Boiling Borderline Eagles

After leaving the sublime village of Dali, we arrived in busy Kunming city at 4.30am, after absolutely no sleep, feeling gravel-eyed, grumpy and with Katie unwell. To make things worse, every taxi that went by ignored us. What a stark contrast to Dali. After finally getting to our hotel and waiting on the reception couch for five long hours, we checked in; moving ever-so-slowly, like a pair of unoiled robots. We spent the next twenty-four hours in our hotel room in recovery mode. It turned out that Kunming had one great positive left to enthral us. The carpet in the lift, displayed the current day of the week in English. Yes … yes … yes. I just can’t envisage how we could have managed without this wonderful service.

Graffiti in Dali

The next day we boarded a bus to the border town of Hekou; glad to be clear of Kunming’s answer to Faulty Towers. As soon as we climbed the steps and took our seat, we met Monique, a journalist from Holland; the only other English speaking person on the bus. It’s amazing how people of all kinds gravitate to a common language and the chance to communicate, so … we quickly became friends. Together we braved a trip brim-full of adventures!

Very early in the journey, we became confronted by an overturned truck, which looked like a dead cow with its legs in the air. The traffic began to backup, so our driver attempted a very precarious U-turn, involving deep gutter drop-offs on each side of the road and at least twenty agonising turns before we faced the opposite direction. We then took a back road to avoid the blockage. The detour road initially seemed quaint … In this I mean narrow, rutted and that ‘airborne’ kind of bumpy. At one point, I think we may have left most of the gear box on a rock in the middle of the road, but the villages and scenery looked picture-postcard and shone out above our little drama.

Hekou Map

As we approached the border, the mountains grew in beauty and height, and it seemed impossible that a freeway could exist in such a vertical environment. How could people climb up amongst these crags and create such a network of tunnels and bridges? I remember shaking my head with wonder, when the bus pulled off the freeway into a border guard station. Here my good vibes abruptly ended. The guards looked angry and fierce, so when they demanded passports from all who weren’t Chinese nationals, we quickly handed them over. When it came time to return the passports, Katie’s had somehow disappeared! An angry argument ensued. We pretended to be mightily important and arrogantly offended by their affront, while they continued to sneer and threaten. A few, long, panicky minutes later, a surly looking guard magically retrieved it from his back pocket, thinking it highly amusing. After that a strange silence existed in the bus for many kilometres.

Apart from the sweltering heat and humidity, we enjoyed our brief stay in the colourfully lit city of Hekou; liking the outdoor dumpling shops, while we got to know our gorgeous new friend, Monique, who we nicknamed ‘Duchy’. The next morning, dripping with perspiration, we squelched our way across the border into Vietnam, crossing the bridge over the Red River, through two sets of customs procedures. It seemed tiresome filling in all the forms and being scrutinised either side, although the border control personnel in each case were professional and pleasant. The process took nearly forty-five minutes and all the time I felt excitement at the thought of a new country to experience, yet at the same time, sad at the thought of leaving China and its beautiful people. A month earlier, I entered China, highly influenced by the conditioning of my childhood and a lifetime of prejudice. I left impressed.

Crossing the Border

Advertisement

Eagles on the Rocks

We returned to Dali from Tiger Leaping Gorge and decided to go out for one more rock climb before leaving China for Vietnam. So, full of excitement, we set off the next morning in perfect sunshine with the opportunity of a glorious day’s climb, not expecting any of the little disasters that awaited us.

Before leaving the main township, we required a diversion from our destination; stopping for a brief moment to pick up a package. After a five minute wait, we all dived back into the car, put on our seat belts, and waited eagerly as the key turned in the ignition, but … nothing happened … The car’s battery held no charge.

It took a further hour to find jumper leads and someone willing to jump start us and then … after having to turn around at a road block of bogged vehicles and find another route, Adam, the rock climbing guy from the US, gave us the ‘I think you’re cursed look’, followed by a condescending, or perhaps even a fatalistic shake of his head, but to his credit, he continued to the cliff-face anyway. Despite his concerns, we managed many climbs over the course of the day and we both felt good on the rock. We even made the wild bumpy ride back to town without further incident; feeling terrific about our day’s achievements.

Once back in Dali, we continued to discover more of the amazing little lanes and alleys of the old town; streets that would instantly attract a law suit in Australia, seemed quaint and interesting here. We also found a great little German Bakery called Café 88. Katrina the owner, treated us like a pair of old friends, as we indulged in a cheese platter and some very acceptable Italian red wine! We had almost forgotten what a good red tasted like, after a month of abstinence.

The next day, Katie discovered and participated in a one-on-one calligraphy class, run by a master named Ying; one of those rare individuals who radiate love and gentleness, despite communication difficulties. Together they produced a beautiful scroll that we mailed to Australia to adorn our home.

That afternoon we set out to kayak on ‘Er Hai Lake’, although it took more energy to get the heavy Canadian Kayak into the water and back out again through the swamp, than we could muster for a prolonged paddle. Nonetheless, it felt good being out on the water with the local fisherman and the rather large jumping fish that occasionally thudded into the sides of our craft.

That night we headed back out into the alleys to sample the great variety of dumplings and a hot pot indulgence featuring a wide range of local produce. It seemed like a fitting way to say goodbye to charming Dali; one of the lesser known gems of the world and a place we had come to love. We both felt real sadness watching the town, the lake and the mountains recede from our view and having to leave our friends at Sleepy Fish behind, but because of Visa requirements our time in China was almost at an end. Soon we would be heading across the border to Vietnam.

Leaping Tigers and Gorged Eagles

Trekking in Tiger Leaping Gorge

After waiting at the wrong bus stop and almost getting on another vehicle, going in a completely different direction, we finally caught what turned out to be ‘Oh-My-God-We’re-Going-To-Die’ Bus Lines, for our trip to the famed Tiger Leaping Gorge. Even the six jarring hours of near accidents and bouncing from one pot hole to another, didn’t alter our grand expectations, nor our high level of excitement.

As we bumped along, we caught a glimpse of the highest peaks of the gorge just before our entry into Qiaotou; a pretty river town at the head of the canyon. Here we noticed that the women ‘seemed’ to do all of the work, while the men sat around smoking and gambling, and making sullen faces at the frazzled tourists, as they staggered white-faced from their buses. We asked for directions and felt a little suspicious, after receiving a multitude of differing opinions concerning our destination. So, we chose the most prominent view and headed out on the lower road, to start our trek. Fortunately, we only managed to walk six kilometres in the wrong direction, before eventually returning and beginning our trek, twelve kilometres later, at 5pm.

Tiger Leaping Gorge

After about half an hour on the track, we came onto the gorge proper and our mouths fell open in surprise. We found ourselves surrounded by an awesome kind of beauty; the hills around us grown into mountains of rock that pierced and rose above the clouds, culminating in columns of jagged limestone teeth. At a maximum depth of approximately 3,790 meters from river to mountain peak, Tiger Leaping Gorge is one of the deepest and most spectacular river canyons in the world. For around 15 kilometres, the Jinsha, or Golden Sands River; a primary tributary of the upper Yangtze River, passes between the 5,596 metre Jade Dragon Snow Mountain and the 5,396 metre Haba Snow Mountain, creating a series of spectacular rapids that rage chaotically under steep 2,000 metre cliffs.

Legend says that in order to escape from a hunter, a tiger jumped across the river at its narrowest point, hence the great name. Yet, the poor creature needed a 25 metre miracle to get to the other side. I hope it could swim really well.

Tiger Leaping Gorge

An hour further down the trail, we arrived at the Naxi, pronounced Nashi, family guest house. Later we found out that the inhabitants of the gorge are primarily the indigenous Naxi people, who live in a handful of small hamlets, where workable fertile land is available. Their primary subsistence comes from grain production and hikers, both foreign and Chinese. What a special place to stay. Apart from the stunning vistas and lovely earthy, authentic architecture, we received wonderful hospitality and delicious Naxi family food; fortifying us for the next day’s trekking. Nothing could be more special than sampling the Naxi family spirit, which we found to be akin to drinking petrol from a petri dish. Astounding is the only way I could describe the hike so far. So much so that our camera fingers seemed to suffer from lactic acid, with the work-load they endured. We both feel it is worth coming all the way to South-Western China, just to experience this place.

The next day it began to rain steadily and the track became mud in the lower sections and slippery rock on the higher reaches. In some places, impromptu waterfalls cascaded and crashed over our very narrow pathways, which sometimes sloped towards vertical drops, into what seemed the oblivion to us. This trek isn’t for the faint-hearted; anyone who suffers from vertigo, might well struggle on the narrow paths and the thousand metre drops.

Guesthouse in Tiger Leaping Gorge

We met many interesting people as we tried to negotiate our way through the rain, none more wonderful than a lovely Chinese girl, who went by the name of Scarlet; chosen as her ‘English name’. At this point, the trek could not have been more perfect … then … we received a message through our Kindle that my beloved mother, had suffered heart failure and been taken to hospital, so we became desperate to get to a phone. We soon discovered that none of the land-lines in the area worked, due to the lines being down. That’s where Scarlet came to our rescue. She contacted her service provider and unlocked her phone from some kind of international block, so we could make the call. Fortunately, we were able to ascertain that my mother was in a stable condition and due to return home that afternoon.

So … we continued our trek, walking with Scarlet and her somewhat smitten friend, until we descended to the banks of the churning river, near the end of the gorge. Here we decided to take some refreshment at one of the many appealing guesthouses along the waterfront and enjoy some more of the wonderful views. This time sheltered from the rain. At the table next to us, sat several tourists. When we asked them where they came from, they said Australia, but we wouldn’t know their tiny hamlet in the mountains of North-East Victoria. It turned out to be Mt Beauty, the town next to ours. Talk about a small world!

Dog perched at the far end of Tiger Leaping Gorge

The next morning, we hitched a ride back to Qiaotou, in time to hail a bus back to Dali. This time the journey took closer to seven hours, because of a local market that closed the road off to all traffic. With just about every kilometre travelled, our experience worsened until it became the bus ride from hell. Every time our non-air-conditioned bus stopped, most of the male occupants lit up a cigarette. I could hardly breathe. Apart from our bone shaking lack of suspension, we also witnessed the results of eight major accidents; one a fatality. Over time and in a confined space, the gobbing, wild bumping, suffocating smoke, flying rubbish and scenes of death, got to me and … I think I may have raved and yelled like a Banshee. Fortunately, a night of good company, a scrumptious Sichuan hot-pot and several medicinal gin and tonics, saved my sanity.