Chengdu. Waiting.

Now, I spent a long time in Chengdu. A long, uneventful time, so breaking it down day by day would bore anyone to tears. Instead I'll merely gloss over the trivial things like the time I spent an afternoon watching 2012 in the guesthouse commons area. In my defense, someone else had thrown it on, but seriously, what the hell Jon.

So LOFT was pricey, but it was nice. But it was also pricey, so I got out quickly and found Mix Hostel, a cheaper place whose name I knew after seeing it plastered all over other parts of China. No seriously, I even saw "Mix Hostel Chengdu" spray painted on rocks in Tiger Leaping Gorge. Regardless, the place was great, albeit a little crowded. The internet was free, but the two computers were always in use and loaded with viruses, one which infected my thumb drive and wiped out the program I used to get around the Great Firewall of China. Dammit. The staff was friendly despite being visibly overworked. Food was so-so. Amenities decent. I got a dorm bed for half the price of LOFT and set up for the longest time I would spend in one place this whole trip.

Why? Well my next stop was Tibet, which was to be the cherry on the sundae of this whole trip. However, one cannot just stroll on into this political hotspot, oh no no no. First you need to organize the proper permits and join a "tour" so the government can keep tabs on you. See, they don't like people sympathizing with the Tibetans' desire for independence, a trend frequently observed amongst us wacky Westerners, so they make us jump through all kinds of hoops first before they'll allow us in. The permit and tour is one. Money is another. Getting in is expensive, so you'd better be ready to spend your hard-earned Maos. Finally, booking a train ticket to tibet is no easy task. A train leaves Chengdu bound for Lhasa every second day, so as soon as tickets become available, they immediately get bought up and resold on the black market, meaning if you're not there on day 1, you're buying from scalpers with a $40 commission fee.

Now, what hung me up and kept me deadlocked in Chengdu was both the money and the train ticket. Because tours are done in groups, I would've had to spend twice as much as anyone traveling with somebody else. My bank account was beginning to run on fumes so this would not do. Instead, I joined up with a group of 3 other people looking to depart on July 4, seven days from when I checked in, for a third of the price. Not to mention the fact that train tickets were unavailable for any date sooner. The choice seemed pretty clear. Seven days in Chengdu. There'd better be a lot to do.

There wasn't. Chengdu was a hot, muggy city with bland architecture and ugly construction blocking roads and snarling traffic. A far cry from the cool splendor of Kunming. Going out into this mess was frustrating, so I only really left the guesthouse when there was something I really wanted to check out.

My first day trip was to arguably the biggest sight of the city, the Giant Panda Research Base. I've never seen a live panda before so it could've been interesting. I had to wake up early to make it there in time for the 9am feeding. The weather was muggy and I couldn't tell if the sky was blotted out by overcast or pollution. The base was a little outside of town on a sprawling mass of land that had been fashioned into a kind of zoo. Lots of tourists of course.

The big guys all sat together chewing bamboo and lying on their backs. Such slow creatures. The bamboo is their only source of food and it's horribly low in nutritional content meaning they have to eat and sleep constantly to stay alive. I couldn't help but think that these things would have gone extinct naturally anyways had we not found them to be so damn cute and worth saving. The time I was there was apparently the only time in the day that they're actually somewhat active.

Further on, the base had a collection of red pandas who more closely resembled raccoons. Not too many people as interested in them sadly. It was a lot of walking and the occasional sight of a panda eating for the next hour. A Texan man and his very large family (in every possible interpretation) dominated the scene at one point. "Trip, Runner, John Michael Jr., scooch in close to your mother, I'm gonna set the timer."

Next we watched a very graphic movie about every aspect of breeding pandas, and I will say that it did a superb job of robbing those creatures of all their mystique. An Enya song kept playing during every interlude, sometimes overtop hilariously inappropriate footage. And the things they go through to breed these pandas. The success rate is like, 10% apparently. What the hell?

So did I leave with a new-found respect for pandas? NO. But it was funny and informative. Took up half of the day. I believe I spent the rest of that day hopping around the city to different flea markets trying to find another Rollei. Absolutely no luck. Big surprise.

I remember at some point during my time in Chengdu I discovered Sichuan barbeque. Kind of like the stuff I had in Shangri-La, but with a lot more ingredients. Pork, chicken, eggs, corn on the cob, cauliflower, green beans, rice cake, eggplant, whole fish, tofu, sausage, almost anything really. So good and so cheap, my nightly ritual consisted of heading out to the street corner and grabbing some before watching the World Cup game.

Things went rather routinely at the guesthouse. I got to know the staff and a few other travelers. I sampled most of the menu, watched a couple of movies. I raided their book collection and plowed through some easy reads (Island of Doctor Moreau, you didn't even last an afternoon). I got a fleeting taste of permanence and even made a few friends. Times at Mix became enjoyable rather than a wasted day.

One interesting excursion I went on was to People's Park. I don't quite recall why I went, but when I arrived, I was greeted with full on Commie anthems performed by several large groups of people, none under the age of 50 it appeared. Chinese flags were waved with aplomb and some even wore full military regalia. This wasn't just one big rally though. There were several of these talent shows going on all over the park. Some were hilarious while others were a total train wreck. The patriotism was so over the top. I couldn't help but think of a parallel event happening somewhere in Tennessee or something except with American flags and country music.

My next big excursion would be a full day affair. I joined a tour out to Leshan to see the biggest Buddha in the world. The group was good. Two Texans and three European girls, all mid-20s. The ride there was two hours along a foggy arterial highway and into a restaurant parking lot. Admission was 90 yuan, 50 with a student card; a discount I was determined to capitalize on at any cost. So I showed them my health card. Yep, University of Ontario. Worked like a charm and the others lamented the fact that they didn't try something similar. 90 yuan is a lot anyways (about 14 bucks).

The big Buddha was just that. A big Buddha. The stairs down towards the optimal viewing angle was choked with tourists. I'm not sure exactly how big the guy was, but I heard an arbitrary fact that he equaled around 32 Yao Mings. Each toe was about the size of a Buick. He ever so slightly resembled Krang's mechanical body suit from Ninja Turtles, an observation that the Texans enjoyed but was lost completely on he girls. Again, it was a muggy, overcast day, so the pictures didn't turn out terribly well. We walked around a bit more afterwards taking in a lovely temple and a lonely bridge. We all shared a late lunch before heading back. On the way back, the Texans and I made plans to have Sichuan hot pot for dinner.

Now, Sichuan was the province I was in, and the name might sound familiar, probably because you've read it on menus in Chinese restaurants. Sichuan is well-known for its food! Particularly its hot, spicy food, and I picked up on the reputation of Sichuan hot pot as soon as I got into Chengdu. The staff of Mix kept asking if I had tried it yet, and the bathroom stalls upstairs were scrawled with warnings of the damage hot pot wreaked the day after. "Hot pot = hot squat" was my favorite.

Nevertheless, the three of us charged in and ordered the hottest damn broth on the menu. When it arrived, it looked like Satan's bathwater. Deep red with hot peppers and Sichuan peppercorns floating on the surface. The waitress turned on the burner and it bubbled menacingly. Now, the idea is you order ingredients and cook them in the broth before mixing them with other ingredients in a bowl, then consuming. We got some meat here, some vegetables there, a few noodles. In they went, out they came, mixed a little the down the hatch. The heat creeped up slowly but reached fever pitch after about 5 minutes. We were dying and trying to put the flames out with beer. In fact, near the end, the sustained heat put everyone in a daze. Verdict: 5 out of 10. The heat far outweighed the taste of the dish, but the experience was worth it. A table of grown men weeping.

Like every other time, my new friends had to leave, but I befriended a pair of Israelis. I was in Chengdu for so long, I was beginning to notice the turnover. These guys loved soccer and made good conversation. We united in indignation towards the circumstances which caused Ghana to become eliminated from the World Cup. What would have been the winning goal was blocked by a Uruguayan player's hand, leading to a missed penalty kick, and a shootout which saw Uruguay emerging victorious. I decided that I did not feel the same way about soccer afterwards.

More days went by and the Israelis left. I couldn't wait to leave Chengdu and all but gave up on trying to do anything other than read and eat barbeque. The funny thing was, I had no idea IF I would even be going to Tibet, because despite the fact that I had already booked the tour, there was a chance that I would not be able to get a train ticket. As I mentioned, every ticket is pretty much sold on the black market, and when I booked the tour, I had the hostel bid on my behalf for a ticket, which was not always guaranteed.

On the last day, I received the good news that they managed to get me a ticket. However, the bidding war had gotten pretty fierce and I ended up paying DOUBLE. Didn't quite care though. I had come this far and there was no way the final days of my trip would be spent stewing in limbo and watching terrible bootleg DVDs. I was going to Tibet.

So I met who would be my travel companions for the next six days: a Brit named David who taught English in Chengdu and two plucky Norwegian girls, Lykke and Siri. The girls were all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and seemed to be pretty seasoned travelers. It's a bit nerve-racking meeting complete strangers who you'll have to live in close quarters with for the next six days, but no one gave off any crazy, creepy or annoying vibes. I was trying my best to do the same.

My last night in the hostel was spent packing. You know you've been there for a long damn time if you have to spend a night packing before you leave. I struck up a few conversations with some new arrivals, but my brain wasn't wholly into it. I was finally leaving Chengdu for what would be the coolest part of the whole trip.

Giant Panda Research Base. Look at the pandas!!

Some serious noms in effect.

Nice try guys! That's a soccer ball!

People's Park. Uncle Ho waved the hell out of that flag.

Y'know what, screw it, I would totally do this if I could.

The big Buddha of Leshan rests stoically in his enclave of rock and tourist.

Eyes fixed on horizon, he ponders new ways to get those blasted turtles once and for all.

The dodgy steps down to Buddha's feet.

Our server brings the Sichuan hot pot. That there, on the left, is the face of incredulity.

Yeah this totally won't be a problem at all guys.

32 Hours to Chengdu. Really negative entry here.

And so began what would be 30 hours of grueling, sanity stretching transit. The bus wasn't particularly uncomfortable, but it wasn't particularly comfortable. A few unpleasantries struck me here and there; a man screaming into his cel phone, loud, drawn out loogies and the pungent smell of cheesy snacks mixed with dank upholstery.

We wound back down the mountains towards Lijiang where we would veer east and continue through more mountains towards Jinjiang, just inside the borders of Sichuan province. On a particularly narrow stretch, the bus slammed on the breaks and I looked up just in time to see a baffled sheep disappear under the front of the bus with a very audible thump. The bus stopped on the shoulder of the road so the driver could get out and follow whatever protocol there was to follow when one hits a sheep. Dozens of other piled out to have a smoke/survey the carnage. I stayed on board the whole half out it took to sort the mess out and get moving again.

We took a rest stop and I ate while local bumpkins gawked at me. Three hours later, after sunset, the bus passed through Lijiang. Everything after that was winding roads and darkness. There was a baby on board in the bunk beside me that would awake in a screaming rage every 20 or so minutes, so getting any sleep seemed neigh impossible. This went on forever. I think I may have slept.

Jinjiang didn't quite look like a city of any kind. I was confused. Where was the train station? I was to continue on to Chengdu, but how? Some taxi drivers showed up and yelled something at me in Mandarin. It turned out they were just asking where I was going (they yell everything here). I said "Chengdu" and they lit up and began hauling my bag into the cab. Now, that could have been really bad had I not clarified and said I wanted to catch a train to Chengdu. So they took me to the train station.

It was 6am and the train left at 12. Too much time to kill. Too tired. I slept for a bit in the train station, perched guardedly over my bag.

At noon I shuffled on board with the masses. My seat was more of a bench shared with a few stoic Chinese men. They would be the perfect travel companions. Quiet, polite, courteous. The complete opposite of the bedlam that slowly developed around me.

The train rolled through mountains. Many many mountains. In fact, I'd say at least 60% of the first leg of the trip was through tunnels. Every stop more and more people were getting on while no one seemed to be getting off. Two-person benches became three-person benches out of necessity. People started curling up on the floor. The aisle became horribly congested. before long it was a cattle car. The baby from the bus was a few seats down from me. The piercing wail was unmistakable.

Now, some jackass told me that the train ride was six hours, so I mentally prepared myself for a six hour train ride. At around the nine hour mark, I was getting very anxious. And cross. A food trough wheeled through the mess every so often to feed the hungry masses. Garbage and spit covered the floor, and everyone was shouting as loudly as they could. Every time I used the bathrooms I had to hold my breath. Men slept across the sinks and moved only slightly if somebody wanted to use one. I can't imagine anyone in Canada with the audacity to do something like that. But this was China.

Ten hours in. A kid who was too old to be cute regarded me with fascination. Nothing new until he started touching my nose and stroking my arm hair. Onlookers watched and grunted out laughs. When was this train ride going to end?

Eleven hours in we reached Chengdu, but we weren't stopping. I was standing in anticipation to get the hell off, but the train just kept going. For a whole other hour! I swear we were entering the city via a giant spiral cause it took forever! Finally we stopped and everyone surged off.

It was hot and rainy in Chengdu. It was midnight too, so the public buses had stopped running. Finding a hostel was going to be tough. Of course, every cab driver I showed the address and a map to made that Tim Allen "eeugh?" noise until finally some lady in a scooted cab picked me up. This was actually worse because she too had no idea where she was going, so it ended up being and aimless tour around town in the bumpiest, sketchiest thing the Chinese would consider road safe. I stopped her when I realized what was happening and took to guiding her manually from the back. Eventually I got fed up and had her drop me off a mere block away. At this point she began screaming at me to no end. I was so tired and furious, and I figured she wanted extra money for the wild goose chase that was her own damn fault. Seriously, it was a Chinese map and I was navigating it better than she was. I lost my temper at her, and I seriously regret it, but at that time, my sanity was bled dry. She got the last scrap of money from my wallet and I wasn't even at the hotel.

I wandered around for about 45 minutes until a kind soul with a good head on his shoulders led me exactly to where I needed to go. Why is finding a guesthouse in China always so damn difficult? Idiot cab drivers, renamed streets, hidden entranceways.

LOFT was the name of the place. The beds were a ridiculous 45 yuan, up from the 20 yuan quoted in the Lonely Planet. As always, one mention and the prices go through the roof. I was in no position to argue though, so I had to settle. At least it was very nice.

From Kevin's Guesthouse to LOFT, it was about 32 hours of stress, frustration and discomfort. Nary a wink was attained the whole time, so my first order of business was to sleep like a lazy piece of trash until my body was once again ready for the outside world.

No pictures because I was in such a terrible mood.

Shangri-La. Seriously.

It was a great busride. Swirling up the sides of towering mountains that overlooked roads that we had been on only moments before. Upon reaching the highest visible point, like magic, everything leveled off and flatlands spread out before me. No more mountains, just rolling hills and fields. It was this sudden change that came with the new altitude. Also, the Naxi architecture was replaced by this distinctly Tibetan aesthetic. Chortens draped in prayer flags, short, wide, trapezoidal houses, yellow crops. You'd think it was thousands of miles from the landscape we were driving through only minutes earlier.

The sun went down as the bus approached the urban fringes of Shangri-La. Lit expressways deposited the bus into the city and before long, I was alone on the side of the road, trying to get my bearings. None of the street names were on my map, so I figured I must be on the edges of town. "Time to play this game again" I thought. Walked forever.

My map was very poor and there seemed to be no end in sight. I was exhausted as you can imagine. Remember, this was the evening of the day I did my brutal gorge trek. When I surrendered and took a cab, the driver was completely useless and couldn't even recognize the map of the town he made a living navigating. I actually had to point him in the direction I wanted to go and have him drive, figuring things out as we went along. Where the guesthouse was supposed to be, there was only a black space. I moaned in frustration, ditched the baffled driver and tried to find someone else who maybe could help me.

All the street names had changed since the publication of my map, I learned. Kevin's guesthouse was what I wanted, but where was it? It wasn't closed down because Sanjay and Mark had just stayed there only days earlier. I found Kevin's Bar, which was annoying because I did not need any false finish lines in my tired, breathless state. Some locals spotted my frustration and pointed me down a dark alley. I was apprehensive. Did they even know what I was looking for? Were they going to rob me? I peered into the darkness and caught a faint sign: Kevin's Guesthouse. Holy effing crap what a godawful place for a sign. Could they not have stuck a sandwich board or something somewhere even close to the main road? I thanked the strangers with the last drop of my politeness I could squeeze out of myself at that moment and walked towards Kevin's.

I was wheezing when I got in at around 10:30-ish. The owners were so unbelievably friendly, my mood instantly recovered. I got a dorm bed, puddled around on the computer for a bit then got some sleep.

Now about the town of Shangri-La. When you hear the name, you ask "really?", and the only answer I can give is "maybe". The words "Shangri-La" first appeared in the novel Lost Horizon by James Hilton, as the name of a fictional south-western Chinese town poised high up in the mountains. Well, the Chinese tourism authorities took notice of this and renamed the town originally known as Zhongdian. A heavy facelift followed, then an airport and inevitably, throngs of tourists. The star attraction, a dazzling Tibetan old quarter, ripe with chortens, monasteries and culture, all accessible without the hassle of having to get the permits to actually enter Tibet. You see, Shangri-La lies right on the border, still technically in Yunnan province. For many, it is the only taste of Tibet they can have. So really, the name is only part of the attraction.

I awoke at a responsible time. It was very cold. At an altitude of about 3100 meters above sea level, the town is perpetually chilly. My wardrobe of shorts and t-shirts was not going to cut it, so my first order of business was buying a sweater. I explored the old town next. Much much more different than Lijiang. Everything screamed Tibet. Prayer flags draped overhead, yak skins sold in shops, old men and women in nomadic attire. The sky was mottled with clouds, but the parts that poked through were a striking blue.

I came across a temple atop a hill in the center of town. The stairs were a rough climb due to the altitude, but up top it was a pleasant view. Many other Chinese tourists walked about. It's highlight was a massive revolving chorten that took the strength of about seven or eight men to get started. When it got going, it was a sight to behold. 20 meters tall, all gold and strikingly ornate. Everyone had a good time with it.

Back in old town, I grabbed some barbecue in the town square. Skewers of meat, vegetables and miscellanea, all cooked and seasoned over a specialized charcoal grill. Cheap and damn tasty. I tried yak meat for the first time. A little tough, but not bad overall.

There was a monastery on a hill that was visible from every part of town, so naturally I made my first order of business finding a way up there. My first attempt led me down some narrow alleyways in the wrong direction. Chained dogs were throwing fits, lunging at me with futility. Around one corner, a dog darted out of a dilapidated shack towards me bearing teeth, it's chain stopping it only a few feet short. I almost had a heart attack. I decided to try another route after that.

Eventually I made it up and took in the view. I could see the surrounding mountains looming over the town. On the other side of the hill, flatlands with the faint and distant shapes of horsemen galloping across. Yellow fields. Prayer flags flapped audibly in the breeze. Beside a pavilion, someone had fashioned a bunch of them into a colourful tent. I took a rest inside. The monastery itself looked more like someone's house, and I didn't feel like barging in (it was dinnertime after all), so I headed back down the hill.

That evening, I went to a soccer bar to watch the World Cup and eat. Aside from trying cold yak meat and yak yogurt, nothing happened.

Now originally, I had a pretty ambitious plan for getting to Chengdu, my next destination. A three to four day journey through rugged mountains. Xiangcheng, Litang, Kangding then Chengdu. I didn't want to backtrack, but my guesthouse mum informed me of a sleeper bus to Jinjiang in southern Sichuan province, where I could then grab a train north to Chengdu, all in half the time for half the cost. Sold. I got a ticket for 7pm the next day.

I didn't do much until then. Read and wrote. There was a big monastery north of town, but the admission price was around $20, so I stopped short at the gates figuring I'd see much bigger and better monasteries when I actually got into Tibet. The weather was crap too.

When I boarded the bus, I made myself very comfortable. I had no idea how long the trip would be, but I knew I wouldn't hit Jinjiang until the morning. The sleeper bus was only the beginning too. My only concern was whether or not I would get any sleep, and I wish I could say it didn't take long for that to happen.

If you were wondering what the hell a chorten was this whole time, it's this.

This is the old town. I have a similar pic taken in Lijiang and I chock that up to the fact that there are so many old men on bicycles in China, it's like one big deja vu after another.

The stairs leading up to the temple. Yeah, with the altitude, even this was a grind.

Shangri-La from on high.

Here's the awesome spinney chorten. You have to spin it clockwise or else it's BLASPHEMY!

Street BBQ. Goddamn this stuff was good.

The view from the monastery high above the city. The flag tent and pavilion are on the left.

The flag tent from the inside. It was a windy day too.

Not sure who these tree trunks are, but if I missed the opportunity to see a Tibetan Medieval Times, I will be seriously pissed.

Tiger Leaping Gorge and how it almost killed me

So I wasn't on the bus for very long. Only two hours. I got dumped off in a squat little village in the mountains and deduced that it must be Qiaotou, the jump-off point for those looking to trek Tiger Leaping Gorge.

Now, since Adam and I parted ways, I had only been doing mild treks. However, upon reading how utterly jaw-dropping and mandatory this trek was, I decided to pull out the old North Faces for maybe one last go. The whole gorge is about 28 kilometers long, 2 kilometers wide and, get ready for this, an astounding 4 kilometers from the Yangtze River below to the peaks of the Haba Shan mountains above. And because it's a gorge, most of that 4 kilometers is sheer cliff. Ever come face to face with anything that goes 4 kilometers straight up? I was about to.

I didn't intend to start the trek that day. I was ill-prepared. No food, no water, no backpack even. And I wasn't gonna lug the big bad boy with me. So I settled at a place called Jane's which perhaps had the worst service of any guesthouse I'd encountered thus far. Let's put the ills of this place in list form:

- The employees were lazy, curt, unwelcoming and completely incompetent.
- The could not grasp the concept of me leaving my passport with them rather than in my dorm room. When they did take it, they just stuffed it in a drawer beside the TV.
- They occupied the TV and computer that was reserved for guests and refused to relinquish control when asked.
- One employee fought with her drunk, shirtless boyfriend while guests were trying to get her attention to order food.

So really, the biggest problem was the crap staff. What a lousy place! They already had my passport and my money so there was no changing. At least the dorm room was empty.

So I set out about the town to do some shopping. I needed the previously mentioned items plus a towel (forgotten in Lijiang) and of course, a new alarm clock. There's no way my body would wake up for a 7am hike unassisted. Everything but the clock was relatively easy to find. All the shops were mom and pop knickknack joints so it was just a matter of stumbling upon one that had what I was looking for. I had a good pantomime for clock that was understood by all. I passed up big, clunky, plastic dealies decorated with Hello Kitty and Doraemon before finding a classic windup. With the shopping done, I killed hours.

At about 6pm, the French couple that probably stole my alarm clock rolled into the guesthouse. They didn't chose the dorm thankfully. Probably cause I was in it and they needed to use their new alarm clock.

7am I awoke. Did the place have hot water? Of course not, so a screaming shower it was. None of the staff was awake, which was annoying because I needed to store my big backpack and retrieve my passport. Like, you'd think if you were running a guesthouse for hikers, you ought to be up at the ass-crack of dawn with everyone else. I screamed "hello" about nine times, each time successively louder , until one of the employees frumped out with a look like I had committed upon her a grave injustice. Lazy witch. I hated that I had to return to this glower shack the next day, even for a moment, to get my stuff before moving on. It was past 8, so I left without ordering breakfast.

And so I began the hike. It actually took a good hour of navigating hillside farms and ascending dirt roads before reaching the official entrance to the gorge. About 100 meters down, I could see where the river that flowed through town met with the Yangtze and continued onwards through the gorge. There were two roads; the low road, which was paved and ran through the gorge alongside the Yangtze, and the high road, which was anywhere from 100 to 500 meters up the side of the cliff and provided a much more satisfying experience. I chose high of course. the low road was undergoing construction anyways to make it more tourist-friendly. Glad I got there when I did.

At first the views were merely excellent. The path was literally a brief, flat divot chiseled out of the steep steep mountainside. It was cloudy, but had it been sunny, I would have just cooked like a Christmas goose, so thank goodness for the clouds. Mist rose and swirled quickly about everywhere, obscuring the tops of mountains leaving me only to guess the extent of their majesty. The river was audible below and would occasionally let out a thunderous boom. Dynamite from the construction I deduced.

I was moving briskly, stopping only to take photos. It was cool weather, but I removed my jacket occasionally. Dark clouds above were threatening with rain.

The first tea-house rest stop I encountered was so nice, I wished I could've stayed the night. It was about two hours in. Naxi Guesthouse. The sign outside advertised "home-goored meals" which is probably the most interesting typo I've encountered in China thus far. I finally got to eat the breakfast that those sows back at Jane's were to lazy to make me. Off again.

The next 3 hour stretch was hell. Called the 23 bends, the trail zigzagged steeply up the mountain for an hour, making damn sure I was aware of the punishment that I signed up for. And remember that this all took place at over 2000 meters above sea level, so the lack of oxygen certainly compounded things. It was horrible. Going up and never stopping, zigzagging, making no progress along the gorge. At the top I splayed out on a rock and wheezed.

From there, it was a slow descent, but the mist began to clear up revealing the full height of the mountains. They were much higher than I predicted, and the wall completely filled my peripheral vision. Completely unreal.

The next tea house was also quite nice. They had soju on the menu which I found puzzling. I continued along passing through hillside villages that seemed to be untouched by time. Horsemen walked along the trails with their surprisingly nimble horses. And you can bet that there were plenty of goats grazing. Tons and tons of goats, perfectly complementing the surroundings.

At around 2, I hit the Halfway Lodge (actually about three quarters of the way in) and decided to stay there for the night. I could've completed the gorge, but by then, my dogs were barking, plus it seemed to be a nice looking place. I got a dorm and it was empty, but I knew it wouldn't stay that way. I immediately flopped down for a nap.

When I awoke, the thieving French couple were checking in. Ugh. Of all the people to constantly be encountering. They gave me an uneasy hello. I produced my new alarm clock.

The view from the guesthouse could not have been better. Right on the edge of the hill facing the giant wall. Even the bathrooms provided splendid panoramas while you peed. I went up to the "inspiration deck" for dinner and more people trickled in. Among them were Patrick and Jessica from back in Kunming. We spent the evening talking and swapping stories. Two other Irishmen joined in later and between them and Patrick, I'll be damned if I understood anything being said. Called it at around 11:30. Had to do the same hike in reverse the next day.

At about 3am I awoke with a stomach crisis. This had me running to the bathroom every 20 minutes for about three hours, being sick as all hell. Don't know what caused it. Food poisoning? Who knows. My medicine was back at Jane's so I had to ride it out with nothing but water. The dorm was full of slumberers too, and you can bet that the door was as loud and creaky as they come. Bad night. Didn't sleep again until around 6.

I awoke at 10, weak, tired and dehydrated. It was going to be a very bad hike. The sun peeked out too to add a bit of extra, albeit unwelcome, challenge. Oh god, hold breakfast down and maybe it won't be so bad, I thought. It was. My legs were taffy and the ascents were nearly crippling. The tea houses seemed so far apart and I took breaks almost every ten minutes. Held it together though, despite the pain and suffering, and kept moving on.

I reached the exit, which was good, but I still had an hour more until I got to Jane's. My feet, knees and legs were screaming. Lactic acid formed. My altitude-affected breaths came in gasps. Every bend I rounded was never the last. Past filthy construction sites, not even great scenery anymore. My body pleaded "NO MORE!". Finally I plopped down on the doorstep of Jane's.

I can count on one hand the other times in my life I have ever been that exhausted. I could not move. Then, all of a sudden, everything I held back during the hike, the nausea, the dizziness, all came rushing back and I gunned it for the bathroom. Filthy bathroom too. I stayed there for an hour doubled over in anguish, moaning with puke sweats rolling down my face. I clutched my stomach. It was 5:30 and the bus I intended to catch, the last one of the day, arrived at 7. This sense of urgency collided with my corporal state and added new layers of stress. Oh my god, make it stop, I thought. I did not want to spend another night with Jane's gang of misanthropes.

Soon my sickness subsided enough for me to leave the bathroom. It was 6:00. I couldn't make it. My stomach would not tolerate winding mountain roads, so I surrendered and grabbed a bunk for the night. I dozed off expectedly.

Then something magical happened. I awoke at 6:45 imbued with energy. I hadn't paid for the dorm yet, so I decided to try for that 7:00 bus. Sure I slept in the bed, but Jane's could kiss my ass at that point, so I bolted out, crossed the river and waited on the side of the road. Soon enough a bus stopped and picked me up. 7:00 bound for Shangri-La. I had made it. Three hours to get there and my stomach was doing fine. Happy ending after all.

These guys only knew one word of English: "Horse?"

The little labourers' town of Qiaotou, gateway to the gorge.

I definitely needed a home-goored meal.

Mountain goats roamed the hillsides. They were pretty cautious.

Every square inch of trail had an amazing view of the gorge.

Jon Leaping Gorge aka perhaps the most epic jump shot of the whole trip.

When the mist surrounding the mountaintops cleared, I realized that they were twice as tall as I expected.

Here's a video I took in an attempt to convey the majesty of TLG.

Lijiang

I was excited for Lijiang because I would be meeting my buddy Sanjay there. For those of you unfamiliar, Sanjay and I were coworkers in Korea for a good 6 months and together with two others, Colin and Matt, the four of us formed a close-knit group that witnessed each others' highest and lowest moments. We were solid, and seeing Sanjay again would be a fleeting glimpse back into the stable life I once had as well as a great chance to see my bud and look back fondly on old times. He had just finished his ECC contract and started traveling China with his friend Mark, starting in Beijing. They were on their way south while I was headed north, so Lijiang worked out to be the meeting point.

I had a day to kill beforehand though, so I figured Lijiang would be a good place to pull up a chair and get comfortable in.

After a gorgeous bus ride, I was dropped off at a station in the middle of who-knows-where. China at it again. Getting a taxi would've been futile because, unlike any other place in the world, Chinese taxis never seem to have any idea where they are and where the hell you want to go. Many a times I would show up, open a map and point only to have them make a puzzled sound before sending me off. Even in a place like Lijiang, you'd at least THINK the tourist with the huge backpack would want to go to the tourist district, but this simple grain of logic is never, ever considered. So I had to take a walk.

A wise-looking man was able to read the map and pointed me the right way. After a few kilometers, I was in old town. Like Dali, but much much nicer. Narrow, winding streets with beautiful and ornate Naxi architecture. Cobblestone streets went up and down occasionally crossing one of the many streams that flowed through town. A giant waterwheel here, a busy town square there. And it was huge too! I walked forever before reaching my guesthouse.

The place was nice and I landed a dorm bed. Since coming to China, it's been all dorms. Has to be, as they are always a sixth of the price of a room. And there's always the chance of landing an empty one, which, at that point, is just as good as a room. For the second time in a row, this happened. I checked the net and got an email from Sanjay saying he booked a place at the exact same guesthouse. Things in Lijiang were shaping up beautifully.

That evening, I saved the new town walkaround and settled at a cozy place for dinner. The sky dimmed and a nearby hill lit up in a mottle of red, white and yellow. I sampled Naxi cuisine and watched Japan lose to the Netherlands on the flatscreen. The numbers walking the streets dwindled until there was no one left as I made my way back to the guesthouse.

Sanjay was due to arrive late afternoon, so I spent the next day climbing a mountain. This would actually serve two purposes. 1: Get a beautiful view of the city and 2: see if I can hack it at the high altitude. Lijiang is about 2800 meters above sea level, and that's about the point where the air starts to get pretty thin. Although not immediately apparent when I entered town, it hit me like a ton of bricks after a few steps up the mountain. I felt like a fatty. Five minutes in, I was keeled over wheezing. More frustrating that anything. Still, I had to acclimatize because in a few days, I was hiking Tiger Leaping Gorge, and with a name like that, I knew it would be no leisurely stroll. So up the mountain I persisted.

Even halfway up, the view was gorgeous. The old town sat in stark contrast with the new town; with low lying brown roofs clustered together like animals trying to keep warm. I too was forced to throw on a jacket as the wind increased with my ever-mounting altitude. It started to rain, so I waited it out in a tiny pavilion. Before long, the splendid view from the top. A couple was already up there cuddling to the tune of Michael Jackson's "Beat It" emanating from the girl's radio backpack.

More rain. This time an hour's worth. I watched the falling patches move over the city and obscure portions, like an unclear memory trying to be remembered. In the far distance, occasional peeks of sunlight. The mountains rolled all around. Lijiang was tangled in the feet of the Himalayas. Soon it cleared up and I was able to descend.

Back at the guesthouse I joined a couple who was watching a movie in the commons area. "Whip It" with Ellen Page. It was juvenile, but entertaining.

Sanjay rolled in at about five and I recognized that old familiar fleece. A handshake and a manhug and we were right back to old times. I met his friend Mark and it became clear that he was the kind of guy I would get along perfectly with. Mild-mannered yet slightly cynical. Good handshake. The guys unloaded their things and we immediately set out for dinner and drinks.

It was great, not being alone for the first time since the golden days of Adam. Someone who shared memories with me and who I could be myself around. None of that first-meeting apprehension that had come to define me in the last six weeks. Even Mark, being such a good friend of Sanjay's, was easy to be comfortable around. Sounds cheesy and sentimental, but this was a big deal for me. You've read my Cambodia/Vietnam entries. Time to experience the other side of the coin and lap it up.

The Dali beer made it's way out, in large format each time, and the conversation grew louder and more spirited. Stories from back in Korea that even I had forgotten. Ahhhh, I loved it! Things got messier, and soon it went from telling old stories to inadvertently making new ones we would no doubt tell later. We left our beer bottle graveyard of a table around 10-ish (maybe?) and gallivanted down the old town streets.

It rained and no one cared. All the apprehension in choosing a place to hang out in was long dissolved and we drunkenly selected this one joint because we saw a guy playing guitar inside. It was packed and the young guitar man ran around the tables playing everyone's favourite songs. Nothing English, but we did managed to pull a garbled "Hey Jude" out of him. The other patrons were a mix of the young and old, drinking like it was a staff Christmas party. Drinking chants would rise up frequently. "Gai-bo! Gai-bo! Gai-gai-bo!" or something like that. The jubilation crossed language barriers. We joined in on the chants. Oh man it was great.

"I'm gonna try to score some free drinks" I remember saying before skirting off towards a table of older Chinese folks. It must have worked because I don't remember anything after that. I awoke an indeterminable amount of time later, and Sanjay, ever the angel, handed me two bottles of water. I was back at the guesthouse with a pile of puke on the floor in front of me. Mine of course. Mark had gone to bed. Sanjay, in no beautiful state himself, soon followed. Eventually I got it together, cleaned up and went to me room. The last thing I remember wondering was how the hell the dorm went from empty to full of people in the span of six hours. My stomach was giving off warning lurches. Echh, worst time to be in a dorm, let alone a full one.

It was like the mornings after payday all over again. Mark seemed to have come off of it nicely, but Sanj and I were shipwrecks. One thing I failed to consider about altitude is that you get drunk quicker. That, and the fact that since being away from Adam, I had no reason to drink at all, which meant I was out of practice and evidently could not keep it together. Oh well, I've suffered worse things than a hangover on this trip. Let's get the day started!

As I ordered breakfast, the front desk guy informed me that my bunk was no longer available for that night and I had to pack up and leave. Apparently someone had booked it up. Apparently. Either that or my vomit antics didn't sit well with the staff and they wanted me out. Whichever it was, I still had to leave, so instead of touring the town, I had to pack up and find another guesthouse.

The place I got was called Mama Naxi's, made famous by it's old, busybodied owner, Mama. She greeted me with a very characteristic enthusiasm. Kind of reminded me of an old, Italian grandmother, except Chinese. Before we set out again, she told me dinner was at 6. "Thanks Mama" I replied.

Now old town Lijiang is big, and I knew that. However, it wasn't until after 30 minutes of walking that we realized just how big it was. This was not only a tourist attraction; these beautiful houses and streets were actually a living, working town. From what I hear, an earthquake hit the place a few years back and the traditional Naxi houses were the only buildings left standing, so the government invested in them heavily. Now there are hundreds of them. We most certainly got lost.

Despite our hangovers we did well. Old town regaled us with it's charm. The two loons I was with then wanted to climb the mountain after I'd told them how cool it was. I semi-reluctantly accompanied them. I had heard that the admission fee was waived after 6pm, but I guess I had heard wrong. Perhaps it was this, or perhaps it was the sight of the mountain, but the guys opted against going any further. Worked for me. I still had a lethal case of rot gut.

We had some terrible expensive food and talked. Then we went back to the guesthouse and talked. That night was everyone's last night in Lijiang. The guys were heading south to Kunming while I was off to go traipse in the gorge. At the end of the night, we said our goodbyes and I headed off back to Mama's.

Again I was alone, but it was fine. Seeing an old friend was great, and I think when I get back to Ottawa I'm going to have a friend overload, so the next few weeks alone shouldn't be too bad, I figured. I fell asleep in a packed dorm.

The next morning I awoke and Mama got me a minibus to the bus station. I did not have my alarm clock though. I left it back at the other guesthouse, so I had the minibus take me there. As I walked in, the desk people took on this "is there any way we can get rid of you?" look. Of course, the alarm clock was gone, and of course, no one had seen it. This French crust-punk couple who were in the room with me just happened to be in the lobby at the time, so I asked them. "Ze yellow one?" the man asked. Yes.... "I don't know." Ugh, someone was clearly BS-ing me at that point, but it was only a $3 clock so I didn't bother kicking up a stink. The inconvenience was the worst part really. Still, despite this, I left Lijiang in high spirits. I had good times with good friends, and that's the first time in a while on this trip that I've been able to say that.

How many of you from Facebook are reading this entry because of this picture?

China again illustrates why it holds the crown for Best Engrish.

Sanj in one of the many many shoppe-lined streets in old town Lijiang.

Oh you bet it was rustic.

Mr. Mao.

Lijiang from above. Old town, to my left, stands in pretty stark contrast with the rest of the city.

Dali (is boring)

The ride up to Dali was smooth and paved aside from a minor detour due to construction. Tacked on an hour, but provided a glimpse of real rural China. I got to Dali at 10, or at least what I thought was Dali.

Again, China decided to make things difficult for me. See, buses marked as going to Dali, technically go to Dali. Dali county. I was dropped off in the city of Xiaguan rather than Dali Town and the rest, I guess, was up to me to figure out. How the hell was I supposed to know this? Why didn't the buses just say Xiaguan? They are doing this on purpose.

So it was 10 and a bus to Dali Town, however hell far that was, seemed highly unlikely, but I tried nonetheless. No one spoke English, of course, and many laughed at my feeble attempts to communicate. No one was even able to recognize a map of where I wanted to go. My frustration mounted exponentially.

A rogue group of drunken old men, perhaps after hearing me continuously say 'Dali", came to the conclusion that I wanted to go to Dali and took me by the arm. They led me up the road where they flagged down a minibus. I got on, having pretty much nothing to lose at that point. We traveled for about 30 minutes until the surroundings got very picturesque. "Dali" one man uttered. BINGO. My then, I had learned how to say "thank you" in Mandarin, so I doled it out liberally. Thank St. Christopher for random helpful locals.

I got my bearings quickly. It's a walled city, aligned with the cardinal directions, so once I found a street sign, it was smooth sailing all the way to the guesthouse. It was a short walk up a pretty, tree-lined promenade with an aqueduct that cut down the center until I reached the Dali Hump, a spinoff of Kunming's Hump. The dorms were all vacant so I got a room to myself. The whole place was vacant actually. After unloading my stuff, I found some food, watched a World Cup match then went to bed.

Next morning, it was a drizzling, sad day. I met and chatted with the staff over breakfast. Tends to happen when the place you're staying at is deserted. Took a walk shortly after. The streets were a mixed thatch of tourist trap boulevards and common Old World alleyways. Bai women in traditional garb threaded the masses along the main roads selling brightly-coloured hand-made souvenirs to the Chinese tourists and weed to the Westerners. I'd say about 99.5% of the visitors were Chinese, all decked out with fold-out maps and expensive cameras set exclusively on auto mode. One particular street was being savaged by people. The shops, appropriately, all catered to this constant influx. It was all so unappealing to me, so I walked elsewhere.

Outside of the tourist traps, it became an otherwise unremarkable town. I let out a heavy sigh. I had yet to even find a photo op I deemed worthy. I did a total of four hours of walking before having a cheap lunch. Another sigh and I walked to a travel agency to book a ticket out the next day. I never intended to stay long, but I at least hoped to see SOMETHING.

Noticing that the city lay between a lake and a mountain, I decided to venture outside of the wall to see one of the two. Favoring a view from above, I opted for the mountain. The town got a lot better along the way. Narrow, winding streets guided me and kids were playing all around. Men worked hard stomping out charcoal fuel cylinders pausing occasionally to watch me walk by. The mountain was dizzyingly high and I had no intention to make it all the way to the top, so i just sat and enjoyed the view just as a few clouds opened up to reveal a blue sky. Didn't quite redeem the town, but it at least made me feel like I accomplished something that day.

After dinner, I joined the Hump employees for drinks and soccer. The manager, Steve, was from Toronto and had been living in China since 1993. Another girl was from Minnesota and had just passed a year. Maybe it was the emptiness of the place, but they both seemed really lonely. A few other guests were there too. It was an evening of quiet, polite conversation.

Next morning I packed up, ate and headed out. Things in Dali were the closest to dull they'd been the entire trip. Sorry if the entry sucked. Like anywhere, if I dug deeper, I'm sure I could've found something fun to do. After all, something must have made Steve want to open up a guesthouse there. I boarded the bus and less Dali slip by and join the other places in the past. I was off to Lijiang, five hours north, to see new places and, no doubt, catch more fast glimpses into the lives of new people.

Dali. The blue sky at this very moment was a miracle.

Charcoal fuel cylinders. They kept the town going.

This is a restaurant. Now want do you want? No, in Mandarin please.

You're not allowed to take photos in churches. I had taken about 12 by the time I found out.

Kunming

Aside from some gut pains, the ride up to Kunming was nice. China has some incredible infrastructure. A gorgeous, four-line highway with guardrails blasted across the mountains, over bridges and through tunnels all the way to Kunming. I love the feeling of making good time. The whole trip took about ten hours, passing a 'stone forest' before pulling into Kunming's Eastern Bus Terminal.

Once I got off, I was was hit with that old familiar problem. Where am I, where am I going and how do I get there? Again, the Lonely Planet would've come in handy. It took a while, but I managed to find a bus that took me close to the city center. As soon as I could, I hopped on a computer and loaded up my Lonely Planet PDFs that I had miraculously thrown on a thumb drive just before the trip started. Unfortunately I couldn't print anything off, but I did get my bearings slightly.

I walked into a place called Camille's only to discover that since being added to LP, the room rates had skyrocketed. No thanks. Guess I had to sniff out a place on my own. Bad news was, I was in the financial district of the city. Skyscrapers, fancy restaurants and, of course, fancy hotels. My prospects looked grim.

I was tired and hungry so I stopped off in this Western restaurant to eat and maybe ask a few locals for advice. Two Aussies were seated beside me having a one-sided conversation, so I asked them. One guy (the chatty one) sprung into action and pulled out his phone. He was a big, red-faced, Sports Illustrated-ish looking guy, about early 30s, and his zeal was a bit worrisome. I had mentioned that I wanted something cheap, so I figured that he would take that into consideration. After some brash, forceful talking, he said a room was reserved for me at a nearby four-star hotel for $20, a $10 discount. That is a great deal, but $20 a night is still a lot more than I'm used to spending. He kept driving home how great a deal it was and how he'd gone out of his way to get it for me, so I kind of got bullied into saying 'yes'. At that point however, I didn't care and just figured I'd find a really cheap place for the next night. But duder wasn't finished.

He seemed keen on walking me there directly and rushed out the door. I hadn't even paid my bill yet. In the minute he was gone, the other Australian whispered "Please, get him the hell away from me". The guy was a sociopath. He returned flustered. "What the hell man? Last time I do you a favor." I told him I wasn't ready to go yet. "If you don't want the room, then I just wasted my time with you. I got you a $10 discount, you could at least give me some respect." I had been giving him nothing but respect. Other patrons in the restaurant sat and watched this psychopath, in awe of his apparent imbalance. I paid my bill, thanked the dude for the 30th time, and took off.

It was frightening how the situation seemed to escalate from nothing and how disturbed the guy seemed to be. I was glad to be rid of him. I actually ended up going to the hotel too. I had no choice. Sure enough, when I arrived, I discovered that a reservation had been made for me. At least that loon made good on his promise.

The room, of course, was a palace compared to the places I'd been staying in. Lots of posh embellishments that seemed so utterly unnecessary. Glass bowl sink, Amazon shower head, hair dryer. I sighed and turned on the World Cup. I realized that I had a fair bit of laundry to do so I called up room service (first time having room service this whole trip by the way). A lady came to the door and presented me with a laundry menu. A dollar fr a T-shirt, two for pants, etc. Holy crap. I had my whole wardrobe to wash and I could not justify spending that kind of money. Another hard sigh. I sent the room service lady off.

So, at about 9:30 at night, I bundled all of my dirty clothes into a bag and set off to find SOMEWHERE to get them done. I had heard about a place called "Hump", not sure how, but I nonetheless set out in the general direction of where it was supposed to be.

On my way there, it started to rain. I must have looked like the saddest thing ever; walking in the rain, holding a garbage bag filled with clothes. Some ladies working at a restaurant took pity on me and let me hang out inside until it cleared up. Eventually I found the place. It was exactly what I was looking for. Cheap beds, laundry, Internet. They were perplexed as to why I was bringing in laundry when I didn't have a room, so I booked one for the following night.

On my way back, I passed the crazy jackass who got me the room. "Did you find the place?" he asked. "Yes" I replied without breaking my stride. North Korea had just started playing Brazil when I got to sleep.

Next morning I woke up and peaced the pricey place out. The walk to Hump wasn't as bad, since I was less 3 kilos of laundry. Hump itself was great. Got a bed, locked my stuff up and ate breakfast. My laundry was finished too, so finally, for the first time since Ha Long Bay, I had both a full set of clothes and a comfortable place to lay my head.

I did a lot that day. It was a perfect day to get a lot done really. Kunming lies at an elevation of around 2000 meters above sea level, so the climate was absolutely beautiful. 23 degrees, partly cloudy, no humidity, and the sky was the shade of blue that you rarely get to see down at sea level. I finally found a place that would print off PDFs, then assembled my own Lonely Planet in a newly-purchased notebook. Saw two huge pagodas. A lively, flower-adorned square sat just outside of the guesthouse, and, beyond that, a bustling promenade and shopping district. The city was buzzing like you'd expect for a place with a population of 5 million people. Saw a bird market with all kinds of caged creatures. A mosque. Stopped in an arcade to play some old 32-bit shoot 'em ups. It seemed like the day would never end. Eventually, however, the sun went down.

After dinner, I set out to try and find some entertainment and came across a roller-disco. I was completely alone, and it was totally one of those situations where it would have been AMAZING to strap on some skates with a buddy, but no matter, I still went inside. After all, I can't predict when I'll run into another roller-disco again. For $2, a got a pair of skates and set out around the track.

Red and blue lights flashed and Chinese pop music blared from the sound system. Hot shots with Manga hair and all but two buttons undone on their shirts hot-dogged for the ladies, occasionally crashing into the more conservative skaters. Girls in miniskirts cracked the whip. I had never roller skated in my life, so I busted out the old hockey skills and before long, I was able to Steve Yzerman my way around the stampede. No one was wearing helmets of course, and there were some pretty crazy collisions. No lost teeth thankfully. Some young dude was absolutely stunned that a foreigner was there and kept saying "hello!" to me in that "I know an English word!" way. After an hour, I was hot-dogging pretty good, and I didn't fall once, so I decided to quit while I was ahead. I arrived back in Hump drenched in sweat.

Much later in the evening, I met a guy named Patrick from Ireland and his girlfriend Jessica from Hong Kong. They told me the Yuanyang rice terraces were not worth the effort, which put my mind at ease. Later we were joined by a girl from San Francisco. She was cute, but my god, she had no clue about anything. She thought that Ireland was part of the UK, then thought that Canadians could travel, work and live in the UK and Australia without passports. Patrick and I took mild pleasure in correcting her and watching her face twist in confusion. Everyone went to bed soon after.

Next morning I packed up. My next destination was Dali. I had maybe a fleeting interest, but I strategically planned on meeting my buddy Sanjay in Lijiang on the 20th, which meant I had two days to kill. Maybe Dali would be fun, who knows. Before leaving, I grabbed a bunch of flyers for guesthouses in places I intended to visit. With these and my makeshift Lonely Planet, I was back on track. Caught a local bus to the station and rolled out in a timely manner. Kunming was excellent. Great weather, great guesthouse, great food, roller disco and arcades... China had redeemed itself.

West Pagoda, taken from the East Pagoda.

Statues in public places.

The busy financial district provides most of the skyline just a few kilometers east.

A busy crosswalk leads to the central promenade just outside my door.

Some pretty flowers. Finally, a metropolis that isn't a big, stinky city.

Domino Roller Disco. This was a one-second exposure, so it looks empty, but really, everyone is zipping by at high speed!

The view from the Hump balcony.

Lao Cai / Hekou, into China

This was a particularly bad leg. Full of calamities, some of which I was able to predict, while others flew out of nowhere to bite me in the ass and send my stress levels through the roof. Sort of like a microcosm of the whole trip really. Except minus all of the awesome stuff.

I boarded an overnight bus. Everyone else on board was headed for Sapa, the well-touristed northern destination in Vietnam. I would get off before then at the ratty border town of Lao Cai and cross into China by foot. From that point on, the well-oiled tourism machine of Southeast Asia would end and I'd have to fend for myself in the English vacuum of China. It was a sleeper, the bobsled type, and wasn't terribly comfortable. Before getting on, a Vietnamese employee of a guesthouse was caught red-handed with a girl's stolen ipod and a bit of commotion was kicked up. not sure how it was resolved, but, being a recent victim of theft myself, part of me hoped that they nailed the bastard to the cross.

I had to sleep next to a father and his very young daughter who were sharing a seat. Kind of annoying because that was four extra appendages I had to worry about drifting over into my seat during the night. And they did drift. Every once and a while, a little hand would plunk over onto me which I had to gently remove so as to not wake up the sleeping child and incur the wrath of her father. I didn't sleep much the whole trip, so when we rolled into Lao Cai at 5am and I was ejected from the bus, I was tired and cranky.

It was pouring and the town was barren. I threw on my rain jacket and tried to find some food and a dry place to wait until the border opened up at 8. I found a place that sold pho, but for some reason, the lady couldn't understand that I wanted pho. Like, this actually happened a lot. I'd go to a restaurant that would have no menu and nothing but assorted ingredients on display. I knew that there was know way to communicate what I wanted, and no way for them to communicate what they can make, so I would just ask for anything. "All OK". I didn't care what they made, as long as it was edible. Sounds simple, but they usually got this impression that I had this complicated order I was trying to convey and ask me a million questions, all of which I, of course, couldn't understand. What usually resulted was a plate of random ingredients thrown together without any kind of sauce or seasoning whatsoever; something no one in their right mind would order. That's what happened there that morning, as I got just noodles, chicken and water instead of pho. Terrible.

While eating, someone from this group of drunken old screwups at the next table would occasionally wander over and ask me something in Vietnamese and have the whole table laughing. All I could do was shrug and conceal my rage. Got the hell out of that place fast.

It was 6:30. UGH. Stores began opening their shutters and I found and Internet cafe to thankfully occupy me until 8. Caught a motorbike taxi to the border and was greeted by an army of touts that gunned specifically for me. They wanted to exchange my Vietnamese dong into Chinese yuan. Of course, it was all a scam, and they would have ended up taking 50% with the rates they were quoting me. When I realized this, I became incredibly abrupt and curt with them. They kept spewing crap, saying things like there were no places to exchange money across the border and that there were no ATMs. BS of course. And what really bothered me was how the border guards would just allow these freelance jackasses to run around checkpoints harassing tourists. It didn't stop until I crossed the bridge over to the Chinese side, into the town of Hekou, where a whole other pile of problems was waiting for me.

The guards were friendly, which was refreshing after being treated like a whoopee cushion for the last four hours. However, when I went through customs, they confiscated my newly-purchased Lonely Planet China because it failed to recognize Taiwan as a part of China (which it isn't by the way). Like, is the country run by a bitter, resentful child? Is this petty shit worth inconveniencing, nay, crippling, my ability to navigate the country? This was the straw that broke the camel's back, as I soon realized that no one in China spoke anything resembling English, and there was nary a Roman character to be found anywhere. I was utterly marooned. "Bus station", "hotel", even "toilet". No one could understand what I was asking and they were all TERRIBLE at both charades AND Pictionary.

I wandered the streets with my heavy, heavy backpack in the hot, humid weather in my damp, filthy clothes for over an hour trying to find a place to stay. And the town was a backwater hellhole. Fat, brown-toothed men walked down the road in their underwear gawking at me with hollow expressions. Everyone seemed to be screaming at each other. Phlegm was being churned up and spat on the floor in every direction I looked. The surrounding buildings were all dull concrete and rusty shutters. Not a modicum of tact or decorum to be found ANYWHERE.

I found an English sign saying "HOTEL", and it was the fancy kind, with a staffed reception area, elevators and clocks lining the wall displaying the time in New York, London, etc... Out of my budget, but I was desperate. $50 a night. Euagh! In my dying breath, I asked if they knew of a cheaper place, and surprisingly, I was led to an inconspicuous building a few doors down. It was a guesthouse for $4 a night. Finish line.

The owner laid about in his underwear and it took a shockingly long time to convey to him that I was coming to his guesthouse because I wanted a room. Finally I got one with a bathroom and a TV. Perks, but after a day like this, perks were like a maraschino cherry on a cow turd.

The water shut off halfway through my shower, so I had to bust open a bottle of water to rinse the shampoo off of my head. After that, I thought good and hard about what I wanted to do next. Lonely Planet recommended the Yuanyan rice terraces, but without the aforementioned Lonely Planet, getting to, and navigating, the area would have been a lot more problematic. That, and I wanted to get out of rural China as quickly as possible. So I eventually decided that my next stop would be Kunming, the capital of Yunnan province and about ten hours away. You couldn't have dragged me on another bus at that time, so I fell asleep and hoped that I wouldn't wake up for another 16 hours.

I woke up at 7pm. UGH. What the hell am I going to do? I got up and set out to find food before everything closed. The place I found had no menu and a pile of ingredients on display. UGH. Thankfully, I was able to point to a delicious looking meal being shared by some people and say "That". And it was delicious. Chinese cuisine is a little more familiar than the other cuisines of Southeast Asia, and the meal was just what I needed.

I wandered around town to find the same depressing sights I had passed during the day. Night time had not altered Hekou's character in the least. Back to the guesthouse I suppose. Let's see if the TV works. It did, just barely, and I was able to get the World Cup, which was good enough for me. So I watched that, and didn't sleep a wink, until early the next morning when the bus station opened.

Thankfully, the ticket lady understood her own language when I walked up and said "Kunming". I had about 2 hours to kill, and that's about how long it took to track down which bus I would be riding on and where the bathroom was.

Oh yes, the bathrooms. Not only was the bathroom filthy as can be, but there were absolutely no enclosures whatsoever. Everything went into a trough, and I mean EVERYTHING. And did I mention there were no enclosures? Several men were giving demonstrations and I almost considered dousing my eyes with bleach after catching a glimpse. It reminded me of the barn at my grandparents' farm. Funny thing was, I had to pay almost a dollar to use it, making it the most expensive bathroom I'd used, as well as the most disgusting; two distinctions that are very unlikely to coincide. Bravo China.

Soon it was time to go and I could not have been more thrilled to leave. Not a very good way to start a new country. China needed to step it up big time in the next few days.

The dull central boulevard of Hekou, early morning in the rain.

This was the sky the entire time. Not pictured: incredible mugginess.

The tallest building in town. It actually looked like no one had been working on it for months.

I at one point tried this door thinking there was a toilet behind it. Silly me! The whole town's a toilet!

This sign probably says "Hekou: Be sad with us, forever".

Hanoi, part 2

I saw the remains of a traffic accident on the highway back to Hanoi. Given the sheer volume and intensity of the traffic, it was only a matter of time before I came across one. This one was exceptionally bad and involved a car and a motorcycle. The police and the ambulance had yet to arrive. You could feel a hush come across the mini bus as we passed by. I may have seen two dead bodies.

Back in Hanoi, I said goodbye to the girls and made my way back to the old hotel to see if my attic room was available again. It was, and my Chinese visa had arrived as well. I ogled it like it was a merit badge. Awarded for excellence in the field of tolerating bureaucracy. I lugged my bag up the four flights of stairs and settled again. Didn't feel like leaving on any walks that night.

But unfortunately, I had to. I had forgotten my Jeju Island souvenir towel on Cat Ba, so I needed to buy a new one. Just after sunset, I came across a huge, sprawling market that had not been there before. It was a Saturday, so it was most likely a weekend deal. People walked elbow to elbow past the many makeshift shops that had sprung up. Everything was, for the most part, clothes, but I did find a place that sold towels. I picked a slightly torn one because I knew I could haggle it down to pennies. Soon after, it started to rain.

Vendors scrambled about setting up tarps and makeshift shelters. They had no idea what they were in for. I bolted back to the guesthouse just as things started to get really crazy. I was perhaps the fiercest rainstorm I had witnessed on the trip, if not, my whole life. Being on the top floor meant I could hear the rain pounding the roof; sounding almost like intense TV static. Very very loud. Outside I saw rain flying in all directions. Past 50 meters I saw nothing. Outside of my room, the doors leading to the balcony had been blown open and the floor was flooded. The shelf with the clean bedsheets was soaked as was some poor bastard's laundry that had been hung out to dry. The doors kept slamming against the wall, so I rushed over and closed them. The clasp wouldn't hold under the intense wind, so I used a chair to brace them in place. Chaos.

The next morning brought clear, sunny weather, so I woke up early and headed over to Ho Chi Minh's tomb. This was my last chance after two failed attempts after all. I arrived to find a terrifyingly long line. Long, but it was moving. It took a while to even find the end. Guards scrambled about trying to curb the rampant line-cutting. People were swelling forward constantly. Hands rested themselves on the small of my back, urging me onwards. I didn't see the point in this mob panic. It's not like we weren't going to get in.

The line was long, yes, but thanks to the ephemeral nature of the attraction, it moved very fast and before long, I was inside the mausoleum. Cameras were confiscated of course. A few steps further and I saw the man whose face was so ubiquitous throughout all of Vietnam. He didn't look real, but the degree to which the guards protected the body, suggested that he was. Four were standing motionless around the glass while a handful of others kept the crowd moving. Before long, I was spat out the other end.

Having some time to kill, I went to the Ho Chi Minh Museum. Expecting the usual pablum, I was surprised to see some pretty bizarre physical interpretations of the man's life. A cave shaped like the inside of Ho Chi Minh's head? Yes. Strewn weaponry forming a ring around a cabin? Yes. Huge sculptures of fruit? Not sure what that has to do with anything, but yes.

I was about done with Hanoi then. Saw the body, time to leave. I didn't think it would take two blog entries, but I had my visa and it was time to go. I booked an overnight bus to the border town of Lao Cai and whiddled away the remaining time to departure on the net. I found the cheapest, quietest, coolest and most well-equipped Internet cafe tucked away from the stinky street. Awesome. Thanks Hanoi. You tried my patience at times, but I will never forget your je ne sais quoi.

Train passing through the city. I think there was a guard rail, but I wouldn't be surprised if there wasn't.

Here's a small taste of the congested streets of the Old Quarter taken from the back of a (slow moving) motorbike.