The first time I took a train west from Xi'an I was following the Silk Road through China's wild west province of Xinjiang. This time I was headed southwest, to Sichuan, home of spicy food and fertile fields. I had been enchanted by my first brief glimpse of Sichuan in 1997: tiers of terraced rice paddies stepped down the hillsides, round, walled ponds provided homes for ducks, and every inch of usable land was used. This land said, louder than words, that it had been feeding the Chinese since time immemorial, but it demanded hard, hand labor - no tractors or combines could be used on these patchwork plots.
When I woke on the train taking me to Chengdu, Sichuan's capital, I was disappointed by the rain, but not by the countryside. Steep, forested hillsides alternated with the manicured agricultural land I remembered. The harvest was just over: neat rows of hay stacks decorated the fields, and ears of corn hung from the eaves of the farm houses, although I wondered how long it would take them to dry in the damp weather.
Mandarin is a very rational language, and place names that sound romantic to English ears generally have prosaic meanings. Although Tiananmen Square means the Square of the Gate of Heavenly Peace, Beijing means northern capital, Xi'an means western peace and Sichuan means four rivers. Yunnan, the next province south, means south of the clouds, and Sichuan seemed determined to prove the truth of the name. I had intended to visit the Tibetan grasslands west of Chengdu, and the holy mountain Emei Shan to the south, but neither destination appealed given the cold and rainy weather.
Those plans I would abandon, but I would not abandon my planned meeting with my friends Sun-Ling and John. We would have only two days together, and since I would arrive first it was my job to check out accommodation. I had planned to start at the So-Ma hostel recommended by the travel agent I had met on the boat to Shanghai, but my taxi driver delivered me instead to the very posh Sofitel. Just off a night train, in a town much bigger than the Lonely Planet map implied, rather than hunting down the hostel I decided to find out just how much a little luxury would cost. For $100 a night I opted for the splurge, and progressed from the marble and glass lobby to a sybaritic glass room - a full wall of windows, a glass desk, and a glass wall shared by the shower and bedroom that allowed me to watch television as I cleaned up.
I took another taxi (metered, but not exactly cheap given the size of the city) to the area Sun-Ling had suggested, to find that it was under attack by wrecking balls. Next day I settled on Sam's Guesthouse, which at $15 a night for six nights would nicely balance my Sofitel splurge. $15 bought me a fair-sized double-room with bath, with gleaming floors and windows opening onto a tree-shaded courtyard complete with stream and small bridge. On the street side I found a comfortable tea room, where I watched my "peony" tea slowly swell and sink to the bottom of the glass.
While I waited for Sun-Ling and John I did a little exploring in between the rain showers. I tracked down the Holiday Inn to get my hair done, although the resulting day-glo red-orange was considerably brighter than I had intended. I paid all of $2 for an hour of much-needed massage. I got up early for a morning trip to the nearby Panda Reserve - bamboo-shaded paths and plenty of hopelessly photogenic pandas and panda babies eating breakfast (after which they go to sleep).
I checked out a couple of temples and the big but noisy River Viewing Park. In the tea-garden at the Wenshu Temple the student of optics who translated my order for me (tea in China is never just tea) told me that while she was an only child, and I had thought that the "one child" policy was still firmly in place, the government was now encouraging graduates to produce two offspring. In the park I watched a flock of bridal couples having their photographs taken in a variety of odd poses and noted that sensible brides were wearing sneakers beneath their western-style white gowns (traditional Chinese brides wear red). I even attended a touristy "cultural show", where good hand shadows and puppets were offset by so-so comics and Chinese opera. But the big attraction was the Buddha at Leshan, the largest stone Buddha in the world. Again, a kind local helped me out, this time as I bought a bus ticket. Aside from interesting scenery, much hillier near Leshan, the minibus trip was most memorable for the very loud video that blared for the whole trip.
I examined the Buddha from in front, by boat, from above, and from below, after waiting a long time in a long line to process down the narrow staircase that flanks the Buddha on either side. Generally, I'm not impressed by mere size, and overlarge Buddhas leave me cold, but for some reason this one, in good condition and recently painted, actually seemed worth the trip - although I felt no spiritual aura around it.
Finally, I renewed my visa. A Chinese tourist visa is good for 30 days, but one and sometimes two 30 day renewals are said to be easy to obtain. Indeed, the only complication was the need to make the actual payment in a nearby bank and not at the visa office. Protection against corruption, maybe?
When Sun-Ling and John arrived I acquired not only company, but a local guide, as Sun-Ling grew up in Shanghai and speaks Mandarin as well as the Shanghai dialect. I was finally able to replace the most critical items in the first-aid kit I had unintentionally abandoned in Novgorod, in a pharmacy with a western section in front and a traditional Chinese section in back, complete with abacus. Sun-Ling was even able to find me the local equivalent of Woolite.
We braved the cold and damp to visit Qingchen Shan, another holy mountain rather easier to climb than Emei Shan. We were greeted by drizzle and dripping trees, and I rode the cable car part way up with my umbrella open, but somehow the cool mist surrounding the topmost temple produced exactly the right atmosphere - along with the black-clad monks, porters, and a one-toothed nun. The mountain had a mystique, a serenity and an aura completely missing from the busy temples in Chengdu. We walked all the way down, passing the oldest Taoist temple in China with its interesting carvings and its 1,000 year-old gingko tree. Back in Chengdu we thawed out over local hotpot - vegetarian variety. I said goodnight and goodbye to Sun-Ling and John with considerable regret.
Next day I lightened my backpack by mailing my thermal underwear, binoculars (I could never remember I had them) and spare camera home, and stocked up on toiletries and jasmine tea. Then I boarded the train for Kunming in Yunnan, hoping for warmer weather.
One of my favorite Chinese dishes is Sichuan green beans, but for some reason (the season?) I could never find them in Sichuan. I did eat quite a lot of kungpao chicken (a.k.a. gongbao jiding) and found it less spicy than I expected - possibly because I was ordering from the English language menu. A more interesting local dish was gouba roupian, crispy rice fritters in stock with veggies and seafood. Assorted food on sticks seemed popular, and I also ate my way through a couple of bowls of the local specialty known as mapo doufo - tofu in a fiery red chili sauce - one of them at Pockmarked Grandma Chen's Beancurd Restaurant, as recommended by Lonely Planet. A starvation attack in Leshan drove me into a waterfront hotel, but I was rewarded with tasty shredded beef and excellent fried potatoes. Good or bad, I certainly couldn't complain about the prices - outside the Sofitel, that is.
Originally sent from Queenstown, NZ, 16 Feb 2005
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