Indiaman

When Chinese girls first meet me they are often curious about my origins.

Chinese girl: Where you from?
Me: Canada.

There are then three possible reactions to my mind boggling answer.

Chinese girl: Where you really from?
or
Chinese girl: You don't look Canada.
or
Chinese girl: Umm....

I must elaborate further as to not leave them utterly dazed and confused.

Me: My parents came from India.
Chinese girl: That make sense.

Journey to the Eastern Tombs

A group of friends and friends of friends assembled at the Sihui subway station in Beijing on a Sunday morning. They were eager to begin an arduous journey to the Eastern Qing Tombs. The final resting place of members of China's last imperial dynasty was located near the town of Zunhua. The bus heading there was supposed to leave from a depot across the street from the Sihui station. As is often the case in fast growing China, the bus station was now the former site of the bus station, as heavy construction work was already underway on something new. We walked in the eastern direction until stumbling upon a station which had a bus leaving for Zunhua from it. Our fellow passengers were auditioning for the Beijing Philharmonic Orchestra, regaling us with sounds of singing, eating, burping, loud speaking and nail cutting throughout our bus ride.

We were dropped off at a fork in the road, the bus continuing towards Zunhua while we rented a van that took us to the tombs. Spread apart over several kilometers, vehicular transport from one tomb to another proved handy. The van had one less seat than the number of passengers, so the men alternated sitting on the floor. At one point, the driver found some cardboard boxes on the street, flattened them, and provided that as a cleaner option to sit on rather than directly on the floor.

The sky was blue and the sacred burial grounds were devoid of tourists, making it a perfect day to explore the tombs of emperors, empresses, princesses, and concubines of times past. As we walked along the main courtyard leading to the entrance, a sudden gust of wind churned the dust on the grounds into a miniature hurricane that whirled past us. "That's actually Bruce Lee!" punned one of my fellow travelers.

Xiaoling, the tomb of the first emperor of the Zing dynasty, and Dingdongling, the tomb of notiorous empress dowager Cixi, were the most fascinating complexes. The exteriors were much more colourful and ornate than the interiors of the tombs. A diorama explained how an adult Cixi had drunk breast milk from her attendants to maintain her youthful skin complexion. The coffins could be reached by climbing the stairs to the main entrance of a tomb, and then descending down a pathway until we were underground. One particularly productive emperor had 35 hut style tombs belonging to his concubines adorning the grounds around his magnificent resting place.

*****

“Our deeds still travel with us from afar, and what we have been makes us what we are.”
- George Eliot -

Pubic Hair on Moles

Whether by choice or circumstance most Chinese men sport the clean shaven look. What is more surprising is that a select few have a single hair growing on their face. This solitary strand of hair springs out from the center of a mole, its floss-like texture shimmering under both natural and artifical light sources. I find such a sight hard to ignore.

Fortunately, the Cindy Crawford style beauty mark on my face is hairless. Upon further examination, I found a mole on my shoulder that had sprouted a singular follicle as well. It was lengthy, curly, and glossy. The foliage on the skin around it did not have the same thickness or sheen. The pubic nature of the hair may be explained by the fact that it has to be thicker and stronger than regular body hairs to be able to pop out through the dense surface of the mole.  

*****

"There's many a man has more hair than wit." - William Shakespeare

The World's Most Dangerous Road

While navigating through the information superhighway, I chanced upon on a listing of the world's most dangerous roads. My eyes scanned the list and widened as it reached the top. First position belonged to a road carved into the cliff side to reach the ancient village of Guoliangcun. The tiny outpost in Henan was only a combined overnight train ride, short bus ride, medium distance taxi ride, and shorter golf cart ride away from Beijing.

My travel partner and I arrived at dawn in the city of Xinxiang via train. We walked to the location of the bus stop, only to discover it was under excavation. The erstwhile grounds of the bus depot were to be transformed into a world class shopping facility. Several early rising locals watched us with bemused expressions as we tried to hail down whatever buses passed our way on the street in front. We wanted to get to the nearest town at the base of the world's most dangerous road. After several failed attempts to find a bus heading for Huixian, we entered a sinister looking taxi. I said the name of where I wanted to go to the taxi driver repeatedly until he started driving.

After several stalled attempts at conversion, the driver realized that I could not speak Chinese. Logically, he handed me a pen and piece of paper so I could write in Chinese where I wanted to go. I snarled with frustration, the paper combusting into flames under my fiery breathe. On the way to Huixian we picked up three separate individuals, diverting our route to drop each at their desired destinations. One of these fellow passengers muttered the same bus stop name that I had orated to the taxi driver. This elicited understanding, and the taxi driver repeated the same syllables that I had. Once we reached the deserted bus stop, we realized it would be a couple of hours before any minibuses that pass by the road to Guoliangcun would depart from the station.

We engaged in silent talks with our driver. He fashioned another piece of paper out of sheer willpower, upon which I drew one line and three dots. Dot 1 was where we started. Dot 2 was where we were. Dot 3 was where we wanted to go. We had already agreed to pay a certain amount for being ferried from Dot 1 (Xinxiang) to Dot 2 (Huixian). We then negotiated different pricing bundles based on extending the journey to Dot 3 (Guoliangcun), as well as returning to Dot 1 from Dot 3. After coming to an agreement we continued our journey towards the road of death.

*****

“The greater the fear, the nearer the danger.” ~ Danish proverb

Old Town of Lijiang

Lijiang is picture postcard perfect city in Yunnan. Magnificent estates are hidden among narrow knots of streets and a beautiful lake reflects the mountains behind it. Although Lijiang has 800 years of history, many of the ancient style dwellings in the town were actually built after a devastating earthquake in 1996 flattened many high rises in the area. Now a Chinese version of a Lord of the Rings movie set, the old town is dissected by narrow waterways and connected by quaint bridges. Sporting a maze of cobblestone paths, I was able to find my hostel with great difficulty.

The rulers of the Naxi tribe that inhabited Lijiang lived in the intricately designed and ornately decorated estate known as Mu's Mansion. With a sprawling courtyard and relaxing trails leading up to temples on a hill side behind the complex, the mansion provides some room to breathe compared to the claustrophobic alleys and tight living quarters outside the estate walls.

A brisk walk away from the center of the old town leads to the Black Dragon Pool. Boasting one of China's signature views, the pool mirrors a bridge, a pagoda, and snow capped mountain peaks borrowed from the scenery behind. It is a popular picnic spot for locals and visitors alike. Water from the springs come together to form this pool, which in turn pours into a waterfall that streams into the old town. I would head to Tiger Leaping Gorge from Lijiang, leaving behind man made beauty for nature's splendour.