Baldwin the Monk

I woke up and sat in bed, listening to the activities of the house from the security of my room. I finally rose at about 9:00, put on my clothes, and walked outside. It was still a little cool out but the sky was blue today with only a few patches of clouds. It looked as if I wouldnt have to shiver and try working blood into my hands as I rode today. My agenda for them morning was light; wandering the streets to try and grab some breakfast and then take some pictures. After sauntering towards the center of town, which was denoted by a few farmers selling produce and some groups of old men and women chatting about whatever old Chinese men and women chat about. I didn't notice any place that seemed to have food, but there was one house with a big colorful sign, so that seemed like as good a place as any.

When I walked in the gate, the owner rushed over and greeted me. He whisked me inside the courtyard as I asked him if he had any dou jiang (soymilk). One of the best breakfasts in China is hot soymilk that comes with fry bread. The soymilk is served in a large bowl with one spoonful of sugar in the bottom, and then you tear the fry bread into pieces and dip it in the milk...all this for only one Yuan (12 cents). The owner assured me they did, and continued talking as we walked past three men and a dead goat. He brought me into the familys living room and put on the TV, and then he began rooting around for a video to play for me. The video was a hand-held camera production of roughly 40 old townspeople doing ethnic circle dances in the town square. Seeing these dances for the first time is interesting, especially if you go to a bonfire where people are drinking, dancing, and having a grand ol time. But, the dark living room where I sat by myself failed to produce the same festive atmosphere. The old man smiled and nodded approvingly for having done his job and then quickly left. I sat and watched the video for about 30-minutes, wondering if these people were ordered to dance, or were simply caught in the act. As my boredom increased, I wandered outside to see what the three men and the goat were up to.

The goat was lying on a circular metal stand, above a bowl filled with charcoal. The men were standing around this contraption looking at the goat and talking with each other. While I didnt understand the reason for it, the men were trying to brown the outside of the goat. They werent trying to cook it; just tan its skin. But, the fire didnt seem to be doing the job fast enough so they were thinking of new ways to get the job done. After an hour of stoking the fire with bellows, they went and bought liquor to poor over the goat. After this didnt seem to do the job, one of the men heated up a shovel in the fire and then pushed that against the goats skin, this was met with a great deal of approval. So, while I waited for breakfast, I watched these men tan a goat with shovels, cut it open, completely disembowel it, clean all the intestines, and kick some chickens away from the scraps. This took about three hours. While this was going on, I noticed that the soybeans for my breakfast were being ground in a hand-operated grist. While it took four hours to get a bowl of soymilk (no bread), the family let me eat lunch with them and didnt charge me.

I thanked the family a great deal, especially the poor old lady who spent four hours of the day making soymilk for a foreigner, and then headed back to the Doctors house. I ended up paying the family 20 kuai for the previous nights dinner and place to stay. They told me that the town would be having a bonfire with dancing that night, and that I was welcome to stay in their house longer, but I told them that I had to be on my way. So, I packed up my things, said thank you to everyone with a tip of the bike helmet, and headed out. I knew it was going to be a better day when the road immediately turned from dirt into asphalt.

That day, I rode through a dusty, traffic filled town called Ping Di. It was hell compared to where I had just stayed, but it was, just as the last town had been in its own way, very Chinese. As a small cross roads on the border of Sichuan and Yunnan, it seemed that its survival depended on the hundreds of identical orange and blue dump trucks that roared through. I ended up eating lunch there and walked through the small town market, still in search of the classic blue Mao Ze Dong hat for my Dad. The town had no hotels, and more importantly, no pressing reason to stay there for more than an hour or two. With two options, either to travel the main road towards Panzhihua or to head towards Yunnan, I choose the latter.

After riding for an hour or two, I ended up sidetracking to go up a small road that led up a mountain. It was the kind of road that you wish you only had to ride down. I ended up pushing my bike up more then half of it, but the surrounding forest was something Ive missed during my time in China. The sound and smells around me set me at ease and helped me to resist the urge of turning my bike around and soaring back down the mountain. Then, in the forest I heard the sounds of chanting and saw a small path leading towards what I soon discovered to be a monastery. It was about 6:00 in the evening and the soothing sounds of chanting carried through the woods, mixed with the sweet smell of the pines, and the breeze gliding through the trees was perfect. I ended up staying there for two nights.