Going to Tibet

Simply put, traveling to Tibet is a bitch. You need a special permit to enter Tibet and another to travel anywhere outside of Lhasa. Certain other places require special permits to visit as well. For a foreigner to visit Mt.Kailash, holiest mountain on Earth, you need at least five separate permits. The only way to get a permit is to join a tour and the tour often vary vastly in price and quality. The tours used to be a front to get permits for foreigners, but since the riots of 2008, all foreigners must be accompanied by a guide at nearly all times. Self-exploration is nearly impossible.

I started researching tour companies in July. By August, I narrowed my choices to seven companies and chose a September 25th departure day, nearly a week before the week-long Chinese national holiday. A few days before leaving for China, I had chosen my tour, which had a good price and was ready to book. At booking time, however, the price had jumped up by $300. So, I went with my second choice, who had dropped their 25th departure date, only offering a tour for the 12th and the 3rd of October. The third choice had a good price and the date I wanted, so I was ready to book.

All was fine; they sent me an email, quoting $700 for a seven day tour and $150 for the train ticket from Xining. Then, right when I asked them how to pay, they tacked on $200 since the people they told me were on the tour didn't actually exist, plus an extra $75 surcharge to stay in my own room at three star hotels for the whole tour. This was a bit extravagant for me. I told them to shove it nice language; I don't apreiciate when the deal changes.

I was lost at this point. It was September 14th and the door for a 25th departure date was all but closed. Suddenly, my favorite tour agency told me they had two other people planning to book for the 25th and they could serve me my original desired price. I felt skeptical, so I told them that I would book after the others booked. I heard nothing for a week.

Finally on September 21st, they told me the others had booked. I then told them to explicitly lay out the entire booking procedure so I could get it settle in one day. I never heard from them again. By this point, I had already planned two alternative iteneraries that skipped Tibet. I had given up.

The next day, I had an email from a company that didn't even make my shortlist since it had no departure for the 25th. "We have four people booked for the 1st to the 9th. Would you like to join?" I jumped on it. As a a bonus, it was cheaper than the other tours I saw so far. The only problem was the tour left on October 1st, most popular travel day in China. This seemed a little fishy.

The departure date was a week later than I wanted, but when stuck with only three days to complete the booking process, including purchasing a train ticket and obtaining the permit, I couldn't be picky. After arriving in Xining, I talked to a travel agent above my hostel to see if I could find a better deal. He sadly had nothing until after the Chinese holiday. When Bill (the tour agent) heard that I was leaving on the 1st, he quickly commented, "Either they are a scam or they have some serious mob connections. You can't get a permit and the ticket is tough too." He really helped my confidence.

I still went forward, sending a scanned copy of my passport and China visa. Too secure the tour, I had to wire $150 for the train ticket and permit. No secure credit card transaction. The next day, they said they received my payment, which was a relief. This would have been the best time to take my money and run.

Two days later, I had the train ticket in my hand. I stared at it and the October 1st date. They really must have had some connections. The next day, I had the permit. I boarded the train with no problems. I was off for the top of the world!

China tip one: If you aren't adventurous with food, don't go to China

China is one of the greatest food destinations in the world, which is not surprising, given Chinese culture. The Chinese hold food to be the essence of life (after money). A common greeting in China is "Have you eaten yet?" Their passion for food is reflected by the dizzying number of restaurants that seem to populate every conceivable corner of the country.

In China, eating is often a group activity. Many family and friends join together to eat many different dishes. People typically eat from communal plates with chopsticks, only grabbing a few bites of food at a time and placing it on their pile of rice. Eating alone can be a lonely experience in China, especially since many dishes are one-dimensional and often you can sit in a restaurant surrounded by many people talking loudly and loving food and life. Getting a well-balanced meal by oneself can be a great challenge.

Lots of tourists stick to the big flashy places with English menus. Often these menus omit many of the dishes offered and cost twice as much. To truly eat in China, you have to leave the tourist areas. Choose an alleyway, the darker and smaller, the better. Even in dark alleys, there are ample eateries. Walk around until you find a place that is packed full of Chinese people. Most of the time, a restaurant is frequented for one specialty dish. This dish will be eaten by most, simply observe and point. Typically, this yields the best results.

Another more adventurous method is the menu raffle method. Most menus in China have 17,000 items, more or less. So just open the menu and point. Don't think or look at what you pointed to. When the dish comes, don't observe what is on the plate, just grab the chopsticks and eat. If you can't just blindly eat random food, China is not for you. The raffle method hasn't let me down, except for once...

I knew the symbol for soup by this point, so I chose a soup randomly from a packed Muslim place. The waiter triple checked my selection, even offering another dish. This should have been a sign, but I stuck to my original random dish. Five minutes later, the waiter meekly presented my soup. A quick stir revealed a medley of organ meat: tripe, sweet breads, stomach, a little liver, with a few weird mushrooms for good measure. I grabbed a big chunk of tripe. The waiter stared. My neighbors stared. The whole restaurant stared, just to see the white guy eat some guts. I chomped on the tripe and smiled. I gestured to my abdominal regions and gave a big thumbs up. Everyone laughed as I chewed on awful. The soup wasn't too bad actually.

Eventually, using the random pointing method, you start to learn symbols. The T with a cross and an earring that kind of looks like a cow head is either yak or beef. Two up arrows in a house is meat. The dynamite plunger is noodles. Food life has become safer now I've been here a while, but less fun.

If you want to avoid the tourist places, yet still see what you are eating before you buy or if you want to have lunch for a quarter, or if you want to eat after 9PM, street food is good way to go. Ignore warnings of doctors saying that street food is a fast track to sickness. I've been sick twice, both times from eating at restaurants. Avoiding street food is closing a door on the tastiest dishes in all of China. Deep fried sandwiches. Meat dumplings. Noodles in a bag. Meat skewer caked in seasonings. I've yet to be disappointed by the men with the carts. Now, be smart. Only eat from places with high turnover; don't be stuck eating the meat that baked in the hot sun all day. Avoid the scungy vendors. You can tell the safe food.

Simply put, the highlight of China for me has been eating. I'm sad that there are not more meals in a day, because I've passed so many delicious looking things because of a full stomach. I've also pushed myself to bursting levels because I couldn't pass up a tasty looking treat walking home from a restaurant. The best part is, even expensive meals are only $4. So come to China if you like to blindly try things and eat away. Eat everything you see. Don't eat the same meal twice. Your stomach and tongue will love you.

Xining

I rushed to reach Xining by September 23rd since my original Tibet tour left on the 24th. The tour I thought was a sure thing fell through at the last minute and I had to go with a new company that didn't have a tour until October 1st leaving me with a week to kill. Too bad I learned this so late, otherwise I would have hung out more in the diving mountains of Sichuan. It turned out to be ok though, since my upcoming itinerary included seven days of car travel, 24 hours on a train, then six weeks of hiking, so a week of rest seemed like a good idea. Plus, there are many side trips from Xining that looked quite neat.

It rained for my first four days, so I spent my time updating my blog, rereading One Hundred Years of Solitude, which I never finished the first time and was glad to see lying around the hostel, and watch movies. I made friends with a Polish couple, who loved traditional archery and had won second in a prestigious tournament in Western China, and Florian, a fund German from Hamburg.

They all left by the time the rains stopped, but thankfully a cute half dutch, half french girl, a fun Australian studying Chinese medicine in Nanjing, and a wise Indian man about my age, and a man from Yorkshire (Manchester folk are always a hoot). We went hiking in the hills North of town and sat around talking for a couple of hours in a worn down pagoda overlooking the city. The next day we hit up a museum featuring Thankas, a form of Tibetan art that takes a minimum of a month to complete. The colorful paintings of the Buddha are incredible.

The next day, we visited the nearby Qinghai Lake, largest saltwater lake in China. On sunny days, like the one when we visited, the lake is a beautiful shade of turquoise, which snowy mountains and sand dunes circling it 400 kilometers of shoreline. In the summer, it is home to an improbable number of migratory birds. We missed the bird season sadly.

That group left (when staying at a hostel for a week or more, you see a few turnovers of tenants), but I befriended an American and Irish English teachers in the middle of a then month long bender. They came to Xining to dry out, but by the time I left, they had already spent five days in Xining, drinking tequila and beer as early as 8AM and hitting the sack around 1PM. Sadly, I've seen worse alcohol abuse in Australia. I chose not to join in with their bender, but I share couple beers with them. They were actually quite nice and a total riot. I hope they don't end up dead.

Overall, Xining was a nice town to chill at for a week. It wasn't too pretty, but it had its charm. It only had 2 million people, making it amongst the smallest of China's provincial capitals. The sky was blue (when not raining) from lack of smog and the town was surrounded on all sides with mountains. Since the town is so diverse ethnically, few people would stare at me or hassle me when walking the streets. Xining also has the distinction of being China's heaviest drinking city. Locals say only Moscow drinks more. This seemed quite true given the vast number of people who were hitting the beer early in the afternoon everyday. I guess the city doesn't really have much to do.

Excursions in Xiahe

I quite enjoyed Xiahe, despite the pilgrims in my room staying up until two in the morning talking and smoking, then woke up at dawn to pray at the top of their lungs. I ended up spending three days there, though one was unintentional since I missed my bus.

One of the days, I hiked with a really neat Israeli guy up in the hills. I'd finally recovered enough from my infection to do something physical. The hike was beautiful, though the weather was not. The hike was the outer kora of the monastery, but since in was late in the afternoon, all the pilgrims had finished.

At some point, we stopped to enjoy some Tahini on crackers--you have to love that Israelis always have an endless supply of tahini--and the outstanding views of the monastery and surrounding hills from the great the vantage point. We were joined by a sheppard who sat with us for a moment, admiring the view in stoic silence. Maybe I shouldn't assume that the silence was due to an inherent stoicism of a pastoral dweller; it may have been a language barrier issue. He then stood up and climbed the stupidly steep hill behind us in one second, not showing any signs of being tired or strained. He must have had calves of steel.

I finished the hike which some divine yak momos. Tsering left his post to show me the best place in town for them. I had momos at other places since, but none equaled these. Yak meat is incredibly delicious. It is like beef only juicier, more flavorful, with a hint of game taste that enhances instead of hurts the taste.

The next day, the bonus day from sleeping in too late to catch the 6AM bus, I headed to the Ganjia Grasslands, which though had some intoxicating scenery, was not quite the "grassland" the name seemed to suggest. Our first stop was the village of Bajiao, a 2000 year old farm town, surrounded by a clay wall, which we walked atop.

At some point, a farmer in town invited us over for tsampa. We politely accepted his invitation. He had a cosy, neat home, though old, heated by fire and had a living room with a bed probably shared by three people. They still had a large flat screen TV. They offered us some tasty, simple dish of potatoes and onions, of which we eat at about three bites; it was obviously the family's lunch. Next, the farmer's wife made us some tsampa and yak yogurt with some burned yak milk tea. After eating, we discussed offering them a small amount of money to pay for the food we ate. We compiled 10yuan, which is significantly more than the value of the food. The man declined what we offered, then told we owed him 10 yuan each, which was insultingly high; we could order three large dishes at a restaurant for such a price. Once again, a seemingly kind invitation was another attempt to take money from us "rich" foreigners. They had a nicer TV than even me. I was getting sick of people seeing me as a walking cash machine and I was quite shocked to see it at such a small remote town. We gave him 20 yuan, about ten times the cost of the food we ate and 100% more than we expected to pay for a seemingly friendly invitation for lunch.

We left a bit angry, but not too angry. In real terms, we didn't give him that much money. Our next stop was Trakkar Gomba, a small, charming monastery and Nekhang, a holy cave cut into the nearly vertical mountains behind the monastery. I was the only member our group to enter the cave. Apparently, a tourist fell to his death in 2006, giving it an infamous reputation despite the hundred people who visit daily without dying. It was nothing special, but still quite fun to descend deep into a slippery cave. A young Chinese girl kept falling, which held us up a bit (she was thankfully ok), but she was very nice and developed a little infatuation with me. When we were leaving, she gave me a big hug and told me she'd miss me. The Chinese can be oddly friendly.

Dinner With Tsering

I sat down to a mostly eaten dinner.

"Help yourself. Most of us have eaten, but I've been too busy to eat much myself." He picked up the plates and placed them all in front of me. I nibbled a bit, but my appetite had yet to return. The food was delicious, but quite spicy.

"Eat more! You are my guest!" I wasn't used to such direct, dry speaking. It was refreshing.

"I've been sick for a week and I still can't eat much. The food is delicious however."

"It's ok, just Chinese food. It's always too spicy."

"So what should I eat instead in this town?"

"Momos and Tsampa." Momos are Tibetan dumplings, often stuffed with yak meat, but I wasn't sure what Tsampa was.

"Tsampa is barley flour, mixed with yak butter and sometimes yak cheese."

"Sounds terrible." I decided Tsering could handle bluntness.

"They are delicious. A good breakfast, you eat tsampa and you don't need to eat again for many hours." I had some the next day, and what he said was true, they are both delicious and filling. "Excuse me a moment." He left for a good five minutes. I suddenly realized that this was my chance to get some important questions about Tibet answered. I didn't expect to meet too many more brutally honest, fluent English speaking Tibetans. He finally returned and I mustered the courage to ask the potentially offensive question.

"Ok, I've had a question bubbling in brain about Tibet for a while now..."

"...Just ask."

"So, I can't help to notice a strong nationalist sentiment in the Tibetan people. Doesn't the idea of nationalism counter many of the inherent beliefs of the Buddhist religion or philosophy, specifically the drive to reach detachment from such tangible ideas such as a nation?"

He stared back at me. "Ok, you are going to have to ask me that question again, only explain your ideas a bit."

I reasked my question in simplified English and Tsering responded with a wonderful answer that very clearly emphasized the Tibetan side of the whole China/Tibet issue.

The Tibetan people have politics and religion married into one ruling group, the lamas. Their leader is the Dalai Lama. The Chinese invaded (liberated) Tibet in 1950, taking away their independence. They also took away the political powers away from their religious leaders. The Dalai Lama fled during the conflict, only to return again in 1959. During this time, there was a failed uprising of the Tibetan people and the Dalai Lama left Tibet forever. The people not only lost their political leader, but their spiritual leader as well. This left the Tibetans with nobody to be their ultimate leader. If the Dalai lama was merely their head of state, his exile would be crushing politically, but having lost their "Moses" as well, it was double blow to the people. SO much of the Tibetan grievances has to do with not being allowed contact with a person they worship and the Tibetans are deeply religious.

The other issue has to do with the Chinese government's way of running things. The Chinese are in the middle of a major sprawl, sprinting to full development with little regard for the environment or culture. They tore down holy buildings and replaced them with ugly gray blocks of flats and polluting coal plants. They damn Tibetan rivers and flood others. Tibetans are peaceful, nature loving people who cling to their pastoral life and devout worship. Buddhism is about reaching peace and transcendence, but the way the Chinese are raping the beautiful landscape of Tibet, migrate in droves, destroy the culture, ban the teaching of Tibetan in schools kills the Tibetan peoples' ability to worship peacefully and achieve transcendence. It is as if Rome was invaded and all the Catholics became unable to rise to heaven at death. Tibetan independence if just a political issue would still be a big deal, but potentially overcomable, but it is also a deep religious issue as well, leaving many Tibetans lost.

Xiahe

Xiahe is home to the massive Labrang Monestery, the largest Tibetan monestary outside of the Tibetan province. Though it draws many foreign tourists, most visitors are pilgrims from Sichuan, Gansu, and Qinghai who come to pray and complete the kora of this holy place. The Tibetan side of town is a sea of monks in maroon and magenta robes, spinning prayer wheels, circling the stupas, or doing the special prayer walking, where they place their hands together, raise them to the sky, then drop to their knees, place their foreheads on the ground, then spread out upon their bellies, then back up to repeat the process. Some pilgrims do this for hundreds of miles. It definately is not an efficient form of travel.

Though a holy Buhdist place, it is not really peaceful. The population is about half Tibetan, half Han Chinese, with a spatter of Hui. They do not always coexist peacefully. The three races all occupy separate sections of town and rarely mingle. The Tibetans often refuse to speak Chinese and few Han know Tibetan, even though they migrated to Tibet from the east. During the 2008 uprising, Xiahe was a major center for the riots. The area often closes to foreigners due to rising tensions, especially in march.

I arrived in Xiahe after dark and wandered my way through town to the Tibetan quarter. It was too dark to read any signs and the sidewalk was being repaved for the entire length of the street. Suddenly the businesses ended and I was at Labrang; I had gone too far. I turned around and entered the first open business i could find.

I walked in, it looked like a hotel, but I couldn't tell. The Tibetan man at the desk did not say hello like most English speakers when seeing a Westerner; he just stared. My Chinese is terrible, my Tibetan is even worse.

"Tashi dele." I said, exhausing my vocabulary, then made a sleeping gesture and pointed to the ground. He stared back. I did the gesture again and he stared back at me in annoyed silence. Finally, I did it a third time and he finally spoke.

"Well, don't you speak English?" he said with only a slight accent.

"Oh yeah, I'm from the US. Is this a hostel?"

"What else would it be?" He was either angry or excessively dry. I went for the former, dry sarchastic humor is often lost in China. "What was with your ridiculous gestures?"

"I don't speak Tibetan."

"Well, we always speak English here."

He showed me to my room, which was the cheapest I've seen yet in China, only 10 quai or $1.50 a night. There were 12 beds with a pilgrim in each.

"Is this room ok?"

"Yeah, looks fine."

He looked at me blankly.

"You look surprised."

"I am. You don't seem like somebody who'd like such a room." I really think I made a terrible impression on the guy.

"My name is Aaron," I reached out my hand. "What's yours?"

"I'll write it down. It's hard for westerners to say." He wrote his name on a scratch paper, "Tserang"

"Tserang?" I said.

"Exactly right!" He finally smiled. "I'm about to sit down for dinner, come join me."

"Sure, let me drop all this weight."

"I'll see you upstairs soon."

I dropped my bags on my bed and started organizing a few items, took out my towel to dry. Suddenly, a handsome Tibetan man was standing right next to me, looking right over my shoulder.

"Hello! How are you?" He asked me with a big smile.

"Good, how are you?" I replied.

He stared back blankly for a moment before saying again, "Hello! How are you?"

"Tashi dele!"

"Tashi dele! Hello, how are you?"

"Hello."

"Are you the Dalai Lama?" He asked with a smile.

"No, I am not the Dalai Lama. Do I look like the Dalai Lama?" I then covered my hair and mimicked glasses.

He stared back at me silent for a moment before saying, "Hello! How are you?"

Langmusi

I only spent 24 hours in the charming Tibetan village of Langmusi. The people were friendly and the countryside was gorgeous. Everywhere was endless rolling green hills, only interrupted by sporatic outcroppings of mountains.

The town's economy is entirely sustained by tourism. Though home to a small, yet cute monestary and a nearly 100% Tibetan population, much of the town's charms seemed like a similacrum. Any yak product imaginable and random jewlery were at every storefront.

The real joy of Langmusi is its hiking and horse treks. Five minutes walk in any direction and you are out of town and in the mountains.

I was still a bit sick when I reached Langmusi. Plus the elevation was around 3000m, so I didn't have too much stamina for any major hikes like I would have wanted, but I still walked up the White Dragon River through a gorgeous mountain gorge for a couple of hours. I wish I had given myself another day here since I was feeling much better the next day.

Zoige Bus Station

Between Songpan and Langmusi, I was required to stop in the town of Zoige for a couple of hours. Since I had my bags with me and the town seemed dusty and uninteresting, I spent the whole time at the bus station, planning to read Les Miserables. Within a few minutes of reading, a maroon robed Tibetan monk sat next to me, turned off his iPod and said "Hello."

I replied, "Tashi dele," the only word of Tibetan I knew. He of course corrected my pronounciation. He put his face right next to mine so our eyes were about an inch apart and stared. I doubt he'd seen eyes my color before. He then pointed to his eyes, said something in Tibetan, which I assumed was the Tibetan word for eyes. I repeated the word, then pointed to my own eyes and said, "Eyes."

We played this game for a while, but soon it just broke down into me teaching him English with no reciprocation in Tibetan.

He tired of the game after a while and brought his eyes close to mine again. Next, he started repeating various phrases in Tibetan and prompted me to repeat. He didn't try to illustrate what he was having me say at any point.

Soon, another monk sat next to him and joined the game of making the American say random things in Tibetan. Suddenly, the first monk's tone changed, his expression hardened and he said, "Dalai Lama." He brought his hands together in prayer and bowed slightly. Suddenly, I worried about what he was having me repeat. Not more than five minutes earlier, there were Chinese military hanging around. I've heard horror stories of foreigners getting in trouble for discussing the Dalai Lama with Tibetans or being thrown in jail or deported.

I silently said "Dalai Lama" and both monks bowed with their hands clasped again. They then had me repeat more sentences, this time followed by "Dalai Lama". I reluctantly said what they wanted and the first monk slapped my back in admiration. The second monk then pulled out a portrait of the Dalai Lama that was hanging on a necklace. I quickly covered it with my hands and looked around for any Chinese officials. I saw none, then cautiously looked at his necklace. Portraits of the Dalai Lama are forbidden in China. I then reached into my bag, pulled out my guide of India and pointed out the town where the Tibetan government resided. "Dalai Lama," I said pointing to the map. They seemed happy to see it.

They had me say some more Tibetan, then they pulled out a 50 yuan bill, which feature a photo of the Potala palace, previous home of the Dalai Lama. I pulled a fifty from my pocket as well and pointed to the palace, "Potala." I said.

They waved their hands, showing I misunderstood them. Eventually, I deduced that they were asking me for US dollars, or which I had none. I said "bu dollar," then pointed to myself, "Quai, Renmin, Yuan." They understood. Then I remembered I had a quarter in my bag which I saved because it had Guam on it, my favorite place name to say. Reaching into my bag, I then presented the quarter to the first monk who seemed quite happy by the gift. Though I think I he thought I was giving alms, not giving him a gift. I also showed them my passport, which they found cool. Within no time, their bus was ready to depart. They both asked me for money again before leaving, which I politely declined. Then the first monk admired my shoes, offering me a swap with his own. I mimicked that I walk a lot and need strong shoes, which he understood then left.

It was an amazing cross-cultural experience. The Tibetan seemed genuninely kind. I just wish they hadn't asked me for money. Even though I am a bit more monetarily wealthy than them, I am still a bit poor. Plus, they didn't seem to want Chinese currency.

Ice Mountain

Songpan is a popular destination for two main resaons, its proximity to the national parks of Jiuzhaigou and Huanglong and the various horse trekking opportunities. I had befriended a crazy Canadian who was entertaining the idea of joining a horse trek to the mystical sounding Ice Mountain and i was fortunate enough to be present during his wacky consult at our hostel.

The skinny man with a mustache spoke a little bit of English, at least enough to help people with the planning of their horse trek. The man was fixated on Ice Mountain and everytime he said "Ice Mountain", which was often, his speech slowed and his eyes widened.

"Ah, you want to see....Ice....Mountain!"

"Is it nice?" replied the Canadian. "Can I see photos of this Ice Mountain?"

"Ice Mountain, very nice! We have photos, but you should see Ice Mountain with your eyes, not photo."

I looked around, seeing no evidence of this Ice Mountain anywhere. Though we were at an elevation of about 2700m, it was a lovely 70 degrees, an Ice Mountain would melt at such a temperature. Was Ice mountain made of ice? Did it just look like ice? The guide's reluctance to show photos and his overhyping made me wonder if this Ice Mountain was just a cool name.

"So what about food? Do I bring my own, or do you provide food?"

"We bring food, but you may want more. We eat lots of vegetables."

"Vegetables?"

"Yes, vegetables." The guide seemed to love saying vegetables as much as he loved to say Ice Mountain.

"Ok, so what is for breakfast?"

"We eat bread."

"Just bread?"

"No, bread...and vegetables."

"And for lunch?"

"Rice...and vegetables."

"So dinner is vegetables too?"

"Yes, dinner is LOTS of vegetables. You can buy yak in town to go with vegetables. We bring no meat, only vegetables."

"Ok, so vegetables."

"Yes, vegetables."

"Does it get cold?"

"At night, very cold, but we have yak blanket."

"Can I sleep with the horse?"

"Sleep with horse?"

"Yes, when it is cold, can give the horse a cuddle?" He mimiced perfected the lifting of the stiff horse and placing it over himself for some interspecieal spooning.

"You can sleep with yak blanket. It is very warm." He didn't seem amused.

"Can I pick the color of my horse?"

"What color horse you want?"

"Blue?"

"No blue horse," he answered straightfaced.

"Purple?"

"No purple horse...only brown horse."

"Will I see any animals?"

"Only yak. Lots of yak."

"Can I bite the yaks?"

"No." He shook his head. "Do not bite the yak." He did crack a slight smile, first of the consultation. He then stood up and walked away without a farewell. He didn't seem to apreciative of the the Canadian's cheekiness.

In the end, the Canadian did choose to see the legendary Ice Mountain, but nobody else booked with him.

"The guy said my guide doesn't speak English."

"Looks like you'll have to speak to the horse," I said.

"Except it's a Tibetan horse, it doesn't speak English either." He seemed sad. "Sure you don't wanna come?"

"I don't think riding a horse for three days with the trots sound like much fun."

"Neither does riding a horse for three days is silence." He paused a moment. "Those better be some good vegetables."

TD

I enjoyed breakfast the morning I went to Jiuzhaigou with Yusuan's fmaily. We ate baozi, or steamed meat buns some noodle soup, both essentials of the Chinese diet. It was plenty of food. Everyone at the table were eating these weird hard boiled eggs. I didn't really want one; I've never cared much for boiled eggs. Yusuan then officially offered me one. I explained that I only eat fried eggs and politely declined his offer. His mother then offered me one as well. Waving my hand, I said thank you in Chinese. Yusuan then turned to me and said the magic words, "My mother made these eggs; she would be offended if you don't eat one." How could I let down the matriarch of this family that so kindly adopted me? I politely ate the egg, even though I didn't really like it. I asked Yusuan what it was and he said it was a 10,000 year old egg, or a black egg.

I later learned it was a special type of egg made by burying it underground for a few weeks. The heat of the earth cooks the insides, turning the whites into a clear gelatin and the yokes into a black or green mass. As a bonus, if the egg just happened to touch pork, when it is dug up, it becomes kosher.

I thought nothing much of the egg until eight hours later while hiking in Jiuzhaigou. Suddenly, without warning, I had to use the toilet. I was fine enough to return to the visitor's center. Again, I still thought nothing more of it than an urgent bathroom emergency, they happen, especially when you eat lots of Chinese food.

I headed back to the hotel and used the toilet again. Soon, it became apparent that something had made me sick. The Tibetan culture show was that evening, so I took an imodium, chewed up some pepto tabs and headed out.

After squirming for two hours, I shivered my way back to the hotel and collapsed onto the bed. I was cold and could not get warm. I made some tea, put on some long underwear and a sweater, then crawed under the blankets and rode out the terrible fever. I did not sleep that night, but the fever broke at some point in the night and I felt quite a bit better that morning.

I planned to visit another national park that day, but I was just too tired. Instead, I prepared to move on to a nearby town that was better for transit. After packing my bag, I felt weak and went back to bed. An hour later, the hotel woman woke me up, saying it was eight-o-clock, time to checkout. I grabbed my things and started the two mile float to the bus station.

I learne that there was only one bus to Songpan and I'd missed it by twenty minutes. I then hailed a cab, went to another hostel, checked in, then collapsed for twelve hours. The fever came back off and on. At some point, I mustered up the strength to check my email before heading back to bed.

The next morning, I awoke, again too weak to get out of bed and book another night. I wasn't going anywhere that day. At some point in the late morning, I forced myself to go downstairs and pay for another day and buy some juice since I had no appetite for food buy needed some calories. Again, I slept for the whole day. At some point, I read my pamphlet on traveler diahrea. Based on my symptoms, the pamphlet said that I needed to start a course of antibiotic immediately or else I could end up with a serious infection need hospitalization. I didn't hesitate to follow the advice.

The next day, I sat in bed, read a bit and ate a couple of crackers. An Isreali guy moved into my room and gave me some coke, which was surprising helpful for my stomach. I guess it still goes back to the days when it was a cureall tonic.

Somehow the next morning, I packed, made it to the bus station and survived the bumpy three hour trip to Songpan. I was feeling a little better, but was still quite sick. Even a five minute walk had me winded. That night, I was able to choke down some bland potato soup and piece of bread.

By this point, I had exhaused my entire supply of antibiotics for the trip. My doctor told me one dose would lick anything I would catch, but I needed all three doses just to get slightly better. Don't be fooled by the name travelers diahrea, it is really just another name for a serious food poisoning, most likely e-coli or salmonella. I could have managed a little diahrea, but whatever I caught took me out for five days, derailed my plans and forced me to skip Huanglong, one of potential highlights of my trip. Now I have to find more antibiotics. At least I know I shouldn't eat any weird buried eggs again.