When in Rome, do as the Romans do, is the old saying…(入乡�俗).
Where I come from, when you go out with friends for a dinner where wine or beer is served, it’s all rather simple: when the first drink is imbibed, we all toast each other, sometimes by clinking our glasses, sometimes not. Thereafter, everyone’s free to drink whenever and however much they like.
Not so here in China. There is a ritual to this.
First, I can never drink on my own, no matter how tired I am. If I feel like having a drink, I’ve got to invite at least one table mate (if not the whole round) to drink with me. That would be simple enough, but that’s only where it starts…
Before drinking, I must lift my glass (or cup) with my right hand, supported by my left (which I usually forget to do because I really am strong enough to lift it with one hand alone, but never mind). But I can raise my glass only so high as to still leave a clear vision of the eyes of my drinking partner. Because before drinking, we must both look into each other’s eyes in order to, in order to, I really don’t know why. At any way, it’s a must.
Then we both raise our glasses to our lips, and I take a sip or a gulp or drink it empty (depending on the amount of resistance I’m able to put up against being persuaded to get drunk.) While drinking, it’s important to close my eyes all the better to enjoy the experience. When I’m drinking with a lady, it’s a good way to imagine what I might achieve if she got sufficiently drunk.
After drinking, the procedure sort of works in reverse. I once again must pause to look deep into my drinking partner’s eyes….that’s ok if it’s a lady about whom I’ve just had fantasies; it’s hardship when it’s a guy. Only after having given love a chance am I allowed slowly to lower my glass, ideally still holding it with both hands, until it’s back on the table.
Even leaving aside the amount and alcohol content of the drinks I drink in China, drinking is hard work hereabouts.
Looking deep into Daisy’s eyes (å°?é¾™)…if we both weren’t married, heaven knows what could have happened…
Daisy almost does it right…her eyes are almost closed…I am failing miserably…
Now we’re done drinking…and have another chance to dream..
***
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Distance from Beijing: 9,599km
Distance from Changjiang Wusongkou: 8,412km
Highest altitude: 2,182m
Overnight altitude: 500m
Right on the first day back in Chengdu, Nokia organised an interview with Sichuan TV. As a result, I spent a fun-filled morning in Chengdu’s Wenshufang cultural district (文殊方)…and getting to talk to lots of local Chengdu folks…
At the end of the session, I got invited to a vegetarian restaurant run by Mr. Huang who treated me to an unusual selection of dishes…where even meat and fish and other non-vegetarian flavours and appearances are simulated using entirely vegetarian products…(sorry these are untranslatable into English…at least I don’t know how)…
This was a nice treat before getting into the necessary Miss Daisy repairs. Liu Zizhou has once again arrived in Chengdu and is taking loving care of Miss Daisy. When I’m not of much use (which is most of the time), I sit in the waiting area of the same garage in which I spent four days a few weeks ago. I should relax to prepare myself for the coming 6,000km journey to Xining, Lhasa, Yushu and back to Lhasa, but I can’t relax…I’m too preoccupied with the repairs…
***
Sharing this experience made possible by Nokia and my N95
Imagine if you were a policeman in a tiny village outside of Yajiang with not much to do and you came across a low-flying UFO with an old fart as a pilot and a beautiful local girl strapped into the UFO’s passenger seat, what would you do?
Of course you’d ask the UFO to land and park by the roadside. But what else? Are you interested in the UFO’s registration papers? No! Are you interested in the pilot’s license? No! Would you ask about what the UFO, the old fart and the young lady are doing in this part of the universe? No!
No, what you really want to do is sit in the UFO and have your picture taken.
After about fifteen minutes (yes, it took that long because the police had to find a good old fashioned film and load the camera with it), we got on our way again, and I started to learn about my passenger.
Her father drives is a taxi driver in Yajiang. Her mother is a farmer. In two years, when she will be graduated from high school, she wants to continue her Tibetan studies at a university in Chengdu. Then become a teacher, abroad perhaps, learn English, return to China and work as a translator.
“Do you think your grades will be good enough to go to university in Chengdu?� I ask.
She cocks her head, thinks for a minute, then assures herself and me: “Yes, they will.� Another pause, then even more firmly: “Confidence is half of one’s success, isn’t it?�
Then we drive for a while without talking.
“How often do you get to go home?� I continue the conversation.
“Only once a month. Our school is very strict. We can’t go out at all,� she explains.
For someone who is focused on Tibetan language and culture and studies in a strict school, her outfit is rather modern: cool, yellow running shoes, artificially faded blue jeans, a delicate, white, plaited top, a black, buttoned cardigan with a v-shaped, white pattern along-side the buttons that give the cardigan a tasteful finish.
One might think that her outfit is complemented by some make-up, but she wears none whatsoever. I don’t know for what reason, but it is a good choice because it would only detract from her natural beauty. Her face is oval. Her long hair falls straight down on both sides making her face seem even longer. Her eyes are deep brown. They are eyes which will make many men fall head-over-heel in love. Among them, I hope for her, will be one whose love is deep and unending.
How old is she? Her face and clothing make her seem very young. Her hands, on the other hand, are a bit wrinkled and rough.
“How old are you? If you don’t mind my asking!� I can’t help but want to know.
“I am eighteen,� she replies unhesitatingly. “And how old are you?�
“Well, you take a guess!�
She looks at me for a while, and then gets my age more wrong than anyone ever before: “In your mid-twenties?�
When I tell her my real age – almost twice her guess – she says, “You’re kidding me, right?�
I assure her I’m not. We both fall silent again while Miss Daisy bounces along the rough road and inches closer to Xinduqiao.
When eventually the road gets smoother and Miss Daisy can pick up speed, my hitchhiker visibly enjoys the wind in her face.
“It wouldn’t be much fun with the roof up, would it?� she observes when rain clouds threaten, even though she’s never experienced Miss Daisy with the roof up.
“You’re absolutely right,� I confirm her suspicion.
We arrive in Xinduqiao at 12:30, just in time for lunch.
“I’ll first take you take your school. Then I’ll go for lunch. Can you recommend a good place to eat?� I ask her.
“Sure, it’s on the way to my school. I’ll show you where.�
“Well in this case, do you want to join me for lunch? My treat,� I offer.
She happily accepts, and so the three of us – double-mid-twenties man, senior high school student and UFO – stop along the main road in Xinduqiao.
As always, within a minute Miss Daisy is surrounded by a crowd of interested spectators.
Crowd in Xinduqiao
Lao Yang taking my picture…
While I am pulling my things out from the luggage compartment, a man approaches me with the words, “I’ve seen your car in the news paper. I would have never thought I’d meet you. Where are you going today?�
I tell him that I’m on my way to Kangding.
“Well, I’ll treat you for dinner there,� he says with the most welcoming smile.
I quickly hand the Kangding-bound fellow my business card, and then I’m whisked away into the restaurant whose boss is my hitchhiker’s friend.
While the hitchhiker and I are eating lunch, another fellow approaches and starts asking me all sorts of questions. He’s fascinated by my journey.
“My name is Yang. Call me Lao Yang. I’m working at the Xinduqiao prison. [I think that’s what he said!] Can’t you stay in Xinduqiao for a day? You’ll be my guest. I’d really be honoured if you’d stay in my home,� Lao Yang beseeches me.
For a moment I wonder whether “staying at his home� would actually mean “staying in prison�…
At any rate, I need to keep going to Kangding, and so, with regret, I decline his offer. When he realises that he can’t sway my mind, he resorts to taking tons of pictures.
As I prepare to get on my way, there are so many people – including Lao Yang – surrounding Miss Daisy that I almost can’t leave. I also can’t see my hitchhiker any more. She seems to have disappeared. When I finally spot her, I ask her for her email address. She doesn’t have one, so she hurriedly writes her name and address on a piece of scrap paper.
“Will you post me some pictures?� she asks.
“Of course, I will. You can realise your dreams, make it to Chengdu and then on to the world,� I say, waving good-bye.
When I get to Kangding and check my email, I’ve already got a message from Lao Yang. Would I please have a look at his blog? I click on it . Indeed, he’s already posted a wonderful story and great photographs. What touches me most is that he calls me Lao Xin. It almost makes me feel that a small part of me has at last become Chinese!
***
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I would like to share with you what I am slowly learning about Tibet and Tibetan Buddhism. If there is something incorrect or controversial – I hope not – please let me know.
Buddhism and Enlightenment
One of the core teachings of Buddhism is that life is a continual cycle of suffering. The primary purpose of practicing Buddhism is to escape the cycle of death and rebirth (re-incarnation) and a release from the struggles of life. After many such cycles, if a person releases their attachment to desire and the self, they can attain Nirvana (Enlightenment). This is a state of liberation and absence of suffering.
Om Mani Padne Hum
‘Om Mani Padme Hum’ (translation: ‘Hail the jewel in the lotus’) is a six syllable invocation (mantra) of Avlokitesvara, one who is invoked as the Protector from danger. It is claimed that one who recites this mantra will be saved from all dangers and will be protected. One can find this mantra inscribed on rocks, prayer wheels, stupa walls, loose stones heaped as Mani (jewels) on roads, paths, mountain passes, the approaches and exits of villages. One can find this Mantra inscribed outwardly in the prayer wheels with millions of this mantra inscribed on paper inside the prayer wheels. The devotee turning one round of the prayer wheel means he recites this mantra millions of times. As this mantra is thought to save one from all dangers, it is widely used in pendants, rings, etc.
Many stones are inscribed with the mystical six-syllable formula - om mani padne hum.
Karma
Karma is the sum of a person’s actions in this and previous states of existence, viewed as affecting their future fates (the effects of a person’s actions that determine his destiny in his next incarnation). The origin of this word is from the Sanskrit karman which means ‘action _ effect _ fate’.
Reincarnation
Reincarnation is the rebirth of a soul in a new body. Incarnation is a spirit embodied in a living form. The origin of this word is from the Latin in- carn- which means ‘into’ ‘flesh’.
Lamas
Not all Tibetan Buddhist monks are called lamas, only those monks that have reached a certain stage in development. To become a Lama, one has to pass exams, devote oneself to living for many years in a monastery, follow a very structured, well-organized syllabus of study (lasting at least 10-15 years). Families are proud for a son (never a daughter) to become a Lama; it is an honor.
Living Buddha
Another distinguishing feature of Tibetan Buddhism is the system of Living Buddha incarnation and succession. (There are about 2000-3000 living buddhas in Tibet.) A living Buddha is a a person who has been re-incarnated (转世) (one or more times).
Living Buddhas can be found in almost all Tibetan monasteries and are their leaders. When a Living Buddha dies, a special child born at approximately the same time will be chosen to succeed him. A child with the power to become a Living Buddha is called Lingtong (�童). A structured process is followed for discovering the appropriate one (�童).
The Esoteric Sect （密宗）
It was born in the 7th century in India. It is characterized by secret coaching/teaching. For some reason I don’t understand, it has never become popular in India.
In the mid 8th century, the sect was brought to Tibet by the Indian monk Padmasambhava (莲花生) and became very popular there.
Padmasambhava
Almost all Buddhist sects in Tibet have assimilated some Esoteric elements. The Esoteric Sect of Tibet has distinguished itself from that of India by such methods of cultivation as the sprinkling of holy water on the head, twin-body cultivation (man and woman in copulation), secret incantations and the incorporation of certain elements of Bon (primitive Tibetan religion).
In Tibet’s form of the Esoteric Sect, it is not unusual to come upon images of men and women in copulation known as “Twin Buddhas of Happiness�. In self-cultivation, a monk must observe his guardian’s image (an image of men and women in copulation or “twin copulation�) carefully and keep it fast in his mind. Gradually, through repeated practice, he enters a dream-like world and feels like his guardian. He tries to control his breath and pulse. In the end through twin body cultivation he joins with his female companion. Just as he feels happiest in copulation with her, he purifies desire, becomes neither living nor dead and attains Buddhahood.
Below, a Thagka Portrait of the Silion Vajra Guardian, a god of the Esoteric Sect of Tibetan Buddhism with 4 heads and 12 arms. The Esoteric Sect has many guardians, who are known popularly as “Twin Buddhas of Happiness�. In copulation with the imperial concubine, Silion Vajra Guardian is depicted with the god of desire and heretical demons under his feet to show that his duty is to drive away demons and evils.
Distance from Beijing: 9,219km
Distance from Changjiang Wusongkou: 8,032km
Highest altitude: 4,718m
My journey back East toward Chengdu did not start off well: the road was horrid, the air was cold and most of the time I drove in dense fog. When it lifted on occasion, the scenery was lovely, though.
Kazila Mountain (å?¡å?拉山) in fog…
Trying to look warm and optimistic but not succeeding…
Grazing lands…
Because the road from Litang toward Kangding is bad, I originally planned to drive no further than Yajiang (雅江). I feared the few kilometres before Yajiang because the river running by it is notoriously prone to flooding. I wasn’t at all sure that I’d even make it into the town. In the end, it wasn’t too bad. When I arrived in Yajiang, it was only 10:30. I decided to press on toward Kangding.
About twenty minutes out of Yading, I passed a young lady. Just as I was passing her, she seemed to yell something that sounded like “give me a lift� (带走).
Only the day before, on the way to Litang, a rather large farm lady dressed in traditional Tibetan garb and carrying an XXXL basket on her back signalled that she wanted a ride. I kept going, but soon regretted that I didn’t stop – it would have been rather interesting to see how we’d manage to get her into Miss Daisy with her basked alone being almost as big as my car. Because I regretted my focus on “the destinationâ€? (getting to Litang) rather than “the journeyâ€? (giving the lady a lift), I decided to pick up the next hitchhiker I’d come across. I was sure I’d have to wait for a long time since I hadn’t met one since leaving Beijing.
So here I was , once again with an opportunity to give somebody a lift. And I drove past her…but only for a few hundred metres. Then I slowed down, stopped and backed up my car. As her image grew larger in Miss Daisy’s rear view mirror, I realised that she was not bad looking. Given my luck, she’d take one close look at me, and say, “No, thanks, that’s alright. I wait for the next car…a real car.â€?
When I pulled even with her, I smiled at her and asked, “Where to?�
“To Xinduqiao,� she said, smiling, too.
Before I offered her a ride, I thought for a second about Miss Daisy’s fading brakes … would it be wise to give someone a lift with a car that’s got some serious problems? What the hell…She’s good looking!
“Well, I’m happy to take you, if you don’t mind a ride with a foreigner (�外),� I wanted to make sure she didn’t feel obliged.
“Not at all,� she replied.
I felt lucky, jumped out, moved all the things on the passenger seat into Miss Daisy’s tiny luggage compartment, and showed her how to get into my car and buckle up the four-point belt. (Miss Daisy is not like a normal car; there is a specific procedure to getting in and out.)
My hitchhiker seemed entirely comfortable with this, and within a minute we were moving again.
“What are you doing in Xinduqiao?� I asked her, taking another, closer look. She really was beautiful.
“I’m a senior high school student. I go to school there,� she explained.
“Is there no senior high school in Yajiang?� I was curious why she’d travel so far.
“Yes, there is, but I am studying Tibetan Language (�文), and that’s only offered in Xinduqiao,� she replied.
“Won’t your parents mind taking a ride with a foreigner?� I wanted to make sure I’m not getting myself into trouble.
“Not at all,� she assured me.
“And aren’t you afraid of hitchhiking on your own?�
“Nope,� she seemed totally unconcerned.
“I suppose it’s rather safe here, isn’t it?�
“Yep.�
Now imagine if you were a policeman in a tiny village outside of Yajiang with not much to do and you’d come across a low-flying UFO with an old fart as a pilot and a beautiful local girl strapped into the UFO’s passenger seat, what would you do? Exactly.
More later…
***
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As I turn east from Litang, a lot of questions trouble my mind…
Necessary Repairs…
Talking with Dengzhu Zhaxi (é‚“ç? 扎西) and his friends in Litang, I became almost convinced that Miss Daisy could make the journey along the Sichuan-Tibet Route, but even if I could be convinced, I still have to return to Chengdu because Miss Daisy needs some repairs.
The first problem is that the brakes are soft – I need to “pump� them (step on them twice or three times) in order for them to slow her down. (Interestingly, this is most noticeable in the high altitudes). Most likely air has accumulated in the brake pipes. It’s not a big problem, but it needs to be fixed…else it’s just too dangerous.
The second problem is more worrying. When Miss Daisy’s engine is really hot, especially when I’m stuck in traffic and she can’t move, then slowly the idle speed gets higher (2,000revs) and higher (3,500revs) and higher and higher. I’ve seen her race up to 5,500revs. When the idle speed is this high and she doesn’t move, she gets even hotter until I have to stop and let her cool down. In the highlands where it’s cool and there’s no traffic, this hasn’t been a problem. But in Kunming it almost killed the engine. I worry that on my return journey during August this problem could mean that I either need to drive at night or that the engine will suffer irreparable damage.
The trouble is, we don’t know what’s the cause. We’ve spoken with my Caterham expert friend in the U.K., with Nanjing Automotive and others, and no one knows why. This weekend, when I’m back in Chengdu, Liu Zizhou, with remote support from the U.K., we will try to figure out why…but who knows whether we’ll manage…
You’re probably wondering (again) why I’m not driving another car. It’s really quite simple – there is no other car in the world that charms the people that see it as much as Miss Daisy. I wish you could experience it yourself. (Those few of you have meet Miss Daisy on the road will know what I mean.)
In addition, Caterhams have a 50-year history. The Lotus 7 was Colin Chapman’s seventh, immensely successful design. Colin Chapman, the founder of Lotus, is a legend in automotive circles in the West…he was behind the extremely successful “John Player Special� (cigarette)-sponsored, cool-looking Formula 1 cars in the seventies and eighties… None of his cars have lived for as long as the 7. Colin designed the 7 in the fifties. In the late sixties (or was it early seventies?), Lotus sold the design rights to Caterham Cars, also in the U.K. They have continued to make “Miss Daisy’s� since then. About 500 a year are sold, all to people who put the pleasure of driving above all else: Caterhams don’t have stereos, they don’t have air condition, they don’t have power brakes, they have nothing but one thing: they have the best design in the world for the pure enjoyment of driving a car. And that, together with its loveable looks, is why I’ve chosen Miss Daisy…
I guess there is one other reason why – it is because for me, somebody whose already driven more than a million kilometres are the world in almost any kind of car, driving her on this journey discovering China is a tremendous challenge…
Necessary preparations…
And this brings me to my other troubling thoughts. These concern the journey from Qinghai’s Xining down to near the Yantgze’s source and on to Lhasa. The more I research it, the more I now what a challenge it will be…
I will after all need a support car…a four-wheel drive car with an experienced driver who will drive with me … This car will need to bring spare petrol canisters – there are only two petrol stations along a stretch of perhaps 500km. (Miss Daisy manages at most 400km per thankful.) We will need oxygen bottles – the highest altitude at which I need to stay is 4,700m; the average altitude is 4,200m; the highest mountain pass is 5,120m.
In addition, I hear that around theTanggula Pass (��拉山�) there is a stretch of road that is often flooded by rivers…will I be able to make it with Miss Daisy?
We will need food and water in case Miss Daisy does break down.
Should I prepare to sleep in a tent if we don’t make it to a town that has a hotel?
I am working with two friends to work out all these details…while time is ticking away…will they find the right support car for me? Will the driver really have the right experience? And on and on…
***
Sharing these thoughts with you is made possible by Nokia and my N95
On this trip, I’ve staid in many hotels. In the most international cities such as Shanghai, I give the hotel front desk my Visa credit card when I check in. They take an imprint with no specific amount which I sign as a guarantee. When I check out, they destroy the this blank imprint, print a new one with the actual charges, I sign it, and I’m done. Quite simple. I don’t worry about the hotel filling an incorrect amount into the blank imprint. And the hotel doesn’t worry about me having damaged or stolen something from the room. Why? Because the procedure is based on a reliable system of credit banking; it’s not because we actually trust each other.
Now contrast this with another experience, mostly in mid-tier cities. When I check into my room, they don’t accept credit cards. That means I need to pay cash the room fee in advance. In addition, I need to give them a cash deposit for incidentals or damage or theft. When I check out, I need to wait until service staff have thoroughly checked my room which sometimes can take a long time. Then I get back my deposit. Since there is no reliable system of credit banking and no trust, the procedure is cumbersome and takes time.
At last, I arrived in Litang. When I checked into my Pearl of the Highlands, I paid my room fee in advance, but there was no deposit taken when I checked in; also, there was no checking of my room when I left. Litang (or, I am sure, many other remote parts of China) may not have a reliable system of credit banking, but they have one important thing: they have trust.
***
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I was not looking forward to arriving in Litang, even though it has the distinction of being the highest city in the world and as such is a special place. My memory of it (from when I drove past it) is one of a dirty and drab city. Also, because its elevation is so high, I was concerned about how I’d cope with the altitude: would I suffer badly from altitude sickness? Not least, I had heard that Litang has only very basic accommodation…which means no hot water…
As I approached Litang, I decided to fill up petrol first such that I could get straight on the road the next morning. As always happens at petrol stations, I was immediately surrounded by dozens of people asking the standard questions:
“How much does it [Miss Daisy] cost?�
“What do you do when it rains?�
“How fast does it go?�
“Where are you from?�
Roughly in this order. Always.
One fellow was particularly interested, so I asked him if he’d be kind enough to sign on Miss Daisy. He happily obliged. When I was ready to go, I decided to ask him where in Litang the “Pearl of the Highlandsâ€? hotel (高原明ç? 酒店) is. (Yes, that’s what the no-hot-water hotel is called… )
“I’ll ride in your car and show you, ok?� came the answer from someone else. I turned around and saw a policeman.
Why not, I thought, and said, “Sure.â€? Everyone else around me nodded and seemed happy with me getting police guidance. Before showing him how to get into Miss Daisy, I asked him his name. When I didn’t understand him even after he repeated it several times, we typed out his name on my N95: Dengzhu Zhaxi (é‚“ç? 扎西). (Just fyi, I ask anybody who signs on Miss Daisy or gets into her their name before letting them touch her; I think it’s only proper. I mean, when somebody goes out with your daughter, the least you want to know is their name, no? Even if it is a policeman.)
The “Pearl of the Highlands� is at the other end of Litang, as it turned out. Zhaxi seemed to enjoy the slow ride through Litang, waving to and smiling at everyone. When we arrived at the hotel, he directed me into the car park behind the hotel and insisted to carry my backpack. At the hotel reception, my reservation was confirmed. Before I knew it, Zhaxi took out cash and offered it to receptionist to pay for my one-night stay. For a second I stared at him blankly, then scrambled to get out my own money, and pushed his aside:
“Why would you pay for my hotel? Don’t be silly!� I exclaimed.
But Zhaxi would have none of it and in turned pushed my money aside with the words,
“Because you’re a good man. Besides, we’re friends.� (Don’t ask how any two people can be friends after knowing each other for ten minutes …I never quite understand that…but anyway, Zhaxi said so.)
The receptionist didn’t know whose money to take so she turned away and let us fight it out. In the end I won, but only after I explained to Zhaxi that I was on a Nokia-sponsored journey and that it really wasn’t right for him to pay for the hotel for me. Slowly, slowly he relented, but only after I agreed that I would let him take me out for lunch.
Since it was nearly noon and Zhaxi said he was hungry, we departed in a taxi right after I had put my stuff in my room.
In the centre of town, he asked the taxi to stop. We approached a small stall which looked like a restaurant. He asked me what I’d like to eat. I said anything would be fine with me. While he ordered the food, I sat outside on a little stool and began to chat with a colleague of Zhaxi who had meanwhile joined us. Before long, Zhaxi re-appeared with a bag of different kinds of meat and asked, “Are you ok if we eat at our office?� Of course I had no objections.
We got into a police minivan with which his colleague had arrived and drove to the other side of Litang. While driving, Zhaxi complained about how no one in his town observed any traffic laws while he himself happily broke them all. I couldn’t help but quietly laugh to myself. After a few minutes, we stopped at a guard house just at the Eastern end of Litang where the road was barred by a beam.
“This is our office,� Zhaxi explained. It became clear that he is part of a small team of Litang traffic police. Zhaxi and his friend invited me into their guard house which is located just a bit above the road such they can easily survey the traffic.
Inside the guard house, there were two other colleagues. Mutual introductions resulted in me understanding that Zhaxi’s mini-van driving colleague is from 110 (emergency phone) and the other two are from the alcohol and tobacco patrol. Zhaxi handed his bag of meat to one of his colleagues while he bade me to sit down in their office. Lunch would be ready, soon, Zhaxi told me. In the meantime, he handed me a can of “Red Bull�. (I found this very funny, that is, me drinking Red Bull in Litang since it is the brainchild of an Austrian entrepreneur, not too far where I grew up).
While we were chatting, I occasionally recorded my thoughts (as I always do) on my N95 – I have a sieve for a brain…. Zhaxi got interested in my gadget and in the end wanted to know everything about it. He’d never seen a phone with so many functions. He was particularly intrigued that I could show him my blog site right there and then in his guard house.
While he listened to my explanations, trucks came and stopped at the barrier. He collected RMB50 for each sixteen ton truck, then raised the barrier using a rope that was fastened to the barrier on one end and ran through a hole in the guard house right to a small hook beside the office desk which, by the way, also served as the team’s lunch table: how convenient to be able to do your work while you’re eating lunch without even having to get up.
Slowly the rice was steaming on an electric cooker built into the office desk/lunch table. But lunch itself was as yet no where to be seen or smelled. Since quite some time passed, dark rain clouds moved in. I recalled that we had left Miss Daisy parked without putting up her roof.
“I think I need to go back to the hotel to cover up Miss Daisy. I am terribly sorry. Would you mind driving me back?� I asked.
Of course, said Zhaxi, and we got up to go. He drove me back to the hotel, helped me put up the soft-top, and then we sped back, with the police horn working over-time since it was no time for lunch: a phone call from his colleagues had told him that.
Over lunch, Zhaxi and his friends told me more about Litang. On August 1 every year, there is a fantastic horse racing festival. They also spoke about an undeveloped, but fabulously beautiful region 80km west of Litang: it’s a two hour drive, followed by a three-hour horse-back ride, they explain. All this and more, they want to show me. “You must, you absolutely must come back to Litang.� I promised I will.
After lunch, Zhaxi took me back to my hotel. We said a warm and heart-felt good-bye. I have rarely had a warmer welcome to any city in the world. Why was I ever worried about arriving in Litang?
And as if to make sure that I really wouldn’t ever forget Litang, three ladies who were having an afternoon picnic on the hotel’s backyard lawn invited me to join them. Happily they shared “Sprite� and sunflower seeds with me. I chatted with them for an hour while enjoying the sun and a fine breeze…here in Litang.
***
Sharing this experience with you is made possible by Nokia and my N95
Distance from Beijing: 9,037km
Distance from Changjiang Wusongkou: 7,850km
Highest altitude: 4,723m
Overnight altitude: 3,954m
It is another unforgettable drive today, climbing to as high as 4,723m on the way from Xiangcheng to Litang. (By the way, Miss Daisy has no problem at all copying with the altitude; and neither do I.)
About a half hour out of Xiangcheng, the road starts seriously climbing. In certain sections, the road is cut into and winds along the shape of the sheer rock face. To my left, there is a precipice of at least two hundred meters. There is no railing. I hug the middle of the road.
The sun is illuminating the remaining clouds and makes my eyes blink. Mist clings to the mountains, making them look eerie and mystical. The mountains themselves are covered with spring flowers in all colours and dotted with pine trees.
The road itself is accompanied by a narrow, blue-and-green stream with white froth bubbling on top. Dark-brown tents from which rich smoke rises tell me that the land I’m travelling through is not entirely deserted.
After Sangdui (æ¡‘å †), the road enters an entirely different terrain, it is that of the Haizi Shan Nature Reserve (æµ·å?山自然ä¿?护区). Instead of the alpine forests and flowers, I find myself driving on a plateau strewn with rocks, some small, others as large as two-family houses. Streams that find a path through the rocky landscape are always near enough to hear their murmur. They come and go. And small lakes – over 1,100 of them in the nature reserve – that sparkle in the bright sunlight often make me squint.
As I am driving in these heights, all alone, breathing in the crisp morning air and my nose twitching with delight at the scents surrounding me, I really can’t believe all this is happening…that I should be driving in a Caterham of all cars discovering China…The joy of it all, swinging from turn to turn, with not a single other car in sight for hours, leaves me breathless and confused. In one way, when I disengage my mind, it all feels familiar: the roads, the lakes, the trees, the mountains, they are majestic and expansive and I have seen them before, or so it seems: in France, in the U.S., in Switzerland perhaps. But then there is something – is it the altitude? the sheer scale of it? the god-forsakenness? – that says to me that this is like no other place I’ve ever driven in.
Re-engaging my mind, there are, of course, obvious reasons why it feels so unfamiliar. One is the Tibetan houses. Their four walls, made of large, rectangular bricks offset against each other, are tilted slightly inward for stability; where their walls join, the edges are designed and built with great precision; and set into the walls are massive, yet delicately designed wooden window frames. The interior space is covered with roofs of weathered slate. It all gives these houses an air of eternal permanence. The yaks – black, sturdy, and furry – and the faces of the people I see all tell me I am most certainly not in a familiar place.
Yield to yaks…seen through dirty windscreen…
There are times when the people fool me, though, into thinking I am not where I am. The road maintenance workers – who ride their rickety motorbikes for miles every day to repair the roads, yard by lonesome yard – they are clad in high-lighter yellow safety jackets which from a distance make the workers look as if they had been airlifted in from London’s M25 circular. But as I get closer, I know I’ve been duped: they reflect in their wrinkled faces, bent gait, and poor clothes that it is the jackets they wear that come from a different world, not they themselves. While they are poor by the standards of international currencies, they are rich in smiles. In fact, in all my road travels, I have never seen a more welcoming people than in this region of China.
“Zhaxidele! Zhaxidele! Zhaxidele!� is what it sounds like, and it’s coming from all directions out of children’s mouths as I roll to a halt in front of a small farm restaurant thirty minutes south of Litang.
The younger kids in the vanguard are followed by slightly older ones who mix “Hello� or “Nihao� (the Chinese greeting) into the hubbub of “Zhaxidele�. I’m being welcomed by nothing less than a chorus in three friendly voices.
As I open Miss Daisy’s door, some kids want to crawl in to examine my belongings. One of them stops, looks at my forearm and is startled. He stares at it for a while, then raises his hand and gently starts brushing the furry cover of my arm. Is this real? He starts pulling one hair after another to make sure his eyes are telling him the truth. “These foreign devils look like yaks�, is what he must be thinking.
After the examination, he raises his head with a quizzical look, holds that for a few seconds, then allows a smile to spread across his face and, at last, pronounces a firm “Nihao!� in a tone of voice that hints at approval, “Hey, you’re ok!�
It happens again and again. Whenever I drive by a flock of playing children, they awake from their self-absorption, look up bemused, break into a gigantic smile, and wave and yell out one of their greetings. It is a response to strangers that is thoroughly unfamiliar to me because they, unlike I, have not yet unlearned their innate friendliness and not yet learned to ignore other people. How long will all this last, I wonder? As if to answer me, I see in the next town we drive through, a young girl – 12 years, perhaps, with gruff hair, brown face and ruddy cheeks – wearing proudly a bright green t-shirt with large white letters: “Chix on speed�!
*** Sharing this experience with you is made possible by Nokia and my N95 ***
I had been looking forward to visiting the Yading Nature Reserve (亚�自然�护区) again and showing this paradise to Miss Daisy. So it came as a huge disappointment when I learned in Xiangcheng that I wouldn’t be able to. Two stories are in circulation as to why. One says simply that the road is currently blocked because of necessary repairs. The other, more sinister, has it that the road is closed because of a dispute between local government and farmers, the former wanting to put a cable car in the park, the latter wanting to keep it as it is where visitors have to ride on horses or walk on foot into the park. I have not been able to find out which is true, but I do know one thing – I can’t go to Yading this time.
This does not mean, however, that I can’t share some of my impressions of this heavenly place. Here is what I wrote about it when I first visited in September 2005 with a friend.
“By 5pm we are near Yading (亚�), the heart of Sichuan’s claim to Shangri-La. We check into an inn that has sprung up around a natural hot spring. It is built in the finest tradition of Alpine chalets. We decide to have a hot-spring bath before going to bed. For a moment, I consider the outdoor pool option, but the lure of my head keeping cool while my body is steeped in hot water is weaker than the dread of undressing in the freezing cold. So, I choose the indoor alternative and soak myself for almost an hour in the seething and soothing waters of the hot spring.
With our bodies glowing, we decide it is too early to go to bed. I offer Zihao and the inn keeper one of my cigars. I’ve also brought my little gas torch to light them, but the inn manager only gives me a smile: “Ha! Not a chance! It won’t work!�, and sure enough, it fails to come to life on account of the high altitude. Worthless, modern contraption. The inn keeper brings matches and serves up a local brandy that tastes remarkably like schnapps. We talk deep into the night. When the cold begins to eat into my body again and I start shivering, I crawl to bed.
The next day Zihao and I drive a further two hours into the park. Along the way, I see the most picturesque Tibetan villages I’ve yet seen.
Once we arrive at the nature reserve, we have to park our car. In order to get a view of the park’s main attraction – the three glorious 6,000metre mountains: Xian Nai Ri (仙乃日), Yang Mai Yong (央迈勇), Xia Nuo Duo Ji (�诺多�) – we have two choices: either proceed on foot or on horse-back.
We decide to walk. Our first stop is the Zhong Gu Monastery (冲�寺), a 45min hike from the car park. Instead of heading deeper into the valley, we turn right toward a lovely, green-and-blue lake called Zhuo Ma La Cuo (�玛拉措) right in front of Xian Nai Ri. After an hours’ enjoyment by this shimmering pool, we descend back to the Zhong Gu Monastery.
I am ready to return to our car, but Zihao suggests that we after all walk deeper into the valley from which we could see all three holy mountains. Since I am not used to hiking at an altitude of 4,500m and have already drained 2/3rds of the bottle of water and eaten the apple I have brought, I am reluctant, but Zihao convinces me to walk on with him. Three hours for the return trip, he says. And the monks assure us that the path would be level. Also, there’s no way we can get lost, we are told, since one of the ladies would be going to the same place.
I lead the way, even though, of course, I have no idea where I am going. After a while, Zihao overtakes me, and only a little while later the farm girl passes me as well. Right about that time, the level road begins to climb which makes me pant. She hears my panting and slows down. I thank her and say that she should feel free to keep her own pace; I will be moving on slowly myself. All this between five deep breaths.
She won’t have any of it. She stays a bit ahead of myself, but at the same pace as myself. I now have a friend. She has a lovely smile and brown-red cheeks. From in between thin lips beam whitish teeth; two of them are showcases in gold. She wears a moss-green Mao’s worker cap, but hemmed in by a bright pink bandana. From her ears hang large golden ear rings: oval rings with a half-moon dangling in the oval’s centre. Her jacket is denim and the elbows are protected by knitted elbow covers. An ankle-long, heavy brown skirt and flat blue-white walking shoes with an intricate pattern complete her outfit.
She carries two bottles of drinks, one a coke, the other something bright yellow. Over her shoulder hangs a white cloth handbag with a pink pattern so worn out I can hardly tell the colour. The bag is adorned by the plush head of a dog. Not a real one, but the teddy-bear type. It is a perfectly kitsch bag. I am sure that it is a gift that she has received from a tourist who thought that she’d be doing her a favour by giving her this bag. Still, I ask her where she got it from. “I bought it,� comes the reply, “for Yuan20. Isn’t it lovely?� I am perplexed.
Other questions I ask result in my knowing that she’s 20 years old and married since a year ago. When we have difficulty communicating – she speaks a dialect I don’t understand and her Mandarin is minimal (not far from mine) – she explains that she has not received even a single year of school education. I have nothing to say.
I continue to pant since the level road shows no sign of being level. When the panting becomes too obvious, she slows down, draws even with me and offers to carry my bag for me. I thank her profusely for the kind offer, but decline. When she almost pulls it off my shoulder, I know she means what she says, but my male ego will not allow me to let a women of the opposite (and weaker) sex carry my bag for me, even if the altitude kills me. When the road does after all level out again, she speeds ahead, that member of the weaker sex, leaving me in the dust, panting.
In the end, I catch up with Zihao. Sadly, clouds have moved in, and we can’t see the three holy mountains in one spot as we have hoped. Still, the ruggedness of the landscape, the brief glimpses of these spiritual mountains, the howling of the wind, and the loneliness of the valley make me forget my exhaustion and forever remember Yading.
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