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Published: October 19th 2009
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Any man named David is lucky and is generally a premium person. The David who killed Goliath, The Naked David in Florence (it’s easy to get girls when you have the best body ever), my two wonderful friends, one from America and one from Scotland and now I can add David, the Australian who owns the best hostel in the world. Alex mentioned that Hugo and I needed to stay at the Jade Emu hostel as it was acquiring some 95%!a(MISSING)pproval ratings; we needed to check this out. Having arrived at the location, I marveled at the courtyard. A homely square with exquisite an pool table, full proxy across the wireless allowing such marvel sights as facebook and youtube to be reached and not only toilet paper in the bathrooms, but soap…oh the glory of life. I have become a simple man, it does not take a lot to please me. So what was intending to be a 2 day stay in the relaxing town of Dali turned into five days of bike riding, cooking and hotpot eating. Luckily, Jakub, my Czech friend was a few days behind me and coming to Dali so it gave me good reason to
stick around after Hugo wandered to Vietnam and Alex took on the challenges of Washington DC. Good friends are made easily in China, all it takes is a UNESCO protected city, a few beers and bicycles and a gorge.
Dali marvels as a location within the heavens. Wandering around the streets gives a constant 360 degree view of mountains encompassing the valley while moving East brings you to ricefields and the surrounding Erhai Lake. Taking the gear equipped mountain bikes out on the second day, we headed toward the lake passing through laborers working the fields. It was the first chance I had got to experience a rice harvest. Wading through the rice paddies, workers cut down the stems by sickle, tied, dried and beat the rice out of the stems. The physical effort never quite dawned on me coming from a country used to John Deere harvesters. Aren’t rice-paddies exactly what you think of when you imagine ‘the Orient’…yes, but maybe not in 2009. As in many situations in China, I was wrong again.
The story of Dali, or to be more precise,
our story from Dali comes courtesy of not one, not two but three Chinese
East Gate Tower
Taken during one of my midnight walks families. Having biked for a better half of the day and experienced my newly found skills to spear miniature crabs onto a stick and fry them on a barbeque, the third village we passed by had lots of commotion, just our type of place. We rounded a corner to be met with a gaggle of people numbering all ages preparing food, playing cards and musical instruments and obviously talking loudly - as all Chinese tend to do. Tables were strewn through the street so we pulled over and took a seat at our new found restaurant. Faces stared, communication was attempted and we soon attracted a group of 20 providing dishes of food and drink to our table as soon as we could sit down. No menu was given. Perfect, a set menu, no need to even play the pointing game.
“Drink?”
commented our hearty host holding a metal kettle in his right hand. We agreed and a clear substance filled our glasses. Gan Bei! A strong, yet tasty liquid warmed the throat. Homemade Bijou(rice wine), should have expected it from the somewhat slanted look on our host’s face. One glass down and seconds were filled instantly.
“He will keep offering you more as you are welcome here.”
Arie, our Chinese savior happened to be walking by and stopped to assist the new attraction of the village…us. We sat and feasted while women cut of chicken, men cut up pork, stew brewed and bijou fermented. Arie, a student of traditional Chinese literature exchanged stories and told us about her family.
“There will be a party for three days. Three families have built this house and everyone is invited to come and eat.”
We weren’t in a restaurant at all, we were crashing a Chinese party!! Nobody seemed to mind as we poured food into our mouths including trying a small smidge of the local delicacy, raw meat dipped in a spicy chili sauce. We tried some to not be rude, but eating meat raw still hasn’t topped my ‘safe things to do in China’ list. Having agreed on returning in the evening based on an invite from one of the hosts, we set off on the 15k ride back to the hostel. We bought gifts, put on acceptable party gear and returned only to be fed again. More bijou was consumed, more firecrackers were exploded on the street. Dali had shown us a slice of rural life, one that I hadn’t experienced yet and one that I deeply enjoyed.
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Lindsey
non-member comment
Rice Patties
Rice Patties remind me of Lemon Grass - the chicken things you put on rice patties that Stopa loves! I'm assuming this isn't the same thing eh?