Train ride from Kunming to Dali.

In order to make sure I was getting on the right bus or train, I quickly learned how to read and write a few Chinese characters, which was easier than I thought, since the characters are ideograms.

My next destination in Yunnan was Dali (大理) Old Town. I again boarded a train (火车; literally “fire car”) and in several hours arrived in the New Town of Dali, then took a local bus to the Old Town.

What is now known as the ancient or old city of Dali was built during the Ming Dynasty (14th century). However, the city’s origins can be traced several centuries earlier.  

Esthetically, Dali Old Town was not very authentic. It was clear that most of the buildings had been extensively renovated, and it seemed that in many cases the style of the renovations was not true to that of the original structure. For example, I saw many buildings of poured concrete topped with a traditional style Chinese roof. I also noticed that the “slate tiles” often were not tiles at all but faux tiles that had been painted onto the concrete surface.

It seems they grow a lot of blueberries near Dali. These little fruit stands were everywhere. The blueberry juice was tasty!

Throngs of tourists, almost all of them Chinese, packed the main streets which were lined with souvenir shops as far as the eye could see. It was a Disney version of what was once an ancient Chinese town. There were many tea (茶; pinyin Chá) stores selling various Yunnan teas: black (红茶), green (绿茶) and Pu’er (普洱茶). I wandered into a few of these shops but I thought that without speaking Chinese it would be difficult to negotiate a purchase.

After I had browsed several tea shops, finally at one shop the sales woman started speaking to me in English. It turned out her English was very limited but sufficient for the circumstances, and I was able to practice my limited Chinese tea vocabulary. I paid 2 Yuan to have a cup of Pu’er tea prior to purchasing fifty grams of loose tea. In the tea shops I noted that they brewed tea in the traditional Gong Fu style in which a good quantity of leaves is steeped for only a few seconds in boiling water, and then re-steeped several times thereafter.

One of the gates to the Old City of Dali.

Green Lake Park in Kunming, Yunnan Province, China.

Yesterday I crossed the border into China (中国; pinyin Zhōngguó, or “Middle Country”). I first took a bus from Sapa to Lao Cai, Vietnam, then took a taxi to the border. I exited the Vietnam immigration checkpoint and crossed a short bridge on foot into China.

Just as I arrived on the other side of the bridge a large Chinese tour group returning from Vietnam collectively got into the immigration line to enter China. Thankfully the line moved quickly, and anyway I realized that I would have to get used to large groups of Chinese people! For some reason they seemed to be everywhere in China.

Hekou is the Chinese border town across from Lao Cai, Vietnam. After a few tries I found an ATM that would work with my card and I withdrew some Yuan. Next I stopped at a few mobile phone stores to inquire about a SIM card. Nobody spoke a word of English except for “SIM Card” so they understood what I wanted but indicated that they could not sell me a SIM card unless I had a Chinese ID. I found a taxi and went to the Hekou North train station where I caught a train for Kunming (昆明), the capital of Yunnan.

Public domain map of China, with Yunnan province highlighted in red. Bordering Yunnan, from left to right, are Burma, Laos and Vietnam.

Hungry on the train, I bought some rice crackers. Thank heavens for the English explanation on the package! Now I know exactly what I ate.

Unlike humans, the Earth does not acknowledge any political borders so the topography did not change as I crossed into China. Yunnan, like northern Vietnam, is located in the remote foothills of the Himalayas. Kunming is reputed for its temperate climate year round, a benefit of its elevation. I arrived in Kunming near midnight, checked into my hotel and went to bed, tired from a long day of travel.

Kunming.

Arriving in Kunming, I was not surprised to see a large number of construction cranes throughout the city, consistent with China’s unprecedented ongoing urbanization. With a population of over three million, it is a relatively large city, but I did not find it as crowded, polluted or dirty as many similarly sized cities I had visited in my travels. On the contrary, at least in the central area, I found an orderly, modern city full of gleaming new buildings, clean streets and pretty gardens. (The peripheral areas were not so pleasing, due to the massive construction projects).

Entrance to Green Lake Park, Kunming.

Green Lake Park, Kunming.

Today I explored Green Lake Park, the area adjacent to my hotel. The little lake had walkways leading from the shore to a few tiny islands that had souvenir shops, cafes and well manicured gardens. In the evening I tried to find a vegetarian restaurant affiliated with a nearby Buddhist temple but at the listed address there was a Japanese grocery store but no restaurant. 

This is some serious garlic bread! Upland Hostel Bar, Kunming.

The old and the new, Kunming. Yes, that is a Starbucks on the left.

Sapa, Vietnam.

It had been raining since I arrived in Sapa two days ago. Sapa is in northern Vietnam near the Chinese border, and is a major tourist hub for trekking in the surrounding hills which are populated by various minority tribes, especially the Hmongs. The town is perched on a hillside and offers splendid views of the valley below when the fog clears.

View of the valley around Sapa.

Immediately upon alighting from the bus, we tourists were followed down the cobbled streets by Hmong women in traditional dress, aggressively selling their souvenirs and offering to serve as tour guides on treks to their villages. They were skilled businesswomen. They spoke English to me, and it seemed they had also learned to speak enough Chinese and French, among other languages, to engage in basic conversations with tourists. As they followed me down the street, they kept saying, “you buy from me, buy something.” I was worried that I would continually be accosted by these women during my stay in Sapa, but the next day I was left alone most of the time. It seemed they knew who had just come and who had been in Sapa for a while, and they targeted the newcomers as they arrived. I didn’t buy anything from them.

Instead of material items I was more interested in having new experiences, and was particularly looking to do a short trek to the nearby villages. I investigated some tour options with a social welfare organization called Sapa O’Chau (O’Chau means “thank you” in the Hmong language). O’Chau works closely with the local Hmong population, and in addition to coordinating tours they also help Hmong youth access secondary education.

Sapa.

Yesterday I was contemplating my options while walking near my hotel when a Hmong woman began speaking to me about taking me on a trek. Her name was “Zee” and she spoke good English, and she also had a small book with handwritten comments from tourists praising her services. I made an agreement to meet her this morning at around 9:30 a.m. for a daylong trek to her village in the valley. She quoted a reasonable price, and I felt good about paying my tour guide directly instead of going through an agency. Zee tied a bracelet around my wrist and said, “if anyone talks to you about a trek, tell them you go with Zee.”

Zee, “No. 1 Tour Guide,” as per her card.

My identifying bracelet, proclaiming my membership in Zee’s entourage.

So this morning I met Zee and her 14 year-old daughter, Nying, along with three other tourists who would be joining us for the day. The others were young French women, friends who were spending their vacation together traveling around Southeast Asia.

We set out in the cold drizzle. I had a raincoat, umbrella and waterproof shoes, so I felt confident that I would stay fairly dry until the skies cleared in the afternoon, as Zee said was likely. Much of the time we were literally walking through a cloud, and so were unable to see into the valley where our destination lay.

Unfortunately the skies did not clear, and instead continued to send down an incessant drizzle that occasionally grew into a downpour. Despite my raingear by mid-day I was soaked from the waist down, and my boots made squishing noises with each step.

The Group. (Photo taken by Nying, Zee’s daughter).

Even with the poor visibility and my wet condition, I enjoyed being in the fresh air and passing through agrarian villages full of various Hmong people identifiable by their traditional garments. We stopped near one of the villages for lunch inside a large shed full of Hmong women and children, including a few babies strapped to the backs of their mothers or older sisters.

Tea bushes.

After lunch we continued walking until we reached Zee’s village in the late afternoon. We met her husband and two other children and had some Vietnamese green tea while drying out near the fire. I learned that the family was from the Black Hmong tribe, and that Zee in fact spoke very little Vietnamese.

She said her husband spoke more fluent Vietnamese and so could handle any business with the majority Vietnamese population in the area. While she was out selling souvenirs and guiding treks, her husband would manage the household and land and care for the children when they were home from school. There was much work to be done at home, including tending the chickens, repairing and maintaining the wooden structures, and farming the small plot of land where they grew rice and other crops.

At the end of the day Zee placed a metal bracelet on my wrist (included as part of the tour, she said), and hailed a Xe Om (motorcycle taxi) for me. I returned to my hotel still quite soaked, but pleasantly tired and thankful to Zee for guiding us on a short adventure, introducing us to her family and showing us the way of life in her village. O’Chau, Zee!

Sapa.

Temple of Literature, Hanoi.

Near Ngoc Son Temple, Hanoi.

Bridge to Ngoc Son Temple.

I ended up staying in Hanoi several days longer than I had planned, because obtaining a Chinese visa took longer than I had expected. First, when thumbing through my passport, I found I only had one blank visa page left. Frequently embassies and consulates will not give a visa unless there are at least two blank pages, and I understood the Chinese embassy was quite strict with these rules. So the first order of business was to go to the U.S. Embassy to have more pages added. Three days and $82 later, I had 26 new pages to work with.

Restaurant in the Old Quarter, Hanoi.

At Ngoc Son Temple.

Next I went to the Chinese Embassy to pick up the visa form and review the instructions. It was one of the longest visa forms I had ever completed (four pages) and they required that I provide proof of travel health insurance as well as copies of my bookings for all the hotels where I would reside during my visit to China.

After completing the form and gathering all the needed documents, I went to the embassy to deliver my paperwork, hoping that they would not ask for additional information. I handed the papers to an embassy employee who appeared irritated and a bit hostile. She riffled through my papers quickly. Then she riffled through them again. Next she reviewed each sheet of paper for several seconds, and frequently thumbed back to previous pages to compare the information.

She looked up at me smugly and threw the opening salvo. She shoved two papers at me and said, “These bookings are the same.” One point for her. I reviewed the sheets, then said I was sorry, I must have included a duplicate copy. I withdrew one of the pages, carefully folded it up and put it in my pocket with a smile. One point for me.

She looked at my papers again, then accusingly thrust two more sheets under the window. “This booking is for three days, this one for seven, same hotel.” One point for her. I courteously explained that indeed the bookings were for the same Kunming hotel, but the bookings were for different dates, since I planned to return to Kunming on my way back to Vietnam. One point for me.

Then she fired her victory volley. She held out a sheet of paper as if it were dirty underwear and said with disgust, “What is THIS?” I patiently explained that it was the documentation of my travel insurance, as per the embassy’s visa instructions. One point for me. She put the paper back into the pile.

Unable to find any other faults with my paperwork, she pushed the first page of the visa form towards me, crossed her arms and said, “Write down your VIETNAM telephone number at the top.” I wrote down the full number from memory as she looked on with a critical eye. She took the sheet back, looked at the number, counted the digits, trying to find some fault with it. She then turned the page over in resignation (another point for me!) and said, “AND you didn’t fill out — ” she stopped in mid-sentence as she saw that indeed I had filled out the number of days I planned to spend in China. One final point for me. “Come back tomorrow. I have to give it to my supervisor for review.”

I had only asked for a 30-day single entry visa, but three days later I found they had granted me a ten-year multiple entry visa (as per a new agreement between China and the Obama administration). Well, at least I could visit Yunnan province this time. 

The Legend: In the mid-15th century Heaven sent Emperor Le Thai To a magical sword which he used to drive the Chinese from Vietnam. After the war a giant golden turtle took the sword and swam into the lake to restore the sword to its divine owners. Thus the name Ho Hoan Kiem (Lake of the Restored Sword).

Map of Old Quarter, Hanoi, Vietnam.

When I was in Vietnam in 2009 I only spent about a half day in Hanoi en route to Halong Bay. I decided to adapt my current itinerary to go to Hanoi to spend more time there and actually see the place, as well as to experience the cooler weather in comparison to other parts of Southeast Asia at this time of year. Also, I wanted to see if Hanoi might be an agreeable place to take the CELTA class. Finally, while in Hanoi I wanted to apply for a Chinese visa so I could go to Yunnan province, believed to be the place where tea (Camellia sinensis) was first cultivated.

Monument of King Le Thai To (1385 – 1433), Hanoi.

Since arriving in Hanoi a week ago, I had been spending most of my time in Hanoi’s Old Quarter, a maze of streets lined with French colonial architecture and choked with motorbike and pedestrian traffic. Other than the need to dodge motorbikes, ubiquitous almost everywhere in Southeast Asia, the Old Quarter was quite walkable. The weather was rainy and chilly when I first arrived in early March, but had become pleasantly warm a week later.

Old Colonial Building, Hanoi.

Hoan Kiem Lake, Hanoi.

There are a number of sights to see in Hanoi, but I decided to skip the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum and the government buildings and instead enjoy the simple pleasure of walking around the pretty Hoan Kiem lake and the Old Quarter, with its many quaint cafes and restaurants.

In the 13th Century, 36 Guilds were established in Hanoi. Each trade had its own street/district, and this legacy continues. My hotel happened to be near the contemporary hardware district!

Altar at historic Jewellery Communal House, Old Quarter, Hanoi.

I found a restaurant that had good vegetarian food. Above this restaurant was the Lantern Lounge, where I spent some evenings having tea while chatting with Joni, one of the hostesses there, who entertained me with tragic but darkly humorous tales about one of her foreign boyfriends in Hanoi. 

Furniture Craftswoman.

Yes, there is even a Stamp & Seal specialist! These details were hand-carved by a skilled craftsman.

Here’s some interesting information on stamp carving in Hanoi.

Nong Khiaw, Laos.

My original plan was to travel north from Luang Prabang to Phongsali, where the best tea in Laos is grown. While reviewing my transport options I realized that to get there would require two days of overland travel over mountainous terrain. I wasn’t in the mood for this so I looked for places to go that were less cumbersome to reach.

The owner of my hotel in Luang Prabang suggested I consider Nong Khiaw, about four hours’ driving northeast of Luang Prabang. After reading the positive recommendation in my guidebook and other travelers’ good reports on the internet, I decided to give it a try.

Dusk on the Nam Ou, near Nong Khiaw, Laos.

Nong Khiaw.

Nong Khiaw is a town on the Nam Ou (river) that is surrounded by dramatic limestone karsts. Lonely Planet said that it had only two streets, but when I arrived, I could find only one. Did this mean I was lost? After some thought, I decided I was not lost, since wherever I went, I still seemed to be in the same place. Nong Khiaw was indeed Very Small. (And, after some searching, I did locate the other paved street, and even a few smaller unpaved ones branching off from it).

Tham Pha Thok caves.

Tham Pha Thok caves.

Tham Pha Thok caves.

Blending into the background.

Yesterday I walked a few kilometers east to find some caves nearby. After paying five thousand kip (63 cents U.S.) for a ticket, I climbed up a steep staircase to reach the hollowed out areas in the cliffs. Today I walked a good distance in the other direction along a wide unpaved road winding around the nearby hills.

There was not a single Indian restaurant in Nong Khiaw; no, there was actually a pair of them! Two seemingly unrelated Muslim families from Chennai had set up shop next to each other, offering the typical “pure veg” and “non veg” fare. I tried them both, and was impressed.

There were several other local restaurants catering to tourists, and they were clearly family-owned enterprises. It seemed every dining room had a children’s play area, with toys scattered across a blanket spread in a corner. At one restaurant as I was looking around for the wait staff I felt an object being set on my knees from somewhere below. I looked down and there was a menu on my lap, and behind it, the near toothless grin of a small person with soft, wispy brown hair (I learned later that she was all of 27 months old). 

Sunset on the Nam Ou, near Nong Khiaw, Laos.

Through my travels I have grown tremendously. Here is the evidence.

Luang Prabang, Laos.

In addition to admiring the old vehicles, colonial buildings and monasteries, I visited some of Luang Prabang’s sites of historic and cultural significance, including the Royal Palace Museum and the Traditional Arts and Ethnology Centre (TAEC).

The Grounds of the Royal Palace Museum.

Wat Ho Pha Bang, part of the Royal Palace Museum complex.

The Royal Palace Museum, the main residence of King Sisavang Vong (who ruled Laos in the early to middle 20th century) was fairly unremarkable. The rooms were oversized, with very high ceilings; there were the requisite oversized portraits of the King and Queen; there were some pieces of oversized and ostentatious furniture and various objets d’art. In the garage out back were four former “Royal Vehicles” in various stages of disrepair; a sign indicated that photos were prohibited, which was fine with me since the cars were not very photogenic.

From the TAEC Museum.

Rat trap made by Kmhmu Nguan group. Sakap Village, Luang Namtha Province. Wood, bamboo, stone.

On contrast, the TAEC museum was small but excellent. It provided a brief but thoughtfully curated overview of the various ethnic groups in Laos, with particular focus on the hill tribe cultures, of which there are many. I learned that there are over 100 ethnic groups and subgroups in Laos today. About one-third of the exhibit focused on the important role of women in their respective societal groups. There was a nicely detailed explanation of an ongoing project (called “Stitching Our Stories,” in English) in which women and girls are documenting their experiences through digital media and are provided with resources and mentoring to support this work.

From TAEC Museum, Luang Prabang.

View from top of Phu Si Hill, Luang Prabang.

I got some exercise by making the short climb to the top of Phu Si Hill, across from the Royal Palace Museum. There is a small stupa at the top of the hill, and when lit by floodlights at night it appears to float eerily in space above Luang Prabang.

I thought these were plastic. Then I saw the group of women skillfully stitching them together from banana leaves, flowers and dried plant stems.

Disappointed that I didn’t want to hang around and play.

Ready for action!

I found fascinating images around every corner in Luang Prabang, so in addition to seeing the “official” sights I spent some time each day wandering about and taking photos of anything that looked interesting to me.

Having a Chinese Lapsang Souchong tea at Chez Matt, Luang Prabang.

I asked this family if I could take their photo, and they just smiled. Must be the language barrier.

Most of the vehicles in Luang Prabang are two wheelers: motorcycles, scooters and bicycles. The public transport consists mostly of tuk tuks (for local trips) and minivans (to shuttle tourists to the sites outside the city). There were relatively few cars in Luang Prabang.

Colorful tuk tuk. The circular symbol with “9P” inside indicates it can carry up to nine passengers. (!)

Old Vespa with sidecar on display in office of tour company in Luang Prabang.

As I walked around I noticed some unusual vehicles and I had fun taking photos of them. I hadn’t seen one of these old VW Beetles in a long time. I think Mexico City still has hundreds of them serving as taxi cabs.

Old VW Beetle.

At first I thought this was an old Mini, but on second thought it might be a Fiat. I could find no branding symbols on it.

Mercedes Benz Model 190 Estate. Germany, 1956

A sign inside the above Mercedes Benz explained that this model was “designed exclusively for governments around the world, in Laos was part of the Royal Escort fleet.”

Citroen Model 11 Family Version. France, 1952.

Parked near the Mercedes Benz, this Citroen also had a sign in its window describing it, stating, “This icon of Luang Prabang is one of the only two original Citroens in Laos. Custom ordered at the same time as the Citroen that belonged to the King, currently exhibited at the Royal Museum.”

A veteran river vessel at rest after a hard day’s work.

Luang Prabang, Laos.

Luang Prabang is without a doubt a very touristy town. After reviewing much travel literature lauding its esthetic, historical and cultural significance, I wondered if I would be disappointed with the reality of the place. But I found that it matched its reputation.

Luang Prabang, near the intersection of the rivers Mekong and Khan.

Wat Xieng Thong

A UNESCO World Heritage site, Luang Prabang is characterized by peaceful Buddhist monasteries and quiet streets lined with pretty French colonial villas. During my stay the town was crawling with tourists and it was evident that the local economy was almost exclusively focused on serving us. Still, though I was visiting during the touristic high season, it did not seem crowded or overdeveloped to me.

The guesthouse where I stayed is located approximately in the center of this map.

The central area of Luang Prabang lies on a slim peninsula created by the merging of the Khan River into the Mekong. Most tourists moved about the city on foot or bicycle, thus limiting motorized traffic.

Incognito Tourist, Luang Prabang.

The Night Market, Luang Prabang.

There was a bustling night market on the main road consisting of an endless line of stalls covered by tarpaulin tents, under which the vendors, mostly women, displayed their colorful wares. When business was slow, they would curl up for a nap or play with their babies.

As far as getting a glimpse of the culture and lifestyle of the majority of Laos, Luang Prabang was probably the furthest thing from authentic. But in contrast to Vang Vieng (and many other tourist havens I have visited), I perceived a healthy energy and respectful interplay between the locals and the tourists. 

A tiny corner of Wat Paphaimisaiyaram.

I am a follower of this monk.

The “VIP” Bus from Vang Vieng to Luang Prabang, Laos.

Luang Prabang is around 200 km north of Vang Vieng, but driving there takes several hours because of the hilly terrain. There were two options for mass transport between the two cities: shared minivan or “VIP” bus. I opted for the VIP bus, based on my prior experience that minivans plus hills equals queasy not easy.

Vang Vieng to Luang Prabang, Laos.

The “VIP” bus looked like it had seen better days. The cooling system put out musty air and operated with a near constant whine coming from somewhere in the back of the bus. The seat covers were not only worn but torn too. But the bus appeared sturdy and throughout the journey I experienced no motion sickness. At least, not while we were actually in motion.

Houston, we have a problem!

About an hour into the journey we had a breakdown. I was unclear as to the exact nature of the problem but it had something to do with the right rear inner wheel. The driver stopped the bus and a round of inspections ensued as driver and conductor slid themselves under the bus to explore the bottom of the chassis.

The bus needed to be moved forward to more level terrain and for some reason it would not start on its own so all the men in the bus were instructed to get out and push. We pushed, the clutch was engaged, and the engine sputtered to life long enough for the bus to be repositioned.

All the passengers alighted and some suitably sturdy rocks were positioned behind the outside rear wheel, then the driver eased the bus onto the rocks to allow better access to the undercarriage. About an hour later we re-boarded and resumed our slow meandering up, down and around the hairpin bends until we reached Luang Prabang just after sunset.

On the road again.

Moving along. Shutter speed of 1/800 does the trick!

During the ride I enjoyed the beautiful scenery and also some conversation with the young Chinese woman seated next to me. Her English was excellent and she spoke “ein bißchen” of German too, having studied Agricultural Economics in that country for three years. She now worked for a U.S. company in Beijing, lobbying the Chinese government to allow more imports of meat products from the U.S.A. (I didn’t tell her I was vegetarian). She told me her ex-boyfriend was from Bangalore, India, and that he used to brag about how rich his family was. (I didn’t tell her how poor I was either!)

Not sure what they’re growing but I like the color.

She entertained me with a story of how she and her friends tried the “Happy Pizza” at a restaurant in Vang Vieng (the “happy” meaning it was apparently laced with marijuana) resulting in a mass trip to the emergency room due to uncontrollable vomiting. (Personally, if I want to vomit, I’ll just take a minivan through the mountains, thank you – no Happy Stuff needed!).