C.J. Neff

It's Burning Like A Coal

Sun, 02 Dec 2012 08:28:20 -0500

I uttered the title of this post while staring into the small furnace they had in the common room of the hostel in Kashgar. It was a bit like an indoor campfire; we’d all sit around it, telling stories, trying to keep warm.

And then, I realized, in my head, “a coal” (as in “burning like a coal”) and “coal” (as in black mines and such) were two completely different words. It was as if they were the words “vaccuum” and “unicorn”. But, you see, what was burning inside this furnace actually was coal. It was burning like a coal because it was coal. Whoa, that kind of blew my mind hole!

I actually needed to look up the following two words after a brief discussion with the present, non-native English speakers only led (no pun intended) to more confusion: coal and charcoal. “Coal” has two meanings, the mineral meaning and the glowing-while-burning (like coal the mineral does) meaning. Charcoal, as I thought, but the non-native English speakers nearly convinced me otherwise, is not made from coal. It’s just wood or some other organic substance burned without air. Once charcoal does have air, however, then it burns “like a coal” (hence “charred coal”).

Wow, is this all super obvious (and boring)? Perhaps I’m simply losing my English, ‘cause this took me like a week to sort out.

Here was the next couple week’s worth of coal to keep us and future guests warm.

How crazy is that? I felt like I had been transported back to the turn of the 20th century. Coal for heating? No wonder I couldn’t breathe in this city!

Location:Kāshí

Chai

Sun, 02 Dec 2012 06:20:06 -0500

One of my favorite words is “cognate”. It’s a word used to describe words that are very similar across two or more languages. “Ma” (meaning “mother”) is, according to my highly rigorous research, perhaps the most common cognate across all languages. If I had to guess what might be the second most common, I would probably say “chai”. In Mandarin, the word for tea is “chá”, and across much of the Middle East it’s “chai”. I think it’s just us unlucky Romance language folk who got stuck with “tea” or “thè” or some variant thereof.

Perhaps it’s not so surprising. Mothers don’t all come from the same place (in the sense that mothers existed and had dispersed across the globe long before modern languages came into the picture); therefore, it’s surprising (to me at least) so many cultures use an “m” sound followed by a soft “a” as their word for “mother”. Tea, on the other hand, all pretty much comes from one place: China, originally, and the British-discovered Assam variant from India much later.

I’ve grown so used to China’s relatively unprocessed and unadorned greens that I forgot how the rest of the world drinks their tea, usually black and quite often with milk.

It’s hard to single out one tea experience as the best I’ve ever had. It would be like asking me to name the best dish I’ve ever eaten in China. There are too many regions, too many different styles, too many different means of preparing. Naming a single one would be forcing me to compare apples to oranges to cars to colors. How do you choose?

Well, the answer is: you don’t. You just get out there and enjoy it all.

And enjoy the tea pictured above did I ever!

A friend in Kashgar recommended a Pakistani place in town for dinner. Because I ended up staying in town so long, we ultimately were able to arrange a trip together. There, he suggested I try the tea.

“Pay for tea? Come on, tea should be free! There are a million other joints in town that dole out the tea for free.”

“Just try it”, he urged.

Wow! Incredibly delicious. I’m sure in the heat of it I proclaimed it to be the best tea I’ve ever had.

Now, down off my high, I’m still willing to crown it best chai tea I’ve ever tasted, but I’d like to keep best tea tea’s official status set to “it’s complicated” (as explained above).

It’s unclear whether the restaurant sweetened the tea or not. It was plenty sweet when it arrived on the table, but they provided a sidecar of sugar cubes just in case. Perhaps the milk sweetened the tea, perhaps they added a handful of sugar. I have no idea. The milk, though, is an interesting story. It’s thrice boiled. Twice you need to wait for it to cool down before reboiling. So it takes about 20 minutes to prepare. I suggest ordering a second after waiting your first 10. I’m just saying, you’re not going to want the glass to be empty for long!

Location:Kāshí

So Far

Sun, 02 Dec 2012 03:28:32 -0500

It feels like I’ve been to more like half of China’s provinces rather than the measly third I got when I actually counted. But in terms of sheer area covered, especially in terms of the more remote parts of China, the percentage I’ve been to must be pushing 50%. I’ve been to China’s largest provinces, and the next few months will be dedicated to the smaller, more densely populated, coastal states.

I updated my epic Google Map. Guinness World Records hasn’t yet confirmed it’s the most epic ever, but I expect to hear back from them soon!

The map speaks for itself. I encourage you to stare at it, click around, marvel at its beauty, whatever you need to do. I made my next month’s worth of pins yellow, and I’d like to keep doing that as I travel. So if you‘d like to come visit me, you can get a sense for where I’ll be. Enjoy!

View China in a larger map

Gas

Sun, 02 Dec 2012 03:25:10 -0500

I think I made the right decision in letting the diarrhea-themed posts silently disappear; it’s time now, however, for another installment.

It can take a few days for a bug to manifest its symptoms, and over any given “few days” I will normally have eaten at at least half a dozen establishments. So, yeah, I never know where the diarrhea comes from; sometimes, frankly, I think it comes from stress. The fact of the matter, though, is that I get it about once a month. I should start calling it my monthly gift!

Anyway, I had some loose bowels in Yītūn Bùlākè, but it was such a crap town (and I had the ride offer for the following morning) that I decided to risk several hours in the car even though that could have been disastrous, to put it euphemistically.

Ultimately, I never found that magic truck going all the way to Xīníng. I’m still surprised! But my last sign was indeed my Xīníng sign.

Special note on this sign: you can see it’s wind-battered and time-worn. I used this sign for several days hoping to find a long distance truck. What’s really special about this sign, however, is that I wrote it completely from memory. Yes, fine, they’re simple characters. But you’ve got to understand that (I have this superstition) they must be written 100% correct; otherwise, no one will stop to pick me up. I knew I knew these characters, so I wrote them from memory. So proud!

The guys who were headed to Gé’ěrmù did indeed return the following morning to make good on their offer, albeit an hour late (it was 20 degrees Fahrenheit outside; I noticed!). It was a really nice ride, though, so I can’t complain. Fast, room to stretch my legs, and unhurried conversation. I found out the driver is actually a truck driver, so he knew the roads well, and I got the sense he’s picked up foreigners before.

Around 4 P.M., we arrived in Gé’ěrmù, the half way point between Yītūn Bùlākè and Xīníng. I had heard this town wasn’t too fond of hosting foreigners, and that almost always ends up translating into expensive hotels, so I decided to train the final leg back to Xīníng, mostly as a means of cost-savings. The ticket cost me about 100 RMB; there was no way I was going to find a place to stay for less than that. Only catch: it was a night train, and they only had standing tickets available. “No problem”, I said, forgetting how awful it is to try to sleep in a space not much bigger than your butt on the never-been-cleaned floor of the packed-to-the-rafters train. My back made me promise we’d never take a standing ticket ever again. We’ll see if the cheapskate in me obliges.

So, I arrived in Xīníng, my first time at the train station here, at 7 A.M. on the dot. I walked a quarter mile to the bus station, ran the last little bit to catch the departing number 5, and arrived at the familiar and comfortable Lete Youth Hostel an hour later.

You know what was the best part of my “second day awake”? I ate another one of Lete’s pizzas (that wasn’t the best part!), and a couple hours later I unexpectedly passed “a little” gas. Why is that so awesome? I’ve learned it’s the definitive sign the diarrhea has passed.

Location:Kunlun Middle Road,Xining,China

Land Cruisers Here, There, Everywhere!

Wed, 28 Nov 2012 07:42:54 -0500

I really thought I would find a truck all the way to Xīníng today. If I’ve learned anything from hitchhiking, however, it’s that you can never guess (correctly) what’s going to happen. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve turned around to check for brake lights from a car I was certain would stop and when I turned back around I discover a different car has stopped. It’s the strangest thing, but I’m always off by one car!

I started out just after sunrise today. Thankfully it was right in the neighborhood of freezing. I had expected it to be closer to 20 degrees (Fahrenheit). 30-ish was a pleasant surprise. Then, with about 40 pounds on my back, I walked for seventy minutes to where the G315 joins back up with a bit of a beltway around Ruòqiāng. I thought that would be the luckiest spot.

At least two dozen trucks passed me on the way to my chosen spot. I think one or two even had Xīníng license plates. But, still, no dice! Once I arrived at my lucky spot, though, I didn’t wait more than five minutes. Three dudes in a Land Cruiser: awesome! I could stretch my legs today.

We stopped for lunch after just an hour in the car. There was one Uyghur in the car, so we looked for a Muslim place. I thought for sure we were going to end up with noodles. Instead, though, we got one of my favorite dishes. The literal translation of the Chinese name for this dish is priceless: “big plate chicken”. That’s exactly what it is too! The broth is super flavorful and a bit thick, kind of like a stew. I love it! So delicious!

This photo is actually from my first time having 大盘鸡, in Kashgar. I didn’t take a picture of today’s big plate, and I haven’t written the other story yet, so I thought I’d use that picture here. The little dwarf plate next to the main dish is a regular-sized plate. Hopefully that gives some perspective on how massive (and awesome) this dish is.

Three hours later, 2,000 meters higher, and about 10 degrees colder, we arrived.

And “arrived” is putting it nicely! I assumed there would be some sort of town here, but, uh, not so much. There aren’t more than ten building here, half of which look to be abandoned. I’m not one to laugh out of nervousness, usually, but I mustered a few giggles when I got out of the car today. Adventure!

One of the handful of buildings was a hotel, so that was cool. Once I had that small detail (find a place where I wouldn’t freeze to death if I ended up needing to spend the night) out of the way, I walked the 20 steps back to the highway to try, once again, to find that magic truck to Xīníng. This was the first time I used the hood and face cover on my new down jacket. Wow, that made all the difference. I’m sure it was significantly below freezing, and it was quite windy. I managed to fend off the chills for 90 minutes before I decided to call it a day.

Here’s the delightful hell-scape I was treated to behind me. According to Lonely Planet, those dust clouds in the distance are from asbestos mining. Whee!

On the bright side, a car stopped and said they’re going half way to Xīníng tomorrow at 10 A.M. You can bet your bottom dollar I’ll be out there waiting by 9:30.

1,280 kilometers to go. I should be able to do it in two more days!

Location:Yītūn Bùlākè

Borderline Racist

Tue, 27 Nov 2012 09:04:28 -0500

Talking about race in the States is so taboo. You can’t even say something like “most Asians have black hair”. I mean, come on! Some statements are simply facts about race. Not every sentence that invokes race is racist.

So, how to tell the difference? Here’s a convenient litmus test for you: if you have a sentence about a given race, ask yourself if you’d feel comfortable sharing that sentence with any person of that race. If you have any reservations at all, then you’re definitely racist. If not, well, you’re probably still racist, but at least less so!

I’ve gotten bad (i.e. wrong) directions from Chinese people so many times. I began to think that being Chinese is incompatible with having a good sense of direction. Eventually, I shared this racist thought with a few of my close Chinese friends, and they totally concurred! Yes, of course, there are exceptions, but, really, on the whole, wow, watch out when you ask for directions in China!

What does all this have to do with me hitchhiking to Xīníng? Well, today I followed the advice of my Google Map and headed south out of Qiěmò until I found a spot that felt lucky. Approximately every 15 minutes (for a total of 45 minutes), someone would stop and tell me I was in the wrong spot. My Google Map showed, without a doubt, that the first hour of driving ought to be southerly. This is the worst when this happens. It’s happened before, and it’s a big decision to choose whether to trust Google Maps or the locals. The locals, you see, always want to take you to the bus station. I knew the bus station was to the north, so I was super skeptical every time someone told me I needed to go north. The third guy to stop, however, had a car, and he said he would drive me to where I needed to go (I hitchhiked to my hitchhiking spot!). I confirmed we weren’t going to the bus station (a potentially enormous waste of time), thanked him profusely, and then we were on our way.

Funny enough, we actually did stop at the bus station. I sat in the car while the dude went, I thought, to buy me a ticket. What a pleasant surprise when he came back with a giant bag of food. Sometimes you just gotta ride the wave. Stop stressing so much and let it happen.

Guess how long I waited when I got to the right spot? Yeah, like five minutes.

It was a Toyota Land Cruiser today, already at capacity with five adults and tons of luggage inside. Four people in the back seat (especially four grown men (hey, I’m a grown man!)) is never comfortable, but it’s a policy of mine never to complain about a free ride.

There were a few different people in the car, but I really only got to know the boss dude and his son. Their family owns a farm (where they grow red dates and licorice root) and a mine (I think it was a gold mine, but my Chinese “mining” vocabulary is pretty weak). We stopped at their farm for lunch, and it was such a pleasure to share a feast with them. Family-style feasts is definitely what I’ll miss most whenever I happen to say goodbye to this country.

Anyway, my driver yesterday managed to keep the speedometer under 100 miles per hour most of the time. Today, not so much! We covered 360 kilometers in under three hours, which includes an hour for lunch. Whee!

(My sign today easily ranks as ghetto-est ever! I only had one real sheet of paper left, and I wanted to save that for a real emergency. I asked the hotel yesterday for a few sheets of paper, and they essentially gave me a sheet of tracing paper. This stuff wasn’t going to survive even the slightest breeze. So, I taped this flimsy sheet to my one good sheet of paper; and, voilà, two became one (later to become two again). Yes, you can call me MacGyver!)

Arriving in Ruòqiāng around 3 P.M., I decided it was worth attempting to find a truck heading all the way to Xīníng, still 1,500 kilometers away. I walked 20 minutes until I found a lucky-looking spot, wrote up a new sign, and began to wait. Three and a half hours later? No dice.

No problem! There’s probably only one or two trucks per day making the route I’m attempting. Tomorrow, I’ll head for the town (with a five-character-long name (who knows how that’s going to fit on a single sheet of paper!)) right on the border between Xīnjiāng and Qīnghǎi. It’s taken me nearly a month to snake my way around one of China’s largest provinces. Tomorrow, I hope to bid adieu (perhaps a là prochaine is more appropriate) to China’s “Western Frontier” and return to the high altitude, (now) frozen tundras of Qīnghǎi.

Location:Ruòqiāng

喀什

Mon, 26 Nov 2012 08:18:58 -0500

Sorry, once again, for the out-of-order storytelling. I was in Kashgar for ten days just before Hotan. I rarely stay in one place for that long, but it was a mixture of being sick(-ish), needing to take it slow for a bit, and meeting truly wonderful friends.

I met five bicyclists (among other awesome people) there, and let’s just say, for the sake of brevity, they’re all on long journeys (10,000+ kilometers). I think I might hop on a bike myself next year, once the weather warms back up. There are three reasons why: first, I love bicycling (isn’t that reason enough?); second, I want to hit up some spots that aren’t otherwise easily accessible; third, and this one is a big one for me, I want to stop talking about reducing my carbon footprint and actually reduce my carbon footprint (it’s kind of ironic that talking about reducing your carbon footprint literally increases it!).

Oh, right, I went off on that tangent because I wanted to say that I almost bought a bike in Kashgar. I had my pick of routes and partners, all experienced and awesome people. In the end, however, it was a touch too much risk for me. You see, Kashgar is the westernmost metropolis in China. It would have taken me a month just to bike my way back out of Xīnjiāng (the province where Kashgar is located). By then, it would have been the end of the year (i.e. even colder!), and there wouldn’t have been many places along the way to change my mind about bicycling. Next year, for sure!

Kashgar, though, was amazing. It’s the center of Uyghur culture in China, and you can feel it. Your Mandarin isn’t going to do you much good here!

What remains of the real old city is absolutely stunning. I’ve never seen anything like it in the world. Clay bricks and mud fashioned into humble abodes haphazardly piled several stories high. Pure, beautiful, organic chaos!

You approach via an old-looking (more on this in a bit) bridge:

From up close, you don’t get as good a sense of how chaotically the residences and rooms are arranged inside. The picture below is quite pedestrian because I’m too low. The view from the bridge above is better, but it’s too far away (perhaps it’s finally time to start using a real camera; zoom would be awesome!).

The next photo, though, captures the character of these adobe abodes pretty well. Look how many stories there are! The doors and windows are so randomly placed! Why are there so many different types of bricks! You can feel the history spilling out of these walls!

Just fantastic! My enthusiasm, however, was quickly abated. As I walked back through the other parts of the “old town”, I realized they weren’t old at all. They’ve been rebuilt. So many of the actual old buildings are presently being torn down to make room for the new, old buildings.

And then there’s the People’s Square, an enormous concrete square with a giant statue of Mao. Nothing could be more out of place here, and you can’t help but think they “paved paradise and put up a parking lot”! It nearly brought me to tears to think what has been lost here.

I can’t say whether Uyghur culture is better than the Hàn’s, or vice versa, but it’s about respect. Each person ought to be able to live the life he or she desires; respect tempers that freedom ever so slightly. Respect means that your freedom can’t impinge on the freedom of others. I can live my life however I want, with the exception that I can’t tell you how to live your life.

That giant “parking lot” in the center of town? I don’t know, man.

Location:Kāshí

The Road to Las Vegas

Mon, 26 Nov 2012 04:11:31 -0500

I almost gave up this morning. My hands were frozen, and there weren’t many cars heading east (even though there were tons of cars coming from the east).

It wasn’t the longest I’ve ever waited (I only waited 80 minutes (the longest was five hours)), but it was definitely the coldest: about 25 degrees Fahrenheit and a little breezy. I saw a handful of cars pass with the magic “新A” license plates (the Chinese character tells you the province the car is registered in, and the first letter tells you the city), but none of them were interested in being amused by a foreigner for a few hours, I suppose. And then, just when I was seriously considering calling it a day, a small Buick slowly approached. Its license plate? 新A!

It was just a single dude in the car, heading back home to Qiěmò. I learned he was only a year older than me, but he’s already been married for seven years, and he’s got a six year old son. He sells cell phones (not sea shells by the sea shore), and he told me he’s never been outside his own province. I always feel guilty hearing that, especially as a response to me saying I’m a third of the way through visiting every province in China.

He asked the standard questions. Where am I from? How old am I? What kind of work do I do? How much does an iPhone cost in America? Then he told me he likes the Rambo movies, and he asked if it’s true there are a lot of guns in America. Yes, there are!

I’ve got to say that visiting the Gobi Desert is a must-do. The colors, and lack of color, are stunning. Camels are my new favorite animal. Watching the mirages dance across the horizon is mesmerizing. And the sand dunes are beautiful beyond words; their subtle gradients, shadows, and textures are infinitely varied, ephemeral, and endless. We simply don’t have this type of desert back in the States.

I told my driver that the road today reminded me of the road to Las Vegas: straight through the desert as far as the eye can see. You struggle to keep the speedometer under 100 miles an hour as the roads are so effortless to drive. You can see there are no hazards for at least the next mile or two, plenty of time to slow the car from its hurried pace. The only difference between this, the G315, and the road to Las Vegas? This one goes through a yellow desert whereas that one goes through an orange one. Well, that, and this road doesn’t go to Las Vegas!

Location:Qiěmò

3 Cars, 300 Kilometers

Sun, 25 Nov 2012 09:19:35 -0500

I said yesterday that my journey back to Xīníng ought to be about 2,000 kilometers. I discovered this morning that I had only underestimated by 21.85%.

I’m committed to making this journey all by hitchhiking. I’ve been in my fair share of buses and trains over the last month, mostly due to laziness, but today I was reminded why I began hitchhiking in the first place. Annika and Roberto reminded me too! The slogan for their journey is that travel is a way to increase social empathy. Social empathy means you’ve got to meet the locals, and there’s no better way to meet the locals than hitchhiking.

For me, today was a fairly ordinary hitchhiking experience, but perhaps it will be enlightening to share the details of how it went down.

8:30 A.M.: Wake up before the sun rises to pack up all my crap. The earlier you start, the more likely you’ll arrive before the sun goes down.

9:30 A.M.: Check out of the hotel and head for the bus line I discovered the day before has a stop near the highway.

10:00 A.M.: Walk the last few kilometers to the highway.

10:30 A.M.: Convince myself I’ve found a lucky spot, pull out the sign, and start waiting.

10:45 A.M.: Explain to the first car that stops that, yes, it is possible to catch a ride for free. Walk 100 meters back to my lucky spot and make sure I’m holding the sign upright.

11:00 A.M.: Attempt (successfully) to stuff my big bag into the small Ford that stopped to offer me a ride to who knows where. Next, attempt to communicate in Chinese with a car full of Uyghurs.

12:00 P.M.: Arrive who knows where and attempt (successfully) to stop the Uyghurs from buying me a bus ticket to Yútián. Pull out the sign again and wait.

12:15 P.M.: Hop in the car with a 46 year-old whose Mandarin was quite good. Strike up a conversation (he’s been a police officer nearly as long as I’ve been alive), learn what this part of China was like 30 years ago, and enjoy the ride.

1:30 P.M.: Get dropped off at the bus station (Chinese people don’t really understand hitchhiking; they always assume you just don’t know where the bus station is!). Walk a few kilometers to the edge of Yútián (trying to hitch a ride from the city center never bears fruit).

2:00 P.M.: Write a new sign, pretend like I know what’s going on, and wait.

2:30 P.M.: Hop in a small truck with two amusing dudes, one Hàn Chinese, the other Uyghur. Get the pleasantries out of the way: I’m 29, from America, like rock climbing. Then I get a lesson on Chinese-Uyghur relations.

3:30 P.M.: Try to stay awake! It’s been ages since I’ve spoken this much Mandarin in a single day.

4:00 P.M.: Arrive in Mínfēng, get treated to dinner.

4:30 P.M.: Look for a hotel. The first one is “full”, an off-putting way of saying they don’t take foreigners. I walk across the street and find a place for 70 RMB a night.

5:30 P.M.: Take a nap. There’s no power at the hotel, and I’m really quite exhausted from speaking Mandarin all day.

7:30 P.M.: Respond to some emails (“I’m alive!”) and feel guilty about how much I really need to do laundry. N.B.: Didn’t actually do laundry.

8:30 P.M.: Write.

It’s amazing how basic my needs are right now. You know what I’d really love? To find a truck going all the way to Xīníng! That’s it; that’s all I need right now. Fingers crossed for tomorrow.

Location:Mínfēng

和田

Sat, 24 Nov 2012 19:39:27 -0500

So many stories to tell from the last two months (and some from even longer ago!). But, as I’ve said before, my simple goal is to experience it during the day and then write about it that night. And, miraculously, after a long day today, I found the motivation to write.

I’m currently in Hotan, heading back towards Níngxià via the Southern Silk Highway. I think today will be the last truly interesting destination for a while. To tell you the truth, I’m kind of dreading the next ten days; I’ve got to work my way back east about 2,000 kilometers (maybe more). It’s fairly desolate out here in China’s “New Frontier” (Xīnjiāng), and Qīnghǎi isn’t much better. Don’t get me wrong; these places are unique in China, and I love them both. It’s just time to return to where they speak Mandarin and the interesting destinations aren’t all 1,000 kilometers apart.

Today, actually, was the most productive day I’ve had in two months. When you’re poor, you learn to make the most of your time when it’s expensive. The hotel here in Hotan is 100 RMB (about 20 USD) a night, so I decided I could only afford one day here.

I started fairly early, wanting to hit up the traditional carpet factory first. My sources told me I could take either bus line 5 or 10, but I should note that line 5 gets you much closer. I took line 10 and wound up wandering around for over an hour trying to find the
dìtǎn chǎng. Just trying to find someone who spoke Mandarin was a challenge in itself. Eventually an auntie, who I was certain couldn’t speak Mandarin, sorted me out, in Mandarin.

I was worried the factory might be closed due to the season (believe me, it’s already winter here, regardless of what the calendar says). When I first arrived, they did indeed appear to be running on a skeleton crew.

The lighting was perfect in the wool washing room, not a soul around:

I found this āyí in a small weaving room. The dudes in the background were checking the colors of the wool to be used in their custom design. How incredible is that? You can bring a picture to this factory, and they’ll craft a carpet by hand to match your design.

I can’t imagine doing this kind of work for more than five minutes. It’s extremely tedious and time consuming. Every single fiber is woven by hand. Every single strand needs to be color matched to the original design. I’d say it took about 20 minutes to complete a single row of the carpet above.

There are only three tools (pictured below) used to weave the carpets. The knife thing in the middle also has a needle tool attached. The needle is used to grab a strand or two of the thicker skeleton fibers. The artist then ties a strand of colored wool to the skeleton fibers, and finally drops down the knife tool to trim the colored fibers approximately to length. The comb is used to pack down a row of fibers once they’re woven. Finally, the giant scissors (I want a pair!) are used to trim the row to length.

It’s just incredible the amount of time, patience, and artistry this process requires!

I was nearly satisfied after watching this one āyí weave a single carpet for half an hour. I was on my way out when I discovered that the factory was in fact not operating on a skeleton crew!

Nearly a hundred artists crafting dozens of carpets: here was the heart of the operation!

It’s embarrassing to admit, but I’m actually a bit of a vanilla guy. Vanilla’s my favorite flavor, and monochromatic is my favorite color scheme. Here’s the carpet that struck me as most beautiful:

I wasn’t sure I would have time for my full itinerary after wasting so much time finding the carpet factory, but I discovered I was already half way to the silk factory. Unfortunately, they were essentially closed for the winter, but I still managed to get a tour. I’ll have to go back, though, to see them boiling the larvae pods. That process is totally unique and absurd. I’ve just got to see it for myself one day!

There’s something special about silk, though. It shines and shimmers. It’s utterly gorgeous. Unfortunately, it’s a little too “rainbow sherbet” for this “vanilla” guy, so I’m not one for buying silk. Admiring its beauty, however, is universal.

The fabrics and scarves they had for sale were pedestrian, in my opinion, but the silk carpets, phew, incredible! Their shine renders them practically holographic. You’ve got to see them for yourself. Bring a suitcase full of money, however, if you’re interested in taking one home!

Last stop: the Sunday Market. Yeah, yeah, it’s Saturday. Why hit up the Sunday Market on Saturday? Well, I think “Sunday Market” is just an old (“vestigial”, if you will) name, from a time, perhaps, when the market was only on Sundays. Nowadays, the market bustles every day of the week. And “bustles” is an understatement. I think this was the most chaotic, crazy, confusing, and utterly overwhelming experience I’ve had in China.

It’s impossible to get a mental map of this market; you simply weave your way indoors and out, avoiding places you’ve already seen until you think you’ve seen it all. There’s fruit, furnaces, silk, shoes, coal, carpets, and absolutely everything in between.

I had to snap the photo below. It definitely qualifies as “the photo that’s most unlike being there” I’ve ever taken. The spot where I took this was actually indoors. I snapped this photo just after two motorcycles whizzed by me (yes, indoors!). Behind me there was a fried foods stall splattering oil all over the place. In front, yup, that’s silk! Chaos! Delightful, overwhelming, wouldn’t-change-a-single-thing chaos!

Location:Hétián

Pierogi

Sat, 24 Nov 2012 06:13:21 -0500

Sometimes you travel halfway around the globe, literally 12 timezones away (it’s easy to know what time it is back home!), and you travel to find something new, but, in reality, all you really find is yourself.

Occasionally, people ask me about my ethnic heritage. And I wince at my reply, “I don’t know, a mix of European countries, mostly Eastern”. That’s it? I might as well just say, “The Caucasus Mountains”, i.e., the obvious!

The only “ethnic” thing that my family still has is pierogi. I think it’s why I’m so addicted to Chinese buns and dumplings! A pieróg is essentially a potsticker, but with a thicker skin (literally, not metaphorically!). Look what I found in Gānzī (uh, the middle-of-nowhere China) the other day:

The only thing that was different about these from the ones my mom used to make was that these had meat. Usually pierogi just have a potato (maybe also cheese) filling.

Ah, that reminds me of some Tibetan food I had in Lǐtáng. It was a similar type of fried bun, but the filling was simple potato. That didn’t remind me of pierogi, though, because the skin wasn’t fried to the point of being crunchy, like these in Gānzī were and like pierogi are.

Incredible!

Even the way the dude cooked these was similar to how I remember my mom making them. You just stand there, for like 10 minutes, mostly listening to the oil bubbling, waiting for the perfectly golden brown skin, the perfectly crunchy skin.

Needless to say I wolfed these down. The soup, however, went pretty much uneaten. I think the mystery meat was some sort of intestine, and it gave the soup a bit of a poopy smell (no kidding). I couldn’t bear it, especially next to the deliciousness that was the bun-dumpling-pierogi mashup.

Location:Gānzī

炉霍

Sat, 24 Nov 2012 06:05:22 -0500

Five minutes into today’s journey, I realized the G317 is almost as bad a road as the G318. Recall that one segment of the G318, only 150 kilometer’s worth, took 24 hours to cross. So today’s goal of 350 kilometers was a bit unreasonable.

I made it approximately 100 kilometers. The journey took six hours, about an hour of which we spent stuck in a mud pit. Crazy! But my hitchhiking hosts kept a positive attitude the whole day, and it was quite enjoyable nonetheless. They were welders traveling to Lùhuó, a middle-of-nowhere town between Gānzī and Má’ěrkāng, both themselves middle-of-nowhere towns.

Oh, I learned (well, technically “remembered” (thanks, Emil!)) a new skill today. This has happened to me before: the door handles in the back of the car are either broken or child proofed, and I can’t let myself out of the car! It’s a little sketchy to think that you’re “locked” in the car with strangers, but that’s part of the experience sometimes, I suppose. Anyway, I was locked in the car today for an hour while my hosts attempted to dig us out of the mud pit. I felt absolutely ridiculous sitting in the car while they labored away, but the left-side door handle was broken away completely, and the right-side door handle was present but purely decorative. Then, a light bulb moment! Roll down the window and open the door from the outside! A moment later, I suggested that we ask the driver of the big truck 10 meters away to give us a tug. Why hadn’t anyone thought of this before? My experience in a two-wheel-drive vehicle on the G318 was paying off here, in a two-wheel-drive vehicle on the G317.

Adventure!

I couldn’t help but think to myself that I was sure glad I had gotten rid of my schedule a week or two ago. Had I needed to get to Má’ěrkāng today, I would have felt anxious and panicky all day. The only moment of nerves and panic today was when my hosts dropped me off. Um, now what? I’m in the middle of nowhere, and the Internet has never heard of this city. 怎么办？What to do? Well, I suppose I could only do what I normally do: pretend to know what’s going on. Just start walking. Wait to make eye contact with someone who looks friendly. “Where’s the bus station?”, I ask. There’s got to be places to stay near the bus station. Then, near the bus station, “Is there a cheap place to stay nearby?”. Bingo! Five minutes later my bag has a place to sit while I go back out to explore and find something to eat.

I finally find the bus station and, out of curiosity, ask about the bus to Má’ěrkāng. They laugh. 没有！There’s no bus to Má’ěrkāng. Wonderful! This isn’t the first time there’s no bus going to my next destination. Panic? No. I’ve hitchhiked nearly 10,000 miles at this point. Someone will be heading in my direction. I take it in stride and head for food.

I spot the undeniable sign of 包子, buns, across the street: the metal baskets stacked high. I don’t so much enjoy eating “dishes” by myself (they’re best enjoyed family style (the only way in China!) with a group of friends), so I usually end up eating what Chinese people would consider “snacks” when I’m by myself. Chinese food is endlessly varied, and if I could only eat 包子 for the rest of my life, I would eat something different every day.

These guys were surprisingly mushy, so much so that I needed to ask the shopkeeper whether the skin was made of rice or wheat. He confirmed it was made of wheat, but I was still skeptical. The best buns have a fairly dry (to the touch) skin, but it’s still moist. I also like quite airy, “light” buns. These were dense and mushy, and I think most Chinese people would have considered them a failure. I enjoyed them despite their technical shortcomings. You see, stews, mushy mishmashes of edible stuff, are my favorite. They’re comfort food for me. It’s just pure flavor, unencumbered by texture. And with respect to flavor, these were 不错, “not bad”.

Also note the red dish on the right. It was some manner of spicy, pickled radish. This is exactly the sort of thing that makes each meal unique in China. I’m used to getting a spicy sidecar with my 包子 in Sìchuān (the spice capital of China), but this was my first spicy, pickled radish sidecar.

Also note the 开水, boiled water. I realize that hot water isn’t the best remedy for eating too much spicy; but, trust me, it’s better than nothing. When the Sìchuān spice is burning your mouth, you’ll appreciate having the ability to switch to the burning sensation of boiling water. Yes, just trust me, it’s an upgrade!

Here’s the view I took in walking out of the city the next morning.

Notice the sun just starting to illuminate the hills in the background of the photo above. There are a couple of superstitions I’ve adopted since I started hitchhiking a few months ago, one of which is to start as early as the sun comes up. This gives you the best shot at arriving before the sun goes down.

Here’s some local architecture:

Location:Lùhuó

Happy Thanksgiving

Sat, 24 Nov 2012 05:48:17 -0500

One of the best things about travel is getting to know another culture. Chinese culture is both broad and deep, so broad and deep, in fact, that I forgot travel ought to be about sharing culture; i.e. it goes both ways.

I met the most fantastic couple in Kashgar, Annika from Germany and Roberto from Mexico (check out their amazing journey here). I mentioned, just in passing, that it was Thanksgiving, and Annika immediately suggested that we have Thanksgiving dinner together. What a fantastic idea! I’m embarrassed I didn’t think of it myself.

The only other time I’ve experienced Thanksgiving abroad was during my year in France. All thirty of us got together and ate a feast (including turkey) at a nice restaurant.

This time it was up to us to gather the goods and cook. Finding a turkey was going to be an impossible task, but randomly, and for the first time in China, I happened upon a few when I was out walking.

What an incredible coincidence! Even if I’d found one killed and cleaned, however, Chinese people rarely have ovens, so I’m not sure how we would have cooked it.

Anyway, we found some delicious roast chicken (that’s basically turkey, right?) and cooked up some mashed potatoes, a salad, and a few other dishes. Me, the only Thanksgiving veteran, I ate double what anyone else ate. I felt uncomfortably full afterwards, a true Thanksgiving tradition. Unfortunately, I had been too lazy to offer to cook earlier in the day, so it was only fair I did the dishes.

Who would have thought? Thanksgiving in China!

How was your turkey day?

Location:Kāshí

稻城亚丁

Sat, 20 Oct 2012 07:15:01 -0400

“It’s snowing”, Sean said. “No”, I thought to myself. But, a few minutes later, it was undeniable; the euphemistic “wintery mix” had turned definitively to snow. We had only about two kilometers to go, out of 35, but we both thought we already had trench foot, and neither one of us wanted frostbite. Needless to say, I finally know, for sure, what gaiters are for! I’ll be getting a pair before heading back out to “undeveloped” (we would say “backcountry”) China.

I should rewind a bit.

I met Sean at Mama’s Hostel here in Dàochéng, moments before I was headed to bed. He was looking for a partner to go hiking with in Yàdīng the next day. I had also come to make the pilgrimage to the triplet of peaks at this UNESCO World Heritage Site. I had seen pictures from some friends who picked me up hitchhiking, and I just had to see the majesty for myself. I didn’t hesitate when Sean said he was planning an overnight, camping trip. I’ve been carrying all my gear around with me, and I’ve been itching to get out and sleep for free.

The bus drive from Dàochéng to Yàdīng was supposed to take three hours but ended up taking four because of frequent bathroom and snack breaks and stopping for photo ops. Here was our first view of some 雪山, snowy mountains. You can just barely see some white peaks in the middle of this photograph.

And then we got closer, and the view was even more stunning. This was the mountain, the tallest of the three holy mountains here, that we were planning to spend two days circling.

Can you spot the two Chinese characters, 亚丁, in the light colored grass in the photo below? It’s subtle, but I found it quite a beautiful welcome to the park.

The first day, we were on trails capable of handling motor vehicle traffic, which is always less than ideal when you’re trying to get out to the backcountry. Look at these cairns; they’re by far the biggest I’ve ever seen! You can’t miss the trail here, eh? (Sean is Canadian; I might have picked up a bit of an accent.)

This next photo is nothing, but I love the high contrast; the lighting was perfect. A slightly overcast sky gives your photos so much more interesting color and that all-important contrast (one of my philosophies in life is that you cannot see with contrast (what I’m getting at metaphorically is that good cannot exist without evil)). I spent the better half of three days looking at stuff like this!

This enormous cairn marked a trail cutting off to a Buddhist temple. It seemed mostly abandoned, but it was a welcome shelter when the wintery mix started to fall during our hike out. We passed up the temple on our way in because we were more interested in getting some mileage (I should say kilometer-age) under our belts. Note the prayer flags heading off right in the photo below.

Just after the temple, the scenery opened up to reveal this beautiful grassland area, complete with crisscrossing, idyllic streams.

Here’s one of the lesser peaks in the background of this next photo.

We didn’t know if this boardwalk went where we wanted to go, so we ended up walking on the road just beside it instead. We were compelled, however, to hop down for a bit to take in the view and test the water’s temperature (it couldn’t have been more than a degree above freezing!).

Then, for a few kilometers, there was an actual paved road; you see, Chinese tourists, usually people with money, don’t want to walk unless they really have to! The culture here is more that you pay a high park entrance fee and then get escorted or even carted around to predetermined points. The national park experience here shares almost nothing in common with what we have in the West. And it’s a shame, because Nature has so much more to offer than what you can see out the side of a elongated golf cart!

Here’s Sean enjoying a rest, you need them often at 4,500 meters, while I catch up. I hadn’t hiked in too long! I was so out of shape.

It looked like most of this mountain had been turned on its side. Look for the sedimentary lines running vertically. Don’t mess with Nature! She’ll turn your mountains upside down.

The photo above was taken from the spot where we camped the first night. The photo below, also sporting beautifully ridged rock, was taken from the same spot but in the opposite direction.

Here’s proof that we camped!

We didn’t make it nearly as far as we’d hoped the first day, but it wasn’t by our own decision. Around 3:15, we arrived at a hut where you could hire a horse. It turned out this same spot was also a bit of a security checkpoint, and we were informed that we couldn’t walk past this point after 3:00. What! It was 3:15, and no one had told us about this earlier! I threw a temper tantrum but to no avail. We were forced to camp out there and wait until daybreak.

After an extremely strenuous, 2 hour, uphill hike the next morning, we were rewarded with the view of Milk Lake.

Stunning!

Even complete with a classic Chinglish sign.

This, the third of the triplet of peaks, was being shy.

But she showed herself for just a moment. If you don’t know what a glacier is, by the way, here’s a great example of one. Look for the big blob of snow and ice hanging out in the valley of this mountain’s side. Icebergs live in the ocean. Glaciers are mountain dwellers.

The tallest peak should be visible on the left of the panorama below, but she was even more shy. At over 6,000 meters tall, you could be shy if you wanted to too!

The second night’s dwelling (an unplanned second night (but the result of the unexpected 3:00 rule (which was only a problem because we stopped so many times on the bus getting to Yàdīng))) was a bit more hospitable-looking. But the two of us found it impossible to light a fire here. The first night’s fire wasn’t a problem at all. The second night, however, we were wetter and could have really used the heat and dry smoke, but we could not get it started. It was a challenge even to burn toilet paper; there was no way we were going to get anything more substantial ablaze! We don’t know if it was the altitude, the super foggy air, the cold. Whatever it was, it was no match for our experience.

The next morning I took one of the best photos of my life. This is what I like to call “the sun making love to the mountains”. It only happens in the mountains, obviously, and only during the sunrise and sunset hours, “the golden hours”. The lighting is so dramatic, and the clouds are just having fun dancing their way across the peaks and valleys.

The last day, we had to hike back up to about 4,700 meters for a second high pass. It was torture. Now I understand why mountaineers use oxygen in the mountains. I couldn’t take more than a few paces uphill before stopping to do that over exaggerated, hyperventilation breathing just to catch my breath.

This last photo pretty much perfectly captures the mood at the top. It was almost raining, very cold, windy, and just generally drab. I think the prayer flags were supposed to lighten the mood a bit, but they just looked drab too.

Finally, we had a three hour descent down 1,000 meters. We saw another patch or two of grassland, a redwood forest, and a peek or two of the peak we had spent the last three days circling.

The weather was too bad on the hike out to take any pictures, but I’m happy to say that we both made it out in one piece, or, one piece each. Neither one of us ever offered to carry the other; our twenty kilo bags were heavy enough.

Location:Dàochéng Yàdīng

The Desert

Mon, 15 Oct 2012 11:33:13 -0400

I took the bus (actually two buses) from Línxià to Xīníng today. Yesterday, I hitchhiked for nine hours, and speaking Chinese for that long is quite exhausting for me. I wasn’t up for telling my story again today, so I decided to take the bus.

It turns out I probably should have taken the bus yesterday and hitchhiked today instead of vice versa. I would have had to wait until tomorrow if I wanted to catch the direct bus from Línxià to Xīníng (that was the universe telling me to hitchhike, undoubtedly), so I decided to catch a bus first to Lánzhōu, perhaps the biggest city in the region, and then from Lánzhōu to Xīníng. The problem was that both of these were relatively short distance trips, so the bus drivers were acting more like local bus drivers than long distance drivers. That means they would stop every few dozen kilometers to pick up and drop off passengers. And we would wait at each stop until the bus filled back up. I don’t think I travelled much more than 300 kilometers today (all on highways), but it took more than eight hours. Hitchhiking probably would have achieved the same result in less than four.

I hate taking pictures through bus windows, but I am so excited to finally be in the desert that I had to snap a photo or two to share with you right away.

They must be practicing “modern, industrial farming techniques” in these here parts because their fields are nothing but sun-bleached rocks. Check out the field in the foreground right of the image below.

I’m certain that I will see more of the following in this region, but I was shocked how much of it I saw today along the highway. Evidently, the locals used to live in caves carved into the mountainsides. Most of the caves I saw today were too far away to take meaningful photos, and most were just holes in the side of a mountain. Check out the specimen below, though. Incredible! I can’t wait to see more of this.

Also, for anyone out there looking to explore something that expats don’t seem to know about (i.e. Googling the term 乐都 (Lèdū) returned nothing interesting), I would suggest checking out Lèdū in Qīnghǎi province. Even from several kilometers away, I could see that the locals, perhaps a long time ago, had done some significant shaping of their mountains. It looked, from my far away vantage point, like they had carved enormous columns into the mountainside, perhaps there are equally impressive caves inside to be explored.

Location:Xīníng

Pizza

Mon, 15 Oct 2012 11:16:14 -0400

It feels like I’m cheating every time I eat Western food or use a sit toilet in China. I didn’t travel 12 time zones away to enjoy the comforts of home. Everyday there should be something “uncomfortable”. Today, for example, I passed through three bus stations. At the first one, I had to go to three ticket counters before I found the correct one. At the second one, I spent 10 minutes wandering around trying to find my transfer. At the destination station (that rhyme reminds me of “conjunction junction”), I wandered around for 20 minutes trying to find the local bus to take me to my hostel. It was all a pain in the ass (perhaps the universe was trying to tell me that hitchhiking really is my calling). But as my G318 friend told me, it was an “adventure”! The views today made it all worth it. I’ve finally arrived in the desert; I’ve been slowly working my way here for two months!

Anyway, I had been craving a taste of home for a couple of weeks now, so I decided to hit up the “Lonely Planet” hostel here in Xīníng (Xining Lete Youth Hostel). I use the phrase “Lonely Planet” to describe places that are cheap but touristy. I’m a traveler, not a tourist. I do, however, reserve the right to be a tourist every now and again, and today was one of those days! Usually you can meet a lot of expats at “Lonely Planet” hostels. It’s pretty much the tail end of the tourist season, though, so there aren’t many guests at all here right now. “Meeting expats” was part of why I came to this hostel; it’s been a long time since I’ve caught up with a native English speaker, but the real motivation was pizza. I really needed a pizza!

It wasn’t bad. Lots of toppings, passable bread, just slightly undercooked. It was quite large, but I gobbled it all down since it was my only meal of the day.

Location:Nanshan Road,Xining,China

Flowers

Sat, 13 Oct 2012 05:12:17 -0400

This “carnation” was the most vibrant yellow I think I’ve ever seen in nature.

There were lots of the yellow ones but only a few of the purple ones.

I don’t know how nature creates these gradients so effortlessly. The transition from orange to yellow in these flowers was incredible. Imagine if you were to try to paint this. It would take ages to recreate the subtle shift from orange to yellow, and, here, Mother Nature has taught this simple flower how to do it all by itself!

The flowers above were all at the monastery. The one below was right outside my hotel.

Location:Xiāngchéng

Wontons

Sat, 13 Oct 2012 03:08:01 -0400

Oh, wonton soup! So simple, so classic! Earlier today I passed by an empty restaurant and noticed the 老板 (lǎo bǎn), shopkeeper, making wontons. I can’t resist fresh wontons, dumplings, or steamed buns. So even though I don’t like to eat in empty restaurants, I remembered it was 3 p.m., and Chinese people don’t eat off hours; I’m sure this place would be busy a few hours later.

This first photo is nothing; it’s just wontons sitting on a metal tray; what could be more ordinary, pedestrian? But, it’s beautiful! I love this photo!

I think this was the first time I said “no spicy” instead of my normal “spicy” or “a little spicy”, and it felt as if I committed a bit of a sacrilege being that I’m in Sìchuān at the moment, China’s spiciest food region. And it seemed a little dull at first, I’ll grant you that, but my tongue just needed a moment to adjust to the subtler flavors of spicey-less (not spiceless) food. It was just your basic pork wontons, but in China even your basic pork wontons are quite delicious. Only 8 kuài, about $1.20 U.S.

Location:Xiāngchéng

Hot Potatoes

Sat, 13 Oct 2012 03:01:32 -0400

Morgan told me she tried these while we were traveling separately during my first hitchhiking adventure about two months ago. If I recall correctly, she said hers were too spicy, and she didn’t get to enjoy them.

These looked a bit tamer, and I just couldn’t say “no” when I passed by this snack shop on the way back down from the monastery. What can I say? I’m from America; I love me some potatoes!

Luckily these were only 中辣 (zhōng là), which means “medium spicy”. It’s 特辣 (tè là), “especially spicy”, that you need to watch out for.

I quite enjoyed them, especially considering they were only one kuài, about 15 cents of a U.S. dollar.

I can’t remember if I’ve said this before on my blog, but, even if I have, it’s worth reiterating. Chinese people are experts at cooking vegetables! In America, I like to eat vegetables, but here I love to eat vegetables, because they’re always perfectly cooked. It’s hard to explain what that means without enumerating qualities for each vegetable individually (that’s exactly what makes “cooking vegetables perfectly” in general so difficult), but here’s what it means for this dish: the potatoes were perfectly boiled (I think) so that all the little crinkle cut wedges were soft but still firm enough not to fall apart when they were tossed with the spices or when you jabbed them with a toothpick to eat them. Maybe that sounds like nothing, but, I’m telling you, I’ve never cooked potatoes so perfectly in my life, and these were 15 cent street food, not French Laundry pretense!

Location:Xiāngchéng

乡城

Sat, 13 Oct 2012 00:15:40 -0400

Xiāngchéng has the most beautiful, bleached white cubicle abodes stacked high up on one side of a valley. It’s a valley which will soon see its water level rise as they’re building a hydroelectric damn just a bit downstream of the city. Apart from the white houses, there isn’t much to see here, with the exception of a newly built Tibetan monastery about 30 minutes’ walk north from the bus station.

15 minutes’ walking gets you to the spot in the photo below. You see on the right hand side of the photo that you walk until the buildings stop; note that the road on the left hand side of the photo (the same road, it’s a 180 degree panorama) doesn’t have anymore signs of civilization. I took this panorama because it was the best view of the valley I’d found yet; I didn’t know what I’d be treated to later. It’s here, directly behind the spot where I stood to take this photo, that you begin to mount a dirt trail.

Another 15 minutes later, you arrive here, the main gate of the monastery compound. These perfect little white cubes are where the monks live.

I imagine in another year, the wood below that is now a blank canvas will be ornately painted; though, it’s also quite beautiful to see it in this state. Note the stairs peeking through the doorway.

Here they are in their full glory, no handrails, no intermediary stops, just a tumble all the way back down to the bottom if you fall! The main temple is directly at the top of the stairs, partially hidden, in this photo, by the lens flare.

Here it is from the front! Note the beautiful, blue sky. This is what I love so much about these high parts of China; the sky is so pure.

And again from the side.

Once in the courtyard, you’re greeted by the largest of the temples.

I saw a door off to the side and had to go explore, even before exploring the main temple. Look at this view! You can see all three temples in this photo, the amazingly blue sky, and the valley below. Perfect!

Here is what seemed to be a smaller temple down and off to the side. I’m so glad I wandered down here. Inside was the most incredible, enormous Buddha that looked to be made from copper.

This temple was under heavy construction. It was an absolutely incredible sight to see it in this state!

Then I wandered over to another, much smaller temple and met a man from Lhasa who said Xiāngchéng is his spiritual home; Lhasa is his place of business. I was glad to meet him because he taught me a bit about the different temples. I walked back down to the entrance with him, and he offered me a ride back down to the city. I turned it down because I still hadn’t seen the main temple. But we exchanged phone numbers in order to meet tomorrow. He said we could go back up in the morning to get a closer look at the “copper” Buddha. Today we weren’t allowed to get too close because of the construction.

I don’t know why it didn’t cross my mind to try out the HDR functionality of the iPhone’s camera when I took this next photo. I noticed immediately that it was going to be impossible to expose properly, but the HDR solution just didn’t come to mind at the time. Anyway, it’s the swastika that I was trying to properly expose. I’ve seen these all over in Buddhist areas, but I’m glad I waited until now to snap a picture. Incredible!

The main temple turned out to be more of a prayer hall, and I thought its holy relics were less interesting. Here’s what I mean by ornately painted. All the exposed wood in the previous photos will eventually look like this:

One last view back towards the valley. It’s my best photo of the white cubicles. Note the mountains off in the distance still have a bit of snow on them even now at the end of summer.

Location:Xiāngchéng