The guys, 8/21/09
(Mom has asked for the story that goes with this photo.)
Friday, August 21, 2009
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Along the Yulong River
About 5 miles outside of Yangshou the slow moving Yulong River meanders its way through the massive karst topography of southern China. The trail from Yangshou to the river is paved, and it is often clogged with tourists, but it is beautiful, serene and lonely all the same. Trekking away from my low budget hostel the road climbs its only significant rise between the town and the river. As the buildings of Yangshou disappear behind the peaks, I am quickly deposited in a narrow valley.
In the early morning the road was a flutter with local activity. Loud tractors full of farm supplies rumble by. The morning's harvest makes its way in the other direction. The bamboo raft drivers fly down the road on their motorcycles each one blaring their horn as they pass to my very near left. Although the valley is narrow the locals have managed to carve small rice farms out of the land. In the fields the women pick and tie bunches of the plants while the men load their tractors near the road. Somewhere after the first bend the valley begins to open up. To the right farming persists for 200, 300, 400 meters as the massive mountains veer away from the road. To my left, peak after peak rise thousands of feet into the air. Sheer cliffs with plant life seeming to be clinging desperately to the face with their roots. Nature has weathered out small niches in the base of many of the peaks.
Here old ladies sit, selling hats and tiaras made of flowers. Another hundred metres and the trail seems to give birth to what is, I promise you, the most beautiful scene anyone has ever seen. Within the tall confines of the valley walls a massive and proud peak stands solitary, and at its base is a village. The mud road to the left bumps through a small village with no storefronts, just homes. To the right the paved trail cuts quickly through town and on to the Yulong river. Touts scream at me, "Bamboo... Bamboo." I respond with a stern "Bo yo shia shia."
I decided to see where the path to the left led... it led to nowhere but that was the point. The locals on this side of the village were not used to seeing westerners stray from the manicured trail and were eager to have me notice them. "You walk from Yangshuo?" a man asked in surprisingly good English with a look of awe on his face. I simply nod. After exploring the small paths of the town and giving the children a few enthusiastic "Ni haos" I found myself back on the paved trail again heading towards the Yulong. As the road leaves the more modernized part of the village the valley opens up on both sides of the road. It seems that here the entire world is open to me. It is nothing but blue and white sky and peak after cloudy peak.
This is the China we have seen painted a million times and probably written on just as much. I can imagine the ancient Chinese here thinking of the dragon and the phoenix wrapping their way between the massive peaks. The fertile valley floor is flat and ensures that my view of the topography is unencumbered. Something as simple as a stone bridge leading into the soggy fields becomes magical in a setting such as this. When you walk this trail you feel full, entire. Now the trail is beginning to get crowded though, and I must constantly look over my shoulder to ensure that I am not tagged by a motorcycle or tractor, or even worse one of the gigantic buses that are now shipping thousands of tourists to the berth of the bamboo floats. I am soon near the river where more raft drivers offer me their service. In order to escape their requests I find a small dirt path that leads down to the river. And there it was, silent but mighty, slowly weathering this land even further. Upstream there is a flotilla of umbrella clad bamboo rafts. Down stream local children are gathering water guns to sell to the tourists. The colors of these man made items create a paradox that is garish but unmistakeably beautiful. What was once only green and blue is now a flurry of red and orange and green and purple and blue and blue and blue.
I find myself on a map within my travel guide and as some children shyly approach me I show them where we are. The bravest of these quickly grabs the book from my hands and begins searching the map. I am not sure how much of it she comprehended and she quickly handed it back to me closed. I did not spend long at the river, it was hot and I was getting hungry. The walk back home was full of the same scenery and wonder. I have walked or ridden a bike down this trail many times now, sat completely alone and homesick at the edge of a small farm; played and swam in the river with the tourists; jumped off the famous Yulong Bridge into the river and then rode the current back to my clothes; and even climbed the mountains walling the valley until they simply dumped me into another scar in the Earth. The thing that is shocking about all my trips is how it never gets old, never gets ugly, never gets boring. This is why I came to China, for this.
In the early morning the road was a flutter with local activity. Loud tractors full of farm supplies rumble by. The morning's harvest makes its way in the other direction. The bamboo raft drivers fly down the road on their motorcycles each one blaring their horn as they pass to my very near left. Although the valley is narrow the locals have managed to carve small rice farms out of the land. In the fields the women pick and tie bunches of the plants while the men load their tractors near the road. Somewhere after the first bend the valley begins to open up. To the right farming persists for 200, 300, 400 meters as the massive mountains veer away from the road. To my left, peak after peak rise thousands of feet into the air. Sheer cliffs with plant life seeming to be clinging desperately to the face with their roots. Nature has weathered out small niches in the base of many of the peaks.
Here old ladies sit, selling hats and tiaras made of flowers. Another hundred metres and the trail seems to give birth to what is, I promise you, the most beautiful scene anyone has ever seen. Within the tall confines of the valley walls a massive and proud peak stands solitary, and at its base is a village. The mud road to the left bumps through a small village with no storefronts, just homes. To the right the paved trail cuts quickly through town and on to the Yulong river. Touts scream at me, "Bamboo... Bamboo." I respond with a stern "Bo yo shia shia."
I decided to see where the path to the left led... it led to nowhere but that was the point. The locals on this side of the village were not used to seeing westerners stray from the manicured trail and were eager to have me notice them. "You walk from Yangshuo?" a man asked in surprisingly good English with a look of awe on his face. I simply nod. After exploring the small paths of the town and giving the children a few enthusiastic "Ni haos" I found myself back on the paved trail again heading towards the Yulong. As the road leaves the more modernized part of the village the valley opens up on both sides of the road. It seems that here the entire world is open to me. It is nothing but blue and white sky and peak after cloudy peak.
This is the China we have seen painted a million times and probably written on just as much. I can imagine the ancient Chinese here thinking of the dragon and the phoenix wrapping their way between the massive peaks. The fertile valley floor is flat and ensures that my view of the topography is unencumbered. Something as simple as a stone bridge leading into the soggy fields becomes magical in a setting such as this. When you walk this trail you feel full, entire. Now the trail is beginning to get crowded though, and I must constantly look over my shoulder to ensure that I am not tagged by a motorcycle or tractor, or even worse one of the gigantic buses that are now shipping thousands of tourists to the berth of the bamboo floats. I am soon near the river where more raft drivers offer me their service. In order to escape their requests I find a small dirt path that leads down to the river. And there it was, silent but mighty, slowly weathering this land even further. Upstream there is a flotilla of umbrella clad bamboo rafts. Down stream local children are gathering water guns to sell to the tourists. The colors of these man made items create a paradox that is garish but unmistakeably beautiful. What was once only green and blue is now a flurry of red and orange and green and purple and blue and blue and blue.
I find myself on a map within my travel guide and as some children shyly approach me I show them where we are. The bravest of these quickly grabs the book from my hands and begins searching the map. I am not sure how much of it she comprehended and she quickly handed it back to me closed. I did not spend long at the river, it was hot and I was getting hungry. The walk back home was full of the same scenery and wonder. I have walked or ridden a bike down this trail many times now, sat completely alone and homesick at the edge of a small farm; played and swam in the river with the tourists; jumped off the famous Yulong Bridge into the river and then rode the current back to my clothes; and even climbed the mountains walling the valley until they simply dumped me into another scar in the Earth. The thing that is shocking about all my trips is how it never gets old, never gets ugly, never gets boring. This is why I came to China, for this.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Adapting
Hey everybody this is the second post that I am making through my parents. If you do have any comments please send them to cjohnson627@gmail.com Also identify yourself in the email so that I can respond. I am now in my second city in China (Yangshuo) and I am beginning to really get into the frame of mind that I will be living here for a whole year. While that is a scary prospect I think that everyday I am getting more and more excited to start my life here. One of the strangest things is that I will not be returning to Elon this fall. I miss every aspect of my life there at Elon and I have to say that I feel a bit like I am jumping into the unknown. However my orientation starts Monday and I am thinking that as I learn more about what it will be like to actually teach I will become exponentially more comfortable in this country. I am slow to set up skype and whatnot but hopefully I will be able to manage that pretty soon after I reach the city I will be working in. One plus of being here early is that I am able to meet all sorts of interesting people who have already lived in China for months and years. It is comforting that they tell me I will undoubtedly feel better soon. I miss all of you but I think that to truly adapt in China I will have to manage to spread my roots here just as I had to at Elon four years ago.
C. Johnson
C. Johnson
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Guilin
Well my first few days in China have been exciting. As far as I can tell the blogspot website is unavailable here so my parents will be posting via email. The karst topography here in Guilin is incredible. For those who don't know, karst topography is mountains of very hard rock with sheer faces. As the soft rock around weathered away the karsts remained standing tall. These geological formations surround Guilin. It is very hot here and I have had to make sure that I do not overexert myself during my hiking. My hotel sits on the main promenade along the Li River. Here people do tai chi all day and they also swim in the river. I have been Google Mapping this region for weeks and I must say that the satellite photographs do not do it justice. I really do think that this is one of the prettiest places that I have ever visited. The first site I visited was Elephant Hill . This formation sits right on the river and the way that it has weathered makes it look like an elephant drinking from the river. I woke up early and had the place mostly to myself, although I did do some obligatory posing for the Chinese tourists. I then started a 2 km walk north to the next site. This walk ended up being over 8 km as I got myself lost. So much for not overexerting myself. I did finally make it to Solitary Beauty Peak, which was at this time of day crawling with tourists. It is a steep climb to the top but once up there the cooling breeze and the view of Guilin is splendid. The afternoon was spent worrying and being homesick. That night I did force myself to go to the Ronghu Lake and Zhongshan market. It would not be worth it to sit in my room pouting. The next morning was another early one full of walking. I crossed the Li River on the Liberation Bridge and got some more great shots of the city. Then I went to one of the world's first tourist destinations... ever. 7 stars park was founded during the Sui Dynasty and it is simply gorgeous. It is essentially a area of karst topography inside of the city that has been partitioned off and for 35 RMB one can have full access to the peaks there. I climbed many more mountains and walked and walked and walked. Eventually the midday heat and throngs of tourists forced me to retreat to the hotel where I took a quick nap. For dinner I went to a place called the Little Italian which was near my hotel for some pizza... it was delicious. The second I walked in the manager changed the music from something from China to Bloodhound Gang's "Do it like they do on the Discovery Channel". It was followed by Michael Jackson. I wondered whether or not these men knew he had died. I didn't have the heart to tell them. I ended that day by climbing the world's tallest copper pagoda. The building is in the center of Ronghu Lake and offers great view on downtown Guilin. A full night's sleep is still hard to come by because of my jetlag but I am hoping that this will get better soon. I will soon be on my way to the next city where I will meet my employers and coworkers. I think hat meeting these people will help me to not feel so lonely here in China.
C. Johnson
C. Johnson
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