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Published: August 14th 2009
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So I've left Kangding and have made it to Danba. I'm supposed to be meeting a friend in a few days who's horseback riding in the far north of the province. We'll venture west and see how the cultural landscape changes the closer we get to Tibet. Getting here has been a challenge.
When I was at the Kangding bus station this morning I couldn't figure out why everyone kept stopping at this little booth. Well, not everyone. If it had been everyone I would have just gone over there myself and hoped for the best. So I asked a well-dressed man (so, not a local and more likely to speak English) if he spoke English. It turns out he's Japanese and speaks a little. So between his little English, my little Japanese and Chinese, we manage to get me sorted out. He was thrilled that I remembered some of my Japanese from when I studied in high school. I'm sure that made him a bit more helpful at 6:30am. It turns out the booth is where you get your ticket torn. At larger bust stations they have people standing by the door next to your bus. This station only
has one door. The nice Japanese man even made sure I got on the right bus before bidding me, "Sayonara!"
One my bus was what seemed like half of a school--I think the students are from Danba but study in Kangding.
Of course, enroute, after twisting and turning and probably sliding on loose rock, we managed to blow not one tire, but two. After one tire goes you can keep going. When you lose another, you need to pull over and make angry phone calls while everyone else gets off to wait for the new bus. It was warm and sunny and perfect weather for throwing rocks into the river. At least the scenery was beautiful. If my bus is going to break down, I can think of much worse places to have it happen.
Our new bus arrived after an hour. Within 25 minutes I could see Danba and hear the delighted students yelling, "Dao le!" meaning, "We've arrived!" The bus made frequent stops, letting the students off at their homes to the warm embraces of their mothers.
Upon arriving at the bus station I tried to buy my ticket to Chengdu for the 14th.
Which they wouldn't let me do. They don't have computers and I guess they only sell the day before.
Then I arrived at my hotel, not hostel. It's clean, but expensive. At least, for the middle of nowhere, it's expensive. And no one spoke any English and my poor Chinese was no match for their local dialect of Chinese. It took 20 minutes for me to understand they were trying to give me a remote for my air conditioner, which would cost extra, and for me to explain that I didn't want it. It wasn't hot out in the slightest and if I'm looking to stay for how many days, an extra Y10 a day adds up.
Then I wanted information about the tourism in the area. There's lots to see, but I can't read the signs. The woman at the desk got me to the local tourism office, which had signs in English, but no one spoke English except the woman they called. I was then sold a book (in English) on the various sights, but I still had no idea how to get to them and I started to get a sinking feeling in my stomach.
Just watching
Because nothing goes with a traditional outfit quite like a Mao hat. I knew I had met my match. I managed to book myself a ticket back to Chengdu for the following morning at 6am. While I feel defeated, I know I honestly did try. But between the lack of vegetarian food (that I could find) and my inability to communicate with anyone, I had reached my limit.
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