October Holiday 2 -- Baishuitai and Haba
17 October 2005
Between the northern end of Tiger Leaping Gorge where the Yangze emerges into a broad valley and the Tibetan-esque city of Zhongdian (a.k.a. Shangri La), a road wriggles relentlessly through steep mountains and valleys as it climbs onto the edge of the Tibetan Plateau. A five-hour bus ride takes one past small villages, terraced fields, pine forested ridges and finally, across high rolling plains into Zhongdian. We traversed the road twice after finishing our Gorge hike. On the way north en route to Zhongdian we spent a night in the small village of Baishuitai (White Water Village), famous for its travertine terraces. On the way south, returning to Lijiang at the end of the holiday, we stayed in a guesthouse above Haba, south of the slightly smaller Baishuitai.
Both villages cling to the eastern flanks of the Haba Snow Mountain, the high, glaciated peak whose southern slopes plunge into the Tiger Leaping Gorge. By appearance, neither village is prosperous, with run-down adobe buildings, a few hotels lining the highway and local men shooting pool, cigarettes dangling, on tables huddled beneath tarps rigged to keep out the drizzle. On both sides of the road, where steep mountain terrain has been carved into terraces, cornfields lush with mature stalks rattle in the fall breeze. Farmers worked the fields to extract corn between the rain showers (some of the corn is ground in water-driven mills and the rest stored in the stone and wood barns forming part of each courtyard home in the villages).
We stayed in Baishuitai for one night and in Haba for two. Baishuitai, though not without redeeming qualities (the old village below the highway is nice), is an example of how tourism can destroy the very thing that drew the tourists in the first place. Locals on the highway gesture frantically as you pull into town, desperate to lure you to their guest house or restaurant. The travertine terraces (the main attraction) above town are guarded by a ticket booth where alert employees watch hawkishly for dishonest customers, and crowds of people, selling everything from walnuts to photo opportunities, surround you as you fight your way towards the entrance. From the ridge above town local enforcers scan the hills with binoculars and communicate by radio with roving guards to prevent anyone from (God forbid) sneaking around the ticket booth and dodging the 30 yuan entry fee.
Once you’ve paid and begun your walk up to the slightly trashed, Yellowstone-like flowstone, you are accosted by 1) men offering to take you up the short trail on their horses, 2) men offering to carry you (king-like) up the path on wicker chairs crudely bound to stout carrying poles, 3) outhouses requiring additional payment should you be so unlucky as to have to pee, 4) women dressed in traditional clothing asking for money to photograph them posing unnaturally and 5) “Buddhist” shrines where one is asked to purchase incense sticks as offerings (to the God of capitalism??). After a night in a guesthouse where a narrow, dark and slippery path led to the only bathroom, a filthy wooden outhouse, we gratefully boarded the bus north the next day.
Haba, on the other hand, was considerably nicer than Baishuitai, even in the rain, probably because it was not blessed with anything so unusual as travertine flowstone. At the recommendation of Jacqueline, who had stayed there before, Ellen, Bei, Susanna, Ned and I lodged at a guesthouse above town at the edge of the forest. There is a significant population of the Hui minority—a group of Chinese Muslims that are scattered across Yunnan—living in Haba and the guest house itself was run by a Hui family. Really for us it was like staying in a farmer’s bed and breakfast, and aside from a half-day hike partway up Haba Snow Mountain before the clouds dropped, we occupied ourselves by huddling around the cook fire (the weather was cold and damp) in the kitchen and exploring around the farm. Ellen’s Chinese allowed her talk quite a lot with Assamei, the woman who ran the guest house. They exchanged English and Chinese lessons and learned about family trees and the details of daily living. In the background megaphones on the roof of the nearby schoolhouse blasted out Muslim prayers perhaps with higher frequency than typical since it was Ramadan.
The bus from Baishuitai to Zhongdian. We traversed this route twice staying first at Baishuitai on the way north and then at Haba on the way south. Bei's behavior on buses is variable--sometimes she is relatively calm, other times she struggles mightily against some unknown foe (us?) in her boredom. It's funny how adults can be fully entertained looking out of a bus window and kids have no interest.
Finally freed from the bus Bei helps out by hauling my camera bag to our guesthouse in Baishuitai.
Baishuitai's claim to fame: travertine terraces perched on a hillside above town. One has to contort oneself to find a photograph free of touts, signs and fences at this tourist destination.
Another view with the valley in the background. The valley was beautiful with terraced fields extending down steep terrain towards the Yangze River to the south.
A brave wildflower that has survived the feet of passing tourists.
Terracing in the valley below.
The village of Baishuitai was nicer than the tourist area by far. Here tobacco dries in a barn.
The ubiquitous eave decorations on a house in the village.
A detail from the entryway to a courtyard home.
From Baishuitai we headed north to Zhongdian for several days (I'll post pictures from that part of the trip soon) and then returned south to Haba on our way home. Here Bei helps Assamei, the guesthouse manager, with some work in one of the food storage buildings.
The uncle with his bull. Earlier in the trip at Baishuitai, we saw a large bull tethered along the trail to the terraces. Bei asked, "Is that a boy cow or a girl cow?" "That's a boy cow," we replied. "What is that thing hanging down?" Bei asked. Ellen and I looked at each other as we formulated our response to a classic parenting moment. "Well Bei," replied Ellen bravely, those are called testicles and all boys have them." "All boys have those things in their noses??" Bei responded with concern.
The uncle watching from the barn where the bull spends the night. Ellen reported that each time she was alone with the uncle around the fire in the kitchen he would launch into a pantomine of a violent interaction he had with a bull that Ellen thinks left him without his hearing.
I hiked partway up Haba Snow Mountain behind the guesthouse hoping to achieve treeline. Before too long I was stopped by rain, fog and a diffuse trail that faded into thick cloud forest. But the hike was nice. This area had been logged off and supported grazing yaks and woodcutters. Most of this part of China it seems has been logged--big trees are nearly nonexistent.
A man carries a load through the rain to his cabin high above Haba.
A basket and harvested corn in the barn at the guesthouse.
This guy lived in a tiny stone hut near the guesthouse with his wife. As I walked by exploring he emerged and let me take his photo.
We spent a lot of time in the family kitchen/dining room. The room was focused on an iron hearth and cook fire and was otherwise dark but for light that came in through a dirty window or the roof vents that allowed smoke to escape. Here the grandmother works preparing breakfast.
Baskets on the kitchen wall lit by morning light from the window.
Assamei's son warms up by the fire before heading off to school for the day. We spent a lot of time sitting on low stools around this fire as it rained outside.
This is the local Muslim schoolhouse. Assamei gave us a little tour of the Hui settlement and we got to poke our heads into the school.
Between the northern end of Tiger Leaping Gorge where the Yangze emerges into a broad valley and the Tibetan-esque city of Zhongdian (a.k.a. Shangri La), a road wriggles relentlessly through steep mountains and valleys as it climbs onto the edge of the Tibetan Plateau. A five-hour bus ride takes one past small villages, terraced fields, pine forested ridges and finally, across high rolling plains into Zhongdian. We traversed the road twice after finishing our Gorge hike. On the way north en route to Zhongdian we spent a night in the small village of Baishuitai (White Water Village), famous for its travertine terraces. On the way south, returning to Lijiang at the end of the holiday, we stayed in a guesthouse above Haba, south of the slightly smaller Baishuitai.
Both villages cling to the eastern flanks of the Haba Snow Mountain, the high, glaciated peak whose southern slopes plunge into the Tiger Leaping Gorge. By appearance, neither village is prosperous, with run-down adobe buildings, a few hotels lining the highway and local men shooting pool, cigarettes dangling, on tables huddled beneath tarps rigged to keep out the drizzle. On both sides of the road, where steep mountain terrain has been carved into terraces, cornfields lush with mature stalks rattle in the fall breeze. Farmers worked the fields to extract corn between the rain showers (some of the corn is ground in water-driven mills and the rest stored in the stone and wood barns forming part of each courtyard home in the villages).
We stayed in Baishuitai for one night and in Haba for two. Baishuitai, though not without redeeming qualities (the old village below the highway is nice), is an example of how tourism can destroy the very thing that drew the tourists in the first place. Locals on the highway gesture frantically as you pull into town, desperate to lure you to their guest house or restaurant. The travertine terraces (the main attraction) above town are guarded by a ticket booth where alert employees watch hawkishly for dishonest customers, and crowds of people, selling everything from walnuts to photo opportunities, surround you as you fight your way towards the entrance. From the ridge above town local enforcers scan the hills with binoculars and communicate by radio with roving guards to prevent anyone from (God forbid) sneaking around the ticket booth and dodging the 30 yuan entry fee.
Once you’ve paid and begun your walk up to the slightly trashed, Yellowstone-like flowstone, you are accosted by 1) men offering to take you up the short trail on their horses, 2) men offering to carry you (king-like) up the path on wicker chairs crudely bound to stout carrying poles, 3) outhouses requiring additional payment should you be so unlucky as to have to pee, 4) women dressed in traditional clothing asking for money to photograph them posing unnaturally and 5) “Buddhist” shrines where one is asked to purchase incense sticks as offerings (to the God of capitalism??). After a night in a guesthouse where a narrow, dark and slippery path led to the only bathroom, a filthy wooden outhouse, we gratefully boarded the bus north the next day.
Haba, on the other hand, was considerably nicer than Baishuitai, even in the rain, probably because it was not blessed with anything so unusual as travertine flowstone. At the recommendation of Jacqueline, who had stayed there before, Ellen, Bei, Susanna, Ned and I lodged at a guesthouse above town at the edge of the forest. There is a significant population of the Hui minority—a group of Chinese Muslims that are scattered across Yunnan—living in Haba and the guest house itself was run by a Hui family. Really for us it was like staying in a farmer’s bed and breakfast, and aside from a half-day hike partway up Haba Snow Mountain before the clouds dropped, we occupied ourselves by huddling around the cook fire (the weather was cold and damp) in the kitchen and exploring around the farm. Ellen’s Chinese allowed her talk quite a lot with Assamei, the woman who ran the guest house. They exchanged English and Chinese lessons and learned about family trees and the details of daily living. In the background megaphones on the roof of the nearby schoolhouse blasted out Muslim prayers perhaps with higher frequency than typical since it was Ramadan.
The bus from Baishuitai to Zhongdian. We traversed this route twice staying first at Baishuitai on the way north and then at Haba on the way south. Bei's behavior on buses is variable--sometimes she is relatively calm, other times she struggles mightily against some unknown foe (us?) in her boredom. It's funny how adults can be fully entertained looking out of a bus window and kids have no interest.
Finally freed from the bus Bei helps out by hauling my camera bag to our guesthouse in Baishuitai.
Baishuitai's claim to fame: travertine terraces perched on a hillside above town. One has to contort oneself to find a photograph free of touts, signs and fences at this tourist destination.
Another view with the valley in the background. The valley was beautiful with terraced fields extending down steep terrain towards the Yangze River to the south.
A brave wildflower that has survived the feet of passing tourists.
Terracing in the valley below.
The village of Baishuitai was nicer than the tourist area by far. Here tobacco dries in a barn.
The ubiquitous eave decorations on a house in the village.
A detail from the entryway to a courtyard home.
From Baishuitai we headed north to Zhongdian for several days (I'll post pictures from that part of the trip soon) and then returned south to Haba on our way home. Here Bei helps Assamei, the guesthouse manager, with some work in one of the food storage buildings.
The uncle with his bull. Earlier in the trip at Baishuitai, we saw a large bull tethered along the trail to the terraces. Bei asked, "Is that a boy cow or a girl cow?" "That's a boy cow," we replied. "What is that thing hanging down?" Bei asked. Ellen and I looked at each other as we formulated our response to a classic parenting moment. "Well Bei," replied Ellen bravely, those are called testicles and all boys have them." "All boys have those things in their noses??" Bei responded with concern.
The uncle watching from the barn where the bull spends the night. Ellen reported that each time she was alone with the uncle around the fire in the kitchen he would launch into a pantomine of a violent interaction he had with a bull that Ellen thinks left him without his hearing.
I hiked partway up Haba Snow Mountain behind the guesthouse hoping to achieve treeline. Before too long I was stopped by rain, fog and a diffuse trail that faded into thick cloud forest. But the hike was nice. This area had been logged off and supported grazing yaks and woodcutters. Most of this part of China it seems has been logged--big trees are nearly nonexistent.
A man carries a load through the rain to his cabin high above Haba.
A basket and harvested corn in the barn at the guesthouse.
This guy lived in a tiny stone hut near the guesthouse with his wife. As I walked by exploring he emerged and let me take his photo.
We spent a lot of time in the family kitchen/dining room. The room was focused on an iron hearth and cook fire and was otherwise dark but for light that came in through a dirty window or the roof vents that allowed smoke to escape. Here the grandmother works preparing breakfast.
Baskets on the kitchen wall lit by morning light from the window.
Assamei's son warms up by the fire before heading off to school for the day. We spent a lot of time sitting on low stools around this fire as it rained outside.
This is the local Muslim schoolhouse. Assamei gave us a little tour of the Hui settlement and we got to poke our heads into the school.
posted by Ken, Ellen and Bei | 10:30 AM
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