Archives March 2009

Samarkand

Having completed all the necessary paperwork, acquired mini photos of myself and located my passport I set off to the Uzbek consulate in Shanghai.

No one seemed to know where Huangpu Road was. After several attempts I finally located number 99 and went to the 15th floor, which is where the Embassy site said the consulate offices were. I found a glass door with neon green construction paper glued to the door and a tiny white sign in Chinese with a phone number. I called the number and asked where the consulate was. He replied with a question, “rent or buy?”

I went to a nearby office and asked how long the room with the green door had been empty. “Almost two years,” came the cringe-worthy reply. I called Mike, who looked online and located another phone number. No answer and then a dial tone. Bummer.

After returning from the boondocks to my Shanghai apartment I confirmed online that I had gone to the right address. I called the Uzbek Embassy in Beijing. No one spoke English and the Chinese intern who answered the phone hung up when I asked if it was the Uzbek Embassy. Frustrated, I asked a friend who is fluent if she could follow up and find any information. Meanwhile a friend of Mike’s who speaks Russian is looking online for more information.

Meanwhile, if I can’t find information on the consulate I’ll have to take the overnight train to Beijing to find the Uzbek Embassy and try to deal with acquiring the visa in person in Beijing.

Through the whole semi-frustrating ordeal I was reminded that this is simply how things are in Asia- impermanent. It is a great start to the trip!

-Posted by Lauren.

A few days ago our kitchen sink began to leak and we had quite the adventure as the landlord’s mother and several other randoms arrived to ‘fix’ the problem. So, when the back of the toilet at our Chinese rental apartment began to run we bean to panic. Obviously the float was broken. I poked around inside the back trying to remember what my grandfather had taught me about plumbing. The pieces are completely different here and the floating thing that stops the water is a non-existent part of the Chinese design.

I called the landlord and asked him to have a plumber come over, but not to send the whole crew of voyeurs this time. Naturally he responded that the whole army of curious bystanders would arrive between 8 and 9 the following morning.

At 7am I sat bolt upright in bed. Last time they came over the plumber flooded the floor near an outlet and nearly killed three people via electrocution. All night I had horrible dreams about people frying. I went into the bathroom, unplugged everything and went back to bed.

At 8:30 there was a knock at the door and two strangers and the landlord filed past me and into the kitchen. I redirected them to the bathroom and the three of them starred at the back of the toilet. Chinese usually use squat pots, so the site of the upright was a bit confusing for the plumber. I could empathize.

Half an hour later the three emerged, turned off the water to the apartment and left to buy a new part. I went into the bathroom. They had flooded the entire floor and mopped it up with a towel into the tub. At least I knew what to expect this time! Apparently flooding is part of the process.

I left the apartment after talking with the landlord who explained they would be back at 3pm. In a building with no water 6 hours is a long time. I went to breakfast with a friend, ran some errands and returned at 2pm to find the problem fixed. Part two was much better than the nearly lethal part one!

-Posted by Lauren.

On the last day of our four day trip to HuangShan we were exhausted! We climbed down the entire mountain in one fell swoop, the details of this trek are etched into the backs of my eyes. Having finally made it to the bottom and had a nice night’s rest in a real bed, we woke up refreshed in the morning and had a nice buffet breakfast at the Best Western where we had happened to find lodging.

Labeled a 5 star hotel, the Best Western at the base of HuangShan could have been a tent with a mattress and I would have called it five star worthy, but this place deserved the stars even for the non travel weary. With rolling gardens sprawled across the estate and a wayward rock bridge crossing the valley before out hotel window, we were delighted.

After checking out of the hotel we wandered to the nearby spa (affiliated with the hotel for branding) and signed right up for the all inclusive hot spring afternoon for 169RMB. We put on our suits, downed some red tea and emerged in an Eden-like paradise! We were led to a large natural hot spring where staff waited on our beck and call while we lounged in the natural water and let the jets relax our aching muscles.

After a nice soak in the natural water we were led to a smaller pool full of liquor. The water smelled of booze, but the staff informed us that it was good for healing blemishes and making clear skin.

From here we were led to a pool of 40 degree water with coffee grounds in it. Literally a giant coffee cup roasting humans along with beans. We dunked in momentarily, having heard it was good for hair shine.

After the coffee we submerged ourselves more calmly in a slightly cooler pool of milk water. This was said to whiten and soften the skin. Set under a cherry blossom tree, we found ourselves in the shade and isolated, it was calming and beautiful, and we were the only people in the whole spa aside from staff.

From the milk we were dunked in red wine heated to 32 degrees. This was a pleasant spot as well, where we could hear water trickling and smell the grapes in the water.

There were several natural pools of various temperatures that did not contain anything other than water, though one contained salt. After several of these we were led to a very shallow pool where we had to sign a waiver.

Stepping into the pool I shrieked as loudly as I’m able (quite ear-splitting, actually) and nearly walked on water until I was standing on level ground. The staff roared in laughter and we read the sign next to the pool. The shallow water contained hundreds of tiny fish who were to eat dead skin off your feet and legs. I watched while Mike submerged his legs and continued to watch as they vanished around a pool of tiny green and blue fish. I returned to a natural pool and read a book for a while as Mike submerged his entire body into the fish tank. Mini Parana are not my idea of spa treatment, but it was interesting to watch!

Finally, after several hours at the spa we left, hired a random Huangshan native to drive us in his car to the train station, and spent a sleepless night on the overnight train back to Shanghai.

-Posted by Lauren.

On Friday our sink began to leak, we cleaned up the mess and contacted our landlord. The landlord (who speaks amazing English and is hilariously named Peter Pan) was supposed to arrive Sunday evening. He declined at the last moment and changed the sink-fixing appointment to the next morning when his elderly mother would accompany the plumber to the house.

At 9:30 on the dot the grandma arrived with a small contingent of spectators and a plumber direct out of high school. She introduced me as “the foreigner! Look, she can speak!” to which her elderly comrades began to roar in laughter and sing in unison “ting by dong! ting bu dong!”

Meanwhile, the boy began by saying that it was only a small leak, and putting a bucket under it and then emptying the contents daily would suffice. Why had I woken him up so early for an un-urgent problem?

While I was talking with the plumber about our differing opinions of severity, the grandmother was going through the drawers in the bathroom, pulling out odd objects  (floss, whats this?) and commenting on things were disorganized. Her compatriots followed closely behind her as she inspected every item in every private drawer in the bathroom, laughing periodically.

After checking on the grandma after one particularly loud roaring laughter session (they had discovered Mike’s cologne and were spraying it on each other) I went to watch the kid fiddle around with the M.C Escher mess that was the piping under the sink. Having just read A Brief History of Time by Steven Hawking, Mike believed the arrangement under the sink was ‘infinitely illogical’ or the ‘singularity within a black hole where no light can be found.’ The kid filled both sinks with water and then watched them slowly drain. He squatted down and pulled out a wood saw and then proceeded to saw through the plastic piping at a rather odd juncture. Suddenly, water began to pour from the pipes (the sinks were, after all).

The grandma dropped my toothbrush and her accomplices put down mike’s razor and hair trimmer and together they ran into the kitchen, by the time they got there the room was flooded in a solid inch or more of dirty dish water. I sprinted to the circuit breaker and madly flipped all the switches. Our kitchen, being a black hole of logic, has wires, outlets and plugs along the floor.

By the time I got back into the kitchen they were all laughing and using our towles to mop up the water and then ring out the towels into the sink, which then drained on to the floor. I burts into laughter so uncontrolable I teared up at one point. After my laughing attach had subsided I brough in a bucket to ring the towles into. Together the grandma, her accomplace (with several of my toohpicks protruding from his pocket) and I began to ring out towels into the bucket together. The grandma, by now, had collected every towel in the apartment for the effort, and a large pile of colorful towels covered in rust, moldy food and sink water was leaning up against an outlet in the corner of the kitchen. Would we all have been electrocuted had the power been on? I found myself analyzing everyone’s shoes. Were they rubbery enough? How does that work exactly?

Eventually the kid sealed the pipe with an inordinate amount of caulking (and wads of damp toilet paper which the grandma’s accomplice had suggested), he then tied the weighted-down pipe to another weighted-down pipe to releave some of the stress. He walked out of the house in an embaressed huff as did Grandma’s sidekick when he realized he might have to help if he lingered. She was left to finish cleaning up the mess alone but smiling. I went in and helped her ring out towels and clean up under the sink.

Priority now: wash towels

Hilarity level: 7

-Posted by Lauren.

In the morning we set off again to find the complete opposite of the previous day’s hike. The paths were congested with people and there was screaming, yelling, pushing and more screaming. It was like being back on the Shanghai subways. We forged ahead and eventually broke into a relatively quiet space between two rather large groups about 100m to the front and rear of us. We hiked all morning after watching the sunrise and eventually came to Lotus Flower Peak, the highest point of the mountain range at over 2000m. After climbing stairs that were carved into a sheer rock cliff, with both hands and feet on the steps, we eventually summited the peak where we found an old old woman selling noodles. How she got up there is a mystery, as there are only the stairs. Throughout the hike we had been passed by several elderly folks who giggled as they marched past us while we huffed and puffed up the mountain.

Climbing

After summiting the highest point we followed the steps around to the back of the mountain and down to Celestial Capital peak, the second highest peak. Due to ice, the mountain was closed. We had been planning on spending the night at a hostel that was built into the side of the cliff wall on the opposite face of Celestial Capital, but with the mountain closed we were faced with two options. 1) climb down the entire mountain and spend the second night at the base, or 2) explore the summit and then take the cable car down in the morning. Amid a wave of screaming and pushing from locals and tourists we decided, quite quickly, to leave the crowd and set off down the Western steps of the mountain.

The steps down were steeper than the steps up, and further apart. With one bad knee it wasn’t long before I felt my poor knee screaming at me to rest. With no where to go except back up or all the way down, we pushed forward with the sun rapidly setting behind us. A cane salesman half way down the hill was only too happy to part with a wooden stick which he sold for 5Rmb to me as I hobbled up to his lonley booth. With the aid of the cane I was hobbling along at a speedy rate of a snail. However, throughout the descent we played the tortoise and the hare, as groups rushed past us only to stop exhausted and covered in sweat at each resting point where we slowly hobbeled past without pause. It was a trial, but one with amazing scenery and it was a beautiful and throughout the trip there were subtle surprises like a tiny waterfall or a neon bird that kept my eyes glued to the bamboo forest.

Once at the base I looked at the pedometer I had been wearing since 6 that morning. 13, 561 steps from the hostel to the temple at the bottom of the hill. That’s over 6.2 miles of sheer steps going straight down. The day before we walked 3.8miles going straight up (and then took the cable car when dusk approached). We stepped off our final stair, with the aid of the cane, at 4pm and caught a bus to the closest town. At the town we were lucky enough to find a Best Western. Ironically, we were looking for the hot springs and decided to check into the hotel to shower and change and rest for a bit before setting out to find the springs. During our check in we were informed that the hot springs were not part of the hotel. How fortunate for us, because we would have wandered all over the mountain side looking for a natural spring. We checked in, ate dinner, cleaned up and promptly passed out.

In the morning we were in for a real treat.

-Posted by Lauren.

We returned today from a four day trip to HuangShan, Yellow Mountain, in Anhui province, China.

On Friday the 13th we boarded the nightly slow train to Anhui at 10:00pm. We were in a crowded sleeper car with about seventy other adventurers on their way to the mountain. Everyone was wearing hiking boots and had Canon cameras around their necks. Since it had been raining the past few weeks, everyone had a rain jacket strapped to their bags. We settled in and fell promptly asleep after a few games of cribbage, and listened to the sounds of our fellow cabin mates playing poker until the early morning.

At 5:00am I woke to the sounds of laughter- our cabin mates were gambling again already. I pulled out my book and read for a while before descending from the top bunk (they are three high in mini rooms of 6 beds) and found a seat along the hall where I watched the scenery change from the flat, coastal farmland around Shanghai to the rolling, rocky hills of Anhui province. We arrived at the HuangShan train station at 10:00am.

After buying our return tickets to Shanghai for the following Monday evening, we were accosted by dozens of men and women eager to sell us anything we might desire. One such promiser was a middle-aged woman who offered a ride to the base of the mountain for 15Rmb. We agreed, as this is how things are generally done around China, and hopped in the back of her 6 person mini-van. Ten minutes later the van had 10 people in it and we were bumping along at 70 miles an hour. An elderly woman with purple hair tapped Mike on the shoulder every few minutes asking his age, or my occupation, or his dental plans, or if I wanted a boy or girl child. The van stopped in a town at the base of the mountain, but several hours hike from the start of the mountain trails. We got in another mini van, the driver of which was quite possibly drunk, and took off down a winding road of switchbacks until we finally arrived, mid vomit, at the entrance to the Nine Dragon Falls. Though this was not the gate we had asked to be taken to, the falls looked beautiful so we went in after the ticket lady (all of 14) assured us we could connect with a seldom used trail to the main route.

The falls defied beauty and went into the realm of nirvana. We were alone on the trails, which were often little more than a few granite stones pointing the way, and we stopped often to feel the water, take pictures or explore areas off the path. By 2pm we were hardly half way to the halfway point, and sped up our pace a bit as we hiked through endless bamboo forests. Around 3pm we stepped off the granite path and onto a black-top road, shocked to discover that there was an auto-route up the mountain. Also at this intersection was a cable car that would deliver people and cargo to the base of the summit. As the sun was going to set soon, we hopped a ride on the cable car for 10USD.

The cable car ride was, in a word, magical. From the bamboo and palm tree waterfalls and turquoise ponds the lift heaved us up into a frozen paradise, where trees looked like crystal and sidewalks looked like glass. When we stepped off the lift a surreal feeling fell over us, and there was a long silence as we walked around touching the ice and rubbing our hands together.

We explored the various peaks around the summit until well into the evening, and then discovered that the hotels on the summit cost more than I make in a month. We walked out of each hotel a little more worried until a plump little man approached us and said “100 Rmb hostel?” to which we replied, “YES!”

The room was a cement square with a cement roof and cement floor. Four wooden beds lined the walls. In all, it was smaller than the compartment on our overnight train and had no bathroom, running water or heat. It was negative 3. We bought the whole room, which was 300Rmb, and then put all the blankets on one bed to try to keep warm. A party of hikers bought out the rest of the building and stayed up all night gambling and screaming, singing and drinking. We lay awake all night shivering, cursing and then laughing. It was easy to get out of that bed and that cement coffin of a hostel to go see the sunrise at 5:30am.

The sun peaked out over the hills and light flooded the valley in waves of orange, red and then blue. It was beautiful, except for the hundreds of other spectators who were screaming, waving bells and trying to hear their own echoes in the early morning valleys.

After a nice breakfast at the spendy hotel we packed our bags, big adieu to the stout cement square owner and set off for a day of summiting the various peaks of HuangShan.

-Posted by Lauren.

Yellow Mountain

Today we’re heading to HuangShan, yellow mountain, in Anhui province. This is the most famous of the five sacred mountains of China, and the filming location of endless Chinese epics (including some scenes in Flying Dragon, Sleeping Tiger, or whatever its called). With some advise from friends (Thanks T&L!) we’re planning on hiking up the four trillion steps on one side, and then descending on the other side, having spent the night in a hostel on the top of the mountain. There are hot springs at the base of the mountain and endless hiking paths along the many ridges.

The train takes between 9 and eleven hours to get from Shanghai to HuangShan, so we’re leaving tonight, Friday the 13th, at 10:00pm and arriving in the morning at the base of the mountain. We’re only bringing a few changes of clothes, a cribbage board, my camera and notebooks. It will be very nice to get away from the noise, smog and hustle of the city in exchange for the bird chirping and rain falling sounds of the mountain.

When we get back we’ll have less than a month before we depart on the ‘Shanghai to the Caspian’ trip. This is a good warm up.

-Posted by Lauren.

As the trip planning progresses I find myself at the stage of applying for international visas, a process wrought with vagueness and inconsistencies. For example, you can get a transit visa for several Central Asian countries but the duration of stay is not long enough to get across the country by land. Or, visa laws will stipulate that you need A, B and C and then when you get to the consulate they will have a list that goes from A to Z of random documents and health testing you need. That aside, the trip planning is going well. We are set to go from Urumqi to Almaty by train or bus through the Tien Shan mountains, and then spend a day in Almaty seeing the world’s second largest canyon and the accompanying hot springs. From there you grab a train to Tashkent, Uzbekistan, where we’ll spend a day in the capital before heading to Samarkand and Bokarah, where I’d like to spend a few weeks, if time permitted.

Maps of the region are hard to come by, so planning a more accurate by land traverse is difficult. Where trains become obsolete we’ll take buses. In Central Asia and China a bus is anything from an SUV with all the seats removed to a long hallow tube with stacked cots and a pin for animals in the back. Hopefully the buses in and around Bukarah are an improvement upon earlier experiences, but either way its an adventure.

Trains are apparently the best way to travel…. until you reach Bokarah, whereupon the train becomes a projectile of T.B. From Bokarah we’ll need to take buses or rent an SUV or comission a pack of horses or camels to take us to Ashgabat. With visa laws somewhat obscure for Turkmenistan, I’m having difficulty believing I can just nab permisssion to cross at the border.

I’m growing more excited about the trip. Reading up on the bazars,

minnerets, whirling-dervishes, single-eyebrowed ladies and massive lakes of fire have inspired me to salavate when looking at the map of my overland route. It is a shame humans invented airplanes because I feel little good has come of it. We use them for war and for making travel easier. Unfortunetly its made travel less interesting. This trip is really going to feel like a trek from shore to shore. From Shanghai to Ashgabat, and then west to Turkmenbashy on the Caspian Sea. Visas are being acquired and train tickets sought out. The countdown begins!

-Posted by Lauren.

In planning the trip from Shanghai to Ashgabat, I’m encountering some chatter online about difficulties previous travelers have faced trying to cross the Irkeshtam pass from China into Kyrgyzstan. I contacted a Central Asian expert to inquire about the safety of traveling in this region, as well as the probability of attempting a border crossing at Irkeshtam. I was told it would be a waste of time to attempt to get from Kashgar to Osh. However, there is some hope in arranging for a Chinese travel company to escort me to the border and then deliver me to a Bishkek travel company, which would then drop me off safely in the capital of Kyrgyzstan.  As for safety, there was no one who would recommend a woman travel alone, naturally.

I’m determined to travel from the Coast of China to the Caspian Sea. If there were some way to make it from Turkmenistan to the Mediterranean I could have gone from coast to coast without touching an airfield, truly a feat in this day and age, where travel is about arriving, not departing.Alas, there are a few countries between the Caspian and the Med that are not intelligent to visit at present. It is all in the planning stages, and perhaps there is a way, but I will be more than happy to have gone from Shanghai to Ashgabat.

I invited a travel partner recently, and am excite to hear if she can make the trip. This woman has traveled all over the world, and has a travel resume that would make even the most adventurous traveler blush in envy. I’ll let you know what she says. She speaks some Russian and a bit of Kyrgyz, which would be helpful on the trip, not to mention she has an intimate knowledge of the Stans. I’ll not ruin the surprise until I get confirmation.

All else is going well, investigating visa options, researching train schedules and studying maps. I’m also following the news from the countries we’ll travel through and alternate routes should anything go south mid-trip.

-Posted by Lauren.