January 30th: Emeishan and the neverending stairs
[ posted by mcdeviltoast ]
Day 136
We woke, took a pricey cab to the base of Mt. Emei (the meter tripled the last few kilometers). After surveying the map, seeing the peak was a 52 kilometer hike, we abandoned notions of seeing the top. The last and only bus to the peak had already gone up, and had we caught it, our view would likely have been of grey mist and fog (no sour grapes, just an accurate prediction).
We ate lunch in a hotel lobby and had an awful chicken dish that the lady recommended. (Lesson learned: Never take recommendations.) The chicken was mostly bone, the sauce had no flavor and little spongy cubes of god-knows-what were littered throughout. The spicy chicken with szecuan pickle was good, though.
Mike and I bought the hundred kuai ticket with our pixelated photo printed on it to prevent ticket bootlegging, then hiked up as far as time would allow. Most of the hike was stairs, endlessly winding, impossible to see the end from the bottom of the series. The path was lined with gorgeous pine glades towering bamboo stalks, trickling streams and occasional mysterious views of the mountain gauzed over with gossamer mist.
We were continually pursued for a time by somenoisy old Chinese people. We were annoyed at their tranquility-shattering chatter (this guy had something to say about everything under the sun) but simultaneously amazed at their age that they had the lung power to ascend such altitudes and maintain the onslaught of anecdotal noise. A few temples, a few vistas, and we finally turned 'round lest we get stuck on the mountain deprived of daylight. The temples were lovely, brilliantly colorful, peaceful, save for a guy operating a table saw. Mt. Emei is just too massive to see in one day, but we saw asmuch as two fit pedestrians could. The tourist trap tone initially set by the tickets and gift shops could not poison Emei's overall majesty.
We hopped a bus back to Leshan and had a post-hike meal at the eatery adjacent to the bus station. The owner/chef loaded us up with noodles, peanuts, a spicy chicken dish, some beers, then overcharged us. Everyone's a grifter.It's getting to the point where I have to constantly second guess niceness, and I don't want to.
Once back at the hotel we relaxed for a bit, then went for a walk around town. Night had fallen and the holiday crowds had descended. It appears we were ending our vacation at just the right time. At a bakery, we got two little chocolate cake wads that although the size of a rubber high-bounce ball, weighed about two pounds: the Lambas bread of the bakery world. Dense, heavy moist business, that.
We inadvertently attracted a tagalong Chinese teenager named Walter. He wanted to practice English. Mike went back to the hotel and I had Walter take me to an internet cafe, in hopes I could ditch him. I finished checking email and he was right there. He followed me to the hotel and I asked him questions about school and Mao.
"Mao is a great man."
"Why is Mao a great man?"
"Mao is a good man. He is very important, and great writer. He..."
"Here's my hotel. Goodbye."
"Ok. Bye bye."
Mike and I had some beers and he was asleep fast. I, frustratingly awake, went to say goodbye to the inhouse ladies but they were all "working." Mamasan and a security guard were sitting around the heater and I sat with them for a couple minutes to be polite. Mike's girl came in, sat down, inquired if I wanted massage. I declined, said I was merely there to say goodbye. She asked if I wanted to get noodles. I nodded. Why not, how often will I be in Sichuan province after all? She got her coat on, asked something else, probably about sex because she grabbed my package. I stepped back, fired off a barrage of "no's." Just noodles, and not mine.
We went around the corner, had some beef broth noodles, not as good as the ones in Chengdu, but tasty. I said good night to her and she whined something about 20 kuai, slapped the top of her moped. Maybe she needed petrol. I shook my head and forked it over, glad I could do my platonic part to keep her fed. Aaron:the anti-john.
Slept at last.
We woke, took a pricey cab to the base of Mt. Emei (the meter tripled the last few kilometers). After surveying the map, seeing the peak was a 52 kilometer hike, we abandoned notions of seeing the top. The last and only bus to the peak had already gone up, and had we caught it, our view would likely have been of grey mist and fog (no sour grapes, just an accurate prediction).
We ate lunch in a hotel lobby and had an awful chicken dish that the lady recommended. (Lesson learned: Never take recommendations.) The chicken was mostly bone, the sauce had no flavor and little spongy cubes of god-knows-what were littered throughout. The spicy chicken with szecuan pickle was good, though.
Mike and I bought the hundred kuai ticket with our pixelated photo printed on it to prevent ticket bootlegging, then hiked up as far as time would allow. Most of the hike was stairs, endlessly winding, impossible to see the end from the bottom of the series. The path was lined with gorgeous pine glades towering bamboo stalks, trickling streams and occasional mysterious views of the mountain gauzed over with gossamer mist.
We were continually pursued for a time by somenoisy old Chinese people. We were annoyed at their tranquility-shattering chatter (this guy had something to say about everything under the sun) but simultaneously amazed at their age that they had the lung power to ascend such altitudes and maintain the onslaught of anecdotal noise. A few temples, a few vistas, and we finally turned 'round lest we get stuck on the mountain deprived of daylight. The temples were lovely, brilliantly colorful, peaceful, save for a guy operating a table saw. Mt. Emei is just too massive to see in one day, but we saw asmuch as two fit pedestrians could. The tourist trap tone initially set by the tickets and gift shops could not poison Emei's overall majesty.
We hopped a bus back to Leshan and had a post-hike meal at the eatery adjacent to the bus station. The owner/chef loaded us up with noodles, peanuts, a spicy chicken dish, some beers, then overcharged us. Everyone's a grifter.It's getting to the point where I have to constantly second guess niceness, and I don't want to.
Once back at the hotel we relaxed for a bit, then went for a walk around town. Night had fallen and the holiday crowds had descended. It appears we were ending our vacation at just the right time. At a bakery, we got two little chocolate cake wads that although the size of a rubber high-bounce ball, weighed about two pounds: the Lambas bread of the bakery world. Dense, heavy moist business, that.
We inadvertently attracted a tagalong Chinese teenager named Walter. He wanted to practice English. Mike went back to the hotel and I had Walter take me to an internet cafe, in hopes I could ditch him. I finished checking email and he was right there. He followed me to the hotel and I asked him questions about school and Mao.
"Mao is a great man."
"Why is Mao a great man?"
"Mao is a good man. He is very important, and great writer. He..."
"Here's my hotel. Goodbye."
"Ok. Bye bye."
Mike and I had some beers and he was asleep fast. I, frustratingly awake, went to say goodbye to the inhouse ladies but they were all "working." Mamasan and a security guard were sitting around the heater and I sat with them for a couple minutes to be polite. Mike's girl came in, sat down, inquired if I wanted massage. I declined, said I was merely there to say goodbye. She asked if I wanted to get noodles. I nodded. Why not, how often will I be in Sichuan province after all? She got her coat on, asked something else, probably about sex because she grabbed my package. I stepped back, fired off a barrage of "no's." Just noodles, and not mine.
We went around the corner, had some beef broth noodles, not as good as the ones in Chengdu, but tasty. I said good night to her and she whined something about 20 kuai, slapped the top of her moped. Maybe she needed petrol. I shook my head and forked it over, glad I could do my platonic part to keep her fed. Aaron:the anti-john.
Slept at last.
---
[ posted by mcdeviltoast @ 1/30/2005 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!