Ape Rifle

Since it has been raining for two days straight and I'm holed up in my apartment, I thought it would be fun to do something completely useless and counter-productive, like compile a bunch of Top 5 lists concerning Chinese cities.

Before going off on me for ignoring your hometown/temporary hometown, consider:

1) I'm only including cities I have visited or been through. Unlike countless people around me, I do not have that special ability to debate the pros and cons of places I have never even seen.

2) I'm only including major cities.

So, here goes:

Most Relaxed

1) Haikou
2) Kunming
3) Hangzhou
4) Chengdu
5) Qingdao

Most Overwhelmingly Busy

1) Chongqing
2) Beijing
3) Jinan
4) Shanghai
5) Wuhan

Best Air Quality

1) Kunming
2) Haikou/Sanya (Hainan tie)
3) Guilin
4) Nanning
5) Qingdao

Worst Air Quality (you are there, but I can't see you)

1) Zibo (special mention)
2) Chongqing
3) Jinan
4) Chengdu
5) Beijing

Most Overrated

1) Shanghai
2) Guilin
3) Chengdu
4) Hangzhou
5) Beijing

Places I want to visit:

1) Hong Kong
2) Any city in Dongbei
3) Urumqi
4) Nanjing
5) Guiyang

Places I don't really want to visit:

1) Shenzhen
2) Guangzhou
3) Zhengzhou
4) Shijiazhuang
5) Macau

Most "Is this China?"

1) Shanghai
2) Beijing
3) Kunming
4) Qingdao
5) Hangzhou

Most Character

1) Chongqing
2) Qingdao
3) Kunming
4) Hangzhou
5) Jinan

Most mind-numbingly soulless urban planning

1) multiple-way tie between ever mid-sized city in the country
2) Chengdu
3) Beijing
4) Shanghai
5) an increasing chunk of Hangzhou

Most Orderly Traffic

1) Shanghai
2) Kunming
3) Qingdao
4) Chengdu
5) Guilin

Most Chaotic Roads

1) Jinan (too much of everything)
2) Nanning (too many scooters)
3) Chongqing (too many buses)
4) Hangzhou (too much bad driving)
5) Beijing (too many cars)

Most Smiles

1) Jinghong, Xishuangbanna (special mention)
2) Kunming
3) Haikou
4) Jinan
5) Qingdao

Most Frowns

1) Shanghai
2) Chengdu
3) Chongqing
4) Beijing
5) Hangzhou

Most Attractive Women

1) Chengdu
2) Chongqing
3) Hangzhou
4) Shanghai
5) Jinan

Most conspicuous lack of foreigners considering their populations

1) Nanning
2) Chongqing
3) Jinan
4) Chengdu
5) Hangzhou

Most Surly Foreigners

1) Shanghai
2) Beijing
3) Qingdao
4) Sanya
5) Any major airport and its surroundings

Best Street Food/Late Night Eating

1) Chengdu (everything)
2) Chongqing (hot pot)
3) Hangzhou (noodles)
4) Jinan (draft beer stalls)
5) Beijing (anything)

Best Overall Vibe

1) Kunming
2) Hangzhou
3) Qingdao
4) Chongqing
5) Beijing

Back in my Zibo days, my old university would sell me to local middle schools for several afternoons a week. These classes were at once refreshing and horrifying: the kids were a welcome change from the apathetic university students, but the classroom shenanigans and conspicuously absent teaching 'assistants' often made for quite a stressful experience.

Lesson plans for these junior middle school stints didn't revolve so much around language acquisition; classroom pacification and survival were the primary goals. Games and fun topics were the order of the day. Did they learn anything? Anyone who has taught a class of sixty 10 year olds in the Chinese system already knows the answer to that. But hey, I considered class a success if they weren't throwing basketballs at each other.

One afternoon, Jeremy (from the States) got his middle school kids to invent and draw their own superheroes. What kid doesn't love superheroes? Apparently the class went really well and he came out of there with tons of hilarious heroes and equally hilarious drawings. While we were waiting for out ride back to the university, he showed us some of their insane creations. The one that we just couldn't stop laughing at was some scribbled hairy monstrosity (very anatomically correct, if I remember). This beast was clutching some giant machine gun, and the kids had named it Ape Rifle. A legend was born.

I tried the superhero lesson in my classes, and it also worked really well. I got such crazy heroes as Sex Change Man ( a woman during the day who changes into a man at night to beat people up). However, none of them came close to Ape Rifle. That hairy monkey came to represent all the comical absurdity we were encountering daily in small town, industrial China. We just couldn't stop laughing about it, and the fact that it had come out of the minds of middle school students. Who says Chinese kids lack creativity?

The whole thing became an inside joke among the teachers at my school, with "Ape Rifle lives!" heard on occasion thereafter. Discussions were had about possible book deals, movie trilogies, copyright issues with the middle school kids (yeah, we were bored, and SARS made things even more boring).

So what is the meaning behind the title of my blog? I'm not really sure. To find out, you would have to go back to the source: that middle school near the smelly pharmaceutical factory in Zibo, Shandong province. There you might still find the twisted little mind with a penchant for fur and weaponry. You can ask him what it's all about. Ape Rifle Lives.

Hangzhou the Postcard



Hangzhou the Rising



Hangzhou the Picturesque



Hangzhou the Not So Picturesque



Hangzhou the Old



Hangzhou the New



Hangzhou the Depressing



Hangzhou the 4 AM



Hangzhou the Pious



Hangzhou the Well-Armed

Unfortunately, memories of my trek through the Southwest are becoming increasingly foggy as the routine of daily life takes its toll. Since the teaching started again last week, it seems like I have been stuck in a bit of a rut. The thrill of being back in comfy Hangzhou has now evaporated, quickly replaced by lesson planning, photocopies and hours of staring at my laptop trying to sort out grad school applications.

Today was particularly rough. My morning involved four hours of class addressing stereotypes, ethnicity and nationality which did not seem to go over particularly well. I'm quite frustrated because I put a good amount of time and effort into the preparation of this lesson, not to mention putting my own money towards the photocopies that proceed to get destroyed in three seconds. The toughest part about lessons that tank is that I'm never quite sure where the problem lies: are the topics too complex? Is the vocabulary too hard? Did I not prepare enough? Or will the students remain apathetic and uninvolved no matter what I do? Many of them seem convinced that it is completely the teacher's responbility to make them active, like opening their own mouths has nothing to do with it.

During my free time this afternoon I didn't fare much better. Instead of hunkering down to finish editing my grad school statement of purpose as I had promised myself, I fell asleep for several hours in front of The Simpsons on DVD. If that's not the image of productivity I don't know what is. Seriously though, it's pretty amazing how a few hours of rough class can put you out of mental commission for the rest of the day.

And this trend of negativity continued on into the evening. Hoping to break the monotony of my eating habits, I set out with another teacher for a meal at a Xinjiang restaurant. On the way, I almost got hit by a bus as I walked across an intersection. The cyclist behind me wasn't so lucky: he did get hit by the bus. Why is vehicle traffic given a green light to turn right while bikes and pedestrians are given a green light to cross? I have no clue. And why do vehicles feel the urge to take these corners at about 60 km/h? Again, I have no clue. It seems I end up near some sort of road accident almost everyday now.

Turns out the Xinjiang restaurant was closed for renovations, despite a distinct memory of being told three weeks ago that it would be "open in ten days". I guess I should have known better. Still on the "let's eat something different" kick, we decided to head for the Brazilian barbecue restaurant that had served as a great backup after our previous attempt at enjoying Xinjiang cuisine. Well guess what? They had now closed this restaurant for renovations too. Oh yeah, and on our way there, I almost got hit by another car, once again crossing on the green as some hotshot in a white Santana thought it would be a great idea to see how little space he could leave between us and the curb.Foiled, we made our way back to one of the now familiar restaurants near our apartment complex. Our simple mission to inject culinary excitement into our daily routines had been thorougly thwarted.

Hangzhou has recently been a bit of a downer. I don't blame this city at all, but more the place I have made for myself in it. I need to break out of my routine. Although this might sound ridiculous to some, life in China's bigger cities can be numbing, mundane and boring, especially when it consists mostly of interaction with screens, copy machines and disinterested students. At times like these, the crowds and chaos on the streets are oppressive, not energizing. Perhaps I'll remember today as the one when the thrill of it all truly died. Daily life can suck, no matter what continent you are on.

It is probably worth mentioning that my month of travelling ended in true style with a 16 hour bus voyage through Hubei, Anhui and Zhejiang; an odyssey in itself. Bomb-cratered highways, loud peasants,endless Hong Kong gangster movies, two police checkpoints, 132040 toll gates, and a 4am arrival in Hangzhou to an ice cold downpour- what more could a tired traveller ask for? Hey, it sounded like a good idea when we got on in Yichang.

In all, the trip was a rousing success. My sister, for a brief two weeks, got to experience some of the things I've been blabbering on about for over a year and a half now, not to mention stunning Yunnan. I got to check out Sichuan, Chonqging and a small chunk of central China. And all my time on buses and trains gave me ample time to do one of my favourite things: look out the window and think.

More and more I'm seeing two realities, one built on top of the other. You have the huge cities, interconnected by an increasing number of expressways. They are relatively modern, affluent (or at least deliberately affluent looking), energetic and lively, offering all the latest creature comforts one could imagine in this day and age (well, except for cheap coffee). This is the 'new', confident China. But outside this 'modern grid' sprawls an endless landscape of poor countryside, hailing from another era. The urban economic boom seems almost as foreign to this scene as I do: this is still a world of dirt paths, wooden carts and roaming livestock. This is the Third World, full frontal. Here the villagers aren't sure who to stare at more, the foreigners or the wealthy urbanites, as we are both from another world.

Sometimes I think I need to get out of the cities more. I (like most other foreigners here, I'm sure) spend almost all my time on the coast, in a large city or travelling 'the grid' to another large city. Looking back on my travels, I admittedly spent a large majority of my time in major metropolitan areas.

Travelling between these citadels, however, provides ample opportunity to see the other side of things. Looking out the windows of buses and trains, I am forcefully reminded that a large portion of Chinese have probably never even heard of Starbucks. I am reminded that something like 800 million (!) Chinese are still farmers, and a good number of them are pretty poor. It is easy quite easy to forget that living in Hangzhou. The scale of this country is so overwhelming that it is often easier just to not think about it at all.

You are in a Korean-made luxury bus bombing down a highway, accompanied on the road by SUVs, VWs and a variety of black luxury sedans. You are probably watching some slick movie (VCD or DVD) on a drop down screen (buses in Canada don't even have that!). You have just left some big, bustling, glittery metropolis, and you are mostly likely on your way to another similar place. Meanwhile, outside the window, some guy is knee-high in mud fighting to get his oxen to plow the field, and his wife is fetching water in a pail from a green stagnant pond. The scariest part? How normal it now feels to see this sort of scene. But I wonder what it looks like from the other side: what I look like to the farmer as I fly by in some shiny bus.

In the end, one of China's biggest challenges will be to somehow better integrate these two worlds. Because right now it seems that one is leaving the other in the proverbial (and literal) dust.

For this final Travel Journal, I thought I'd try something a little different. In the name of laziness, I'm transcribing entries from my journal word for word, instead of editing them, sprucing them up, or giving them any sort of chronological order.

"January 30th:

The scenery is interesting, although it couldn't really be described as beautiful. The river is now pretty wide, bordered by cliffs, hills and larger mountains in the background. Visibility is actually quite limited by heavy smog. Villages comprised mostly of two-storey concrete blocks cling to the surrounding hills. Lots of newer apartment buildings are clustered higher up on the hilltops, presumably to avoid the further rise of the water level.These newer developments are also of the 'concrete block' variety, only taller. It seems that almost everything below a certain marker on the side of the river has been abandoned or demolished, the population pushed further up the slope. The landscape is pretty much what I expected: not beautiful, but impressive nonetheless in its quiet vastness and isolated feel. As I look off the back of the boat, rusted barges hauling coal dot the river as the sun sinks into the haze behind them, giving everything a surreal orange glow. Strangely peaceful and relaxing (except for the non-stop, off key karaoke coming from inside)."

"Zhong Zhou:

Tourist trap hell. An interesting temple perched on a rock formation, but only accessible from a path mobbed by vendors and food stalls. Setting foot on this path is enough to set off an absolute barrage of "Halloos!" and other "Look, a foreigner!" annoyances. Got ripped off at a food stall, as usual, the price suddenly jumping after the food was in our stomachs. Then, to make things worse, we had to make our way back through a crowd getting off another boat to walk up to the temple. So to complement the wails of the vendors, a whole group of Chinese tourists decided they also wanted in on all the foreigner harassing fun. For obvious reasons, this place has now being nicknamed "The Gauntlet". I love China, but sometimes you really just want to scream."

"Wanzhou (万州):

One of the contenders for bleakest city on earth. I guess colour was banished from here: absolutely everything is brown and gray. Concrete towers hang off hillsides over a junky harbour, the smokestacks of industry providing the necessary smoke screen. Someone on the boat told us this city is completely new, the old town having been recently submerged by the dam project. I must admit this confused me: most of what I saw looked like it could be no newer than the 1950s. Again, there is a weird empty space on the slope between where the water ends and the city begins. Every settlement along the way has had this, making them look like fortresses waiting for the coming tide."

"January 31st:

The Gorges are impressive, immense rock formations jutting out of the river and topping off in jagged peaks. Deep mini-gorges move away from the river on all sides, disappearing off into the mountains and the mist. The whole area feels really peaceful and remote, a lot quieter than I expected: almost no other boats on the river besides us. Lots of precariously placed little homes and villages high up on the sides of the river, with no obvious routes connecting them to anywhere else."

Ok, that's it for the pretentious, arty portion. The trip was a mixed bag, mostly because of the following negatives:

1) Scam City. The boat itself was decent and well maintained, but the usual suspects were very present: arbitrary charges, ridiculous overpricing, confusion and surly, unhelpful staff. Our cabin was 'mysteriously' overbooked, prompting an attendant to 'suggest' we upgrade to another room for an extra 100 RMB. Deck access ended up depending mostly on the purchase of a deck pass, basically just a laminated scrap of paper to wear around your neck. Every stop seemed to consist of 'places of interest' charging 50-100 RMB entrance fees (which we mostly avoided by seeking out cheap beer). Some staff refused to believe I could understand any Chinese, even as I asked them, in Chinese, simple things like what time the boat arrived in or left so-and-so destination. Just blank stares and "you won't understand anyways" responses.

2) We only saw one of the Three Gorges, as we went through the first and third in the darkness of night.

3) To see the Three Gorges Dam, one had to pay 120 RMB to take some shuttle bus from the boat locks. Forget that. Didn't see the Dam either. The locks themselves were quite a sight, however, sporting what I'm sure are some of the tallest concrete walls and steel doors in the world. As we passed through them late at night, it looked like we were docking in some surreal space station, with spotlights and guiding beacons abound.

In all, the Gorges (or should I say Gorge) were impressive, but all the other hassles dampened the experience somewhat. As a window on China, a trip through the region is however fascinating. It's now easier for me to understand why the government is hoping the hoopla surrounding the dam will pump some economic life into the region: it's one of the poorest places I've seen here so far. The east coast's boom optimism doesn't make it very far up the river, morphing into depression and blight not far west of Wuhan. Perhaps the saddest thing was seeing all the migrant workers crowding the docks in every town along the way, ending Spring Festival by waiting for dirty barges to carry them away towards Wuhan and the eastern provinces beyond. I wondered if I would see any of these same sad faces on the streets of Hangzhou.

'Funny China' memories: The Adventures of 朋友 (Peng You)

On the boat Justin and I met two other guys, a Canadian and Kiwi, who were making their way back to Shanghai. Unlike us, they spared even more expense and decided on a 3rd class cabin, meaning they got to share their cabin with multiple others. From the sounds of it, the men in their cabin spent their whole time drinking, smoking, watching tv and sleeping. But one guy especially stood out, and every time we would run into the two teachers they would update us on his antics.

They nicknamed him Peng You (friend), because that's all he would ever say to them. An older man, he was either swilling bai jiu or passed out. He would offer cigarettes to them endlessly, no matter how many times they made it clear they didn't smoke. They would wake up early in the morning, and he would already be sitting up on his bunk, drinking and offering smokes all around. I actually saw him once as we were getting off the boat at a stop: he looked like one of millions of older men in this country, wearing a shabby grayish suit and a toothy crooked smile. Sitting up on deck during the afternoon, we laughed endlessly at stories of his antics in their cabin, thinking about how he represented a certain Chinese joie de vivre.

And then the other guys told us that suddenly, Peng You had disappeared. He was never in the cabin, and his trusty bottle of bai jiu was left empty. His legend dimmed somewhat: we wasted time talking about other things. But the last night on the boat, one of the Shanghai teachers came and found us on the front deck as we were going through the dam locks. He said he had been snoozing in his bunk, when he heard tapping on the window. He looked up to see the boat police officer beaming a flashlight into the room. The cop then aimed his light on Peng You's bed and shrugged as if to ask "where is this guy???". Was Peng You a wanted man?

Us foreign teachers parted in Yichang still having no idea what happened to Peng You (or what the cop wanted with him). But you can be sure he's out there somewhere, cigarette in mouth, bai jiu bottle in hand.

Although I've already professed my love for this city in a previous post, I figure it still deserves a more detailed treatment as the sixth installment of my oh-so-spiffy Travel Journals. So, here it goes:

The Chongqing area, at first sight, seems to be one of those nightmarish industrial landscapes that China is unfortunately quite famous for. Miles of blighted brown farmland, clusters of drab, dirty concrete block tenements randomly strewn about among the highway interchanges- and all of this stewing in a rather heavy smog.

The area seems to be awash in industry, OLD industry. Many of the factories (functioning, abandoning or decaying, I could never tell) were all brownbrick and coal smokestacks, haphazardly built on hills in a scene that made me wonder whether I had arrived in Industrial Revolution England.

Arriving in the city proper, we are dropped at some massive, chaotic bus station that seems to sprawl over three hills/sections, all of it outdoors. Rickety looking apartment blocks jut out of the landscape as far as the eye can see. I also quickly realize that, as promised, bicycles are completely absent from this urban area (too many hills). Instead, the streets are clogged with belching buses, two of which get into an accident right in front of our cab as we leave the bus 'depot'.

After the relative calm and serenity of Yunnan (even Sichuan to a certain degree), this place was chaos; overcrowded, 50s style industrial chaos. We were leaving the Southwest behind, and ploughing head on into the great hinterland of China.

So I'm sure you are now asking: "what in god's name did you find appealing about this place?!?" And I would answer two things: originality and energy. Ok, I will get it out of the way: Chongqing is chaotic, overcrowded and overwhelmingly polluted. However, as someone interested in cities and urban scenes, I found it to be one of the more unique urban landscapes I have experienced.

Perhaps the main reason is the congestion. Chonqging is an exercise in density, a Chinese Manhattan crammed onto a small, hilly peninsula. Many other Chinese cities, despite having populations in the untold millions, can come across as strangely spacious: huge public squares, boulevard so wide you can barely see the other side. Not so in "The Chong". It seems the driving thrust of urban planning here is to cram as many highrises as possible into the least amount of space. And I'm not talking about empty luxury condo towers that sit empty in the name of speculation; these giants looked packed to the brim, with laundry hanging out every window from floor one to fifty. This is perhaps the first urban scene in China that has truly made me pause and realize just how many people live in this country. Sorry Shanghai, you lose.

The fact that Chongqing is built on hills definitely adds to the craziness. Streets are never straight nor wide: they go up down, and all around. Thrown in multi-level pedestrian walks, sky bridges, stairs going up and down, streets that become elevated highways, sidewalks that go from ground level to being thirty stories up in a few seconds and..whew, you have quite a scene in front of you. Of course, Justin and I got hopelessly lost in these narrow streets, as the canyon of highrises blocks out any hopes of seeing a recognizable landmark.

And within here bubbles a true urban energy; if you don't like crowds, please stay the hell away from this city. But if you are interested in fascinating neighbourhoods, markets and street life, this could well be a good place for you to explore for a few days.

And if you are interested in local scenes, check out the hotpot restaurants. They are everywhere, and are as much social events as dining locales; lively, raucous alcohol-fueled atmosphere. Of course, we had to watch this through blurry eyes as our "not very spicy" hotpot turned out to be rather spicy. But delicious nonetheless, and perfect when washed down with The Chong's own pineapple beer. Strangely enough, Chongqing's streets also seemed to have the nicest, brightest oranges on offer (perhaps only so noticeable because everything else was black, brown and gray).

In the end, Chongqing comes across as a city not afraid to show its ugly side: it's an overcrowded city in a developing country. But this, in a strange way, also makes it feel so much more alive than many other cities I have been to in China. It is also perhaps one of the few places that actually desperately needs the rampant re-development it is going through; but unlike other cities, I doubt this will do much to affect its lively character. Chongqing you are so dirty, but I still love you.

'Funny China' memories:

1)The scenic walk along the dry riverbed of the Chang Jiang was, well, not very scenic. It offered an impressive view of the city, but an unmistakable smell of sewage permeated the air (didn't affect the Chinese families flying kites and skipping stones though, I guess Westerners are just wimps). This smell turned into an absolute stench when we had to jump over gushing sewage runoff to get back up to the street. Not a pleasant experience.

2) Walking along a road looking for restaurants, Justin and I realized that we had suddenly been dropped about twenty storeys below the area where we wanted to be. We thus wandered into an apartment complex to find some stairs to bring us back up. Trouble is the stairs only brought us halfway, and we had to clamber up weird utility paths, pipes, rocks and a wall to get the rest of the way (after accidentally walking into some migrant worker quarters perched halfway up this hill). Lost in a netherworld of concrete, air ducts and a pretty decent drop; impossible scene to describe, but we did emerge at the proper 'street level' through some little garden. Of course, the locals wondered where in the hell these two foreigners had just appeared from.

Reasons why I didn't actually visit Leshan:

1) A cheap ride was available from Chengdu direct to the Grand Buddha and back, blowing right through Leshan itself and making for a good half-day trip.

2) Leshan, sitting across the river in all its gloomy glory, didn't exactly look inviting. About the only thing I could make out through the mist was a cluster of ugly, generic bank towers under construction. I bet Buddha just loves his view.

Reasons why The Grand Buddha is worth visiting:

1) They are not lying: this thing is BIG. 71m tall, if I remember correctly. Standing at its feet, dwarfed by the toes, you really wonder how in the world they carved this thing. Very, very impressive.

2) The area around the Grand Buddha itself is chock full of peaceful forested paths, misty hills, landscaped gardens and temples. China at its quiet, pensive best.

Things that scared me:

1) To get a full view of the Grand Buddha, we had to make our way down a cliffside path. It was narrow, steep and slippery. Throw in the usual Chinese pushing and jostling (even when it's obvious there is nowhere to go but off the edge), and you have a decent recipe for disaster. I cringe to think how many people took a tumble off there before they installed the iron railing. When we were leaving, the crowds had swelled and they had soldiers (!) controlling the flow of people down the path.

"Funny China" Memories: Upon entering one of the temples, Justin and I were a bit shocked to see some tourists noisily throwing coins at a Buddha statue. Wasn't that kind of sacrilegious? Then we noticed that the reclined, happy Buddha had a pot in one of his arms. If a tossed coin landed in it, a booming voice would come out of nowhere, laugh and say something incomprehensible, sounding eerily like Jabba the Hutt. Religion has come such a long way, hasn't it?

Prologue: Train from Kunming to Chengdu

I’m a bit embarrassed to admit that, as a result of my inept travel planning, I spent Chinese New Year’s Eve on a train chugging through the rugged mountains of Yunnan and Sichuan. About the only festivities I witnessed where the village kids who threw firecrackers at our train as we passed by. I felt bad for the families on board with me, as it was pretty obvious they had much better things to do that night than sit around in a train car. But I guess they ended up in the same travel pickle I did: tickets to anywhere and everywhere were booked beyond solid all other dates, except on the holiday itself when everyone is already at home. So there I was, ringing in the Year of the Monkey crammed into my space-deprived top bunk. A few positives from the trip: stunning mountain scenery, and probably one of my most relaxing experiences with Chinese transportation (Kunming train station was an absolute ghost town).

The City:

After the natural delights of Yunnan, Chengdu was somewhat of a disappointment (or a reality check, whichever way you want to look at it). As I wandered around the center of the city on New Year’s Day, I felt like my train had somehow transported me to Northern China. I was face to face with a gloomy, polluted, concrete-heavy industrial sprawl, with absolutely nothing to indicate I was in “one of China’s more intriguing cities” (courtesy of Lonely Planet). The weather was wet and cold, exactly the kind of thing I had tried to escape by fleeing to the Southwest. A dirty brown haze hung over the cityscape, and everyone seemed to be dressed in black. Faced with this bleak scene, the one thing that lifted my spirits a little was seeing all the families out on the morning of the New Year, getting their pictures taken in various parks and squares. As well, I was impressed by the Mao statue on the main square, looking over the heavy flow of Chengdu traffic in one of the more surreal examples of Communist chic.

Surveying the scene, I quickly noticed something that made Chengdu rather unique: unlike many other major Chinese cities, this place did not give off an air of newfound affluence or explosive growth. I know next to nothing about Sichuan’s economic situation, but I would almost say this place is in some kind of slump. Sure, there are bank towers, an endless number of apartment blocks, wide boulevards and shopping malls, but none of them seemed very new, shiny or affluent. In fact, it appears as if Chengdu’s ‘boom’ took place several years ago; and now the party’s over, with a slight decay setting in. This was visible in the striking number of abandoned construction projects 30-40 floor towers left to rot well before their completion, leaving only concrete skeletons to blight the landscape. The city has two abandoned ‘twin towers’ that seem like a giant warning against the dangers of real estate speculation. This situation was reflected in the population as well, as I once again saw a suprising amount of beggars and ‘unemployed labourers’ hanging about.

Perhaps I am being a little too hard on Chengdu. The city definitely does have some strong points, namely its food and teahouses. This is China’s Snack City: food vendors own the place, and some little lanes were bustling food carnivals, selling everything from Muslim sweets to roasted tarantula spiders. I explored one of these lanes with an Australian I met at the guesthouse, and we just sat down and ordered random noodles, dishes and desserts (most of them quite spicy, of course). The 羊肉串 (mutton meat sticks) were about twice as big (and good!) as those sold in any other city I have been, and I was assured they were second only to the Xinjiang ones themselves.

We also spent an afternoon sitting around in a teahouse on temple grounds, a perfect (if a bit chilly way) to relax and waste away an afternoon. The temple complex itself was quite impressive: it felt more like a community center than a gaudy tourist trap, with throngs of worshippers, families and monks giving the place a very active, lively feel. The teahouse section was pretty sprawling, full of energetic children, old people, card games and gambling. 8 yuan allowed you to take in this scene with limitless refills. I guess Chengdu does still have some charm to it; just don’t look downtown for it. And don’t look for it on the outskirts either, which seem to consist largely of a nightmarish industrial landscape.

And who could forget the pandas, Sichuan’s star attraction. A trip to the research base just north of the city allowed me the opportunity to see these animals close up. And, yes, these animals are damn cute. Watching them loll around, lazily munching on bamboo, was strangely spell-binding, as their movements seemed eerily human. And since our van shuttled us to the base at an ungodly 7am, we were able to enjoy these fascinating creatures in near calm, avoiding the loud and obnoxious tour groups that started showing up just as we were leaving. Not being one to sing the praises of the tourist trap circuit, I nevertheless recommend a trip to visit the pandas. It’s worth it.

I guess visiting Chengdu is worth it in the end, too. Despite its bleak appearance (I’m wonder whether it isn’t a lot nicer in the summer), the relaxed pace of the Southwest survives the concrete onslaught enough make the city enjoyable. And I still can’t forget those sweet, sweet 羊肉串.

‘Funny China’ Memories: Chengdu’s clubs. Another perfect example of why China has no need for hallucinogenic drugs. A sketchy world of maze-like neon corridors, dance floors packed with drunk 16 year olds, attendants dressed like Cinderella, go-go dancing lounges smothered in smoke machines, and sketchy 40 year old foreigners wearing bandannas and muscle shirts yelling “Oh yeah, Dude!!!” in some KTV dungeon. Somehow, this place is known as China’s leisure capital. It felt more like Fear and Loathing in Sichuan to me. No need to ever try LSD: I already know what a bad trip is like.

Arriving in Kunming after countless hours on a bus, watching an impoverished rural world go by, I was treated to the usual rural/urban transition shock. All of the sudden everything was huge, bright, shiny and clean. Neon highways snaked through a sea of buildings lit up like Christmas trees, advertising the wonders of consumerism overload. Even at 8pm, the sidewalks were rammed with shoppers, the roads full of Mitsubishi SUVs. Where was I? Sometimes China can be a pretty weird place.

Over the next few days, however, Kunming poured on the charm and I came to the realization that it is truly one of the more pleasant, relaxing cities in this country. Blue skies, clean streets and a happy, laidback population; the Spring City is definitely an urban manifestation of the wonders of Yunnan. For a city with several million inhabitants, the lack of significant pollution is a small wonder in itself. The city's great distance from China's centers of power and wealth is evident; the dark suits and leather shoes of the East give way to North Face, cargo pants and hiking boots.

For those looking to explore any of China's urban history, forget it. Kunming for the most part has been thorougly bulldozed and rebuilt; the center of town is all glass towers, wide boulevards and shopping malls. But unlike many other Chinese cities, this massive redevelopment seems to be largely complete and strangely inoffensive. Not many cranes or half-built monstrosities in this city. This gives the place a wonderfully settled feeling. It's a city happy with the way it is.

Despite the modern facelift, there are still many little streets and neighbourhoods to explore, including the relatively funky one around 云南大学 (Yunnan University). Here you can sit sit out on the street with a drink, enjoying the sun and watching funky students shopping for funky clothes. I spent countless hours over several afternoons wandering around in 翠湖公园 (Green Lake Park), watching performances, kites, ma jiang marathons and families out with the grandparents. I joined the energetic bustle of the downtown Spring Festival crowd, as the sidewalks surged with shoppers and store employees advertising their wares with bullhorns and ear-splitting techno music. When in Kunming, I often wonder why in the hell I'm not living there.

Sitting around the parks enjoying the weather, I was approached by a few locals for some conversation. One was a young student attending a boarding school just outside of Kunming, her family having recently moved to Yunnan from Changsha. I think she was in love with Kunming's environment and sky, and talked about her hopes to study journalism. Another was an older man who chatted me up while he got his shoes shined. He greeted me with "Good afternoon, sir", perhaps THE politest thing I have heard in a long time. He smiled as I struggled with my Chinese, offered me some cigarettes for the effort, and was on his merry way. Not being used as an English practice punching bag is a wonderful feeling.

Of course, nothing is perfect: there are also a few downsides to Kunming, the most noticeable being the rather large number of beggars. And as many of them are seriously deformed, it's pretty sad to see. One of the few places were I just gave in and start handing out some money. As well, the city seems to have a rather serious traffic problem blighting many of its more interesting streets. The "Muslim Street" is a really cool, vendor-filled little lane...except for the honking cars and taxis smashing their way down what, by all means, should be a pedestrian-only market street. It's a shame that the city government likely spent countless millions building highways and widening boulevards, only to have drivers do all they can to avoid them by gridlocking backstreets and pissing off pedestrians. I saw one traffic jam where only a crane could have sorted things out.

All in all, Kunming is a wonderful place to kick back, get lost and watch the days fly by. It has all the modern comforts on offer but still manages to showcase the good vibes and beauty of Yunnan. Hmm, why the hell am I not living there again?

No 'Funny China' memories from Kunming, I guess I was too busy relaxing to notice any of the usual craziness. However, the bus ride from Lijiang to Kunming could easily qualify; it was ten hours of blind passing, dumptruck avoiding, mountain road speeding madness. When I wasn't wondering whether I was going to die, I was wondering if our driver had died, leaning on the horn with his foot on the gas pedal. It's always something to see luxury buses and cargo trucks dueling for space on a bumpy dirty road at high speeds, blowing through little villages full of wandering livestock and half-naked toddlers. Sometimes China can be a pretty weird place.

Arriving in Lijiang directly from Xishuangbanna by plane, I was treated to a drastic change of scenery. Gone were the palm trees and rice paddies of warm, relaxed southern Yunnan. The Lijiang region struck me instead with its crisp, more desolate beauty; sparse plains surrounded by huge snow-capped mountains, deep blue sky and low-hanging, rolling white clouds. The alpine air was wonderfully fresh, the colours striking in the bright sunlight. It puts the ‘sparkling citadels’ of the East Coast to shame.

Despite being a major tourist destination, the town manages to retain a surprisingly quiet and relaxed feel. The city itself is pristine, saved from the dust and smog that seem to plague almost all other areas of China. Although the newer neighbourhoods are an exercise in the art of ugliness (architecture and planning wise), the Old Town is truly something to behold. With its winding stone streets, footbridges and crystal-clear streams, this place is pretty striking in its surrealism. Every time I turned around, I saw the huge snow-capped peak of 玉龙雪山 (Jade Dragon Snow Mountain) towering over the backdrop scenery. I guess it was unavoidable that I went camera crazy, taking countless pictures much to the amusement (and probably annoyance) of my sister. I had to record this impossible place, this real life postcard.

What also impressed me is the extent to which the Old Town is preserved. Of course, the center is chock full of tourist stalls, restaurants and guesthouses, but they are all quietly integrated into the traditional architecture. Sitting above the town on the hill, you could almost convince yourself that you were looking at the past. Yet once in there you can get money from ATMs, surf the internet, sip on coffee in a Western-style café or watch a movie in your guesthouse. I am not sure who orchestrated the ‘development’ of this area, but I must congratulate them. It really brings into question the perceived necessity of the “bulldoze and pave” approach that is unfortunately so common in this country. Lijiang Old Town comes across as an organic blend of old and new, with old Naxi women in traditional dress walking alongside Beijing yuppies in their fake North Face trekking gear.

The locals seemed resigned to the fact that their town has been designated a national treasure and necessary tourist stomping ground. Old Naxi women quietly make their way down the streets chatting with each other, seemingly oblivious to the tourists marvelling at their costumes. Despite being heavily visited, Lijiang Old Town still feels very much like a living, functioning village, and not some horrible Disneyland Main Street China fabrication (Although I have the sinking feeling that in 10 years or so, it will be just that).

I myself found it quite easy to escape the tacky trappings of the tourist circuit. I was fortunately not there during the tourism crunch of Spring Festival, which according to some fellow teachers involved rather aggravating swarms of tour groups. Given the small size of Old Town, it is absolutely amazing that you can wander just a few minutes down some side street and come across Naxi people quietly living their lives, unperturbed by the East Coasters and foreigners crashing through their main streets. Better yet, just grab a 20-30 minute minibus ride out of town, and there you will find wonderful little villages that have seen nary a tour bus in their lives.

A lot of people laugh (or complain) about the Chinese tour group mentality, but I see it in a positive light; given their propensity to overwhelming only certain 'famous' sights, step two feet off the beaten path and you are left almost alone with stunning scenes of natural beauty and local daily life. Sitting on a hill just about the Old Town taking in the scenery, the oppressive bustle of urban China could not have seemed more distant.

‘Funny China’ Memories:
1)Outside of Baisha, a small town north of Lijiang, my sister and I witnessed the filming of one of those wonderfully cheesy Chinese historical soap operas.
We couldn’t really figure out much about the plot, but they kept making a few main characters chase some ‘baddies’ into a compound, plastic swords drawn for battle. We also present the locals with an interesting dilemma; when we arrived, they did not seem to know who was worth staring at more, the actors or the big-nosed foreigners.

2)The garbage truck in Lijiang plays some interesting music to inform merchants to bring out their trash. Think of a speed-fueled orchestra playing Chinese opera music, with its wails and crashing cymbals. Then think of that noise fast-forwarded and played through scratchy, Cultural Revolution-era speakers. That is what Lijiang gets to hear every evening.

3)My guesthouse in Lijiang, with its squatters-only washroom, seemed quite ready to deal with bitching foreigners: in one of the stalls, they had put a plastic garden chair with a big circular hole cut out of the seat. Cheaper than a Western-style toilet, I’m guessing.

It would seem that winter in Eastern China trains your eyes not to expect many other colours beyond black, brown and grey. So arriving in the very south of Yunnan province was like having a grime filter lifted off my eyes. The trees, the flowers, the clouds, the sky, the clothes; all so colourful! Of course, the next thing to notice is that it's January and you are almost sweating in a short sleeve shirt. Pure bliss.

The palm-lined streets have an unmistakably laidback feel to them, the Eastern smoke belching gridlock replaced by scooters, motorcycles and all sorts of people sitting around doing nothing much in particular. Vendors, often wearing pretty stunning minority costumes (and not of the 'tourist park' variety), hawk all sorts of exotic fruits and wares. The pace of life is slow; no one seems to be going anywhere particularly fast. Young boys stroll by wearing orange Buddhist monk robes, occasionally armed with firecrackers to throw at livestock. Wooden houses on stilts, the preferred Dai minority style, outnumber the white-tile blocks. It quickly becomes evident that one is on the very fringe of the Han Chinese world, where it quietly melts away into Southeast Asia.

In Jinghong, the main city of the Xishuangbanna region, China's patented rampant re-development is nowhere to be found. No forty building complexes under construction, no superhighways cutting through the heart of the city. I came here last year and upon returning this time around, I was amazed to find that nothing had changed. Anyone living in China knows that in itself is a small miracle.

Jinghong is not much more than a big town, as it takes no more than twenty minutes or so by foot from the center before you are wandering through stunning rice paddies to nearby Dai villages. The people in these little hamlets often smile and say hi (and not in that annoying "Halllo!" way), and the little kids have a penchant for quietly following the foreigners, giggling the whole way. Whether it's Dai culture, Buddhism or the weather, I don't know, but people here seem to be genuinely happy and it adds to the vibrancy of the place. I got stared at less walking in the countryside here than I would on the streets of Hangzhou. Maybe the people here are just more used to ethnic diversity: the town and markets seem to be a mix of a multitude of different minority groups, customs and costumes.

Perhaps the highlight was the hike through fields and up a hill to catch a vista of the Mekong river near Ganlanba (of course, both my sister and I paid for it later on with a slight bout of heat exhaustion). Beautifully located villages were tucked into the lush foliage, although I did start worrying a bit when I saw government health posters about malaria plastered on some walls. But the scenery was worth it; sugar cane fields, mountains and picturesque villages all bathed in the waning afternoon light. Gorgeous.

In a way, Xishuangbanna is like a vacation from China, in China. The vibe there is just, well...completely different. The fact that the whole place is surrounded by mountains probably helps (although it won't make your bus trips in or out of the region very pleasant!). This is the kind of place where you can forget that China has 1.3 billion people as you wander down dirt paths surrounded by palm trees, interrupted only by the occasional motorcycle or tractor. If you want to spend a few weeks doing nothing much other than relaxing, I can't think of a better place to do it.

'Funny China' memories:
1) To get to Ganlanba from Jinghong, my sister, Justin (another teacher) and I took a mini-minivan for the 40 minute journey. Of course those 40 minutes consisted of wild turning around bends with nothing but a sheer drop into the Mekong river to greet any mistake. This was accompanied by ear-splitting Chinese pop music, which was blasted right into our ears as the speakers were crammed into the back with us. The driver loved it though, he sang along the whole way.

2) You know those machines you see all over amusement parks and arcades that let you control a claw to try and pick up a prize? Well I saw on the streets of Jinghong that was quite particular: the 'prizes' at the bottom were all packs of cigarettes. I swear, only in China.

I'm now back in Hangzhou, hiding under several layers of clothing and doing absolutely nothing productive in anticipation of my return to work. The adventure through Southwest China was great, but as I sit here in my in quiet apartment I feel a bit relieved that I've seen the last of the Chinese tourism machine for a while. I'm all travelled out.

During my travels last winter, I spent many hours fighting with shoddy internet connections in smoke-filled net cafes to keep family and friends updated on my experiences and whereabouts. Hoping to minimize my time in these dives this time around, I thought I'd go old-fashioned: I kept a travel journal. Over the next few days I will transcribe it to this site, along with accompanying photos. You can read all about adventures and misadventures in: Xishuangbanna, Lijiang, Kunming, Chengdu, Leshan, Chongqing and the Chang Jiang river cruise.