Yangshuo, China
by Karen Pacheco
“You don’t have to work next week, Karen, your class is going to military camp.”
I’m a grade seven English teacher in Shenzhen, a mega-city of over ten million in Guangdong Province, Southeast China. The hourglass sands dwindle on my stay in China. And with them dwindles my hope to view the cone-shaped, limestone karst (rock formations) scenery from the deck of a Li River ferry.
Then, a colleague announces all grade seven classes must attend a one-week military camp. With no students to teach, whatever will I do with this free week? My warp-speed decision is easy – while students perform marching exercises, I will march, or rather fly, directly to Guilin, for a Li River cruise.
I cajole the school leader into allowing a travel mate, the grade seven head English teacher, Miss Yang, or Snow (her English name). Other teachers are left behind to read books and write assignments while I head for the Li River with an amicable, Mandarin-fluent companion, known to be a formidable haggler.
After a 75-minute flight from Shenzhen, we arrive in Guilin, Guanxi Autonomous Region, taxi to our hotel and arrange our river trip through the hotel concierge. Luggage deposited, and ready for lunch, Snow suggests we b-line for one of many street shacks to enjoy some of Guilin’s famous rice noodles or mifen (mee-fnn). We dollop the noodles with our choices of self-serve condiments: soybeans, scallions, fried peanuts and pickled white radish in chili sauce. This bargain-priced specialty’s spicy, seasoned broth simmered for hours, makes it.
Tummies content, we stroll to Guilin’s most famous karst, Elephant Trunk Hill (shaped like an elephant bending over to drink). Two-storey Puxian Pagoda built during the Ming Dynasty (1368-1644) rests on the pachyderm’s back. Our evening saunter ends along the Li’s banks fronting our hotel. Dusk paints the karst backdrop in pale pinks and mauves as locals fish, tend their bamboo boats and wash their clothes in the multi-use Lijiang (jiang is the Chinese word for river) or Li River.
We depart early for our four-hour river journey from Guilin to Yangshuo. Tourist vans and buses fill the adjacent parking lot. Hundreds line up for tickets. A fleet of boats nestled in the harbour braces for the throngs. Chinese tourists, as well as those from other countries, flock here. Once aboard, we navigate towards the front of the two-level boat where others gather, cameras clicking.
Shrouded in a grey-blue veil and lush, green vegetation, the pinnacles appear otherworldly; Frodo could live here. In a your-turn-my-turn moment, a tourist surrenders his prime position. Snow and I quickly replace him at the bow, the best vantage point for photography. Around each bend another formation materializes along with its accompanying folklore. The karst terrain, waterfalls and caves provide a fitting setting for their legends. One myth explains how Nine Horse Fresco came to be. The Monkey King once tended horses in Heaven, became bored and left for Earth with the horses. Nine of them escaped and lived freely until discovered and turned to stone. Legend is, if you can identify all nine horses, you will be a top scholar. Beyond the horse formations at the river’s edge, water buffalo forage and resurface munching aquatic plants. ‘Boatmen on their bamboo rafts float by and shoreline villagers wave. The Lijiang pulses with activity.
The magical passage ends in Yangshuo where rows of open-air market stalls greet us: souvenir scroll paintings, bamboo items, ethnic minority handicrafts and vibrant pashminas.Yangshuo’s famous Xi Jie (West Street) oozes with shops for tourists to leave a few Yuan. Prices are flexible.
We roll our suitcases into our Chinese-style tourist hotel, a good rate negotiated, thanks to Snow. The innkeeper, a good-humoured widow, directs us to a nearby restaurant. Dinner tonight: ‘choose your fish from those swimming in the tank’, and I get to choose. Hunger overtakes my reluctance for the executioner role, and I select. Before long, an eye-pleasing platter of Beer Fish (Pijiu Yu) appears. A Yangshuo specialty, Beer Fish, is typically carp caught nearby and braised with spices in a wok with local beer and vegetables. Whatever guilt I feel over issuing the death warrant dissipates after a few morsels of this tasty fish.
Next day, our helpful innkeeper sets us up with her friend’s son, Zhao. He wants to learn English so he can tour guide. We don flower head leis bought from a street vendor outside our hotel, rent bikes and try to keep up with young Zhao. Peddling along the wide edge of the road from Yangshuo to Moon Hill, we traverse Dragon Bridge, a 600-year-old stone arch structure. Bamboo boats dot the Yulong River it crosses, offering more opportunities for tourists to travel amidst the karst surroundings. Along the rural roadside, a farmer and his water buffalo till a field. A rope through the buffalo’s nostril controls the muscular bovine, a single wooden yoke over its withers holds the plow. Reading my mind, Snow asks the farmer if I can take a photo. The petite, agile farmer obliges. He removes the yoke and leaps onto his workmate’s back.
We board the Xingping minibus at Yangshuo’s bus terminal. A regional centre in 265 AD, Xingping was replaced by Yangshuo around 590 AD. We stride past architecture reflecting history – flying eaves and black tiles on sloping roofs dating back to the Qing and Ming dynasty. Goal-focused Zhao hurries us through narrow, uneven streets, heading for the pipe-raft docks along the Li River.
Grinning and waving from the dock, Zhao’s uncle enthusiastically greets us. His open-air, motorized pipe raft composed of PVC pipes fastened together, gently bobs in the river. A wooden platform tops the pipes, then bamboo seating for six. A blue tarp awning completes this simple, yet efficient pipe raft prototype. Zhao’s uncle proudly takes the helm, and we’re off.
This is the way to see the karst landscape. Uncle’s an accommodating boatman willing to slow or stop his engine for the best vantage points. No waiting for our turn to get the best views. We break for lunch at a riverside village of Dong people, one of the many Chinese ethnic minority groups. Here two cormorant fishermen are preparing their gear for a dusk catch. Fishermen masters ring the long necks of cormorants so they can’t digest larger fish. Trained to dive for and yield their catch to owners, these birds make great fishing partners.
After a tasty snack of dried fish, we motor back to Xingping. We pass the karst scene on the back of Chinese 20 Yuan note, a panoramic arrangement of taller karsts on either side of lower, background ones. We say farewell to Zhao’s uncle and race to catch the last minibus of the day returning to Yangshuo, again trying to keep up with Zhao.
On our final day, we buy some scarves and dried persimmon for colleagues left behind. I observe Snow in action; her reputation as a great haggler obviously well deserved. In rapid sequence we hug our charming innkeeper, promise a return visit, and leave a gift for Zhao. Snow haggles successfully for a van ride back to Guilin. En route we stop for our final feast of mifen. As the van nears Guilin Airport, I smile, reflecting on the fortuitous timing of that military camp.
3-Night Best of Guilin Private Tour: Li River Cruise and Yangshuo Countryside
If You Go:
♦ Allow at least three days
♦ Good to purchase Guilin to Yangshuo cruise tickets in advance and to avoid visiting during any Chinese national holidays (Spring Festival – late January to early February, National Week in October, also school vacation – July and August)
♦ Consider traveling directly to Yangshuo for a raft cruise of the Lijiang (Xingping or Yangdi). The time will be shorter, but you’ll experience the best scenery less expensively
♦ Yangshuo Insider: current info by locals and expats, in an organized, user friendly website
♦ Liu San Jie Light Show, Yangshuo: a must to take in during your stay, set amidst karst scenery, choreographed by the creator of the 2008 Olympic opening ceremony
♦ An Entry Visa for China is required. Plan in advance as it may take a while to get one.
Li River Cruise from Guilin to Yangshuo with Liusanjie Show, Bamboo Rafting, or Yangshuo Biking
About the author:
Karen is an award-winning photographer, CAPA (Canadian Association for Photographic Art) trained judge and past president of the Delta Photo Club. Her thirty-year teaching career ended with a secondment in China.
All photos are by Karen Pacheco.
Still untouched by the modern tourism industry, this place was originally a popular hill station for Britishers (during pre-independence). Situated at an altitude of 1,706 metres (5,686 feet) enroute Kotdwar-Pauri road, it was founded and named after then Viceroy of India, Lord Lansdowne in 1887. Only 250 km from Delhi, this place is surrounded by tall, thick oak and blue pine forests. Lansdowne is not yet stained by tourists. Its tranquil and pristine beauty unlike other hill stations (like Shimla, Moussouri etc) is still intact. If you ask me, I would say it is an ideal place to ‘Do nothing’, just relax and spend time with your family or loved one. There are very few resorts n hotels which are situated a few kilometres prior to the hill station, all promising a mystique view of the valley. The one that we stayed at had a 180 degree view of the valley in front.
The sunrise and sunset are mesmerising here. Being born and brought up in city life, I never realized how beautiful and impactful these acts of nature could be. For me, it was this sheer magic of Nature that I thoroughly enjoyed watching. I used to get up around four in the morning daily so that I didn’t miss the sunrise. To me this was the time when one could see all the possible shades of LIFE present on earth. Valley view is awe-inspiring, especially this time of the day. The sound of wind blowing swiftly, pine trees moving to the rhythm of wind, the colourful flower beds; all this makes it so peaceful that one feels a sense of calm and tranquillity here. Truly, a get- away from the hustle- bustle of fast moving city life. Just to stress on the peaceful time-mobile phones and internet don’t work here.
If you are a nature loving person who enjoys a trek to an unknown village down the hill, who likes the feel of being surrounded by huge mountain trees like-oak and pine, love waterfalls, zigzag mountain roads, then, this is the place for you. The magnificently changing colours in the sky during the sunrise each day that I witnessed, is still embedded in my memory. Sunrise every day seemed a different mix of colours, formation of clouds, surrounded by vibrant flower beds and mountains all around. And to describe about the view after the sunset- small individual houses scattered at a distance in the mountains and flower beds would change to ‘twinkling stars’ in darkness (lights of the houses in the valley as seen from far away gives this impression)
For those who are interested in sightseeing here, temples, churches, museum and a lake can easily be covered in a day. The famous Garhwal Rifles of the Indian Army has its command office here. The War Memorial at the Parade Ground of the Garhwal Rifles Center is another attraction for the visitors. Other places of interest around the city are ‘Tip-n-Top’ (one could see the mountain view of the western Himalayas from here), Santoshi Mata Temple, Bhulla Taal (a man-made lake), St. Mary’s Church, Tarkeshwar Mahadev Temple. The temple is 36 km from Lansdowne and is at a height of 1,800 m, this place is known for its temple dedicated to Lord Shiva. Surrounded by thick forests of deodar and pine, it is another aw-inspiring place because of the beauty of nature, it is believed to be one of the Siddha Pithas (ancient holy sites for Hindus). The temple place is surrounded by thick blue pine forests, oak trees and dense Deodars. The spectacular feature of this place is that even at this high altitude, there are many water pools, flowing continuously. My fascination here, were the bells surrounding the temple vicinity, both big and small. This gave a special identity to the temple.
Claims of visibility from the Moon are fanciful, too. Several astronauts have stated that’s erroneous … but in the 18th Century, nobody had been to the Moon, so couldn’t contradict Mr. Stukely.
But, that early wall was not of the construction we’d recognise today. The wall builders generally used whatever resources were available locally … wood or stone, in areas in which it could be easily won; stamped earth where it wasn’t readily obtainable.
In fact, reconstruction of the wall as we know it now, didn’t commence until 1348 … over 20 years after Marco Polo’s death … when the Ming dynasty came to power. They were especially troubled by the raids of the Mongol tribes from the north, and, as a defence against these, the wall was strengthened, and, in some places, re-aligned.
In addition, of course, barracks, stables and armouries had to be provided at frequent intervals.
Naturally, the more easily accessible sections of the wall, especially around Beijing, were maintained and, if necessary, repaired. At least one guidebook grumbled that one stretch of wall ‘ … looked like it had been pointed yesterday’. It probably had.
It is also the city where the strong and mighty river Ganga (after emerging from the mountains) touches the plains and runs in a calmer flow. Lots of people come here to find their inner peace. Some stay for longer period in various Ashrams (spiritual monastery) and follow Yoga and study ancient Hindu scriptures. Some like me, prefer staying for 2-3 days and soak in whatever that this place offers. Every time I visit Haridwar, I prefer to simply sit quietly at the Ghats (a series of steps leading down to the holy river water) in the mornings and evenings. Sitting there and dipping your feet in the cold river water compels you to sort of meditate and turn over in your mind. Believe me it is a feeling that forces you to yearn for calm & peace. The touch of cold river water, gentle breeze and Sadhus meditating, helps to take you to the state of tranquil & quiet. Early mornings have a serene calmness about this city with prayer chants being sung almost everywhere you look.
Haridwar has been a centre of attraction for learning various arts, science & rituals for many ages. Home to multiple small temples scattered all over the city, Haridwar is famous for its evening ‘Ganga Aarti’ (ritual of worshiping river Ganga) that happens daily around 6:00 pm at the main Ghat called ‘Har ki Pauri’. If you are there, then you must head towards ‘Har ki Pauri’ (footsteps of God) in the evening and attend the ‘Ganga Aarti’. It is a prayer that is sung to River Ganges every evening as per Hindu rituals.
Watching Aarti here is an indescribable experience that one can understand only if one experiences the same. It is a beautiful spectacle of sound, light and prayer recitals that definitely compels you to ponder thoughts like – God and you! Supreme almighty’s impression/presence in things around you! As soon as the aarti starts, the lamps, recitals and the entire atmosphere takes you to a more spiritual level. After it finishes, people present their offerings of flowers and diyas (lamps) into the river and within minutes the Ghats lit with tiny diyas floating into to river.
I had heard a lot about these rituals from my father earlier. So, during one such visit with the family at Haridwar, I was ready with my camera and reached the famous Ghat on time. There were lot of people around, tourists (who could be distinctly identified holding their camera), locals who come daily to attend the aarti, Sadhus and Pundits. While waiting for the Aarti to start, I noticed a funny looking man dressed in bright red and orange clothes, holding peacock feathers in his hands. He was walking aimlessly yet smiling at every person. He wore a vibrant coloured pagri (head gear) on his head, wore kajal (kohl) in his eyes and long tika (mark) on his forehead and stood out differently to the rest of the crowd. I requested him for a picture and he gave a broad smile, gestured with a stately pose for my camera and then went away.
The entry towers at Angkor Thom are among the most photographed relics in Cambodia. Stuck in traffic on the causeway bridge leading to a towered entrance, Lee told us about how the statues—fearsome demons on the right of the bridge, confident gods to the left—had been decapitated only a few decades ago by the Khmer Rouge. Simulating a dagger across the neck, he alleged thieves are still smuggling pieces across the border to Thailand for black market sales.
It would be difficult not to notice the intense poverty and hardship of Cambodia, even in an area like Siem Reap, exploding with resort hotels. People beg in heartbreaking fashion. Tuk-tuks are kitted out with signs to notify that this particular driver will not take passengers to underage sex dens. The maiming effects of the Khmer Rouge are evident everywhere. For us, the extent of poverty didn’t fully resonate until the ride south to the waterways of Tonle Sap: Houses along the roads were simply raised platforms with roofs, no walls to block us from seeing in.
Lee tried to talk us out of it, but he conceded to our wishes. The progression of places we’d chosen that day meant that he was going to have to use a pot-holed dirt road rather than a new, nicely paved one. And, we got a flat in…somewhere, Cambodia. Lee unhooked the trailer, and a roadside worker carted it off by hand. We were not in Siem Reap anymore. From the depths of a dirt road to nowhere, a bike drove by with two full-sized upturned pigs strapped to the back, grunting over each pothole. There was no other traffic for the hour it took to get back on track.
Leading up to our trip, Emma and I had read an incredible memoir, ‘First They Killed My Father’, about a young girl who survived capture by the Khmer Rouge and life in camps where kidnapped children were forced to be soldiers, brainwashed and made to do unspeakable things. Aki Ra was one of these child soldiers, but in 1997 he went back to villages where he had once set up thousands of mines and, working by hand and homemade tools, started defusing them.
When we reached the end of the pavement, Lee pulled over, unhitched the tuk-tuk, and told us to climb on the bike with him. The road ahead was far too rough, so there we were, Lee on the front, Emma squeezed between us, and me with my hands vice-gripped to the back of the seat. Truth be told, the road was so rough that, for the bulk of the ride, Lee drove in the ditch and on the embankment running alongside the street. I don’t really remember how long the ride took—less than an hour—as I was concentrating on not popping of the back.
After four days of chauffeuring us around, Lee dropped us off at the front of our hostel for the final time. Both Emma and I, at the beginning of our trip, prone to bonding a little more readily than a local tour guide might be, had tiny lumps in our throats. We asked him how much for the week, and in true Southeast Asian style, he replied, “What do you want to pay?” I guess he’d seen it all before.
