Getting to Bukittinggi, Indonesia

When my plans to head south overland from China into the Southeast
Asian peninsula were held up by my poor planning and China's
American-hating visa regulations, I found myself at a crossroads--Hong Kong. I could either fly to Thailand, or go somewhere else altogether. Ever since my scholarship application to study Bahasa
Indonesia in Jakarta was turned down 2 years ago, I have had a burning
to visit this diverse, enormous, and somewhat forgotten country. So I
walked down to the YMCA's English bookstore in Hong Kong hoping to find a guidebook. Luckily, in addition to 100 or so Joel Osteen
get-your-ass-in-gear motivational guidebooks to life, there was one
single overpriced Lonely Planet guidebook for Indonesia. I bought it
and immediately went and bought a ticket to Singapore-- my gateway to
Sumatra.

In
deciding to go to Indonesia, I never really considered where in
Indonesia I would go. It is an absolutely monstrous country, with land
scattered
across 17,000 islands stretching from Sumatra in the Northwest (a
stones throw to mainland Asia) , all the way Southeast toTimor
(100 miles shy of Australia). I planned on starting out in Sumatra and
making my way down to Java, possibly beyond. I tired of Singapore after
a few days and hopped a morning boat to Batam , an Indonesia island 10
miles from Singapore. I ended up having to spend the night there and
made arrangements for a taxi to pick me up at 5:00 the next morning.

As soon as I stepped off the dock in Batam
I was bombarded by cries of, "Hello Mister!" and, "Where are you
going?". The latter is actually a typical Indonesian greeting, much
like "What's up?" in the States or "Have you eaten?" in China, but it
is often used to insert oneself to provide a service that is not really
needed. Thus was the case early the next morning.

Me: "I am going to the boat."
My new best friend: "I will help you."

He
shuffled me through a maze of docks, onto the boat, through the cabin,
to a poop-deck where a dozen men sat smoking clove cigarettes-- my home
for the next 6 hours.

"You give me tip. 50,000 rupiah."

I pulled out 7,000 to give him (about 80 US cents) for his 5 minutes. This would certainly buy him dinner and maybe lunch too.

"No, 50,000."

I
grabbed his hand and stuffed the 7000 into it. He took it and walked
away. One of the things I have learned is that it is good to be
generous but not good to be pushed around, people lose respect for you
when that happens.

The boat ride was horrible: a cocktail of
diesel and cigarette smoke, and the early morning sun hitting us from
behind. My ticket included a bus from the port to Pekanbaru , an inland
city and transport hub of sorts. The bus, in addition to being crowded
and slow, got two flat tires, the second of which required hitchhiking
into town to get it repaired. Great trip so far.

Things started to turn up for me though. I made a friend on the bus, Afice, who invited me to stay with his family in Pekanbaru.
Of course, I accepted and we were picked up by his sister at the train
station. She owns a gift basket business and this is the busiest time
of the year for that sortfo
thing-- Ramadan. We spent about an hour driving around town delivering
baskets, which I thoroughly enjoyed. At times, the recipients were more
amused by the strange white guy in the car than they were the baskets.Afice
treated me to dinner and an avocado shake and then took me to his home
where at least 3 generations were living. It was grand house though. I immediately fell asleep. Like most Indonesians, Afice's
family is Muslim and when I woke for a tinkle at 4:15 A.M. I found
about 6 of them eating a feast that rivals Thanksgiving. They were
gorging in preparation for the daytime fast. (During the month of Ramadan, Muslims
fast during daylight from food AND DRINK.)

Afice took me to the bus station in the morning and refused any payment for his hospitality. I was bound for Bukittinggi,
a small town at the foot of an active volcano.

No flat tires on this trip though, just one half-hour stop at the mosque to pray.

Photos!!! (Xi'an and Chengdu)

City Wall. Try climbing that with crossbows pointed at you. On the topic of crossbows, when I was passing security at the Chengdu airport they had a large plexiglass container where passengers were to drop prohibited items before passing through. The container had hundreds of lighters and small pocketknives.... and one single homemade crossbow.

Xi'an

Hot Water for All! My father told me about these hot-water heaters they were using in China a few years ago. A basic convection design with the tank at the top moves the cooler water through the solar tubes. Dad was right, they are popular in China.
Looking in toward town center.

While in Xi'an I also visited a university where my former student went. I wish I had some photos as it reminded me some of FSU-- canopy streets, classic buildings, and cheap, tasty food.

Chengdu, Sichuan

These first photos are from Sichuan University where I visited my friend and former student Shi Shou. For those of you familiar with FSU, Sichuan U campuses are much the same-- a historical campus in town and also a modern campus just outside town. These photos are form the latter. There were some really nice buildings at Sichuan U.
And for tasty food they had "stinky tofu"-- Chairman Mao's Favorite!!!!

Check out the Tupperware tub inside the glass. That's tofu, covered in mold. Without exaggeration, that little bit of tofu makes a stench that would shame 2 dozen goats. The smell is absolutely atrocious but I ponied up and tried it anyway. Turns out, the smelly tofu isn't that bad once you get past the stench. It was hardly a treat though. I ate 3 out of 4 pieces before passing it on to a native.
It was Mid Autumn festival when I visited Shi Shou and one of the traditions that accompanies the holidays are moon cakes. They were so kind to include me in their celebrations. Moon cakes are a heavy pastry filled with some gooey filling. Here they are trying to determine which one has the beef in it. (They also gave me a good taste of spicy Sichuan cooking. I shed a tear or two.)

Buddhist Temple

Lotus flower kneeling mat.
Ping Pong!
Apparently, vegetarians have a reputation.

"Don't pickup hitch-hikers, vegetarian restaurant nearby."

a photoless update

Greetings! I can't upload any photos right now but will give you all on update. I have covered a lot of ground since my last posting. A special thanks to my good friend Kyle for riding his bike to Canada from Florida. People like Kyle make me feel a little less guilty about the tons and tons of carbon I have released by jet-setting around the world. Remember, we are all in this global warming thing together and we can't go around pointing fingers.

Back to my update.

After being turned away by authorities in Gansu, I went over to Lanzhou and then down to Xi'an-- the former Chinese capital during some of the dynasties. One of my former students goes to school in Xi'an so I was able to catch up with her and some of her friends. The most amazing thing about Xi'an- it has a wall. Yes, a wall around the city to keep out intruders. It's a big wall too (check back for photos). Oh, and there is a moat which I think is absolutely insane. Xi'an is also famous for the Terracotta warriors which I was able to see. I took a bus out to see them and to be quite honest they are pretty well represented by photos, nevertheless there is something amazing about being in the presence of these 2000 year old delicate life-size statues.

From Xi'an I took a train to Chengdu, Sichuan. People in Chengdu are famous for being lazy. They like to sit around and drink tea and play Mahjong. I was very excited and it didn't disappoint. I found a great place to stay run by a couple from Singapore and Japan. It was the first time I had found good company on my trip as well. I spent the better part of a week there with 3 lads from Ireland, some Israelis, and a few stray Englishmen. One day I ventured out to see the Giant Pandas at a nearby breeding center. In the style of the Sichuanese, the Pandas eat bamboo for 1 hour a day and then sleep the rest. They're quite playful for that one hour though. I also caught up with a former student at nearby Sichuan University, one of the best schools in China.

It was a proper vacation in Chengdu. So proper that I lost track of time and started to worry about making it to Laos before my visa expired. I decided to play it safe and flew to Shenzen (birthplace of all of your iPods) which lies on the border of Hong Kong. I made it to Hong Kong on my 89th day in China. I was allotted 90.

Hong Kong's a seedy place and I am eager to leave.

Tomorrow I fly to Singapore where I plan to stay for a few days and then catch a boat somewhere in Indonesia.

Where I've Been and,More Importantly, Where I'm Going

As Miss Teen South Carolina taught us all last year, many of us US Americans aren't that great at geography (or public speaking for that matter) and many of us probably can't even find the country of Africa or The Iraq on a map... like, such as.
Well this map won't help you find those two places but it will show you more or less where I have been spending my time recently.

I now realize my numbering system sucks. (1) is the first city I went to after Beijing.

1. Urumqi, Xinjiang
2. Dunhuang, Gansu
3. Lanzhou, Gansu
4. Linxia, Gansu- had to turn around for legal restrictions
5. Xi'an, Shaanxi- going there tonight

Yesterday morning I grabbed the train that runs from Dunhuang to Xi'an, and got off at the Lanzhou station. I had plans to go to Chengdu, Sichuan via some back roads south of Lanzhou. This route would put me on small, rural buses and take me through ethnic towns as opposed to the large, mostly industrial, Chinese cities I am accustomed to seeing. I arrived late in Lanzhou, and grabbed the first motel I came to which turned out to be very nice for the price (30 RMB, about $4.75). The next day I grabbed a bus for Linxia, a small city about three hours south through a winding river valley. The city lacked charm but still had plenty of new sights for this foreigner to take in. The most notable difference between Linxia and ever other Chinese town I have been to is the clear Muslim majority. Nearly every man in the city wears a white hat, and three mosques dominate the skyline. I took a stroll after I checked into a hotel. It was Friday night and the streets were busy with men and women selling fruits, vegetables, meats, and bread spiced with curry. People always call out to me. I bought some apples from one lady. Some curry bread from a gentleman. Then someone else called out to me (which the do by saying "Hello!!!", but in the voice you would use if you were talking to a 3 year-old child). I turned around and he had 4 skinned and gutted sheep hanging from hooks by their hind legs. He pointed to the sheep, like he would give me a good deal. I just held my hands at my shoulders, palms up and looked at him with a look that I am pretty sure he understood.

"I'm not going to buy a dead sheep from you," I mumbled to myself, never even considering my vegetarianism.

He smiled and motioned that he could cut a hind quarter off if I like. I think he just wanted in on the action.

I saw a pile of skinned cats next to some chickens.

It wasn't much of an evening. I retired early, excited about the next day when I would go to Xiahe, the gem along this back route to Chengdu. Xiahe is home to the Labrang Tibetan Buddhist monastery, and home to the third most important Tibetan lama, behind the Dalai Lama and Panchen Lama (I don't really know what that means). The town is nestled in the mountains at about 10,000 feet with a river running through the middle and grasslands surrounding it. Most importantly it is likely the most authentic Tibetan village I will ever see. When the boundaries were drawn for Tibet, many ethnic Tibetan settlements remained outside it. Independent travel can be extremely difficult for foreigners (if not illegal and extremely expensive) inside Tibet proper so my best bets on seeing Tibetan life remain outside in the surrounding provinces.

I woke early the next morning and made my way down to the bus station. It was raining, which I thought would make for a pleasant bus ride. I don't know how to properly ask for a ticket, so I usually just go up to the ticket counter and say the city name and the day. I said "Xiahe" and the word for today.

She said, "No".

"Tomorrow?"

"No."

I called a former student of mine, XiXi, explained the problem to her, and then handed the phone to the ticket agent (always female in China). After a pretty long conversation she handed the phone back to me and XiXi explained. As I expected, it is now illegal for foreigners, oh I'm sorry, "overseas friends" to travel to Xiahe. I bought a ticket back to Lanzhou.

Bummer.

It was disappointing for me. I was really looking forward to my time in Xiahe. I just did some online research and there were some protests in Xiahe back in March following the protests in Lhasa. Residents committed horrible crimes such as raising a Tibetan flag and undisclosed other atrocities. Military police were brought in, the Dalai Lama was blamed, and foreigners are still banned 6 months later. The US State Department gives no travel warnings to this area (and if you are not aware, the State Department gives out travel warnings like they are giving out wooden coins at a parade).

There are parts of China that foreigners can't travel to because the area is too dangerous. For example, the southern route into Tibet from Yunnan is not violent, but the roads are poor, narrow, and lacking guard rails. The last thing China wants is a foreigner to tumble to their death inside a bus in the southern Himalayas. I also understand that foreigners are often the targets of attacks in separatist violence like this. But I still wonder if these restrictions (in Xiahe) are meant to protect foreigners or if they are just a form of economic punishment on the local population. While Xiahe is said to be "authentic", my guidebook mentions where to get the best pizza and banana-pancakes. The economy these days is largely tourist based. Six months without business will do real damage.

Here is the website for a local restaurant that I couldn't open: http://www.snowymtncafe.com/ . It may be blocked by Beijing or maybe it just doesn't work. I would be interested to see if my "overseas friends" can open it.

During the Olympics I was quite disappointed to see all the inflated criticism towards minor things Beijing did. So the footprints were fake, who cares? And the girl with the pretty face and ugly voice wasn't allowed to sing. They made fake rain. They made half-finished buildings look nice by draping them with with vinyl.

They censor the internet and block iTunes (thanks Crystal for the article). OK, that one's a big deal.

But all those previous ones just make us look zealous in my opinion. If the West inflates every minor thing that happens in China then it diminishes the blow our criticisms of the real issues make. And there are no shortage of real issues that need criticizing.

Eastern Taklamakan Desert

This post is a little bit out of order. About 6 days ago I was in Dunhuang, in the west end of Gansu province. Dunhuang is an oasis at the eastern end of the Taklamakan Desert along the ancient Silk Road. The Taklamakan is called the largest sand desert in the world and the dunes are majestic, enormous, and (as I found out) extremely difficult to cross. To this day, it remains one of the few deserts that no man has crossed without caravan (I'm told). From Dunhuang, the Silk Road splits into a Northern and Southern route to avoid the desert.

The dunes rise to about 1000 feet above the surrounding area and can bee seen from the town of Dunhuang where I was staying. When it cooled down one evening, I walked for about an hour to the entrance to a tourist park which offered various activities on the dunes for a rather steep 100RMB entrance fee. I chose to stare at the dunes from outside the park. As I was walking back to my hotel I ran into a young Portuguese traveler who said he planned to camp out in the dunes and that you could walk around the the park. I had already checked into a hotel for the night but I invited myself along anyways and he agreed to wait for me.

I grabbed a cab back to my hotel where the staff was extremely confused by the abandonment of my room, they literally chased after me as I was getting into a cab. I had grabbed my tent, and sleeping bag, left a few items in the room, and got back to the dunes as quickly as possible.

David, the Portuguese guy, was waiting when I got back and we started making our way through camel stalls and narrow paths looking for the end of the fence that prevented our entrance to the dunes.

A little about David.

First of all, this guy could have told me he was from an Illinois farm town and I would have never doubted it. His English was superb, and he even said, "Okie Dokie" every time he took a break and then started going again. Second, he looked like a damned camel he had so many things on his back. And it seemed like none of his stuff was in his backpack, just fastened on the outside rather. For all I knew there may not have even been a bag under there at all, maybe just a peg-board with two backpack straps. Watching him don this thing was like watching my 81 year-old, 6'6" Papa get out of Corvette-- some slow, deliberate movements, followed by a make-it or break-it heave. Finally, he told me he had been on the road for about 3 weeks and was planning to travel overland back to Lisbon in the next month.

By the time we found where the fence ended it was night. The sky was clear but no moon; I took my shoes off and started climbing the first dune barefoot. Barefoot worked well. The sand was cool and felt good on my feet. David wore some Wellington-style boots he had picked up in Mongolia. Then when he saw my success he decided to go barefoot as well. Problem was, taking off Wellies isn't easy, especially when you're on a dune and you're wearing a 60 pound pack. I had to help, a lot. And fearing something of his might fall off his pack and slide down the dune, I offered to carry the boots.

We climbed about 800 feet that night before finding a place to camp between two colliding dunes. The dry air made for wonderful star watching. The milky way was as bright as I have ever seen it.

I woke early to catch a sunrise that took forever to arrive. It was nice, but somewhat anticlimactic; nothing like watching the sun rise over the ocean.

We went back to sleep.

When the heat woke us, we ditched our packs on the backside of a dune, I covered-up the best I could with a combination of a long-sleeve dress shirt, and a makeshift Arab keffiyeh I fashioned from some bandannas I had, and we let out to hike to the top of the tallest dune in sight.

Whenever we reached the tallest dune in sight, a taller one appeared. Running low on water, I finally made David agree to where we were going. He was quite reckless in judging how far we could go on 8 oz. of water each. With 8 oz. left each, I agreed on a route that would put us about 45 minutes from our packs, where we had a water-filled melon awaiting us.

He ended up having more trouble than me.

It was about 3 p.m. now and the sand had heated with the days sun. I had put on sandals hours before but now even the minimal sand that slid onto my foot bed was too hot to bear. I tried high-stepping, shaking my feet in between strides. It didn't work.

We made it to our packs by 4 and got set to go down the dune. I had jokingly, suggested we slide down the dune on our sleeping pads but David really clung to this idea. I knew it wouldn't work, but David was convinced otherwise. I don't like to tell people they are wrong so I merely suggested it wouldn't.

4:00 PM,

"You think it will work?"

4:02 PM,

"I don't know, it's not that steep."

4:03 PM,

"Your pack weighs a lot."

Then I got more explicit.

4:03 PM

"It's not gonna work."

He tried anyways, shoving off with his pack in front of him between his legs, and from all of 10 feet below me, shamefully asked me to come down and help him get his pack on.

I chose to run down the dune, taking giant leaps, letting the sand slide and absorb the impact. It was like I was running on the moon.

Once down we made our way toward the lake from the backside-- the free side. Chinese tourists took photos as we walked into the oasis from seemingly nowhere. I like to imagine I looked like Bruce Willis in Armageddon, but after seeing photos of me in my homemade keffiyeh I don't think that's good comparison. And Aerosmith wasn't there.

Ripples in the sand. Late in the day.

Camel stalls on the way to the dunes, day 1.

Sunrise over the desert lake. This lake , which lies at the edge of these giant, moving dunes, has been documented for 2000 years. The dunes literally sit at the edge of town and it almost looks like a slow moving Tsunami. From the top, you can see long veins of sand encroaching on the artificial forest meant to keep the sand at bay.

David, early day 2.

I should have taken a movie of this. He made it to about the end of his shadow in this photo before giving up.
Another shot of the lake. You can toboggan down the dunes on the right. It sounded pretty lame but then I saw someone come down. Awesome! I swear this guy must have been going 30 mph when his sled drifted to the the right, hit a flag and launched him into cartwheels for 30 feet.

I had to get a photo of the ridiculous booties. These two ladies were happy to pose.

A video of me running down the mountain.

Tian Shi and Another Day in Urumqi

On advice from two travel books I took a day trip up to a hanging mountain lake at 6000 feet, about 40 miles outside Urumqi. The British-published Rough Guide even ventured to call this place "unspoilt"-- a word that I now know has different meanings on opposite sides of the Atlantic.

The morning started with me getting pissed that the 9 am bus hadn't left yet and it was now 9:30. At my pressing, the bus left, drove about 1/4 mile and parked again. We waited some more and then ventured to about 5 other places in town to look for potential riders. At this point, the Chinese tourists who also paid for the 9 am bus had picked up the complaining where I left off. They were more effective and, to my pleasure, let every new person boarding the bus know how they felt. We pulled out of town around 11:30.

The Chinese style of tourism does not appeal to me much, and I don't think it would appeal to most North Americans or Europeans. It is very packaged, or touristy. This is especially true for the natural sights-- they do better with the cultural sights.

While I thought I had just hired transportation to the lake, I actually paid for a tour, with the guide being more like a baby-sitter-- not providing any special insight but instead just making sure we were on schedule and ushering us to the next opportunity to spend money. We first went to a Kazakh restaurant at the unspoilt-lake, then to a fake temple overlooking the unspoilt lake, and then to one of three 40' tour boats that float you around the whole 1/2 mile length of the unspoilt lake. That's where I drew the line. I took off on my own and walked around the lake. I had brought camping gear but had already decided I wasn't sticking around.

The walk around the lake was better, but still nothing special to a guy who has spent a decent bit of time in the truly uspoilt lakes of the Rocky Mountains. The most interesting thing about the lake is that the local Kazakhs summer here. They live extremely traditionally: yurts, semi nomadic, raise sheep and goats. These days they do supplement their income with the occasional tourists-- either for a meal of a night in a yurt.

The most forced of smiles.

There were a few nice sights.

Some Kazakh yurts. They would all offer me food or shelter. I felt bad but turned them down.

Curly-Sue... might have been my dinner had I accepted the invitation from the Kazakhs

A Bad Day Continues

I caught the tour bus back at the end of the day to return to Urumuqi. Unsurprisingly, the tour bus dropped everyone off at a different location than we were picked up. I had no idea where I was. I started walking looking for a main street and stopped at a small Uyghr street stand for some Nang, the bread I like so much. There were a few chairs and after I paid and was saying goodbye in Uyghr I was asked to sit down for tea. I did-- rather eagerly-- and managed to understand they were asking which country I was from. That was the end of the conversation really, but one gentleman insisted I take some photos and I obliged, even handing him the camera to take a few photos of me eating the bread. I put my camera away and tried to continue the conversation, asking where they where from (basically pointing and naming a city). The one fella who took my photo said he was from Kashgar, the most remote of Chinese cities and a bastion for the separatist movement. [Seventeen Chinese police were killed in a bombing there a few weeks ago.] He said it in proud, arrogant way that made me suspicious; he had a strange look in his eye. He continued to stare at me and started making motions to me, mostly with his eyes, that I need to leave. I ignored it at first but as the subtle signals got more animated I decided to leave and I quickly gathered my things and left. As I was leaving he suggested with a hand motion that I cross the street via the tunnel beneath the road-- this is the only way to cross the street. I thought he was trying to tell me there was a hotel up there so I gave a thumbs up and headed for the tunnel, thinking that if I turned, avoiding the tunnel, he would come after me to tell me the hotel is not that way. As I was walking through the tunnel I catch him out of the corner of my eye and he is following me, I look at him and he motions me to continue, a few seconds later I feel something, look down and his hand is one the string to my camera which was hanging out of my pocket. I grabbed his wrist and he let go, motioning that there was something I should take a photo of. I knew it was complete BS, he was clearly trying to pickpocket me. He saw his opportunity when I put my camera away with the string hanging out. That is why he insisted I leave and go into the dark, crowded tunnel. I played along with his photo alibi until I had made some distance between us (note the aforementioned love of knives) before shooting him the asshole look.

It was a pretty upsetting experience for me. Maybe the whole invitation for tea was a come-on to see what I had that was valuable. I hope not. What bothers me most is that had he got my camera he probably would have proudly returned to the bread-stand and showed it off, with children there who would know exactly what happened.

Wow, that's a long pickpocket story.

Here's are some now tainted pictures from the event.

Trying to smile while jackass fumbles around with my camera.

Here is the owner and presumably his son, they seemed nice but I'm still suspicious.

The bread being baked. I don't understand how it sticks there, but it works and it tastes excellent.

Urumqi, Xinjian

After a pleasant 4 hour flight in which my cup of tea was refilled 4 times, I arrived in Urumqi, Xinjian, in the far west of China. The city has a bit of a San Francisco in 1849 feel. On the ride into town the streets were lined with shops selling today's equivalent to head-torches and pick axes-- new buckets for your backhoe, a new blade for your bulldozer, and lots of cable. There is a bit of a mineral boom out here and it attracting Chinese from the east.
After founding a place to stay, I dropped some bags and tool a trip around the city. The population here is largely Uyghur, the eastern-most of the Turkic people. Clearly, their ethnicity is closer to the -stans to the West than to the rest of China. As I was making my way around town, a young Uyghur saw that i was somewhat disoriented and stopped to help me out. He spoke excellent English and suggested I go to a bazaar on the other side of town- even hopped on a bus with me to take me other. He showed me around briefly and then we went our separate ways.

Wandering the back alleys of the bazaar, I found the people to be quite friendly once I picked up a few words in Uyghur. Everyone welcomed me to take a photo of their booth or shop-- something I am often hesitant to ask for fear of treating people like zoo animals.

Tomorrow I will heading up to a scenic lake in the mountains to do some camping with the local Kazakh population. Then I will return to catch a train to Dunhuang, Gansu. My visa only has 21 days left on it so I have to travel quickly.

This young fellow grabbed some of this excellent bread and posed for me (right after he washed his hands in warm water with soap).
A mosque on the left. The mural on the right depicts a traditional Uyghur music performace. My understanding is that the complete performance takes 24 hours.
Pomegranate Juice.
"how bazaar, how bazaar.... spread your love and fly"
Fedoras Fesale

My guide book warns of a a somewhat obsessive interest in knives.
The boy selling the butcher's knives insisted I take a shot of these domes.
I was skeptical of traditional Chinese medicine but this blows it out of the water. This dude was filling these viles with the liquid at the bottom of this tub which was filled with dead snakes, scorpions, an unidentifiable reptile, and some hooves of some sort. I will post a link to a close up so those who don't want to don't have to see it.
A shot of the city from a nearby hill.