Final Thoughts

Well, with this post, my "Adventures in China and Taiwan" blog, as all things eventually do, will meet its end. I'd like to quickly run through a few thank-you's, although there are so many people not included on this list to whom I am very grateful:
- First, to my readers. I know there are at least three or four people reading this; I really have no idea how many. Whoever you are, I hope you have found some sort of bizarre entertainment in my ramblings or maybe have picked up a travel tip or two for China and Taiwan. This is the first time I've really written for an audience, other than a teacher or professor, so it was difficult trying to keep this blog appealing for the wide variety of people who might be reading. Hopefully, I didn't disappoint too much.
- Now, two thank you's to two very special potential readers. First, to the editors of the Lonely Planet travel guidebooks. If you've been reading along the whole time, just dying to let me know how much you love my style, now is the time to contact me. Pending salary negotiations, I'm willing to travel anywhere in the world to write for LP. Secondly, a very warm thank you to the Chinese PSB. At times I suppose I poked a little fun at the Chinese people, but it was all in good fun; I truly love China, it's people, and it's culture. I'm glad you recognized this and did not lock me in jail.
- Thank you to Jeanette and John for letting me borrow their rock climbing gear, and I wish them a wonderful trip to China.
- Thank you to Fu Laoshi and Su Laoshi for their instruction in Chinese - which was what really made this trip feasible - and for their assistance in planning the trip.
- Thank you to Arthur and his family in Hong Kong for the warm welcome to Asia and for the awesome hotpot dinner.
-Thank you to Xu Yuan and her family for providing me with an absolutely wonderful homestay experience in China. Their kindness and hospitality will never be forgotten, and I look foward to returning one day.
- Thank you to the Chang family in Taipei for their help getting around the city and for their continued friendship.
- Thank you to my brother for sending me exactly one - no more, no less - email during the entire two months I was gone. I received this email tonight, my very last night away from home.
- Thank you to my parents for their support of this trip in particular and for their continued support of all my adventures, even though they don't like any part of them. Also, thank you to them for giving me one more experience which will one day probably convince me that my future consists of being a surf bum and a traveling vagabond, not a doctor.
- Thank you to Yo, W&L's standout rock climber, who actually took the time to make a comment on my blog (my only friend to do so).
- Most importantly, a very special thank you to all the people in China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan who made my stay so unforgettable. These people will probably never read this blog or realize how much I appreciate their hospitality, but I will always remember how well I was treated when traveling, and I will do my best to recriprocate and demonstrate the same respect and genuine concern for foreigners traveling in the United States.

For the first time in my life, I truly feel like a traveler. Not a priviliged kid who stays in Marriott's, but a solo adventurer who let go of everything that felt safe and crossed into the unknown in order to see, to experience, and to understand. I walk away from this most recent experience as a more complete person, with a broader view of the world. I walk away more excited than ever... about life. I'm not even home yet, and I'm already planning future adventures! As I've said often, there's so much to see and so little time. When I arrived in China, everyone told me to take it easy, that I had plenty of time to do everything I wished to do. But before I knew it, my time in China was over. I think it's the same with life. We have a natural tendency to put things off until later - always believing that there will be another tomorrow - when in reality, nothing is guaranteed, and in the blink of an eye, everything can change. The only way I know to live is to make the most of the present - to pursue knowledge, to pursue adventure, to pursue understanding...with relentless energy. There's a giant world out there, just waiting to be explored! Why do we fear to stand out from the norm? Why do we fear to do something extraordinary? "Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined." ~ FIN

Final Pictures!

Although they have not yet been uploaded, my pictures should be available for viewing at http://community.webshots.com/user/mistaajg within the next three or four days. This is the second and final batch, and I actually think they're much better than the first. They include pictures from Tiger Leaping Gorge, Emei Shan, and The Three Gorges. On a sad note, due to an astonishingly fast change from low tide to high tide, there was a small casualty during one of my days of surfing in Taiwan. Although I was able to retrieve my camera, it currently does not work. Fortunately, all of my China pictures had been transfered to my IPOD; I don't know if my Taiwan pictures, which had not been transferred, will be retrievable. To any of my loyal readers who may possess an extra camera (preferably top-of-the-line and digital), let it be known that your name will be immortalized in my blog if you donate your camera to me. Thank you.

Taiwan

Where to start... where to start?? ... I guess I should begin by explaining why it's been so long since I last posted. The last week and a half has reconfirmed to me once again that, at this point in the history of the world, the greatest thing known to mankind - without exception - is surfing. End of discussion. During my time in Taiwan, I was blessed with two beautiful typhoons which pumped amazing swells towards the country's east coast, and, because of this, my entire life revolved around chonglang (surfing). I ate, drank, and breathed chonglang every day, and posting on this blog didn't exactly fit into my schedule. With that said, let me provide a brief (unless I ramble, which, based on previous habits, is likely) synopsis of my adventures in Taiwan.

Fortunately, CKS Airport reopened last Tuesday, and I flew to Taiwan in the morning. I was met at the airport by some friends whom I had not seen in maybe five years - the Chang family - and they drove me from the airport to Taipei (about an hour drive). Generosity and warmth are common elements of Chinese culture, but the Changs totally outdid themselves. They treated me to a huge feast for lunch, bought me my train ticket, and showered me with so many gifts that I'm embarrassed to admit that I accepted them. It was so nice to catch up with this wonderful family and to hear about all the new happenings in their life. When I was welcoming them into the US five years ago, I never would have imagined that I would soon be visiting them in their own country, speaking their own language. After this great reunion, I took the train for about four hours south, down the east coast of Taiwan, to Hualien. Hualien is one of the most beautiful cities in Taiwan, dwarfed by imposing (at least 6,000 ft.) mountains to the west and situated next to Taroko National Park (which is an awesome gorge that is home to many waterfalls as well as interesting Aboriginal culture; I explored the gorge during a day hike starting early one morning so I could surf in the afternoon). Great beaches are located both to the north and south, making Hualien an excellent surfer hangout. Having done a bit of research, I decided to stay in the Formosa Backpacker's Hostel, and I could not have made a better choice. The hostel is run by a really cool Taiwanese girl named Yachen, who saves all her money for traveling and takes about five months each year to globe-trot. The walls of the hostel are covered with travel photos, landscape paintings, and most notably, surfing memorabilia. Yachen happens to be good friends with TK, the local surfing guru. Unlike Taipei, Hualien is not home to that many surfers; in fact, the local crowd only numbers about twenty or thirty. This group, though, is based out of TK's surf shop (the only one in the area), which is located about 45 minutes south at Jici Beach. Although Jici does not usually get the most powerful waves, it's the only true sand beach near Hualien and is a very safe, fun place to surf. TK's shop is located up on the cliff overlooking this beautiful beach, and it couldn't be a cooler place. Surfboards, surf photos, and surf videos abound; speakers pump out soft rock, reggae, and mellow tunes for surfers lounging outside in hammocks; and a big crazy yellow lab named Touzhan can always be found chewing on surf accessories. Actually, one of the coolest things about this place, I think, is that it's right at the forefront of what's essentially a little cultural revolution. Surfing is still very much a fledgling sport in Hualien - none of these guys, even TK, has surfed for more than a year or two - but there is so much enthusiasm and excitement! TK basically invested all his money in a surfshop even though no one in the area knew how to surf. A lot of the locals are now quite good, and it's just neat to see how both the sport and the culture are starting to take root.... Anyway, the great thing about deciding to stay at the hostel is that, since Yachen is friends with TK, I immediately found myself on the inside of the surfing scene. By Wednesday morning (my first full day), I had rented a board, learned the locations of some of the best spots, and met a bunch of the local surfers. One of my roommates, a Canadian guy named Tylor who teaches English in Taiwan, is a big surfer, too, and he introduced me to some of the other English teachers who surf. Before long, conversation at the hostel revolved almost solely around surfing; I actually felt a bit sorry for the few non-surfers staying there, as they were forced to listen to our daily reports on each break plus our speculations about the next day's waves. Nevertheless, I really, really enjoyed being around others who are as obsessed with surfing as I am.

I'll get back to surfing in a bit, but I'd like to change subjects for now. While the surfing was amazing and I can't stop thinking about some of those waves, surprisingly the most vivid memories I have of Taiwan - the ones that will always stick with me and define my experience there - were acquired through a different activity: dabian che (hitchhiking)! Don't panic, Mom; hitchhiking in Taiwan is totally different than in the US. From the time I arrived, Tylor raved non-stop about hitchhiking, and all the other foreigners told me that it's definitely the way to go. I was a little doubtful, but it did seem like a convenient way to check the surf breaks (you can't exactly tell the bus to stop at each break, wait ten minutes while you check the waves, then take you to the next place). So, wondering if I stood out enough in my bathing suit, sandals, and rashguard - surfboard under my arm and sunglasses on my head - I tentatively made my way to the side of the road and gave the old thumbs-up. Now, despite the efforts of my fellow foreigners, hitchhiking - like surfing - is still a fledgling activity in Taiwan. Therefore, I received a wide variety of responses to my thumbs-up sign. The least surprising, I suppose, was the always enthusiastic thumbs-up in return. Sometimes I'd get a peace sign, sometimes a friendly wave, but most often just a dumbfounded stare. Occassionally, a driver would stop, explain that a bus runs along that particular road, and even offer to take me to the bus station; it was always a bit awkward trying to explain that I prefer not to pay for my transportation. Every once in a while, though, someone who had either figured out the drill due to a previous encounter with one of my friends or "had seen American movies" (as they would explain with pride), would pull off the road, roll down the window, and ask that beautiful question which I loved to hear: "Ni qu narli?" ("Where ya' headed?"). As I refined my style and learned by emulating my friends, I began getting rides in less time than it takes to say dabian che. I learned that the height of the thumb is particularly important - too high and you're perceived as aggressive; too low and you don't seem interested enough. Also, a slight bend of the risk indicates confidence, and a smile never hurts. I still haven't come to a conclusion about my wide brimmed hat and shades; when I wear them I definitely look the part of the surfer - which intrigues some drivers - but I also hide my red hair and foreign features - which also intrigues some drivers. It seemed that no matter what I did, though, I always got rides. The best thing about hitchhiking in Taiwan, however, is that you get a lot more than just a ride. I received a free drink on approximately two out of every three rides and free food on one out of every three rides. In his three months here, Tylor has already gotten two free lobster dinners. About fifty percent of the drivers would end up giving me their business card and telling me to call any time I needed a ride. Per Taiwanese custom, every ride would also entail a lengthy set of personal questions about my home, my family, my university, and my stay in Taiwan and China; this turned out to be an excellent way of practicing Chinese. Needless to say, I was also treated to a wide variety of music - some really good, some not so. In all, my hitchhiking experiences defined my time in Taiwan and were some of the most unique, memorable, and fascinating encounters I've ever had with people from a different country. The only way to truly capture these experiences would have been to videotape them, but perhaps a brief sketch of several of my rides will give the reader a better idea of what hitchhiking in Taiwan really entails:

- Opening the car-door, I see two sisters in the back and their parents in the front. Thirty seconds down the road and the dad already wants to know if I have a girlfriend. When he learns that, like his older daughter, I'm 19 and in my second year of university, he really gets going. This leads the mom to wack him in the side of the head every three or four minutes (no exaggeration), which causes him to laugh hysterically. I learn later that the parents are in a playful mood because it's their anniversary; Christine has to settle for a picture and my email address.
- An "Abo" (short for Aboriginal and not intended to be demeaning) in one of the typical blue farm trucks pulls over and he appears to be offering me a ride, although his dialect is very hard to understand. We putter down the road at about 15 mph while he interrogates me throroughly on my relationships with the girls with whom I'd been surfing. Although the situation is a bit awkward and I'm wishing I were in the back of the truck where Tylor is, I later learn that in the back with Tylor are a bunch of huge propane containers that fall over and crush his legs every time we round a curve.
- A small car already packed full with five kids - who are probably no older than I - pulls over and the driver insists that there's room for me, Tylor, and both of our boards. Although we practically have to sit on one another, we all squeeze in and head down the road. Upon arriving at our destination, the kids ask to take a picture with us. Of course we oblige because we don't know exactly what we're getting ourselves into. About 30 pictures later (again, no exaggeration), they finally run out of ways to pose with our surfboards. Of course, we have made their day by putting on our sunglasses, flashing aloha signs, and pretending to be "real" surfers.
- An eccentric little lady in the tinest, most cluttered car I've ever seen also insists there's room for me and my board. She spends ten minutes rearranging all her stuff so that we can just barely fit the board diagonally from the back window to the front windshield. She drives with her head sticking out the window.
- A Taiwanese businessman who designs and sells satellites spends forty-five minutes raving about America and his experiences there. He calls for full Taiwanese independence and expresses his gratitude for American protection. He also informs me that his stomach does not handle Mexican food very well, as he explains that during his most recent four day stay in the US, each family with whom he stayed fed him Mexican food for both lunch and dinner (not knowing what he had eaten previously); being Taiwanese, he was too nice to tell anyone.
- A young dude in a sports car screaches to a stop and starts asking me lots of questions about surfing. He explains that he surfs in Taipei, and I end up introducing him to TK and getting him in the Hualien surfing loop.
- A driver to whom I've been speaking Chinese for a few minutes suddenly informs me that he's from Costa Rica. I feel pretty stupid for speaking the wrong language, but he later tells me that he understands Chinese too.
- An outgoing, talkative family, asks me if I know where to buy the best lobster. Remembering what Tylor has told me, I start to get excited, especially when they continue talking about lobster for the next thirty minutes. As we pass through a little town, they suddenly remember that this is the best place to buy lobster and explain this to me excitedly; unfortunately, they conclude that they don't have time to stop.
- As I stand by the road with my thumb up, I see a car approaching with something sticking out the window. Upon closer expection, I realize that there are two surfboards sticking out the window! Excited about the possibility of meeting new surfers/hitchhikers, I'm rather disappointed when I see Tylor and Jamie (another one of my friends) stick their heads out the window and laugh at me because I haven't gotten a ride yet.

I don't know if I've done a very good job of depicting the Taiwanese hitchhiking scene, so maybe I should just say that it's one of the coolest, weirdest, and most unique things I've experienced. What it left me with, though, are some really memorable encounters with the Taiwanese people. It also left me feeling very attached and grateful to these people. I've literally never met people who are so friendly or so accomodating. They would wake up their little kids and make them change seats so I could fit in the car, they would never decline a ride after noticing my surfboard, and they would never complain about the sand, salt, and water I undoubtedly left in their cars. Simply put, the Taiwanese people could not have been any nicer to me. I left the country today very much infatuated with its people and its culture. While I love China (mainland) as well and will definitely return there to travel, Taiwan is actually a place I wouldn't mind living for a time, and I'm thinking seriously about studying abroad in Taiwan. Although Chinese culture pervades the island, the Taiwanese people have formed their own distinct culture as well. I find it very easy to relate to and talk to the young generation, and things are a bit more laid back than on the mainland. While I still got the occassional prolonged (defined as lasting for more than 35 consecutive seconds) stare, there was certainly not the feeling of being an animal in a zoo, as there was in China. Although this is definitely preferable, it actually does have a few downsides. First, in Taiwan, many locals actually expect me to be able to speak Chinese (sometimes even starting a conversation in normal-speed Chinese). Since Taiwan has fewer short term tourists than China and has many long term English-teachers, Chinese speaking-foreigners are not at all uncommon. What this means is that I no longer got the "Oh, Wow! You speak Chinese! You speak so well! I can't believe you've only studied for one year! ...etc. etc." I happen to like positive reinforcement, so this is sometimes a bit depressing. Also on a sad note, Taiwanese girls do not seem to be nearly as obsessed with me as Chinese girls. In China, I was this "tall, athletic, golden-haired boy" (in their own words) unlike anyone they'd ever seen; in Taiwan, I was just another guy. Nevertheless, the positives of Taiwan definitely outweigh these two small negatives; plus, I can cope with anything if I have a surfboard and a few waves.

Back to surfing, I'll give a really short account of some of my adventures, more for the sake of reliving the experiences than anything else. The typhoon that left Taiwan the day I arrived was the largest to hit the island in five years and it brought incredible waves. The day before I arrived, one of the local Hualien surfers actually paddled out into triple overhead surf despite the coast guard's alarm ringing all along the beach (meaning a major fine if you're caught in the water). As my unsuspecting friends watched the news that day, they noticed the camera zooming in on a small dot far out in the ocean. Sure enough, coast guard officials on the beach were shouting through a megaphone at some crazy surfer; the news station filmed him being taken into custody (once he decided to paddle in, of course; there was no way anyone was going to go get him) but wasn't present when he payed the 5000 USD fine. The swell gradually died off during my first days in Hualien, but I still had several days of good surf. I spent one night with TK, his girlfriend Angel, and Tylor out at the shop in Jici. After surfing all day, we went out for a night surf under the full moon and then got up before 6 AM the next morning to hit a nearby break. During the second half of my stay, the surf was continually building as a typhoon off the coast of Japan pumped in excellent swell. I earned some serious respect from the locals by paddling out solo to a relatively unknown point break called Lide or Containers. After paddling around the point, I found a beautiful break that featured one perfect, almond-shaped barrel after another. I was relatively cautious, as the currents threatened to pull me into the rocks, where there would be no way to escape because the shoreline was a shear cliff, but I still got some great waves. The cliff wasn't my only worry, though, as my friends and I had already had plenty of experiences with rocks. Many of the places we surfed featured dry rock (meaning you have to navigate around the rocks); what was even scarier was looking down to see rocks a foot and a half under your board as you're cruising down the line (simply put: not a good time to fall). Two of my friends currently have bandages over half their heads. Also, there were jellyfish. These aren't the "big blob" kind of jellyfish found on the east coast of the US; these have extremely long tentacles that really sting. One guy lifted his arm out of the water and the jellyfish was still hanging on, its tentacles wrapped three times around the guy's forearm. Also, on my first day, TK had proudly shown me a newspaper clipping of an 11 foot shark caught by fishermen in Hualien. Of course, he reassured me that there has never been a shark attack in Taiwan; however, considering the fact hardly anyone in Taiwan goes in the ocean (the vast majority of Taiwanese people cannot swim and are terrified by the ocean) , I don't think this means much. Anyway, I put away my fears and took advantage of the great surf, getting some much needed experience surfing different kinds of waves. Also, the fact that I was surfing unknown waters added to the adventure and to the experience as a whole. The surf really built on Tuesday, and a bunch of us raced over to Jici, which surprisingly had the best wave of any of the breaks. As I was running down the beach with my board, putting on my best surfer expression for the locals on the beach, I saw one of my friends, Geoff, another Canadian, drop in on a huge double overhead monster and start crusing down the line in what seemed to be slow motion he was so dwarfed by the wave. I paddled out and spent the rest of the day catching the best waves of the week - super long rides all the way to the beach. With only one full day left, I wanted to get in a lot of surfing, so I spent the night at Jici again and got up early the next morning. The swell had died a bit, but there were still some really fun waves. I got my two most memorable waves on this day - the ones that I can't seem to stop thinking about. The two rides were nearly identical, as I dropped in backside, reached down and grabbed a rail, and - with my eyes half-closed due to the water crashing over me - took a leap of faith, leaned back, and tucked my head into the tube. If you surf, then you know the picture I'm describing, and you know that it's the epitome of the perfect ride. As if this weren't good enough, I followed both tubes with big snap turns off the lip that inspired hoots from several locals in the water... [Wow, if you actually read through that, you're truly a devoted fan; I apologize, but I just couldn't help but write that description.] By the end of the day yesterday, I was doing more kicking than paddling because my arms were so tired. Beautiful sets were still rolling in, and the sun, setting over the mountains, had turned the trails of spray and mist peeling off the back of each breaking wave into mesmerizing golden arcs . Each time I fell off my board, I would literally just bob up and down under the water - unable to tread water anymore - until I could pull my board over to me - but it was so wonderful, I just couldn't make myself go in. After one last memorable ride all the way to the beach, I finally did go in, taking a few minutes to sit in the sand and appreciate the wonder and beauty of the ocean. Every time I surf, I realize I'm playing with the brute power of nature and may end up succumbing to it; each time I return to the beach, I feel I owe the ocean some sort of gratitude for allowing me to return another day. With the fading of the day's last light, I also realized that my trip had come to an end. I'd certainly gone out with a bang with two full days of great surfing, and, although I wasn't ready to leave, I was content with the adventure I'd found and with the knowledge that there's limitless adventure to be had when I return.

Last night and this morning, I packed up, said goodbyes to all the awesome friends I'd made at the hostel, and got ready to head home. I would like to note that, last night, I met two guys who are actually more extreme than I. They had been in Taipei for a big air (ie. 10 story jump) snowboard contest and were visiting Hualien for a little surfing. When I got on the back of one of their motorbikes (which they had rented), I failed to realize that, as extreme people, they would undoubtedly treat me to an interesting ride. I wasn't too hungry for dinner after the wheelies and swerves that we did on the way to the night market but I just kept telling myself "You're half way through this; you're not going to die on the last night of your trip after you've already made it through so much." On the way back, I honestly thought I was going to prove myself wrong; the gates in front of the train tracks began to lower and the sound of an oncoming train could be clearly heard. These guys both looked at each other, grinned, and accelerated. At this point, I'd given up all hope and just decided that I might as well enjoy the only time in my life I'll ever actually get to try a James Bond stunt. To my surprise, though, they slammed on the brakes at the last second, and probably for that reason alone, I'm still alive... After taking the train back to Taipei today, I was met by Mrs. Chang, who was again extremely nice and far too generous. After saying one last goodbye, I flew back to Hong Kong, where I'm currently writing this post and hoping that, by staying up late tonight, I might actually be able to sleep on the plane tomorrow.

So that's Taiwan...true to its original name, Formosa, an astonishingly beautiful place. Remarkably friendly and kind people, a fascinating culture, a booming economy. The one thing I don't understand is why tourists don't go to Taiwan. Most people don't even know that Taiwan is a tropical island, and they certainly don't know that it has some of tallest mountains in Asia (numerous 13,000+ ft. peaks) and some of the most beautiful beaches in the Pacific. I hesitate to elaborate because the relative absence of tourists (compared to China) is one of my favorite things about the island and I don't really want to encourage people to visit. But, I would be doing the wonderful people of Taiwan an injustice if I failed to acknowledge what a world-class place Taiwan really is. Put simply, I'll be back. Aloha -

China to Hong Kong to Taiwan

A new day, and a new sun... My time in China mainland is now over, and I'm currently writing from Chep Lap Kok island (at the airport hotel) in Hong Kong. After taking a day to recover from my "week of adventure," I made the most of my remaining time in China. Although I hadn't planned to leave until Sunday/Monday, visa complications hastened my departure. Since I have been using the 2002 edition Lonely Planet guidebook, I have been under the impression that I could easily secure a visa extension in Yangshuo. However, due to the tourism explosion in the area, the Yangshuo PSB called it quits. When I made a special trip to the Guilin PSB, I was told that they would need my passport for at least a week, which was not possible. Thus, I stretched my visa to its maximum - 30 days - and left a bit earlier than I would have liked.

After being told that I would have to leave early, my Chinese family was very disappointed but also resolved to make the most of our remaining time together. I woke up early each of the last couple days and spent a lot of time talking to them, watching everyone cook delicious food, and playing with Nine (the baby). Xiao Mei (Yuan) and I set out on a great biking adventure on Thursday, traveling in a big loop from Moon Hill to Dragon Bridge in Baisha to Yangshuo. It was so nice, as it was the first time I'd been anywhere in China without getting lost. And there's absolutely no way I could have found my way through all those rice paddies - no way I would have known that the inches-wide, rocky paths we rode on were actually intended to be used as thoroughfares - without her as a guide. At the least, I wouldn't have been home in time for dinner... The Dragon Bridge, in particular, was really cool. Built in the 1400s, it has remained crucial to the people of Guangxi for centuries, being one of the only means of crossing the Yulong River. The bike trip was a great time - and a great workout, too - and I returned home tired, hungry, and even more disappointed that I would be leaving so soon.

Friday was a busy day full of tying up loose ends and packing up for my departure that night. I spent much of the day in Yangshuo bargaining with stubborn vendors in order to get my souvenirs at a decent price (ok, a decent price by Chinese standards). I really hate to bargain, but I suppose it did help my Chinese, and my bargaining-skills definitely improved as the day progressed. I certainly became comfortable saying "Wo shi xuesheng; mei you qian!" ("I'm a student! No money!"). After packing, I spent the afternoon with the family, and then we all enjoyed a big going-away dinner. As I sat there on my stool six inches above the ground, shoving rice into my mouth with my chopsticks and chatting in Chinese with my mouth full - surrounded by people who in one month had gone from being total stangers to being...my family - I realized that I had accomplished my mission. I had achieved a genuine understanding - however small it might be - of another culture. I had become not just another "foreigner" to these local village people but someone to whom they could relate and for whom they cared. Exactly like last year, when I experienced the same feeling of belonging with my Costa Rican family, I didn't want to leave...but, like then, I knew I had to. Earlier this year, when I pondered how to spend my summer, I was tempted to return to Costa Rica and try to relive the amazing times of last year. I would know exactly what to expect, I would be secure and comfortable, and I would undoubtedly have fun. Upon further thought, though, I realized that the world is just too big to settle for one good thing. If I had returned to CR again this summer, I would have become even more comfortable there, and, in the future, I would have no reason to go anywhere else...and that's not what I want out of life. While I do want to experience a sense of belonging in different places and within different cultures, I want to remain a traveler and an adventurer. Although it was extremely difficult to say goodbye to both my Costa Rican and Chinese families, I think I did the right thing in both cases. There's just too much out there to see and experience, and I can't let myself become tied down. I totally agree with Into the Wild's Chris McCandless that a truly rich life - rich in experience - can be acquired only by searching every single day for a new and different sun. With those thoughts, I packed my things, exchanged tearful goodbyes, and headed for the bus station.

From motorbike to minivan, plane to train, and bike to bus, I'm pretty sure I experienced all of China's modes of transportation. The long-distance "sleeper" bus I took on Friday night just might have edged out the train for the ground-transportation first-prize. Although some grumpy British guys behind me were whining for much of the night and making comments like "And this is first-class to them!", I thoroughly enjoyed the trip. I suppose after a month, I've grown accustomed to everything in China being made for people who are 5'5", so the fact that I had to sleep with my legs bent wasn't such a big deal. To conserve room, the beds on the bus are actually raised slightly in the front and back (so that your legs go underneath the bed in front of you), but this actually makes them quite comfortable. It was really nice falling asleep at 11 PM outside of Yangshuo and waking up at 9:30 AM the next morning in Shenzhen. Admittedly, I did have a bit of trouble finding the border crossing in Shenzhen and was becoming frustrated as I walked around in horrendous heat carrying all my luggage. Everyone I tried to talk to seemed to be able to speak only Cantonese, and even when I simply asked "Hong Kong??? Shang Gong???" (using both English and Mandarin), I was given dumbfounded looks like I'd asked how to get to Lexington rather than the metropolis that is located about a hundred meters away (I wanted to ask "Do you not realize that right across that river that you live beside is one of the world's most famous cities??). With the help of a friendly UCal professor, I eventually found customs and, after waiting in almost every line twice (after forgetting to fill out the little emmigration card when leaving China and then doing the exact same thing when entering Hong Kong), I finally shuffled onto Hong Kong's KCR train with all my bags. At this point I was pretty hot and tired, so I got off at Hong Hum, caught a cab to the Airport Express station, rode to the airport, and then checked into the airport hotel to relax. Most importantly, I just needed somewhere to store luggage (having bought souvenirs and having left the rock climbing gear bag in Yangshuo, I was having issues). I relaxed in the hotel during the evening, watching planes land every five minutes in front of a beautiful sunset over the ocean and the distant islands. I then went out and had maybe my third Western meal (ie. no rice!) in five weeks; like the previous two instances, I could think of only one thing - cheese - this time opting for lasagna.

The last three days have been absolutely great. I awoke Saturday with no plans and really had no idea where I was going to end up. I left almost all my luggage at the hotel, knowing I would return tonight, and hopped on a bus to southern Lantau island (Lantau island is essentially connected to Chep Lap Kok, where the new airport is located). A nice guy on the bus saw me looking at my map and, offering to help, asked me where I wanted to go. He didn't seem to understand when I said I didn't know where I was going, that I was just going to "go" and see where I ended up. I ended up getting off at Silvermine Bay and exploring this area a bit. It didn't feel right though, so I got on a ferry in Mui Wo and island-hopped to Cheung Chau. The only vague plans I had in the back of my head involved windsurfing, but - despite Lonely Planet's declaration that the Hong Kong people have been crazy about the sport since '96, when it brought them their first Olympic gold medal - most people didn't seem to know the word. I didn't really want to ask directions anyway, though, so I basically just let my feet do the guiding, and I kind of followed them along. After wandering around Cheung Chau for some time, I eventually wound up at - of all places - the Cheung Chau Watersports Club. Soon enough, I had a great hotel room so close to the ocean I would later fall asleep to the sound of the surf and with a balcony that offered a superb view of the bay and of Hong Kong island in the distance. I spent most of the day on Sunday out on the water, having an absolute blast. I wasn't able to book a lesson as I had planned, but I guess the combination of my surfing experience and my knowledge of sailing did the trick (and I probably still had some muscle memory from those few days of windsurfing six or seven years ago). Within ten minutes I was tacking and gybing, and later in the day, I was cruising side by side with several expert windsurfers (well, until they passed me, going twice as fast) a half mile out at sea along a rocky cliff, waves crashing against the rocks just twenty feet to my starboard. Now, I must be clear - I love the mountains more than just about anything, and I certainly fell in love with the scenery in China - but it was awesome to be back at the ocean. Flying across the bay with my back nearly parallel to the water, the wind howling in my face and the smell of salt in the air, my arms and hands begging me for a break despite the wild grin of pleasure on my face...this was the life. All I could think was "It just doesn't get any better than this" (with one exception, of course: surfing). Of course, I took more than my share of falls, getting flung head over heals every few minutes by ridiculously strong gusts of wind, but it was all part of the fun. After windsurfing, I still didn't really have any plans, but I had checked out of my hotel, thinking I might try to hire a sampan to take me over to a remote part of Lantau island, where I could camp and then hike part of the Lantau trail the next day (which is apparently very nice and goes over the two highest mountains in Hong Kong). Nevertheless, I just couldn't bring myself to leave Cheung Chau. As I explored the island, I was totally charmed by what seemed to me to be the place's unique combination of Chinese and Hong Kong culture. The narrow alleyways and markets and street vendors made me feel as if I were still in China, but the people were clearly more cosmopolitan (barely even taking notice of me) and polite (by Western standards of what is polite), even bothering to ring the bell on their bikes before passing pedestrians. Plus, there was a definite laid-back island feel to the whole place; in all, it was just too much to leave behind. So, I went back to my hotel, checked back into the same room, and repeated everything once more. Another evening exploring the markets, buying fresh fruit, and reading on my balcony over the ocean; another breakfast of delicious dim sum (I just can't get enough!); another day of windsurfing. I didn't make it back to the hotel until this evening, my face a bit redder and my hair quite a bit saltier than when I checked out on Saturday. Now, it's time to repack and get ready for Taiwan. The original plan was for China to revolve around rock climbing and Taiwan to revolve around surfing, but I'll just have to wait and see; I'm sure I'll find some way to have fun. Of course, with the typhoon that's demolishing parts of the island as I write, I just hope my flight won't be postponed... although if it is, I guess I could handle another day of windsurfing...

A Week of Adventure

Wow, what a week!! My mini-adventure through southern and western China - an area which is larger than most countries - is complete, I am safe, and I'm ready to tell you all the stories (minus the ones I forgot and the ones I'm smart enough to know that I shouldn't write about)...

The trip began on Monday the 3rd, as I left Guilin's airport in the afternoon bound for Kunming, in Yunan province (directly west). There, I connected flights to Lijiang, located in western Yunan, not far from the Tibetan border. The only thing of note that happened during the flights - other than the cheering and applause during take-off by a group of Chinese people who I presume had never flown on a plane - was that I met a really nice girl my age who was returning home from university and gave me a ride into town from the airport (almost an hour away). This was definitely neither the first nor the last time friendly Chinese people have gone out of their way to make me feel welcome in this country, and I am really grateful for all those who have helped me. Lijiang is a fascinating city and is not all that different from Yangshuo. It is divided into two distinct regions - the New Town and the Old Town - and on Monday night, I stayed in the latter. The Old Town is quaint and historic and has received enormous funding from the UN to preserve it's unique cultural heritage. Like a miniature Venice, the Old Town is home to a maze of cobblestone streets, small canals, and ancient bridges. Small shops line the roads; vendors offer food to passers-by; and music, laughter, and conversation resonate from the central square. As night approaches, one entire canal is transformed into a series of interconnected parties. The restaurants along this canal are overflowing with happy, boisterous people, who make their way merrily from one establishment to the next, often breaking spontaneously into song with strangers from across the canal. Bridges are usually congested with people who seem to have a fondness for bottlenecks, and the street layout is so confusing that it's impossible not to get lost; additionally, as the home of Han Chinese, Tibetan Chinese, and many Chinese minorities (particularly Dong), the Old Town is a culturally vibrant and exciting place. I stayed in a hostel called the Dongba Place, which is run by a nice Tibetan guy and his wife. The cafe/sitting area there is filled with information on exploring the surrounding mountains, and the walls are decorated with beautiful, enlarged photos taken by the owner of these wild lands. While eating a delicious Tibetan chicken curry, I had great conversations with both the owner (John) and some kids my age from Canada, the US, and the Netherlands. From what they told me and from what I had read in my guidebook, I plotted my route in Tiger Leaping Gorge for the next few days. The next morning I awoke early (which became a reoccuring theme during the week), made my way to the bus station, and hopped on a bus headed for Qiaotou, located three hours west (even closer to Tibet). As the bus crossed over the Yangzi River (yes, this is the same river which flows through the Three Gorges...keep in mind that it is one of the longest rivers in the world) just before arriving in Qiaotou, I got my first glimpse of the gorge. I will never forget the chills I felt when I saw that first jagged, snowcapped peak, soaring nearly 15,000 feet above the river. Before beginning the hike, I stumbled into a little cafe located at the trailhead and run by an extremely friendly, somewhat eccentric Australian hippy named Margo. She provided me with a hand-drawn map of the gorge and lots of beta, including things to be careful about. One of the things about the gorge which really disappointed me is the amount of development that has occured there. Local guesthouses appear near the trail every few hours, and a road even runs halfway into the gorge (although it is located several thousand feet below the trail and much of it is through tunnels that have been blasted into the mountainside). Despite the development and marketing of the gorge, though, it is still an incredibly wild and dangerous place. Margo informed me that an Israeli man and a Chinese man had just died in one of the gorge's most dangerous sections (a series of ladders bolted into the cliffside above the river), an American solo adventurer had vanished without a trace, and massive landslides had made one branch of the trail impassable. Certainly, TLG is not to be taken lightly... While at Margo's I met up with four university students from England, Denmark, Australia, and Canada, and I began hiking with them. Along the way, we met about ten others - mostly English, French, Candian, and Australian, and although everyone hiked at his own pace, we would bump into each other every few hours. While the trail goes nowhere near the 18,000+ foot peaks which tower above (particularly Yulong Xue Shan and Haba Shan), it is located at altitude (about 8,000 feet), so it wasn't long before I started experiencing the effects of altitude sickness. The first several miles are all uphill, and I just couldn't get enough oxygen into my lungs. Additionally, I had decided to carry my entire backpack (25 kilos plus the weight of my pack), and the heat and direct sunlight were nearly unbearable. By the time I made it to the first guesthouse (where, believe it or not, you can rest and even drink tea free of charge), I wasn't feeling great. The next section, though, despite being the most difficult on the trail (its claim to fame is the "29 Bends," which is more like 59 brutal switchbacks up to highest point on the trail), offered me a chance to find a rhythm, and I finally started feeling stronger. I began to acclimatize to the altitude and started to enjoy the increasingly marvelous views. By the time I reached the top of the 29 Bends, I was pumped and just couldn't stop staring at the view. It's difficult to describe, but I think this was the "biggest" view I've ever seen; I just couldn't really take everything in in one glance. The sheer drop from the jagged mountain peaks to the river was so immense (nearly 15,000 vertical feet) that my brain just couldn't seem to process it. I'm sure my photos weren't able to capture the sheer monstrosity of the panorama either, or, for that matter, the amazing blue tint of the sky in contrast to the ice on the mountains or the wispy clouds which seemed to playfully enshroud the highest summits in whiteness every time I attempted to sneak a glance. At this point on the trail, I realized that I was living the dream. Although I wasn't in Tibet proper, I was trekking the Himalayas as I've always dreamed of doing, and I was finding adventure in the tallest and wildest mountains on earth. I gleefully descended down the trail on the other side of the 29 Bends, making good time and covering a lot of distance. By the time the mountains were glowing orange and yellow in the fading sunlight, I had covered 22 kilometers, thousands of vertical feet, and was ready to eat. I joined the rest of the group for a rowdy dinner at the Halfway Guesthouse, where I ate the local specialty - Naxi Baba, a large "sandwich" with meats, vegetables, and some kind of a curry sauce between two slices of unleavened bread. Afterwards, I confirmed my friends' previous suspicion that I was a "completely extreme and hardcore adventurer" by fulfilling my goal of camping in the gorge. Camping in the gorge is not unheard-of, but it is unnecessary due to the guesthouses; nevertheless, I hadn't spent a night under the stars in over a month, and I just couldn't reconcile putting a roof over my head when I was in one of the most beautiful places in the world (nor could I reconcile not using the camping gear I had hauled over that mountain pass). So, using my headlamp, I hiked a ways down the trail, and, after not finding any flat areas (it is a gorge), climbed a ways up the cliffside with my pack, the wind trying to blow me off, until I found a small, grassy ledge. There, I used my rope to anchor my bivy-sack to the cliff face in several places and fell asleep to a star-lit view beautiful enough to convince even the world's most notorious environmentalist-haters of the joy of camping. I awoke the next morning to see just how amazing my red bivy-sack looked with the snowcapped mountains as a background (it was the kind of picture that goes on the cover of a catalog), packed up, and hit the trail again. I had contemplated continuing all the way to Haba - a 3 or 4 day haul - but, despite loving the gorge, decided it wasn't worth sacrificing most of the rest of my trip. Therefore, I pulled into Walnut Grove in late morning and met up with everyone at a guesthouse called Sean's, where I would hang out for a while and then catch a minvan back to the bus station in Qiaotou. I learned a lot of interesting tidbits while there and had some great conversations about globalization and tourism. Tiger Leaping Gorge is a perfect talking-point for these issues, and two of its competing guesthouses (both located in Walnut Grove) - Sean's and Woody's Chateau - represent two vastly different arguments. Sean and Woody, interestingly enough, are cousins, although Sean is a "self-styled hippie," and Woody is an enterprising capitalist always found wearing a button-down shirt. Not surprisingly, the two have been disputing for years about the future of TLG. Woody has taken spraypaint to the trail and painted large yellow and red "advertisements" for his "chateau" for miles and miles in either direction of his guesthouse. He has also convinced the government to invest massive sums in order to continue blasting away at the cliffside so that the road which already runs halfway into the gorge can run all the way through it. This, of course, will lead to tourist overlooks, restaurants and stores, and probably at some point international hotel chains. Sean, on the other hand, opposes all of this development and wants the area to remain pristine and wild, and he harsly condemns Woody's graffiti on the trail. I, for one, was very disappointed with just how developed the gorge already is. What was, ten years ago, a remote, unheard-of place is fast becoming a regular stop on the tourism circuit. While the gorge will always remain somewhat dangerous and wild, and no amount of construction could ever completely destroy its beauty, I must agree with the many backpackers who have written angry, passionate entries in Sean's guestbook - if TLG continues to be developed and molded for mass tourism, the charm of one of China's most amazing places will be lost forever.

After catching a minivan back to Qiaotiao and not having to wait for the bus back to Lijiang (essentially, the minivan driver saw the bus, drove about 100 mph to catch it, and swerved in front of it, honking loudly...all of this unrequested, of course), I found myself back in town a few hours later. This time, I decided to explore the New Town, so I found a nice, family-run hostel by the bus station and set out to explore the area. While very different from the Old Town, the New Town has its charm too, and the night markets and outdoor food stands were of particular interest to me. I stopped at a random food stall, where I could point to various meat and vegetable kebabs (although attempting to avoid the heads, feet, and similarly exotic animal parts) and have them cooked in front of me. It was very interesting trying these new foods, as they are entirely different than southern Chinese cuisine; although the spiciest food of all is in Sichuan, Yunan's food definitely pushes the limit of the hotness scale. During my dinner, I was also introduced to a Chinese tradition that I'll call the "tea song." This young couple behind me, as I was eating, started spontaneously shouting - very loudly - different numbers: "Er! Shi! Mei you!!" When not shouting these numbers at each other or laughing hysterically, one of them (apparently the loser of each round of the game) would sip his or her tea, which was still very hot. As you might guess, I haven't quite figured out the game, but I thought it was still worth noting. On Thursday morning, I awoke early and hopped on the 7:30 AM long-distance bus bound for Panzhihua, located on the Yunan-Sichuan border (to the north). Because of the rugged, mountainous terrain in Yunan and Sichuan, this is the only practical way to travel between the two provinces. I was looking foward to a bit of relaxation after two tough days of hiking, but in China, even bus rides are not uneventful. After enduring seven hours of bumping along what could hardly be called a road (I had to press my head against the seat in order to prevent whiplash), inhaling a ridiculous amount of second-hand smoke, and becoming covered in dirth and filth I was distracted from my misery by a loud sound coming from underneath the bus. Sure enough, as we pulled off the road, a long trail of oil or something could be seen flowing down the road. The bus driver matter-of-factly shouted "Xia che!" ("Everyone off the bus!"), and we filed out to seek shade by the side of the road. As everyone else seemed rather unmoved by this experience, I found myself suddenly griping with four other foreigners. Actually, we all thought the entire event was rather humorous - definitely a classic "China moment" - and were kind of enjoying the experience. Nevertheless, we wanted to make it to Panzhihua in time for our 6:30 PM train to Chengdu (we were all following the same route), and we didn't want to spend the night in the middle of nowhere. When the bus driver announced that it would be three hours before the necessary parts could be acquired (meaning it would probably be at least six hours), we took action. After having no luck waving down passing vehicles, we started thinking in the Chinese way. We had one of the other passengers write Panzhihua in Chinese characters on a big sheet of paper; then, we took out a hundred-yuan note (the equivalent of about $12, but it's big money here). Sure enough, the driver of the very next vehicle glanced at us, glanced at the money being waved in the wind the way a bullfighter waves his red cape at the bull, and screached his bus to a stop. The five of us were soon enough bound for a small town with a bus station, where we could connect to Panzhihua. The three Canadians, the Swede, and I became quick friends and really enjoyed the utter madness of this fiasco...but the fun wasn't over yet. Crammed into another hot, stinking bus, we could only stare at each other as we swerved around blind turns, a thousand foot cliff on one side. When the bus driver's cell-phone rang, I could only utter "Don't you dare..." (but he did). During all this time, an old lady sitting next to me, dressed in her traditional outfit and accompanied by a large basket which probably contained some sort of live animal, decided the hair-raising bus ride was just too boring for her. So, without consulting anyone around her or checking to see if anyone was trying to sleep, she pulled out a little plastic music player device. Now, I really don't mean to sound condescending, but the only way I know to describe this music player is to tell you that it looks exactly like what you'd get in a McDonald's happy meal (except that it had Chinese writing on it). She pushed the only button on the device and a loud Chinese song began playing. At first, I was like..."Okay, I enjoy Chinese music...," but it didn't take me long to realize that this wasn't just any song. Essentially, it was one line, approximately ten seconds long, on repeat until eternity. In a dramatic crescendo, the singer would utter about ten or fifteen different sounds - something to the effect of "Ri Chi Ba Ma Ba Chi La Ta Ri Chi Ba Wan ," there would a one second pause, and then the "song" would start again. Needless to say, the old lady felt inclined to sing along for the two hours that this "song" played. My friends sitting behind me were cracking up the entire time, but since I was sitting next to the lady, I was forced to sit there "staring out the window" for two hours trying my best not to laugh too loudly. Perhaps the most classic of all my Chinese classic moments up to this point...

At the bus station I grabbed a quick popsicle which I thought was either lemon or banana flavored but soon discovered was made of corn and then boarded a third bus with my friends. We eventually reached Panzhihua, just in time to buy our tickets and dash to the train before it left. We all bought hard-sleeper tickets, meaning each person had a bed. Unlike soft-sleeper beds, though, these are very narrow, stacked in threes, and grouped in sixes; there is no door and nothing even resembling privacy. Nevertheless, I much prefer train travel to bus travel, and was actually able to get a bit of sleep during the night (except when the stewardess would walk by, see my long legs hanging off the bed into the aisle, and try to shove me into the wall). I also enjoyed talking to the Swedish guy (Mickel), who was headed to Chengdu's university to improve his Chinese, and to a Chinese guy who was bunking nearby. I got up around 5:30 AM on Friday and packed my belongings in order to disembark in the town of Emei (located south of Chengdu). As it was still dark and raining, I was a bit worried that I was getting off at the wrong stop, but a nice lady assured me I was in Emei. I found a ride into town from the train station and headed for the Teddy Bear Cafe, which, according to my travel guide, is the source for information on climbing Emei Shan. After storing some of my gear at the Teddy Bear to cut down on weight, eating breakfast, and loading up on beta from the owner, I was ready to start the summit attempt. I hopped on the yellow bus I thought I had been told to board...and started heading in the wrong direction. Twenty minutes later and twenty-five cents poorer, I boarded the correct yellow bus and headed for the village of Jinshui. There, I would be able to ride a cable car up to Wannian Si (Si means monastery). From here it would be about 20 kilometers and 8,000 vertical feet to the summit - quite a climb. At over 10,000 feet, Emei Shan (which received the prestigious UN designation of World Heritage Site) is the tallest of the four holy Buddhist mountains, and the entire path to the summit is a steep stone staircase. While I always prefer to write about how much I enjoy everything and how everything is good and well, I must be honest. At this point, I had been traveling without rest for several days, had not had a good night's sleep in a couple nights, and had been repeatedly jammed into close quarters with lots of other people on moving vehicles. Perhaps the only major problem I have with blending into Chinese culture is my enjoyment of solitude and independence. Chinese mentality is the exact opposite; with over 1.4 billion people living on this landmass, there is no other option besides adjusting to a life of crowds and an absence of personal space. Additionally, the Chinese way of thinking is by its nature a very collective one - the concept of individuality is not understood - and because of this, the Chinese travel in groups, talk loudly in groups, block paths and roads in groups, and contemplate and discuss the presence of foreigners in China... in groups. What all this adds up to is a lot of noise, a lot of headaches, and a lot of instances in which I'm clearly the center of attention, discussion, and laughter. Well, by the time I was at Emei Shan, all this was starting to get to me, and I wasn't in such a good mood. I was about to climb one of the four holy mountains, but I knew good and well that the path would be overrun with loud, obnoxious Chinese tourists and annoying vendors. Things escalated when I got ready to start hiking... As I tried to board the cable car, the attendant told me I needed a ticket. I said "Okay, no problem," found the ticket counter, and bought a ticket. Upon returning and showing him the ticket, he told me that, although I now possessed a ticket for the cable car, I still needed a ticket for the mountain itself. I rolled my eyes, found this second ticket counter, and bought a second ticket. Upon returning and holding one ticket in each hand for emphasis, he again stopped me! This time, I was ready to give up on Emei Shan. He told me that, although I had both of the required tickets, I still needed to have my picture printed on the second ticket. I guess it's a good thing I don't know how to say anything really bad in Chinese... I made my way over to photo-taking place - in a third location - gave the camera-man a look that said "If you dare ask me to pay for this, I'm going to smash the camera over your head," and had my picture taken. Although I didn't think so at the time, I now consider my picture (which I saved) to be priceless, as my expression clearly conveys all that I have just written. Anyway, I eventually rode the cable car up to Wannian Si, where I started hiking, grumbling and shaking my head all the while. Surprisingly, though, I wasn't overwhelmed with obnoxious tourists. I wasn't harrassed by vendors. Instead, I was surrounded by a lush forest, I was serenaded by an extremely loud orchestra of natural sounds, and I was greeted politely by a few passing monks. I suddenly found myself in a rhythm, hiking in a very measured cadence, breathing in time, and...enjoying myself. As in the middle of a hard run, endorphins had been released, and I was suddenly in a wonderful mood. Most of all, I came to understand that Emei Shan truly is not just an ordinary mountain. While I will not use the word holy, there is something different, something special about it. The "natural sounds" which I just mentioned are unlike any I have ever heard in my life. To be honest, if I were alone on this mountain with those sounds, I would have run back down the mountain in terror. The pulsating sounds of insects and birds, together forming some bizarre sort of harmony, made me feel as if the mountain were actually alive. I continued along the path in a sort of trance, just totally amazed by this place. There were few other hikers (perhaps due to rain, which had made the steps quite slippery and a bit treacherous), and I was indeed able to find a small bit of solitude. Eventually, though, I was jarred from my trance by my first encounter with a tollgate - a monkey tollgate, that is. I had read about the monkeys and had heard many rumours about them but really didn't know what to expect. Basically, the many, many wild monkeys which live on Emei Shan are extremely smart. They are large and can make themselves look very intimidating; using this to their advantage, they block the path when they see hikers and will not let anyone pass until they are given food. If they feel they've been cut short by a small portion of food, they will get very angry. I approached the head monkey, who was sitting on the top stair of this particular stretch of stairs and staring at me with a mixture of boredom, haughtiness, and interest. I didn't know what to do, so I approached it, stood about three or four feet away, and just watched it and its friends for a while. I've always felt that it's possible, by conveying humility but not fear, to earn certain animals' (dogs for instance) trust. I don't know if that's what I did at Emei Shan, but the monkey seemed to respect me. While some Chinese tourists (one of whom was actually attacked and biten just after I passed through the tollgate) trying to pass the tollgate from the opposite direction began throwing rocks and shouting at the monkeys, I just stood there and tried to act humble. After about ten minutes, I crept slowly foward, with both hands open to show that I had neither food nor rocks. The head monkey examined each hand, looked closely at me, and stepped aside. I couldn't believe it, but the other monkeys, for the most part, did the same. They would approach me and sometimes even reach out with a claw - and I was trembling I was so scared - but they never touched me. After walking about fifteen feet, very slowly, I had just one last monkey between me and freedom. He was a young guy, though, and didn't seem to want to let me pass. I was getting really worried as his expression became more and more agressive and he began approaching me. Out of nowhere, though, the head monkey raced over and tackled the little guy off the trail so I could pass. While I guess there's no reason to link this incident to the "holiness" of the mountain, it's just one little example of how different this mountain really is. As I encountered more monkeys further along the path, often perched on very ancient animal statues outside of monasteries or in front of the gates of the monasteries themselves, I couldn't help but think that the monkeys were, in a way, guardians of this holy mountain. Appropriately enough for the Buddhists who revere the mountain, the natural world and the human world seem to be in balance here, each feeding off the other. There is the feeling of smallness, of insignificance; of being part of something very, very old. The stone steps lead to monasteries perched on cloud-kissing precipices, dense growth lines both sides of the way, and a light mist adds a surreal quality to the entire atmosphere. I continued to make my way up the steps, stopping every once in a while at a monastery, to stand quitely to the side and respectfully watch devout Buddhists peform sacred rituals. I would sometimes slowly approach the door of the monastery and ask permission to peek inside, stealing a quick glance at large, golden Buddha statues, elaborate tapestries, and ornate decorations. With smoke rising from small burning candles, elderly pilgrims in sandals climbing this difficult mountain with a determined grimace on their faces, and young Buddhist children bowing reverently to Buddha statues, it finally dawned on my that This Is China. Although it sounds crazy, up to this point, I don't think I was really one hundred percent aware that I was in China. Certainly, I've been speaking lots of Chinese, but I do that in school, too. Tiger Leaping Gorge is much bigger than any gorge in the United States (three times deeper than the Grand Canyon, I believe), but I could imagine I were in the Alps. I have been living with a local family, but I lived with a local family last year in Costa Rica. But on Emei Shan....on Emei Shan I knew this was China. I had written long papers on Buddhism and read several of the Dalai Lama's books, but I had never actually experienced the spirit of Buddhism. I had taken a course on classical Chinese philosophy during past year, but I had never really understood the importance of harmony between man and nature. I had talked at length with local Chinese about their lives, but up to this point, I hadn't just stood in the shadows and watched them go about their ways. Ways that are so different...so unknown...so intriguing to me. Many of these people probably made enormous sacrifices to travel to this mountain in order to light candles, to bow reverently, to affirm their sprituality; yet I know next to nothing about their ways. We live in such a diverse world, and we know so little about those who are different than us. I really think it is a pity that Americans who are quite capable of traveling abroad and experiencing other cultures decide instead to isolate themselves within their own communities and fill their lives with things that make them comfortable, secure, and lazy. While in comparison to all the cultures I have not yet experienced, I have experienced next to nothing, I feel I have made a step in the right direction. Emei Shan definitely convinced me of the value of this particular trip and of my continued desire to travel and meet new and different people... Returning to the climb, I eventually became immersed in the actual ascent and payed less attention to the monasteries and surroundings. By the time I reached about 8,000 feet, I was becoming very exhausted, and the altitude was beginning to make its prescence known. By 9,000 feet, I could only take several steps at a time before dry-heaving and gasping for breath. While I have certainly hiked to higher elevations (in particular, having summitted 14,000+ ft. Mt. Shasta on snow and ice, with gear), a gain of 8,000 vertical feet is serious hiking. I began using a rest step and pressure breathing (forced exhalation to maximize oxygen intake during inhalation) - mountaineering techniques - and just concentrated on climbing one step at a time. Many people take several days to do the climb, but I was determined to finish it on this same day. After about 8 hours, well under the average time, and just as the sun was setting, I reached the summit: Jinding Si. I proceeded to Jinding Si itself, hoping to sleep in the monastery. While I wasn't relishing the thought of sleeping on the floor on a couple damp blankets or on a hard cot, I really thought it would be cool to spend the night with the monks. Unfortunately, one of the monks told me that there was no more room in Jinding Si; he then introduced me to three Buddhist children who live at the monastery. They were very friendly and very intelligent, and I really enjoyed chatting with them as they led me down a path to a small inn run by some of the people from the monastery. By this point, I was dizzy, couldn't breathe well, and was coughing every few seconds. Once I got inside, I realized that I was extremely cold too, and even had some frostnip on my fingertips. The temperatures on the summit of Emei Shan plummet at night, and I was so focused on my climb that I hadn't even noticed that nearly everyone else was wearing heavy winter jackets (I was wearing a t-shirt and shorts). I had a quick dinner - a spicy Sichuan chicken dish - and was craving sleep more than anything else in the world. Just before I could turn out the light, though, this twenty-year-old Chinese guy named Yuzi who I had met briefly when I checked in knocked on the door, and I felt obliged to let him it. He was a really friendly, nice guy who wanted to know all about America, and I had a feeling he was going to stop by for a chat before I could fall asleep. Anyway, I enjoyed talking to him, and, as he could tell I wasn't well, he didn't stay too long. I was soon fast asleep on an electric blanket, wearing polypro long underwear, wool socks, and a warm hat, and covered by three additional blankets... For Chinese tourists and Buddhist pilgrims, the primary goal of hiking a holy mountain is to watch the sunrise; in some ways, it seems that that is almost the sole reason for climbing the mountain. I had decided when I went to asleep that I desperately needed sleep and could not afford to wake up at 5:30 AM; nevertheless, Yuzi didn't really understand and promised he'd wake me up at 5:30. Sure enough, loud knocking at 5:30. At first I decided I would just go back to sleep, but I kept thinking about what a once-in-a-lifetime experience this all was and how much I might regret not watching the sunrise. Five minutes later, I couldn't stand it, and I rolled out of my warm bed, put on my glasses, bundled up, and dashed out, figuring I would be greeted with rain or sleet, or at the best, dense cloud cover. I ran up a long flight of steps towards the crowd, my eyes still half closed, expecting nothing more than a bunch of loud Chinese people staring into the fog. Yet, I was again surprised. As I neared the cliff and raised my eyes in boredom, I was confronted by a view that brought me to an immediate stop. This sunrise was by no means the most brilliant I have ever seen, the most dramatic, or the most colorful. In fact, I think it was the palest sunrise I have ever seen in my life; but, at the same time, it was also the most beautiful sunrise I have ever seen in my life. The blue, the orange, the red and yellow - they were so pale, it was astonishing. As I peered downward, I could see the Cliff of Self-Sacrifice (so named as many devout Buddhists have in the past jumped into the abyss upon seeing a phenomenon called Buddha's Aureole, in which atmospheric moisture creates a colorful ring of light around a person's shadow on the clouds below) dropping dramatically downward, yet the cliff quickly seemed to vanish - not into clouds, but into that pale blue. Indeed, it seemed almost as if this summit were some kind of island floating high in the sky, surrounded by nothing but the pale blue. It was not even possible to detect the horizon - to tell the difference between earth and sky - except for the narrow orange band that was the sunrise, stretching across the panorama. I took a few quick pictures, including one of the large crowd of Chinese, all standing closely together at the overlook, and then found relative solitude a little ways off the path. One other foreigner, apparantly seeking the same thing, and I sat on two rocks by the edge of the cliff, saying nothing, just staring at the sky. Long after the Chinese had left and the orange band had vanished and the pale blue had become ever so slightly darker, I was still there. The beauty of the moment, or the hour - time seemed of no importance - gave me an opportunity to reflect on so many things. Most of all I couldn't stop thinking about how far I was, both literally and figuratively, from home. I had climbed to the top of one of the four holy Buddhist mountains, half-way around the world, speaking only in Chinese. I realized that it was just three years ago that I was doing my first backpacking trip with Adventure Treks in the Shasta Trinity Alps in California. Needless to say, I've come a long way since then. I also couldn't help but wish that my little bro were there with me (yea, I'm talking about you, dude!). It would have been all the more amazing if he could have been there to share the experience with me... Eventually, I forced myself to turn away and return to the inn. I quickly packed my things, and, having decided I didn't have time to hike down, rode a cable car about 2,000 vertical feet down from the summit. There, I was able to get on a bus that descended a steep, curvy road down the rest of the mountain, an experience that wouldn't have been complete without a bunch of car-sick Chinese crammed all around me. After eating a big breakfast at the Teddy Bear and repacking my backpack, I got on a bus for the nearby (1 hour away) town of Leshan. Leshan's claim to fame is the largest Buddha (Da Fo, Grand Buddha) in the world; it's so large that you can literally have a picnic on it's little toe. I was extremely disappointed, though, when I was told by the ticket lady at the bus station that the 5:00 PM bus from Leshan to Chongqing that I had planned on taking was not running that day. That left me only one hour before the 2:00 bus was to leave, and she told me I just didn't quite have enough time to go the Buddha. She and some of her associates attempted to help me devise an alternative plan - I was so desperate that I talked to them for at least 40 minutes, speaking some of my best Chinese yet - but there seemed to be no plan which would allow me to see the Buddha and still make it to Chongqing that night. I was forced to be realistic - I bought the 2:00 ticket and was soon on my way to Chongqing. I arrived late that night and was helped by some locals while trying to buy a riverboat ticket for the following morning. I was successful in finding a hydrofoil, which would take me all the way through the Yangzi's (Chiang Jiang's) world-famous Three Gorges in just one day. Arriving at my hostel pretty late, I again got little sleep before waking up very early to embark on another adventure. Not only was I tired, though, I was also pretty dirty - having gone showerless for some time - as the "hot water!" I had been promised by the receptionist upon checking in, I was later informed, turns off at 10:00 PM (I, of course, got to my room at 10:12 PM). After taking a bus for several hours to another Yangzi River city, located a bit farther east, I boarded the hydrofoil with the other passengers. Unlike the large, slow riverboats that take three days to negotiate the gorges, the hydrofoil is streamlined and fast, and the interior is actually quite nice. Although the Three Gorges holds international fame and recognition, due to some things I had been hearing, I was actually expecting it to fall below my expectations, particularly since I had seen Tiger Leaping Gorge. On the contrary, though, it was quite amazing, and I would definitely recommend it to others. It is certainly not as dramatic as TLG, and I would not want to spend three days travelling through it, but it still quite beautiful. Unlike TLG, which was dramatic due to its sheer monstrosity, the Three Gorges is intriguing more for its mystery. Clouds hang over the mountains, and fog drifts slowly up narrow canyons in between cliffs. The river contains many bends, and each turn brings a slightly new surprise. The Three Gorges, in my opinion, lives up to its reputation and is definitely worth a visit. Of course, anyone wishing to visit has very little time, as the new dam on the Yangzi - one of the largest and costliest construction projects in the history of the world - is almost finished. Upon completion, the water level will rise so high that the gorges will no longer be dramatic. Additionally, thousands and thousands of people will be displaced, homes will be washed away, historical and archeological sites will be lost forever, and there is the risk that if the dam ever breaks, there will be one of the largest catastrophes the world has ever seen. Despite all of this, the dam will provide power to millions of people, will revolutionize Western China, and is perhaps worth the risk.

Sunday night, I disembarked from the hydrofoil and took a bus to the nearby city of Yichang. Along the way, I was treated to a view of the new dam, which was kind of cool. In Yichang, I rushed to the nearest taxi, hoping desperately to make it to the train station in time for a train south (I was at this point in Hubei province, in Central China, north of Guangxi). However, the taxi driver pulled out his little train schedule and insisted that there were no trains south until 1:30 PM the next day, when I could take a 12 hour train to Huaihua, where I could connect to another long distance train to Liuzhou, where I could connect to a long distance bus to Guilin, where I could connect to a bus to Yangshuo...not the ideal situation. At first, I didn't really trust him (suspecting he might just want to put me in his friend's hotel), but I eventually came to believe him and asked him to take me to a hotel. During the ride we talked a lot, and he turned out to be a really nice guy. He was so impressed with my Chinese that he was actually able to get me a 30% discount at the hotel (he did, in fact, know the owners, but he wasn't lying about the trains). When he told them the price he had promised me, I had to laugh, as they gave him a look like "Oh, really?!" I really didn't like the idea of not getting "home" for several days - basically the rest of my trip in China mainland was finished - but I didn't know what to do, so I went out and got some dinner at a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant (well, actually, just about every restaurant is a hole-in-the-wall place). During dinner, I enjoyed talking to all the Chinese and watching a group of old people play some crazy game involving dice and little blocks with pictures on them. They played fast and intensely - and I saw quite a bit of money on the table - and there was no way I was going to take them up on their offer to play (I kept trying to figure out the game, but had absolutely no idea what they were doing). During dinner, I decided that I would see if it were possible to fly home the next day. The hotel people were really nice and helped me arrange this, and although it was expensive, it was worth it. I left the hotel at 5:30 AM yesterday morning, rode to the airport, and then flew to Guangzhou. I had a bit of a wait there but eventually connected to Guilin, where I took a bus to Yangshuo and was home by 6:00 PM. I had a marvelous trip, but I was ready to "be home." It felt so good to curl up in my own bed and be taken care of by my Chinese family. Also, although I enjoyed trying the different foods when I travelled, I really love the food here in Guangxi, and it never tasted better than last night. It's difficult to describe the food - unlike a lot of my favorite foods - Thai, for example - the food in Southern China is not a complex blend of rich and exciting spices. It is not usually spicy, nor does it inspire the craving that, say, a filet mignon does. The food is very simple - not bland, but simple. Yet in its simplicity lies its attractiveness, and I've just come to enjoy it so much. Also, I love having rice as a staple for every meal - I never feel stuffed when I finished eating; I just feel very content and healthy (indeed, other than the absence of calcium due to no cheese or milk, the Chinese diet is extremely healthy). Anyway, that was a bit of side-note, but last night, after returning home completely exhausted, home-cooked food - other than sleep - was all that I could think about.

Well, that was my "Week of Adventure." There is so much more I wish I could have seen - Jiuzaigou, Xishuangbanna, Da Fo, Zhongdian, Songpan, Chengdu, Tibet (of course)... but I just didn't have the time. I could have chosen to travel during my entire time in China, but I chose to spend much of it with a family, and I don't for a minute regret that choice. During the past week, though, I grew so much. I found my way around the wildest and most remote territory in China, speaking almost entirely in Chinese, and accomplished nearly everything I intended to accomplish, in a ridiculously small amount of time. From the streets of Lijiang to the cliffs in Tiger Leaping Gorge; from the sunrise over Emei Shan to the mysterious fog in the Three Gorges, I saw some truly amazing sights. Even more amazing though, were the people I met. When I checked my email today, I had numerous emails from friends in the United States, China, and Costa Rica. I have formed true relationships with people on three completely different continents, and I am able to repond to these people in three different languages. This is the kind of moment that makes me feel that all the effort I've put into learning new languages and trying to understand other cultures is worthwhile. While I sometimes get confused, lost, tired, and discouraged - when all I really want is something simple like to get on the cable car - I inevitably have experiences and encounters with wonderful people like the ones I met during the past week that make me realize it's all worth the effort. Thanks for reading -

MHV 4

Nimen hao! I hope you all enjoyed the pictures, if you've had a chance to check them out. Things have been relatively unexciting the last few days (well, compared to last week, at least), although I did embark on one great adventure. On Thursday, I did a big hike from Yangdi to Xingping, along the Li River; this stretch arguably contains the finest karst scenery in Guangxi. I had a good laugh when I got on the bus to Yangdi, as the driver looked at me incredulously and asked "yi ge ren ma??" (basically, "no guide??"). A lot of people can't seem to grasp the fact that some foreigners do in fact speak Chinese and that it is not absolutely necessary to have a local guide holding your hand any time you leave the confines of town. I also found it amusing how the locals in Yangdi attempted to convince me that a hike all the way to Xingping would be nearly impossible (that the terrain is all uphill - despite the fact that such a route heads downriver - and the distance too far) and that I should hire a boat to take me there. Of course, I had already taken a boat down the Lijiang (from Guilin), so I insisted that I wanted to hike to Xingping. So, after talking to the locals in Yangdi for a while, I set out towards the river. Because the karst cliffs often rise directly out of the river on one side, it is necessary to cross the river three times during the hike. Fortunately, I had received instructions and village names from Yuan before leaving, so I knew where to find the first ferry and easily crossed the river to continue hiking. Nevertheless, things soon got confusing (don't they always?)... Yuan had told me I would have to hike for about an hour before arriving at the second ferry, so I worked my way down the trail at a pretty good pace, chatting with villagers along the way and enjoying the gorgeous scenery. After a while, I started climbing over a mountain and turning somewhat away from the river - which surprised me - but I continued hiking, as I hadn't seen a ferry or any sign designating a ferry stop. Eventually, I came to this extremely muddy area where the trail branched off in about four or five directions. This is where things became kind of chaotic. Each time I would try a trail, I would eventually come either to a dead end or to someone working in a field who would tell me to turn around (apparently, I was on their land). I kept backtracking and walking in circles, getting muddier by the minute. Then, this guy who had been watching me for a while came over to help. Although I didn't realize it at first, he was unable to talk and could only make a loud, rather unsettling sound - like a squeal or grunt. He kept making this sound really loud and pointing in different directions frantically, and, although I was pretty sure he was trying to help, I was getting a little freaked out. Then, some lady started walking very fast along a parallel trail not far away, in order to intercept me as I continued along my trail. With the mute man following me and the lady attempting to intercept me, my mind began to conjure strange images of xenophobia-induced incarceration and torture. The lady apparently just wanted to help too, but she did not speak very good Putonghua (more of a dialect) and the entire time she was talking, the man was squealing loudly and pointing and jumping all around. Not surprisingly, I said thank you, good-bye, and quickly took leave. At this point, I was totally confused and was also getting very overheated. To make things worse, as I tried to walk down a muddy slope to the river to ask directions from a man on a passing raft, I slipped and fell, becoming entirely covered in mud. Needless to say, I wasn't a happy camper... After sitting down in the shade for a while to try to calm down and straighten things out, a lady appeared on the trail and explained to me that that I had passed the second ferry some time ago. She was also heading to the ferry (from the opposite direction) and said I could follow her. After climbing back over the mountain (which had been totally unnecessary) and hiking for a while, I eventually saw the ferry (although there was nothing to designate it as a ferry, and it was nearly impossible to see from the opposite direction). I was very grateful to the lady, and we chatted for a while - about her children, the river, my home - as we waited for the boat, and she eventually told me I should stop at her home on the other side of the river for lunch. After my detour I was short on time, but I was also pretty hungry, and I decided that the latter was more important. So, I enjoyed lunch with the nice lady, during which we continued our previous conversation. Afterwards, I decided to pay her two friends to take me down a short section of the river on a bamboo boat so that I could make up some lost time. Of course, I say bamboo "boat" only in the sense that this vehicle was, for the most part, buoyant. It could more accurately be described as about ten narrow bamboo stalks tied loosely together with some string and controlled by two people with crude wooden oars. Nevertheless, my two valiant oarsmen paddled our vessel downriver, often angling sharply across the river to avoid mostrous riverboats which threatened to overrun us. Waves splashed over our craft and small rapids threatened to capsize us, but we pressed on. Eventually, the great Jiu Ma Hua Shan (Nine Horses Fresco Hill) came into view, and my oarsmen decided that our little version of the QEII would go no farther. I disembarked and hiked to Jiu Ma Hua Shan, where the third and final ferry was supposed to be located. This time, I found the ferry on my first try, and, after making a short detour to bypass some not-so-friendly-looking water buffalo, was bound for the opposite shore. From here, I enjoyed a splendid two hour hike along the river, through several villages. Along the way, I met a band of four very friendly children who chatted with me for a short while as I walked. I eventually found an overlook from a cliff above the river, where I watched a brilliant sunset over these spectacular karst peaks - a truly awesome sight. Just as the day was nearing its end, I entered Xingping, found the bus station, and hopped on the final bus to Yangshuo just as it was leaving (I know my luck is going to run out eventually...). On the way home, the sky seemed to be on fire, casting a red-orange glow on the mountains, and another excellent adventure came to its end.

Well, that was my only really good adventure in the past couple days (although I did enjoy a couple of wonderful sunset runs along the river), but I have had some fun in Yangshuo. I spent a couple evenings in town meeting people and did quite a bit of bouldering at LL. Friday night I went disco-hopping with a couple girls my age (another chance for you to gossip!), during which time I noticed that a lot of foreign guys seemed envious of my ability to speak Chinese... It was a fun evening, and I also met up with some climbers who invited me to join them on Saturday, although I ended up sleeping in late instead. Today, I was planning to do a major bike adventure to the town of Baisha (and then continuing on a large loop), but I again decided to be lazy (as I wrote earlier, it's summer!). However, I need to rest, for tomorrow I embark on a new adventure!

One of the dilemmas that I face when I travel is how to balance my desire to move around and see all the scenery in an area yet stay put long enough at home to truly experience the daily life of the locals (as part of a homestay). I've been working for the past few weeks on an itinerary which will allow me to see some of China's greatest scenery in a minimal amount of time, so that I can return to Moon Hill Village and resume my homestay experience. The adventure which I will embark on tomorrow will take me through several of the surrounding provinces, including Yunan, Sichuan, Chongqing, Hebei, and Hunan - altogether, an enormous region - yet I hope to finish my mini-journey in one week. Here is the tentative plan: Tomorrow I will fly from Guilin to Kunming (Yunan), where I will change planes and continue to Lijiang (Yunan). I will spend the night at a guesthouse in the "Old Town," a quaint, historical area. Tuesday morning, I'll take a bus to Qiaotou, where I'll embark on a trek in Tiger Leaping Gorge, a must-see for any adventurous traveler in southwestern China. At this point, I'll be close to the border of Tibet, so mountains rise above 18,000 feet; and TLG is, in fact, one of the deepest gorges in the world. Late Wednesday, I'll hopefully finish the hike and then bus back to Lijiang to spend another night in the Old Town. Thursday, I'll take a 6:30 AM bus to Panzhihua/Jinjiang, where I'll arrive just in time to connect to a 6:30 PM sleeper train to Chengdu (Sichuan). I'll disembark before arriving in Chengdu though, instead getting off in the town of Emei, around 4:30 AM. There, I'll begin hiking up Emei Shan, which Buddhists consider to be one of the four holy mountains in China. It's about 11,000 feet tall, so I'm planning to finish in time for the sunrise on Saturday (ideally). Then, I'll take a chairlift down (even holy mountains are not immune to China's fondness for mass tourism) and bus over to the nearby town of Leshan. From there, I'll be able to view the Grand Buddha, the largest Buddha in the world. Hopefully, I'll finish in time to take the 5:00 PM bus from Leshan to Chongqing, where I'll spend the night. Sunday morning, I'll leave early on a hydrofoil boat (as opposed to the standard tourist boat), in order to view the entire Three Gorges in one epic, eleven-hour day (as opposed to two or even three days). I'll disembark in Yichang and make my way back towards Yangshuo (I may have to stop in Huaihua and/or Liuzhou). Thus, my one week China mini-odyssey... I'll try to stay in contact with Yuan when possible (and she knows where I'm going and all the details), but I will almost certainly not have access to email and will not have time to check it anyway. I've done my research, feel confident about my Chinese, and will act always with extreme caution and with respect for the wild lands I'll be traveling through. I'm very excited about what will surely be one of my greatest adventures, and I look foward to giving you all the details when I return in approximately a week. Until then, goodbye.

Pictures!

Breaking news!! I spent all afternoon posting the pictures that I've taken up to this point in the trip (almost 300!). If you're interested, go to my webshots homepage (http://community.webshots.com/user/mistaajg) and check them out. They still need some editing, and some of the less interesting ones need to be deleted...but they should give you an idea of what I've been up to. Enjoy!

MHV 3

Wow! Lots to report since my last update... The rain finally let up a little, allowing me to spend more time outside, although I still had to wait for the crags to dry before going climbing. I spent some time hanging out at the Lizard Lounge last week, bouldering and meeting people. It is such a cool hang-out for climbers with a very laid back vibe. There are two other Americans in town, both traveling solo and looking for climbing partners, and we've been leaving messages for each other at LL trying to meet up. Hopefully, we can start climbing together regularly.

Well, I have sort of lost track of time here in China (somewhat intentionally, I suppose...it is summer), and it's difficult to recall everything that's happened in the last week or so. Last Wednesday, I finally got around to hoofing it up Yue Liang Shan (Moon Hill), the namesake of my village. It's only about a half hour hike-up, but the views from the summit are outstanding. I also checked out the climbing routes underneath the arch - let's just say that I'm not quite ready to get inverted on a 5.13c route. On the summit, I also met a British guy with whom I had a great conversation during the descent. After leaving the Royal Marines, this guy had decided to travel the world for a while. After spending 9 months traveling all over South America, he had come to China. Next, he would head for Mongolia, then Russia, then Eastern Europe. After that, he planned to walk home to England from Estonia. He refuses to use travel guides and is not concerned about what he'll do when he returns home (after his money runs out). Before departing, this guy told me that I have a very interesting life, but I'm pretty sure he's got me beat... I think that one of the most rewarding aspects of solo travel is the opportunity to meet and have enlightening conversations with fascinating people from all over the world, and I love hearing about ways that other people attempt to live life to the fullest. On Thursday, I embarked on an epic hike up a karst peak called Gao Ao (basically "very tall"), which had not been climbed in almost 10 years and had never been scaled by a foreigner. The "trail" was completly overgrown, with vegation rising well above my head and so thick that I could proceed only inch-by-inch. Despite what most people would deem as impassable conditions and the incredible heat, I eventually reached the summit and was rewarded with outstanding views. Of course, I was also rewared with a pretty nasty rash all over both arms, and the itching is driving me absolutely crazy. The next day was an exhausting one as well, as I woke up early and headed into town to meet the climbing guides I had reserved at China Climb. We headed out to an awesome crag called Baby Frog, where we climbed all day, again, in incredible heat. The views at the base of the 400 foot cliffs, which required a decent hike just to access, were amazing, although those from high on the rock were even better. I really enjoyed the day of climbing because, for once, I was receiving expert, formal instruction rather than just being belayed by someone. My Australian and Chinese guides worked with me on the ins and outs of lead climbing, and I now feel much more knowledgeable and safer. I led a 5.7 and a 5.9 and managed to muscle my way up (with the help of a top rope) a 30 meter 5.10b to finish the day. By the end of the last climb, I was very dehydrated (despite having drunk several liters of water) and overheated, so, after descending, I found refuge from the sun with my water bottle and a banana in a nearby cave, with cool air flowing through and a jaw-dropping view at my feet. Back in town that evening, I got to know my guides better over a meal of jiaozi (dumplings) at a local restaurant and then headed home for some much needed sleep.

On Friday, I, not surprisingly, slept quite late, and I then spent the rest of the day resting and doing laundry. I did make three new friends - an American guy and girl and a Japanese girl - all of them 2 years out of college. They are very, very experienced world travelers and are spending some time in China this summer before heading to law school at Stanford and Northwestern. The American guy actually landed a really cool job out of school as a foreign policy advisor for a senator. Anyway, I arranged on Saturday to meet them the following morning and join them for a trip to northern Guangxi province. Through a combination of buses and taxis, we ended up in the village of Ping'an by Sunday afternoon. Ping'an is located about 4 hours north of Yangshuo, high on a mountain ridge overlooking the spectacular Longji ("Dragon's Backbone") Rice Terraces. The rice terraces are built into the side of these incredible mountains so that they form a natural staircase for several thousand vertical feet and wind gracefully along the contours of the land for miles and miles. They also include an extensive irrigation network and represent an agricultural and engineering masterpiece. Additionally, scattered throughout the terraces are many ancient tombs, whose hieroglyphics I had quite a time trying to decipher. We stayed in a great little hostel, made entirely of wood, that is perched precariously on the side of the mountain, thousands of feet above the valley floor. I'm pretty sure you can't find a room with this kind of view, for approximately $2.50, anywhere else in the world. With clouds sweeping through the valley and the locals working well into the evening on the terraces, we enjoyed a great dinner (including a game of "guess how many chicken heads are in the soup"...although I, for one, prefer to eat the chicken foot) and a few games of cards. We split up the next morning, as they were headed for Sanjian, and I was doing a long hike as the first part of my trip back to Yangshuo. Despite torrential rain and, at times, low visibility, I set out for the distant mountain village of Dazhai, located almost a day away by foot (the only method of travel, anyway). Let's just say that I'm glad I know Chinese; otherwise, I'd probably still be lying on a rice terrace in the middle of nowhere. After a few hours of crossing mountain passes, following tiny paths along the terraces, and fording small rivers, I arrived in the tiny village of Zhongliu. Both Zhongliu and Dazhai, like Ping'an, are perched high on the side of a mountain - with most of the buildings being supported by stilts that rest on the hillside below - so navigating through them is very confusing. I eventually stumbled upon some sort of store, where I bought some peanuts and managed to get some vague directions to Dazhai. The locals were really excited to see me and wanted me to stay for lunch, but I knew it was going to be very difficult to make it back to Guilin by 8:00 PM, in time for the last bus to Yangshuo, so I had to decline. I set out again in the torrential rain (by this point, I was beyond soaked) in another seemingly random direction, trusting that the locals understood what I was asking when I requested directions in Chinese. Along the way, the rain diminished slightly, and I was treated to absolutely incredible vistas. At times I felt as if I were in a Pacific Northwest forest; other times, the scenery more closely resembled the highlands of Scotland. With each crossing of a mountain pass, a new view of rice terraces would unfold, stretching all the way to the enormous mountains in the distance. Sometimes, staring at the long, curving, parallel contours of the distant terraces would make me dizzy, as if I were looking at some kind of optical illusion. Raging rivers were always visible at the bottom of the valley, their thundering roar often just barely distinguishable, and small waterfalls dotted the hillside. This was truly some of the most outstanding hiking I've ever done, and I'm sure other backpackers would give it rave reviews as well. Eventually, I reached Dazhai, although this village, too, was perched high on the ridge. I hadn't really thought about how I was going to exit the mountains - I had just been told that I could get a bus in Dazhai - but I decided that since roads were not possible in such topography, and since buses require roads, I should probably head down. So, I followed some random path down the mountain side, crossed a few rivers, attempted to convince the villagers in Dazhai that I only wanted a bus, not food, and to my wonder and astonishment, ended up at what appeared to be a bus station. Twenty minutes later, I was on a bus bound for the city of Longsheng. The driver had attempted to explain to me something about getting off the bus and walking, but I didn't really understand until a few minutes later. Despite being high in these gorgeous mountains, I had forgotten that I would have to exit through an incredible gorge, with the only road being cut directly into the cliff. I also forgot that I had heard something about landslides being a problem in the area. Anyway, I started getting a little nervous as the bus began skidding around corners, with the cliff on one side and a sheer drop of several hundred feet to a raging river on the other side. That was just the beginning... Abruptly, we came to a stop and everyone started getting off the bus; this is when I noticed that the road was covered with an enormous landslide, spilling over into the gorge. This gorge was absolutely spectacular (more reminiscent of Costa Rica than anything else), and as I was busy admiring what had to have been a 500 foot waterfall, I failed to realize that anyone with some common sense might speculate that an area having just experienced a massive landslide might experience another. As I was walking slowly across the slide, my back to the hillside, people started yelling a bunch of Chinese I didn't understand. Fortunately, everything clicked pretty fast, and I turned immediately and sprinted out of the way of some falling boulders. It wasn't really that close of a call, but it did make me just a little more alert. During the rest of our ride out of the gorge (on a 3 bus shuttle), waterfalls cascaded down the cliff to our left and ran under the tires, small rocks slid down the mountainside, and enormous waterfalls became visible at each bend in the road (indeed, this area possesses some insane, mostly undiscovered potential for Class V-VI whitewater paddling). By this point, I decided there wasn't much I could do to make the journey any safer and worrying certainly wouldn't help, so I started taking pictures and ooh-ing and ahh-ing with the Chinese people each time we skirted the edge of the cliff. This was certainly adventure at its finest. Some time later, we arrived in the city of Longsheng. I was very lucky to be able to literally hop onto a bus for Guilin just as it was pulling away. Of course, my only thought was that I had misunderstood the Chinese and was headed either back to the gorge or to some distant city in the wrong direction (I'm not sure which would have been worse). Nevertheless, we were indeed headed for Guilin, where we arrived at exactly 7:58 PM. I made a mad dash for the ticket counter, sprinted to the day's last bus to Yangshuo (again, worrying that I was heading back to Longsheng or something)...and made it. An hour and twenty minutes later, I was back in Yangshuo, where I grabbed some dinner in town (which I ended up trying to eat while carrying on a long conversation in Chinese with my nineteen-year-old waitress, who decided to join me for dinner...There, now you all have something to gossip about!) and then hired a guy on a motorbike to drive me down the potholed road, in the dark, to Moon Hill Village (a journey which was probably more dangerous than my bus trip through the gorge). Yuan's father was still awake, and, after telling him "hen lei le" ("I'm really tired") and making a bee-line for my bedroom, I collapsed on my bed.

As you might guess, today was another rest-day, and I didn't do anything exciting. The computers are extremely slow today, for some reason, and I've had to answer a number of concerned emails regarding my well-being in regards to the flooding in southern China that has been all over the news. So, at the moment, I'm a little tired of being in front of the computer. If you are one of the authors of these emails, don't despair!! I'm quite safe - and indeed dry, at the moment - and do not intend to be washed away in a flash flood. I'm enjoying my adventure even more so than I had hoped, and things couldn't be better. Until next time, take care, and - whatever you do - don't take the bus!