Bingzhongluo boredom

Bingzhongluo, Yunnan, China, originally uploaded by jiulong.

A trip to some remote place like the Nujiang always sounds like a great adventure when you're sat at home reading a book or blog about the place. The writer, of course, always leaves out the dull bits or glosses over them. But one of the biggest problems I found on my trip was the sheer boredom and loneliness of being on my own in a small one street town like Bingzhongluo.

I had ridden up during the morning of the 21st of December on a minibus from Fugong to Gongshan. I was glad I'd brought my jacket because in contrast to balmy Liuku it was quite chilly in the northern end of the valley.

At Gongshan I saw a bus for Bingzhongluo about to depart, and with no firm plan in mind (try for the Dulong?) I decided to go the last 40km up to Bingzhongluo, where I knew my bearings from my previous visit last Christmas. The scenery was as spectacular as I'd remembered.



Unlike the closed and rather gloomy valley around Fugong, the more open canyon and the turquoise green ribbon of river looked marvellous.
Getting off the bus, I checked in again to the deserted Yudong Hotel.

Dumped my ridiculously large pack (why did I bring a sleeping bag and all that crap?) and had a wander up and down the one street. Nothing had changed, the same old fleapit market and stool-seat restaurants housed in shacks. The bar run by tour guide Ma Huang (The so-called National Park Information Centre) was still there, but I avoided the place because I thought he might have taken umbrage at my description of him in last year's blog as an overbearing megalomaniac, or words to that effect.



I traipsed up and down the street to stretch my legs and then strapped on the Leica and Rolleicord and had a wander a few km down the road to the 'first bend' of the Nujiang. Not much happening - even the tourists trinket shacks were closed up.





I returned to Bingzhongluo, where a big gathering was taking place for somebody's funeral. A local told me I could join in and have an all-you-can-eat-and-drink if I paid 50 kuai. I opted instead for a cheap feed in one of the shops-cum-restaurants before heading down the hill to see the Chongding Catholic church again. I don't know what it is about that place, but it's never peaceful. This time they were hammering away with the pneumatic drills at some solid rock in the church grounds. The whole place looked tired and worn and midwinter dead.

I had a quick look around Ding Dama's guesthouse, expecting to find cosy internet parlours, as seen on TV, but all I got was a curt what-do-you-want attitude as they were doing renovations, and the bits of the guesthouse I did see looked draughty and spartan. No cosy rooms and hot showers to be had here, it seems.

And so I felt somewhat disillusioned and sorry for myself as I climbed back up the hill past the pigs and chickens, to find a new internet cafe just off the main road. This was supposed to be 'it', the end of the road, the base camp for some great treks and adventures, but I just felt miserable as I sat in the net cafe, reading up what my mates were doing back in sunny Sydney on Facebook, and then wtching the latest episode of the IT Crowd. Not so far from the madding crowd, anymore.