Chasing Clouds, The Gobi Desert, Mongolia

Mongolia is, in some ways, similar to Tibet.  To go far from Ulaan Baatar (UB) it is necessary to join a tour, however it's a bit more difficult to arrange them here.  I decide to head off to the Gobi Desert for 8 days and unlike the new-looking SUVs of Tibet we are riding in a Russian 4WD jeep.  This Russian "jeep" looks like a 70s van, military green in color and all beefed up.  Since China hasn't invaded Mongolia, lately at least, the road infrastructure outside UB is, um, non-existent.  Fortunately, our driver, Otto, seems to have a built in GPS, as he randomly, at least it appears that way, jumps from one dirt track to another.  With no landmarks, only the vast and very barren desert in sight it's a wonder we weren't just going around in circles.  The Russian jeep though is a workhorse, chuggin' up, over, and sideways through often treacherous terrain that seems to appear out of nowhere.  There is no doubt it would pass the Land Rover test drive obstacle course with flying colors.  (Don't ask why I've test driven a Land Rover.)  

In general though the Gobi can be described as vast, brown, and flat.  In the distance there is occasionally a brown jagged mountain range peeping up, or yellow or purple wild flowers stubbornly finding life.  This desert is devoid of cactus, and during toilet breaks it's difficult to find something to hide behind.  But, wow, does this landscape make for the most amazing sunsets!  Without fail every night we are treated to a show of reds, oranges, yellow, pinks moving outwards from the horizon, the most amazing I've ever seen.  

Travelling in the Gobi gives a whole new meaning to the saying "the middle of nowhere."  But it's funny what you find in the middle of nowhere.  As we travel we pass mangy and small looking horses, rugged camels, some with droopy humps, and several gers, the monadic Mongolians yurt-like shelter of choice.  The first day we pull up to a restaurant, 3 gers seemingly plopped down at random, and are treated to homemade pasta with the staple mutton.  Even though we are several hours from anything resembling a village, the woman making us lunch has curlers in her hair and is constantly checking her makeup in the mirror.  Just as we jump in the jeep to continue our journey we are blasted by a sandstorm that felt like something out of a movie.  The color of the sky instantly changes from blue to brown and it's inexplicably beautiful in the most inhospitable way.  For some reason sandstorms are accompanied by rain.  And as quickly as Mother Nature thrust it upon us, it's gone, and we're off with sand crammed in every crevice.  
  
The desert, surprisingly, has some marvelous and unexpected geologic formations in store for us.  First, we stumble up to some rocks that are clumped around a bend, out of the blue.  The rocks look misplaced from Joshua Tree.  Next, we come to the Flaming Cliffs, reddish, but more so at sunset.  Here several dinosaur bones were discovered and it's quite a bit creepy to imagine the giant beasts roaming around this area.  

By far the best stop is at the dunes, the most expansive I've ever seen.  We approach the sand dunes in a major sandstorm.  Somehow Otto still manages to steer us in the right direction as we search for a "hotel" ger.  As a budget tour we don't stay in the tourist ger camps, but at small family run places.  Usually they consist of 3 or 4 gers in the middle of nowhere and inside we sleep on the floor.  I have no idea how these people live and survive here.  But they do have satellite TV which we found out one day as we watched a World Cup game in black and white - a very surreal.  Climbing the dunes one morning for sunrise I took an unwise path, direct and too steep, and started a sand avalanche.  As I ran out of the way, it sent vibrations in all directions and sounded like a freight train off in the distance.  Sunrise was the highlight of the trip with the angle of light creating all sorts of dark and geometric shapes.  Bold patterns in every direction, it was a photographic dream.  We stayed an extra day here and tried our hand at camel riding.  It was quite the experience.  Though supposedly you control a camel like you would a horse, there was no question who was in charge.  Out for a stroll my camel took every opportunity to stop and eat and for fear of pissing him off, I let him get away with it.  On the home stretch he decided to trot like horse.  

There is no doubt in my mind that food in the Gobi is the worst in the world.  Mostly we had noodle soup with mutton for dinner, with sand being a main ingredient.  Breakfast resembled dog biscuits.  You would think this would be a recipe for weight loss but mainly we became connoisseurs of Gobi desert chocolate that we found in the few desolate towns we passed through.  

Another similarity between Mongolia and Tibet are the gorgeous blue skies and often they are dotted with the same perfect clouds.  As we bump back towards UB we race the dark moving formations the clouds create until we almost catch one, and it disappears.  

UB, Mongolia

I stopped briefly in Beijing to pick up my train ticket to Ulaan Baatar (UB) and boarded the train to a loudspeaker greeting announcement which amounted to a health and AIDS lecture, in English.  My favorite line: "It is possible to prevent from getting old."  Really?  Unfortunately they didn't follow up with any miraculous techniques.  I am welcomed in UB by Juni and Katrin who I met in the Tiger Leaping Gorge in China.  They are waiting on their Russian visas, a common theme amongst backpackers.  UB, unlike the Gobi Desert it turns out, has some quality food.  Actually though the best restaurant is an American chain of a Mongolian BBQ.  The Mongolians don't really eat the Mongolian BBQ the way we think of it, or at all really.
  
Juni, Katrin and I go in search of a motorbike that I can rent so we can make a day trip out of UB into the steppe.  The search was difficult and when we finally found one it broke both rules we had for renting a bike:  1) it was Chinese and 2) it was from Andreas, a German ex-pat notorious for bikes with missing parts.  So it was no wonder when we made it a few hours from UB that something went awry with my bike and it stopped moving forward, or moving at all really.  Luckily after we, Juni really, had torn the bike apart and put it back together without curing the problem, a Mongolian truck happened by and gave me a lift back to town.  This is typically how adventures go in Mongolia.  

For another adventure, I headed to the Terelj National Park.  It's a beautiful park with rolling green hills and rounded rock formations scattered about.  We have gorgeous weather and John, another American and I head off for a hike.  There are no trails and we think we can make a loop, a not-so-bright idea.  We hike over ridges and besides a swift-moving river and hike and hike and hike, lost, before we finally enter civilization 8 hours later, just in time for dinner.  Phew.  The next day we go for a horseback ride, Mongolian style.  The driver of the van that brought us to the park warned us that horses could be dangerous, "they are animals, not people," he informed us.  No kidding.  Within one hour of leaving the stables 2 of the 6 of us had fallen off our horses and a third had a really close call when her horse rode her straight into a tree.  My close call came on the home stretch with my ger in sight.  Another horse galloped past and my horse decided to follow.  If you don't really know how to ride a horse, you don't want to be on a galloping one.  Somehow I nearly fell off forwards, having completely lost my balance and despite my best efforts to get it to slow down.  I had no control of the horse at all!  This is what happens when you don't have to sign any of those liability forms.

For photos of UB, click here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/39463330@N00/sets/72157594170577592/

East Meets West, Shanghai, China

I broke my rule and flew to Shanghai from Tibet.  Mostly because the alternate route was a 24 hour bus ride to Golmud followed by 4-5 days of bus and train travel.  Sometimes it pays to fly.  Oooops, I mean, sometimes I pay to fly, as my flight cost almost the same as the LAX to Bangkok trip.  Arriving at the Shanghai airport I set out to meet up to meet up with my good friend Erin, who is teaching English.  This journey took me on the Meglev, the world's fastest and most expensive train.  We got up to 267 m/hr!  After that I hoped on the subway and popped out, after coming from Tibet, in what felt like Mars.  I was right next to the Pearl Tower, a funky, space-age looking Eiffel Tower.  It's hard to believe Tibet and Shanghai are part of the same country.  Tibet was culturally intriguing, remote, poor with brilliant blue skies and Shanghai in contrast is new, mostly built in the last 10 years and sports stores like Gucci and Ferrari.  It barely feels like china.  The first day I go in search of the fake market where fortunately I can afford to shop.  It contains a wonderful array of cheap Chinese goods that require some serious bargaining and I'm up to the task after getting some experience elsewhere in Asia.   And, it's fun.  

Visiting and staying with Erin has most certainly been a vacation from travelling.  It's the first time in weeks I haven't had to go outside to use the toilet.  And Shanghai has great food, though we didn't have Chinese food once, but indulged instead on Moroccan, Italian, Thai, and Indian.  And aside from the serious smog problem, it is generally a clean city.  One curious thing about Shanghai, and elsewhere in China, is the excess workforce.  Everywhere, restaurants, gift stores, banks, there are so many employees that several are always standing around doing nothing.  In Shanghai this surplus workforce has been put to use at the traffic lights.  At every light there is a man with a reflector vest and a whistle making sure nobody steps off the sidewalk during a green light.    

While in Shanghai I need to sort out some visa issues.  This is unbelievably time consuming and often doesn't resolve anything.  Getting my visa for Russia is quite a challenge.  I order my invitation online and it doesn't' come.  When I am finally armed with it I arrive at the Russian embassy to wait on the sidewalk for three hours.  No benches.  When I'm finally admitted I receive special paperwork just for Americans that asks the following questions:  Do you have experience with biological or nuclear weapons?  List every country and city you've visited in the last 10 years.  List every job you've had with addresses, bosses, and phone numbers.  The very nice man at the window smiles and tells me to do my best.  Two hours and twenty extra bucks later I had the visa.  Obviously they didn't check my references.  I'm $145 poorer, thanks to their price chart that has the following categories:  Chinese, Foreigners, and Americans.  I can say that after listening to the experiences of Chinese, Vietnamese or any other Asian natives trying to get a US visa I've learned to quit my whining.  

Russian visa in hand, I leave Erin's cocoon for the world of dorm beds and cold showers.  First though I stop in Beijing to pick up my train ticket for Ulaan Baatar, Mongolia and meet up with Zhao for a dinner of boiled duck blood, liver, and various other animal parts, Chinese style.

For photos of Shanghai, click here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/39463330@N00/sets/72157594170569666/

For photos of Beijing, click here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/39463330@N00/sets/72157594170576402/

To Everest and Back

Travelling independently in Tibet is challenging, if at all possible with permits required and a lack of public transportation.  So once again I hopped in a jeep, this time with an Dori an Israeli, Zhao a Chinese from Beijing and Dan the Australian.  With this group you can just imagine he political conversations we had at dinner!  Zhao decided we all needed Chinese names before we left Lhasa and I became Tun Shui, the spring river that goes east and never comes back.  Interesting.  Even though Zhao has never been to the US we managed to have a whole conversation about L.A. based on his experience playing the video game Grand Theft Auto.  He told me he usually goes to Compton to pick up his weapons, then to Malibu to get the expensive cars, and he doesn't like Long Beach too much.  On our way to Everest, a five day trip, we make many stops.  Just when I think I've seen enough monasteries or stupas, or Buddhas, I continue to be impressed.  In Shigatse we spend the afternoon at Tashilumpo, home to the Panchen Lama, the second highest lama after the Dalai Lama.  The pilgrimage here takes a route past prayer wheels into the mountain side.  All the monks here wear special felt boots even though it's summer and it seems the boots would serve them better at the top of Everest.  Of course, inside the monastery it is dark as usual with the ever present smell of yak butter and incense.  The musky setting, present in every monastery, is quite the opposite of a bright christian church and it's difficult to ascribe words to the atmosphere.

The road from Shigatse to Everest is under construction and the alternative route is a slog we can't begin until 7 p.m.  As we jerk and bump along this "road" Zhao is in the front belting out lyrics as he sings along to his MP3 player, "all my exes live in Texas" and "country road take me home."  In the morning we finally start up a valley towards Everest that is muted by yellow, greys and browns set against a brilliant blue sky, dotted with Tibet's ever-present perfect clouds.  We were praying for good weather and it looks as though we might get it.  However, in this area weather changes by the minute and as we climb up the yak-filled, treeless, completely barren landscape we become enveloped in clouds and find ourselves in a snowstorm.  The final leg to the Rushinpho Moanstery is in an old Dodge 15-seater van.  This is completely reminiscent of my old days heading off to a ski race except that I'm sandwiched between two Tibetan yak herders on their way to take climbing gear for mountaineers to the Advanced Base Camp (ABC).  

When Everest first comes into view it doesn't look as majestic as I expected, but the closer we get the more massive it becomes and you can see the difficulty climbing it entails.  The monastery, our home for the night, is at 5150 meters (17,000') and immediately after setting off for the Tourist Base Camp, a 2 hour hike, I can feel the oxygen is not getting where it needs to go in my body.  I'm working hard on a flat surface, not a good sign, and soon the other culprits kick in as I become light-headed, lethargic, and not in the mood for my Snickers.  These symptoms are minor to be sure, but present nonetheless.  Visiting Mt. Everest (Mt. Chomolangma in Tibetan) on the Tibet side is kind of like cheating.  You can drive to the monastery and from there take a horse-pulled wagon to the base camp without walking a single foot.  In comparison, to get to the base camp on the Nepal side requires a 20+ day trek.  

To get our money's worth Dan and I managed to bypass the gate collecting $100 to go past the Tourist Base Camp.  We followed the yaks and the yak herders I just met on the bus past the Mountaineer's Base Camp on their way to the ABC.  On the way we met 2 Frenchmen coming down who has just summitted and appeared to belittle their accomplishment.  They said more than 40 people summitted this week, as if it was no big deal!  At 5400 meters (18,000') we decided to head back down and we were completely exhausted when we finally got back to the monastery.  But the views were spectacular and watching the sun set behind Everest was something special.  At moment like this I can't help but think about how lucky I am that my life has led me down a path that I'm standing in front of Everest watching an amazing sunset.  I also can't help but imagine what the view from the top must be like, but imaging will have to do because I have no desire to even attempt climbing it.

On our ride back to Lhasa we visit more monasteries and a beautiful lake, Yamdrok-Tso, and Zhao who joined the communist party at age 18 always insists on having his photo taken with the Chinese flag.  He also translates the Chinese slogans written on the new bridges and walls.  They read, "One family, one child" and "Mao Zedong freed us and Deng Xiaoping made us rich."  Hah!  But it's been an amazing and unforgettable trip.

For photos of this trip, click here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/39463330@N00/sets/72157594170442358/

Befriended By a Tibetan, Lhasa, Tibet

Walking down the Barkhor pilgrimage circuit in Lhasa, I was in a tourist stupor, dazzled by the Tibetan pilgrims rotating their prayer wheels and the architecture, when I was interrupted by a "Hello".  I looked over expecting to see an outstretched hand, palm up, wanting money (begging is very common in here).  Instead after I return the hello P.O. introduces himself as a Tibetan art teacher and comments that 90% of the surrounding architecture on the famous Barkhor circuit is Chinese.  "Oh," I say, "maybe you can point me in the direction of some authentic Tibetan architecture?"  And with that, we're off, in search of Tibet in Lhasa.  

It turns out P.O.'s father is a lama who was exiled in 1959 to Switzerland via India and P.O. learned art from his uncle.  He now runs a school of sorts with 700 students, though with the amount of art his students churn out it seems a bit like an art factory.  Some of this art is commissioned for hospitals and doctors or tourists, but most of it goes to restoring monasteries that were destroyed by the Chinese during the Cultural Revolution.  They are also building a new monastery in the fast eastern part of Tibet.  Of course, the Chinese only allow the monasteries to be restored for tourism, not so the Tibetans can practise their religion.
  
With P.O. I visit Tibetans making sculptures out of clay, bronze, silver, and wood.  I find that they construct the giant Buddhas in place in the monastery because they are too big to bring through he door.  We see many people painting, a difficult skill, in that it is very geometrical.  A study guide book looks like Leonardo's Vitruvian Man sketch.  The coolest thing about all the art, architecture included, is that they only use authentic techniques, the same ones used for hundreds of years.  For example, to make paint they start with rocks from near Mt. Kailash and stir them in a big wooden mortar with a water mix for ten days.  I didn't know people still made paint this way, but sure enough there are 6 people sirring away, working 10 hours a day, 6 days a week.  Our Tibetan treasure hunt also took us to a nunnery and several monasteries in Lhasa very close to the tourist circuit, but there wasn't a single tourist at these authentic Tibetan places.  Along the way I got a lesson in Tibetan Buddhism and the meaning behind the iconography.  I must say it seems quite a strange religion to a westerner.  For example, on the way out of Lhasa to P.O.'s village we passed the holy sheep.  There are 6 sheep that make their own circumnavigation of Lhasa, clockwise of course, and are fed by the local people.  Only in Lhasa!  But there's also something of a community feel among the mysteriousness that is really attractive.  I can only wish I had a better understanding.  

Despite P.O.'s effort to continue the Tibetan art tradition, the overwhelming Chinese influence in Lhasa is astounding and disturbing.  There are a zillion shops and booths in central Lhasa selling prayer wheels, prayer flags, etc, but it's all fake, made in Nepal and India for tourists and almost exclusively sold by the Chinese.  The Tibetans can only rent space from the Chinese, they can't own (I only managed to track down two Tibetan stores), and they aren't treated well by the Chinese tourists.  Unlike a century ago the western tourist are now allowed in and are well-liked.  This seems to be because westerners tend to romanticize Tibet and we generally sympathize with their plight and according to P.O. they cause no trouble.  

This July the first train to Tibet is opening from Golmud, China and the expectation among Tibetans is that the situation will only get worse.  Already there are fake monks that keep an eye on other monks at the monasteries and there are video cameras on top of the Jokhang that monitor Barkhor Square.  Ninety percent of Lhasa appears Chinese.  Fortunately Tibetans cling to their culture with a death grip and hopefully they can endure, though the future does indeed look dismal.  There is no doubt it would have been amazing to visit this place 60 years ago.  

Also in Lhasa:
Lhasa is amazing as a place to go for a walk.  The number of pilgrims with prayer wheels and prayer beads, the yak for sale, the atmosphere; it's all other-worldly.  And the grandeur of the Potala is impressive.  One afternoon I biked off to the Sera Monastery to view the debates.  Unlike the lack of tourists I saw with P.O., the Sera courtyard is a veritable zoo.  But it's no wonder because the scene is amazing.  A few hundred monks gather to debate the morning's lesson; they are taught to question the lesson.  To punctuate their point they wind up as if to throw a baseball and slap their hands together creating an ongoing popping sound throughout the courtyard.  I can't resist joining the camera happy tourists at this event.  The monks are so animated and their faces filled with so much emotion and passion it looks as if they're not discussing religion but the Superbowl.

For photos of Lhasa, click here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/39463330@N00/sets/72157594170561976/

To Lhasa, Tibet

After flying from Ventiene, Laos to Siem Reap, Cambodia I decided I would avoid flying to a new place, if at all possible.  In the spirit of adventurers seeking Lhasa from days gone by I hopped in a fake Toyota Forerunner called a Safe, with an Australian guy, Dan, and 2 British women who I had only met online.  Unlike the mostly men and a few women who sought to sneak into the mysterious and spiritual capital of Tibet, Lhasa, disguised as migrant pilgrims, our group was armed with expensive permits, a Tibetan driver, De Zhu, who spoke maybe ten words of English, and too much sugar, Snickers and Dove bars.  (It turns out mini-Dove bars double as good poker chips.)  At least we figured we were in for a rough go of it, long days in the jeep, rough roads, primitive lodging, no showers.  Hah!  The Chinese blazed the trail to Lhasa long ago and left in their wake electricity, hotels with plumbing, mobile phone service, and mostly paved roads.  Since Tibet is enormous the Chinese have missed a few spots and certainly there are some dirt roads and some toilets that are, well, disgusting is putting is nicely.  But generally there wasn't much roughin' it on this trip.   

For all the hoopla about the special permits (they take 5 days to get) there is not even a check point when our jeep zooms under a wooden arch and into Tibet from Yunnan Province.  (In fact, on the entire trip our permits were never checked once, though that didn't stop De Zhu from being completely paranoid of any Chinese military that we passed, and they are everywhere.)  

De Zhu, though lacking in English skills, is not new to carting westerners around and he could beat anyone at charades.  He is quite a bit older than us, often sports a red baseball cap on his naturally black spikey hair, and and in the afternoons he throws on a pair of thick, wide driving glasses.  De Zhu pounds through the kilometers fueled by Red Bull (he supplied) and the Dove bars (we supplied).  We learned early on to give him the chocolate after lunch because the day we gave it to him before he never stopped.  Fortunately, he was extremely good-natured with a contagious laugh that seeped out whenever we almost ran over a yak, required yet another photo stop, or the time we drove over an active landslide.  Yes, the land was moving (!) and De Zhu, without inspecting the situation, drives past a line of waiting 4WDs and trucks, starts chanting some Tibetan Buddhist prayers and miraculously takes our brandless Safe over the moving landslide that sports a 800' drop off on one side of the car.  Laughing, he indicates that the road will be closed for the next several days.  Dumbfounded, I can only wonder if there really is something practical to this mysterious Tibetan religion.  

Entering Tibet, a few things stand out.  One is the brilliant blue skies, occasionally punctuated by puffy, perfectly shaped clouds.  Another is that there are no longer large cities or even small towns ever 3 hours or so.  We pass very small Tibetan villages, with a dozen or more houses huddled together in the midst of vast, treeless panoramas.  These villages are Tibetan because of the slightly inward slanting walls and colorful accents around the windows.  Tibet is unbelievably unpopulated, between villages we drive for miles and miles seeing few people. Occasionally we see people far from a village, maybe herding yaks or goats, maybe not and wonder where they are going and where they sleep.  And, of course, many of these Tibetan villages contain Chinese construction, fake Tibetan architecture, and always some military base or at least a Chinese police station.  In the places where we slept we were often awoken at 7 am from blaring Chinese music (likely propaganda) that comes from these military outposts.  Another Chinese contribution to Tibet are the billiard tables that line many of the streets in the small towns where we stay.  Dan and I challenged two Tibetans to a game and despite a late comeback, led by me of course, we lost by one ball.  The young woman turned out to be a pool shark!  In these towns we always stay in Chinese hotels as there aren't any owned by Tibetans and we survive at restaurants by walking into the kitchen, usually Chinese, and pointing to various food items such as a slab of beef, some exotic-looking mushrooms, and potatoes.  Twenty minutes later out comes three interesting dishes fortunately with the chili sauce on the side.  When we do happen upon a Tibetan place, a tea house, it always marked by a white felt door covering with a blue celtic-looking symbol that means happiness.  Here we have two choices: noodle soup with yak meet or sha momo, yak dumplings.  The sha momo are my favorite, made to order and only $1 they are like a homemade ravioli.  

At night it is often very cold, I don't think we ever go below 10,000' and I"m very thankful I picked up a fake North Face down jacket in Lijiang.  (Yes, cold is relative, but for my L.A. blood it's freezing.)  Another noticeable thing upon entering Tibet are all the communist Chinese flags.  I swear there are more Chinese flags in Tibet than in all the rest of China combined.  Often they are directly in front of the perfect photo opportunity of say, the Potala Palace.  There are so many Chinese because the government has encouraged the Han Chinese to emigrate to Tibet with incentives such as interest free loans and business tax incentives.  Despite the Chinese majority there are some symbols of Tibet that the Chinese can't take - yaks, prayer flags that are spewn everywhere and the Tibetan's desire to hold only their culture.  They almost never inter-marry.  

The landscape is unbelievably varied and always beautiful.  We pass through high plateaus with greenish brown splotches to sub-tropical forest like the Olympics in Washington, and over snow-covered passes above the tree-line with jagged peaks in the distance.  The top of every pass is covered with prayer flags and sometimes a stupa, and De Zhu always mutter a chant as we pass.  

Without a doubt, this route to Lhasa is certainly a bit off the beaten track.  After the first day we never saw another western tourist and it is very normal for a small girl to whisk her friend around and point at us.  In Tibetan cafes several people stare at us the entire meal and mostly when I say I'm American I get a thumbs up and a mention of Yao Ming.  It is also very easy to photograph people here thanks to the digital camera, as they strike a pose and then run to see the result.

Our last stop before Lhasa was at the Ganden Monastery.  (I had expected our trip to be an A to B operation, but we made some wonderful stops at monasteries, lakes and a salt flat.)  De Zhu pulled off the main road with the monastery nowhere in sight.  After 30 minutes of switchbacks it came into view, atop a rocky mountain peak.  Why they chose to build it here and how they got the material up, I have no idea.  It's at 15,000'.  After much ado about whether my shoes should be on or off, I walked into the main hall, always clockwise, and found 300 monks reading in a chanting rhythm from these ancient-looking books, rocking back and forth in the lotus meditation position.  Some monks looked bored, some slept, but most were in an intense, trance-like state.  I was spellbound.  I felt I had stepped into another world that certainly I did not understand, but I couldn't help feeling really moved.  Inexplicably, it was intensely spiritual and shivers ran down my spine.  Of course, though, in the way of the Chinese this monastery now also houses a police station. 

I do have to say that after this 7-day trip, arriving in Lhasa was a bit anti-climatic.  There was no West Gate to enter, as the old adventurers had to pass through.  Our relatively easy journey ended as we glided up a wide boulevard, Beijing Dong Lu avenue to the Yak Hotel.

For photos of this journey, click here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/39463330@N00/sets/72157594171309829/

The Great Chinese Migration

When you plan an extended trip that takes in several countries or parts of the world it's not possible to be in every place at just the right time of year.  (In SE Asia I missed the "cool" dry season and endured the heat of the "hot" dry season.  This worked out well because there were fewer hordes of tourists.)  However, there are some seasons or events that, with a little planning should be avoided.  One of these is the first week in May, a Chinese national holiday created for the sole purpose to encourage travel and spending.  During this time it's difficult to obtain train, plane, or bus tickets, hotel prices skyrocket and you can barely see the sights through the sea of Chinese.  I made it to Lijiang, China when the wave hit on May 1st and you do feel like you have to breast-stroke through a massive wave of humanity.  Interestingly, Lijiang is like a built-up Wild West town.  The people are dressed up in traditional garb, but under the women's long skirts you can often see camo pants peaking out.  The old city is beautiful however with the Naxi architecture making wonderful criss-crossing lines on the old, jumbled roofs.  Despite the hordes of Chinese tourists it is possible to escape the madness with a little effort.  It turns out that if the Chinese are presented with two routes for reaching a destination they will almost always take the easy route.  This explains the excellent road infrastructure and cables cars to the top of every worthwhile peak.  So with a road running through the Tiger Leaping Gorge, a few days walk on the high road was all it took to escape.  The best thing about the country-wide holiday is that it's easy to meet ex-pats working in China and get the scoop.  I hiked the gorge with a Frenchman who works for Mavic and a wonderful German couple who are about to move to Alabama, of all places!  During this hike I contracted my first real stomach bug, which is quite a "fun" experience, let me tell you.  (I have no clue what I ate or drank to get it.)  Truthfully, it was just great to get some exercise.  So much time travelling is spent sitting for hours or days on trains, buses, planes, rickshaws, and other interesting modes of transport.  

From the Tiger Leaping Gorge I moved to Zhongdian, also called Shangri-La City to attract tourists.  While I was waiting for my overland trip to Tibet to start I made a journey to Beishuitai, a small Naxi farming community known for their limestone terraces.  The limestone terraces weren't that interesting, but the Naxi family I stayed with certainly was.  They were unbelievably friendly and invited me to join them for a day of chopping hay in their field.  They didn't speak a single word of English, not even Hello, so I couldn't gather how they were all related, but I spent the day with two "grandmas" who looked to be 70 and one mother, 40ish.  I could be way off with the ages because their skin was quite weathered from years of hard work in the sun.  I guess they assumed I would sit and watch while they performed back-braking, hard labor to clear a football-field sized area of hay.  At 10,500' the hay glistened under the glaring sun, swaying back and forth with the occasional breeze.  They gave me an umbrella, a la the Chinese, and I felt ridiculous, like some bourgeoisie keeping an eye on my peasants.  I slowly worked my way into being useful; after they made a bundle of hay, I stacked them in preparation for transport.  I was temporarily fired from this role until I learned to hold the bundle in an outstretched hand to avoid getting my clothes prickled with needles.  In the afternoon, when the mother was busy transporting bundles with the horse, I was promoted and I used the sickle to chop hay.  What hard work!!  I slowly stripped off my layers and after only an hour I was sweating and my back hurt.  Meanwhile the three women labored all day with long pants and shirts and animal skins on their back without sweating a drip.  Spending the day in the field was really an experience and you can't help but appreciate where you come from.  The women appeared happy, often smiling.  Certainly they are not financially wealthy and I would not want to trade positions with them but I didn't pity them.  Curiously, men are absent from the hard work.  The man of this house seems to be in charge of sweeping and hanging the hay bundles on a wood fence.  

At night the mother took me to a town meeting, at least that's what it had to be, though I didn't understand a word.  With the sun gone there was a chill in the air and I'm freezing now with all my layers on.  Yet the women seem comfortable in their daytime garb.  The moon is three quarters full, partially shrouded in clouds and in a courtyard tucked away I can only make out the outline of backwards hats, knifes protruding from belts, and puffs of cigarette smoke  disappearing in the sky.  In the cover of darkness who knows what this meeting could be about.  Amidst the animated jeers, my mind drifts to reflect on the day.  

For photos of Yunnan Province, click here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/39463330@N00/sets/72157594170414906/

For photos of working with the women, click here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/39463330@N00/sets/72157594170426780/

Welcome to China, Let Me Rip You Off

One of the most difficult aspects of travelling is keeping your guard up enough so you don't get ripped off, but not so high that you miss out on opportunities of interacting with local people.  In SE Asia this is particularly tough because every foreigner is accosted constantly, and sometimes I wonder if people only see me as a walking dollar bill.  And, I have missed out on opportunities.  For example, in Chau Doc in the Mekong Delta I was in a bookshop and the friendly older gentleman working there asked if I already booked a floating market trip.  Fearing the onslaught of a sales pitch, I quickly announced that I had, a lie.  He then said, "that's too bad because my family owns a boat and I could have showed you around at no charge."  The trip I did book through my guesthouse was terrible.  And that's how it goes.  A lot of activities, particularly in Vietnam, require tours, like the floating markets, Ha Long Bay, or Hue tombs and while some are great, others are terrible and a bad value.  Some you try to do independently, renting a motorbike getting completely lost and never reaching your destination, and other times independently is the best and cheapest way to go.  
  
Truthfully, everything was going very smoothly for me, too smoothly it turned out, until northern Vietnam.  I rushed a bit through Vietnam so I could get to China before May 1st, the national holiday and I was getting a bit burnt out.  Then, I ended up getting the wrong Chinese visa in Hanoi with no time to change it.  (I wanted one entry two months and I got two entries one month.)  I caught the night train to Lao Cai and ended up with a Vietnamese family with screaming kids in my cabin, always a favorite.  When I finally got to Sa Pa my tour group left early and without me and I ended up with an expensive and sub-par solo tour.  The hotel I checked into, The Cat-Cat, was recommended by the Lonely Planet, but it turned out mine was a fake with the same name and it wasn't so nice.  This is a common trick, and this time it got me.  So I checked back out, without staying, and headed for China.  First, I needed a bus to Lao Cai again.   I hopped in the bus, the driver said it was going and then proceeded to drive around town for 50 minutes trying to find more people to go.  Of course, people who are in the middle of eating dinner don't want to get on a bus, but the driver didn't seem to understand this.  Finally, I got out, flagged down another bus and demanded to be taken to Lao Cai immediately.  I made it to the border two minutes before the guidebook said it closed, which turned out not to be the case anyway.    
  
Immediately, China was a whole new world.  No English anywhere.  As I walked towards the bus station yard a bald-headed, scrawny Chinese man named Mike bounded out, and in English offered to help me.  Right off the bat he seemed suspicious, especially when he told me bus tickets were sold out for the evening and I could stay the night in "his" hotel next door.  However, it turned out he was right about the bus tickets and he took me to the ATM, so when he invited me to dinner, I finally let me guard down.  Dinner was flat out annoying.  Amongst other things he constantly and viciously cleared his throat and then spit right on the restaurant floor!  He was also hitting on me with compliments like, "you are beautiful because you are fat, you know, f-a-t fat?"  I tried to explain that in in my culture "fat" is not a compliment.  When the bill finally arrived the price for fish soup, a pork dish, one beer and one water was 150Y ($20  USD), highway robbery around here really, and this annoying Chinese man wanted me to pay the whole thing.  I knew I was getting ripped off and I didn't know quite what to do.  What I did was pay 1/2 and storm back to my room to find that a nice Beijing restaurant is less expensive.  I was so pissed at myself for finally letting my guard down with that creep, but I was glad it only cost me $10  USD, it could have been much worse.  As it turns out, every traveller I've met so far in China who crossed at that border has been ripped off by Mike in one way or another, even those who have been warned.  

Hanoi

Hanoi is to HCMC what the New Orleans French Quarter is to downtown L.A.  I'm not sure if any of the streets were really cobblestone, but it has that feel to it, as you wind your way around, inevitably getting lost.  Since I spent all my money in Hoi An, I could only window shop , and I can say for sure that I could return to Vietnam just to go shopping.  While in Hanoi I made the obligatory visit to Ho Chi Minh's Mausoleum, quite an odd experience really.  To see Uncle Ho's waxy corpse you must check all your bags, go through a metal detector and, of course, remove your gun.  You file through, single-file in a cool, dark chamber where his face is lit a bit creepily.  At each corner of the glassed tomb there are impeccably dressed guards, their eyes darting, on the lookout for suspicious behavior.  The most interesting part is watching the Vietnamese view him, bowing solemnly in front of him with the utmost respect.  Tuyet assures me that these are not just North Vietnamese but southerners as well.   
 
Despite the obvious communist thread, I mean rope, running through the country, you can't miss the bright and cheesy propaganda posters everywhere, there are serious capitalist desires and movements underway.  In fact, while I was in Hanoi so was Bill Gates, speaking at the university where thousands of students waited hours to see him!  One even said, "He is my idol."  That sure says something.  It is very evident that Vietnam has made quite a bit of progress recently, the result of the government loosening it's economic grip in a program called Doi Moi.  "Economic progress, but not political progress," I was reminded by a Vietnamese who escaped the South to Australia in 1980, one of the 'boat people.'  His father was a member of the South Vietnamese government who spent 10 years in a "re-education camp."  He told me there are still political prisoners in Vietnam, which I didn't know.  It's often hard to get below the surface while you are travelling.  
 
I met this Australian on a two-day boat trip to Halong Bay, a UNESCO World Heritage site.  He was joined by about 14 other Sydney cops on a 'study tour' to Vietnam.  They thought they had chartered their own boat, but the amazing disorganization of the tour providers, placed me and a Slovenian on board.  No doubt these Australians lived up to their reputation of partying hard and settling for nothing short of a good time.  They had all bought wigs in Saigon and by the end of the night at least one guy was wearing a bikini (see attached photos).  The mood was infectious on the party boat and the Vietnamese who worked the boat, and probably didn't see this too often, joined in.  There was nothing "cultural" about this tour, but it was one of the funnest nights of my trip.  Oh yeah, and Halong Bay is sublimely beautiful.

For photos, click here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/39463330@N00/sets/72057594113822959/


I've now left Southeast Asia and here are my general thoughts about Vietnam in particular, and Southeast Asia in general.
 
Vietnam
 
1.)  When the majority of people speak the Vietnamese language, more than the other countries, they always sound angry.  The decibel level is always really high.  I noticed an interesting difference when I watched one of the Australians, who was very fluent in English, shift from English to Vietnamese.  His eyebrows would furrow and his voice would go up several decibels.  
 
2.)  Because I really couldn't remember or understand exactly how the American government landed us in the Vietnam War in the first place, I read In Retrospect by Robert McNamara, the Secretary of Defense at the time for both the Kennedy and Johnson administrations.  Very interested lessons learned book.  Maybe I should send W a copy.
 
 
Southeast Asia
 
1.)  First and foremost, there's one huge problem with Southeast Asia and it's really offensive.  Yankees hats outnumber Red Sox hats at least 25 to 1.  And it's not even Americans wearing the wrong hats; it's Europeans, Asians.  Everyone.  Somebody please contact the marketing department at Fenway Park so they can do something about this!  
 
2.)  Honking.  In cities, honking is a constant.  Just a part of the background noise, day and night, and you almost don't notice it.  In the countryside when you're on a bus, honking is a substitute for brakes.  Every bus comes barrelling into a village and doesn't slow down in the slightest, but blares on the horn until out of the village.  It is every person's (and animal's) responsibility to get the hell out of the way.  Oddly enough, while one bus I was on just missed a toddler by millimeters, I never saw anyone or anything get hit.  
 
3.)  Everyone complains about walking in the big cities.  Too many motorbikes, people are crazy, they complain.  I loved it.  Pedestrians always seem to have the right-of-way.  There may be a million motorbikes zooming at you, but all you have to do is step into the madness and walk slowly across.  Nobody hits you!!!  It's a Boston jay-walkers dream.  Now that I'm in China you have to wait forever to cross the streets and you get the sense that they will definitely hit you - no good.  
 
4.)  You really miss a lot in Southeast Asia if you don't speak the local languages.  You really just can't communicate with that many people.  Don't get me wrong, you don't need a phrasebook to get around and everyone in the tourist industry speaks enough English to get by.  But, you really just can't communicate with that many ordinary local people.  So, I've learned as much about current politics in Germany, soccer teams in England, and immigration trouble in Switzerland as I have about any country I've visited.  I've found the best addition to travelling has been books.  In Vietnam and Cambodia in particular you are always hounded by touts who want to sell you books - they are all copies, but they are cheap.  Sometimes this is a hassle and sometimes it's great.  
 
5.)  Southeast Asia is very easy for travelling and very safe.  I heard some people say areas in Phnom Penh were unsafe, but I guess I didn't make it to those places.  I never felt threatened or in any danger.  The most dangerous aspect of travelling here is probably some of the buses.  I did have one interesting experience in Kampot, Cambodia though.  I got nailed with a water balloon at night while I was walking with two guys.  I shouted out, "You Bastard!" not that he spoke English.  But I wasn't sure how to interpret that.  
 
6.)  While I was sitting in a restaurant on the waterfront in Hoi An a man wobbled in on mangled legs.  He was hawking newspapers and I've become so programmed to rebuff sales offers that I practically walk down the street shaking my head.  However, the man left without hounding me and after a second I realized that this man's mangled legs could only be from Napalm or some other chemical weapons my country dropped on him.  You can't help miss these people in Vietnam.  By the time I ran out to find him to buy a newspaper he was gone, disappearing quickly.  

Easy Riding, Central Highlands

I was told it is worth the expense of doing a trip with the Easy Riders, a Dalat-based motorcycle group that takes tourist off the beaten track in the Central Highlands. I was also told you don't need to find them, they will find you. And so it was that 10 steps away from my hotel Peter, a 50-something with salt and pepper hair and skin leathery from years in the sun, made his proposal. It was more of a hard sell really, as most things are in Vietnam and the whole negotiation process was quite exhausting. But Peter convinced me, even though it was very expensive for Vietnam, and at 7 a.m. he strapped my luggage to the back of his pimped out 125cc motorbike (the largest size allowed in Vietnam), gave me a helmet 3 sizes too big, and we were off. Along the way I learned how everything is made from bricks to silk, woven baskets to rubber. I saw small farms growing pineapple plants, avocado and mango trees, pepper vines, and mushroom bags. Often Peter stops in the middle of nowhere and declares it's time for me to get some exercise and he takes off down the road. I discovered that my need for exercise really meant it was time for his cigarette break. Peter took me to some places that clearly don't see many tourists. At one waterfall I seemed to be the main attraction. One by one, a group needed to pose with me on a rocky outcropping, a bit too close to the waterfall. Eating with peter was always an adventure. Even though there was only two of us, he would order enough to feed eight. One time for lunch we had a giant bowl of rice, pork in caramel sauce, spicy fish, stir-fried cabbage, french fries, beef and cauliflower, and spring rolls. As soon as they stopped bringing food over, this exchange always took place. Me: "I hope you're hungry." Peter: "No!" He assured me, when we left more than half of the food uneaten, that the pigs would be eating well. After three days of rolling around Peter dropped me off in Nha Trang and I took the night train to Hoi An.

In Hoi An, a romantic seaside town, apparently I forgot I am unemployed. Hoi An is known as the place to have clothes made. It's amazing how fast they can whip up an outfit. It took one day to make 2 shirts, a silk blouse, capri pants, and two pairs of shoes, all for $66. There are a lot a lot of art galleries and good gifts and I book my onward train ticket as soon as possible.

For photos of the Central Highlands, click here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/39463330@N00/sets/72057594112032969/
For photos of Hue, click here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/39463330@N00/sets/72057594113808631/