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.

Taxi to another planet

I spent my last days in Lebanon enjoying life in Roumieh, talking and eating with family and hanging out a bit with some of the local couchsurfers. My birthday was on the 8th, and there was a bit of confusion around the whole thing, but it ended up being a couple great days of celebrating. Originally, I thought that we might do a dinner at Jean's place, but I later found out that Jean didn't know it was my birthday and was having poker night at his place. The girls all knew about my birthday and wanted to take me down to Beirut for Chinese food, but I had already invited a few Couchsurfers up to Roumieh, so I aked if they would join us at Jeddo Mike's restaurant. Unfortunately, a friend of the family had passed away a couple days earlier, and no one wanted to be seen at a restaurant in the village on the day of the funeral. When all was said and done, four couchsurfers came to join me for dinner, and we had a nice quiet evening.

Thursday night, I went down to Chopstix for Chinese with the girls. The restaurant had relocated and was very nice, and I enjoyed the food, but Mounira wasn't so easily pleased. I agree that the restaurant was a little chilly when we came in, but Mounira insisted that it was colder than her refridgerator inside, and that she was going to need Panadol all night long. She also didn't like the food, but that's no surprise. The last time I went to Chopstix with her, she said she hated Chinese food, Lebanese food was the best and she was never going back to that restaurant again. The story goes much the same way this time around. She said, "In 10 years, when Chris is 50, maybe I will come back." I don't know when she decided I was 40, but we had a good laugh and made bets on how many days Mounira would be saying the same things about the restaurant.

On Friday, I stayed in Roumieh all day, and then I went down to say hi to Raymond, Rita and whoever else might be around before heading to Beirut for the evening. The couchsurfers had arranged an evening out in Ashrafieh for my last day in Lebanon, and we had a great time. Several of the Lebanese CSers showed up, along with a girl from Italy, her boyfriend from Denmark and about 4 or 5 Germans. I decided that the Charlotte CS group needs to up their productivity when the Lebanese started posting for their next events while still sipping beers at the current event. It was a fantastic evening, and Mazen gave me a ride home and offered a lullaby for the price of a taxi - I forgot to pay him, so no song for me.

Louis joined Jean, the girls and me for lunch on Saturday, and then we waited along with some more cousins for my taxi to Damascus to show up. A round of goodbyes, and I was off with my driver Emile to Syria. I helped Emile with directions to the top of the mountain, and then he took over saying he knew a faster way to the border. Emile didn't speak any English, but we managed just fine in Arabic. There was a wedding in Fallugha that afternoon, and it took us a while to get through the traffic, but eventually we made it down to the valley, past Aanjar and to the border. On our way down the curvy mountain roads, however, Emile already had me filling out my exit card for Lebanon and entry card for Syria, which is probably the closest I have ever come to getting car sick. I managed though.

Crossing land borders in the Middle East is very different from what I am used to in Europe. There was a lot of traffic at the border, so Emile told me to jump out and go inside to have my passport stamped. Apparently, I'm not quite Lebanese enough to know how to get my passport to the front of the foreigners line at the border, so when he found a parking space, Emile ran in and pushed me forward until my passport was stamped. Back in the car, we had our IDs checked one last time before we officially left Lebanese territory.

In the past, I've always left Lebanon by plane, and I missed my opportunity at the airport to sit in the Cedar Lounge and reminisce about my time in the country of my ancestors. I still feel a special connection with Lebanon, and it was just as emotional leaving by the road over the anti-Lebanon mountain range as it is flying over the lights of Beirut in the early morning. The longest border crossing I have ever seen by far, they give you a good 2-3 miles to reconsider before officially entering Syria. I kept looking around, and Emile told me, "No more Lebanon," and I told him simply that I love Lebanon.

Just in case you were wondering, there is, in fact, a Dunkin Donuts between Lebanon and Syria, and they must do a decent business because every taxi that crosses the border stops there to shop at the adjacent duty free store. When Emile asked me if I wanted to stop at the Duty Free store, I said no, but he stopped anyway and left me in the car. He came back with multiple bags full of cigarettes and a smile.

Up the road at the Syrian border office, I went inside to wait in another ridiculously long and unorganized line. This time though, my Lebanese heritage stepped forward, and I squeezed past all the Kuwaitis that kept jumping pointlessly from line to line, and I forced myself up to the window where held my passport firmly in place on the counter until the border officer finished with the six other passports that had already been shoved in his face. The Syrian entry card is the length of a short story, and I had filled it out in detail. Rather than read this obnoxious piece of bureaucracy, the border guard asked me every question on the card again, double checked my Syrian visa and then sent me on my way. Emile was relieved that I had a visa because he said recently the Syrians have been holding Americans trying to get a visa at the border for 6 or more hours, and then you still only have a chance of getting through.

Across the border, Syrian flags fluttered wildly in the fresh breeze from the mountains of Lebanon. The angular faces of Assad, senior and junior, stared into the distance frequently from billboards and signposts. It was immediately obvious that the roads in Syria were better than in Lebanon, but I guess that's the benefit of not having to endure 30 years of war. I pulled up to the Four Seasons in Damascus and was almost pathetically excited. Life in the village is fantastic, but it's no Four Seasons. Emile overcharged me for the taxi ride by $40, but I pointed out the discrepancy to him, he said I was wrong, and I dropped the issue. He was a very nice guy, so I just wrote off the extra charge as three hours of conversational Arabic lessons.

Somali Driver's Ed

I haven't even left Charlotte yet, but things are already off to quite a start. I finished packing around 2PM, and my cab came to pick me up at 3PM. The driver seemed innocent enough when we set off, but it turns out he may have been a little too innocent.

The ride to the airport took twice as long as it should have, and I was having considerable difficulty determining which route he was trying to take to get there. He passed my usual route down West Blvd and headed down Tryon instead. I thought he was going to take I-277 to Wilkinson Blvd, but he passed that as well. Turned out he just wanted to drive around uptown looking for a sign for the airport - I opted to give him directions instead. Even with my directions, however, the language barrier cost us a few extra miles due to missed turns. While I was trying to direct him, he opted to make a few phone calls instead, chatting away in Somali. I figured the language was either Amharic or Somali, so I took a guess based on facial features and asked if he was from Somalia. He became very excited and started to share his life story.

Amidst the explanations of how he left Somalia because of all the unrest, moved to Saudi Arabia for 5 months, spent 3 months trying to get into a university in Italy and then finally fulfilled his dream of moving to America, he also added that he has only been driving for 2 months. "You've only been a taxi driver for 2 months?" I asked.

"No, got my driver's license 2 months ago, been driving taxi for one week. Soon I will learn my way to the airport with help from people like you."

We were pulling onto the entrance road to the airport as he was wrapping up that last sentence. That's when he tried to merge directly into an oncoming red toyota. There was some swerving, honking and a quiet "sorry," but we survived without impact.

The airport was packed, and traffic was at a stand-still, but I opted to get out and walk to the Lufthansa counter rather than sit in the taxi any longer and risk death so early in my trip. Once inside, the staff at Lufthansa took care of me as usual, and I made it through security quickly, despite the long line. I'll be boarding my flight to Munich in the next 20 minutes, and I'm looking forward to a long pleasant flight and a day of relaxation in Munich before things really get started.