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.