I'm back. Classes 1-5, pancakes and life, and sweepers

After a 3 month hiatus of updating, I'm back.  Sorry to leave that dismal message up for 3 months, but the mid-term has come and gone, and the world did not end.  I am unbelievably busy this semester teaching all writing, most of which is reading their homework.  As of now, I am at about 900 assignments read with 25 more to read this morning.  I also just ate a Chinese breakfast burrito, which we discovered this semester is on the floor below us.  China has two breakfast burritos: the thick sauteed vegetable and egg packed street burrito and the 2nd floor crunchy burrito.  This one has two eggs cooked into the tortilla, sprinkle of green onions, a thick maybe-meat sauce, some cucumber, lettuce, and some fried tortilla shell things in the middle.  And hot sauce, but no hot sauce this morning.  For 4 RMB, it is our new staple.

Back to writing classes.  I have learned a lot this semester; far more than last semester.  I remember the first week of classes, I left one class a little intimidated, thinking, "Shit, these kids are really smart.  I need to be on top of my game."  Overall, they are a really fun group of students to spend time with.  I have 4 classes of regular English major freshman and class 5, which is the "experimental class," aka the smart kids.  I see 1-4 once a week and 5 twice a week.  They all have their characters and I know as a parent you can't have favorites, but class 5 is my favorite.  A few weeks ago they invited their foreign teachers (3- me, Penny, and Sam) on their Friday afternoon outing with another major class to HuangLongXi, an old town 30 minutes away.  We had a picture scavenger hunt and then walked around tasting snacks and taking pictures.  It was a great time.

The hardest part about this semester, besides reading so many papers, has been reconciling the style of instruction I have received in writing and teaching a n English class to Chinese students in China.  They couldn't be more at odds.  These students would never consider reading their paper aloud in class or talking about what they are writing.  They would never have a discussion about the writing style of Jo Goodwin Parker's essay Poverty (that is until week 8 when I forced class 5 and they talked about it a little.  But 900 papers later, I have realized that they are getting it (ok, I realized this around paper 453 to be exact).  All the writing I am making them do, despite their whining and moaning and apparent dying in their chairs, is not only making them a lot better, but I secretly suspect most of them enjoy it.  A few have told me that no other teacher they have had has ever read their essays like this, nor has any ever had them write so much.  If I didn't think it was working, I wouldn't be killing myself reading so many.  (Side note: the homework was cut way back when I realized that one assignment equaled 150 papers to read in a week.  We go every other week assignments now, to everyone's improved health)

The image I have of a writing professor is a mixture of Hashimoto and Professor Jules Hilbert from Stranger than Fiction.  The result is strange assignment prompts on small pieces of paper and comments written in blue ink in their paper's margins.  I wish I had a big coffee maker in my room to have my endless cup of coffee in my hand......  "Harold, if you pause to think, you'd realize that that answer is inextricably contingent upon the type of life being led... and, of course, the quality of the pancakes."

And now I will let the students of classes 1-5 tell you their stories.  OK, not their stories, but their thoughts on Sweepers.  Here was their second assignment:

Writing Class Assignment #2                                                  Sentence Length

       Tell me about sweepers.  Tell me about the people who sweep the streets in the morning, or the people who sweep the hallways, or the people who sweep the basketball courts, or anyone who sweeps anything.  Tell me a story about them, a story about a sweeper you know, what would happen if we didn’t have any sweepers, tell me about their brooms, tell me about what they sweep.  You can write anything, just be interesting.  Use different sentence lengths—see what you can do with them.

And here, with some of their mistakes remaining and some edited, were some of their responses.  It failed to occur to me that the party/China mentality on the under privileged/lower class of workers is to always say how we should respect them more and give a story about how great they are, but a few caught the spark of creativity and kindled it on their page.  Here they are:

When I was in middle school there was a special boy in our class/  Unlike many other classmates, he didn’t have pocket money to buy what he wanted and always wore simple clothes.  When we talked about our moms or our families, he always went away or didn’t say anything.  We didn’t know why.  One day, after school, my classmate and I went home.  We saw him talking with a woman who wore orange clothes and a cap.  The woman was holding a broom, sweeping the street.  She wore a mask to avoid inhaling the dust.  I noticed the broom; it was big and at least at that moment I couldn’t hold it and wave it to clean the street.  We guess the woman must be his mother, we didn’t say hello to them and didn’t tell him about what we saw. 

       Although their income isn’t high, their condition isn’t good, they still work.  Everyone is equal.  Every job is also equal.  If I have a mother like this boy, I will also think my mother is the best.              

                                                        Coco  Class 2

The sun is just rising.  If we wake up, we will see a group of hardworking people cleaning up roads.  They are sweepers.

       They must get up early every morning.  No matter what season it is.  It is so hard to use their weapons to beat the enemy of our land.  Their weapons are brooms.  They hold them tightly to keep us from kinds of germs.  So we have bright roads.

       Fog envelops the earth when winter is coming.  We can’t see anything in the hallways, especially in winter morning.  It is so dangerous for sweepers to clean the hallways.  There are so many cars and the run fast.  Sweepers just stand on the roads and clean up the roads.

       Sweepers play an important role in our life, like people need water to clean themselves.  We need sweepers to clean our roads.  But in China, most people look them down.  They don’t know what an important character the sweeper is.  We should respect everyone who works hard to make our life beautiful, peaceful, and kind.  The sweeper did it.

                                                               Jannye Class2

Before I start, I want to tell you a story, and please read it silently.

       One day a little boy with his mother was going to the park.  The boy was eating ice cream.  Its very delicious.  When he finished it, he looked around to find trash cans, but he failed.  Suddenly he saw a sweeper sweeping the street with his broom in the distance.  Then he ran to the sweeper and throw the trash into the can that was in the sweeper’s hand.  The sweeper looked up at him, smiled, and said, “thank you.”  The boy was confused why the sweeper thanks him.  He returned to his mother with a confused look.  His mother witnessed what had just happened.  She knew her son’s confusion.  She patted her son’s head and said to him, “Just, you did well.  I know what you were thinking.  You think that throwing trash into trash cans is your duty.  He needn’t say thinks to you, right?”  She looked at her son, the little boy nodded, but he was still at a loss.  She continued saying, “It’s a small behavior.  Only a small behavior but it reduces the times he has to bend down.  Its just a small behavior, but it shows that you protect the environment and cherish work achievement.  So he was grateful to you.”  The little boy understood and showed a smile on his face.

                                                        Yao,  Class 2

As a college student, you do some basic things just by yourself, such as learning English, doing some exercises.  I bet you never care anything about sweepers who you meet in the campus everyday.  Yes, you are a college student, in your opinion, you are more excellent than them, you have the qualification to ignore their behavior and pass through them without a word just because of your own limitations. 

………

You don’t care about that (the hard work of sweepers), you are a college student so you can do what you want to do, of course, all you ever think about is yourself.  Taking your girlfriend’s hand, walking the road of street in cloudless dawn or under the glow of a sunset.  Enjoy life and reward yourself whenever you need to relax yourself, at that time, who do you think of creating so perfect environment for you?  Without them the city will be garbage everywhere, the smell of smoke blackening the sky; without them, the citizens will not work and life; without them, the city will be eclipsed. 

…….

When you can learn something from sweepers like their perseverance knowing a little about philosophy, improve your excellent quality, finally you are to be a better person.

                                                 Michael, Class2

It was a cold morning in the winter of three years ago.  I rode a bike to school.  It was still dark.  The sky had few stars.  The moon must have escaped away to some place far away from the sky above me.  Everything was quiet.  Every streetlight was so far away from eachother.  What dead quiet.  But to get to school, I must go through it.  I felt a bit scary on my bike. 

Suddenly, some sound was made.  It look like someone’s head or hat floating behind some bushes.  I forgot to ride, so I got a halt and fell off from my bike.  At that time, the staff moved out from these bushes, and came to stand near a big tree. 

It should be a grandma.  She had a broom in her right hand and a flashlight in her left.  The light pointed at me.  I was able to keep my eyes open and heard her voice, “child, what’s going on?  Its dark at the time in winter.  You go in my light!”

“OK, thank you!,” I responded.

And then I rushed to school at a high speed.

The second day I went through the street and I saw her again.  And she turned on her flashlight and light up that area of darkness for me again.

The third day, the fourth day, until it was bright enough to see everything clear, she turned on her flashlight for me when I rode by.

The next winter, I met her again.  And she went on turning on her flashlight for me every dark morning.  This lasted for three whole years.

After I graduated from my lovely high school, I left from my hometown to the college.  A semester passed.  I went home like birds on their wings.

I went out to find her.  So in January second, I got up early and walked to the street with stars on the sky.   It was dark as well.  The streetlights were bright enough to see everything clear. 

But I didn’t find her.  And old man had taken her place.  I asked him where she went.  He had no idea.

I wandered about on the street in order to find her by chance, even though I know it would never happen.  Actually, it was in vain. 

And now, I still know neither who she is nor where she went.  Maybe she had changed her work place.  Maybe she had retired.  But anyway, I hope the kind old lady could have a happy sunset of her life.

                                                 Amy Chung   class 2

Why is there so much trash?  Where does it all come from?  Above all, I think we human beings are trash making machines; we produce a large amount of trash everyday, like after eating some snacks there will be many packages; after cooking some food, there will be many leftovers; after having read some newspaper, there will be many waste papers; and what’s more, industrial waste is also very common.  However, even the cheapest plastic bags are a source of pollution and are difficult to dispose of.

                                                        Delicia class 5

If I were a trash can, I may be very full every day.  I don’t need to worry about the ‘food’ because people will feed me without reminding; I can eat what people eat because they are wasting food; I will eat plastic things even if I don’t like its taste, and I can eat papers and tissue; anyway, I don’t like the taste of them too and what’s worse, some people give me batteries to eat!  You know, my mother told me never to eat battery because its very bad for my health.  The night is the time that I hate, for a bad man always comes and steals my food and take it away.  After that, I become empty again, I think he is a thief.  People should hate him just like I do, but to my surprise, they call him cleaners.

                                                                             Fiona    class5

You can imagine when you walk into a place, and there are a great deal of trash coming into your view and you are surrounded, then you just can see the trash is heaped up as high as a mountain; or it looks like a high wall stood there; maybe you are shocked it is as big as  a monster, as if he is reay to eat you at any time; next you smell something strange and disgusting: the boldy bread, the rotten fruit, the smelly ouil, so you will see there are many rats running, many flies hovering over your head, and the sight of it makes you turn your stomach; will you be nauseated when you see all the filthy things and breath the bad air?

                                                               Hilary   class 5

As soon as I see this word, “trash,” I think of Slumdog Millionaire.  I remember that in the film there is a scene where all kinds of trash bank up as a mountain.  A little girl who wears a dress which was picked up among the trash pulls a large sack which is full of some useful trash for her, searching for any other available things, while the two lieelt boys are sleeping with flies flying over their bodies in an old camp by the smelly, dirty trash.

                                                               Jane    class 5

White plastic bags are like snow in the ground, white as cloud, it looks like a blank test paper, it hears like a little tune, it feels like a trash paradise, it smells like old wine, it is beautiful as kites in the sky, although it pollutes our environment, it still gives us pleasure, because of these plastic bags, our life can be convenient and interesting, in other words, plastic bags promote our society; as a popular saying goes, “Every coin has two sides,” and plastic bag is no exception, it is convenient, at the same time, it does harm to our environment, because of this, we still need to reduce the use of plastic bags.

                                                        Maggie    class 5

Once upon a time, I saw a rotten apple lying at the corner, as rotten as a dark minded politician that you would never want to see for a second time—it looked like it had been soaked in the vitriol for days that has dark brown stains clung to it, just like sores, maggots were crawling on it that even mice would have no appetite for, and even if mice were to eat it, if they were not afraid of death, I am sure they would inevitably suffer some serious illness; if Snow White was killed by a poisonous apple, it can be said that this was the apple that killed all fairy tale princesses!
       Some days later, I made another discovery.  A piece of chocolate had beem melted on the trash can, turned there into a tiny sweet pond, like the swamp where Shrek lives, furthermore, it attracted numbers of flies, who were trying their best to occupy that feast.  As for them, that melted chocolate was totally a treasure, the battle among flies looked just like some kind of air war; but for me, that “swamp” was absolutely a big trouble, as black as the night without stars and moon, gave me a feeling of desperation, I wonder if the river in hell looks like that swamp, and as time went by, that evil melted chocolate turned smelly, far more smelly than the worst toilet that even flies would be killed for breathing it, it also glued the trash around itself, made them stuck on the ground, so I had no choice but to clean it up.  You know what, it seemed that those trash and the ground had fallen in love with eachother, they stuck together and never let go…. Did I feel terrible that I broke this couple up?  Of course I did.  I felt bad, not for them, but for myself, because it cost me great efforts and what was worse, it misled flies to think there would always be a feast at the corner, waiting for them, so they came to visit me frequently. 

Anyway, those trash—as dirty as mud; evil as demon—caused me a series of troublesome problems, I hate them, and never want to deal with again.  Oh no way!  That means I will have to clean my room everyday, that can be another serious problem.

                                                        Rex    class 5

I am the earth mother, I used to be very happy for I can touch pleasant smell and flowers, I can enjoy the warmest sunshine, whenever I look up to the sky, it looks like a blue carpet with some soft clouds, which makes me feel like living in the heaven.  Now, however, I want to cry, as many different trashes are around me, which makes me feel sick.  My good friend garbage can, whose duty is to collect trashes also feels very sad due to the fact that nowadays many people don’t pay enough attention to trashes and they always throw trashes everywhere, instead of throwing trashes into my body, however, a few people would throw trashes into my body, but they don’t throw them into the right order.

At this time, I really feel more comfortable, I really need a shower, but who can help me?  I am on my way to find someone who can give me a shower, firstly, I met some waste cans, I wold them everything, they felt a little upset about this, so they got together and jumped into the recyclable garbage can.  After I felt better, I met some white trashes, whey were surprised at me but they jumped into the recyclable garbage can eventually.  They next several hours, I met different kinds of trashes and in order to help me, they all jumped into the right garbage cans, which made my body feel comfortable.

When I was on my way home, I found it strange that a boy and a girl were collecting waste cans.  On seeing it, I came to them and asked them what they wanted to do, they told me that they wanted to do some DIY’s with the cans, which did raise my interest, I followed them for I wanted to know the fact.  When we arrived at their home, what I saw surprised me a lot: many beautiful crafts came into my view such as pen holders and lovely animals. 

What a happy and surprising shower I had.

                                                 Cikey    class5

In spring, flowers are in bud.  It is the best season of the year.  Sweepers begin their work.  They clean up the strets, whick makes our environment neat and tidy.  They are out to let us enjoy a more beautiful surrounding.

In summer, when we are in our house enjoying a cool, they are still working on the street.  It seems that they are never afraid of the hot weather, though they are pouring with sweat.  How selfless they are!

In autumn, the world is golden.  With they joy of harvest, with a bright smile, sweepers wave brooms to clean up the streets.  They are still working for us, day after day, year after year.

In wonter, when we are in our house enjoying the warmth, they are in the cold weather.  Their hands become frozen.  Every time I see this, I feel confused why we always look down upon these men.

                                                 Jenny class 1

Thanks for reading.  More highlights and stories to come.  再见！

Cam

 

What China giveth, China can taketh away

I must take a break from the vacation stories (there are many more) to give an update of this last week, the first week of the new semester.

But first, I must fill you in on some details of the end of last semester.  The best way to describe last semester is bearable.  I had three classes of art majors that didn't have very good English or motivation to change that.  I didn't know what I was missing, so I made the most of it and I think the students got something out of it.  But near the end of the semester, I felt underutilized and wanted to make sure the next semester wasn't the same.  So I filled out a proposal for a writing class, specifying that it would be for upper level English majors and would be small, no more than 25 students.  I thought that if I had at least this class, I could handle any other classes they passed my way.  This proposal was all in Chinese (I had help), and after I turned it in, I never heard another word about it.  Then we went on break, and when I left I found out I had all writing classes for the next semester, all of which were freshman English majors, who Luke and other Americans had taught and said were a dream. 

So, I figured that the proposal had sunk.  I had my writing classes, I was happy, they were happy, the students were happy.  I went on vacation and thought about it a few times late at night, but not too much. I mean, a proposal is a proposal, not a contract, right?

We came back.  I taught a few classes that were amazing.  Excited students that impressed me and I felt very motivated to give them a great class.  I EVEN found out that I could move a Friday class and have a 4 day weekend.  I had 12 credit hours of classes (what I had the last semester) and I was on cloud nine.  On Wednesday I ate lunch with Dr. Zou and told this same thing to her multiple times; I was SO happy.  Last semester had been forgiven and forgotten.  Then I got a call from Luke that afternoon

"We both have our proposed classes that start next week.  We don't know when, we don't know how many students, we don't know how many times it meets." 

In ten minutes I dropped like that amusement park ride that drops you from high up, you screaming all the way down.  I haven't screamed yet, but I feel like it. 

The details are too many to list, but between this afternoon and that Wednesday afternoon, I have learned that I have 4 more credit hours of writing classes, two separate sections of the same class, Monday and Friday.  This means no 4 day weekend, only a 2 day weekend (the painful last semester had at least a 3 day weekend).  These classes are elective classes with open registration.  54 students signed up for one section, 46 for another.  54 and 46 students in a writing class.  AND there was no prerequisite, meaning that most of the students in this class that I have to teach will have minimal English skills.  Some are probably even my students from last semester, who could barely write a sentence for their homework describing themselves.  This recent addition puts me to 250 students of writing classes that total 16 credit hours, when my contract states the maximum is 14. 

OK, I know that this is not news to those of you who have worked with Chinese schools before.  Its a product of the over-complex bureaucracy that runs these schools.  The class was approved with my stipulations (or so I am told), but the person who set up the website for online registration didn't get the memo and left it open for anyone and a very large class.  Now they can't cancel the class because it is too much of a hassle to inconvenience the students.  Now the period of adding class is over, but next week they can still drop, but the administration doesn't want students dropping the "famous" American classes.  And the head of the department told me to just 1) tell the students not to write so much for class so I don't have to grade as much 2) not grade everyone's papers and 3) pick students to write on the board and correct their mistakes in front of the class.  Not having me teach this impossible class has never been considered in the many discussions I have had over the last few days.  It seems like no one can be inconvenienced but me, who will be the most inconvenienced of all.  And in regard to the department head's words, I still want to be a good teacher.  This is writing class.  How do you get better if you don't get comments on your papers?  I get it from my dad: no matter how bad it is, I still want to do my best.

Through this whole 48 hour ordeal, I have come to realize that I have never felt so undervalued or taken for granted in my working life.  I am completely befuddled at the disregard for my sanity and mental and physical health.  I spent a great deal of my free time with students outside of class last semester because I really enjoy it and I was also under the impression that that was why I was here- to be a social American figure who anyone can approach.  This semester Luke and I planned on making a frisbee team, taking students skiing,  rock climbing, maybe ice skating, as well as all the other things we do around campus that don't show up on paperwork.  When I told Dr. Zou today that if I have to teach all of these extra classes and students I couldn't do these things, she seemed unfazed.  That was what really hurt, feeling like that all this extra effort didn't matter in the end.  I was so upset I had to hastily leave before the growing tears escaped.  That's a rare one for me. 

So, I don't know what to do.  Poor Luke, who is in a similar boat, has two classes of 90 students for his public speaking class (most probably can't speak a sentence in front of the class).  All of the Americans, save one, are in a similar boat, feeling completely abused.  How do you teach a class of evolutionary biology to students who can't tell you their name in English?  To help us with this, I have two bottles of Pengshan's finest $6 USD bottle of Brandy.  We will go sing it out at KTV.

This all comes at a time when I have been pondering returning for another year.  In one day, the school turned me against them pretty fast.  Who wants to work for an organization that treats you like this?  This sets a new precedent for any job I have in the future as the worst.  Indeed, I have been reflecting on things I complained about in the past and none look so bad compared to this.  Anyway, all you back home, rejoice- I started looking for jobs back in the states today.

Thanks for reading.  Sorry to bore you with some whining, but I hope you find the sheer audacity somewhat amusing.  If you have snow where you are, please eat a little for me and if not, say hi to mr. sun for me.  I miss that guy. 

Love,
Cam

Winter Break Part 2

January 28, 2012,

The epic bus-train-bus ride was indeed epic.  In fact, it was epic that evolved into pure living hell.  The first bus to Emei Shan was no problem.  It flew by like a breeze.  In Emei we met a friend who took us to the big Buddhist Temple in the city, where we rushed through the beautiful paintings and temples.  Then be boarded the bus at 7 pm, for which we only had standing seats in a hard seat car.  We brought stools to sit on and we were comfortable until the food cart made its rounds (which was regularly), in which we would have to get up, cram between people’s legs, and then sit back down.  Every 10 minutes.  Luckily, we were soon offered a seat on the bench, which became 2 seats, which eventually became 3.  And there we were, on the world’s most uncomfortable wooden bench, for the whole night on the train that never turned its lights off.  I didn’t sleep very much because whichever way you leaned, be it sideways on a shoulder, forwards onto your knees or on the small table, or backwards, you always woke up 8minutes later uncomfortable and some part of your body asleep and tingling.  We survived, got into PanZiHua, and took a bus across town to the bus station, where we got onto another bus to Lijiang.  We fell asleep before leaving the city, feeling for the first time that the bus seats were like first class.  I awoke in the mountains with the sun high above the horizon and was just soaking in the view when I noticed everyone around me holding their noses and crinkling their faces.  Then I smelled it: vomit.  I turned around and there were two young kids puking out their guts into the trash can behind me.  The road to Lijiang is insanely and Chinese-ly narrow and winding, and the kids were paying for it.  So was everyone else for that matter.  As soon as that happened, it became pure living hell.  So, with windows down, we entered the mountain town of Lijaing, which was an absolutely breathtaking view, but our breaths were already taken away. 

We spent the next two nights at a hostel in Old Town called MaMa Naxi’s.  It was run by this sweet old Chinese lady who was always wearing a chef hat and a black apron and an old man who totally rocked a tan suit.  Mama and Dada.  Knowing some Chinese quickly earns you a little extra care and playing time with the kid.  Being around foreigners traveling around China who didn’t speak Chinese made me feel really good about what little I can speak.  But it was also comforting to just hear English at the dinner table.  We walked around Old Town a bunch, which was designed to purposefully keep you lost and wandering.  It has an old Chinese town feel and is packed with shops selling plenty of Chinese scarves, clothes, coffee, foods, trinkets, and jewelry.  It was really fun to explore and poke around.  I would rate it as one of the top places to shop for Chinese things I have been.  Mom, dad, and sister bear, you would all love it there.

Lijiang is one of China’s top tourist destinations and despite being very hard to get to, hosts an incredible number of tourists every year.  In the summer I have heard its an absolute madhouse.  Old Town has held on to its unique feel of small, undisturbed Chinese town feel.  If you only stayed there the entire visit, I think you could completely overlook the fact that Lijiang is booming.  From our arrival, it was clear that there is a vast amount of money coming into the city.  Multiple expressways are under construction and they are of Chengdu-Shanghai scale.  The main roads are freshly paved three lane streets with new light posts dotting the sides.  And surrounding the Old Town are high rise hotels, some still under construction.  Lijiang is a perfect example of loving a place too much.  It is slowly being ruined by popularity.  I am glad we got to visit before the expressway was finished. 

We spent our second day with rental bikes exploring the north of the city.  The weather has been absolutely perfect and so it was in a T shirt that I biked along the streets.  Jade Dragon Snow Mountain towers over the valley to the North at 19,000 feet, capped with a crown of glaciers, rock cliffs, and snow fields.  It is a beautiful sight.  We biked along a reservoir of sapphire blue, biked through old village streets and fields, looked at some great Chinese architecture, and met some great dogs.  Despite the downtown growing rapidly, the outskirts maintain their old Chinese lifestyle and it was great just to get a glimpse of it.  And by the way, old Chinese people are the absolute cutest old people out there.  When I am 85, I want to retire to a Chinese village.

We spent the last night at the hostel talking with foreigners around a campfire.  Met someone who had gone to high school with Lindsay’s best friend and house mate at Whitman, Sara Wolf, as well as Ben Hayes.  Out here in western China, it is still a small world. 

And that brings us to today.  We got up early and took a cascade of cars to Tiger Leaping Gorge, 3 hours North West of Lijiang. We got dropped off at the side of the road and began the two day hike along the gorge.  We are still blessed with perfect weather and we forgot that it is still in fact winter as we hiked along in T shirts and rolled up pants.  From the beginning, we were followed by people on horses, just waiting for the foreigners to break and hire them to either take their bags up or pay for a ride.  We were prime targets because we did not think it through to leave most of our gear in Lijiang, and so we are the only people with full-sized overnight packs on this trail.  Great for training, bad news for losing the eternally chasing mule with his chiming bell.  The trail was filled with switchbacks leading up through the scrub-steppe, which reminded me of New Mexico.  The vegetation around me felt very comforting, like it was the same southwest of the US, just a different mountain range.  Which is weird, because we are halfway around the globe.  Little differences caught my eye, however, like the pine tree with needles in clusters of three that were about a foot long, and the Iron Wood looking tree that had just too many leaves on its compound leaves.  Luke remarked the same when we entered the shady side of the trail and entered the taller pine forest: “this feels like home.” 

January 30^th, 2012

With Tiger Leaping Gorge behind us, I realize that it was my favorite place in China that I’ve been so far.  Despite being so famous and probably visited, the high trail hike that we did felt intimate.  The fact that we hiked it during the off season helped, I am sure, and meant that most of the stands along the trail were empty.  And we only met a few people on the trail, but enough to fill the Tea Horse Guest House’s kitchen the night we stayed there.  You hike through rice/wheat/corn terraces as you zig-zag along the gorge face, the houses and small villages still living a very traditional life with chickens running around the houses, goats grazing the hillsides, and woodpiles adorning the walls.  I won’t be overly poetic: there are still roads leading to all the villages, but modernity’s impact is softer out there.  The snow mountains kept an ever watchful eye on us form the heavens above, marking the top of a gorge that is argued to be the deepest in the world.  Its immensity keeps you staring, always trying to trip you as you stare awestruck.  Along the trail we met a few old ladies (China’s definition of old, maybe in their 70’s or 80’s) manning stations along the trail.  One was making you pay 3 yuan to take a photo at an overlook and the other was just selling food and beverages on the trail, and the thought of her walking that stuff up the steep trail was very impressive (she also had only two teeth, but that wouldn’t hinder someone from hiking).  They were incredibly cute and impressive (no better retirement I can think of), but what killed me was that these women pulled you in and showed you bags of what I took to be Oregano and said “marijuana, ganja, you want, ni yao ma? (do you want?)”.  The sheer ridiculousness of this moment will stay with me for a long time—how these women whose Chinese is almost unintelligible have four English words at their disposal: marijuana, ganja, and you what.  And in a country where people disappear for trying to buy pot on the street put it over the top.  Supply follows demand, I guess, and Tiger Leaping Gorge does draw its groovy crowd.

We over-nighted at the Tea Horse Guest House, which was incredibly cozy.  The best part was cheesy potatoes for breakfast.  The stars were incredible that night, equaled only to Emei Shan in China.  Everyone at the GH went out to star gaze.  Staring up at stars numerous as those reminds us how small we are, a lesson in both humility and inspiration to dream big.  I think people are worse for it if they never escape the cities to see stars like that.  Our second day was just as sunny but a fierce wind picked up, blowing off my sparkly hat (birthday present from Luke and laughing point for everyone on the trail) multiple times.  We hiked under waterfalls, across cliffs, and saw many things worth seeing.  Words fail a place like that.  We reached the end of the trail, left our gear at Tina’s Guest House, and hiked to the Yangze River, some 800 feet down or so.  And just like everything in China, we had to pay to go down, but not that much.  The trail was absolutely staggering—steps carved into the cliff face, ladders going down cliffs, and so many switchbacks.  One of the trails (there are three) even was chiseled onto the cliff over the river.  Crazy.  From above, on the high trail, the river looked imposing.  It has been run before on a rafting expedition in the 80’s, but that was with a dog in a ‘zorb’ looking sphere of rubber bobbing down the “un-runable” class 6 whitewater.  From above, it looked scary, but not so bad.  From the bank, it was terrifying.  Here is a point where the upper stretch of the Yangze narrows to a gap of about 25 feet and is in a hurry to get through it.  The cycling, crashing waves would erupt over 10 feet high in an explosion of frothy anger.  Luke and I sat on a rock, doing the kayaker stare, one where you can see the gears whirring, “now if I went there, I could…..”  The more I looked at it, the more I despaired that it was impossible.  The more Luke looked at it, the more he believed it was.  “Ride the jet,” was his answer, planning to aim for the wall of spray where the most water is going through and hope to get pushed put with the aid of inertia.  I’ll watch Luke, nervously.  Looking around the internet now, I still can’t find if anyone has ever gone down it in a kayak.  Claim to fame Luke Sanford…….

That was yesterday.  Today we rode a bus up and over the mountains to Shangri-La.  The bus ride was impressive—even up a small tributary of the Yangze, it was heavily dammed and controlled.  The air that rushed in the opened windows for photos smelled of pine trees and fresh air, and indeed we left any clouds near the canyon.  Fresh air was welcome after the mom held her year old baby over the trash can to pee (diapers are for the rich in China) and had good aim, but his target was faulty, it leaked.  And so we arrived in Shangri-La, an impressively remote corner of China, with baby pee running loose on the floor.

This place is boasted as being at the junction of Tibet, Sichuan, and Yunan, and it is deserving of such a claim.  The signs for businesses are in three languages: Tibetan, Mandarin, and English.  People all around the city can be spotted in traditional Tibetan colors of neon pink, black, vivid orange, red of the rose, and sparkles.  I have quickly realized that in a place as cold in the winter as it is now, any warmth is welcome, including warmth on the eyes.  We are staying in an old Tibetan home renovated into a hostel in the outskirts of Old Town, with a fire place in the main room where I am sitting close and listening to Tibetan music.  We walked around town for the afternoon while Xiao Min napped and fought her cold that has been following her.  Listening to conversations around us, I realized that I was not understanding a word of some.  And was further surprised when at lunch, one of the waitresses didn’t understand a word of Xiao Min’s Mandarin.  I realized we are truly at an edge, and it feels like the edge of China. 

With this feeling of foreignness in mind, we found a Chongqing restaurant to eat dinner in.  First off, accents and dialects have driven me crazy because I can’t hear the difference.  But tonight, I head the waitress say a Sichuan phrase that I know, “Yao De,” and a wave of comfort rushed over me.  She’s Sichuan!  I thought.  But no, Xiao Min informed me, she’s Chongqing, but that’s close enough for me.  Today was the first time I recognized a dialect, and I am proud of it.  And then we ate Sichuan style food, which I didn’t realize I missed until the first bite hit my mouth.  I am becoming accustomed!  Did the food ever taste good. 

Traveling for Winter Break

We are on the road for our month long vacation, but we are about to get picked up to go to Tiger Leaping Gorge, so I can't put any photos up right now.  More to come, stay tuned!

January 18

       Today was our first full day of traveling.  We deposited our savings into the bank before leaving Chengdu, both setting new personal records for carrying large sums of cash around on our person.  And then negotiating the chaos that was the bus station zoo, which is much more manageable now with 1) more Chinese at our disposal and 2) seeing what mid-autumn vacation crowds are like.  Today felt like riding a bike with a tail wind. 

       The bus ride to ZiGong was 4 hours, climbing and winding through the Sichuan basin countryside.  Looking out the window, the contrast flying by is what strikes me.  I catch a glimpse of a mom with a baby tied on her back with a purple shawl, walking down a field with a basket in her hand.  Trees interrupt the view; a break in the shrubs—three men tilling the soil of one field as another is crouched next to the small green saplings of a nearby field.  Enter a tunnel; exit the tunnel to see a small brick house surrounded by irrigated fields of rice, a duck swimming across.  Driving around China, the food you see growing is clearly all grown by hand, under intense individual cultivation.  And the apparent poverty of those people is beyond my imagining.  I can only grasp the contrast to the life I live and the world I inhabit in the cities. 

       We arrived in Zigong in the afternoon and Steven, our friend and host, rushed us to his family’s home.  He told us on the way that they both don’t speak English and that we should practice our Chinese.  They both turned out to be wonderful and warm hosts.  Both Buddhist, his dad immediately made us traditional Chinese tea sitting on the couch while his mom cooked us a lunch.  It was very delicious and was way too much.  Food portioning is one of my struggling points here in China.  I always want to leave the plate and table empty, but in China the tradition is that the host provides such an abundance of food, the guest cannot go hungry.  Steven’s mom is very traditional, and here you see my dilemma.  Needless to say, I will be eating a lot I think. 

       Steven’s mom is also simply amazing.  After this late lunch she put on for us and then cleaned up for, we went for a walk downtown and came back at 7.  When we arrived, there were three guests and dinner was ready.  She had, by herself, cooked another meal entirely made up of about 9 different dishes, three of which were take out, but that didn’t diminish the feat any at all.  We began eating while she was still slaving away in the kitchen, bringing out the final dishes.  She sat down a for a few minutes at the end of the meal, ate, and then spent the rest of the night cleaning the kitchen.  It was painful for me to just sit on the couch watching CBA (Chinese basketball).  OK, not that painful, but I really wanted to help with dishes.  Steven assured me that this was normal and that I would only cause a scene if I tried to help clean.  Ladies, you have it so good in the US. 

January 19^th

       Today we ventured into the bamboo sea (竹海, zhu hai).  We didn’t need swim trunks or goggles for this sea, just rain gear and hiking boots.  This was an unique trip for us because this was the first time we were going to some place where we had no idea of what was there.  We looked at a map of Sichuan, saw someplace that was marked “Bamboo See” in green writing near Steven’s hometown of Zigong, and we decided it was worth visiting.  Steven hadn’t gone, no one in the Lonely Planet had gone and written about it, and the internet was equally mum on the topic.  Undeterred, we woke up at Steven’s at 6 am and fell asleep on the 7:10 bus to Yibing.  A taxi ride across town to another bus station, a long argument with a man trying to rent us a ride to the Bamboo Sea for too much, and another bus ride later, we were waking up with rice paddies and bamboo on wither side of the bus.  And rain.  And thick clouds.  But lots of bamboo.

       竹海 turned out to be one of China’s top ten most beautiful forests in China, one of the top National Parks, a World Something Or Other Beautiful Place, and something something something… I find the title “National Forest” ironic because bamboo is a grass.  So this national forest is a big grassland with maybe 25 trees in the whole place.  But I don’t mean to diminish the place; it was beautiful.

       竹海 is in the transitional zone where the mountains of Yunan peter out and sink into the plains of the Sichuan basin, trapping the clouds into a cloud bamboo grassland.  As you can tell, I was easily hooked.  Bamboo everywhere, the fog gave it a mystical and surreal feel.  WWe hired a driver at the gate who snuck us through without buying a park entrance ticket (this is called guanxi in China- personal favors from who you know) and drove us through the forest for the day.  The pictures say far more than the words, but it was really, really cool.  Things I noticed:

1)  The bamboo we’ve seen everywhere else grows in clumps, like bunch grass.  The bamboo here, older and thicker than most of the other bamboo I’ve seen so far, was evenly spaced out, as if it were an old growth forest.  And all the bamboo stalks (I think trunk is reserved for angiosperms) bend over on each other like a field of grass blowing in the wind.  It makes you feel small.  But back to the spacing: what we were seeing was a climax bamboo forest. 

2)   Everywhere we drove, signs of humans living in the forest were in sight: trails leading to the road, bamboo stumps dotting the hillsides (always spaced out in among the living stalks), small houses along the road, and bigger hotel complexes with homes built on the side.  As we were leaving the park, I realized that we were seeing a case of humans living in a national park in what appeared, in the 5 hour drive through, as a sustainable way of co-habitation.  Bamboo from the forest was used as firewood, as raw material for the products that we were sold in the small shops, dried mushrooms (maybe from the forest) were sold in other stores as well.  Other people offered bamboo boat rides along the lake.  Maybe I was completely wrong and the bamboo is dying at an uncontrollable rate due to hightened levels of degrassation, but in a moment of Alan Rabinowitz clarity, I saw the potential for co-habitation with a nature preserve/park and I was very excited.  I will gestate on this for some time.

3)  I saw no bamboo shoots in the forest.  I am beginning to think that they don’t exist and that the “bamboo shoots” you eat in the store are something else. Or that there are no baby bamboo anywhere.  Vicious humans.

I will end this with the story of how we got stranded on the side of the highway outside of ZiGong.  The bus that we rode back on was going to Chengdu and agreed to drop us off at ZiGong on the way (common practice in China).  We were all asleep when the driver woke us up and slowed down to a stop on the side of the highway, saying here was ZiGong.  Steven (and Luke and I) were greatly alarmed.  This was the highway, not the city.  Steven said he was confused and the driver drove on to the next gas stop, where we were left.  No taxis in sight, we wandered around and were approached by a man saying he would take us to Steven’s house for 50 yuan.  50 yuan was outrageous.  Steven’s home was about 2 km away!  A long story short, involving Steven’s dad having a friend who was right there next to us with a car but unable to take us because he knew the guy trying to rip us off and couldn’t steal his customer, we were told to wait for a child on a bicycle who would come and show us the way to Steven’s home.  Incredulous, we waited.  And sure enough, a kid on a bike showed up and led us through some alleys, fields, houses, and on muddy roads until we popped out in ZiGong and not too far from Steven’s house.  He also told us that that guy charges locals 2 yuan a person for the same ride that he wanted 50 yuan for.  Sometimes having blue eyes, a tall body, and white skin works for you, other times like this it doesn’t. 

January 20^th

       A brief part of the gas station story: Steven said that the driver would have immediately given us a discount if he had spoken the local dialect.  Instead, he speaks with a mixed dialect that made the driver think he was not a local, so he hiked up the price.  Here’s the rub: China’s national language is Mandarin, which everyone studies in college.  But every province has its own dialect, distinct and sometimes unintelligible from each other.  And if that wasn’t hard enough, cities have their own versions of their province’s dialect.  So Pengshan has Pengshan-hua, a variant of Sichuan-hua, which is different from ZiGong-hua, another variant of Sichuan-hua.  Its maddening for me, and I suspect so are most Chinese.

       Today Steven took us to his grandma’s house with all of his family, including uncles, aunts, cousins, and a great-grandfather, who was 97!  He was incredible- walking around, drinking wine with us at dinner, and Steven told us can play Majiang, which I still can’t play well.  Steven’s grandmother and grandfather (both 66) live out in the country outside of Zigong.  When Steven said that she lives in a village, I didn’t believe him, and he turned out to be wrong.  She doesn’t  live in a village, she lives in the middle of the country-side with only two other houses nearby (who are also relatives).  Driving out there was driving through rural China.  A paved road became a muddy road winding through rice fields terraces and brick houses between fields or next to small lakes.  The road eventually ended and we had to walk the last half kilometer to their brick house.  Ducks and chickens wandered through the rooms, three pigs in the back awaited kitchen scraps, and a pile of potatoes and a pile of unhulled rice were in the storage rooms.  We were given a brisk tour and the men and women began the rush of cooking.  A long carp from the nearby stream was gutted and chopped on the steps of the kitchen, the guts washed out the drain on the wall.  Smoke billowed out the glass-less windows from the wood fires under the two enormous woks; when I went in, I couldn’t breathe.  I have no idea how they stayed in their all afternoon cooking.  After cracking peanuts and talking with the great-grandfather, lunch was served.  As I sat there, looking at all the food around us and the laughing, smiling enormous family gathered around, I marveled.  I marveled at how these two Mechanical Engineering professionals and a pesticide store owner were gathered here with their families in the countryside.  I marveled at how the 66 year old grandma was still slaving away in the kitchen, bringing out dish after dish.  And I marveled at our food; how when I looked around, I think all of it came from these fields.  The eggs from the chickens in the back whose coop had bunnies on top of them; the pork from the three pigs’ older brother (may he rest in piece); the rice from the flooded paddies, one of which was recently planted; the carp whose blood I stepped in 45 minutes ago; the chicken an unmissed friend to the hordes roaming around.  Maybe only the tofu I couldn’t account for.  Thinking of all this, I felt very cozy and serene.  And 20 minutes later, very full.

       The story of how the grandparents are out there is telling of the Chinese traditions.  They used to live in town, but wanted to live out in the country for a healthier life.  Retired life0time farmers, they wanted to return to what they had always done.  And so now, their kids paid for the place and they are spending their time farming out in the country.  I don’t know for how many people this is the case for, but it keeps people on the land and man, do they ever look healthy.  Whatever it is, it is working for them wondrously.

       After a rest, we took a walk to search for the Big Bamboo Steven had told me about, which Braving the rain, the fog, and Steven’s slippers for footwear, we took to the hills and clay trails.  Cresting the hill, I realized once again the odd thing about walking in China.  Back home for me, it feels that when you crest a hills or come to an edge, it is also the edge of civilization.  Behind you is the last house or the last road and in front of you is……. Emptiness.  But when you crest the hills here, you come to more fields, more brick buildings, more people.  What’s endless here are the people on the land, the history of inhabitation.  Its an oldness that you see everywhere you look, be it the deep ditch our red clay trail leads us along, or the old brick walls marking an old and abandoned farmer’s house that are crumbling back to the matching red clay earth.  The rice paddies are older than I care to guess at, perhaps passed down generation to generation, an inheritance dating back through dynasties.  Or maybe I’m now becoming too dreamy.  But whatever the history, one cannot miss the feeling that here it goes deeper than arrowheads in the soil and pot shards on hillsides. 

       Our hosts had no sooner finished eating their lunch when they caught four chickens and immediately bled one by one on the kitchen steps.  The forth got its legs and wings tied and went into a box.  With dishes still on the table, the wives went to work plucking chickens and burning the excess off over a straw fire.  I marvel at their tenacity.  After our walk we packed up and everyone loaded up with gifts of fresh food from the grandparents: a backpack of eggs, bushels of potatoes, three gutted and plucked chickens, an alive chicken in a box, and two large turnips.  It was a magical day and truly a remarkable experience. 

January 25, 2012

       The best way to describe a Chinese New Year experience is that I survived.  Before I can explain, you must understand that the evening of December 31^st is not a big deal in China.  There were some fireworks in Pengshan, but by no means was it a momentus occasion.  Christmas was a bit bigger, but only because of all the build-up that shops and our school created.  Chinese New Year, however, is best described by the host of “Crossover” that we watched at Steven’s house at midnight the other night: “Chinese New Year to the Chinese is like Christmas to Americans.”  It’s a big deal.  Fireworks were for sale on every street the few days leading up the event, tent shops alongside were selling piles of Chinese wine, the grocery stores were all busy selling food.  And when the morning came, we awoke to almost a steady stream of gunfire in the streets, or so I first thought.  It turned out to be the long rolls of firecrackers that delight young boys to no end in the states.  In China, however, boys never grow out of it; they only grow into it.  And as they grow, so do the strands.  In China, they sell rolls that have a foot wide radius of firecrackers.  They were huge.  And people set these off all day in stairwells, in the streets, in city squares, on shop doorsteps, anywhere possible.  It was totally crazy;--and very loud.  Especially the string set off in front of our door in the stairwell when the door was open. 

       In a surprisingly American move, one of China’s beloved New Year past times is to watch the Chinese New Year TV performance.  It’s a huge event and I am pretty sure that most of China sits in front of the TV New Year’s eve day and watches part, if not most, of it.  The little I saw (we were preoccupied with the Australian Open), I was very impressed.  The traditional Chinese New Year day goes along these lines: get up, eat a very large meal, watch TV, eat another very large meal, watch more TV, then go out to watch epic fireworks. 

       Seriously, Chinese New Year fireworks are totally epic.  As soon as it started getting dark, the fireworks began.  Remember, we were in the city of Zigong, a small Chinese city but by all definitions, a city with high rises and houses and parks and flammable things.  But no matter, everywhere was in-bounds for fireworks.  Walking through the streets, you would walk up to an intersection where someone had put a large block of artillery shell fireworks that were going off with traffic driving around it.  People were shooting Roman Candles out of their windows in the high rises.  M-80’s, or bigger, were randomly going off.  Between the long strings of firecrackers echoing through the streets and the tank shots of M-80’s that would make you want to jump out of your shoes, it sounded like the city was a war zone.

       Once the fireworks began, we went to a nearby square where Luke and Alex’s students were shooting off fireworks.  Imagine all kinds of people standing around a city gathering ring, shooting artillery shells, rockets, bees, artillery boxes (or batteries- I like the sound of artillery batteries) into the center.  Every 20 minutes, someone would light a long string of unwound firecrackers, hold the other end, and run around the circle being chased by their exploding tail.  A very funny sight.  I was immensely entertained just by this preliminary showing of New Year cheer, but little did I know what was to come.

We went downtown to see Steven’s family at the Buddhist Temple next.  The place was packed and the air filled with incense.  It was very cool and beautiful.  Around the second story of the three tiered temple, I looked around at the city exploding with fireworks and breathed in the scented air and thought, “this is really China.”  We rushed home before midnight, which I was a little disgruntled with, thinking that downtown was the best part of town, but Steven had other plans.  From the stairwell, you could look out and it looked like the city was in the midsts of an air-raid.  The horizon in every direction was constantly flashing and smoke filled the air.  Every now and then one of the blasts would be nearby, a green plume glimpsed through the trees on the hill.  I could imagine that this is what London must have felt like during the Blitzkreig.  I noticed the most humorous thing between blasts.  The stairwells in China are equipped with sound sensors for the lights.  When you want them to come on, you stomp a little louder in the stairwell.  But on New Year’s night, a nearby firework would set all of the lights on in a neighborhood of stairwells, and after the blasts subsided, they would all turn off.  Only to turn on again a few moments later when the next round of fireworks began.  And so on and off, on and off, on and off the stairwells of China went throughout the night of New Year’s/

The trip home was for the surprise birthday cake that Steven had miraculously bought for me in Zigong.  It was very sweet and delicious, but we had fireworks to see, so we ran out and down the street to the square in front of the sports stadium, where what felt like most of Zigong was shooting off fireworks.  The run over felt like running across the front lines- explosions booming overhead, echoing blasts between buildings.  We found high ground and watched in American awe (because no one else was nearly so enraptured) at the completely astounding and staggering amount of fireworks that went off all around us.  The most remarkable moment was when I looked around and in all directions you could see fireworks going off all around the city.  It truly felt like all of China was out celebrating.  We did our part by firing off the biggest Roman Candles I have ever seen, which I would like to dub “Roman Grenade Launchers” because they were actually a tube of artillery shells wider than the regular launchers in America.  Totally awesome.  And so for my 25^th Birthday, all of China celebrated by shooting off enough fireworks for a small world war.  Thank you China.

For my birthday, we continued with our normal state of business: get up, eat too much food, watch tennis or basketball, eat more food, watch more tennis (the Australian Open was always on in the afternoon) and then rouse ourselves to go out and go shopping.  You probably don’t believe me, but yes, our favorite pastime in Zigong was to wander downtown and go shopping.  Steven bought me a knit hat and we ate at McDonald’s (for the ice cream of course).  We wandered home late and watched Chinese love shows late into the night, laughing at what we didn’t understand and marveling at how that one girl was so mean she broke three guys’ hearts on the show.  It looked like she got kicked out.  Thank you to all of you back home who sent me warm birthday wishes.  All of your words meant a lot to me and made my day very special.  Thank you.

We finished our time in Zigong watching tennis and eating delicious food.  I struggled with how traditional his family is.  His mom would cook for hours and we would eat as she finished cooking, almost never eating with us.  I realized today that because of the language barrier, we were stuck in this whirlpool of them offering things to be nice and us accepting them to be nice.  It is hard to refuse when you don’t speak the language very well, and just how much you have to refuse was illustrated to us when Xiao Ming came yesterday and I thought she got into a fight when she was refusing some food.  No, it turns out, you just have to fight that hard when you don’t want something.  And so now, we have departed the amazing and truly generous hospitality of the Zhu family a little rounder than when we arrived.  Thank you Steven’s family!

And now we are on a bus going across Sichuan as the traveling continues.  Next is Lijiang in Yunan, but we won’t be there until after this 4 hour bus ride, a 9 hour train ride overnight with only standing “seats”, and then another 5 hour bus ride in the morning.  Wahoo!

Jiu Zhai Gou: a grading break

Jiu Zhai Gou Day 1

This morning began in the worst way imaginable: in a hostel room in Chengdu with a phone call at 4:50 am of someone speaking very fast Sichuan-wah.  Luke was a champion and took the call, which was our pickup driver saying that he was almost there to get us.  He was supposed to meet us at 5:30, but I guess 4:55 is close enough to Chinese.  So we ran out of the hostel and got into a small van that screamed around Chengdu for half an hour, picking up more tour passengers in between running red lights.  Coffee can’t wake you up that fast.

       Luke got in the car and curled up in a ball.  He told me that his midnight bathroom breaks were motivated by the previous day’s lunch of soup pot and a suspected uncooked meat jiaozi.  So now were are screaming around Chengdu in the dark with Luke dying in the back seat.  Oh no.

       Our driver dropped the van full of us off in front of a non-descript hotel that had a street vendor making breakfast omlettes/pancake wraps (a mix of batter and egg thing that was simply and acceptably, food).  The bus came, we got on and Luke fell asleep against the window without hesitation, and suddenly people swarmed the bus out of nowhere.  Before I knew it we were off.  I was looking forward to catching up with Luke in dream land, but was quickly pulled into the pit stop by the tour guide, who proceeded to talk into his microphone at a dizzying speed in Chinese.  My few circuits were immediately fried, so I leaned on Luke and began to catch up WHEN HE “HEYHEYHEYHEY’ED” ME FROM FALLING ASLEEP.  I was shocked.  Apparently both people in a group sleeping at the same time is not allowed at 6:30 am on Chinese tours.  I didn’t understand a word he said except when we had to give introductions to the whole bus.  By this time I am very grumpy.  Luke woke up, thankfully, and gave ours.  The guide continued talking as we drove out of Chengdu, and Chengdu is a very big city.  

       I awoke at our first resting stop, surrounded by mountains already and sunshine.  From here on out, I decided I didn’t like our guide.  Lots of talking, lots of Boy Scout Camp-enthusiasm-building-call-backs-(in Chinese), and an all around general annoyance.  Look Mr. Guide, the enthusiasm: great.  Whistling three songs into the microphone felt like my ears were going to pop.  It was unbearable.  Not letting me sleep when its clearly sleeping time for the foreigner-who-doesn’t-understand-a-word-you-say: bu hao (not good).  And yelling at us when we don’t want to pay the extra 180 yuan for a nighttime bonfire and staged Tibetan dinner: pushed me over the edge. 

       OK, so I didn’t like our guide.  But everything else has been wonderful.  The scenery is incredible.  We drove up into the mountains all day, light snow falling and making everything seem surreal.  The mountains were huge, the roads staggering, the tunnels mind-blowing, the rivers running emerald green; it made me realize how happy I was to get back to the mountains.  Things of consequence:

1) We made some friends.  One is Michael, a Freshman at a school in Sichuan studying Aircraft Traffic Controlling.  He sat across the aisle from us and in the course of the day found out that he has some of the best English we’ve heard from a Chinese person.  We have been ever thankful for his help and company today.  He studied abroad in Australia for 3 months and speaks with an American accent, a product of his multiple foreign teachers in High School.  We were shocked to hear he is 19 years old.  Mature beyond his years.  His last words tonight were “if you need anything, you have my number.”  Awesome.  And through him we met the other 4 ladies that we got picked up with this morning, all of which helped Luke get medicine tonight at the medical store.  It was hilarious to see 4 women crowding around him all shouting what medicine they through he should have and fuss over him.

2) The Tibetan Plateau.  After gaining altitude all day, we drove for an hour on the flat, high plains of the mountainous plateau.  We drove through traditional looking towns with old stone buildings, with people in colorful robes walking along the streets.  Prayer flags overwhelmed the hillsides at times.  At times the scenery was very familiar.  I would look out across the grassland and see the snow on the golden hillsides and think of Eastern Washington and Oregon, of driving to Joseph from Walla Walla, and I could imagine that’s where I was.  But then a golden roofed Chinese building would go by, or we’d pass a group of walkers in colorful robes and I’d remember, we are in China.  If I only had one word to describe the scenery out the bus today, it would be authentic.

And on the plateau: the tour guide (my favorite) made it very clear that no one can sleep on the bus when we were above 3,300 m.  I didn’t believe him, but when we hit that invisible line, he woke up Luke and everyone else.  Michael said its about breathing differently and you could die in your sleep.  I remain incredulous.

3)  The Tibetan bonfire.  There’s more to be said on this subject.  Early on, Mr. Guide described the evening in full detail: a cultural experience, food, dancing, etc.  YOU SHOULD GO was the bottom line.  For 180 yuan (almost half of our tour price, by the way) I wasn’t sold.  No way.  And so he was upset when we told him no, but he went through the bus and got almost everyone else to buy in.  Then he returned to us and talked very loud and fast to Michael, telling him to explain to us to go.  “The driver gets 30 yuan from it, it’s a cultural experience, yada yada, but I’m (Michael) not going either.  Waste of money.”  When we said no again, Mr. Guide was very unhappy and shunned us for the rest of the day.  No snowballs at the snowball stop (which was fine by me), just silent treatment.  Then as we were approaching the hotel for tonight, he began again, this time only louder, about how the 7 of us who weren’t going were being rude and impolite.  They don’t get tipped for the tour, so we should go (why this is important, I am not sure, because he also told us he doesn’t get any money if we go, which makes no sense).  And he went on for a long time in this manner.  It totally sucked.  And then one of the ladies in front of us said that she’d give the driver 30 yuan and not go, but that way the driver got paid.  Mr. Guide got in a BIG huff and said “That’s just not how its done,” and end of discussion.  A very interesting look into Chinese culture and how these things work, which I still don’t understand.  You don’t tip anywhere, but these other things are expected sometimes.  Well, its all an adventure. 

Tomorrow: the park!

Day 2:

       If yesterday had one word, today could only be boiled down to two: magical and cold.  Jiu Zhai Gou is Sichuan’s premier tourist destination for a very good reason: it is jaw-droppingly beautiful.  And we could not have had a more perfect day in winter to visit.  We had a fresh layer of snow when we awoke and the clouds broke in the morning to reveal blue skies and that forgotten friend: the sun.  The new snow gave us a great opportunity to see one of China’s cultural differences: with new snow on the road, the park unleashed their army of…… sweepers.  When we got on the bus at 9 am, we drove past many, many people sweeping the snow off the roads with their stick brooms.  I was awestruck.  People are cheaper than machines here.  

Me trying out one of the brooms they use to sweep the roads.  I wouldn't have believed it unless I saw it.

Us and our friend Michael

       Today I had an inspiration for a scientific study that will change the world.  After much observation today, I had come to the conclusion that Chinese women have some gene that gives them a greater tolerance of cold temperatures than women elsewhere.  Today, as I was shivering in long underwear under pants, wool socks in hiking boots, a fleece jacket under a down jacket, a wool scarf, and a wool cap, all the while stomping my feet to put off the cold, I observed countless Chinese women in tights and leather boots shuffling around, putting on less of a show than me.  Some had down jackets on, but others didn’t.  And don’t throw out my claim thinking that it wasn’t really that cold, thinking all this time in Sichuan has made me soft, because it hasn’t.  No, no, it was cold enough to freeze lakes, ice over the road, crack tree limbs as they swayed, and freeze birds in mid-flight.  OK, no the last, but everything before.  Today was cold, and yet there were about a hundred and thirty-two Chinese women shuffling around the National Park today in tights, jackets that were too small or too thin, just a shirt under, and above all, looking fashionable.  This isn’t just coincidence; let’s get to the bottom of it.

       I also spent some time considering the name of Sichuan’s treasure: 九寨沟 (Jiu Zhai Gou).  九(Jiu) means nine.  寨(zhai) means village.  沟 (gou) means valley.  So together it means Nine Village Valley, which is undeniably accurate.  We passed many traditional Tibetan villages along our travels today and read that their residents are still living traditional lives in them.  They were quite beautiful with their colorful prayer flags and tall poles covered in flags all flapping in the wind.  As Luke put it today, “If I lived somewhere where its always windy, I’d put up a bunch of flags too.”  But 9 Village Valley is a poor name for a place that is filled with so much wonder, mystery, beauty, and wildlife.  The waters of the valleys are all shades of greenish-blue.  Luke and I decided turquoise was the best word for most of it, but there are patches of aquamarine, azure, and cobalt blue, as well as jade and emerald green mixed in between.  And the mountains rise straight up to the sky, mostly covered with trees, save the patches of bare granite that rise imposingly to the clouds.  That’s the beauty.  Then there’s the mystery: a valley composed of pools and a wide spillway that never becomes a channel.  Its as if the beavers finally got their wish, but all the evidence of their tampering has disappeared.  And then there is the mystery of the logs in the water that have never begun decomposing, instead choosing to just lie there like preserved specimens waiting to be inspected.  Luke ultimately solved the mystery, and for that I am greatly impressed.  Mineralization.  The presence of some mineral in the water preserves the logs and anything in the water, and it deposits whenever the current speeds up, stopping any flow that begins to channelize.  So the entire valley acts like a series of flooding beaver ponds.  We discovered that Luke was dead on and the mineral is Travertine.  It acts exactly how he expected, but what’s most fascinating is that it deposits on anything that disrupts the current in the water.  So instead of the logs being preserved as they are, they are instead being calcified and becoming stone.  And the same goes for the rocks that the currents flow over: the mineral deposits on the surface, making the rock thicker, so the current slows over its surface.  I’m going to repeat that one in case you missed it: the rock becomes thicker.  In essence, the rocks in the valley grow with time as the water flows over them.  Its in plain sight as you marvel at the water falls, which oddly have large protrusions at the top, diving boards almost, from where the leading edge is growing outward.  And when you look down as you cross the shoals (what they call the wide flowing but very shallow river), you can see where the rock is growing around sticks and logs and tree trunks submerged in the water.  With this mystery in mind, I would like to propose a new name for Jiu Zhai Gou: The Valley of Living Rock.  How about 生长石沟  (Shengzhang Shi Gou).  Needs some tweaking, but I think its more majestic and fitting. 

Day Three

       The return was a long ordeal.  We had to stop at 4 shops for about 45 minutes each, where we were escorted to a classroom and lectured about a product they were trying to sell.  There was the traditional Chinese medicine, the bamboo products place, which made everything from washcloths to bras to Chinese sculptures to massage pads, the meat store, and the jewelry store.  Everything was ridiculously overpriced and Luke and I escaped without buying more than a 5 yuan washcloth.  We left Jiuzhaigou at 7:30 am and arrived in Chengdu at 7 pm, finally making it home around 9.  The most interesting thing is that coming back, the sky is totally clear and blue in the mountains.  You drive along a clear blue river, zigzagging along the steep mountain valley.  Then you go through one tunnel that’s not impressively long, and when you pop out the other end, you abruptly find yourself in the Sichuan basin fog.  Dismal, bleak, and dense.  Its like someone flipped a switch and boom, fog.  Ah, but this time I was glad to see it because it meant we were getting close to home.