Tiger Leaping Gorge-ous

As Akke and I were waiting to leave Dali, we were joined by another backpacker, Otto from Finland so our group was three once more. We took the bus about 4 hours to Lijiang, and when we arrived we grabbed our bags from the luggage hold and they were wet and stinking of river fish. A polystyrene container, obviously transporting live fish, had slopped some of its contents and the padded straps of our bags soaked up the stinking liquid. We boarded another bus which was heading to a village called Qiaotou (pronounced a bit like 'chateaux'), and two hours later we arrived. We checked into Jane's Hostel, which is at the start of the Tiger Leaping Gorge trek. Before nightfall we decided to go for a little explore of the dusty village, and again the smell of cannabis wafted down from the hillsides. We started hiking up a hillside with the hope of reaching a temple looking place we had seen from the valley floor. Dusk descended as we were halfway up in the woods, having already crossed a few little farmsteads, and so decided to head back down to town as it would've been too difficult in the dark. That evening we shivered in the hostel, and chatted to a group of French girls as the night drew on. Beautiful dark haired French girls seemed to be my new weakness. I'd met two in as many days, both by chance called Camille, with sunshine eyes and heartache smiles; and both commanded my desires. I was reminded of a Jack Kerouac quote from On the Road; 'a pain stabbed my heart, as it did every time I saw a girl I loved going the opposite direction in this too-big world'. Lusting aside, before bed I wandered out into the chilly black street to take a photograph of the stars as the skies were clear and the light pollution low. 

Terraced farming on the way out from Lijiang.

Looking down onto Qiaotou at dusk

Stars over the midnight road - outside the hostel before bed.

After breakfast the next morning we left our main luggage in storage at the hostel and the three of us started the trek. We followed the road up the mountain until it became a dusty track. The banks along the side of the route were covered in funnel web spiders, their threads like hammocks and beefy looking spiders spied us from their tunnels. Looking back down into the valley we were rewarded with beautiful views, the morning sun softly lit the Jinsha River valley and a light haze clung to the water. 

Tough looking mountain spiders hiding in their silken tunnel. 

Looking back over rice terraces towards Qiaotou, a morning haze hangs in the valley. 

Rice terraces in the Jinsha River valley.

We hiked through hamlets, across rice terraces, along dusty trails and rocky paths; we ached up the 28 bends, glided through a sea of bamboo and scurried under sighing pines. The 28 bends was the most arduous part of a thigh straining climb. The incline was steep and the sun was strong, dust kicked up from our heels and caked our dry mouths. We stopped for tea in a guest house along the way, before continuing along a path which was easier, for most of the days ascent was over. We ran into another group, themselves a collection of solo travellers, apart from one couple, a Kiwi and another Fin, who had cycled to China from Ankara in Turkey. The last hour or so we walked and chatted together, before arriving at our destination for the night, the Halfway Hostel. 

Farmsteads along the way.

Local farmers, the indigenous Naxi people of the area. 

Drying maize in a guest house along the way.

Cannabis for sale. I asked how much, she started at £10 then dropped to £3, but you can find it for free anyway.

Myself, Akke and Otto take a break from hiking.

The mountains on the other side of the gorge. 

Looking down the valley.

I accidentally trod on this creature, but it seemed to be fine.

A rare glimpse down the gorge into the roaring water below.

The Halfway Hostel was a picturesque and quaint place, that was fairly priced considering they could charge whatever they liked. As soon as we arrived we took a beer on the rickety terrace overlooking the jagged mountains opposite. We sat out chatting as the sun slowly set and cast a performance of shadows over the battered rock face of the Jade Dragon Snow Mountain. The temperature dropped and we took the conversation inside, and the couple who had cycled from Turkey bore the brunt of the questioning and story-telling. We were a mix of two English, two French, two Dutch, two Finnish and a New Zealander. After a while the three native English speakers congregated together and traded in-jokes, and everyone else, who's English was damn near perfect, chatted amongst themselves. Later that evening I went to the top terrace to take some more star pictures, and rested my camera on the bannister as I had no space to bring a tripod. A few seconds into my second frame, a gust of wind somehow knocked the camera off the railing, it bounced on the wooden terrace and dropped 60 odd feet off the edge onto the hard ground below. Fuck. I was naturally concerned, but didn't shit myself. It sounded like it hit the ground with a solid thud, than a pant-crapping smash, so I fetched my torch and looked for a way to descend the mountain side to retrieve my camera. Somehow, and testament to Nikon, the camera was rescued unscathed, with just the smallest of cracks in the back screen protector. I did a quick test of the functions and everything seemed to be working fine. I got away with it. Next time I'll loop the camera through the strap over the railing. Lesson learned. I rejoined the group inside who had heard a thud and wondered what it was. We were all tired and before long most had gone to bed. I decided to take another couple of star pictures, that's what second chances are for. Before I could go to bed I was invited to join three middle aged Korean hikers, who were in high spirits from having sat there drinking all evening. They couldn't speak hardly any English, but they warmed to me with my three Korean words I could remember, and listing all the places I had been in Korea, just a month earlier. They were very generous and wouldn't let me leave until we had finished all their beers on the table, and somehow I was the last one in the hostel to go to bed.

Halfway hostel in late afternoon.

The views of the mountains opposite.

Clouds roll over the mountain tops.

Dramatic light and distant snow on Haba Snow Mountain.

The first frame of the stars over Tiger Leaping Gorge.

Falling frame, a few moments into the 30 second exposure my camera took a plummet.

Second chance: I think that's Venus over the valley.

The following morning the air felt warm, and we were in no rush as we had breakfast. We only had a two hour hike ahead to the road where we could take a ride back to the village we had started at. We walked with the group from the night before, though we were divided by segments of slightly differing pace. There was no real climbing to be done on this part of the hike, most of it was flat and downhill which was most welcome after yesterday's leg strain. We crossed a number of waterfalls, and followed dusty paths which hugged rock escarpments on the mountain side. As we descended we could hear the roar of the river as it rushed over rapid below. We soon made it to the road and Tina's Guest House, where we stopped for lunch and refreshments, before deciding to descend the gorge to the river below.

The morning sun at breakfast.

Otto crossing a log bridge.

Some of the group ahead.

Paths cling to the mountainside.

Waterfall ahead.

Stream crossing.

The descent into the gorge must've been a vertical kilometre, and it took 30 minutes to reach the bottom. I half ran rather than walked, allowing gravity to do half of the work for me, but my knees took a pounding as I bounced from rock to rock and kicked up dust into the face of the Dutch guy behind me. The way was very steep, loose and uneven, and the path zig-zagged down the valley. If going down was tough, coming up would be hell, I thought. At the bottom I scrambled over huge river boulders to reach the furthest point, out in the middle of the raging torrents. I was the only one on the rock, and no one else was in sight as the others were five minutes behind me. I enjoyed the location and the solitude. Otto and I then crossed an unfinished wooden bridge onto another rock 100 metres downstream, and my legs trembled slightly and the bridge wobbled and swung over the gorge. We could climb down onto this rock in the river to get as close as possible without facing certain death.

Descending into Tiger Leaping Gorge.

Alone at the bottom. Yes Tom, I'm wearing a neckerchief, it stops my neck from burning. 

Otto on the rope bridge.

Akke on the rock.

Crossing the bridge. This made me a little scared.

I was talked down.

The way back up was hell. I don't know how long it took, over an hour, but it was the most tiring part of the entire hike, with huge steps and climbs up, to retake the vertical kilometre we had surrendered in order to visit the bottom of the gorge. We stopped for a rest and a coke, and were joined by a Belgian couple in their early 70s who we had met a few times along the way. If I can walk up the stairs unaided at that age I'll be happy. We declined to take the safe route in favour of a 100 metre vertical ladder, which would save us a bit of time and zig-zagging up. It really got the adrenaline going, towards the top it was terrifying and my legs were already shaking from fatigue, I didn't need to be unsteady from fear as well. But needless to say, as you're reading this, I didn't fall to my death. We took our time more than the way down, and had great views over the landscape with the river glistening now in the distance.

An easier part of descending the valley, through a bamboo grove.

Akke climbing the ladder.

Interlocking spurs of the river gorge.

The sun shines down over Tiger Leaping Gorge.

On the way back up, looking down the valley.

Getting smaller below us.

Back at the top, we were told it would be £15 for a minibus to take us the 20km back to the village at the start of the hike, where we had left our bags. We decided to try and hitch hike, and after ten minutes on the road we were packed into the back of a van, and were joined by another traveller from London for this part of the ride. The driver was a little heavy on the accelerator, but I trusted him and the remaining adrenaline in my blood kept fear at bay. Once back to the hostel we collected our things and went to take a bus back to Lijiang, but instead ended up hitching a ride in a small people carrier, and two hours later we were checking into a hostel in the old part of Lijiang.

Hitch hiking back, I tried to take pictures of reflections of the Chinese girl sat in the front seat.

More abstract reflections as the sun set.

Kunming clubbing & delightful Dali

A dystopian fog descended on Chengdu the day I left for Kunming. I said goodbye to the friends I'd made in the hostel and walked ten minutes across the chilly city to the subway to head to the train station. I had the top bunk on the train and hardly left it for 18 hours until I arrived in Kunming the following lunchtime. I ended up taking a taxi to the hostel as I had no directions or information for the bus this time. That afternoon I did nothing of note, except wrestle with the wifi so I could waste time online. 

Arriving in Kunming, part of the train is double decker - my carriage wasn't.

In front of Kunming station.

The following day I went to apply for my Vietnamese visa; this was my only reason for coming to Kunming as it was the closest place on my path with a consulate. I decided to walk to the office block, so at least I would see some of the city, but I didn't really see anything much of note. It seemed to be the typical huge Chinese modern city, which I had seen so many times already. I managed to find the consulate relatively easily, thanks to a description someone had written online. I arrived at 12.05, and as luck would have it they close from 12 til 2, so I wandered back to get some lunch and wait for them to reopen. Two o'clock came and I handed my documents and money over, and was told to return in three hours; I'd paid an extra £15 for same day service. With time to kill I decided to go and find somewhere to get my haircut, and five minutes later I was having it washed in a sink before being trimmed and washed again, all for about £2.50. I'd spotted a young backpacker sat outside the consulate building earlier on, so decided to wander back and see if he was still there. He was, and was also waiting for his visa so I sat there with him until they were ready. He was a German called Jo who had just finished school, though he looked older and was taking a year out before university, and we said we'd swap details as our paths may be crossing in Vietnam. 

That evening I was about to take an early night and watch a few episodes on my laptop in bed, when I decided to take one last sweep of the hostel and see if there was anyone to drink a beer with; it had only been populated by Chinese travellers whilst I was having dinner. I eyed a couple of Westerners and invited myself to join them. They were Isaac, a young lad from Somerset and Akke a Dutch girl, both backpacking in China and had met in the hostel the previous day. I helped Isaac drink his cheap brandy and it soon became late. A middle aged Chinese man who was loud and drunk was asked to leave by the girl working in the hostel, he became very aggressive towards her and the situation became a little nasty. Myself and a French guy grabbed one arm each and took him down the stairs away from her, we sat him down and told him to behave. It wasn't over though and he was still being a prick, when another older Chinese chap got involved; they started squaring up to one another and the second man grabbed an empty brandy bottle off our table and pulled his arm back to swing it over his head. As he did I grabbed his arm and pulled it back and he dropped the bottle. The police arrived at this moment who did nothing, except film the angry men on a camera. They don't even have YouTube to upload it to, it's blocked. Seeing the police the angry man decided his night was over, and left the hostel. I was now in a group of five Westerners; the two I'd started drinking with and now a French couple from Paris. 

We decided to head to a night club, so much for my early night, but I hadn't been out in a while and I had to remind myself of my policy of not saying no to opportunities when I was wavering on a decision. We got a round of beers in for the table, and after a load of Chinese had come over to cheers us we hit the dance floor. Within two minutes I was being led by the hand by a pretty Chinese girl over to a table where her friends were sat. I was plied with alcohol, and didn't buy another drink all night. We played the dice game that I had played before in China, and before long one hot girl was getting rather frisky and liberal with her hands. I hadn't been in the club 20 minutes. I felt like a piece of meat and it was great. I ploughed through their supply of booze, and they constantly topped up my glass. After a while I was so bloated of fizzy weak lager that I weaved through the crowd to the toilet and threw it all up. I rejoined my hostel friends on the dance floor and enjoyed the attention from the locals. Everybody wanted to dance with us, everybody was watching us, going out in England will never measure up. Later on in the night I was chatting with some other girls who invited us back to their place. Continuing with the philosophy of not declining opportunities, and thinking there might be a story in it, I told Isaac who grinned in agreement and we left in a taxi with the two girls heading who knows where. A while later we found ourselves in a dark and quiet, litter strewn street. The girls headed over to a barbecue stall and ordered themselves a load of food. Neither of us Brits were hungry, or fancied eating skewered chicken hearts at 4 in the morning, and generally declined to eat. They kept ordering more food, and then when the bill came expected us to pay for it. I said we haven't eaten, you ordered, you should pay for at least some of it, at which point her English seemed to disappear and the look in their eyes change. Well as their verbal English vanished, so did their physical English. Isaac and I muttered to each other, and on the count of three we sprang from the table and legged it off down the bitumen black streets into the pin-prick dark. I ran 100 metres or so, turned around to see Isaac hunched over halfway in the dark emptying his stomach onto the pavement one more time. We wandered through the neighbourhood until we came to a main road to try and flag down a taxi. Eventually we did, I gave the address and we drove off through the city. The taxi pulled up on some street, which was the wrong one, but reading the street sign I could see how it sounded similar to the one I had tried to say earlier on. I played it safe and told him 'Beijing Lu', I knew how to walk from here as I'd been there earlier in the day sorting my Vietnamese visa. We were dropped off here with a 40 minute walk ahead, just as it started to rain. I rolled into bed at about 6.30am, damp through and cold. 

The following morning Isaac and Akke called for me as I was packing my things to check out, as the three of us had decided to travel to Dali together. We took the bus across town to the west bus station, before boarding the next bus to Dali. The journey took all afternoon, and I dozed for much of it not having had a lot of sleep. We arrived in the dusty new Dali and took another public bus to the old town, which is much more picturesque and geared up for tourists. It was dark by the time we arrived, and we managed to navigate across the town with the most basic of maps to check in at our chosen hostel. Old Dali smelt of wood smoke and cannabis which grows naturally in the hills around, and it felt like a nice place, even if the central streets were a little touristy. The hostel was really nice with a pretty courtyard, a good menu, free pool table and smart rooms. 

Looking over Old Dali.

The next day Akke and I decided to go on a horse trek up in the hills above the town. Within two minutes of being sat on the horse, the beast in front which looked agitated sprung it's hind legs out catching me square on the wrist and in the stomach. I'd never been kicked by a horse before, and maybe it didn't catch me properly because it wasn't too bad; just a small cut on the heel of my hand and a red crescent on my stomach, which was gone the following day. It was fortunate my camera was slung over my back rather than draped around my front, or it would've taken the full force of the hoof on the glass of the lens. The guide then decided to untie the horses from their chain-gang, and I had the reigns to make sure my horse wasn't too close to the mental one. We rode off up the hills, crossing streams and through scrub, the horses navigating up and down some fairly steep gullies, and after an hours ride we dismounted to continue on foot. I don't know what it was we went to. It was a kind of farm I suppose, and the surrounding land was terraced with mostly tea being grown. We heard music and singing as we approached the buildings, and a group of Chinese were performing to themselves. It didn't feel like a show for us, just something they were doing anyway. Some women sang the most high-pitched, nasal, cliched Chinese singing imaginable, that it pretty much sounded like something from South Park. It was entertaining nonetheless, and we sat down on a patio and were fed tea and fruits, whilst they watched us and we watched them. Afterwards we walked up through the tea plantation which gave good views over Dali and the lake beyond, and then up to a waterfall. On the way back I eyed a cannabis plant growing in the open, so helped myself to a sample.

Heading up hill on horseback

Akke on her horse.

Crossing a stream.

A girl on the farm.

Having a cup of tea.

A boy with his grandparents.

Smoking farmer.

The open air concert.

Bono? More like Oh no. She warbled awfully. 

Gutting fish for dinner.

Pagodas in the town below.

Women in the tea fields.

Tea farmer.

Later that afternoon Akke and I went for an explore around town on foot, and it was full of little shops aimed at tourists, and had a bit of that traveller hippy vibe with those bright hippy/ethnic clothes, bongos and bracelets; all that shit. That evening Isaac and I sampled the local organic produce and played some terrible pool before watching Skyfall, the latest Bond movie, which I wasn't overwhelmed by. The following day I didn't do much except practice my pool shots on the free table and plan my next move, which seemed to be heading along with Akke to Tiger Leaping Gorge, as Isaac had ordered an iPod and so needed to hang around in Dali a few days for it to arrive. 

One of the gates to the old town.

A boy with some fashionable glasses.

These characters adorn a lot of the doors.

School girls carry their dinner home.

A rickshaw driver takes a break.

Girl sat at a food stall.

Construction in the street, something you don't see at home - women labouring like the men. 

A man smokes out of Dali hospital window.