Last time Team J00ster saw Tibetan prayer flags fluttering in the rarefied alpine air was at the foot of Mount Everest. So this latest auspicious sighting can mean only one thing: here be mountains!
Was it Confucius who said that it's not about the destination but the journey? Probably not, but hey, the facts never get in the way of a good story on this blog. Just like in Congress. Anyway, the journey to Huanglong National Park is one for the ages. A narrow road precipitously clinging to the desolate, wind-lashed slopes of the mighty Minshan range.
The highest pass on the road tops out at 4,000 meters and really hammers home the magnificent desolation in this part of the world.
Hopefully one of these prayer flags is inscribed with some words to the effect of "please don't let the brakes fail at the next hairpin". The usual "let the yaks be fat and the hot pot bountiful" doesn't really help right now. It's a steep descent into Huanglong valley from up here.
See the winding brown ribbon? Yeah, that's the road. No wonder this place shuts down in winter, it's bad enough descending in perfect conditions like today.
Sure the air is a little thin over 3,000 meters, but one does get the feeling these portable oxygen cylinders are a little overkill. After all, there's a big bus load of chain-smoking lowlanders powering up the mountain singing jolly drinking songs.
Huanglong's trademark is a stunning series of travertine terraces that snake their way down a six kilometer long valley. It's Mammoth Hot Springs done on the usual massive Chinese scale.
Lucky we ignored that stupid Chinese proverb that claimed once you've seen the water of Jiuzhaigou you never need to see water again.
A ancient Buddhist temple rises from the verdant forest surrounding the terraces and just a hint of incense wafts on the mountain breeze. Even the megaphones are temporarily silenced in the presence of such a spellbinding sight.
There is perhaps no better barometer of a nation's maturity than how it treats its national treasures. Fortunately China's report card is finally looking a little better; the parks are immaculate and the facilities top notch. The automated bio-toilets put the typical US campsite long drop to shame.
Does anyone else think these look like someone spilled a tube of Pringles? Must be time to break out the lunch provisions.
Forget Shanghai's Bund, this is the best slice of real estate in all of China. Lucky someone put a temple on it before the bulldozers could get to it.
Finally some smoke that doesn't come from an exhaust pipe or a factory chimney. Even UNESCO will turn a blind eye to the fragrant shrouds of incense that waft through the temple. Of course, it probably also helps when you're a permanent member of the security council.
You can always tell you're half way down when you hit the midway noodle shops.
There it is, the coveted J00ster stamp of approval! Stand back and watch the crowds pour in. Oh wait, they're already here.
Who's ready for a terrace encore?
Just like Tim Tebow, you can never have too much terrace.
Ok, as Woody Johnson discovered, maybe you can have too much.
One of the amazing things about the park is how the colors keep changing as one heads down the valley. From rich turquoise to sparking emerald and back again in a dizzying rainbow of translucent colors.
Just when you've seen enough terraces, Huanglong pulls a new trick out of the bag. The Seven Miles of Golden Sand is a vast expanse of yellow travertine that stretches for a good couple of kilometers down the valley. Not sure where the seven miles comes from, it's big but not that big. Perhaps the discoverer wrote for J00ster in his spare time...
At the end of the Golden Sand is a big waterfall. And a Hubei gal apparently.
The lower terraces weave their way through lush bamboo forests and take on a deeper green tint compared to those higher up. Which is all the excuse we need to offer up another terrace gallery.
After six kilometers of terracing, it's time to hit the road back to civilization. Actually, this is probably a road that you don't want to hit, at least when it comes to the flimsy guardrail between you and oblivion.
Accommodation for the night is a working Tibetan village. Unlike the last Tibetan accommodation - a yak hair tent on the frigid plateau of Everest base camp - this one features a few luxuries that go above and beyond a cozy yak dung fire. Like a golf cart to take you to your room for example.
Forget the no smoking sign, where's the "No Self-Imolation" sign?
Where's the golf cart when you need it? It's hot pot time!
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