Weapons of Flesh and Steel

March 23. I started the morning with another glorious session of bell ringing and chanting. I curled up in the sanctuary of my covers and blasted music through my headphones in the hope of drowning out the noise. However, it was in vain. I could still feel the bell’s vibrations in my chest and it distracted me from my sleep. Groaning, I stood up and was immediately hit by a wave of pain. Every muscle in my body ached. They protested my slightest movements and I was forced to sit back down and massage the will to move into my body. I tried for a second time and to my relief the pain had receded slightly, yet was still ever present.

My morning run went well enough until, due to the urging of my Master, I carried a larger rock on my head than yesterday. It made my neck muscles burn more than ever and my head throbbed when I finally lay down the small boulder. Then, during the 30 minutes before breakfast, we were taught new segments of Kong Fu. It all seems to come together after a while and I become confused at times between one position and the next. Though, with plenty of practice, I’m sure I’ll be able to memorize them.

I devoured the breakfast of noodles, onions, carrots, and tofu. Again, I wasn’t disappointed, mainly due to the replacement of meat with tofu. I’m sure if the tofu was anything less than the quality it is now, I would be praying to Buddha to send me a steak. After breakfast we performed our stretches and various exercises. Even after one day I am able to remember most of the exercising positions, although I couldn’t execute them as vigorously as before. My muscles still shot a jolt of pain through my body during kicks and cartwheels. During this session I kept glancing over at one of the monk children who stood resolutely still with a 30 pound rock on his head. He constantly looked forward and his eyes never wandered. He stood as still as a statue for the entire 3 hours. I asked one of the other children what he was doing and his answer was short and contained copious amounts of disapproval. “His punishment for insulting Master.” He said. I didn’t inquire further on the subject.

Lunch was short today because I was still full from breakfast, but I still sat and waited for at least one person to finish their meal. Ella, a foreigner of about 21 years old, was the first to be finished and, following the rules of etiquette, we said “R Me Tofo.” to the Master and left together. After washing our bowls, Ella asked me if I wanted to see the rest of the temple. “There’s more than just this?” I asked as I gestured to our surroundings. Nodding, she led me outside and we walked about the property. There were several paths leading in almost every direction and she led me down the first one on the right. We came to a pond with a large blank, white wall except for a border of decorations and a single picture in the middle. Then we walked to a field for practicing Tai Chi and Kong Fu in the summer. From there she led me to the Master’s house, which was exceptionally decorated with gardens of beautiful spring flowers. Finally, we came to the main temple. I had suspected that the temple we resided in was the main one, but apparently not. The golden characters labeled it as such and the enormous golden statue that resided inside reinforced the fact. It was a gorgeous area. Even the temples shown in movies couldn’t compare with this one.

We passed the time talking and comparing stories of our travels until it was time to continue our training. I learned several more positions of Kong Fu. I wondered how many more positions were involved in it, because if there are several more than I doubt I will be able to memorize it in 5 days. The ones we had learned now almost took 5 minutes to complete. I politely asked Master to perform this segment of Kong Fu. He completed it in roughly a minute with incredibly fluid, yet powerful movements. I couldn’t even keep track of which positions he was doing, but it seemed as if we weren’t too far away from the end. Then we finished our training with stretches and push-ups (which they do with their fists here).

I was ravenous during dinner and ate everything in my bowl including all the leftovers on the table. Afterwards, Ella and her family had to leave for the next leg of their journey and I said my farewells to them all. Then, as I wandered around aimlessly for something to do, I ran into several of the monk children and they brought me into their room to talk about America. I was surprised to learn that they knew of Batman, Superman, Spiderman, Hulk, Transformers, and most every other superhero or action character I had grown up with. Hit with a spark of inspiration, I ran to my room and grabbed my iphone, some chocolate, and the ninja star. I first handed them the chocolate (although, just to make sure, I asked if they were vegans and they stated that they ate meat), which they loved and ate with a gleam of pleasure in their eyes. Then I gave them my ninja star, insisting that they keep it. It wasn’t very sharp and it could probably be of more use here. I also witness them practicing with swords so I think they can be cautious with the star. Then I let them play a racing game on my iphone. Taking turns, they played for almost 2 hours and refused to stop until my battery had burned out. I don’t mind however, it’s probably better that I don’t have it here. When darkness fell and they were forced to perform their ceremonies, I headed back to my room where I am now. Reflecting on the day, I decided it was definitely one of the top 10 days of my life, despite my aching muscles and the guilt of giving a weapon to a few 13 year olds.

Through the Halls of Buddha

March 22. *Dong* I jolted upright, delirious and alarmed. *Dong* Then the singing started and I looked out my window. *Dong* A monk garbed in blue robes was chanting and hammering a large bell with a log. *Dong* This must be the wakeup call I thought. *Dong*But as I looked outside, I reasoned that it must still be early. *Dong* Looking at my watch I saw that it was 5am! *Dong* Our morning run didn’t start until 6:30am. I crawled back into bed wanting another hours rest. *Dong*I never got back to sleep.
After counting down the seconds until 6:30, I finally stumbled out into the courtyard for the run. It was still indistinctly dark and I required a flashlight to get around this early. Dressed in a sweatshirt and sweatpants, we began our run out into the road. Most of the monks were running today, though I noticed several other foreigners running with us. All were women and their ages varied from around 21 to 55, yet they were all impressively agile. The run wasn’t an arduous one. We jogged for possibly 5 minutes before coming to a dried out river. A monk I had been running with picked up a large boulder and, with great, unexpected strength, put it atop his head where it balanced there. Without hesitation, he began to walk back up the road towards the temple. I was left gaping at the back of him. I chose my own rock, although it was smaller than his neck breaking bolder, and began to walk back to the temple as well. I slipped a few times, but generally the rock stayed balanced during its journey. I followed the line of monks balancing rocks atop their heads until they came to the temple, then they veered downhill to a neatly made rock path. They placed their heavy rocks in a precise pattern in order to form a walkway down the hill. I tried to place mine, but one monk took it from me, though not unkindly, and placed it himself. Then, stretching my neck muscles, I ran back up to the temple.
At the temple’s large front doors, we met the Master of Kong Fu and Tai Chi. He bowed and said “R Me Tofo.” We all responded with a bow and returned his “R Me Tofo.” (This was stated in the etiquette guide). He introduced himself as “Master” and we haven’t received a name beyond that. Speaking in decent English, he asked if we would rather practice Kong Fu or Tai Chi during our stay. The 3 of us chose Kong Fu. So he began teaching us the first movements of the martial art. We started with painful slowness and Master concentrated on perfecting the form of one movement before we began the next one. As to be expected in Kong Fu, there were several punching and pushing motions, but the most taxing positions required squats and lunges. I had not done either since I had left school and my muscles burned before long. Soon a layer of cool sweat soon coated us all as we practiced. The foreign Tai Chi students and the younger monk boys practiced alongside us. The monk children performed aerial kicks and flips with ease, and I was beyond impressed by their humility when it came to their abilities. No one competed with one another; on the contrary, most helped the less competent children to Master their practice. It made me feel slightly foolish remembering all I had done in high school when I had constantly tried to outstrip everyone in classwork and practices.
Suddenly Master called out that it was breakfast time. Starving, I ran to the kitchen. The cook handed the three of us bowls of our own, which we must wash and clean after every meal, as well as keep safe in our rooms. We sat down with Ella, one foreigner of about 21 who would be practicing Kong Fu with us. As explained in the etiquette, the Master must start eating before we could start. Our cook handed out 2 separate plates of giant dumplings and a bowl of what looked like rice porridge. It all smelled tantalizingly delicious. When the Master had exclaimed “R Me Tofo!” and bit into his food, I grabbed the first dumpling I set my eyes upon. The first was slightly salty with veggies and tofu inside, and the second was sweeter with crushed nuts and honey oozing from the dough. I ate at least 5, which was no easy feat due to their abnormal size.
After breakfast there was another round of lessons. We first stretched with our Master in a separate atrium that held several statues of different Masters and Buddhist guardians. Our Master shamed us all by stretching to the limits of the human body. He formed 200 degree angles with his splits and could put his head through his legs. Then we performed diverse exercises involving jump kicks, deliberate punches, cartwheels, and handsprings. Not wanting to offend our Master, who was very kind yet strict, we participated in all of the exercises, even if our backs smacked hard against the stone floor. The speed, agility, and stamina of the younger Buddhists astounded me. At one point a boy of 10 years old performed a no handed cartwheel flip! It was beyond anything I could have expected. The process of the exercises took longer than I thought because Master needed to show us the proper technique.
Too soon, 3 hours had passed and it was time for lunch. It was another delicious meal of tofu, rice, and various vegetables. I was beyond thirsty however, and resorted to drinking the steaming hot water they passed around, not caring weather my mouth burned or not. I left the table with David (you must leave the table in 2s and 3s) and said “R Me Tofo.” to each table. After cleaning our bowls and stowing them away safely, we played tag with a few of the monk children and I showed them a ninja star that I had kept in my bag. They took turns throwing it and each excited kid possessed deadly precision, though it was not unexpected.
While I was walking back to the room, Master called me to join him for some tea. It didn’t occur to me to refuse his request and I sat down with him at once. He drew out a large wooden wheel and smacked one side of it on the table. A part of the wheel shattered and he put a large chunk of the wood into a steaming pot of water. Only then did I realize that the wheel was made of compacted tea leaves. It wasn’t a strong or tasteful brew, but it filled you with immense energy. I felt like running a few miles afterwards. We talked of my Chinese lessons, his life at the temple, and my travels of the world. He spoke more English than I expected and was much more willing to converse in a friendly manner than during lessons. Then he clapped his hands and said “Lessons now.”
We finished up with a review of our Kong Fu positions and learned a new series of moves. Then came dinner, which was tofu bacon, rice, carrots, and peppermint soup. Immediately after dinner I dragged my feet up to my room. I only have the energy to type this post until I fall asleep, but hopefully I will be able to find a way to post these days while I am here.

Racing With Time

March 21. A hectic day was what I had to look forward to when I awoke this morning. I immediately dressed and showered, then set off into the markets to buy various souvenirs for my friends and family. I bought scarfs, ninja stars, incense, tea and several other items. The time I had spent practicing my bargaining skills had paid off, as well as my Chinese lessons, for I was usually able to cut the price down to a quarter of what the merchants originally gave. However, the bargaining took longer than I thought and it was almost noon before I had bought all the items I needed. I scarfed down a breakfast of eggs, bacon, bread, and cheese (which I made into a classic bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich) and drank a Chai tea, which brought new life back into my throbbing head.

From there I scrambled up my items and, with Leung’s help, shipped a package home. Even last month I had realized that my suitcase was bulging with unnecessary items so it was necessary to pay the 180 yen ($30) to send a package home. Almost an hour and a half had passed when the postwoman finally cleared all my items to be shipped away. I tore out of the post office with Leung on my heels and came to a barber shop. This took more time than normal because I was wary of the barbers in China, but again with Leung’s help I was able to get the exact cut that I wanted.

I ran back home and sent a few emails and had just finished when Erik told us that we needed to have dinner before heading to the monastery. We ate at Café De Jack again, which we eat half our meals from. I ordered a massive dinner, partly because I had only eaten one meal today, but mostly because the monastery only provides vegan food. I shoveled down a 9 inch pizza, a beefsteak with fries and an egg, and finished it off with a fresh oatmeal cookie from the bakery.

Beyond bloated, I lugged my suitcase onto a taxi and set out towards the monastery. It was only a bumpy 15 minute drive from Dali, but it was as secluded as any Buddhist temple. It was slightly dark when we arrived so I could only make out the outlines of the temple and the surrounding area. We walked down several steps and came through the opening of the large front doors. A boy no older than 13, wearing a headlamp, greeted us upon entering the temple and I introduced myself in Chinese saying Wo xing Mack, Wo jiao Jimmy. He laughed at my pronunciation and in good English said “Come this way everybody, you need to sign in.” I was slightly embarrassed to notice that his English is better than my Chinese. However, I studied for only 3 weeks where he has probably been studying for a few years.

The boy led us over to the sign-in book and we wrote down our information near candlelight. I even signed my name in Chinese, which pleased the boy. Then we were handed the temple etiquette, which was simple, yet strict. For example, it stated that no food can be left in your bowl; if you drop food you must eat it, no sexual contact, and above all no insulting the master. Leung and Erik wouldn’t be staying with us on this leg of the journey, though they probably will visit from time to time. So we said our farewells and it amused me to see Erik’s look of longing as he gazed around at the outlines of the surroundings.

 Then the boy led us to our rooms separately because the girls are not allowed to be in the boy’s dormitory and vice versa. As you may have guessed, there is no power in the temple and obviously no Wi-Fi, which might make blogging a bit tricky, but I will figure out something. The boy gave us a thermos of water and said goodnight. Thirsty, I gulped down some water, but gasped and sputtered when the boiling liquid ran down my throat. I guess that must be the way they purify the water here. I’m not going to complain. Better safe than sorry. We are now stretching out on our beds, eager to sleep so we can experience tomorrow, though the vegan meals might prove to be a heavy obstacle to overcome for 5 days.

The Little Things

March 15-20. For this post, I must start on the 20^th, for the days beforehand were as continuous as ever, although I do need to explain why I never followed through with my taekwondo lessons. When I consulted with Erik on the subject, he explained that 5 days of this trip are dedicated to learning either Kung Fu or Tai Chi at a Buddhist temple. Therefore, I decided that since I had already paid for martial arts lessons I might as well not spend my money learning an entirely separate martial art. It was, however, the loss of another unique experience, but I’m sure the time spent in the temple will make up for it.

So the 20^th was our last full, free day before the monastery, and I made sure it was worthwhile. Waking up to the bustle of the Saturday crowd, I awoke Christen and David and had a scrumptious breakfast at The Sweet Tooth. Breakfast consisted of savory blackberry pancakes and an enormous blackberry muffin. I was also able to stomach some coffee, which I have grown fond of since New Zealand, although plenty of sugar is a necessity.

Afterwards, our plan was to meet Erik and Leung at some stables a few blocks away from The Sweet Tooth. Leung, Erik, a raggedy, old man, and 4 small horses met us at the stables. Only Leung wanted to join on this ride, for it was his first time riding and Erik was busy with other demands. The old man greeted us with a toothless grin and, wasting no time, ushered us onto the horses. The horse stood no taller than my shoulder and I swung myself easily into the saddle. The “saddle” was a crude impression of a seat. It was made of wood and cushioned with a thick layer of Styrofoam. I felt that it would be cruel for the horse to have to bear my weight with only wood to comfort it. When I looked down I saw a layer of Styrofoam between the horse and the saddle, though it looked worn enough to be of barely any use.

When we were all situated on our horses and the toothless old man had comfortably loosened the stirrups, we set out on a leisurely walk towards the mountain. It was soon apparent that the horses weren’t bred for riding and I suspected they were mainly used as packhorses. The horses were hard to control as a rider, but the toothless old man barked orders every few seconds and they obediently followed them. Only David seemed to have full control of his horse, though he has been riding for 6 years.

We walked until we came to a dirt road. Then the toothless old man bellowed a command in Chinese and the horses sped off in a steady gallop. It caught me by surprise, but I had ridden before and I switched my rhythm without hesitation. Leung, however, was thrown off balance and nearly toppled over his horse’s neck. He screamed and tried to reign in his horse. The horse didn’t even respond and kept at its ground eating speed. The toothless old man boomed with laughter and ran to keep up with us. When he stopped the horses Leung was in a towering rage and almost walked home from there, but we were too far from home.

Contrary to what I believed, we only rode to the base of the mountain and then veered back towards the way we came. The entire ride took only an hour, but it was fun nonetheless. We passed through much of what we had seen when we had hiked the mountain with our teacher, but riding atop a horse made the journey much more exciting. We soon came back to the stables and patted our horses down before setting out to our next destination. From there we met Erik at a massage parlor. Our original plan was to relax and enjoy cheap oil massages, but that was until Erik pointed out their special on cupping.

Cupping is when a masseuse takes an ordinary, glass cup and, with the cup upside down, fills the cup with a flame. This in turn consumes all the oxygen inside and the masseuse quickly places the now flameless cup on your back, giving it a slight twist. As the suction causes your skin to try and fill every inch of the deoxygenated void, your body supposedly expels all its toxins through that suction. After 30 minutes of the hot cup sucking on your skin, the masseuse takes the cup off, leaving large, circular bruises that refuse to fade for days, or even weeks.

This special was only 25 yen per person. Erik suggested the idea, to which I responded “Party.” When else will I have the opportunity? Besides it was my last full day before the monastery. So our group, excluding Christen, was led to a room consisting of 3 lounges. Christen was led to a separate room for her cupping, for obvious reasons. The 3 of us, Leung didn’t want to try it, lay shirtless on the lounges. We talked excitedly, eager for the cupping to begin. 3 masseuses walked inside and lay 12 cups on the table beside me. I watched with slight apprehension as the masseuse grabbed the first cup and lit the inner air. He shoved it on so suddenly, I let out a groan of surprise and pain. The hot cup felt unpleasant and my skin immediately was taken up into the cup. He repeated the process 12 times until my skin was stretched so tight over my back, I thought it might split open. Then he laid a blanket over me and walked away, leaving me to squirm uncomfortably for the next 30 minutes.

As I lay in throbbing pain, I thought how uncomfortable it must be for someone to have an itch while they were feeling the sting of the suction. No sooner had the thought entered my mind when I yearned to scratch every part of my back. It was torturous to lay there unmoving, for if you moved, your back would change its posture and the suction would cease. Finally, after I had tried everything to distract myself from the irritation, the masseuse came back in and took the cups off my back. Afterwards, I sprang up and shook around, though I felt different than I had before. I felt full of energy and felt no pain anywhere on my body. I believe the sensation was caused by the pain I had felt earlier and not because my body was suddenly toxin free, but it was a pleasant feeling.

Erik and David stood up and shook themselves, but neither had expressions of relief on their faces. On the contrary, they both seemed disappointed. When I asked them how they felt, Erik replied “Well that was a rip-off.” Neither had felt anything during the cupping, yet both their backs looked as if they had been beaten. Pulling our shirts back on, we left the parlor. With sullen faces, the pair of them walked out towards the town and flagged down a taxi. David, for one, was eager to wash down his disappointment with the next scheduled event.

Last Saturday we had signed up for a baking lesson at the café. It was being taught by the American family that ran the place so it was easy to relay directions back and forth. We made the dough, kneaded the bread and churned out several dozen cinnamon rolls. It was a welcome change to laugh and joke with kids you are barely acquainted with. I had grown so accustomed to the presence of Erik, Leung, David and Christen and only then did I realize that it had been almost 3 weeks since I had met an English speaking person, save last Saturday. We again played cards and Apples to Apples while we enjoyed our cinnamon rolls.

As I licked the icing from my fingers, I pondered the happenings of today. I replayed everything that had happened and, subconsciously, I ordered them from favorite to least favorite. Surprisingly, my top choice was the present moment. I realized that I had forgotten to enjoy the small things in life and I was bent on enjoying momentous events. Of course, the last 2 months have been fun and momentous, but if you look back at all you can remember it’s the jokes you tell, the emotions you feel, and the people you share your life with that make those memories extraordinary. Sometimes, there is nothing better than enjoying your friends’ company while biting into a freshly baked cinnamon roll.

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.