| The most notable
commemoration for this festival is the blasting of fireworks into the night.
After a free buffet courtesy of the Dongba House, we grabbed armloads of
firecrackers and headed to the designated “bianpao” square in New Town.
Because of yearly firework-related accidents, most large cities in China
restrict the use of the poppers. Old Town also prohibits them, making
it New Town’s night to shine and crackle and deafen.
Earlier
in the day, we had rented bicycles to tour the countryside around Lijiang.
The passing scenes gave us a glimpse of the poverty that still pervades
much of rural China. However, we also witnessed the overpowering
sense of community from village to village. We often saw three generations
standing in the doorway of their courtyard pasting the carefully prepared
New Year couplets on the facade.
Soon after
the New Year, we were packing our bags for the next destination.
Sadly, we had to leave Lijiang with a bad taste in our mouths. When
we first arrived at our hotel, we offered to pay for our entire stay up-front.
The attendant said it wasn’t necessary.
Because we
had come in the middle of a high-travel season, we were told that the rates
would increase the day before the New Year. No problem. How
much? A 120 Yuan room would be 140 Yuan, is what we heard and agreed
to.
Unfortunately,
the night before we were to check out, our budgeted world came crashing
down, as the owners insisted that they had quoted 240, not 140!
This is the problem that comes from rates not being posted. After
much arguing and pleading, we were told to sleep on it (as if we were
going to accept this the morning after!). Early the next day,
we settled on a price, a compromise with teeth clenched on both sides.
So it was,
that we left Lijiang with perhaps our only negative experience lingering
in our minds. But as our bus departed and headed towards the city
of Dali, I popped the Naxi orchestra CD into my walkman and recollected
the sweeter moments, of which there were too many to recount here…
It is said
that Dali should be visited before Lijiang, because the latter’s candle
burns a bit brighter. I would agree that Lijiang has more charm,
but Dali certainly has much to offer. It also is a tale of two cities,
old and new; however, Old Dali is not much larger than a few city blocks.
The ethnic
group that rules this roost is the Bai. Though not quite as impressionable
as the Naxi, they did also possess a certain panache. Lining the
two major streets of old town, Bai merchants offer batiks and other goods
to passersby. Especially alarming is the occasional woman who will
approach you with a photo booklet of various items she has for sale back
at her home, then whispering, “You smoke ganja?”
Around Dali,
there are some wonderful excursions to take. To the east lies Erhai
Lake, a long, narrow body of water that stretches from Xiaguan (south
of Dali) to the northern tip adjacent to the small market town, Shaping.
Yes, we did some shopping in Shaping. Each week, it hosts a market
day both for locals in need of victuals or household goods and for travelers
looking to bargain for unique crafts.
There is
an art to bargaining in China. The more interest you show in
something, the more you’re likely to pay for it. Invariably, the
seller starts ridiculously high. If your counter offer does not send
a jolt of incredulity through the seller, you’re already doomed.
Nevertheless, just this act is well worth most any price you eventually
pay.
To the west
of Dali is a long, but not necessarily high range of hills collectively
known as Cong Mountain. We rented a couple of “Tibetan Ponies”
for the day, and a guide led us up a steep, winding path to Zhonghe Temple.
Along the way, we passed tombstones and pine trees, young and old.
The view from the temple’s pavilion was spectacular, looking out over the
entire expanse of Erhai Lake.
The descent
back to Dali was a slow ride, with the ponies taking each step gingerly.
We felt stable and comfortable on the backs of these trusty steeds.
That is until the next morning, when we both woke up feeling like the horses
had actually been walking on our backs the entire time. One service that
is advertised quite heavily in Dali is a traditional massage. It
seemed like the perfect time to give that a try. Lying on the bed,
I felt the masseuse’s hands burrow into the muscles of my neck. I
thought to myself, “This pain she’s causing now will lead to less suffering
in the end.” I continued to try to rationalize the discomfort
as she bore her elbow into my lower back. By the end, I found myself
wishing the horses would walk on my back to redirect the pain I was now
feeling.
After a
day of recuperation, I gave a student of mine from Xiaguan a call.
He offered to take a day to show us around Dali and the surrounding area.
He and his friend led us to the city wall, which was renovated in 1998.
Each local government employee and other residents were forced to foot
the bill at 500 Yuan apiece. As we walked along the wall, my student’s
friend remarked, “We are walking on our parents’ money.”
On our final
day in Dali, my student again escorted us. This time, I had requested
a short trek to a ducked away temple known as “Wu Wei Si”. I had
seen a flier earlier in the week advertising Wu Wei Si’s martial arts instruction.
Though no Shaolin, this temple did offer an escape from the rest of the
world. In fact, it was the first temple we had entered where an entrance
fee was not required. After looking around the grounds of the temple,
we came upon a young monk teaching tai chi to a French woman.
I had been
studying Chen style tai chi for a little less than a year and a half in
Beijing. Though I had gained some confidence in my skills, I
was a little nervous when I approached the monk to inquire about a lesson.
As it turned out, the form he had been practicing was a homegrown variation
(literally, Wu Wei tai chi). We passed the next couple hours
instructing each other in our respective movements and swapping stories.
Most remarkable was his daily schedule: wake up; practice kung fu; eat
breakfast; read and pray; practice kung fu; eat lunch; do chores; practice
kung fu; eat dinner; pray some more; (time permitting) practice
more kung fu; go to bed. Though I don’t foresee myself living the
monastic life any time soon, I have to admit that his schedule had a comforting
sound to it in its focus and reliability. However, our schedule was
set to take us away from Dali, and on to our next destination…
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