China 2007

We were free from the trouble of visiting three monasteries in a day, but we still had just one left. The Lin Yin Temple was "one of the most famous" in China. I wondered when they would stop saying that about everything. It was certainly one of the more scenic ones, however.

The weather was over 35 °C, and humid, so the air was filled with bugs. Over 300 Buddhist figures were carved into the rocky faces of the mountains in which the temple was nestled. We walked through a small cave, under a hill, and over a bridge under which a mellow stream passed. An elaborate pagoda served as a tomb for an early Indian monk. Our guide led us into an even more secure area, where the massive temple structures rose up, their golden roofs blinding us. The first hall was pretty standard - four gigantic protectors, a great statue behind candles, incense, and anxious pilgrims. We moved on to an even bigger one, then even bigger. The last was big enough to get lost in. It was a giant maze, shaped in a clockwise-pointing swastika. Thousands of statues lined the path, all commemorating actual disciples of the past. The faces, size and all were supposed to be correct.

Our guide explained the meaning of one of the statues on the face of the mountain: a big Buddha with a big belly. The big belly means he has laughed a lot in life, a good thing.

We climbed to an even bigger hall, where only a few unimposing statues lined the walls. In the center, a 13-meter high solid gold Buddha sat - the largest sitting Buddha in China. I can't believe they have records for that kind of thing.

We had half an hour to explore, and Mrs. James pointed out several footpaths scaling the mountain we had passed earlier. I went alone, passing a few local tourists, as the steps went up and up across the mountain. It seemed like it never ended, but after twenty minutes I reached a viewpoint where I could see the city of buildings that was the temple below.

Mosquitoes swarmed my body dripping with sweat; I had to close my eyes and cover my nose and mouth to save myself from being eaten alive. So I ran down as fast as I could to the bus.

After lunch we headed off to a tea plantation. We got out in the sweltering sun, among row after row of tea bush. Our guide picked the smallest and most narrow leaves, telling us that these young, tender things would be the most valuable. Tea bushes could be harvested about 30 times a season, and they will last for 25 years. Once that time is up, they can be revived two more times before replanting is needed. Considering each pinch of tea can make several cups, that's a lot of tea.

We observed the process of drying the tea leaves, in which a man swirls tea leaves around in a deep, heated bowl.

We were taken next to a frigid room where the master tea packer of the plantation, a lady, distributed samples of the finest kind of tea available - the early spring harvest. It had a nickname: emporer's tea, because in ancient times the commoners were not allowed such fine quality. Also, this kind of tea is never exported out of China.

We continued through the complex after a relaxing teatime, and encountered many more tea products. The biggest hit for our group was tea candy - it tasted like a Butterfinger, slightly more grainy, and perfectly healthy aside from some honey to sweeten the small bar. We wound our way through the huge store, seemingly bigger than the fields of tea outside. A mob of tourists, we had no choice but to follow the winding path and ocassionally pick up a tasting sample.

On the bus to our West Lake cruise, Joy told us of the moon festival celebrated in Hanzhou. It was said that thirty-three moons could be visible: 5 from each pagoda, of which there are three, 15 more from their reflections, one real moon and its reflection, and "one in your heart".

The boat cruise was calm and cool, a break from the outside humidity and hassle. We drifted past the three pagodas, around the tiny island in the middle, and got a good glimpse of the city's skyline.

Although the sun was getting lower in the sky, our day wasn't hardly over. Our next stop was a beautiful tea museum. Every imaginable piece of knowledge about tea was contained in two small floors, with just a few artifacts and displays scattered around. The grounds were far more extensive than the building, however, and almost gave Hanzhou its name as "paradise on Earth".

Our last stop with the group, our final group activity in mainland China, was a pagoda that I didn't choose to climb. Harmony tower, with an original purpose to "control the tides of the river" and prevent floods (don't ask me how, something to do with pleasing the gods, though, probably), was 13 stories high on the outside and six or seven on the inside. I didn't choose to climb it, however; I was thoroughly baked and absolutely drenched in sweat - by just standing there.

After a few hours of recooperation at the hotel, we set off to our final group dinner on the mainland. Hong Kong is a Special Administrative Region, but everybody treats it as an international flight. After dinner a few of the group found themselves at the waterfront watching a "musical water show". I had 17 yuan with me, and a Dairy Queen Oreo Vanilla Blizzard cost 15 - so I set off to find the DQ. After walking the wrong way for an hour, I realized my mistake and turned around. Not having enough money to take a taxi, I walked for another hour and five minutes more, to the Dairy Queen I was so familiar with. I knew how to get back to the hotel from there, so I returned to suck up all the extra sleep I could get. Tomorrow we would fly to the big city, civilization - Hong Kong.

Tuesday, July 11. A frustrating day, to say the least. It began with rain. Rain is lovely. I like the rain. And it poured.

I had no time for breakfast. We took off past the Bund, under the tunnel, and stopped at the hazy TV tower. Two huge balls shot into the sky, the top of the tower obscured at times by thick cloud cover.

We went through airport-like security, where they confiscated my camera for no reason whatsoever. Other people's large video and still cameras were allowed through with no problem. And they didn't speak enough English other than to say "office, office!" and point at my camera and the office. This place wasn't much more than a strict tourist attraction and boasting of the third-highest building in the world.

So I rode the elevator with floors marked in meters (I though 267 and 304 were floors... oops) up to the observation deck, despondant. The ride up took at least a minute, and the pressure in my ears became overwhelming enough to require manual equalization at least three times. We only had to wait a few minutes to go up, but line to go down took ten times as long. Much of our group wanted to take the stairs, but we couldn't find any. It was a labyrinth, and what for? Not much more than a place to hold tourists in line, while squeezing every drop of money out of them.

We come back down with half an hour to peruse the shops. I'm wandering around a shop when I notice Peter on a second story balcony of the place, indoors. There's not much up there besides a window, so I shrug my shoulders at him. What are you doing? A guard comes up to me, tense as if ready to attack. "Show me your ticket, now!" he shouts at me. I didn't have a ticket, of course, because our caring tour guide had never thought to give them to us. Peter descended some stairs and had an argument with the man in Chinese. He went outside to find the tour guide and brought back a ticket, then ran off as fast as he could. The man was simmering with anger, but looked satisfied for now. I asked Peter what happened, but he was too angry to explain.

I needed to get my camera before we left, and Mrs. James wanted to get out, so we went up a staircase to the second level, where we had come in. There was a rope blocking the top of the steps, and a lady jumped at our climbing them, spewing complaints in Chinese. I showed her my reclamation key, and she let us pass, grumbling. I had to repeat this a few times, each official reluctantly letting me by to reclaim my confiscated belonging.

Mrs. James was disappointed that nobody had visited the museum of the history of Shanghai at the bottom of the tower, but frankly I was fed up with the place already. Someone had once said that while Beijing people were stern, Shanghai people were stuck up and obnoxious. I had disagreed at the time, but I was sick of being pestered for feeding these people money.

We drove a short distance to lunch through a heavy downpour. The sound of the rain on the roof of the restraunt was scary. I went outside into the cold, wet air to take a look at the sky falling down. The exit was at the side of the restaurant, and at front along the street were some picnic benches. I walked along the side of the building to get a bit out of the ground, but an old fat security guard, cigarette dangling from his mouth, stopped me and turned me around.

I went back inside as everyone was leaving. Our time in Shanghai was up.

We took the bus along an elevated highway, through rows and rows of skyscrapers, swooping between each along huge glass sound barriers. I slept a little.

The train was dirty and slow, but the seats were still "soft". The train only reached speeds of 160 km/h (100 mph), and it took just over two hours to reach Hanzhou. I slept a lot.

Our guide, Joy, reminded me of our panda-resembling guide from Chengdu. She was friendly and didn't struggle with English particularly, and she was overwhelmingly nice. She kept telling us how we were so welcome in Hanzhou, and how everybody would love us, and how it was such a pleasure to host us. The girls in the bus were constantly going, "Awww..."

We were once again in an ancient capital of China. We had been to two others so far, among which were Nanjing, also close to Shanghai, and a few others I can't recall. The first noticable difference in Hanzhou was the humidity. We stepped onto that platform and gaped at the temperature. It felt so good. It wouldn't stay that way, unfortunately, but for now the humidity was noticably lower and the temperature was a good, comfortable one. Blue sky opened up wide above us.

Us students of compartment four waited on that platform for a few minutes, while whistles were blowing, signaling the imminent departure of our not-quite-a-bullet-train. Mrs. James, of compartment three, was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly a bustling of people fighting upstream and cackling so characterizing of our fearless leader erupted from down the platform, and the train chugged away as Mrs. James stood there with her ducklings. They had no idea to get off, for some strange reason. They had been trying to name our tour guide from start to finish of this trip, and hadn't thought to wonder what station we were at. Close call.

The only thing on our 'itinerary' this evening was to walk to the West Lake, and get some sunset pictures among the lilies.

We took some pictures, found some restaurants, and feasted. I gave up on my fast food abstinence vow, and dug into some Papa John's Thin Crust BBQ Chicken. It wasn't nearly the same as the American sauce I so crave, but it was food. And pizza, at that.

I returned to the hotel, watched some NatGeo, and fell asleep way too early.

Finally, the relaxation we thought the cruise would afford us. Back to the usual, 9 AM departure and done with the early morning get-your-butt-to-breakfast repetition. Shanghai was bright, busy, and hazy. Our first stop was the Children's Palace, and I expected some sort of Summer Palace spin-off. But no - we walked down a wide alley into a seemingly modern building, up a set of spiral stairs, and into a dance studio. There, four children of no more than eight fought with swords, danced around, and apparently sung. One child gave his "tourist performance" as the others restlessly made noise in the background. Our guide urged us to respond with talent, so my roommate sang a simple song to the children. It was hot and we felt as though we were intruding, so we went to another building. In fact, these children were being trained for the Beijing Opera. Starting at such a young age, attending the school once a week, they could become extremely talented through discipline and practice. But they were still kids.

The second part of our tour was geared toward the instrumental. We nearly laughed out loud as Chinese traditional instruments played "Jingle Bells" for us a second time - we had been serenaded by one of the wind instrument vendors in Xian with the same song weeks earlier. That evening, at the acrobatics show, saxaphones would blare "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer". As if tourists came to Shanghai, sick of Chinese music, ready to settle into a Western-style Christmas. Exactly our intentions.

The instrumental performances were startlingly good, at times. We were quickly led into a government-owned shop of "mostly children's art", however. Most items were in the hundreds of US dollars.

Our chaperones insisted on a glimpse of the Shanghai waterfront during the day, so we attempted to escape the humidity, relentless vendors and crowds in the Bund area for a quick photo stop. Shanghai traffic was not the worst yet, but it was difficult to get anywhere in the city with such a big vehicle. The waterfront was full of uniquely shaped buildings, far more dramatic and varied than Hong Kong. Take, for instance, the Marriott with a gigantic dome on top, a building with a hole to let a dragon slip through, or a giant ballpoint pen. The tallest building in China was about to be replaced by an even taller building, standing right next to it. Still, Hong Kong has that harbor splendor that can't be beat.

Just before lunch we disembarked the bus and walked along a long park, consistently hounded by attachable-skates vendors and beggars. It seems that every city we visit has its unique, tourist-trap item that any old Joe Lee will sell you. We managed to escape them by turning into a crowded market street and finally into massive gardens.

Entryways were shaped like vases and other ornamental objects, so that the scenery behind them would appear as a painting. What an idealistic, yet amusing, perspective. Well-fed coi floated lazily along the system of lakes as we passed over bridges by which the fish swarmed.

Ponds were everywhere, fish were everywhere, and the crowds of local tourists shattered any serenity we might have experienced. We were given some free time, which I cleverly used to visit Dairy Queen and send of some quick emails. Diary Queen was my highlight of the day, God bless 'er.

Lunch was not very stylish - we watched our food disappear from tanks and appear on our plates. Kozden feasted on his fishy friends, but most of us stuck to the traditional Chinese. The girls couldn't get enough of the "cute little crabs", and us guys were amused by their struggle to persevere, clawing at each other to be the last one out of the tank. Our final stop after lunch was the Jade Buddha temple, famous for its two jade statues purchased from Burma. Personally, they weren't anything spectacular, but it felt good to smell the incense and feel people's passion for the religion and doing-good in the air.

We were granted a few hours at the hotel to rest, during which I watched some movie on HBO about a chimpanze, and Napolean Dynamite on Cinemax. Looking out the window at all the tall buildings, with room and laundry service a call away, and English television, made me feel quite priveleged. I slept for about thirty minutes, and my roommate was as usual God-knows-where.

The evening would prove to be spectacular, in fact worthy of a fifteen dollar DVD. Dinner was close and quick, nearby to the Ritz-Carlton. We entered the theatre, immediately awestruck by an awesome display of acrobatics. The lights, music and bodies all seemed to flow in a constant stream of applause. Ten minutes would have left my jaw hanging, but an hour and a half of a huge variety of unbelievable talent was what they gave us. In the middle, a man demonstrated throwing knives, then called for a volunteer. My roommate, Will, was chosen and blindfolded, after some controversy. The man pretended to throw the knives while his assistent slammed them in on cue - Will completely clueless. Nobody has told him yet, and I'm sure they can't hold out for long. Several people came out afterwards to remark on "how close those knives really were - you have NO idea." Will's nervous courage and bravery set the audience roaring with laughter at the irony and cunning miming of the actors, but my roommate never caught on. The whole combination of a member of our group being spotlighted - Will, of course, always the drama king - and an absolutely unbelievable acrobatic performances, smeared by only a few small timing flaws that made it seem only more human and realistic, made the evening unforgettable.

When I got back to the hotel, I realized what a bad idea Starbucks by the Ritz-Carlton had been. I couldn't sleep until much too late, and we had a long train transfer the following day. Harry Potter on HBO kept me entranced, though, and my roommate arrived back early in the morning. It was nice to have some privacy to relax, and although it has taken time for my roommate and I to get close, it is comforting to have a TV, room, and great view all to oneself once in a while.

On a side note, I was absolutely convinced that Peter, Willie, Mollie and Juli had to share a single room. They had mistakenly gotten four keys for the same room the night before, and when I came in upon them all spontaneously acting like they shared the room, I fell for it. It was an embarrasing moment for me, but I could tell the group was on a trend towards happiness after some familiar food and a spectacular show.

Two short nights had passed, and we were docked halfway through the third and largest gorge of the Yangtze River. This morning we would explore the Three Gorges Dam from top to bottom, but nothing would match the experience of going through the locks. We had been docked just east of the big dam for most of the morning, after escaping the massive structure with five other passenger and cargo ships. It was an unusual feeling, looking out the window to see the shore - not moving. At precisely 8 we took our pendants for reboarding, boarded buses, and set off over one of the locks to get permission to enter the dam area. The guide picked up our permits and we were let out by a small observation area east of the dam. Tall, narrow doors and pillars similar to the ones leading to the ship locks demarked the pending ship elevator, which, unlike the locks, was not going to be free. We couldn't really get any perspective on the dam except at water level, but from this point of view, the length was still impressive.

We were again shuttle up to the highest hill in the area. From here, we got a great view of the locks - but still not as impressive as when in them. The water from the spillway shot upward as if coming from the earth below, and many power lines spread out from the generators to the mainland. Ten times as powerful as Hoover Dam, this place displayed only a fraction of the peripherals.

Construction of the dam had required excavation of a small island in the middle of the waterway, once used as an ancient burial ground. We were bussed to a muggy, second-floor museum, and led through by an energetic guide who explained absolutely every artifact - mainly pottery, bones and tools. When we were done with the museum, small but well-informed, we were "invited" into a government shop, required by the government of the tour company for each city.

Our city guide explained how small Yichang was: 1.3 million. Just a few hundred square kilometers, instead of the hundreds of miles Beijing extended in multiple dimensions, was one reason for Yichang's classification as "small". He - our young guide with excellent English - livelily (yes, that's a word) informed us of the qualifications Yichang offered us. It was among the top ten "most charming" cities in China, and believed to be in the three "most liveable". There we go with the baseball statistics again.

We stopped at the airport, happy to learn of our earlier flight - one of the fourteen flights Yichang serves every day. Most of us sat down at a restaurant, but I wasn't hungry. I observed Chairman Mao and his entourage enter the terminal, and we prayed he wasn't on the flight. At least he looked sober.

Our A320-214 (yes, they bothered to specify) looked a little clunky, but our seats were comfortable (my last name got me 4A) and its operation was smooth. China Eastern presented us with the standard hot meal on our ninety minute flight to Shanghai. As usual, as expected at every meal in mainland China, dessert was - you guessed it - watermelon.

Shanghai wasn't as humid as expected when we arrived at the old, domestic airport; although it had just rained, the atmosphere was comfortable - a relief from the unbearable Yangtze. Upon our departure just hours earlier from Yichang, the air conditioner had created a steady flow of mist into the cabin. It was a pretty scary phenomenon, but granted us the illusion of coolness.

We walked across, down, and across the street once more from the Shanghai Hotel - a street with McDonald's, Pizza Hut, Burger King and Häagen Dazs, and pirated DVDs for 5 yuan. It was heaven for all of us, and we were given an hour to enjoy it. I joined a party at Pizza Hut, sit-down style. We were feeling the Western groove, so we headed off to Burger King afterwards for fries and drinks.

The walk back was long and wet, as it had started sprinkling again, and a few people took taxis. Our city guide (an older lady with a pretty severe accent) had really encouraged these taxis for their "fairness" - they were metered, but also government owned. The hotel wasn't too far, only a ten minute walk, and we got back fairly early for our standards. The place was four stars, and for Shanghai that means really good, at least four or five English TV channels. Central China TV International, CNN, HBO, Cinemax, and a few others. I watched an aboslutely terrible horror movie on HBO - The Fog. No plot, bad acting and too many "famous" young people to draw unnecessary attention. We all have a habit for watching the same program in any given night, so the next morning we were discussing the ridiculousness of that movie. Most people had given up before it had finished, but Mollie filled us in. "The lady turns into a ghost and kills everybody," or something like that. Whatever it was, it wasn't worth it.

Still, Shanghai was warming up to me.

Our second day on the river, and many of us had signed up for an optional tour of the White Emporer City, which, as always, involved a climb. We docked before 8 o' clock in the middle of the second gorge,very like a fjord, and took a small, old ferry around a bend to the base of a huge series of steps. Covered chairs with taxi numbers waited, attended by two men each, who would carry the occupant up and down five hundred steps for twenty bucks. All but one of our group walked it.

Our local guide gave us some "free time" to explore the first temple, but people wandered fast and we had soon walked through the entire complex before our guide caught up. So we went through again, this time with explanation. Honestly - it was too early for all of us. There wasn't all that much to see, and not much of a story behind it all. The most fascinating part was that the ancient city was now an island - once attached to the mainland by an isthmus, on which a factory once lay. The water had risen by hundreds of feet since the construction of the two "flood control" projects downstream. At least they could predict how far the water would rise (don't ask me how) and they could relocate factories, farms, and residents.

Mrs. James attended a tea demonstration between the first excursion and the second. They had tea for everything - constipation, bad eyesight, you name it. I slept through lunch and then packed for the Shennong Stream excursion.

They call it a shore excursion, but we never touched bonafide land. Instead we took a speedy ferry for almost an hour, and then piled in rowboats by the dozens. Six local farmers powered each boat, two of them designated "captains". The first captain steered while the second, at the front of the boat, prodded the bottom of the stream. We enjoyed the almost-silent ride, passing waterfalls and caves, working our way slowly upstream. When the depth became visible - just a few meters - the boatmen got out and pulled the boat with a towrope and special harnesses. It was an unnecessary exertion on their behalf, but it was interesting to observe ancient custom nonetheless. We stopped when the current and rapids became too much, and they anchored the boat somehow to give us shiny stream rocks. The tickets we got showed the back of naked boatmen tugging away, and Mrs. James couldn't stop talking about it. But our stream guide, a young woman, told us that the nude practice had been discontinued for twenty years now. Their clothes had been rough and painful when wet, but apparently the technology of clothes had improved.

On the return trip our boat shot down the stream, until it hit the slower, deeper water closer to the Yangtze. To amuse us, our river guide sung some minority folk songs to us. There was some discussion, and then the boatmen chimed in. It was the most cultural experience, and for many of us, our favorite experience, of the whole cruise.

Back on ship, I decided to prepare for the talent show that evening. When I signed up at the front desk, as only the second person with the deadline in just minutes, I was afraid that I would be in the spotlight. But when the show finally rolled around, many Chinese and Western alike participated. I had only practiced my song, with Gina, for a few hours that afternoon. When we got up there and sang "Hey There Delilah" (Plain White Ts) we forgot a few of the words and the harmony sounded pretty bad at times, but it was still a successful a capella performance. A few other kids from our group performed, and then a lot of the Chinese group "performed" karoake pieces in Mandarin. All the while, an old, fat, ugly, drunk man who we later found to own the cruise company smoked cigarettes and shouted obscenities at performers. While one American girl was singing a humorous ballad, he shouted "Funny!" sarcastically in his drunken stupor. He hissed at another member of our group and made a ruckus during my song. When he followed us to the airport after disembarking the next day, Mrs. James nicknamed him "Chairman Mao".

People tried to control him that night, but nobody could do much because of his power. Our river guide, Linda - essentially the cruise director - apologized profusely to people when Mao was not around, but said she couldn't do anything. It was his birthday, the poor guy.

Very late that night we approached a series of tall columns rising hundreds of feet out of the water. Our ship, The President III, had slowed to a snail's pace. We saw doors open to our left, and six ships left the highest upstream ship lock under coast guard escort. It took us nearly an hour to position ourselves in the back-right of the first lock, just inches from the wall and moving slower than the casual walker. The metal doors took a minute to close, and then we started to sink. Water trickled in, but poured out an invisible drain at a tremendous rate. The water level had dropped twenty meter in just minutes, but it took the better part of an hour to communicate and navigate between locks. The process repeated five times.
After the first lock, I retreated to the mahjong room (aka "Captain's Pub") to eat a 'banana boat' with pears instead of bananas, and play Mahjong with two of the crew members (James and Lucy) and Gina, who kept playing the game all wrong. Eventually, Willie replaced James. Lucy and Willie, who kept babbling in Chinese, insisted I play one more game, then one more, then another. When I finally came out to the back deck before dinner, I encountered many of the young folks on the ship drunk, lounging in chairs and watching the final lock close. The final lock had walls much shorter than the rest, so it almost felt like we were sailing again, rather than being ants subject to the whim of a giant machine.

We finally hit the real river around 2 in the morning, and when I returned to my room, my roommate who usually stays up all night was asleep - a first.

There was to be no sleeping in. Around 7, gentle piano music began to play, out of thin air, all over the ship. I groggily tried to figure out what was causing it, and why I could not stop it. I slunk back under the sheets, having given up and thoroughly frustrated. Fifteen minutes later, our river guide, Linda, came over the speakers with morning announcements, which were slowly repeated several times. This particular morning, I decided to get up and eat breakfast, but in the following days I would not be quite so energetic.

I stood outside on the fifth deck for some time, watching us pass through a wide, flat channel among small rocky islands and whirlpools. The windows were all covered in giant water droplets, but the air was still cool enough this early in the morning. In the night, we had passed into an area of intense humidity - the difference was vividly noticable.

We had several hours before our first shore excursion, and we were still chugging along. The only activity that morning was a demonstration of the use and fabrication of various trinkets that were sold in the shops there. Frankly, I can't remember the highlights. I sat in an alcove with Mrs. James and Mr. Kozden talking about random things.

We docked along the "old city" a flat area by the river with hundreds of leveled foundations. Several years prior, the city had moved across the river to higher ground. The water would raise another twenty meters when the third phase of the Three Gorges Dam was completed.

We took a bus, then walked along a long aisle of shops, into a large plaza. Most of the group took the cable car, but a few of us chose to run, and then walk, up six hundred steps, through abandoned temples and gazebos, to the top of the mountain. Surprisingly, we beat the cable car group by several minutes.

This place was called Fengdu, the Ghost City. The spirits of everybody in the world were supposed to come here, according to Taoism, and we would visit both heaven and hell. Our guide took us through three tests: the first, to cross a bridge of longevity in three, six or nine steps. One the return trip, we would would choose the side bridges of health or wealth. I chose health. Another test that didn't count for us young folk, to prove faithfulness to one's wife, was to roll a 400-pound rock to balance on top of a little rock hill. Many tried, but only the trained performer succeeded. The second test was to run up a series of stairs while holding one's breath. The third, to balance one's foot on a half-submerged rock for three seconds. The guide would count it all in less than a second, so that everybody added twenty years to their lives: "One-two-three." We walked by a series of statues, on either side of the path. They were victims of hell: the drunkard, the playbody, etc. Various superstitions surrounded each. We entered the gates of hell.

Mrs. James had already gotten another tour when she snuck off, or got lost, and she pointed out some great views of the mountain from behind a giant pagoda. After we passed all three tests, we walked through Taoist and Buddhist temples. In the highest temple on the mountain, each corridor showed us the tortures of hell. As we returned through the hall of statues, we were supposed to laugh loudly to scare off the ghosts. Sadly, Mrs. James couldn't laugh on cue.

That night the crew presented a show of dancing, singing and pantamiming in colorful costumes.

After the crew's show, we danced into the late hours of the morning.

Goodbye, Tibet. My dinner of yak meat and apple pie had settled any loose ends - say, qualms with bad food or any feeling of remoteness - that might lead me to miss the place. But no, I had just enough, for now. An early morning at the Yak Hotel brought grogginess to both my roommate and I. He showered first, couldn't find a towel for me to use, and then tried to communicate that to one of the staff. "No towel" was the only response he could get. I was surprised that the people who had spoken English so well and been so happy to assist our group members with various problems were now walls. So I used a robe.

We got out just in time, but then the hotel had to check each of our rooms for missing things, and I was immediately cornered. "Missing one towel," the receptionist snarled. Seeing as my roommate had probably lost it among his terrible mess, I tried to convince them that I didn't have anything to do with it. They wanted me to pay for it, but then they found it under his bed. I was already exhausted.

We took the new road to the airport, which cut off forty kilometers through huge tunnels and long bridges. Cars in front of us were cutting it close when they passed our slow bus, some within a few feet of oncoming traffic. We were in an airport of five or six gates, but flights constantly arriving and departing. For food I bought a cup-of-noodles - that I had to boil in water myself - at the only restaurant in the terminal. When we finally boarded, we sat on the tarmac for nearly an hour for clearance. They use the runway as a taxiway, but only two planes made any movement in that period. When we finally started off, it took a good four times longer than I had expected to get off the ground: almost a minute of rolling.

The plane smelled like cigarette smoke, as in many Chinese planes we've been on. And to make matters worse, well, my seatmate was a little obnoxious (see previous: "The Man Sitting Next to Me"). Our landing in Chongqing was surprisingly smooth.

We boarded a nice bus - two seats for nearly all of us, a relief after a cramped Tibetan bus without air conditioning - and set out for the city. Chongqing holds three nicknames: the foggy city, the mountain city, and the furnace city. We could feel the humidity and heat pressing at the cracks of every contained building, struggling to condition the air, and when we stepped outside, we nearly melted on spot. This was an excellent day, weather-wise, according to our new guide. We felt like we were dying, drowning in fact, and it could have been twenty degrees hotter.

We passed over long bridges, giving support to the second nickname of the city. More like a province, the city spread out farther than the three biggest "cities" of China combined - so the government had give Chongqing a special position as a province quite recently. The place was building up, ancient towns and buildings being turned into skyscrapers. There was a fancy monorail (which had its own huge bridge across the Yangtze) that shuttled people between the zoo, the airport, and a university town not far away. Much of the city had been destroyed in World War II, so it was a privelege that we got to see some of the older district that had remained intact.

We passed by an intricate network of manmade caves built in that same period, that the government now rented out to businesses.

We visited a museum dedicated to General Stilwell, a living model of his house and a cryptic series of pictures that explained his contribution to China. Peter, Mollie, Paulina and I snuck into the basement of the house, which was gloomy and unexciting. A few old artifacts and pictures were all there was to see.

We caught up with the group and walked across the street, to the Flying Tigers museum and art gallery. We first received a lecture on the importance of the Flying Tigers, in sketchy English. I like planes, sure, but the combination of heat and hawking was a little much. There was just too much history to see, museum after museum.

We had the usual dinner at a fancy place in the mountains, close to an older part of the city. From the restaurant, our boat - our hotel for the next three nights - was only fifteen minutes away. We walked across a plank and stepped into The Splendid China.

The lobby looked like any hotel - receptionist, business center, many shops selling clothes and souveniers. The dining hall was just through a door on that deck, the second deck. Our room keys were strange square metal pieces, and our rooms were fitted with bathtubs, desks, TVs, and minifridges, with a great big window looking out on the river. On the fifth floor, a dance floor and lounge/bar dominated the scene. On the fourth floor, where our rooms were, there was a "Captain's Pub" with an ideal outside viewing deck and relaxing inside game room. Peter, Gina and I climbed to the highest deck to watch the ship depart, wary of its enormous horn - but it didn't leave until nearly 5 in the morning, as we were fast asleep. We woke to the rocking of the ship and an earthquake of switching motors as it turned in the narrow channel.