I took a train from Xian to Chengdu, the major city and capital of Sichuan Province. When I bought the ticket I expected a long ten or twelve hour overnight journey. I would arrive in Chengdu in the morning, have breakfast and catch a train to Emei Shan, a town named after the nearby mountain. The mountain is famous for its many Buddhist temples and monasteries, its monkeys and its other-worldy view from its summit.
So i sat on the train, glad to be moving again and grateful for the break from work. But breakfast time came and went and still no Chengdu. We didn't arrive until after noon and I booked a ticket on the next train to Emei Shan, another two hours away.
When I asked for directions, the hostel at the foot of the mountain told me to find bus 8, so I looked around at the train station, but found nothing. I asked someone for directions using the few words of Chinese I know, a phone app, and, when I discovered he spoke a little English, my own language. He told me I had to go to the bus station and volunteered to take me on his electric motorcycle. I complied and soon we were careening through traffic. With my large backpack hanging from my shoulders, it was all I could do to grip the metal hand-holds to keep from falling off the back. Fearless, this man sped around cars, telling me about his family and job. A few exhilarating minutes later we arrived at the bus station and he put me on a bus to the mountain.
I got off the bus too soon, got lost and had to hire a motorbike taxi to take me to the hostel. I only did so, because he knew where to take me, and I had no idea. By the time I finally arrived and checked in, I had been traveling for a full 24 hours.
So i sat on the train, glad to be moving again and grateful for the break from work. But breakfast time came and went and still no Chengdu. We didn't arrive until after noon and I booked a ticket on the next train to Emei Shan, another two hours away.
When I asked for directions, the hostel at the foot of the mountain told me to find bus 8, so I looked around at the train station, but found nothing. I asked someone for directions using the few words of Chinese I know, a phone app, and, when I discovered he spoke a little English, my own language. He told me I had to go to the bus station and volunteered to take me on his electric motorcycle. I complied and soon we were careening through traffic. With my large backpack hanging from my shoulders, it was all I could do to grip the metal hand-holds to keep from falling off the back. Fearless, this man sped around cars, telling me about his family and job. A few exhilarating minutes later we arrived at the bus station and he put me on a bus to the mountain.
I got off the bus too soon, got lost and had to hire a motorbike taxi to take me to the hostel. I only did so, because he knew where to take me, and I had no idea. By the time I finally arrived and checked in, I had been traveling for a full 24 hours.
The hostel reminded me of a cabin wealthy tourists might stay in during a skiing trip in Colorado. But after the hard mat on the metal bunk I slept in in Xian, the wide and plush bed here seemed the most comfortable bed I'd ever slept in, fit for royalty. When I stood under the shower, with first world quality water pressure, I didn't ever want to get out.
After the best night's sleep I'd had in weeks, I started hiking into the official park of "Emei Shan." I realized the night before that I would need a full day to reach the summit, and a full day to get down again, and since I had nowhere to stay at the top, I decided to at least go as far as I could. I started with the nearest monastery, then followed a Chinese family along a winding dirt path, which snaked through the dense trees and bamboo shoots.
I was a bit chagrined to follow the grandma of the family, wearing cheap sandals, who hiked up the steep hill as though she were walking on level pavement, while I struggled behind, suffocating from the wet heat, as though trying to breath underwater, sweat streaking down my back.
At least, going in this way, I mistakenly, though serendipitously, bypassed the unreasonably high entrance fee.
After the best night's sleep I'd had in weeks, I started hiking into the official park of "Emei Shan." I realized the night before that I would need a full day to reach the summit, and a full day to get down again, and since I had nowhere to stay at the top, I decided to at least go as far as I could. I started with the nearest monastery, then followed a Chinese family along a winding dirt path, which snaked through the dense trees and bamboo shoots.
I was a bit chagrined to follow the grandma of the family, wearing cheap sandals, who hiked up the steep hill as though she were walking on level pavement, while I struggled behind, suffocating from the wet heat, as though trying to breath underwater, sweat streaking down my back.
At least, going in this way, I mistakenly, though serendipitously, bypassed the unreasonably high entrance fee.
I met a group of college students from a nearby university and together we explored a bit of the mountain, arriving at a temple where they treated me to lunch. People in China, especially provincial China are always curious about foreigners, I think, and extremely kind.
I stayed at Emei Shan two days and altered my plans. Originally I had planned to take a train to Kunming, then to Dali, Lijiang and Shangri La, but I realized this route was about as direct as a course through a maze, and in any rate, the next ticket to Kunming wasn't for another two weeks. So I decided to first go to Lijiang, not far from the Sichuan border. Which meant catching a train, first, to the mid-sized city of Panzhahua, near the Sichuan/Yunnan border.