Head to http://picasaweb.google.com/r.cahan for all the photos from the big trip.
For all the wedding photos from the big day, go to http://picasaweb.google.com/tzesunset. Thanks to our expert photographer Thu for posting these.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Blackberry Juice: Cruising the Yangzee
Real estate values aren't quite what they used to be along the main drag of the Yangzee through the Three Gorges - the whole backyard water feature selling point isn't quite as appealing when under closer inspection your bedroom will be 10m underwater by 2009. And I'm sure the fish will enjoy the quite literal indoor/outdoor flow. On the other hand, tour operators are raking it in - how many sights can you sell with the tag line that this really is your last chance to see it? Sure Venice is slowly sinking and maybe Yellowstone's geysers are slowly drying up, but no where else is there the same morbid finality that will be dealt my a single monolithic wall of concrete.
The 800 person cruiser Yun Zhong set sail from the port of Yichang late in the evening with the honeymooners on board. Boasting all the comforts of home - including crappy chinese dramas on the cabin's lcd tv, chili eggplant in the restaurant and a private balcony - the ship steamed up river through the first night. As the sun rose the mist that clung to the peaks on either side of the placid green water began to lift. When we last left the Yangzee it was as a raging adolescent torrent of white water in the desolate Leaping Tiger Gorge. Now she has matured into a vast expanse of calm water meandering between the statuesque peaks of the Three Gorges.
No time to admire the view though. At first light the passengers were herded onto smaller boats for an excursion up one of the tributaries of the river. Here the walls of the gorge narrow and the water is shallower. Further up and the peaceful waters began to churn in a series of rapids. So its time to change craft again, this time into traditional wooden skiffs, propelled by four oarsmen. When the water gets too shallow, they get out and pull the craft along with tow roaps. The poor blokes who drew the short straw and got Rock's mass in their boat were cursing all the way up river.
Once back on the big cruise ship the rest of the journey was just that, a cruise. Nothing beats kicking back on the balconey watching the misty blue peaks slowly slip by as the ship leisurly plies the mighty yangzee.
And that is a fitting place to bring this account to an end. From here its back to Wuhan, then the overnight sleeper to Shenzhen, then the bustle of HK again before the welcome sight of the flying kangaroo. Thanks for reading and keep an eye out for the photos, coming to a computer near you soon.
The 800 person cruiser Yun Zhong set sail from the port of Yichang late in the evening with the honeymooners on board. Boasting all the comforts of home - including crappy chinese dramas on the cabin's lcd tv, chili eggplant in the restaurant and a private balcony - the ship steamed up river through the first night. As the sun rose the mist that clung to the peaks on either side of the placid green water began to lift. When we last left the Yangzee it was as a raging adolescent torrent of white water in the desolate Leaping Tiger Gorge. Now she has matured into a vast expanse of calm water meandering between the statuesque peaks of the Three Gorges.
No time to admire the view though. At first light the passengers were herded onto smaller boats for an excursion up one of the tributaries of the river. Here the walls of the gorge narrow and the water is shallower. Further up and the peaceful waters began to churn in a series of rapids. So its time to change craft again, this time into traditional wooden skiffs, propelled by four oarsmen. When the water gets too shallow, they get out and pull the craft along with tow roaps. The poor blokes who drew the short straw and got Rock's mass in their boat were cursing all the way up river.
Once back on the big cruise ship the rest of the journey was just that, a cruise. Nothing beats kicking back on the balconey watching the misty blue peaks slowly slip by as the ship leisurly plies the mighty yangzee.
And that is a fitting place to bring this account to an end. From here its back to Wuhan, then the overnight sleeper to Shenzhen, then the bustle of HK again before the welcome sight of the flying kangaroo. Thanks for reading and keep an eye out for the photos, coming to a computer near you soon.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Blackberry Juice: The big chopsticks at Zhangjiajie
Before we get to the main event (or rather to pad out a fairly short main event) a few random observations:
Chinglish. Its every where. English translations were once the domain of only the largest and most foreigner-worthy sights, and only the most officious-looking State departments. Now, with Google translations only a click away, every nacent global empire, from the corner Very Taibei Photomax Co Limited to the Wahahaha China Top Brand Purified Water for Drinking Co, feels the urge to embrace globalism as never before. Its been 20 years since Deng Xiaoping proclaimed "to get rich is glorious". Apparently an English slogan is the first step on that path. Hence helpful translations that range from bemusing ("let discourse of man and nature be heavenly" - the most poetic don't litter sign in a while), to the somewhat tautological ("in fire event, don't get burn" on a hotel evacuation map) to the just plain bizzare ("earth department" is the helpful translation for "bread" at the hotel buffet). Trust the commies to create a whole department for the loaving of bread.
Which brings us to the subject of communism. Marx would turn in his grave to see the rather liberal interpretation the Party takes. People (as in individuals, not the euphamism for the State) can own property. They can run businesses. The brand new highway system puts most western nations top shame. The railways are undergoing a radical bullet train driven revamp. Domestic airtravel is taking off exponentially. All they are missing is elections. And having sat through the mind-numbing tedium that was Debnam vs Iemma in the NSW state election, it's hard to convincingly argue they're missing out on all that much. But relics of the bygone age do exist. Take Chinese "fast" food joints. Wander in, order a meal and eat - simple right? Wrong. The first step is to identify which counter (yes there are multiple counters) is the ordering counter. After careful analysis Rock determined the process of entering and chosing the initial counter is best modelled by a random walk process. Once one reaches the initial counter, one places an order and exchanges a wad of yuan for a series of cryptic cards. Take these mystical runes and wander around some more until you stumble on a second counter where you can offload them. Then go and find a seat. Eventually, somewhere from the bowels of the kitchen someone will scream out an order and you can leap up and start looking for the third counter, where you can get your order. If you're lucky, you might even remember what you actually ordered half a marathon ago.
And now, since no one will make it this far, I can spend five seconds on the main sight of the last two days - Zhangjiajie. That's not a slight on this fine destination - its just a recognition that reading about scenery is extremely boring (or at least writing about it is, so tough luck). The area is, rightly, famous for its natural rock formations - jutting pilliars of stone carved out over the aeons by the wind and rain. These mighty chopsticks of rock (as opposed to the definite article - the Mighty Chopsticks of Rock - which having been carving a mighty swathe through rice bowls from Yunnan to Hunan) tower over 300m above a series of forested ravines. With such evocative names as the Heavenly Platform and the Imperial Writing Brush Peaks, its hard not to get transported back through the dynasties while gazing up and the ageless stone. At least it is until Rock decides they are best modelled with a raised middle finger...
Next up, the final stop on this odessey - the vast Three Gorges Dam.
Chinglish. Its every where. English translations were once the domain of only the largest and most foreigner-worthy sights, and only the most officious-looking State departments. Now, with Google translations only a click away, every nacent global empire, from the corner Very Taibei Photomax Co Limited to the Wahahaha China Top Brand Purified Water for Drinking Co, feels the urge to embrace globalism as never before. Its been 20 years since Deng Xiaoping proclaimed "to get rich is glorious". Apparently an English slogan is the first step on that path. Hence helpful translations that range from bemusing ("let discourse of man and nature be heavenly" - the most poetic don't litter sign in a while), to the somewhat tautological ("in fire event, don't get burn" on a hotel evacuation map) to the just plain bizzare ("earth department" is the helpful translation for "bread" at the hotel buffet). Trust the commies to create a whole department for the loaving of bread.
Which brings us to the subject of communism. Marx would turn in his grave to see the rather liberal interpretation the Party takes. People (as in individuals, not the euphamism for the State) can own property. They can run businesses. The brand new highway system puts most western nations top shame. The railways are undergoing a radical bullet train driven revamp. Domestic airtravel is taking off exponentially. All they are missing is elections. And having sat through the mind-numbing tedium that was Debnam vs Iemma in the NSW state election, it's hard to convincingly argue they're missing out on all that much. But relics of the bygone age do exist. Take Chinese "fast" food joints. Wander in, order a meal and eat - simple right? Wrong. The first step is to identify which counter (yes there are multiple counters) is the ordering counter. After careful analysis Rock determined the process of entering and chosing the initial counter is best modelled by a random walk process. Once one reaches the initial counter, one places an order and exchanges a wad of yuan for a series of cryptic cards. Take these mystical runes and wander around some more until you stumble on a second counter where you can offload them. Then go and find a seat. Eventually, somewhere from the bowels of the kitchen someone will scream out an order and you can leap up and start looking for the third counter, where you can get your order. If you're lucky, you might even remember what you actually ordered half a marathon ago.
And now, since no one will make it this far, I can spend five seconds on the main sight of the last two days - Zhangjiajie. That's not a slight on this fine destination - its just a recognition that reading about scenery is extremely boring (or at least writing about it is, so tough luck). The area is, rightly, famous for its natural rock formations - jutting pilliars of stone carved out over the aeons by the wind and rain. These mighty chopsticks of rock (as opposed to the definite article - the Mighty Chopsticks of Rock - which having been carving a mighty swathe through rice bowls from Yunnan to Hunan) tower over 300m above a series of forested ravines. With such evocative names as the Heavenly Platform and the Imperial Writing Brush Peaks, its hard not to get transported back through the dynasties while gazing up and the ageless stone. At least it is until Rock decides they are best modelled with a raised middle finger...
Next up, the final stop on this odessey - the vast Three Gorges Dam.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Blackberry Juice: Wuhan - Young Heart, Polluted Living
Wuhan is the Palmerston North of China. High praise I know. Let's do a quick side by side. Wuhan is a landlocked provencial city of only 12 million, hardly the destination that springs to mind when thinking bright lights or tourist hotspots - no great wall, no terracotta army, no big square where tanks can practise squashing enemies of the state; Palmy is also a small provencial city of... ok slightly less than 12 milliion, and also is hardly the first cab of the rank in the must see stakes. Palmy doesn't have a great wall either, although it does have a square, but the only tanks are out of town in a sideshow called Linton and anyway are so underpowered they are limited to squishing the odd sandfly. Both cities are on the shores of rivers: Palmy is on the mighty "oh my gosh this is so scary my heart stood still" Manawatu while Wuhan is on the shores of the mighty Yangzee, third longest river in the world and arguably one of the most culturally significant. Ok slight points victory there to Wuhan. But neither use the river all that well: Palmy hide theirs behind a bit of greenery called the esplanade and a few scenic sheep paddocks, Wuhan has a flat expanse of concrete which they optimistically call the Bund in a bid to leech credibility from Shanghai. They forgot to leech the magnificent colonial facades of that city though. They also forgot the character. Both cities also consider themselves, for want of a better selling point, as transport hubs due to their central location: Palmy has an 'International' airport and Wuhan has a lot of ships passing by (definitely passing by) on the Yangzee. And both cities rely on man-made energy-producing 'wonders' as their main tourist drawcard: Palmy has a few twirling windmills in a paddock and Wuhan flooded 2 million homes and 3000 years of historical sites for the monolithic Three Gorges hydro dam.
So needless to say, your adventurers felt right at home. Particularly Mei, who was in fact home. Adventurers is, alas, no longer the right word. The life on the wilderness trail has turned into a pampered procession from one wedding banquet to the next. The only way to celebrate in China is to stuff oneself (hear hear proclaims Rock), so even the most distant relatives feel obliged to throw a ginormous feast for the newlyweds. At first it's superb - juicy roast goose, spicy sichuan eel, crackling peking duck - but gradually the sight of yet another fried dish rotating monotonously towards you on the table's central turntable becomes first routine, then tedious and finally nauseas. Thank the lord they sell Oreos here.
But after fives days of being prodded on poked as exhibit A in the "look how pasty and fat foreign devils are" show, it's time to hit the wilds again. Next stop Zhangjiajie - famous for its uhm... phallus shaped mountains. I'm sure there's a funny headline for the next blog entry 'up there' somewhere.
Regards,
Rochester Cahan
--------------------------
Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld
So needless to say, your adventurers felt right at home. Particularly Mei, who was in fact home. Adventurers is, alas, no longer the right word. The life on the wilderness trail has turned into a pampered procession from one wedding banquet to the next. The only way to celebrate in China is to stuff oneself (hear hear proclaims Rock), so even the most distant relatives feel obliged to throw a ginormous feast for the newlyweds. At first it's superb - juicy roast goose, spicy sichuan eel, crackling peking duck - but gradually the sight of yet another fried dish rotating monotonously towards you on the table's central turntable becomes first routine, then tedious and finally nauseas. Thank the lord they sell Oreos here.
But after fives days of being prodded on poked as exhibit A in the "look how pasty and fat foreign devils are" show, it's time to hit the wilds again. Next stop Zhangjiajie - famous for its uhm... phallus shaped mountains. I'm sure there's a funny headline for the next blog entry 'up there' somewhere.
Regards,
Rochester Cahan
--------------------------
Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Blackberry Juice: The Leaping Tiger Gorge
There are some travel experiences where a generous load of Rock's hype is needed to justify the blog entry. Then there are those experiences where the written word (or at least Rock's crude attempt) is barely sufficient to capture the grandure of the scenery. Then there are those experiences where neither words nor photos are adequate. And then there's the Leaping Tiger Gorge.
Much like this blog, the boundary between myth and reality is blurred. A long time ago in... no I won't go there... A long time ago, a mighty tiger is said to have leaped over the raging torrent, from one towering cliff face to the other. Someone with poetic license on par with your author witnessed this epic feat, and came up with the startlingly original Leaping Tiger moniker. Aeons later, scores of tack merchants are forever gratefully as they flog of crappy silk 'paintings' of fearsome tigers to busloads of eager tourists. But before you get the wrong idea, no we weren't on one of those buses, chugging along the new tourist road, only disgorging their cargo at key 'photo stops'. No, for your adventures, it was a different road. A road less travelled. A road that would take 2 days of brutal slog up vertical cliff faces, along deadly precipices, across waterfalls and through the clouds of shangri-la... 20km, 12 hours and 1 egg plant hot pot later, this is their story:
Day 1: The Path with 28 Bends
There were four of them in the party. A strange white man who pounds away furiously at a mysterious Berry, the likes of which don't grow in these parts. Then there was his companion, who looks like a local but who's time in far away lands has shaped her ways. And there was their fellow traveller, a man who shared the common desire to escape the generic road. Last, there was the surefooted guide, a local of the Naxi race who was born to stride the mountains of Yunnan.
But since this isn't the manual for a World of Warcraft expansion, let's get back to the story. The trek begins in the foothills of the gorge. An easy path through picturesque terraces of rice paddys dotted with the occasional stone farm house. The odd donkey carrying sacks of rice or baskets of veges meanders by. Gradually though, the idyllic country scene is left behind as the path winds its way up into the shear stone cliffs that tower over the young Yangzee River far below. Suddenly the side of the trail drops away to reveal a dizzing drop to the now raging river. On the other side of the trail the jutting cliffs continue their almost infinite climb to the misty heavens. A mere half a meter of slippery stone ledge is all that separates the trekers from the murderous stones over 300 metres below. A slow single file shuffle, carefully testing each stone before commiting one's weight - and indeed life - to the next step, is the only way to proceed. This is China - there are no safety rails and certainly no hope of a rescue.
Hours later, the torturous path continues upwards in a series of 28 hairpin bends that zigzag up the almost vertical cliff face. The altitude is around 2600 metres now. Looking across the gorge, the vista is epic. The pinnacles of stone tower vertically up from the white spray of the maelstrom at their base, their peaks masked by tendrils of fog that cling to the nooks and crannies of their scared facades.
The rain, which started as a light drizzle, has picked up by this point making the path even more trecherous. After 4 hours of backbreaking slog, the sactuary of the Halfway Guesthouse is still over 2 hours away. With daylight already long gone and a murky darkness rapidly encroaching, the race to safety is on. Finally, through the mist the welcoming lights of the inn appear and minutes later the weary, drenched travellers gratefully drop their packs. The guesthouse is picture-perfect. A series of traditional wooden buildings perched on the edge of the cliff, with a balconey overlooking the mighty gorge. Being above cloud level, the whole structure seems to float in the sky, especially as dusk fades to darkness.
Dinner is served in the dining room perched over the gorge. The chill in the air at this altitude is biting, but the pot of hot coals placed at the weary travellers aching feet is pure heaven. As is the steaming array of stir fried veges and crispy pork. A couple of hot pots of steaming soup and a plate of fried eggplant later, the tribulations of 6 hours at the mercy of mother nature are long forgotten.
Day 2: Descending into the Depths
A quick wok-fried egg and a steaming mug of hot goats milk, gulped down while huddling around a glowing coal fire, marks the bleary-eyed start to day 2 on the road. After the brutal ascent of yesterday, the trail mercifully heads downwards. But much like the emperors of old, the mercy is shortlived. The first challenge of the day is a waterfall that cascades directly over the stone ledge that masquerades as the trail. The torrent of white water plummets down from the sky, its origin lost in the misty clouds, and after washing across the trail continues its downwards plunge into the depths of the gorge. This isn't a movie so there's no miraculous path behind the wall of water. No, the only way forward is cling to the slippery stones and wade through the torrent. Exhillerating.
From there, the trail continues its meteoric descent with little respite. A vertical kilometer below, the bottom of the gorge beckons. The overnight rain has made the already tenuous trail a deadly slide of loose stone and mud. The descent is painstakingly slow - a scramble down almost vertical stairs carved into the very face of the cliff.
Finally, the roar of the river reaches deafening levels, and the weary party reaches the bottom after 2 hours slipping and sliding downwards. What will eventually be the mighty Yangzee is now a ferocious stretch of white water rapids, pummelling the ancient cliffs on either side. Carefully navigating the maze of rock falls that punctuate the torrent, the trekers reach the very edge of the thunderous river. Unbelievable. I'm not sure if the are any English words to express the scene. Judging by the awestruck silence, neither are there in Mandarin.
Nonetheless, victory was not quite achieved, for the finale of the long march was perhaps the most challenging of all - the final ascent back up to the road and civilisation. They call it the Sky Ladder. A series of vertical stairs carved into the cliff face, culminating in a rickety steel ladder, stretching up almost 60m. Held in place only by a few cables and only strong enough to support one person at a time, this was the final challenge. The rungs - mere cross-bars of steel tubing - were slippery from mist, and the concave cliff-face meant the ladder was suspended in space with the void gaping over 200m below. By the top third of the ladder one's legs are shaking from the exertion and the sheer terror of losing grip on the feeble cables that act as hand holds.
But the drama is lessened by the fact you're reading this so evidently no one plunged to their death. Although as the guide pointed out (thankfully at the end of the journey) plenty who came before have met their deaths on the jagged stones below, and plenty more will in the future. But for this party victory was sweet. Ice cold Coka Cola sweet. The ubiquitous mastercard ad is overused, but as they say, singing happy birthday to your travelling companion in a mixture of english, chinglish, mandarin and naxi, on the final ascent after conquoring one of the world's truely great treks, is priceless. Absolutely priceless.
Regards,
Rochester Cahan
--------------------------
Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld
Much like this blog, the boundary between myth and reality is blurred. A long time ago in... no I won't go there... A long time ago, a mighty tiger is said to have leaped over the raging torrent, from one towering cliff face to the other. Someone with poetic license on par with your author witnessed this epic feat, and came up with the startlingly original Leaping Tiger moniker. Aeons later, scores of tack merchants are forever gratefully as they flog of crappy silk 'paintings' of fearsome tigers to busloads of eager tourists. But before you get the wrong idea, no we weren't on one of those buses, chugging along the new tourist road, only disgorging their cargo at key 'photo stops'. No, for your adventures, it was a different road. A road less travelled. A road that would take 2 days of brutal slog up vertical cliff faces, along deadly precipices, across waterfalls and through the clouds of shangri-la... 20km, 12 hours and 1 egg plant hot pot later, this is their story:
Day 1: The Path with 28 Bends
There were four of them in the party. A strange white man who pounds away furiously at a mysterious Berry, the likes of which don't grow in these parts. Then there was his companion, who looks like a local but who's time in far away lands has shaped her ways. And there was their fellow traveller, a man who shared the common desire to escape the generic road. Last, there was the surefooted guide, a local of the Naxi race who was born to stride the mountains of Yunnan.
But since this isn't the manual for a World of Warcraft expansion, let's get back to the story. The trek begins in the foothills of the gorge. An easy path through picturesque terraces of rice paddys dotted with the occasional stone farm house. The odd donkey carrying sacks of rice or baskets of veges meanders by. Gradually though, the idyllic country scene is left behind as the path winds its way up into the shear stone cliffs that tower over the young Yangzee River far below. Suddenly the side of the trail drops away to reveal a dizzing drop to the now raging river. On the other side of the trail the jutting cliffs continue their almost infinite climb to the misty heavens. A mere half a meter of slippery stone ledge is all that separates the trekers from the murderous stones over 300 metres below. A slow single file shuffle, carefully testing each stone before commiting one's weight - and indeed life - to the next step, is the only way to proceed. This is China - there are no safety rails and certainly no hope of a rescue.
Hours later, the torturous path continues upwards in a series of 28 hairpin bends that zigzag up the almost vertical cliff face. The altitude is around 2600 metres now. Looking across the gorge, the vista is epic. The pinnacles of stone tower vertically up from the white spray of the maelstrom at their base, their peaks masked by tendrils of fog that cling to the nooks and crannies of their scared facades.
The rain, which started as a light drizzle, has picked up by this point making the path even more trecherous. After 4 hours of backbreaking slog, the sactuary of the Halfway Guesthouse is still over 2 hours away. With daylight already long gone and a murky darkness rapidly encroaching, the race to safety is on. Finally, through the mist the welcoming lights of the inn appear and minutes later the weary, drenched travellers gratefully drop their packs. The guesthouse is picture-perfect. A series of traditional wooden buildings perched on the edge of the cliff, with a balconey overlooking the mighty gorge. Being above cloud level, the whole structure seems to float in the sky, especially as dusk fades to darkness.
Dinner is served in the dining room perched over the gorge. The chill in the air at this altitude is biting, but the pot of hot coals placed at the weary travellers aching feet is pure heaven. As is the steaming array of stir fried veges and crispy pork. A couple of hot pots of steaming soup and a plate of fried eggplant later, the tribulations of 6 hours at the mercy of mother nature are long forgotten.
Day 2: Descending into the Depths
A quick wok-fried egg and a steaming mug of hot goats milk, gulped down while huddling around a glowing coal fire, marks the bleary-eyed start to day 2 on the road. After the brutal ascent of yesterday, the trail mercifully heads downwards. But much like the emperors of old, the mercy is shortlived. The first challenge of the day is a waterfall that cascades directly over the stone ledge that masquerades as the trail. The torrent of white water plummets down from the sky, its origin lost in the misty clouds, and after washing across the trail continues its downwards plunge into the depths of the gorge. This isn't a movie so there's no miraculous path behind the wall of water. No, the only way forward is cling to the slippery stones and wade through the torrent. Exhillerating.
From there, the trail continues its meteoric descent with little respite. A vertical kilometer below, the bottom of the gorge beckons. The overnight rain has made the already tenuous trail a deadly slide of loose stone and mud. The descent is painstakingly slow - a scramble down almost vertical stairs carved into the very face of the cliff.
Finally, the roar of the river reaches deafening levels, and the weary party reaches the bottom after 2 hours slipping and sliding downwards. What will eventually be the mighty Yangzee is now a ferocious stretch of white water rapids, pummelling the ancient cliffs on either side. Carefully navigating the maze of rock falls that punctuate the torrent, the trekers reach the very edge of the thunderous river. Unbelievable. I'm not sure if the are any English words to express the scene. Judging by the awestruck silence, neither are there in Mandarin.
Nonetheless, victory was not quite achieved, for the finale of the long march was perhaps the most challenging of all - the final ascent back up to the road and civilisation. They call it the Sky Ladder. A series of vertical stairs carved into the cliff face, culminating in a rickety steel ladder, stretching up almost 60m. Held in place only by a few cables and only strong enough to support one person at a time, this was the final challenge. The rungs - mere cross-bars of steel tubing - were slippery from mist, and the concave cliff-face meant the ladder was suspended in space with the void gaping over 200m below. By the top third of the ladder one's legs are shaking from the exertion and the sheer terror of losing grip on the feeble cables that act as hand holds.
But the drama is lessened by the fact you're reading this so evidently no one plunged to their death. Although as the guide pointed out (thankfully at the end of the journey) plenty who came before have met their deaths on the jagged stones below, and plenty more will in the future. But for this party victory was sweet. Ice cold Coka Cola sweet. The ubiquitous mastercard ad is overused, but as they say, singing happy birthday to your travelling companion in a mixture of english, chinglish, mandarin and naxi, on the final ascent after conquoring one of the world's truely great treks, is priceless. Absolutely priceless.
Regards,
Rochester Cahan
--------------------------
Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld
Monday, April 09, 2007
Blackberry Juice: The Roar of the Jade Dragon
Base camp for the last couple of days has been the stunning village of Lijiang, still in the Yunnan province but nearing the border with Tibet. Like Dali, the old town centre is almost perfectly preserved - a labrinth of cobblestone streets and gurgling canals, teeming with exotic stalls and appetising aromas. Asia really gets going after dark (apart from Mei who's packed it in already) - once the sun sets the red latterns blaze into life and the cheery glow of noodle shops beckon invitingly at every corner.
But enough of the feel good pleasantries. The real action today was the taming of the mighty Jade Dragon Snow Mountain. For once the Chinese affection for rather grandiose names proved warranted and then some (although, one might point out, Mei's surname Zhu - literally 'pig' - also delivers in that respect :). The Dragon is a mighty pinnacle of foreboding stone and ice that towers a collosal 5500m above the Lijiang valley. The first section of the ascent is a stomach churning 2km gondola ride (not helped by the sickly watery syrup that the cafe at the bottom optimistically hailed as a genuine 'america mocha'). The gondola tops out at 4506m, and from there the push to the top viewing platform is on foot along an icy pathway. It's only 200m vertically. "Only 200m. No problem. Too easy. They want to sell ME oxygen bottles!? With my superior physique!? Screw that!!" Such were Rock's lofty claims as he strode purposefully from the gondola. That's when the first icy blast of driving snow hits. " It's gonna take more than a bit of a breeze to stop me!" That's when the air suddenly doesn't seem to want to fill the lungs. That's when the legs start to wobble. That's when head seems to float away from the body and a wave of dizziness hits. That's when Rock's rhetoric steps up another notch. "Pah, altitude sickness is for noobs! It will pass in a few minutes" Alas words are cheap. Heck even Mei 'I'm on a diet' Zhu can afford them. The mighty Jade Dragon doesn't roll over without a fight. The vicious assualt of icy wind is unrelenting; the strain on oxygen sapped muscles is unforgiving; the humiliation as 80 year old, chain smoking Chinese men casually stroll past whilst whisting light mountaineering songs is the last straw. Thus over an hour later the Long March comes to a triumphant end with the obligatory photo shoot at the tacky summit marker. Of course, the descent is much faster with the knowledge that chili egg plant awaits at the bottom...
Regards,
Rochester Cahan
--------------------------
Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld
But enough of the feel good pleasantries. The real action today was the taming of the mighty Jade Dragon Snow Mountain. For once the Chinese affection for rather grandiose names proved warranted and then some (although, one might point out, Mei's surname Zhu - literally 'pig' - also delivers in that respect :). The Dragon is a mighty pinnacle of foreboding stone and ice that towers a collosal 5500m above the Lijiang valley. The first section of the ascent is a stomach churning 2km gondola ride (not helped by the sickly watery syrup that the cafe at the bottom optimistically hailed as a genuine 'america mocha'). The gondola tops out at 4506m, and from there the push to the top viewing platform is on foot along an icy pathway. It's only 200m vertically. "Only 200m. No problem. Too easy. They want to sell ME oxygen bottles!? With my superior physique!? Screw that!!" Such were Rock's lofty claims as he strode purposefully from the gondola. That's when the first icy blast of driving snow hits. " It's gonna take more than a bit of a breeze to stop me!" That's when the air suddenly doesn't seem to want to fill the lungs. That's when the legs start to wobble. That's when head seems to float away from the body and a wave of dizziness hits. That's when Rock's rhetoric steps up another notch. "Pah, altitude sickness is for noobs! It will pass in a few minutes" Alas words are cheap. Heck even Mei 'I'm on a diet' Zhu can afford them. The mighty Jade Dragon doesn't roll over without a fight. The vicious assualt of icy wind is unrelenting; the strain on oxygen sapped muscles is unforgiving; the humiliation as 80 year old, chain smoking Chinese men casually stroll past whilst whisting light mountaineering songs is the last straw. Thus over an hour later the Long March comes to a triumphant end with the obligatory photo shoot at the tacky summit marker. Of course, the descent is much faster with the knowledge that chili egg plant awaits at the bottom...
Regards,
Rochester Cahan
--------------------------
Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Blackberry Juice: Crouching Toilet, Hidden Paper
The contrast couldn't be greater - yesterday we left you dodging the organ collector in the viscous smog of Shenzhen; today we come to you live from the picturesque town of Dali in the Yunnan district. Yesterday toilets came with running water, 8 ply perfumed paper and a copy of the five star room service menu in the reading basket; today they come as literally a trench in the ground, necessitating a degree of manoeuvering that makes Luke Skywalker's trench run look like... well, bulls-eying womp rats in beggar's canyon back home. And that's before the sinking moment when you realise paper isn't provided. Using the force, unfortunately, proves a less than viable option. But enough of the prelude (which is there only to tenously justify the witty but somewhat superfluous title), back to the action!
After touching down (ok, crunching down - this is China Eastern) in Kunming, your adventurers headed straight to the train station to catch the overnight sleeper to Dali. Nestled between misty blue mountains on one side and a big lake on the other, the town has a hint of a Queenstown feel to it - touristy but still with a bit of small town charm. The old city centre is postcard perfect, with cobblestone streets lined on both sides by traditional plaster and tile shops teeming with the colours and aromas of the Far East. Row after row of gaudy silk scarves compete with gleaming cases of silver jewelry and marble figurines for the tourist's wallet . Along each side of the road a creek gurgles through stone guttering. The whole old city is surrounded by a castle wall, interrupter only by four imposing guard houses and gates at each corner of the compass. As the sun sets (at a ludicrously late hour due to Beijing's insistence, in true totalitarian fashion, that all of China use the same time) and the red lanterns twinkle into life, the spectacle is truely memorable.
The other sights of Dali are more of a mixed bag. The explosion in domestic tourism has seen a new level of packaged 'experiences' spring to life. Some are ok, others are certainly experiences, but for all the wrong reasons. Destination one was a working example of an ancient village of the local minority race - known as the White people, based on the literal translation, due to their fairer skin. Rock's pasty arrival immediately rendered that a bit of a misnomer though. Their society was a matriarchy, with women calling the shots and wearing the (elaborately embroidered) trousers. Needless to say, Rock felt right at home. The highlight of the tour, after wading through the tacky obligatory photos in traditional costumes (at least this is the one place where a made in china tag can't be criticised for ruining the authenticity), was a tea tasting ceremony. Think the Chinese equivalent of a beer or wine tasting session, except Rock can actually leave under his own locomotion. The teas ranged from sweet gingery concoctions to bitter almost medicinal brews. Overall, 7 out of 10.
Destination two was a limestone cave that the brochure claimed was the experience of a lifetime. It certainly is - if faced with the prospect of going through it again, jumping off the gondola that takes you up is the preferred option. The 'cave' was little more than a few mundane caverns with very few stalagtites, or any other features that set caves apart from holes in the ground (or that set tourist attractions apart from rip offs). Obviously realising they needed to spice things up a bit, the operators have settled on trying to disguise the shortcomings with an ad hoc assortment of neon lights and christmas lights. Only the spectacular views from the top of the gondola before entering the 'cave' keep this from sinking lower than 3/10.
It was with some aprehension, then, that the party (small p, as opposed to the Party, who are too busy chasing falun gongers to be much interested in doing the touristy thing) set out for destination three - a cruise on the aptly named Ear Shaped Lake. Luckily the fears were unfounded. The two hour cruise on a little 10 person boat took in such sights as a monestary perched on an island (actually I think it was a resort that looked like a monestary, but that's not quite as romantic) and the residence of an uber-rich artist whose waterfront mansion dominated another island. The later was a superb example of contempory Chinese architecture, skillfully blending the natural rock faces of the island with a fusion of glass and concrete. Its hard to tell where the gardens end and the inside of the house actually starts. 8/10.
But now its time to saddle up again for the journey to Lijiang, even deeper in the mountains of Yunnan. Watch this space, or at least watch the papers for news of some dumb westerners meeting an untimely end tring to traverse the Leaping Tiger gorge...
Regards,
Rochester Cahan
--------------------------
Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld
After touching down (ok, crunching down - this is China Eastern) in Kunming, your adventurers headed straight to the train station to catch the overnight sleeper to Dali. Nestled between misty blue mountains on one side and a big lake on the other, the town has a hint of a Queenstown feel to it - touristy but still with a bit of small town charm. The old city centre is postcard perfect, with cobblestone streets lined on both sides by traditional plaster and tile shops teeming with the colours and aromas of the Far East. Row after row of gaudy silk scarves compete with gleaming cases of silver jewelry and marble figurines for the tourist's wallet . Along each side of the road a creek gurgles through stone guttering. The whole old city is surrounded by a castle wall, interrupter only by four imposing guard houses and gates at each corner of the compass. As the sun sets (at a ludicrously late hour due to Beijing's insistence, in true totalitarian fashion, that all of China use the same time) and the red lanterns twinkle into life, the spectacle is truely memorable.
The other sights of Dali are more of a mixed bag. The explosion in domestic tourism has seen a new level of packaged 'experiences' spring to life. Some are ok, others are certainly experiences, but for all the wrong reasons. Destination one was a working example of an ancient village of the local minority race - known as the White people, based on the literal translation, due to their fairer skin. Rock's pasty arrival immediately rendered that a bit of a misnomer though. Their society was a matriarchy, with women calling the shots and wearing the (elaborately embroidered) trousers. Needless to say, Rock felt right at home. The highlight of the tour, after wading through the tacky obligatory photos in traditional costumes (at least this is the one place where a made in china tag can't be criticised for ruining the authenticity), was a tea tasting ceremony. Think the Chinese equivalent of a beer or wine tasting session, except Rock can actually leave under his own locomotion. The teas ranged from sweet gingery concoctions to bitter almost medicinal brews. Overall, 7 out of 10.
Destination two was a limestone cave that the brochure claimed was the experience of a lifetime. It certainly is - if faced with the prospect of going through it again, jumping off the gondola that takes you up is the preferred option. The 'cave' was little more than a few mundane caverns with very few stalagtites, or any other features that set caves apart from holes in the ground (or that set tourist attractions apart from rip offs). Obviously realising they needed to spice things up a bit, the operators have settled on trying to disguise the shortcomings with an ad hoc assortment of neon lights and christmas lights. Only the spectacular views from the top of the gondola before entering the 'cave' keep this from sinking lower than 3/10.
It was with some aprehension, then, that the party (small p, as opposed to the Party, who are too busy chasing falun gongers to be much interested in doing the touristy thing) set out for destination three - a cruise on the aptly named Ear Shaped Lake. Luckily the fears were unfounded. The two hour cruise on a little 10 person boat took in such sights as a monestary perched on an island (actually I think it was a resort that looked like a monestary, but that's not quite as romantic) and the residence of an uber-rich artist whose waterfront mansion dominated another island. The later was a superb example of contempory Chinese architecture, skillfully blending the natural rock faces of the island with a fusion of glass and concrete. Its hard to tell where the gardens end and the inside of the house actually starts. 8/10.
But now its time to saddle up again for the journey to Lijiang, even deeper in the mountains of Yunnan. Watch this space, or at least watch the papers for news of some dumb westerners meeting an untimely end tring to traverse the Leaping Tiger gorge...
Regards,
Rochester Cahan
--------------------------
Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Blackberry Juice: Made in China
Since Shenzhen was bestowed Special Economic Zone status over 20 years ago, growth has been nothing short of phenomenal. With the proliferation of the Made in China tag on everything from shoes and electronics, to my new bride, the region has transformed from a sleepy collection of rice paddies into vast tranches of factories, high rise apartments and more factories. This is the birthplace of the Chinese economic juggernaught.
But at what price? A pall of ghostly smog permanently blankets the city. Skyscrapers anything more than a few blocks away only appear as faint sillhouttes against the palid grey backdrop. The entire city reeks like a giant petrol station forecourt. So who's ready to sign up for the scenic tour? No takers yet? Well here's the clincher. Apparently the organ blackmarket is alive and well here. Lurking in the smog needle bearing thugs are supposedly waiting to deliver a quick jab to happless victims. Once unconcious they are wheeled away to have their organs chopped out alive and flogged off to the highest bidder... Urban myth no doubt but nonetheless Rock spent most the time glancing over his shoulder hoping that his size XL organs were too big for the local market :)
Before we leave this rather sordid half-way point, a few observations on Chinese skyscraper design. On the whole very impressive, except for a strange fixation with afixing flying saucers to the roof of any tall building. Either Tom Cruise and his scientology buddies are the leading property investor in these parts and are trying to entice the alien Maker back to earth, or there's a few too many bootlegged copies of the Jetsons floating around.
Next stop, assuming that dubious looking China Eastern out the window makes it off the tarmac, is Kunming. Clean air is the number one attraction.
Regards,
Rochester Cahan
--------------------------
Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld
But at what price? A pall of ghostly smog permanently blankets the city. Skyscrapers anything more than a few blocks away only appear as faint sillhouttes against the palid grey backdrop. The entire city reeks like a giant petrol station forecourt. So who's ready to sign up for the scenic tour? No takers yet? Well here's the clincher. Apparently the organ blackmarket is alive and well here. Lurking in the smog needle bearing thugs are supposedly waiting to deliver a quick jab to happless victims. Once unconcious they are wheeled away to have their organs chopped out alive and flogged off to the highest bidder... Urban myth no doubt but nonetheless Rock spent most the time glancing over his shoulder hoping that his size XL organs were too big for the local market :)
Before we leave this rather sordid half-way point, a few observations on Chinese skyscraper design. On the whole very impressive, except for a strange fixation with afixing flying saucers to the roof of any tall building. Either Tom Cruise and his scientology buddies are the leading property investor in these parts and are trying to entice the alien Maker back to earth, or there's a few too many bootlegged copies of the Jetsons floating around.
Next stop, assuming that dubious looking China Eastern out the window makes it off the tarmac, is Kunming. Clean air is the number one attraction.
Regards,
Rochester Cahan
--------------------------
Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld
Blackberry Juice: Hong Kong - Gateway to the Orient
Welcome to the officially licensed blog of Honeymoon 07! Here you can read all about the adventures of Rock and Pebble in the Far East with exclusive behind the scenes content, like how Rock lost his wedding ring on the second day of marriage...
But we start this story, appropriately, at the gateway to to the Orient - the mighty port of Hong Kong. The majestic clippers of colonial days may be consigned to the pages of history, but this pumping city has lost none of its cosmopolitian, crossroads-of-the-world vibe. This city is a fusion of the brazenly modern and perpetual traditions. Gleaming steel towers can never entirely crowd out the corner wonton shop. Louis Vutton and Prada can never entirely outsparkle the local gold merchant. The Island Shangri-La can never... Ok, screw that, who am I kidding? Billed as a destination in its own right (or so Rock says to console himself when two nights cost as much as the rest of the honeymoon combined) the hotel lived up to its reputation in every department. From the 47th floor the twinkling lights of the harbour stretch out below, from the majestic angular facade of the Bank of China building to the lofty number two tower of the International Financial Centre. And if your tastes, like Mei, run along the lines of ubiquitous Cantonese period dramas, then you won't have to miss even a single gravity-defying screaming-tiger-triple-twist kung foo kick, even during toilet breaks thanks to the lcd tv equipted bathroom.
At this point I was about to launch into a then-we-did-this linear monologue, but that would embarrasingly reveal that Rock's first romantic honeymoon surprise was... a trip to Citigroup Centre. Also revealed is the author's typically eclectic mix of first and third person...
But what about the food, I hear my regular readers ask? Why he's made it to the fourth paragraph without a single mention, they chorus (it's easy to chorus when there's only one reader left at this juncture...). Let me give you a brief taste (hur hur hur): think succulent roast goose dripping in a rich...uhm... goose sauce. Think enormous clams loaded with glass noodles and lavish... uhm... clam sauce. Think giant steamed prawns that only moments ago were paddling happily in the wall aquarium. Think food so good one would be tempted to lick the crumbs off Rock's shorts after he lost control of his chopsticks... On second though, cancel that image.
Anyway, there's a lot more fried rice where that came from. Having lived up the high-life in glitzy HK, your adventurers have headed west into the heart on the People's Republic. Currently they pen this from the industrial wasteland of Shenzhen (bear with me, I need to blow away some smog so I can see the blackberry screen again). Chances are that made in China keyboard you're reading this from came from here. As did the clothes you're wearing. As did this blackberry... Luckily this is just a staging post for our assault on Yunnan. But more on that later.
And yes, I found my ring and managed to stave off divorce for a few more days...
Regards,
Rochester Cahan
--------------------------
Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld
But we start this story, appropriately, at the gateway to to the Orient - the mighty port of Hong Kong. The majestic clippers of colonial days may be consigned to the pages of history, but this pumping city has lost none of its cosmopolitian, crossroads-of-the-world vibe. This city is a fusion of the brazenly modern and perpetual traditions. Gleaming steel towers can never entirely crowd out the corner wonton shop. Louis Vutton and Prada can never entirely outsparkle the local gold merchant. The Island Shangri-La can never... Ok, screw that, who am I kidding? Billed as a destination in its own right (or so Rock says to console himself when two nights cost as much as the rest of the honeymoon combined) the hotel lived up to its reputation in every department. From the 47th floor the twinkling lights of the harbour stretch out below, from the majestic angular facade of the Bank of China building to the lofty number two tower of the International Financial Centre. And if your tastes, like Mei, run along the lines of ubiquitous Cantonese period dramas, then you won't have to miss even a single gravity-defying screaming-tiger-triple-twist kung foo kick, even during toilet breaks thanks to the lcd tv equipted bathroom.
At this point I was about to launch into a then-we-did-this linear monologue, but that would embarrasingly reveal that Rock's first romantic honeymoon surprise was... a trip to Citigroup Centre. Also revealed is the author's typically eclectic mix of first and third person...
But what about the food, I hear my regular readers ask? Why he's made it to the fourth paragraph without a single mention, they chorus (it's easy to chorus when there's only one reader left at this juncture...). Let me give you a brief taste (hur hur hur): think succulent roast goose dripping in a rich...uhm... goose sauce. Think enormous clams loaded with glass noodles and lavish... uhm... clam sauce. Think giant steamed prawns that only moments ago were paddling happily in the wall aquarium. Think food so good one would be tempted to lick the crumbs off Rock's shorts after he lost control of his chopsticks... On second though, cancel that image.
Anyway, there's a lot more fried rice where that came from. Having lived up the high-life in glitzy HK, your adventurers have headed west into the heart on the People's Republic. Currently they pen this from the industrial wasteland of Shenzhen (bear with me, I need to blow away some smog so I can see the blackberry screen again). Chances are that made in China keyboard you're reading this from came from here. As did the clothes you're wearing. As did this blackberry... Luckily this is just a staging post for our assault on Yunnan. But more on that later.
And yes, I found my ring and managed to stave off divorce for a few more days...
Regards,
Rochester Cahan
--------------------------
Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld
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