It’s been a little while since I posted part one so for everyone’s sake, here’s where we left off: James, Drama, and I were soaking wet on the side of a mountain.
In this episode, Enter: James, Drama, Jo.
We are all still soaking wet on the side of a mountain. Through the gaps in the mist we can just see that spread out before us is a field full of the sharp peaks of distant mountains jutting up through the fog like fangs. Behind us, through the gaps in the mist, we can just see the blue umbrella slowly bobbing its way toward us. To our right, there is a local lady sitting in the mist trying to charge hikers $1.25 to look into the gorge. I don’t think she owned the mountain so I don’t feel bad about scurrying away before she notices me. She caught the French hikers though. In my opinion, they should have asked for a refund.
Meanwhile, as far as we can tell, the guest house is still far away. For the rest of the afternoon we slogged past the midway point (marked by spray paint on the rocks) and a few other guests houses that I was beginning to regret not reserving.
We arrived at the Five Fingers Guesthouse around 7:00pm…I had not realized that it would be quite so rustic. It was literally the house of a local family. The father was a goat herder, they had a few sons, and the wife took care of the cooking for us. Don’t get me wrong; it was beneficial to experience, it was neat to see, the view the next morning would be gorgeous.
But by the time we got there we were soaked, chilled to the bone, and tired… and perhaps a little spoiled. So the rustic shower (a cement room with branches affixed to the wall for towel hooks) and small clapboard rooms with no heat and a candle for light didn’t quite answer our desire for warmth. Still, the lady was very nice and while we waited for dinner, we played with an enthusiastic kitten that busied itself by attacking our ankles at regular intervals and watched the goats in the courtyard eat their salt.
After dinner we piled into the family room – which was one of the four buildings that lined the square courtyard – with one of the sons and settled in to watch a Chinese soap opera. I couldn’t understand most of the dialogue but soap operas are the same the world over. The abundance of weeping ladies, jealous men, and jealous men walking in on weeping ladies was a dead give away. James wasn’t really into it and left but Drama really seemed to want me to stay – maybe it was her kind of thing – so I hung around until the son had smoked enough cigarettes that it was too smokey to see the TV.
The next day God held off the rain for a while so that we could see his grandeur portrayed more clearly in the cliffs which made the hike much more enjoyable.
On the whole, the hike was very good. I mean that the views were spectacular and it was refreshing to be out on a real trail far away from city smog. The mountains in China are so jagged, as if they were hacked apart rather than grown.
We met even more goat herders attempting to get their flocks to come down off the rock walls and a few obnoxious horses who’d decided to block the path. About ten hikers were fidgeting while the one at the head of the line was attempting to gingerly edge around the docile beasts.
After a look at James I strode up to the front of the line and put a hand on the horse’s back. It barely flicked an ear. Clearly, these were surely fellows. I pursed my lips, placed both hands on its flank, and shoved. It took several shoves and a few good-natured slaps but eventually they lifted their heads – grass protruding from their soft muzzles – and seemed to shrug as they moved off the path. They were probably just seeing how long it’d take for these silly humans to move them.
We met a few humans too.
There was this one American who’d been traveling through China for about a month. Loved the history; had a bit of trouble with the modern culture. From what he said I gathered that he was beginning to tire of being stared at and knocked into.
Then there was this Chinese guy who would break all the stereotypes as he blazed along in shorts and shower shoes to the beat of the music blaring from his phone. Well, all stereotypes except the music-blaring-in-public one. Otherwise, this chill fellow was even further down the casual spectrum than the lot of us backpackers (standard Chinese tourists, sporting gaiters and trekking poles in paved parks make up the other side of the spectrum).
At one point we were sitting on wide rock to take in the view down the gorge and two young ladies walked up. I heard a few words and hazarded a guess. “Hola, estan de España?”
She smiled. “No, estamos del Italia pero nosotros entender Español.”
And so the conversation with Italians in Spanish started. They were on a gap year from University and had been traveling for about six months, I think.
Drama was excited to try out her knowledge of Italian on them and said “Ciao!” very enthusiastically. “How to say goodbye?” she asked.
They’re English was good enough to understand. “Ciao,” they replied.
Drama looked confused. “Why do you have only one word for hello and goodbye?”
They smiled. “Why do you need two words?”
Around 11:00am, we caught site of a cluster of guest houses and the bus stop that signaled the end of the trail. Victory. But sadly, the bus tickets were sold out by the time we got to the ticket counter so James and I would have to hire a van for 4x the price.
Drama would take a different bus. After a week with us her time was up and she headed home. We parted well with plans to meet up and share photos once we were back.
But for the next week, it was our chance to see how our survival Mandarin would hold up against the five cities remaining on our itinerary.
Trip Log: August 18th, 2014