Part 4: Chungking ExpressAfter spending a final night on the cruise ship, which was docked at port, we disembarked onto the shores of
Chongqing. The flashing neon, giant skyscrapers and illuminated hillside buildings we had seen from the top deck the previous night gave way to a misty winter morning. This was my very final leg of the trip, the last three days of exploration before returning to Shanghai. The previous day, during my free travel advice session, the American couple revealed that they would spend a day in Chongqing before flying to Hangzhou. Since I had no better company, I asked if they wanted to join me. They told me that they had already booked a tour guide, but that I was more than welcome to join them instead. And they wouldn't take no for an answer. Arm duly twisted, Neil lucks out again.
The tour guide met us on the dock, surprised that these two old Americans mysteriously produced an unannounced 27-year old son during their four days on the Yangtze. We told her what we wanted to see and she hurredly started making arrangements. Still suspicious of my true origins, she pressed for some answers. After finally telling her that we met on the boat and I wanted to join them for the day, she insisted that I pay a little extra for the transportation and services. In no mood to argue with the troll, I agreed to a very small sum. With no time to haggle, it was reasonable enough. Sometimes it's just easier to go with the flow in China.
Unfortunately, our first choice for sightseeing - the
Stilwell Museum, which details the history of the KMT and US General Stilwell, the commander of the American forces during fighting in the 1940s - was closed from December to March, putting a huge damper on the American history buffs present. With no time to sulk, we hit site number two, Ciqikou Ancient Town.
Gettin' Crazy With Sepia Tones!Set along a hillside like almost everything else in this mountainous city, Ciqikou Ancient Town was the center of porcelain ("china") production in the Ming. Nothing authentic remains, save for a few old, dilapidated buildings. These days, it's a tourist trap, strikingly similar to the water towns around Shanghai. After wandering past a couple shacks selling the local foodstuffs, souvenirs and such, the offerings repeat
ad nauseum until you just want to find the nearest exit and continue your day in a more meaningful manner.
Duck In A Bag!Luckily this sentiment was shared by the two old folks, so we rushed through the town and got back in the van. The guide notified us that, according to the itinerary, it was time to see pandas at the zoo. A collective eye-roll from the American peanut gallery, myself included, at the prospect of wasting time with the little black and white Ewoks. However, without much else to do, we gave in and sped off along the elevated highways snaking around the perimeter of the city's mountains, straight into the heart of town.
Positioned right in the center of Chongqing, the zoo was a pleasant surprise. It is literally right along the street in a bustling traffic zone, like People's Square or Central Park, without much effort required to just pop in for a quick peek at the national treasures on display. In a surprising display of self-aware efficiency, the zoo wastes no time: the panda pits are mere steps from the entrance.
*Collective cry of "Wah, so cute!" from the ladies in the house*Along with a handful of red ("lesser") pandas - those cuties that look like fluffy, red raccoons - there are seven giant pandas at Chongqing Zoo. Each one has its own open-air, walled enclosure, which was quite a relief to see, compared to the malnourished and depressed cousins I've seen at other Chinese zoos. Although the local visitors are still as retarded as their counterparts across the country, tossing human food (cookies, candy, crisps) at the pandas, I was happy to see that at least the zoo keepers have enough sense to put the animals in large, free areas. There really is nothing more depressing than seeing a shit-brown panda with shaggy, ragged fur pacing back and forth in a tiny, glass cage.
Lesser Red PandaWe arrived at the right moment: feeding time. I was shocked to learn that each of these adorable beasts consumes
20 kilograms of "arrow" bamboo at
every meal. That's 44 pounds, or about
175 quarter-pound cheeseburgers from McDonald's (fries
not included). The first guy, named something silly like Pi-Pi or Ti-Ti or Robert, had just started to dig in to his massive pile of shoots, leaning back against his comfy wooden throne like Jabba the Hutt. They truly are one of the cutest things to have ever evolved from the natural world, and seeing one up close was a treat.
Holy Crap, That's A Lotta Bamboo!
The panda was "first" discovered by a Frenchman in the 1800s. On an expedition through the Western mountains of China, he happened upon a farmer's house in the forest. As this legend holds, the farmer had a black and white animal hide on his wall, which the Frenchie bought and brought back home. Thus, the modern era of
pandamonium began. Though there are only a handful of pandas left in the wild, the government seems to be trying its hardest to preserve the natural symbol of China. When the Sichuan earthquake struck in 2008, the loss of a handful of pandas resulted in a similar outpouring of mourning as for those human lives lost. In addition to preservation, breeding programs are also vital. However, whether pandas just have no libido or prefer other activities to mating, they just aren't doing the nasty. So Chinese breeders came up with the genius idea to show pandas the now infamous "
panda porn," visual Viagra for panda males suffering from lack of mojo. Mating season typically falls in March and April, so scientists better get this season's porno ready for uninspired males. Surely panda marital aids are not far behind.
Getting Frisky With The Timber
With a few hours before the Americans had to head east, we enjoyed a lunch of the most famous Chongqing culinary goodness:
hot pot. Though I was under the impression that this dish originated in the northern Mongolian parts of the country, who am I to argue? The Sichuan people arguably do it best, in all its numbingly spicy glory. For those unfortunate enough to have never dined in this fashion, a brief primer.
Hot pot - a fairly accurate translation of the Chinese "huo guo", or "fire pot" - involves a big cauldron of bubbling soup at the center of the dining table in which diners toss their raw food, cooking it on the spot and eating it as soon as it's plucked from the boiling water. Simple and healthy. Depending on which part of Asia you're in (or from), hotpot dining varies. Here in central China, the focus is on the heat, which can be so intense your entire mouth loses all sensation.
To judge a Chongqing/Sichuan hotpot, you'll need to be aware of the proper reactions your body will undergo. The key is how numb ("ma") and spicy ("la") the soup base renders your poor taste buds. This mala-ness shouldn't completely destroy your mouth, but should leave you just tingly enough to appreciate the fragrance of the hot chili and Sichuan peppercorns in the soup base. If the prospect of oral torture isn't your bag, most places have pots that are either split down the middle, in a yin-yang pattern, or that are multi-tiered, in the Mongolian style, spicy broth in one section, clear broth in another. Should you be the smart guy to suggest the latter, be prepared to be branded a cowardly pussy by your masochist friends.
Luckily for me, the Americans were brave enough to dive headfirst into the numbingly hot broth. I had been looking forward to this for quite some time, so I admit I was a little nervous they'd chicken out with the bland broth option. When we were seated, I began my tutorial.
1. Make your dipping sauce.Now, as I mentioned before, this step differs depending on what kind of Chinese person you're eating with. Southeast Asians will dump an ungodly amount of various chili- or tomato-based goop into the bowl, ratching up the spice content to insane levels. Taiwanese combine
"sha-cha" sauce, a kind of Chinese barbecue paste made with oil, chili, dried fish bits and garlic, and, in some cases, a raw egg. In Mainland China, I've seen peanut sauce, mashed garlic, scallions, random pink stuff, the list goes on. In my household, we toss whatever is available into the mix. Usually soy sauce, sesame oil, sha-cha sauce and maybe a dash of vinegar. Now I'm getting hungry...
The Americans opted for soy sauce and a little vinegar, while I stuck with the soy and sesame oil. There weren't many other options and that bubbling red broth was calling out to me.
2. Order your food.It's all raw, of course. This was a little novel for the Americans, but I assured them that they had complete control over how thoroughly cooked their food would be. Anything unsatisfactory would be entirely their own fault. I ordered thinly sliced shavings of beef, lamb and pork. Some pig intestines for myself and a plate of duck intestines ordered at the behest of the staff, who said it was a local favorite. Leafy greens, medallions of potato and squash, glutinous rice cake, vermicelli noodles, frozen tofu and tofu skin. They left the ordering to me,
thank God, so little time was wasted futzing with reasons why frozen tofu was better than silky tofu, the difference between fatty pork and regular pork, or why there were so many innards to choose from. I'm salivating at this point...
3. Cook that food!As I was famished, the waiting time for this stuff to cook was excrutiating. However, watching my dining mates fumble around with chopsticks and self-cooking chunks of raw food provided a lot of distracting entertainment. They managed quite well and the satisfied "mmmm"s and "oooooo"s were validation enough. The mala broth was pretty damn good: not so powerful that I lost all sensation, yet just potent enough to give my tongue that familiar tingle. The spice was fragrant and rich, most enjoyable when doused with free-flowing cheap beer. And yes, those duck intestines were in fact delicious. Like chewy noodles.
After we had feasted, the sweat stains on our shirts and the bright, red cheeks were apt indication that the hotpot had done the trick. I wouldn't say it was the greatest hotpot I'd ever had, since all hotpots have their own merits. But it was an important rite of passage to enjoy one of my favorite Chinese meals in the spot where it has now become most famous.
Lunch finished and less than an hour remaining for me to enjoy genuine human contact, we rushed from the restaurant to the nearby Great Hall of the People (or People's Great Hall or People's Assembly Hall or Chongqing People's Hall...). Upon arrival, I realized this was a bit of a misnomer. As the Great Hall of the People is actually a government building, not all of us lowly plebs are allowed inside the hallowed halls. Nonetheless, the sight of this building atop a hill is still impressive. The roof vaguely resembles Beijing's Temple of Heaven or that big ass hotel on the way from Taoyuan to Taipei, but the building itself is sprawling and wide, columns and pillars lined in rows like a forest of stone.
Before the main staircase to the hall, Chongqing's People's Park spreads out in lovely fashion. Lined with the city's official tree, the
banyan, the square was cluttered with locals enjoying the beautiful sunny weather and -
surprise surprise - blue sky. Kites aflutter, balloons floating, kids laughing, old people chasing their newspapers blown away by the wind and random gawkers wondering why that silly foreign boy keeps jumping in front of the Great Hall of the People. It was a lovely day.
Americans In The Chonx
On that note, it must be said that if there is one downside to solo travel, it's finding a suitable photographer capable enough to take a good jumping picture. I swear, you would think taking a jump shot was rocket science. On this day, the local tour guide was my only option, as the Americans were too old to be expected to handle the complexity involved. After I asked her, she happily obliged. I'm sure this was not the strangest request she'd received by a foreign traveler. Looking at my camera, she exclaimed "Wow, Canon! I have one of these too!" Breathing a sigh of relief, I was sure she'd know what to do. Wrong. After 3 attempts and a growing crowd of dumbfounded onlookers, the scrutiny was overwhelming and I just told her nevermind. I didn't want to hurt her feelings, but inside I was seething. Another missed jump opportunity (see below). I really need to perfect the self-timed tripod method...
FAIL.
Evading the crowd of gawkers, we continued through the square to the
Chongqing Three Gorges Museum just opposite the Great Hall. This complex houses a massive museum dedicated to the Chongqing area and the Three Gorges. From the outside, it looks like any other random structure built in the modern era:
ugly. However once inside, it rivals the Shanghai Museum for sheer beauty and class. Bright natural light flooding in from the windows, shimmering on the creamy white marble, visitors subdued enough to create a moderate murmur without being overwhelmingly loud as most local museums tend to be. Since they had to be hasty, we rushed through each floor, absorbing the summarized version of what they had to offer.
Three Gorges Dam history. Three Gorges wildlife and geography. Three Gorges anthropological sites. Tribal artifacts collected from the area. History of these tribes. History of the area from caveman times to the modern era. World War II history. Chinese Civil War and revolutionary history. Even a morbid life-sized model of underground bomb shelters used during
Japanese air raids in which hundreds of locals died from suffocation and overcrowding. And this is on the first few floors alone. Unfortunately we didn't have time to fully absorb it all - though that would have been difficult, since 99% of the displays are in Chinese only - but what I saw was enough. This is one of the most impressive museums in the country and very much worth a visit.
Part 5: The Siren's Song
Time came to part with the Americans and I admit I was a little sad. Though 5 days on a cruise with complete strangers doesn't warrant the kind of parting sorrow that accompanies a typical scene of lovers parting in an airport or parents sending their kids off to college, I would miss the conversation and familiarity of fellow liberal Americans. We bid adieu - though I would have a chance some days later to enjoy a meal with them in Shanghai - and the final, solo leg of my trip had begun.
As fate would have it, my hotel was just around the corner from the Great Hall of the People. While checking in, I took advantage of the free internet in the lobby. I had just one goal in mind:
I needed a coffee. And how. Being the unfathomable genius that I am, I immediately Googled all Starbucks locations in Chongqing. I picked the one closest to the central sightseeing area of Liberation Monument and amassed all of the focused animal energy that I could muster for my quest. I was feening like a junkie for a crack rock.
Dumping my heavy backpack and a quick turd, I was ready. Like Frodo departing the Shire, I strapped on all that was needed: my journal - to catch up on a few days of writing; a book - to enjoy while sitting in a giant fluffy armchair; and my iPod - to drown out the clucking of the locals. The desire for a soothing cup of coffee burned so deep in my heart that I could have cared less about sightseeing. It would not release me from its addictive grasp. Although I do concede that Starbucks is slightly more enjoyable than a trip to Mount Doom.
Looking at my trusty Lonely Planet map (*sigh*), I deduced that it would be an easy straight shot from the hotel to Liberation Monument. From where I stood to my caffeinated destination, I figured less than an hour would be necessary. The reality was much closer to the harrowing journey undertaken by the Fellowship.
Walking up the road on this uncharacteristically sunny day in China, I could enjoy the city in my own little world. The first thing that struck me: this place is a little similar to Hong Kong. The sidewalks undulate like waves, creating a nice change of scenery from the flat topography of eastern China. The sidewalks and buildings are also charmingly old, allowed to gracefully age from the time when the city's position was integral for the entire country. Street signs, perhaps the best I've seen in China, are written in Chinese characters, pinyin AND English, making it almost impossible to get lost for lack of reading skills. The people, unassuming and quite oblivious to my presence, hardly looked at me, despite the fact that I was the only white-skinned person I saw in 3 days here (strange enough, saw more black people than white). There is also a haphazard and organic placement of the trees and shrubbery that further contribute to the city's personality. It just felt real, less deliberate and artificial than Shanghai and Beijing. There's even a Jiu Long (the Mandarin pronunciation of "Kowloon") section of town.
My thoughts must have distrated me, because before I knew it, I had reached the river. Somewhere along the short stretch, I missed my turn. On the map, the proportions didn't seem
that tiny, but there you go. Lonely Planet got docked a few points in my mind. Backtracking, I finally found a road sign that pointed in the general direction of Liberation Monument, so I assumed it was not far off. Trudging uphill, downhill, behind a newspaper stall, across a street, through a bustling alleyway, over a puddle of questionable liquid, past a school, a hospital, a YMCA, a playground and a few temples. I noticed an adorable abundance of pet dogs on the streets of Chongqing, all wearing little sweaters. I must have passed at least 20 in my first hour alone.
Yes, that
first hour. As it turns out, Liberation Monument was nowhere near as close as I assumed. By the time the winding road had come to a clear and definite curve in another direction, I was pretty much lost. This zigzag did not resemble the straight line that Lonely Planet had deceived me with. I knew I was at least headed in the right direction, thus I didn't worry too much about taking an overly circuitous route. But the addict's desire was getting stronger and I really needed my hit.
Fortunately, I had come upon a random distraction: the old Chongqing city wall. Hidden quietly along a very short stretch of road in the middle of downtown, this modest length of wall loomed right above the street, archways providing openings for cars to pass through the ancient stone. From street level, it looked to be a nice, peaceful retreat to enjoy a higher city vista with the tweeting birds. Climbing up a steep, rounding staircase, I felt that familiar giddiness that I enjoy so much, assuming my role as a lone explorer traveling through another undiscovered (to me) Chinese city. I love the juxtaposition of such an ageless thing trapped in time amongst such modern surroundings.
Chongqing City Wall
At the top of the staircase, I was surprised to see the entire turret packed with locals on little colorful, plastic chairs. This was the spot to be, apparently. Hanging out, playing cards, chatting the afternoon away. Perhaps my invite to this little party was lost in the mail. Happening upon this low-key block party quite abruptly, I was understandably thrust into the spotlight. With all those eyes honed in on me, I hurriedly scuffled off to a less populated spot of the wall. From that vantage point, the Chongqing skyline still towered high above us, but we still had superior height on the streets below. The hilly streets were even more pronounced and the city-dwelling trees more apparent. For all its simplicity and age, it really is an attractive city. However, before too much time was wasted here, I regained focus on the task at hand and quickly descended back to the street below.
Wandering forth at a quickeningly frustrated pace, I arrived at a fork in the road. Oh, how fate tests us. Down one road, getting lost for hours and killing myself for lack of coffee goodness. Down the other road, certain hope that I would finally have my fix. Using my superior internal GPS capabilities, I chose the "other road" and hoped I had chosen wisely. Searching in vain for any sign at all, whether symbolic or literal, I noticed the crowds getting denser and the advertisements getting brighter and significantly more neon. I had a good feeling about this. Until I came upon an intersection that would try its best to thwart me with not three, but
five different roads to choose.
I tried one, but it didn't feel right. So I made a quick U-turn and tried the second. And like a kid chasing a wayward balloon, I absentmindedly followed the flow of the street, right here, left there, up this street, along with that crowd, until I found myself in a crowded area that was home to a random memorial commemorating one of the many Japanese aerial attacks on Chongqing in the '40s. Similar to Nanjing, but with experiences nowhere near as horrific, the sentiment toward the Japanese in this town can be politely described as "bitter." Glancing at the monument, I heard a noisy din in the distance that tugged me back to reality.
In the middle of a packed pedestrian intersection, there was a disheveled and filthy woman with
no feet lying on a wheeled plank, dragging herself through the legs of the crowd. In her blistered hand was a loudspeaker replaying the same recording, looped over and over again at max volume:
"
OOOOOOOOH, please generous and honorable masters, *
sob-sob-whimper* help me, help me
please, *
sob-sob-anguished cry* Life is
misery, please, I am so poor and
lowly, "
sob-sob-cough-choke-guttural cry* Pleeeeee
EEEAAAAase!"
After about 3 or 4 seconds of feeling sorry for this woman, I started to get highly annoyed. I was not the only one. Though metropolitan Chinese are used to this kind of begging, this woman had taken it to new levels. Her bullhorn was so loud it was
drowning out the car honking and, with those dramatic sobs tossed in for effect, it was beyond moving. People were wincing from the racket and crinkling their faces in annoyance. Rather than dropping a few coins into her hand, I wanted to push her little cart into oncoming traffic, allowing a passing bus to do us all a messy favor. Save my soul, but anything to stop that incessant gargle of begging.
I tried my best to distance myself from my new friend before I was arrested for murder, so I ducked into the nearest crowd and was dragged along with the flow. And wouldn't you know, the wave took me right to Liberation Monument. I had wandered in a giant circle, but I had finally reached my goal.
Liberation Monument
Liberation Monument (Jiefang Bei) was originally built to commemorate Sun Yatsen's birthday. However, after being liberated from the evil Japanese imperialist invaders, the modest obelisk was rechristened. To cement the symbolic importance of the site, three things were buried beneath it. In this time capsule, the geniuses of the time placed a contemporary Chinese
dictionary, a
map of China from that period and a
newspaper with the headline declaring victory and liberation. Atop the monument is a classic clock made by Rolex. I secretly wondered if it was counterfeit or not. Nowadays, it is the center of a busy shopping district, much like Nanjing Pedestrian Road in Shanghai. While admiring the stately tower, I spied from the corner of my eye a most glorious sight: a smiling mermaid trapped within her little green bubble, singing her siren's song to this thirsty sailor.
I tell you, I almost started crying. Granted, my journey was not
that harrowing, but damn it, I had spent over 2 hours trying to find a place that should have technically only taken 30 minutes to find, as I would discover later. I inadvertently exclaimed a "yippee!" or "wooo!" at the discovery and thanked Christ with a quick sign of the cross, much to the shock of the people around me. Almost tripping over my boots in a clumsy rush, I ran towards my emerald goddess, sucked in by the wafting aroma of her bitter, brown brew.
She's A Beauty
Savoring my victorious cup and toasty scone from a windowside sofa overlooking Liberation Monument square, I felt complete for the first time in days. The familiar scent of brewing coffee, the buzz of local chatter and pretentious background music, and the comfort of a good armchair were the first welcome indicators that I was truly back in civilization. Alternately reading my book about zombies and writing in my journal, a few young Chongqingers came and went from the chair across from me, giving me an up close view on the local fashion. Verdict: not so bad. But I was pretty sure they were gay, so the elevated fashion sense gave them an unfair advantage over the other people in the shop. Indeed, it was apparent that there was some thought process in effect when they were rustling through their closets that morning. I sighed a happy sigh; it was so relaxing.
Hours passed and the scone had already been digested. I hesitantly packed my things and emerged into the twilight air that had settled on the city. The neon lights had already exploded onto the streets, illuminating everything in a rainbow haze. I decided it would be prudent to take the bus back to the hotel, lest I risk getting lost again on my journey home. The first one I came upon just so happened to be passing my area, so I paid my 2 RMB and jumped on.
The route was almost exactly the same one I had covered on the way over, only in reverse. From a speeding bus, I was astonished to see how quickly it passed before my eyes. In less than twenty minutes, I was back at the hotel. For a moment, I scolded myself for being stupid and not taking the bus over in the first place. But I wouldn't have seen those random sights along the way and I think that coffee wouldn't have tasted as sweet had it not been acquired after much hardship. I bought dinner at a random supermarket next door - a few cups of yogurt, fresh fruit and water - that was aimed at purging my system of the previous few days of gorging (no pun intended, ho ho) and settled in for an early night of rest. The following day, I'd be paying another visit to a famous Chinese grotto. Despite the caffeine and the stinging of the fresh blisters on my feet, I immediately passed out.
Part 6: The Dazu Grottoes
Hunched over the toilet in that awkward position that all men are familiar with, I tried to aim for the bowl without snapping my morning wood in half. I entertained the idea of just peeing in the bathtub, but decided it was wrong to desecrate the hotel like that. To make matters worse for my already contorted stance, I felt a strange sensation, like I was swaying back and forth. Fearing the worst, I thought it could be an earthquake. Then I realized it was just residual physical memory from the ship: during those days on the cruise, as we rocked with the waves of the river, I had to compensate for the motion by learning to sway with the rhythm of the Yangtze. I suppose my body forgot I was now on solid ground. Chuckling at this interesting little phenomenon, I wrapped things up before I became stuck in that hunchbacked position and got ready for the long day ahead: a trip to the Dazu Grottoes.
The grottoes in Dazu county are actually a series of sites scattered within neighboring hillsides, not just one solitary group. Combining Confucian, Taoist and Buddhist imagery, the carvings were some of the most colorful and detailed I have ever seen. While nowhere near the scale as the dizzying statues at Longmen in Henan Province or Yungang in Shanxi Province, nor as isolated and mysterious as the most famous cave grottoes at Mogao in Dunhuang, the Dazu grottoes strike a unique balance that combines a few examples of impressive grandeur with plenty of breathtaking detail.
That morning, a local tour bus picked me up from the hotel. I was the only foreigner onboard. As soon as I stepped in, one of the tricky local mothers in the front seat
gasped out loud and started to elbow her poor daughter. Not even a minute into the trip, I was already a target. As I sat down in the only free row - wouldn't you know, right next to this eager mom - I heard her scream-whisper to her daughter, "Go, practice your English! Why do you bother learning in the first place?
For situations like this!" I thought it best to feign ignorance in the easiest way possible: the white guy doesn't speak Chinese. Staring straight ahead, I could feel the penetrating glare of that woman on the side of my head, wondering when she'd relent. I had dodged one wily (grand)mom already; I was ready to do battle with a second.
The road to Dazu seemed endless. On the map, it's a mere skip from Chongqing city, still considered part of the municipality. Thus I thought it would be fairly close by. Not quite. With such sketchy geographic logic, no wonder Chongqing takes the prize for being "biggest" city in China at 35 million souls: it's comprised of suburbs as far-reaching as Wushan, which you'll remember was a few days back down the river! My inner Shanghainese seethed at the injustice at losing out "biggest city" bragging rights to this cheating den of hobunk mountain folk.
Before we could even see the grottoes, we had to stop for lunch. Looking at my watch, three hours had elapsed since we left the downtown area. I couldn't believe it. In this span of time, you could go from Shanghai to Hangzhou and back on the bullet train. Too hungry to be perturbed for too long, I quickly ran into the restaurant, one of a billion typical establishments that exist solely to feed tour groups with basic representations of local cuisine.
The food wasn't bad. Lots of hot pepper, plenty of spice. My favorite dish was the
fen-zhen rou, a soft steamed fatty pork covered in little bits of bean and flour. It wasn't the first time enjoying this dish, but it felt more authentic to enjoy it in its place of origin. As I wolfed down the strips of pork, the family sitting across from me started to chatter. "Just talk to him, you speak English," the mother said to her son. "Don't be
shy." They seemed harmless enough, so I spoke up and told them I could speak Chinese. Once they realized they didn't have to speak to me in slow-motion, retard Mandarin ("NIIII HAAAAO
MAAAA?"), we exchanged particulars. They were from Beijing, apparent from their godawful accent and incessant use of "xiao huo zi" (almost literally "little dude", but more like "young man") when addressing me. Their son, one of the most flaming Chinese boys I'd ever seen, worked in Beijing and was quite friendly. It's always nice to meet amiable locals, so lunch passed by quicker than expected. As long as this mom didn't try to push her son onto my lap, I'd be alright. I don't take free lapdances until
after the second date. Back aboard the bus, I noticed that the other mom had made her daughter switch seats, placing the young innocent right next to me. Parted by just the center aisle, yet separated by so much more.
Careening over the hillsides and into a significantly developed tourist area, we finally arrived. Hiking through the sprawling parking lot and past a horde of tourist shops blocking our way, we boarded tram carts and were carted towards the grottoes. The place was packed and I just wanted to detach from the dense crowd as quickly as possible. Expressing my desires with the tour guide, she told me to be back at the bus in a couple hours. Off I went towards sweet freedom.
The most striking aspect of the Dazu grottoes is the locale. Draped around a tiny valley, the grottoes are carved directly into the hillside, surrounded by a forest of lush green trees and underbrush. Compared to Longmen and Yungang, which are both out in the open, dry and exposed to harsh sunlight, Dazu felt almost secret, like we had accidently stumbled upon a long-lost civilization of Buddhas frozen in stone.
Looking Over To The Other Side Of The Grotto
The carvings themself were the most colorful I'd ever seen in China. Bright blues, robust reds, smoky browns and radiant yellows. Up close, the amount of detail put into these relatively tiny carvings were equally stunning. Some face carvings were so smooth, you'd think those wily monks had their own ancient stash of SK-II.
Rainbow Carvings
The scenes depicted in stone illustrated various stories from Buddhist and Taoist legend, with an awesome variety of deities and characters not seen in other primarily Buddha-centric grottoes. Their expressions were also a welcome change from the standard serenity plastered over Buddha's mug: jubilant laughter, evil sneers, playful smiles and horrific grins were in abundance, like ancient comics etched into rock. I was having a blast staring into the face of each figure, flabbergasted at their perfection and personality.
Chubbs!
My favorite face: look at that detail!
Laughter and SmilesAs always, my serenity must be disrupted at some point by a local tourist. While trying to make sense of a series of scripture, a woman behind me complained that she couldn't read the carved script because it was done in traditional characters. I summoned my reserve of patience, stifling a "no shit, you dumbass."Rolling my eyes and sighing out loud, I wondered at which point in her life she would learn that this was what Chinese characters are
supposed to look like. Maybe if the grottoes were carved after the 1950s she would have been able to make sense of the
chickenscratch and, instead of hundreds of Buddhas, we'd be appreciating a horde of Maos.
Idiot.
Purple Puff: I love it! Such a disaster~
This creature takes the crown: looks like she's wearing a hairy purple jellyfish on her skull
Making my way around the valley, I was itching for a jump shot, but through a mixture of shyness and frustration, I couldn't bother asking a perfect stranger to take a picture of a mentally unstable
laowai hopping about. Instead, I sat along the walkway and absorbed the largest carving at the end of the grotto, a massive scene depicting paradise, punishments in the netherworld, a fleet of Buddhas and a whole mess of other things that I didn't have the concentration to focus on. There was just too much detail crammed onto this relatively modest space. Once I had enough, I waved goodbye to all the gods and trekked back to the bus.
Better Off Jumping
Once the rest of the group arrived, we boarded our vessel to return to Chongqing city. Without fail, the first voice I heard as I stepped into the bus was that old mama. "Go sit next to the
laowai pengyou ("foreigner friend")! Talk to him, he looks your age!" I wouldn't crack, no matter how cute the daughter was (note: she was not). I continued to play coy and popped my earphones in to drown out the mother's continued babble.
It had been a while since being on a typical local tour. I'd sworn them off many years ago, only joining if it was absolutely necessary. So it didn't surprise me when we pulled into a suspicious looking lot and were told to unload. Usually on Chinese tours, you'll be forced to visit one of these roadside stores that specialize in some manner of crap that you'll never need, whether it's overpriced jewelry, domestic pots and pans or the famous local craftware that is too bulky to get on the plane. Think American TV infomercials, "for only 19.95!!!" My most infuriating experience was in Beijing in 2002, where we were forced to visit a pearl market for about 3 hours, while we had only been given 2 hours to see the Great Wall. The bastards. This time, it wasn't so bad. The presentation was funny: a surprisingly entertaining dude who was trying his best to sell us revolutionary knives at ridiculously low prices. "Watch this knife cut paper! Watch me cut through this metal pipe! Watch as I destroy this tomato without even lifting a finger!" I thought that no fool would be gullible enough to take the bait, but I should know never to underestimate a local tourist.
Eventually, the suckers who bought one, two or even five (5!!!) sets of knives boarded the bus and we began the long trip home. I passed out quickly, sure that the determined mother would no doubt try to convince her daughter to just mount me already and wrench the passport from my man purse.
Back in the city, the bus driver was kind enough to drop me off right near Liberation Monument. You know I only had one thing on my mind. And so I returned to the warm fins of the Starbucks mermaid for my penultimate meal in Chongqing. Why not? I just wanted to enjoy myself and bask in the surroundings just one more time. Afterwards, I had to decide what was for dinner. Sichuan cuisine be damned, I craved familiarity. I settled on what would become a new tradition for the last night on all future solo travels: McDonald's. *avoids shoe thrown at my head* Takeout bag in hand, I boarded my old friend, the bus, and returned to my hotel. I scarfed down that delicious burger and washed the fries down with my ice cold Coke while watching
Red Cliff. Disgusted with myself yet thoroughly satisfied by that greasy meal, I relaxed for the remainder of the evening in total squalor, enjoying one final night of not picking up after myself or caring about whether I spilled crumbs on the floor. The Rolling Stones have got nothing on me.
Drawing the blinds to the sight of another grey China morning, I couldn't believe the trip was coming to a close. From the river-veined coast to the flat and lifeless interior, creeping upriver through gorges and cliffs and hiking around an ancient city covered with apartment buildings and skyscrapers clinging to the hillsides for dear life, it was as substantial a journey as one could have in such a short time span. Before departing Shanghai, eight days seemed daunting. Though now that it was over, I felt it had gone by quite quickly. I crammed my things into my pack and suited up for the final leg: the adventure to the airport.
Every city in China has its own special airport memory buried deep in my heart. Surprisingly, they are mostly positive. Having grown up with something as disheveled and disorderly as Boston's Logan Airport, let's face it: anything is better. Overall, getting in and out of Chongqing is pretty convenient. From my hotel, as luck would once again bless me, it was only a five minute walk down the street to the city airport shuttle station. Much cheaper than a taxi that could have potentially swindled me out of a few RMB, the airport bus only cost 20 RMB, about $3 US. Within an hour, I was dropped off at the airport with plenty of time to spare. If there's anything that gets me off more than punctuality, it's being
outrageously early.
I had an hour before check-in started, so I grabbed lunch at
Dicos, a surprisingly ubiquitous fast food chain in second-tier Chinese cities. Like a Chinese version of ghetto American rest stop joint, Roy Rogers, they serve basic, nutritious goodies that all junk food junkies crave: burgers, fried chicken, French fries, and soda. I don't remember ever actually trying the food here, so I was excited to be doing something new and novel.
While waiting in line for my turn to order, the local Chongqingers around me were gabbing on and on about what to order, giving me a good opportunity to absorb just how different their accents are. Sichuan folk speaking Mandarin sound a bit like foreigners learning Chinese: their tones are all over the place, as if they don't matter. You recognize that they are speaking Mandarin, but with the tones so violently off-kilter, most conversation requires a double-take. A husky child next to me, quite obviously a frequent Dicos diner, pushed his way to the front, blurting out a string of Sichuan-Mandarin that I just barely caught:
"
JIEjie, you'
mei'you
SHUtiao?"
Now, my Mandarin is hardly perfect, but this sounded as dismal as first-year Mandarin class at UMass. If he had an unkempt beard, filthy hair and a pair of Birks on, I'd swear he was a long-lost classmate. Asking the Dicos chick ("jie jie", big sister) whether they had any fries, standard Mandarin would have been more like "Jie3jie2, you2mei3you2 shu3tiao2." [For those of you with no idea what I'm talking about, please skip ahead to the next paragraph and let me continue my rant about the subtle linguistic differences; I find it fascinating.] So anyway, as I stood there, it took a second to process, but once I did, I let out a loud "HAH!" at the silliness of it all. This national language - supposed to be "standardized" amongst all members of our harmonious society - not only exists in Chongqing in this truly butchered state, but is also the standard. The only people that speak "proper" Mandarin are the chuckleheads on CCTV. Whenever I am confronted with this reality, I find it oddly heartwarming: no matter how hard the government tries, they'll never be able to kill all of the local accents or dialects in the attempt to homogenize the language. When I speak more properly than a born-and-bred Chinese national, you know there's something stinky afoot.
Back to the Dicos queue...Still reeling from my McOrgy the previous evening, I opted for the healthy route: a fried chicken sandwich and soggy fries, all digested in a soup of lukewarm cola. It successfully filled me up, but the risk of some sort of anal explosion that night loomed over my head for the next few hours.
With some time left until check-in, I remained at Dicos, observing the folks around me and giving my shoulders a much needed rest from my backpack. High above me on a huge wall advertisement, I noticed multiple rings the size of hula hoops in an assortment of rainbow colors. Squinting at the accompanying printed propaganda slogans, I realized they were condoms. This was a billboard for
AIDS awareness. Loving the fact that I was in Dicos surrounded by kids and old people, with an audience of giant condoms watching us eat, I quietly applauded the local government for the effort. Whether it actually helps or not is unknown, though current stats name AIDS as the #1 killer in China at the moment (Lord pray the Pope doesn't make a
trip to the motherland anytime soon...). It was the first time I had seen an ad of this nature in such a public place, so hopefully it's the start of a widespread campaign aimed at educating the masses about the dangers of unprotected sex. Just when I think I'm starting to understand China, I'm surprised yet again.
As soon as I could, I checked in, cleared customs and began the long wait for my plane. There was a coffee shop at my gate, so I enjoyed a quick cup of Illy and finished
World War Z, a book about the global war effort against a plague that has turned almost everyone into a ravenous, brain-craving zombie. Highly entertaining reading, but even more appropriate because, according to the "historical account" in the book, the plague begins along the Yangtze - in
Fengdu ghost city, no less - spreading to the rest of the world due to insufficient health regulations and quarantine checks in China.
Ha! I was pretty certain that I didn't contract anything on my travels up the river and airport security hadn't carted me off to confinement just yet. Still, I couldn't trust those around me. I cautiously looked around to make sure there were no suspicious looking passengers who might infect me with their evil undead germs. A fat guy playing his PSP was sweating, but that seemed natural for his size. The abundance of vacant eyes and dead stares was also an inaccurate indicator, as this is the standard state of many locals' faces. Everything was fairly quiet, so I decided that my brains were safe for now. Sure of my security, I boarded the plane and returned home to Shanghai.
Until Next Time~
Now that my tenure as a corporate desk monkey in China has drawn to a close, I look back upon all the happy memories. The good times, the bad times, the disastrous times, and even those times where I yearned to be freed from this hell, ending my misery with a sweet, sweet death brought upon by plunging chopsticks into my brain via my vulnerable ear canals.
I approve.
In all his Technicolor Glory
Ruh Roh!
Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!
