Peace, Apples, Yaks, and Corruption

March 10-15. Five days has passed since I have written a blog post. During this time only 3 large events, worthy enough to be written about I mean, have occurred. I won’t describe each day, because it might bore you into a deep sleep, but I will share each happening chronologically as well as some minor experiences with you. I also wanted to explain why I haven’t updated everyone on each day as I had done in New Zealand and Fiji. Not every day is as large of an adventure as it was last month, but it is an adventure none the less. There is a peace in China, which I am grateful for, that did not exist in New Zealand and trying to communicate that peace through words would be near impossible, I think. I don’t understand it myself, but the peace comforts me and provides me with the time to observe my surroundings. I also must confess that I possessed little desire to blog in the past few days and, not wanting to write something I wasn’t proud of, I followed my instincts. If that weren’t enough, I am still sick since March 9. I still wretch after certain meals, however it is infrequent and my joints aren’t in constant pain.

The last 2 days of class, before the weekend, went without any notable incidents. During my off hours, I read my Lord of the Rings Trilogy book and walked about town. I don’t bother with the shops anymore; I have bought souvenirs for all my friends and family. Mostly, I observe the people, the differences between my customs and theirs, and the environment. Plugging in my headphones, I walk down the endless road of Old Dali. Instead of using my sense of sound, I use my eyes and nose to discover aspects about the town. As I watch the shopkeepers working on their crafts outside their shops, I can smell the fresh sweetbread being pulled out of the oven across the street. The inroad river tumbles across the rocks, while cigarette smoke forms clouds around me. And as old women badger me, asking if I “smoke the ganja”, cheap incense palpably lingers, trying to counteract the cigarette smoke. The list goes on and on. It isn’t a complete experience without being able to hear my surroundings, but I feel they would distract me from the niceties. The hawking of people about to spit, the constant drum of hammers striking anvils, music blaring from all directions, and the honking of car horns all around me are quite unappealing in my opinion. Even the garbage truck, which plays an ancient Chinese melody to tell people to put out their garbage, has lost its splendor.

The last night before the weekend, we decided to spend our night at a local, western café near the University. We had heard it was one of the most fun places to be on a weekday. We arrived to see it packed with people, all playing board games or PlayStation. It wasn’t what some people would call “a night out” because they didn’t serve beer and there wasn’t a woofer pounding in your ear, but it was fun none the less. Christen, David, and I met up with several kids from the U.S. whose parents, on a whim, had packed up one week and moved to Old Dali to run this café. It was strange to actually have a normal conversation with people you didn’t know intimately, but it was a welcome change. Amanda, Johnny, and Brittany were all our age and Ben and Henry were several years younger. They seemed as pleased as we were to spend time with people from back home. After several hours of Apples to Apples, we were already making plans to hang out again. The café also had a baking class on Thursday at 7pm, which we all eagerly signed up for. We relished any opportunity to keep ourselves busy during off hours. Only at 1am were we forced to leave the comfortable coffee shop and head home for the night.

So when the weekend was upon us, Erik suggested that we take a trip to Lijiang, a town about 3 hours away from Old Dali. I wasn’t yet bored of Dali, but I was more than willing to see other Chinese towns. At 9am the next morning, we were being swept away on a train towards Lijiang. I didn’t expect the train to be luxurious, but I didn’t expect it to be from the 1970s either. The paint was peeling, there were cramped compartments with small beds as seats, and the bathrooms reeked as if they had not been cleaned since the day they had been made. When I surfaced from the train station, green faced and wobbling, a cab driver greeted me and drove us to Meadow Lodge, where we would be staying for the night. I slunk into the bed as I slammed my backpack down, but Leung was there as quick as a flash. He ripped off the covers from my body and in a stern tone informed us that we were going to lunch. Against every instinct of my being and with my body fighting the movements, I shuffled out of bed and went downstairs.

The streets in Lijiang reminded me of the streets of Venice. They were cramped and windy. Even a small river of water ran the length of the roads. Shops clustered the sides and it was obvious that Lijiang caters specifically to tourists, even more so than Old Dali. Since Lijiang is near mountains, they pride themselves in their herding of Yaks. Instead of ice cream shops, there are Yak meat corner markets and Yak yogurt is advertised everywhere. I didn’t have the stomach to try the meat, but the yogurt was extremely tasty. The same goods that are found in Old Dali can be found in Lijiang, so there was no need to buy anything. Our time was better spent wandering the crowded streets and seeing several spectacular sights that were exclusive to Lijiang. The mountains held an ethereal beauty when set against the background of this busy tourist town. Chinese Plum Blossoms litter the streets, adding to the attractiveness. In the town square, there were several local men garbed in mountain clothing and riding horses packed with pots, pans, sleeping bags, and a musket. They were clearly there for tourists to take pictures with them, but they were still entertaining to watch. Other people try to take advantage of the tourist’s eagerness to spend money by allowing you to hold an eagle or play with a monkey, which you must pay for of course.

Before we knew it, dinner was upon us. Nobody wanted western food, except me, and I wasn’t going to be the odd man out for this meal. Coming across a street lined with food we all took our pick and made our own combinations. I went for 3 pieces of sizzling bacon with savory spices, a freshly baked roll of bread, miniature skewered eggs, and a bag of seasoned almonds. It was all delicious and I ate it down to the last crumbs of the almonds. After dinner, we walked down the “Red Light District” of Lijiang. All the bars were packed with people. We sat down at the most “American friendly” bar and the others ordered drinks. We thought it was “American friendly” because it played the most modern music, where the others played club music from back in the 1990s. It seemed that we were the celebrities of the bar because countless people asked to take pictures with us asked us all to dance. However, we ended up clearing the dance floor due to our more modern dances. I don’t know if the locals were impressed or disgusted by our moves, it was hard to make out their expressions, but we had fun all the same. At 12am we walked back to the room, exhausted from the night’s events and eager to lie in our comfortable, heated beds (every bed that I have slept in so far has had a heated blanket).

I didn’t sleep much that night. I became violently sick again, probably because of dinner. Nobody else reacted the same, so maybe it’s just my own body. I barely slept that night and in the morning, I was beyond exhaustion. I wanted something substantial in my stomach, so I ate 2 enormous pancakes and munched on fruit for breakfast. Our train left at 11am and it was tough to remember the ride. I was slightly disoriented and slept most of the time.

The next day we had class and I was looking forward to it, specifically the afternoon session. We planned to hike to a waterfall with our teacher and her friend. Supposedly, it was a 30 minute hike from the school. We, however, spent over 4 hours trekking the mountain behind the university in search of the waterfall. We began the hike at 2pm, immediately after lunch. We walked uphill towards the Tea House, where we had spent our first few nights in Dali. The teacher wasted no time and put us to the test, making us converse with her in Chinese. Effortlessly, we came to the back of the Tea House and found the path up the mountain. There was a guard stationed at the entrance. His only job was to make sure that we signed a sheet of paper saying that we had visited during the specific time. I believe it was in case someone came looking for us, so they could prove we had passed through that side of the mountain.

The hike began leisurely, with a slight uphill walk through the forest. We passed countless graves, extravagantly decorated with red and gold dragons and beautifully neat Mandarin writing. Rushing water could be heard close by and soon we came to the river. We thought we had come to the waterfall, but all we could see were tiny cliffs that made water fall 3 feet to the ground. That couldn’t be it we reasoned and kept walking. As we kept on marching, our teacher described many aspects of the forest to us in Mandarin, but I could only understand fragments of her speech. Occasionally she would joke with her friend, while Christen, David, and I would exchange clueless expressions. After about an hour however, we lost sight of the graves and the path became windy and treacherous. It sometimes sloped at a possible 75 degree angle, forcing us to climb the path as if it were a ladder. Our teacher gave up trying to teach us Chinese, but I doubt she could have continued if she had wanted to. We panted with the effort of climbing the mountain and our faces glistened with sweat. Our minds were bent on reaching an opening in the tree line, where we would see the fruits of our efforts. After another hour of hiking we came to a large, paved road meant for walking around the mountains. It was glorious to see how far we had hiked. We weren’t 300 feet from the top and the whole landscape, from the mountains across the lake to the undeveloped villages surrounding Dali was open to us.

Walking slowly, I enjoyed every breath of fresh air and every mile I could see, which I valued as much as a gleaming gold trophy. As we all blissfully stared out in the open, policemen on bikes surrounded us. Only after they spoke to us did we realize they were there. Angrily, they asked what we were doing up here. Our teacher and her friend explained that we were hiking. Then one man yelled at our teachers and went off in a rage. Our 2 parties went back and forth and Christen, David and I looked at each other in alarm. After 20 minutes of frantic bantering, our teacher handed the policeman 50 yen and he handed us 5 blank pieces of paper which he had stamped with the date. Then, as suddenly as they had arrived, they sped off. Our teacher later explained to us that the policeman were asking if we had tickets allowing us to climb the mountain and after noticing that we didn’t he refused to let us go back down without payment. She told us it was a trick, meant to siphon money from foreigners and you needed no tickets to climb the mountain. It was the first time I had witnessed corruption in China and it unnerved me. Everyone seemed so friendly to us, almost to the point of annoyance. This, however, changed my perspective on this region, though it was probably exclusive to the mountain range. We paid the teacher back the money she had spent on our behalf. I wasn’t upset about losing 10 yen. That’s less than 2 American dollars, but it didn’t make me feel better about the situation.

We were then forced to walk down the mountain because our teacher refused to stay after that incident. I couldn’t help agreeing. It was bitingly cold up there, even when I had on 3 layers. The weather seems to be getting colder while we stay here. At the moment it is 43 degrees and it snowed in Kunming recently, so 3 layers were vital during the hike. The walk down took half the time as the walk up, which is not unusual. Yet, it was no less uncomfortable. My toes kept getting slammed into the tops of my shoes and I could feel blisters forming on my feet. We kept getting lost and taking alternate trails as David led us through the mountain with an air of confidence that suggested he was part GPS. We ended up arriving too far left of our original location, which was a serious problem. A 10 foot wall had been built to separate the 2 sides. David and I could have easily climbed over it, but the girls were not as willing. Christen, losing her temper, snapped at David and berated him for leading us this way. David went silent and tried to find an alternate route, though he didn’t succeed. After several minutes of debate, we were forced to push the girls over the wall.

When we finally arrived back at the University, there was an air of scorn and I plugged in my earphones, ignoring the constant sniping between the 2 of them. The teacher said farewell with her friend and we took the bus back home. After a 5 yen footbath and a hot shower, we were rejuvenated enough to eat dinner, then slide into bed. The night was cold and unfriendly and I was grateful for the heated blanket. I felt sheltered and content under in my sanctuary of covers and barely noticed the piercing notes of the karaoke outside my door as I drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

A Blighted Experience

March 8 & 9. It was especially difficult to wake up this morning due to the past 2 days of sleeping in. Erik needed to yell at us before we awoke and, with a start, we realized we had slept through part of our class. We hastily threw on our clothes, packed our bags, and grabbed a handful of dumplings. My body denied the prospect of eating more pork, so I decided on eating the vegetarian dumplings. They weren’t the same, but they had a certain tang to them that I could now taste with the absence of meat.

                In class, I suggested that we focus more on conversation than writing Mandarin. It’s not as if I wasn’t eager to be able to write the Chinese characters, quite the contrary. I did however, know that we only had 3 weeks to study the language and if it was a choice between speaking and writing, I was inclined to choose the former. The teacher agreed with her normal, patient attitude and began to write all our Mandarin out into Pinion. It made the class much easier and I was able to pick up words from last class that I had forgotten. We learned to ask for directions and keep small talk with locals. We still stutter with the pronunciation and the tones force you to move painfully slow, but it was necessary. I couldn’t afford to confuse one tone with another and accidentally say something rude.

                After our classes, Erik excitedly told us that he had signed us up for dumpling making classes at the Sunny Lodge. We were all for it, especially if it meant staying close to home. We arrived at the Sunny Lodge to find 2 tables set with all the materials needed for dumplings. They had flour, pork, carrots, salads, sauces, water, and plenty other ingredients I couldn’t recognize. The hotel owner, who speaks very good English, showed us how to knead the dough to the perfect consistency. My hands slipped up and she needed to correct my form several times, but in the end I had created a decent lump of dough. From there, we cut the vegetables and mixed half with the chopped pork, and the other half into a vegetarian filling. Soy sauce was mixed into the filling to make the ingredients stick to one another. We then took the dough and ripped off small sections, which we rolled with pins to make perfectly circular and thin discs. Cupping one hand gently, with the circlets inside, we put our desired filling in the center of the dough. Then, ever so slightly, I folded one corner to the other and then pressed the two opposite ends against the filling. Afterwards, I pinched each fold until it resembled a local Dali dumpling. I say “resembled” for lack of a better word, because my first dumplings didn’t come close to the masterpieces that the hotel owner was churning out, but after 2 dozen or so I was deemed passable.

                The elderly and the young, the fat and the skinny, and the tall and the short all turned up to make dumplings with “the foreigners.” There were several variations of shapes and sizes, that all looked extravagant compared to our creations. We soon had at least 300 dumplings, enough to feed the entire hotel, and then some. I felt slightly queasy when I saw them all in a row, but kept my poise as we steamed the numerous racks. An hour later, they called us back into the kitchen. All 300+ dumplings had been cooked and were steaming softly on their racks. It was an intoxicating smell that brought back memories of the multiple native meals I have eaten here. I had to fi1ght yet again to keep from getting sick.

                We all crowded around the trays, ready to eat. I, however, wasn’t particularly hungry, but I was willing to try at least one. The hotel owner yelled “Kanpai!” which suited the occasion, for we all shoved an entire dumpling into our mouths. Almost immediately after I had swallowed the dumpling, I felt it rising in my throat again. I excused myself from the circle and went back to the room, where I vomited. It wasn’t that the dumplings tasted horrible. I just felt sick to my stomach. The prospect of eating anything revolted me at that point, and my body craved for a soft bed. I ended up sleeping out in the courtyard, where there is a comfortable sofa that met my desires.

                The next day proved to be a dreadful one. I couldn’t even force myself to get to class. I was violently sick half the day and in pain for the rest. My joints ached and I felt exhausted beyond reason. During lunch time, my mind dictated my body and blocked out the pain momentarily so I could get a small amount of food. If I ate more local food, or even thought about it, I would become sick again. I ended up buying bananas and apples from a street vendor and washed them with my water bottle. I had a craving for nutrition, but it was in vain. The fruit came up just as it hit my stomach.

                Erik deduced that it was a stomach bug, something that had not been caused by the local food. The local food is much healthier than any of the preserved meals you would buy in the United States. I was grateful for his reasoning because I didn’t want the diet of my cultural experience to consist of only western food. I am still reluctant to eat the food here, only because my mind tells me that I will become sick again if I eat it. I’m taking it slow and hopefully soon, I will be able to stomach the local food long enough to enjoy it again.

Untouched China

March 6 & 7. Today was our first weekend day, which meant sleeping in until 11am. The morning air was my only alarm and I enjoyed its touch as I blearily opened my eyes. The sound of the active town washed over me as I swung my feet out of bed. I showered with a happiness that I had not felt since Fiji and nearly jogged to breakfast with contentment.

We ate at a western style breakfast house. Surprisingly, it held its promise of “tasting like western food.” Most of the “western” restaurants we have been to either held a slight taste of local food or just served Chinese food with a western look. After a meal of eggs, bacon, bread, cheese, and chai tea, we discussed the plans for the day. We settled on biking out to the coast, which would hopefully provide us with a view of the suburbs.

The actual act of renting a bike took longer than I expected. Leung haggled with every dealer and was never satisfied with any price. After 5 different rental shops and at least 40 attempts to drop the price, Erik shoved money into Leung’s hand, obviously frustrated enough to surrender to the price. The bikes were of good quality, but I knew the small seats would hurt our butts given enough time.

The streets were hard to navigate through because the majority of locals seemed to disregard the fact that they might be run over. The cars didn’t help either. They honked constantly, even when we were clearly out of their way. They must have been thinking we would purposefully swerve into oncoming traffic, although that thought never crossed my mind. Finally, we hit the open road, where there were more horse drawn carriages than cars. The road went in a straight line for miles until it met the coast. We subconsciously raced each other as if there was some prize at the end of the road. Oddly enough, the view of the coast was reward enough for our efforts. The boats looked like floating Chinese temples and the lake looked vast and untouched. There were several street vendors nearby and we stopped for a snack of sundried tomatoes and fresh almonds. I have never liked tomatoes, but these were like candy and I was helpless to their sweet taste.

We rode on for several more miles, looping around the countryside until I could cover the entire campus of the university with one thumb. There were rice fields all around us as we pedaled. It was shocking to see that most of the villages surrounding Dali were so undeveloped. Dali’s modern influence didn’t stretch even a few miles in any given direction. It was like stepping back in time. The people harvested crops or groomed their horses. I even saw a few practicing archery.

Leung didn’t stop riding until it was sundown. We saw so much of the countryside in such a short time that it was hard to remember most of the gorgeous sites. 5 hours later, when we were hungry and exhausted, we arrived back at the hotel. I winced as I dismounted my bike. My butt and legs were sore to the bone. We didn’t delay in our movements, however. After showering quickly, we set out for dinner. Dumplings and noodles were tonight’s meal and I scarfed it down with animalistic vigor. Too comfortable to move our feet, we stayed at the restaurant and listened to the karaoke I had despised since tonight. They usually played late into the night and most of the singers, I’m assuming, had never been on the receiving end of their songs, for if they had they wouldn’t have sang at all. Later on, we dragged our feet back home and hit the bed, without even noticing that it was barely cushioned.

The following day was another weekend day. I didn’t have anything to do and nothing was planned. I spent most of the day resting or walking solo around town. I practiced my Mandarin here and there. Also, I bargained for many souvenirs. I had no intent to actually buy anything, but I mentally noted the given prices down for a later date. I also caught up on all the homework I had left for today. It wasn’t exactly fun, but the challenge was welcome. I hadn’t had to strain my brain to learn anything substantial in a long time. Other than that, it was an ordinary day in Old Dali.

Monotony

March 5. The days grow ever more continuous during class days. It’s a positive repetitiveness, but it sometimes leaves me craving to travel more. Mandarin is as difficult as ever, but I am concentrating intently during lessons and thoroughly completing my homework (which is now present). Christen quickly rose to the top of the class and is now the teacher’s pet, though not without reason. She studied Mandarin for 2 years when she was in high school, which leaves David and I at a disadvantage. We have also moved our housing to the Sunny Lodge in the town of Old Dali. It’s much cozier than staying at the University. They have softer beds and sympathize more with tourists than locals. The owner here speaks excellent English and is helpful whenever we need to know our way about the town. Two cute, friendly dogs also stroll around the property, which I see as an added bonus. Maybe I will have to break up these continuous days with a few Taekwondo lessons in the afternoons, but for now, I am content.

Photos of China have finally been uploaded to my Picasa slideshow! Sorry for the wait.

Tones are Everything

                March 3 & 4. Classes started this morning at 8:30am. I woke up to another glorious, but bitingly cold morning. The temperature change is drastic between Fiji and China. I can no longer wear shorts and I constantly need a sweatshirt. It’s to be expected, however, because this is China’s winter season. Breakfast was made by the dorm staff. A warm bowl of meat and vegetable noodles greeted me as I sat down to eat. They also served us hot milk, which went surprisingly well with the meal. After breakfast, we quickly went back to our room to grab pens and notebooks and then we trekked down to class. The campus seems even larger than it had done when we were driving through it. We are at the top of the University and class is held at the bottom entrance. It takes 30 minutes to hike down to class. Erik and Leung accompanied us the entire way, but Anna had left that morning to go into Shanghai.

                Our class building is the main building and is the largest. Leung, who had gone to school here, had to guide us through the halls and doors until we wound up at room 4-19. Our teacher was waiting inside and got up to shake our hands. I could already tell that she has a very limited knowledge of English, but, as Erik had explained, that comes as an advantage because this way you must immerse yourself completely in the Chinese Language. We were handed textbooks and sat down as she pointed to the first 3 chairs. It was only the 4 of us in the classroom. The textbooks are labeled Elementary Grade 1. When you’re a high school graduate and you’re handed an Elementary book, you have the feeling that you’re slightly moronic. She wrote her name in Mandarin on the board and repeated it out loud. It is so hard to pronounce that I can’t even try to communicate it through my blog.

                Then, class started. We began with the simplest words, like Ni Hao and Xie Xie, but then progressed to tones. There are 4 tones in the Chinese language and each can change the meaning of the word. Ma (in Chinese) has 4 meanings: horse, scold, mum, or numb each depending on which tone you say it in. The first 3 hours weren’t difficult and I felt that learning Mandarin isn’t as hard as everyone states it is. That was my first big mistake.

                I wasn’t hungry for lunch today, but went with everyone all the same. There is a small main street on campus that is lined with several restaurants and tourist shops. Leung recommended a restaurant, which he said serves the greatest fish in Dali. I’m not a huge fan of fish, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to try some more local food. Circular tables made up most of the space in the restaurant, with little room to slide in and out of your seat. A revolving centerpiece was used to pass items across the table and is used in most of the restaurants that I have been to so far. The fish, vegetables, and rice came out almost at once and the owner shook the hand of Leung vigorously. Obviously, they were good friends. The fish wasn’t chopped up into friendly pieces that you would normally see, but it came as the entire fish. Even the scales needed peeling back in order to access the meat. There were also several small bones that you had to look out for. The fish, however, was one of the best I’ve ever tasted. It had a slight spicy, barbeque flavor to it that made us devour it to the last morsel. The skeletal fish, with only its head and tail still intact, lay before us, while the rice and vegetables had been scoffed down.

Leung’s friend, who teaches Taekwondo, showed for the last hour before class and offered to teach me Taekwondo self-defense. I was all for it, but David and Christen were hesitant. I wanted to start straight away, but he hadn’t taught lessons in over 5 years. He explained that he needed to draw up a class schedule before we could start. We decided that in the next few days I could start my lessons. With nothing left to do and little time before our second part of Chinese lessons began, we headed back to class. It was only an hour long and consisted of us reviewing our past lesson. We weren’t given homework, thankfully. I had too much writing to do before I could dedicate more focus to Mandarin.

I felt sluggish and tired after many days of too much Chinese food and too little exercise. Don’t get me wrong, the food here is incomparable, but that’s the problem. You can’t stop eating. So I forced myself to run around the soccer field until I felt safe enough to eat dinner. After dinner, however, I was back at square 1. We had more dumplings that night. The skinny ones are my favorite, but the fatter ones are like donuts. You eat them until you throw up. I crawled into bed that night, grateful for some escape from the tempting aromas of food.

The next day was almost exactly the same as the last. However, we learned how to introduce ourselves in Chinese and were thrown into vocabulary that sent my head spinning. Any other language and I would be able to follow the class with ease. For Mandarin you have to translate the characters into Chinese words and then translate them into English words. It’s rigorous and time consuming. I spent the afternoon writing again and finally caught up to date on all my blog posts. We even had dumplings for dinner. I swear, if I eat anymore dumplings I will come back wrapped in dough with a pork center.

Thanks for the patience concerning my posts. Hopefully these last few entries make up for the wait. Also, thanks for all the comments; they make every post worth it.

Old Dali

                March 2. Waking in China at 7:30 has its advantages. I was able to watch the sunrise from my window. It was gorgeous to see the sun’s silhouette crawling up the peak of a distant mountain. When it reached the top, it seemed to pause for a few seconds in a triumphant stance. We didn’t need to get up at any particular time today, but I was wide awake and ready for another adventure, which I had become accustomed to last month. I walked out of the room and was surprised to see Anna on the balcony with 3 cups of green tea. She offered one to me with her motherly smile and brought one in for David, but set it by his bed. She exited the room and started giving me details about what not to do in China. For instance, you’re not supposed to touch someone’s head. It’s considered extremely rude. Don’t put your chopsticks into your bowl as you set them down. Always put them across the edges. Lastly, never accuse someone of staring at you because it is perfectly normal to stare at a foreigner here. She didn’t need to tell me this last rule, but I humored her all the same.

                After I had talked with Anna some more about China, David had finally woken up. He was in a good mood and ready for a meal, as I was. 10am was checkout time here, and we doubted that we could make it back after breakfast in time. We checked out and put our belongings into Anna’s room (who would be staying another night), but I took my backpack. I’m not taking any chances here when there is plenty of thieving.

                Old Dali is a beautiful city with plenty of activities to do during down time. There are massage parlors, horseback riding, hiking, and Taekwondo lessons. I wanted to do them all today, but Anna had different plans for us. We were shown the city and how to get to specific landmarks in case we ever got lost or separated. She also showed us where to buy snacks and any supplies we might need. I could tell she was doing it out of her good nature, but it was slightly unnecessary. I wondered if she was accustomed to high school students and my beliefs were confirmed as she told me she usually led the summer high school Rustic Pathways programs.

                During this tour of the city, we picked up some dumplings along the way for breakfast. They were delicious and came in 2 varieties. One was skinny and longer, more like the dumplings seen in America. The other was fatter and much doughier. Anna showed us how to make the perfect sauce for dumplings, with 1/8 soy sauce, 7/8 vinegar, and a dash of chilies. I could have eaten them until I burst. I began to wonder how healthy they were and voiced my concern to Anna. She told me that the ingredients were locally harvested and grown so it would be much better than any Chinese food bought in the States. On that note, I ate them greedily.

                We walked around town a bit more and saw many stray dogs and puppies. It was sad, but they seemed well fed. At noon we had to meet up with Erik, Leung, and Christen for lunch so we stayed in town and explored it thoroughly. I was excited to see Christen and to have someone close on this trip.

                Café de Jack was the meeting place, and it was a western style food restaurant. We met the rest of our group and I was right in believing that my spirits would rise at the sight of my cousin. She was perfect for this situation. Someone I could talk too freely, but not someone who would latch onto me like a lifeline. She handled the situation perfectly. David introduced himself and everyone started talking to her about themselves. Immediately, I could see that she would be a great fit for this trip.

                I ordered a burger because I missed the taste and scent of American beef. Yet, I was slightly disappointed. Something of the Chinese food lingered upon the burger’s taste and scent and the fries were soft and undercooked. I tried to enjoy the meal, but it was difficult. After lunch, we went back to the hotel to pick up our luggage. From there we took a taxi to Dali University. Oddly enough we didn’t go through the main entrance, but through a side street. We wound our way up to the top of the hill overlooking the University. The campus is enormous, with many modern buildings and dorms. There is little grass around the roads, but when we came to the place where we will be staying, we were awed to see miles of tea gardens stretched out before us.

                The dorm rooms that we are staying at for the first 3 nights are very comfortable looking, much more so than the previous hotels at least. The beds are slightly more comfortable and the surrounding decorations are beautifully native to the culture here. We have all stretched out on our beds and are relaxing before we set out for dinner. Hopefully it will be better than lunch.

A Foreigner

March 1. I awoke stiff necked, bleary eyed, and troubled this morning. It was strange to wake up knowing only one person near me. I showered for what felt like the first time in a week. It brought a new feeling of warmth and comfort to my body and I felt a little better as I waited for Leung and David to wake up. I sat down on the uncushioned sofa with a groan and watched TV to take my mind off my discomfort. There are 50 channels in Kunming and over half feature a military program. The rest are either soap operas or plays that seem slightly silly to watch, from the eyes of a foreigner that is. The only channel I felt some relation to was the one playing Spongebob Squarepants in Chinese, which took no less enjoyment out of the show.

                When Leung and David finally awoke, I greeted them only halfheartedly. After they were ready to leave, we headed downstairs for breakfast. We walked down at 8am and the concierge told us we didn’t need to check out until 11am, so we had some time to kill. Striding out the door, Leung, David, and I entered the morning world of China. There were masses of people going this way and that. Some were conversing with shop merchants; others were working outside their perspective shops, and the rest rushed furiously to begin their day jobs. Leung knew the city surprisingly well and led us through many back alleys and side streets where we came to a small, but friendly American café. He explained that we would have plenty of time for Chinese breakfast later on and that we should enjoy some bacon while we can. I ordered eggs, bacon, potatoes, a bagel, and chai tea. It was all delicious and brought even more life back in me than the shower had.

                After breakfast we walked slightly in the direction of the hotel, but zigzagged through many streets with makeshift shops. We learned to bargain from Leung and he taught us the best way to communicate with the shop owners. The world has one universal language: numbers. He handed us both a pen and paper and told us to bargain whatever item we wanted down to a quarter of the price. Since I had forgotten my sleeping bag in the Hong Kong airport (the first item I have lost all month) I entered an outdoors shop. The owner rushed towards me and asked what I would like (or at least I guessed he asked that). I pointed to the smallest sleeping bag I could find and asked for the price. His asking price was 100 yen (roughly $17 US). I wrote down half that on my pad. He seemed to consider for a moment then nodded. I took out my money and faked to show I only had 25 yen. I showed him the money and he shook his head in disgust. In response, I turned and walked straight out the door. He yelled me back furiously and snatched the money out of my hand, while at the same time shoving the sleeping bag angrily into my hands. Grinning to myself, I walked away with Leung and David.

                We spent the rest of our time peering into several shops, while rarely buying anything because we would feel terrible if we asked for more money on our first day in China. I came back to the hotel feeling happier then when I had left. I had one idea formed in my mind: “China might not be so bad after all.” So we packed our things together and walked out the door. We looked ridiculous as we walked down the streets, with our backpacks on the front of our bodies and David and I staring suspiciously at anyone who passed too close to us. The bus stop to Dali was a 45 minute walk, but we decided to take cabs instead. Even cab prices can be bargained in China. Leung passed up several expensive cabs (taking much longer than 45 minutes), but then came to a completely ordinary car, parked on the side of the road, and asked for a ride. They bargained a price and Leung agreed. Perplexed, I threw my luggage into the trunk and slid into the car. Only when I asked did Leung tell me that some people are private taxi drivers who sit on the curb all day looking for fares.

                So we came to the bus stop and were immediately greeted by Anna, the Rustic Pathways China director. You could instantly sense her good nature and her innocent demeanor gave her a motherly aura. She hugged us both, waving our handshakes away. Leung caught us off guard as he said goodbye to us and we shouted why he had to leave. I had grown accustomed to his presence, even in the past day. His bouncy attitude and constant smile were infectious. He said not to worry, however. That he would see us within 2 days because he needed to pick up Christen and Erik. Relieved, I started to feel hunger pangs again. We bought local Chinese snacks for the bus ride while Anna bought our bus tickets. The snacks were exotic and I was willing to try most, except for chicken feet and packaged eels. We bought vanilla tootsie rolls, fake Oreos, crackers, bread, and corn chips. We met up with Anna and she looked over our snacks with an approving gaze. Then we walked through the ticket barrier and security machine.

The station was just as packed as the city had been. People still wore flu masks, while some led sheep and caged chickens around. So it seems understandable why some people would wear masks. The security checkpoint was a joke. The metal detector didn’t work (I know because I had my phone, my belt, and my camera on my person when I walked through) and the security officer didn’t even bother looking at the screen for the x-ray machine while our bags were passing through. In fact, I doubt there was even anything on the screen. We piled onto the bus, but it wasn’t crowded. I was able to stretch out in the back and before I knew it, I fell fast asleep.

I was awoken by the bus as it came to a screeching halt directly in front of the hotel we were staying at tonight. It was called Sam’s Hotel in old Dali and was surprisingly rustic, yet comfortable. Sam, who knew very good English, welcomed us with 3 steaming cups of green tea as we dragged our luggage into reception. The warm liquid felt welcome after a long bus ride and was unsurprisingly bitter. When I asked for sugar, Sam just laughed at me and strode away to get our keys. He was nice enough to see that we were not in the mood for any talking. Even though we had done almost nothing today, we were drained from the travels. He said he would order noodles for us and have them sent up to our rooms. We thanked him graciously and lugged our baggage upstairs.

The room resembled much of our previous night’s room. The shower was slightly moldy and there was no shower curtain. The beds were as stiff as ever and the TV had not one American friendly channel. I talked with David for the rest of the night and we stopped for a while to eat our noodles, which were good enough to make up for the room. David fell asleep mid conversation and I cracked one of the first genuine smiles since I had left New Zealand. It was time for me to go to sleep as well and with that, I crawled into bed and tried to make an adequately comfortable mattress. I didn’t succeed however, and fell asleep grimacing.