The Drifters

We left China on a filthy bus, the most and only unpleasant leg of our journey so far. Thus, even more pleasant to arrive 24 hours later in tropical Luang Prabang. We had not been in Laos for 15 whole years and were very happy to be back. There is something so incredibly accessible about South East Asia (SEA); it is efficient and laid back at the same time, everything always seems possible somehow.

Luang Prabang is Laos’ cultural enclave, with a plethora of temples, museums and workshops. Some temples are more serene than…

…others. This dragon beast is obviously there to scare off evil spirits, seemingly a recurrent theme in most religions?

LP had changed so much in the past 15 years, from a sleepy village to a bustling town. It was still equally pretty though, the exploding tourism had been pretty gentle in its expansion, maybe the UNESCO status has helped to maintain its atmosphere.

Our pretty hotel was over 100 years old and had just been beautifully restored to its former glory. Sometimes tourism really helps in the preservation of old buildings and land marks. One thing I don’t get with tourists in SEA though; some kind of mass psychosis makes them wear those terrible flowy elephant clad “ethnic” looking trousers. Can’t someone tell them it’s cultural appropriation or something? I’m not sure it is though, the locals don’t really wear them, but just say anything to make them stop. At the same time, please make white backpackers stop with the dreads and cornrows as well. End of cynical Stockholmian rant.

How on earth did I forget Laotian food was so fantastic? I thought I never forgot a good meal. There were so many good restaurants we ended up staying over a week instead of the planned three days. Everything was so incredibly fragrant with enormous amounts of lemon grass, kaffir lime, mint, banana flowers and other mystical wondrous herbs (no, not the happy kind!).

But the best part of the tropics is to go jungle hiking!!!

I have a serious Dr. Livingstone kind of complex, whatever that is. Hiking in the verdant, thick, steamy jungle is something I just can’t get enough of.

Joen, however, is less enthusiastic. He does love the jungle, but has a severe snake phobia which limits his enjoyment. He kept close to the guide. I normally don’t like to hike with a guide (it takes away the explorer feeling) but in this area it can be difficult to find the paths independently.

Unimaginably blue rivers and banyan trees.

This part of the jungle is more cultured, you come across quiet a lot of people and villages. These people are harvesting rice.

Little piglets break my heart.

The human piglets are rather adorable as well. These cheerful little ones belong to the Khmu tribe.

And these girls belong to the Hmong tribe.

Initially we planned to do a bit of traveling in Laos, but ended up staying only in LP, and briefly in Vientiane on our way south.

One of my favourite things in China are its parks, not because they’re pretty but because of the fabulous people watching. Although parks can be fairly lively in the summertime in Europe, the Chinese just takes it to a whole other level when it comes to park activities.

One of the most popular things is dancing, they do some sort of aerobic/square dance/tai chi hybrid kind of dance in big groups. I get equally excited every time I see it. You can sometimes see it in the streets or on squares as well. Here is a youtube example.

Many people play music. A melancholic musician playing some kind of string instrument.

If you are really lucky (you don’t see this as often) you can see senior citizens performing theatre plays. This lady is putting her make up on, getting ready for the show.

Tadaa! Full costume and make up on, ready to enter the asphalt stage.

Most adorable audience ever.

Another performer singing traditional folk songs (I think).

With her dedicated audience.

I’m not sure I would trust this dapper poker player much, he probably has a trick or two up his sleeve. You can see a lot of people playing cards, mahjong and other games as well as couples dancing (like a Chinese waltz), communal singing, fun fairs, people getting acupuncture and god knows what else. So make sure you have a peek at whichever park if you go to China.

Unwarranted photo of the Chinese Jetson family home.

We left Hunnan and rattled on to Yunnan, to China’s equivalent to Venice, the very picturesque town of Lijiang.

The cooking in Yunnan is similar to neighbouring Sichuan, which is one of my favourite kitchens. Ma Po Tofu (vegetarian version) is one of my absolute favourite dishes of all time. I’ve had it countless times in China but the best one I have ever tasted is actually in Stockholm, at Lao Wai, hence one of the best restaurants in the world in my opinion.

Lijiang made my mind perpetuate “There is a willow grows aslant a brook” which I think is such a beautiful sentence. It is a quote from Hamlet when Gertrude tells Laertes of Ophelia’s death.  I know, I know, I sound awfully pretentious but I bet we all quote Shakespeare more often than we think, since it is entangled into the English as well as the Swedish language. See? We are all pretentious together.

In Central Asia people had such good phone manners, but in China they are almost as obsessed as the Europeans (I think Swedes are the worst). I freaking love internet, but it’s got out of hand when you get bumped into everyday by people that walk and scroll at the same time, or worse, when people can’t keep their hands off it during conversation/dinner/optional social interaction.

Speaking of internet, China’s internet is so incredibly controlled, even more so than the last time we were here, four years ago. It is so difficult to cope without Google! It feels like losing a really smart, although sometimes slightly mythomaniac, friend. But what is obviously a lot worse, is how it represents China’s undemocratic society, bringing thoughts to Mao’s former terror.

This is Jade Dragon Mountain, I love how “Crouching Tiger, Hidden dragon” that name is.

We left Lijiang to go hiking, on our way we were met by a gigantic land slide blocking the road. Luckily no one was injured, we were pretty close to our destination so we just climbed over it and walked the last few kilometers.

We were going to hike along the magnificent Tiger Leaping Gorge, one of the deepest canyons in the world.

When we finally got down to the bottom of the canyon we realised that we had to go through a nerve wrecking pass, vertiginously high up the cliff. You can see the narrow rim of it up to the left.

We were so freaking scared that we almost turned back, parts of it didn’t even have that shitty little fence!

Afterwords we were completely high of the adrenaline rush, which made the wondrous subtropical scenery even more beautiful in an almost psychedelic way. We walked through bamboo forests…

…waterfalls…

…wuthering hights and steaming rivers.

Almost as good as hiking, is ending up by a fire place with ice cold beer and Tibetan style yak-cheese burritos in Walnut village.

Hustle and bustle in all honour, we longed for some peace and quiet and headed for the beautiful national park Zhangjiajie in the Hunan province. It is heavily promoted as the Avatar mountains.

This is exactly how I picture Chinese poetry; misty karst formations, pine trees and bamboo.

Although very poetic and serene looking, this is pretty far from the truth. The paths are narrow and there are thousands of tourists (mainly Chinese), often in tour groups with leaders shouting hysterically in microphones. I never complain about touristic places, I always find it ridiculously easy to get away from the crowds. OK, maybe not in the Sistene Chapel, but we have spent hours by ourselves in Angkor Wat as well as in Machu Picchu and many other places. Unfortunately, this place was another matter.

Park management is very concerned about security, the poetic landscape seems to influence their writing.

Although I find this confusing rather than poetic.

We were hoping that Feng Huang, a beautiful ancient river town a few hours away, would provide some tranquillity.

Feng Huang is 300 years old, its epithet “ancient” surprises me considering how far back China’s history goes. I always thought of the word “ancient” as something that would stand in relation to the regions age, but what the hell do I know, I’m hardly an historian.

Pretty stilt houses. Feng Huang has UNESCO status and there were a lot of tourists around, but it was easy to escape them. Order restored.

There was a park with Cherbourgian influences. If you are thinking about buying a fancy brolly this is the place by the way.

I always thought it was the force?

Outside the restaurants you could pick your dinner. Those little fingers holding on to the bars broke my heart. It’s terrible how the animals are kept, but on the other hand I think it’s good that meat eaters get to see with their own eyes how much their dinner has been suffering. I find it hypocritical to eat meat if you can’t face its origin.

Speaking of hypocritical, I am sure that these laying hens has a marvellous life… Anyway, these eggs were cooked in batter, tasting like an EggMcMuffin. Another hypocritical thing I succumb to, I bloody love EggMcMuffins! I’ve tried to reproduce a fancy version with sourdough buns, aged Gruyere and homemade ketchup but mysteriously enough McDonalds do them better with their plastic Cheddar and sad looking eggs. That multinational, greedy, rainforest trashing company simply must have brainwashed me somehow.

I love how the Chinese people always walk around with their tea pots, like the Uruguayans carry around their mate (as in tea, not friend). Disposable Starbuck cups feel less romantic.

Bye for now.

Another 30 hours on the train brought us to Xian, former Chinese capital, famous for its myriads of Terracotta warriors. As most of you probably know, they were sculpted to protect the first emperor’s tomb about 2000 years ago.

It is incredibly fascinating to study their faces, hairstyles, clothes and different positions that have been crafted to such detail.

They have found about 2000 of them so far, but there are thought to be roughly 8000 figures, which they are still excavating.

These Hannibal Lecter looking lot are being restored.

They used to be painted, which you can still see some traces of. They’ve even paid attention to the shoe soles!

The warriors are obviously a very static bunch, in contrast to the very dynamic city of Xian. We love this kind of hustle and bustle! It makes me so happy that I can now enjoy it again, after having experienced severe stress related symptoms for the past year.

This region is famous for its pomegranates. One of those photogenic fruits that food stylists never seem to get enough of. I think it is often mentioned as a “super food” as well? The orthorexics have so shanghaied that word, I used to love the thought of antioxidants. Grumble.

Noodle twisting and turning.

Contemplating wether to buy scary monsters or super creeps.

My former food hygiene professors would not approve of this, that much I remember from those classes.

This is some kind of fruit that they have forced to grow into Buddha shapes. I am not sure if the Buddhists approve of such torturous methods.

We sat people watching and mentioned that this guy looked like a proper Hong Kong mobster when he suddenly pulled up a gun! When the adrenaline rush settled, we realised it was a lighter that he thought of buying. Something tells me he wouldn’t mind our prejudiced views of his appearance.

A member of the Chinese version of Hell’s Angels (?) thinking of ingesting some kind of hooves.

This is our third time in China, in total we have spent several months in this country, and we love it, but we will never ever get used to their spitting habits. There is constant fierce spitting all around; phlegm, discharge, sputum and spit infest every street of China. I have developed a perfect blurry downward stare, I see enough not to step in it but not the actual content.

We left the fertile land behind, hopped on the train in the middle of the night…

…and woke up on the Kazakh steppe, where they apparently managed to find some monstrous fish to sell.

As always, I also managed to find some starving stray to feed and ended up starving myself the rest of the journey (I was not tempted by that fish). You can also see our conductor, a woman!!! Meaning spotlessly clean toilets and no forced dehydration.

On the border to China, they thoroughly looked at every piece of our luggage and a white coat doctor came in and pointed some kind of laser to our foreheads? They asked for maps and were very confused to find about ten packages of Chinese tea in my bag, like bringing sand to Sahara you might think, but it’s actually not that easy to find good organic tea in China, which I simply can’t manage without (sounding like some eccentric, posh English lady).

Our destination was Urumqi, which not many people have a lot of good things to say about. I suppose it looks a lot like this, but luckily we are very easy to please and we really enjoyed, what felt like, being the only foreigners in town.

There is always some delicious local cuisine to marvel at.

We had some amazing food in Urumqi, although we left these H5N1 creatures to our imagination.

Urumqi is an Islamic region and we found lots of Chinese mosques, which we had never seen before.

We didn’t find a single person that spoke English but our hotel had very helpful signs.

Words of wisdom. To be continued, for sure.

* Fun fact: Steven Seagal has apparently done a cover of “Slow boat to China”. Hehe.

After a 24 hour train ride from Tashkent, we were back in Almaty, Kazakhstan. This train was the least pleasant that we experienced so far on this trip, mostly due to the conductor, who did not care to keep his carriage tidy but was busy smuggling stuff. All of a sudden he came into our compartment, closed the door and climbed up to the ceiling, opened a hatch and collected about fifteen small guitar-looking instruments. He then blushed, gave us a grin and was out. Considering the smuggling objects, we thought it was funny and were relieved it wasn’t heroine since the border was packed with dogs, working very hard to find drugs.

Next to our hotel there was a closed amusement park. “Nothing ever looks emptier than an empty swimming pool” Raymond Chandler says (one of Joen’s favourite authors). I think the same goes for amusement parks.

It brought back memories from when we visited Pripyat (Chernobyl), a couple of hours outside Kiev, where we celebrated Joen’s 31^st birthday.

You could say the same about an abandoned nightclub.

The many concrete blocks are, however, not empty at all. My mother said eons ago that they would be considered beautiful one day. I couldn’t imagine that would be the case, but as always, she was ahead of her time, and right.

Although Almaty is full of concrete, it is also full of trees; I have never seen this many trees in a city before. I don’t think these photos fully represent Almaty’s spirit, but our camera seemed drawn to the concrete for some reason.

There are so many lovely little peculiarities, these details of wood and ornamental iron gives the blocks such a homely feel, a bit like a dacha. By the way, there is a fantastic and very niched blog about Almaty’s little details.

Artsy (propaganda?) concrete.

Almaty is proud of its subway, with about six or seven stops, highly influenced by its Moscovian neighbour, but in Kazakh translation.

One of the very best things about Almaty is that it is surrounded by a magnificent mountain range, just a short bus ride away. We desperately wanted to go hiking, but this is what welcomed us. Twin Peaks rather than Sound of Music.

I have a confession to make, I am not a great admirer of Twin Peaks. The first eight or so episodes were fantastic and quirky in the right kind of way, but then I was lost, it just became too much for my very logical brain to handle. I think the same goes for Bulgakov’s “Master and Margarita”. Please forgive me.

We hopped on the train and went to Bukhara, a dusty desert oasis, wonderfully vibrant but sleepy at the same time. It is not as modern and grand as Samarkand and is thought of as the cultural and religious capital of Uzbekistan, home to many poets and artists for centuries.

We stayed in a beautiful 19^th century building, still owned by the same family, the Komil Boutique Hotel. This is where we had our breakfast every day; unfortunately the photo is pretty crappy and does not do the room justice. The building also had several courtyards where we spent hours sipping tea.

It is a fairly small town, full of medressas, mosques and mausoleums, all within easy walking distance.

Colourful wooden pillars adorning the Bolo-Hauz Mosque, built in 1718. I don’t think I have ever seen so much wood on a mosque before. Speaking of mosques, the only thing that disappointed me is that we were never woken up by the morning prayer calls. I’m not being ironic; it is the most exotic thing, waking up at five in the morning being reminded of your faraway whereabouts.

This was my favourite medressa, the Char Minar. Petite, compared to the other ones, tucked away in an alley surrounded by a flower filled garden. It was so quiet with no other people in sight. In Bukhara, we saw Western tourists for the first time since leaving home; there are hordes of sweet senior citizens in tour groups fulfilling their dream of the Silk Road. There were some backpackers as well. Luckily of the more civilized kind, mostly our age, being more interested in culture than cheap Singha (as many backpackers in Thailand) by the load. Does this imply that Joen and I are civilized? I am not so sure myself.

Speaking of beer, I must admit that we not only sipped tea, but also had a few cold ones at this rooftop restaurant. We were a bit wary at first, drinking alcohol, since this is a very religious place, but much more secular than we thought, as explained by some non-debauched looking locals, who didn’t mind drinking alcohol themselves.

Lunch break. Bukhara is also filled with bazars, for some reason I didn’t end up buying any silk at all. I’m kicking myself now, how could I not buy silk (I’m nuts about silk) in one of the most important towns of the freaking Silk Road? And it was bloody cheap.

The Uzbeks love football. As soon as we mentioned that we were from Sweden, they instantly shone up and said Zlatan! English is not the lingua franca of the world, football is.

BFF

 

We left the little slice of Eden behind and continued by train after entering Uzbekistan, a slightly more comfortable mode of transportation compared to the author of the book I’m reading. We were on our way to Samarkand. That name send shivers down my spine, it just epitomises that Silk Road myth, mystery and romance.

The Registan, I don’t know how long I’ve dreamt of seeing this! I always find it such a strange feeling when finally facing a place that I’ve dreamt of, a slight disappointment of not being able to dream about it anymore, and at the same time as being in awe of the grandeur and greatness of it all. The Ulugbek medressa (left one) is the oldest, built in 1420 and the other two were built in the 17^th century.

This is obviously a popular spot for wedding photos. In my opinion, a building can only enchant you that long, until you turn to admiring the street life around it. Joen and me can sit and stare for hours and hours, and that goes for any city, village or hamlet that we have ever visited.

The men usually chill out in various places.

Whereas the women enjoy tea parties and a bit of conversation. I have never been to a place where tea takes such a central part, being an obsessive tea aficionado myself, I cannot think of a better way to spend my days. Sipping tea and people watching, it doesn’t get much better than that.

There are many local tourists in Samarkand and they are usually very dressed up for the occasion, like this little girl who has put on her favourite frock.

Some kind of prophet, with his followers, admiring one of the many beautiful mosques.

Others admire the women, I am not so sure of his flirting technique though…

 

After a couple of days in Almaty we left for Kyrgyzstan, unfortunately we had to succumb to traveling by car since the Kyrgyz railway system is virtually non existent. We stayed briefly in Bishkek and then headed for a lovely little village called Arslanbob.

In Arslanbob there are no hotels so we stayed with a family. This is the lovely matriarch that cooked us incredible vegetarian food (being vegetarian is something they find outrageous in Central Asia). Community based tourism (CBT) arranges homestays and guides, ensuring that most of the money goes directly into the local’s pockets. Wish there were more of these initiatives around.

This is the patriarch, who didn’t do much of the cooking, but he was very chatty and friendly. Unfortunately, we hardly understood a word that he said, but it didn’t seem to bother him much.

Arslanbob is surrounded by the worlds biggest walnut forest at 600 000 hectares. Here are two little helpers, rivaling the squirrels. Don’t worry about these little boys though; school is compulsory for eleven years and child labor is not an issue in Arslanbob according to our guide.

The whole village is out in the forest, picking walnuts during the harvest season.

Another happy walnut picker. Most people over thirty have several golden teeth but it’s not actually gold but some kind of metal.

Perfect autumn lunch in the walnut forest. This is a good example of what Joen calls a “Harrison Ford autumn” (referring to the multitude of movies where he saves the world in a perfect New England autumn setting), as opposed to the “Jodie Foster autumn” (referring to Silence of the Lambs).

Arslanbob is also surrounded by majestic mountains. We hiked up to “Holy Rock”, and although being rather experienced hikers, this was quite a challenge. There are no proper paths, so the rock ended up feeling less holy in the end, due to our excessive swearing on the way up.

I completely forgot about our endeavours on the way down when I found the cutest little miniature donkey! Most of the boys seem to have their own donkey in Arslanbob. Our guide explained that since old Russian jeeps have become affordable, the donkeys are out of work and given to the boys to trot about. I would be infuriated as a girl, not being allowed my own donkey.

Joen on the other hand, found a miniature lady, chatting away in Russian and Kyrgyz. He did not understand much of either language.

One of the many children shouting: photo, photo! And then becoming very shy once captured. And then breaking out in all smiles again, when showed the photo. What I liked the most about this village is that all people seemed to make a pretty good living; they were not rich but not poor either. Most of them were self sufficient, growing vegetables and keeping livestock. The animals were well fed, and roamed freely on the pasture and in the forest. I wish all animals could live like that. At least this is what we experienced and what our local guide explained to us.