New Dali

Dali is a small city by a large lake in northwest Yunnan province. It is know for its cobblestone streets and traditional stone architecture. It is well written up in Lonely Planet, so it has become a tourist destination. It is also a great place to kick back and recover from the extremes of traveling. Fran, having just come down with a cold and weary from the long bus ride, does just that for the first 24 hours upon arriving in town.

Our haven was Karen's Guesthouse...a pleasant and inexpensive place to live while in town. Karen is a young Bai (the local minority group) woman, who at 20 decided to start her own business. She likes to cook, so she wanted to open a cafe. After receiving a loan from a family friend, she rented a building and prepared guest rooms. While waiting for her license from the government (which can take quite a long time), she quietly rents rooms very reasonably for 10 Yuan per bed. We were very impressed with the capitalistic opportunities available today in communist China. That a young woman can have so much success speaks volumes of the changes in China since it opened to the west. It also says a lot about her. Karen made our stay in Dali very enjoyable - sharing stories of our lives and sharing her food.

We were actually fortunate to arrive in time for the Third Full Moon Fair (Sanyou Jie). The Buddhist roots of this festival have long been overshadowed by commercial aspects of modern life. Today it is an extra festive market attended by seemingly everyone in the region. The streets are filled to overcapacity by people representing every minority group and with foreigners like us. Vendor stalls line miles of streets selling food, every imaginable product, carnival games and even a trip to the scale to find your weight. Horses, motorcycle taxis, tour buses and cars vie with pedestrians for every spare centimeter on the streets; their honking adding to the cacophony of voices speaking many languages. Vendors with megaphones add their message to the din. The colorful traditional clothing of the minority groups is as diverse as the skin color and facial structure of those who are wearing them. And everywhere is the dust; swept across the dry hills by the fierce wind.

We awoke early for the opening ceremonies of the festival. After pushing and shoving through the crowds on the street for an hour, we arrived at the stadium. Thirty to fifty thousand people, like us, strained to see the main field over the heads of those in front. On the field were 1000 performers, dancing to a common rhythm while dressed in their different traditional clothes. Colorful banners and flags fluttered from their hands. It was truly an expression of their ethnic differences and of their unity as peoples of China.

The horse racing began with a flourish after the dancers cleared the field. First the women, then the men raced in heats of four, for the winning flag. Riders on bareback racing like the wind on their ponies competed with jockey style riders on full size horses. One skilled rider rode bare back and without reins; clutching the pony only with his powerful knees; his arms flying and gently striking the horse’s mane to spur him on. All wore their traditional dress.

The stadium cleared after the racing ended. We followed a group to the older part of the city, the part that has escaped the hordes of tourists. Many parts of the city remain simply a place where people live and work. And for us it was an escape from the constant refrains of "Hello! Where you go? Taxi? Watch? CD? Postcard?"

The streets of old Dali are a meandering, narrow concrete ribbon between old brick buildings. As we walk, we see areas of mustard, bean and wheat stalks lying on the streets. As we see one truck going back and forth over a pile of bean stalks, we discover what is happening. It is harvest time and the easiest way to separate the seeds from the stalk is to thrash it by foot and vehicle power on the streets. Down one side street we see a group of people set up a large winnowing machine. Two people feed the bean stalks into something like a garden shredder. The person at the other end gathers the beans into large bags as they feed out the funnel. At another place, a woman sets up a simple room fan next to a pile of mixed seeds and chaff. She lifts the pile by basketsful, depending on the wind to separate it into two piles. All of this work is going on during a festival day....the farmer in China works hard and long.

In the distance we see twin golden pagodas rising above the humble building of old Dali. Our walk towards them is interspersed with the calls of the horse taxi drivers...Taxi? The taxis are colorful carts with surrey drawn by pony...they look interesting but we decline their offers. We make it to the pagodas, but are unable to take pictures (our camera is broken). You can see them though at http://www.cnto.org/images/dali.gif.

We walk long into the evening, enjoying the sights, smells and general hubbub of the Third Full Moon Fair. But if you plan such an excursion, take our advice; pack your earplugs, for the noise is unbelievable.

The days spent in Dali are so different that they demand separate web pages. Day One provides a picture of the city and the festival crowds. Day two is a picture of our real love - outdoor hikes.

Rising out of the outskirts of town is a cable car, connecting the city to the foothills of the 1500m (5000 ft) mountains. We read in our travel guide that there is a temple/ monastery and a trail at the end of the cable car run. Partly as an escape from the crowds and partly for the sheer enjoyment of fresh air and stretching the leg muscles, we begin the hike up the mountain. The trail winds up the steep slope (at least there aren't stairs as there have been on just about every hike we've undertaken!) under the cable car.

We soon discover that we have entered a graveyard. In fact, the entire surrounding hillsides are covered with graves. We are a bit uncertain at first if we should proceed - we don't want to show any disrespect. Our discomfort disappears, though, when we meet many families picnicking near the graves of their ancestors. The language barrier keeps us from asking the many questions we have about their funeral customs. From our perspective, what a missed opportunity!

Upon reaching the temple, we find that it is little more than a museum to a religion that was shed by the Party. The view is spectacular, though. We can see the whole city and the farm fields surrounding the large lake. The mountains on the far side of the lake are equally clear. What is even more amazing than the view is the fact that we can hear the festival crowds, even though we are miles away. It is a very audible drone punctuated by horns and megaphone buzz. Is there no escape even in the mountains?

We decide to have lunch before we continue the hike along the face of the mountain. There are many restaurants nearby, displaying their fresh food in front. The experience of selecting food in this part of China is not one that the average American is used to. Our Chinese friends will probably laugh at our squeamishness. You simply choose your ingredients. In one basket is the forest mushrooms...another the lichens...another the fresh greens in water...peppers, onions, tomatoes...small live eels wiggling in a bowl...snails in water topped by a basket of frogs...fish swimming in tanks...chickens and their eggs. All of this to be prepared fresh for you. At the moment of selecting food, we ponder the wisdom of vegetarianism and choose a plate of vegetables and rice.

After lunch we set out for the hike along the trail. It is said to connect to a monastery 11 kilometers away. In reality, the trail seems more like an ancient highway, just wide enough for carts and foot travel. It is constructed of flat flagstones, tightly fit together. Fran obligingly watched Rod as he marveled at the trail. He talked on for some time about how this rock fit with that and how ingeniously it was constructed. Fran listened and set a fast pace to overcome the travel weariness, hoping that Rod would follow.

The serpentine trail stayed at the same elevation, going deep into a creek crevasse and out to the points of the slope. The mountains it traversed were breathtakingly beautiful, covered with pines. At time it seemed little more than a shelf carved out of the steep slope, granite cliffs above and below. The creek waters gushed forcefully down the mountain, clear and fresh in the many pools and waterfalls they formed. At one point we followed a sign on a side trail in Chinese, not knowing what discovery awaited us. We found a Buddhist shrine and a little further up a ledge where monks must have meditated for centuries. The rocks to the ledge were well worn. The heights were dizzying as the granite cliffs descended sharply into the valley below. One could quite easily picture a mystic perched on his shelf in the mountain mists. The whole mountain had a spiritual feeling in its beauty.

Quite enjoying the walk and the scenery, we decided to hike the entire trail to the monastery. Around dusk we reached the end of the trail and the highlight of the day. We did not find the monastery, but what we did find had us wishing we had more time for exploration. Quite simply put, we found a creek flowing between gorges. But that description does not do it justice, it does not begin to describe its mystic beauty.

I shall attempt in words to describe the creek as we did not have a camera to capture the image. (Note: The mountains run north to south, with the creeks running from the west). We were able to climb to a high point looking down on the creek as it flowed out of the gorge to an open area below us. Looking west the sun infuses the steep rugged cliffs with gold. A few windswept trees poke from the upper heights, the lower covered by deep green vegetation. The higher mountains in the distance poke up behind the gorge cliffs, also highlighted by the setting sun. Below us a trail, mostly steps, winds up along the stream. At one point it crosses the stream by suspension bridge. At the uppermost point the trail disappears around the bend of the gorge, only adding to the mystery of the place. The call to continue our exploration around that bend is hard to ignore. (Those of you who know Fran well, know that it is difficult to stop her when she just has to see what's around the next bend in the trail!)

But ignore it we do as we are still miles away from town with no idea of how to get there. As any lost hiker knows, we follow the stream as it pushes down the slope. Just as full darkness descends, we reach a road and hail a passing bus. We soon recognize the bus stop right in front of the guesthouse door, entering with the lingering beauty of the day still in our minds. We will carry that image in our hearts and minds for many years to come.