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Beyond the postcard picture...
Entry 48 of 62 | show all | print this entry |
Lijiang is one of those places that takes the breath away. The old city is a maze of little old fashioned wood and clay houses, shops, and restaurants with tiled roofs. As we walked on the cobble stoned pedestrian streets along little streams and over picturesque half moon bridges, Mom and I couldn't help but feel giddy with the fairytale quaintness of it all. This was a place where we could breathe in the fresh mountain air, relax in little cafes drinking tea, and just stroll through the back alleys where crowds of Chinese tourists gave way to the actual Naxi inhabitants of Lijiang.
On our first day in Lijiang we ate on an upper balcany of the Tibetan restaurant across from our hotel (a place that would soon become a favorite) and people watched. Below us we watched young Chinese students on holiday, wearing brand new scarves bought from one of the many local shops, and chatting excitedly with their friends about where to go out that night. Lines (yes, lines) of Chinese tourists all in red hats and carrying matching bags tiredly trailled behind a bored-looking guide with a little flag held high. After days of taking in endless sights and being shuffled around to different specialty shops, Mom and I wondered whether they ever got any free time to just wander around on their own. But then our attention was diverted as two girls ran giggling through the crowds, dodging the strolling tourists, as the little boy who seemed to be living in our hotel ran after them in a game of tag. The poor kid had no hope, really, as the two older girls tauntingly skipped always just just out of his reach, braids flying. Dotting the crowds, paying no mind to the children dancing around them, old Naxi women made their way down the street in ones and twos, visions of the past. These little old women wearing their traditional sporty caps, blue long sleeved shirts, white vests, and dark slacks, smoking their pipes, leaning on their walking sticks, and all the while looking about them with a twinkle in their eye, were a picture of feminine strength. Most of them appeared to be at least eighty years old and probably in better shape then me. These women walked with the knowledge that no matter how many tourists descended upon their home, this would always be their town.
The next days were spent enjoying the physical beauty of Ljiang and the surrounding areas. Walking around the Black Dragon Pools, soaking in the warmth of the sun, and admiring the special beauty of the park so typically Chinese, a peacefulness descended upon us. I don't know if it was incredible luck or just good timing, but the tour groups that clogged up the streets in town were nowhere to be found as we wandered along the water's edge and paused on picturesque bridges to take pictures or just absorb the scene. Unfortunately, as always seems to happen to me, the peacefulness was interrupted by a totally scary-looking bug who stung me on the arm. Remembering the rash that had turned me into a swollen tomato in Laos, I captured the ugly offender in a bottle so as to later identify it in case of swelling or death. It hurt a lot, but at least this time Mom was with me, so a tiger balm application and some ginger tea later, I was feeling pretty good again. The next day we even ventured farther afield up to Yak Meadow in the Jade Dragon Snow Mountains. Up there we took the cheesy but requisit "Look at me sitting on a Yak" picture and marvelled at the snowpeaked mountains rising up above us. To even get to the meadow, however, we had to take a ride up in a little two-person gondola that must have been a reject from a Swiss ski resort in the 1950s. But what's an adventure without fearin for your life just a little bit? Led by our Naxi guide and friend, Thomas, we walked along a rickety boardwalk that circled the meadow, looking up at the mountains just starting to peek out from behind the clouds and down to avoid broken boards and yak poop. It was quite a hike and we were so high up that Mom had to use the oxygen inhaler thingy meant to help the chain smoking Chinese make it through the unexpected physical exersion. THAT was a funny picture!
I think that perhaps our biggest adventure, though, happened on our day trip to Tiger Leaping Gorge. Thomas, our fearless leader, and his sister, our excellent driver, took us on a day trip to all the famous sites around Lijiang. We started out the day with a look at the First Bend in the Yangze River, then walked through a little town called Stone Drum. It was picturesque in a way that Lijiang wasn't; it didn't have that Disney varnish but still had that magical quaintness that comes sometimes from things just being old and lively. And then we went, winding our way along the river in between mountains and through little farming communities, to the famous Tiger Leaping Gorge. From the parking lot it was an hour walk to the the first rapids and most stunning views of the gorge, so whether it was because he feared for Mom after she had to use oxygen at Yak Meadow or because he didn't want to make the long walk, Thomas suggested that we take a rickshaw to the rapids. Remembering the cyclo experience with Dad in Kota Bahru, I wasn't too keen, but Mom was excited, so off we went in the little carriage. After about five minutes into the ride, clutching our boobs that were being painfully jiggled, we looked at each other with the same look of laughter mixed with dispair. There was no way that we could last an hour of such torture. So after thanking our confused driver we exited the boob-jiggler and happily started the walk down the path with signs warning of falling rocks. At one point we had to walk through a tunnel, and about half way through we started to hear a rumbling noise. I commented on how the rock must really carry the sounds of traffic far, either that or the sounds of the rapids. But the sound was getting louder... and closer. Images of a cave-in flashed through my mind as mom yelled, "Flash flood!" and pushed me in front of her as we both jumped against the wall clutching each other. I can only imagine how funny our faces must have looked to the driver of the small truck that then rounded the corner. Two crazy, completely terrified white women flattened against the wall staring at him as if they had never seen a car before. As we exited the cave, breathless with laughter, I pointed out to Mom that she had not shielded her only daughter from impending death, but had used me, instead, as a shield! So much for Mother's instinct! It turned out that the rapids and gorge weren't all that great, but they were nice and the tunnel experience kept us laughing for days. That truck driver will never know that he was the highlight of our Tiger Gorge experience...
So, admist laughter, through walks, and by merely sitting and observing, Mom and I experienced the magic of Lijiang. We listened to the music of the region, marvelled at the natural and quaint beauty of the area, and witnessed the quiet strength of the Naxi women. On our last night, I floated a candle down one of the streams on a plastic flower boat and wished that things wouldn't change, that someday I would be able to come back to this little paradise and experience the laughter and beauty once again...
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| 48. | Beyond the postcard picture... - Lijiang, China May 22, 2006 |
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