Things You Should Know

Ah, the allure of fire.*

After the crazy traffic, food sanitation, and hospitals, a man swinging 
around a string of firecrackers doesn't even register as moderately dangerous.

Chinese New Year: It’s like Christmas, New Years, and the Fourth of July rolled into one, 
with really cheap fireworks (all of which are legal). The next morning there is literally 
a carpet of red paper covering the streets from the millions of firecrackers.

There is so much I wish I’d shared with you about this place. I’ve gone off on tangents about the nature of the Chinese mind, and I’ve been distracted by my adventures in the hospital, my terrible Christmas Day date, and my chance encounter with the Chinese film industry. But I’ve been negligent when it comes to explaining Dali. Maybe it’s because it’s so incredible and I know that anything I write will fail to capture exactly why Tryg and I have chosen to stay here so long. But there are things that I really need you to know before we leave.

I want you to know intimately that there is a moment that happens right at sunset, if the weather is just right, when there is a tiny gap of blue visible between the mountains and the clouds. If you watch as the sun descends unseen behind the overcast sky that small patch of blue will soften in color to deep purple, then to amber, and then bright orange, until suddenly the sun itself will appear in that minuscule window of space, and massive rays of light—as clear and real as if they are the tangible condensation of something sacred—will erupt across the valley. In that moment the snowy mountain peeks are set metallic, shining like polished brass in summer heat. In this moment of light, the ego melts in acceptance of temporal perfection, and draws the people watching together in communal love for the place that they are.

An unusually wintery day along Er Hai Lake.

Did you know in Yunnan marijuana grows like a weed all over the farmland where farmers produce fresh highly-inorganic vegetables all winter long? In Dali all the houses are white with murals neatly placed in the corners of the walls. The temple halfway up the mountain is the best place to get vegetarian fried noodles, while in town there is a Buddhist buffet where you can eat as much as you want for around 80 cents. But you have to eat everything on your plate or the nun will stand disapprovingly beside you, refusing to let you go till you’ve finished every single grain of rice. 

Unusual flora of rural Yunnan.

Sometimes on a clear calm day a gust of wind so strong you can stand sideways against it will rip down from the mountains and then disappear, leaving a clean street and crowds of people rubbing the dust out of their eyes. 

I want you to know the people here. In such a small town I never walk through the streets without running into friends. I know the juggling Italian clown that regularly drops his balls in the middle of otherwise impressive shows. I know the male Chilean modern dancer with long curly hair who moves to cello music on stage like a worm plumbing the earth for a beat. There is the Australian/Colombian couple who have been traveling the world for two years from South America on their way back down under, keeping a blog of their adventures. I know the English brewer at the Bad Monkey Bar who I play Monopoly with on Saturdays, along with Jane, the former co-owner of the Jade Emu hostel. There’s Steve the American tea tycoon, Simon the muscle-bound ex-British Air Force backpacker, Richard the out-of-work biologist, Lewis the anthropological filmmaker. For a while there was Jack the pot-smoking writer who was never found away from the sun that shone on the third floor, and Adrian the Scottish mother of two teenagers who could turn heads while sunbathing on the terrace. The whole city feels like our own private mansion, with all the people in it making up a strange churning family of comers and goers that seem destined to converge on this little village in southern China.

In Dali there are two alternate universes.  The western tourists arrive at the hostels with backpacks intending to climb the mountains, see the temples, experience the local culture and enjoy a relaxed artistic existence. The Chinese tourists check into their hotels and head off to take pictures with their point-and-shoot cameras while riding huge fifteen-seat tourist golf carts, or being herded through the city by tour guides dressed in outfits imitating the ethnic minorities of the area.

BAMFs by night.

An unexpected subject made for a much more interesting photo.

Tomorrow we are leaving China.  We will explore Southeast Asia starting with Laos, possibly continuing on to Thailand, Cambodia, or even Vietnam—but we will return to Dali when we get tired or run low on money. This is the place in Asia where we will always come home.

It’s been a while since I thanked everyone who reads this regularly, or irregularly. We love hearing from you guys when ever you make the time to write comments or emails and I love that people somewhere in the world care about what we are doing. I hope you all are making it through the winter OK as we head off to the tropics.

* Note: The first photo in this post, captioned “Ah, the allure of fire,” is not my photo. It was taken by our good friends Kris and Andreas, an Australian and a Colombian, who have been traveling and blogging for close to two years. Read about their adventures at 2sporks1cup.com

Women dancing in the Dragon Festival on Day Two of New Year.