To the mountains of Dali

Two cold, rainy days and one sunny day spent in Dali. Somehow, the coldness and wetness is much less offensive than at home in Liuyang. Probably because there is electricity here and warm, cozy bookshops filled with books and cups of hot ginger tea.

Calligraphy teacher, Dali

The last day in Kunming, we decided to be adventurous and attempt to see another part of the city. Specifically, the flower gardens at ChengGong, which Lonely Planet had played up as being an intriguing, beautiful sight. I spent all together about 5 hours on horribly crowded public buses to go see these gardens, which I believe LP specifically described as "an orchard region" with a "flower tide," which is-lucky us!-at its height at this time of year. The majority of the bus ride I spent with my face shoved into the armpit of the woman standing next to me. The rolling fields of orchards which I had envisioned (and which, halfway through the bus ride had swelled to the mythical proportions of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon in my mind) turned out to be nothing more than rows of non-descript greenhouses situated in the midst of some of the dirtiest suburbs of Kunming. We stayed for half an hour before catching a return bus back to the city. The first time that Lonely Planet totally let us down, but not the last I'm sure. I was eager to move on to Dali.

Dali, view from a boat on Lake Erhai

We arrived in Dali's train station at 6am to total darkness and a stampede of taxi drivers all trying to get us to hire them. We found one man who claimed to speak English. This later turned out to be a total fabrication. We asked him to take us to Jim's Tibetan Guesthouse, which was mentioned in Lonely Planet. Somehow, 45 minutes later, we ended up 50 yuan poorer and sitting outside of the (closed) Number 5 Guesthouse on a deserted street. It's never as easy as it should be. But, as I have become accustomed to wandering around strange cities at the break of dawn with no place to stay, I wasn't too concerned.

Once we figured things out and found a place to stay, we found Dali to be a sleepy but charming city. Like Yangshuo, but on a somewhat grander scale. Large, looming mountains dwarf the buildings, and the streets are lined with a ton of cafes and western "backpacker friendly" restaurants. Also, for some reason, there is a profusion of hippie apparel, which seems just a little out of place in the middle of southwestern China. The kind of clothes that remind me of eccentric middle-aged great aunts who are elementary school librarians and like to do yoga (not that I actually have one of these aunts). Lots of shapeless hemp skirts and peasant blouses and tie-dyed clothing.

Vegetable seller, Yi minority village

Before I left home, Colin, one of the other foreign teachers in Liuyang, warned me that (in his words) "you can't swing a dead cat without hitting someone trying to sell you weed in Dali." This is true. And it's always the innocent looking old ladies. They come up under the guise of trying to sell you postcards, and then when you get close enough to hear them they say, "You likee the ganja? You want smokee the ganja?" The grandma drug peddlers are a bit alarming. Aside from that though, the town exudes a great atmosphere, very laid back and serene. The distant cornflower blue Lake Erhai beckons on one side, and the mountains tower on the other.

Mellisa and I hired a driver to take us to a local Yi minority village so that we could see their weekly farmer's market. This ended up being one of the most interesting markets I've been to in China. Rows and rows of vendors with carts of vegetables, all gleaming and immaculate and shining in the sun. Donkey drawn carts crowded the streets and many of the women were dressed in their traditional embroidered costumes and carrying large baskets on their backs. From what I could tell, we were the only two foreigners in town that day, and it seemed as though we had stepped back in time one hundred years or more. Every time I encounter villages like this, I'm amazed that such places still exist in the 21st century.

Yi woman, village outside of Dali

We managed to meet up for a quick breakfast with Shannon and Rachel (minus Jeff, who was not feeling well). They had just come from Lijiang and were on their way back down to Kunming. All three of them had gotten violently ill, probably some kind of food poisoning, and had spent the previous three days taking turns throwing up over a squatty potty. Before that, they had rented horses (which turned out to be more like burros) to ride in the mountains, then had nearly blown off a cliff when a freak snow storm set in. We were glad to see them still alive. Mental note: no horseback riding.

Today, our last day in Dali, we started off the morning with a calligraphy class at Michael's Travel Agency. Michael is our new best friend since we have single handedly provided his weekly income. Between the various bus tickets, driver's fees, and the calligraphy lesson, we have been his primary (if not sole) business for the past 4 days. He probably saw us coming a mile away.

Our calligraphy teacher was an elderly gentleman who didn't speak a word of English. He had the patience of a saint though, as he watched our bumbling attempts at passing Calligraphy 101. Michael served as the go-between/cheerleader. The teacher would effortlessly paint an intricate, elegant character with like, 20 different parts to it, then look expectantly at us, waiting for us to recreate it. At which point Michael would jump in, and tell us what the character meant and give us an enthusiastic little pep talk to make us feel like we weren't just throwing our money directly out the window.

My characters looked like the work of a spastic pre-schooler-for some reason they all came out clunky and squat. The class was held right in the store front of the travel agency and our "desk" was actually the glass display case which had been covered with newspapers. Quite embarrassing when other customers came into the store and cast glances at our unfortunate bastardization of the Chinese language. If I learned nothing else, it's that calligraphy is ridiculously difficult and should not be attempted by amateurs and/or non-Chinese speakers.