qingcheng shan
Earlier this week, I was having lunch with a friend and describing to her how ayun and I had spent a couple of days in Sichuan taking the train out to the countryside to climb this holy mountain called Qingchen Shan. "It's supposedly the cradle of Taoism," I said, "so it's this mountain that's really almost like a vertical park with a bunch of temples. Climb this trail for a hundred meters, and you'll get to a temple, then there's a monastery a few hundred metres past that, and another past that, and they're all shrouded in this gorgeous misty forest."
"So, it's like Skyrim then?"
credit: deviantart
I stopped, and arched my eyebrow at her and, after a pause, said, "yes, it's exactly like Skyrim.
"... except instead of undead it's full of grumpy nuns."
ayun and I were at this pavilion, watching as the rain that had been dogging us for the entire morning had dissipated, leaving these stupendously atmospheric vistas of cloud and peak. I don't know what we were talking about, but suffice to say that we were talking and this young woman, an off-duty guide, overheard us and helpfully suggested that we walk on a little further.
"Top of mountain, that way," she said, "not far. Maybe only 100 minutes. Oh, I mean meters. 100 meters."
It was the first bit of English that we'd heard from someone that entire day, so I thanked her and asked, "we heard that there are monasteries here where you could sleep. Do you know where they are?"
"Oh, you want to sleep here?" she said, "Shanting Palace, go down that way, and you will see."
After we nodded, she continued, "but why would you want to sleep here?"
It was said in the perfect tone of voice for a teenage girl trapped in a town that was smaller than her ambitions. We simply smiled and waved at the view. "Because of this. This is beautiful enough."
So after we made it to the top, to revel in the view from the Laojun Pavilion, we descended to Shanting Palace, which was this sprawling monastery complex filled with calligraphy and votive candles. We found a desk with an English sign for Accommodation, staffed by two women who very gamely tried to understand what we were doing there. My phrasebook Mandarin wasn't up to the task, but with scattered phrases and pantomime, we indicated that we wanted a room, and, oh, that First Class room seems like a good deal at 280 yuan, can we see?
One of them led us up into one of the palace wings and showed us the room, which came with twin beds, tv and an ensuite bathroom. We nodded like we'd take it and she led us back to the desk saying something, something is at seven. Seven? Yes, seven. I wasn't sure if that was wake up at seven or dinner at seven, but we kept in mind that seven was important, then we went back to the desk and she asked something that I didn't understand. When it became highly obvious that we weren't following her, our hostess did that thing that every local does with an ignorant foreigner. Saying the same thing, except slower and louder.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand."
"(s-lo-w-e-r)"
".... do you mean ... ?"
"(LOUDER)"
Eventually, I figured that she needed our passports for the hotel register, then she held out her hand for payment.
We gave her the 280 yuan, but then she said something else, holding her hand out insistently. I counted back to the 280, but she wasn't satisfied.
"This is 280."
"(S-L-O-W-E-R-AND-L-O-U-D-E-R)"
"Something else?"
"(S-L-O-W-) 300 (-E-R)"
"Oh! 300! You need 300 yuan?"
"(FACEPALM)" nod
I had, of course, no doubt that everyone else in that lobby could hear what was going on, but they were doing that thing where they were studiously ignoring us as we acted like the foreign assholes that we were.
There is a certain allowance that every foreigner can have for being Not From Around Here. You may not know better. You may be trying your best. But showing up in the back of the beyond with only the barest fundamentals of the local language, leaning on a presumption that you'll meet someone who speaks the equivalent of Trade Common? Jerk.
In the end, I wasn't sure if the prices had just gone up or if our hostess was just charging us a Patience Supplement. But it was not something that we wanted to quibble on, so we added another 20 yuan and she smiled, gave us our key and waved at the teahouse across the way to indicate that was where we could expect meals. Then she shooed us away like we'd already taken enough of her time.
Travel has many ways of making us humble.
We went up to the room, unloaded some of our gear and realizing that it was only 5pm and assuming that dinner was at seven, we changed into dry clothes, then headed back out to explore a bit more of the mountain. On our way out, we could see staff eating at the teahouse and assumed that they were feeding themselves prior to opening up for dinner.
The rest of the mountain had emptied out as evening approached and the daytripper crowds left, leaving a bit of needed quiet and tranquility. We did a short loop for half an hour and then returned to the monastery only to find that the teahouse had shut down and the eating that we had interpreted as being a staff meal actually probably was dinner. Now faced with the prospect of just dining on our leftover biscuits and trail snacks, we wandered the lobby looking a little forlorn until one of the other women (who I was now pseudonyming in my head as Good Cop) came up and pantomimed a question of if we were hungry.
We nodded strongly and she said something else that I couldn't follow, and eventually she just waved us back to our room, indicating she would come later. I wasn't sure what that meant. Would we be fetched after the kitchen was reopened? Were we getting room service? Oh wait, that was me being an asshole again.
A few minutes later, Good Cop knocked on our door and bade us to follow her. She ushered us in to one of the souvenir/snack stands at the base of the palace, now shut down with the absence of the rest of the tourists. We were shown to a display case with cup noodles, and bidden to pick one. We thanked our hosts, retreated to our room and setup a table to overlook the courtyard to enjoy our supper. It wasn't a pretty path to get here, but we had warm food and as far as places to sleep were concerned, this did not suck.
Seven, it turns out, was when prayers started. We stayed out of the way, having done enough to disrupt the tranquility of the place. Still, watching from the shadows, it did look lovely.
We woke in the early morning and lingered over the courtyard, watching it wake as dawn light filtered in through the clouds. A big vat of congee was bubbling for breakfast, and we followed the motions of the rest of the staff, who did not say much to us, but pointed at what was needed. Help yourself. Bowls here. Tea there. Chopsticks beneath this counter. Wash your dishes in the sink over there next to the small mountain of cooking charcoal.
As we ate, Good Cop and Bad Cop walked by, looked at us and smiled, saying something to each other that was probably along the lines, "well, at least they didn't starve."
On the train ride back to Chengdu, ayun and I mused on whether there were foreign language guides that tried to highlight the off-the-beaten-track destinations in the States, and if there were cliques of jaded, world weary German or Russian travelers who talked amongst themselves about going there for bargain accommodations and 'authentic' experiences.
"Like, you know," she started emulating a hypothetical conversation, "San Francisco has a lot going for it, but you know, I found this really cheap motel in the middle of Stockton and I had a wonderful time."
"Well, Boston's got a lot going for it with its history, seafood and museums, but I did a side trip to this town called Worcester, and I went to this place, I think it's called a dive bar? And I spent an evening watching the baseball and eating these onion rings and drinking Coors. I don't even understand baseball, but someone high-fived me after the local team won, and for that evening, I felt like I connected with the Real America."
Yeah, on some level it does look foolish; but that can pass, becomes part of the story, and is a small price for memories like this.
"So, it's like Skyrim then?"
credit: deviantart
I stopped, and arched my eyebrow at her and, after a pause, said, "yes, it's exactly like Skyrim.
"... except instead of undead it's full of grumpy nuns."
ayun and I were at this pavilion, watching as the rain that had been dogging us for the entire morning had dissipated, leaving these stupendously atmospheric vistas of cloud and peak. I don't know what we were talking about, but suffice to say that we were talking and this young woman, an off-duty guide, overheard us and helpfully suggested that we walk on a little further.
"Top of mountain, that way," she said, "not far. Maybe only 100 minutes. Oh, I mean meters. 100 meters."
It was the first bit of English that we'd heard from someone that entire day, so I thanked her and asked, "we heard that there are monasteries here where you could sleep. Do you know where they are?"
"Oh, you want to sleep here?" she said, "Shanting Palace, go down that way, and you will see."
After we nodded, she continued, "but why would you want to sleep here?"
It was said in the perfect tone of voice for a teenage girl trapped in a town that was smaller than her ambitions. We simply smiled and waved at the view. "Because of this. This is beautiful enough."
So after we made it to the top, to revel in the view from the Laojun Pavilion, we descended to Shanting Palace, which was this sprawling monastery complex filled with calligraphy and votive candles. We found a desk with an English sign for Accommodation, staffed by two women who very gamely tried to understand what we were doing there. My phrasebook Mandarin wasn't up to the task, but with scattered phrases and pantomime, we indicated that we wanted a room, and, oh, that First Class room seems like a good deal at 280 yuan, can we see?
One of them led us up into one of the palace wings and showed us the room, which came with twin beds, tv and an ensuite bathroom. We nodded like we'd take it and she led us back to the desk saying something, something is at seven. Seven? Yes, seven. I wasn't sure if that was wake up at seven or dinner at seven, but we kept in mind that seven was important, then we went back to the desk and she asked something that I didn't understand. When it became highly obvious that we weren't following her, our hostess did that thing that every local does with an ignorant foreigner. Saying the same thing, except slower and louder.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand."
"(s-lo-w-e-r)"
".... do you mean ... ?"
"(LOUDER)"
Eventually, I figured that she needed our passports for the hotel register, then she held out her hand for payment.
We gave her the 280 yuan, but then she said something else, holding her hand out insistently. I counted back to the 280, but she wasn't satisfied.
"This is 280."
"(S-L-O-W-E-R-AND-L-O-U-D-E-R)"
"Something else?"
"(S-L-O-W-) 300 (-E-R)"
"Oh! 300! You need 300 yuan?"
"(FACEPALM)" nod
I had, of course, no doubt that everyone else in that lobby could hear what was going on, but they were doing that thing where they were studiously ignoring us as we acted like the foreign assholes that we were.
There is a certain allowance that every foreigner can have for being Not From Around Here. You may not know better. You may be trying your best. But showing up in the back of the beyond with only the barest fundamentals of the local language, leaning on a presumption that you'll meet someone who speaks the equivalent of Trade Common? Jerk.
In the end, I wasn't sure if the prices had just gone up or if our hostess was just charging us a Patience Supplement. But it was not something that we wanted to quibble on, so we added another 20 yuan and she smiled, gave us our key and waved at the teahouse across the way to indicate that was where we could expect meals. Then she shooed us away like we'd already taken enough of her time.
Travel has many ways of making us humble.
We went up to the room, unloaded some of our gear and realizing that it was only 5pm and assuming that dinner was at seven, we changed into dry clothes, then headed back out to explore a bit more of the mountain. On our way out, we could see staff eating at the teahouse and assumed that they were feeding themselves prior to opening up for dinner.
The rest of the mountain had emptied out as evening approached and the daytripper crowds left, leaving a bit of needed quiet and tranquility. We did a short loop for half an hour and then returned to the monastery only to find that the teahouse had shut down and the eating that we had interpreted as being a staff meal actually probably was dinner. Now faced with the prospect of just dining on our leftover biscuits and trail snacks, we wandered the lobby looking a little forlorn until one of the other women (who I was now pseudonyming in my head as Good Cop) came up and pantomimed a question of if we were hungry.
We nodded strongly and she said something else that I couldn't follow, and eventually she just waved us back to our room, indicating she would come later. I wasn't sure what that meant. Would we be fetched after the kitchen was reopened? Were we getting room service? Oh wait, that was me being an asshole again.
A few minutes later, Good Cop knocked on our door and bade us to follow her. She ushered us in to one of the souvenir/snack stands at the base of the palace, now shut down with the absence of the rest of the tourists. We were shown to a display case with cup noodles, and bidden to pick one. We thanked our hosts, retreated to our room and setup a table to overlook the courtyard to enjoy our supper. It wasn't a pretty path to get here, but we had warm food and as far as places to sleep were concerned, this did not suck.
Seven, it turns out, was when prayers started. We stayed out of the way, having done enough to disrupt the tranquility of the place. Still, watching from the shadows, it did look lovely.
We woke in the early morning and lingered over the courtyard, watching it wake as dawn light filtered in through the clouds. A big vat of congee was bubbling for breakfast, and we followed the motions of the rest of the staff, who did not say much to us, but pointed at what was needed. Help yourself. Bowls here. Tea there. Chopsticks beneath this counter. Wash your dishes in the sink over there next to the small mountain of cooking charcoal.
As we ate, Good Cop and Bad Cop walked by, looked at us and smiled, saying something to each other that was probably along the lines, "well, at least they didn't starve."
On the train ride back to Chengdu, ayun and I mused on whether there were foreign language guides that tried to highlight the off-the-beaten-track destinations in the States, and if there were cliques of jaded, world weary German or Russian travelers who talked amongst themselves about going there for bargain accommodations and 'authentic' experiences.
"Like, you know," she started emulating a hypothetical conversation, "San Francisco has a lot going for it, but you know, I found this really cheap motel in the middle of Stockton and I had a wonderful time."
"Well, Boston's got a lot going for it with its history, seafood and museums, but I did a side trip to this town called Worcester, and I went to this place, I think it's called a dive bar? And I spent an evening watching the baseball and eating these onion rings and drinking Coors. I don't even understand baseball, but someone high-fived me after the local team won, and for that evening, I felt like I connected with the Real America."
Yeah, on some level it does look foolish; but that can pass, becomes part of the story, and is a small price for memories like this.