Er Shi Ba

from 3/18/2008

Er Shi Ba, twenty eight times we traversed the Himalayan mountainside on our way to the summit. The map read steep. Steep meant 28 switchbacks. Our first New Year in China, and we opted for a rugged and colorful vacation. My roommate Jessica, friend Christina, and I brought in the Chinese New Year with a literal bang as we watched part of the four hour traditional Chinese programming and surveyed the scene of amateurs shooting fireworks one would need a license to buy in the States. We heard hospitals are the busiest during that first kickoff of the New Year. There was no bad seat in the house for the display, and though neighbors set their explosives off near trees and cars using cigarettes, all kept their face (pun intended).

We three became the next display as we loaded our packs and headed south to the Yunnan province of blue sky, warmer weather, and mountains. ‘O glory, mountains. Stepping off the plane in Kunming, we noticed all heads turned to stare. Although we’re used to being a spectacle by now, we still laughed as Christina commented, “On your left we have the living lawei display”. Yes we were white – though hoping to be a little less so after the hiking excursion.

The first night we spent hostelling and mixing with types who have come to China because they feel either that Mandarin is the next language of business and love, or that the American Dream is a suburban fraud and much better found on the other side of the world. It was a classic hostel and a good first for my roommate, and after day one we moved on to higher aspirations of playing mountaineers.

With great anticipation we arrived in our city we call base camp. The following two days we spent figuring exactly how we were going to get out past the foothills. We researched before leaving home of course, but travelling in China always makes for interesting swings and turns off the expected path. We waited for Jessica’s friend to arrive in town. We waited on phone calls to drivers, tour companies, and hotel owners. While we waited, we shopped. The Old Town of the city was great fun in its tourist bustle. Many Chinese came to this area during their two week New Year vacation. Traditional groups from the area gathered to show off foods, dress, song, and dance. The local people have a beautiful dark Tibetan look that exhibits every line and wrinkle when they smile or grimace. Life is stamped on their faces like a print on leather. I imagined them to be great story tellers.

At the end of day two, however, I grew weary of the run-around attempts trying to reach the mountain. It was an archetypal divergence between the Chinese and the American way. I adamantly pushed for a travel plan, and a backup in case of a flop. A to B to C leads to D. Simple and linear and efficient is the American method. Not so here. We called a friend of a friend of a friend, a tour guide, and proceeded to take her out to dinner to discuss the possibility of some assistance, all the while making small talk and then she wanted to show us a tea house where her friend worked, so we all herded along into a regular night life venue hop as the clock ticked later and later – still with little mention of the hike.

Ah China. Relationships are of the utmost value, to the extent that if nothing is accomplished but one has made a friend, the time is deemed profitable. I agree with the philosophy to a point, but this evening was like dreading the “quick call” to that friend who infamously drags the conversation out to an impressive looking phone bill.

When a driver picked us up at 8:00 am sharp the following morning, I told myself that I really needed to chill out and enjoy the moment. It worked out. We were going hiking. Life’s detour is often more vibrant than the planned course, but such words are also easier believed in retrospect.

We reached Tiger Leaping Gorge by 10:30, lost the long layers by 11:00, reached the switchbacks by 1:00, and I lost what I ate for lunch by 3:30 at the summit. Writing a name on a hostel wall seems the more pleasant way to leave a mark, but puking works too. Mountains have their way of spinning outlooks, even without nausea. I had read it in the Everest novels. These rugged giants can take you out. One way to humility is hiking a 15-er with mules following as sag wagons. While I plotted how to conserve energy to last until the summit, they looked bored, knawing away at shrubs, and mocking us with the bells around their necks in reminder. “Only 50 yuan to carry you, your stuff, or both.” The equivalency of $7 seems no big deal, but out of principal we abstained.

The following day, the mules deserted us for the less experienced first day hikers and we were left to commune with cliffs, waterfalls, and wandering goats. The traveler is lost up in them, partly in the captivating way one looks at another and accepts that person as the world for the moment, and partly in the knowledge that getting lost or stuck or sick is a very real danger.

Mountains put us in our place. I think of the sunrise through the peaks in pink, purple, orange, yellow on day two, and I recall the switchbacks on day one. Mountains can also take our breath away. In fact, we may be disappointed if they don’t.

Today I took a sick day. We returned to the flatlands of Wuhan and left the mountain sickness behind, or so I thought. The devil is back, but at least now he has a name – giardia. I suspect altitude sickness played a role the first time, but who knows. In any case, I am off again to climb what feels like 28 switchbacks to the vista of good health.