On the Holy Mountain
Trip Start
Jun 09, 2005
1
27
105
Trip End
Jun 08, 2006
Emeishan,
China
Friday, September 23, 2005
We order Pizza (just for a change) and meet a young Canadian chap called Alex who seems remarkably mature to head out to China solo aged 18. I remember going to France by bus on a package holiday from Scotland, with my brothers and cousin, when I was that age and it seemed a weighty and brave travel adventure.
Despite the temptation to stay in comforting arms of Chengdu, the next day we agree to jump on a bus to Emeishan, one of 4 holy Buddhist mountains in China
01 Monkey's on Emmeishan
. The idea is to get transport to the top (3500m) and walk down over 2 days, stopping in a monastery overnight.To our disappointment the sky in Emeishan town is dark and overcast and there is not a glimpse of the sun. We find out that the lower lying areas of Sichuan are in a valley which is typically hot, humid, and overcast. By getting to the top of the mountain we hope to break through the oppressive blanket of cloudy pollution and breath clean pure oxgygen. So we hope.
Next morning we jump on a bus going up the mountain. It chugs up slowly, taking best part of 2 hours, all the time the rain gets heavier and the clouds darker. At the last bus stop we alight, into the clouds, and put on our waterproof gear to start the hike down.
Despite the drizzle, the vegetation is green and vibrant, and it feels like a real rainforest that we are exploring. The wet temperate climate means there are lots of large hardwood trees like beech and oak, but they are interspersed with vines, ferns and patches of bamboo. In the canopy we can hear the sound of unfamiliar birdsong. There is a solid wide stone path that makes the descent easy apart from the slippery green algae growing on the stones
02 porters on emmeishan
.We walk down passing lots of snack houses where the vendors call out to us to buy from their meagre selection of items. We occasionally come across a monastery in the misty gloom; water drips from the roofs into damp courtyards, and there is a sweet smell of incense from the burners.
At 4pm we come to Fairy Peak Monastery enshrouded by dark trees and dripping vegetation. We decide to push on to reach the next monastery before nightfall and to enable us to split the descent evenly between the 2 days.
We meet the odd pilgrim making their way up the mountain. They are of all ages, and universally look wet and exhausted, sweating heavily in their yellow or blue disposable ponchos, but determined to reach their destination of Golden Peak.
As with all Chinese tourist attractions there are no decent maps available and we have a handsketched one, given to us by a cafe owner in the town. We find that the times mentioned between sites vary wildly from the times it actually takes us. Our worries about reaching our destination before nightfall are compounded when an ascending party draw breath sharply and shake their heads when we tell them where we intend to get to that night.
This spurs us on in the descent, and we stop thinking about our stiffening calves, ankles, and knees. We reach Hongchun Ping monastery at 7pm, and wander into a cavernous refectory where we are just in time for supper cooked by the monks. We are shown to a small wooden room complete with hard four-poster single beds and mosquito nets.
In the evening we meet 4 Chinese students from Chengdu who are skiving off their studies. They seem delighted to meet us and talk about life. We enjoy chatting to them and they seem to relish the opportunity to practise their English. When it gets to bedtime, Sylvia, the most vocal, who has been reading Jane Eyre and other English classics recently, announces: 'It was our great fortune to meet you!'
After an early breakfast of tasteless rice porridge and buns, served by the monks, and a quick look round the monastery, we continue our descent. The weather has stayed true to form, and its still drizzling and cloudy. At one point in the forest, around midday, I think its the darkest day imaginable as the visibility diminishes to about 20 metres and the forest encroaches around us like a man-eating plant.
Our legs feel like jelly and the descent starts to get painful on the last few kilometres. Every time we stop it becomes increasingly difficlut to get the muscles and tendons warmed up again, and I hope that we don't sieze up completely. We find another monastery to take lunch. The nuns serve up 5 delicious vegetarian dishes for Y5 (30p) each.
We hobble back into Emeishan town just after lunchtime having completed the 3000m descent. We check into a cheap hotel and buy a bus ticket for Chingqing from a Patricia, a local tout, who promises a free taxi will pick us up 20min before the bus departure time to take us to the bus station in the next town.
We don't sleep well in the hotel because Rachel has an allergic reaction to the bedding and is up half the night sneezing. In the morning the free taxi predictably does not arrive, and we find one ourselves with just 15minutes before the bus departure.
We arrive at the bus station on time though, and get on board an ancient and enormous Dawoo bus that it seems, from the ride height, has no springs. Once on the move we find that it has no shock absorbers either as we crash over every pothole in the road in back-jarring pain.
The journey to Chongqing is one of those bad travel experiences where I want to slip into hibernation rather than embrace the environment I'm travelling through. I see oppressive grey skys and my skin feels sticky in the non-air conditioned bus. We pass towns that look as though they are at the dawn of the industrial revolution with welding shops lining the main street, hawkers selling vegetables and fruit from woven baskets carried on bamboo poles, and everywhere mud and dust covers the ground in a thick layer. I look out at legions of squalid concrete buildings decorated with the same off-white tiles that stain in dirty patches of brown and grey.
On the 6hr bus journey we stop in roadside service stations to pee and eat. These places are the worst in China; the food is disgusting slop of overcooked noodles and pig fat; the toilets are pungent and unkempt from the over-use of hundreds of travelers; and the shops have a slim selection of goods that never seem to appeal. In the restaurant people spit noisily onto the floor and litter is strewn all over, because its someone elses job to lift it. These impressions are the negative aspects of a developing nation, and some Westerners I chat to think it will take China 50 years to get over this phase.
We arrive in Chongqing. 15 minutes later we are standing in a clean well-designed hotel room with wooden floors, white walls, and a commanding view of the Yangtsee River from the 29th floor. I soon forget about the bus ride and slip easily back into the 21st Century again.
