Alive and well in Manigango

Alas a blog wouldn't be a blog without these: blog posts.  Admittedly, the big wide web has been tough to get at in some of these towns, especially when I arrive late.  I do miss it.  Nothing about biking is lonely except arriving in a strange place and not having access to the outside world.

 

I am currently sitting in a internet place in a little backwater town called Manigango.  What an incredible name!  There is a steady stream of Tibetan people sitting behind me watching me write this.  I think seeing someone use the keyboard for writing text might actually be a bit of a novelty.

 

Tibetans are pretty funny people.  They all wear these robes and cowboy hats, which helps the place live up to the "wild west" mantra.  Most women have these azure stones woven into their braids, and many men wear strange earrings things.  Most people over the age of 40 have at least one gold tooth.  They are much taller than Chinese people.  The result is these rather intimidating characters, sort of a Captain Jack Sparrow meets Genghis Khan, but every single one of them has a smile on their face and gives a hearty hello when they see me.  Three times I've leant my bike to Tibetans who have wanted to try it.

 

The past few days it's like I've been in a National Geographic magazine.  One day a red-robed nomad with an umbrella beckoned me inside his canvas tent to have milk tea, butter, and this barley powder with his family.  There are daily yak crossings on the road.  I met a Tibetan schoolteacher who showed me around the village school.  I've gone into monasteries and there have been monks chanting some sort of scripture.  I've gone into golden temples (is that the right word?) where a senior lama is giving blessings by candlelight.  I was having a snack way up in the mountains with two monks the other day, but apparently one was really important because two women came up and were bowing down before him asking for blessings.  I've seen contraband photos of his holiness the DL.  Then there was last night when I was late getting to town so went and spent the night with some nomads.

 

And then there is the scenery.  I'm not organized to get photos up but let me tell you, it has been spectacular.  There are a lot of grassy hills stretching out forever and then sometimes really high glaciated peaks.  I suppose it could be similar to Switzerland except that it's all at 3000m.  Plus, there are the prayer flags, stupas, and monasteries making every vista truly Tibetan.  It hasn't been all blue skies, but the days that are clear are unreal.  Last big city I was in, called Ganzi, now holds the distinction of being the city most similar to Minas Tirith.

 

The biking has gotten easier, partly because the passes are more manageable, partly because my body is getting used to it.  There were two days of awful rocky road, which is sort of soul destroying.  The bike has been holding up but the weight is causing some concerns to the racks that hold all the luggage.  I just try to keep everything balanced and stay on top of things when they break.  I have run out of Snickers bars which is a shame.

 

My point of no return, as the Doc would put it, is probably about 4 days from here.  From there, the town of Yushu, I'm only heading out of Tibet.  If this area erupts in strife and the police shut it down to foreigners, I don't think it will impact my trip.  But really, I think I'm already past the point of no return.  If they were going to stop me anywhere, it would have been Ganzi, a place where "there has been fighting".  There were two checkpoints coming into town, and the place may have well been under martial law for all the riot police and tankish things I saw there.  I was ready to beg to book a bus to Yushu or something, but at the checkpoint the police were very friendly (we had tea together) and just told me to get out of Ganzi and be careful on the road.  The whole issue is really interesting and not black and white and probably something to write about some day.

 

And there we are.  I'm on a rest day now, staying with a nice Tibetan family and sharing my western films with the kids.  Tomorrow I take a bus to Dege, a pretty reknowned stop close to the Tibet border.  Then I bus back here and continue on.  Bus is an easy call as the high pass to Dege is like 5000m (we're at 3900m right now) and doing that twice in two days sounds like a really stupid idea.  Some might say this whole bike thing is a stupid idea but we'll save those comparisons for another day.  Tashi delek!  (which means hello)

First Pass To Kham

Well if there were any doubts that this was not going to be an
incredible trip, today shattered them.

What didn't happen today? The climb from Kangding to Zheduo Mountain
(the First Pass to Kham) went from tough to excruciating over the
course of 35km and maybe 6 hours. Perhaps it should be called the
Wrath of Kham? As we went higher the forests gave way to rocky slopes
and the powerful river lower in the valley dwindled to a trickle. The
fog and wind picked up and it was sort of like reaching the end of the
world. I had a steady supply of water and food, but nonetheless the
last kilometer, at an elevation around 4300m, was pretty bleak.

Close to the top there were two Chinese bikers, around my age. They
immediately asked if I had any food. I felt like I was saving two
people stranded in the desert when I produced a tray of Oreo cookies.

The top had a Tibetan stupa and a bunch of prayer flags and a little
commemorative rock. Apparently this is one of the tougher climbs of
the ride to Lhasa, so it was quite an accomplishment. There was a
neat moment at the top when a police car drove by and the occupants
tossed out small prayer papers. This is a Tibetan tradition that I
think is meant to seek a safe journey. It was a nice gesture coming
from the police, who I had assumed are always at odds with the Tibetan
people, but is clearly not the case.

From the top we saw ferocious clouds approaching lightning fast and
also with lightning. And it suddenly became frostbitten-fingers
freezing. We sped down, eventually getting pelted by hail and rain.
The descent smoothed out and we followed the river through grasslands
with these strange looking Tibetan houses that are enormous, many
yaks, and lots of friendly Tibetan people.

To end it all off: the sky to the west clears for a wicked sunset. We
pull into the Yak Inn and being with Chinese people, we get Chinese
rates. And, they have internet! What a day!

Kangding: happy for some almost-level ground

I'll preface this post with the fact that I am a little grumpy.  I've been getting a lot of "no"s recently, and I don't like to hear the word "no".  Especially when I've biked over 300km to get here.  Thus far my hostel has told me I can't lock the door to my room, the post office has told me I can't mail a package, and a recommended restaurant has told me they're not serving food.  Up is down in this part of the world, apparently.

Speaking of which, if there was a theme to assign to the past three days of biking, it could only be "up".  It would appear that I *sort of* underestimated the degree of difficulty of this little route of mine.  Surprise!

The first day I biked to Ya'an, a 120km ride that was long for a first day, but also relatively flat.  I don't think the human body likes going from schoolteacher to mule overnight, so it's a bit of a shock to the system.  It felt similar to my first day in Thailand: the heat, the smog, the weight of the bike gave me a hell of a headache.  Unlike Thailand however, the final 50km to Ya'an were quite hilly, and, well, it was a tough go.  I must have kept all the places selling drinks in business that day.  I met up with some other teachers in Ya'an, which is a cool city.  We ate a sort of korean BBQ thing, probably not called that in China.  The opening item were fried rings of onions, with a quail egg cooked inside the ring, right before our eyes.  What will they think of next?

Day two it was raining, and the climbing started in earnest.  The light rain was quite welcome for it kept down the dust and smog and was a break from the heat.  Plus, my nifty new mudguards kept my legs nice and dry.  The road went up, at a comfortable incline, along a forested river valley.  It was quiet and really nice and had a bit of a "Lost World" feel to it.  I saw the biggest butterflies I've ever seen and some beautiful birds, if you're in to that sort of thing.  A day and a half later I was at the first mountain pass, Erlang Shan, at 2300m.

Can you call Erlang Shan a real mountain pass?  You don't go over it.  Instead you get close to the top and then burrow through a 4km tunnel to the other side.  As far as Chinese tunnels go, it wasn't bad: it was well lit, well ventilated, and flat.  But that doesn't ease the sound of a truck bearing down on you in an enclosed space.  

Surprisingly, there are tons of Chinese cyclists on the road to keep my company.  They are all on a difficult, well-worn route to Lhasa, the capital of Tibet.  Bike tourers share a bond when they meet on the road, and the Chinese ones were especially friendly.  In the case of the tunnel, well, lets just say I positioned myself so that another vehicle would have had to go through them to get to me.

The highlight so far has been emerging from that tunnel.  The rainy cloud forest was far behind, replaced by dry, rocky bluffs.  The low, bleak clouds of Sichuan Basin were gone at last, and the blue sky was dotted with fluffy white clouds, and, what's this, the sun?  What do I do about that?  Best of all, the reward of all that climbing was a blissful, exhilarating 30 km descent on a beautiful road.  What goes up must come down.

Some construction and some awful climbing later I am at Kangding, for a rest day (or, as it happened, half a rest day).  Kangding is sort of the frontier Chinese city, from here on it's all Tibetan.  The city is sort of nice, and a welcome stop to refuel and eat.  What's cool here is the mix of people on the street: on one street corner you'll see Tibetan monks in aviators and red robes, women in some traditional black clothing selling vegetables, Chinese people in cowboy-type hats watching the world go by, and military people going somewhere in a hurry.  Note: there are a lot of police here, it feels like we're under martial law.

This is also a good stop to let my body adjust to the altitude.  At 2700m, Kangding is one of the lower points for the coming week and a half.  Tomorrow the road climbs to 4200m before descending to a more reasonable point for sleep.  Sounds like a surefire headache.  I continue to play Where's Waldo and shed excess stuff wherever possible: the laundry detergeant and hair conditioner got nixed in Ya'an.  Yesterday I sacrificed a ratty UW tshirt at the side of the road as a symbolic gesture to give myself some energy (not really effective).  I've been eating lots of my food rations, so that bag gets lighter.  I fear my Chinese language textbook (book 3) is next to go.

I began this post talking about all the "no"s I've been getting recently.  They are all overshadowed by the ultimate shut-down: being stopped and told to turn around and go home.  Tibet is downright closed to foreigners, but this region is often locked down too.  It happened not too long ago when a monk lit himself on fire and there was a stand-off at a monastery.  These days are the 60th-anniversary of something important so there could be trouble.  I didn't think much of this until I was questioned about my plans when I came out of that tunnel.  I'd be super bummed to have to turn around (but think about what a great downhill ride it would be), but there's really nothing I can do about it.  For now, using a bandana thing that a Chinese biker friend gave me along with sunglasses and a helmet, I can only hope that I blend in a bit with the other bike pilgrims.  Other than that, I'll cross my fingers, set off tomorrow bright and early, and hope for the best.

I won't have internet for awhile.  My next stop is Tagong, an area of beautiful grassland and Tibetan nomads.  From there, barring any military restrictions, the next big city of Ganzi is probably five days away.  Until then, stay frosty.

The road ahead

Tomorrow begins as any other day with a morning wake-up by Arcade Fire and then some oatmeal.  Does it get any better?  However, tomorrow when I get on my bike and wave goodbye to the gatekeeper, I will be turning left, not right, and leaving Leshan and teaching and my happy apartment behind for awhile.  

The plan, on the eve of departure, is to venture westward, toward Tibet and the roof of the world.  Biking in the Tibetan Autonomous Region is impossible because Tibet is closed to independent travel (and as of this week, Tibet is closed to all foreigners).  However, the Tibetan plateau spills out onto the adjoining provinces of Qinghai and Sichuan, and those areas are open to anyone.  The land is still sparse and high elevation and there's still the possibility of snow all year.  But it looks incredible.  After one day of riding west I'll be in the mountains, after about 10 days I should be in the far northwest corner of Sichuan.  If all goes to plan I'll continue north to Qinghai Lake, a large saltwater lake that is pretty famous in China.  Apparently there are lots of birds there.  One can only hope.

Why all this work to see Tibet?  Good question.  There's something about Tibet that calls to every traveller.  The idea of an independent kingdom that has been hidden for so long in the high places of the world is fascinating.  Theirs is a culture very different from the rest of China and many parts of Asia.  It's religious, it's devout, it's colourful, but it's also difficult, nomadic, and ultimately, being overrun.  No doubt my intruiging image of Tibet will change during the trip to match the modern reality, but I don't think that will make it any less spectacular.  However, if I don't see some weathered faces and prayer flags I will be a little disappointed.

From there I'll return to Han China into the province of Gansu.  I don't think Gansu will be as beautiful but I think the geography of this region is really interesting.  Gansu is a long narrow corridor with mountain chains on either side.  In Chinese history, this was a critical corridor to hold as it was the only realistic route from Central Asia to China.  North of Gansu is the Gobi desert which is impassible, and south is the Tibetan plateau, also impassible.  It sort of appeals to the imagination, harkening back to a time when nations were defended with armies and horses.  Appropriately, the Great Wall ends in northern Gansu, serving as a symbolic and practical end to the ancient Han Chinese empire.  

Continuing northwest, I'll enter the large desert frontier area of China, dominated by a Muslim population called Uyghers.  I probably will have to cheat a bit and take a bus to meet my friend Tim in the regional captial of Urumqi In mid-July.  We'll be exploring more of the area, by bike (is there any other way?) but let's not get ahead of ourselves.  I'll save sharing that plan for a month from now when I'm sitting at a dusty noodle stand in a place that is the furthest on the continent from any ocean, looking at giant tree-trunk legs and brushing aside possible shoulder length hair.  

Biking is a great way to see the world.  It's cheap, it's simple, it requires pouring over maps on a daily basis.  Being free from bus schedules and taxi touts is inspiring.  Grabbing lunch at a small backwater stop or waving to children in lonely villages gives it a human connection.  It's healthy, it's unpredictable....there are a ton of reasons why it's my new favourite.  And in a few days I'll be able to tell you a bunch of reasons why it's torture.  All I remember from Thailand was sunburned hands.

I don't think internet will be available for large swathes of the ride, so this blog's moniker may be more truthful than usual.  I'll do my best to keep you abreast, though you might just get short updates in the box in the top right corner that come in via Twitter, the social media sensation that makes everybody roll their eyes.

This evening spent packing was an exercise in self-loathing at all the new crap I've accumulated in the past few months that will be carried to 4000m and beyond.  On top of that it's 2am and I was hoping to leave at 8 tomorrow so I'm off to a good start.  The world is waiting.

Go buy The Star today!

Was it the happiest day of his life?  We'll have to wait and see if the Canucks win:

http://www.thestar.com/travel/asiapacific/article/1008587--the-most-beautiful-spot-in-china-you-ve-never-heard-of#article

Return from Exile

This story begins two weeks ago when we were given a surprise long weekend due to GaoKao.  GaoKao is a very intense three days of university entrance exams for the graduating class, probably the most important three days in a high school student's life.  The school goes into lockdown and all other classes are cancelled.   They cover the classroom walls with green cloth and wrap a police line around most of the school entrances.  So I went to Guilin.

Guilin is a city in southern China, not too far from the Vietnam border.  The area around the city is known for stunning landscapes of karst rock towers set along scenic rivers and rural village life.  In fact, pictures I saw of the Guilin area years ago were part of the reason I wanted to come to China.  Of course it's the reason why everyone else wants to come to China too, and the whole area has a tourist-mecca quality to it.  This was no problem for me as I've been in China for long enough that real bars and non-Chinese food are a welcome break.

Despite all the tourists, the quiet surrounding countryside felt a lot like the "real China" you imagine from a Chow Yun-Fat movie.  This goes beyond seeing villagers working their green fields in triangular rice hats; it's the feeling a place leaves with you.  It's what you see when you peek inside open doors and see what the homes look like.  It's following a trail of villagers carrying live chickens home in order to find the market.  It's swimming in the river with a water buffalo.  I loved the place and would go back in a heartbeat.  For now I'll just have to make due with the image on the back of the 20 yuan bill.

Going to Guilin was a bit of a spontaneous thing.  Going to Xi'an last weekend had been in the cards ever since I had bought really cheap flights, over a month ago.  It ended up that the two trips were separated by one day of teaching in Leshan.  It's all a bit ludicrous, especially if you had any idea how complicated all the connections were.  I'm almost at the point where I've taken more flights in China than in Canada.  But, when I'm back home and far, far away, I'll be even more glad I made the most of the free time presented to me here.

 In Xi'an I met up with Eugene, a classmate from Waterloo, and some of his friends.  I was excited about visiting the city, known as being the ancient capital of China.  They say that if you want to see the China of today, go to Shanghai; if you want to see the China of 100 years ago, go to Beijing; and if you want to see the China of 1000 years ago, go to Xi'an.  Obviously whoever 'they' are must know lots about China.  

Well I wasn't super blown away with Xi'an.  The town has a vibrant Muslim Quarter but is pretty much like any other Chinese city, with a little less honking than Leshan but many more homeless, agressive touts, and lots of garbage.  It's one of the few cities still enclosed by a protective wall, which is nifty enough to walk on until you realize you are a few kilometers from an exit, without water, and getting cooked in the heat.

The city is most well known for its Army of Terracotta Warriors which you might remember from an episode of Carmen Sandiego.  They are a big deal, part of a huge burial complex for the first Chinese Emperor and over 2000 years old.  But with all the hype, and being called "the Eighth Wonder of the World" (heard that one before), I was a little underwhelmed.  No doubt the statues are incredible and well preserved, but something about their presentation, seen from high up in a huge airport-hangar type of building, subtracts from the mystery.  Some sights, it seems, are best left to National Geographic.

My highlight of the weekend was a trip up (yet another) holy mountain of Hua Shan. Apparently night hikes up Hua Shan are all the rage, and we started with some excitement and high spirits at around 11pm.  We were surprised to see Chinese people hiking at all, let alone through the night, and our surprise turned to shock as we discovered hundreds of trekkers along the route.  Little restaurant stops were packed with what must have been high school graduating students newly freed after finishing their GaoKao exams.  Red Bull cans were everywhere.  The hike itself was much more interesting and challenging than others I've done, and in some of the steeper sections - with names like Heavenly Ladder or 1000 Foot Staircase - there were huge queues.  The sunrise from the top felt like a sort of Chinese parade, and the crowds were as memorable as the wicked views from the rocky, sheer cliffs.

Mistakes always happen on the way down.  Thankfully we had none, but the thought crossed my mind a few times during the Plank Walk, a terrifying narrow walkway thousands of feet in the air along a rock face.  You thankfully wear a harness, which I'm sure meets all the not-so-stringent Chinese safety standards.  Pictures might do it a bit of justice.  If not, this video certainly will:

This combined post doesn't do justice to either Guilin or Xi'an, and even with many pictures it doesn't cover some of the smaller moments: eating snails, rice terraces, eating frog, angry flight delays, psychedelic cave lights, and a music show on the river.  Regardless, it was a great two weeks.  The only misstep was neglecting to consider weather, so shoes, pants, and even long sleeves were a bad choice for the steam bath of Guilin and the desert of Xi'an.  Returning to Leshan for rest, laundry, and to try to save my dying plant feels like coming back from exile (or going back into exile, depending on how you look at it).  Either way, this is the last week of school and almost all my ducks are in a row for the coming month of biking.  I sent home 10 lbs of junk which is making my legs happy already.  The end is near.

Who is the real Monster?

We have been doing a truckload of exams this week, trying to listen to every student before the rapidly approaching summer holidays.  Listening to 800 students individually talk about the same thing for a minute is like taking your brain, tossing it around like a baseball for a few hours and then putting it in a washing machine.  I don't know up from down anymore.

Students come to our office and present in groups of four, though they speak one at a time.  Only one student has honestly tried to bribe me (a 20 yuan note, about $3).  I remarked to Sean last week there are more effective ways to cheat: a weak student could pay a smart student to present on his behalf, based on the classic assumption that we wouldn't be able to recognize the impersonator.

Well, yesterday the prophecy came true.  The details are boring, though I did feel like a bit of a detective unmasking the whole operation.  What you need to know is that a good student named James pretended to be a weak student named Monster.  The whole thing is more ridiculous because in all the ensuing discussions I need to be serious in calling a student Monster (some other favourite names I've come across are Akon, Death, and Steakhouse).

There are challenges I've encountered in teaching that seem much easier on paper, and this is one of them.  What do I do about James and Monster？As far as I've always been taught, this is cheating and cheating results in a zero.  For Monster, it's not a big deal since his actual oral exam was abysmal…or wait for it, monstrous.  James, the student who impersonated Monster and lied to me, has much more to lose.  Today he apologized, and is obviously upset at getting zero.  It's hard for me to be confident in my decision when he keeps pleading "give me a chance".  Am I being too harsh?  Is giving him zero going to further his education?  Would I be second guessing myself if he wasn't a good student?

In general I'll be glad when exams are over.  Everything about subjective marking like this is difficult.  The hardest thing is listening to a weak student trying really hard but knowing you have to give them a low mark.  Just as awful is listening to a very active student who loves oral English class give a bad exam.  At this point in my life, I wonder why marks are important to students at all.  How on earth did the big world trick us into taking our grade 8 marks seriously?  But for these students, well, they are really nervous about how well they do.

Would love to know what you think about these strange times.  I may have unmasked Monster yesterday, but could it be that the real Monster is the one I see in the mirror?