Sichuan-Tibet Highway, Part 2

The more I strolled around little old Daocheng, the more I liked it. People were friendly. Kids greeted me with a warm hello. There was virtually no traffic. It may be small and in the middle of nowhere, but it’s a respectable little town. On Sunday it seems like the whole town goes for out for the evening stroll. I came across a circle of folk dancers, just like in Zhongdian. Only this time they weren’t just putting on a show for tourists.

I ran into my friends from the previous week: Frank from Texas, the travelers from Japan, Israel, and Spain. We had a delicious dinner of vegetarian entrees, cooked in just a little oil. I learned how to ask for just a little bit of oil. I also tried yak butter tea, a Tibetan staple. I can’t say that I’m a fan. Tastes like yak-ey buttery water. Can't even taste the tea.

On the third morning, I left Daocheng at 6 am. The first couple hours were spent traversing meadows and rocky expanses before sunrise. The landscape reminded me a bit of the Scottish Moors. The bus was a little nicer this time. My first neighbor was a monk who wore a raggedy robe, carried a big sack, and smelled like the farm.

This day’s 12 ½ hour segment was similar to the first one: beautiful scenery, mountains, and lots of slow, gradual inclines over mountain passes. Even beautiful mountain scenery can get old.

This time I was sitting in the back row, where I got to know the true meaning of the word “bounce”. And even though most of the route was paved this time around, we did a lot of bouncing. That's because these paved roads were in pitiful shape. Riding this bus was a full-contact, interactive experience. I had to grasp with both arms the armrest and seat in front of me in order to brace myself against the bumps. And even then I often caught up to a foot of air and on occasion landed in my neighbor's lap. There was no rest on this bus ride. All twelve and a half hours of it.

I also thought it odd that while the steep, mountainous sections of road were quite good, it was the flat, valley sections of road which were falling apart. Maybe that's because they suffer the most damage from flooding.

I mentioned that we saw a lot of traffic on this journey. It can be divided into four categories:

1) TRUCKS. Commercial trucks in these back roads of China are smaller than American big rigs. I haven't seen any trucks hauling full size containers since I was in the Pearl River Delta region. These trucks look more like covered wagons, the cargo tucked under a big, rounded tarp.

2) TIBETANS ON TRACTORS. The primary mode of transportation for Tibetans along this route is a primitive tractor-like vehicle with an exposed engine, pulling a trailer on the rear, full of people, migrant workers, whole families. They chug up hills at no more than 5 miles per hour as the trucks and buses leave them in the dust. It’s a little like the imagine I have in my head of the Beverly Hillbillies driving down the road. Which, come to think of it, may be how Tibetans are seen by mainstream Chinese society. I was surprised by how many there were out there on the road. Where are these Tibetans going?

3) ARMY CONVOY. We must have passed more than 200 trucks loaded with young, stern-looking soldiers of the People's Liberation Army. They would appear in groups of 10 or 20. And we encountered them the whole way. I have no idea where they came from, or where they're going.

4) PRIVATE VEHICLES. By far, the least populous group. Very few sedans. No station wagons. Some SUVs.

Earlier in my trip I commented that I was impressed by the cleanliness of Chinese cities, and the presence of rubbish bins and recycling everywhere. In Southern China every seat on the bus comes with a bag for trash. People use them. Here, all that goes out the window. Literally.

And now I'm in Kangding, a city of 80,000 nestled in a valley with a roaring river running through the middle of town. Not a whole lot to describe. It's just a modern Chinese town full of shops. I saw a pig being sold to a family by a pig-dealer. They put the live, squealing pig face-first into a sack, then loaded it into the trunk of a taxi and drove off.

The menu at the restaurant at my hostel includes such delectable sounding dishes as "double fatty pork" and "strange-tasting pork". You can guess which one I ordered? That's right. I went to a different restaurant.