Here I am
Tuesday, May 28, 2002
Vientiane, Lao:
While not a trial by any strech of the imagination, I've arrived in Vientiane. I decided to come -- and this should be obvious considering my travel profile -- by a non-standard route. From Luang Prabang, I travelled by truck -- these are the Lao trucks that have two parallel benches running down the sides where people sit, staring at each other -- or cockeyed on the bench -- for the duration of the journey to the captial of the provence of Sainyabuli.
The captial was quite a small place. Besides some time with a monk and a moment of being a complete non-sequitor on the bank of stream full of children practicing their fishing skills on a Saturday afternoon, not much went on there. I departed the following morning in a rainstorm that fell just short of a downpour. Being in the back of a slightly open truck in the sunshine is not so bad, during a light shower its also not so bad. When its really raining, the B-grade tarps just do not seem to do the trick. Fortunately, the truck left several hours later than I expected, so the rain finished not too long into the journey to Pak Lai. This leg offered some good scenery -- once the sun came out and the tarps were removed -- and I even experienced my first domesticated elephant siting (as we raced by at one hundred kilometers an hour)
[Please stay tuned for the exciting conclusion...]
Friday, May 24, 2002
Luang Prabang, Lao
While there is a technical difference between Lao Whiskey -- not unlike bourbon -- and Whiskey Lao -- a play on the ever-popular Beer Lao, that is actually home-brewed rice wine -- there is really no difference between the hangover that can result.
Last night was the last night before my British friend were leaving for Vang Vieng so one bottle of local whiskey turned into two and before we knew it we found ourselves at two in the morning, sitting under the awning of a closed store-front as a torrential rainstorm poured rain down unceasingly creating quite a din as a result of the tin roof that provided us with shelter. Noe that's a good time.
I had an incident at a local bank yesterday that I forgot to mention that is worth note. Generally on this trip, I've been lucky enough to either had US currency,or access to an automated teller to obtain local banknotes. I am running low on US dollars [not that low, don't worry] and the existance of an ATM, well, that's a funny thought. Thus, in Lao, after I converted all the Chinese Yuan to Kip [side note: The largest denomination of the Kip is worth about fifty-one US cents , so you can imagine the monumental size of the wads of cash you can end up with quite easily] I was in a position to break open my stash of high-quality American Express Travellers Cheques -- acutally I've changed two so far on the trip, but that's incidental.
I arrived at the bank bright and early with the intension of changing enough currency to get me through the next off-the-beaten track leg of my journey, and after a small internal battle choose to exchange two one-hundred US dollar cheques. I proceeded through the motions of counter-signing both cash instruments and filled out the extensive paper-work required by the bank.
As the woman behind the counter was just about to give me the cash [per the previous note, the pile cash was about ten centimeters thick] she looked at the cheques one more time. Then looked closer at them, then she said,"Why did you do this?" while pointing at an X that the Amex teller had placed on the cheque to indicate where I was suppose to sign. I expained this. This was not good enough. "I cannot exchange this cheques", she said and proceeded to rip up the paperwork.
Now, as everyone knows, a signed travellers cheque is almost worthless -- where I am -- if it has already been signed, so I was not in any position to leave the bank with the unexchanged cheques. We went back and forth for a little while. "We cannot exchange there", she would say. "I'm not leaving this bank until you do", I would say.
In between, points in this conversation she had been on the phone periodically to confirm that the bank could not take the cheques and eventually I was able to convince her to procure the -- hopefully more reasonable -- person from the other end of the phone conversation. She conceeded, and after a short wait he appeared.
The higher-bank offical review the cheques, reviewed my passport, compared the signatures. "We cannot exchange these, the signature is dirty"
Not the answer I was looking for. I then explained again about the origin of the X.
Nothing.
He was willing to go with me to another bank, but his bank would not perform an exchange for me. Since, as he said, his boss would not be happy.
Finally, since I was obviously not leaving, the original woman contacted the highest bank official and summoned him to deal with me. He arrived not too long later -- although a good forty minutes has passed at this point -- and proceeded to look at the cheques, look at my passport, look at the signature and listen to my explanation.
At this point there were five people behind the counter dealing with the issue; it was a little funny despite the seriousness of the situation.
A beat.
"OK", the suit-cladden bank official proclaimed. Finally, there was someone with some reason at the helm of the situation.
The lesson here, well, I don't have to provide a moral. But I certainly am carrying a big pile of Kip around.....
Luang Prabang, Lao:
I continue to enjoy this little town. It lies on a peninsula created by two rivers -- one being the Mekong -- and has a French feel to it. Between the architecture and the bagettes, its a great place to chillout for a little while. Tonioght will be the first time I've slept in the same bed for three days in a row since Hanoi.
The weather is much less wet here, as the beginning of the rainy season that I experienced in the north/mountains has not made it this far. This has provided a pleasant environment for wandering about amongst the dozens of wats -- there's lots of monks running around here; though I was only briefly kidnapped by one of them -- that are scattered about the town.
Nothing really crazy has happened over the last few days, so this entry might seem a little boring. Maybe I'll try to make something up.
We -- I'm still with the same travelling companions of the last week [this might be a record] rode out to a really amazing waterfall a few dozen kilometers from town this afternoon. Reaching the best part -- a series of limestone pools, and ledges where one could jump from a height of about five or six meters -- required a little hike up a regionally characteristic clay-cum-mud path, but was well worth it. Above the area where swimming was permitted [just imagine, there were rules there] the water falls in streams from the top tier -- about twenty meters above -- and the limestone deposits are slowly creating caves underneath the ledge above. I wandered up to see if I could find the source of the water but gave up in lieu of my safety; snakes and the like are quite common here.
Wednesday, May 22, 2002
Luang Prabang, Lao:
The trip into Lao was generally uneventful, though as always there were a few interesting moments along the way. Just to run through the few days:
21,22-May-2002: Mekong River, Lao; Pakbeng, Lao:
The final two days of the trip to Luang Prabang were spent on a slow ferry that at this point exists solely for tourists -- all the locals seem to really enjoy risking their lives on the huan wai [speed boats.] This was the largest group of Westerners -- they had all come from Thailand -- that our group had seen in weeks, and was a bit of an overload. A reaction, not dissimilar from the unfamiliarty I experienced in Luang Nam Tha to first fork I had used after almost two months of chopsticks.
The boat along the Mekong was different than the previous ride, but still offered a great experience. My opinion: Mekong = good river.
19,20-May-2002: Nam Tha [River], Lao; Pak Tha, Lao:
As luck would have it, my new travelling companions were interested in chartering a boat down the Nam Tha in an attempt to get to Luang Prabang via an alternate path. We negotiated with a local boat owner -- I'll [just as we did in the boat] simply call him "boatman" -- for the two day trip.
The trip took two days, and took us along a rapidly moving small river that offered some rather tumultous whitewater for the ten meter long boat that we rode, in addition to some amazing scenery on a trail that very few tourists must take.
The single night of this leg of the journey was spent in the house of our boatman in a very small village along the river that was only accessable by water. The village was small, and westerner not common, so everyone came over to boatman's house to take a look at the visitors.
At the end of the trip we were deposited on the bank of the Mekong about an hour too late to catch a slow boat to Luang Prabang, and in lieu of taking the trip on the scariest 'speed-boat' [read: three meters of plywood with a four-cylinder sixteen value Toyota autonobile engine strapped on the stern] I've ever seen, we choose to spend a night in the quiet river town of Pak Tha..
Pak Tha ended up to be less quiet and more interesting as a result of the intoxicating fallout from another wedding that ended in a karaoke session gone bad [think: lots of feedback] and a very happy local woman playing the name-game until her daughter poured the beer from her glass and led her away from our table.
18-May-2002: Luang Nam Tha, Lao:
The hangover from the prior evenings intoxication, was enough to slow us down until noon. Finally at that point the rain stopped and another bicycle ride seemed appropriate.
The five of us -- the Aussies joined us this time -- headed first into town and then started on a longer route back to the guesthouse. The ride was great, passing through wide open rice paddies, and then through a series of villages. As we neared the final turn before the road that would lead to the guesthouse the Aussies were leading the pack. I came around a corner and found them dismounted from their bikes standing at the top of a little hill. There was some difficuly mud between us, so I dismounted as well and walked my bike to where they stood.
The reason for the stop, then became clear. As the rainy season was upon us, the stream crossing before us was no longer viable. A small torrent separated us and locals on the opposite bank. We all stood there for some time thinking over the options before we determined that the only possible course of action would be to return to the guesthouse via the route we had just passed.....twelve kilometers away.
As the map reader, I took much of the implicit blame for this predicament.
17-May-2002: Moten, China; Boten, Lao; Luang Nam Tha, Lao:
The trip to the border began on a rainy morning -- I seemed to attract alot of rain in China -- but things began to look up when I was picked up by a minibus not far from my hotel who was taking a load of passengers to the border. Before I knew it I was inside and we were off. My fellow passengers comprised of an Israeli -- who failed in an attempt to communicate with the police man sitting in the front seat with a Hebrew-Chinese dictionary [he looked befuddled and handed the book of squiggles back to the dismay of its owner]
-- and a British couple.
The ride was a pleasent enough, though puctuated by fits of heavy rain. As we were nearing the completion of the trip -- my seat was in the rear passenger side of the minivan -- I attempted to shut the flip-lock of the window [you should be familar with the minivan flip-type window] in an effort to limit the amount of water that might enter the vehicle.
A quite loud smash startled everyone -- not in the least, me -- in the van, as the window shattered. Now, this was a high-quality Chinese window, so they had of course made the window of a good copy safety-glass(TM) but had failed to laminate the glass with the thin layer that prevents the glass from completely shattering. Thus, this is exactly what happened. The glass shattered inward, covering me in glass pebbles -- and some small glass shards.
Up until this point we had been groving along with the typical dose of early morning dance music that they so love in China. When the window imploded, the driver stopped the car and the music stopped -- never to be heard again, as this was now a sad ride. There were some minor attempts by the driver to make sure I knew that I would have to pay reporations for my acts, before we moved on.
When we arrived at the terminus [is that really a word?] of our journey, the negotiations began. He wanted one hundred Yuan (curretly equivalent to twelve USD) and I was willing to pay a substatially less amount of thirty Yuan -- which was fair considering it was poor materials, and certainly not strength that resulted in the predicament. He was convinced that I had intensionally broken the window -- apparently for lack of anything else to occupy myself -- and continued to mime the intensional act.
Eventually, some other locals got involved and pointed out to the driver that the mechanism did look fairly defective and he begrugingly accepted my payment before we wandered off toward the border.
As luck would ha
Thursday, May 16, 2002
Mengla, China:
Here I am, in my last day in China. You'd think I'd go out and have myself a good time. But, no, really it's quite anti-climactic. I guess usually the last day in a country is that. Especially considering where you are before you cross.
This afternoon as part of a typical walk I will take in a new location to properly orient myself, I found a set of stairs. Since the only way to find out what might be at the top of a set stairs, I chose to climb them. After several scores of stair I found myself at the top. There was really nothing at the top except an antenna complex where I was chastised for sitting down.
The point to the episode, is that not unlike the top of its hill, there is a simliar amount to Mengla the town: not much. Not that its a bad place, its just sorta here. I'm sure if I were to spend a few days -- which I'm not going to -- I might find some interesting things. [read: It's probably still pretty ho-hum, even if you look around]
Before I leave China for good, I thought I'd provide a few more observations [NOTE: These are mostly observations from the Yunnan Provice and the Xishuangbanna region]
First of all, based on some observations today, I'd like to comment on the prostitution in the area. I was propositioned three times today, at least. The most notable was a girl who -- when she saw me coming -- jumped up from her seat at the roadside stand and after making a big smile proceeded to mime "sleep" -- hands together against a tilted head with one's eyes closed -- and point up a set of nearby stairs. This apparently is the universal sign -- in China -- for sex. [Anyone who knows me should know that I continued to walk on by after giving a polite smile.] The other instances were more subtle: girls from within a salon -- a common front I'm told -- would say hello or gesture in their direction. Now, Cambodia was pretty in your face, too. But not so much during the day and not so obvious on the street, as it is here. One would think it would not be so in a "Communist" country.
The other thing I've been thinking about recently is that there is an extraordinary amount of livestock that just seems to wander about -- I guess this can be said for much of south-east Asia as well, but we'll ignore that point for a moment. Walking around -- even in small cities -- there always seem to be chickens or roosters or chicks or ducklings or turkeys (today I saw some turkeys by the side of the road) just walking around seemingly without any supervision. I wonder how anyone can keep track of which animals belong to whom.
For those of you out there [this is my ego talking] who hang on every entry, I wanted to make a note that I may only be in period touch while I'm in Lao. (Internet access is apparently not as ubiquitous as it is in China or Vietnam.) This don't mean you cannot go back and re-read my entries, in their entirety -- every day -- just that there may not be as much new material. [Ego, finished]
In Lao, I intended to trace the following path over the next two weeks, give or take a town: [You may need a map or at least a really good memory of the geography of Lao]
Luang Nam Tha
Huay Xai
Pakbeng
Udomxai (Muang Xai)
Nong Khlaw
Luang Prabang
Sainyabuli
Pak Lai
Vientiane
Wednesday, May 15, 2002
Ganlanba(Menghun), China:
Every year, the women of the Dai "minority" park villages near the town of Ganlanba -- also known as Menghun -- have a chance to cast aside their mundane day jobs (selling pinapple and the like) and become warriors. Warriors in the Water-splashing festival, that is. [Actually, now they get to do it everyday]
Originally a cleansing ceremony that involves throwing water at other people -- seemingly mostly members of the opposite sex; maybe it should be called the flirting ceremony -- now its turned into a daily right of passage (and distraction) for the women of the cluster of villages.
I've always been up for a good water-fight so I really got into it. The secret -- for anyone who happens to find themselves in this remote [though not so remote as to have no email] part of China -- is to always be on the offensive. This may actually be true for all water fights -- especially with women (sorry, it's sorta true.) If you run at a group of people, even if you're only carrying a small basin of water you can make them scatter; this then allows you to target the weakest member -- or if you're flirting, the most attractive member -- of the group for an individual attack. [It was a pretty long slow day -- and there's no one who speaks English -- so I had to occupy myself somehow...]
I stayed with a family that had outfitted a small section of their house on stilts -- these people are essentially Thai, so the arctitecture matches that which I saw in the remote parts of Vietnam -- for homestay guests. It was clean, and quite relaxing. I had dinner -- delicious -- with the whole family, followed by a session of picture book looking (lots of pointing and attempted to figure out where certain pictures were taken.) Then the evening digressed into what an acquaintance in Jinghong likened to America in the nineteen-fifties: Watching television. Chinese local basketball, no less.
I was tired after all the running around in the afternoon, thus that didn't last long.
Tuesday, May 14, 2002
Jinghong, China
thirty-four hours on a bus. That's all I'll say for the moment....
Did I mention thirty-four hours on a bus?
This was over two days, so it was really seventeen hours on a bus two days in a row, but who's counting.
The trip down Yunnan highway 214 -- actually I'm not sure what the highway number was for the first part, but 214 was certainly the second part -- was incredible. The roads were either atrocious, or good, or somewhere in between. It had just rained -- alot --
and there were a number of sections of very sketchy road. At one point we waited for four hours for a truck to clear itself from the mud.
[It never did, and a second truck was brought in to remove its cargo.]
The entertainment on the bus was pretty good -- especially on the second day. The bus had three drivers -- or at least two drivers and a third guy who I've since learned was probably the owner of the bus. There was a bed installed where the front two passenger seats -- this is a twenty person bus -- where the non-working bus crew would sit while they were not working.
Along with this crew sat a woman that I began to call the "bus whore." I'm sure she had a rational reason for being on the bus, but that was how I began to think of her. Though she did get on the bus at a stop other than the main bus station, then proceeded to flirt -- making suggestive gestures, drawing on sleeping mens' faces, sleeping on the special bed, etc. -- with the bus men for the entire ride.
Anyway, you have to come up with something other than calculating how long the journey is going to take to keep yourself occupied during these times.
Saturday, May 11, 2002
Baoshan, China
Well. Sometimes you make choices that seem right at the time.....
Not that there is anything wrong with Baoshan, it's actually a pretty pleasant place. There is a cool park -- at the top of alot of stairs, with the first peacocks I've even seen that could fly. [I saw a front porch swing, Heard a diamond ring, But I think I will have seen everything ...] Anyway, I digress...
Now, here comes the fun part. (I knew this, but I pretty much choose to ignore it.) The only way between here and where I want to go requires a bus trip that might require up to sixty (yes, 60) hours. I briefly considered breaking my no-flight rule, but decided instead to suck it up and go with the bus. To complicate matters even further, I found another option. I will start with a bus to an intermediate location (Lincang -- for those who might be curious) that leaves twelve hours earlier, then I hope I will be able to hop another bus to the final destination. This one could be tricky, especially since I know next to nothing about the city(town?) of my next destination.
I can't say that there are too many westerners here, though. The closest I've come to meeting someone from the West was a Burmese medicine man that I met on the street [that iswest of here....]
Friday, May 10, 2002
Lijiang, China:
I've beaten the gorge. The Leaping Tiger Gorge, that is.
About two hours away from Lijiang is a town called Qiaotou where the trailhead for the gorge is secreted behind a school play yard that is surrounded by barbed wire. I set out yesterday -- only yesterday -- on a bus [one which the day before apparently didn't exist] and had two chance encounters. The first was that a fellow passenger (at the first stop) was my French friend with whom I biked with in Dali and had a beer with -- the night prior -- in Lijang.
The second, and even better, was that as I waited on the patio of a cafe on the road to the trailhead for my honey baba -- tibetan pancake -- to arrive, the Dutch girls and the two Brits [only one Scot, my mistake] came round the corner. I had not expected to see them, and was on track to do the [insert word here] by myself.
The walk was fairly nice. The only difficult part was in the very beginning where we ascended for a good hour and half along a steep path that morphed into a series of switch-backs called the "28-bends." After that bit, it was either flat or downhill.
The views from the trail were great with a river in the valley below and snow covered peaks rising above us. The gorge is created by two parallel mountain strings that rise four-thousand meters above sea-level and about twenty-five hundred meteres above the river. As the day wore on, the nice fluffy clouds turned a bit darker, and as the wind picked up rain seemed an inevitablity. We almost made it, but about five hundred meters from the guesthouse, the sky opened up. The last dash was a bit wet, but the hot shower that followed was a welcome contrast.
The five of us settled in, had dinner, and some great tibetan apple pie before starting a guitar session that lasted a few hours -- I've learned ...Baby, one more time, so watch out. About nine o'clock we all basically fell asleep and headed to our respective beds.
This morning, we finished up the trail and I dropped them off at their "happy" guesthouse -- I'll explain this one later -- before departing on a string of quite fortunate rides to Lijiang. From here I will catch a night bus -- I've got lucky seat number one -- to Baoshan situated near the golden triange, the silk road and just north-west of Myranmar (the military state of Burma.)
One incident worth noting occurred as I waited for my bus from Lijiang to Qiaotou to depart yesterday morning. As the departure time neared, the bus attendants -- all woman in matching green uniforms -- aligned themselves in front of the buses. As they stood, almost at attension, a man in a matching uniform paced in front of them. He was dressed in a matching uniform, but was also adorned by a black-billed green cap, and the most gaudy gold-rimmed glasses I've seen since a seventies movie about a random south american dictator. As he puffed on a cigarette, he reviewed the troops.
When the departure time arrived, a bell rang for thirty seconds and the engine of the bus commenced. When the bell ceased, the line disolved and we departed.
It will be curious to see if this is common departure procedure or a procedure reserved only for the first buses of the day....
Lijiang, China:
I've beaten the gorge. The Leaping Tiger Gorge, that is.
About two hours away from Lijiang is a town called Qiaotou where the trailhead for the gorge is secreted behind a school play yard that is surrounded by barbed wire. I set out yesterday -- only yesterday -- on a bus [one which the day before apparently didn't exist] and had two chance encounters. The first was that a fellow passenger (at the first stop) was my French friend with whom I biked with in Dali and had a beer with -- the night prior -- in Lijang.
The second, and even better, was that as I waited on the patio of a cafe on the road to the trailhead for my honey baba -- tibetan pancake -- to arrive, the Dutch girls and the two Brits [only one Scot, my mistake] came round the corner. I had not expected to see them, and was on track to do the [insert word here] by myself.
The walk was fairly nice. The only difficult part was in the very beginning where we ascended for a good hour and half along a steep path that morphed into a series of switch-backs called the "28-bends." After that bit, it was either flat or downhill.
The views from the trail were great with a river in the valley below and snow covered peaks rising above us. The gorge is created by two parallel mountain strings that rise four-thousand meters above sea-level and about twenty-five hundred meteres above the river. As the day wore on, the nice fluffy clouds turned a bit darker, and as the wind picked up rain seemed an inevitablity. We almost made it, but about five hundred meters from the guesthouse, the sky opened up. The last dash was a bit wet, but the hot shower that followed was a welcome contrast.
The five of us settled in, had dinner, and some great tibetan apple pie before starting a guitar session that lasted a few hours -- I've learned ...Baby, one more time, so watch out. About nine o'clock we all basically fell asleep and headed to our respective beds.
This morning, we finished up the trail and I dropped them off at their "happy" guesthouse -- I'll explain this one later -- before departing on a string of quite fortunate rides to Lijiang. From here I will catch a night bus -- I've got lucky seat number one -- to Baoshan situated near the golden triange, the silk road and just north-west of Myranmar (the military state of Burma.)
One incident worth noting occurred as I waited for my bus from Lijiang to Qiaotou to depart yesterday morning. As the departure time neared, the bus attendants -- all woman in matching green uniforms -- aligned themselves in front of the buses. As they stood, almost at attension, a man in a matching uniform paced in front of them. He was dressed in a matching uniform, but was also adorned by a black-billed green cap, and the most gaudy gold-rimmed glasses I've seen since a seventies movie about a random south american dictator. As he puffed on a cigarette, he reviewed the troops.
When the departure time arrived, a bell rang for thirty seconds and the engine of the bus commenced. When the bell ceased, the line disolved and we departed.
It will be curious to see if this is common departure procedure or a procedure reserved only for the first buses of the day....
Wednesday, May 08, 2002
Lijiang, China:
This place is much cooler than Dali -- not that Dali didn't have "old world" charm, but even Dali without the tourists would not be as good as this place.
I'm not sure if its the mountains, or the windy streets, but there is something more authentic about this town -- I think it might have something to do with the size; in Dali by the time the touristy section runs out, the town is over too. That can not be said about Lijiang.
Sermon, over
Nothing really super crazy has come to pass in the last few days, so there is nothing of exceeding hilarity to comment upon.
Maybe, I'll take a moment to talk,. in general, about being in this part of China. First thing to note is the toilet situation. I'm not sure where I first experienced it, but the conditions of the W.C. on the train to Kunming should have been somewhat forboding -- standard sqat toilet; not alot of flushing capablilty. You do run into Western style comodes some of the time -- this includes old-school European squat toilets -- but the masses use this sort of stall concept that has no door, and includes a periodic "river" in a trench below [I'm trying not to be too graphic here] to clear away what needs to be cleared away. The worst conditions ensue when there is a mechanical failure and a "dry season" commences.
The other thing that is worth noting is a bit consistent with some other places, but it seems a bit more noticeable here. The Chinese seem to have a fascination with Westerners. In Kunming, a group of children followed me around a park and -- as their father yelled some sort of instructions, or warning from across an artifical lake -- proceeded to pose with me for a series of group photos. Also, the fact that I have arm hair -- its very light in color as you all know -- seems to be very exciting. Both young children and older people -- like the conductor on the bus last evening -- have pinched and pulled on it for some reason [to see if it's real, maybe; you be the judge]
By some luck I may have the chance to meet up with the Dutch girls and the Scottish blokes for the Tiger Leaping Gorge [insert word here] as they will be in Qiaotou tomorrow having been way-laid by the weather. Hopefully there will be no rain, as the walk is meant to be quite dangerous [you know that's my middle name of course...] when wet. Too bad weather.com doesn't seem to provide a forecast for this small part of the world. [could someone get on this for me...]
Friday, May 03, 2002
Dali, China:
I arrived in Dali this morning after a very interesting night bus trip from Kun Ming.
To appropriately picture this experience you must first imagine an empty bus shell after it has been filled with bunk beds by a group of metal workers who have not been given an actual design. There are columns of bunks on each side of the bus, and one row down the middle; the back of the bus is a row of five adjoining beds, both on the top and the bottom.
My travelling companion and I were fortunately enough to score the first two bunks on the right side of the vehicle -- good for space, not so good for safety I think. Since nothing is even easy, we did have to fight for the seats with a representative from the company who insisted that our places were in the most coveted back row [please insert sarcasm here.] As our bunk numbers were on the tickets it was a hard battle for her, and eventually she gave up.
The bus was schedule to depart at 21:30 -- though we had been warned that companies will often wait for up to an hour if a bus is not full. 21:30 came and went, 22:00 [that's 10pm] came and went, 22:30 -- you get the picture. Not long before eleven o'clock the bus started moving -- oh, good I thought, it's time to go. Then after about ten meters, the bus stopped and we sat for a little while, then we back up into something -- I think a pile of crates containing chicks [e.g. back chickens] -- and the driver jumped out to deal with it.
Not long after this incident, we were joined by the final passengers for the journey -- a bamboo crate of ducklings [yellow, fuzzy.] At this point my sense of time gets a little messed up because I dozed off, but I do remember the driver stopping the bus, and opening the hatch to expose the engine.
The next thing I knew, it was midnight and we were still sitting in the same place. No driver, engine cap still open -- curious, I thought. Not long after I awoke a woman in the back began to rile up the other passengers. Not being able to understand any Chinese, the specifics of the tirade were lost on me. All I know is that everyone got all worked up and started to exit the bus; first in small groups then in more of a torrent. One guy -- in a straw cowboy hat -- made a phone call, then everyone milled around outside. Being good bus community members, we exited the bus as well to wait outside for whatever was going to happen next. People looked at us and chuckled at our clear cluelessness about the whole situation.
After a bit, all of the people moved away from the bus, and around a nearby corner quite suddenly, leaving us pretty much alone. Moments later they returned en masse...along with the police car that had been apparently called from the mobile phone -- this solitary fact was confirmed by a man in English (he refused to provide any more information.)
What ensued was the stuff that comedy is made of. The driver reappears, and so did all of the people that seemed to make up the mangagement for the bus company along with some parts for the engine. The company guys thought this would calm the group, but no such luck was to be had; no one had an interest in reboarding the bus, and maintained their vigil in a circle with the policeman at the center.
There were lots of arguements being made by various players -- including the ringleader woman, and the straw hat guy -- and the police seemed to be doing a very good job of mediating the discussion between the two sides. There were several points where the tall police man made fairly long soliloquies with a very confident, and authoritative air about him.
By about ten minutes to one, the mood had calmed from the frantic tension that pervaded the group not so long before. A solution seemed close at hand.
Finally it became clear the root of one of the biggest issues held by the passengers: the ducklings. A company-man entered the bus and removed the crate. Now, it seemed like a number of people wanted to get back on the bus...but not everyone. Straw hat wanted something else. We waited -- not wanting to contribute to any duck-free momentum.
When a new driver -- to replace the original wily one -- was appointed, the concerns of most of the people seemed to be assuaged and it seemed safe to re-board the bus to commence the journey.
Not long after we got underway, and once started the trip went swimmingly delivering us to the intended destination in about six hours (seven o'clock) -- thus in retrospect the breakdown/duckling arguement really didn't cost us any time because arriving here at three am would really not have been all that much fun.
Thursday, May 02, 2002
Kun Ming, China
Ah, the sounds of China....screaming video games all about me in this "internet cafe." I think everyone might be deaf -- do I sound like Grandma just yet. 3...2...1...go....argggghhhh, goes the game to my left.
The city was not too much different today, still busy, still clean. I think the holiday goes on through the weekend. Took a walk up to some mountains nearby called the Western Mountains (or something) with some really cool pagodas on top. In classic Chinese fashion you could take a gondola [think ski area] to a chair lift [really think ski area] to get pretty close to the top. I was happy with the hike.
Still very few Westerns, and very little hassle from the vendors. The most aggressive was the soothsayer: "Fortune Teller, Fortune Teller, Welcome, Hello"
Wednesday, May 01, 2002
Kunming, China:
Leaving Vietnam ended up being surprisingly easy, only a little more expensive than I had hoped. It took about fifteen minutes (and 600,000VND = ~40USD) to get myself out of the country. The only moment where I was at all worried was when he said, pointing to my travel companions "You can go to China," then while motioning toward me: "You.....cannot."
If two months ago someone had told me I would be in China about now, I would have laughed. Well, guess who's laughing now.....
China is...well...China. I'm in a pretty big city at the moment -- my first day was spent in a bordertown and then on a train -- and its like a big city, but a lot cleaner than any other city I've seen in a while. Today was also International Labor Day [aka: May Day -- it is a communist country], so there was a lot of excitement in the city that probably would not ordinarily go on. In order words, I saw a number of "grand openings" at Mobile and Department stores. And, one really cool wedding fashion show with a very serious "groom" staring into the distance as a sign of his model-ness.
Other than walk around, I bought some fun candy, a new toothbrush and a bandana to replace the one that a farmer is probably using in Cambodia to keep his wagon held together...
