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.