I might like you better, if...

Old Lijiang

Naked fire, eh...

Maybe this has something to do with the naked fires

Uhhh???

Yes, miss, I did just take your picture

I may have walked a little too quickly from the plane towards passport control in Chengdu, but I was trying to keep up with a particularly long-legged American in front of me that was setting the pace. I worked myself into a very slight sweat in the warm humid airport. The quarantine officer took my H1N1 declaration, gave it a once over and then sent me on my way. As I walked through the gate towards passport control, though, an alarm went off because my temperature was too high. An officer jumped towards me, grabbed my arm and said, “We must take your temperature again.”

Before landing, they had played an informational video on the plane about customs and quarantine procedures in China and the new protocol for the prevention of the spread of Swine flu (H1N1). The video started with a shimmering red and gold image of the Chinese state emblem and pomp music like that of an old news reel - both suitable for a communist propaganda film. The film was in Chinese with English subtitles, but they had neglected to consider the readability of the subtitles against different backgrounds, so the white text was projected onto a white background during most of the film, so I only caught a few key words. My favorite part of the film was watching the cartoon depictions of different flu symptoms. Nothing like a runny nosed cartoon character to get you excited about visiting a new country. I guess I had been properly warned about the strict health precautions being taken at the entry points to China.

I followed the officer behind a curtain in the quarantine area, where I was handed a face mask and asked to sit down. A doctor gave me a thermometer and asked me to place it under my arm. He then proceeded to review my declaration and repeat most of the questions verbally. “Have you had trouble breathing, runny nose, congestion, fever or other symptoms recently? What cities and countries have you been to in the last 7 days? Where are you staying in China? What is your mobile phone number? What is the phone number of someone else that knows your travel itinerary?” The questions went on and on. The doctor took back the thermometer, recorded the temperature and asked me to wait because another doctor was going to check my throat. I guess it’s a good thing I had an over 5 hour layover before my flight to Lijiang. In the end, they had collected too many passengers of questionable health to make me wait any longer for the check-up. “Your temperature is normal, so we will let you go now, but please contact the authorities immediately if you develop any symptoms.”

Passport control and customs were a breeze after worrying that I might get stuck in some medical quarantine area for god knows how long. I found my way to the China Airlines check-in counter, but they wouldn’t check me in for my Lijiang flight because it was still too early. I pleaded with them to just check my bags and then I could wander the airport hands free until it was time to collect my boarding pass. The agent agreed, took my bags and printed out my boarding pass, which she then set aside and said I could collect in 4 hours. Luckily, the Chengdu airport has a surplus of tea houses with internet access, so I settled down in front of a terminal with a glass of jasmine tea. It didn’t take me long to realize that the health inspections weren’t the only sign I was in China. Youtube, twitter, facebook and my own blog were, among many other sites, inaccessible from within the PRC. It took me a while to figure out what I could do after I checked my email, but I ended up checking the news and browsing the couch surfing site.

Eventually, I was granted my boarding pass and went on to my connecting flight. On board, a young, short Chinese woman was sitting next to me. After she had already fastened her seatbelt and settled into her seat, she decided she needed her reading light on but couldn’t reach it. I figured out what was going on, and I turned on her light for her before she had to move all of her stuff and get out of the seat. She said thank you, one phrase I could understand, and then proceeded to ask me something in Chinese. I told her that I don’t speak Chinese, but that didn’t slow her down one bit. She gave a look of disappointed understanding and then continued conversing with me in one of the few languages in the world that I have absolute zero comprehension of. Eventually, she smiled and went back to reading her book. I then switched my focus to the news being shown on the overhead screens. Once again, it was a poorly subtitled Chinese broadcast, but one story really caught my attention.

“This year’s butter cow and butter calf at the Ohio state fair will be accompanied by an equally buttery farmer and his wife.” No need to worry about what they think about Americans on this side of the world - they know we have excellent butter sculptures in Ohio.

After having collected my baggage in Lijiang, still laughing about the buttery farmer, I stepped outside to find a taxi. I was directed to the next taxi in line, which was being watched over by its rather surly female driver. She was probably only in her late 30s or early 40s, but she looked like she was almost 60. I told her the name of my hotel, and she said 100. I didn’t catch what she was saying the first time around, but once repeated, I realized what she was saying. I figured her asking for 100 yuan for the ride to the hotel was a signal to start bargaining, but since I had reached the limit of her English, we weren’t getting very far. One of the airport staff saw me struggling, came over and said, “meter?” Yes! Meter! That’s all I want is for her to use a meter. The ride into town was silent, and I feared for my life every time Little Miss Giggles overtook another vehicle on a blind curve in the dark. Once in town, Giggles decided she had had enough of the silence and turned on some music. The last thing I expected was for the CD to start playing a techno beat, but I was pushed over the edge when the lyrics came on. “I might like you better, if we slept together.” It was impossible to contain myself any longer, and I started laughing out loud. The driver just looked at me like I was crazy.

Waking up the next morning to a gray, rainy sky in Lijiang, I felt tired and a bit short of breath. Crap, was I indeed coming down with a case of H1N1? Had they inadvertently exposed me to the virus while I sat waiting in the quarantine area at the airport? I didn’t have any other symptoms, so I sat back and tried to think what could be the problem. Suddenly it occurred to me that I wasn’t too far from Tibet. What’s the elevation in Lijiang? I got on the computer to google the information, and sure enough, Lijiang sits at an altitude of about 2400 meters (almost 8,000 feet), more than high enough for some minor altitude sickness. Symptoms of altitude sickness include fatigue, shortness of breath and dehydration among others. Coming from an elevation near sea level, it is no surprise that I was having difficulty acclimating to the new altitude. To adjust to long-term stays at altitudes above 5,000 feet can take as long as 30 days. Yay! I’m not dying, I’m just oxygen deprived! The internet recommended lots of rest, avoid physical exertion, drink lots of water and ask for some oxygen for severe cases. Feeling more comfortable having self-diagnosed my condition, I opted not to be the American dork asking the hotel for oxygen, but I did follow the rest of the advice.

I spent some time wandering around the old town of Lijiang, which is picture perfect. The streams and canals around the city were crossed by numerous stone and wooden bridges. The old architecture of the Naxi homeland was a taste of “true” China, albeit in an almost Epcot fashion with everything so well-renovated and full or tourists. I lost my way down the narrow stone alleys of the town, which was the perfect way to explore. At one of the squares, a group of elderly women were performing traditional Naxi dances. It seemed as though the lead woman knew what she was doing, while the rest just kept looking around at each other for clues. There were a number of pauses and missteps, but it added to the charm factor of the whole thing. Walking away from the dancers, I heard the jingling of bells and the shouts of horsemen. I turned to see two traditionally dressed men riding horses rapidly down the road. I grabbed my camera to take the picture, and they turned and rode directly towards me. I was in definite danger of being trampled by two small horses ridden by two small men, but in the end, I passed right between the two… just barely.


The shopping was tempting, but I couldn’t cope with the trouble of transporting some of the beautiful ceramics, and I just couldn’t quite justify purchasing one of the large traditional fox skin hats, though I’m still a little disappointed about that one. The smell of dried yak meat wafts down every street and alleyway of Lijiang, and once I saw where the smell was coming from, I figured out what I had just had for breakfast. I had picked up a sushi roll from the buffet with some mysterious brown shreds inside. It didn’t taste like any fish I had tasted before, but I couldn’t quite place what it did taste like. The smell of the yak meat was a perfect match to the flavor still lingering in the back of my mouth. Yak sushi, breakfast of champions.

I’ve enjoyed my limited time in Lijiang, although I keep peering towards the mountains in hopes of catching a glimpse of Jade Dragon Snow Mountain, but the clouds this time of year seem to just sit permanently on the peak. The first day, I wasn’t even convinced the mountain existed the clouds were so thick. Over the course of time, I have seen the base of the mountain and some of the lower peaks surrounding it, but the clouds refuse to give up their resting place, and I’ll be leaving without having seen the main peak. Such is life.

Damascene Style

My flight was scheduled to depart Amman at 17:00, and at 16:00 we still weren’t quite at the airport. What was I going to do if I didn’t make the flight? It was the last flight of the day to Aqaba, and another 4 to 5 hours in the car after the already over 3 hour drive from Damascus did not sound exciting. Sitting in the back seat twiddling my thumbs and thinking about the tight schedule, Jordan was passing by my eyes. The occasional gust of wind brought clouds of sand around the car.

Damascus was nicer than I had expected, but I still have mixed feelings about Syria. With only one full day to explore the city, I decided it best to hire a guide to ensure I see all the important sites. It didn’t take me long to regret that decision. I was in the middle of the capital city of a Middle Eastern dictatorship that thrives on propaganda. In many ways, Assad’s tight control of Syria has saved it from the problems Lebanon has faced over the years. The roads are well kept, the city is pretty clean by Middle Eastern standards, large spotless government buildings stand proudly throughout the city, there is little crime, Muslims and Christians live side by side in peace, and political unrest is unheard of. Images of Hafez and Bachar al Assad are everywhere in the country, and I half expected one of them to appear on my computer screen shaking their finger at me when I tried to access facebook and couchsurfing, both websites which are blocked from Syrian internet service providers.

My guide was more like the assistant minister of propaganda than a well-versed tour guide. I was disappointed with his ill-informed history and his obvious over-Damacusization of everything he could think of, and even found his commentary in general very boring. He seemed thwarted when I shot down his statement that September 11th was completely staged with an eyewitness account. He had insisted that to this day, they had never found any evidence that a plane had hit the Pentagon. My nearly 6 hour tour of Beirut had seemed long, but it was enjoyable and informative. The 7 hour tour of Damascus was never-ending and tedious, and I was visibly annoyed with the guide by the time we made it back to the hotel. That said, I did like some of what I saw in Damascus, and the Ommayad mosque in particular was beautiful. I only wish I had chosen to explore the city on my own.

Damascus reminds me of a Middle Eastern Seoul - a metropolitan city surrounded by mountains. In this case, the city is believed by many to be the location of the Garden of Eden, and the surrounding hills are home to the first evil, the story of Cain and Abel. The city has an almost mystical atmosphere to it, particularly in the old town. So many stories by so many people have been told in and about this city; Adam and Eve, Cain and Abel, St. Paul, the Prophet Mohammed, and many others. Layer upon layer of history hides in the most unlikely of places. At one point, we went into a pedestrian tunnel full of low-priced clothing shops, much like the metro stations of many European cities - Budapest comes to mind. Daddy Yankee was playing on the stereo while young misled Syrian men stood in their slim-cut button down shirts with their hairy chests bulging from the mostly open buttons. Apparently, while women are encouraged to cover up (to a much more moderate degree than many Muslim countries), men use their chests like peacock feathers to attract the shy members of the opposite sex. We were there to see one of the few exposed portions of the old Roman wall surrounding the city because where else would it be hiding?

This morning, I had breakfast at the hotel and then waited for a driver to pick me up for the drive to the Amman airport. Leaving Damascus, the rest of Syria appeared much more like I had expected. Like the Bekaa valley in Lebanon, the area between Damascus and the Jordanian border is dry and dusty, yet fertile. One thing that stuck out to me was that while the Syrian soldiers spray painted every available surface in Lebanon with pro-Syrian slogans, there is not a spot of graffiti anywhere in Syria. The border between Syria and Jordan was much less busy and much easier to pass through than the Lebanese-Syrian border. Even still, it was definitely another example of a complicated and confusing Middle Eastern land border.

Once inside Jordan, I can’t explain how, but the entire atmosphere changed. Even visually, the fertile plains of Syria gave way to sandy desert hills. Lebanon is definitely the most beautiful country in the region from what I have seen so far, but I every place has its own charms. I did manage to check in and board my flight to Aqaba, and now I am at a brand new hotel on the Red Sea. The Kempinski hasn’t even had its grand opening yet, but I’m here enjoying the view of the white sand beach from my balcony, and I look forward to enjoying some sun and swimming tomorrow.