LUPA MASA

LUPA MASA
Forget time - that’s what lupa masa means in Malay. And when Charlie and his friend Tom built their out-of-the-way jungle camp in some primary rainforest on the outskirts of Kinabalu National Park, that’s exactly what they had in mind. Its remote location results in sporadic visits, but adventurous travelers that are up for the diversion are rewarded with a rustic get-away in the middle of a fairytale forest. It’s a half hour hike to the camp from the village of Poring, and by the time you arrive, chances are you’ll be wet and muddy from the knees down - it’s a great segue to Lupa Masa, and the perfect introduction to the backdrop for your stay in the jungle. The camp rests on three hectares of land, pinched in between two conjoining rivers and the national park boundary. As of now Lupa Masa consists of a few open-air bungalows, some basic bathroom facilities, and a big kitchen-tent with an adjoining sun-deck, all of which are constructed mostly of bamboo. The rivers are absolutely stunning, and both come tumbling down the jungly slopes with more than enough force to provide Lupa Masa with its hydroelectric power and water supply. I’d also say the rivers are largely responsible for Lupa Masa’s name. If there’s one thing that really causes you to ‘forget time’, it’s letting yourself become absorbed in the pure jungle current. The sound of the cascading water along with the hum of the rainforest will leave you in an aural utopia, and finding a warm boulder to lie on after a refreshing dip in the river will have you wishing you could press a pause button.

Charlie and Tom are very busy dudes. Lupa Masa is just one of a handful of projects that they’re involved with, and since it’s a good two or three hour drive from Kota Kinabalu, a young local guy named Libot manages the camp while they’re not around. Lupa Masa also takes volunteers, and more often than not there’s a traveler or two up there for an extended stay, helping out around the camp and getting to know a unique corner of the world. That’s where I fit in. I’ve spent a lot of ‘forgotten’ time in Lupa Masa over the last month, meeting guests in the village for the hike up to the camp, helping Libot cook, and lending a hand with daily upkeep. It's been a lot of fun, and I've come to feel pretty comfortable in the jungle. But alas, in a couple of months I'll be moving to a different kind of jungle, a concrete jungle! And I'm sure that'll be fun too.

The hydroelectric power generated at Lupa Masa starts with the little dam on the left which funnels water downstream through a series of pipes. The little shack pictured in the middle, houses the micro-hydro turbine pictured on the right, which provides up to 300 watts of free and sustainable power to the camp!

MANTANANI

MANTANANI
From a lush primary rainforest one week, to a tropical island paradise the next! Borneo is awesome! Charlie recently moved into a spacious new apartment in Kota Kinabalu and needed to fill it with some furniture. Being the crafty handyman that he is, he decided that he’d build his own, and started by lugging a chainsaw out to the island of Mantanani to carve up some of its bountiful driftwood. It was Charlie’s first visit to the island, but his girlfriend Jess, who is a freelance dive instructor, has spent a lot of time there for work. She also lived there for a year and helped start a backpackers lodge, so she’s quite familiar with the island. Our friend Yanti also came along. She works for an organization that runs a camp on Mantanani which puts up volunteers and organizes community projects. And our friend Anna was already there, working at Yanti’s camp to help construct new bungalows for the volunteers.

It was an hour-long boat ride to Mantanani, and the four of us sat side-by-side with our feet dangling over the front of the ferry. The ocean was glassy that morning, and as we glided in towards the island the water transformed into a dreamy turquoise-blue. It’s a tough commute if you’re a freelance dive instructor like Jess. The boat dropped us off on a white-sand beach at one of the dive camps where Jess works, and after a splash in the water, Jess’s dive buddies fed us a tasty lunch and lent us some gear for an afternoon of snorkeling. In between bouts of water-play, we relaxed in the array of hammocks that were strung up around the beach. On the way in Yanti warned me that Mantanani was conducive to napping, and once I started swaying to and fro in the warm ocean breeze and felt my eyelids grow heavy with content, I understood exactly what she meant. From hammock to water, back and forth. I ended up doing a lot of swimming and swinging over the next few days. And napping too.

There’s a jungly, precipitous hill on the northwestern tip of Mantanani, and if it weren’t impassable, you could probably walk around the island in less than two hours. The simple network of sandy paths are utilized only by foot and bicycle (no cars!), and if you’re feeling lazy, catching a lift around the island on a tiny fishing boat can easily be arranged. There’s a small village along the south-eastern shore, and another cluster of stilted homes a little farther west, and whoever the local housepainter is must have the most colorful work clothes around. Only a vibrant backdrop like the tropical paradise of Mantanani could host such radiant houses without appearing too gaudy. It’s very fitting. And the people are equally colorful. With an abundance of cheerful kids, and an all-around small-town courteousness, life on the island is easygoing and warm like the breeze. While I tested out different hammocks and worked on my tan, Charlie put his chainsaw to use. And after a few days we hired a fishing boat to take us back to the mainland with a bundle of carved-up driftwood that would soon be furniture. Mantanani was amazing, but it was time for me to head back to the jungle and lupa masa...

THE PENAN

Top-left: Getting ready to hike in and find Charlie. A few days later we'd be at the base of the three mountains in the background. Top-right: The villagers of Long Ajeng seeing us off before our jungle trek. Bottom-left: Yesiah weaving a fishing a net. Middle-left: The modest stilted home of Yawa - the village head of Long Ajeng. Middle-right: A village elder working on a new blowgun. Bottom-right: The longhouse in Long Ajeng.

THE PENAN
My journey from China to Borneo, and the quest to find my friend Charlie, came to an end when we reunited on the banks of the Bejelai River in the tiny village of Long Ajeng. But reaching Charlie wasn’t easy. In fact, I’ve never been to such a remote place in my entire life. Charlie was out in the jungle when I arrived in Kota Kinabalu, and instead of waiting for him to return, I pieced together the few clues that he left me, and made my way deep into the rainforest to find him. 

Charlie volunteers with a small organization that coordinates community projects with the Penan. There are only a few thousand of these historically nomadic hunter-gatherers left in the world, and only a couple hundred that still live in the forest and maintain their traditional lifestyle. Most Penan have left the jungles to find work in the cities, leaving behind a dwindling population that not only struggles for cultural survival, but is also forced to confront the irrepressible logging industry which continues to rapidly shrink their natural habitat. The projects Charlie collaborates on are part of a five village cooperative run by the Penan that directly contributes to their community. Getting to a Penan village is no easy task, but for those who are interested, Charlie can act as a liaison for the cultural exchange, organizing home-stays, jungle treks, and re-forestation projects. Because of its inaccessibility, this kind of ‘tourism’ isn’t very popular; the last foreigner to visit the village where we stayed was Charlie, and that was almost six months ago.

My quest to find Charlie started with a twelve hour bus ride along the northern coast of Borneo to the town of Miri. The next morning I met up with Charlie’s friends Sarah and Manitre, and a young British couple, Simon and Emma, and the five of us boarded an airplane for the forty-five minute flight to Long Akah. We were all searching for Charlie, but no one knew exactly where to find him. The twin-prop airplane was tiny, and the loud and bumpy flight through the clouds had me humming the Indiana Jones theme song and feeling excited for the upcoming adventure. The airport in Long Akah was basic to say the least - little more than a landing strip in the jungle - and since there was no electricity or computers, we casually signed up in a notebook for the next flight back to Miri in five days time. Charlie’s friend Ken picked us up in his truck for the next portion of our trip, a bumpy meander through the forest on a dirt logging road. Traffic was light except for the procession of ominous logging trucks that rumbled along, kicking up dust as they pulled the forest apart little by little. After an hour and a half Ken dropped us off by a small make-shift shelter and pointed us down an overgrown trail into the jungle. It was the last time we’d use a road for five days. "There’s a village thirty minutes that way." "Is that where Charlie is?" "I don’t know..."  

Sarah and Manitre were along on the adventure to initiate a collaborative project with the Penan. Sarah’s architecture firm is planning a summer workshop where students will spend a month working with the Penan to conceptualize and build a pondok in the forest. A pondok is an elevated jungle shelter, usually small and semi-permanent, used as a resting place while out on hunting excursions. The plan for the collaboration is to create a larger permanent structure that the Penan can use while hunting, but that can also double as a base-camp for tourist jungle treks. Manitre is Penan, but lives in Kota Kinabalu, and came along to translate and help Sarah facilitate discussions about the endeavor.

After a sweaty forty-five minute hike, the trail bumped into a river, across which sat the village of Long Laman. Luckily there were a few villagers hanging out on the opposite bank, and before long they came floating over in a boat to retrieve us. There’s no cell phone service in the jungle, and communication is sparse, but when there’s a muscular six-foot-two bald dude with tattoos in the vicinity, people tend to have an idea of where he is. We caught word that Charlie was an hour and a half away in Long Ajeng, so after a round of tea with the villagers, we boarded some wooden boats for the final leg of our journey. After a brief float down-stream, we hit a fork in the river and turned into the current, finishing our boat trip with sporadic wading and an occasional walk through the shallows. It was mid-afternoon when we finally reached the village, and just as we’d heard, Charlie was there with his girlfriend Jess. With a spattering of stilted huts and a host of smiling villagers, Long Ajeng welcomed us with charm and repose after our lengthy trip.

Around fifty years ago, due to government control and the introduction of Christian missionaries, the nomadic Penan were coaxed into a more settled lifestyle. In the tradition of their more rooted indigenous neighbors, the Penan built their riverside villages around a communal longhouse - a primitive apartment building with separate units that branch off of a shared space. Since most of the villagers still spend months on end out in the jungle, the longhouse in Long Ajeng was largely vacant, leaving plenty of space for us to stay. Upon arrival I was shown to a dark second-floor room and given a simple bamboo mat to sleep on. After putting down our bags we went back to the river for a swim and splashed around in the water for the remainder of the day, outlasting an afternoon rainstorm that blew over the forest. The evening commenced with a large meal that rolled into a multi-village gathering to discuss Sarah’s proposal. The generator was turned on in an attempt to provide the get-together with some light, only to putter out five minutes later and leave everyone to their usual headlamps and flashlights. Three different village heads were present, along with a crowd of curious villagers, and all those attending seemed enthusiastic about the collaboration. The next day we left the village to explore the jungle and to scout out an ideal location for the project.

Jawa, the village head of Long Ajeng, led us into the jungle the next morning along with two other young men, Roger and Tisun. A half hour into our trek we were joined by two more neighboring village leaders, bringing our caravan to a total of twelve. All three village leaders trekked with their knife-tipped blowguns in hand and a quiver of lethal darts next to the machete on their hips. The blowgun is the preferred weapon for hunting, and the Penan use it to shoot and kill everything from birds to monkeys to wild boars. The tree sap they use to poison the darts is highly lethal, and is easily strong enough to kill a human. Jawa wore the traditional bowl-cut style hairdo and his earlobes were droopy from the customary weighted jewelry. He glided along with a calmness and confidence that could only come with the deepest knowledge of the rainforest. The barrage of greenery was like a familiar story; the foliage like the pages of a book he’d read a million times. He was in his element, and I was totally out of mine.  

Five hours later we reached the prospective project site, and after a short rest we went about setting up camp. On a flat spot at the bottom of a steep hill, right next to a beautiful clear jungle stream, sat an old pondok, and while our Penan guides worked on re-constructing the tattered lean-to, the rest of us searched for an ideal spot to hang our camping hammocks, eventually settling on a cluster of a trees across the creek. Not long after we set up camp, a downpour came along and sent the twelve of us huddling under the tarps of the cleverly constructed new pondok. At one point we heard a soft rumble and looked up to see a torrent of brown water come crashing down the gentle stream. Within seconds the once ankle-deep creek had transformed into a dirty waist-high river! The rain lasted for a couple of hours, but even after it stopped, the forest continued to drip and glisten in the late day sun. 

Left: The make-shift pondok at the jungle campsite. Middle-left: Jawa's woven backpack, his blowgun, and a quiver of poisonous darts.  Middle-right: Charlie wades across the flooded stream. Our camping hammocks are strung across the trees in the background. Right: Looking up at the mountain before climbing up to the lookout.

For dinner we had a light fish stew with rice, and a few hours after dark Roger and Tisun invited us on their hunt for the next day's breakfast. Roger had been quiet on the hike in, and had lagged behind and had gone mostly unnoticed. But that night he came out of his shell. With our jungle boots and headlamps we waded into the water and followed our guides upstream, Tisun carrying a fishing net and Roger wielding a blowgun with a quiver of darts. Roger’s stealthy nocturnal agility was awe-inspiring. As I tried my hardest to keep up, clumsily splashing through the current and slipping about on the aqua-terrain, Roger cruised along barefoot, side-stepping through the darkness in a crouched position, cutting back and forth from bank to bank with blowgun in hand. Using the flat side of the double-edged knife on his blowgun, he would sneak up on heedless frogs and bring their life to an end with an explosive whack, then scramble up a steep riverbank and blow a dart into a sleeping bird on a tree branch, sending a poof of feathers into the beam of his headlamp, and a lanced bird into the water below. It was ridiculous how easy he made it look, and how absolutely clumsy the rest of us were as we tried to keep up with him. Tisun was right by his side, unfurling the weighted fishing net into dark pools of water and pulling out a tangle of small fish and river eels. The two of them terrorized little night creatures all up and down the river, at least the ones that weren’t scared off by the awkward and clamorous gang that followed. And of course we had plenty of food for breakfast the next morning.

Sarah’s reconnaissance of the area was favorable and the spot seemed ideal for the upcoming project, so the next day after a fried fish and frog breakfast we broke down the camp and wandered back into the jungle. The plan was to head to the village of Long Marung, but not before exploring some caves and hiking to a lookout. After an hour or so we dropped our bags, covered them with a tarp on the forest floor, and took off to do some spelunking. Roger and Tisun took the lead from there and right away had us bushwhacking through thick undergrowth. I stumbled along behind them, sweating bullets and trying not lose my footing as we ascended muddy slopes and scaled rotting logs. We entered a bat-filled cave at the bottom of a steep ravine, and I was immediately overwhelmed by a sense of claustrophobia. The cave was tiny and damp, and within two minutes I’d been slapped in the face by an unruly bat. We squeezed our way through small tunnels, grinding against slimy rocks, and trying at all costs to avoid the gargantuan poisonous millipedes that clung to the walls. Fortunately, it was a rather brief and anti-climactic exploration, and after twenty minutes I resurfaced covered in guano and feeling a little freaked out. After scarfing down some leftover rice for lunch, we took off for the lookout. 

A few days earlier, when Charlie’s friend Ken had dropped us off on the logging road at the start of our trek, he pointed out three side-by-side karstic mountains rising out of the faraway jungle. The lookout was perched near the base of one of these triplets, and reaching it required climbing up vines and rocks to a shelf about seventy-five feet above the jungle floor. Tisun boldly hung out over the ledge and cleared some foliage with his machete, revealing one of the neighboring peaks and a partial view of the forest below, along with a quickly approaching raincloud. It wasn’t long after we left the lookout that we got caught in a torrential downpour. We were drenched by the time we got back to our tarp-covered bags, and while most of them were dry, they were all covered in an army of fire ants. I threw my backpack on under my poncho, only to realize that I’d trapped a few inside. Ouch.

After three stormy hours, it was decided that visiting Long Marung would be too difficult. The probable swelling of a large river that we’d have to cross would be too risky. Instead we decided to head back to Long Ajeng; it was a longer trek, but a safer bet. The rain was unrelenting, and the harder it fell, the weaker I got. I’d started that morning with a small blister on the side of my right ankle from my new jungle boots, and while it was nothing but a light abrasion, it was enough for me to fall victim to the bacterial breeding ground of the rainforest and the onset of a nasty infection. By the time we stumbled back into Long Ajeng it was almost nightfall and I was running a fever. After a quick rinse in the river, I climbed up to my second-floor room in the longhouse and collapsed into a febrile thirteen hour sleep. The jungle had taken it’s toll.

I felt better the next morning, and although my fever had subsided, the infection had started to spread into the rest of my foot. Relaxing in the village wasn’t going to remedy the situation, but that was all I could do until our journey out the next day. And so after an easy day of swimming, eating, and hanging out with the villagers of Long Ajeng, we retraced our steps out of the jungle and made our way back to Kota Kinabalu. My foot was starting to swell, but it was nothing that a heavy course of antibiotics couldn’t fix. And for me, it was well worth the adventure! I’d only been in Borneo for seven days, and it had already been one of the most memorable weeks of my life. I’ve got a few months left in this part of the world, and a return visit with the Penan is already in the works...

KOTA KINABALU

KOTA KINABALU
Here I am, in Kota Kinabalu, Malaysia, on the northeastern tip of the island of Borneo - this is where I'll be based out of for the next three of four months. Not bad! After my teaching job in China fell through, my friend Charlie was nice enough to give me a job here for the summer. He happens to be out in the jungle right now, so in a couple of days I'll be jumping on a bush plane to head out and try and find him. Wish me luck. Traveling around and sightseeing is good fun, but it's time to put my bag down for a while and get to know a place. Anyways, to quote Willie Nelson, still is still moving to me...

SINGAPORE

SINGAPORE
From Thailand I made my way south to Singapore. I had a few days before my flight to Kota Kinabalu, so it was the perfect chance for me to visit our old family friends, Chin and Sok. Chin grew up in Malaysia and met my parents in the mid-70s when he attended Kenyon College and had my father as a professor. After Kenyon (and then Harvard) Chin moved to Singapore. They stayed in touch over the years, and as our families grew we'd take turns hosting each other on trips across the Pacific. We’ve seen Chin and Sok in the states a number of times, but I was the last Kipp to make it to Singapore to see them - it was about time!

It was only a short stay, but the entire day and a half was pretty much one big feast. The first day started with noodles for breakfast, dim sum for lunch, satay and stingray for dinner, and shaved ice and a soursop shake for dessert. Not to mention plenty of snacks in between. And believe it or not we actually did a good deal of sightseeing as well. I was still full the next day when I woke up, but once we got to Little India I had no problem devouring my delicious vegetarian dosa for breakfast. After some more exploring the tour concluded with a delicious fish head curry lunch! Chin had to roll me onto the airplane, and I just barely snapped out of my food coma as the plane touched down in Kota Kinabalu...

(RAI)LAY OVER

(RAI)LAY OVER
When I realized that my friends Sara and Ryan were going to be vacationing in Thailand at the same time I’d be making my way to Malaysia, I couldn’t help but to plan a quick stopover to see them. Sara and Ryan are a couple of San Francisco friends that now live in Sydney, and Sara and I used to work together in advertising. Traveling in China had been routinely confusing, but since I'd lived in Thailand for most of 2009, making my way from Bangkok to the islands was a breeze, and before I knew it I was floating up to the sandy beaches of Railay on a long-tail boat. We hadn’t planned a time and place to meet, but before anything I needed a splash in the water to cool off. That worked out well because before long Sara and Ryan came paddling by on a kayak. After lunch we boarded a long-tail boat and puttered out to sea for an afternoon of snorkeling. That was great, except for the fact that my mustache was too thick and slightly impeded the suction of the mask to my face. Snorkeling with a beard is not ideal, I need a shave! As evening approached we stopped off on an island for a picnic dinner. We'd missed the sunset due to an obstructing island, but once on land we were redeemed with an amazing dark-orange full-moonrise over the ocean. It was getting dark as we motored back towards Railay, and off in the distance heat-lightning illuminated the night sky. Our last stop was for a night swim with bioluminescence, and after the boat anchored in calm waters in the night-shadow of a karstic island, we jumped into the water and splashed about in an explosion of aquatic sparkles. It was a fun and tiring day, but we still found ourselves up late, sharing beers and playing boardgames on the balcony of a bar overlooking the eastern beach. The next day we relaxed. By noon we were in the water, neck deep in the gentle waves, sipping cold beers and enjoying a day in paradise. We spent the evening on the beach, lighting floating lanterns and watching them blow out to sea. The next day came too quick, and just like that our rendezvous in Railay was over. Sara and Ryan left for Australia and I ventured farther south. I had made some good companions on my solo travels in China, but it’s always wonderful to see old friends.

TIGER LEAPING GORGE

TIGER LEAPING GORGE

We met a Spaniard in Lijiang. He was wearing a conical hat á la southeast Asian rice farmer and had a dread-locked mullet that hung down to his waist. After smoothly tossing all five locks over his shoulder to dangle down his chest, he went on to tell Yago and me that Tiger Leaping Gorge was ‘only OK’ . Only OK? Pardon my Español, but that place was fuckin' awesome! He must have gotten off the bus at Tiger Leaping Gutter. Either that, or he was too busy matting his poop-locks to notice where the hell he was. Hearing such mediocre reviews of a place is good sometimes, it kind of lowers the bar. But even if he’d told us that it was the most beautiful place on earth, I still would’ve been blown away.

The bus ride to Tiger Leaping Gorge was a delightful preview of our adventures to come. Looming over Lijiang to the north is the almighty Jade Dragon Snow Mountain, and in three hours time we’d rounded the snow-capped range to where the Jinsha River becomes pinched between the Jade Dragon and its almost equally impressive neighbor the Haba Snow Mountain. Less than thirty minutes after we’d jumped off the bus we were trekking along the north side of the gorge, high above the river on the slopes of Haba Mountain, with the colossal Jade Dragon staring at us from across the canyon. Even though I’d seen the mountains looming in the distance all morning long, I still looked up and thought, where the hell did these come from? This is when I really came to appreciate China’s geographic diversity. It’s kind of like China’s cuisine, there’s a lot more to it than kung-pao chicken and sweet-n-sour pork. 

We passed through a few villages on our hike, in areas where the slopes of Haba Mountain became fleetingly more gradual. The earth was baked and dusty, but below each village, irrigated terraces of plush green agriculture spilled towards the river. The hike was rigorous for the first three or four hours, but after a grueling vertical section appropriately named the Twenty-Eight Bends, we found ourselves cruising progressively downhill for the rest of the day. By six o’clock we’d reached a small village that marked the midway point on our two-day trek, and before long we’d checked into a guesthouse and had cracked open a couple of beers. The guesthouse was rather empty upon arrival, but over the next few hours more and more hikers rolled in to settle down for the evening. With cold beers in hand we posted up on a balcony overlooking the Jade Dragon, and as the sun sank behind us, we stared out across the gorge and watched the shadow of nightfall slowly overtake the opposing mountainside. People were exhausted after a day of hiking, but the conversation was lively as the kitchen opened and everyone headed down into the dining hall for a well-deserved meal. Yago and I found ourselves at a large table with a Belgian guy and a group of four young Chinese people. The food and conversation were equally stimulating, and despite sporadic power outages, the revelries carried on, fueled by candlelight. It was a wonderful way to end the day, and the delightful combination of food, beer, and exhaustion, had everyone stumbling towards bed around ten o’clock.

The sun didn’t peak over the imposing Jade Dragon until around nine o’clock the next morning, and soon after that we were back on the trail with our new friends for another wonderful day of hiking. The pack had grown to nine overnight, and the leisurely trek was full of laughter and conversation. The journey concluded mid-afternoon after a dramatic down-and-up hike to the bottom of the gorge (including a fifty-four rung ladder bolted onto the side of a cliff), and by four o’clock the group had disbanded. Yago and I caught a bus back to Lijiang, and from there he and I parted ways. Not only had my stint with Yago come to an end, but so had my six-week adventure in China, and after an overnight train to Kunming, I boarded a flight out of the country. But not back to the States, not yet!

I had originally planned to teach English in China, but since the job fell through last minute, I ended up doing a little bit of traveling instead. What a privilege! Once I got to China I discovered that finding a teaching job wouldn’t be too hard, so I thought I'd do some exploring and possibly find a cool place to teach for a while. But that’s when my friend Charlie came calling from the jungles Borneo, and said that he could give me some work there for the summer. Kota Kinabalu, Malaysia? Why not! So that’s where I’m heading next. I’m looking forward to putting my bag down for a while and getting to know a place. But not before a quick stop in Thailand...

LIJIANG

LIJIANG
Yago and I left Dali on a bus as the sun was setting over the mountains and didn’t get into Lijiang until after ten. Like always, the map looked simpler in the guidebook, so not surprisingly we got lost on our attempted hike to the old-town. After wandering into a red-light district and being redirected by some hookers, we decided it was time to hail a cab. It was late by the time we found a guesthouse, but since we hadn’t eaten dinner we ventured out for some food and beers. After some kebabs and a scrumptious bowl of noodles, we decided it was time to call it a night. In an attempt to go directly back to the guesthouse, we ended up walking in a complete circle and found ourselves right back in front of the noodle shop. By the time we finally made it back we were exhausted, but also excited by the idea of tomorrows disoriented wanderings. Getting lost can be fun, after all.

I’ve been to a lot of ‘old-towns’ in China, if a city has one, then they’re usually the place to visit. It’s like visiting Boston and walking the Freedom Trail, except in China they’re just a tad older. It’s been fun seeing all of these ancient places, all with their own unique histories and character. Lijiang suffered a devastating earthquake in 1996, after which much of the old-town was re-built. It’s still true to its original form, but the revitalization has given it a more polished look and has resulted in a boosted tourism industry. One of the first things we did the next day was hike up to a hilltop park overlooking the old-town, but unlike some vistas that might provide a helpful perspective, the views only reaffirmed the fact that Lijiang is a complete labyrinth. Look at the picture on the left, that’s what we saw from up above - not that helpful when it comes to mapping out a route for the day, that is unless you can float across rooftops like a kung-fu assassin. There are no old city walls or gridded streets, no regularity in the dimensions of the layout. Waterways dictate the blueprint of the old-town, and it’s as though a web of winding streams acted as the guidelines for the erratic alleyways. The maze of thoroughfares are in constant motion as streams and small channels of water criss-cross or parallel every lane. Many of the buildings are entered by crossing a planked footbridge, and a number of the old natural wells spotting the town are still in use. It was fun getting lost in Lijiang.

SCHOOL LUNCH

SCHOOL LUNCH
Equal parts walking and eating - Yago and I both agreed that this is a good equation for exploring a new town, especially with the addition of afternoon beers. There’s plenty of delicious street food to be discovered in China, but sometimes you just have to be in the right place at the right time. It was mid-day in Dali when we found ourselves on a narrow street that ran alongside a school. Little did we know that the lane doubled as the school’s cafeteria, and before we knew it we were wading through a sea of blue uniforms, smack dab in the middle of the lunch-hour rush. Opposite the school were a bunch of little food shops, all with humongous baskets of steamed rice and tasty looking buffets. Small food carts serving more specific dishes parked along the opposing sidewalk, and a handful of vendors rolled up on tricycles to cater a modest spread on three wheels. Yago and I walked along rubbernecking and drooling the whole way, and for some reason let ourselves stroll through without stopping. But fifteen minutes later, after we’d realized what we’d missed, we came running back to join the daily feast. By the time we'd returned, the frenzy had dwindled, and most of the buffets had been reduced to scraps. Luckily we came across a soup spot towards the end of the lane that was still open for business and looked especially delicious. For a small set price we picked our own fresh ingredients, put them into a little basket, and handed them over to be dipped into a vat of tasty broth. A few minutes later it was all cooked up and transferred into a little paper bowl, and after the addition of a few condiments our lunch was served! It reminded me of when I taught English in Thailand, and how much I enjoyed the food in my school’s cafeteria. I used to get this amazing noodle soup at least three times a week, it had a dark reddish-brown broth, and every day I ate it I’d enter my afternoon classes with an additional brownish splatter on the front of my dress shirt. I would usually splurge on an ice cream bar after my noodle soup, and it would bring my lunch total to about one dollar. But a school lunch open to the public! I should find more of these when I travel. If I had stayed in Dali for a while, I would have gone to that street everyday around noon - what a fun, delicious, and cheap way to eat!

DALI

DALI
From Yangshuo I traveled west on an overnight train to Yunnan Province and the city of Kunming. Yunnan sits on China’s southwestern border with Burma, Laos, and Vietnam, and contains over twenty of China’s fifty-six ethnic groups. It’s a land of converging countries where the range of nationalities and unique cultures transcend government boundaries. The geographic landscape is also very diverse, from the jungles of the south, to the dry and arid snow-capped mountainous regions of the northwest. I’d heard a lot about Yunnan’s splendor, and I was excited to finally get a taste!

Kunming has a reputation as a laid-back city, and after arriving I fell into character and spent a couple of day’s relaxing and enjoying the warm weather. I went for a few walks, explored some parks and markets, and even ventured into a Chinese Wal-Mart to look for some Q-tips - that was interesting. Can I use a cliché and say that it was like trying to find a needle in a haystack? Unlike Wal-Marts in America that are big and lofty and perched on the outskirts of suburbia, Chinese Wal-Marts are lodged in the middle of the city and are a claustrophobic tangle. In fact, I think saying, 'it's like trying to find a Q-tip in a Chinese Wal-Mart' sounds like the perfect contemporary version of the old saying. Anyway, after a day or so I met up with my friend Yago and we took off for Dali. Yago and I met in Guilin, and after realizing that we were both heading to Yunnan, decided to meet up and go on some adventures together. He ended up being a great travel buddy.

The four hour bus ride from Kunming took us to the southern tip of Erhai Lake, where the old town of Dali rests below the gentle slopes of a neighboring mountain range. We decided to stay for only one day, so after a dumpling feast at the hostel we set out to explore the old-town by night. There wasn’t a whole lot going on, but after some wandering we came across a bar called Bad Monkey. I felt as though I’d stumbled back into Thailand, with a rowdy traveler and ex-pat crowd similar to something you’d find on the islands in one of China’s neighboring countries to the south. After grabbing a couple of beers from a dread-locked bartender, we sat down to take in the scene, and it wasn’t long before an overly excited young ex-pat sat down with us, eager to share his wild life-story. Bro, right now I’m just trying to make rent ‘cause I like just opened my own boutique here in town last week. I’m like selling vintage clothes that I bought in LA - lugged ‘em all back on the plane, carry-on. Yeah bro, growin‘ some weed up in the mountains too...  Sounded like a great business plan, probably funded by Mommy & Daddy Are Rich, Inc. It went on and on, but luckily we escaped after a few beers, and over the next few days found ourselves reciting the one-sided conversation to each other for entertainment.

Exploring Dali by day was a different experience, the town was full of Chinese tourists and the shops and restaurants along the various walking streets were open for business and full of customers. In the afternoon we left the old-town to check out the Three Pagodas and the Chongsheng Temple. The Three Pagodas, built to scare off dragons, are some of the oldest structures in the region, and the Chongsheng Temple, located behind the pagodas and up the hill a ways, gave way to some nice views of Erhai Lake and the various villages that spot its shoreline. That night we caught a bus to Lijiang, but not before an hour-long motorbike ride along the lake shore. We really packed it in during our short stay in Dali, but we’d heard good things about our next destination, and were eager to make our way up into the mountains...

FERDINAND THE SOUTHEAST ASIAN TRACTOR

FERDINAND THE SOUTHEAST ASIAN TRACTOR

My old friend the water buffalo, it's nice to see you again! I'd recognize that U-shaped crown anywhere! I came across these two on my hike to the 'secret village' when I was in Yangshuo. My two Chinese friends just called it a 'cow', but I had to tell them that it was actually a water buffalo, and that there was a big difference. I've never actually had the chance to get to know a water buffalo, but they seem like wonderful creatures. I first became acquainted with them back in 2003 when I studied abroad in Vietnam, and now that I've reached southern China I've started to spot them here and there. They're all over Vietnam, and from what I understand they fill a very cherished roll in Vietnamese culture. There's a fabled image of a young boy playing a flute on the back of a water buffalo, and sans flute playing, it wasn't that uncommon to see. It was always one of those shots I'd attempt to take through the bus window on a bumpy road - those never turn out well. But to see a kid or two lounging on the back of one of those gentle beasts was always a pleasant sight. They seem so tender and patient, but at the same time so very strong and hardworking. Not to mention loyal and trustworthy, and of course great with kids - all admirable qualities! They may not be the life of the party, but they sure make a damn good friend. The bulls can get pretty burly, with huge rotund bodies and massive hooves, a perfect build for trudging through the mud when ploughing rice paddies - the good ol' southeast Asian tractor. If I had one there's no question I'd name it Ferdinand after the bull from the children's story Ferdinand the Bull. It's a wonderful fable that takes place in Spain, about a strapping-but-sweet young bull who gets mistaken for a savage bovine when he goes momentarily berserk after sitting on a bumblebee. This gets the attention of some matadors who are quick to tout Ferdinand as the most fierce bull in the land. His legend escalates, but when he finally gets released into the bullring, all he wants to do is sit down in the middle and ignore the taunting bullfighters. In the end he's let back out to into the pasture where can resume his pacifist ways and sit under his favorite cork tree to smell the flowers. It's a nice a tale, but it's also the story of every single water buffalo in southeast Asia. I doubt Ferdinand the Bull was translated into Vietnamese, they'd read it and be like, well duh! 

YANGSHUO COUNTRYSIDE

YANGSHUO COUNTRYSIDE

I was embraced by a warm hug of sunshine as I stepped out of the hostel on Sunday morning. Spring had arrived! It was the perfect day for a bike ride, so after a quick breakfast I rented an old one-speed beater and hit the road. The ride out of town provided a quick transition from urban hustle-and-bustle to bucolic wonderland, and soon I was cruising through quiet villages on a tree-lined road surrounded by brilliant rice paddies and flourishing citrus groves. It wasn't too long before I caught up to some fellow cyclists. Hello! Huan and Chimin were visiting from a neighboring province and were quick to invite me along on their adventure. Both had been to Yangshuo before and were out in search of a 'secret village' that Huan had stumbled across three years ago. Awesome. I followed my new friends on a jaunt through a charming hamlet, and when the road came to an end, we ditched our bikes and set out on foot. I felt thankful for the company as we hiked along and got to know each other, I could already tell that this day was going to be too good not to share with someone. The secret village was beautiful. It was more a patchwork of lush fields surrounded by steep mountains, but as the trail peaked and we could see down into the valley, I felt as though I'd found Shangri-La. After a stroll through the glen and a few curious looks from some hard-working farmers, we made our way back to our bikes and continued our adventure. And it was barely even noon!

For a mid-day snack we stopped by a little corner store and bought some beers (it wasn't my idea!) and some chicken feet. Chicken feet - quite the popular snack in China. These were the prepackaged variety, the kind that are suction-wrapped and available in almost every store. I've eaten chicken feet before, but I'll have to admit, it's still a little awkward for me, mostly because it takes practice. It's kind of like eating sunflower seeds, in order to become an efficient sunflower seed eater you've got to understand what's going on in your mouth - how to crack it open, get the seed out, and then dispose of the shell. Chicken feet are a little more complex. It's more like, there's the toenail, avoid that... ok, that must be a knuckle, and some cartilage... Basically I'm still trying to figure out what the hell I'm supposed to eat on a chicken foot. To most Chinese people it's second nature, but I just end up putting the thing in my mouth, giving it a soft chew, and then spitting the whole thing out again. It tastes pretty good so it's fine, I just act cool and roll with the punches, slash look like an idiot.

Anyways, it was a great snack, and soon we were on our way again. The afternoon was a dream, full of laughter and conversation, and plenty of my completely genuine but extremely enthusiastic wow's and whoa's. We were biking through postcards, everywhere I looked was photo-worthy, and not only were my friends patient with my constant photographing, but seemed thrilled to have someone along with a decent camera who could document their frolic in the countryside. Towards the end of the day when the sun was disappearing over the mountains, we rode into a valley of canola fields, jumped off our bikes, and got lost in a labyrinth of bright yellow flowers. If a glowing-white unicorn had galloped by I wouldn't have blinked an eye. With big smiles and sun-kissed faces we rode back into town as the evening approached. Part of me wanted to stay in Yangshuo and relive the day over and over again, but I had to catch a bus back to Guilin so I could hop a westbound train to Yunnan. My friends saw me to the station, and we waved goodbye to each other as the bus pulled away. I'll bookmark this little chapter as a highlight in the story of my travels. I am one lucky dude.    

YANGSHUO

YANGSHUO

It seems like every city I've been to in China has a slew of construction cranes and a countless number of new high-rises going up. Luckily this was not the case in Yangshuo. But no matter how much it grows, nothing will be able to compete with it's magnificent karstic skyline. Towering over the Li River and dominating the middle of the old-town is Green Lotus Peek, and a half hour after I'd jumped off the boat from Guilin I was scaling it's precipitous slopes. At first I was surprised at how unexploited it was, considering it's accessibility, but two minutes into the climb I realized why. Let's just say that I doubt many people would visit the Empire State Building if they had to take the stairs. The trail was steep and muddy, and at times I had to scramble up boulders and pull myself up little cliffs by ropes that had been jimmy-rigged to small trees. It was worth it though, the views were absolutely amazing. The thought of staying for the sunset crossed my mind, but descending the peak after dark would've been a sure-fire kamikaze mission. Anyways, I wanted to be in good shape for the following day's bike ride into countryside...

TOURIST ATTRACTION

TOURIST ATTRACTION

Not only am I a tourist in China, but I'm also an occasional tourist attraction. It could be that 'goofy looking white dude' is on some sort of List of Things to Photograph While on Vacation, but whatever the reason, I've made my way into a multitude of Chinese photo albums. It was pretty sporadic early on, a few people here and there would politely stop me and ask for a photo together, but the first time it got a little silly was in Zhangjiajie National Forest Park. Don't let the unpeopled photos I posted fool you, behind me were hoards of other tourists all vying for the same shot, and on more than one occasion I got caught up in the mix. It was like a domino effect, once somebody would ask to take a photo with me, every other passerby would want their turn, and all of a sudden I'd be backed up against the railing with a mindless grin on my face, waiting for the next tourist to nestle up to me and flash a peace sign for the camera. It happened quite a bit in Fenghuang as well. Once while I sitting by the river eating a snack, a guy quickly sat down and put him his arm around me, and before I knew what was  happening his friend had snapped a photo and they were on their way. I'm sure that one turned out great considering I had a mouthful of dumpling and a confused look on my face. And never mind the countless people I've caught out of the corner of my eye, discreetly trying to snap photos of me on their cell phones. Little did they know that I was also discreetly striking a pose. Occasionally I like to hold the pose for a few seconds, and then quickly jerk my head around and stare straight into the camera, giving them a quirky little smirk with one eyebrow raised that forces them to awkwardly shift their focus on whatever uninteresting thing I happen to be standing next to. Anyways, on the boat ride down the Li River I finally got someone to use my camera for one of these photo shoots, unfortunately I think he caught me telling him that he might need to switch to autofocus. It turned out ok, although apparently I missed the memo to wear red that day.

THE LI RIVER

THE LI RIVER

After a couple of nights in Guilin I took off for Yangshuo on a boat down the Li River. I would have opted for a small bamboo raft had the weather been permitting, but since it was cloudy and cold I ended up on a large boat full of Chinese tourists. It was a pleasant cruise and the views were amazing. A group of us went in on a big family meal, which was great except that I kept wanting to excuse myself to run outside and snap some photos. Traveling by boat is one of my favorite ways to get around, plus, arriving on a dock is way better than pulling into a bus terminal or train station. It's hard not to feel relaxed after a nice float, and as the boat ride ended and I waltzed down the riverbank into town, I couldn't help but to think that my excursion to Yangshuo was getting off to a good start.

DRAGON'S BACKBONE RICE TERRACES

DRAGON'S BACKBONE RICE TERRACES

One day I took a trip with some fellow travelers up to the highlands outside of Guilin for a hike around Dragon's Backbone Rice Terraces. The Zhuang, one of the largest ethnic minority groups in China, started agriculturally sculpting the mountains around 700 years ago. Some of their villages are still pretty isolated, and it was a long and windy drive up a beautiful river gorge to our destination. It was an overcast and misty day, but luckily the clouds were aloft, providing us with clear views of the valley. From the village below, the mountainsides were muted and dim, but as we hiked up, overcoming terrace after terrace, the scenery started to transform. Like twirling open horizontal blinds, the increase in elevation brightened the valley with a gradual shift from dull brown to a vibrant striped green. For lunch we stopped at an inn on the mountainside. A woman prepared our delicious meal with a little baby strapped to her back and told us that the rice had come from the paddy that lay just outside the doorstep. I don't think I've ever eaten rice from that close to its source! 

GUILIN

GUILIN

Spring arrived overnight on my twelve-hour train ride south from Fenghuang to Guilin. I'd been looking forward to some warmer weather, and although it was still chilly with a light drizzle, the vivid greenery was enough to quench my vernal craving. Traveling in China is a first for me, but in entering Guangxi Province I was returning to a geographic landscape that I've come to know and love. From Halong Bay, Vietnam, to Vang Vieng, Laos, and on down to Krabi, Thailand and the islands of the Andaman Sea - one trait that many of my favorite destinations share is a stunning karstic topography, steep and dramatic limestone mountains caused by erosion from naturally acidic water. I may have been new to Guilin, but much of what I saw was wonderfully familiar. On my first day I explored the city, wandered into a park, and hiked to the top of a little mountain where I caught some sweeping views of the city.

FENGHUANG NIGHT

FENGHUANG NIGHT

Here's a little photo afterthought to the last post. Fenghuang - a timeworn river town by day, a party on stilts by night!

FENGHUANG

FENGHUANG

An old river town stuck in time! That's what I'd heard about Fenghuang, and I was excited to spend a couple of days there. The bus ride from Zhangjiajie was a good five hours, and despite the bus operator's one-hand-on-the-horn-at-all-times-passing-every-vehicle-at-high-speeds-on-curvy-narrow-roads driving, the trip was quite enjoyable. I grabbed a seat by a window in the back of the bus, and soon found myself surrounded by a group of chipper young women heading to Fenghuang for the weekend. They were quick to realize that I was incapable of conversation, but were more than happy to share their bounty of tasty snacks with me, although I passed on the chicken feet. A lot of those snacks were soon lost, along with their liveliness, as a couple of them were forced to hang their heads out the window and paint the side of the bus as a result of severe car sickness. Luckily I was un-phased, and in an attempt to escape the suddenly altered mood of my present company, I plugged in my headphones and let the passing scenery sweep me away. The road cut through valleys for most of the drive, hugging hillsides, dipping down into small villages, and criss-crossing rivers. The stair-stepped agriculture became more dramatic, with an occasional terrace of bright-yellow rapeseed flowers adding vibrant streaks to the mountainside patchwork. The bus got caught up in some weekend markets while passing through a few of the villages, and while the bus driver continued to lay on the horn, I felt thankful for the slow motion drive-through and the chance to take in some of the bustling small-town life. The road was my Travel Channel, the bus window my TV screen, and the five hour special on rural China was fascinating! A lot of times, traveling becomes a series of dots on a map of the places you've visited. But if you can connect the dots with an interesting journey, if the lines in between also tell a story, then the voyage becomes richer, and you can gain a better understanding of where you are. That's why bike touring is so awesome. I'm going to need to figure out how to add some two-wheeled adventures into my life soon. Anyways, the bus ride was very enjoyable, although I can't say that my pale-faced co-passengers would've agreed, I'm sure they were psyched for it to end.

Fenghuang was larger than I thought it would be - not a big surprise in China. It happens to me every time when I arrive in a new place here, I walk out, glance at the simple map in the guidebook, look up, spin a few circles, look back at the map, and realize I have no idea where I am. But I decided to hoof it, and with the help of a few curious students I was able to find the old part of town and a cheap place to stay. After checking in I set out to find some food and drink and explore the old town lining the river. It definitely wasn't what I expected. The rustic stilted houses were there, lopsidedly perched above the water, but the scene surrounding it was absolutely blown out with tourists! I guess I felt a little deceived, I had imagined I would fall off the bus and stumble into a quaint little village. But that was not the case, and the unanticipated atmosphere kind of put me on edge. One thing I'd heard about Fenghuang was that there was absolutely no English. This I found to be true, and now that I've been in China for a while, this was also not a surprise. But for some reason I was thinking that 'no English' was synonymous with 'untouched'. I should have known better. I quickly found a bar with outdoor seating and posted up along the river, I needed to take it all in and reevaluate my surroundings. The menu consisted of snack food (great, more snacks), so I ordered some popcorn and a beer. The beer, or should I say beer-flavored water, was a weak 2.5%, so after downing one, I ordered another along with a tumbler of Johnny Walker. It was Saint Patty's Day after all, and now that I think about it, the river appeared to be slightly green, how inadvertently appropriate. The Johnny Walker came out neat, in a rather large glass almost filled to the brim. Last time I checked Johnny Walker was not sweet with a hint of caramel, but whatever it was, it was strong, and after a few swigs and a couple of deep breaths, I started to feel a little more relaxed. After paying my bill I stumbled back to the hostel to grab my jacket, and then, realizing I was short on cash, went out to find an ATM. The first one was broken, the next two didn't accept my card, and when I finally found one that worked, all I wanted to do was head back to the hostel and call it a night. My first day in Fenghuang and I didn't even snap a photo! Luckily the next day turned out to be a little more redeeming.

It was overcast and damp when I stepped outside the next morning. In an attempt to get off the main drag I ducked into some small residential alleyways that quickly took me up onto a hill overlooking the river. There's nothing like getting up onto a highpoint to help you gain perspective on your surroundings; I always try and do this if the geography is permitting. From there I could see down over the old town and was able to map out a route for the day. I was off to a good start! The fluvial charm that I had overlooked the day before due to the overbearing tourists, was quick to reveal itself once I got back down to the water, and it wasn't long before Fenghuang had won me over. The river was low due to some construction upstream, and an on-and-off drizzle freckled the stagnant water throughout the day. I took my time strolling the banks, crossing back and forth on the multitude of bridges that spanned the water. Life on the river very much revolved around the burgeoning tourism, but the way in which it maintained it's existence was reminiscent of days gone by. The banks were lined with people doing daily chores, from rinsing produce for local restaurants to washing clothes and linens for the family-run inns. Bamboo boats ushered people up and down the river through a gauntlet of old stilted buildings that seemed on the verge of toppling into the water below. It's days like this when I enjoy traveling alone the most, when I can just post up and watch life unfold in front of me.

As daylight faded, so did the timelessness that makes Fenghuang unique, and with nightfall came the universal qualities of the tourist nightlife. Behind the rustic facade of the ram-shackled stilt houses were a slew of bars and night clubs, each fitted with bright lights and competing sound systems that volleyed rounds of bass across the river. I wouldn't be surprised if you could see Fenghuang from outer space at night - it's that bright. The lights were quite a spectacle, but after one more quick loop up and down the river, I headed back to the hostel and called it a night. It had been a wonderful day, and I was glad that Fenghuang had been redeemed of its bogus first impression. I could see myself heading back there again someday, although next time I think I may jump out in one of those towns I passed along way in. 

ZHANGJIAJIE NATIONAL FOREST PARK

ZHANGJIAJIE FOREST PARK

Shanghai was awesome, but feeling the need to see some of China's natural wonders, I decided I would head to Hunan Province and explore Zhangjiajie National Forest Park. I slept hard on the overnight train to Changsha, and at seven in the morning found myself doing another train station shuffle with a severe case of bedhead as I searched for the connecting bus to Zhangjiajie City. After a few laps in front of the station with a clueless look on my face, some guy finally took pity on me and offered some guidance after I pointed out the characters for Zhangjiajie in the guidebook - because I definitely didn't know how to say it at the time. I may not speak or read Chinese, but I seem to make it work! The four-hour bus ride took me into a part of China that I hadn't seen yet, revealing a greener landscape, with smaller towns, rolling hills, and terraced agriculture. It was a nice change of scene. 

After a night in Zhangjiajie City, I woke up to some rather dreary weather, and it didn't change much on the forty-minute bus ride up to the park's entrance. Zhangjiajie National Forest Park is known for its towering quartz-sandstone pillars, created after years of erosion, and as I jumped off the bus and entered the park I started to see them looming in the mist. It was one of those moments where all of a sudden I was hit with a burst of excitement, like a kid in a toy store, I started to feel overwhelmed and almost didn't know where to look. I had to be careful not to hurt myself walking around with my mouth wide open and my nose pointed up at the sky, but then I realized that it might not be a bad thing since seeing the park from the valley floor by stretcher would probably be pretty cool. The crowds were heavy around the park's entrance, but I was quick to find a path less taken, and soon I was all alone, hiking through a dense forest in a city of rock skyscrapers. 

The hostel where I was staying was a couple hours in, so my plan was to head there, drop off my bag, and then set out to explore. It didn't look too far away on the map, but in vertical feet it was another story, and after an hour or so on the valley floor I started to climb up into the clouds, literally. The hike was steep, and the mist got thicker with every step. The trail crossed the road about fifty yards from the hostel, and if the fog hadn't been so blinding it would have been an obvious find, but because I couldn't see anything, I made a wrong turn and got lost for a while. When I finally found the hostel, I ditched my bag and set out to escape the fog. But I couldn't. I caught a free shuttle across the park hoping it would improve, but the blanket only got heavier, as did my spirits. I was bummed. I could almost feel these geologic behemoths lurking in the clouds, watching me. And not being able to see them made me curse Mother Nature for her selfishness. I gave up after a while and returned to the hostel where I met a Canadian named John, the only other white guy I came across in the entire park. We said hello to each other, and then just shook our heads in defeat. The fog had trumped all that day.

The next morning wasn't much better, but if anything I thought I could get a good hike in before I left the park. I walked down the road a ways and then made my way into the forest on a trail that followed the edge of cliff. After a while I came across some steps that led down to a lookout and decided I would take a photo. I thought it'd be a good depiction of my experience - a few tree branches overhead and a little observation deck below, perfectly framing a canvas of white haze. But at the very moment I was taking out my camera, it happened... the curtain was lifted! Here I was thinking Mother Nature was being greedy, but it ends up she was just waiting for the perfect reveal. It was amazing how quickly it happened, and then how suddenly I was hit by a wave of chills. Natural environments like that always seem to warp my sense of depth, and having been denied the view until that very moment, I almost couldn't make sense of the vast landscape that lay before me. I almost felt like I could reach out and touch the opposing precipice. It was dizzying. 

The rest of the hike was amazing. The path exposed vista after vista of an otherworldly metropolis of granite and sandstone towers, with streets made of twisted rivers and lush forests resting thousands of feet below. Look at the picture on the right, it almost looks like it's floating! It's easy to guess what 2009 blockbuster found inspiration here for it's unearthly backdrop. The hike eventually took me back down to the valley floor, where I strolled along a river and shopped for the perfect photograph. By the end of the day the fog had returned, stealing back the views and leaving me thankful for all that I had seen. I left the park and caught a bus back to Zhangjiajie City, and it was well after dark by the time I checked into my hostel. The girl behind the front desk noticed the big smile on my face and stated that I was happy. I quickly agreed and then immediately broke into an animated pantomime of my adventure in the park. I went to bed tired and happy that night. All I have is this little collage to share, but it doesn't do any justice, you really had to be there. And if you do ever go, I suggest waiting until you get to the top before you open your eyes.

SHANGHAI PERSONALS

SHANGHAI PERSONALS

On Sunday I went for a stroll with Mac and his girlfriend Rebecca through People's Square, which is kind of like the Central Park of Shanghai. On our walk we came across what I learned was a weekly Sunday gathering, where older, and apparently slightly concerned parents, get together and try and score dates for their single adult children. They do this by hanging up little stat sheets on clothes lines, creating a wall of personal adds for other parents to peruse. I was surprised at how plain most of them looked, barely any had pictures, and a lot of them were just simple forms that had been filled out. But the place was packed! People were squeezed in, taking notes, and swapping info. Matchmaking is done in all sorts of ways these days, but I thought this was an interesting approach. Hey mom, why don't you head down to the park today and find me a soulmate!? 

SHANGHAI

SHANGHAI

With Zhengzhou and the Shaolin Temple checked off my list, I took off for Shanghai! My friend Mac, who I taught English with in Thailand, has been living in Shanghai for the last two years and was kind enough to put me up for a few days and show me around. Having felt completely lost in the English-free city of Zhengzhou, I arrived in Shanghai feeling as though I'd just resurfaced back in the western world. I could probably live in Shanghai and never learn Chinese. I think some people do. On our first night we went out in a neighborhood called the French Concession - first to a sports bar where I ate nachos and pizza, and then to a brewery where I drank a tasty draught IPA. Don't worry, I also got my fair share of delicious Shanghai style cousine while I was there, including some explosive soup dumplings that literally blew up when I bit into them - xiao long bao, more like xiao long BLAOW! I got a great taste of Shanghai, from the sweeping, modern Pudong skyline, to the old but rejuvenated alleyways of Tianzifang, it was one of those cities that I could almost picture myself living in.

SHAOLIN TEMPLE

SHAOLIN TEMPLE

My plan after Pingyao was to make my way towards Shanghai - from an ancient walled-city to a modern metropolis!  After discovering that the train ride was going to be awfully long, I decided to break up the voyage with a two day layover in the city of Zhengzhou. From there I could take a day trip into the surrounding mountains and visit one of China's most famous Zen Buddhist temples and the birthplace of Shaolin kung fu - the legendary Shaolin Temple! I don't know how many kung fu movies I've watched in my life, but it's enough that I started to feel really excited about this added detour. The train to Zhengzhou got me in a little after dark and spat me out into a city of two million, surrounded by tall buildings, neon lights, and not a lick of English. I eventually found the cheap little hotel that was listed in the guidebook even though I couldn't read any of the signs, but was turned away at the front desk when they handed me a worn piece of paper announcing that they didn't accept foreigners anymore because their hotel rating was too low. Interesting. I wandered back into the square and spun a few circles. Feeling lost and totally out of my element, I found myself being drawn to the one thing in sight that looked familiar, the ubiquitous golden arches! I could see at least three different McDonald's from where I was standing, so I caved in, bought a chicken sandwich, and reevaluated my situation. I ended up finding a place close by that was a little more than I'd like to pay, but at that point I just wanted to put down my bag and get comfortable. 

The next morning I went to the bus station to buy a ticket to the Shaolin Temple. Since there was no English anywhere and probably twenty ticket windows, I just went up to the one with the shortest line and said "Shaolin Temp-oh". I know that 'temp-oh' is not 'temple' in Chinese, but that's how I'd heard Chinese people say 'temple' in English. I learned this technique when I was living in Thailand. There was a big mall down the road from my apartment called Future Park - that was it's name, it was in English. But whenever I would jump into a taxi and head to the mall, no matter how many times I said 'Future Park' in perfect English, the taxi driver wouldn't have a clue as to what I was saying until I pronounced it 'Fyoo-cha Pahhk'. Anyways, I managed to get a bus ticket to the Shaolin Temple. I guess at the time I wasn't exactly sure if I had, but once I boarded the minibus and saw that they were playing Lord of the Wu Tang starring Jet Li on the little TV in the front, I was pretty sure I was heading in the right direction. 

It was a two hour bus ride up into the mountains and on the way up I found myself surrounded by a group of Korean high school students who were studying in Beijing for the year. Feeling a little confused about exactly where I was going, the group of students and their teacher asked me if I wanted to join them for the day. Traveling solo is great, but it can also be lonely at times, obviously - so I was happy to accept the invitation and join the group. Our visit to the Shaolin Temple ended up being part of a big tour. Which isn't a bad thing, but normally I like to take my time exploring a place, wander about at my own speed, and perhaps try to snap some photos without feeling rushed. I managed to take a few pictures, but a lot of the time my new teacher friend would excitedly borrow my camera and have me pose for a picture with his students. It was fine. Anyway, it ends up that the Shaolin Temple has become something like a kung fu Disney Land. It's still an active temple, but it's popularity has transformed it into a moneymaker. Built up around the temple are a handful of martial arts academies, and the entire walk up to the temple was lined by fields and courtyards full of young kung fu students, fervently training. I could have easily stood around and watched all day, but instead we were rushed up and into an auditorium to take in a quick staged performance.  Much of the day was like this, dictated by a tour guide and pushed along in a muddle of tourists. There were a lot of things I missed out on, I didn't even make it to the Forest of Pagodas! But to be honest, I was distracted most of the time by my new companions. The students were great, kind and curious, and very much young teenagers. It was like smaller cultural experience within a larger one, a microcosm of Korean adolescence on a visit to one of China's most acclaimed temples.  We left the temple in late afternoon and returned to Zhengzhou, and once we got back into town they invited me out to dinner. I finally parted ways with the group around 10 o'clock, after a barrage of photos and a round of hugs. It had been a great day! My trip to the Shaolin Temple hadn't quite turned out as I'd expected, but to quote Paul Theroux, "I sought trains; I found passengers".

CHINESE FUNERAL

CHINESE FUNERAL

I came across a bit of a hoopla one morning in Pingyao as I made my way towards the center of town and the old City Tower. What I usually do in a situation like that is just sit back and observe, but it actually took a while before I realized that it was a funeral procession that I was seeing. For one, the upbeat and lively music threw me off. Crammed off to the side of the narrow street there was a band set up, plugged into an ear-splitting sound system. There was a keyboardist, a guy hammering away on an electric drumkit, a couple of dudes playing symbols, and a few others playing funny looking wind instruments into microphones. It was quite the ensemble. The guy in the background in the picture on the right was playing some kind of high-pitched reeded horn instrument, he seemed to be the leader of the group and his melody carried the tune. It's moments like that that make me I wish I were an ethnomusicologist! The music provided the soundtrack for a procession of vehicles that passed under the City Tower. I later found out that the guy with the interesting headdress in the upper left picture was the son of the man who had passed away. He was facilitating the arrangement of huge bouquets of fake flowers that were being placed on trucks as they drove by.  I followed the parade away from the town center, it was long, and eventually snaked it's way towards the city walls and exited town at the lower west gate.  Away from the loud and peppy music, the march felt a little more somber, more like a funeral.  It was a sad day in Pingyao, but I was happy to be alive.

LITTLE EMPEROR

LITTLE EMPEROR

My sister lives in the historic town of Gettysburg, and luckily I was able to spend quite a bit of time there with her this last fall. One of the things I always tried to convince her and her friends to do with me, was to go into one of those touristy photo studios where you get dressed up in Civil War garb and pose for an old-timey sepia-tinted photograph. I thought it'd be fun, but we never got around to it. In Pingyao I came across the Chinese version of the old-timey photo shoot. On the main street, in the middle of the town, with the old City Tower looming behind, a little boy dressed as an emperor posed for a picture with his mother and grandmother at his side.  It was pretty cute, although just a little anachronistic with all the modern-day foot traffic in the background.  If I ever get back to Gettysburg and partake in one of those photo shoots, I'll make sure to try and get one with my cell phone at my ear.