Lhasa will leave you breathless!

At about 3500 meters up, Lhasa is one of the highest cities in the world. Now as I mentioned before, there are a number of things one notices about being that high in the troposphere. First of all, the sky is impossibly blue and impossibly bright. In fact, there's far less atmosphere blocking the sun's rays, so if you're not generous with the sunblock, your husk will cook! Secondly, the vegetation is sparse because not much can grow at that altitude. Whatever trees there are seem meticulously planted in an attempt to spruce the place up, but everything else resembles a Martian planetscape. This also means that any foods that grow on trees are out, so tubers and potatoes hold sway! Finally, and in reference to the title, altitude makes it really really hard to breathe! It's especially noticeable after climbing a flight of stairs, and every gasp to regain your breath is dreadfully insufficient!

So I was in Lhasa, Tibet, the very final stop on my crazy journey, and the reason I scrimped and saved all throughout other, less stimulating locales. I absolutely wanted to go to Tibet. It seemed like it would be a crazy climax to a crazy journey, and the prospect of actually making it there would waver between likely and no-chance-in-hell. I did one credit card advance and even used the insurance money I got from my stolen ipod to keep the journey going on longer. Now that I was there and the bulk of it was already paid for, I could ride out the rest of my journey in satisfaction.

There were a few guides waiting outside the train station to pick up their designated foreigners. It was a stipulation to being in Tibet; a guide must get you from the train station and direct you to a hotel. Otherwise, who knows what kind of subversive havoc an errant tourist could wreak! Our guide found us quickly. His name was Jia Bu and he was an ethnic Tibetan as we had hoped. I say that because often enough, tour groups get a Han Chinese guide who spends the whole time spouting off propaganda about how Great China tamed the Tibetan savages etc etc etc. That would have been miserable. This guy seemed like a pretty docile chap. He loaded us all into a car where we met our prickly driver.

Everyone in the group was hair shy of being broke, so we strongly urged our guide to take us to the cheapest place he knew. What we got was a room at the Yak Hotel with four separate beds at a very reasonable price. It was about 3pm when we checked in, and thankfully our guide knew we all needed to unwind after the cloister that was the Qinghai-Tibet Railway, so he let us have the rest of the day to do as we pleased.

Walking around the streets of Lhasa was unlike anything else I had encountered in China. It didn't even seem like China. The people were different, the language was different, the writing was different, the clothing was different, the music was different. Honestly, it was unlike anything else I had seen on the trip thus far. And everything seemed like it was steeped in a layer of the divine. Pilgrims and monks walked the narrow streets with charms and other holy implements. Incenses which carried the palpable solemnity of an Old World rose up and seemed to occupy every house in every alley.

We were in the Barkhor, a district of streets and alleys which surrounded the Jokhang Temple, the most sacred and important temple in Tibet. Pilgrims moved in a wave, circling the temple in a clockwise manner. The more devout faced the temple and prostrated gravely after each step. Directly in front of entrance was a huge public square that was scorched under the bright sun. Barkhor Square. It was filled with tents of locals selling trinkets and souvenirs, but oddly enough, nothing about it seemed tacky or unbecoming. David suggested a game in which we would try and find the oldest, pruniest looking Tibetan possible. Each one kept topping the last.

We were hungry so we found a small wooden-benched hovel of a restaurant to grab some food in. I ate yak meat, rice, potatoes and carrots with gravy and yak butter tea; hands down the heartiest meal I had eaten since Canada.

The second day in Lhasa was spent touring its many holy sites. First off was the aforementioned Jokhang Temple in the center of the Barkhor. It was another sunny day and I made sure to layer on the sunscreen. Getting into the temple was easy. There were separate lines for tourists and pilgrims, the only difference being the fact that we had to pay. Oddly enough, the entry ticket was a credit card sized CD-ROM, a gimmick perhaps more suited to a science museum or an Expo pavilion rather than a hallowed Buddhist temple. Inside, I felt like a huge waste of space. There were hundreds of ornate statues of Buddha, all draped with the finest adornments, being worshiped in turn by throngs of pilgrims. Many brought thermoses of yak butter which they poured into the candles. Clearly this was a very big deal for them, and my gawking ass was just getting in their way. We couldn't take pictures either, which is understandable, so we just followed the queue and looked.

We trudged further around the Barkhor, this time with the guide who did a good job pointing out things we may have overlooked. I think he had a list of places that paid him to bring in tourists cause he kept leading us to these expensive restaurants that played up the whole "exotic Tibet" angle.

That evening all four of us went out for a drink. Finding a place to drink is never hard. Walk along alleys until you see a light on. Walk in the door and nine times out of ten it'll be a place that'll serve you. The local brew was Lhasa Beer. It was only 3% ABV, but the effect of the altitude probably carried it well above 5. We didn't know that so we got hammered almost every time.

Sleeping at high altitude is also something worth mentioning because it's really really hard! You literally have to remember to breathe sometimes, and it's not unheard of for people to flat out stop breathing while they sleep, only to wake up a little and sharply resume. My first night there, I couldn't sleep for a good 3 hours. By the second night I was doing better.

Day 3 in Lhasa brought us to the biggest baddest attraction in town: the Potala Palace. It was a former residence of the Dalai Lama (the real one) until all that shit went down and he had to leave. Now it's a massive towering compound in the center of the city that carries a strong significance for Tibetans and Chinese alike (it's on their money). It was also a lot of stairs which is probably why we waited until day 3 before tackling it. If we did this after getting off the train, we would have been useless wheezing masses. The whole place was like a maze following no kind of typical layout whatsoever. It was kind of interesting really. Some rooms served no purpose other than housing a really sacred Buddha (not uncommon in Tibet I would come to learn). A really nice old man gave us each some cool looking scarves. We exited out the other side and met with our guide.

The next attraction was the Norbulingka, the summer residence of the Dalai Lama (the Chinese one, not the real one). I have to say it was pretty boring. I mean, I have been seeing ornate palaces the entire trip and nothing about this one stood out. It was just a lot of walking, and with the thin air, that was a tough sell. Our guide chirped in with tidbits here and there. He remained surprisingly neutral on the whole China-Tibet issue, which is good I guess. Six days with some vitriolic dude would have probably worn me down.

That evening we found a sweet restaurant/bar filled with Chinese tourists. One guy was working the room with a guitar singing all kinds of Chinese ballads. When he got tired, the owner fired up a karaoke machine for more merriment. Being the only foreigners there, we garnered a bit of attention, which at no point was unwarranted. Lykke tried on some Chinese dress while I was taught a ridiculously complex drinking game involving cups, dice and betting.

The next day Jia Bu met us in the lobby as usual. He had a whole laundry list of things he wanted us to see and they were all temples. The first one we went to was so boring, I forgot the name entirely. I mean, it probably wasn't actually boring, but the problem starting with the Jokhang and the Potala Palace was that everything else that followed was kind of meh. The weather took a turn for the gloomy as well. And we may have been hungover, I don't remember, but either way the morning was kinda lousy.

So I guess he sensed we needed to see something new. I don't think we could've just run off for a whole day, so he opted to take us to the Sera Monastery. It was in the far north of town and edged up the side of a mountain. Inside, hundreds of monks in red robes meandered about. We had shown up just in time for a lively debating practice. Apparently this was what these guys did on the regular. I was told the subjects were pretty much philosophical, but when we showed up, they seemed to be practicing a technique where they would slap their hands together, lean forward and point in order to "drive the point home" I guess. Other tourists flanked the area and it got a bit claustrophobic after a while. We left at about suppertime.

That evening, Lyyke and Siri were determined to find a club. It didn't take much asking around, but eventually all four of us got into a cab and found ourselves outside of an extremely modern looking nightclub with a huddle of dressed up lads and girls in miniskirts in front. Being backpackers, we were woefully underdressed, but that didn't stop security from letting us jump the line and get in for free. The lighting inside was pretty intense, and the DJ played your typical David Guetta housey hiphop stuff while the masses crowded the dancefloor. The bulk of the crowd was Chinese with only a few Tibetans here and there. Drinks were pricey, but every so often, some random guy or girl would pull one of us aside, give us a beer, take a few pictures with us and their friends and that would be that. I played the really complicated cup dice betting game a few more times with a table of girls and lost horribly. They had probably about 30 to 40 bottles of beer in ice sitting on their table they seemed pretty intent on giving away. This beer was also of the non-Lhasa variety, so it kicked like a mule.

The night spun quickly out of control, what with the free drinks and all. We all split up and between the four of us, probably ended up at every table in the club. Honestly, the attention was out of hand. I felt a bit guilty being singled out and getting free drinks just cause I was white, but I just told myself it was the upside to all the gawking, pointing and nose-touching I endured all throughout Yunnan and Sichuan. Twice during the night, the music stopped and security circled the bar, as some fresh faced young Tibetan MC got up and did a song. The crowd went nuts each time it happened too cause apparently this guy was like the T.I. of Tibet or something.

So yeah, that was to be our last night in Lhasa before heading out on a 2-day roadtrip around rural Tibet. I have to say that the club was a pretty hilarious way to cap off the Lhasa experience. I guess we spent the entire time walking around the Old Town, so we never really got a chance to realize that Lhasa is a living, working city. Seeing the more modern side was kind of interesting. Like skiing in Iran or something. Anyways, we would be back to Lhasa for another day after the roadtrip, so it wasn't goodbye or anything.

At 4am, getting back to the hotel was a shambolic affair. The only thing I remember was Siri, with her chirpy Norwegian accent, begging me to go help her find a hamburger. It was hilarious and became a meme for the rest of the trip.

The energy of the Barkhor

 Here's one of the many characteristic stalls you see lining the alleys of the Barkhor

 Tibetan mother and child. Most Tibetans develop cataracts at a young age because of the sun.

 David and Siri eating that hearty feast I was telling you about.

 Bakhor Square. Note the sun!

 Chinese police keeping a vigilant eye on everything at all times.

Lykke & cat

 This childhood could beat up my childhood

 David, Siri and I in the evening.

 The entrance to the Jokhang Temple. Prostrating masses.

 Rooftops of the Old Town.

 Barkhor Square from on top the Jokhang Temple, day 2. Note the Potala Palace looming ominously in the background.

 Potala Palace: Hope you like stairs!

 Burning piles everywhere in Lhasa.

 Conviction meets incredulity. Monks engaged in a lively debate at the Sera Monastery.

 Grandmother and grandchild at the Sera Monastery.

Skyward on the Tibet-Qinghai Railway

Boarding the train was easy. It never usually is, but we bought our tickets in advance and showed up early to ensure that we got our bunks. Missing this train would've been a disaster. A week in a smog oven of a city waiting, an ambiguous bartering procedure for tickets, a hefty reduction in funds for permits and whatnot, all would have been for nothing. So Lykke and Siri, the two Norwegian girls, David the Brit and I all cabbed together and arrived at the northern railway station a good hour in advance. We loaded in at around 7pm just as the sun was setting.

Examining the tickets, I noticed that I was placed in a completely different car than the other three. Inconvenient, but hardly worth groaning about considering I almost didn't get the tickets in the first place. Thankfully, an old man in their cabin had no qualms with swapping tickets so I could be with my travel companions. He gleefully sauntered off, probably thrilled at the fact that he just avoided having to spend 2 days and 2 nights in a cabin with a bunch of foreigners. Since each cabin had 6 bunks and there were 4 of us, it meant that the other two were gonna be taken up by randos; a familiar crap shoot when traveling extensively. They were claimed by two teenage Tibetan girls who looked like they had taken this train many many times before.

So, why the train? Well, first of all, if you've been following this blog at all, you know that I only travel by land so as to truly appreciate and get a sense of the distance I'm covering. Secondly, a quick wikipedia search will tell you that the Qinghai–Tibet railway is the highest railway in the world and boasts some of the most breathtaking scenery in China. Finally, Lhasa, our final destination, is a crazy 3600 meters above sea level, meaning the air is thin, and a 2 day train journey would be an excellent way to acclimatize. There have been stories of people getting off of the plane and their bodies flipping out because they can't deal with the altitude. Altitude sickness is a very serious thing and affects a very large percentage of people, so taking the train was a good way to reduce the chance of any of us having to be evacuated (evacuation is for the most part, the only cure). Still, I was worried that my ridiculous corpus, with its SCUBA woes and whatnot, would refuse to cooperate. This final leg was meant to be an epic climax to an already epic trip, and if something dumb happened, I would curse the sky with everything in me.

Once the train got rolling and everyone took their bunks, it became fairly jocular. It was a good group. David was an English teacher in Chengdu on holidays while the girls were friends from back in Oslo on a massive tour of China together. The two Tibetan teens didn't speak English so I have no idea what their deal was. They didn't speak at all actually and spent most of the time either listening to music or staring transfixed out of the window.

We toured the train together, hoping to locate the dining cart, or maybe some other travelers. The sun was down, so there wasn't really much to see out the windows. Past a few cabin cars we came to the proletariat seats. If you'll recall a few entries back, I described what was probably the most sanity stretching train ride of my life; sandwiched in with a bunch of hot, breathy, noisy, spitty people for 12 hours. This was the same thing, except for the entire 2 day journey. What a goddamn nightmare! Now, I fancy myself as someone who can endure hardship and discomfort, especially compared to some of the entitled yuppies back in Canada who complain when an escalator is broken. But this would have been impossible for me to endure. Part of me also wonders if I would have been insane enough to buy a proletariat seat if I had not won the bidding war for a bunk.

We tiptoed around the bleak, huddled masses sprawled about the floor to reach the dining cart, a rather unimpressive set of seats and tables. It was getting late, so nothing was being served, although snacks were an option. We brought our own and chatted. Lots of chatting to be done. We were three people who would be spending a week exclusively confined to one another so the comfort barrier was gonna get broken fast. Lykke was an extrovert and a cynic, Siri was humble and good-natured, David was wry and a bit guarded. I was just tired.

So day 1 on the train was not even a day. Just a pace up to the dining cart and back. I got top bunk which actually is the worst bunk. I had to Cirque de Soleil my way up every time, especially difficult when you're trying not to wake anyone else up. The top bunk also had way less headroom than the others meaning I would spank my head constantly.

Day 2 was really the only full day on the trip. We all brought our own food meaning we didn't have to rely on the meal cart for sustenance. It had already made its way through the proletariat seats meaning the cobbled mush of rice, chicken and vegetables being served was well molested. Plus it cost a lot.

Everyone on board had a book. I dug into Blink, a Malcolm Gladwell book about the value of impulses and split-second judgement. Kinda fitting for the whole trip. When not reading, we would eat and look out the window and eat and occasionally walk a little bit around the train car. There was nothing to see out the window, just a bunch of dry landscapes riddled with machinery and industrial discard.

Next door some spoiled fat kid kept kicking up a fuss with his mother. The kid looked about 8 but acted like he was 3. "Little prince" perfectly exemplified. See, China has this problem with the whole One Child Policy, in that families usually prefer to make that one child male, then spoiling it to all hell. What's extra scary to think about it what's gonna happen years down the road when all of these fat, entitled boys grow up and start assuming important positions in society. First off, 30 million won't find wives. Many more will discover that real life is quite unlike the comfy bosom of their mother. The speculation can go on forever as to what effect that will have on not only the country, but the world. So needless to say, we all took an immediate dislike to this kid, especially when he opened a bag of snacks and dumped it on the floor just to watch his mother scramble to pick everything up again.

At one point a few kids from nearby cabins swung by to chat with the foreigners (us). They knew no English but David had an alright grasp on Mandarin. We played some cards and whatnot. I broke out some old ECC tricks to make em laugh. The little prince wandered over and started stirring up trouble, helping himself to our snacks. David took an exceptionally strong dislike to him.

The toilets started breaking around mid afternoon. Only 50% would be in working order at one time and they didn't always lock the doors on the ones that weren't. It was kind of a crap shoot. They were all squat toilets too meaning whatever poor aim anyone had was essentially all over the floor (literal crap shoot, hey!). The ones that did not flush became ghastly. No one dared go in barefoot. And demand for toilets was HIGH.

It started becoming very claustrophobic soon. There weren't any stops thus far, and the most open area was in front of the sinks near the bathrooms. And by open, I mean you can stretch your arms and legs and that's it. We all walked to the front of the train, then to the very back of the train. The proletariat class looked like they were poised for an uprising. Seriously, like any moment they would storm the cabin cars, throw us off the caboose and claim a few bunks. In the dining car we met a few more foreigners. One guy was Austrian and had just come back from a tour of North Korea which I thought was really really interesting.

The day blended into night which blended into sleep. I myself remember nothing of that night except wailing my head hard on the ceiling right before I was about to make a joke that I thought would be very funny. Me wailing my head proved to be much funnier.

Day 3 was disgusting. Inside the train anyways. Outside it was gorgeous. We had just passed Golmund and were officially on the Qinghai–Tibet railway up into the clouds. The scenery outside was nothing but rolling green hills and insanely blue skies. No trees or shrubs anywhere, which you think wouldn't be that impressive, but it actually looked very very surreal. We were pretty high in the sky, too high for any kind of complex shrubbery to survive really. Most of this day was spend peering out of the window in awe.

So yeah, as I mentioned, the inside of the train had become a hamster cage. Garbage piling up, crumbs and spit on the floor. The garbage bins were full so loose garbage bags were tied to the outside. And don't even get me started on the bathrooms. For some odd reason, everyone had to pee like every hour or so, so the bathrooms were getting overclocked and functioning at about 25% capacity. Lines were a pretty common sight. I caught little prince pissing in one of the loose garbage bags, his mother standing beside him idly condoning this wretched display. I retreated to my bunk now and then when I felt I was starting to lose my sanity. I could only imagine how gruesome the proletariat seats had gotten.

The train was making semi-frequent stops. At one stop, they let everyone out to stretch their legs. It was at a pass about 5000 meters up. Crazy! Beside us, little Tibetan villages rolled by, with yaks grazing in fields and prayer flags draped over bucolic dwellings. The excitement was building, partly from the scenery outside and partly from the desire to get the hell off the train.

Finally we arrived, and a palpable excitement rose up amongst the passengers. The train station seemed very new and very empty. It was a terrifically bright day.

Here's how much hallway space we were dealing with.

And the cabin.

And the dining cart. Getting a whole table here was neigh impossible!

Hello hard-working man!

Middle of nowhere Tibetan village. Insane scenery!

Those are glaciers. Is this real???

Thanks for putting up the infrequent blog entries guys!

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.