January 19th: Huangguoshu National Park
[ posted by mcdeviltoast ]
Day 125
I woke, felt the cold on my face, returned to the safety of covers, repeatedly until the swelling of my bladder became too intense. I peed, brushed teeth, had some coffee, had a ghetto shower (rubbed my necessary bits with an Old Spice handi-wipe) took a look at Guiyang in the light. It's a coal-mining 'burg and had all the charm and weather of Detroit. Lonely Planet wrote that it's known countrywide for its thieves and pickpockets, so after a breakfast of spicy noodles we hopped a bus to Huangguoshu National Park, the section with the famous Hunagguoshu waterfall.
The bus ride was fun. i wrote to catch up and was seated next to an old man. I wanted to adopt him as a surrogate grandfather. So happy and cute and toothless, with chemist glasses and big Russian fur hat. He nodded and thumbsed-up everything.
We traded buses and went deeper into the vast countryside. beyond the bus, looming mountains in the mist, so unlike American mountains, such character and individual shape, impossibly vertical shapes straight from a Roger Dean painting, sentry-like boulders towering into the heavens. The land on the way alternated from terraced cropland to gutted coal wasteland to unpaved red-dirt Afghanistan terrain.
We at last arrived in Huangguoshu, a tad touched by the corrupted fingers of tourism. A bricked plaza was flanked by a gigantic television set showing footage of the waterfall in brightest summer, which seemed to mock, considering the overcast misty wintertime. The Chinese narration was at a deafening volume and it inspired us to seek lodging solace immediately. After checking into our three bed accomodations (which had the windows open to dry the floors from the Chinese compulsion to mop every surface 38 times a day) we set out to explore. It was decided we didn't have enough daylight to do the waterfall and accompanying attractions, and we arranged with a chap for the following day who said he could get us into the park at a secret entrance and it would cost us 20 kuai instead of 70.
A road alongside the entrance wound down and around into a valley, and we followed it until discovering a minority village (Huashushou) a stone-shingled settlement, nestled at the ridge of a vast series of terraces. The scale was too much to take in. The terraces were fed by a stone aqueduct and several rocky sluices.the grey mist, trailing a wraithlike veil over the mountains contrasted well with the lush green of the crops, mostly cabbages and banana trees. It was like stepping into a National Geographic page or coffee advert.
We hiked through the minature village, still under construction and rapidly conforming to touristy plasticity. The medieval through-ways, arched walkways and twixt-building haunts had sprouted identical kiosks full of chintz and pabble, tumors in an otherwise enjoyable area. A massive banyan tree draped in ceremonial flags was the village's linchpin, a 500 year old marker of untouched China. Down a series of stone steps, we burrowed into the lap of the valley, trekked over sandstone dappled with rain-induced potholes, intercut with creek and natural swimming lagoons, to a thin diagonal waterfall, then back up before our dusklight extinguished. I marveled how we still had daylight at all since it was 6:30, when Heather reminded me we indeed traveled a couple time zones west on that 32 hour train ride.
At the top of the valley, we had a light meal and some beer, talked about relationships, sex, hometowns, etc. Mike had lost his gloves somewhere on our hike. We ascended the winding road with dark skies above, the distance lit bu the stadium lights of the brick plaza and repulsively huge TV. Having metabolized our snack on the walk up, we stopped in a nearby tent for potatoes, beef and other vegetables, stir-fried first, then poured into a wide pan on the table, heated over a glowing round disk of charcoal. Delicious.
We retired for the evening and I slept well, because of an incident before dinner: I had been standing on my bed and decided to do a "trsut fall" or "Nestea plunge" backwards. I did and Ker-ack! Oops. I felt under the box springs and found I had broken one of the crossbeams. Actually, it made the bed more comfortable. Happy accidents.
I woke, felt the cold on my face, returned to the safety of covers, repeatedly until the swelling of my bladder became too intense. I peed, brushed teeth, had some coffee, had a ghetto shower (rubbed my necessary bits with an Old Spice handi-wipe) took a look at Guiyang in the light. It's a coal-mining 'burg and had all the charm and weather of Detroit. Lonely Planet wrote that it's known countrywide for its thieves and pickpockets, so after a breakfast of spicy noodles we hopped a bus to Huangguoshu National Park, the section with the famous Hunagguoshu waterfall.
The bus ride was fun. i wrote to catch up and was seated next to an old man. I wanted to adopt him as a surrogate grandfather. So happy and cute and toothless, with chemist glasses and big Russian fur hat. He nodded and thumbsed-up everything.
We traded buses and went deeper into the vast countryside. beyond the bus, looming mountains in the mist, so unlike American mountains, such character and individual shape, impossibly vertical shapes straight from a Roger Dean painting, sentry-like boulders towering into the heavens. The land on the way alternated from terraced cropland to gutted coal wasteland to unpaved red-dirt Afghanistan terrain.
We at last arrived in Huangguoshu, a tad touched by the corrupted fingers of tourism. A bricked plaza was flanked by a gigantic television set showing footage of the waterfall in brightest summer, which seemed to mock, considering the overcast misty wintertime. The Chinese narration was at a deafening volume and it inspired us to seek lodging solace immediately. After checking into our three bed accomodations (which had the windows open to dry the floors from the Chinese compulsion to mop every surface 38 times a day) we set out to explore. It was decided we didn't have enough daylight to do the waterfall and accompanying attractions, and we arranged with a chap for the following day who said he could get us into the park at a secret entrance and it would cost us 20 kuai instead of 70.
A road alongside the entrance wound down and around into a valley, and we followed it until discovering a minority village (Huashushou) a stone-shingled settlement, nestled at the ridge of a vast series of terraces. The scale was too much to take in. The terraces were fed by a stone aqueduct and several rocky sluices.the grey mist, trailing a wraithlike veil over the mountains contrasted well with the lush green of the crops, mostly cabbages and banana trees. It was like stepping into a National Geographic page or coffee advert.
We hiked through the minature village, still under construction and rapidly conforming to touristy plasticity. The medieval through-ways, arched walkways and twixt-building haunts had sprouted identical kiosks full of chintz and pabble, tumors in an otherwise enjoyable area. A massive banyan tree draped in ceremonial flags was the village's linchpin, a 500 year old marker of untouched China. Down a series of stone steps, we burrowed into the lap of the valley, trekked over sandstone dappled with rain-induced potholes, intercut with creek and natural swimming lagoons, to a thin diagonal waterfall, then back up before our dusklight extinguished. I marveled how we still had daylight at all since it was 6:30, when Heather reminded me we indeed traveled a couple time zones west on that 32 hour train ride.
At the top of the valley, we had a light meal and some beer, talked about relationships, sex, hometowns, etc. Mike had lost his gloves somewhere on our hike. We ascended the winding road with dark skies above, the distance lit bu the stadium lights of the brick plaza and repulsively huge TV. Having metabolized our snack on the walk up, we stopped in a nearby tent for potatoes, beef and other vegetables, stir-fried first, then poured into a wide pan on the table, heated over a glowing round disk of charcoal. Delicious.
We retired for the evening and I slept well, because of an incident before dinner: I had been standing on my bed and decided to do a "trsut fall" or "Nestea plunge" backwards. I did and Ker-ack! Oops. I felt under the box springs and found I had broken one of the crossbeams. Actually, it made the bed more comfortable. Happy accidents.
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[ posted by mcdeviltoast @ 1/19/2005 04:20:00 AM ]
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The dumbtronica act Montana & McDeviltoast, along with their friends, keep each other updated on their activities. Much fun having by all, and Pockys fear for their lives!