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Panzhihua is the terminal city of southern Sichuan where one can take a bus into Yunnan. We got off our train from Chengdu where we were immediately accosted by eager bus recruiters. Foreigners stick out quite palpably when outside of any major city, so we were clear targets for these sellers. The most likely destination from Panzhihua is the Yunnan city, Lijiang. Knowing that the ride would be seven hours through mountainous terrain, we took one look at the overloaded buses and decided to head to the official bus station, much to the dismay of these particular bus peddlers. With relative
ease, we procured a more reliable bus ticket and embarked on a memorable
ride into the realm of Yunnan. Ascending and descending amazing mountain
views, our bus probably never topped 30 mph. As we passed one last
peak and wound our way into a wide valley, Lijiang opened up like a peony
in summer.
Lijiang’s ancient town itself is an impressive array of labyrinthine streets, alleys, and canals. In the distance, one can see the mystical looking (and sounding) Jade Dragon Snow Mountain. Each day, we would meander through the town passing vendors eager to sell you their goods, including silver (or as the locals pronounced it in their endearing English, “survile”). Sometimes the best days are those aimlessly-wandering days that lend themselves to aimless wondering. One particular day, I awoke early to gallivant through the noodling streets. After climbing some steps past more vendors and some courtyards, I eventually stumbled upon an inconspicuous entrance to an area called Lion Hill. Atop this sizable mound is the Looking to the East Pagoda. It turns out that Lion Hill lies directly in between old (to the east) and new (to the west) towns. One panoramic gaze from the top floor of the tower is enough to convince you that eastward is certainly the better view. In the evening,
we bought tickets to the Naxi Music Academy. Dr. Xuan Ke is a local
ethnomusicologist who organized this Naxi orchestra in 1978. The
group prides itself on having “three old rarities”: old music pieces (dating
as far back as the Tang dynasty [741 AD]), ancient instruments, and elderly
musicians. Indeed, on stage, the musicians and instruments appear
to be from a lost era. Dressed in traditional garments known as ‘Tang
zhuang’, many of the octogenarians would doze off in between numbers, startled
awake by the cue of the next piece’s pounding drum or flute trill.
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?”
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… To contact
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