First I heard the screams, then I looked out the window from our hotel and saw the people at the restaurant next door (where we’ve been eating) slitting the throat of a young pig. Dinner I guess. At least I know the meat is fresh, but I had no idea it took that long for a pig to die. Yuck. As I write this a little flock of chickens has waddled up around my table. Tomorrow’s dinner?

Lige is an interesting little place. It took us about 7 hours to get here (longer if you count the boat ride and the stop where our driver fixed the bus by rigging up a string attached to the fuel injector…or something…that he seemed to be pulling each time we accelerated). It’s kind of in the middle of no where—just a small village on Lugu Lake up on the border of Yunnan and Sichuan provinces. I look out from the porch where I am sitting. Just across the dirt road is a garden of vegetables. Rows of corn are growing in the section in front of me. A hedge of duck weeds grows just past that, to help filter out the run off before it reaches the lake, I suppose.

The lake is large, the third largest in China I hear, and calm. There is hardly a breeze, and only slight ripples on the otherwise glassy surface. I want to go water skiing, except that it would ruin the environment and tranquility, and, anyways, I have yet to see a motor powered boat since we arrived. Locals get around the lake in wooden canoes, “pig trough” is the English translation for what they are called. We took one yesterday to a monastery that sits on top of a little one-hill island. The oars are heavy and the canoes are slow. This morning Matt and I saw a few men and a young boy load a boat with some firewood, boxes, and a live chicken before rowing out towards the little island. Perhaps they were taking supplies for the monks.

The lake is flanked by mountains the whole way around. And the mountains are crowned in fluffy white clouds—the kind of clouds Matt says are always around high mountains like this. The sky looks extra blue. Perhaps it is something with the altitude, or maybe it is just because we are away from smog and it’s too warm and dry for a misty haze, or maybe it’s a combination of the two. Either way, it is beautiful.

But it’s interesting here because “here” is seemingly in the middle of nowhere, but Lige has been recently developed into a little tourist village. It has become somewhere. There are a couple dozen two-story hotels and buildings, all built in the same log-cabin style. It’s nothing tacky, but unexpected as we thought going up to the mountains would mean accommodation would be more basic. But there’s wifi in our room, 24 hour electricity, electric blankets, and cell phones get reception (not that we have one though). A stone path has been built along the shore of the lake, complete with trash bins and path lights, some disguised to look like stones. Most of the visitors are domestic; so far we’ve only come across one small group of western tourists. Luckily for us, a few people speak a little bit of English. This definitely isn’t the rustic village we thought we’d be visiting, but it is nice all the same. Well, maybe not the same, but it is still nice. Despite the development, and the squealing pig, Lige remains a peaceful and beautiful getaway.

The bus ride yesterday was anxiety-filled as I was a bit panicked about us actually making it to our desired destination. But, as usual, things ended up just right. The end of the ride was nice as the road went from bumpy to paved, and pine tree and wildflowers (rhododendrons and cheery yellow daffodil types) lined the sides of the road. After checking into a room at one of the hostels, Matt and I went for a walk to check Lige out.

It was dinner time, and several restaurants had little BBQ tables smoking away outside as other tourists cooked their dinner. We decided to eat the BBQ as well. Picking the restaurant next to our hostel, we motioned for a table and pointed to what we wanted (eggplant, zucchini, and something that resembled bacon). Soon we had our own little table with smoking coals. One of the staff basted a large eggplant with oil and placed it on our grill.

Then she threw on a couple slabs of the “bacon” which was actually pork fat, and not quite as meaty as we expected. “I’ll let that simmer for a while,” I thought to myself. A bowl of sliced zucchini arrived. The girl pointed to our pot of oil and motioned for me to brush some on before tossing the veggies on the girl. A few minutes later someone else came over to make sure we were grilling the food properly. We got on a roll with basting and flipping, you know, the whole-grilling shebang. It was fairly tasty, and by that I mean the zucchini. The pig fat was, well, crispy pig fat. But it was alright. (At least it had to be fresher than the shrimps we saw on the counter. We wondered how far and in what conditions those shrimp endured to get to Lugu Lake.)
The veggies were soon eaten, and it was time to conquer the eggplant. Armed with a pair of wooden chopsticks, I did the only thing I could figure to do, and tore the skin open. It was soft and steamy inside. I managed to grasp a little bit with my chopsticks, but before going any further, one of the staff showed up at our table to show us the correct way to prepare it before eating. He sliced the skin lengthwise and opened it up. Pulling out a short knife, he ran through the inside to slice it up a little, taking care not to cut through the skin. Someone brought a bowl of sauce which was liberally spooned on the eggplant. Then he took the knife, scraped the skin and stirred it up making a sort of stingy pile of mush. But it was delicious. The sauce was composed of tomatoes, cilantro, garlic, and some other stuff, I’m not sure what, except that it was good.

(this is actually a pic from the next day, when we had lamb in lieu of pig fat…)

From Kunming we took a night bus to Lijiang. It was an okay ride, but the guys behind us had smelly feet and the old-school Jackie Chan flick didn’t have English subtitles. We arrived in a dark and drizzly Lijiang at 5am. We got a cab and showed him a card from the guesthouse we wanted to go to. After driving to the edge of the old town (its pedestrians only inside), calling the number on the card, and talking to a woman for a bit, he indicated the hotel was full. After some gesturing on both our parts, he drove us around to another entrance to the old town and showed us to a very pricey hotel (over 100 USD!). We didn’t stay at his overpriced recommendation, but instead walked a block and found a more reasonable option, although still more than we usually pay. But it was dark, raining, and most guesthouses weren’t even open yet. And on the plus side, at least our more expensive room was worth it, as it was pretty nice. (Later we did find the original guesthouse we wanted to go to and the lady there said she got the call that morning and tried to explain to the cab driver how to get there, but that he was uncooperative. She said he was probably a dishonest cabbie who scammed us)

After sleeping a little bit, we went out to explore Lijiang. Lijiang is actually split into two parts, old town and new town. Old town is the main attraction, although its not really old. In 1996, an earthquake leveled the city. In an effort to increase tourism, the government standardized the architecture used in the old town and barred any concrete buildings. So the ancient looking town is really a brand new town rebuilt in an older looking style. One fellow traveler told me that the Chinese don’t like anything old. But they’re fine to build new things that look old. Anyways, genuine or not, the old town is a relaxing little place. There’s no cars on the cobblestone thoroughfares and alleyways. And although its touristy, I haven’t seen barely any westerners- the town is full of Chinese tourists (who are quite interesting to watch themselves). So although a touristy little place, barely anyone speaks English. It seems that the only people that speak English are a few of the more educated Chinese tourists (who have helped us at quite a few restaurants). The lack of English is one reason why we switched from our first hotel (not a word of English) to the International Youth Hostel, for our second night. So far, China has really shown me how much I take English for granted. Without a common language, simple tasks like ordering food, asking/negotiating prices, and getting directions is inordinately difficult, not to mention finding onward travel and other esoteric discussions.

It rained on and off for much of our first day here, so we didn’t do too much. We found a little family-run café that offered local-priced breakfast (porridge and dumplings). Other than eating and looking for a new hotel, day one was pretty mellow. But today was clear blue skies, so we took a couple walks up nearby hills. They afforded really nice views over the old town and surrounding mountains. Overall, Lijiang has enhanced my initial observations about China: its mellow and nice, but no English. From what I’ve heard, Yunnan is totally unlike the rest of China, but its been a nice place to begin our time in China, since we’re still adjusting.

Dancers in the old town square

Oh dear. We arrived at Lijiang in the very wee hours of the morning. It was still very dark out. Instead of sleeping a little longer on the bus like the other passengers seemed to be doing, we sluggishly dragged our bags off and found a cab. The driver nodded when we showed him the card to the hostel we wished to go to, and off we went. Apparently he didn’t actually know what he was talking about. So he called the number on the card, presumably to ask directions. Hanging up, he told us that the place was full. After some confusing signaling (was the driver asking us if we wanted to sleep at his place?) and pointing to the address of another hostel he started to drive again. (Did I mention the car heater was on? I can’t remember the last time I was in a car with a heater.) We seemed to do a loop around the Old Town when we turned down one of the cobbled streets. The driver got out. Was he looking for the address? Oh no, he was just looking for a REALLY expensive hotel where he kindly suggested we spend the night. Yeh right. #1 paying that much for a room in such a place was ridiculous, #2 I am paying the driver for the ride, not a commission on a hotel room. We gave the driver some kuai and sent him on his way. I had seen a little hotel just up the road from where the driver had dropped us off, so we headed in that direction. The staff didn’t speak English, and we can barely utter a couple of words of Chinese, but somehow we (thankfully) were able to get a room. Instead of having us register right away, the grandma who appeared to be running the show motioned for us to shower and sleep. Grateful for her hospitality and understanding of the plight of a weary traveler, I didn’t argue with her suggestion. The temperature in Lijiang is definitely colder than anywhere we have been in months, and the steaming hot shower followed by a quick jump into the electric-blanket heated bed was the perfect remedy to the cold morning.

Lijiang is just so cute (albeit in a recently-recreated way), I just wanted to put up a few more pics so you could see what its like wandering down the cobblestone alleys.

Our overnight bus to Kunming arrived early yesterday morning. Still dark out and not knowing any Chinese, we were lucky to be traveling with Caitlin and Philip who knew enough Chinese to arrange a cab to a hostel. The Hump Hostel (named after the Allied trans-Himalayan flights of WWII that landed in Kunming) came highly recommended by Matt, who we met way back in Goa. And it was really nice. It was near the center of town, and on the third floor, it overlooked Jinmabiji Square. It had all sorts of traveler-oriented services, including a few I hadn’t expected in a hostel: 24-hour hot water, wifi, and private rooms. We were initially worried because we had read that China’s accommodation was pretty expensive and hostels were the main budget option. But it turns out that hostels include private rooms too. And the hostel surpassed my expectations, given what I’ve heard from a few other travelers. Many more of my expectations were surpassed after two days of exploring Kunming.

Kunming really impressed both of us. Although it’s a smaller city, with just one million inhabitants, its far bigger and more developed than any other Asian city of one million people that I’ve seen. At first I couldn’t comprehend how such a small population could support such a city. Tall buildings, wide streets with barely any traffic, its clean, and even had multiple supermarkets. What a contrast to the numerous Indian towns of one million, or Kathmandu with just under a million people, or capitols with well over a million like Phnom Penh and Hanoi. The level of development was really astounding to me. Although its usually discussed in a third world context, China is the most developed “third world” country I’ve ever seen. At least Kunming. It has none of the characteristics of a third-world city: traffic, noise, pollution, ugly architecture, litter, tons of scammers and touts. Besides the tall buildings and cleanness of the city, the first thing I noticed was the quietness of the city. At first, the city seemed eerily quiet and I couldn’t figure out why. But it was the absence of the literally millions of motorbikes honking that we’d grown accustomed to in Vietnam. The streets were filled with quiet cars and electric (!) scooters, rather than noisy and polluting motorbikes. It was also quieter because we didn’t have a dozen people a minute tugging on our arms and saying, “Hello, yes looking.” Goodbye SEA. Chinese people seem quiet polite and educated in the sense that they’re not chasing foreigners around trying to make money. On the other hand, in two days we’ve barely met anyone that speaks English. For the first time in the past year, we’re in a place where even basic English isn’t understood, much less understood. No numbers, no basic nouns, nothing. In that way, the past two days have been difficult, as we’ve pointed and gestured our way through stores and restaurants. But on the other hand, people have been extremely kind and helpful. A couple people have gone really far out of their way to help us. It got me thinking perhaps it’s the Chinese influence that makes Malaysia such a warm and hospitable place. And coming from Vietnam, China seems even more kind and friendly. The last thing I really noticed was how clean Kunming is. Unlike most of Asia, China has public trash bins! Even more amazing is the presence of recycle bins everywhere too! I noticed there’s still a lot of people that are too lazy to walk to the trash cans and just litter (a worldwide affliction, I feel), but China has hordes of street cleaners. We saw dozens of orange-vested crews sweeping the streets and sidewalks, as well as collecting trash.

Kunming itself doesn’t really have any sites, beyond a couple of restored historic buildings devoid of any character. But it was a very interesting two days as it was our first experience in China. Simply strolling around the city or sitting to people watch was both enlightening and educational. Initial impressions (surprises) of China: clean, developed, no English.

…I saw ladies pounding frozen chickens over an open tray of ice (picture a fruit table only instead of fruit there are lots of chickens on a bed of ice)

And, uh, where is the cereal aisle?

Picture of some of our first impressions of China.

Matt and I set off this afternoon in search of a bus ticket to Lijiang, our next stop. As we neared the area of the bus station, a few people approached us, saying something in Chinese. Upon seeing business cards with bus pictures on them, we figured these people were working for the various bus companies. A man in an orange corduroy sports coat and cowboy hat got our attention and led us into a lot filled with buses. We assumed this would be where we could buy a ticket, but were still a little confused as to where. And we weren’t sure about who this guy in the orange coat was, was he going to [try to] rip us off? Would we get charged a hefty commission for his service? We hoped not, since that was the reason we had come down to the station to buy a ticket instead of just buying one (with commission) at our hostel. The man in the orange coat spoke with another man sitting next to one of the buses. The second man asked us about what ticket we needed—in English. Relieved to be able to communicate in words, we told him what we needed. Then, instead of giving directions to the ticket office, the man motioned for us to follow him. He led us out of the lot, to the corner, across the street, and into the ticket office where he helped us to purchase the correct tickets. And then he gave us a card and wrote down his mobile number, in case we needed help tomorrow he said. We said thank you and goodbye. As the man walked away, Matt and I marveled at what had just happened, smiling in gratitude for this little act of helpful kindness that had just made our buying a ticket so much easier. What a difference from our past month of experiences.

Almost in a spur of the moment decision, since we were planning on settling on crossing early tomorrow morning, we ended up going for the border this evening. Despite having a visa in my passport, I was still nervous about whether or not they immigration officials would let us in. I suppose it was just residual apprehensiveness and “I’ll believe it when I see it,” outlook after going through such a hassle to get the visa in the first place. As we entered the border check on the Chinese side, I did my best to smile (not too much though) and look as unsuspicious and as excited to be in China as possible. That wasn’t too hard, since I was excited and the only suspicious things about me were the two sections of the Lonely Planet stashed in the middle of my backpack. Thankfully, we made it through just fine.

As we waited outside of the customs building for a couple more people to get through, a guy on a motorbike rolled up. After quickly checking Matt and I out, he asked us something. I wasn’t quite sure what he said, but he repeated it and I caught the words “guo ren.” Assuming they were accompanied by words asking which country I was from, I said, “Mei guo ren.” American. He asked another question. The only thing I could pick up was “Zhong guo.” China. Assuming he had just asked: “But are you Chinese?” I answered, “Wo baba de baba shi Zhong guo ren.” My father’s father is Chinese. He smiled, seemingly satisfied with my response. And I smiled as well, happy to have accomplished (sort of) an exchange in Chinese, and it wasn’t even about asking directions!