Lijiang

My first morning  in Lijiang I slept in a bit, got a shower, and did a load if laundry.  The hostel has some rickety metal stairs up to the roof, where there is sunny area filled with clotheslines, so my first view out into the Lijiang old town was from the top of the hostel.  Immediately below was the concrete playground of the local middle school.  As I hung out my laundry I listened to shouts if the kids as they had their gym class, playing some sort of pass-the-ball game.

And then I was off to explore. Lijiang, or at least the Old Town, which has now been surrounded by a modern city of over a million people, is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.  The old town has a history of more than eight hundred years, and was once a major trading post along what was called the Tea Horse Road, which ran south through Burma and into northern India, and north curved around through Tibet and Sichuan Province, with tea from Yunnan and horses from Tibet being the most popular trading goods.  The trade route was important enough that it was often called the Southern Silk Road. 

The old town is different from many other ancient Chinese towns as it has always been inhabited by a minority, the Naxi (Nakhi) people, who have their own history and culture.  They have their own writing system, way of hunting with falcons, and were one of the few cultures to use a matriarchal system of inheritance, in which family holdings were passed down the female line instead of the male.  They even have their own religion, the Dongba religion, which is similar to an ancient religion, Bon, that was common in Tibet before Buddhism. 


The old town itself is quaint and pretty, with little bridges crossing over the little canals that wind through the town. It's a maze of cobblestone streets; I just wandered along picking streets at random most of the afternoon, only using my map if I wanted to try to find something specific.  The traditional architecture of the wooden buildings with their tiled roofs has been carefully preserved, at least on the outside, but of course now all the buildings hold souvenir shops--loom-woven scarves, products made from the local yaks, and recordings of local music made up at least half of the shops, with seemingly identical shops on every street.  Still, it was a pleasant place to wander. 

After I caught a glimpse of the mountain that make the backdrop to the city, I followed the streets north, trying to get a clearer view, which brought me finally to the Black Dragon Pond Park. 

Bus to Lijiang

 

After a bathroom break, walking up and down the road three times, consulting both the Lonely Planet and three websites, I finally figured out a bus route to get across the city from the south to the west bus station to get a bus for Lijiang. I took one bus from there to somewhere near the train station, walked a few blocks, and found another that went directly to the west bus station.  I was very fortunate to get a seat both times.  The second bus ride was a bit eventful as the much-harassed bus driver had to pull over twice to have yelling and screaming arguments with two different riders (Of course I couldn't follow the arguments, but I would guess they were probably misunderstandings based on this being an express bus to the public bus station; it wasn't stopping at many stops that that number bus usually would if not an express), and once to punch buttons and beat on a faulty piece of equipment on the dash. 

Anyhow, I made it to the bus station, which was a crowded mess with construction going on as always, and bought a ticket for the 11:20 to Lijiang. According to Lonely Planet, the trip should take ten hours.  We hurdled down the interstate uneventfully for nearly five hours, until suddenly we had a beautiful view of the huge lake near Dali; the clouds parted just enough to allow a few sunbeams to escape, moving over the water like spotlights. 

Soon after, a sign along the interstate said Lijiang, 120 kilometers (about 75 miles). It couldn't possibly take five more hours; if we continued at highway speed, it shouldn't take more than an hour. But surely the guidebook wasn't that far wrong...

It wasn't.  Almost as soon as I thought all this, the bus veered off the highway to the most forlorn looking rest area I'd seen yet, on a pot-holed side road.  Why did the driver choose this out if the way place? Didn't we just pass a rest area right along the interstate not too far back?

Once we loaded back onto the bus, I understood. Instead of heading back to the interstate, we continued down the narrow local road, almost immediately turning into switchbacks.  We weren't going to follow the valleys on the highway; we wrote going straight up and over those mountains. 

The first slopes were green and rounded, dotted liberally with tall white wind turbines, adding an otherworldly flavor to the view.  We soon left them behind as we followed the ridges.  On the right, I could see how high up we were by the distant view of the valley below.  On the left, my view was of the increasingly rockier summits, and occasionally pockets of snow.  I tried for several miles to get shot of a particularly high and imposing peak. 

Undoubtedly the view on this route was much better than the interstate, but it did make for a much longer trip as we passed through tiny villages and squeezed the bus past dump trucks on narrow lanes.  At one point we came to a slightly larger small town, and that's where things really slowed down.  They were working on enlarging the road, but for now they just have it ripped up completely.  We bounced and jolted over dirt and gravel for what felt like five miles. 

We finally did make it into Lijiang; we did make it quicker than I originally thought, in just a shade under nine hours, but still, four hours of that were that last seventy-five miles. 

Overnight Bus

Well, technically it took four buses-two long-distance buses and two city buses-to get from Yuanyang to Lijiang. 

I took a sleeper bus out of Xinjie at 6:30; if you've never been on a sleeper bus, it's a bus with bunks inside instead of seats.  Although the bunks are necessarily quite narrow, they are usually quite comfortable.  Usually the bunks are not totally flat, but reclining.  The raised part under the pillow provides a cubby-hole for the person behind to stretch their feet into.  Low rails help keep everyone from rolling out into the aisle in the case if a sharp turn.  Each bunk is provided with a rather flat and abused-looking pillow and a thick warm comforter.  To keep the bunks clean, everyone takes off their shoes up ny the driver's seat and carries them in a plastic bag, which the conductor is handing out.  I took a picture, but on my camera and not my phone.  I may attach it to this post later on when I get around to loading my pictures onto the computer. 

The journey from Kunming to Yuanyang typically only takes six or seven hours, which would put us arriving in Kunming in the middle of the night.  I wasn't sure if this overnight was a good idea in that case, as I didn't want to be ejected into the south bus station hours before the city buses would start running, but Jacky explained that the bus would take its time, arriving in Kunming at three or four in the morning, but then it would park outside in the bus terminal parking lot, and we could stay on it and sleep until morning. 

While there was still light, I put up with the wind in my face and kept my little window open, taking pictures of the terraced hills as we wound through them. As I got on at 6:30, I figured I'd read and listen to music for several hours before I would feel sleepy, but nearly as soon as it got dark I couldn't concentrate on what I was reading.  It wasn't much after eight when I stowed anything valuable down under my feet and curled up with my comforter.  I fell asleep quite quickly. 

I woke up when the lights came on when we stopped at rest areas a couple of times during the night, but I was too warm and comfortable to bother getting out of my bunk.  It may seem strange, but I slept better object the bus than I had at the guest house the night before. 

I woke up around five and realized we were parking Kunming, but had no desire to get out in the cold just yet, as buses wouldn't be running yet.  I stayed comfortably dozing in my bunk until I made myself get moving about seven thirty. 

Xinjie

As I didn't want to risk being late for my bus,and because I didn't have anything better to do in Duoyishu anyway, I took a minibus to Xinjie about four hours before my bus was scheduled to depart. I picked up my ticket at the bus depot, and still had more than two hours to kill.

The two major streets meet at the bus depot in a vee;  the buses came and went by the right-hand one, so I strolled down the one I hadn't been down yet. Stopping along the way to buy some drinks from a young man at a little shop with his toddler daughter peeking over his shoulder from the carrier on his back, I soon came out onto a large public square, much larger than usually found in small Chinese towns.  Small towns here are usually huddled close, not wasting an inch of space. 

This large sunny square made a pleasant place for old people to gather around a game of mahjong or Chinese chess, or to just sit and smoke together meditatively.  The far end of the plaza ended in a railing; from this terrace the deep valley and rolling mountains beyond formed a vast panorama. 

I sat in a shady spot and read for a while, until I was interrupted ny a gregarious old man and used all of my limited Chinese I could think of to try to satisfy his curiosity about this strange foreigner sitting in his town square.  He recommended a new direction out of the square as a good direction to sight-see; I wondered off that way as our conversation was getting frustrating as I had already used up all the Chinese I knew, but he was still asking questions anyhow.  I didn't want to wander too far down steps I knew I'd have to climb back up, but I did soon come across a reasonably large and well-stocked grocery store.  I took the opportunity to stock up on snacks, as I would be on the overnight bus by supper time, and I intended to get directly on a ten-hour bus to Lijiang once I got to Kunming, so I would need some meals for then, too.  I bought a spoon for the peanut butter I already had, plus side crackers, juice, chips ahoy cookies, and banana chips. 

I spent my last few minutes sitting in the bus station waiting room, reading and glaring at young men who lit up cigarettes upwind of me. And then we were off, on to the next stage of the adventure.

Duoyishu

My second morning in Duoyishu, I dragged myself out of bed again and went out on the deck and huddled in a rocking chair to  watch the sunrise. I wore pretty much all my clothes, as it was cold in the early morning before the sun warmed things up. 

I thought about going on another hike, but I needed to be back to catch a minibus (van) to Xinjie by about 3:30, so I didn't really have time as all the other routes Jacky suggested would take several hours. I took my time showering and repacking my stuff, and then caught a ride up to the main road with Jacky after I checked out.  He pointed out the local restaurant; I wanted a hot meal since I knew I'd be snacking on the bus for supper and all the next day. I got some carrots and pork, which had some bell pepper mixed in. It's a common dish in China, although of course it was a bit overpriced here, being a tourist place and the only restaurant, so they know you have no choice. I really liked their dishes, though;  not just the usual white bowls.

After I ate, I left my backpack at the restaurant and walked up the road in the opposite direction from what I'd walked the day before, but I didn't find anything interesting.  I ended up catching the van to Xinjie early with the help of the waitress; I'd see if there was anything to see there. 

Below the Village

Just after I passed the pork-and-potato dinner preparations, the path took a sharp right and I was alone in quiet farm land again. I found a ledge to sit on and enjoy the view while I rested for a minute, and I pulled out my kindle to read a bit more. A man who looked about sixty strolled by, hands behind his back.  He looked over my shoulder curiously to see what I was doing and asked what that thing I was using was; I tried to explain that it was for reading books, but he shook his head bemusedly and wandered on.

After a bit I followed him down the path, which soon came out if the trees into the sun. Rice terraces undulated across the valley in both directions; to the right the layers went all the way up to the main road and seemingly beyond all the way to the foot of the mountain towering behind. Ahead of me the broad valley narrowed between the cliffs, but a thick, low cloud closed the gap, sealing this valley into its own little world. 

I soon found the old man again, sitting on a grassy hillside along the path with his friend.  They sat chatting in the sun on this winter afternoon, and he greeted me enthusiastically as I came into view. He saw I had my camera around my neck, and he pointed at it and motioned with the charades that we who do not  share a language communicate with for me to take a photo of him and his friend.  They smiled cheesily as I did, and then he hopped down from his hillside perch to see the picture.  He may not understand a kindle, but he had the idea of digital cameras.  He seemed quite proud of himself when he remembered how to express approval to a foreigner-thumbs up!

I went just a bit further down the path and stood in the sun taking in the 360 degree view, and then retraced my steps through the village and around the road to "my" village on the opposite side of the valley, arriving as the late-afternoon sun turned the valley gold. 

Hiking in Hani Villages

I had followed Jacky's directions on my walk, and he said to walk four kilometers along the main road, and then look for a large sign with certain Chinese characters carved on it, on the left side of the road, with a new house next to it, with two old mud houses with thatched roofs across the way.  I'd been walking a good while and resigned myself to the fact that I must have missed it somewhere along the way, but at least I'd had a pleasant walk anyhow.  I was almost to the point of turning back-maybe it was in that last village?-but ahead I saw one more village, and just before it one of the rustic thatched-roof huts. Alright, alright, one more village and then I'm turning around. 

And there it was, just as he'd described. I guess I underestimated how far four kilometers was.  He said to follow the dirt road into the village that ran between the sign and the new house.

The village I was staying in seemed awfully far away from modern life to me already, but this... It was like stepping off the road into another century. Jacky has surely given these directions to quite a few people along the way, but it seemed as if this place was untouched by any tourist gawking. This was simply a tribe of people-the Hani-living the way they always had. 

Most of the buildings were stuccoed in clay, and covered by thatched roofs.  Small rock-wall enclosures alongside the houses penned in grunting pigs and squirming piglets. I saw a couple of pool tables on porches-but they were covered in dust and were being used as more conventional tables, holding up a bundle of firewood or the like. 

I wound my way through the alleys of the upper village, which seemed nearly deserted.  As Jacky had said, I came out to a round grassy field on a little rise, where a woman in traditional clothing tended long strips of black cloth she was hanging on the line to dry.  On the other side of her grassy yard, criss-crossed with dirt tracks like the type that cattle make, the main path continued into the trees and down a steep hill, into a second lower village.  This one was even further back in time, far from the sound of cars. I found plenty of people here; five old women, again in traditional colorful headscarves and embroidered skirts, walked in a line up the path, bearing the crop of turnip greens they'd just picked. They smiled at me and were amused at how I was carefully picking my way down the rough stone path that looked slippery to me. They'd walked it every day of their lives; how hard could it be?

A young pregnant woman and an ancient old man watched me pass curiously from their chairs on a shady front porch.  Another old man did a double take to see a foreigner as he rounded a corner with his hoe in his shoulder. I passed three little boys turning over rocks in the stream, looking for salamanders.Children are the same anywhere; two were wearing their rain boots, but the third had kicked his off and rolled up his pants, and was standing ankle-deep in the water.  As I was nearly past his mother came out from behind the house and was still fussing at him as I rounded the corner. 

At the bottom of the village I found the rest if the villagers.  On a shady stone patio next to one of the village wells, a group of about ten men were gathered around with their knives, cleaning a large pig they'd evidently just butchered that afternoon.  About as many women sat or stood around the steps if the house across the way, most with babies tied to their backs with the embroidered maroon slings that the local women all seem to have for the purpose.  They were peeling potatoes by rubbing them on rough rocks.

Off for a Walk

After waking up early to watch the sun rise, I had all day to explore.  I asked Jacky if there were any maps for walking trails in the area, and he dreamed out a map that would take me down the road and into an old-fashioned village.  

I found my way through the tangled maze of the village I was staying in and made my way up to the main road and turned left, further out into the country (if I can say further out-we were an hour drive from a town of anytime already). 

It was a pleasant sunny day, about sixty degrees, perfect for walking.  The road circled around the valley, rising gradually higher and higher. I passed through several little villages and I felt happier and happier as I drew closer to the beautiful green mountain I had admired across the valley.  

When I got tired, I found a large concrete slab alongside the road, with a view out over the terraces, and spent awhile sitting in the sun reading a few more chapters of Lord of the Rings.  Reading such an epic story and remembering the scene the night before of tall pines rising through the mist made me want to write my own epic fantasy, and I spent most of the walk planning it all out in my mind.  Of course I'll probably never get around to writing it down, but I got further than I usually do when I think of a story.  The problem is I don't really think of stories, usually;  I can dream up fantastic characters and settings, but the plot escapes me. My lively and thoughtfully-named characters end up sitting around staring at the walls of their lovely setting, boring themselves to death.  It seems like all the good plots are taken. 

Jacky's Guesthouse

Using hostelworld as always, I booked a room at Jacky's Guesthouse.  Jacky is a local who grew up in this village, but was one if the few to do well enough on the exams to make it to college.  After attending college far off in Xi'an, he got a job as an assistant to a famous photographer and spent four years traveling the world.  Afterwards, he came back to his native village (a bit rare in itself; you know how it goes in most small towns-those that leave never come back), and used the money he'd saved to open this guest house and bring travelers to his beautiful home.

It was one of the more expensive places I will stay on this trip, as they don't have dorms or single rooms so a single person has to pay for two anyhow. However, my room was in the perfect place, on the fourth floor, opening onto the balcony. From the balcony I could see the village, the mountain behind, the rice terraces, and down past the cliffs into the valley...the best view of the trip, as soon as I opened my door.  Both mornings I woke up early to sit out on the balcony and freeze and watch the sun rise over the mountain.

  

Sunrise in Duoyishu

I set my alarm early, drug myself out of my warm (but extremely uncomfortable; after all these years in China I still can't get used to Chinese beds...so hard you might as well sleep on the floor) bed, bundled up, and sat out on the balcony to take pictures of the rice terraces in the morning light. 

Sunset over Yuanyang

As soon as I stepped off the bus in Xinjie, there was a rather hyper man asking, "Jacky's? Jacky's?" He was a minivan driver for hire, and he took me the 25 kilometers to where I was staying at Jacky's Guesthouse in Duoyishu. 

Along the way, he pulled over suddenly and motioned for me to get out and take pictures.  I snapped a few and then hopped back in and we were off again.  We stopped again briefly at another overlook, and at the third one, a large deck overlooking the valley, he hauled out a big camera and tripod of his own.  He kept trying to explain something to me; I got the point from his pantomime that we were going to wait here for sunset.   After about the fourth time he repeated what he was saying, I realized he was trying to say "sunset" in English, but mangling it so badly that I thought he was saying something in Chinese. English wasn't his strong point...using my limited Chinese, I learned that his name is Xiao Ma Ge, and he is a local of the Hani minority.  

As we watched the sun sink lower, he kept up his excitement and saying "piaoliang!", which means beautiful.  It seemed a bit much for a local who must have seen similar scenes many times, but from his demeanor I gather that he's a rather excitable person in general. 

Watching the same scene for half an hour might get boring, but the clouds were rolling swiftly through the valley, and trees and mountains drifted in and out of view in an ever-changing scene.  A hilltop with tall pines became an island in the clouds, and made me think of castle turrets rising out of the fog. Maybe I'll write a story...