Thursday, October 23: Chengdu, Guiyang, Qingyen, Laodian
After a hectic early morning of getting out my absentee ballot, the rest of the morning was comparatively leisurely. Chao dropped me off at Wanda's home in China Garden, a pleasant ground-floor entry with a brand new kitchen - which Wanda had had installed. The flight itself took less than an hour, and we arrived in Guizhou just before 1:00pm. A handsome young man was there to meet us; he introduced himself as Li Xiao Yun, but told us to just call him Li. We also met our driver, who was pleasant, but doesn't speak any English. Our van has seats for eight, but with just four of us Wanda and I could each have plenty of room to stretch out.
Wanda and I didn't know each other very well at the beginning, but we had plenty of time to share our life stories on the way. We were born in consecutive years and both grew up in small towns in mid-America. Our travel styles are very different; I'm more of a silent observer and a walker, while Wanda is an interacter and a talker, but somehow it worked out. We share an interest in textiles and in traditional cultures, and a willingness to experience long hours of subprime conditions to visit places off the beaten path. Moreover, Wanda has excellent taste in dark chocolate, which helped lift our spirits on several occasions.
Our first destination was Guiyang, the capital of Guizhou. My first impression was favorable; we drove along a tree-lined boulevard, and there were pedestrian passovers. Traffic went at a more leisurely pace, and there weren't the huge swells of motorbikes and bicycles that we have in Chengdu. After a large lunch, we headed out. As the city went on and on, and there were heavy trucks clogging the roads, I became less impressed. [Heavy trucks are banned in Chengdu during daytime hours.] It felt good to finally get out to the countryside.
Our first stop was the "ancient" village of Qingyen. I took a picture of Wanda and Li at the entrance. Like other ancient villages I have visited, it has its tourist shops and food vendors; we were particularly intrigued by selections of smoked meats and hard, dark blocks of tofu . There were two places that Li wanted us to see. The first was a shop which sells authentic pieces of Miao embroidery. Most of the pieces are ornamentation from baby carriers or w
omen's costumes, with finely-executed applique and a variety of embroidery techniques. They were attractive but pricey; Wanda commented that the prices have gone up greatly in in the past five years, when she started collecting Miao pieces. We also saw a small private museum with a single room of Miao costumes and artifacts.
By the time we got bac
k on the road, it was nearly 5:00, and we had a three-hour drive to Laodian, that night's destination. Wanda and I soon learned that Li's time estimates are wildly optimistic. By dusk we were in the mountains doing switchbacks. I couldn't see anything but black out the window, but I could imagine the precipices and spectacular (and scary) views we were missing as our driver sped through the hairpin curves, passing others vehicles in precarious places. On our way down from the third peak I lost it. Fortunately, I had been able to locate and empty my only heavy-duty plastic bag in time, so I was able to contain the damage. We then stopped for a few minutes so I could get out, but as there was no good place to stop, we didn't stay long. Fortunately, we were only 20 minutes from the hotel. From this beginning, things could only get better.
Friday, October 24: Laodian, Dajin, Pingjang
My stomach was still queasy in the morning and my throat was sore, but some buns and tea from the breakfast buffet worked wonders, and I began to feel human again. From our hotel room I could see a skyline of concave mountain peaks; we were in karst topography.
We drove for over an hour in the light rain to the village of Dajin. The village seems to consist of a row of nondescript houses along the side of a large lake with clear, greenish water. (Mark has since said that it is probably a sinkhole.) We stopped by the side of the lake while Li went in to negotiate a raft ride for us. There were eight or so narrow bamboo rafts tied up in one spot, accessable from a series of stone steps which took some balance to negotiate. Li told us that each family has its own raft, and that they take turns going out. Our raft was prepared by setting four tiny chairs on the back half and tying on a red cloth canopy over this half. A young woman operated the raft for us, alternately using a long bamboo pole and a shorter bamboo scoop.
The surrounding were lush and idyllic - large trees and bamboo with karst cliffs nearby in places. Except for a woman who came down to the water's edge to wash her lettuce, we had the lake to ourselves. Li pointed out a large cave, and mentioned that there are some good hiking trails to it and other places. Tourists can rent a room from from one of the villagers to stay the night. We slowly rafted past a small island with a large banyan tree to a little dock on the other side. There was a stone staircase leading up to a cave. Wanda opted to stay on the raft, so Li and I climbed up.
I wasn't so sure of the cave at first; the entrance was narrow and about five feet tall and pitch black - I could not see where to step. Li went before me holding out both his cell phone and his camera for their dim LCD lights. I ducked in with both hands up to protect my head. I breathed a sigh of relief when the cave changed direction after a few feet and I could see light at the end of the tunnel. We came out into a sinkhole perhaps 100 feet wide surrounded by steep cliffs. There was a large hole in the opposite cliff through which I could see a distant mountain peak. Li showed me small caves on our side of the cliff where Revolutionaries had lived for several years, and a large rounded basin on the ground where they used to mix gunpowder. There was a small, relatively flat area, but th
e people who lived there must have been part mountain goat.
On our way to our next destination, we stopped at a village restaurant for lunch. It was a chicken hot pot (a large boiling pot of soup on a burner set into the center of the table), with small plates of sliced vegetables to cook in it, along with rice. It was tasty, and hot food felt good.
Our next stop was at a small village inhabited by a group Li called the "seashell Miao" because of their fondness for seashells as ornamentation. We drove up a narrow, unpathed road to a large two-story house of unpainted wood. It was somewhat more substantial than the other houses we could see around, but was still traditional Miao style - except for the satellite dish on the bamboo overhang. A woman invited us to walk upstairs to the living area (the ground floor is used for housing the buffalo, pigs, and as work areas). We were directly under the rafters of the pitched roof. Except for one small room that was closed off, it was one large area. We were taken over to a large TV set - the only modern thing we could see in the house - which was playing a video of three Miao women in their festival clothes singing.
Three of the women in the house then started to put on their festival dress for us. The short full, permanently-pleated skirts were indigo with a white border. A long length of indigo/white batik cloth about a foot wide is wrapped around each leg. The jacket is ornate, almost a patchwork sampler of embroidery, mostly in reds, with heavy silver necklaces over it. Headdresses vary from group to group, from ornate silver spheres to cylinders of hair sticking out a foot in each direction. This group had a relatively modest style. Their hats had a beaded fringe and three 5-foot long feathers sticking out of them.
We took some pictures inside the house, then the women stepped out on a rather flimsy-looking porch so we could photograph them in better light. We were all scrunched underneath a fairly narrow overhang since it was raining lightly. We stayed for a short while and showed the women pictures we had taken of them. I was chilled to the bone, even in my raincoat, so I was relieved when it was finally time to go.
We then drove several hours to the city of Pingtang - a relatively modest 600,000 population. It is located in the bend of a river, and the most common picture we saw of the city made it look as if the city were on a circular island. We had just enough light after we checked into the hotel to walk around the city a bit. There was nothing spectacular, but the traffic was lighter and slower, and it was a more friendly place to walk than Chengdu or Guiyang. There were still a few of the old wooden buildings which comprised the main part of the city until 10 or so years ago, but I expect most of them will be gone in a few more years. In a small shop across the street from the hotel an old couple was putting a brown powder in large burlap sacks. Li talked with them for us, then explained that they had been roasting rape seed, which they then pressed for its oil. The remainder of the seed would be used as pigfeed.
Pingjang has its own distinctive (at least I've never seen them before) vehicles - narrow three-wheel motorbikes encased in sheet metal. That evening we ate in a private room at the restaurant adjoining the hotel; all I remember is that we had green beans and soup, and it was tasty.
After a hectic early morning of getting out my absentee ballot, the rest of the morning was comparatively leisurely. Chao dropped me off at Wanda's home in China Garden, a pleasant ground-floor entry with a brand new kitchen - which Wanda had had installed. The flight itself took less than an hour, and we arrived in Guizhou just before 1:00pm. A handsome young man was there to meet us; he introduced himself as Li Xiao Yun, but told us to just call him Li. We also met our driver, who was pleasant, but doesn't speak any English. Our van has seats for eight, but with just four of us Wanda and I could each have plenty of room to stretch out.
Wanda and I didn't know each other very well at the beginning, but we had plenty of time to share our life stories on the way. We were born in consecutive years and both grew up in small towns in mid-America. Our travel styles are very different; I'm more of a silent observer and a walker, while Wanda is an interacter and a talker, but somehow it worked out. We share an interest in textiles and in traditional cultures, and a willingness to experience long hours of subprime conditions to visit places off the beaten path. Moreover, Wanda has excellent taste in dark chocolate, which helped lift our spirits on several occasions.
Our first destination was Guiyang, the capital of Guizhou. My first impression was favorable; we drove along a tree-lined boulevard, and there were pedestrian passovers. Traffic went at a more leisurely pace, and there weren't the huge swells of motorbikes and bicycles that we have in Chengdu. After a large lunch, we headed out. As the city went on and on, and there were heavy trucks clogging the roads, I became less impressed. [Heavy trucks are banned in Chengdu during daytime hours.] It felt good to finally get out to the countryside.
Our first stop was the "ancient" village of Qingyen. I took a picture of Wanda and Li at the entrance. Like other ancient villages I have visited, it has its tourist shops and food vendors; we were particularly intrigued by selections of smoked meats and hard, dark blocks of tofu . There were two places that Li wanted us to see. The first was a shop which sells authentic pieces of Miao embroidery. Most of the pieces are ornamentation from baby carriers or w
omen's costumes, with finely-executed applique and a variety of embroidery techniques. They were attractive but pricey; Wanda commented that the prices have gone up greatly in in the past five years, when she started collecting Miao pieces. We also saw a small private museum with a single room of Miao costumes and artifacts.By the time we got bac
k on the road, it was nearly 5:00, and we had a three-hour drive to Laodian, that night's destination. Wanda and I soon learned that Li's time estimates are wildly optimistic. By dusk we were in the mountains doing switchbacks. I couldn't see anything but black out the window, but I could imagine the precipices and spectacular (and scary) views we were missing as our driver sped through the hairpin curves, passing others vehicles in precarious places. On our way down from the third peak I lost it. Fortunately, I had been able to locate and empty my only heavy-duty plastic bag in time, so I was able to contain the damage. We then stopped for a few minutes so I could get out, but as there was no good place to stop, we didn't stay long. Fortunately, we were only 20 minutes from the hotel. From this beginning, things could only get better.Friday, October 24: Laodian, Dajin, Pingjang
My stomach was still queasy in the morning and my throat was sore, but some buns and tea from the breakfast buffet worked wonders, and I began to feel human again. From our hotel room I could see a skyline of concave mountain peaks; we were in karst topography.
We drove for over an hour in the light rain to the village of Dajin. The village seems to consist of a row of nondescript houses along the side of a large lake with clear, greenish water. (Mark has since said that it is probably a sinkhole.) We stopped by the side of the lake while Li went in to negotiate a raft ride for us. There were eight or so narrow bamboo rafts tied up in one spot, accessable from a series of stone steps which took some balance to negotiate. Li told us that each family has its own raft, and that they take turns going out. Our raft was prepared by setting four tiny chairs on the back half and tying on a red cloth canopy over this half. A young woman operated the raft for us, alternately using a long bamboo pole and a shorter bamboo scoop.
The surrounding were lush and idyllic - large trees and bamboo with karst cliffs nearby in places. Except for a woman who came down to the water's edge to wash her lettuce, we had the lake to ourselves. Li pointed out a large cave, and mentioned that there are some good hiking trails to it and other places. Tourists can rent a room from from one of the villagers to stay the night. We slowly rafted past a small island with a large banyan tree to a little dock on the other side. There was a stone staircase leading up to a cave. Wanda opted to stay on the raft, so Li and I climbed up.
I wasn't so sure of the cave at first; the entrance was narrow and about five feet tall and pitch black - I could not see where to step. Li went before me holding out both his cell phone and his camera for their dim LCD lights. I ducked in with both hands up to protect my head. I breathed a sigh of relief when the cave changed direction after a few feet and I could see light at the end of the tunnel. We came out into a sinkhole perhaps 100 feet wide surrounded by steep cliffs. There was a large hole in the opposite cliff through which I could see a distant mountain peak. Li showed me small caves on our side of the cliff where Revolutionaries had lived for several years, and a large rounded basin on the ground where they used to mix gunpowder. There was a small, relatively flat area, but th
e people who lived there must have been part mountain goat.On our way to our next destination, we stopped at a village restaurant for lunch. It was a chicken hot pot (a large boiling pot of soup on a burner set into the center of the table), with small plates of sliced vegetables to cook in it, along with rice. It was tasty, and hot food felt good.
Our next stop was at a small village inhabited by a group Li called the "seashell Miao" because of their fondness for seashells as ornamentation. We drove up a narrow, unpathed road to a large two-story house of unpainted wood. It was somewhat more substantial than the other houses we could see around, but was still traditional Miao style - except for the satellite dish on the bamboo overhang. A woman invited us to walk upstairs to the living area (the ground floor is used for housing the buffalo, pigs, and as work areas). We were directly under the rafters of the pitched roof. Except for one small room that was closed off, it was one large area. We were taken over to a large TV set - the only modern thing we could see in the house - which was playing a video of three Miao women in their festival clothes singing.
Three of the women in the house then started to put on their festival dress for us. The short full, permanently-pleated skirts were indigo with a white border. A long length of indigo/white batik cloth about a foot wide is wrapped around each leg. The jacket is ornate, almost a patchwork sampler of embroidery, mostly in reds, with heavy silver necklaces over it. Headdresses vary from group to group, from ornate silver spheres to cylinders of hair sticking out a foot in each direction. This group had a relatively modest style. Their hats had a beaded fringe and three 5-foot long feathers sticking out of them.
We took some pictures inside the house, then the women stepped out on a rather flimsy-looking porch so we could photograph them in better light. We were all scrunched underneath a fairly narrow overhang since it was raining lightly. We stayed for a short while and showed the women pictures we had taken of them. I was chilled to the bone, even in my raincoat, so I was relieved when it was finally time to go.
We then drove several hours to the city of Pingtang - a relatively modest 600,000 population. It is located in the bend of a river, and the most common picture we saw of the city made it look as if the city were on a circular island. We had just enough light after we checked into the hotel to walk around the city a bit. There was nothing spectacular, but the traffic was lighter and slower, and it was a more friendly place to walk than Chengdu or Guiyang. There were still a few of the old wooden buildings which comprised the main part of the city until 10 or so years ago, but I expect most of them will be gone in a few more years. In a small shop across the street from the hotel an old couple was putting a brown powder in large burlap sacks. Li talked with them for us, then explained that they had been roasting rape seed, which they then pressed for its oil. The remainder of the seed would be used as pigfeed.
Pingjang has its own distinctive (at least I've never seen them before) vehicles - narrow three-wheel motorbikes encased in sheet metal. That evening we ate in a private room at the restaurant adjoining the hotel; all I remember is that we had green beans and soup, and it was tasty.
1 comment:
I am a friend of Wanda's since we met in Iran in '76. She is a great travelling companion. Not sure if you've headed home or not, but I look forward to reading more of your adventures! Thank you for sharing your trip! You made me feel almost like I was there.
Post a Comment