Yang Zi Jie On Yang Zi Jiang (Or, Neil's Trip Up The Yangtze)

Part 3: Ghost Town

On the final day of our cruise, we docked ship and stepped onto the misty shores to ascend the hill to Fengdu, the city of ghosts. *Cue spooky laughter and ominous "Thriller" music* To no one's surprise, this was not what you'd expect from a haunted hilltop. Rather, it was a series of small temples, curious structures and other traditional Chinese architecture that were dedicated to life, death and the gods that judge us. No ghouls to be seen, no demons lurking, nothing very spooky to warrant the adult diaper that I had strapped on, just in case. Yet I was not disappointed; it was good to be on solid ground.

From the base of the hill, we peered through the morning fog, brightly painted temples poking through the vapor. It was still early morning, so a relative degree of calm still permeated the air. Hiking up the steep steps to be judged by the Prince of Hell (or, more accurately but not as dramatic, "the Underworld"), the only ominous feelings creeping over my skin was the profusion of sweat seeping from my pores. Days on a luxury liner left me a little tubby along the edges and this sudden burst of exercise was a bold reminder that I was indeed a land mammal with functioning legs.

At the top, we approached the first checkpoint on the path to the Prince of the Underworld: the Three Bridges of Life, Love and Wealth. Crossing in precisely 9 steps is supposed to bless you with whatever you have chosen. Couples were advised to do Love, hand-in-hand, just to make things certain. That left us single sad sacks with a choice of Life or Wealth. You know which way I went: money doesn't matter much if you're dead.

1st Checkpoint: The Three Bridges

Descending Into Hell?

As the other foreigners were slack-jawed in awe and frantically snapping away on their digital SLRs, my elation had significantly deflated. I had anticipated this stop perhaps a wee bit much. Looking around, there was nary a novel sight around. For all sakes and purposes, it was just a bunch of temples. Nicely preserved, but more of the same same. Originally, there were 72 structures, but after the Cultural Revolution, only 15 buildings remained. The main temple, over 1600 years old (the Prince of the Underworld's "palace"), was spared during the revolution by some quick-thinking monks who told the Red Guards that they would invoke the wrath of the Prince if they dared to touch his home. Centuries of superstition trumped Mao's madness in this instance, saving a beautiful structure from a demise that countless other less fortunate relics in China fell victim to.

At Fengdu, there is a mix of Taoist and Buddhist imagery, like a big melting pot of traditional religious superstitions. The Buddhist temple entrances had three doors, which had to be used correctly, lest you feel the wrath of the big guy. For common folk, the left door is the exit, the right door is the entrance. For monks or nuns, the large central door is your entry point. I made sure to go the proper route, fearing magical Buddhist castration if I dared use the middle. If you've lived in Asia for any significant span of time, you are already familiar with the phenomenon of being "templed out." I, dear friends, have been templed out since 2006. Nevertheless, to be fair, Fengdu is one of the more interesting temple complexes in China. Why? It's depictions of Hell, of course.

Further up the hill, you will come to the second checkpoint, an unassuming doorway in the classical Chinese style. Atop the lintel, there will be a small painted sign that says "Di Yu Zhi Men," which roughly translates as "Gate to Hell" (or again, less dramatically, "Gate to the Underworld"). I admit I got a little excited at the prospects. The last hell-temple I visited in 2007 was a Taoist beauty in Beijing, filled with the most gory and grotesque dioramas of demonic torture of sinful souls I'd ever seen outside of Dante's Inferno. This was nowhere near as intense, but had its own qualities. Here, men need to enter the gate left-foot first, lest you get your nads gnawed off by hungry horse-head demons. Or something equally as grim, I'm not certain.


Flanking the pathway to the Prince of the Underworld's living quarters, life-sized stone statues of various demons and hellspawn greet you on the way to judgment. My favorite was 酒鬼 ("Jiu Gui") or, the Liquor Demon, because his name is a literal translation of the term for "alcoholic." Indeed. A couple siren demonesses tickled my own personal netherworld with their toplessness and lasciviously curled tongues, a clear indicator of how easy males can be lured to their untimely demise by a pair of sexy...eyes.

Good Ol' Jiu Gui!

Come To Papa!

Yes!

JUMP! Fengdu Demon Lane

A final noteworthy demon: one seemingly hell bent on corporal punishment of naughty children. The statue itself said it all: a bare-butt brat slung over the knees of a ferocious demon whose arm was locked in position to strike that soft, shiny asscheek. As I positioned myself to take a picture of this hilarious scene, a real-life human brat jumped into my shot, giving me the stink eye as if to say "this is MY shot, suckah." Stifling a sneer, I waited until she scampered off to her useless parents and made a quick prayer to the demon to exact some sweet revenge for me later on. I hope that kid had the most terrifying, pee-inducing nightmares that evening. That'll teach her to ruin my shot.

Curse You, Demon Brat With Dead Chinese Eyes!

At the gate to the Prince of the Underworld's temple, we faced the third and final checkpoint: the sinister stone circle. Bwa-ha-ha-ha... In a small stone box before the gate, there was a smoothly polished rock, worn down from years of tourist mayhem. Round and slick as a tiny bowling ball, the trick was to balance on one foot for some arbitrary amount of time, thus gaining favor from the Prince and entrance to his realm. It was not that difficult, though the locals seemed to have a rough time with the concept. I passed with flying colors, then made my way inside.

It was quite simply a dark, shadowy, cavernous affair. Nothing too special, save for the miniature demon-torture dioramas that I saw in superior form in Beijing. Though it wasn't what I expected, I felt a little relieved that I didn't have to rush around in the allotted time to take pictures of every single thing in sight. I just hung back and observed the other faces, gasping at the violent models and making silent prayers for their own sinful souls.

Pagoda at Fengdu

Random Graffiti of Poop?

Back aboard the ship, the final, bittersweet hours of the cruise began. We were treated to a quick visit to the captain's quarters, which was not as exciting as it sounds. In the pilothouse, three silent individuals stood stiff as stone before the controls, no sound, no movement. A radar screen blipped off to the side. Sonar measured the depth of the Yangtze, denoting the shallow areas we needed to avoid. Muffled garble seeped from the communications speakers. I was falling asleep from all the white noise. Aware that the pilots had to pay attention to steering the ship, we asked very quick questions. My suspicions were confirmed very quickly: this is a boring job.

Zzzzzzzz.......

Crank It To 11!

Each pilot takes a 4 hour shift, then an 8 hour rest, then a 4 hour shift, then...you get the idea. Expressionless and without a hint of excitement, they remained still as statues. The most exciting point of the tour came when a small little dinghy crossed our ship's path. Grabbing the intercom, he announced that the boat better get out of the way, lest they "wanted to die." Even on the water, Chinese drivers are fierce and reckless.

I Found This Taped To The Door To The Upper Deck On The Final Day. I Was Flattered.

Before dinner, I spent a good amount of time giving my free travel guide services away to the Aussies and Americans who would be visiting the Shanghai area after disembarking from the cruise. In a weird way, I was sad to part with these people who I had just met a few days prior. Though they would become just another group of blips on my own life's radar, they had made my already luxurious cruise even more comfortable. I carefully packed up my room and organized my rations for the remaining days of my trip of solitude in Chongqing. Looking out from my cabin balcony, I was reluctant to part with all of the nature. From sweeping riverscapes to soaring mountains, the ubiquitous sound of lapping waves and the silence of the gorges, I was a little unsure whether I wanted to return to the city. Just the night before, I had experienced one of the most religiously moving instances of my life: a pitch black sky littered with so many bright, white stars it made my eyes dizzy with awe. So far away from modern civilization, I understood the attraction to solo travel and adventures to desolate places. Despite the man-made destruction and drama that has cast a dark shroud over the area, it still remains absolutely gorgeous.

Building Bridges on the Yangtze:

At dinner, the captain made an appearance to thank us and wish us well. The banquet spread was even more impressive than previous nights, and everyone was in jovial spirits. They even surprised us with birthday cakes to celebrate those who were lucky enough to be born on the dates we were cruising down the Yangtze. Then quite suddenly, from the giant windows of the banquet hall, glaring neon lights appeared. After 4 days of isolation along the lonely Yangtze, we had finally arrived at Chongqing, the wartime capital of the former Nationalist government and river hub of central Chinese transport and industry. Taking pause to consider it all, I confess that - nature-loving thoughts be damned - it was actually pretty nice to be back in a big city.

Campbell, Our Trusty River Guide

Coming up, the final chapter: Chungking In 2 Days...