Luckily in China, all train tickets are refundable (even if you've already missed your train), provided that you pay a fee equal to 20% of the ticket price. So 100 kuai in fees later, we had tickets for an early morning train to Kunming, this time aware of exactly which station it departed from. Also, luckily, a brand new metro line had just opened with a station 5 minutes from our house which would take us to the appropriate train station in record time and give us a chance to ride a giant escalator down a huge hill! So, after a hearty breakfast of baozi, we boarded our train for Kunming.
It's important to keep in mind that when you board public transportation in China, you must be prepared to face a barrage of questions that would be considered rude or too personal to ask in most Western countries. Richy and I had booked top bunk beds on three-tiered hard sleeper bunks, with the four bunks below us occupied by four friendly, chatty, middle-aged Chinese women. These are some of the questions that ensued during the several hours:
"Are you married?" "How old are you?" "Do you have children? Why not?" "Do you plan to have children?" "Why are you a volunteer?" "Can you not find a job in America that pays good money?" "Do you think you're fat?" "How old are your parents?" "Are your eyes blue or gold?" "How much do you weigh?" "How tall are you?" "Did you learn to sew and knit in America or China?" "How much money do you make in America?" "How much does a car cost in America?" "Do you have any American money that I can look at?" "Do you have a driver's license?" "How much money do your parents make?" "Do you have a romantic marriage or an arranged marriage?"
I guess our time on the train could have been considered day one of our language school, since we certainly got several hours practice in speaking and listening in Chinese. Richy and I developed a tag team pattern to give each other breaks from the endless conversation. I tried to answer the questions as honestly as possible while hinting at how uncomfortable most uninitiated foreigners would feel if questioned in the same way. "We're not accustomed to talking about this in America, but..." The fact of the matter is that Chinese people are curious about foreigners, and these questions are considered totally appropriate for Chinese people to ask each other, so if they meet a foreigner who speaks a little Chinese, why not go for it? After all, Peace Corps goal two is to educate host country nationals about Americans (and goal three is to educate all the readers back home about China...).
When we arrived in Lijiang, the air was pleasantly cool and the location of the school just north of the old town, nestled in the corner of Black Dragon Pool Park, was gorgeous. It was weird to feel the urge to wear long pants, sleeves and socks. We hadn't experienced cool, PNW-like weather since March! The night of our arrival, we were handed a written test in order to place us in our classes. The problem with written tests in Chinese is that the Peace Corps language program focuses primarily on listening and speaking, so even if we have decent conversational ability in Chinese, most Peace Corps volunteers can't read or write Chinese very well. Of the six of us volunteers, only Richy, Leo and I had spent any significant time studying characters, and Leo's Chinese was above and beyond all of us since he studied it in college. The three who hadn't studied characters got put in the lower class with the teacher who spoke English (even though some of their speaking and listening was better than mine) and Richy, Leo and I got put in the higher class with the Chinese teacher who spoke no English. She spent almost the entire first day of class (more than 4 hours) lecturing us about the culture and sights in Lijiang. I tried my best to follow along, but spent most of the time on my ipod's Chinese dictionary app translating everything she wrote on the board. We got used to her style (and she got used to ours) over the next several days and the classes became gradually more communicative and engaging. On several occasions we got frustrated with the generalizations and stereotypes she espoused about foreigners (many of her sentences began with "Nimen waiguoren..." or "You foreigners...") and ethnic minority groups in China. It was a delicate topic and Leo was the only one with the language skills to challenge her on the spot, which he did, which only led to her changing the subject rather than engaging in conversation. We spent the mornings in class, and the afternoons studying and exploring the charming, yet overpriced and overdeveloped tourist attractions of Lijiang.
By the time our classes were finished, we were more than ready to move on from Lijiang. Tim and Sara were supposed to be on their way, so we booked a hostel in the old town, run by a Naxi minority family and their friendly, outgoing matriarch, Mama Naxi. Earlier that week, we had wandered into her hostel seeking a place that could serve us decent priced Western food (which we got - with amazing burgers and sandwiches for only 15-20 kuai) only to find ourselves invited to her grandson's 19th birthday party complete with cake, fruit, singing, hugs and photos (lots and lots of photos). They were so friendly that we knew we had to return. As Richy said it best, "these are the kind of people who should be running hostels."
Unfortunately for Tim and Sara, although their flight from the US to China went without a hitch (they even got upgraded to business class!) they encountered a significant snag when they got to Shanghai and tried to board their plane to Lijiang: their reservations did not exist, even though the travel agency had already charged their card, which pushed them over their limit so their bank would not let them book new tickets. After more than 24 hours of panic and wrangling and figuring out how to use Chinese phones, they finally made it to Lijiang.
Since we had already thoroughly scoped out the city, we spent our last day in Lijiang showing Tim and Sara the significant sights, doing a little shopping to prepare for the trip Northward, and figuring out how to get to Shangrila. Our plan was to take buses from Yunnan up through Western Sichuan, staying in Tibetan towns along the way and visiting temples and doing some hikes to enjoy the scenery of the Eastern Himalayas. Little did we know that our plans were soon about to disintegrate.
We made it to Shangrila as planned. The city of Zhongdian (known as Gyalthang by local Tibetans) was renamed "Shangrila" in order to attract tourists after the fictional place name from the novel Lost Horizon, by James Hilton. While the inspiration for the book probably isn't far off the mark, the idea that the book is based on one, actual place has gotten a little out of hand, with some locals even claiming to be related to the book's fictional characters. Nonetheless, it was a quaint town wafting with the smell of incense and charcoal bbq. Our hostel was especially rustic - in a building with ancient mud brick walls, hard beds and heated with coal stove. We spent the first evening wandering the cobblestone streets of the old town and evaluated which restaurants might serve the best yak burgers, yak hotpot and yak butter tea for the best price. Sara and Tim generously treated us to a fantastic meal of pizza and burgers (something typically out of our price range on our stipend as Peace Corps volunteers).
On our second day there, we set out to walk to the other end of the city to see the Ganden Sumtseling Monastery, considered one of the four most important monasteries in Tibetan Buddhism. On our way there, we stopped by a farmer's market, where I was delighted to find local Tibetan women selling a variety of Yak milk cheeses, of which I bought myself a chunk of something mozzarella-like to nibble on (cheese is hard to find in Han Chinese areas of China, especially locally produced!). Also along the way was the bus station, so we decided to stop in and inquire about the bus schedule to the next town of Xiangcheng, which would also be the first Tibetan town in Sichuan provice (Shangrila is still in Yunnan province). The young woman at the information desk told us that the next bus would be leaving at 8:00 am the next morning and told us how much they cost. We weren't sure at that point if we wanted to leave the next day or later, so we told her we would come back later to buy our tickets. We then continued on to the monastery, a walk that became increasingly more difficult as we became easily exhausted in the thin air at over 11,000 feet. Even though I've been used to climbing at least five flights of stairs with no problems everyday in Chongqing, one flight of stairs left me out of breath in Shangrila. The monumental steps at the foot of the monastery required several rest stops on the way up.
The monastery was beautiful, peaceful and imposing, although half of it seemed to be under construction, and the sense of wonder was amplified by the dark clouds of an impending thunderstorm as hundreds of crows cawed and circled overhead. Richy and Sara made some small donations to the monks, which got them each a benevolent thump on the head and a bracelet of wooden Buddhist beads. The experience whet our appetite for further travels in Tibet and we decided on the way back that we should depart the next day for Xiangcheng.
On our return, we decided to take the local bus back into town and made our way back to the bus station to buy tickets for the next morning. This time, when we spoke to the woman about buying tickets, she quickly and curtly told us that we couldn't buy them. Were they already sold out? Confused, Richy inquired further and she told us that foreigners were no longer allowed in Xiangcheng. She didn't give us any explanation, but then told us that we could buy tickets if we wanted to, but that she couldn't guarantee that we would make it there. Our plans were dissolving before our eyes. Not knowing what else to do, we called the Peace Corps safety and security officer to see if there were any travel warnings for Western Sichuan. He said he had only heard rumors and asked to speak with the woman behind the counter. He confirmed what we had feared, no foreigners allowed in Western Sichuan, no reason given. He advised us not to try to buy tickets as it would only lead us to getting kicked off the bus or detained at the border. I guess we were lucky that we hadn't already bought tickets that morning.
We returned to the old town feeling depressed about not being able to continue our travels on the borderlands of Tibet. We decided that now was the time to try yak hotpot and yak butter tea, as it might be our last chance. So we settled down to Tibetan style hotpot in a local restaurant. The hotpot was rich and meaty, and included vegetables and dried tofu skin (my favorite) which was far and away better than most Sichuan style hot pot I've had. Tim and Sara weren't used to Chinese meat cuts yet, and found the meat a little gristly and bony by American standards, but still tasty. We finished up the meal with some sweet yak butter tea, which tasted to me a lot like chai, but also a little like Korean corn meal tea.
Upon returning to the hostel's wifi connection, we discovered the tragic event that occurred that afternoon in Western Sichuan that led to the area being closed to foreigners: the self-immolation of a Tibetan monk.
We then set our minds to deciding what we should do next: go back to Lijiang? Go to Dali? Emei Shan? Xishuangbanna? Kunming? We only had four days before we wanted to be back in Chengdu, so the options were limited by time and distance. We decided that Dali would be the best option, since it was cheaper than Lijiang, relaxing, and still cooler than Chengdu, Kunming or Chongqing. Unfortunately by the time we got back to the bus station the next morning, all tickets directly to Dali had been sold out, so we decided to take a chance: get the next tickets to Lijiang, so that hopefully by the time we got to Lijiang there would still be tickets left for the last bus of the day to Dali. Our gamble paid off, and six hours later we found ourselves on the last bus of the day to Dali.
Arriving in Dali around 10pm, we found our way to the Mama Naxi II hostel, run by a friendly young man by the name of Joker. Although we were exhausted from spending our entire day on a bus, an already tipsy Joker invited us out to join him and his friends for KTV (Chinese karaoke). We declined at first, but he persisted and finally Sara, Tim and I were lured into joining them (Richy got his way and stayed at the hostel to rest). The KTV joint was a particularly nice one, and we had a huge private room to ourselves where we were served Chinese beer (3.3% ABV), sunflower seeds, raisins, and salted sour plums. It was Sara and Tim's first KTV experience, and it had all the typical hallmarks: a smoke filled room, people screaming Chinese pop songs into microphones, and lots of Britney Spears, Lady Gaga and Michael Jackson to impress the English speakers.
We enjoyed the following day in the laid back atmosphere (and pleasing climate) of Dali, while also finding time to make arrangements for our bus to Kunming and then our train to Chengdu. After a 4 hour bus ride to Kunming, our night train to Chengdu was only supposed to be 11 hours, and unfortunately all the sleeper tickets had been sold out, so we ended up with hard seats. We knew it would be a little tough and tiring, especially for Tim and Sara's first ever train ride.
Unfortunately, not only did we not have sleeper beds for the train ride, but all the standing room on the train had also been sold out. In China, if there are no seats left on a train, they continue to sell standing-room tickets. For us, this meant the aisles on the train were full, the bathrooms were full, and moving up out of our seats was almost impossible. For Richy and I, this was a somewhat expected turn of events, but not so much for Sara and Tim. The second heartbreak of the train ride was that it ended up taking 18 hours to reach our destination instead of the 11 that was originally displayed on the ticket schedule. Again, late trains are pretty commonplace in China, so Richy and I were somewhat mentally prepared, but Tim and Sara were a bit shocked by the whole ordeal. Despite the discomfort, they earned some hardcore traveler stripes, and we made it safe and sound (if somewhat exhausted) to our hostel in Chengdu.
Chengdu's weather was warm, but nothing compared to the highs of up to 113 F that our comrades were experiencing in Chongqing, so we did our best to enjoy the outdoors and wander around. We spent a relaxing afternoon sipping tea in the People's Park, enjoyed some beloved Pete's Tex-Mex (they even have a Peace Corps discount!) and met up for drinks and a little dancing with some of our Peace Corps friends in town.
Our train to Chongqing redeemed the first trip for Sara and Tim, with the ultra-efficient 2 and 1/2 hour speed train leaving from the brand new Chengdu East train station (which to me, looked even nicer than the Beijing international airport). We sped by villages and rice paddies of the Sichuan basin in air-conditioned comfort. By the time of our arrival, the heat wave had broken, with temps back down into the upper 80's. We enjoyed a leisurely pace and the bargain prices of Chongqing, exploring the ancient town, visiting pandas, lions and monkeys at the city zoo, and introducing Tim and Sara to the oil and fire craziness that is a meal of Chongqing-style hotpot.
After seeing Sara and Tim to the early morning airport shuttle, and the bittersweet farewell (this next year is going to go by fast!) we returned to our apartment and surprisingly slept until the early afternoon. I guess I didn't realize how much this crazy summer had taken out of us. Now we begin to return to our normal life of grocery shopping, cleaning house and teaching classes, while looking forward to my parents' visit at the end of September!
"Are you married?" "How old are you?" "Do you have children? Why not?" "Do you plan to have children?" "Why are you a volunteer?" "Can you not find a job in America that pays good money?" "Do you think you're fat?" "How old are your parents?" "Are your eyes blue or gold?" "How much do you weigh?" "How tall are you?" "Did you learn to sew and knit in America or China?" "How much money do you make in America?" "How much does a car cost in America?" "Do you have any American money that I can look at?" "Do you have a driver's license?" "How much money do your parents make?" "Do you have a romantic marriage or an arranged marriage?"
I guess our time on the train could have been considered day one of our language school, since we certainly got several hours practice in speaking and listening in Chinese. Richy and I developed a tag team pattern to give each other breaks from the endless conversation. I tried to answer the questions as honestly as possible while hinting at how uncomfortable most uninitiated foreigners would feel if questioned in the same way. "We're not accustomed to talking about this in America, but..." The fact of the matter is that Chinese people are curious about foreigners, and these questions are considered totally appropriate for Chinese people to ask each other, so if they meet a foreigner who speaks a little Chinese, why not go for it? After all, Peace Corps goal two is to educate host country nationals about Americans (and goal three is to educate all the readers back home about China...).
When we arrived in Lijiang, the air was pleasantly cool and the location of the school just north of the old town, nestled in the corner of Black Dragon Pool Park, was gorgeous. It was weird to feel the urge to wear long pants, sleeves and socks. We hadn't experienced cool, PNW-like weather since March! The night of our arrival, we were handed a written test in order to place us in our classes. The problem with written tests in Chinese is that the Peace Corps language program focuses primarily on listening and speaking, so even if we have decent conversational ability in Chinese, most Peace Corps volunteers can't read or write Chinese very well. Of the six of us volunteers, only Richy, Leo and I had spent any significant time studying characters, and Leo's Chinese was above and beyond all of us since he studied it in college. The three who hadn't studied characters got put in the lower class with the teacher who spoke English (even though some of their speaking and listening was better than mine) and Richy, Leo and I got put in the higher class with the Chinese teacher who spoke no English. She spent almost the entire first day of class (more than 4 hours) lecturing us about the culture and sights in Lijiang. I tried my best to follow along, but spent most of the time on my ipod's Chinese dictionary app translating everything she wrote on the board. We got used to her style (and she got used to ours) over the next several days and the classes became gradually more communicative and engaging. On several occasions we got frustrated with the generalizations and stereotypes she espoused about foreigners (many of her sentences began with "Nimen waiguoren..." or "You foreigners...") and ethnic minority groups in China. It was a delicate topic and Leo was the only one with the language skills to challenge her on the spot, which he did, which only led to her changing the subject rather than engaging in conversation. We spent the mornings in class, and the afternoons studying and exploring the charming, yet overpriced and overdeveloped tourist attractions of Lijiang.
By the time our classes were finished, we were more than ready to move on from Lijiang. Tim and Sara were supposed to be on their way, so we booked a hostel in the old town, run by a Naxi minority family and their friendly, outgoing matriarch, Mama Naxi. Earlier that week, we had wandered into her hostel seeking a place that could serve us decent priced Western food (which we got - with amazing burgers and sandwiches for only 15-20 kuai) only to find ourselves invited to her grandson's 19th birthday party complete with cake, fruit, singing, hugs and photos (lots and lots of photos). They were so friendly that we knew we had to return. As Richy said it best, "these are the kind of people who should be running hostels."
Unfortunately for Tim and Sara, although their flight from the US to China went without a hitch (they even got upgraded to business class!) they encountered a significant snag when they got to Shanghai and tried to board their plane to Lijiang: their reservations did not exist, even though the travel agency had already charged their card, which pushed them over their limit so their bank would not let them book new tickets. After more than 24 hours of panic and wrangling and figuring out how to use Chinese phones, they finally made it to Lijiang.
Since we had already thoroughly scoped out the city, we spent our last day in Lijiang showing Tim and Sara the significant sights, doing a little shopping to prepare for the trip Northward, and figuring out how to get to Shangrila. Our plan was to take buses from Yunnan up through Western Sichuan, staying in Tibetan towns along the way and visiting temples and doing some hikes to enjoy the scenery of the Eastern Himalayas. Little did we know that our plans were soon about to disintegrate.
We made it to Shangrila as planned. The city of Zhongdian (known as Gyalthang by local Tibetans) was renamed "Shangrila" in order to attract tourists after the fictional place name from the novel Lost Horizon, by James Hilton. While the inspiration for the book probably isn't far off the mark, the idea that the book is based on one, actual place has gotten a little out of hand, with some locals even claiming to be related to the book's fictional characters. Nonetheless, it was a quaint town wafting with the smell of incense and charcoal bbq. Our hostel was especially rustic - in a building with ancient mud brick walls, hard beds and heated with coal stove. We spent the first evening wandering the cobblestone streets of the old town and evaluated which restaurants might serve the best yak burgers, yak hotpot and yak butter tea for the best price. Sara and Tim generously treated us to a fantastic meal of pizza and burgers (something typically out of our price range on our stipend as Peace Corps volunteers).
On our second day there, we set out to walk to the other end of the city to see the Ganden Sumtseling Monastery, considered one of the four most important monasteries in Tibetan Buddhism. On our way there, we stopped by a farmer's market, where I was delighted to find local Tibetan women selling a variety of Yak milk cheeses, of which I bought myself a chunk of something mozzarella-like to nibble on (cheese is hard to find in Han Chinese areas of China, especially locally produced!). Also along the way was the bus station, so we decided to stop in and inquire about the bus schedule to the next town of Xiangcheng, which would also be the first Tibetan town in Sichuan provice (Shangrila is still in Yunnan province). The young woman at the information desk told us that the next bus would be leaving at 8:00 am the next morning and told us how much they cost. We weren't sure at that point if we wanted to leave the next day or later, so we told her we would come back later to buy our tickets. We then continued on to the monastery, a walk that became increasingly more difficult as we became easily exhausted in the thin air at over 11,000 feet. Even though I've been used to climbing at least five flights of stairs with no problems everyday in Chongqing, one flight of stairs left me out of breath in Shangrila. The monumental steps at the foot of the monastery required several rest stops on the way up.
The monastery was beautiful, peaceful and imposing, although half of it seemed to be under construction, and the sense of wonder was amplified by the dark clouds of an impending thunderstorm as hundreds of crows cawed and circled overhead. Richy and Sara made some small donations to the monks, which got them each a benevolent thump on the head and a bracelet of wooden Buddhist beads. The experience whet our appetite for further travels in Tibet and we decided on the way back that we should depart the next day for Xiangcheng.
On our return, we decided to take the local bus back into town and made our way back to the bus station to buy tickets for the next morning. This time, when we spoke to the woman about buying tickets, she quickly and curtly told us that we couldn't buy them. Were they already sold out? Confused, Richy inquired further and she told us that foreigners were no longer allowed in Xiangcheng. She didn't give us any explanation, but then told us that we could buy tickets if we wanted to, but that she couldn't guarantee that we would make it there. Our plans were dissolving before our eyes. Not knowing what else to do, we called the Peace Corps safety and security officer to see if there were any travel warnings for Western Sichuan. He said he had only heard rumors and asked to speak with the woman behind the counter. He confirmed what we had feared, no foreigners allowed in Western Sichuan, no reason given. He advised us not to try to buy tickets as it would only lead us to getting kicked off the bus or detained at the border. I guess we were lucky that we hadn't already bought tickets that morning.
We returned to the old town feeling depressed about not being able to continue our travels on the borderlands of Tibet. We decided that now was the time to try yak hotpot and yak butter tea, as it might be our last chance. So we settled down to Tibetan style hotpot in a local restaurant. The hotpot was rich and meaty, and included vegetables and dried tofu skin (my favorite) which was far and away better than most Sichuan style hot pot I've had. Tim and Sara weren't used to Chinese meat cuts yet, and found the meat a little gristly and bony by American standards, but still tasty. We finished up the meal with some sweet yak butter tea, which tasted to me a lot like chai, but also a little like Korean corn meal tea.
Upon returning to the hostel's wifi connection, we discovered the tragic event that occurred that afternoon in Western Sichuan that led to the area being closed to foreigners: the self-immolation of a Tibetan monk.
We then set our minds to deciding what we should do next: go back to Lijiang? Go to Dali? Emei Shan? Xishuangbanna? Kunming? We only had four days before we wanted to be back in Chengdu, so the options were limited by time and distance. We decided that Dali would be the best option, since it was cheaper than Lijiang, relaxing, and still cooler than Chengdu, Kunming or Chongqing. Unfortunately by the time we got back to the bus station the next morning, all tickets directly to Dali had been sold out, so we decided to take a chance: get the next tickets to Lijiang, so that hopefully by the time we got to Lijiang there would still be tickets left for the last bus of the day to Dali. Our gamble paid off, and six hours later we found ourselves on the last bus of the day to Dali.
Arriving in Dali around 10pm, we found our way to the Mama Naxi II hostel, run by a friendly young man by the name of Joker. Although we were exhausted from spending our entire day on a bus, an already tipsy Joker invited us out to join him and his friends for KTV (Chinese karaoke). We declined at first, but he persisted and finally Sara, Tim and I were lured into joining them (Richy got his way and stayed at the hostel to rest). The KTV joint was a particularly nice one, and we had a huge private room to ourselves where we were served Chinese beer (3.3% ABV), sunflower seeds, raisins, and salted sour plums. It was Sara and Tim's first KTV experience, and it had all the typical hallmarks: a smoke filled room, people screaming Chinese pop songs into microphones, and lots of Britney Spears, Lady Gaga and Michael Jackson to impress the English speakers.
We enjoyed the following day in the laid back atmosphere (and pleasing climate) of Dali, while also finding time to make arrangements for our bus to Kunming and then our train to Chengdu. After a 4 hour bus ride to Kunming, our night train to Chengdu was only supposed to be 11 hours, and unfortunately all the sleeper tickets had been sold out, so we ended up with hard seats. We knew it would be a little tough and tiring, especially for Tim and Sara's first ever train ride.
Unfortunately, not only did we not have sleeper beds for the train ride, but all the standing room on the train had also been sold out. In China, if there are no seats left on a train, they continue to sell standing-room tickets. For us, this meant the aisles on the train were full, the bathrooms were full, and moving up out of our seats was almost impossible. For Richy and I, this was a somewhat expected turn of events, but not so much for Sara and Tim. The second heartbreak of the train ride was that it ended up taking 18 hours to reach our destination instead of the 11 that was originally displayed on the ticket schedule. Again, late trains are pretty commonplace in China, so Richy and I were somewhat mentally prepared, but Tim and Sara were a bit shocked by the whole ordeal. Despite the discomfort, they earned some hardcore traveler stripes, and we made it safe and sound (if somewhat exhausted) to our hostel in Chengdu.
Chengdu's weather was warm, but nothing compared to the highs of up to 113 F that our comrades were experiencing in Chongqing, so we did our best to enjoy the outdoors and wander around. We spent a relaxing afternoon sipping tea in the People's Park, enjoyed some beloved Pete's Tex-Mex (they even have a Peace Corps discount!) and met up for drinks and a little dancing with some of our Peace Corps friends in town.
Our train to Chongqing redeemed the first trip for Sara and Tim, with the ultra-efficient 2 and 1/2 hour speed train leaving from the brand new Chengdu East train station (which to me, looked even nicer than the Beijing international airport). We sped by villages and rice paddies of the Sichuan basin in air-conditioned comfort. By the time of our arrival, the heat wave had broken, with temps back down into the upper 80's. We enjoyed a leisurely pace and the bargain prices of Chongqing, exploring the ancient town, visiting pandas, lions and monkeys at the city zoo, and introducing Tim and Sara to the oil and fire craziness that is a meal of Chongqing-style hotpot.
After seeing Sara and Tim to the early morning airport shuttle, and the bittersweet farewell (this next year is going to go by fast!) we returned to our apartment and surprisingly slept until the early afternoon. I guess I didn't realize how much this crazy summer had taken out of us. Now we begin to return to our normal life of grocery shopping, cleaning house and teaching classes, while looking forward to my parents' visit at the end of September!
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