Sichuan

Stories:
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  Qinghai
  Shaanxi
  Guangxi

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My plane was already delayed after takeoff at Amsterdam, so I missed my connecting flight to Chengdu. Also in Beijing my luggage was lost. But I could fly on the next plane and my luggage was quickly refound. After this, it was quickly getting dark, but I still got an view of the landscape in both Shanxi and Shaanxi province. Outside Beijing the countryside looks a lot like Holland; rivers and dikes meander in between small fields and lots of villages. Shanxi is quintessentially Chinese: rugged mountains peek out of the fog. Tiny spots are covered with snow. In Saanxi the dark shadows covering the valleys contrast against yellow hills, no rivers, a single lightbulb is lit among vast wilderness. Tibet hides itself under cloud cover. In Chengdu it rains. The hotel is only 8 US$. Pandas are on the TV newscast.
 

         Chengdu, Nov. 5, 1999
Despite consumer society that China seems to be heading for folk-culture is still present. The girl working at bicycle rent is crooning a folk song on her way to the shed, in a department store a saleswoman softly sings along with the radio. The Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant is deserted. I haven't seen hamburgers anywhere. At small canteens people have tea or lager beer. In the city, three smells dominate: chilli, incense and (alas) diesel exhaust fumes.

A negative result of cultural conservatism is that it sometimes amounts in the kind of reactionary architecture for which Holland is notorious as well. New apartment blocks are decorated with disfunctional glazed tiles above the balconies.

Culinary life in Chengdu revolves around two dishes: hotpot, small sticks with raw food are dipped into a big bowl of marinade that is reused over and over until people boil their snacks a glowing hot thick broth. The second is meat, tofu or fish stew: large earthenware pots stand bubbling and sizzling on top of coal-briquette stoves for an entire day. One can order several bowls of different kinds of stew and dip the bits in some chilli sauce again.

         Chengdu, Nov. 6, 1999
My luggage arrived on the airport two days late, but tomorrow I am finally on my way to Emei Shan holy mountain. It seems a good idea showing some respect to the mountain spirits, my incense sacrifice and prayers at the Temple of Heavenly Light worked very well, and quick! Directly after my return from the temple I was in a taxi to the airport collecting my backpack.

Contrary to the reports of some other travellers I find the Chinese both helpful and sympathetic. Only commercial bus conductors have an aggressive way to attract passengers. People are literally pulled onto the vehicle while the names of all stops are shouted into their ears. This seems to be some kind of local folklore. Most bystanders don't give a wink and calmly discuss which bus best to take.

At first sight Chengdu is large and ugly but after some bicycle touring  I already discovered quite a few unusual (old) spots.

Both the inner city and the suburbs are one big chain of shops and street markets. Spices, ball bearings, tea, copper saucepans, live animals, 10 kilovolt switches, hot snacks, cakes and rice wine are all on sale.

         Bao Guo village, Nov. 7, 1999
When I ride on a commercial bus, more than once the conductor will ask me to sit in front. Very convenient, as the front seat has more leg space. But according to me the operators use me to attract more passengers by putting me into a place where I am well visible from the pavement. But on a day like this I don't care. Even though the view onto the countryside is mostly obscured by homes, factories and shops, sometimes rice fields, reeds bamboo bushes and tea plantations are visible and those alone make a trip from Chengdu to Emeishan Shi worthwhile.

In a small canteen that looks like a garage three high school pupils join me in a meal in order to discover that their English is not as good as they thought. But thanks to my dictionaries we have what could be described as a real conversation. The food was very good! Typically Sichuanese; marinated pork with spicy vegetables.

Here I accomplished a feat that is considered near impossible by most travellers: I paid for the meal! When the food was finished I put some banknotes into the cook's hand (the kitchen is in the same open space where the guests have their meals) and I heard the kids at my table grown out of shame. Aha! Now I've got some "Gangxi" with high school students in Eimeishan Shi. Though I don't expect those connections ever to be of any use.

The locals are just as passionate as in Southern Europe, many people loudly express their opinion. If there wouldn't be so much laughter outsiders would fear for an argument.

Eimeishan Shi, county seat, is an ugly town built in Soviet style. Just during arrival it shows a psychedelic effect; a broad boulevard, the driveway covered with concrete slabs, hardly any traffic and a lifeless communist atmosphere, but also lined with palm trees. I imagine Vietnam this way.

         Qing Yin Ge, Nov. 11, 1999
The trek from Bao Guo to Qing Yin Ge passes a typically Chinese landscape in various shades of grey and green-grey. The area has a melancholic character that sharply contrasts to the nature of the local population. In the park, traditional ways of constructing a building are still used. First a wooden skeleton is put up, on which earthenware rooftiles are applied. After finishing this typical curved roof the space between the wooden pillars is filled with either brickwork or wooden latticework, making a house or temple. At several spots intense restoration work is going on. At Shen Shui Ge almost all the latticework has been replaced and needs to be painted. In front of Zhong Fong Si masons are shaping the stairs made of natural rock. Construction materials are everywhere.

At about six o'clock it's getting dark. I stay with a kind family running a kind of bed-and-breakfast. One can have dinner here at any time of day; after all, I'm in China! By the time we need to discuss the food, my hosts become nervous and I am shown the few vegetables and a small chunk of bacon that are left in an almost empty fridge. I tell them to see for themselves what kind of dish to prepare and meanwhile turn down my expectations about dinner. But some delicious dishes are on my table in a whim.

After dinner, on the patio, we have some chit-chat using my dictionaries. The youngest daughter, at primary school age, is just doing some additions for home work. She looks up some characters in my dictionary, just for fun. Her father however wants to ask me something and reaches for the booklet. "No! Get your hands off!" cries the little girl and pulls the dictionary from the man's hands. He backs off.

         April 14, 2000
Directly north of the well known spot where two mountain streams join, there is a small temple that strongly reminds me of the game called Riven. It's absolutely quiet, no wind, no sounds. I am the only visitor. The surroundings are still very exotic to me. Stones covered with moss, leafless trees, dark wooden halls. Just once in a while there is some soft whistling of birds. 

         Chu Dian, Nov. 9, 1999
         alt. 5100 ft, temp. 11° C
Just a few villages and temples are connected to the outside world by roads. Most places can only be reached by stone stairways that have been laid out all over mount Emei. On wooden racks tied to their back, carriers carry large slabs of stone that are used in the pavement in front of temples. It is some sort of red limestone that I believe to be quarried not far from here.

I now discovered how to get rid of the menacing by souvenir salespeople. Just politely say "thank you" (xie xie). The locals are also polite but do not overdo it. Everyone says "thank you", "no thanks", "excuse me" et cetera. Just the porters are more difficult, they walk along for quite a distance until they find out them offering services is to no avail. Still these guys are OK, this afternoon I was praised for my good physical shape. 

Here in Chu Dian no clergymen are present. There is a temple hall with illuminated statues. The local inn-keeper just hires out the monastery rooms for money. And it's expensive as well! Six US dollars. I bargained so I'd get meals for free. And for a good reason. One has to pay for entrance to the park as well for each large temple and a room at an inn or B&B every night. I haven't spotted any good camp site. Besides, camping is unknown here, there are no nomads.

The first birds I saw flew no lower than at 3900 ft. At this altitude, there should also be large monkeys that I haven't seen yet. Only a big bat flew through the lavatory that doesn't deserve its name. Obviously the toilet is just a roof above the manure-pit.

A short note about the weather: the low clouds are so thick condensate drips off the trees. The outside of my backpack is wet all over. 

         Jin Ding, Nov. 10, 1999
From Chu Dian off I was accompanied by a young clergyman who has already visited three holy mountains. There are four in total so this is his last one. Today was a heavy climb on the steep steps that reach until the monastery on the summit (where I have a room for the night). The monk's presence was not just pleasant but useful as well; we had dinner cheaply in monastery dining rooms. By the way, this food is always vegetarian. At one point I saw some Tibetan writing on a rock face. My companion read the words out loud. That was beyond my expectation! He appeared to have studied in Tibetan monasteries in Qinghai. He showed my a picture of himself among other novices and his Guru. Normally he would wear travelling clothes, some kind of medieval trousers and jacket. But today he showed me his monk's habit, a wide skirt that is doubled and an upper part made of a piece of cloth five yards long that is wrapped in a complex manner, I couldn't copy it anymore now. 

According to the monk this Tibetan clothing is very warm, even though the material is not padded. All these clothes, a camera, Tibetan schoolbook and so forth appeared from a small school bag carrying the inscription "Macao comeback 1999" and a bright pink rabbit on the rear side. In his monastery room, he was just busy cleaning the text and the picture using a toothbrush and some washing powder.
Just when I am visiting my friend (we both hire separate rooms) the police is coming in. Unfortunately my Chinese is not yet good enough in order to figure out what the conversation is about. The rather unclear discussion between me and the policeman is only about the fact that I am not allowed to smoke in bed, it seems difficult to convince the man that not only I do understand, but I don't smoke at all.

Outside I hear the sound of raindrops falling, but looking out of the window I can see stars!

          Xian Feng Si, 11-11-99
          14° C.
This morning I am woken up by bells ringing in the prayer hall and by lama Xing, who encouraged me to have breakfast. He plans to take the bus back to Chengdu and travel to Lhasa from there. So very early in the morning I am already descending, trying to enjoy the view as much as I can, and am surpassed by a group of Tibetans on pilgrimage. For these people prayer is a very serious matter! Before going into any prayer hall, all luggage is left in the cloister in front and some even take off their shoes before entering. First they bow to the temple, and step over the massive wooden beam separating inside and outside. Then, still at a safe distance from the altar, everyone makes a prostration and the whole party goes round the hall singing prayers. After this procession, they hang around on the entrance muttering prayers. The Chinese drop a curtsy at best, holding incense that is then sacrificed. But on the footpath connecting the temples the Tibetans take their time examining all the stalls selling medicinal herbs and potions. The group spreads along the slope and after a while I lost them all.

To my surprise lama Xing appears to have followed me after all! Now I again have a guide who can speak a good word for me with the monks en route. The honourable friend keeps a firm pace. For which he is punished by a painful fall down the slippery steps of this deserted path. I am more careful and walk slowly. But I also underestimated the distance we have to go today. Dead tired I stuble behind the gaily hopping monk and drop onto my bed for a short break, then hurry to the dining hall, my friend is again waiting for dinner. We go to the kitchen to get our food ourselves. I look up and notice the chimney takes up half the ceiling!

         Da Xue Shan, Nov. 19, 1999
Here I am in the smoky miners' tent where the men will soon gather for tea again. Now one of them is outside forging new tips to his chisels. Two others have gone upslope to hunt for rabbits. One is gathering snow for tea.

How they do it I don't know, but with the miners, the food is very good. Even the burnt rice attains some kind of culinary perfection.
Big chunks of bacon are suspended from the roof, being thoroughly smoked by the fire. The inhabitants' personal belongings are also tied to the crude wooden beams holding up the tent. The six men sleep next to each other on a large bed of fir twigs. Today the weather is very good. From 10,000 ft. altitude the view of both the Gonga Shan massif and the mountains directly north of is fabulous. In between these mountain ranges the Sichuan-Tibet highway curls and folds westward to Lhasa.

Until 7500 ft. corn is grown, above there and up to 10,000 ft. grow rhododendron forests and some kind of coniferous bush. Still higher I climb up a sharp ridge made up of man-size boulders that is not difficult but cumbersome to do. I hardly advance.

There has been a lot of snowfall in the last two days. The Da Xue Shan, the Great Snow Mountains, really live up to their name. Just on the terraces below the snow has already melted.

I got some diesel fuel in the town below to fire my MSR stove but already at 0 deg. Celsius the fuel line clogs up. So I have no choice but to warm the fuel bottle under my clothes both mornings and evenings. If I got to heating the vaporiser with some greaselike diesel that catches flame with difficulty, the stove burns nicely and the flame is easy to control. So then I can have some sautéed cabbage and sausage with real hot Sichuanese marinated vegetables, noodles and oat porridge.

The forging of the chisels is now nearly finished. The glowing tips are carefully being hardened in molten snow.

I just finished some traditional Tibetan butter-tea with the accompanying tsomba-balls. I don't think one has to get used to this kind of meal the way some people say. Alldough I admit the yak butter that was served was not very strongly fermented and the owner of the place added some sugar. The tea is mixed in an electric blender and the tsomba (roasted barley) is ground in a modern machine.

During the last four days, I did a very nice and not too tiring a walk up to 12,000 ft. Even on that altitude there are still forests, but a campfire will not burn. I could not go any higher because I was running out of fuel and climbing above 12,000 feet is very time-consuming. Gigantic loose-lying rocks, the gaps between them filled up with soft snow that have to be traversed on hands and feet. It is not at all cold: the lowest temperature I measured is -7 deg. Celsius, at 10,000 ft. altitude. Interesting enough at 12,000 ft. remains can be found of what I expect to have once been the summer residences of herdsmen. Also yak graze there and some birds fly around, I saw a falcon circling the small summit where I stood.

Here in Kangding lots of interesting items are on sale (not mentioning the whole skinned yak that are laid out on trestles on the market) but I don't want to carry too much stuff around. I could leave some things in a luggage storage in Chengdu, but that obliges me to return there just in order to recollect my stuff.

On the day after tomorrow, I will probably catch a bus back to Chengdu in order to extend my visa. But first I'll ask around if I can get an extension here, it's just that on Internet-newsgroups travellers only report having their visas extended in provincial capitals.

           Nov. 26, 1999
I got a visa extension here in Kangding that allows me to stay in mainland China until Jan. 2, 2000. So now I can save myself the bus journey to and from Chengdu and travel to Ganzi tomorrow morning. From there I plan to go on to Dege. If Ganzi is interesting itself I'll hang around for a couple of days there. 

The local police is very helpful and friendly. I was driven from a small police post to the main station with the sirens screeching. The people on the streets hardly notice the police car and don't move aside. The policemen don't take any action against all the violations of traffic regulations, people on the back of a truck, cars driving on the left side of the road, unnecessary horning, overtaking on a crossroads...

           env. Ganzi, Nov. 30, 1999
           +13,500 ft, 7° C
From a summit not too far from here, at about 14,000 ft (higher than Mount Wilson) I had a magnificent view on the surrounding mountain ranges, I could see almost 100 miles, to the Qinghai border. In the south the entire Chola Shan, a straight row of teeth that rise from the Tibetan highlands, could be seen along its full length of 75 miles. Still, I felt feverish and nauseating last night, probably due to the altitude.

On the way towards here I had a hilarious confrontation with the local kids, who clearly are not used to white people. One girl demonstrated what I look like: teeth bare, eyes rolling, arms stretched, her hands fixed like claws; real horrid, that is. As I took of my hat (that covers all my hair) the circus was in full swing: the smaller kids speeded off in all directions, screaming.

Despite the difficulties in language, Interestingly enough, one could say that talking to the adults in the village a real discussion develops. I explained the reason for my presence in the area and one woman told the well-known story about travelling alone being dull and I'd better take "that one" along (man puts up a painful grin), the villagers would rather be without him anyway. I successfully argue I can't take him with me because he's lacking the proper equipment for climbing at high altitudes. 

On my way upstream I was accompanied by the melodious singing of the village children, who would rather be on the safe side reciting powerful charms as a ward-off against me than say hello. But one lone girl, playing even farther up the path,  stole my hart when turning the saying of a polite greeting into a game; tilting her head from left to right and singing the infamous "tashi daylay" in both high and low pitch.

At about six pm. looking for a place to make camp I saw what seemed to be the ruin of a deserted farmhouse. But coming nearer I can see the entire wall (5 x 5 x 18 ft) is built of stone carvings! Higher upmountain I would more often see the words "om mani padme hum" inscribed in stone.

Also I saw a lot of small grouse, flying off clapping and whistling when I near them, a hare and two large birds of prey. One came very near as I stood on a mountain top.

Yak trails can be found at altitudes of 13,500 ft. and up. But during winter I only see them in the valleys below, where they are gathered into the kraal before dusk.
 

            Ganzi, Dec. 2, 1999
            +12,000 ft, +6 deg. C.
Last night I camped not too far from the last Tibetan village where soon after dawn I had two visitors who invited me to tea at their home. The Tibetans are both curious and inquisitive without any criminal motivation. While the two brothers took careful notice of me packing my gear, they didn't bother me at all. Once back in the village one man appeared to speak Chinese very well. He warned me against brigands who roam the mountains. Would the notorious Khampa-bandits about whom Alexandra David-Neel and Heinrich Harrer told such impressive stories still exist? To me it seemed an unlikely story. 

There was a lot of laughter during the meal and I did not hesitate to have lots of buttertea and tsomba dough. We had rice cooked in lots water for desert, it's a kind of soup the locals clearly copied from the Chinese.

The houses are all traditional, stables on the ground floor, an open space with a ladder taking one to the living space on the first floor that has a large balcony facing south and mostly four spacious rooms. Sometimes there is a second ladder to the roof that is used as a lookout post.

Once back in Ganzi I have some spare time that I use to visit the monasterial complex that is spread over a hill to the Northwest. In the kitchen, people were just busy kneading the cone-shaped sacrificial offerings from barley dough (the same stuff that is had during teatime).

The walls on the first floor of the museum are largely covered  with reports of party cadres in a intellectual, scientific setting; even in the leaflet explaining the exhibition on the ground floor there is a word of gratitude to the Party. In this way, the political system is hardly visible at first sight but definitely exerts it influence in the background.

Every sculpture depicts a human trait that is characteristic for the year of age corresponding to the half-saint's position in the row. People walk by the numerous statues counting.