* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Howdy, my name is Wade and I'm a traveler. For the past eight years I have been wandering this here planet. Nearly 40 countries on five continents. What follows are my impressions of the world as I travel through it-
The musings of the Wanderlust.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


Custom Search

May 29, 2007

Hitching across the Middle Kingdom

Hangzhou, China
5.29.2007

"Plan had I none, as yet, for continuing my journey. . .But plans are quickly made in the vagabond world."
-Harry Franck, A Vagabond Journey Around the World


Though I fell in love with Mongolia I felt that it was time to leave. Feelings strike out of nowhere and I have to listen to them. I was really digging this country and then the call to leave just came upon me. Soon after Lauren told me that he was going to the train station to get a ride back to China and asked if I wanted him to also pick me up a ticket. As it is an absolute sacrilege to ignore your base feelings when on the road, I quickly took him up on his offer. Mongolia is a country for friends, tents, and beer....and I had none of the these. So I struck out with Lauren Everly (www.loreneverly.org) by train for the Chinese border. We entered our compartment and were relieved to find it occupied with a Mongolian woman and her two daughters. We were relieved that we would probably not have to deal with any drunk Mongols on this journey. We gave a brief greeting to our compartment companions, arranged our bindles, sat down, and the train promptly pulled out of the station.

Our Mongolian train compartment companion who wanted to marry Lauren. Luckily we arrived in Zaymn Uud in the nick of time, and I was able to continue on with my travelling mate.


We rolled on through the Mongolian grasslands as night overtook us. Lauren and I joked around and played nonsensical card games with the Mongolian woman and her daughters. The little one, who was around 7 years old, would tell me what to do and I actually won the first game- though I did not have a clue what I was doing. Finally, Lauren got tired of playing a card game that seemed to have no rhyme or reason and tried to revert back to reading his book. But we soon found ourselves immersed in an impromptu language exchange lesson, and we taught each other words of English, Mongolian, and Chinese throughout the night ride.

In the morning I watched the sun rise over the Gobi and actually felt excited to be going south again. I gave my word to a friend down in Hangzhou that I would travel with him around SE Asia this summer- and I wanted to make good on it. So I was riding back for my fourth go through the Middle Kingdom.


Jeeps, buses, and big wheeled vans lined up bumper to bumper all the way to the Chinese frontier. It took us nearly four hours to get through the border hassles.

We got off the train at Zaymn Uud and quickly jumped into a van that was going to the borderland. Lauren and I took our places on a couple small corners of the already full van seats and took off down the highway for only a few miles before we hit the long line of jeeps waiting to cross into China. There we sat for a good hour or two without moving a hundred meters, as the dust from the Gobi blasted against the van's outer walls and squeezed in through the cracks in the window joints; eventually covering everyone and everything in the interior. Our fellow travellers were six Mongolian women, and we were all packed in on the two benches that made up the van's seating. Soon another big bottomed Mongol woman jumped into the van and aimed her large ass towards the meeting point between me and the woman that I was sitting next to and efficiently wedged me off of the little corner of seat that I was occupying and knocked me to the floor. I gave a hearty, sarcastic laugh and retreated to the tire hub in the van's rear. It was more comfortable back there anyway, and I did not need to be burdened by having half of someone else's butt cheek rested upon my lap. We sat in this lane for nearly four hours until the gates were finally opened and it was our turn to cross into China.

We raced with a crowd of border crossers into the Mongolian garrison and were immediately met with another line that led to the door. Lauren was not in the mood for any more lines though and, at noticing Mongolians walking past the line and stepping in front of everyone, he boldly followed in turn. I hung closely behind him as Lauren is a pretty big guy and, when it comes down to it, looks pretty frightening. Nobody was going to stop him, so we walked right beyond everyone and up to the front of the line as if we were Mongolian. Passing through the Mongolian exit garrison did not present us with any difficulties and we quickly made headway to the Chinese side. The fellows who were guarding this crossing were a touch overly diligent and look upon Lauren and I suspiciously. Most all foreign travellers pass this border on the Tran-Siberian Express tour train. As we did not wish to pay the extra fees to ride the tourist train we unintentionally ruffled the feathers of the Chinese border guards. Lauren attempted to go through the passport inspection desk first and the inspector picked up his thick (three sets of extra pages, visas from over seventy countries) passport like a sandwich and showed it to another inspection guard at another desk. They did not seem to know what do do with so think a passport and chattered on in Chinese about what they should do. Eventually, after long deliberation, they decided to just stamp his passport and let him pass. When I got up they gave me the same run down and inspected my passport diligently, shown ultraviolet lights upon my multiple Chinese visa many times over, looked from my photo to my face a dozen times, chattered in Chinese, and then went through the entire process again and again. Eventually the inspectors seemed to realize that there was only so much inspecting that they could and, with a touch of defeat, stamped me back into China. As soon as the stamp left the page, I quickly grabbed for my passport and saw the inspector's eyes bulge when he caught a glimpse of my tattooed hand- as I quickly made way for the door.

I met back up with Lauren and asked him if he, "wanted to get out of this desert together." As we were both aiming for Shanghai and were hitching it made sense for us to go pared. He agreed. It was an agreement that would work to the advantage of both of us- as I speak enough Chinese and he had a little post it note with the names of the major towns on our route. Neither of us had a guide book nor even a map, and we were completely relying on Lauren's short handed notes and his memory. Any way we turned it we knew that we would get there...somehow.

Now that we were in China it was time to get on the road, stick out our thumbs, and find out what would happen. Lauren was quickly proving to be a very resourceful travel companion, and he did a brief geographical calculation and figured out where the highway should have been. We walked in this direction and found it within ten minutes. The wind was blowing the Gobi's sand through the air and it soon found its way into all the creases of our faces and clothing. The landscape out by the highway was barren and devoid of absolutely anything. The sky was clear and the weather perfectly livable. It was a beautiful day for hitchhiking.

So we stepped out on the highway and put up our thumbs. The highway was empty except for the orange sand was blowing steadily across its breathe. One truck went by and left us in the dust, then another. We slowly began walking down the road towards our destination thousands of kilometers in the distance. Another truck zipped past us with scarcely a look. A man in military gear walked by us. Another truck. We were anxious for that first ride. In all hitch hiking journeys the first ride is the most important, exciting, and memorable. We nervously awaited. Would this work? Lauren looks like a big skin head and myself like a Muslim from Xinjiang. Could this work at all? Would the Chinese provide us with rides all the way across the country? We were in the middle of asking ourselves these apprehensive questions that are usually inherent to the beginning of any long hitch hiking journey. It is a time when your mind is thousands of miles away, though your feet are still where you began. The excitement of the open road!

Lauren thumbing it out on the expressway.


Just when we were beginning to slightly doubt our means of travel an SUV stopped and a middle aged woman with curly dyed hair asked us where we were going. This is a tricky question for the hitch hiker in Asia, as not many Chinese people know the ways of hitching and will oftentimes feel as if you expect them to take you all the way to your destination. So you have to be careful to not name a location that is too far away. Many rides also will not take a simple "that way" as an answer, as they cannot comprehend that we are travelling by thumb across the country for the fun of it. All too often drivers think that there is something wrong with us, or that we are lost, and they just want to give us a lift to the nearest train station. So we found that it is best to tell the driver any thing that will get us into the vehicle. Once we are inside the driver has no choice but to take us somewhere. We would often times try to ask the driver where they were going and if they answered us outright we would just say that we were going to the same destination and laugh at the coincidence. But if the driver does not disclose his destination until we unveil ours- which is very common- a little tact is needed, and it is often times better to name a really close city and then finagle things once your moving down the road.

But we did not yet know this lesson and blew a ride by naming a destination that was beyond that of the woman in the SUV. She tried to get us into her vehicle by offering us a ride to a train station. She thought that we did not know what we were doing or crazy and she closed the door and drove off. So we were still out on the highway with our thumbs stuck out to every passing vehicle when a red car full of three Chinese men pulled up. We just jumped right in without asking any questions and rode all the way out our of Inner Mongolia. It was a great ride and the men were amiable. One of them wrote us a poem of our travels that I could not really read. We did not talk to each other too much and we just rode out the long ride looking out the window. Our journey had began and we just watched the miles flow by us in the swiftly moving car.

We soon came near to Jinin, which was our rides final destination, and we asked to be let out on at a fork in the highway. The three men in the car were very confused and did not want to let us out. We had to assert ourselves a little forcefully as we did not want to miss our turn. They got the point and let us out while mumbling offers to take us to a train or bus station. We thanked them heartily and set off down the ramp to the highway to the south. We walked along this road with our thumbs stuck out to every passing vehicle, and within ten minutes a fast moving white car came to a screeching halt. The driver jumped out and greeted us in English and we jumped in the back seat.

The driver was a young man who just recently got married and had a young kid. But he did not seem too worried about whether or not he left his wife a widow, as he sped off down the highway at over two hundred kilometers an hour. He weaved in and out of traffic at a race car pace- passing on the left, passing on the right hand shoulder, tractor trailers seemed to fly passed us backwards. Our driver was even undaunted by the police, as he more than once would pull up fast behind a cop car and blare his horn until he moved out of our way. At one point we almost went flying off of the road, which caused the driver to mutter a little "sorry" complete with a giggle. He was loving it. We were loving the fact that we were just moving. The landscaped passed by us in streaks and I wondered how many hitchhikers had met their ends in this manner. In very little time we were at the driver's destination and we jumped out onto the highway completely satisfied with our days journey. We made it all the way through Inner Mongolia and into Shanxi Province nearly as far as Taiyuan. It was evening now, and we walked off the highway, jumped over a fence, and laid down under a nice shade tree in a farmer's field. We just laid under that tree for a couple of hours in a cloud of excitement and accomplishment- we were making way on a difficult journey. The stars were beautiful and we pondered upon them until we drifted off into sleep with the crickets.

Members of the Jeep club that tried to take us hostage with their hospitality. "How long will you stay. One? Two days?" "Ahhh, we were just thinking of staying for an hour or two." They fed us the best meal of our journey though (and in fact it was our only meal if you don't count stale crackers) and were incredible amiable companions to while away a couple of hours with by a reservoir in an industrial wasteland of Hebei Province.


W
e awoke with the dawn the next morning after sleeping through a night that got pretty chilly. I woke up shivering at around two o'clock and had to put on all of the clothing that I had in my rucksack. Between the hours of two and five nights are usually at their coldest and the traveller loathes waking up at these hours. Even after putting on all of my clothing I was still so cold that I just sat up with my legs crossed beneath me and gently rocked back and forth. The night sky was beautiful though, so my discomfort was not that much of a burden. Before I knew it I was back sleeping on my bindle as if it were a pillow. The next time that I awoke the sun was breaking over the horizon and I jumped up gleeful that I was about to begin another day of travelling across China. Lauren also got up and we packed up our swag and headed back up on to the highway.

Before we knew it a truck pulled up next to us and its door opened for us to get in. Both Lauren and I squeezed into the singly bucket seat that was for the passenger and we set off down the highway at a pace that was the exact opposite of our last ride the day before. Slowly we chugged on, as we sat uncomfortably in the small seat. The driver soon offered me his bed which was behind us and ran horizontally across the cabin. I jumped at this offer and was soon sleeping as we crept through the Chinese countryside.

The driver then made a couple of wrong turns that Lauren called out in advance and eventually dropped us off on the road to Taiyuan. We thanked him and set off again down the highway with our thumbs sticking out. Within a half hour we were swept up by a man in a black car. We were again off towards the south. The driver asked us where we were going and I made the mistake of saying "Shanghai." At hearing this he began freaking out and waving his arms and yelling, as he thought that we expected him to take us all the way there. We tried to explain what we were doing but he could not understand. He kept telling us that we had to take an airplane there and that we could not hitchhike all the way and so on. He then tried to forcibly take us to the airport, and we had to nearly resort to jumping out of his car in order to remain on the highway. The driver soon pulled over and we went to get out. But the driver wanted payment. I pretended that I could not understand him as Lauren collected his bags and stepped out onto the pavement. I tried to follow him but the driver began grabbing at me and it took some effort for me to get out. I told the driver that we did not have any money to give him as I slammed shut the door. The driver told us that we were bad and took off down the highway in the direction that we wanted to continue going.

We were now at the express way ring that encircles the city of Taiyuan, and the traffic was heavy and multi directional. We knew that we needed to make a turn to the east somewhere around here, but did not know exactly where. Should we get off the highway and walk to the place where the expressway splits or should we just trust that we could explain to the driver that we just wanted to go to the eastern highway? We chose the later and flagged down a taxi cab that was passing by us- as we figured that we did not have far to go and a taxi would drop us off anywhere we wanted without feeling responsible for us. As we were running to get into the cab, which stopped for us twenty meters up the road, Lauren's leg fell through a drainage hole at the highway's edge and he fell really hard. I though for certain that his leg was broken and I began looking around for material to splint it with. But he slowly rose to his feet and began inspecting his right hand, which was gushing blood all over the place. I quickly dived into my bag and procured a bottle of iodine and some bandages and the taxi driver gave us some napkins. In a few minutes the blood stopped squirting and we hopped into the cab. I told the driver that we wanted to be dropped off at the branch of the highway that broke off to the east, and he understood perfectly. He drove us a couple of miles to the point and told us how we could get over to the highway. I asked him how much money he wanted, and he said twenty kuai. I tossed ten down on the passenger seat and walked off. Ten kuai was fair enough for the short ride, and he did not protest.

Beautiful Shandong countryside.


Lauren and I then stepped off of the highway for a few minutes so that he check his damage. In addition to the cut on his hand he also tore a big hole in his pants and had a small cut beneath the tear. He cleaned out his wounds and we then fought our way to the other side of the expressway to the eastern branch. We stuck out our thumbs and almost immediately a young guy stopped and began addressing us in English. He was not going our way but he did get out of his car so that he could chat with us a little. He gave us the same rap about how we should take a train or a bus and that he did not think that people would help us all the way to Shanghai. We politely thanked him for his advice but told him that we disagreed. We then told him that we had hitched all the way from Mongolia and proudly thought that we could keep it going to any destination we chose. He gave us a skeptical smile and jumped back into his car and drove off into the distance. If we knew what was to befall us that day maybe we would have taken his advice.
Lauren and I then walked past the divergent forks in the highway and got onto the road that was going east towards Shijiazhuan. We were quickly picked up in a van full of Chinese men and were again cruising down the highway. After around five minutes the drivers turned around and told us that they wanted two hundred yuan for the ride! That is around $27! No way. Lauren and I scowled at them and I said that we wanted to immediately get out of their vehicle. The men kept driving. I told them again a little more forcefully. They kept driving. I asserted my self to another level and demanded to be dropped off on the side of the highway because we did not have any money to pay our way. At this the listened and pulled over. Lauren and I got out and I told them that if we wanted to pay money that we would have taken a train. Both Lauren and I are Americans, and Americans do not pay to hitchhike. Ninety percent of the people that we got rides from did not expect to be paid, so we knew that it was not convention in China to request money from hitchhikers. We would prefer to stand on the side of the highway in the middle of nowhere than to make one of the long honed arts of the American hobo a "paying" voyage in China. So that is what we did- we stepped out into the middle of nowhere on a busy, fast moving highway.

Lauren and I quickly realized that the vehicles on the highway were moving way to fast to pick us up so we jumped down into the ditch on the side of the expressway and began walking. The ditch was strewn with dozens of piles of human shit and poop smeared toilet paper, so we needed to tread on with care. Who would want to pick up a hitch hiker who had human excrement all over the bottom of their shoes? So we stepped over the piles of wasted and made way down the the highway. We wanted to get to the next exit so that we could stand off to the side on the on ramp to give cars a space to pull off of the highway. But the next exit was surprisingly far off and we plodded on and on. Finally we realized that we were going to need to employ a different tactic. So we flagged down a bus and jumped in. At this point we did not know what our intentions were other than getting as far down the highway as possible. We went to the back of the bus and sat down in a couple of unoccupied seats. The conductor soon followed us back and tried to scam us out of an exorbriant sum of money. Slightly offended at so blantent an attempt at ripping us off we outrightly refused to give him any money. Rather we just rode, ignoring the conductor and looking out the window for the next exit. The exit was not fortwithcoming, and we had already passed the point of being able to just placidly ignore the conductor, so we demanded to be let off the bus on the side of the highway. We jumped out, looked around, and realized that we were in no better of a position than when we started- though we were a dozen more kilometers down the road. We tried the bus scam a second time and sat on the engine box in the front, just behind the driver. After a little while the driver asked us where we were going. I told him that we wanted to get off at the next exit. He said that he wanted fifty yuan for each of us- another absolutely rediculous sum. We just ignored him, and he keep driving. At the next exit we stood up and I told him to stop the bus and let us off. He demanded his money. I told him to let us off and tossed twenty yuan divergently wrapped in a couple of ones towards him. He got very angry as I only gave him a quarter of what he wanted. I told him that I gave him a good amount and demanded that he open the door. He complied and swore at us as we jumped out.

Going east to the mysterious call of Shanghai.


We were now at an on ramp to the highway and knew that there was a much greater potential that we would be picked up. So we stood in the shade of an overpass bridge and relaxed a little as we waited. Most of the vehicles on the highway were tractor trailor trucks that seemed bound by some treatise to not pick up hitchhikers, as the all drove right by us with scarcely any awknowledgement. Both Lauren and I have travelled all through China on previous journeys, and we were now greatly taken aback by how rudely we were treated in this part of the country. Neither of us had ever experienced a part of China where the people seemed to be so miserable and unfriendly. The two buses that we just took short rides on were full of stone faced Chinese who were not inclined to offer even the slightest gesture of amialbility. Usually, both Lauren and I found the Chinese to be wonderful people to travel amongst, who are generally always open to helping out and talking to foreigners. But this was not the case in the south of Hubei province, and we just wanted to get out of there as quick as possible.

We were soon picked up by two men in a van. Before getting inside we asked them if they wanted any money for the ride- we did not want to be stranded on the side of the highway again. They looked at us as if we were crazy, shook their hands in front of their faces, and said no way. So we jumped in. The man in the passenger seat was genuinely friendly towards us and made conversation for the duration of the ride. I asked him if he was married. He said that he was and that his wife was fourteen years old with no small hint of pride. I pretended to be impressed. I followed up my question by asking if they had any kids, and he again acted as if I was crazy and laughed while he emphasized the fact that, "she is only fourteen years old." I lauged it off. The man then offered us some dried tofu, which we gobbled down- we had not really eaten too much for a day and a half- and then told us that his town is famous for its tofu. I was just glad to be eating something, I did not care too much if it was famous. We soon came to their exit, and we thanked the two men heartily for helping us on our way.

Lauren and I then walked over to the on ramp and waited scarcely two minutes before we got out next ride. It was with a group of kids in a jeep. We all talk and laughed through the industrial wastelands of China, and before they arrived at their destination they asked us if we wanted to come with them to "play." We had little reason to decline, other than the fact that we wanted to clear the decimated local that we were in before nightfall. But it was scarcely noon time and we both could have used a little break from the highway. So I looked at Lauren, he shrugged his shoulders in a "why not" sort of way, and I told the kids that we would like to accompany them as they went to "play." They all seemed to be really happy about this, and they turned off of the highway and into an industial park area that I have seen equaled only a few times in my life (I grew up just outside of Rochester, NY, and my entire family once worked for Kodak. So I am no stranger to industrial wastelands). The hills were torn up from mining, the flatish land around the highway was strewn with factories, coolong towers, smokestakes, and the ground was laden with junk parts of a surprising variety. The road that we were travelling on was unpaved and wound its way through worker barraks and factory corridors all along the side of the highway that we were jsut travelling on. We had no idea what "play" (the Chinese word that they used was wahr, which kind of just means recreation) entailed. We soon came up to a reservoir and figured that we were going swimming. I asked this kids if this was correct, and they told me that I could go swimming if I wanted to. It was clear that swimming was not the main objective of what we would be doing. The driver then parked the jeep in a parking area that had a few too many jeeps to be coinincidental, and we got out and met the kids' friends who were quickly approaching to meet us. They were a really jolly bunch and a few of them were wearing "Jeep" shirts. Lauren put it all together and asked a guy who could speak a little English if this was a meeting for a Jeep club. He laughed and said that it was, and then asked us how long we would like to stay. "One day? Two days?" We were more like, "maybe one or two hours." They seemed to be a little disappointed at this, and said that we could not leave until we at least ate lunch with them. I had no objection to this as I was hungry and knew that there was no other way out of Chinese hospitality. It was like a scene out of "Outlaws of the Marsh," as we were treated as guest of honor. We were soon hussled into a large dining area and plates of food began appearing before us. I chowed them down. Lauren was a touch apprehensive about eating anything as he had been a vegetarian since birth and did not want to even eat the greens, as he though that they may have been cooked in meat oil. I have no idea how this kid had travelled through over seventy countries with such a strict dietary restriction. I was also a vegetarian for some years but I was always able to make amends to my situations- when meat was offered to me, I ate meat. I simply did not go out of my way to purchase meat products, but free food is free food, and the vagabond always knows what to do with free food! So we quickly chowed down some food and made way to leave the Jeep convention. To my surprise we were not restrained too much, and our hosts seemed so pleased that we ate luch with them that they were perfectly satisfied to let us leave them. The walked us up to the highway and we took some pictures of each other ere giving farewell hugs and handshakes.


Industrial wasteland of Hebei Province.


We were again bank on the road. We got a quick ride from a couple of men in a black van, and they too acted like we were crazy when we asked if they wanted us to pay them for the journey. They seemed to be a nice couple of guys who seem more interested about why we were standing in the middle of nowhere on the side of the highway than anything else. We told them that we had friends here, and when they asked who they were the only thing that I could say in my not too vast Chinese vocabulary was that they, "had big trucks." I am not too sure if they knew what I was talking about.

Our drivers were a couple of local guys, so the ride was not took loke before they arrieved at their exit. They tried to talk us into letting them take us to the bus station but we said that we wanted to be let out on the highway. They seemed to be really concerned about this so we had to be a little assertive and just jump out of the van, thank them, and walk down the road a little until they felt released of any responsibility for us. We were in another poor area for hitching, as trucks were the main vehicles on the highway, and they all just honked and mocked our outstreched thumbs as they drove by. The on ramp was also clustered with parked trucks so we haad to venture furthure up on the highway where the cars were speeding by at lightning pace. The landscape here was gruesome- factories belching smoke into the air everywhere, trucks roaring by us one right after another without end. We knew that we were in a little hole here, but we had both had worse in our travels. So we just stuck it out and around an hour later a little red car came to a speeding halt. We jumped into the back seat without any questions and just waited for the driver to take us out of that wasteland. He soon did and we were again moving down the long road to the coast. Our drivers were amiable guys who did not ask us many questions; they just drove as we dozed off in the back seat.

Parts of the landscape that we travelled through were interesting. For one stretch there were little villages which were constructed entirely of stone and were terreced on top of each other as they were built into the sides of mountains. I do not think that I have ever experienced houses that were constructed in this way anywhere else in the world.

This ride was just what we needed, and both Lauren and I leaned back and relaxed a little as we watched the industrial wastelands of Hebei province pass behind us. We were now coming into the fertile fields of Shangdong province and everything around us was becoming lush and green. Gentle hills rose in the distance and we knew that we just passed out of the worst part of our journey. Our ride took us as far as Shijiazhuan, and we hopped out of the car and into the warm air of the Shangdong countryside.

We soon found a nice big on ramp to wait on and we just hung out in the beautiful spring afternoon. Farmers were working in their fields and we were out on the highway with our thumbs pointed up towards the sky.

We waited like this for only around a half an hour when a white car drove past us and halted a little ways beyond on the side of the road. We rushed over and jumped into the backseat. Our host were two young Chinese men who seemed to have a handle on what we were doing. the seemed to be a part of the new emerging middle class of China, and they were consequently "hip" to the outside world. They even let us pour over there road atlas, and we set the route that we would follow down the eastern coast. Our drivers told us that they were going to Jinan the capital of Shangdong Province and we quickly told them that that was also our destination.



The open road at over two hundred kilometers an hour. Our driver was a madman, but he got us to just outside of Taiyuan.

We held down this ride for a good three hundred kilometers until we arrived at the highway system that surounds the city of Jinan. We asked to be let out at the highway that branched off to the south and our drivers inquired as to where we were going. I told them that we were going to Tai'An, and they laughed and the passenger said that the driver was also going there and that he would give us a ride. This made us really happy, as we had no intention of letting this nice ride slip away. So our ride pulled off on a ramp that goes into Ji'Nan and the passenger got out to be met by his wife. Lauren and I also got out to say hello to her. We then got back into the car and went off to Tai'An.

By the time we arrived it was dark out, and we were both tired. So we walked down the off ramp and searched for a place to sleep. We soon found a suitable location on the lee side of an emabankment near the highway, and laid down to sleep under a pine tree. This night proved to be much warmer than the one that proceeded it and we slept peacefully the entire night through. We awoke early the next day and ate a few stale crackers ere getting back on the road. We walked up to the on ramp and got settled in. Our hitching location seemed to be decent, and we figured that we would probably get a ride without too long of a wait. This proved to be the furthest thig from the truth. We stood out on that highway for over two hours with our thumbs sticking out. Nobody even seemed to think of stopping for us. For the two days before our thumbs were nearly majical. All we had to do was to stick them out and we would get a ride- it was the best hitching that we could have hoped for. But now, we were sunk in the mud and knew it. We were both out of water so I suggested that we try to find a place where we could purchase some more. So we walked down off of the highway and eventually found a little kiosk that sold us cold bottles of water. Lauren also made some phone calls to his girls friends around China, while I joked around with the people at the kiosk. My Chinese was improving and I could very nearly hold my own in a conversation. They kid that I was talking kept asking to look at my pocket knife, and I complied. He eventually asked my how much I paid for it and I told him 80 kuai. He then got excited and offered to pay me this much for it. I laughed his advance off and explained that my girlfriend gave it to me as a present and that I could not sell it because it was special to me. He understood and asked for it no longer.


Lauren and I then tramped back to the highway with our spirits a little renewed. With our fresh framed of mind we got a ride in only a few minutes. It was with a middle aged Chinese man in a black automobile. He asked us where we were going with a very concerned tone. I tried to ward him off by saying that we were just going up the road. He would not take this for an answer, so I tried to explain to him that we were going to Shanghai by hitchhiking and that we did not expect him to take us the entire way there. He did not understand this and freaked out. But, as Lauren and I would not get out of his vehicle, he just pulled out on the highway and took off. But the driver soon got nervous again and pulled off at a reststop that was only around ten kilometers down the road and urged us to get out "go out and eat food, then you can hitch hike some more," he said. We grudily complied, though we did not eat any food.

We walked back out on to the on ramp and stood out there in the mid morning sun for another two hours. The vehicles were going by much too fast to stop, and the sparse traffic that was coming from the reststop did not seem too interested in picking us up. So we just stood and waited. My arm got tired of holding it straight out, my back was weary from standing still, my mind dulled from three days continuously on the road. We only made 10 km in over five hours. I wanted to move. So I took leave of Lauren and hopped a bus back to Tai Shan. From here I rode seatless in a heavely crowded train through the night to Hangzhou.

Both Lauren and I are travellers, and I knew that there would not be any hard feelings resulting from out departure. I also wanted to collect a rock from Tai Mountain to give to Mira's father, who would really appreciate a holy stone from the most holy mountain in all of China. I will miss Lauren, but I know that he is a travelling man and that our paths will ever be on the verge of crossing again a little further down the road.

May 23, 2007

Back Across the Great Buddha Arch

Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia
5.24.2007

I decided to get out of Mongolia on a whim and bought a train ticket to strike back out across the Great Buddha Arch that stretches from Japan to Korea, through China, down into South East Asia , and then back up through India, Nepal, Tibet, North-Western China, and finally ending in the steppes of Mongolia just to start all over again in Japan. This has been the cumulation of my first (nearly complete) run this great round- it has taken me over three years and I travelled more of a zig-zagged route rather than anything that resembled an arch- but now I am ready to begin it all over again. It all begins just where it ends, you know, Oh! the great great cycle. So down into ol' SE Asia I go with my thumb stuck out for both the big and small vehicle.


May 22, 2007

In Search of Burt the Dutchman

Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia
5.23.2007



I am twenty six years old today. That number looks pretty young to me, but Mira tells me that I am an old fuck. Difference of vantage point, I assume. I went out to the country side yesterday in search of a Dutchman named Burt.

A couple of Swedish artist that I met in Ulaanbaatar heard about this Dutchman who has been living out in the back country of Mongolia for the past ten years. They told me about him, and we quickly decided to tramp out there and try to find him. So the artist Swedes, their one and a half year old boy, the traveller Lauren Everly, and I figured that we would go to Terej to ask around. We did not think that there were many big Dutchmen named Burt hanging around those wild lands for a decade , so we did not think our venture would be too difficult. We boarded a bus out of the capital and rode out to the countryside. In Mongolia there is no limit to how many people that can fit into a single bus, so it was a real tight ride all the way out to Terej. The bus aisles were packed, the seats were filled beyond their capacity, and luggage and other goods were strewn above, below, and on top of everyone and everything. I figure that I made out ok, as I stuffed myself into the back corner of the bus on top of somebodies duffel bag... and I was also sitting next to a lady (women are always better to sit next to than men in such circumstances).

In a couple of hours we arrived in Terej and squeezed ourselves off of the bus. The air was the freshest that I have breathed in nearly 10 months and the mountains were beautiful. Rock spires abruptly rose out of the rolling pasture land and mountains boomed on in the distance. I smiled.

We then began our search for Burt the Dutchman, which ended where it began. "Do you know Burt?," we asked the first guy that we met. He did, and offered to call him for us. This adventure to did not yet prove to be much of a trial. We then discussed how we would get to his farm, as Burt did not answer his phone. I wanted to walk but the Mongolian that we met said that it was impossible. I figured that I could make it with little difficulty, as we were told thatBurt lived only a couple of kilometers from where we were. But my companions wanted to take horses. I conceded, as they had a kid and bags of food. So we arranged for horses with the Mongolian guy who was assisting us.

But as we were waiting for the horses to be saddled up a big blond man came fast upon us. He was wearing a heavy wool sweater and snug fitting duct clothe pants that had leather patches on the knees. His face was bristled red and he had a weathered appearance that was surely honed by the harsh Mongolian climate. We knew that he was the man that we were looking for right away. As he approached he let us know that he heard that there were a group of foreigners who were looking for him- and did not seem to be overtly enthused. We introduced ourselves, and he then told us that he did not have much room in his gers. "Where do you plan to sleep?," he said, "I see that you do not have any tents." The artist Swede quickly resounded that "we were planning on sleeping with you in your ger." Big Burt stumbled a little at this but seemed to appreciate the Swede's forthrightness. "Ok," Burt said with dizzying hand gestures, "but we are going to have to improvise." He then went on to give us the details of his already full gers and how we could come up with something.

We had accomplished our mission without hassle and walked with Burt down a ravine, over some boulders, up a hill to his truck. After stashing our bags in the back we hopped in and rode out a good ride through a few shallow but wide rivers and over many other impediments. "Ah, we could have walked this," I jested to Lauren Everly.

We arrived at Burt's farm into a bit of an uproar. His wife said that there was not enough food for us and seemed to be mildly upset that we just showed up unannounced. We comforted her by saying that we carried our own grub, so she did not have to worry. The end of the day falling upon us so we quickly threw together a meal of potatoes, tofu, seeds of some kind, and tomato sauce; which we cooked "cowboy style- which is to say that we used a stray piece of wood as a cutting board, a piece of kindling as a stirring spoon, and an old-time fire pit stove. We finished this meal off with a big chunk of Burt's home made cheese. It really is the wild west out in Mongolia.

On the ride out to his farm Burt told us about how he keeps losing livestock to bandits. He said that everytime he buys a new horse it just gets stolen by thieves. "So I just decided that I am not going to buy anymore. There is nothing else that can be done." So is life on the Mongolian range.

We then were showed to the ger that Burt had cleared out for our using and went straight to our beds. The night was cold, but our ger was kept warm by the cow dung fire that we kept ablaze in the stove which stood at its center. I awoke in the middle of the night and went for a stroll around the farm just looking at the stars, the mountain's silhouettes, and felt the cool wind blowing back my clothing. I like this Mongolia. I really do.


A hand tending to the cattle on Burt's farm.


Mongolians at the Terej bus stop.
The government building of Terej.
A Mongolian meal. There seems to be only two courses in Mongolian cooking- meat and dairy. I ordered a soup in a restaurant thinking that it could possibly have a vegetable in it but, no, it was only meat and hot water. I got a little chuckle out of it, but it was actually very good.

Burt's home and farm.
A ger on Burt's farm.
Burt's children playing with the artist Swede's kid.
Coooooooooowwwwwwwwwssssss (remember, Erik?)


May 21, 2007

Map of Mongolia

Mongolia, nestled in between China and Russia with no outlet to the sea, is a land for Wayfaring. My plan is to go up to the Terej National park 65Km outside of Ulaanbaatar for my birthday and then strike out west. "Man, it is the wild west out there, there are wolves and everything," a long haired and bearded Belgian traveller told me with starry eyes a couple of days ago. From the feel that he trasparted to me from that simple statement made want to make a run for it. But I should stay around Ulaanbaatar area for a couple of days to get a slight feel for the language- as I am going to need it.


May 20, 2007

Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia



Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia
5.21.2007

"For the truest satisfaction of the Wanderlust is to explore the world by virgin routes and pose as a bold pioneer in the rendezvous of the "profession" ever after."
-Harry Franck, Vagabond Journey Around the World

This above quote sums up the approach of the traveller in Mongolia perfectly, as there are large tracts of land here that are not often tramped by even the most rough-necked wanderers. Wayfaring here is a definite possibility, and the edges of civilization can be breached. But the hows of such need to be sorted a little and preparations need to be made before setting off. So I sit in Ulaanbaatar studying Mongolian and talking to all the travellers that have returned from journeys in the Wayside.

I arrived in Ulaanbaatar around three days ago, and have just been taking it easy- pondering upon what I would like to make of this huge country. I registered with the Immigration office today, so I have almost three whole months to explore the deserts, mountains, and steppes of this land. But I am feeling a little in the mud, as I have found a little comfort and do not want to stray from it too hastily. I have also decided that a little knowledge of Mongolian will be of great use in the countryside; so I found a teacher and will begin studying tomorrow. But the open road is calling.

The traveller Loren Everly, (over 70 countries, www.loreneverly.org), asked me if I wanted to go up to the national park 65km from Ulaanbaatar with him for a couple of days. I pondered it for less than a fraction of a second and five minutes later I had my bindle thrown together, the guest house paid off, and we were out the door. We walked to where we were directed to catch the bus but did not find it readily. So we asked a few passerbys where we could find the station by showing them the little yellow post-it note that had the address written on it in Cyrillic. We were then pointed in the direction from which we just came. Thinking that we mis-understood our initial directions we hastened up to where we were now pointed. We asked a few more people only to be led in circles around the city. So we gave up, figuring that we missed the 4PM bus anyway, and just returned to the guest house the butt of the entire residency's jeers. "Wow, that was a really fast trip, man!," they all said laughing at us. It is a good thing that we did return so quickly because I found my pink slippers by the doorway where I had forgotten them. I don't know what I would do without my little pick slippers. Everybody, and I do mean everybody, that I have come across in Mongolia has pinked on me for wearing these slippers of feminine color. "Ha ha! your have all these tattoos and tough looking clothes but you are wearing PINK SLIPPERS!" "Sorry, man, but they just look stupid." Then I have to explain how my girlfriend had given them to me before she left and how they are special to me. They just laugh all the more.

Ulaanbaatar is perhaps one of the most un-photogenic cities that I have ever been to. Maybe this is because it was built on Communist dictates, perhaps this is because the Mongols have little interest in cities- their capital seems to be more of an afterthought than a point of national focus. It almost seems as if this city was constructed solely because Mongolia felt pressured to have some kind of urban assemblage within its borders. But this place is alright. The city proper consists of a few main streets, a few temples, a black market, and lower class Ger camps that surround the periphery. But, it is a decent place to lounge around for a few days and read and talk to other travellers.

The foreigners in Mongolia seem to be 50% train people coming through on a couple of day stop on the Tran-Siberian Express, 25% business people , and 25% roughneck traveller who can boast of no other home but their boots. I have found the company of the later group very amiable and have enjoyed the conversations that pass around between the travellers in this city.
All of this travel through national capitals have made me begin thinking about my impressions of all of the capital cities that I have been through. These ponderings have provoked the following list of National Capitals and my impressions of the in a few words.

Quito: In the past
Lima: On the rocks, colonial outpost ever present
Santiago, Chile: Fast running, yet without vigor
Buenos Aires: Impeccable
Montevideo: Still a sea port city
Washington D.C.: Desert of the human spirit
London: London
Paris: French
Madrid: All- invasive, thorough old-time Grandeur
Tokyo: Metro, metro, metro, metropolis, ingenious
Bangkok: Temporary outpouring of personal suppression
Vientiane: Organic
New Delhi: Escape plan needed
Beijing: New-world desert
Ulaanbaatar: In the dirt, revealing

As of now, I think that I am going to try to study Mongolian until I can travel on it and then maybe try to find some Archaeology work. My Archaeology buddy Steve Marquat gave me that idea, and I think it is a good one. A few days of sending out some letters my find me in a really interesting position in a location that I would not otherwise be able to access. I could also use a little work at this point. Summer is coming up and that is the season for labor. I could also use a little bean money.


Prayer wheels at the Monastery in Ulaanbaatar.

Gers in Monastery grounds.
Mira demonstrating the use of a squirt bottle of harsh Chinese military liquor.

Sunset over the Gobi.
Outskirts of Ulaanbaatar.
Ger camps on the fringe of city.
Travelling Banjo man. He is Renault and he is from France. He has been traveling the world for the past twenty years playing his Banjo in the streets for his bean money. Every nook of the globe has at one time or another heard the sound of his banjo. A lifelong and professional busker, he said that, "twenty years ago people told me that I could not do this, that I would starve. Look at me now, twenty years later." He was a real jolly companion and told worst jokes than me and other silly anecdotes of life "on the road."

Monastery temple.


May 18, 2007

Frontier of Mongolia

Zamyn Uud, the Mongolian frontier town on the Chinese border. There is only three things in this town: a border, a train station, and the road that goes to the border. It was an interesting little place save for the constant sand that blows all through the region. To walk through these streets were to walk in a cloud of dust. Blowing sand seems to have the ability to get into every crevasse of a humans body. So after going for a short walk my eyes, neck creases, and ears were full of grit. It was alright though- once your gritty it dose not get much worse.


Mongolian train in siding.


The empty Gobi Dessert.


Coming into Ulaanbaatar.



Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia
5.18.2007

Mongolia is desolate. Rode trains up from Beijing and upon entering Inner Mongolia everything in the landscape completely broke. There was nothing for hundreds of miles. Just desert in the proper sense. I love it.

I rode what turned out to be the Trans-Siberian Express train up to the Mongolian border. I quickly exited that rolling tourist trap (I was just pissed because they tried to charged me 4 dollars for a few meatballs and a couple chopped vegetable pieces), and got a hotel across from the station in Erlian. Woke up the next morning and headed out towards the border. Took a taxi to it and the driver dropped me off and split. I then got into an argument with the border guards because they would not let be walk through to the inspection post. So I fought with the border kids (they were younger than me) about this for a few minutes and finally just spent the 35 kuai to get across in some guy's van that was packed with boxes. I had to sit on his lap for the entire 200km that he drove me up to the border checkpoint and then got out and went through the Chinese exit formalities. Stamped out of China, I proceeded on to Mongolia.

The Mongolian entry procedure was really straight forward. They took my passport, looked at me, asked if I was a tourist, then stamped an empty page. They did not even ask for additional pieces of identification, as many people think that I no longer look anything like my passport photo (it was taken seven years ago).

Away from the border garrison I walked into the arid land of Mongolia. The wind was blowing and it was cold. Zamyn Uud is suppose to be the hottest town in all of Mongolia and I was shivering. I walked on for around 500 meters when a jeep pulled up from behind me and a soldier jumped out. He did not speak any English and just pantomimed that he wanted me to go into the jeep. I refused. He then asked for my "pass" and I balked for a second at taking out my passport but then thought better of it and again refused. Even though he was dressed in the garb of a soldier he was little more than a traffic cop, and he spent his workdays telling Mongolians how to line up their vehicles one behind the other on their way to the border garrison. This seemed to me a mere showdown of power, so I tried to explain to him that I was just going to the town that was less than a kilometer away from where we were standing. I pointed to it- we could see it readily from where we were standing. But he kept it up and began pushing me around. I quickly tired of this soldier pushing me so I just walked past him and back to the border, and waited for a jeep with everyone else. He probably just wanted me to take his buddy's ride so that he could charge me an exaggerated sum of money. I would just find a ride with someone else.

So I waited a while with some Chinese men who were also heading towards Ulaanbaatar. We joked a little in Chinese and became short-term friends. It is interesting how quickly language comes to you when you need it. Another Chinese guy who was around the same age as me crossed over the border and acted a little excited that I could speak some Chinese. We talked a little, then he hopped in a jeep and went got a jeep into town. I stood around for a few minutes and then also flagged down a jeep. I got in and asked how much it would cost for the ride in English. I only received puzzled looks in response. I then tried asking the same in Chinese and a couple guys in the Jeep understood and tole me the price- 10 yuan. The guys that tole me were also Chinese and we talked a little on the ride.

It is interesting how a common language makes people "real" to each other. If I could not speak any language with the people in the Jeep then I would simply have been vegtable lagsania and probably would of had to have paid much more for the ride. But by the graces that I could communicate, I was charged local price and made a couple road friends.

When we arrived in Zamyn Uud, and the Chinese guys escorted me to the train station and helped me purchase a train ticket by translating Mongolian into Chinese for me. It was a gesture completely of their own volition and I thanked them heartily. We then said goodbye and I went to find some lunch in the little town.

After lunch I went for a little walk and then made way back to the station to wait for my train. It soon showed up and I got settled into my compartment loaded down with boxes full of trade stuff. My Chinese friend from the border met me on the platform and asked if I would mind putting some of his stuff- he was a trader who ran a route from Beijing to Ulaanbaatar- in my compartment. I quickly agreed as I had a good feeling about the kid. The other passengers soon began filing into my compartment and they also had a large amount of supplies. They all chattered on in Mongolian trying to figure out how to fit everything on the train while I just stared into a book. Soon they figured it out and I was off to Ulaanbaatar in a train compartment with three big Mongolian guys.

We talked little through the first half of the journey, until the Mongolian sitting across from me grabbed the Chinese dictionary that I was half studying and thumbed a little through it. He spoke a little English and we talked a little. My compartment mates seem to be real friendly and the talked and joked amongst themselves as I just sat there watching them.

After some hours of this they soon got a little boarded and went off to get drunk- "stretch their legs," the dictionary thumber haltingly said with a smile- while I tried to slip off to sleep. In a couple hours they returned with a beer for me and we all talked for a little while. I took this gesture to heart, and was very appreciative for the beer. After a little basic conversation they went back business and returned to the dining car to keep on getting drunk. I went back to sleep.

Next morning we pulled into Ulaanbaatar station and I stepped out into the city of Mongolia. The weather was brisk and the city seemed beat. I took a mild liking to it right away.

May 15, 2007

On Leaving China

Man near Forbidden City with nothing much to do.
Beijing at dusk.
Gate tower of Forbidden city. I did not bother going it...it is forbidden, right?
Statue in restaurant window. I joked with Mira about how she is going to have to do this for me.

The Chinese are the most industrious people on the planet. They are like ants. This building will probably be completely built in a week. I am not joking. When I returned to Hangzhou after being away for eight months my old neighborhood was totally revamped. What were massive pits in the earth when I left were transformed into towering high rises and had people living in the in merely a few months. It is unbelievable.

Beijing, P.R. China
5.15.2007

I should be leaving for a Erlian in the Gobi Desert on the Mongolian border tomorrow morning. I am seriously going miss China. I can not explain my attraction to this land. It seems so horrible in so many respects, but it has just gotten me. There is just something about it that keeps calling me back every time I leave. This was the third time that I have had an extended run in China, and the third time that I know that I will probably return. It is just real good living here. I can just tramp into a town, and within a day find a well paying job, a cheap room, and a place where I can get good food. It is just really simple here, really basic. I have found it easy to provide for myself with only a touch of effort (I speak enough Chinese, which probably is the sole reason I can make this statement). I am just really relaxed here. I really needed to get back to China after another four months in India. When I did my health was shaky and I needed to just lay around for a while, eat highly nutritious foods, and consume massive amounts of herbs. I studied with a really good Chinese medicine doctor here the year before, and I went back to him to be put back together. It took a few months but he did the job, and although I am still not 100% (digestion is still weak), I am ready to go. I couldn't sit around Hangzhou any longer, the Road was calling.



So now that I am on the verge of leaving China I am just recollecting on how much I love and hate living here. It is not a "cool" country by any means. It is one of the most non-layedback places that I have ever been. Everything is so focused, so intense....complex. In all the time that I have been in China I have made very few friends; and these were all in Yunnan province (on the Vietnam, Lao, Myanmar border). I have never made a Chinese friend in Hangzhou or anywhere else in the country. Maybe this is one of the reasons that I like it so much. I can walk down the street and know that I am not going to be placed in a social situation. I can just be quiet here. I can just contemplate the days away. I don't have any friendship obligations and will not fall into any. I am just free to walk in the hills and be with myself. But a season of this becomes enough to regulate myself enough to move back into the world, make friends, and be social again. People go through stages; sometimes it is best to rage and sometimes it is best to lay low. My stages seem to correspond with the seasons. Winters I brood in self directed meditations, Summers I run with friends. The in between seasons correspond by likewise degrees. I am an animal, seasonal change still impacts me.


But other than this, I really respect the Chinese character and dig on the old time Tao dharma and poetry. I first began coming to China so that I could learn the language to read the nature poetry of the ancient poets. I am not quite at that stage of proficiency, but I am still learning. I have a feeling that I am always going to be studying this language. I also really like the fact that Chinese men still beat the hell out of each other in the streets. If there is a problem, it is settled with fist. Seriously, walking the streets of this country is like attending a fight showcase. You can often watch multiple fights on a single walk. I find it entertaining, and the Chinese do to. Not even the police break up fights. Rather, the officers of the law are spectators like everybody else. Everything is really up front in China. The people are rude, loud, and belligerent, though they are tough and know how to "eat-bitter." I really find that I hold a great amount of appreciation for their somewhat intense social tendencies. If they have a question for me they ask it. It is just their way. I am really going to miss China. I feel as if I am leaving just to be called back, again. But I must be moving on. To Mongolia!









To Mongolia!

Beijing, P.R. China
5.15.2007




This is my train ticket to the Chinese border with Mongolia in the Gobi desert. I had to dodge a good tourist trap punch to end up with it. It would be really nice to get out in the desert for a few days before I have to get to Ulaanbaatar to register for a 90 day entry permit. After being in China and India for the past nine months I am real excited to get to a place with wide open plains and relatively few people. From the two most densely populated countries on earth to the least! A smile comes to my face at this notion. This is the title page to Harry Franck's seminal book of travel. It was his first book so it maintains the rawness of youth and the unabashed splendor of life on the road. I am currently travelling around with this book in my rucksack. It is big, heavy, and almost a hundred years old. Seriously, it is a first edition copy, and was published in 1910.

Photos from the book. Oddly enough, Franck travelled with a Kodak camera and spent all of his funds on photographic supplies. This is kind of funny because he often times did not even have enough money to eat. But he wanted to document his journey in photographs, and now little vags like myself can look at his photographs and ponder at how everything still looks the same. If Adam Katz- World Traveller ever happens to read this travelogue I suggest that he read this book. There is a really awesome section on travels through Egypt. I am going to begin a writing project based off of this book soon, but I will write more of this later.

Now, I am fully faced towards Mongolia!

I bought my train ticket to go up Mongolia way yesterday. I had to dodge a hard right hook to get it though. I went to the train station and asked around how I should go about getting a ticket and nobody seemed to know anything. Well, until I asked one particular ticket vendor and he just sat in his little booth for a moment thinking about it, and then just looked up at me and said "there" while pointing to the imposing structure of the, appropriately nomenclated, International Hotel. I knew what was to follow.

So I walked through the throng of people mulling around in the station's large courtyard, across the street, down one large Beijing city block (among the largest in the world), past the sharp dressed chauffeurs standing vigilantly at the front doors, and into the International Hotel. Inside was just rich. There is nothing more that I really wish to say about it. As I feel real uncomfortable around such company (my place is with the butchers, planters, and day laborers of the world) I quickly asked where I could buy the much sought for ticket. He directed me to go upstairs, and I hastened up them.

I found the CITS office rather quickly, as it stood out amongst the cafe latte stands and jewelery shops, and walked right in and asked for a ticket. The fellow behind the desk spoke unsteady English, so I switched to my unsteady Chinese. I asked for a ticket to Ulaanbaatar. He named the price- 678 kuai. Nearly eighty dollars! No way. It is only a thirty hour ride from Beijing. No way. I could get to Moscow for $250 on the same train! But this was the price for a hard sleeper, so I requested a hard seat. He wouldn't sell me a ticket for one. "It is a long way," he said. I requested a hard seat a second time. He still would not sell me one. He then proceeded to tell me that there was not any seats, only sleeper compartments, on this train. Which may or may not have been true, as it was the Siberian Express that I was trying to take a ride on. I then questioned him about train number 23 which was not the Siberian Express that was also suppose to run to Ulaanbaatar. He told me that there was no such train. Which may or may not have been true. Either way I had enough of these dealings and quickly left the International Hotel. I returned to Beijing central to get a local train out to the border town of Erlian. It cost me 142 kuai (little over seventeen dollars). Thus satisfied and happy, I stuck the ticket into my breast pocket and returned to my hostel to begin studying a little Mongolian.


"US citizens need none visa because Mr. Bush has blackmailed the Mongolian government with his signature to the contracts of the development aid."Quoted from Hairibo on LP Thorn tree.

Well, I take it. Thank you, president. This is perhaps the first time that the regime has done anything that has personally benefited me. I knew that 50.00000001% of the voters in my country voted for him for something. Now I know, it is so we can all go to Mongolia for 90 days without a visa! Tommy-rot. The agreement was probably made so that Mongolia looks more attractive to US visitors (really, how many are there?) to boost their own tourism industry, or (more likely) so that they can boast of an apparent "show" of "friendship" with the big bad USA. I do not really think that Mr. Bush had much concern for my desire to tramp through Mongolia. I don't think that he spends much time sitting around the oval office thinking about all of the dirty backpacking vagabonds of his great land that would love to go footloose in Mongolia for three months without needing to bother themselves with a visa. If this was the case then please Mr. Bush patch up things with Iran, there are plenty of American backpackers who would love to travel there without visa hassles; remove the troops from Iraq, there is a whole bunch of vagrants who would jump for joy to travel through the fertile crescent! That just sounds so ridiculous to me.

May 14, 2007

Beijing Saga Youth Hostel

I found a restful place to stay at the Saga Youth Hostel in Beijing. Of course, it looks just like every other youth hostel in the world but the staff are genuinely kind and the bed is relatively cheap. The travellers here are the usual lot of troopers, and I made friends with a few of them. I began studying Spanish again and my room just happens to be full of Spainards. So this works out fine. I was sitting on my bunk studying last night when I got to a Spanish word that I did not know. So I asked the Spanish traveller in the bunk next to mine only to find out that he was sitting over there studying English. The International Youth Hostel is perhaps the best place to learn language. Potentially far better than the University, as I have come to find out.

I have also befriended a Japanese kid from Kyoto who has been living in the hostel for the past five months studying Chinese. I lived for a few months in Kyoto in early 2004, so we had a little geography discussion about the city. We were talking of how one can live really well in China one night when he said something to the effect of, "China is great, good food, cheap rooms," and something that sounded like, "good pussy." I did not really believe that he said what I thought, so I just went on talking without acknowledging it. But as our conversation wore on I mentioned something of Japanese "bussiness trips" to SE Asia- meaning prostitution tours. He said a little excitedly, "yes, I like "business trips," I have been on a few to China." I laughed. I guess he really did mean pussy. Prostitution is interesting in Japan. It is thoroughly a part of the culture. There does not seem to be much shame or guilt involved in prostition. In a rescent survey (don't have the source, was told in a University lecture) it was found that 40% of teenage Japanese girls said that they would have sex with somebody for money. I had an ex-prostitute friend in Kyoto that was an apprentice in a tattoo studio who would joke about her days in the industry of the night all the time. "I finally quit my "fucking" job," she said one day. She now works at Mister Donut. If one is from the Burakumin (untouchable) caste or are Korean in Japan there are not many other options.

It is funny how systematic travel quickly becomes, how routines arise out of a life that is absolutely contrary to routine of any kind. To keep nurtured on the road takes a little effort so I began a little routine that will help get all of my essentials daily. It is simple. I make sure that I eat at least 1 dairy product, 1 meat, 1 poultry, 1 fruit, and 1 vegetable daily. This sets the bases of my nutrition, and anything else that I, invariably, consume on top of this is even more benificial. This is just a way to make sure that my food is well rounded, as it is sometimes easy to slip into eating foods that have similar nutritional values while tramping. For example, in Patagonia I think that I unintentionally lived solely on cheese, eggs, and tuna fish sandwiches for months and months on end. It was cheap, readily avalible, and cheese and tuna is easy to carry. But I became severely disharmonized from this diet. So much so that I am still recovering from it.

This takes me to discussing routine and work while travelling. Long term travel is not about just visiting the wonderful places of the world to assuage one's lazziness and lack of motivation. Well, I guess it surely could be, but I do not think that I would want to keep this up for too long. But rather it is deeply concentrated work. To misquote Conrad's Marlow in Heart of Darkness, "I have never cared too much for work. But rather I am more interested in The Work of constructing the makeup of character." This is not nearly the quote, but that is how I remember it while I read the book for the first time while on Manabi coast of Equador. To counter laziness and softness I find myself taking pleasure in actively engaging the small activities of the day. I always do a little laundry everyday (in the shower usually), I excercise (push-ups, sit-ups, martial arts excercises, stretches), meditate, write on this travelogue, have to care for my basic necessities in a very direct and ever present manner (find food, find lodging, companionship), and I study languages. This is the work of travel, when it is satisfied I can then venture out on walks and do the recreational activities of travel. I feel that this work can be equatable to anyother profession out there. Although it is mostly personal cultivation rather than societal infrastructural work, I do believe that there may be some deeper inter-personal aspects of this cultivation. I can not even begin to talk of the many times that I have been completely amused, taught, and enlightened by other travellers. The sage's work is still for the benifit of all of society, and I have met a few sages just out wandering the planet- going everywhere, yet staying still. An aged, long white bearded lifetime traveller in the Amazon taught me the value of undercutting the ego and realizing how stupid one really is, A man in the woods of Pennsylvania taught me that one can live simply and carry out crazy ideas, "kiddo," he told me one day, "you will be alright; you like to eat berries," An anthropologist on the Lao border gave me a deeper sense of confidence when he just sat and listened to me talk. A widley travelled, desireless Harvard University scholar (he had the degrees but no intention to utalyze them) gave my wanderlust full flight in Ecuador when he said to me, "you are young, there is everything under the sun out there." I have found that there is, and the advice of these real sages have set the foundations of the road that I have come to travel. Their self cultivation has had an impact on me, and my path was significantly altered because of their teachings.



Now that's room service!