Friday Dec 6 2002
There were no street lights so we walked the equivalent of several blocks to the Zhongdian bus station in the dark to catch the 7:50am bus for Baishuitai. While waiting for the bus, we ate a steamed bun with chili and garlic purchased from a girl at her little stand.

I sat with the luggage while Jana finally figured out which bus was ours. We boarded the local “delivery and distribution” vehicle; aisles and roof full of sacks of unknown contents…but no chickens.

Many colorful ethnic minority folks, some of them the big-hatted Yi, got onto the bus as it climbed higher and higher across the mountain passes above 3200 meter Zhuandian. As families got on the bus everyone already on would greet them and smile.

One man and his family got on in the middle of a very small village…he sat in front of me and turned around from time to time to look at me. I nearly jumped out of my skin when he suddenly turned and yelled “hello” right at me! I laughed and he laughed. He opened a small round tin of yellow powder and sniffed it up his nose…what do you think it is I whispered to Jana…dunno…might be some kind of stimulant she said under her breath. He was fascinated with my face and kept looking at my writing. Two Chinese women so far have told me I look Chinese but I don’t know if that is why he was looking at me. Jana and I showed him pictures of our families. It was so cold on the bus you could see whirls of everyone’s breath condensing into the air.

The family got off the bus in a desolate place with the woman carrying the heavy sleeping blankets on her back and disappeared into the mountains….to visit relatives or going home we wondered?

Going over another pass we looked down to see some small buildings and some sheep roaming deep in a canyon. It reminded me of one of my father�s summer sheep camps in Oregon with a cook’s wagon and the sheep dogs hanging around the campfire…warm and comforting…deep within a small solitary place with the mountains looming all around.

A colorfully dressed Yi minority woman with a huge rhomboid head piece got on the bus with her husband two small children. A man and his little boy with shaved head and tuft of hair in front got on…I wanted to stick his dirt encrusted feet and body into a nice warm bathtub. The father sang/chanted a wonderful ethnic song the entire time he was on the bus….completely unselfconscious…seemingly oblivious of everyone around him…lost in reverie.

Jana remembered that it was almost Pearl Harbor Day. The bombs fell on the Philippines on December 8, the same day as they fell on December 7 in Hawaii on the other side of the dateline. We talked about the War that seemed so close to us now on this side of the world. Jana described what she knew about the war in the Philippines…the country where she spent two years in the peace corps after college. The topography of the countryside in and near Baishuitai where the local Naxi cultural people live reminded her of the sub cultural group-the Kankanai-in the mountains where she taught English.

When we got off the bus in Sanba, at the foot of the Baishuitai Plateau, a Chinese tourist from Taiwan that had been sitting on the bus in front of Jana paid Y10 or $1 of our entrance fee into the limestone terraces because the clerk had no change. “No, No,” I yelled as he disappeared up the hill on his day trip from Zhongdian to see the stone terraces.

Saturday Dec 7
We hiked up the hill and behind the Stone Terraces. The gorgeous pools of blue/white water is full of calcium phosphate and forms crystals as it runs over the edge of the beautiful stone �terraces� that are resplendent in the sunlight. The area is considered very sacred by the Naxi (pronounced Nashi) people who live in the town. Jana was blessed by incense as an old man showed her how to throw rice into a hole in one of the terraces as an offering-the privilege for doing so, 1 yuan.

We had lunch with Audrey, a young Naxi woman. Then Jana walked with her to another village and down a ravine to a waterfall. On the way back, the two of them walking together seemed to catch the imagination of a farmer they were following who was switching his cows up the deep ravine to the village. The farmer turned and wanted to know what time it was in America. Jana thought it was about 4am there since it was about 4pm where she was in China. Then the farmer and Audry talked…she gestured to Jana that China and America were just opposite each other. Jana was touched by the old man’s interest in the idea of the time difference and the fact that they were on opposite sides of the world with light on one side and dark on the other.

The electricity was out that night in the village so Audry cooked us a small dinner of vegetables rice and meat with charcoal and we ate by candlelight in her little one room cafe that also served as her home/bedroom. We admired her entrepreneurial spirit and desire to be independent but I suspect that it has also caused her grief because as we were leaving the next morning I asked her how she got the scars on her nose and face. She answered “fighting” as she raked her fingernails through the air.

We stayed the night a few feet up the street in a little unheated guesthouse that we never did find out the name of but was owned by Audry’s sister-in- law. We were in the middle of three rooms and became concerned about the knotholes and spaces between the slats that counted for walls when the other two rooms eventually became occupied by several young Chinese men later in the evening. In the middle of the night I chose not to walk up the hill at the back of the guesthouse to a smelly outhouse with squat toilet but instead used a small red pail with a lid provided for such use in the room.

We were told the bus to Lijiang would leave in the dark at 7:30am (all of China is one time zone) but at 9am we were still sitting by the stove in a cafe where the bus was to pick up it’s local travelers to Lijiang. The cowboy driver-complete with cowboy hat-leaned on the horn to let us know we should get on the bus…then he turned off the motor and we sat for another half hour before taking off with no breakfast.

On the way we visited with a small well-dressed young woman from Beijing whose English name was Echo who had gotten on the bus just outside Baishuitai. Later we found out that the reason the bus was so late leaving was that she and her fellow travelers had asked the bus to wait for them in the morning so they would have time to climb up to the limestone terraces!

We passed through a small village with children lined up by the sides of the road with musicians playing some music and waving some flags. Echo told us that young men spend two or three years in the army and they are welcomed back home this way because their army service is considered very important to the country.