DATELINE: ?, China 

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Author: Lauren Cohen

Hour 3 of the 23-hour train journey from Kunming to Guangzhou. I just ate something delicious in the dining car. It was pork, I think, with onions in a spicy chili-oil-hued sauce. Some of the pieces were pure fat and some had the soft texture of offal, but everything tasted like the sauce. I'm sharing a compartment with a mother and son, and a single lady. All Chinese--in fact everyone I've seen on the train is Chinese. The little boy had a McDonald's bag and offered me some French fries. My upper-berth soft-sleeper is very comfortable and has plenty of head room, a cozy blanket, and a pillow with a pillowcase that smells freshly laundered. The other people in my compartment seem to want to sleep even though it's the middle of the afternoon, so I have to use my book light whenever we go through a tunnel. The hard-sleeper cars seem more lively, with people talking and playing cards across the aisles. I'm sure when nighttime comes, though, I'll appreciate having a quiet compartment with a door that closes.

DATELINE: Kunming, China 

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Author: Lauren Cohen

I'm not sure what to make of Kunming. My experience here has been different than in any other city because I chose to stay in a hotel rather than a hostel. The difference in atmosphere is significant: instead of a relaxing bar or courtyard, there's a swank lobby lounge with a grand piano. Instead of a casual cafe, there's an overpriced buffet at the "revolving restaurant" on the 23rd floor. Above all I've noticed that nobody staying here seems to be my age. When I did my requisite "first night get the lay of the land" walk, I was dismayed to find that all that seems to be around here are other hotels. Feeling sort of bummed out and lonely, especially because I had left behind lots of fun in Dali, I watched Tommy Boy on HBO and turned in early. Today I planned to venture out to the Bamboo Temple, because I wanted to see the sculptures. They are supposed to range from realism to caricature to hyper-realism to surrealism, and apparently the sculptor responsible disappeared after completing it because he offended people's sensibilities. I thought I was all slick because I had the hotel concierge write down the name of where I wanted to go in Chinese. I hailed a cab and gave him the piece of paper. The cabbie began yelling at me in Chinese and gesturing wildly with his hands. I stammered back that I didn't understand and he continued his rant. Finally I just said "OK," and he started driving. It turned out that what he was yelling was something along the lines of, " I don't want to drive to the Bamboo Temple, so I'm going to take you to the Western Hills instead." I decided to roll with it. I took the cable car up and enjoyed the view. Of course there were vendors, and I grabbed an ice cream bar with an ear of corn on the wrapper. It was sort of like a wafer cone in the shape of an ear of corn, with corn flavored ice cream in the middle. Very odd, but not entirely un-delicious. I saw a restaurant with picures outside that looked like a Yunnan speciality called Over the Bridge noodles. It's a soup broth with a thin layer of oil over it, served with a bunch of raw meats, cilantro, chives, egg, and noodles. You dump everything into the broth and it cooks. Pretty good, but not as good as Pho. I asked the taxi driver to take me not back to my hotel, but to the address of a bar recommended in Lonely Planet. The place wasn't anything special, but there were comfy seats for a beer and some reading (I feel like these blogs are making me seem like an alcoholic). I walked around that area and on the campus of Yunnan University. It was only when I decided to take a cab back to my hotel that I was able to gauge just how far from civilization I was staying. I figured I would probably end up heading back out in that direction for the night. I ended up staying around here because, by some miraculous coincidence I managed to run into the one other American solo traveler staying in the hotel. He was a teacher in Guangzhou, so he was able to give me a lot of great tips for Guangzhou and Hong Kong. He was only in Kunming for the night after long day of traveling, with a flight to catch early in the morning, so he wasn't up for anything too crazy. We walked around the area of the hotel and confirmed that, indeed, the only bars around were the ones in hotels. He knew enough mandarin to ask people where to go have a beer. We were pointed to a convenience store. When he explained that we wanted a bar, we were told to take a bus or a taxi. We ended up sitting in the hotel lounge, even though the beers were overpriced and the music was terrible (operatic Chinese versions of Scarborough Fair and the Titanic song, for example). I appreciated having some company though. So, in stark contrast to the debauchery of the previous few days, I find myself, for the second night in a row, in my room by 10pm watching a movie. It's not too different from my life in Brooklyn, I guess.

DATELINE: Dali, China 

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Author: Lauren Cohen

Dear Mom and Dad, I'm sorry for the hours of worry I caused you if you happened to google the Dali Torch Festival after reading my last blog. Yes, I threw fire and had fire thrown at me; but because I was dressed like a commando I emerged from the fray unscathed. On the bus to Kunming now, and feeling quite sad to leave this special place. I did see lots of job postings for English teachers here, though. Hmm...

DATELINE: Dali, China 

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Author: Lauren Cohen

The food in Yunnan is some of the best I've had in China. Last night I went for dinner with another new associate, a Swiss guy named Didier. He was ready to eat ordinary Chinese food, but I found a restaurant with a separate menu of local Bai specialties (the Bai are the predominant ethnic group in Dali). After telling him some of what I know about Yunnan cuisine, and showing him some of the dishes described in my China Menu iPhone app, he deferred to my expertise and allowed me to order for the table. I asked the waitress for her recommendation and she said if we like spicy, we should try the spicy sauteed beef in Bai sauce. I ordered that, as well as a whole fried carp Dali style and a steamed Bai eggplant dish. The spicy beef never came, nor was it on our bill, but it turned out that the other two dishes were enough. There's something so indulgent about ordering a whole fish and picking it apart. The eggplant came in a complexly-spiced tomato sauce. After dinner we went back to a bar where we had spent some time the previous night, to meet up with another traveler named Gavin. Didier is really nice and respects my knowledge and interests (he said he was surprised, as a Swiss Francophone, that I know so much more than he does about French cuisine and film); Gavin, on the other hand, has me pegged as the ignorant American. He mocks my accent when I try to pronounce foreign words and thinks it's just hilarious that he speaks six languages and I only speak one (I didn't let on that I can read and understand a fair amount of French, because he would slip into French whenever he wanted to make a snide comment to Didier - I mean, obviously if 3 people are sitting around speaking English and suddenly 2 of them break into another language, it's meant to exclude person #3, so I figured I would let them play that game if they wanted to). I haven't written much about my experience being an American tourist in China, which has mostly come up vis a vis travelers from other Western countries (to Chinese, we're all the same kind of honky - for example at the Chairman Mao residence in Shanghai, the young Chinese guide asked my friend Michiel if I was his daughter, despite the fact that he's only ten years older than me and a blond Dutchman, an amusing reversal of the conception that Westerners think "all Asians look alike"). The only Americans I have come across have been one family from Philadelphia I met on the Great Wall. Travelers from Europe and Australia are surprised to see an American because the perception is that we don't travel to non-Western countries. For the most part, though, everyone has been respectful; if anything, they see it as a positive thing that I'm going against the stereotype. Gavin may try to belittle me, but I don't let it bother me, because, quite frankly, speaking multiple languages and living around the world is not the sole indicator of one's intelligence. Most of his comments in general, not just the ones directed at me, where inane and banal. The depth of my knowledge of the English language is likely about equivalent to the breadth of his knowledge of multiple ones. Still, I could only stand his company for a short while, so I left for the friendlier terrain of Bad Monkey. I made it an early night, though, because of course I had to wake up for the cormorant fishing excursion. I was the only one who had signed up for the trip from the hostel, so a taxi took me to the lake. We drove past some of the most beautiful landscape I've ever seen: lush green fields with grassy-yet-jagged mountains rising beyond them. I took lots of pictures, though I'm not sure how they turned out considering I was in a moving car. The cormorant fishing itself was a thoroughly touristified experience, but it was still a great one. I was the only Westerner in our group of three rowboats being commandered by a Bai woman yelling in Chinese through a megaphone. Our three boats surrounded the cormorant fisherman's boat, which had a row of birds on either side. We watched the fisherman release the birds into the water. They swam along next to the boat and dove under to bring up fish. When they brought back the large fish to the fisherman, they were rewarded with a small fish as a treat. After watching the birds catch some fish, our boats went to the lakeside for some snacks. They had skewers of while fried shrimp (little ones, whole and unpeeled) and skewers of small fish fried and also eaten whole. I pointed to one of each of the skewers and the Bai woman put it into the oil for a few minutes than sprinkled it with a spicy powder (she tried to hand me mine without the spices, but I corrected her). The tiny whole fish and crustaceans were strangely addictive, like any salty bar snack that one intends only to nibble on but ends up eating handfuls. Of course Chinese people were amused by the fact that a Westerner was there and eating their food and wanted to take pictures with me. I've grown accustomed to this phenomenon and now, whenever someone asks shyly in broken English, "you take picture with me?" I hand over my camera to the photographer as well. After the morning excursion, I've spent another day enjoying the heavenly weather and scenery here. Tonight is the Torch Festival, and (as per instructions from the Bad Monkey guys), I've bought myself a longsleeved shirt, gloves, and bandannas. Sounds ominous, but they promise me it will be an unforgettable experience.

DATELINE: Dali, China 

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Author: Lauren Cohen

A night at an expat bar and an afternoon of sunshine and blue skies was just what I needed to turn my mood around. After writing my blog last night, I walked to a bar called Bad Monkey that I'd read about in my guidebook. The first sign that things were looking up was when I saw a bottle of Makers Mark behind the bar. After two weeks of drinking wan Chinese beer, cloyingly fruity cocktails, or vodka-sodas, it was a treat to sit at a bar and have "my" drink; it was comforting even, given my mood at the time. I ordered one on the rocks and talked to Adrian, the German bartender. The bar remained crowded with patrons and workers alike; at times I think there were 6 people behind the bar, talking and joking as they shoved around each other. The whole atmosphere was convivial, with the bartenders remembering the names of travelers and expats who had been through there before. I talked to a guy from Mauritius who was of Indian descent and now lives in Guangzhou. He had only been to Dali once before, a year ago, and the dudes behind the bar treated him like an old friend. We did a bit of barhopping, though the lack of good bourbon caused me to switch to Coca-Colas from glass bottles (doesn't it taste better that way?) On my way back to my guesthouse, I saw things were still hopping at Bad Monkey and decided to stop in. A different bartender took my order and he beamed when I ordered a Makers on the rocks. "I'm a Scotsman," he explained, "and it hurts me that people around here don't appreciate good whiskey." He said he occasionally hears people ordering Chivas Regal........with Red Bull. When he marked down my drink on the register, he said, "Oh wow, we've already sold two of these tonight!" I laughed and said they were both mine. Another bartender detected that I was from New York, which was where he grew up. He went to U of Buffalo, so we were even able to commisserate about our time in that city. I stayed until closing time, promising that I would be back tomorrow. The charming Scottish bartender, Russ, took me to his favorite dumpling house for lunch today (then back to Bad Monkey for a cup of coffee (no bourbon this time). I spent the afternoon wandering the old city and shopping in the markets. There are dozens of stores that, pardon the disrespect, all sell the same crap. The ritual of bargaining gets a little old, but there's always the option to leave and go to another place. I made some fun purchases for myself and others. I also discovered my new favorite street snack: cheese fan - a thin slice of goat cheese wrapped onto a stick, pan fried, and sprinkled with sugar. Tomorrow I've signed up for a Cormorant fishing outing (yay!) and ended up changing my bus to Kunming from tomorrow to Friday. Tomorrow night is the annual torch festival and my new buddies say I can't miss it. It's hard for me to believe that yesterday at this time I was feeling thoroughly depressed about this city.

DATELINE: Dali, China 

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Author: Lauren Cohen

Out of all the cities on my itinerary, Dali was tied with Chengdu for most anticipated. So far I've found myself feeling a little disappointed. Both of my guidebooks touted it as a bohemian backpacker paradise, with constant jam sessions in hostel courtyards and old Bai ladies chasing westerners down the street shouting "Ganja? Ganja?" (and YES, mom and dad I know better than to buy or use illegal drugs in a foreign country - but that tidbit seemed indicitave of a laid-back atmosphere with lots of cool people in my peer group). But so far the hostels seem like ghost towns, except for a few parents and kids. I also had to run around to find a new hostel because the one I had reserved placed me in a room in a building about 100 meters from the main building, behind an iron fence that I found impossible to open. The room smelled like bleach and had no television or wi-fi. Mostly, I was alarmed by the idea of coming back to my room at night and having to struggle with the gate. The hostel itself had no bar or restaurant, only a limited menu of items that could be ordered and served in the reception area, so it's not like there would be safe and fun options in-house. I tried 2 more hostels around the corner and they were booked. At the second one, the helpful lady at reception brought me around the corner to a locally-owned guesthouse that had a room for a good price. The receptionist also said that if I'm staying at that guesthouse, I'm welcome to use all of their hostel facilities. I was very apprecitive and after settling into the room I went back to the hostel for some fried local noodles and a vodka on the rocks (have I mentioned that China generally suffers from a lack of acceptable whiskey.) I also booked my bus to Kunming, so at least that's one fewer thing to worry about. The hostel offers a Cormorant fishing excursion, which many of my friends heard me talking about before the trip as something I was dying to see. With the weather as such, though, I'm not sure it would be much fun at all. I'm going to head off to a couple of expat bars to see if they can provide more insight into what, exactly, is supposed to be fun here. If nothing else, I'm sure I'll enjoy exploring the market and picking up souvenirs. I could use some cheering up, so drop me a line at lc_in_china at yahoo dot com.

DATELINE: Lijiang, China 

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Author: Lauren Cohen

Once again I find myself in a lovely place nearly by accident. Lijiang, an ancient city in Northwestern Yunnan Province. It was named a UNESCO World Heritage site, but threatened with having that status revoked as it became "too touristy." The touristy-ness was one reason why I didn't make visiting here a priority; the other was that Tony came here and ate only slimy-looking vegetable dishes that even he didn't seem to enjoy. My next stop after Chengdu was to be Dali, about 3 hours by bus from here. There are no flights or trains directly from Chengdu to Dali, so my plan was to fly into Lijiang, take a quick jaunt through the old town, and get right on a bus to Dali. Well, once again my plans were thwarted as I was inexplicably bumped from my flight, despite having an email confirmation saying "Your trip is reserved." The lovely people at Air China in the Chengdu airport dealt expertly with my near panic-attacks and managed to get me a seat on the next flight that evening, even though they had initially said all flights were full until Wednesday. I had a lovely bulkhead seat next to an adorable little girl (perhaps 4 years old?) and her mom. She was restless and I played with her the whole time. She kept opening the armrest thing, and I opened it and pretended to recoil in horror at the scary thing inside. She imitated me and got her mom to do the same. That game lasted a few minutes. Then we played "throw the flight magazine into the lap of the person next to you and exclaim 'Pwah!'" When the flight crew announced we were preparing for landing, the girl was exasperating her mom by fussing about the seatbelt and opening the clasp. I invented a new game: touch the seatbelt and pretend it's extremely hot and painful to touch. I'll be a totally kickass mom someday. So anyway - I arrived late in Lijiang, well after the long-distance buses had stopped running. I hopped on the airport bus to the city, then took a cab to the old town, where I had read in Lonely Planet, "Throw a stick and you'll hit a charming Naxi guest house." (The Naxi are the ethnic minority indigenous to this area). I walked around the charming stone paths (no cars in old town) and found one with a room for a good price. I then set out to find something to eat. I walked into a noisy bar. The host looked at me nervously and said, "no English menu." I smiled and said the Mandarin word for "beer." He brought me a Pabst Blue Ribbon in a *bottle* which I've only ever seen once before, at a dive in Brookyn Heights. The bar was loud and raucous. There were wooden blocks on all the tables, and every few minutes the clientele would burst into song and bang the blocks on the table. I was the only Westerner in the bar and was treated like a celebrity, with people approaching me nonstop to clink bottles. I met a girl who spoke some English and she took me across the street to what seemed like the only food stall still open. I pointed to a chicken skewer, expecting it to be grilled as I had seen done before. Instead, the lady put it into a wok of hot oil that must have contained some chili oil because the cooked chicken had a red hue and a spicy flavor. She sprinkled sesame seeds on it. I saw stacks of flatbread - a local specialty called Baba. It's a greasy layered flatbread stuffed with a mash of fruit and nuts. It was a perfect way to round out the meal. After taking lots of pictures with my new drinking buddies, I went back to the guesthouse and settled in to sleep underneath a cozy comforter. (I forgot to mention that the first attribute of Lijiang that I really appreciated was the fact that I had to wear my shrug for the first time. The temperature here is so comfortable compared to the scorching heat I've been subjected to so far). It's morning now and I'm sitting in a charming cafe next to the stream eating local specialties of fried goat cheese and local potato pancake. The food here is great: sorry Tony, but your fixers really screwed the pooch here.