My Life in China

5 Days in Chengdu: Day 2; March 6, 2005

It’s around midnight by the time we turn in. “It shouldn’t take long to explore the mountain,” Phil says, “so we can have a good sleep tonight and wake up later tomorrow.” And eight hours later Phil tells me to wake up and get ready to go. After what passes for breakfast (and what breakfast passes through me) we begin our trek up Mt. Emei.

Today’s itinerary has us criss-crossing the sizeable base of the mountain, visiting various temples and natural wonders, then heading to the middle, to a place called Qinyin Pavillion, which has a few waterfalls and a lake. Also in the area is a sanctuary for spiritual monkeys. That’s right, “spiritual monkeys.” Apparently around here friendly baboons are known as spiritual. It does fit though, as Mt. Emei is considered a holy mountain where Buddhist monks reside.

We begin our journey on the main road, which branches off into a hiking trail. We will hike to Qinyan, and from there take a bus to the highest point, “Golden Summit.” On the way to the trail Phil befriends some locals: an old lady carrying a large wicker basket who is walking with a young girl. Phil makes some small talk, asking why they don’t take a bus instead of walk. The girl replies, “Wo men mei you money.” At the sound of ‘money’ Phil brightens up and says, “Oh, you can speak English!” With that he proceeds to ask her the standard questions (How old are you, Do you have any brothers or sisters, What are your hobbies, etc.) But the girl admits to not really knowing that much English, so they go back to speaking Chinese.

We start on the trail. From here on up it’s a slight if not steady incline. We walk and we talk. Phil asks me to give our new friend an English name. I decide on Wendy, it seems suitable enough. Phil asks if Wendy knows what her name is famous for. He tells her there is an American fast food place called Wendy’s (he went to one in Canada). She doesn’t know what that means.

“Oh, it’s like McDonald’s. Do you know McDonald’s?”
“No.”
“Oh. Do you know KFC?”
“No.”
“Oh, well those are places that serve hamburgers.”
“Oh. What are hamburgers?”

So Phil proceeds to teach Wendy about hamburgers and the near-ubiquity of Western fast food. All while this is happening the little old lady (who is quite spry, I might add) starts talking to me. My Chinese is ok, as I can talk to most people when needed, but this lady had a very thick accent and spoke rather quickly, and I really had no idea what she was saying. So I did what I always do in these situations: wait for the other person to laugh, then laugh with them; the rest of the time just smile and nod.

We stop to buy some straw shoes at a stand before we arrive at the official entrance to the mountain. Phil puts his on. My left foot is still hurting for some reason, so I opt to stick with my waterproof Rockports. At the gate to the mountain we split up with our newfound friends and continue on our way.

The Chinese Tourism Department has been kind enough to put stairs on the mountain, but that doesn’t make it super-easy. One long cement block cobbled on top of another on top of another on top of another, as far as the eye can see and farther still. The first few hundred are tiring, but ok. There’s a sense of peaceful satisfaction as you climb one step after another, the cool fresh air is your perfume and a running stream is your music. Sunlight peeks through the foliage, illuminating a slight mist, making an amiable setting.

The best part of experiencing nature is when you begin going to where you’re going and when you’ve actually gotten there. It’s the middle that’s the killer. By this time my foot really begins to hurt, so much so that I develop a slight limp. I focus on the infinity stairs to ease my pain. For each one that I walk all over, I assign to someone I used to know:

“This one is the girl in grade school who never talked to me.” STOMP
“This one is all the teachers I ever hated.” STOMP
“This one is my first boss for my first real job.” STOMP
“This one is pretty much all the bosses after that.” STOMP
“These next ten are my ex-girlfriend.” STOMP STOMP STOMP

Along the way we say hello to fellow intrepidus touristus, talk to locals who live on the mountain, and stop by temples we happen to come across (and there are many). Phil says that if you ever walk into a temple and feel very much at home there, it means it’s your destiny to be there. I haven’t had that feeling in a Buddhist temple yet, but I do get a warm and fuzzy sensation every time I’m at Disney World…

We’ve been walking a little north and a lot west. After 3 hours of up-the stairs, down-the-stairs, my slight limp has turned into a limping limp. We get to a little stand that apparently has seen this problem before, because it sells (among other things) canes. Excessive? Maybe. But it’s cheap, it’s there, and hell it’ll make my life much easier.

2pm. We arrive at Qinyin Pavillion. From here we can either go see the monkeys or go to the bus that will take us to the summit, 40 kilometers away. At this point I really can’t walk much, and I don’t care either. I don’t care about the almighty waterfalls, or the emerald lake, or the spiritual monkeys. I just want to get to the top. I saw some rather breathtaking views from the top in postcards at the hotel lobby. I saw the top, I want the top, I have to get to the top. So we forgo everything and head for the bus station. At the station, we sit and have some tea and snacks while we wait for our bus to arrive. Next to us some cute kids are playing with some cute puppies. Unfortunately these kids haven’t yet learned the difference between ‘puppy’ and ‘action figure.’ But the whole thing looks really cute.

Our bus arrives. The driver tells us it will take about an hour and a half to get to the tippy-top. It actually takes slightly longer, because on the way there we get stuck behind a lumbering dump truck. The temperature drops, and the ground gradually turns from black to white. The trees are capped with snow, as if they are wearing fluffy white armor. As we ascend higher and higher, the clouds come down to meet us. Soon everything, the ground, the mountains, the air, is all white.

Eventually we make it to…not the top, but close to the top. This is as far as we go, the driver tells us. If we want to go any further, we’ll be hoofin’ it, because there’s too much ice and snow for this bus to get through. My conviction supersedes my pain, and Phil and I take off up the snow-covered road. It’s 5:30, and we have half an hour before the last cable ferry leaves for the Golden Summit. I ignore the pain as we traverse the winding road, just Phil, me, the snow and the fog. It does occur to me, however, that it is strange how no one else is on this path, as I heard others who wanted to go to the summit when we were on the bus.

We reach the cable station. Phil races ahead to beat the gate before it closes while I limp on behind. We’re lucky, as we get the last two tickets. And upon entering the station, we see all the people from the bus already in there, resting comfortably, waiting for the ferry. Turns out there’s a very short shortcut that you can take, we just happened to take the long route. Yeah, well it was longer, but I’m sure I’ll end up thanking my parents for doing it someday.

The ferry arrives and we begin our ascent. The fog becomes thicker and thicker, and when we arrive, we can’t see anything. It’s the opposite of a spectacular view, being completely shrouded in a cold, white fluff. Actually, it has its own kind of splendor. For a little while, anyway. After realizing this is as good as it will get this night, we head for our hotel and check in. This is followed by a quick dinner at the restaurant. Nice, but a bit pricey.

After dinner we’re too tired to do anything else, so it’s time to sleep, for tomorrow we must again wake up early, in hopes that the fog will lift and grant us a view of the sunrise.

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