Europe Blog

Please have a look at my Europe travel blog at www.matttraveleurope.blogspot.com

Home at last!

Hi all, well we made it home, much to the chagrin of the baggage checkers, as we definitely had over twice the limit. Due to charm, grumbling and pleading we got it home without paying extra. Customs though, had my name come up on their system to give me (therefore Lemon also) a FULL check. So of course they mucked about through every bag, asking questions about whether we were mules, if we had illegal stuff, the whole works! When they asked about whether we were importing drugs internally, I think they saw our green expressions at the thought of cavity searches, and they backed off. Their sniffing machine detected heroin, they said, and it got a positive result back THREE TIMES! This confused us as much as it did them, but after discussions and more mucking around they sent us off with all our stuff. So two hours, and all their pay turned up nothing. And we pay for this? They tried to tell me that the stereo-type was actually accurate in which case they ought to have been right! Maybe if they checked Grandma or Granddad they would get more stuff!

Well, after all that trial, here we are happy to be home again.

Thanks for all the comments throughout the trip. Was great to get word from everyone.

My Dinner Attempt

Well, we managed to find some ingredients I thought I needed to cook for the whanau. Good Old Guangzhou had everything, as I said.
My menu was to be: braised beef in grappa sauce; couscous with capsicum and onion; tomato pasta; basil and mushroom pasta; roast chicken stuffed with appropriate herb stuffing; roast herbed crunchy potatoes; tomato and mozzarella salad; olive platter.
My first pit was the lack of good cheeses, though I picked up some passable ones in Guangzhou. Then was lack of an oven. I had to rethink all the roasted stuff into fried/boiled stuff. I didn't realise how much I'd depended on an oven for cooking.
The next was that Lemon's mum ate nothing that came from a cow or sheep, but wasn't vegetarian, so still ate fish etc. All my dairy dishes, bread dishes, beef, cheese etc had to be reconsidered so she could partake. Pesto has cheese, for instance.
Herbs are impossible to find - fresh certainly, but not any I'd heard of (at least in Chinese) so keeping an interesting flavour was a challenge.
I did passably well despite these hurdles, but who ever thinks their planned dinner is exactly perfect? The polite trying of each unfamiliar dish and the apprehensive looks gave me, though somewhat vindictive I suppose, great satisfaction as I got to introduce new and weird flavoured dishes and vigorously encourage people to eat more! Hah! That's for the dove's gizzards, gecko floss and snout broth I ate all over China!

There was plenty left over for tomorrow.

Guangzhou

This cool city is the capital of Canton. Now I expose my judgementalism and ignorance: driving through it when we first started our trip, weeks back, all one could see from the train was rise after rise of skyscraping apartment blocks, motorway, grey urban jungle with the odd grubby tea garden nestled into the concrete. I firmly decided not to visit it. But when my plans to head to Macau were vetoed, I decided to go up with Lemon and stay a couple of nights.
How I should have known that the capital of China's most affluent province (a province which has been trading with the world for centuries and in may ways represents China abroad) would be a haven of cosmopolitan, forward-thinking, on-to-it, bustling, interesting stuff! I spent a day shopping in the infamous Zhuang Yuan Markets.
These markets are not unlike being on the London Tube, at rush hour, on 'free tube' day, during the London Olympics and Fashion Centennial Fesival. The street is little wider than an alley, and even skinnier little covered alleys branch off left and right. Each of the branches hosts tiny - and I mean TINY - shops, about a quater the size of the interior of those coffee carts in Wellington. Each packed with wares. And the shoe shops had teeny stools to try on shoes upon. The shop, or rather booth, was just big enough to fit one person and the seller, very cosily. Or two good friends and the seller very akwardly. There were about fifty or more shops per branch, and perhaps a hundred branches. And every kind of thing.
The excellent thing about Guangzhou, is that (as should have been obvious to me) they have been accustomed to foro's for centuries, so no one stared! It was such a relief, it was like a holiday. Except one little girl said 'look, handsome foreigner' as she passed [translated by Lemon], but her mum tugged her away, quite rightly I suppose.

Imperial Springs

So wearisome was the massage, we had to ease off in the Imperial Hot Springs, out of the city. This top quality luxury spa resort, was just our thing. With about twenty pools of various sizes, each infused with a different mineral or herbal 'remedy', it was probably one of the flasher places I've accustomed. A splendid array of attendants salute or bow as one walks by; they help you with your every need from working the clothing locker to serving tea as you decide upon your next flavour of soakage.
A fresh towel is promptly wrapped around one as one steps from perhaps the sandalwood pool, your jandals having been arranged from the direction you kicked them off to face intended direction upon exit, for ease of donning. Tea and juices are offered as you recline into the bathing salts. Sometimes one can become too quickly accustomed to such treatment; more than once, as I'd stepped from maybe the 'rose and melon soup' pool I didn't hear the clamour of attendants rushing with a dry towel to cover my shoulder, nor did I feel said towel's cottonous warmth about me - and I was just starting to wonder why the DICKENS NOT?! - I spied a freshly folded, dry towel left discreetly on a rock, near where I had flung my used one. As darkness fell, and it became cooler, the attendants would us two towels, so my lower half should not be affected by the breeze and cause me mild discomfort.
Such were the flavours of the pools, I can't remember them all, but I particularly enjoyed the lavender, the 'hineysuckle' and the millet-wine. the colour of the waters were as varied as the flavours; now a deep maroon, now a pleasant lemon tinge, now a murky and soothing green. Each had a different healing quality, signposted on the wall, and was changed every 4 hours or so. I fought flu, strengthened muscles, invigorated skin, improved breathing, revived kidneys, cured aging and cleansed qi.
The site has been in us since the Tang dynasty, when the emperors and high officials and conco's came to bathe. The idea the resort had evidently, was to treat every guest as the emperor. Sipping tea after my hours of relaxment, freshly showered and out of my provided silk robe and shorts, it certainly felt imperial. Smiling at the bowing greeting-girls at he door, I left fully revived, ready for the embrace of the idle-induced slumber.

Salon Salubrity

My racks of frustration and boredom were greatly eased this day (excuse my air of imperiousness the following has got to my head a little). On insistence from Lemon's mum that I not be bored, myself, Lemon, her mum, her mum's mate and Driver Uncle, went to a VIP massage salon. VIP means that you get your own room (5 of us together I mean) serviced with tea and telly, and ease back on a leather lazy-boy whilst the manually skilled young girls and boys treat you to a neck and foot massage. Naturally, the opposing gender is required to service the guest, so Lemon's mum and her friend went out to find the prettiest girl for me (they make no prudish bones about that kind of thing - it's fairly obvious if someone is attractive or not, and you are quite at liberty to say so), and some handsome young gentlemen for themselves. After the neck massage, the masseu-r/sse plies one's foot with a scraping blade, then massages from foot to knee, over the course of an hour and a half. Lemon's mum had a double service, with two young gents, one massaging, one performing a pedicure. It was just the thing to wind down after a hard day of doing nothing. The cost was something like $NZ4 per hour each.

New Year

I spent this at a 'Western' restaurant with a few of the family friends. Western means the food is actually something other than pig blood, organs and chicken feet. The presiding uncle refused to use his chopsticks, I don't know whether it was because he wanted to show his knowledge of knife and fork (no, not everyone knows how to use them) or he just preferred it... I've started to find chops more easy after so long with them.
My frustration at being bossed about constantly, as is the 'way', came to its point when I decided to lean on the whiskey glass somewhat, and treated the ensemble to a top-voice rendition of 'auld lang syne'. Since they couldn't sing along, I decided that they'd like to hear three verses worth, with finale. I may have looked a monkey, but the unsettled glances as I increased my gusto was worth it.
After months of sitting quietly, I gave them all a pleasant shock.

Christmas in Macau

Macau... one of the loveliest places I've been thus far. Who could have thought? Huge skyscrapers, obscenely ostentatious casinos, hotels with their own London Royal Guard (with M16s), commie-style apartment complexes... but all these are so tastefully placed among the narrow, cobbled streets and ancient-treed avenues, old fortresses, cathedrals and twisting alleys that they actually seem to fit. The city is pretty much a big Unesco site, it is so delightful. There are not the huge multilaned roads like Hong Kong or Wellington; people stop for pedestrians; no one spits; smoking is rare. It is a perfect example of a city modernising while still retaining its charm and class.
The only thing I wasn't impressed with (apart from the high prices) was the lack of pubs! I just wanted to sit down have a beer on Christmas day, while the girls crawled the make-up shops! There was not a pub to be seen. We found a horrendously expensive karaoke bar cluster, but that was it. I'll do a more thorough scout next time.

50th birthday

We spent a day doing the utmost of time-honoured and worthy activities - stuffing around! I must say, I was starting to get a bit frustrated at the way this is such an integral part of life. For instance, you would be told to rush to meet someone, and they'd get there 40 mins late; or you'd not find out about some important event till 5 mins before while everything was trying to be organised, and you could have taken care of stuff during the day...
but anyway, Lemon's dad had his 50th birthday, which a few slings of red wine made me forget my whingesome worries. I got introduced personally to 3 tables-worth of family and guests, which the booze helped with, then the tradition is to cheers every time you take a sip and drain the glass. And you go round the tables and interrupt people to cheers when appropriate. It was actually really fun, Lemon's dad was overjoyed - he's a doc, so doesn't often booze up. He did that night! Now it's Christmas yum cha, over and over!
Hope everyone's is as good.

Literature

If my posts seem a bit surgy or melodramatic at times, it's because I've had my head in 19th century literature my whole trip. I've gone through Moby Dick, Crime & Punishment, Count of Monte Cristo and just about to embark on Treasure Island and Hunchback of Notre Dame. I'm taking the oppo to read up some "Classic Literature', and besides, they're all out of copyright and cheapest at the bookshops.

The Family Village

I've just come back from three nights in the family village. I will never complain about being stared at again. Since the beginning of my trip I've been stared at, gawped at, ogled (I think), scowled at, appraised, observed, glanced at, idly gazed at, dismissed and completely ignored. The village people have no problem staring straight at you as if you're some bizarre animal, or laughing openly whilst pointing at your strange features. A couple of old ladies came to their gates and suspiciously (their expressions were those of someone offended by a rude comment) regarded me as I was passing along. One came up at walked slowly round me with wide-eyed disbelief and skittered away in shock when I turned to look back at her.
Because you never - NEVER - get told anyone's name (or get introduced), I had to work out for myself who were the family members and who were nosy neighbours. The aunties called me down from my balcony one avo and got me to have a toot on their long, broad bamboo bong. It was some kind of finely ground cigar tobacco they were smoking, but no one told me that you weren't supposed to inhale it, so I ended up almost swooning and spraying my face with the exhaled backwash. This was to the hysterical mirth of all. For the next hit, I chose to sit down, which again caused shrieks of laughter. Lemon's parents looked 0n with suspicious amusement. Later that night, the uncles had their turn throwing rice alcohol at me; the only way to refuse a top-up here is to forcefully push the pourer's hand away and growl, so naturally I kept getting more top-ups as I thought it was rude to say no. Lemon's dad took it upon himself to say when I'd had enough, and he was probably right.
In the middle of the night I was awoken by big bursts of firecrackers, which continued spasmodically till dawn. Apparently it was the first of the lunar month celebratory custom. The next morning, Lemon's dad was preparing breakfast of one of the chickens which had been freshly killed and cooked the night before. Although offered a carving knife, his expression seemed to imply that such bourgeois, city ways (like seatbelts) were strictly unnecessary, and a pair of strong hands were much better to divide up the sorry bird. The prized "phoenix talon", ie chicken foot, he thrust my way, and the boring old "flesh not on the bone" he dumped for the latecomers and second-grade guests. I only ate a small portion, being still full of hearts, blood-curd and lung soup of the night before. I also was still a bit reeling form the rice spirit.
This was a special bottle given to me to pass the time for the preceding couple of days, and though the rice fermentation gave it a sewery smell, and it was a bit like drinking farts, but you know, 'beggars can't be' and all that; 'any port', eh?
After a few dinners like that we made our way back here to Zhuhai. It is a relief to be only 'looked at', rather than causing accidents to people riding or driving past by their staring and not looking where they're going.

Drunken Train Drama

This is long, but it's full of gross things and implied violence, so it might be worth your while... i took no pics of it so here's one more of the Old Town.

We boarded the dirtiest train in China (no, I'm not exaggerating, it has that reputation, which only fuels the reality - not because of the cabins, which are quite nice, but the habits and actions of those aboard). The toilets have scarcely a drop of flushing water. The hot water is only available in one car, so you have to fill up a flask to use. The floors are grubby. We purchased a seated ticket, hoping to sit for a while and upgrade when it got a bit cheaper. But we had seats 113 and 114 - the seating only went up to 112! So after pushing through a noisy, smoky, messy chaotic crowd only to find we had no seat! So we upgraded to a sleeper immediately. Unfortunately, it was at the exact opposite end of the train, which was now moving. So we hauled our stuff some 12 cars to the diner, upgraded our ticket then hauled the 4 or so more cars to our berth. Which turned out to be deserted, and quiet and cleanish. Why did the bag at the station say there were none left then?!

All was well until from some bumhole town boarded a young couple, been out chugging rice wine, or pig-urine liquor or something. The girl threw off her knee-high pointy boots and climbed into the bunk above us. The guy saw me and "eeeehhh, laowai....!!!" he slurred. I know that word well, it means foro (foreigner). Then he clambered up to his bunk. Such was the potency of his favoured elixir, that he decided that he and his girlfriend might lie of the same bunk, so he dangerously clambered from his to hers, while we trembled below, thinking he would tumble on us. Girl was not as excited by this arrangement however, so she clambered to his vacated bunk, again to our apprehension. This exchange happened a couple of times more, Lemon starting to bristle as does the sun-sleeping cat when an annoying kid approaches. Finally Guy slumped down and engaged in the National Cleanseful Action Of Purity - hoiking. A great big hhhhcccchhhhh (I knew what was coming, and could feel my blood beginning to boil) and PTOUI! At the sight of this phlegmatic glob of mucoid throat-pus, I let out a very irate string of oaths. This frightened them for a bit so I hoped, but the drunk are slow learners.
When it happened a second time, I shouted and berated a little louder. Lemon left in search of the train police, and Girl tried to tell the idiot to go to sleep and stop it, suggesting he use a plastic bag she proffered. I took the plastic bag and gave her to understand that she might place it over his stupid face instead. Still he didn't learn. The third gob was the most unsightly and I leapt up in a fury and told Girl (it was no use telling Stupid, he was unsensical by now) that if I saw that one more time, he would find his person pulled strongly from his eyrie and onto his pathetic head amid the muck he'd made. She gave me an expression of "don't be so dramatic", so I took her advice and sat smugly awaiting Lemon with the police. My glances doorward reminded her of this, and she began trembling in nervousness. I felt a bit sorry for her now, since it was Dickbrain's fault really. Then the Controller arrived.
He saw the gobpit I'd tried to cover with toilet paper (and I'm ashamed to say, I played the haughty foro card, and as is the way in China the people are expected to show a positive view of their country in the presence of foreign guests, which this cabin expressly wasn't), and began giving Girl a severe berating, as Knobhead had passed out by this stage. He arranged a room-change for us, and as we left I took a more kindly tone to Girl, who was apologising again and again. I conveyed my vexation was not due to her, that she was indeed not so bad, but that she might like to suggest to her boyfriend that he was a scrofulous pig, upon his waking.
When they alighted, she was doing that utmost of contemptuous actions, walking in front while he trailed shamefully and vacu-headed behind.
I think he got the message.

Emperor's Park

We just went for an amble in the park that 'two Emperor's quite liked' according to the info sign. It was fairly impressive, the crystal-clear water flowing down from the backdrop thrustful snowcapped mount and the old gentlemen playing card games and counter games. The trees are in full Autumn bloom, with all the brilliant flares of colour one might expect. The leaves often fall onto the ponds and skiff about blown by the wind, looking like little boats. Sounds of the traditional Naxi-Tibetan music wafts across from the dance pagoda.
I'm reading my way through Dostoyevsky's "Crime and Punishment"; I thought, you know, 'history', Russia borders with China, funny social quirks and protocols etc. We have one more night midst the cobbled streets and pointy roofs then it's the long journey back to the whanau.

Old Town Life

Our guesthouse is over a wee bridge, overlooking a narrow street. We woke at a sensible hour, took tea on the second floor of a delightful teahouse aside the meandering canal. We'll take lunch in some small dining room, as and when we see fit, and have nought to do but wander around the most pleasant of surroundings and soak up the olde atmosphere, playing cards and reading. A true holiday from our holiday, it is. (Boring post, I know - told you the weird and awful stuff is always more interesting.)

Lijiang

...is a perfectly preserved old stone-paved, canal-threaded, ancient-building-ed old town. What a great place! It's up there with Bruuge (Belgium), Sarlat (France) and York (England) in my top old places visited. Tastefully modernised with electric lights and fire safety stuff, it is often used for movies and historical dramas, it is so well preserved. We are staying in a wee guesthouse above an alley. A step away is the canal and many shops, restaurants, tea-houses and bars.
I URGE ALL YE WHO HAVE NOT BEEN TO GET THERE NOW! Such is its beauty, you must see it before the tacky tourist shops take over. Also it has a few rises and dips, bridges and part of it slopes up the hillside to a temple. Google it, it's great!
(I'm impressed, if you hadn't noticed - it was worth the awful noisesome trainride here.)
This is the view from our room.

>>> ipod update <<<

Hear ye all who own an ipod - they don't work in Tibet! The low pressure or something messes them up! They too, it seems, get altitude sickness. Apple, you suck. I never ONCE was told about this. Lucky it's back to normal now, or it would be jabs for Jobs!!

Alleys

Kunming rivals Xi'an for impressively beautiful layout. There is a mix of bustling sidestreets with all kinds of foods, shuttlecock fletchers, false tax/meal receipt sellers arguing over their percentages and fruiterers. The silly old lonely planet says all the sidestreets have been swept away, but it just isn't so! We found a delightful little alley threading its way through ancient cottages and restaurants, much like the old old town that it all must have been at one time. After a brief sojourn by the tree-encrusted riverside, we dined at a lovely Muslim restaurant where the staff went out of their way to advise us on food and booze, then defiantly refused any tips. The temple we visited was exquisite, with an island Bhudda surrounded by a moatfull of lovely fat goldfish and turtles.
I even took this stealth shot of these two riverside gentlewomen. Note the tiny foot of the left one. I imagine she's seen some stuff in her life.

Chopstickity pick-pock

Well, I had been in Kunming for less than an hour and already was a target by a pickpocket! Standing next to me at the vege and rice stall, I caught him fiddling in my wallet-pocket with his chopsticks!
I landed a great punch to his face, causing him to fall on his tailbone, then with my knee on his chest I caught his chopsticks, snapped them and threw them in his face, roaring that if he ever tried it again I'd shove them up his nose and into his brain... hauling him to his feet I sent him on his way with a hefty kick to his spine and a hairful of hot noodles....!!!
...well in my mind afterward I did that. In reality I was so surprised (and dare I say impressed) with his sly use of chopsticks, that all he got was a mild push and a couple of reactionary words. I always love the sheepish 'what?' look that these guys give (I've seen it in Paris, and in Lhasa) even as they walk away, guiltily found out.

Chiang Kai-shek

This is Anand's favourite military leader. In Xi'an we climbed his old stronghold, and saw his barracks in the foothills of a mountain and hotsprings. He was leader of the Nationalists (Kuomintang) which earlier overthrew the dynasty and ended imperial rule. The communists allied with and then drove out the Kuomintang to Taiwan. Chiang Kai-shek was 'forced' into allying with the Commo's to drive out the Japanese during the revolutions. When the Commo's overtook his barracks, he ran away in hid in a crack up the mountain. He was captured and the rest is history.
When we were climbing, lo and behold - there he was! Sitting in a tent, with his female assistant. I suspect he didn't and remains there even now, forced to pose for humiliating photos taken with tourists. Poor old Shanky, if only he new he was the namesake of a reggae riddim.

Train to Kunming

We drew the short straw on this one. The bunks were open to the corridor, and the train was much shabbier. I'd had the notion that I'd never be able to abide the ubiquitous smoke, so I decided to join them. Yes, I procured a tin of quality Dutch cigars in Xi'an, and joined the fug in the smoking area (the corridor just outside the sleeping cabin, so that the smoke might waft in and please those who weren't smoking at that moment). The toilets overflowed and the beds gave me a backache, but it wasn't so bad.

Nightlife

We met some of Lemon's friends, many who studied in NZ, and went for some traditional dinners. Being a Muslim centre, the food is fantastic. We went to a BBQ house which was a little like Wellington yum char - they bring around kebabs, fish and beer and you just grab what you want. Lemon's friend Shuai was the best guide, and she took us to all the cool places to bargain and shop, and then to the local club. I thought it would be full of foreigners, but I was the only one there among throngs of rich, stylish locals all playing dice-assisted drinking games and dancing to American and Chinese pop. It was huge; easily the flashest club I've ever been to with posh bars, lights, big sound system, and windows overlooking immaculate courtyard gardens and ponds.
It was strange at first as security was so tight - they screen bags and you walk through a metal detector to enter, and around the perimeter of the bar guards with hard hats and vests stand about 10m apart overseeing things. It was odd at first, but no one else seemed to notice them.
What a great place Xi'an is!

Xi'an city

The best main streets I've ever seen. The have a sidewalk AND a footpath AND a pavement, hard shoulder, dedicated cycle lanes and FIVE(!) rows of trees! The treelined sidestreets are packed with Muslim foodstalls, all selling delicious delights. I FOUND THE PERFECT HAMBOBAO! A steamed flatbread filled with spicy lamb mince and local and exotic fresh veges. The city is chic and clean, with great landmarks like the belltower and drumtower. It's the best city I've seen so far.

Teracotta Warriors

I'm glad to have seen these guys when I did. The fascinating thing is that the dig is still ongoing, and at such a careful rate that they aren't expected to be fully unearthed for at least another century. And there are a suspected few hundred square km's of yet undiscovered treasures. We did the tour thing for the first time... a bit hectic but we only had to go to one greenstone shop, so it was ok really. A really misty surreal day lent atmosphere to the experience. Not as atmospheric, at least not in the same way, were the km's upon km's of tourist shops and malls leading up to the pits. They sold everything from life-size to miniature warrior replicas, food, clothes, goats and junk. I suspect this area will become the new centre of Xi'an, rivalling the beautiful city surrounded by ancient city walls. See them soon, while you can still do so easily!

Xi'an

Just arrived here in the land of Terracotta warriors and 30000-odd other historical sites. The hotel (yes, hotel - we've just jumped out of the sardine-can of a train cabin, so we're not up to 'roughing it') is top notch, and the city so far looks beautifully stylish.
And as I was writing this, I met a lovely British [sounding] gentleman who said "You're not Matt are you?". He's been travelling and reading my blog the whole way! Heh, I thought Wellington was small!
Turns out there is another 'Matt' travelling about, and it was this other guy's site he'd seen. O well, at least my mum still reads mine.

Trainy Quirks

There are some things that make one feel 'warm' to others. Just certain displays of unintentional charmingness that one observes. Here are some from the train trip:
- The guy I glimpsed politely sidling by me whilst I was having a beer, with his two tiny cucumbers clenched in his hand for dinner.
- The guy whose English was a skeric better than my Chinese, with whom I had a couple drinks, and halted convo, and by the end he gave me a charm he'd had for 5 years, and I'd given him some NZ coins for his little boy. (I'll send him some better stuff when I get home.)
- The soldier, just beginning his 3-month holiday after serving in Tibet; he carried a little Pekingese puppy, and he loved it so much as if it was his own baby, and let it run about the carriage to be petted by everyone, much to the disdain of the train police but not the train staff. (They hassled him about the dog, but only laughed at me when I tried to shut the door to prevent smoke coming into the cabin - it was a strictly non-smoking trip, especially during the oxo-zone, completely ignored by staff, cops and passengers alike.)
- The girl who would spend hours washing her face and slapping on the lippy and eyeline, but was completely at home with picking her nose as she greeted you. (Nose pickery, spittage, throatal hackment etc. is common and unashamedly indulged in by all, restauranteurs, conductors, commoners, inside and out.)
There were plenty more. I'll leave it there.

Oxygen

Of course I had a few good blasts of the oxygen, especially once over 5200m. I thought I may as well get my money's worth, so I kept sucking on it as continually as I could handle. It was an up-the-nose affair, as opposed to a mask, so I spent a lot of time trying to form a nasal seal, that I might suck only of the oxygenated air and not the common farts and ciggie smoke in the cabin. It was a shame when we finally got to normal level and they turned it off.
I've kept the tube, if anyone wants to feel what it's like - I could pump chili-infused air, from the top of a heater to approximate the burning dryness, but I'll have to substitute oxo for nitrous so you can get the comparison (of having nice breathable air to that cabin stuff aforementioned).

Newest, Highest Railway!

I'll start with the train ride. We checked into the top bunk (3rd level) of the new Qinghai-Tibet Railway. What a great ride... we passed frozen lakes, desert moonscapes, undulating plains, various cities and villages each a world away from the last. All to the punctuated voiceover in Chinese and American-trained English, beginning "Dear passengers and friends...." and going to to big-up the achievements of the railway and the virtues of the scenery. For instance, the local herdsmen of Tibet were so joyous at the "tranquility that was broken for the first time in 1000 years" by the train whistle that they decorated the train in ribbons of "celebration and curiosity"! So many landscapes, some quick and some never-ending. I am glad to be off even though it was cool.

Last night in Lhasa!

We are to spend our last night here in Lhasa, before taking the controversial railway to Xi'an (where the underground army is). Since our tickets cost twice as much as we'd hoped, we've booked into a "people's hotel". Small cell-like rooms, cold and grubby, but there are monks walking round and of course the obligatory telly in the room, taking up most of the space! The newest, highest railway in the world should be fascinating.
Bye Tibet - I must depart and get some water back into my self.

Song of the Hambobao (Hamburger)

On the bus from Gyantse back tho Lhasa, there was a song on the cassette that kept coming round. As often happens when listening to another language, the words seemed to take on a meaning of their own, in my brain. (Bear in mind that I had already learned that "Hambobao" is "Hamburger" in Chinese.)
The song's chorus seemed to run thus:

Maaake meee a hambobao;
Jeeelllyyyy [jelly] in me hambobao;
Why hail a logger man?
When a cool me hambobao.

I think I must be missing something from home...

Tea...?

In Shigatse, we bought a brick of tea from a local stall, you know, wanting to be all "cultural". Wrapped in yellow paper, it was highly compressed, dark, matted vegetable. I broke off a chunk for each of us, and on pouring the water noted the black nature of the water. It was stemmy and grassy, impossible to drink as the sticks caught in your throat. It tasted of grass.
They'd sold us a brick of yak fodder. Who were we to say it wasn't also to be used as tea?

Gyantse

This town is smaller and even more Tibetan feeling than Shigatse. There are a few hotels, so there MUST be other outsiders, but it doesn't feel like it. We caught a tractor to a tiny village about 20 mins away, to see this old Manor. The ice was caked in the roadside drains, the plains of various agricultural plots stretched out to the brown, jagged mountains. On the way back we caught a horse-cart, which was a complete novelty for us as well as the drovers and other passengers that got on. What a great place. If only there was a skeric of oxygen about, I might stay a bit.

The Palace kora

On walking the 'kora' (the clockwise circuit around the Palace Temple, lined with prayer wheels) we encountered some urchins. Thinking I'd be kind I got out our bag of biscuits. Suddenly we were surrounded by young and old, snatching calling, swearing, demanding and filching. Lemon tied to be diplomatic (one for everyone, wait a second, etc.) which was to no use. She was trying to reason with them, but gave up when one big girl started bitterly condemning her to some kind of purgatory after death. That's when we gave up.
The kora was the opposite - so tranquil and surreal, dotted with devout monks and nuns, and walked by pilgrims. We met a couple that did that prostrate-each-step thing, twice every day. Sheep run about free, with nought but a bell as sign of ownership; prayer flags littered the mountainside, bells jangled and prayer wheels rumbled.

Shigatse Tibet

We arrived here after a bumpy bus ride through steep upthrusts of rock, and narrow, deep gorges. The bus teetered on the edge of the road at times then hooned on to overtake horsecarts on blind corners. The scenery is so brown. I don't think I've ever seen so many shades of brown. All against a cloudless azure sky.
We cycle-taxied to our hotel (yes, hotel - 2 stars the sign said). The hotel was on "Butcher St.", where every 5 meters was a mini butchery. Each was different. There were:
about 20 headless, skinned goats, all sitting up to carcassy attention;
a pile of ox stomachs or lungs or something;
fresh yak pelts, in a big jumbled pile fresh off the cart;
yak halves, often for sale among tea and handicrafts;
piles of sheep heads - these were my favourite in a way... many of the expressions on the faces were of utter surprise, as if they had no idea they would be cut up to be eaten, as if it was their noble right to go munching and pooing all round the temples, safe from poachers, motorbikes and jackals. Others had a more resigned look of "right, so that's how it works" which seemed very true to the cyclic nature of the local belief.

Thief

Just ten minutes ago, Lemon and I were out buying dinner.... she was just at the organs and chicken feet kiosk when she suddenly whirled around and started yelling at this guy. Turns out he'd tried to filch her cellphone but she wasn't letting him go anywhere. He got more agro and kept doing that threatening thing where you put your hand behind your back as if to get a knife. She managed to get it back, but the guy wasn't happy about it. There throngs of people around gawking, so it wasn't too scary, but no chance of any cops nearby.
Lemon's dad warned us about knife-carrying thieves, too. I keep my shet zipped up so they don't get a chance.
That's China.

Potala Palace

No photos are allowed inside here, so Google it and check it out. It's a massive fortress, now Unesco site, looking out imperially over Lhasa. The former Dalai Lamas Lived here, and many are entombed here. Through the dark, winding corridors, you come across many prayer rooms, gold figures of Hindu-Bhuddism, and the many gods they span. There are many pilgrims and monks offering burning wax and money. So warm and quiet is it inside, you forget about the big, cold city outside.
Splendid!

>>> Ipod Warranty Notice <<<

This notice posted here proves that my ipod has displayed the dreaded 'sad face', indicating a fatal disk error! It has all the recordings I've been making throughout the trip. There is NO REASON for the malfunction, other than Apple's poor manufacturing, and I will be seeking compensation for the loss of all my recordings should they be gone, and any that I would have made here in Tibet. Of course, the best sounds and atmospheres are here, where I can't get them.
Take heed Apple - your selling the ipod to me binds you to the agreement that you must compensate me for your stuffups!

Positive post (for a change)

The streets of the old part of Lhasa are narrow, cobbled, fruitstalled and populated. Visitors from all over the world, China and Tibet mill about looking through the nice clothing, souvenirs, bells, pictures, food and stuff! The jangling of many a cycletaxi (laden with sweet jinglebells) punctuates the bustle of friendly but cheeky haggling, praying pilgrims, distant car horns and kids playing. Yak meat is cut at tiny shops dotted along the alleys, no need of refrigeration - it stays frozen in the open air. We almost bought some delicious-smelling cheese, but eventually realised it was a kind of wax used for burning to the gods! But there were plenty of yak kebabs, curries and hotpot stalls to sate us .

Individuality

The Chinese have a very different idea of individuality, at least as far as I can tell. Roughly "you have none" or more politely, 'let's all be individual together'. Independence is not valued as highly. Example: Lemon's parents holding our money and putting it in the bank when we need it, meaning she has to call home and justify why we need our money. Their view is that it is safer, in case we get mugged, which is fair enough, and it also ensures she'll keep in contact. But it falls down when they don't bank it straight away, as in the south hot areas, it always takes ages to do anything, which can be a pain.

Also on the plane to Lhasa, we met an uncle and niece, who decided we'd do everything together. Because uncle had been mugged in South Africa years back, he was scared not to be in a group, and Niece was more comfortable with others too. Then we met another couple at the gate to Potala Palace who decided that they could join the group too. Lemon ended up being the ticket gatherer, document holder, and money handler for the 6 of us! I like company, but if you know how hard it is to move as a group of 2, you get the idea with 6. So much stuffing about, dillydallying, milling, and discussing 'how' and 'where' (all in Chinese) begins to grate one's nerves. We moved to a nicer Hotel, and Uncle and Niece couldn't bear to be alone so came too. I have to keep reminding myself that this is part of the experience too.

Altitude

Lhasa, Tibet is about as high as Mt. Cook. That means there is a period of adjustment when you get here from being at about sea level.
This adjustment is kind of like going through a hangover - you get all the wonderful benefits of headaches, nausea, dehydration, general aches, dryness and groans without having to go through the hassle of "going out for drinks" with your "mates"! (Another symptom is it turns you into a sarkie grump.)

The first day and night were pretty bad, but I think my respiration and heart rate are beginning to adjust to having only 60% oxygen content as at sea level. Just checking the place out... pretty cool (heh) so far! And so dry that I get shocks off anything water I touch.

Noise

Noise - we love it! SHRIEKING and YELLING and HYSTERICAL LAUGHTER are all requirements of living in this most populace of countries! BLARING HORNS is a common trait, as well as watching EAR SPLITTING TV. CELLPHONES RINGING at the movies, and CHATTING HEARTILY at said movies is common. DOGS BARKING is something to CACKLE WILDLY at and encourage, at this guesthouse, MEOWING CATS have learned that the SQUEAKIEST MOST BLOODCURDLING CRY is the one that works best. CONSTRUCTION noise abounds. Cycle taxi BELL-JANGLERY is near constant. In Hong Kong I remember there are bleeping speakers attached to "everything's ok" alarms at the traffic lights, which double in volume when pedestrians cross.
TVs are constantly on... quietest is in the small hours, as expected, but these hours seem somewhat smaller than elsewhere. A lot like Wellington with its sirens and helicopters, old Chengdu.

STUPID PHOTO PEOPLE!

We almost lost our entire photo collection today when two UTTER IDIOTS at a shop messed up our memory card. Lemon was furious and went and blasted them in front of their customers, and took their names to complain. We managed to take the card to some smoky little computer forensic workshop, where men and women in their blue coats - bless them! - managed to recover our pictures and put them on cd! The few videos we took though, sadly, are gone. I respect each of those bluecoat workers, the surgeons of the circuitboard, doctors of the digital realm!

Accident

Saw an old lady get knocked off her bike by a taxi today. As Lemon and I were near we rushed over to help her, put a jacket to keep her warm, and make sure she was breathing etc. Soon we were surrounded by a group of unhelpful RUBBERNECKERS all yelling about one thing or another. Suspicious glances and accusatory outbursts were directed at me because since I was the only one (apart from Lemon) helping her. The mob was about 30 or more thick, which I guess was good because it served as a protection barrier between the lady and the rest of the traffic. When the friendly cop arrived, and the traffic controller who saw the incident explained that we were the only people who gave a BADGER'S BALLS and helped, there were murmurs about 'what good people' etc.
After she got over the shock she got up and the controller said she'd be ok.

Smokes

One thing that is more common here than anywhere is smoking! Have a smoke after dinner, in the restaurant, in everyone's face. Suck one down on the train, in the non-smoking section, blowing it into the sleeping compartments. Crackle one up in the taxi, guesthouse common room, bus, plane (well maybe not plane), or anywhere. As if the pollution wasn't bad enough.
And when you're done, heck a huge gob of phlegm on the carpet.

Rain

Lead grey skies, muddy tarry streets, dark and coldish. No, not Wellington, but Chengdu. It's entering the Winter season all right. In Tibet it is apparently fluctuating around the zero mark, at least it will be dry.
Also the street outside the hostel has been dug up, they're improving the whole area. We wake at 7 each morning to jackhammering, skilsawing, hammering, earth moving, pile driving, trench digging. And the occasional feeble rooster.

TV Nation

Americans are a nation of television-philes. They spend endless hours in front of tv, and the rise of stars such as made-for-tv-movie don, Brian Dennehy are testimony to tv's importance in American culture.

Compared to China, Americans are idle tv glancers.
TV in China is the ever-invited guest. You turn on the telly at a restaurant or yum cha as unconsciously as you would pull out a chair for a guest. It flickers away, idly watched in the conversation pauses, and toothpickery.
Supermarkets have a tv every aisle, usually playing endless ads. Bars play whatever channel takes the remote holder's fancy. Even at the very top of the holy Mt. Qingcheng the attendant at the most sacred temple of the cow-riding historical explorer was watching some trashy drama on a tiny set, no doubt lugged up there by some poor bearer.

As yet there are no tvs in cars, only buses. As yet.

Chinese Road Rules

The road rules here are greatly simplified, which makes it possible for anyone - ANYONE - to drive.
Vehicles: You have the right of way. If someone else gets there first, they have the right of way.

Horn: Your most useful tool. Warn. Alert. Prompt. Overtake blindly.

Pedestrians: You have no rights.

Mount Qingcheng

I lofty peak, very like the scenes in Crouching Tiger. Lemon and I began our ascent a couple of days back, one misty, atmospheric afternoon. We deviated from the track a little, when I spied some ancient steps cut into the hillside. The track meandered off the map and we found ourselves heading toward "Old Man Peak". This was a huge precipice that would have commanded majestic views out over the mountain, but the mist was too thick. And who should we bump into but none other than the Old Man himself. I suspect he was guardian of the peak, and his post must have been held by a long lineage of old men stretching back centuries. He told us the peak was a dead end, and to go back. We did, and reached the many temples and tour groups again. Descending we stayed in a temple, with authentic rooms, grumpy chef, and the most modern toilets I'd ever seen. Some Austrian girls we met later said they stayed at the same place - but their room had the added company of FLEAS!

The rear of the mountain was much less betempled, rather offered vistas of trees of all colours, deep gorges and ravines, and green lined rivers and stone paths and bridges. The photos I intend to post will elaborate.

It's now the wet season proper - lead-grey skies, constant rain, sluggish apathetic backpackers, watching telly.

Tea

Tea. This ancient beverage permeates all aspects of Chinese culture. You want something to do this avo?
Tea.
An important meeting?
Tea.
Doctor, I feel ill, I haven't been able to-
Tea.
I climbed up the mountain too fast, and I'm getting hypothermic, and I think I've sprained my-
Tea.
A walk in the park, meeting with friends, introducing yourself to aunty, celebrating an event, showing respect, showing disrespect, fitting in, standing out...
Tea.
And most of it's pretty blooming good too.

Sichuan Hotpot Recipe

Hotpot can be served Yin (for wimps), Yang (real deal) or a Yin-Yang combo. We had the latter in our second hotpot experience. Here are the basics...
THE EATING DISH is lined with garlic, herbs and the local chili. Legend reports that this chili was first discovered growing deep inside a fissure, where abseilers would descend in fireproof cloth to harvest it. Such was the intense heat, a gauze had to be worn over the eyes like a welder's helmet, the chili was too radiant to look at directly. Several baskets had to be used, as the picked peppers would burn through each one. You add spiced vinegar to the eating dish, and dip your food in it before consuming.
THE HOTPOT proper consists of jalapeno-infused oils and 'burning weed' plant, and plenty of killer chili; it is like a steamboat for the Devil. It is dark red in colour, not unlike lava, and when you drop your food into it it hisses and bubbles evilly. Your food comes out a burned red colour. The flame feeding the hotpot is gas from a deep cavern where the rock is molten. So essentially, as in bygone days, you are cooking atop a live volcano.
TEA served, spiced and peppery.
CHOPSTICKS are made from a plant called 'fire imparting dragon bone', which is an extremely hot-spiced plant, which adds to the heatful experience. If it isn't spicy enough the waitstaff add an elixir called 'boilful broth' to further enhance your enjoyment.
I even tried the local CLEANING FLUID, in the hope that the alcohol content would numb my mouth enough to eat.
THE EXPERIENCE was approaching the episode of the Simpsons, where Homer goes to a chili eating competition and eats chili so strong he goes on a 'mysterious voyage'. As did I. Time dissolved. My eyes swam. Sound grew faint. My limbs, weightless and wayward, moved to their own design. 3D became 2D. I was a Dali-Picasso mix. The melting, mutable clocks married with the outfolded facets of cubism. The din gave way to a nitrous splintering of sound, and dim shapes appeared at the edges of my 'vision'. Slowly this subsided... after the second mouthful the effect was less, and so less until I could eat normally.
As the ancient saying goes, "Talk not of food hot, till ye've supped of the pot"!

The Sichuan Hotpot

We arrived in Sichuan's Capital "Chengdu", after a 38 hour train ride. It wasn't too bad, I learnt a lot about whales, having a copy of Moby Dick to peruse. We were each on the top bunk of a hard sleeper; Lemon was particularly happy about having nought to do but sleep for two nights and a day.
We arrived and checked into a beauty Qing/Ming Dynasty building now converted to a youth hostel. And out to try the local cuisine, Sichuan Hotpot.
Now, I pride myself on my love of spicy food, but here this: Ye Indians Turks and Thais, ye spice lovers, chili munchers, mustard and wasabe guzzlers - taste of the Sichuan Hotpot before ever ye wax proud about the heat of ye food!

Ning's Apothecary

Down a dusky sidestreet, narrow as it is quiet. The hum of the city disappears, cars and cellphones unheard. The ancient dynastic buildings take over from the communist-era immeubles. Cobbled streets contain wicker baskets of archaic fruits and cloth, red lanterns and dripping tiled eaves.
A door - almost hidden among the dusty building stone and outdoor tapestries. The green characters on the door are faint and even by most modern Chinese are unrecognisable. But such is longevity of the premise, everyone knows what they are: Ning's Apothecary.
The heavy wooden door opens outward, silently and reveals a thick velvetlike curtain. Once the door is closed and the curtain drawn, all outside sounds are gone.
A few slow candles, some in in red dim lanterns provide the all the light. The shelves are lined with scrolls and curios. What are those - skulltops? and shrivelled creatures, enormous beetles, a doubleheaded snake in a bottle, dried plants and crumbling books... behind these shelves racks of drawers filled with herbs, powders, oils, shavings, vapours and remedies.
And there he is! Old Dr. Ning sitting in the traditional robes of his ancestors, behind a counter loaded with all manner of smoking, bubbling medicines, and yellowed papers.
His fixed stare betrays nothing of his thoughts, but evidently he is assessing your remedy. I hesitantly begin to speak, but he waves me into silence. He takes my hand and inspect the nails, inks something on a yellow card and files it in a huge directory. Wordlessly, he rises and heads into the murky bowels of his chemistry, and I am left alone with the smell of incense and herbs, and the sound of creaking papers and wafting medicinal tapestry hangings.
Suddenly I notice Dr. Ning has returned, and offers a brown waxpapered parcel of remedy. I've already forgotten what I came in for. He presses it into my hands and performs some sacred hand motion over the parcel, whispering something to himself or me, I can't be sure.
And I'm out in the alley, I can see the China Telecom tower through the haze. The din of horns and engines almost obscures the hundred tweeting cellphones in the street. I look back and the door to Ning's Apothecary is invisible, already lost in the smog and brick. I'm sure I wouldn't be able to find it again.

to the Mountains!

If anyone has read 'Wild Swans' by Yung Chang, we're heading to her hometown of Chengdu. It was a stronghold of various dynastic leaders, a base for the Kuomintang and a centre for the Communist revolt.
I'm interested in the mountainous areas around Sichuan province though. We intend to climb Emei Shan, a sacred, monastaried, jagged range which will be starting to ice over. A good training session for the Tibetan scapes.

Villages

We finished another yum char, along with Po Po Ha (not in her favourite pyjamas this time, but as sprightly as ever) and strolled through a 'village'. Now I always imagined a village to be an isolated little community in the wilderness, with a few wee houses. This village was just an area in part of the city where people essentially lived like that, poorer and more community like, but among skyscrapers and hotels. I guess the city just built up around them.
Then it was to relearn mah jong, at which I got kicked off for being too slow. This was at another family's place in the village, so I just wandered outside and played with the baby turtle in their sink, and watched the dog and bitch fussing over their newborn pups.
Then it was another restaurant experience at Chairman Mao Restaurant.

Cultural Police BBQ

One dinner I went to was with a Cultural Policeman, the boyfriend of Lemon's friend. We sat outside on the roof of the restaurant and had Mongolian steamboat BBQ. I wasn't such a fan of the organ noodle soup, but the pig trotter tendon was surprisingly nice.
We were lectured on the abomination that is Falun Gung, and advised not to view any 'yellow' (ie 'blue') movies, or we'd find ourselves arrested and 'asked' to desist. It was alright to mention here that the Jung Chang biography of Mao was selling in Hong Kong, but we'd be wise not to discuss it in Beijing, particularly Tienanmen Sq.
This was all in Mandarin of course, as Cantonese was not the Nation's Language.
He was very friendly actually, and polite.

People are so afraid. Tibetans all carry knives to mug you if you don't bargain a good price, I was warned. The mountainous Sichuan is full of night thieves and pickpockets. It's a similar climate of fear that is so prevalent in the US.

yum cha, po-po ha

One time I went to a yum cha at some flash hotel (upstairs in an aircon room) and one guest arrived who was an 80 year old lady. Story was that she was so interested in seeing a foreigner for the first time that she made a journey especially. She was dressed in her best pyjamas and everything. It was such a cackleworthy buzz if I said something to her, and I was assured that my stumbling comments had made her day.

Yum Cha

This is where you go out, sometimes three times a day, to a Hotel or local restaurant, heckle (sometimes successfully) for a private aircon room, then watch TV while being instructed to eat more and 'cheers' your teacup every time someone drinks. It also helps to learn the correct titles for each person, or which there are many depending on age, relation and familiarity.

There's no sitting down with a couple of sakes and letting the staff bring round food to say 'yes or no' to, you order it and then the rest of the table orders more for you and you take as many as three hours to complete the experience.

It always seems to begin with an appetiser of cold chook foot followed by organ soup. Tea is copiously consumed. I even went on a boozing night with Lemon's brother Sing, and even as they threw back the whiskeys and soda-ed red wine, there was always a teapot dispensing hot, nutritious tea!

Beijing Palace replica

There is an imperial palace in Zhuhai that is a replica of the palace in Beijing. Down to the wonderful boating lake and section of the great wall and European buildings, this a a great attraction for us, as we are cheap and timepoor.
There are dances and music throughout each day, and a cable car to the top of the hill from where you can imagine a view out over the harbour.

Pesky Grammar

Why do European languages get so finnickerty about grammar? Logically, "I go shop yesterday; you no want eat fish; he no-see mountain?" are much easier and more consistent phrases than ruddy old English. Of course you want your grammar like "I couldn't have had time to have been able to think of how we ought to have said it" to remind us nostalgic souls of how our language came to be. But when you have such an array of characters and dialects, you are spoilt for choice for all kinds of historical info that grammar becomes as unimportant as communication itself.

Still - I was given a top emblazoned: "Zhongyu is a best friend that you best selection!".
I'm yet the only one to find it funny. Everyone else who speaks English has no problem understanding the meaning.

Zhuhai Fashion - RWPSDDB

No it isn't a movie or a combat move, it is a certain haircut popular among older men in positions of semi-authority. The Reverse-Widow's-Peak-Sidelong-Double-Duck's-Bum, or the hair coiffe favoured by Mao, is often seen atop bus drivers, ticket-takers and business-smokers. If one has a 'bashful', that is receding, hairline (or 'advancing forehead of knowledge', as it is more politely termed), one can fluff each side into a duck's-bum and be well on one's way to respectability.

If subject is fortunate enough to have a facial mole, this enhances the Chairmanity. Men must let the whiskers from their facial moles grow long and proud, as full beards often take years to grow and are wispy. A facefull of moles can produce the highly eminent 'many sprout-of-wisdom head' which can be sufficient to gain a job as a visa issuer or similar.

Women's fashion to follow.

Zhuhai SEZ

Well after a hectic and hot couple of days in Hong Kong, we arrived into the Zhuhai Special Economic Zone, Lemon's home city. It's a bit like Wellington - coastal, warm and sunny (!), green but with more towering apartment blocks and shabbier, wider streets. We're just organising our holiday proper. Every travel agent or person we talk to has a different idea of the rules of going to Tibet. There are only certain routes foreigners can officially use, as well as there being multiple definitions of 'Tibet'. Even the guidebooks contradict themselves.
Anyway, I have a few more days to spend here with the whanau, then we're of to the mountainous Sichuan.
I've been practising for hikes by going on the early morning scramble to the hilltop pagoda, past tai-chi practisers, temple monks, joggers, holy-water-fetchers and health devotees. It's a many-staired, challenging climb, but there are plenty of oldies with canes slowly climbing too. Everyone seems to make a noise from the "Hu! Hu!" of Lemon's dad, the "Eeeeeyaaa!" of one water carrying woman, "Hich hiccchh!" and many in between. Apparently this is to expel all your anger and frustration before you start your day, and to calibrate your breathing.
We're soon to see a rebuilt temple palace that was destroyed by the French and British during the opium wars. It's now an adventure theme park. That still counts as culture, you know.

Countdown to China

Well just about time to go... anyone who doesn't know, there's a barbie at Tassie the day before I leave. 1pm start, please bring anecdotes and travel ideas!