Things I did in China

Saw a giant Buddha and giant pandas.


Pandas love sleeping.


Leshan Giant Buddha


Visited a Catholic Church and several Buddhist temples.

Ate bugs, yak meat, and the most delicious eggplant;

Bought the yak meat to share with friends.

Bargained with an old lady to get a bronze teapot, decorated with dragons.

Got a massage from a blind Chinese man.

Watched the hockey playoffs while lying in a hotel bed in Zhuhai.

Pushed my physical limits hiking Tiger Leaping Gorge.

Drank so much tea. It was all delicious, but buckwheat was my favorite.

Reconnected with friends and love, and met up with my brother.

Drank craft beer and learned that there are 21 “jags” on a bottle cap.

Sang KTV (karaoke) while drinking champagne and eating sugared popcorn.

Learned that Prince had died and reflected on memories of his music.

Saw a pig leg get roasted with a blow torch. Its head was displayed on the butcher’s table, awaiting sale.


Yum? (The head is on the table in the background.)

Experienced joy, fear, grief, laughter, heartache, and peace.

Ate Mexican food and pizza; both were pretty good.

Caught a cold and bought medicine for it, not exactly knowing what that medicine was. It did seem to help.

Visited three provinces (Sichuan, Yunnan, Guangdong) and a Special Administrative Region (Macau)


The heart of old Macau

Bought a postcard but failed to mail it – sorry Danielle and Sofie!

Gambled and lost;

Risked and won.

But I never heard Hotel California.


Three Drinking Sessions

During midafternoon, the teahouse here is extremely peaceful. It’s off the beaten path, though there’s not much hustle to this small town in the first place. We sit outside, and I imagine writing here for hours on end, sipping a purple sweet potato latte, or buckwheat tea. I wonder if and when the place gets more customers in this old part of town, or if the locals prefer to frequent the more modern part of the city.


Sweet potato latte


The teahouse grounds

Later, the School Director takes us out to dinner on the edge of the island. We are seated outside with a view of the murky ocean, the same color as the sky so that it all blends together in an odd brownish-grey. It’s still a nice view. He shows us how we take out our shrink-wrapped place settings and rinse them with tea before using them. He says it’s the custom here, but not in other provinces; I wonder if that’s because the quality of the water used to wash the dishes here is worse than in other places, or if there is some historical tradition I fail to understand. I don’t really want to know. We open a bottle of wine and it takes a while before I learn the proper drinking custom: Wait for our host to raise his glass, clink our three vessels together, and down their contents in one shot. It’s not great wine, but it doesn’t seem that bad either – totally sip-able, but that’s not what we do. We raise our glasses again, toasting several times during the course of the meals as we drain the bottle among the three of us. We eat tiny spiced shrimp – eyeballs and all – as well as a flat fish that stares at us as we mutilate its body. All were most likely caught that day in the waters upon which we look. Two large fishing nets flank our patio. The white flesh of the fish is mild, but I can’t get myself to eat the gummy black-silver skin, so it remains at the bottom of my bowl, causing me to poke around it as I try to pick out the greens and slimy tofu with my chopsticks. I was full long ago, but the food is good, so I keep eating. Conversation is stilted and simplistic due to the language barrier, but food and wine make the evening smooth and relaxed.


After the meal, Dave and I head into town and soon we are drinking beers like a typical expat. The many bottles that fill up the table come from China, New Zealand, USA. We are too drunk to sample the one from Japan and put it back into the cooler. It’s the last one of its kind in the whole province, and possibly in the country. It will most likely be bought by a young Chinese guy who will come here and order the most expensive thing in order to impress his girlfriend. Jeff, the owner, isn’t fond of having a lot of customers. He just wants a place to hang out, show off his latest brewing successes, and drink with a few paying friends. We are lucky enough to be among them, along with a man from Mongolia. He’s been hired by a French chemical company to study math theory. Why Tangjia, he doesn’t know. Why this company mystifies him as well. He pours himself another locally brewed beer from a tea kettle, as he tells his story of escaping his home country on horseback as a child, only to end up in the Netherlands. His Dutch accent throws me, as I’ve grown more accustomed to the Chinese accents that usually accompany the broken English I hear. I eat the sweet/salty peanuts on the table, and the pile of shells grows as we pass the time together. The evening ends when I can no longer hold my head up. As we look for a cab, we hear someone call out; an “unconventional” driver Dave has used before calls us over and we climb in. Not really an official cabbie, the young man hangs out late near the expat bars, looking to drive teachers home. We climb into his car and make our way back to the apartment. I’m grateful I’m not the one teaching tomorrow.


Jeff, proud owner and brewer

Day 2: Tiger Leaping Gorge: I hiked three hikes today

The uphill. Light rain – enough to keep the air cool and the gorge hidden. We begin to climb and start counting the infamous 28 bends, only to realize the teahouse stop is not only closed but also the signal to start the real ascent of the bends. More heavy breathing, and many short stops along the way. Red numbers painted on the rocks signal our progress – until #16. Then they seem to stop. We reach the summit which offers no view. Lisa says to take a picture would yield the same result as showing someone a white piece of paper. Still, going up was easier than I expected as the pink flowers that helped me so dearly yesterday were replaced by their vivid yellow sisters. I felt confident that I would make it the entire time.

the summit

Soaking wet, we made it to the top! Trust me, this is the summit — the flag proves it!

Then came the downhill. Though the rain had stopped, it had left its treacherous mark. Mud and slippery rocks made up the narrow pathways we needed to descend. Out group naturally broke off into three again, and like the day before I was by myself in the middle of our sprawled pack. At least I knew there was someone behind me in case I fell, but there were many times that offered little comfort. Sometimes the path was no more than 8 inches wide, with a steep drop-off providing strong motivation not to slip on the shiny, wet rocks. I reminded myself I was out of shape. The pine smell was beautiful.


Around a bend I saw our group leaders stopped, admiring the view. We had descended far enough that the clouds were above us, and the gorge made an appearance, the Yangtze River rushing below. I caught up with them, but then stayed behind to take more pictures that didn’t come close to capturing the textures, depth, and complexities of reality.


Trust me again. It’s super cool.

Alone again, I slowly made my way down dirt paths, bamboo-covered paths, and rock “paths.” I thought my legs were going to give out. The painted red arrows assured me I was going in the right direction even when the paths vanished – not even burro droppings made it clear which way I should go. I could no longer hear my friends – or anyone for that matter – ahead or behind. For awhile it felt like Oregon, though, with pines and rhododendrons lining the path. I looked down at the hiking skirt I wore, once owned by my friend who is now gone. Alone, I was surrounded by familiar halfway around the world. Not alone, just by myself.

I reached Tea Horse Guest House, our chosen spot for lunch only a few minutes behind the leaders. I could have sworn they were miles ahead. Ten minutes later, we were all together. The trailers weren’t so far behind after all. We ate amazing food, my favorite dishes being the broccoli and yak (yum!), and warmed ourselves with the tea that greets us at every stop. Sated, we put our packs back on and walked the last leg of the day’s journey. There was sun and baby goats. The paths were still narrow, but the terrain flat. We tended to stick together as a larger group. The mountains met us at every turn. Sun, scenery, and company all together as we reached our stopping place for the night. My legs are wobbly, but I’m energized. The view from the room is as breathtaking as it was from the trail. Still, electricity is reserved for later, and once again I handwrite this documentation of the day.


The view! From our room!


Farmers working below our room.


View from the deck.

I give thanks to all three legs of today’s trek and the gifts they brought. And now it’s time for a beer.

Note: I didn’t write anything about Day 3. Rest assured, we made it safely. The terrain was mostly flat and the weather was nice. There were more super-cute baby goats.

Tiger Leaping Gorge: Day 1

I’ve been back from my three-week trip to China for almost a week. The lack of internet access prevented me from posting while I was there, but I hope to share some of my experiences now, unfiltered, transferring my scribbled notes here. This is the first post.

I’ve let my body down. Pleasure, laziness, and grief have made my heart, body, and breathing heavy. Straight up hill through the dust. Bright sun and still air. It’s beautiful, but I barely notice. I’m not sure I can do this and start to imagine my failure one hour into a three-day hike. Many of us are struggling, but it’s only my short comings I see. An old man follows us closely with his burro, hoping to make a few extra kuai by carrying our packs – he probably walks this trail several times a day, yet here I am struggling to do it once. No way will I give him the satisfaction of carrying my belongings, even though my face is already flushed with the first signs of heat exhaustion. This is the first hours of a three-day hike.


The uninspiring beginning of the trek.

Then the path levels off and the smell of pine urges me on. I give thanks to it and the lingering cherry blossoms (or some pretty pink flower), somehow surviving in this unlikely climate. I’m simultaneously reminded of why I don’t hike and why I should do it more often.


One of the only pictures I took that day. I was too stinking tired to take more.

The blossoms fade off as the terrain changes back to rock and dust. Two butterflies, my totem animals of change, lead me down a steep path. I separate myself from the group, part ahead and part behind. I let the grief come through, though the tears only last a few minutes. Molly should be here. Some would say she is, but I’m not the sort who believes that.

We reunite for a snack break near a farmhouse. The scenery is beautiful. We guzzle water, make small talk, and rest. Moods are positive. It’s hard to be anything but content in such a setting. I watch an old woman in traditional Naxi dress coming home from the fields. I wonder what her life is like living here, and don’t come close to having any perspective of it. Her life and mine are worlds apart in every possible way.


Naxi woman carrying vegetables from the fields.


The beautiful farm lands.

Off we go again. Soon after, we arrive at the Naxi Guest House, and I don’t feel so bad. We made it one day, and will spend the night before embarking again, moving forward. The tea given to us by the guesthouse staff is floral and slightly sweet, a true welcome after our “easy” hiking day. I hand-write this memory in my notebook while sitting outside, sipping the warm, comforting beverage. Relaxed, happy, grateful. It starts to rain.

We take shelter under the eaves and I notice my breasts are still sweaty and the wind on my back plus my perspiration cools me down. The tiny trek was tough, but I did it: the unforgiving inclines, blissful straight-aways, and slightly slippery descents. At some point the man with the burro had given up on us, seeing we were going to reach our destination. I didn’t notice exactly when that happened.

The rain comes down harder, and somehow the air is even fresher than before. They’ll turn on the electricity at seven tonight. In the meantime, I watch my friend and his daughter play UNO and wait for the sun to set.