First of all, I want to apologize for slacking on the blogging front. Teaching and traveling have consumed much of my time lately, but seeing as how the unexamined life is not worth living, I shall try to be better! And there is so much to tell! Bill is finally here (writing his version of events on www.billnature.blogspot.com). And for the first time a couple of weeks ago, we left the comfortable land of Chengdu to visit Bill's future home: Kangding.
It wasn't until we had left the city and were rumbling up mountains that I realized how limited my exposure to China had been thus far. In Chengdu, there
are idiosyncrasies and inconveniences that are distinctly Chinese, but I hadn't experienced the incessant honking of cars or the insistent shouts of HELLO! or the toilet-shower combination until we reached Kangding. I also hadn't experienced such incredible mountains.
Mountains that made my neck sore.
Mountains that caused our bus to shudder when it rounded cliff-hugged turns.
Mountains draped with prayers and mist.
Kangding is tucked into the mountains like few other pockets of civilization I have seen before. Lonely Planet describes it as comma-shaped, but Bill decided it looks more like a beached whale. Either way, it's amazing. On the first day, we slept off the altitude and got a late start climbing Paoma Shan, a mountain which is accessible by simply stepping off of the main road, walking up steep stairs through a monastery, and ducking under prayer flags along the path. Bill has been practicing and studying Buddhism for several years, so he regaled me with tales about the Buddha of Compassion, the demons of Tibet, and the significance of prayer flags.
Atop the mountain, there was a newly built temple awaiting us, and a new monk friend for Bill. The scene inside the temple was wonderfully colorful and jubilant: Buddha's mother was surrounded by her hand-maidens, who were bathed in sunlight from a ceiling window. I couldn't help but notice the contrast between this space for worship and some of the stark cathedrals Luke and I visited in Spain last summer.
The rest of our time in Kangding was pretty tame. I was happy being amidst blue skies and mountains, and Bill was still adjusting to China-time and the altitude shift. For practically every meal , we had scrumptious yak meat and milk tea. We did have an eventful roller-coaster ride (referring to the emotions and terrain) in search of a snow mountain called Gongga Shan, but Bill has written a thorough account of the trip that I won't attempt to duplicate here.
All I will say about our search for Gongga Shan is that it helped me realize how drastically different traveling here is compared to anywhere else I have been. We found our driver by negotiating with shouting men from the street: tourist agencies were non-existent. The road was pothole-ridden for almost the entire duration of our 14-hour trip, so that stepping out of the van, I felt like a 3-year finally leaving her father's knee after a long bout of "pony".
The terrain of Tibet is also unlike any other area I have seen with nomads herding yak all over the countryside, and the Tibetan houses, while rustic, are painted with incredible colors along the windowsills and doors. The mountains are also painted with prayer flags and
om mani peme hung. My emotions during the trip alternated between awe at the scenery and anger and helplessness at not being able to speak or fully comprehend our route. Given these travel conditions, Bill and I are going to have
to get better at planning ahead... or make sure we don't leave on adventures with only a couple of days to get back to Chengdu and school.
One of the most surprising emotions of the trip was the utter relief and comfort I felt upon arriving back in Chengdu. The green taxis with pandas painted on the front were familiar friends, and I knew how to tell the driver to take us back to school. It's funny how quickly a place so foreign can feel like home. In my next post, I will try to describe more of my daily life in Chengdu and what teaching is like... stay tuned!
It was a two-day train trip to Lhasa. Tight quarters on the train caused claustrophobic feelings that were slightly assuaged by expansive blue skies and dusty mountains in the distance. As the altitude increased, so did our anticipation...
Brightly painted window sills and prayer flags underscore a blue, moon-spotted evening sky.
Every night we would circumambulate the Jokhang, the holiest temple in Lhasa. Golden spires and flag-covered pillars guided us along the route with hundreds of other pilgrims.
We ended the trip at a mountaintop monastery.
