在四川找自己: Soul Searching In SiChuan: Part II

N.B. (Those who have not read part one may wish to do so in order to get some scope on this post. If you just happen to want to check out the photos, explanations are usually in the adjacent paragraphs.)

I arrived back in Beijing at 1pm Monday 26th Feburary, 7 days after flying out from Beijing, Bound for SiChuan. Let it be noted that the last 7 days of my life have been unforgettable, action packed, enlightening and physically demanding. I spent most of the trip speaking what Chinese I could to get around, buy food, transport and accommodation as there were very few English speakers en route. This was the first time I've ever felt fully immersed within China with nothing but my mobile phone connecting me to the comforts of native English speakers. This was not a holiday, but an expedition. Me 27/2/07

Bare in mind that due to the length of this entry, I haven't really had time to edit it. Please forgive the ubiquitous errors. For the near two months it's taken me to find time to finish this, I've been stripped of all zeal. Me 25/4/07

Day 1: 成都：Chengdu

Upon arriving in Chengdu on Tuesday morning, I first walked outside of the airport, and in a ritualistic fashion, took a huge breath in of unpolluted air that cannot be found in Beijing. It was good!

I started the day by having lunch in one of those hole-in-the-wall restaurants (usually devoid of hygeine) where all of the kitchen and waiting staff decided to stare at me eating my noodles. I realise that foreigners are rare in those parts, but I felt like a monkey at the zoo ("they really are similar to us" and "wow, they can use chopsticks too"). I moved on to the People's Park of Chengdu, where I indulged myself with bottomless tea in one of it's tea gardens appreciating the most serene of surroundings. (photograph: Three girls infront of the one of the Olympic mascots, The Fire Friendly: "Aubergine")

In between reading and drinking tea, I found the time to test my camera's tripod and self timer to take pretentious portraits of myself. This one looking like it would suit a Facebook profile picture....if I had one. ('Tuesdays with Morrie' by Mitch Albom is one of the best and most touching books I've ever read. Although totally by fluke, it's theme, the meaning of life, was very relivent to my trip)

Afterwards, I met up with one of my first students, Renita, who came into my class almost exactly a year ago, who took me to her home town of Shifan, located just outside of Chengdu.
During Spring Festival, China's largest national celebration (how Xmas is to westerners), Everybody is with their families, and Renita was no exception. Although now working in Shanghai for a pharmaceutical company, she among many other Chinese nationals all return to their home towns during this period. So, naturally, I had the pleasure of Dining with her family as we sat down to a tradition SiChuanese Hotpot, which if advertised by Ronsill, would do exactly as it says on the tin. Imagine a small cauldron occupying the centre of a round table built to hold ten people. This cauldron is filled with water, herbs and spices and thousands of red chilli peppers, that turn the the water blood red. Even the vapour brings tears to your eyes if you get to hot. The waiting staff then bring out on large plates: layers of uncooked meat vegetables and seafood that have previously been ordered. During this meal I had the oppotunity to try chicken stomach, which is just like chewing on a section of car tyre...except indescribibly spicy. Tongue numb, I didn't even bother trying to speak Chinese.

I stayed the night at her parents' very nicely decorated home, to get up at 5:30 in order to get a home made chinese breakfast of sweet bread soup and eggs before a 90 minute cab ride to Chengdu bus station in order to get the 8am bus headed paramount location of my journey: JiuZhaiGou.

Day 2: A bus journey to remember

Semiconscious, I tried to grab a few more minutes sleep in the taxi to Chengdu with no luck. It was dark, but cold and I was too excited to sleep. With the thought of Being at Jiuzhaigou by the end of the day, I was getting antsy. The cab came to Y212.....but Renita's father insisted on paying so badly....looking at the meter, it was easy to submit.



The bus Journey was the best part of ten hours but featured some stunning scenery. After an hour of elaving Chengdu, it was mountains as far as the eye could see. By 2pm, the bus was at an altitude to which traces of snow started to appear. Snow capped mountains stood at a distance from the road but weren't easily missed. Every two hours the bus stopped and a gang of the avid photographers on the bus scrambled off for a few shots of the surrounding topography. Amongst photography, you could also pay Y5 (33pence) for a few photographs on a yak. The back ground scenery in the photo is not much to boast about, but the Yak in a red cowboy hat makes up for it. Once again, there was a host of Chinese people taking my photograph while on this steak-to-be. Still, I was not to let my minor celebritydom get to my head.

At around 6pm, I arrived at Jiuzhaigou resort. The town was nicely designed, modern but very chinese. However, due to Spring festival, the resort was desolate. Most of the hotels were abandoned for the week while their staff went home for the holidays. This left only a handful of expensive hotels, all fully booked, and a bunch of crummy guesthouses run by locals. Needless to say, not having anything booked on this venture was beginning to be a bit of a pain.

Inevitably, one of the local guesthouses was to be my dwelling for the evening. And for Y80 (£5) I got what I paid for. No running water or flushing toilet. Two buckets of water were placed just inside of the bathroom doorway to allow me to dispense of yesterday's meals. I must admit, this lack of comfort kept up the sense of adventure within me.

Day 3: 九寨沟: The 9 Minorities Valley

It was either the pull of the majestic scenery, or the drive from the squalor of the guest house that forced me out into the pitch black morning. I slapped all of my belongings into my pack, collected my Y20 key deposit and walked down the street towards the park gates. I bought up a couple of pickled eggs and some bottles of water from an old lady dressed in Tibetan like clothing to tie me over for a few hours.

At 8am, the park gates were packed with people and although the sky was a very light blue, the surrounding mountains kept the lower areas laden in darkness. I queued for the best part of 30 minutes, wrapped up in multiple layers, ready to pay an extortionate fee to aid UNESCO in their "preservation" of the area. I had my tickets printed complete with a portrait photograph that, thanks to my black eyes and wicked hat hair, looked like the sort you'd find on an ASBO record profile, and the proceeded to the environmentally friendly bus service that took was set to take us to the southwestern-most section accessible by tourists.

The bus's guide rattled off a load of information concerning the surrounding area -not that I could understand- whilst the indigenous passengers 'ohhh'ed and 'ahhh'ed. Although I preferred to take the silent approach, I still had my face pressed up against the window in awe of what I could see around me. As the bus meandered its way up the road located on the right hand side of the valley floor, all eyes where focussed on the series of miniature lakes tiered upwards on the left of the bus. The water from each radiated a lapis lazuli blue that contrasted the the deep green of the pine forests behind. Among the notorious lakes sprinkled throughout the valley, other awe-inspiring sights on this ride included a handful of Tibetan villages soused in multicoloured prayer flags and prayer wheels, and a couple of waterfalls that resembled something a like a very small scale Niagara Falls.

As our very green transportation ascended higher, there became an abundance of snow on the mountainsides and the waterfalls decorated with elegant ice sculptures partitioning the flowing water. The drop off point was at Bamboo Lake, the highest lake accessible at this time of year in the south western valley. This expanse of water, so still, it reflected perfectly the mountains opposite from me.

Not yet 9am, I started on my downhill trek, weaving in and out of some of the most beautiful natural water features I've ever seen. Every one always surpassed the former. I grew greedy for beauty and became increasingly antsy at the thought of what I'd see next. Disappointment was never met. I encounter countless pools radiating an array of tropical colours on mirror like water.

The eggs I'd eaten were more or less exhausted, and my stomach once again got the better of me and sent me on a search of nourishment. At this point, despite all of the man made, wooden decked footpaths, I couldn't fault this place. However, with concerns to food, the park management need to seriously consider establishing a much more spread out and topographically friendly approach to catering for the hundreds and thousands of tourists each day. All that stands is an all you can eat buffet at the Nuoliang guest centre. Over-priced, low quality, over crowded; this was hell for anyone wanting to enjoy a meal midway through such a memorable day.

I burst out of that hell hole as soon as I'd polished off my last bowl of rice and portion of chopped vegetables with pork and headed for another bus to take me to the south eastern valley and up to Long Lake, at 3000m above sea level.

I could feel the adverse effects of the altitude on me at this height, and carrying 15kg didn't help me either. A short uphill walk from the bus stop felt like a rock climb up El Capitan and the only thing on my mind was finding a place to rest. However, as soon as I got over the bump, all desperation left me. I've never once laid my eyes upon something so white. Fresh snow lay across the frozen Long Lake giving it an angelic quality. The surrounding mountains created a magnificent snow capped arena that all glowed under the sunlight whilst surrounding this huge lake like sheet of paper that covered the ground at their bases. With most of the Chinese tourists still fighting for their food in the buffet queue, this place was tranquil and unspoiled. I dropped my pack on a bit of grassy downslope just off of the path down to the lake side, then keeled over on top of it and didn't move from that spot for the next 2 and a half hours. That time turned out to be some of the most memorable on this adventure.

Within that time, I wrote postcards, wrote a huge entry in my journal, and made a charcoal drawing of the surrounding arena (which, due to a lack of hairspray has been reduced to a smudge in my sketch book). Over this period, I was swarmed by Chinese tourists checking out what the foreigner was up to. While writing my journal entry, a handful of people came up behind me, looked over my shoulder at my book for a few seconds, then shouted back to their parties "kan bu dong" (look not understand). However, the most eccentric behaviour (by western standards) was the continuous approach by children, who stood next to me and looked at their parents, who just so happened to be in the process of taking a picture - myself in centre focus- before all scampered away screaming jovially. This happened more than once! After living here for a year this wasn't something out of the ordinary. But compared to Beijing, I was more foreign to these people. At about the same time, a large group of children came and sat around me and we talked about what sports we liked and I was educated on why basketball is more interesting than football. Although I didn't understand much of the reasoning behind their arguments, I'm sure they were good. We all posed for a group photograph, but unfortunately I'd selected the wrong man for the job to use my camera. Moments later, when all had fled, I discovered that the picture had not taken.


A lot of time had passed at Long Lake, my forehead and nose were burning in the sun of a cloudless sky. I slipped on my backpack, fought my way up a small path and let gravity take over as I began descending back down the valley to see what else this section of the Valley contained.

Still being Winter, The pathways in Jiuzhaigou were still heavily restricted and only the main paths that followed the roads were open for use. After visiting 5-Colour Lake(Also; Multicoloured Lake, pictured left), I had to hop on the good old green bus to take me to the next available site.

The remainder of the afternoon I dwindled a few miles down the Valley, taking photographs of the incredible surroundings, until I came upon ShuZheng village. This was a were calm Tibetan settlement, but wildly draped in colour prayer flags. I was later to find out that that night there was to be a party held in order to celebrate the new year on the lunar calendar. And what better way to kick off celebrations, than the public spit-roasting of a Yak. The open concrete space infront of the village, overlooking the valley and collection of lakes down below, was arise with a mass gathering of villagers and tourists curious to find out what was going on. Around the boarder of the square were lineal set a tables (no higher than 50cm) upon which there was various foods and drinks ready to be handed out to anyway wishing to try them.

Among these free specialties, was a famous Tibetan wine (the name of which has escaped me), said to be 40%ABV. The romance was totally taken away when it was brought to me stored in an old coca cola bottle. I still wonder where it had been brewed. Bits of raisen-like fruit flew out of the bottle into my cup as it was poured. A misty yellowy colour dwelled in the paper cup. With all the peer pressure around, I couldn't bring myself to back out. We all said "ganbei" (cheers) and necked the cup, only to find it was surprisingly sweet, yet devilishly potent.

My camera Batteries had run out at this point so my own personal photographs of this are non-existent. However, as the evening was drawing in, I got talking to a Chinese couple who had also made this journey from their home in Beijing. As it turns out, their apartment is in the complex right next to mine. "A very small world" we all agreed before throwing back some more of that Tibetan After Shock. Another young man, also from Beijing, approached us and joined our exchange of opinions of "UNESCO's Jiuzhaigou". A while later he informed us that lodgings were available within the village including supper and breakfast for Y50. Although toilets and showers were public, my stomach put forward the convincing argument that a home cooked meal may be the best nourishment you'll have for the rest of your trip. It was right, as always.

Staying within the park overnight is technically against the law. Although, many people do it, any park officials will tell you that it's "forbidden" in order to "preserve the beauty of the park". Not much is done to enforce this from what I saw. I'm not complaining. A night in the village is a great way to talk to locals about what they think of the situation. Although, without a good level of Chinese, you'll have to use anyone with translation abilities, as I did. However most Chinese people relish in the opportunity to practice speaking English. I sighed at the irony that even on holiday, I'm still at work.

There's a lot in this picture that I have to explain. The first is why I'm looking so gormless. All I can say is I was chewing on Yak meat and was unaware of any picture being taken. Otherwise, I don't know what I was thinking.
The Man in the trilby was a local villager. He was Tibetan but his Mandarin was still very good. He was the first to approach me here and presented me with a gift: A chunk of Yak meat. The Yak was still on the spit, roasting away and now they were trimming off impressive quantities onto large plates. The meat he handed my, he said, was from the rear legs. The most delicious. I looked at it, well done on the outside, blue underneath. It was incredibly tender and after much chewing and enjoying, realised that this was the best meat I've ever tasted (I've concluded that this is because one of two reasons: Either Yak is just that nice, or simply because at the beginning pf the day it was probably grazing benignly, nearby in the valley). Imagine a great beefsteak loaded with artificial beef flavourings used by crisp manufacturers. It was that beefy. The same man proceeded to bring me more over the course of the next few hours.
The 2 little girls, made this part of my journey all the more special. They too spent much of the night bringing me food (as some will tell you, the easiest route to my heart) but didn't stop there. The one sporting a turquoise fleece brought me two little good luck charms: A jade heart, and a mini Tibetan......thing...in a case. Both look like accessories to be dawned onto some form of neckware. I added them to my neck chain, for politeness, and thanked her sincerely (hinting at a growing hunger).

With my new found Beijing friends, we negotiated with a local guesthouse. I went there to check out the rooms and facilities. Rooms were small yet cosy. The ensuite bathrooms were non functional and we were shown the public bathrooms (which despite being squatters, were very clean; probably due to the shower in the same cubicle). Backpacks were immediately dropped in our rooms and we then proceeded to the kitchen for our supper. The kitchen/dining room was decked out very traditionally and the Tibetan family all sat around the hot stove. The only woman of the family was sat at the stove with braided hair and wearing a very traditional Tibetan gown that you would recognise if you've seen the film '7 Years in Tibet'. It was amazing, despite living in one of China's most frequented tourist spots, these people held on dearly to their customs and traditions and seemed relatively unaltered since Jiuzhaigou became popular in the 1970's.

We all have those very different, strange but memorable experiences in our lives. This one was something special. I could write for days about this party, but I'll spare you that and make it as concise as possible.
Firstly, all the men of the village encircled the still cooking Yak, and danced around it, moving clockwise, with some very controlled arm movement and sleeve flicks. I was dragged up and people laughed (just like they do when I dance in England).
Next, all the men once again sat down in a circle on some firewood (pictured left...it was extremely uncomfortable) and had a song singing contest in which there was 2 teams. The first team had to sing the first verse from a song, chant "1,2,3!" and pass it over to the opposite team who would do the same. Songs can never be repeated. If they are, the person who starts it has to down one of those 600ml bottles of beer you can see me having a go at. It may seem like an easy game but with people constantly entering and exiting the circle, it was hard to keep track. I may be totally wrong of course, due the language barrier. But, that's my best guess.
The evening ended with some bilingual conversation about such subjects as drinking and smoking. One man offered me a cigarette, which I accepted for two reasons. The first being that turning down such offers is quite rude in China and frowned at. The second, well what can I say? I just fancied a ciggy with my free beer! Using mainly body and hand gestures, and some basic Chinese that I could understand, he told me how much better it was to breath the smoke into your lungs instead of only into your mouth. "It tastes good" and "like man" were what the young men of the village translated to me.

I entered a mini contest similar to the game of drinking fountain. We all drank at once to see who could hold on for the longest without lowering those 600ml bottles from our mouths. I'm very pleased with myself for winning, but it came at a price. The cold fizzy beer shook my stomach something nasty. I quickly marched off the square, and projectile vomitted behind the derelict fire-engine just to the side, successfully drenching the tyres. Thankfully, it was so dark no-one noticed. Dignity saved! (remains of the Yak. Hands down: the best meat I've ever had in my life)

Day 4: Down Valley photography

I woke up early, freezing in my room. Due to the altitude the sun's presence (or lack of) is much more noticeable. T-shirts and sunburn by day, but by night I was wearing fleece, trousers, thick socks and woolly hat while underneath 4 industrial strength blankets. The walk to the shower was a cold one and I almost bottled it. The public cubicle had powerful electric light bulbs designed to heat the room they're set up in. Hot water at a much appreciated pressure made my first shower in 2 days all the more enjoyable.

The complimentary breakfast of salty Yak's milk tea and Mantou (sweet milk bread rolls) produced a conflict of tastes in my mouth that I couldn't be bothered with at that time of day. But free food, especially when you don't know where your next meal is coming from, can never be passed aside.

I spent the entire day checking out the places I'd missed the day before. More mountains protruding around me, more water cascading down valley glowing sapphire like. When I look back at my photographs, it sticks in my mind that the potency of the water colour may just have been in contrast with the surrounding winter grey of dead flora. But checking pictures on Google image search just tempts me to quit my job and go back in the summer.

Just as the afternoon started, I found a place to sit for a few hours to enjoy this place before I left it.


I perched myself at Nuriliang Falls, a fully decked out patio-like area situated ideally in the centre of a waterfall that ran all around the decking, like and audience does to the stage at an opera theatre. I sat on this stage, on the warm wooden steps in awe of the overwhelming audio. The theatre-esque impact of water slapping hard ice all around only paused when a howling wind sling shotted round the bowl like cliffs and sent the water a handful of metres into the air. It became another post card and sketch book moment. Thankfully this time there were no spectators. I'd won!


Sunburn, unbalanced diet of bread and meat, it was time to leave the park and find somewhere to stay. I strolled downwards towards the park gates trying to take in everything I could.

Another £5 hell hole that barely kept the rain off me. Once again, a bucket of water was my bathrooms sole plumbing system, but I didn't care. The last two days had been two of the most memorable in my life and I doubt I'll ever see topography as majestic again. I once again wrapped up in fleece and hat, grabbing every quilt I could and fell asleep watching and NBA game starring China's own Yao Ming.

Day 5: A Precarious Passage

Another pre-dawn rising in the cold didn't do much for my mood. In all honestly I didn't want to leave. The mountains around had frosted over the night before, and since I was quite early for my 10 hour bus journey back to Chengdu, I decide to play about my my camera and try to capture the surroundings.

With low light I set my camera shutter to 15 seconds, and set it on my mini tripod which I placed on a little post box. The result is hardly anything to brag about, but I think the car lights are pretty cool.


The snow couldn't have made the drive back any more dodgey. And thrown into that mix was a very "efficient" bus driver who seemed to enjoy overtaking on hairpin bends. I was sat directly behind him and had a front row seat to the action that turned my knuckles white at times.


I can't really knock the two drivers (they exchanged every 2 hours when the bus stopped). Despite over taking everything they came across at the most dramatic moment, like when there's a hundred metre drop down one side, we got through unscathed. The undulating road was often littered with rubble and my Lonely planet guide didn't ease any tension as I read of fatalities along this route from landslides. However the Scenery more than made up for it. I passed back through that same little tourist area that I'd paid 20pence for a few photos whilst sat on a yak. I took a picture of the yak-taming Chinese Indiana Jones who, perfectly unaware, stood in the perfect position to complete a marvelous composition. As always, the cheap street food was on sale at all ofour stopping sites (yak kebabs and steamed bread.....just as I'd eaten all week) and I continued to bulk buy to make my bus journey that little bit more enjoyable.. As we drew closer to Chengdu, mountains grew less impressive, and industry pasted the sky in a pus yellow haze that wasn't welcoming.

My plan from here was that once I arrived in Chengdu, I'd find my way to the train station to buy a return ticket home. The journey to Beijing was supposed to be about 26 hours, so I had to leave either within the next 36 hours in order to get back to Beijing in time for work.

What happened next, was to destroy the week. I was on a public bus headed for the train station. As we drew nearer, the bus started to pass crowds of people dragging carry-alls and canvas bags packed to bursting point. Nearer still, traffic slows us right down and those same people bearing luggage stroll past us in the exact direction the bus is headed. There was a lack of movement on the buses behalf, and 5 minutes later the driver told everyone to get off and walk to the train station as it was only a few hundred yards away.

China's hold the largest population in the world at 1.4 billion. I felt like 50% of those people were inbetween me and the ticket booth. The queue was a literal 100m at least, winding round 1/3 of the open space infront of the train station terminal. The rest of the space was a sea of families all sat on the ground with their belongings waiting to get a train back to their place of work or their home towns. I've never seen such a dense crowd except in music concerts. A myriad security guards and police kept the entrance and exits clear with firm authority. (I was so overwhelmed I didn't think to take a picture of it all. Now I regret)

Tickets to Beijing due to depart over the next two days were as available as a one night stand with her majesty the Queen (oh I went there). But with such an incredible gathering of travellers present, I couldn't breach this atmospheric bubble I was in. Luckily the Chengdu hotel was just next door and a twin room with en suite came to only Y168 (£11).

Hot water! you learn to value it on trips like these and accompanied by a flushing toilet, I was paranoid of waking up at any second. Fortunately, I didn't and 45 minutes in the shower left me wrinkled and relaxed. I watched the crowds of people from my 18th floor window before crawling into my first warm bed all week to catch up on how Yao Ming was coping in Houston.

Day 5: A bank account excavation to a beer/book sunset

In a search for a cheap flight home sent me scrambling to the nearest internet cafe at 8am. My search turned out to be futile and it seemed the only flights I could get would be a full price flight for Y1500 (£100). Grey hair showing, I reluctantly slid my foreign debit card into the nearest ATM I could find to withdraw all the cash neccessary to sustain me for another day away from Beijing. The flight alone doubled the cost of my entire trip. Added on to that is my days expenditure and accommodation.

I walked a couple miles due south, through the city centre and past Chairman Mao's statue at Tianfu Square. It was a dull day, accurately conveying my state of mind.

I walked into the first travel agents that caught my eye and to my surprise, sat down at the desk of an attractive young girl with very good English. The next flight out was the next morning, and more or less emptied my wallet, save for a few notes that would only allow me a very conservative day. Tickets in hand I left the agency. The sun came out simultaneously with my sun glasses. Magic! Just what should I do with today?

Chengdu is famous for it's panda sanctuary, it's 2000 year old dam (that still works so I'm told), tea houses and temples. Financially stifled, I was in search of the Tibetan quarter.

Very well maintained, very aesthetically pleasing, the Tibetan quarter was home to the most eclectic range of street food I'd seen in a long time. And with just about everything hovering above that 7 pence mark, I....went....nuts! Fried noodles with various spices, chopped vegetables and egg fried pastries, steamed bread and meat kebab....and I'm spent!

Needing to work off a load of carbs, I waddled along to Wuhou temple, sited on an extensive park that would take me a few hours to navigate fully. Tea gardens cropped up everywhere, and I found it hard to turn down a rest in the sun. The entire park was laid out in very traditional Chinese architecture. A maze of luxuriously coloured walls and pavilions produced a tranquilising aura that could fool anyone of the towering city lurking outside it's gates.

For the evening, I'd managed to find a nice street, composed again of traditional chinese architecture, but each side was tiered up 3 stories high join together by footbridges. A very modern assembly baring very modern restaurants, bars and even an arcade theatre. I sat outdoors on a balcony with an impressive bottle of Budweiser that went down a treat. I heard a group of natives, sat nearby, bring up the topic of the lonely foreigner. It soon became white noise as I got very involved in a concise history of China (politically, it's been a very turbulent few centuries over here). The sun went down to my right, and as it did so I could see bats circling in the air above as I was pausing from reading.

Day 6: 在见 See you Again

It was good to know that this morning was to be the last early morning I'd have to endure for a week (the pros of having 14:00-21:30 working hours). However I was very sad to be leaving and to have seen so little of one of China's most charming provinces. I was conforted in knowing that I'd be back mid-May with my Father, but even then, we'd barely be able to break out and see what SiChuan really does have to offer.

I experienced my second long distance cab ride in the dark this week on my way to Chengdu airport. The airport was surprisingly desolate, again reflecting my current state of mind. I sat in the airport lounge turning pages to spend the time until my flight took off.

Upon returning to Beijing, I felt half glad to be back somewhere familiar, somewhere like home. Half saddened to have left so many rocks unturned. But a great trip is still a great trip, and it'll always remain so.

-

My most potent memory of that day, was encountering Ellen, a fellow colleague, on my way back to my apartment from the airport. Being the first native English speaker, and a familiar friendly face at that, I couldn't contain the repressed excitement I'd felt while away. I rattled off as much about the trip as I could, so much so that when I started work the following day, I had a very soar throat and had almost completely lost my voice.

It was worth it!