From Shangri-la, we took an overnight bus to Kunming. Upon arrival at 6am, we went to the train station and bought two tickets for that morning’s 27-hour train to Guangzhou, in Guangdong Province. The travel wasn’t too bad. In fact, travel is quite comfortable in China, if not a bit expensive. The worst part of the 40-plus hours of continuous travel was the lack of English reading material. There was no English newspapers to be found in all of Kunming and all we had between the two of us was an old The Economist, which I’d read cover to cover already. We were also ill-prepared in the food department, as we had assumed that the train would have plenty of food vendors hopping on and off at stops, as well as long stops at which we could grab some grub. No so and hence the reason why many families carried boxes or bags of instant noodles onto the train with them.

The one upshot though was that the train was nice. It was incredibly clean (very China), had good climate control, and was quiet. The hard-sleeper class that we rode in was hardly hard, with soft bedding, fluffy comforters and pillows. Additionally, our 6-bunk compartment only had one other person in it, a Burmese guy named Hakeem. I felt kind of bad for him, because Chinese passengers stared at him as they walked by. He was a Muslim and dressed in traditional South Asian Muslim clothes: lungi, kurta, a circular cap, all with a long beard. We were lucky to be in the same compartment with him as he translated a lot for us. He helped us find the food car and even bought us some fruit to eat at the end of the day. After Joylani fell asleep, I sat up and talked with him for awhile. He’s travelled Asia pretty extensively too, although he mentioned only to places where Islam is. We talked about India and Malaysia, among other countries we’ve both visited. He told me about his Haj trip and showed me the compass I saw him use everytime before he got out his prayer mat. He even gave me some pan, which I quickly chewed and spit. He sells handtools in China and he asked me where in America would be a good place to sell handtools. Not the typical person or conversation I would have expected on a Chinese train. But as Paul Theroux wrote in his famous book “The Great Railway Bazaar,” “I sought trains, I found passengers.”

And so the long journey was not as bad as it could’ve been. For the most part, it was comfortable, and we met a kind fellow passenger. Next time, we’ll have to remember to bring our own instant noodle so as to avoid the awful train food. After two weeks in cool Yunnan and two days on AC’d transportation, stepping off the train into Guangzhou was like stepping into a sauna. Not only was it hot, but it was way more crowded than Kunming. I could see how Guangdong is the most populous state. Guangzhou is hotter and more crowded than anywhere we’ve been in China so far, but it is more modern too. We took the efficient metro from the railway station to our hotel and city bustles in the way that big cities do. Everyone’s told us that Yunnan is totally different, so I guess its time that we see what the rest of China is like.

Besides the monastery and horse festival, Shangri-la has been a nice place to hang out. Its not a big city like Kunming, but its modern. And it’s a tourist destination for sure, but a million times mellower than Lijiang. The surrounding scenery is nice, the food is good, the people are kind. Most women still wear traditional garb, which includes a wreath of bright pink yarn worn atop their heads, along with lots of silver and bead jewelry. Not much to report really, just a nice place (even if not the mythical location of its namesake).

You see it on their arms, in their ears. The first time you see one, a quick scan of the accessories shows where they have been so far. If you see them a second time, their arm moves a bit slower under the weight of one more bracelet. Meet the backpacker chicks and their ever expanding silver collections. Sometimes it’s not quite real silver. Sometimes, even when you look for the real stuff you just can’t find that 92.5. But it doesn’t matter. If it’s silvery, chunky, cool, it’s going on that wrist to add the assortment. I must admit: it is tempting with shop after shop offering appealing looking jewelry at lower prices than boutiques back home. Besides, what better way to remember your trip than with a piece of jewelry? I’ve made a few purchases in the last couple weeks myself. Lijiang and Shangri-la have been particularly alluring with their abundance of silver shops hawking various assortments of real and costume jewelry on every alley and corner. At the horse racing festival I went for a bracelet, doubtful if it’s real silver, but it did appear to be of some hardy silver-colored metal. I bargained, did the walk away (part of the fun) and came away with my prize. That night visions of bangles and earrings danced in my head. I awoke with plans to buy more to take away with me. I probably would have bought more while in Shangri-la, but it was too cold to shop.

Our trip to Shangri-la (unintentionally) coincided with the Annual Horseracing festival. In prior years, its been held out in grassy fields, but this year it was held in what looked to be a brand-spankin-new stadium. We walked about a half hour from our guesthouse to the stadium, along with throngs of other people. People from surrounding villages converged at the stadium to watch this year’s events. We went in found some seats on the lower level of the stadium.

When we got there, there were a few horses going round the track, in what I took to be warm-ups or something. The horses were so spread out and the riders didn’t look to focused. But actually this is how all the races looked. I don’t know the rules of the race, but here’s my interpretations of what we saw. For each heat, the competing horses are gather behind a gate that opens up into the track and stadium. Then, someone lets the horses into the stadium and that’s the start! They don’t line up or anything, much less shoot a gun- once they’re let in, they just start going. Some of the horses dilly-dally, while some know what’s up and get going quicker. Sometimes, the riders have a hell of a time getting the horse to go the right direction and to get going. The seeming lack of regulations is found in all aspects of the race. Some riders have saddles, while some ride bare-back. Some horses have bells, carpets, and other decorations adorning them while some have nothing but a ride. Some riders wear silky pajama outfits that look like they came from the circus, while some ride in t-shirts and jeans. Not only are there disparities in appearance though. The heats don’t seem to be organized by the speed or size of the horses. Although each heat was five laps, usually only one horse of the four or five concerned actually completed all the laps. Usually one would drop out in the first couple of laps, while the fourth lap usually witnessed any horse without a chance drop out. It was so comical to watch though, with horses lapping each other and stuff. I mean, it was only five laps! Some of the horses didn’t look like they wanted to run and jerked their heads every which way. Sometimes the riders were nearly as big as the tiny village horses they rode. Their size wasn’t the only thing different than modern Western jockeys. The riding style was closer to Texas rodeo than my conception of how to ride a horse. These guys just bounced up and down all the way around the track. It looked like a challenge just to hang on to their horses, much less race them. All in all, it was a pretty entertaining day at the track. Well, a couple hours at least, you can only take so much. It was good for some laughs though.

In an attempt to boost tourism, a few years ago, the government declared the town Zhongdian to be the location of the mythical Shangri-la and renamed the place accordingly. We’ve heard that its been built up substantially since then, as the ploy has actually been effective at boosting tourism. Regardless of its name, Shangri-la is a really scenic town. Its surrounded by mountains, with some snow-capped peaks visible (even now in June). It sits at around 3300 meters, which brings with it dry thin air, blue skies, and cold nights. I love high altitudes! The people are mostly ethnic minorities and incredibly friendly. The town is pretty developed with wide avenues and sidewalks typical of Chinese cities and a smaller “old town” similar to, but smaller than, Lijiang’s.

Zhongdian/Shangri-la town

hills and mountains surrounding Shangri-la

Today we visited the main attraction, the Gamden Sumtseling Gompa, a 300-year-old monastery in the hills just outside of town. We approached it via public bus, admiring its majestic position upon a hill top. A sprawling antiquated mud and stone village lay below it and an Ace Ventura-esque column of stairs led up to the main complex. Although originally built some three centuries ago, the gompa looked pretty restored. We saw construction and painting in progress, while most of the buildings and paintings looked too perfect and fresh to be of any age. So in that sense, it didn’t seem very authentic and was short of character. But on the other hand, the bright colors and active monastery were a nice glimpse into a functioning Tibetan monastery (especially since foreigners are currently banned from going to TAR (Tibetan Autonomous Region) proper).

While there, I couldn’t help but thinking how we’ve really come full circle. We began our Asia trip in Ladakh and eleven months ago, we were exploring similar gompas. The red-robed monks, the Tibetan script, the Buddhist artwork, and architecture, and landscape all brought back memories from the other side of the Tibetan plateau. In some ways, it felt like we had returned to where we started.

I liked it, but I don’t really have anything to say about it. It was simple, spacious, and the most elaborate part was the murals, which, when seen from the beginning stages (as this one towards the entrance was) I realized are pretty simple too.

I found myself standing on a street corner, standing next to Matt who had just used the word “inconceivable” in a sentence. I began to open my mouth to say something, but then stopped as I realized Matt wouldn’t get it. He has never seen The Princess Bride in it’s entirety, and in fact the first time he heard the title he thought it was going to be a chick flick. When I mentioned my chagrin to Matt, he retorted that it was worse to have not ever seen Ace Ventura (which I have not). This moment on the corner led us to a serious debate of which film is more “inconceivable” that the other has not seen. Personally, even though I have not seen it, I don’t see how Ace Ventura can possibly be considered worthy of “classic” status, and doubt it is as oft quoted as are lines from the Princess Bride. But Matt disagrees with me. So I am taking it to the computer screens and keyboards and asking, what do YOU think? If you could only pick one to grant “must see” status, which would it be: Princess Bride or Ace Ventura? (Please, no adding of additional films to ballot. High School Musical is not a “must see,” sorry Julie.)

We made it to Shangrila this afternoon. It was raining and cold. The town is nice, but looks artificial. As it somewhat is. It’s like the Chinese version of the Truman Show. The road was wide and newly paved. “Old” style buildings were really just new and crisp. But the surrounding hills and wide pastures were the real deal and excused the overcompensation in the “aged” architecture.

After a hearty bowl of oatmeal with fruit and nuts, it was time to leave Mama’s. As we got up to go, Mama was standing in the courtyard ready to wish us farewell. We each received a good luck necklace, kiss on the check (Matt got two), and a banana. Baba waved goodbye, and then we were quickly whisked away by one of the staff to find our ride to the bus station. It was quite the send off, but I think a traveler needs a little pomp and circumstance like that every once in a while.

I planted rice today. This morning started out slow, as traffic was pretty much shut down due to the torch relay going through Lijiang this morning. We sat around in the courtyard with a couple of other travelers we’d met the night before, Ben and Alex, waiting to see if it would even be possible to get out of town today. As the morning passed, staff and guests began to trickle back to the hostel as the torch-related activities winded down. This led to a celebratory atmosphere in the courtyard, and Mama began taking pictures with various groups of people, regardless of their own enthusiasm for the torch et al. it was nice I guess, but mostly we just wanted to do something for the day besides hang around Lijiang. Finally, Ben was able to get Mama’s attention long enough to make arrangement for us to make a day trip out of town to Tiger Leaping Gorge. Rushed by Mama, “Let’s go! Let’s go!” we quickly walked through the cobbled streets of Old Town to our cab. At some point (I don’t recall if it was before or after we started driving), it was made clear that we would be switching cars halfway. Whatever. As long as we made it to our destination and back to Lijiang.

So, part way through we stopped at a couple of buildings nestled on the side of the road. We got out of the car and into a new one, said hello to the new driver, and off we went. Everything was ho-hum as we saw the sight (honestly, it was just ok, though most other people I know seem to rave about it), went for a quick hike, and made our way back to Lijiang. After driving for about an hour we pulled over. Our original car was parked just up the road. But where was the driver? We spotted him. In the rice paddy of course. Apparently we had gone through the process of switching cars so that the first driver (and his friend) could help their family replant the rice seedling. Ben had the bright idea to ask to help plant some. I decided to roll-up my pants and jump on the bandwagon. When else would I be able to plant rice? I rolled up my jeans and grabbed a bundle of seedlings that were out on the side of the road.

Cautiously I made my way across the field to where the planting was taking place. The likelihood of me falling in was very high, but luckily I beat the odds. As I stepped into the paddy my feet and ankles sank down into the mud and the murky water covered the bottom of my legs. Not wanting to ruin the rice harvest, I looked to the guy next to me for direction.

He motioned to pull out a small section of stalks from the bundle and then stick it into the mud. A lady came up behind me and offered me an icecream. Seedlings in one hand and mud on the other, I declined. But the locals were pros and could handle a cone and planting at the same time.

Just as I started getting the hang of sticking the plants into the mud, the guy starting tossing his in. I tried it. It was much more fun than bending over. So I finished off planting my bundle of seedlings using the “rice dart” method. Satisfied with having planted, I carefully made my way out of the field.

As Ben and I washed off the mud in the steam on the side of the road, our driver began passing us freshly picked strawberries from the patch alongside the road. In fact, he picked us a whole bag; they were delicious. As we were leaving, someone else came up with a bag full of little green nectarines. Another gift. We smiled and felt blessed by the hospitality of these farmers, and I will always remember the day I planted rice. And Matt says, “I will always remember the strawberries.”

And I will always remember Stewie Baby