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| An Idiot in distress at the end of Tiger Leaping Gorge |
At 2,500 meters I stopped on the trail to
re-bandage my knee and wait for the anti-inflammatory to kick in. A cold wind
wrapped me in damp mist and I reflected on my first day’s trekking through Tiger
Leaping Gorge. It hadn’t gone well, if I’m honest. Before dawn I had trekked the
few kilometres through a pre-dawn snow shower to Shangri-la’s bus station. It
was very pretty I had enjoyed the novelty but after years of summer-hopping
around the globe, I had completely forgotten that snow is made from water. On
the bus my top half shivered damply as the heater roasted my feet, but the reek
of burning ankle hair couldn’t compete with the distinctive musk of the fat
Chinese gentleman who used me as pillow. I stared into cloud and swirling snow
that turned to sleet as we descended. At a grubby village strung along the base
of a sheer cliff where a mountain stream joined the Jinsha river I leapt off
the bus gratefully and walked across a busy bridge to where a small sign marked
the start of the Tiger Leaping Gorge walking route in English and Chinese. I
had paid my $10 trekking fee at a toll booth near the bridge so when, after
three hours of climbing steeply, a local mimed that I was not actually on the
path and indeed had not been for some time, I felt a bit cheated. I retraced my
steps on narrow winding roads through picturesque villages nestled on steep
hillsides full of early spring blooms and thought I’d cheer myself up by
getting a few photos. I pulled the heavy camera out of my bag, framed a scene
of bucolic, cherry-blossomed perfection and hit the button. Nothing. A horse
posed perfectly in front of a misty mountain peak looked at me. “Sorry mate,
can’t stand here all day, you know. Got stuff to do,” his watery glare seemed
to say. He walked to the edge of frame to have a giant poo. The moment was
lost. Battery dead.
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| Camouflage Idiot on the precarious path. |
By
the time I found the path again I guessed I had walked 3 hours and 10km extra. Tiger
Leaping Gorge is one of the deepest on earth and the narrow pony path clings stubbornly to the edge of steep mountainsides. On the left of the
deeply-grooved, rocky path snowy peaks soar thousands of meters while a steep
and uncomfortable bounce to the river hundreds of meters below awaits
anyone who takes an ill-advised, rocky-horror-picture-show-style jump to the right. Across the gorge another
steep wall of mountains rises, shrouded in mist and snow. Alongside the river is the new road. Until it was built in the ‘90s, this precarious pony track
had been the only access to dozens of tiny villages dotted on the steep slope.
For centuries caravans of ponies loaded with tea had ground this path deep into
the rock but now there were only a scattering of Chinese and western tourists
and the occasional weathered local walking between villages. I pushed hard all
afternoon and eventually crested the 28 steps, a series of evil, rocky
switchbacks which leads to the path’s highest point. As soon as I started to descend,
I felt a twinge in the back of my knee and within a hundred meters sharp stabs
of pain shot up my right leg whenever I put weight on it. As soon as the path levelled
out I was fine but any downhill sections became hell. By the time I reached Tea
Horse Guesthouse, I was not having a good time. Luckily the restaurant was well
stocked with yeast-flavoured, liquid ant-inflammitories served in large green
bottles so I medicated myself thoroughly while smashing my first meal of the
day. For a few dollars I got an empty dorm. I nicked the blankets off the other
beds and lay in the unheated room while a light snow fell.
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| Chinese toilets are a challenge with a busted knee. At least the view from this one was good. |
In
the morning my leg was swollen and sore but by the time I had limped the 10km
to the end of the trail, it had improved. After lunch I got a bus back to
Lijiang and caught the night train to Kunming where I wandered
around for most of the day before catching another train to Shanghai. My
ticket said the trip took 36 hours and as I waited with several hundred
other people in an airport-style departure lounge, I felt a familiar queasiness.
I tried to talk myself out of it but just as the sun set two hours out of Kunming I bolted for the filthy train toilet where I spent
large portions of the next 12 hours vomiting into a swaying, jerking hole in
the floor as southern China
passed outside, presumably. I guess there are worse places to be ill than a Chinese train,
but I can’t think of any. Every time the train got near a station, the stern
young conductor locked all the toilets, and I leaned my head against the
cool mirror next to the door until she deemed us far enough away from
civilization. She also locked them at 9pm after the lights had
been turned off but seeing my distress she kindly left one open. Twice late
at night, she and another man woke me with a flashlight glare to check my
ticket. Between bouts of sickness I dozed in my bunk, glad I was in China
where people were unlikely to make conversation, and dreamed of the sweet
release of death – I tend to get a bit melodramatic when I’m ill.
Whenever
I looked out the window all I saw were muddy concrete towns drained of colour. The hypnotic flash of scraggly trees and rusting poles flashing past the
rain-streaked glass triggered more nausea so I closed the curtain and retreated
to my bunk. I guess it was just the weather and the way I was feeling but
eastern China
looked grim and ugly. I wished I was anywhere else.
Before
dawn the next morning the compartment lights woke me and I was well enough to
have a banana and some hot water. We pulled into Shanghai station in the cold, grey light and
I felt weak under my bags on the platform. Alicia was waiting for me and I
limped over and tapped her on the shoulder. It was great to see her and
we hugged for a long time before she pushed me away.
“You
stink, you know. And look how skinny you are.” She had a point.
We
walked past huge shopping malls and Metro stations. Everyone was well-dressed
in the morning rush, walking quickly to desks in the looming glass towers high
above. I felt like a bum in my dusty hiking boots and when we got to Alicia’s
tenth floor apartment, I had a very long shower. That afternoon I bought new
clothes and felt well enough to devour a huge burger. I was glad to be off the road
and in no hurry to go anywhere. For a while, at least.
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| A different kind of canyon. The view from Alicia's apartment in central Shanghai. |
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