To The Max

Mother India

To The Max — Sun, 20 Mar 2011 22:18:00 +0000

Dear Goat Givers and other Love Ones,

Namaste.

I have just returned from one of the most Intense (and wonderful) experiences I have ever had.

You may recall from last report, I had signed up with Relief Riders International (www.reliefridersinternational.com) for a three week riding adventure (horses not Harley’s) delivering educational, medical, dental and economic relief to remote villages in Rajasthan. WooHoo! An important aspect of the mission was to deliver goats – a much needed source of nutrition and income – to desperately poor villagers in the region. And YOU, my love ones were there to cheer me on. You all donated goats galore. I was deeply touched by the overwhelming support.

BUT….

What many of you don’t know – I was just too devastated to tell- is that 4 weeks prior to my scheduled departure I was bucked from a horse on a training ride in Mexico and spent 3 days in hospital with 5 fractured bones in my back, including my pelvis. What would happen to our goats? How could I tell you all? Every ounce of my energy and focus for the next month went into physio and rehab (thanks Boyd) in the hope of still being able to go. I was far from healed but decided to go anyway. I was literally bundled off the plane in a wheelchair and hobbled around India with a cane for the next few weeks, like a three legged goat! And it was AWESOME!

Yes, I imagined myself, “Florence of Arabia” riding horseback across Rajasthani desert and NO I DIDN’T GET TO, following ignominiously instead in the support vehicle I affectionately called the “loser cruiser”, BUT… I did get to give away goats and many other glorious and wondrous things.

Before I left, many of you tried to cheer me up with the “everything happens for a reason” brand of philosophical determinism, but I didn’t buy it. I am more of the empirical school of rational thought but I am forced to confess that in many ways, my pathetic state heightened the experience. It was more challenging, more emotional and I got tons of concerned attention!

The travel experience alone blew my mind. Relief Riders creator and “imagineer” Alexander Souri has deftly crafted the perfect adventure. Journeying through exquisite countryside, “camping” by lakes and under mountains in “Queen of Shiva” tents, yoga in the mornings, dining under the stars in Rajasthani fields, eating curry tiffin lunches served under the shade of giant Banyan trees, exquisite Mawari horses bedecked in red and orange garlands panting in the background. A cultural interlude was provided by a visit to the breathtakingly beautiful Jain temple at Ranakpur, a world heritage site we just happened to be passing. All this interspersed with an occasional restorative night spent in low key but stylish, elegant digs – with swimming pools!

I was able to wear silk dresses at camp, sip Margaritas (not a palm tree in sight) and engage in campfire dalliances with intelligent women and handsome men. What could be lovelier?

It was a privileged journey for sure, but “lovelier” came in an unexpected way.

We were enriched by a sense of purpose. We were enriched by the humility that came from daily contact with beautiful people and their struggle to endure incredible hardship. It was at times difficult to synthesize the onslaught of emotions; pride, shame, guilt, joy, sadness, gratitude, humility, friendship and love all mingled together with a delicious dose of pain!

I was wearing a hair shirt in the heat of the desert but I felt the heartbeat of India.

Imagine this; hundreds of bedraggled kids in a small, dilapidated school, some in rags, showing signs of “fluoridisation” and malnutrition, their mothers and grandparents all gathered to witness the spectacle; serious little faces, eyes wide, slack-jawed with wonder, as the riders, bearing standards, ride through the villages and into their school grounds. After a little blessing ceremony,bindis painted on our foreheads, graced with garlands of flowers, the charismatic Souri works his magic; roaring laughter, hands clapping, singing songs, holding those kids in the palm of his hand as they celebrate and thank us all one by one. God knows what he was saying to them, but they were mesmerized.

Imagine this; several hundred kids shouting, chanting your name interspersed with fits of giggles and waving of hands. Under the supervision of Dr. Mahesh Aurora (Doc), the kids were administered de-worming meds and individually, with hundreds of “namaste’s” we handed basic school supplies; pencils, rulers, books into little outstretched hands, faces now beaming. They seemed most excited by the athletic equipment donated to the entire school; cricket bats and balls, volleyball, badminton, soccer. I hope they had as good a time as we did.

Giving away the goats was an emotional experience for us all. Imagine this; a big truck, full of goats pulls into the village, everyone has gathered round to celebrate, someone is banging a big drum. One by one a name is called and a registry signed. We gave the goats personally to those who had been selected; frail widows, single mothers, blind men, crippled men. I took off my sunglasses and peered into the eyes and pressed the hands of beautiful Rajasthani women, glad that we had come to help them. A mother’s shared experience – just knowing. I put my sunglasses back on to hide the tears that were streaming down my face.

I thought of you all through the entire experience, Denys in France, Derek in London, John and Cheryl in Mexico, Boyfriend Bob, Zander, you were all there with me and it was a privilege to give those goats on your behalf. I WANT YOU TO KNOW YOUR GOATS HAVE MADE A DIFFERENCE. Yes, somewhere, thousands of miles away you have given dignity to an entire family who were heartrendingly poor.

The final experience to describe is the mobile dental clinic. Dr Vikev Chaturvedi led a small dental team and my new friend Christiane became a dental nurse for a day. I chose a safer job – registration, but occasionally I would go over and check to see how she was doing. I was in awe. There was blood and pain and she was still standing! Later, around the campfire, we talked about the conditions. Patients were having teeth pulled sitting on a small wooden stool and they felt lucky and grateful. Imagine that!

Dental surgeries are traumatic at the best of times but when the patient is sitting on a wooden stool, they are especially tricky and no doubt more painful. The next priority for the Relief Riders is to raise money for a portable dental chair and small truck to transfer it from village to village. After seeing the work they do, I plan to help them. Watch out!

While I totally enjoyed tooling around in the open jeep it was difficult on the days of the rides. I knew I was missing out on an integral part of the experience. As my healing progressed, and after much discussion with Alexander and his crew, on the very last day, we agreed to give it a try. The first step was to face my fears. I was terrified. The second was to get up on the horse. No worries. At first a groom led me around the campsite and then I went on my own. A mere 7 weeks after my fall it felt remarkably good. Under several watchful eyes I was able to join the Afternoon ride. It was really sweet, meandering through a variety of extraordinary terrain, crossing creek beds, avoiding prickly bushes, falling in at a gentle pace. I had done it and it meant the world to me……..

There is so much more to show and tell – next post will be a slide show of my excellent adventure and I hope to introduce you to some of the wonderful cast of characters I met along the way.

I am happy to report that on my very last day, Doc took me to the Mother Teresa Centre in Jaipur where I DONATED MY CANE. WooHoo! It was great to be rid of that sucker but even better to see the work of the Centre and know that it will be serving a higher purpose.

In closing, Love Ones, a huge thank you to Big Daddy – the patron saint of my life.

As always, I try to Live it TO THE MAX!

Special thanks to Goat Givers: Jack and Marion Adelaar, Stephen and Nanette Ainsworth, David Allison and Chris Nicholson, Marilou Appleby, Carol Arnston, Lance Bernard and Nancy Chew, Jane Butler, Heather Buckley, Bob Black, Fran and Wendy Brunelle, Tom Corbeth, John Dives and Shelley Williams, Patricia Dunn, Eileen Ebin, Joe Ennis, Nancy Farran, Terry and Peggy Fields, Jim Green, Mitchell and Lynne Gropper, Deborah Giulini, Darlene Hayne, Alexander Hayne, Bob Hodgkinson and Lori Kozub, Brian and Andrea Hill, Lisa Kopstein, John Kuharchuk, Denys and Norma Laurence, Bob Ledingham, Robert Lemon, Carol Lee, Baz and Jennifer Marshall, Bing Monahan, Marjan Navabi, Jan Noble, Ian Robertson, Rod and Jeannie Senft, Derek Senft, , Barb Sauder, Marlee Sheinan, Joanna Staniszkis, Lesley Stowe, David Thom and Julie Hodgson, Vivian Thom, John and Cheryl Wheeler, Eric Weiser, Steve Wilson and Michael Simmonds, Grant Weaver.

If I have inadvertently missed anyone, please accept my apologies and let me know.

Silly Billies

To The Max — Sat, 06 Nov 2010 21:01:27 +0000

Dear Love Ones,

I am just back from Turkey (more later) but have already moved on to Goats!. Next stop INDIA!

One of the challenges of traveling solo is getting off the beaten path, shedding the shackles of “tourism” and digging beneath the surface. Cracking the nut open and getting to the ‘heart’ – connecting with people, meeting them and experiencing their daily lives. For 3 weeks in February and March next year, I am accompanying Alexander Sourie on a Relief Ride into remote villages in The Thar desert of Rajasthan.

Click here to view the embedded video.

That’s right, we travel on horseback (part of the ‘adventure’ apparently), live in tents, (also part of the adventure) and are accompanied by a medical and dental team, camel wagons, and a herd of……goats! As some of you know, dear love ones I have spent the last few days gathering my flock!

Original art by Richard Hickman – http://www.hicksartgallery.com/landscape2.html

It has been peachy – many of you have been so generous, “got it’ and gave the goat.

There was also the usual group of curmudgeons, sceptics and ‘smarty-pants’.

One friend (who shall remain nameless) suggested he didn’t want me to make do with a scrawny, third world goat and was in fact off to buy me a plump Canadian goat this very weekend.

Dear Peg. He wrote…

Sounds like a fantastic and worthwhile adventure! Ever since reading Shantaram, I’ve wanted to visit India and do something similar. For now, I’ll have to live vicariously through you.

I’d be happy to help. In fact, I’ve already found a goat for you! She’s a little pricier than the sub-continent goats you’ll be getting used to, but I’m sure she’s well worth it. I’m heading to Langley this weekend to pick her up and could stop by your apartment on Monday to drop her off if that’s convenient for you. I realize it’s a little early, but I’m not sure a goat of this calibre will be available come February. It will be good practice for you anyway to herd her around Denman and Stanley Park and such.

Let me know what time Monday works for you, and we’ll see you then! BRAT!

Someone else suggested I was obviously tiring of traveling alone, was in search of a companion and had other things in mind for my goat! SHAME ON YOU!

This is what another “fan” thought of my efforts…..

Click here to view the embedded video.

This is what I say to her…….

Click here to view the embedded video.

Then of course there are some VERY DISTURBED PEOPLE OUT THERE…..

But at least he gave me TWO GOATS!

Alexander Sourie chooses his words carefully. “Charity” he feels, smacks of condescension. “Relief” originates from the french word “Relever”, to RAISE UP. I think it will be an up-lifting experience for me more than anyone….

If anyone would still like to donate a goat ($75) or make a cash donation to Relief Riders please contact me by using the ‘contact the editor’ box at the top left of this page or go to http://www.reliefridersinternational.com/goat.htm or to provide for a cataract surgery go to http://www.reliefridersinternational.com/sight.htm

Muchos Grassy Arse to my “Goat Givers”

Give it TO THE MAX!

and remember COMMENTS ALWAYS WELCOME.

Cycling Oregon

To The Max — Sun, 29 Aug 2010 20:58:46 +0000

I had thin road tires and clip in pedals installed on my bike in late June and began a hap-hazard, self designed training program. On the first day I cycled for an hour and covered 20 km. Later that week I rode 44 km. Over the next couple of weeks I took a few minor spills as I adjusted to my feet being locked onto the bike. On week 5, I braked with my left hand only, which brought the front wheel to a screeching halt and propelled me in an inelegant swan dive over the handlebars onto a major thoroughfare. My body was battered and bruised and my confidence was rattled.

By week 7 I had signed up for a 500 km cycling adventure down the Coast of Oregon. http://www.adventurecycling.org/tours/tourdetail.cfm?t=SP&id=199

I cranked up my riding as much as possible in the few weeks I had left and managed to squeeze in an 80 km ride, by far my longest, but a “modest” day compared with some of the distances on the tour. I had a few short weeks to assemble gear and on August 21st I drove (with bike) to the start point of Eugene, Oregon. The following day I set out with considerable trepidation. I had no idea what to expect, I really had no business being there at all. How would the next 6 days unfold?

DAY OF FEAR

Knowing no-one, I set out on day 1, alone with map in hand to cycle 65 km north from Eugene to Corvallis on a back-road route through the picturesque Willamette Valley. I arrived safely at the final destination, my fingers numb from gripping the handlebar and a vicious knot of tension between my shoulder blades. Fellow riders were raving about the scenery. Shit – I had forgotten to look at the scenery, too scared to allow my eyes to venture far from the road. This was my scenery for day 1.

DAY OF RECKONING.

Day 2 was the big test. A daunting 120 km lay before me as we turned east and headed to the coast. It takes me a long time to cycle 120 km. I whiled away the time by attempting to identify road kill carcasses on the side of the road – deer, coyotes, skunks, birds, squirrels; sober reminders all, that at any time I could join their ranks. I gripped the handlebar harder. At the first rest stop I was feeling pretty cocky – “piece of cake” I thought. By lunch my smile was fading as I began to feel ‘bummer’ and ‘crotchety’ and by the third stop I was buggered and wondering where I would find the energy for the final push.I was still gripped with fears, both real and imagined: would I get the ‘wobblies’ and just veer off course into the path of a semi-trailer; would I squish one of the many little rodents that crossed my path and slide into a ditch; would a deadly, Oregonian leaping spider launch at me from a bush and latch onto my jugular…..The last 10 miles up hilly, coastal highway 101 battling semi-trailers and a belligerent headwind was hell and I only made it because a few fellow adventurers scooped me up and dragged me into Lincoln City, our destination for the night. Here the tour description promised “the opportunity to stroll on the area’s long expanses of pristine beaches or take a swim in one of the nearby freshwater lakes” Hah! I collapsed into bed soon after arriving and wondered how I would ever get back on my bike the following day…..”don’t worry”, I was assured, “it’s an easy RIDE – only 80 km…”

GLORY DAYS

I had survived! On day 3 day my legs felt like columns of concrete – but only for the first few minutes as I headed south down the spectacular, gnarly, wind swept Oregon coast, home to whales, otters, seals and sea lions.

The brochure promised “after watching the setting sun turn the frothy surf luminous and the western horizon crimson —

we’ll drift to sleep to the hypnotically rhythmic sound of crashing waves.” This time they did NOT lie! I wondered at the outset of the journey what on earth I would do in the evenings – the answer was SLEEP ..and sleep…and sleep! This was the view from my hotel room balcony just before I tucked in for the night……

As the miles unfolded I could not have been happier. The scenery was sublime but it was not without it’s challenges. Gorgeous scenery brings TRAFFIC! Highway 101 is in fact an Oregon Bike Route however there are many times when the shoulder of the winding road reduces to a sliver. On one such occasion a considerate RV driver decided to give my left armpit a shave with the side of his rig. (Shaving creamed?). With my stomach in my esophagus I pulled into a viewpoint along side a grizzly bear riding a Harley. “Hey little girl” he said (I loved him immediately) “you have BIG BALLS riding this part of the 101 on a pushbike”! Funny I thought – the brochure failed to mention that I would need those…..

A few pit stops later I met this young man who had been surfing until spooked by some frisky sea lions. “I’m from Australia” he said “and I’ve never encountered sea lions before” …”where are you from?” I asked. “Gold Coast” came the answer…”Really…I went to St. Hilda’s” (A boarding School on the Gold Coast) “no way” came the response…We traded in memories, then I hit the road pushing on to the next destination, a little tourist town optimistically named Florence.

DAY OF REST

Oregon Dunes National Park, stretches for 40 miles from Florence to Coos Bay, offering miles of dramatic, wind-sculpted sand dunes rising more the 500 feet above the ocean. They offered an additional, “optional” ride on our day of rest but I gratefully declined, choosing to rip up the beach in a dune buggy instead. Good call!

DAY OF CHAGRIN

By the following morning I was interested to discover that I was anxious to get back on my bike. I left early in the morning as the longest ride of all lay ahead – 130 km due east back to Eugene. We followed the banks of the Siuslaw River, shrouded in early morning mist

and the disco ball sun provided a few hours of distraction as it seemed to suck me along.

It made for an easy ride.

At rivers end we began to climb Low Pass, elevation 1,023 feet. It was beginning to feel like I was towing a load of bricks. I had already had a chat with a few of the wonderful crew of the the ACA about my bike. A heavy old clunker compared with the sleek, featherweight, carbon fiber road bikes of my fellow adventurers. I was definitely having to work considerably harder. “Peg, I think your back tire looks a little squishy” a fellow tourist said as he sidled up beside me briefly before speeding off ahead……..I checked it out with the support wagon at the next station. Both tires were indeed “squishy” adding an additional handicap to my ride. “Have you pumped them at all during the ride?” I was asked. We all laughed at my dim-wittedness.

I was definitely “learning by doing”. What had I learned? That I LOVED TOURING BY BICYCLE! That I could do it and do it ALONE….and I learned to check the pressure in my tires before each and every ride!

In closing Dear Love Ones, I want to pay tribute to a friend made on the journey, a physician from Berkeley whose body has been invaded by a virulent cancer. She put her chemo on hold to do the ride…..

give’n it TO THE MAX!

GO GIRL!

Living La Vida Local

To The Max — Mon, 18 Jan 2010 16:34:38 +0000

Yes, Love ones, we are living La Vida Local WooHoo!

I have been to PV 3 times in the past – once as a 19 year old, the guest of my father. Otherwise known as “Champage Charlie”, every time he had a few bob jingling in his pocket he would think of reckless and extravagant ways to spend them. One such folly was a trip from Australia to Mexico. It was the early 70′s and Liz and Dick were probably in town, ensconced in their love nest in the area known as “Gringo Gulch”. All I can remember about the glamorous house he rented is that it came with a maid and a pool. The other two visits involved children, spring break and decisions I had little control over…where we stayed (large American hotels with tepid pools of chlorinated water and water slides) where we ate (think Tex-Mex)and what we did (keep kids happy stuff); these were holidays I survived but did not embrace and one of the reasons I now set off on my own weird, solitary adventures. On this trip, meandering off on my own, aided by some local knowledge from friends and people I have met, I have fallen in love with Vallarta.

Sitting in a restaurant perched high on a hill overlooking the glittering town, our full harbor view marred by a concrete monstrosity, Big Daddy asked the waiter if it was a hotel. “No Senor, eez condoms”!

We are staying in a condom on the glorious playa Punta Negra (which locals assure us is the best beach on the Bay) about 15 minutes south of town. It is owned by friends who have crafted a charming Mexican retreat. We have established our routines. While Big Daddy works on his laptop in the morning, I have my morning ocean swim and later my afternoon ocean swim; I share the beach with a flock of hungry Pelicans and a few skillful fishermen. I catch the local bus into town (an adventure in itself) seeking a caffeine fix at Dee’s where the coffee is at least better than Starbucks, and then I walk.

I discovered the local fish market where we have our choice of abundance – Sea Bass, jumbo prawns, Mahi Mahi all for about $10 a kilo, as well as the farmers market where we stock up on limes for the margarita’s and avocados for the guacamole.

I have the local cemetery, mainly because I got hopelessly lost one day but it was a curious, visual treat.

I even happened upon the very bridge, a copy of Venice’s Rialto, where Liz and Dick would scurry between their respective hangouts to avoid killing each other with misdirected passion. It is now being renovated and absorbed into the incredible beautiful compound that is the Hacienda San Angels.

I found my favorite neighborhood and my favorite house, Quinta Maria Cortes. Rooms are available for rent so the concierge showed me around. Every room felt like you were visiting the private home of a wealthy Mexican artist. It is a time worn treasure and I felt sure it had some stories to tell. I mentioned it to Peggy (my friend and Innkeeper) and sure enough we are connected, that crazy place and I, by one degree of separation. Peggy knew it well and told me this……

“Quinta Maria Cortez was owned by a wild Texan woman named Silver with a small rose tattoo on her earlobe. She wore diaphanous garments and floated around Vallarta for years with an entourage of eccentric friends. Rumors swirled of hauntings by a husband long passed, buried under the cross monument on the terrace. All the rooms were uniquely decorated in the gothic/mexican/hippie style that was Silver. She always had young men around and entertained the locals and bright young things in her atmospheric salon draped in mosquito nets and Indian shawls. I remember lots of statuary of saints and likely sinners too! When Silver was out of town she had me look after Quinta Maria Cortez. One time our secret guest was Raquel Welch. I was sent to pick her up at the airport and install her in her choice of suites. It was off season and I showed her each of the 5 or 6 different apartments, some with kitchens, a chapel, outdoor showers or my favorite, the green tiled Moroccan themed room which opened right onto the beach. Alas, she wasn’t happy in this strange and wonderful house and instead was scooped up by the local playboy doctor and whisked away to his generic abode. The Quinta wasn’t everyone’s taste with it’s dark and mysterious vibe of tiny stairwells and hidden rooftop terraces. Eventually, in the late 80′s when Silver could no longer maintain the property, it was bought and redone for a more mainstream clientele but still, fortunately retains some of its quirky aura today.”

The crazy place, now seen from the beachfront, cascades down the bank about 7 levels….

one of which houses the pool…

all of which have secret nooks and balconies with views of the beach…dreamy little Quita Maria……

Hiking in Heaven

I have made a local friend, thanks to the generous heart of someone in Vancouver who connected us. (Thanks Janice) Barb revolutionized the fitness world of Vancouver back in the 80′s and now lives an idyllic life in PV for 6 months of the year. She included me in her regular Thursday hiking group and we walked from Boca de Tomatlan (about 16k south of PV) to Las Animas beach which is only accessible by boat (or hike). We caught the local bus to Boca, found the trial head near this creek and set out.

The trail meandered along the shoreline at times…

with some more challenging moments crossing gullies..

But on the whole the trail was very well maintained..

we walked…

and walked..

until we found the little seaside village that is only accessible by boat and caught one back to town.

There is a vibrant ex-pat community here and it is always interesting to get a behind-the-scenes glimpse into the lifestyles of people who actually live in a tourist destination. On one of my long walks exploring the residential areas of PV I happened upon a street, high above the noise and hype of the Malacon, where the stately residential architecture could have been from any number of European towns….

Except of course some of them are painted “Mexican colors”.

Little did I know that night I would be invited to dinner in one of those very homes.

Nightlife

For nightlife, we do exactly what the locals do too – we sip Margarita’s and feast on seafood on our deck, listen to the music of the waves crashing and watch the theater of the sunset which explodes off the mountaintop..

streaks across the bay

and gently fades…and when that is over

WE GO TO BED – WOOHOO!

Hola Amigos!

To The Max — Thu, 07 Jan 2010 15:46:59 +0000

Day 2 of a month of Fiesta Mexicana, Puerto Vallarta. I met a woman in a shop and told her I wanted to go on an adventure off the beaten path. “Come and visit me” she offered and gave me directions that I scribbled on the back of a napkin. ‘Take the path along the river out of town………”

“you will pass through 3 little villages…..” (This one rather optimistically named Buenos Aires).

(but it did have it’s own municipal swimming pool…..)

“you will cross the river a couple of times…”

“but stay close to it’s shore…..”

“until you reach the canopy of the jungle….”

“mine is the first ranch on the left”.

Michelle lives in a one room palapa with no electricity, and a black hose that absorbes sunlight in order to provide a hot shower once a day. The garden was a cool and shady oasis after my long hot walk.

The entrance gave notice….

of the colorful interior.

Even the outhouse had a “Luis Barragan” architectural appeal.
“Beats spending the winter in Winnipeg” she ventured.

On the way back I saw some old friends…..

…some were too busy to chat.

I stopped for lunch in one of the villages…

and ate octopus ceviche.

I also took a dip in the River Cuale – it’s amazing how a swim and a Corona can revive you.

Live it TO THE MAX!

Where does it ledad? N

To The Max — Sun, 11 Oct 2009 20:16:55 +0000

It began the moment my feet hit home turf in early June after a month in China and Tibet. I basked in the glorious clear sky, breathed deep the fresh, unpolluted air and felt the caress of a gentle breeze blow in off the ocean – but most of all I marveled at the open spaces, gloriously empty, the view of a bay dotted only with a few happy sail boats and the lake, MY lake, dotted with a few blissed out swans. There are beautiful scenes in China but they are swarming members of the Human Ant Colony, swamping, asphyxiating, drowning – just too many of us to allow nature her freedom. Here, the freedom was intoxicating.

I felt lucky. Lucky to go; lucky to come back, lucky to come back HERE! It is mid October now, leaves are turning red and yellow, a chill is in the air; the sun is setting on one of the most glorious summers I can remember. (Thank you Janie for the pics)

Why so great? The weather for sure. Warn sun means warm water and warm water means swimming – in oceans, lakes, bays and rivers. Warm weather means Islands! Warm weather means hiking, cycling around the park, kayaking, fishing and eating and drinking outdoors with new friends and old. Warm weather means boating and dancing at dusk on the bow of a boat …..

before plunging naked into the briney.

In the early summer we wound our way down the scenic Nicola valley……

to Stump Lake Ranch, deep in the heart of B.C.’s ranch country. The days were hot and dry, the lake water clean and blue and the evenings balmy.

We collected wild flowers for the dinner table..

Celebrated a birthday with friends….

Rode bareback in the twilight….

admired fit and fearless fifty-somethings…

watched men walking on water…

Later in the summer we headed up the Strait of Georgia to Sargeant Bay where friends own a glorious property which attracts a rare form of giant humming birds…

We lollygagged on the bow of their limestone…

and watched the sun set between the craggy bows of Arbutus trees. Late into the evening my friend announced that we should go in her boat to catch the sun’s last hurrah. “Too late” I thought for the sun has already melted, but I am never one to turn down a boat ride so we screamed into the middle of the bay and tucked away around a corner, this is what we found….

But really, it isn’t necessary to go far from home when you live where I do. This is where I live. (Sorry about the weird-ass numbers but that is what happens when you pilfer pics off the net). No.3 is Stanley Park and I live on the lagoon visible just below the number.

A 10 km seawall circumnavigates the park and there are many glorious beaches ideal for tanning but not for swimming unless you are a Polar Bear! Not so, this summer from the gods. The local waters were cool but refreshing and I often walked the few hundred yards to swim in my favorite water hole just on the other side of this rocky outcrop.

My daughter came home from dancing late one hot summer night. “Let’s go for a swim” I said and we went skinny dipping in the moonlight, not a soul in sight.

Most evenings I rode my bike around the park…

and enjoyed the charming temporary rock art that adorns the beach…..

like an army of water spirits emerging from the seas.

this is why it is “temporary”!

I kayaked along the shore after eating a picnic dinner on English Bay……

with my favorite boy toy (yes, it sucks to be me!)

And together we watched the sun set silver on another glorious summer day.

The next adventure took us by float plane up the Georgia Strait to the north west tip of a rugged gulf Island where friends have a glorious cabin.

It sits on a bank above an expanse of granite. When the tide is low, the water at the edge of the granite is deep, the tide sweeps the water in over the baked rock creating ideal conditions for swimming – or floating – naked of course!

We continued a great Aussie tradition……..

and watched another silvery sun descend into madness…

I got to captain big boats..

past even bigger boats…

fall in love with a free spirit..

and experience nature in all her glory….nut it was not these things that made the summer so UNIQUE….it was…..

the NUDITY! Everywhere I went people were shedding their clothes. I expect it from Aussies and several of our friends are French (and they’re almost as bad) but CANADIANS?

HAPPY THANKSGIVING EVERYONE..

LIVE IT TO THE MAX!

Yak, Yak, Yak.

To The Max — Sun, 07 Jun 2009 15:18:05 +0000

Love Ones, TASHI DELEK. Our Tibetan guide explained that ‘Lha’ means ‘Heaven’ and ‘sa’ means “place” in Tibetan. Lhasa, at 3.650 m above sea level is the highest capital in the world and is as close to heaven as you can get. We are smitten!

My traveling companion to Tibet is my Ecuadorian sister-in-law Consuelo. We are very ‘sympatico’ as she is interested in many of the same things I am and she is awesome! We had decided to take the new “bullet” train to Lhasa, a journey of 2000km which took about 26 hours, which, if you do the math is hardly fast! We booked a ‘soft” sleeper which comes 4 bunks to a cabin. My thoughtful bro tried to book us the entire cabin for reasons of privacy – somehow it didn’t work out and we ended up “sleeping with” our new BFF’s from Germany, Frank and Rudi – we were indeed VERY CLOSE by the end of the journey!!!!

I would recommend the train trip – ONCE! (Try to book the whole cabin). The scenery was spectacular – breathtaking mountains, herds of grazing yak, wild antelope, villagers in traditional Tibetan costume waving at the train. It was fascinating, but by the end of the journey we were done with trains!

Paradise was a refreshing change.

Yes, for me it is Paradise. The buildings are beautiful, the people are beautiful, the way they dress is beautiful and even the merchandise in the market is beautiful. We are like kids in the proverbial candy store – in the whole of China I brought a T-shirt for my son and now my luggage is bursting with Tibetan treasure. (Yes, more Marco Polo outfits).

Keep in mind the air is bristling with tension but everyone plasters on a happy face - this is my happy face story. More later….

Much of the pleasure of our experience can be attributed to our hotel, certainly the loveliest of my journey.

There is a peaceful, leafy garden,

delicious food at the restaurant, wonderful Art and Tibetan Antiques. ….

and a real cappuccino machine…………

We were upgraded to the ‘Presidential Suite’ – a 4 room pad that I would like to trade my apartment for. After venturing out one evening to the famous Yak Hotel and Dunya Restaurant, where we had one of the worst meals imaginable, (the Yak was Yuk) we decided just to say ‘home’ from then on.

But MOST of the pleasure of our experience can be attributed to our lovely Tibetan guard….oops! I mean guide, a young man not much older than Max, who spent 7 years, from age 13 – 20 as a monk at the Labrang Monastery. His parents are nomads, spending their summer months in the distinctive black tents and this is how he grew up. His spiritual knowledge is excellent ………

and he is working on his English!

Every August his people have a week long celebration with horse races, archery and other traditional games, singing (he is a beautiful singer), dancing and feasting. He has invited me to go one year.

I CAN Yak, yak, yak about the sites and experiences.

No photo can prepare you for the arresting majesty of the Potala Palace or the exquisite craftsmanship of its priceless contents, in particular the tombs of Past Dali Lama’s – certainly on a par with the Papal tombs carved by Michelangelo. They are vast towering structures of gold encrusted with precious stones.

At the Jokhang Temple; the most sacred and important Temple in Tibet dating back to 650, we happened upon a ceremony performed by elaborately costumed monks, chanting and drumming in unison under a gentle haze of incense mist. “In my years of guiding I have never seen this before” said our guide. It was a spectacular and moving sight but no pics allowed!

We went to the Sera Monastery, one of the 3 great University Monasteries of Tibet, to witness the debating; a courtyard gathering of monks loudly challenging their opponents in scholarly debate and slapping their hands vehemently to make their points.

We zig-zagged our way up Mt Wangbur to an elevation of 4750 m to the Ganden Monastery where, for a tiny fee, we were allowed to take photos INSIDE the temple, a rare opportunity, and we visited the Drepung Monastery which sits like a ‘rice heap’ at the top of Mt. Gephel.

We went to the peaceful Norbulinka, the Summer Palace of successive Dalai Lamas since the 1780′s where there was a small offering of food in front of the Dalai Lama’s seat, as if waiting for him to come home and have a snack.

All charming and interesting in their own mystical way. But really at the end of the day, it was the people that made Lhasa so special, in particular the welcoming smiles of the beautiful women, dressed in their traditional long black skirts, with colorful woven aprons, silver money pouches embossed with turquoise and coral, necklaces of yak bone, turquoise and coral and their HATS! Hats are a big deal in Lhasa; many men AND women, traditionally wear felt cowboy hats, many have long black braids wrapped around their heads with yak bone rings, turquoise and corals adornments woven in, some women wear bright magenta or scorching pink woolen scarves wrapped around their heads.

The modern alternative is a floppy number right out of the sears catalog, circa 1967.

My favourite experiences where two “behind the scene” peaks into ‘real’ Tibetan life. Our ‘world’s best guide’ took us into a Tibetan village home on the way to the Ganden Monastery. While the outside was rather barren……

Once you step inside this doorway……

Everything changes.

This is the cieling…I think the interior would be a very happy place for anyone to live.

After visiting the Monastery for several hours, as we drove back down the hill we noticed the man whose house we had visited, sitting on a rock by the side of the road, waving at us. I thought he was trying to tell us something so we stopped. He had Consuelo’s sunglasses in his hand. I think he had sat patiently on the rock for some time, waiting for us to pass.

Later ”world’s best guide” treated us to lunch at the tea house attached to the Tsamkhung Nunnery. No pics, I’m sorry to say but it was a fantastic sight. Just a metal awning providing shade against the sun and a clamor of several hundred Tibetans enjoying tea and laughter.

Best guide had taught us some handy Tibetan words, in particular TASHI DELEK, a respectful greeting similar to NAMASTE. It helped us make friends. One glorious day ‘world’s best guide’ stretched his arms to the heavens and said…”In my next life I want to come back Tibetan.’ I made friends in Tibet and I will think of them long and often.

We happened to be in Lhasa during the month of Saga Dawa, one of the holiest times in the Tibetan calendar. It was a time of great religious observance, the most obvious to us was the practice of prostration. Many devout Tibetan Buddhists could perform hundreds and hundreds of prostrations in a day to the point of complete exhaustion. Many, young and old alike, circumnavigated the cold hard, dirty stones of the Barkhor, covered with aprons, knee pads and sliding gloves.

The Barkhor is a magical place. The circular street surrounding the Jokhang Temple in the middle of Old Lhasa, dates back to around 650 AD when devout pilgrims beat the original path. Today the Barkhor is both a market full of exotic surprises as well as a place of religious observance, full of Tibetans with prayer wheels and beads, always walking in a clockwise direction, in keeping with Buddhist observance. We called it the “go-around” and we did it at least once every day and never tired of it. Each time we ‘went around’ with our Tashi Delek greeting, we made new friends.

Viva La Tibet!

Margot Polo Hits the Silk Road

To The Max — Fri, 29 May 2009 14:20:06 +0000

Love Ones, China is a country of vast contrasts and I went from the sublime (Yangshou Mountain Retreat) to the ridiculous (Xian, population 8 million NONE OF WHOM KNOW HOW TO DRIVE!

I spent my first morning in Xian watching a Chinese HORROR SHOW. I had an excellent front row seat in the balcony protected by bullet proof glass. There was the usual cast of suspects. Triad truckers, bad-ass bus drivers, cold-hearted cabbies, careening car drivers all supported by an army of motobots.

The evil plot unfolded complete with high-speed car chases and games of Russian roulette. The sole purpose of the evil plot seems to be, to annihilate as many of the human ant colony as possible who are armed only with bikes and brollies! It was a real gong show!!!!!

Members of the HAC didn’t seem to mind and went about their daily business as if oblivious to the danger. I think they are drugged! (Don’t you think its cool that in China they have footpaths down the middle of the road? )

So far I have only witnessed three SERIOUS (fatal) accidents which is amazing UNDER THE CIRCUMSTANCES. (OOps! Make that four – there was another one on the way to the airport.) Traffic lights here seem to be optional guidelines and I learned early, while crossing on a crosswalk, that pedestrians NEVER have the right of passage – the rule of the road here is MIGHT OVER RIGHT. Now, whenever I have to cross, I look for a member of the human ant colony (HAC) to use as a human shield!

Road rules of China.

When your light turns green, try to turn in front of the oncoming traffic as quickly as possible and then stop, so that the intersection comes to a gridlocked standstill

Be sure to drive along the shoulder of the road, the white dotted line or the straight yellow line – there are fewer other vehicles to contend with.

Always warn a HAC with a horn blast or flicking lights before you run them over – it comforts them.

I thought I had landed in hell! My wonderful DJ said “Be patient” Good things will come” – and they did.

I made the mandatory, one hour drive out of town to see the famous Terracotta Army. An entire life size army, hand crafted out of clay in battle ready positions, fired in kilns, painted and completed with real weaponry. The 3 pits are thought to contain a total of 8000 soldiers, 130 chariots and 670 horses.

It was a staggering sight, more for the audacity of its concept, the magnitude of its scope and the technology involved in its execution than its actual beauty. The army was constructed around 210 B.C. for Emperor Qin Shi Huang, the first Emperor of a unified China. It is believed that the army was constructed and buried close to his tomb, to protect the necropolis and help him conquer an Empire in the afterlife. Good King Qin was obsessed with immortality but only his own apparently as hundreds of thousands died in the completion of his folly.

I also went to visit Qins mausoleum which lies un-excavated a short distance away. A famous Chinese historian wrote soon after Qins death, that the First Emperor “was buried with palaces, scenic towers, officials, valuable utensils and ‘wonderful objects,’ with 100 rivers fashioned in mercury, and above this, heavenly bodies”. Recent soil studies near the tomb, showing very high levels of mercury, give credence to his account. After an entire life size army anything is possible and I hope I’m still around to see what they unearth.

After the Warriors I whizzed around and saw the major important sites. I saw the BIG Wild Goose Pagoda built in 652 AD and rebuilt in 704 AD

and the Small Wild Goose Pagoda (707 AD)

The drum tower constructed in 1380 which now houses a museum collection of ancient drums

and the Bell Tower constructed soon after.

This place is OLD! The Lantian Man, which dates back over 500,000 years, was discovered in 1963, 50 km southeast of Xi’an and a 6,500 year old Neolithic village was discovered in 1954 on the outskirts of the city. The city itself has a history of over 3,000 years and is one of theFour Great Ancient Capitals of China. When China was unified for the first time by Qin Shi Huang under the Qin Dynasty (221-206 BCE), its capital was located in Xian. There is great speculation about what might actually be buried under the concrete jungle that is now strangling Xi’an – we will probably never know.

Xi’an was also the eastern terminus of the famed SILK ROAD that established trade routes to the middle east. There is a significant Islamic Chinese population in Xian who congregate together in the colorful Islamic quarter; after dusk, its streets come alive with a night market specializing in Islamic food and buried in a rabbit warren of lanes is the stunningly beautiful Mosque. Although it is built entirely in Chinese style it retains a very special and unique character. The difference I think is that the Chinese have ‘renovated’ (unsympathetically) many of their ancient sites. The Muslims have resisted apparently, offers of cash from the Chinese government to “upgrade’ the mosque, so it remains ancient and mystical. As a place of simple worship it was devoid of the garish new Buddha’s and the massive bowls of brightly colored plastic flowers. I loved it.

A TOBY TIP suggested a magical thing to do would be to rent a bike and ride around the spectacular city wall. It would indeed have been EXCELLENT but when I arrived at the South Gate of the wall – no bikes! The gatekeeper kept pointing at the sky and I finally deduced that it looked like it could rain – so cycling was NOT an option. Poo!

There was not another soul on the wall – absolutely deserted, but I was determined, so I set off at a jog to the cheers (jeers) of the gatekeeper. 12 kilometers later, the same gatekeeper was there to witness my triumphant return! It was exhilarating and a wonderful way to view the city. The wall was constructed during the Ming dynasty around 1370 and measures 12 m in height, and 15-18 m in thickness at the base. WooHoo!

DJ was right – there was a lot to see in Xi’an. Fear not dear Love One, I am drawing to the end of my tale but I am saving the best for last.

A TOBY TIP led me to the Forrest of Steles – GOOD TOBY! I thought it was the most amazing thing I saw while I was in Xi’an – an exquisite, tranquil garden (tranquil is ALWAYS good in China) somewhat off the beaten tourist path, containing some of the most important cultural treasures of China. Once called the Temple of Confucius, the garden houses a collection of over 1000 steles, many cut in A.D. 837 – the oldest existing texts of the Confucian classics. The ‘steles” are massive stone slabs that have been etched as if they were on paper, carved in order to record ancient history, provide maps and illustrations. It was exquisitely beautiful as well as staggering in its historical significance……it is the closest I will ever get to Confucius.

From Xi’an to Xining and into the arms of my FAM. My brother is working here for 5 months and my sister-in-law has come to visit from Hanoi and will travel with me to Lhasa. Xining is on the north eastern edge of the Tibetan plateau and I am inching closer to TIBET. “There is ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to do here” my brother said “Oh, how WONDERFUL” I thought……little did he know how much I was looking forward to what Xining had to offer…….

Laundry! Woohoo!

More WuHa, WaHu and WooHoo!

To The Max — Mon, 25 May 2009 08:42:24 +0000

Love Ones, the great expedition continues and I have only lost my VISA once (retrieved thank goodness). Doesn’t really matter as the bloody thing is useless here anyway.

As I continue on my journey I realize how impossible this would have been if not for my dear pals in Shanghai. I left Vancouver knowing that I had two weeks to get from Shanghai to Xining – no itinerary other than some general ideas that were mired in confusion because of the vast distances. Thanks to some sage advice from Toby and Deege (who have toured the country extensively) as well as handsome Jack who made my plane bookings (for a fraction of the cost if I had booked in Vancouver) I have managed to see incredible places I never knew existed. One such place is Yangshou.

Foreigners love it here because the area offers so much to do. There is an avid caving and rock climbing community (with over 300 bolted routes) as well as hiking, mountain biking, rafting and hot air ballooning. The place is crawling with foreigners who affectionately refer to it as “Yangers” and English is spoken widely. The only drawback to this divine place is the town, where ‘enthusiastic’ tourist touts descend upon you like a plague of locusts offering postcards and junk. The Yangshou Mountain Retreat where I stayed was a real find. It is owned by an American, which explains the soft beds, aircon, courteous and helpful staff, lovely rustic aesthetic and availability of wine with dinner and milk for my tea. It is 15 minutes out of town nestled on the bank of the Yulong river and I felt truly relaxed for the first time since leaving Shanghai. I changed my plans in order to stay an extra couple of days. It deluged rain but not even a monsoon can dampen the spirits of the Chines tourist.

This is the view from the hotel.

I stayed longer in order to do the hot air balloon ride over the spectacular scenery of the Li River region. It didn’t happen. BooHoo!

Instead I met the owner of these feet……

…..and we went for a four hour adventure walk along the banks of the river. We were dumped by a taxi many miles upstream and were told just to follow the river back and that is exactly what we did.

Traveling conditions.

My clothes are filthy. I have not been in one hotel long enough to get laundry done; while I was 3 nights at the Mountain Retreat, Angel at the front desk explained that it was too humid for my stuff to dry. I myself am perfectly clean – showering about 5 times a day!

The Food

The food is awesome – sometimes. In Shanghai we went for hotpot – twice!. 6 of us sat around a square table with a double sided pot sunk into the center, bubbling spicy, oily broth on one side, plain broth on the other, loaded with tons of whole garlic cloves, ginger slices, huge round nuts, bark and god knows what for added flavor.

Toby loves me.

And I love TOBY!

My first meal in ‘no English spoken’ Jiuhua I walked in to a restaurant, looked around for something that looked tasty and pointed. It turned out to be 3 different types of mushrooms and slices of a potato like root vegetable shaped like ginger with a slightly sweet, nutty flavor. Sublime! Dinner did not go as well. Keep in mind these are eateries with arborite tables and bare fluorescent light bulbs. The pick and point method resulted in 3 mouthfuls and a hasty retreat back to the first place where I had the excellent mushroom dish. I ordered what I thought would be soup – what I got was broth! Dinner that night was two large bottles of Tsingtao and a bowl of broth.

I woke up hungry so decided to avail myself of the complimentary brekkie at the “4 star” hotel where I was staying at Mt J. – fried eggs swimming in a sea of grease, sweet, starchy cakes and donutty things, cubes of tofu in a fiery red sauce and an assortment of soggy vegetables – cabbage for breakfast? No thanks! I had to dash to the bus – lunch was peanuts that I stole from the hotel and at the airport I was so short of cash I didn’t dare eat…..

You will be happy to know I have passed on offers to taste the snake wine!

Serendipity

The very first night after leaving Shanghai I managed to find Mr Cheng. I had read about Mr Cheng on tripadvisor when I booked my first night’s accommodation. I noticed his sign as I was heading back to the hotel from the mountain, so I tapped the bus driver on the shoulder and he came to a screeching halt – love that! – I knew I was leaving the next day but had NO IDEA WHERE I WAS GOING! – Xidi or Jiuhuashan? Mr Cheng helped me out bigtime! “Xidi” he said “too commercial”. He booked me a hotel on Mt J, purchased me a bus ticket for 6 am the next morning, arranged for the bus to pick me up from his restaurant, came at 5:30 to help me with my luggage and wrote instructions in Chinese for me to use at the bus station to get my ticket on to Guilin the following day. I thanked him and told him he would be famous one day. He beamed and said proudly, “I’m already famous”. I offered to pay him for his help but he refused. He said he helped travelers because it brought customers to his restaurant…but I think he also liked being famous. Mrs Cheng’s cooking was excellent.

More serendipity I discovered that the Yangshou mountain Retreat is a mere one hour drive from the Guilin airport. If I had known that in advance I would have avoided a night at the one star “4star” hotel in Guilin and the wet trip down the Li river BUT then I would never have met Hefa…….
When I woke up to monsoon rains I regretted my decision to stay an extra day in Yangshou but then I would never have met Peter.

My spirits I vacillate from complete euphoria and the tingling anxiety of uncertainty when I have to move on. Am I actually on the right bus? Will I make my connection? Will I get off at the right stop? Do I have enough cash? I am enjoying traveling alone. It is weird and a hard slog at times and I am sure not everyone’s “cup of tea” but alone, I am only responsible for my own happiness.

It is time to move on again – now to the ancient capital of Xian.

GOODBYE BOYS

GOODBYE BEAUTIFUL MOUNTAIN RETREAT

WuHu!

Three BIG adventures.

To The Max — Fri, 22 May 2009 13:11:21 +0000

Love Ones, having left the bosom of my fam in Shanghai four days ago, I have had THREE BIG ADVENTURES and I’m happy to report all have been SUBLIME!

Toby warned me – I would be traveling into the heart of darkness – no English, no Caucasians.

First stop was UNESCO World Heritage site Mt Huangshan, a one hour flight from Shanghai. There is a famous saying in China, “After Mt Huang, no need to see any other mountain” but little could have prepared me for it’s breathtaking beauty. I am happy to report I only cried ONCE – moved to tears by the ‘Big Valley of the Western Sea”. I spent a glorious day scrambling up and down the endless exquisite trails without a clue where I was heading; managed to happen upon several of the major sights and ended up with ‘widow-maker legs’ – trembling with fatigue. I think it is possibly the most beautiful place I have EVER been.

The day was “moist” and cloudy but Huang is famous for it’s jagged rocks, thundering waterfalls, twisted pines and MIST!

From Huangshan, I had to make a choice – spend a day visiting the ancient villages of Xidi and Hongcun, or see Mt Jiuhua. I couldn’t do both and Jiuhua came highly recommended by Toby. After my day on Huangshan I was “high’ on mountains so opted for Jiuhuashan. Good call - (thanks Tobes). I got up at 5am the following morning and caught the rickety local bus to Jiuhuashan, not so much about the mountain (which is glorious) but one of the most important Buddhist centres in the world. After Mao and the cultural revolution destroyed religious sites, there remain on the mountain, 79 well-preserved temples, over 1500 statues of Buddha and thousands of cultural relics such as scriptures and musical instruments. Too high for the assholes to climb I suspect.

The way I am traveling is difficult and stressful. It is hot and dirty and I am relying on my wits to get myself around. I arrived exhausted but as soon as I entered the cultural heritage site earthly aggravations melted away. It was actually pretty! Pretty buildings, pretty people; monks scurrying around in their saffron robes, nuns in their silvery gray, devout pilgrims everywhere and an atmosphere of calm and gentility – quite the opposite of everyday China!

I did not see a single other Caucasian the whole time I was there and when I walked into restaurant the little girlies got in a huddle and twittered and giggled behind their hands – do they see so few foreigners? Do I really look THAT funny?No – I wasn’t wearing my Marco polo robes! I just laughed along with them.

In place of the usual hideous touristy merchandise the shops sold incense, prayer beads and monk stuff!

The weather had been deteriorating ever since I left Huangshan and half way through the day it was fully raining but not enough to dampen the beauty.

At one stage this was my view.

From the calm of Jiuhua I entrusted myself to the gods again, and again they were good to me. Armed with my crazy picture ‘dictionary” I managed to navigate my way to the local bus station and catch the bus to a pit of despair named Hefei where the airport would transport me to my next destination, Guilin. It wasn’t without it’s drama. As we entered HeFei I noticed that the bus stopped to let a few people off. I showed the driver a pic of an airport and he came to a screeching halt and deposited me with a brief wave in a vague direction, on to the side of the highway in the middle of fucking nowhere! No shops- no hotels – just this. I was about to cry again but for vastly different reasons.

Then I experienced a ‘great circumstance of double happiness’. Not only did an empty cab come along and scoop me up while missing all the semi-trailers bearing down, but it deposited me at the airport just a few cents away which was excellent as I was running perilously short of cash. No worries I thought – there will be an ATM at the airport.

Not so. I must explain. This is a CASH ONLY society – no Visa, and one must be vigilant to keep a handy supply which is challenging as you are only allowed to make ONE withdrawal every 24 hours with a maximum of 2000 kwai – about $400 – which is easy to go through if paying for airfares and hotel rooms……I arrived at my next destination with 10 kwai (20 cents) change from the cabbie! It was a close call and I sweated the entire journey.

Guilin is a picturesque city on the west bank of the Li river, but it was the river I had come to see. Arrived late, left early. May not have made the boat at all if it hadn’t been for my new friend Sefa. If I had made the ‘dash for cash” I would have missed the boat, but she spoke English and overheard me at the front desk and gave me 100 kwai to tide me over until I got to Yangshou. We ended up on the same boat! By now the weather had seriously deteriorated but who cared – it was still spectacular!

The region of the Li River is Karst country and this is what I had come to see.

We pulled into the charming little tourist town of Yangshou early in the afternoon. It had been a stunning journey but this was not my final destination for the day. My hotel, the Yangshou Mountain Retreat was an undetermined distance from town and I was having trouble finding a cab that would take me. I SCRAMBLED to find a solution and arrived with my usual aplomb and dignity.

The retreat is just what I need and I am looking forward to unwinding for a day or two doing just what I did today – sitting quietly by the river watching the boats pass by.

WooHoo!