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.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Bingzhongluo boredom
Back to the Nujiang (怒江)
On Saturday 20th of December I left Dali to take the bus to the Nujiang. Being in Dali doesn't feel like China. It's anyplace. They have nice cafes that serve good coffee (Cafe de Jack) and bars where you can watch movies, surf the internet or bakeries where you can indulge in cheesecake. There weren't many tourists about when I was there, but the weather was sunny and mild.
I think I had the same suicidal driver to Liuku as I had last year. I caught the bus from Xiaguan bus station, which entailed an early start from Dali old town and a morning bus ride with a a team of cleaners down to the big ton as we watched the bus advertorial TV. As usual I had stocked up on the usual snacks to get me through the bus journey - peanuts, chocolate, biscuits, drinks ... and I munched my way through these all too quickly as we freewheeled down the motorway towards Baoshan, watching Terminator 3.
This time we did a slightly different route, turning off early for Liuku and skirting the Mekong on a rather dusty road that was under construction, and passing through a town called Qujing that had a huge, newly built mosque.
We arrived in Liuku just after lunch, and instantly the people seemed friendlier than elsewhere. Even the stern soldier who checked my passport turned friendly when he realised I spoke Chinese. There was some kind of minority dress festival going on in the Nujiang and there were buses and Jeeps lined up in preparation for the VIPs they were expecting.
I decamped off the bus and managed to grab some friend rice before taking a minibus up to Fugong. It was arranged by a women tout who grabbed me as soon as I got off the bus. She led me to believe there was a direct bus from that bus station, but as I soon discovered as her son led me across the footbridge over the Nujiang, it was the same old bus service from the western bank bus station.
The scenery on the way north was the usual spectacular array of peaks, crags and river scenes. A few locals fished using bamboo rods and makeshift reels cobbled together from thick metal wire. I saw a few dug out type canoes, and as usual marvelled at the huddles of Lisu houses in villages perched high up on the hillside. Many of them had their own whitewashed churches.
Closer up, the settlements along the river looked dirty and ramshackle. It often surprised me to see a cheerful and well dressed, modern looking Lisu women get off at one of these scungy looking collections of wooden shacks and breeze block slums.
Fugong was much as I remembered it - the same scrappy collection of shops and noodle places tucked in the valley. This time I arrived before dark, and had time to find myself a place at the Dianli Binguan (Power Station Hotel) (80 kuai a night) before having a little wander. Not much to see. In a dusty ramshackle schoolyard they were preparing for a craptacular concert - perhaps to celebrate the Lisu kousi jie - whatever festival that is.
I settled for a bath and a quiet night watching Nujiang TV - which featured a tourist style presentation of the Nujiang, making out they were all one big happy family - "Nujiang Huanying Nin!" (Nu River Welcomes You) and it even featured Ding Dama (the grumpy old caretaker woman of the Chongding/Bingzhongluo church and what looked like her very flash guesthouse, complete with internet) .. it didn't feel like I was going to a remote area at all.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
From Chengdu to Kangding.
On the 12th of December 2008 I flew from Sydney to Guangzhou and then took a connecting flight to Chengdu. I didn't really have a clear plan, just a vague idea that I might try walk/ride buses from kangding over to the Yalong river and Muli. It didn't work out that way because I didn't realise just how cold it would be around Kham (northern and western Sichuan) at that time of year. After a day in smoggy Chengdu, I ignored the advice of the slackers at Sam's cafe (who said it was still not possible to travel to Kangding) and took a bus there the next day. Kangding was certainly open, but by gum it was cold. Not too bad during the day when the sun was shining, but once it got dark (and it did so very early) the temperatures plumeted, and I needed all my thermals plus a scarf and earmuffs to survive.
I seemed to be the only tourist in town and a very grim place it seemed too. I had the Black tent Hotel to myself, and it was very depressing to return to that cold and empty dorm room in the evening at 6pm with the prospect of little to do but huddle under the sleeping bag for warmth and try read under the weak bulb for the rest of the evening. I spent some time in a cafe by the square where the locals practised Tibetan circle dancing, and I sipped lemon tea to pass the time.
There were quite a few Tibetans in town, most wearing their traditional chubas or long dresses, but covering their faces with surgical masks or big woolly balaclavas.
On my first full day I took a taxi out to Yulin to see if there was any chance of trekking up to Gongga Shan. I was surprised to find that the valley up to Yulin was now the scene of much construction, with new condos being sold off the plan right up to the Tibetan houses.
I had a dip in the hot springs pool and walked up to the village to seek out a guide. Some local Tibetans were corralling horses into a trailer and their head man aid it would be possible to trek to Gongga Si, but it would be cold and the days were short, so it would take longer than usual - up to eight days for the return trip. I demurred, looking up at the beautiful peaks but deciding the hardship wasn't worth it. It would just be way too cold for safety, let alone comfort.
I returned to Kangding and took a bus back the next day to Chegdu. I would try the warmer climes of Yunnan instead.
And so I took a train to Kunming.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Will be posting more pics soon
I'm in the middle of scanning 12 rolls of Ektachrome transparencies and 8 rolls of 120 film trannies taken with the Rolleicord. Should be done soon and will start posting about rhe latest trip to Qiunatong and Baihanluo - as mentioned by Rock in his article about the Salween (Nujiang), Mekong and Yangtze valleys, Through the Great River Trenches of Asia in the National Geographic of August 1926.
Thursday, January 08, 2009
Christmas Day boozing at Baihanluo
This is more like it. One of the pictures I took using slide film with my ancient (1950s vintage) Rolleicord Vb medium format camera. Look at the detail! This was one of the pictures I took on Christmas day after we hiked up to the Catholic church at Baihanluo and found the whole village celebrating by drinking copious amounts of corn liquor aka shuijiu.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Kangding in winter
[Old pic of minya Konka trip from 1998]
Had a bath yesterday. It was the highlight of my week. Probably the highest altitude bath I've ever had. It was in a hot spring, about five miles out of the mountain town of Kangding, almost 4000m above sea level. I went up there on the bus on Saturday and soon discovered that it was very cold. Nice clear blue skies (unlike smoggy Chengdu) but very very cold. The town is half Chinese and half Tibetan, but everyone regardless of ethnicity was wearing earmuffs and face masks or scarves wrapped around their faces. It was so cold the phlegm had frozen on the pavement.
I'd been here before about five years ago in the spring and started a trek from here, in the foothills above Kangding. So once I'd kitted myself out with some earmuffs and a nice scarf and some long johns, I set off walking up the hill into what had once been a deserted valley and the start of the Minya Konka trek. Last time there's just been a scattered Tibetan village up this valley, a few log cabins. This time I got a bit of a shock because it was full of newly built luxury apartments, all being sold off the plan under the banner "Draw the Elite Card"??? And if you fancy buyng one they start from 4000 kuai a square metre, or about $100k in our money.
Once I got past the fancy real estate block, there was the old village of Yulin, looking quite neglected - but the hot baths were still there. Just a few brick cubicles covered with cheap corrugated green plastic. I paid my 15 kuai and ran the hot water till the bath (about 1m square sunk in thre ground) filled up. And I had a nice 45 minutes soak under the shadow of the 5000m snow peaks of the Minya Konka range. It must have been grannies half price day because the other cubicles seemed to be filled with an old ladies outing up from the town.
After my bath, feeling quite refreshed and a bit less smelly, I traipsed up the rough track through the village - no easy thing as after a few steps I was out of breath because of the altitude. I was looking for the Tibetan guy who'd acted as my guide and horse wrangler on the last trip. But all I found was three blokes holding down a shaved pig in buckets of hot water, ladling steaming water over it and scraping off the last few bits of hair as one of them sharpened his knife. The pig didn't look very happy.
I didn't hang around to watch.
At the top of the next hill I found a Tibetan family in their back yard trying to corral some of their horses into the back of the van with a big stick. I asked about the possibility of trekkking up to the Gongga monastery but I knew the answer before they spoke. The guy said it was possible, but why would anyone want to go at this time of year when the place was barren, the snow thick on the hills and the days so cold and so short it would be hard going? I looked up at the first peak visible, Jiazifeng, and realised this would be as close as I would get ... it was up there some where that the Lonely Planet writer Clem Lindenmayer had died of exposure last year after wandering off the trekking trail and getting stuck in a snow fall. And that was in May. Not a wise idea to try it in this season.
So I headed back down, past the now ex-pig, its belly slit open, past the real estate showroom (no queue), and the long road back down into Kangding.
It seemed like I was the only foreign tourist in town - certainly the only one in the hotel. So as I sat in the cafe on the edge of the town square, drinking lemon tea (I'm off alcohol still - wonder why?)watching the locals doing their Tibetan line dancing at dusk, I decided to try warmer climes - back down to Chengdu and go south.
So this morning at 6am I was down at the bus station in the bitter cold morning, saying farewell to Kangding and its colourful Tibetan cowboys. These guys with wild, sunburnt faces in the chuba capes hanging off the shoulder, the silver daggers concealed within, and many with red wool plaited intheir hair. The Tibetan women all wear the traditional floor length dark cape with a colourful belt and a traditional square-sih hat. It's odd to be standing next to them in the supermarket waiting to pay for your biscuits ...
