PM Adventures

The end

2004-12-08T15:35:00.000-08:00

I am writing this last post from the comfort of my own home in Canada. After a couple of short rides in the south, at the last possible moment, we caught a bus to the Hong Kong/Senzhen border and rode our bikes through the shopping center that straddles customs. We expertly negotiated four sets of escalators (to the alarm of the security guards) and received nothing but smiles from customs. Following an obligatory train ride to Kowloon, we caught a ferry that dropped us off in the heart of beating, pulsing, and vibrating Hong Kong. We weaved through the traffic of pedestrians, taxis and double decker buses and inched our way up the hill to our finishline: Michelle’s apartment.

Thanks again!!!

2004-12-08T15:06:00.000-08:00

Once again we would like to thank everyone who followed our story on this blog, wrote with news from home and sent encouraging notes. I know I gave thanks at the beginning of this blog but I will resurface my long list of thanks to the top again because without all of the support we received, this trip would not have been possible or would not have ran so smoothly. It’s nice to be home… for now. Perhaps this is a good opportunity to once again thank all those who helped to get us here. Thanks to McGill University and the University of North Carolina for awarding Pablo and I with a Dunlop scholarship (for the study of Contemporary Rural Architecture in Rural China) and a Burch scholarship respectively (for Cycling Through the Minority Cultures of China). This funding helped make our dreams a reality. Thanks Khanhthong, former downhill champ of Nova Scotia, for your invaluable help, time, and advice in buying, tunning and putting the bike together. Not only did you make sure it was ridable, but that it was in the best shape possible for the journey. We knew nothing about bikes or bike repair before this trip, and thanks to your numerous crash courses we will probably be ok on the road. Thanks Luke Gregoire, owner of Cycle Tecnique on Notre Dame and Atwater for giving us the best deals in town. For your patience with us, for letting us use the bike workshop late past closing time and for managing all of our bike part orders. Thanks to Mark Gotlieb of Vulgar Equipment (biking apparel) for hooking us up with our beautiful blue Jamis bikes and various spare parts. And for the great design of our Vulgar biking shorts which we have been wearing every day. We love them. Check them out at http://www.vulgarequipment.com Thanks Na for all of your help with packing, wrapping, lifting and transport, all at the last minute and late into the night. I could not have managed everything without your help and support. Thanks Kyle and Gabby for letting me use your buildings common room as packing station. Kyle thanks for helping me pack and wrap the bike till 4 am and Gabby than

From North to South

2004-10-25T13:06:00.000-07:00

Our Arrival at Kashgar marked the end of our biking leg in Northwestern China. It was a sad end because we had many great adventures in the folds of the Pamir mountains and the fringe of the Taklimakan desert. We biked through sand storms, braved the heat of the desert, and survived bitter cold weather and snow in the high altitude mountains by wearing all our layers and not stopping for breaks. We slept in a Kyrgys yurt, in traditional Tajik and Uygur mud and wood homes, in a highway underpass, in the open under the stars and in our tent next to frozen puddles or a waterfall. We learnt to make fresh noodles, tried our luck at fishing, and worked a full day in the fields removing corn roots from the ground to prepare a field for the next planting. (Our reward was a plate of sheep intestines,lung and liver). We have only good memories of our experience in the Northwest. It didn't feel like China anymore. With a predominantly muslim population, people looked more Mediterranean, Arabic and even Irish. And it was wonderful to experience a muslim culture much different from the radical one the media feeds us with. We got to know a culture of respect and generosity. People always greeted each other with a handshake and showed respect to the elders. When we arrived at a village or stopped on the road, the men would line up to shake Pablo's hand and the women mine. They always invited us for tea and bread and sent us off with a small gift from their harvest: pears, grapes, almonds, chestnuts or bread. We quickly learnt to pray to Allah after each meal or snack to thank and honor our hosts. I loved accepting invitations as it was a great excuse to visit the inside of a home and I welcomed the break from the bicycle seat. From Kashgar, we decided to travel overland to the South from where we planned to bike to Hong Kong to catch our plane. In retrospect, perhaps it would have been better to fly as it took us a long time to get here. But we did get a chance to see the landscape transform from desert to forest to rice field. Our journey was further delayed by the Chinese flu. I fell ill in Urumuqi and was stuck in bed with a high fever and headache. One visit to the hospital, penicillin and more rest got me up and running again a couple of days behind schedule. Our plans were further foiled by the transportation system. We arrived at Chongching only to find out there were no buses to Guiyang. (Like arriving to Ottawa and having no bus connection to Toronto) We were forced to take the train for the overnight ride which we hate because it means we have to send our bikes through cargo, bear the thought of parting with them and carry all of the heavy bags through the station by hand. We got a scare because the bikes did not arrive on our train nor the next nor the next. We sat at the cargo terminal imagining our bikes far off in the hands of somebody else. Nobody could tell us where they where or when they would arrive as there was no package tracking service. "Maybe they'll come on the next train," was all the help we would get. Finaly at one a.m. the following day, 30 hours after having parted with our bikes, they rolled out into the depot. Ahh Relief. Never again will we take the train. So now we are ready to begin the Southern chapter of our journey. After two train rides,(one overnight, one 52 hours) and several long distance bus rides, we made it to the province of Guizhou known for its abundance of minority cultures. Our time has been cut shorter than we would have liked. We won't have time to cycle all the way to Hong Kong as planned but have instead selected a route from Kaili to Guilin which should take us through small Miao and Dong villages off of the tourist circuit. It has been raining a lot here and we expect the roads to be muddy. Perfect for biking fun. We'll write again when we emerge on the other side.

Late night Dancing

2004-10-17T20:17:00.000-07:00

I'll be brief with this post because I have a bit of a cold and need a nap and hot soup soon. Firstly... MORE PICTURES of the desert and Karakoram highway. Check them out at www.durana.org. Secondly... here's a highlight of our adventures since our last posting. We just had some or our toughest rides... through high altitude plains and snow (all my training winter riding in Montreal paid off). Now we have arrived in Kashgar and I sit here nice and warm again with a windburnt face smiling at all of the great news I am reading from back home. The definite highlight of the trip was an invitation in to a Tajik village along a dirt road that had never hosted a foreigner before. We were picked up on the road by a local and invited for tea and bread. As it was getting close to lunch time, we did not refuse. He led us through a wobbly suspension bridge and through the maze of mud houses to the two room house he shared with his parents and wife. (One room for cooking and storage, the other for sleeping and receiving guests). Upon our arrival, people started streaming in and out of the modest but comfortable house to take a look. Suddenly a guitar comes out and there is singing and dancing in the cramped floorspace. This convinced us to stay the night.... and we were further enticed by the promise of a big village dance in our honor if we stayed a second night. How could we refuse. So we spent the rest of the day visiting all of the village's houses, meeting the locals and having tea and rice at every house. wow! Turdeniaz, the local who spotted us on the road took great pleasure in guiding us through the village and this gave him great status in his community. The following day we tried in vain to participate in the farm work of the village. Guests simply are not supposed to be put to work. So we fished unsuccesfully and visited more houses. By the end we were able to brake village tradition and forced our way into working. Pablo helped transport loads of dirt and fertilizer to the fields, while I helped but mostly observed our hostess make fresh noodles. We were excited for the dance... and when the clock struck eight pm. we were escorted by around forty villagers across the suspension bridge and into a school classroom. The Tajik dancing was great. The generator was turned on and the desks were moved to the edges of the room from where the forty or so spectators sat clapping and singing the chorus. Two flutes and two drums provided the beat and the dance was conducted one couple at a time with the master of ceremonies selecting who was to dance next. The only slight eety bity problem (and much to my dismay) was that I was the only female to attend the dance. And as the honored guests, we were selected to strut the dance floor many more times than the other spectators. Tajik dancing is not that complicated, but I had no female version of the dance to follow. I improvised and followed my partners as best as I could... but given that I was not graced with much rhythm or grace, I probably left them thinking that all Western women dance like men or horses. Pablo with his salsa dancing background did great and elicited many cheers. Towards the end of the dance they serenated us with their local song. One soloist and one great chorus. It was unbelievable. Then they asked us for a song but we decided to try some latin dancing instead. So once the drums were beating the latin beat, we introduced the Merenge to the valley. The whole performance ended at ten. We followed the large crowd back across the river and saw it slowly disperse into the various alleys of the village. We went to sleep that night in the company of our Tajik mom and dad, host and hostess with a great warm feeling in our heart, for the simple joys and pleasures this community had to offer. We almost stayed one more night at the tempting offer of "If you stay with my family I will wash your clothes" But we sadly had to keep going and left in the afternoon following the dance. We were given new new tajik names, I became Mariamgul and Pablo Turdebhai in honor of his brother and host Turdeniaz. Not the nicest names by our standards, these were great icebreakers further down the valley. Here we learnt to eat without hands and pray to Allah after each meal. We left many good friends, and promised to send pictures.

Desert Misadventures

2004-09-21T09:38:00.000-07:00

Well, lets just say that our desert adventures did not come out as planned. We left Golmud with a heavy load as we were preparing for a 2,500 km ride through China's driest and most inhospitable regions. We were planning to reach Kashgar, famous for its wild Sunday bazaar at the south western edge of the Taklimakan desert, by taking the less traveled and tortuous Southern Silk road. The next town or settlement was about three days away and there would be no source of water till then. Our panniers were loaded with tons of oatmeal, honey, dried fruits, peanuts, pears, sugar, powdered milk, dried yak cheese and tsampa (ground roasted barley, a Tibetan favorite) and we each brought an extra 5 liters of water for the desert-crossing, bringing our total water load to nine heavy liters each. Once we left Golmud, the road deteriorated fast. We found ourselves scrambling through loose gravel, jolting over huge rocks on the road or skidding through sand. As if the terrain was not difficult enough, half way into our second day we faced tremendous gale force winds blowing in the opposite direction of travel. It would continue to blow sand and dirt upon us for the next two days. This was the real desert. We saw mini tornados, dry cracked earth and empty riverbeds caked with salt reminding us that even if there were water... it would be saline. The only signs of water were the snow capped mountains in the distance, visible yet hopelessly inaccessible. But it was not the roads, nor winds, nor heat, nor uphill that did us in...it was the food poisoning. We had gotten a little comfortable in Golmud and before leaving had a nice feast at the night market... mistake. Well, that feast reappeared two days later for me and I visited the sand dunes many times before setting out in the morning. We covered 50 slow kilometers that day, but by night time I was better. The following morning Pablo fell ill. We cleaned up our campsite around one p.m. when the shade left us. (Our latest departure yet). But as we hit the road, it was clear Pablo was too weak to cycle. Fearing dehydration, we decided to wait for a truck to pass and catch a lift to the next town. We waited two hours by the roadside but no truck came... (I already know this will be the part of the story mom won't like) We knew we were not far from the town so we decided to push for it... we had to, we were running low on water and our three days' supply had been stretched to four. After a routine of barf, pedal, hide in the shade, barf, pedal, we made it to the town. We didn't find the nice old lady that would cook us soup and make us better, but we did manage to find a couch for Pablo to crash on. Then we found a room for the night and Pablo slept for 15 hours straight while I worked the PR. There was no public transportation leading away from the village and few vehicles traveling North in our direction... Plus with our bags and bikes we couldn't just hop on any car... we needed to wait for one big enough to carry us and our load. So the following morning, with Pablo feeling only a little bit better but not yet eating solid food, we decided to ride up to the next town. It was going to be a hard stretch though, civilization was still 150km away. But someone was looking out for us and our salvation came in the form of 4 chinese engineers and their big, bad, expensive, imported-from-America, Ford truck. They had been exploring the desert for oil and apparently had found some as they were in a good mood and offered us a free ride. Hurray! We accepted. Recovery followed in an oil workers' city in a cheap-but-still- expensive for-us hotel room with plush white sheets and cable with re-runs of the Olympics and all of China's victories. Two days later Pablo was still not feeling better so rather than sit in this rather dull town we decided to hitch our way to the next city on the map which should have onward public transportation. The hotel manager arranged for his friend to take us to where we could find a truck as none traveled northward from that city... and the friends acted as our agents interviewing the city residents for information on the next departure... We had all of two choices for our escape. One was hiring a private jeep at an exhorbitant price, or two, taking a truck that was 'broken' but would leave when it was fixed. We negotiated for the truck. Our money paid for a new battery and we were off... but only after having waited the whole day for the truck to be loaded. Our truck ride was great. It gave us a whole new perspective on the road we had been travelling on. Sadly we passed through what arguably was to be the best of the desert scenery. We missed biking through canyons and dry sculpted valleys and we missed riding down what could have been a two day descent. Argg. Finally arriving near Milan, a city worthy of a Lonely Planet mention, we decided to keep trucking through the desert to Hotan. This required two 12 and 15-hour rides. The desert landscape was beautiful but there simply were no people. We justified this decision with the squirmy statements from Pablo's stomach and by realizing that we were here to study housing and minority cultures. We could spend weeks in the desert seeing nothing, or by taking the bus, have more time to explore the South and its ethnic minorities. Now we are in Hotan... home of the Uygur minority which here is the complete majority. Hardly anyone speaks mandarin and all the signs are predominantly in Arabic. It feels like a completely different country and people here have closer ties to their neighbors, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Tajikistan and Kyrgystan. No wonder they are struggling to separate like the Tibetans from China. Pablo's stomach has relaxed and we have been sampling the great muslim cuisine and night markets again. Today we are taking off towards Kashgar through dusty mountain roads to connect with the fabled Karakoram highway, for a more scenic trip through small villages. We'll post again in about 2 weeks from there... and hopefully upload more pictures. Thank you once again for all of the emails and words of encouragement. It's always nice to hear from home.

Our most memorable meal

2004-09-09T10:27:00.000-07:00

Our most memorable meal happened about three weeks ago. As most of our stories begin... it was getting late and it was time to start looking for a place to sleep that night. We knew we were approaching a city and thought it would be nice to stay in a hotel for a night. We arrived to the town at dusk and our initial investigations revealed the town had no hotel. Just as we sat in the middle of the road pondering our next move, a mini-van screeched to a halt besides us. Out jumps a jovial man completely besides himself for running into foreigners on his road. After gingerly shaking our hands, he asks us to follow him to his tent where we could spend the night if we wanted. Noticing his son smiling in the front seat, we decided to follow him to his tent and check it out. His tent was at the edge of the town. We had passed them on the way in and waved hello to the women who were starting to milk the yaks. We felt instanly at home and decided to stay. Now comes the good part. Six men sit with us in the tent drinking tea and watch as the wife tosses giant (Fred Flintstone sized) hunks of meat into a pot of boiling water. Hmmm our stomachs grumble and we begin to salivate at the sight. When the meat is done, the man reaches into the pot with his hand and hands us the entire bone and accompanying meat(leg bone, rib bone, shoulder blade) and two knives which we are to share with all of the guests. We each sit around the iron stove with both hands on our chunk, bitting, cutting, chewing and spitting until our bones are clean. The wife does not eat but makes sure everyones has had at least one chunk. We go through two pots of lamb body parts and then comes the noodles which are eaten out of small bows with no chopsticks, and the bows are licked clean. It was a little bit surreal. Once we were finished, the woman cooked her piece in a separate pot and ate it while the men digested. That's one meal I will never forget.

More pictures... Hurray!!

2004-09-08T05:44:00.000-07:00

With mom's help from back home, I've been able to add more pictures. Check them out at www.durana.org

And we thought we were tough

2004-09-04T04:13:00.000-07:00

We are in the desert. The landscape around us changes slightly from one valley to the other. We've seen rocky sand, flat sand, flying sand, sand whirling around in small tornadoes, sand with small shrubs or large boulders and wavy wind-sculpted sand. There have been very few towns and very few people on the road. Consequently we've had few excuses to take a break, and our average daily mileage has increased to about 100km. At the top of one relatively low high-pass, we stopped for a break of muslim bread and carrots and spotted in the distance the profile of a monk prostrating against the backdrop of the setting sun. We watch as he lies facedown on the road with arms and legs outstretched. With a slight push up, he stands up again in order to take a step forward and lie flat again once more. Like an inchworm, he glides his way forward measuring the road with the length of his body, wearing a custom made apron of leather that protects his front from the rough surface of the road and two wooden pads on his hands with steel strips on the bottom (fashioned like double bladed skates) which help him slide into the horizontal position. Wow! And we thought we were traveling the hard way. We ride down to where he has stopped to rest and offer him two of our pears and learn that he is on a pilgrimage towards the city of Lhasa. As if his form of locomotion was not enough of a challenge, he has also taken a vow of silence; Which suited us fine as he became extra expressive with his gestures and drawings in the sand so that we were able to fully understand. I casually ask how many months it will take him to get to Lhasa and he laughs. He has been on this pilgramage for three years now and it will take him three more years to get to Lhasa. (He covers three kilometers a day.) But that's not where it ends. He will continue for four more years down to India through Nepal towards Dharamsala where the Dalai Lama now resides and then towards a temple he showed us in a picture he carried which I unfortunately did not recognize. Only when he reaches the temple can he break his vow of silence, and begin his journey back home, though this time, he assures us, he will not be prostrating. He was contemplating coming back by bike! After a bit of 'chit-chat' he puts down his prostrating equipment, draws a line on the ground at the point of the last prostration (to know where to begin the next day) and walks ahead to where he has stashed his supplies. In a red tricycle with a flatbed and rain cover, he carries pretty much everything we carry but in bigger size. We had fun comparing our equipment. We have a small kerosene stove, he had a large stove and gas cylinder. He had a sheepskin rug, we have our foam sleeping pads. We have a small bag of Tsampa, the staple Tibetan food, he had a whole tub full. We both carried water-bottles filled with honey, chopsticks, bowls, tea, sugar, journals, maps and flashlights. He asked us if we would like to camp with him and in an instant we said yes. So we walked down the road to a point where the land dipped below the road and set up camp. We had to break our rule of always camping away from the road so nobody would see us, but in light of our company, we felt perfectly safe. We combined supplies and made diner and chatted way past our usual bed time. In the morning, he helped us pack and we set off in one direction and he walked off in the other, towards the point where he had reached last night to begin the day's three kilometers. About two kilometers down the road, we stopped for a 'technical' break and left him a happy face on the shoulder of the road for him to find that evening.

The circus comes to town

2004-09-01T08:33:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we finally hit a paved road after two weeks of rough travel and today we sailed into our first relatively big city. Since the last post, we've made our way North West from the city of Xiahe in Gansu province to Tulu in Qinghai. We chose the smallest roads possible on the map and stayed in sheep and goat herder tents, a yak tent, a monk's quarters, and our favorite, out on our own tent. This route is not for the claustrophobic. There are small villages and towns along the way where we replenish our water, buy food and repair our bikes (we've had to re-weld our bike frames three times each. Luckily there's a welder in every town.) We do not have to wait long before the entire town knows the circus is in town. I am the bearded lady and Pablo the Elephant man. So many people gather around us that it is even hard to see the shops we are trying to find. Instead of fighting the crowds, we use them... asking them for directions for those hard to find items. Our Tibetan/Chinese communication skills make for great entertainment. By the time we leave the towns a huge crowd has assembled to see us off. Our goodbyes are answered in chorus and we feel as if a whole crowd of friends is seeing us off. Nevertheless the whole experience is a little bit draining and we are more than eager to set off on our own. Ahh we are being kicked out... we'll post again in another 500km.

Mud: a painful memory

2004-08-30T10:27:00.000-07:00

It was pouring as we left the town... we had been camping out at the noodle restaurant hoping the rain would subside. It didn't but we were feeling tough, so we ventured out in the rain. About an hour into the ride I stop and hear a fizzle. Ahhh!! My first puncture. The Chinese have the horrible custom of throwing out their empty beer bottles from the window of the bus. Well, one green chunk from one such bottle was sticking right through my puncture resistant tires. Ahhh!! It was getting late and it was time to find a place to sleep. So rather than test our amateur tire changing skills and then find accomodation, we decided to walk the three kilometers to the next town, sleep there, and fix the tire in the morning light. Well, the town looked a bit more welcoming from the distance. As we approached, we realized it would be harder than we thought to find a bed for the night. Homes were surrounded by 12 foot high solid mud walls, an introverted town who's residents were hard to see. Luckly we spotted a man in the distance and when we approached, we flat out asked him if we could sleep at his place. With a smile he said yes and led us through the compound wall past the pig pens, the chained barking dog, the chickens and the piles of wheat. This was a farming village and soon the wife was adding a little bit more noodles to the night's meal. So warm and welcoming was the family that we decided to stay for another night. One of the deciding factors was that we saw a mud wall being constructed by the village and I secretly wanted to help (mud walls are my weakness.) We had already stopped to help a family complete a wall. But this was an entire production. All available members of the village had gathered to rebuild the compund fence surrounding one family's house. It was a big event. I counted 26 people shoveling and grunting as the wall rose inch by inch. We rolled up our sleeves, grabbed the nearest shovel and dug in. It was a big event and well organized. The wall was so high that the mud had to be shoveled up in two stages. The women ranging in age from 16 to 60 would shovel the mud from the dug-out hole up to the base of the wall. The men would shovel it up from the base to the top of the rising wall, and the older men would stomp it down with their feet. The 'subs' sat down and cleaned their shovels waiting to replace the next tired person. "Canada ja yo!" they shouted, "Let's go!" To which we replied with their village's name "Taji ja yo!" At lunch time the owners of the house for whom the wall was being built made lunch and all, including us, squeezed into the home for rice and potatoes and home made bread. The same happened at tea time and for dinner. We were so happy to see a village working together for the community, everyone sharing and laughing. I will have to admit that I was happy when the day was done. We would leave the next day, but they would go on to complete the wall. It took 26 people working the whole day to complete 30 linear meters of a 12 foot high wall. Mud had to be shoveled 12 feet into the air. It was heavy and it was tough. I was so sore by the end of the day and just wanted rest. The women went on to complete their daily chores and prepare supper. I rested my tired muscles. I thought I was reasonably fit and strong, but these women beat me hands down, even the old ones. I studied the technique, matched their pace and strokes but still my shovel was not as full or my throw as high. I gained nothing but respect for the life of a farmer. Now when I see a mud wall I think less about the romantic notion of earth becoming home, and more about the physical force required to push it upwards.

And finally.....pictures!

2004-08-16T12:17:00.000-07:00

We tried and tried, and finally were able to post some pictures, to add some color to this journal, click here: http://Photos.durana.org/gallery We will try to add more soon.

Vultures

2004-08-12T12:17:00.000-07:00

We arrived at Langmusi, a small Tibetan town nestled in the mountains,through the back door on a small bumpy road. The downhill was rough on the bikes... so much so that as I was unloading the panniers, I realized my bike frame had broken. The bit where the rack attaches to the frame had broken off. No problem this is China. Two buildings up the street from the hotel was a car repair shop where two young guys eagerly welded the frame back together in fifteen minutes. Total charge: $1.50 CAD plus a ride around the block on my bike. Langmusi is known for still practicing Buddhist traditional sky burials, a practice that had been banned by the Chinese government up until until 1994, where bodies are carried up to the mountain, cut into little pieces and fed to the vultures. This morning we were joined by a french guy for a stoll up to the sky burial site. The site which looks like a large fire pit is littered with torn clothing, skulls and skeletal remains. Just as we were starting to turn back, a three wheeled truck started inching its way up the mountain. The driver was periodically wailing into the wind sounding a bit like an ambulance. Soon we realized that we were about to witness a sky burrial. We put away our camaras and clambered up to a side peak where we could watch the event but remain at a safe distance. Four men climbed out of the truck and pulled out the body of a young woman that had died the day before. There were no relatives and it looked like this was the mens' job. The wailing cries were not cries of mourning but cries to the vultures who suddenly appeared through the fog like war planes to land directly above us. It turns up we had chosen to sit 'out of the way' directly on the vultures landing pad and were interfering with their descent for diner. The men called us down and we quickly obeyed, embarrased to have interfered with the ceremony. To our surprise though, they told us we could stay with them next to the body and even take pictures if we liked. It took about twenty minutes for the body to completly disappear. I'd like to say we were lucky to witness this type of ceremony. It was gory yet captivating. We had seen burial rituals before in India's Veranasi, but rather than passive burning or burial, this was a very violent act. About 60 vutures descended on the body at once and started fighting for their fill. The body tossed in the air for about 5 minutes before being almost completely consumed. The men then chopped the bones and remaining flesh into bits and dispersed them around to the still hungry vultures. A piece of brain was rescued, and placed in a ceremonial fire. In a place where the earth is frozen solid for a significant part of the year, this seems like a very practical and hygenic way of disposing for the bodies and ensuring the remains are taken up to the heavens by the birds.

Cow paddies

2004-08-09T08:36:00.000-07:00

As night fell we began to look for a place to put our tent... as we turned the corner we came upon a nomad settlement... Our signs for "we have a tent can we put it here," were interpreted as, "can we sleep in your tent." And before we knew it, our bikes were parked inside the woolen home and we were sipping tea with the family; mother, father, daughter and married son (21 years old) daughter in law and two grandkids ... Ahhh bliss. We tried to make ourselves useful but we didn't feel comfortable yet with our host family to help milk the yak. They are so quick and efficient around the beasts that our 'help' would only delay them... And a yak's 'equipment' is different to that of a cow; its smaller and harder to grasp. Once the milking was finished and the Yak were let loose to graze, we finally saw our chance to help. The women began collecting the fresh yak dung and spreading it out on the ground to let it dry for fuel. Haha! We quickly rolled our sleeves and started collecting the fresh deposits. Some which had had some time to dry were easy to hold as they held their shape. But others that were freshly laid seeped through our fingers before we had time to carry them to their destination. The family had great laughs at our expense. We had obviously not yet masterd the art of fresh cow paddie transport.

Home made signs

2004-08-08T08:30:00.000-07:00

We ended up staying with our monk friend Yone for three nights. He was a great host. He spoke a Tibetan dialect and very little mandarin yet through pointing and gestures was able to communicate incredibly well. His brother paid him a visit one evening and soon we understood where Yone's gift for communication came from. His brother was deaf, and we sat and watched as they spoke a home made sign language with remarkable ease... When Yone left the room, we 'chatted' with the brother. We found out he was married, had three kids, 200 yak, 70 sheep and 10 horses. His middle child was also the first in his class. The brother was delighted to 'chat' with someone who understood. We found out more from him in silent language than we often do from others who can speak.

Tibetan fashion

2004-08-06T08:36:00.000-07:00

Its hot in the mountains and there are no clouds in sight. We are melting beneath all our layers of clothing. We are in Tibetan dress,wearing thick 20 pound olive-colored woolen overcoats with a fine warm lining and sleeves that reach down below our knees. It was our host monk Yone's idea to dress us up. An important Lama (monk) was coming to the monastery and the village was dressing up for the ocassion. Nomads and pilgrims were arriving from the surrounding prairies in thir finest dress, so it was only fitting that we too dress up. Not many tourists reach this Monastery/village, let alone foreigners. And by chance we found lodging with a monk through a horseman outside the village. Our traditional dress was a great success. Tentatively we stepped out of Yone's spartan living room only to find the dress opened up doors and brought many invitations for tea as well as broad smiles or fits of laughter from young and old. I had to perfect the art of slow fine tea sipping in order to please my hosts and avoid second or third servings. In this predominantly male village, there was only one female bathroom in the center of town... and the logistics of balancing with my heavy overcoat in the two foot by three foot enclosure... well, made dehydration seem like an easier option. It turns out the high Lama was fashionably late by 5 hours... So our day was spent waiting with the pilgrims or with various groups of monks sipping tea. Heads kept popping in and out to take a look at their first foreigners. By the time he finally arrived, since we knew quite a bit of people by then, as the procession moved through the village, people parted or pushed us forward in order for us to get a better view. With our camaras tucked into the folds or our overcoats, we were able to weave in and out of the procession with ease.

Yak cheese, Tibetan pop and dentures

2004-08-02T19:50:00.000-07:00

This morning we helped take the family's baby yak to the mountains. Then we helped the grandfather lay out yak cheese in the sun to dry. We arrived at this village late into the night and by chance found lodging with a family; mother, sons and daughter, grandchild and grandfather. It is a really hard working family, but pretty well off judging by the colorful paint and stores of food to last three winters lining the interior walls. No foreigner had been seen in the last three years so our appearance was a great surprise. They were so welcoming and friendly, we agreed to stay an extra night. We sat with them in their comfortable earthen walled living room, observing and sharing... wanting to help but not knowing how. The ingredients in our food were familiar, but not the whole ritual for preparing the food. Once diner was ready, the TV flips on. Then surprise! the DVD come out and we eat to the tunes of a fur-clad female sleeveless trio bopping to a backdrop of mountain tops and prayer flags: Tibetan pop. (we'd later come to realize DVD players are standard equipment in this region's homes) Later in the evening the lively octogenarian grandfather decided to give us an anatomy lesson in Tibetan. He started with the facial features stopping short at teeth because... well he had none. At this, the family began teasing him to show us his teeth. Reluctantly he reaches deep into his cupboard, produces a shiny set of dentures and slips them in. First comes a tentative grin, then a broad white smile that catches everyone off guard. The whole room vibrates with laughter at the sight of their grandfather with a crest white set of teeth. In a minute, the dentures come off. But he makes a great show of it pretending they are stuck. He's happy to make everyone laugh at his expense. I felt lucky to be a part of this spontaneous family moment. I thought of home and of how many miles away we were and about the serendipitous journey that brought us here.

Xin cu!

2004-07-30T19:50:00.000-07:00

Ha! We finally found what we were looking for. As we rolled away from Chendu the roads kept getting smaller and smaller and finally we found a stretch with very little traffic, with incredible mountain side villages and zero tourists. Hurray. For this last stretch we have been camping and sleeping in family houses along the way. We havent had to buy food or pay for lodging and have made good friends. Of course not everything is perfect. There are the uphills to contend with and this last section had three surprise mountain passes. As it happens though, the road is under construction so at times we ride smooth jet black freshly poured ashfalt, and at others well... its a white knuckle ride through thick mud, loose gravel and bottomless puddles. The construction gangs working on the road at intermittent stretches have become our biggest fans. Confused sun-scorched faces stare out in disbelief as we approach but quickly produce the biggest smiles upon hearing our greetings. "Rest a little," they say, inviting us into their company. At one stop they were so persistent, we stopped and stayed for a roadside lunch, prepared under a plastic tarp on a stove fashioned out of mud. "Xin cu!" They kept on saying as we passed by. We loved it as we thought they were saying "you're very cool." Their mantra pushed us up the mountain. Only later did we learn it had the less flattering meaning of "very tired" which might not have had the same motivational effect.

Down

2004-07-26T06:11:00.000-07:00

This day's surprise was a long descent. We descended down almost to where we had started. A bitter sweet reward as this only means we must climb again to reach the Tibetan plateau. After a long day of cycling but little pedaling, we reached the city of Nanping. Its a big city so people are not so friendly and hotels are expensive. We've been off the Lonely Planet route for quite some time and have not seen a foreigner since we left Chengdu, so we are on our own to find a room for the night. After looking at a couple well beyond our budget, I asked an icecream vendor if she knew a cheap place. She was kind enough to write it down for me on the back of a cigarette counter, as I was having trouble remembering the name. A young girl of about eight witnessed our enquieries and volunteered to guide us to the hotel. Great! So she and three of her young buddies escorted us through town. It turns up they knew the owner, and the four of them bargained with him (against his better wishes) to give us a cheaper price. Great again! Beaming with pride, our young troop helped us unload the bikes and carry the panniers all the way up to our cheap fourth floor room. Ahh thank you... we said... but their job was not yet done. They searched the other rooms for an extra fan, brought it in, plugged it in and faced it towards the bed. They then prepared the complementary tea for us and served us, clearly enjoying their roles as hosts. Once we were happy sipping tea, they installed themselves on our beds to watch tv. hmm now what. We gave them some canadian pins, took some pictures and said goodbye... But they clearly wanted just to hang out with us. So in order to have a chance to eat, wash some clothes and do some groceries, we set a date to meet up with them again at night. Eight o'clock seemed too long for them to wait, so they bargained us down to seven thirty. At seven thirty they picked us up. The girls had a surprise for me, one bracelet and a hair pin with a bright blue bead. Its this type of gift that one appreciates most. I'm sure they count their pennies but in their mind a gift for me was worth it. or maybe they also thought my haircut was bad and that there might be some room for improvement. Instead of having them watch tv among our drying clothes, we whent for a walk around town and then icecream. They had a fridgefull of flavors to select from and were taking their time touching each of them. One girl scouled at the other, "not that one... its too expensive." "Its ok," I said, "you can have whichever one you want." And in one second, all four hands reached for the expensive ones. Six icecream bars... one dollar. Moment, priceless.

Up

2004-07-25T06:11:00.000-07:00

We are having trouble ordering our food in Chinese. My chinese is good for getting by and around, but somehow I never developed my food ordering vocabulary. We point to what other people are eating or we go to the kitchen and choose our ingredients. But somehow we always end up having a plate of "chef's surprise." Last nights 'surprise' was pig foot soup we tried the foot then did our best to eat around it. Today's bike route was a little bit like "chef's surprise". The best road map we could find has no contours or indications of height or mountain passes... oh and its all in Chinese. (There are some US aviation maps we could have bought but the budget would have been spent before leaving Canada.) So we started the day with an uphill that we thought would end at every corner we passed. We made bets as to how high we would climb that day settling on 2000 and 2100 meters above sea level from a starting height of 1000. Instead of that downhill we thought we'd see behind the next corner, were sections of switchbacks to inch us up another mountain. We ended up reaching a height of 3000 meters... well beyond our estimated guess. The despite the burning muscles, a final push was made to reach the next village shown on the map where we could get a warm meal and a bed. "Chef's surprise" again. Unlike the other dots on the map, this one was not a village but just a dot indicating the top of the pass. So our last uphill efforts were unrewarded and as it was getting dark... instead of descending to reach another dot on the map which could feed us and house us, we walked a bit away from the road, pitched our tent and had a nice meal of cold, raw Ramen noodles. The cow paddies on the ground should have been the first indication we were not alone on the mountain side. But we were too tired. The cow moos around our tent became our sweet lullaby.

Traffic on the high mountains

2004-07-24T06:11:00.000-07:00

We had chosen a road that looked relatively small on the map. Yet little did we know it was the prefered route for chinese tourist buses from Chengdu to Jiu Zai Gou a world heritage nature preserve. Hundreds of buses pass by this route daily making us hug the shoulder. Luckily, in China, vehicles are used to seeing slow moving traffic on the roads so they give us a wide berth. They are not so kind with their horns though as each bus feels they have to continuously honk until they have well cleared our bikes. The highlight of the day was a mile long traffic jam. All the buses that had passed us in the morning were bumper to bumper on the mountain. Passengers had spilled out onto the road. As we made our way up to the front of the line, the tourist cheered and clapped as we passed by... we were Lance Armstrong reaching the finish line of the mountain stage. We braced ourselves for the horrible accident scene that would be awaiting us at the head of the traffic jam... instead, we were relieved to find the source to be a truck carrying a huge piece of machinery so wide it took up both lanes on the road, making it imposible for any car to get through. As soon as we passed this monster on wheels, we had the road all to ourselves. All oncoming traffic had been blocked somewhere and all other vehicles were behind the truck. We had our own private road in China where without the honking buses or fuming trucks, we heard ahhh bliss... the river, the birds and the odd "hello" from a passerby. What a luxury!! We felt like kings. At night we reached a village at a point where I felt I could go no further... We asked a group of people for a hotel, motel or guesthouse, "Mei you, mei you, mei you, have not." Not wanting to pedal another inch I asked if it was possible to sleep here. Ahh finally their faces lightened with a "yes, ofcourse!" They offered us one of their rooms that came with a twin bed, a tv and all of their belongings. Not feeling like displacing anyone, we showed them our sleeping pads and told them the floor would be fine. Relieved, they showed us an empty concrete room with bare floors, walls and windows. "Perfect!" we chanted. But it was not perfect for them yet. The family mobilized and in 5 minutes we had a table, two chairs and a hot water thermos. A hammer, nails and a wire came next to fashion some window curtains. The pink dusty curtains, were probably borrowed from one of their rooms. With curtains and furniture, now it was good for us.

Mountains and beauty palours

2004-07-23T04:58:00.000-07:00

Hurray... we are finally surrounded by mountains and are making our way up the twisting valley following the river. For every 100 meters we climb, we descend 90. So while we have been climbing all day, uphill progress is slow. We were having problems with our rear racks.. With the full weight of the panniers, they kept slipping onto the disk brakes. We stopped at a random metal shop we saw en route, and through sign language explained our problem. 45 minutes later, we had two custom made supports for both of our rear racks... and the price? "one dollar from our country" so one US$ dollar it was. That night at a small town we found a hotel for 3 dollars. Across the hotel was a beauty parlor whom I decided to trust for a hair cut. The "master" hair stylist cut my hair under the close watch of 5 young aprentices. Perhaps it was a problem of understanding but she decided to layer my hair. Maybe it would have looked great on a chinese head, but with my thin culry hair it looked horrible. "Hen hao" I said, "It looks great!" and searched for the 50 cents I owed. "For you its free," they declared in an excited high pitch. And on top of that they invited us to eat. So with my horrible haircut, Pablo and I dinned with the hair styling "Master" , her husband and the 5 young apprentices who were all swayed by pablo's charm. I'm sticking with my haircut for a while, but I'm wearing a hat.

Thanks

2004-07-20T08:31:00.000-07:00

Its hard to believe that we are here in China with two well equiped bikes. Perhaps this is a good opportunity to thank all those who helped to get us here. Thanks to McGill University and the University of North Carolina for awarding Pablo and I with a Dunlop scholarship (for the study of Contemporary Rural Architecture in Rural China) and a Burch scholarship respectively (for Cycling Through the Minority Cultures of China). This funding helped make our dreams a reality. Thanks Khanhthong, former downhill champ of Nova Scotia, for your invaluable help, time, and advice in buying, tunning and putting the bike together. Not only did you make sure it was ridable, but that it was in the best shape possible for the journey. We knew nothing about bikes or bike repair before this trip, and thanks to your numerous crash courses we will probably be ok on the road. Thanks Luke Gregoire, owner of Cycle Tecnique on Notre Dame and Atwater for giving us the best deals in town. For your patience with us, for letting us use the bike workshop late past closing time and for managing all of our bike part orders. Thanks to Mark Gotlieb of Vulgar Equipment (biking apparel) for hooking us up with our beautiful blue Jamis bikes and various spare parts. And for the great design of our Vulgar biking shorts which we have been wearing every day. We love them. Check them out at http://www.vulgarequipment.com Thanks Na for all of your help with packing, wrapping, lifting and transport, all at the last minute and late into the night. I could not have managed everything without your help and support. Thanks Kyle and Gabby for letting me use your buildings common room as packing station. Kyle thanks for helping me pack and wrap the bike till 4 am and Gabby thanks for setting up and managing this site for me. Thanks Michelle and the Kwok family for for the great reception and hospitality in Hong Kong. Thanks for giving us the deluxe tour of the island and surroundings with a taste of HK cuisine (including one meal at the SARS hotel) and for driving us to the airport in two cars, due to the size of our luggage, through typhoon weather. No thank you list is complete without a thanks to Mom and Dad who have been very brave in letting us go on this trip and for all of the little things you do for us we take for granted that help keep our naturally disorganized lives under control. Please don't worry too much and we'll call when we can. Also, a big thanks to all of you who have encouraged us and shown interest in our adventure. Your support means a lot to us. Please write and send some news from home.

Introduction

2004-07-20T07:02:00.000-07:00

Pablo and I have been in China for less than a week and by now, all romantic notions of cycling through China have vanished. They vanished while we battled morning traffic to leave the sprawling city of Chendu and as soon as we hit our first uphill (the first of many). Its not romatic at all... its sweat, its hardship, and very sore muscles. I really wondered what I had gotten myself into. Yet after the third day of cycling I realized why we were doing this and what we were gaining by traveling at this realively slow speed. Already, after our many 'snack' stops in villages, we have gotten sneak peaks at the lives of people along the way. We have not had a bad experience yet and have met the kindest and warmest people who have welcomed us into their lives for a short time. We've sat table side at fierce games of majong, we've been surrounded by farmers all trying to point us in the right direction and we've been escorted by motorcycles giving us a thumbs up in encouragement a la tour de france style. This is what we would miss by traveling by bus. The plan is to cycle from Chengdu to Northwestern China (Kashgar) through the smallest roads possible... and then back south to end in Hong Kong... our route is not planned yet and we are deciding as we go along.

Crouching tiger

2004-07-18T07:02:00.000-07:00

Our first day on the open road. We entered into the mountains through a valley and started getting our first taste of the uphills. The best parts of our day were the pit stops. We'd stop for snacks and drinks everytime we saw a nice family run shop with an old lady behind the counter. At one stop I asked for the bathroom and they pointed me towards the shed behind the house. Inside the shed were two pig pens with a couple of pigs in each who loudly celebrated my entrance into their pen...in the corner and in full view of the cheering pigs, was the hole in the ground for me to er... crouch. That night we arrived at a Beichuan and curiusly popped our heads in to check out the price at a very fancy looking hotel. After a quick u-turn at the couter, the manager raced out behind us and tried to persuade us to stay... He was impressed by our bikes and our touring plans. He lowered the price considerably for us, helped us put the bikes in a garage and personally carried the panniers up in those fancy concierge carts up to our room. For seven canadian dollars each, we had a big balcony overlooking the city, a fresh white fluffy sheets, and all of the shampoos, and toiletries we could need. What contrast from our road side pit stops!

Leaving Chengdu

2004-07-18T04:58:00.000-07:00

We had aimed to leave at six am to beat the morning traffic out of the city. We left at 10 by the time our bikes were loaded and we were ready. We were a little tentative... it was the first time we rode with the full weight of the panniers... and our learning ground was Chendu's morning traffic of honking trucks, swirving bicycles, slow moving pedestrians. We had arrived in China two days earlier with our bikes in pieces spread over three cardboard boxes and our panniers in one giant bag. Miraculously, we were only charged once (by Air Canada) for the oversized luggage. Everything we knew about bikes and bike repair, we had learnt in the past two weeks through various crash courses from Khanhthong. But now on our own, our first test was to put the bikes back together. After we had piled all the furniture in our hotel room to one side and spread cardboard boxes on the carpet, we began to work. Without Khanhthong by our side it took us a bit longer than usual, but by the end we had two great bikes... Now, with our panniers loaded, we set out on a route selected the night before. It took us three hours to clear the outskirts of the city until we were finally in the farmlands. We had a thick coat of pollution stuck to our clothes.

Sunday morning sunshine

2004-07-11T09:08:00.000-07:00

It is nearly noon on the sunday of Maria's departure - the bike is missing parts, the bags are scattered along our floor and our heroine of this adventure is nowhere to be found. All in all, a very good start to a crazy trip. This intro is mainly a test of the blog to check that all is in order. Maria will be posting the rest (we hope) so that we may ride on her bike for a while (minus all the pedaling). Check again soon to find out whether she made it on the plane, whether the bike got there in 6 pieces and how the transpacific journey was made on barely 1 hour of sleep. Until then, this is the last am posting of their pm adventures. I chose the name because of 1. time difference, you will always be pm when we are am and 2. p for pablo and m for maria. Cheesy, but easy to remember. Gabby