I am glued to a traditional Tibetan stove. The stove is fire-fueled and boasts three different types of pots and cookware. A large round pot holds warm bitter tea. It's one of three sources of warmth on this crisp, dark evening. The second is Ama's smile. I think I'm smiling at her too much, but I can't help it. She possesses a rare warmth that exudes from her eyes, her smile, and is most potent in her laugh. Her face, weathered and strong, sits above fantastically colorful clothing full of reds, oranges, and turquoise-blue. Her band-aid-ed hands suggest a culinary prowess that is perhaps slowed by age. She notices that I've taken a sip of my tea, and brings over a large ladle to refill the few sips missing. It is rather bitter tea.
In the room with me is a cat, that I'm sure is actually a dog--it begs like a dog, it wants attention like a dog, and it eats like a dog, devouring hunks of hard Tibetan bread. Two of Ama's grandchildren are also in the room: a 4-year-old who has the energy of...a 4-year-old, and a 10-year-old with a goofy grin. Earlier, the 4-year-old was showing me his super-duper-light-up sword. I must have killed him a dozen times. He seemed to want to learn some of the English alphabet, but really desired to call every letter "A, B, C" over and over. We also played what seemed to be his favorite game of all: crawl on the laowai (foreigner).
The third source of warmth in the room is the walls. Four walls and the ceiling have been hand painted with bright designs. A landscape of Lhasa's Potala Palace adorns one of the walls. The swastikas on the walls give me pause, even though I know they were Buddhist first. The warmth of the walls, Ama's presence, and the stove are well-appreciated by my tired body.
Today started at 5:30AM, after going to bed a bit too late. I wore the latest in traveler fashion: a large puffy coat, sweat pants, hiking boots, a large pack, and a goofy grin: never leave home without it. At the bus station, I boarded and picked a seat. I fought the urge to get off and pee, a decision I would regret. Two hours into the bus ride, I pulled out my Chinese-English dictionary looking for 'bathroom' in desperation. Luck was on my side, the bus pulled over as I found the word. I sprinted to the restroom and as I exited a man gestured for me to pay. I gestured "how much?". He held up a finger. Sir, I would've paid you so much more. Two hours down; around eight left.
I returned to my seat next to 'morning breath'. Maybe she was a very sweet girl, but she kept positioning her mouth in such a way that no matter how I moved, her breathe flowed right into my nose/mouth. After peeing however, and finding myself in a far better mood, I smiled at her. Which ended up insuring that every time the bus stopped, she would politely let me pass.
At the edge of the Chengdu basin, we tunneled through mountains. The route to Jiuzhaigou snakes through mountain passes and valleys, while climbing and climbing. Hairpin turn after hairpin turn left my stomach turning down my offers of food. The river, which started off quite murky, changed to blue-green and became more and more beautiful as we drove. Eventually we were soaring though a plateau at an elevation close to 4,000 meters. We climbed away from the plateau and crossed the 4,000 meters mark in six inches of snow! The bus stopped to put on its chains and the rest of the journey was a lot slower as we descended down 2,000 meters.
The scenery on the journey was breath-taking (or perhaps the lack of oxygen). The windows prevented good pictures, but I am left with wonderful memories. The snow-covered pine trees, mists, and small stone towns were out of this world, and thus, obviously, Narnia.
Eventually, the bus driver called "lao wai." I guessed it was my time to get off. I found myself across from two big advertisements in a thin mountain pass. I called Zhou Ma, the host of the home-stay, and found my way (with the help of a too eager cab driver) to the family's Tibetan restaurant.
Zhou Ma, who speaks a bit of English, warmly greeted me. She is Tibetan, but wears trendy clothing which reveals her youth. Her brother takes me to Ama's, where I will stay. He wears a fedora, likes music, and is very smiley. We take his jeep off the main road, and up a very very narrow 'road' to Ama's. Tibetans, and thus prayer flags, are everywhere, including the entrance of the house.
Dinner is served soon after I arrive and is a bit of disappointment. The yak meat is tough and not very flavorful and the spice offered to dunk the yak meat in is a bit too much. The potatoes, however, are a real treat. I learned later that they are "the best potatoes in years". Had I possessed more self-awareness, I may have realized that the reason the food didn't taste too good may have been because I wasn't feeling good. Two hours after dinner, that self-awareness came as I vomited the contents of the day into their Western toilet.
I hadn't thrown up in years and was surprised by how easy it was nowadays, as compared to the stomach flu days of my youth. Of course, with my Mom 10,000 miles away, I finally chose to follow her advice and breathe deeply and relax. My task completed, I returned to the warmth of the room and gestured what had happened. Ama returned with a vile of brown liquid after gesturing a bus turning a lot. I drank the contents of the mysterious liquid. She gestured that I'd wake up tomorrow feeling better. I hope so. I hope that it's just bus-sick and not altitude sickness. I have never been 4,000 meters high until today, nor have I even slept at 2,000 meters. Thus this weekend would be the highest I had ever lived.
The calmness I felt while sick alone in a place where no one speaks my language showed me that I possess some strength. Is this why I travel? For a chance to prove myself strong?
Thoughts written down, stomach calm, I decided to get some sleep. The electric blanket and the heaps of other blankets made for a cozy nest, even if the room temperature was quite cold. After I was settled in bed, my roommate showed up: Eric, a PhD candidate. From California originally, he had made Switzerland his home for the past 10 years. We chatted for a bit before sleep.
Though I didn't sleep much--my stomach kept refusing to lie comfortably in any position. When I can't sleep, I use to freak out about not sleeping. But in college I came to realize how stupid that is: it's very hard to fall asleep when you're stress yourself out. So nowadays, I just relax and think that at least I'm resting if not sleeping. I find this increases my chances of falling asleep sooner.
I awoke feeling still a bit out of it, but decided, after a quick breakfast of a fried egg, Tibetan bread and honey, and yak-butter tea, to go ahead with my plan of exploring Jiuzhaigou. The yak butter tea was interesting. As Eric warned, it tastes a lot better than it smells. With chunks of nuts, yak butter, sugar, and tea, it was an exotic blend of flavors. Each sip improved its taste, and eventually I was sipping it happily.
It had snowed and the whole landscape had been transformed into a winter wonderland. As it rarely, if ever, snows in Chengdu, I was bent on seeing snow during this break and thrilled at my good fortune: not only had it snowed, but it was a blue-sky sunny day!
Zhou Ma's brother picked me up and drove me, Kerrin, and the two boys. Kerrin is a Dublin bloke who has been working at the park, helping with their Eco-Tourism as well as translating. He pointed me to the front entrance when we arrived. I paid for the entrance ticket (100RMB for 2-day in winter) and a bus ticket (80RMB/day).
Jiuzhaigou is Narnia. Of this I am sure. Vividly-bright blue waters, sweeping waterfalls, and peaks reaching out towards the sun. I explored the park with the help of a map from a German-South African couple. The crisp air and the sun started making me feel better. I munched on some honey and bread from Ama and a very wrinkled apple, siting and soaking in my view: mineral-colored water with a backdrop of snow and peaks.
The upside of Jiuzhaigou in winter is the absence of people. There are plenty of pictures of the National Park in other seasons with people shuffling on boardwalks, no space to breathe. The downside in winter is that they park staff are lazy (or not there) and as the admission is cheaper, they don't pay anyone to clear much of the paths (or just don't do it). Fine by me with my hiking boots, but because many Chinese tourists refuse to wear anything other than high heels (even up mountains), much of the park is closed off with "Fire Danger" signs. I was temped to jump signs, but everything that I wanted to see what open, just not the paths between, so the bus ticket was very handy.
Jiuzhaigou gets its name from the nine (jiu) Tibetan villages in the valley. They somehow escaped much of the Han people for many years and are now protected as they are in the National Park (and a major course of tourism). My second day in the park found me touring with Eric, Anne, and Sarah. Anne, a senior at MIT, and Sarah, her sister on a gap year before U of Chicago, were exploring China together. Sarah had been in class in China in the fall and was finishing her Chinese adventure. I could not believe a Vassar grad, PhD candidate, a future MIT grad (and Md), and a U Chicago future student had found each other in this place! Granted Eric's PhD was about Jiuzhaigou, but still, what are the odds? They all spoke Chinese, pretty fluently, which made me not feel left out, but driven to learn some more Chinese.
We toured much of the same sites I'd seen before (as with winter closing, there just isn't as much to do). But the lighting was different and the company was nice. Our first stop, a big lake, proved to be a chance to Macgyver. Anne dropped her lens cap (of a very nice camera) into the frozen lake. The boardwalk was a ways above the surface, but I happen to posses these crazy-long-arms. With the help of an umbrella and the combined weight of Sarah and Eric on my legs, I was able to scoop up the lens cap on the umbrella and save the day! If that didn't work, we did have a piece of gum. Anne had given up on the lens cap after she dropped, but once we started trying to help, we all knew it had to happen. I still can't believe it worked as my arm was just long enough to barely touch the ice with the umbrella. Needless to say I got a wonderful ab workout as I braced myself from falling into the strange mineral water.
After another beautiful day, the four of us headed back to the restaurant where we ordered yak meat baozi (round steamed dumplings). The yak meat was out-of-this-world good. After a long day walking around, and feeling much better with a returned appetite, I savored each bite.
On the bus the next morning, I thought about what a wonderful weekend I had. After all the stress of grading, parent-meetings (where 7 of my 30 students' parents showed up), it was nice to escape to such a wonderful place. I'll never forget the morning of my second day as I watched and photographed Ama call her sheep from a few houses over. They walked down the road to her. No dogs, no aggravation, nothing. Just well-trained sheep. Thinking back to the day I sheep-headed in NZ until I was hoarse, I was beyond amused by the Tibetan way: so simple, so effective.
The bus ride back was shorter and I felt much better, though at that 4,000 meter mark I did try to remain super hydrated. If you ever find yourself in Sichuan province or Chengdu, going to Jiuzhaigou is a must. Not only is it a world-heritage site, but it really is a magical place. Though, you may only need the two to three days recommended in summer crowds! And you must stay at Zhou Ma's Homestay. It was 180RMB/night, but in includes breakfast, dinner, light lunch, and transportation to and from the park and help with buses. It's about 30 US, so really, it's a steal considering your lodging becomes part of the reason for going.
Man, it's nice to be on break!
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