Lijiang

Like spider webs on the skin that you can feel but can't see, I imagine this is how my reiterations will be of the events following Chengdu. It's been a long time since meandering along the stone paths of historic Lijiang, since the entrancing bus-ride to Dali, since the haze and confusion of Kunming. I'll do my best, but forgive me if the glitter doesn't reflect the illumination.

Traditional Chinese architecture, ethnic minorities selling scarves, necklaces, clothes, yak yogurt, combs, silver doodads, artwork, craftwork in booths lining worn stone pathways, soft light, cold mornings, spontaneous rains, and tourists--Lijiang is not a place that can be summed-up with ease. Within the "old city," one will find the aliens (Chinese and waiguoren alike.) Just beyond this, one stumbles upon the poverty, the agriculture, the animals, the markets, the China of which many of us had dreamed. We stayed in this city for the majority of our trip: about 3 days.

Here, I tasted baijiu for the first time. Baijiu, before being largely replaced by beer, was the staple and indigenous alcohol of the Middle Kingdom. It is described by the Chinese as "la," meaning "spicy," for its punch and aroma. Spicy, although a fantastic play on words, is not exactly how I would describe baijiu, as I feel its taste is more similar to petroleum than chili. It is the choice drink for inebriation as 4 kuai-(about $0.80-)worth will knock you on your ass for about a day and a half. I haven't yet brought myself to try baijiu with any seriousness, since then.
Here, I rented a bicycle and adventured with a very small group into agricultural villages nearby, ate small whole fish fried on a stick, pet beautiful small ponies being walked by some of China's most rare ethnicities.
Here, I wandered the streets aimlessly at all hours of day and night. There is no grid pattern for these roads, and the unique landmarks in the depths of the old-city are few and far between, with the redundant shop after shop after shop selling craft after craft after craft (all the same, but all hand-made by each owner).
Here, I listened to traditional Naxi music played by the last-living musicians (most in their 70s and 80s) whose fingers danced across erhu, zither, flute, bell, and drum as exquisitely as only my childish enthusiasm would have let them. I met the master of the orchestra, who had been imprisoned for over 30-years as a result of the Hundred Flowers Campaign.
Here, I remembered my studies; I lived within history.

I definitely recommend you try the yak yogurt. Avoid the small round pastry-looking breads with sesame seeds on top--they are composed entirely of dry. Get out of old city--the real world is outside the tourist trap. Get lost. Don't be afraid to fall into mystery.

“Like all great travellers, I have seen more than I remember, and remember more than I have seen.”
--Benjamin Disraeli

Bittersweet farewell, as we all crowded onto a bus for a long, long drive to Dali.