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feathered canyons everywhere
Lifted from Neil Gaiman's blog: Commas are way important, people! So is grammar!
I found this diary on a journalist's life in Baghdad very interesting.
Travel adds relevance to otherwise innocuous news stories. I was at the Chengdu Giant Panda Research Center a mere two weeks ago, so this article has become more than just a moment's random curiosity to me.
Separate italicized paragraphs within the cuts were written currently, not on the date marked.
7月18日06年
If you've ever seen a Chinese landscape painting, you'll immediately be struck by the fantastic, towering shapes of the mountains therein. Convention, you'll think, accompanied by a hearty dose of invention. No mountains actually look like that.
Except you're wrong, because in China, they do look like that.
In the dining car of the train, there's a double rack of eggs under one of the seats.
We were on the above-mentioned train for a great deal longer than we should have been, as explained in the next entry.
7月20日06年
We had rather less time in Yangshou than we expected, as the train was late. It was because of water on the tracks; we had to take the long way around. The heavy rains proved to be a theme on this leg of the trip-- flooding had washed the soil off the road, leaving only rocks behind; heavy rains had raised water levels, delaying the kayakers; downpours had flattened a rice field, and the plants were permanently bowed under the weight.
I have learned, subsequent to my return, that the three days of rain that southern China had experienced were the result of a tropical storm that had passed through, and that 200 people had died from the flooding they caused. The same flooding that delayed our train for so many hours . . . but we reached our destination eventually, which is more than some can say, I guess. All of the inclement weather was finished when we arrived, though, and we had nothing but blue skies and sunlight while we were in Yangshou.
What dominates in Yangshou, of course, is the mountains. We passed through some of them on the way in: towering, unreal towers, natural skyscrapers of limestone and stubborn trees. 20,000 of them in the country of Guilin alone, and Yangshou crouched in the middle of them, at times overshadowed by their looming heights.
The town-- cannot exactly be described as sprawling. The word implies a certain indolence, and Yangshou is anything but. It's full of bustle, enthusiasm, chaos. Dust rises from the wheels of cars, buses, motorcycles, bikes of all descriptions, handcarts, and the suspicious tuktuk-esque vehicles with the bare motors sticking out in front. The town is growing by leaps and bounds, too, replacing streets and adding new ones.
Yangshou has rightly been called a backpacker's paradise. It feels like what the town was intended for. It's full of bars and restaurants, climbing shops and bike tours, small stores and hostels. In the pedestrian areas it feels like a college town, if that college were a liberal arts school packed with third-generation hippies. And Chinese, of course. Prices are cheap, and everything is plentiful.
It's inevitable that such a profusion of backpackers gives rise to a thriving tourist industry, and as always unrestrained tourism ends up, at times, feeling rather like a leech. Cold, slimy, opportunistic, and trying to suck as much blood out of you as possible. We managed to avoid that to a large extent, but not entirely. Somehow, as you cycle along the road, the pleasant wind in your face, your eyes alternating between the road and the awesome scenery, you pick up an entourage of women on bicycles toting water, postcards, and nick-knacks, all of it for sale. They come seemingly out of the woodwork, latch onto you for a while, and then just as suddenly disappear again.
But that's largely outside the city, on the way to various tourist destinations. Inside the city-- well, you can't say that things are laid back, but there are less people trying to jump you. Possibly because there are more people to jump.
7月21日06年
I think one of the most interesting things we did was visit small villages in the countryside surrounding Yangshou. The first of these was on the night we arrived. I don't even know what it was called, nor could we see much of it in the gathering dusk. What we could see were crumbling, mud-brick houses lining the narrow, twisted, and not-exactly-well-paved roads obviously intended for foot- and hoof-traffic, not the wheeled variety. The restaurant was better made, the bricks more regular, and it featured a second story and a somewhat lofty square tower.
The second village we visited while biking the next day, after we'd climbed the torturous-but-lovely Moon Hill (so named for the natural round arch it contains). Dragon Village, it was called, although one has to wonder if all Chinese towns have such evocative names (perhaps it was named for the nearby Dragon River, although one has to wonder if all Chinese rivers have such evocative names. And how many rivers in China are called the Dragon River). One of its claims to fame is that it's 200 years old-- Qing dynasty, that would be.
It too was made of brick, with narrow circuitous roads. But most of the brick was older, smaller, and more regular. Our guide, Richard, brought us into the courtyard of what was once a landlord's house. Perhaps it was once splendid, as well-- not it was crumbling, faded, the elaborate woodwork rotting away to nothing. High in the overhead archway were peeling pieces of paper over a dusty incense bowl. Some of the people in town were Buddhist, Richard explained.
I wandered a bit before lunch, taking photos of architectural and artistic flourishes and trying not to go where I wasn't supposed to (although where that might be I didn't know; doors were somewhat lacking). Elaborate filials topped squared-off walls, and open-but-walled courtyards were everywhere. The town had no logic to me, or rather it had a logic that I didn't understand. People lived there, of course, but I wasn't sure exactly where.
Though I asked Richard twice, I've forgotten the Chinese name of the third village. According to him, it roughly translates to New Angel Village. The village itself is some 700 years old, but we were there to look at the 300-200 year old house built for one of the great scholars of the era. This man apparently finished first on the exams and then went on to become a very important government magistrate. This house was built for him to retire to, as a gift to show appreciation for his work.
The outside was still very intact, with faded slogans from the 50s still visible on the walls. Two families now live on either side of what was once a single house. Some of the elaborate carved wooden screen windows were still somewhat whole, though everything was faded, slowly crumbling away. What did it look like, once upon a time?
A carved stone lip surrounded a well nearby, smooth and worn. At least 600 years old, said our guide, and still in use. Grooves were worn into the sides from centuries of ropes being pulled up and down. As we stood there, a woman came to fill her two aluminum buckets.
I bought a red book of Mao quotes today and was hideously overcharged for it. The irony of that is deeply appealing.
Photojournalism: Yangshou
I took a huge, huge amount of photos of Yangshou. Every time we turned a bend in the road, it seemed, I was clutching frantically at my camera. I probably took a hundred photos, and I could easily have taken more. So let's start with something simple, shall we? This is the Hotel Explorer, where we stayed. I thought it was quite nice, hence the pictures.
Why don't we move from microcosm to macrocosm? This is my room, which was spartan in a lovely way. I believe this is the room in which and the tv on which I first watched that Chinese drama, too . . . and stayed up rather too late in order to do so . . .
This is the front lobby. There was a good-sized water garden behind the front desk, and plants (real or fake, they were a pleasant touch either way) climbed up the trellis immediately behind that disguised the stairwell. I liked the furniture in the lobby, which was massive but carved of dark wood, and fairly comfortable for all that it lacked padding.
A view out the front door to the little cafe/bar across the street, and a flute lesson in progress.
The doorway to the Hotel Explorer, with its cheerful lanterns.
This is the facade of the Hotel Explorer and its attached bar outside on the street. Music from the bar drifted across the lobby and easily penetrated my room at night, but I was so tired I didn't have the least bit of trouble sleeping.
This is the street outside the Hotel Explorer, which pretty much characterizes the pedestrian area in which the hotel was located. It was a great place to wander around, and the shops were many, various, and quite cheap.
Make a right out the hotel door, turn left at the T-intersection, and this is what you see.
This is one of the graceful footbridges that crossed narrow, slow-moving rivers and ponds.
Moving further out and about the town . . . I love bridges with rounded arches.
Pulling back from the bridge, though, gives you a glimpse of the fantastic karst mountains that surround the town as far as the eye can see.
During the trip, the lotus flowers were in full bloom everywhere I encountered them. I never knew what lotus flowers actually looked like, though I was familiar with depictions of them in Buddhist and Hindu art. I admit to being a little surprised by them. They were big, but still managed to be lovely and delicate, with a tendency to glow as the light shone through them.
A close-up on the flowers themselves. The leaves are huge. The roots, incidentally, make for very good eating.
I think I'll go somewhat chronologically from this point on. Here we have the old village where we ate dinner our first night in Yangshou. As you see, twilight dropped to dusk as we arrived, and dusk fell to night with astounding speed. So there wasn't much time to see the village, though we certainly did justice to the excellent food.
This is the restaurant, with its rickety tower. Not that you can see it very well, but believe me, it's there.
And the tour group! To my left . . .
In front of me . . .
And to the right, though the flash didn't reach nearly far enough.
The next morning started our bike/hike, and such a succession of gorgeous views that I was rendered speechless. The ride itself was fairly easy, as most of the land around the mountains is really flat, but it was still very hot. Buildings included for scale.
There were lots of farms and fields surrounding the town itself. A lot of these were fairly primitive, and the people quite poor.
The weather was on the hot side, but absolutely gorgeously clear.
Our guide, once a farmer, told us a great deal about life in rural areas, and even led us out into the field to try our hand at helping the farmers threshing rice. We were predictably horrible at it.
River and mountains. The river was very calm, and guides poled long bamboo rafts lazily along it. The rafts were so long that they easily went over the constructed whers.
An aqueduct?
I do believe I've said that it was amazingly beautiful.
On the road again . . . that would be our guide, Richard, in front. There are worse ways to make your living than cycling and hiking through such scenery . . .
We climbed a mountain called Moon Hill, named for this natural arch. There were an ungodly number of stairs. We were all exhausted by the time we reached the top.
But the view was more than worth it. Limestone mountains as far as the eye could see.
This is one of the villages crouched below the protective bulk of the cliffs.
Richard cooked us lunch in this village, which I described in my journal entry. Everyone else was tired and sat waiting for the food, but for some bizarre reason I still had energy, and expended it wandering around taking photos.
Ornamental wooden filials above one doorway.
An elderly courtyard.
Perhaps a watering trough?
Narrow streets.
A water buffalo having a rest. It examined me with fully as much curiosity as I examined it, and graciously consented to the photo when asked. At least, I'm pretty sure it did. And yes, I did ask it.
It was hard to keep track of where I was, but I managed not to get lost.
One of the old wall ornaments.
And its wall.
I probably need not have worried about getting lost, since when the time came to eat the old woman who owned the house where we ate came and found me without any difficulty. It probably wasn't hard; she could have asked anyone in the streets for the weird foreigner with the camera and they would have pointed her in the right direction.
This was my first time experiencing poverty firsthand, too. The woman who's house we ate at lived alone, and she had no children. There was no one to take care of her. She was definitely over 80, and her house was open and drafty. In fact, I didn't see a single window with glass in it anywhere in the village.
Cormorants from the cormorant fishing demonstration. It was fun and very interesting watching the birds dive so swiftly into the flowing water as the boats raced along, but the whole thing was rather spoiled by the touristy photo-posing at the end. I ended the tour feeling rather depressed.
I thought the cormorants themselves were cool, though.
We went to a cooking school and made awesomely delicious food. Which we ate while gazing comfortably at a backyard of majestic mountain peaks. Life, why are you so good to me?
I went hiking afterwards, and the day was (if possible) even clearer, though also quite hot.
Some rice fields were only just planted, which surprised me, but Richard said they can usually get in two crops per year.
There were butterflies all over the place, and they were hugely gorgeous. Unfortunately they're generally unwilling to pose for the camera, as they're busy insects with a lot to do. I managed to catch this one, though, just barely.
Fields and mountains.
A brownstone bridge.
From midway across the river.
The house at New Angel Village.
The front gate, complete with slogans.
Ornamental architecture.
Say hi to Mao!
Of course he's in the place of honor.
The courtyard.
A carved door.
A carved screen, unfortunately crumbling away.
I really like courtyard dwellings, but this one could do with some tidying-up.
The back garden.
The ancient well, still in constant use.
All that is built must eventually crumble . . .
We left via this gate.
The two mountains at the head of the river are supposedly two lions, one sitting up, the other perched like the sphynx.
I was very unhappy to leave Yangshou, and disappointed that we missed out on our extra day there due to the delayed train. Ah, well. I will have to go back, some day . . .
I found this diary on a journalist's life in Baghdad very interesting.
Travel adds relevance to otherwise innocuous news stories. I was at the Chengdu Giant Panda Research Center a mere two weeks ago, so this article has become more than just a moment's random curiosity to me.
Separate italicized paragraphs within the cuts were written currently, not on the date marked.
7月18日06年
If you've ever seen a Chinese landscape painting, you'll immediately be struck by the fantastic, towering shapes of the mountains therein. Convention, you'll think, accompanied by a hearty dose of invention. No mountains actually look like that.
Except you're wrong, because in China, they do look like that.
In the dining car of the train, there's a double rack of eggs under one of the seats.
We were on the above-mentioned train for a great deal longer than we should have been, as explained in the next entry.
7月20日06年
We had rather less time in Yangshou than we expected, as the train was late. It was because of water on the tracks; we had to take the long way around. The heavy rains proved to be a theme on this leg of the trip-- flooding had washed the soil off the road, leaving only rocks behind; heavy rains had raised water levels, delaying the kayakers; downpours had flattened a rice field, and the plants were permanently bowed under the weight.
I have learned, subsequent to my return, that the three days of rain that southern China had experienced were the result of a tropical storm that had passed through, and that 200 people had died from the flooding they caused. The same flooding that delayed our train for so many hours . . . but we reached our destination eventually, which is more than some can say, I guess. All of the inclement weather was finished when we arrived, though, and we had nothing but blue skies and sunlight while we were in Yangshou.
What dominates in Yangshou, of course, is the mountains. We passed through some of them on the way in: towering, unreal towers, natural skyscrapers of limestone and stubborn trees. 20,000 of them in the country of Guilin alone, and Yangshou crouched in the middle of them, at times overshadowed by their looming heights.
The town-- cannot exactly be described as sprawling. The word implies a certain indolence, and Yangshou is anything but. It's full of bustle, enthusiasm, chaos. Dust rises from the wheels of cars, buses, motorcycles, bikes of all descriptions, handcarts, and the suspicious tuktuk-esque vehicles with the bare motors sticking out in front. The town is growing by leaps and bounds, too, replacing streets and adding new ones.
Yangshou has rightly been called a backpacker's paradise. It feels like what the town was intended for. It's full of bars and restaurants, climbing shops and bike tours, small stores and hostels. In the pedestrian areas it feels like a college town, if that college were a liberal arts school packed with third-generation hippies. And Chinese, of course. Prices are cheap, and everything is plentiful.
It's inevitable that such a profusion of backpackers gives rise to a thriving tourist industry, and as always unrestrained tourism ends up, at times, feeling rather like a leech. Cold, slimy, opportunistic, and trying to suck as much blood out of you as possible. We managed to avoid that to a large extent, but not entirely. Somehow, as you cycle along the road, the pleasant wind in your face, your eyes alternating between the road and the awesome scenery, you pick up an entourage of women on bicycles toting water, postcards, and nick-knacks, all of it for sale. They come seemingly out of the woodwork, latch onto you for a while, and then just as suddenly disappear again.
But that's largely outside the city, on the way to various tourist destinations. Inside the city-- well, you can't say that things are laid back, but there are less people trying to jump you. Possibly because there are more people to jump.
7月21日06年
I think one of the most interesting things we did was visit small villages in the countryside surrounding Yangshou. The first of these was on the night we arrived. I don't even know what it was called, nor could we see much of it in the gathering dusk. What we could see were crumbling, mud-brick houses lining the narrow, twisted, and not-exactly-well-paved roads obviously intended for foot- and hoof-traffic, not the wheeled variety. The restaurant was better made, the bricks more regular, and it featured a second story and a somewhat lofty square tower.
The second village we visited while biking the next day, after we'd climbed the torturous-but-lovely Moon Hill (so named for the natural round arch it contains). Dragon Village, it was called, although one has to wonder if all Chinese towns have such evocative names (perhaps it was named for the nearby Dragon River, although one has to wonder if all Chinese rivers have such evocative names. And how many rivers in China are called the Dragon River). One of its claims to fame is that it's 200 years old-- Qing dynasty, that would be.
It too was made of brick, with narrow circuitous roads. But most of the brick was older, smaller, and more regular. Our guide, Richard, brought us into the courtyard of what was once a landlord's house. Perhaps it was once splendid, as well-- not it was crumbling, faded, the elaborate woodwork rotting away to nothing. High in the overhead archway were peeling pieces of paper over a dusty incense bowl. Some of the people in town were Buddhist, Richard explained.
I wandered a bit before lunch, taking photos of architectural and artistic flourishes and trying not to go where I wasn't supposed to (although where that might be I didn't know; doors were somewhat lacking). Elaborate filials topped squared-off walls, and open-but-walled courtyards were everywhere. The town had no logic to me, or rather it had a logic that I didn't understand. People lived there, of course, but I wasn't sure exactly where.
Though I asked Richard twice, I've forgotten the Chinese name of the third village. According to him, it roughly translates to New Angel Village. The village itself is some 700 years old, but we were there to look at the 300-200 year old house built for one of the great scholars of the era. This man apparently finished first on the exams and then went on to become a very important government magistrate. This house was built for him to retire to, as a gift to show appreciation for his work.
The outside was still very intact, with faded slogans from the 50s still visible on the walls. Two families now live on either side of what was once a single house. Some of the elaborate carved wooden screen windows were still somewhat whole, though everything was faded, slowly crumbling away. What did it look like, once upon a time?
A carved stone lip surrounded a well nearby, smooth and worn. At least 600 years old, said our guide, and still in use. Grooves were worn into the sides from centuries of ropes being pulled up and down. As we stood there, a woman came to fill her two aluminum buckets.
I bought a red book of Mao quotes today and was hideously overcharged for it. The irony of that is deeply appealing.
Photojournalism: Yangshou
I took a huge, huge amount of photos of Yangshou. Every time we turned a bend in the road, it seemed, I was clutching frantically at my camera. I probably took a hundred photos, and I could easily have taken more. So let's start with something simple, shall we? This is the Hotel Explorer, where we stayed. I thought it was quite nice, hence the pictures.
Why don't we move from microcosm to macrocosm? This is my room, which was spartan in a lovely way. I believe this is the room in which and the tv on which I first watched that Chinese drama, too . . . and stayed up rather too late in order to do so . . .
This is the front lobby. There was a good-sized water garden behind the front desk, and plants (real or fake, they were a pleasant touch either way) climbed up the trellis immediately behind that disguised the stairwell. I liked the furniture in the lobby, which was massive but carved of dark wood, and fairly comfortable for all that it lacked padding.
A view out the front door to the little cafe/bar across the street, and a flute lesson in progress.
The doorway to the Hotel Explorer, with its cheerful lanterns.
This is the facade of the Hotel Explorer and its attached bar outside on the street. Music from the bar drifted across the lobby and easily penetrated my room at night, but I was so tired I didn't have the least bit of trouble sleeping.
This is the street outside the Hotel Explorer, which pretty much characterizes the pedestrian area in which the hotel was located. It was a great place to wander around, and the shops were many, various, and quite cheap.
Make a right out the hotel door, turn left at the T-intersection, and this is what you see.
This is one of the graceful footbridges that crossed narrow, slow-moving rivers and ponds.
Moving further out and about the town . . . I love bridges with rounded arches.
Pulling back from the bridge, though, gives you a glimpse of the fantastic karst mountains that surround the town as far as the eye can see.
During the trip, the lotus flowers were in full bloom everywhere I encountered them. I never knew what lotus flowers actually looked like, though I was familiar with depictions of them in Buddhist and Hindu art. I admit to being a little surprised by them. They were big, but still managed to be lovely and delicate, with a tendency to glow as the light shone through them.
A close-up on the flowers themselves. The leaves are huge. The roots, incidentally, make for very good eating.
I think I'll go somewhat chronologically from this point on. Here we have the old village where we ate dinner our first night in Yangshou. As you see, twilight dropped to dusk as we arrived, and dusk fell to night with astounding speed. So there wasn't much time to see the village, though we certainly did justice to the excellent food.
This is the restaurant, with its rickety tower. Not that you can see it very well, but believe me, it's there.
And the tour group! To my left . . .
In front of me . . .
And to the right, though the flash didn't reach nearly far enough.
The next morning started our bike/hike, and such a succession of gorgeous views that I was rendered speechless. The ride itself was fairly easy, as most of the land around the mountains is really flat, but it was still very hot. Buildings included for scale.
There were lots of farms and fields surrounding the town itself. A lot of these were fairly primitive, and the people quite poor.
The weather was on the hot side, but absolutely gorgeously clear.
Our guide, once a farmer, told us a great deal about life in rural areas, and even led us out into the field to try our hand at helping the farmers threshing rice. We were predictably horrible at it.
River and mountains. The river was very calm, and guides poled long bamboo rafts lazily along it. The rafts were so long that they easily went over the constructed whers.
An aqueduct?
I do believe I've said that it was amazingly beautiful.
On the road again . . . that would be our guide, Richard, in front. There are worse ways to make your living than cycling and hiking through such scenery . . .
We climbed a mountain called Moon Hill, named for this natural arch. There were an ungodly number of stairs. We were all exhausted by the time we reached the top.
But the view was more than worth it. Limestone mountains as far as the eye could see.
This is one of the villages crouched below the protective bulk of the cliffs.
Richard cooked us lunch in this village, which I described in my journal entry. Everyone else was tired and sat waiting for the food, but for some bizarre reason I still had energy, and expended it wandering around taking photos.
Ornamental wooden filials above one doorway.
An elderly courtyard.
Perhaps a watering trough?
Narrow streets.
A water buffalo having a rest. It examined me with fully as much curiosity as I examined it, and graciously consented to the photo when asked. At least, I'm pretty sure it did. And yes, I did ask it.
It was hard to keep track of where I was, but I managed not to get lost.
One of the old wall ornaments.
And its wall.
I probably need not have worried about getting lost, since when the time came to eat the old woman who owned the house where we ate came and found me without any difficulty. It probably wasn't hard; she could have asked anyone in the streets for the weird foreigner with the camera and they would have pointed her in the right direction.
This was my first time experiencing poverty firsthand, too. The woman who's house we ate at lived alone, and she had no children. There was no one to take care of her. She was definitely over 80, and her house was open and drafty. In fact, I didn't see a single window with glass in it anywhere in the village.
Cormorants from the cormorant fishing demonstration. It was fun and very interesting watching the birds dive so swiftly into the flowing water as the boats raced along, but the whole thing was rather spoiled by the touristy photo-posing at the end. I ended the tour feeling rather depressed.
I thought the cormorants themselves were cool, though.
We went to a cooking school and made awesomely delicious food. Which we ate while gazing comfortably at a backyard of majestic mountain peaks. Life, why are you so good to me?
I went hiking afterwards, and the day was (if possible) even clearer, though also quite hot.
Some rice fields were only just planted, which surprised me, but Richard said they can usually get in two crops per year.
There were butterflies all over the place, and they were hugely gorgeous. Unfortunately they're generally unwilling to pose for the camera, as they're busy insects with a lot to do. I managed to catch this one, though, just barely.
Fields and mountains.
A brownstone bridge.
From midway across the river.
The house at New Angel Village.
The front gate, complete with slogans.
Ornamental architecture.
Say hi to Mao!
Of course he's in the place of honor.
The courtyard.
A carved door.
A carved screen, unfortunately crumbling away.
I really like courtyard dwellings, but this one could do with some tidying-up.
The back garden.
The ancient well, still in constant use.
All that is built must eventually crumble . . .
We left via this gate.
The two mountains at the head of the river are supposedly two lions, one sitting up, the other perched like the sphynx.
I was very unhappy to leave Yangshou, and disappointed that we missed out on our extra day there due to the delayed train. Ah, well. I will have to go back, some day . . .
no subject
just so you know
because of your pics, and awesome story telling
I HAVE to go to China.
I was never particularly interested in China...having turned my geekiness towards Germany and Japan...but...damn...China is just...beautiful. You'll have to let me know what tour you used, cause I'd love to go with that group...and I don't normally like doing guided tours, but that just looks too awesome to not try it...
I am SO happy you kept a journal and posted pics. you have no idea!
::hugs::
thank you!!!!