A little Lijiang goes a long way

"You'll get lost," she crooned. Her palms mitted a handful of flyers for cheap guesthouses, tours, and the like. Not another tout. We had just bused in from Dali, and Lonely Planet, for all it's fucking attitude, didn't seem to know where we were.  The sign in front of us flaunted Old Town, but how far we needed to go and in which direction we needed to be to find a place to sleep for the night – beats me.

I plunged into the maze. Thank goodness, the others followed. First impression for Lijiang? Daunting.  I suppose the town planners didn't really think of tourists or a grid system in the 1200s. Cobblestone roads metastasized into alleys – alleys into dead-ends. Roads erupted into a confusing tangle of side-streets. Perhaps we should have listened to the old crone. 

Second impression? I think Lijiang held the record for number of Chinese tourists in one place.  It's hard enough to avoid the flag waving tour groups, red-faced tantrumed kids, and the annoying slow Asian amble – try doing that with a full-size backpack in narrow 13th century streets.  And for inexplicable reasons, Asian tourists liked to stop mid-stride, wave bunny-ears in the air, and take pictures of themselves in front of signs,  shop windows, and the startled townsfolk. 

Yes, I'm sure the interested friends and family back home would know that you went to Lijiang without you having to be in front of the fucking sign that says 'Ancient Town of Lijiang'.

Third impression? It was like Disneyland, if Disneyland were created by some Chinese dude with a fixation for 'cute' and 'quaint'.  Kitsch.  It was definitely kitsch. 

Streams criss-crossed the town through a series of canals that lined the ancient streets, flowing from the Jade Dragon Snow Mountains.  Stone bridges arched over brooks and the brooks teemed with fishes, yellow and gold; willow trees crouched over waters, murmuring secrets with the visiting breezes.  Verandas looked over the streets, and the streets flowed onto plazas, where old men sat puffing on long bamboo pipes, women huddled in groups and infants took their first steps.

In the early mornings, I often saw grandmothers in their blue and white dresses, bent under heavy packs, tottering around corners before disappearing into un-named courtyards on un-named streets.

The cafes and galleries and curios have followed the tourists, their tables and paintings and knick knacks in all-too-plain view. Oh yes, the tourists. They were everywhere – like ants – they crawled into the bookshops and the bakeries and the bars.  They swarmed around the Naxi inhabitants, the town's landmarks, and postcard-photo opportunities, armed with flashing bulbs, frozen smiles and cute poses.

At night, paper lanterns float down the streams while we sat above on a patio with our 'Dali' beers. Red lanterns glowed, like bright cocoons, along the street.  A World Cup match fizzled in the background, interrupted by shouts of revelers.  Towards midnight, like the warring Capulets and Montagues, Chinese men and women hang from balconies opposite each other and shouted songs, chants and impromptu melodies, battling and flirting with each other while the waters underneath continued to flow passed, over pebbles and stones and rocks.

We sat, mouths gaped, dealing kings and jacks and hearts, with cakes half-eaten – trying to record in our heads the reflections in the water, the way the lanterns swung, or how the waitresses leaned against the door (tired and beat), waiting for the drunk patrons to go home.

We walked uncertainly home, when the shops have shuttered their doors and the streets are silent; above, the stars sung their usual songs while the mountains below strained to listen.  The local beer was not good (sweet beers almost never are). Our bellies full, our minds dulled, and our senses knocked into oblivion... Lijiang had flirted with and had captured our imaginations.

Like a girl too cute to be taken seriously but too cute to ignore, Lijiang was a good stop on the way to higher ground, to more serious adventures.  For all it's kitsch, I liked Lijiang.  In fact, I liked it so much that I stopped there again, after my trip into north Yunnan.