was the obligatory photogrpah with a Chinese tour group, before entering- not as bad as the photo taking and stares in India though. (see blog 7/08) Maybe we should rent ourselves out though -seems to be good money in it...

Kinda an eerie feeling walking through the Dalai Lama's bedroom, his alarm clock still next to his bed where he left it 50 years ago and now and has been unable to return, yet I can shuffle through with dozens of Chinese tourists and gawk. His bedroom window also now looks out on what used to be a village and now is a massive communist style monument to the 'liberation' of the Tibetan people by the PLA. And let it be noted too that the top of the palace flies a positively MASSIVE Chinese flag, lest there be some confusion. Not to mention the fact that possessing a Tibetan flag can get you arrested.

Interestingly however, the 50yuan note, second most valuable banknote in China, has the Potala on the back. I feel in some ways that this sums up the complicated relationship between the so called Tibetan Autonomous Region and the Peoples Republic. Not just that it's about money, but the cultural exploitation for money is part of the irony given the busloads of Chinese tourists. On the one hand, it suggests that china values Tibetan culture enough to prominently display, and to not completely destroy this place as very nearly happened during the cultural revolution ( and did happen to 3000+ temples in Tibet). And yet such a display also sends an undisputable message that Tibet is a part of the People's Republic. I can only wonder what the Tibetan people feel about this- pride, conflicted, resentment? I'd ask but I can't - you never know who could be listening... Okay, enough philosophizing.

But the palace was cool- amazing in fact, countless temples with solid gold 3D mandalas and gold leaf stupas, 40 ft Buddhas and boddhisatvas, as well as the red and black faced demons who are the Buddhas protectors, (Varjapani and Hayagriva) a meditation cave, and over 1000 rooms, of which we got to see about 20. It did feel somewhat sterile though- Chinese guards, no incense and chanting and missing the vibrant lived-in feeling of the monasteries that have been coming back.

Beijing to Lhasa

The great wall lived up to its hype. Pushing through early morning Beijing rush hour traffic we worked our way through the hazy morning smog of Beijing- so polluted that you couldnt even see a quarter mile ahead down the road, and past seemingly thousands of cranes (no, not the beautiful delicate birds) assembling new megablocks of skyscrapers that made Co-op City look like a quaint country village. Past demolished gray brick hutongs (traditional neighborhoods) now just piles of bricks, and then out of the great megalopolis of Beijing and into the "countryside" where we passed demolished traditional quaint country villages that were rapidly being converted into McMansion suburbs all in the name of The New China. If the cultural revolution can't stamp out the old, so-called Chinese-style capitalism clearly will. Past giant power lines we travelled, and through a village with a supermarket called "Playboy" complete with the bunny logo, a few army bases and assorted junkyards and factories.

Finally we arrived. We had signed up for the "Secret Great Wall Tour" which promised a 10k hike along an untouristed part of the wall, and were dubious about these advertised claims, but our van, after passing through a few great wall spots clogged with buses disgorging tourists, ultimately stopped at a completely abandoned and crumbling section and let us out to make the hike. The mountain air was somewhat better than Beijing, where the joke is that to get some fresh air you should smoke a cigarette, and the breeze was a welcome relief in the punishing sun. (And Yes, Mom, I wore sunblock!) Yes, the untouristed bit of the wall was also in a state of some disrepair it must be noted. After the slightly disappointing day at Tianenmen Square and The Forbidden City, my jaded self was truly impressed. The great wall is also insanely steep as it winds over mountain passes, and we slogged our way up some relatively intact steps, and then sections that were near vertical inclines with stones that crumbled and fell onto whoever was hiking behind, which made for a pretty Indiana Jones-esque experience. That and walking along sections with undergrowth, and in fact overgrowth- trees and bushes higher than our heads in places and sprouting out of the wall. A few hours later we'd hiked our little piece of the wall, and our eighteen year old fresh-faced guide declared "you are now true men and women having made ascend of great wall!" Busride back included some standard chatting with the various other expat English teachers, exchange students and gap-year Aussies who, all things considered, were pretty cool. Seem to be more Americans in China than most other places I've travelled besides Europe.

After spending some time at the hostel trying to nail down the last details of our Tibet trip, we headed back across Tianenman Square to a night market purported to have the best, or at least most interesting, street food in Beijing. And yes folks, I ate a scorpion. And a snake. I passed on the donkey penis, starfish and seahorses, and definitely did not have it in me to try to rat or the tarantula. Nor did I brave the heaping piles of tripe everywhere I turned. And I'll admit dear readers, that although I was looking forward to eating snake, I would not have tried the scorpion had Ben not fearlessly ordered a skewer of "medium scorpion please" first. Taste? Kinda like greasy chicken skin. And the snake, kind of like eel, though they loaded it up with spices so much that really the only thing objectionable was its surprisingly rubbery texture, but then, what other snake do I have to compare it to? Oh, but the pork buns? They would put David Chang at Momofuku to shame.

Back to the hostel for the best night's sleep in some time, then this morning up early to fly to Tibet. I can't deny it, I was pretty excited when the officer asked for my passport and then said "papers please" and we got to hand over the "Tibetan Autonomous Region Travel Permit" addendum to our visa that was months in the acquisition. Okay, I'll admit it, he just gestured and I said, "oh, papers please?" and he responded "yes yes, papers please." The flight itself was relatively straightforward, a brief stopover in Chengdu, a city of zillions somewhere in western china with a nicer and larger airport than anything I've seen stateside or even in Europe, and a bumpy but reasonable landing after flying not above, but next to the Tibetan Himalayas. The flight to Lhasa, interestingly, was about 95% Han Chinese, a couple Mongolians, and I counted nine White folks. This tells you something both about China and Tibet, where in Lhasa the ethnic Chinese outnumber the Tibetans 3:1, and Tibet has apparently become the new hot travel spot for young Chinese yuppies. We deplaned, gasping like fish for air, not because of the pollution as in Beijing, but the oxygen thin air of a 10,000 foot city (yes, 2x Denver). Our driver and guide/"minder" managed to meet us, and we had a nice drive into Lhasa, stopping to eat some grapefruit sized melon at a roadside stand. The outskirts of Lhasa could be any third world hellhole city- constant honking as we passed luxury cars and donkey carts, pedestrians leading yaks and bus drivers, and we gradually made our way down some giant boulevard past rows and rows of car dealerships, mostly selling Buicks, and then turning a corner and then, suddenly popping into view above the blue glass shopping plazas was the Potala Palace itself, as glorious as I'd imagined it to be. And okay, you know what? I'll do it, I'll use the adjective "resplendent."

And Tibet so far is actually far better and more authentic than I'd feared it would be in all the reading I've done. Certainly it is changed, and certainly the horrors of the cultural revolution left an indelible mark, but Tibetan culture seems indelible in its own way. (for more on Tibet History recent and older, that I won't or probably shouldnt get into here and now, check out The Road Home, My Land My People, Dragon in the Land of the Snow Lion, or Surviving the Dragon). Certainly its a country under occupation, as the hundreds of PLA troops I saw today alone would testify- stationed at every corner, and even not-so-discreetly under umbrellas on rooftops, holding their rifles and scanning the streets for trouble.

But we are staying in the Tibetan quarter, our hotel balcony has views of the Potala and we can watch the pilgrims making the circuit around the Barkhour temple below, dressed in traditional garb, chanting and spinning prayer wheels as they circumambulate the back streets of Lhasa, many having travelled thousands of miles to make this trip to the Barkhour and Jokhang temples. The army soldiers walk disrepectfully counterclockwise, guns in hand and knock shoulders with the pilgrims, but at least the streets are thronged with pilgrims and its not even a festival season. Barkhour square itself is awash in merchants blasting Tibetan hip-hop (straight outta Lhasa?), which drowns out the wails of pilgrims prostrating themselves dozens, hundreds of times in front of the temple. So the good news is that something of the original Tibet very very much thrives here in Lhasa today.

Tomorrow its off to the temples, then the next day the palace assuming we have adjusted to the altitude... More to come...

I < 3 BJ

Well, I made it. A lovely layover in Vancouver with an old friend for a day, who I think literally took me to EVERY neighborhood in town (thanks Gilli!), then entered metal tube for twelve grueling hours, and exited said metal tube in the brand spanking new Beijing airport (feng-shui compliant!), and easily through passport control where the twelve year old didnt even ask me a single question before ushering me onward toward the light rail that brought me to baggage claim. The subway car was filled with chinese police, also all looking about twelve years old, with mismatched boots and matching fake rolexes, and the CUTEST K9 dogs I think I've ever seen- like beagles and collies and such. The airport, built in time for the '08 Olympics, was incredibly nice, and yet for some reason it will be demolished and rebuilt again to be completed in 2012.
Successfully met Ben at baggage claim, and took a taxi through the smog to our hotel a few blocks south of Tianenmen Square. For most of the drive Beijing looked like a dystopian LeCorbusier-esque supercity of giant buildings and superhighways, full of luxury cars (I guess its either luxury car or NO car here in the New China), most of which were Volkswagens or, inexplicably, Black Buick Regals. I havent seen so many Buicks since visiting my grandmother in her retirement community! Anyway, the hotel neighborhood does appear to be at a normal scale. In fact, its a pretty cool old neighborhood, old low buildings and alleyways crowded with bicycles and rickshaws and peddlers of all kinds selling dumplings and whatnot. Our Hostel is perfectly decent, and full of the usual motley crew of Australian and European backpackers, and thankfully with functioning air conditioning. (As the pilot announced when we were landing, "temperature in Beijing is currently 94 and hazy of course!"). Jetlagged, we stumbled into a phenomenol dinner spot where we gorged ourselves on courses of Peking duck- first came the skin, so shiny and crisp you could practically see your reflection, then the tender meat, withsides of scallion and cucumbers to roll up with the duck in spongy chinese pancakes. Yeah, wow. And so much more appetizing than the rest of the menu which thankfully at least had pictures (donkey meat in spicy sauce, jellyfish with fermented vinegar (redundant, I know), and cow tendon in salty sauce.) Then to sleep, where I was indeed a very jetlagged viking.

This morning up at near dawn for breakfast and then discover than the city was broiling hot and humid even by 8am (theres apparently a heat wave here too!) We wandered aroudn our neighborhood, a lovely shopping area complete with H&M, Uniqlo and Starbucks, and to Tianenmen Square, which was really... just a big square. Apparently the biggest city square in the world. (See pictures, and no, in China, you most definitely cannot access THAT picture of Tianenmen Square, though I wondered what someone would do if one decided to pose in the center of the square holding up your hand like the tank man). Onward to the not-so-forbidden city, which was swarming with hordes of Chinese and international tourists by 9:00, most of whom were smart enough to bring parasols for the blazing sunshine- it got up well over 100 by midday. Parts of the forbidden city were quite cool and impressive, mostly the side buildings and gardens which werent nearly so crowded, though overall, I'm sorry to say, I felt a little jaded but just wasnt that impressed. A few impressive buildings, and certainly a massive scale, but for the most part, it was just a series of giant squares and pagoda-like buildings. Sadly, I've been in so many ersatz pagoda buildings in various Chinatowns and Chinese restaurants that the orginal sort of didnt seem that impressive, and kinda felt a little tackty almost with the red roofs and gold dragons everywhere. I know, I know, I mean, it was impressive, but I think I just prefer other architecture styles- Wat Pho and the royal palace in Bangkok for example, or other places just have more interesting architecture to me than China. We wandered back through some alleys in ou neighborhood, to touts calling out "little brother friend, you come but t-shirt!" as they hawked T-Shirts of Mao, The Great Wall, and the unintentionally funny I <3 BJ in the I <3 NY logo. Plenty of good Chinglish printed everywhere on signs and t-shirts, my favorite being the kid in the NY Yankers T-Shirt. Anyway, back here now to try and stay awake, and on to the great wall tomorrow.