Well, now both my camera memory cards have viruses. I'll try to burn CDs tomorrow morning, and I can maybe transfer from those. This could be kind of lame without pics, but here goes...
After kayaking, the next thing to do is biking! I'm a little along for the ride (ha!) now. As we (myself and my new friends the Chinese couple) come back from dinner Friday night, we run into another couple who Xue has befriended. They are planning on going biking tomorrow too, so we join forces. We'll head up into mountainous hills north of Yangshou, then west to the famous (within China) Dragon Bridge and then south along the Li River, on a trail, through some of the reputedly most beautiful scenery in the area. Then Moon Hill (a photo would be good here) and perhaps one of the several caves. Solo, I had planned on the Li River bit and Moon Hill, so I'm happy to add a little more.
It's a lot easier traveling with people who speak both Chinese and English. They can ask directions in much more detail. I'm also having in depth conversations, which is a change from the previous week and a half, where my human interaction was limited to numbers, buying tickets, and significant looks. I've traveled around the US plenty on my own, no problem. Yes, there are cultural differences in China, but the only real impediment has been language. That's what makes this scary and nerve-wracking at times. The other thing is you realize the power of literacy. I can recognize like one in a thousand of the characters in signs. As for what the signs mean... To be the educated class even just a few hundred years ago would grant such power.
We ride up and up...and up and up. It's beautiful, but I am reminded just how different farming life is from city life. The difference is stark and binary. As we pass through little village after little village, the kids are the best. Everyone starts yelling, "Helloooo!" I pass one family in their courtyard, the grandmother holding a baby, waving its hand, saying hello. I reply, "Ni hao" and get smiles. They seem surprised I can say hello in Chinese. This happens time and time again, with both children and Chinese tour groups. In one valley we rode our bikes through, the primary school was high on a hill. From the time we road into view to the time we disappeared, five-year-olds we're yelling at the top of their lungs, "Hello," their little voices carrying across the valley. I kept yelling "Hello, ni hao" back. Xue says foreigners are still rare enough that we are treated like a king (all the people saying hello), like a rare animal, like a panda. Well, that's less complimentary, but I take her point. Still, the kids are great and so damn cute.
We into ride Baisha Village. It's like Mos Eisley spaceport from Star Wars. The main intersection has: cars; big buses; little buses; two-stroke tricyle trucks that belch smoke and oil and can make 10 mph on a steep downhill assuming a good tailwind; the equivalent of 18-wheelers, but somehow managing to look Communist; motorcyles; motor-trikes; mopeds; bicycles; tricycles; pedestrians; water buffalo; water buffalo calves; chickens; hand-drawn two-wheel carts, drawn by 70-year-olds; and us, trying to cross it all. All the while, people, people, people: selling, buying, loading the many vehicles, unloading said vehicles, talking, herding children, changing diapers, talking, yelling, eating, living.
We get to Dragon Bridge. I'm sure it was impressive 300 years ago. But it's a nice break. We get hello's from a Chinese tour group, I say ni hao back, and then hear a woman relate the story to her fellow travelers: "*****hello*******nihao**** [nice laughter]." We start down the trail that goes along the Li River. Well, we try to several times. Eventually, we find it. Then lose it. Find it...er, no, lost it. We wend our way through 200- and 300-year old villages, fields, tiny paths between fields, litter-strewn packed dirt streets, fragrant fields, smiling faces, blank faces, kids dodging photos. This is the Chinese countryside. It's amazing. While living conditions are sometimes very sad, the toughness and know-how of these people is mind-boggling.
We leave the Li River valley, and head to Moon Hill. I had read the Chinese prefer food fresh, avoiding leftovers or overly pre-processed food. And here's why: every 200 yards there is someone selling food. Picked fruit, barbecued, wok'ed, boiled, broiled, *unknown* food. We have jingju (small oranges you eat whole, rind and all), large yellow fruit that is like grapefruit without the bitterness, strawberries, potato patties, peanuts, Mandarin oranges, water chestnuts, and I forget what else. At Moon Hill, we stop for lunch, which is good, because my thighs are about to quit. We've done maybe 50 km in hills and on trails. Hangzhou was good, but insufficient, preparation.
Hiking up Moon Hill was a mixed experience. We were besiged by a 69-year-old lady who sells soda and water, carrying them in a cooler over her shoulder. She walked the roughly one mile up 2000 feet with us, step for step. She also knew a decent amount of English. God, I hope I'm so spry at that age; maybe there's something to all the fresh food. The reason the experience was mixed is that vendors latch onto you like this in the hopes of you buying things to make them go away. She stayed attched even after I bought a soda. This is when Xue said I am like a panda. The old lady also really liked Americans because one fellow gave her a small journal so people could write thank-yous and what not. I did too.
Oh, at lunch, I looked sideways at the one meat dish we had and it triggered a...well, I'll just go ahead and say it, a "clairvoyant" memory. A couple times a year, I'll see a scene that I know I've dreamed. This particular one, with the chopsticks reaching into the dish, after the chill or recall passed, I know I dreamed because as soon as I saw the tableau, the dream image came and the memory of waking from that dream thinking, "That was an awfully random thing to dream." (Why the hell was I dreaming about eating with chopsticks?)
We the 10 km back to Yangshuo as night fell, the mountains receding into the grey light. I added navigating Chinese streets at night on a bike to my repertoire of skills.
Dan
After kayaking, the next thing to do is biking! I'm a little along for the ride (ha!) now. As we (myself and my new friends the Chinese couple) come back from dinner Friday night, we run into another couple who Xue has befriended. They are planning on going biking tomorrow too, so we join forces. We'll head up into mountainous hills north of Yangshou, then west to the famous (within China) Dragon Bridge and then south along the Li River, on a trail, through some of the reputedly most beautiful scenery in the area. Then Moon Hill (a photo would be good here) and perhaps one of the several caves. Solo, I had planned on the Li River bit and Moon Hill, so I'm happy to add a little more.
It's a lot easier traveling with people who speak both Chinese and English. They can ask directions in much more detail. I'm also having in depth conversations, which is a change from the previous week and a half, where my human interaction was limited to numbers, buying tickets, and significant looks. I've traveled around the US plenty on my own, no problem. Yes, there are cultural differences in China, but the only real impediment has been language. That's what makes this scary and nerve-wracking at times. The other thing is you realize the power of literacy. I can recognize like one in a thousand of the characters in signs. As for what the signs mean... To be the educated class even just a few hundred years ago would grant such power.
We ride up and up...and up and up. It's beautiful, but I am reminded just how different farming life is from city life. The difference is stark and binary. As we pass through little village after little village, the kids are the best. Everyone starts yelling, "Helloooo!" I pass one family in their courtyard, the grandmother holding a baby, waving its hand, saying hello. I reply, "Ni hao" and get smiles. They seem surprised I can say hello in Chinese. This happens time and time again, with both children and Chinese tour groups. In one valley we rode our bikes through, the primary school was high on a hill. From the time we road into view to the time we disappeared, five-year-olds we're yelling at the top of their lungs, "Hello," their little voices carrying across the valley. I kept yelling "Hello, ni hao" back. Xue says foreigners are still rare enough that we are treated like a king (all the people saying hello), like a rare animal, like a panda. Well, that's less complimentary, but I take her point. Still, the kids are great and so damn cute.
We into ride Baisha Village. It's like Mos Eisley spaceport from Star Wars. The main intersection has: cars; big buses; little buses; two-stroke tricyle trucks that belch smoke and oil and can make 10 mph on a steep downhill assuming a good tailwind; the equivalent of 18-wheelers, but somehow managing to look Communist; motorcyles; motor-trikes; mopeds; bicycles; tricycles; pedestrians; water buffalo; water buffalo calves; chickens; hand-drawn two-wheel carts, drawn by 70-year-olds; and us, trying to cross it all. All the while, people, people, people: selling, buying, loading the many vehicles, unloading said vehicles, talking, herding children, changing diapers, talking, yelling, eating, living.
We get to Dragon Bridge. I'm sure it was impressive 300 years ago. But it's a nice break. We get hello's from a Chinese tour group, I say ni hao back, and then hear a woman relate the story to her fellow travelers: "*****hello*******nihao**** [nice laughter]." We start down the trail that goes along the Li River. Well, we try to several times. Eventually, we find it. Then lose it. Find it...er, no, lost it. We wend our way through 200- and 300-year old villages, fields, tiny paths between fields, litter-strewn packed dirt streets, fragrant fields, smiling faces, blank faces, kids dodging photos. This is the Chinese countryside. It's amazing. While living conditions are sometimes very sad, the toughness and know-how of these people is mind-boggling.
We leave the Li River valley, and head to Moon Hill. I had read the Chinese prefer food fresh, avoiding leftovers or overly pre-processed food. And here's why: every 200 yards there is someone selling food. Picked fruit, barbecued, wok'ed, boiled, broiled, *unknown* food. We have jingju (small oranges you eat whole, rind and all), large yellow fruit that is like grapefruit without the bitterness, strawberries, potato patties, peanuts, Mandarin oranges, water chestnuts, and I forget what else. At Moon Hill, we stop for lunch, which is good, because my thighs are about to quit. We've done maybe 50 km in hills and on trails. Hangzhou was good, but insufficient, preparation.
Hiking up Moon Hill was a mixed experience. We were besiged by a 69-year-old lady who sells soda and water, carrying them in a cooler over her shoulder. She walked the roughly one mile up 2000 feet with us, step for step. She also knew a decent amount of English. God, I hope I'm so spry at that age; maybe there's something to all the fresh food. The reason the experience was mixed is that vendors latch onto you like this in the hopes of you buying things to make them go away. She stayed attched even after I bought a soda. This is when Xue said I am like a panda. The old lady also really liked Americans because one fellow gave her a small journal so people could write thank-yous and what not. I did too.
Oh, at lunch, I looked sideways at the one meat dish we had and it triggered a...well, I'll just go ahead and say it, a "clairvoyant" memory. A couple times a year, I'll see a scene that I know I've dreamed. This particular one, with the chopsticks reaching into the dish, after the chill or recall passed, I know I dreamed because as soon as I saw the tableau, the dream image came and the memory of waking from that dream thinking, "That was an awfully random thing to dream." (Why the hell was I dreaming about eating with chopsticks?)
We the 10 km back to Yangshuo as night fell, the mountains receding into the grey light. I added navigating Chinese streets at night on a bike to my repertoire of skills.
Dan
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