Zhongdian (Shangri-La)

Zhongdian has been officially renamed "Shangri-La" by the Chinese government, but I feel kind of silly saying that, so I'm just going to call it by it's old name of Zhongdian like everyone else.

This is one my favorite places in China so far. We're 3200 meters, or 10,500 feet, up on the Tibetan Plateau, practically in Tibet itself. In fact, half the people here are Tibetan (it was more before the Han started moving in) and the Tibetan influence on the culture is clear - Tibetan food, Tibetan script, Tibetan music, dress, and Tibetan Buddhist monasteries, temples, stupas, and prayer flags abound.

Zhongdian is still wel-trodden tourist territory. It is, for most tourists, the northernmost point on the Dali-Lijiang-Zhongian backpacker circuit. There are still plenty of shops catering to tourists, travel agents, restaurants with English menus, museli, pizza, and backpacker hostels. But not everyone here works in the tourist industry. The Old Town is a delightful jumble of Tibetan wooden structures and narrow, twisting cobblestone and dirt roads. But if it sounds like Lijiang, it's not. Lijiang was picture-perfect because the authorities kept it that way for tourists. Zhongdian is dustier, more run-down, and has its flaws. It looks and smells more real. I love it.

I'm staying in the Rockside Inn, a hostel in a 150 year old traditional wooden Tibetan house run by a two very friendly, rosy-cheeked young women. My hostel is rustic, homey, and oozes character. Everything is made, and smells, of wood. To get to the upper floors, one climbs steep wooden ladders. A dog, her puppy, and a curious kitten with a tendency to sit on my shoulder make their home in the courtyard. The cozy kitchen/living room is popular in the evening when the fireplace is going and DVDs play on the TV.

"Fireplace?" you ask? In China, and during the summer? Oh yes! Remember we're at 10,500 feet. It's cold enough to require a jacket during the day, and quite chilly in the evening. The town's entrepreneurs are clearly set up to deal with all us backpackers who arrived in China expecting heat and humidity. There are dozens of stores selling top names in all weather mountain apparel - Columbia, North Face, Gore ex, etc. Problem is, I'm told they are all fakes.

In the main square every evening the whole town seems to gather in what can best be described as a community dance-fest. It's a wonderful, funny, and exhilarating sight. Traditional Tibetan music with a modern dance beat is piped through the sound system and heard throughout the village. At first, there is a big circle of people dancing. Old women in traditional Tibetan garb, old men, young men, businessmen in suits, little kids, teenage girls in their trendy clothes, all dancing in perfect unison in a circle. The choreography isn’t terribly complicated, but even simple dance moves look cool when done in unison. Everyone seems to know all the moves, and I joined in for a bit and it was pretty easy to pick up. Gradually, more and more people join in and more concentric rings are added. By the end of the evening, the entire square is filled with a circular, swirling mass of people of all ages and backgrounds, dancing joyously. The great thing is that it's not solely for the tourists, but seems to be a genuine expression of the local culture and their love of song and dance.

I've reuinted with several folks I've met during the last couple of weeks. Frank from Texas is here (I last saw him over a week ago in Dali, yet here we are again). And several folks I spent time with in Lijiang and Tiger Leaping Gorge are here as well. I feel like my social life is busier in China than it is in the United States. A newcomer at my hostel tonight is Kirk, who hails from Placerville, California, in the Sierra foothills. I've been meeting American citizens from all sorts of interesting places - Montana, Idaho, Wyoming, North Dakota.

Today I went with Eli to Songzanlin Monastery, north of town. The monastery is the largest in Yunnan province and sits atop a hill looking like a miniature Potala Palace (its analog in Lhasa, Tibet). White stucco buildings housing monks dot the hillside around the monastery. There are great temple halls with giant golden Buddhas, incense, prayer mats, and fabulous murals in bright colors depicting gods, demons, and legends. The monks come in all shapes and sizes, from old men to teenagers to little boys, but all wear beautiful saffron robes. The younger ones eat chocolate bars, talk on cell phones, and go into town to shoot pool and play video games. I hiked back to town afterwards over alpine meadows and forests of pine and fir.

On my third day in Zhongdian I went for a long hike along the crest of several hills which form an arc around the town's southern reaches. I didn't really follow any trails but just found my own way, which at times was easy and at times was more difficult. I found yet another Buddhist temple atop one hill. All the grounds around the temple were littered with Tibetan prayer flags. Littered in an apt word to describe prayer flags, for whenever you see them, they seem to be carelessly strewn about every which way, hanging, dangling, and all tangled up. There is such a mass of hundreds and hundreds of prayer flags all mixed up together that they unfortunately can resemble litter rather than spiritual art. I hiked through pine forest, through meadows of wildflowers, blue, yellow, pink, red, white, orange, and through cemeteries. I crossed a farm and clambered up a mountain with no marked trails at all. I thought I was surely alone until I happened across a young Chinese couple in the throes of passion in the woods (!) Needless to say, they were surprised to see me and quite embarrassed, so I moved on promptly.

The mountain was quite steep as I ascended it, but the vegetation was friendly - a mixture of pine, fir, and all manner of alpine flowers, grasses, and bushes. Then the vegetation become more of a prickly scrub which I had to wade my way through, getting somewhat scratched up. But I had no choice - I had to reach the elusive summit which always seemed just out of reach. At the summit was a mound of stones and more prayer flags. Yet another summit loomed in the distance, but by this time I was beat, and I hiked down along the ridge to the saddle between the two mountains, where I luckily found a trail down the second mountain. The vegetation here was of a different sort. First there were more pine trees, draped in the thickest lichen I've ever seen. Then a lovely grove of white-barked aspens. Then...OAK trees! I was flabbergasted. Oak trees...in China? I thought oak trees were only found in the United States. I guess I don't know much about botany. And yet, I shouldn't have been surprised. All along this trip I have constantly been amazed how much the landscapes remind me of home - of the Sierra Nevadas, of California, and, now, even of Marin County.

Back in town, I ran into Billy again (he's the high school history teacher from Idaho I met in Lijiang). He told me that there was a geographer staying at his hotel who would like to talk to me. I went over and had a long talk with Professor Chris Coggins, who just happens to be the former advisor and teacher of Nicole, my roommate at Penn State this fall. What a coincidence! Chris is writing a book about sacred mountains in this region of China.

Back at my hostel, the ladies cooked me a delicious meal. Every night they watch a DVD. They have the oddest collection of DVDs – art movies, underground movies, and lots of French and Italian moves. We watched Naked Lunch, based on the William Burroughs novel, which was positively bizarre.

Knowing that my bus the next day was at 7 am, I went out to buy a replacement alarm clock for the one I lost (what is it with me losing things with dials? I lost my compass, my alarm clock, and my watch broke). This alarm clock turned into quite an ordeal, but you'll have to go to my next entry to read about it.