I’ve mentioned before that Gerald and I consider ourselves travelers, not tourists, but sometimes we stop taking ourselves so seriously and make concessions. Well, it was that time again, that time when we open our wallets and pray that those red hundreds we throw to the wind will yield something Worth Seeing.

Since we chose to visit Jade Dragon Snow Mountain (JDSM, not to be confused with BDSM) instead of going to Tiger Leaping Gorge (which I also really wanted to see), I was adamant that JDSM had better be pretty damned fantastic. Or else! Because everyone knows when you emptily threaten an inanimate object, you get what you want. It’s a bit like traveler’s road rage.

We headed out first thing in the morning to catch the bus to the ticket booth at the base of the mountain. In China, most non-city busses have what I call Bus Marms. Bus Marms are women, not drivers, who handle fare collection, get off the bus to check in with the police stations along the road, and, when necessary, tongue lash passengers.

On this day, the Bus Marm promptly launched into a speech, her words dripping with the confusing local accent, informing us that the tickets for the ski lift to the glacier at the top of JDSM may or may not be sold out by the time we got there—there was no way to know. So you could take this convenient mule to the top for only 300 kuai. Did anyone want to get off? No? Really? Are you sure? The tickets may or may not be sold out, and then you’re screwed!

She didn’t convince anyone.

And then she launched into something really confusing about which tickets you buy. Even the Chinese people were confused! But remember that 80 kuai park preservation fee we avoided the day before? Yeah, I learned we’d have to pay that that day in addition to the 70ish kuai entrance fee that you pay just to go see if the ski lift tickets are sold out or not. So much for beating the system.

Having already paid 150 kuai each, Gerald and I got to the base camp just before 11 and got in line to buy tickets for the ski lift. At that point, they were selling tickets that left to go up to the ski lift at 12:30.

While I was sitting on a bench, a lady from Xishuangbanna in the south of Yunnan started talking to me because I was “so pretty” and gave me her contact info so that, should I find myself in Xishuangbanna, I could stay with her family. She also pointed out her son, who by the way is also very tall, is not married and has no girlfriend, hint hint.

This country would love nothing more than for me to have a Chinese boyfriend.

When 12:30 rolled around, we boarded a bus that took us up part of the mountain so that we could stand in line to take the ski lift to the glacier at the top.

Mmmm, lines! So far, I had dropped nearly 400 kuai to wait. Not Worth It. But I held out hope.

We stood in line for about an hour, watching Tom and Jerry cartoons on the TV. I kept myself occupied observing a very good-looking young couple. They had a nice vibe going, opening food packets for each other, holding things, reading each other’s signals. And they were pretty. I get shallow when I’m bored.

Finally we piled into a lift car with four other people. Can you hear the shutter button clicking?

Taking pictures out a window usually results in crappy pictures.

But when you’ve got this all around you,

is taking pictures really an option?

No.

It is a mandate.

It took about ten minutes to get to the summit lodge, which was about 4300 meters (14,100 feet) above sea level. For a bit of reference, Denver is at 1579 meters (5183 feet) above sea level.

So, JDSM, kind of high? Yeah. They make good money at this place selling oxygen tanks that look like air horns. Almost every party was walking around with at least one of these. About half the people up there used one, so half the people up there sounded like Darth Vader.

Gerald and I did not buy one—they seemed a bit extreme. Though I must admit that I was a little worried about how my body would react. In Lhasa (3650 meters aka 11.975 feet above sea level)I suffered fairly severe Acute Mountain Sickness. Sitting and doing nothing was painful, standing up was daunting and induced dizziness, and crossing the room to vomit was nearly impossible. Eventually I gave up and just remained on the bathroom floor.

I don’t sound as cool as James Earl Jones, so I decided to forgo the oxygen tank and take it slow. Gerald could have pulled it off, though—the Austrian Darth Vader.

I know it doesn’t look it, but it was really cold. Really. Freakin’. Cold. And windy. I was so glad I’d been lugging that down jacket around the tropics.

I had never seen a glacier before.

There aren’t a lot of them in the Sonoran Desert.

It was pretty amazing.

But it didn’t do much. It moved like a glaci—oh… so THAT’S where that comes from.

Slowly but surely (glacially?), we ascended.

There were a lot of great signs. This one is a literal translation and I still can’t figure out what it actually means:

Don’t be a glacier bully!

This reads: It is strictly prohibited to acquire Ices, snow, stones and plants in the scenery zone.”

What if I acquire only one Ice?

At the bottom this one reads, “Energy Makes up flushes.”

Say wha–?

Read it carefully: (click to enlarge)

I shudder to think about ’seal level.’

Gerald asked me to take his picture a number of times, and naturally I acquiesced. He later teased me for taking so many pictures of him. Um, Gerald? Are you practicing to become a politician or something?

I call these The Ten Faces of Gerald. He’s got more expressions than Tyra Banks, such as:

“I am protected by the enormity of your stupidity.” [Name that movie!]

“Why yes, I WAS in the last issue of GQ. Why do you ask?”

“That’s right, I’m mixing black and brown and I am BRINGING it, girlfriends.”*snap*snap*snap*

“I may look natural and relaxed, but I’ve actually been practicing this look in the mirror for weeks.”

“I might be smiling but I am filled with schadenfreude. You are too blind to recognize your misfortunes, fools!”

“The hills are aliiiiiiieeeiiiiiiive..with the sound of muuuuusiiiiiiic…”

“Triumph, mensches. I have arrived.”

“I am altering the deal. Pray I don’t alter it any further.” [Insert evil cackle]

“If I pose for this photo and Hu Jintao sees it on ellis’ blog, I will get SO many brownie points. Hey HJT, have your people call my people, we’ll do lunch and maybe KTV after that, yeah? Par-tay with The Party!”

“The hills are alive with the sound of music and they are SO out of tune. Damn that echo.”

But then I made/let Gerald take my picture without my camera in front of my face.

When we got to the top, a lot of strangers wanted to take pictures with the waiguo rens.

We went through a lot of pictures with strangers before we could actually take a picture together.

Aren’t we pretty?

Here an elevation of 4680 metres. And a strange totem pole.

I’ll let you caption these photos yourself.

The difference in altitude was really apparent—my heart rate is a little slower than normal but it was noticeably faster and heavier. After walking up about 15 stairs my heart would be hammering in my ears and I would have to stop and rest. While we were in line to head down, I felt like my head was squeezed between the closing doors of an elevator. I was faint, my hear rate was too high, and I felt nauseous. All this after only two hours of oxygen deprivation; I don’t think that my body is meant for such high places.

Gerald, on the other hand, practically bounced up the stairs and back down again. He said he could have gone for a run. Jerk. The Dark Side comes with a lot of benefits, apparently.

Obviously, JDSM was pretty Worth It. Even Gerald, the world’s most curmudgeonly tourist, agreed and grumbled nary a word about the cost of the expedition.

For dinner that night we headed to a restaurant called Lamu’s House of Tibet, which got rave reviews from many travelers and travel sources. I love Tibetan food (once I overcame that Acute Mountain Sickness I ate so much Tibetan food I practically turned into a yak) so I was excited to relive that.

Except…not so much. The food was really westernized. Or maybe just bland. We started with some tsampa, the grain staple of Tibet. It came in pretty molded shapes.

Interestingly, I never ate tsampa in Tibet. I was too busy sucking down yak, curry potatoes, fried cow lung, and plated heart disease.

Next we went for some fried potatoes.

Boring.

Next up, curry chicken. I realize that this is not Tibetan (the place also featured plenty of Western food like pizza and spaghetti), but it had been almost four moths since I had even seen the word ‘curry,’ so I got a bit caught up in all the excitement.

It was curry-esque, in that there was some curry powder in it. But it was weak and watery and didn’t have much taste, which is kind of the opposite of everything a curry should be.

And then we got an order of vegetable momos. Momos are Tibetan dumplings. Usually they’re pretty heavy, with a thicker, slightly breadier skin (at least the ones I had) and are heavy on the meat.

These were disappointing! They were wrapped in what seemed to be jiaozi dumpling skins, not in momo dough. These momos were nonos. Definitely nogos unless you’re a Hoho-eating loco bozo from SoHo who drives a Volvo and wears Polos or you’re a gangsta (yoyo!) pirate (yoho!) dodo with no mojo looking for a solo to-go meal.

Fo sho.

Tags: Gerald, Lijiang, travel, Yunnan