The guesthouse, named Gudaoyuan (古道原) is located in a newly constructed extension of the old town, right by the yet to be formally "opened" South Gate. There was a lot of construction and renovation going on in this brand new part of "old town", where everyone was getting ready for the quickly approaching national holiday week. The holiday week is a great event for tourism oriented Lijiang. Just a year ago, said Mr. Zou, he along with 3000 tourists were stuck in Lijiang without lodging for the holiday week. Having spent a night in his car, he decided to open a guesthouse in Lijiang himself, so that "at least my friends will have a place to stay."

Many people had a similar idea. Since the year before, countless inns and guesthouses had sprouted around town, along with restaurants and souvenir shops, which were quite numerous to begin with. The "South Gate" district was so new that many houses were yet to be leased out -- only locals could own real estate in Lijiang, while outsiders, who actually comprise the majority of business people, must lease their establishments. Mr. Zou is from Kunming. He and his friends had just driven a whole day to get here to prepare for the holidays. He talked about the difficulty of doing business here -- just to get the high speed internet ready would take much dealing with the bureaucracy, and still may take weeks. What if his guests show up in the holidays with their laptops? he was a little worried.

Gudaoyuan, like all the buildings in the district, were built in the traditional style. It has a cobble stone courtyard surrounded by two-storied structures on all sides. The almost brand new guestrooms are equipped like any standard hotel room. From our window, looking beyond the square and surrounding houses, we could see mountains on the horizon.

The courtyard is the center of the guesthouse, a place for guests and staff to socialize, as well as just sit back and relax. When we came back from a stroll in the old town that night, Zou and his friends and staff were all sitting around in the courtyard, snacking on pomegranates and chestnuts. They invited us to join them. One of Zou's friends, Mr. Long, is a seasoned traveler who also speaks fluent English. He had traveled quite a bit around Lijiang and he was planning on a 40-day trekking trip up to Sichuan and back. Matthew was impressed, and found the idea of trekking in China quite attractive.

Talking about the attractions of Lijiang, Zou was of the opinion that it was a place to simply relax. Forget about the tourist attractions such as the Jade Dragon Snow Mountain and so on, the best thing to do was to stroll the old town at leisure, sit down with a cup of tea, and enjoy doing nothing.

He's got a point, as we found out in our short stay here, Lijiang did seem like a relaxing place. Paradoxically, the old town was a bustling place, with rows of little shops, all kinds of cafes and restaurants, and thousands of tourists from everywhere. But despite the commercialism, there was a sense of calm, and almost serenity in Lijiang. Nobody seemed to be in a hurry here, and everyone appeared good-natured and content. Was it because of the beautiful location, surrounded by other-worldly mountains? Was it the fresh mountain air and the lovely spring water that runs through the old town in ever-present little canals? Was it the calming atmosphere of the ancient structures, looking just as one imagined what old China should look like? Or was it the easygoing and colorful local people?

No matter what the reason, the place was quite delightful. At first sight, I felt the old town to be a strange combination of a museum and a shopping mall. That reminded me of a city far away on the shores of the Mediterranean -- Venice. Despite the obvious differences, it has the same combination, another touristy place that is ancient, beautiful, and with water everywhere.

Unlike the sea water of Venice, the water which runs through the ubiquitous Lijiang canals comes from a spring in a park just north of the town. While we were at the park, Matthew followed some locals' advice and collected a bottle of the spring water to drink. This drinkable spring water is of course clear and pure. Although by the time it get to the old town it is no longer directly drinkable, it still looks limpid and pretty in the canals, adding greatly to the charms of the old town. And the canals are functional too, as the water source for the townspeople. In the mornings, we often see people congregating by the water, getting their daily supplies and doing their washings.

Lijiang Old Town, or Dayan Town has a history of over 800 years. It is one of the few places in China with well-preserved old style buildings and streets. The secret of its preservation lies in its geographical isolation. Surprisingly, one of the treasures preserved by Lijiang's isolation was music. Not only local Naxi music, but also classical Han style music from the Tang and Song dynasties, dating from the 7th century. Because of Lijiang's isolation, the music did not make it here until some 600 years ago, when the Ming Emperor recruited the local Naxi chief as an ally in an attempt to prevent any possible alliance between the Mongolians he had just ousted and the Tibetans neighbouring Lijiang. The music came with the immigration brought by the Ming administration and stayed. Thanks to the open-mindedness of the Naxi people, the music (as well as many other aspects of Han culture) was absorbed into the local culture and flourished in Lijiang, while it pretty much disappeared elsewhere in China.

We went to the concert given by the Naxi Ancient Music Society, conducted by Mr. Xuan Ke. This is a really popular affair, and tickets were not cheap (interestingly, the tickets came with a generous life insurance of 1,000,000 yuan per person-- about US$125,000, which made us wonder what could happen to us during the concert). The concert is famous because of not just the ancient music, but the musicians as well, some of them quite ancient themselves -- 5 of the performers in our concert were over 80 years old. In fact, the orchestra has been losing its musicians to old age at a steady rate. Though those who passed away still have a presence in the concert hall, with their pictures lining the wall above the stage.

But the most famous, and the most interesting aspect of the concert is still its founder and director, Mr. Xuan. "Only" seventy-five, he was very energetic and one of the most entertaining Masters of Ceremonies I have ever seen. In fact, later I was told that usually half of the audience would go to a concert just to see him. Witty and outspoken, he shared many amusing anecdotes throughout the concert, in both English and Chinese (in his previous life, he was an English and music teacher in the local high school). But his anecdotes were more often in Chinese than in English -- for cultural context and linguistic reasons some things just do not make as much sense in a different language. However, one of the things he let slip in Chinese, which I translated for Matthew, was rather astonishing -- for his honesty and outspokenness, Mr. Xuan had been "invited" to prison and spent 24 years there during the politically extreme years including the cultural revolution. Luckily, he had not lost one bit of his spirit in spite of the ordeal. He had organized the orchestra from scratch and led it to great success. Nowadays he is famous, and the orchestra has traveled around the world. Strongly opinionated, he still speaks his mind, whether it pleases everyone or not.

Some of the classical music they played has a Taoist influence, with ethereal sounds, while others are melancholy songs speaking of loss and deepest sadness. To watch the elderly musicians playing their ancient instrument with apparent devotion was quite affecting. There was also a local Naxi song, sang by a Naxi girl with a soaring soprano voice.

It was the Mid Autumn festival that night, a traditional holiday when mooncakes are served. When we came out of the concert, the moon was hiding behind the clouds, but the mood on the streets was still festive. In the Sifang Square at the center of the town, people were dancing in circles. Laughter and singing could be heard from every bar and cafe lining the streets and canals. All this merrymaking was not restricted to the festival, but a common occurence every day. Another night while we were strolling the streets, we saw a group of people sitting around a guitar player and singing together. We were invited to join in and Matthew entertained everyone by singing the only Chinese song he knows -- "The Two Tigers".

One of the delights of Lijiang is shopping. There were a zillion souvenir shops around town, neat and colorful little shopfronts lining the old streets. I could hardly imagine how they could all sell out their stuff, but there were also many, many tourists who were constantly in a happy buying mood. Even Matthew, who was normally allergic to shopping, was for once enthusiastic about it. Business seemed good, and expected to improve tremendously in the coming holiday week. Prices would at least double in that period, too.

Prices were varied and bargaining was to be expected, which could be fun for those good at it. But most of the trinkets and clothing were pretty cheap, even if you could not get the best bargain. And if you ended up buying nothing, the shop owners would usually still say goodbye to you with a smile and wish you well. This attitude probably helped sales as well, and was consistent with the general content mood of everyone in Lijiang. With very rare exceptions, people were happy and calm in Lijiang -- the locals, the business owners from elsewhere, as well as the tourists.

Perhaps it all started with the local Naxi people, who seemed to be a open-minded and friendly bunch. We were told that the locals had always been friendly to outsiders, and they were no strangers to foreigners -- during World War II, the group of American pilots called the Flying Tigers had a base near Lijiang. When tourism was not yet the mainstay of Lijiang, the locals were kind to the occasional travelers, often inviting them to their homes. Today, though there are thousands of tourists around, this tradition is still living on. As the little shops in town usually served the purpose of dining room, as well as workshop and kitchen for the operators, at dinner time we would sometimes pass shops with the shopkeepers eating their meals inside. Twice we had been invited to sit down and share their meal -- such hospitality to strangers was truly amazing.

Since we were not lucky enough to make it here three years ago, we decided to still make the trip when it is somewhat worthwhile. So the next morning we showed up at Li's bike rental outfit at Mu's Mansion, recommended by the girl at the guesthouse. Li, a man of many talents, produced a copy of his hand-drawn tourist map along with two bikes, and showed us the way to Shuhe. (Besides being a bike renter and map-artist, Li has another skill and hobby, which we would find out later by running into him playing his guitar and singing with his friends on the street, and we sang "The Two Tigers" with him. He could play quite a lot of songs.)

Our trip did not start happily, however. Almost as soon as we left, it started to drizzle, which quickly turned into a downpour, so we scrambled under someone's doorway to wait out the rain. Soon the rain stopped and we resumed biking. But bumping along the wet stone paved alleys of the old town on a bike was certainly not the most comfortable things in the world. My butt was noticing the effect very quickly, and Matthew had an extra complaint about the height of the seat, which had been duely adjusted, but without satisfactory result -- these bikes were just not designed for people over 6 feet tall.

As we got out of the old town onto smooth road, the biking became much easier. And I was starting to enjoy it -- it was the first time I biked in China in more than 10 years! Then the rain started again, and we repeated our waiting-out-under-doorway strategy. But as the rain drizzled on, we decided to continue biking with our ponchos (flimsy but extremely light weight plastic-bags saved from a previous visit to Niagara falls!) which were good enough for a light rain.

After a while, we were in the country side, and the road became narrower and bumpier, and the only other "vehicle" besides us was an ox pulled cart. We realized that we had gotten lost and had to turn back. This time we found the correct road, which was straight and smooth. At this point, the rain had finally stopped, but we were somewhat wet, and tired from bumping on the ox path, and Matthew's face was looking especially grim from suffering the low seat of the bike. But the country air was fresh, the sun was starting to shine, and clouds cleared to reveal pretty mountain peaks ringing the valley, and the scenery along the road was decidedly bucolic. And soon we reached a brand new boulevard that heads straight to an equally new big gate, labeled "Shuhe".

At the gate was a ticket booth, but we biked in without being charged. Inside the gate were a grid of new houses and stone paved streets, complete with the ubiquitous Lijiang mini-canals. It looked like a newly constructed version of Lijiang "old town", even newer than our "South Gate" division. Hardly anything had opened yet, but one can imagine what the place will be like in three years -- cafes, guesthouses, restaurants, souvenirs. Now it was curiously empty. The place was quite big, after walking our bikes for blocks upon blocks, we finally reached an older-looking section, where locals were peddling apples and snacks on the plaza. Behind the plaza was a bridge. This was the place where Li had told me to park our bikes -- across the bridge is the true old village of Shuhe. We bought an apple and some potatos and sausages on sticks, then asked around: where can we park our bikes?

A man in a fur-lined outfit with a horse told us to leave the bikes by the wall, saying he would keep an eye on them for us. What if he gets a customer for his horse? Don't worry, he assured us, the customers are not coming yet, not for another couple of hours. So we locked our bikes, ate our apple, and walked across the bridge to the old village of Shuhe.

Finally rid of the uncomfortable bike, with an authentic looking old village spreading out in front of us across the river, and surrounded by the pretty countryside, Matthew was looking much happier. Although the village already had a bit of a touristy look that came with the guesthouses and cafes, it still had a cozy atmosphere that seemed to have remained from ages past. The streets were lined with not just guesthouses and cafes, but many local homes as well. Local women were washing their vegetables in the clear stream, which was also used by some smart cafe operator to cool a couple of beers. Old ladies were sitting out on their doorsteps, chatting with each other and enjoying the sun. One thing puzzled me: quite a few of the homes had a funeral sign on their front doors, along with couplets eulogizing the loss of a parent. The funeral signs were written on paper of different colors: red, yellow, blue. How could so many homes be suffering a loss at the same time? It turned out that the local custom here was to display the funeral sign for three years, with a different color representing the time since the loss -- for example, red means the first year, etc.

There were only a few tourists around, and the cafes and guesthouses that line the main street were quiet. Even these establishments looked more laid back than in Lijiang. They were mostly tastefully decorated with flowers and country style furniture -- very bourgeois. The cafe we sat in was opened by an artist, whose mother was taking care of the store. Blue Mountain coffee was served here, which was quite good but definitely priced for tourists. Another cafe we walked by was playing a Bach concerto, which attracted our attention -- this one was operated by a Korean girl.

To think about it, it was quite a contrast, the laid-back but decidedly stylish cafes and the local homes with the old ladies sunning on their doorsteps. Yet they seemed to co-exist pleasantly enough -- the cafes did not seem to stand out too much, and the old ladies were indifferent to the occasional tourist. Will this change in another three years? Certainly. Will the locals resent the change? That was the question Matthew wanted to ask, and it was answered by a Naxi Lijianger whom we met later. Growing up in Lijiang, he has seen the difference tourism development made and thinks that in general the changes are for the better, and for most local people, life is improving. For example, the people who lived around the famous Sifang Square in Lijiang used to be the most destitute, so poor that sometimes they had to scavenge for food. Now they are the richest, the owners of the best real estate in town. The developments have brought opportunities and jobs to lijiang, and the locals do not resent that.

Across the street back at the plaza, we retrieved our bikes and thanked the horse guy, who claimed to be "a Naxi from head to toe". Once again we were struck by the friendliness of the people here, locals or outsiders. On our way out, we were invited to sit down and chat at a newly opened tea house.

We took an alternate route back to Lijiang, through a newly constructed wide street, which was lined with brand new villa style condominiums -- more proof that Lijiang is changing, and at a fast pace. Just looking at those condos, we could be in North America. The earth is a small planet and it is becoming smaller yet. Will it be the same everywhere in the future? Progress is certainly a good thing, but we hope that progress will leave some room for uniqueness -- something that brought the world to Lijiang in the first place.

Ignorant as I was, I had never heard of the place before, and was fascinated by the account given by the book. According to the author, Shigu might as well be one of the most important place in the whole China. In fact, if not for the existence of Shigu, or rather, a mountain that happened to be in Shigu, the whole history of China could have been different.

The Yangtze River has been rushing down the high plateau for almost 1000 miles when it passes by the town. It has been pouring relentlessly southward, and would have gone on southward, if not for the mountain in Shigu that stood right in its way. In Shigu, the Yangtze dramatically turned 180 degrees and headed north instead.

I remember vaguely from my middle school geography, three great rivers run parallel down this corner of Yunnan, the Salween, the Mekong, and the Yangtze. The other two both flow on to Southeast Asia, but only the Yangtze remains in China, after turning suddenly north. Suppose there was no mountain in Shigu to change the river's course, the author argued, the Yangtze would certainly have continued flowing south, just as the other two great rivers, and China would have lost its greatest river that has nurtured 4000 years of civilization. Imagine that! A China without the Yangtze -- what a curious thought.

Another spot along the river that the book described also fascinated me. Hutiaoxia (the Tiger Leaping Gorge) is much more famous than the obscure Shigu. In fact from what I heard it has become a major tourist spot these days, for both tour groups and backpackers. In the book, it is described as "the most dramatic sight on the entire route of the river", where during twelve miles the river falls at least six hundred feet, a drop more like a waterfall than of a river rapid. The cliffs on both sides rise up to mountains as high as 12000 feet. That sounded like an awesome sight. I had also read from many accounts on the internet describing the excellent trekking route to the Gorge and was seriously tempted to go. Mr. Long at the guesthouse also encouraged us to go there -- in fact, he recommanded the Gorge as the number 1 must-see place around Lijiang.

However, just before we left for China, I found out that there had been serious rock and mud slides in the summer resulting in fatalities (a tour bus was supposedly crushed by a house sized boulder). Some roads were destroyed, and the more accessible "lower route" had been closed indefinitely. The only way in would be a strenuous 2 day trek. Due to lack of time and my lack of confidence in performing a strenuous hike at this point, it seemed unlikely that we would see Hutiaoxia this time.

Luckily, our second last night in Lijiang, we saw Zou's friend Mr. Guan, who is in the travel business. He mentioned that the road to Hutiaoxia had just been opened, and if we were interested then he would refer a driver to take us there. We could also visit some other places along the way, which include Shigu.

That was great news! The next morning we set out on the road to the Yangtze with Xiao Ma, the driver Mr. Guan referred. Xiao Ma is a competent driver and his Volkswagen was roomy and comfortable. He was also a pretty good tour guide. Starting from Matthew's standard first question "are you a Naxi?" he answered our numerous questions about Naxi culture. We learned quite a bit: how Naxi women are traditionally the main work force of the society, doing most of the work on the farms as well as in the markets (90% of the butchers in the Lijiang market today are women); their traditional dress reflects their diligence -- the stars on their sheep skin cape represent Naxi women starting a days work when the stars are still out, and the moon ornament they wear symbolizes the women coming home only when the moon rises; the men in contrast mostly lead a leisurely life, although some of them do learn the more technical trades; Xiao Ma also told us a bit about the Moso, a branch of the Naxi, whose society is matriarchal.

The road zigzagged, winding through the mountains. Turning around one corner, the scenery opened up in front of us: beneath us among the foothills we could just glimpse a river. Xiao Ma stopped the car on the shoulder of the road. "That is the River of Golden Sand," he said. The Yangtze River! Three thousand miles away from the sea, here it is called the River of Golden Sand.

Descending down the hills, we passed an overlook with a lot of tourists -- this is the spot advertised as the lookout for "First Bend of the Yangtze River". But you cannot really see the First Bend from here, said Xiao Ma, and we did not stop. Later we would go to Shigu, where the First Bend really is. First we were going to Hutiaoxia.

As we drove along the River of Golden Sand, it grew noticeably warmer -- we were now at a much lower altitude than Lijiang, and the climate is quite different. The river banks even had a little bit of tropical look about them. We were going to the "middle rapids" of Hutiaoxia, where the 2-mile long path along the river had just been reopened. Happily, not many people had found out about the reopening. Though the path was not completely deserted, it was blissfully free of the big tour groups that usually crowd a site like this, and we got to enjoy the wonder of the gorge with very few people in it.

At the beginning of the path, the river was moving at a fast pace, but still quite smooth. It was the cliffs that were more impressive at this point. We were on the right bank of the river, where the path was carved right into the rocky cliffs that soar directly up. Above and behind the cliffs was the Jade Dragon Mountain that stretched up to the sky. All along the path signs as well as helmet clad security staff were posted at strategic spots warning travelers to beware of potential falling rocks. We were urged to stay close to the cliffs and pass quickly. We could see fallen rocks scattered down by the river. Walking on the path, there was a real sense of potential danger. Our park entrance tickets actually included insurance, too. But only for 400,000 yuan, way below the generous amount that came with the concert in Lijiang!

After a while, the gorge narrowed further and rapids started forming. The water no longer flowed smoothly but rushed down in a frothy frenzy. Just before the "Tiger Leaping Stone" -- a rock in midstream which the legendary tiger used as a stepping stone to leap across the river, a stream of clear water of the palest green cascaded down the side of the mountain and joined the muddy river down below, thundering past the "Stone" into the depth of the gorge.

The river is at a very narrow point here, no more than 50 feet wide. Across the white horses of the torrent, we could see the other bank clearly -- the viewing platform there was wet with spray and totally deserted. One could easily imagine a tiger leaping over the gorge here. The water level was so high that the Tiger Leaping Stone was almost submerged in the white water. Watching the mighty river squeezing itself through the cleft between the towering mountains and roaring down the gorge, and almost feeling the spray of the raging waters, it was truly a spectacular sight and a powerful experience.

Leaving Hutiaoxia, we backtracked up the river, then followed a bumpy road which was under construction to the town of Shigu, where the River made its hairpin turn. It was a quiet place; and the mountain that changed the course of the great river (and perhaps even the history of China) was not imposing -- it just stood solemnly at its strategic spot, facing the river. The river performed its dramatic turn smoothly, its waters swift but calm.

Our last stop was Lake Lashihai (拉市海), a lake in the mountains close to Lijiang. Every year, thousands of migrating birds come here to winter. But it was not the migrating season yet, and the lake was quiet with just a few local birds. On the grassy shore, there were a handful of tourists trying their hands at horseback riding. It was picturesque and peaceful.

Thus ended our explorations around Lijiang. There are still so many places to see and things to do: Lugu Lake where the Mosos live; Zhongdian (the newly proclaimed Shangrila) and the mysterious Meili Snow mountain; and the high trekking path of Tiger Leaping gorge... We will have to come back to Lijiang, someday.