Bells

My grandparents owned a home in rural southern Idaho just in the heart of cattle country. Their back fence bordered goats on one side and cows on the other. Every so often my cousins and I would wake to the sound of clanking bells and my grandmother's holler, "Bill, there's a cow loose in the yard!" followed by a masculine stern warning of "go on now cow," followed by some mooing. Our final morning in Yubeng Village I woke out of a deep slumber to similar clanking cow bells and had hopped to my feet before realizing my toes wouldn't be touching the familiar pink carpet of my grandparents home but instead would land on the ice cold warped wooden floors of a hostel in rural China. It was so cold in fact that I could see my own breath and there were ice crystals frozen to the window sill. I looked outside and saw a belled yak calmly grazing on frosted ferns and bushes. Above him, the foothills of Kawa Karpo's wife and crown were covered with a dusting of snow. The pigs and the chickens that had roamed freely the day before were all cuddled together in the space below the main house providing warmth to each other and to the people resting above. Winter had arrived in the valley, and with it, our departure from Yubeng Village.

But I Digress

This is Mike. I post this picture to illustrate that Mike is tall. Very tall. Like basketball tall. Much taller than most people we met in China. Kids seriously used him as monkey bars more than once. He also has a loud voice and infectious laugh that would always draw attention. There was no place we could go in China that people didn't instantly recognize him as an American. And when he would whip out his pidgin Chinese, people would start chatting with him on almost any subject. He received marriage proposals, solicitous offers, sage wisdom, free advice, and often directions, but my favorite was a conversation he had with one government official on tour of Yubeng Village. The official looked at Mike and said "So, you are an American?" When Mike responded affirmatively, the official laughed and said, "I like Americans. American people are very good. American economy is very good. American government? Not so good." Right on. It just makes me think of Crooked Trail's moto: "I love my country, I just think we should start seeing other people."

I Probably Should Have Mentioned It....

When last I wrote, fifty-five government officials had just arrived in Yubeng Village. Wet and saddle sore, the officials moved straight into the main lodge to warm themselves by the fire, have a bite, have a drink, and most importantly, to have a little entertainment. We waived to them from under the awning of our hostel and then pondered what to do. In true Mountaineers "alpine start" spirit, Gail, Doug, James, and Percy all headed early to bed in preparation for our departure from Yubeng Village the following morning. Roy headed to the head, and Mike, Spring, and Tao momentarily excused themselves to the quiet of their room. Since everyone else had settled down, I pulled out my book, my headlamp, and most importantly, my Rolling Stones, and snuggled under my worn blanket. By the time I was settled, Percy was already asleep, headlamp still on. Roy sauntered in and we joked that Percy could sleep through anything. I make this point to illustrate that Roy was in the mood for small talk but failed to articulate that at that very moment, there was a HUGE party going on at the main lodge and that Mike, Spring, and Tao were dancing it up with the villagers and the government officials AND that we were invited! I'm not bitter. Not at all. But Roy, I was the one who used up all the hot water before your last shower. Sorry. I probably should have mentioned it.

The Government Officials

There is no road between Deqin and Yubeng Village and the Yubeng Villagers want it to stay that way. Their home is the last stop on the way to the Mystic Waterfall, a trek made by tens of thousands a year. If a road is established to their town then people could simply day hike to the Waterfall and drive back to Deqin at night and the hospitality business, from hostels to guides to horse rentals, in Yubeng Village would be in serious jeopardy.

On our last day in Yubeng Village our hosts were very busy preparing a large feast. They appologized for our simple breakfast but said they had to save most of their good food for the Government Officials who were due to arrive that night. They were being sent to survey the area and make a determination about the feasibility of building a road. Though the Villagers were obviously not in support, they were expected to entertain the Officials in grand style.

As the rain poured down all day for the first time in a week the Villagers winked at each other knowing that the Government Officials were riding unprotected on horseback through the storm. Kawa Karpo was clearly expressing his displeasure.

As evening drew near, the Villagers dressed in their traditional clothing and waited at the entrance of the hostel with warm shaojiu. We were watching the pageant from the nearby shelter of our awning. When it became apparent that the Government Officals were running late, the Villagers all ran over to stay dry under the eaves with us. At some point, one of them had the crazy idea to share their shaojiu with us! They tried to give a bit to Gail who took a small sip, made a face, and then backed away. Mike had about the same response. As an alumnus of one of Playboy Magazine's top party schools, I am proud to say I shot my shaojiu like a pro. Go Vandals!

Blog Interrupted.....

This is a true story.... On Friday April 13th I turned 30. Now, I'm not generally a superstitious person, but the year I turned 13 (also on Friday the 13th) 13 people people I knew died. Dana, upon hearing this, decided that climbing with me this year would be precarious. Then she started to litter me with four leaf clovers (she has a knack for finding them). Unfortunately, the four leaf clovers have not been charm enough to ward off foul omens and on June 4th I broke a mirror, a doubly inauspicious event because not only did it foretell seven years of bad luck, but in China, the number 4 is terribly unlucky. I mention this in advance of telling you about the events that have transpired in the month since June 4th and which subsequently made blogging impossible.

1. My Dad was diagnosed with cancer, had surgery within a week, and will be starting chemo very soon. (On the positive side, he looks amazing, has an incredible spirit, and I am in total awe of his shear force of will);

2. I was left completely alone in the office to manage 5000 criminal defendants. (In the past three years my little unit has been responsible for recovering over $178,000,000.00 for victims of crime, a success which directly contributed to Congress fully funding our office this year and yet "there isn't enough money in the budget to replace" two of my agents who retired in December. Then, this June, my one remaining agent ended up in the hospital for a month and my boss left for Greece);

3. Our car broke down;

4. Our plumbing crapped out twice (literally); and

5. I had a surprise meeting with the AG.

On the positive side, our garden is exploding raspberries (I have made 14 pints of jam so far, have three gallons of berries in our freezer, and I have been picking about a gallon a night!). Maybe the four leaf clovers are allowing me to channel my Grandfather's green thumb. Our corn is already three feet tall, the beans are ready to pull, the zucchini is blooming, the radishes are going to seed, the apples are ripening, the gooseberries are plump, and everything else (except the peppers) are thriving (Grandpa was never a fan of peppers).

The Definition of a Bad Day

Had I known I was supposed to meet the AG today I would have worn something more appropriate, like a "Climbers for Kerry" T-Shirt.

At least I was wearing the right expression.

Pancakes in Paradise

On our second day in Yubeng Village Roy broke out a bag of Krusteez pancake mix, improvised a skillet, and made pancakes for everyone. Our gracious hosts even offered a little jam to spread on the cakes. Eating them with chopsticks in our rice bowls was a little tricky, but having a little treat from home was well worth it. Though our hosts tried our pancakes and thought they tasted fine, they much preferred their own mantou, a steamed bun made from flour, water, yeast, and a pinch of sugar. In other areas the buns are stuffed with ham, fried, and coated with onion or sesame seeds, but in Deqin County plain buns are the norm. And I have to say, I am not a fan of the mantou. They are dense, tasteless, and gluey. It is like eating an undercooked highly processed gas station bagel and is guaranteed digest as slowly as a wad of Hubba Bubba. But since every breakfast also came with an amazing assortment of scrambled eggs, rice pourage, and the most delicious ham on the planet I could diplomatically pass on the mantou.