In our drugged stupor last night we’d neglected the simple precaution of checking out the night before, in view of our early departure, but luckily we got away with it, for I was able to find someone. It was a cramped bus ride out to the lake, but no worse. I was delighted when, crossing a big, open plain, we spotted some camels, completely at liberty, tho’ presumably not exactly wild, grazing. One can imagine the curious-looking beasts, laden down + plodding across the dunes of a desert, but not grazing happily like horses, cows or sheep.
There was a breakfast stop along the way, most welcome, as dumplings were on offer, along with, it must be said, pretty much anything else you could want, assuming you’re Chinese. I had a plateful of my favourite, but didn’t enjoy them so much. The unthinkable is happening, + they are beginning to bore me.
Immediately we reached the lake, after a tortuous climb up the twisting mountain road, we lingered only briefly to appreciate + photograph the view – Swiss Alps, + stunningly impressive, especially for China: blue-green lake, fir tree forested slopes, snow-peaked mountains, + blue sky (the weather was perfect) – before setting out to walk to the other end of the lake. Mary had been here recently + had given us detailed instructions. The path she advised involved staying as close as possible to the water’s edge. This meant a bit of a scramble, + worst of all, at one point a short wade thro’ the edge of the lake itself – we had been warned, to be fair. Val took to it like a duck, but I was so affected by the cold that it hurt physically, + my heart raced. I scrambled across the slippery rocks as fast as I could, almost whimpering with the pain. It didn’t seem as bad once it was over, of course, + I felt almost ashamed of myself.
From there on there was a proper path, so we soon found ourselves at the small clearing at the other end, having only to cross the single-log bridge across the really quite violent stream. To my relief, I coped with this with a good deal more confidence than Val could muster, thereby regaining some self-respect. On the other side was a square tent, + beyond that some yurts. Yurts are the accommodation put up by the local Kazaks, + are shaped a little like army bell-tents, only with higher side-walls + no central tent-pole, but having animal skins stretched over a lightweight wooden frame. These 4 were of the homogenised, sanitized variety, having been put up specifically for tourists with a metal frame + wooden, lockable doors. It was our intention, however, to skip these + head on up the valley to where the real thing was being lived in by real families, + to stay with one of them. We had a sketch map that Mary had drawn for us, so didn’t foresee any problem in finding our way… in this we were to be mistaken.
The map said we should continue up the valley before crossing the river by an improvised bridge. All very well, except that we couldn’t find the bridge, + the water looked too deep + fierce to be waded easily. We felt very frustrated + rather stupid, wandering back + forth along the river bank. In the end we thought we must have made some mistake, + carried on up along the left-hand bank, but this soon led us astray as the path began to wind into an entirely separate valley. It wasn’t going at all where we wanted to go, so we turned back, + searched up + down the river another time, in case the bridge had magically re-appeared, I suppose, before finally admitting defeat, + returning to the lake to book one of the yurts for the night. It had not been at all an unpleasant walk, but our frustrated hopes had rather spoiled the day. We had left one pack in Urumqi, thank God , but carrying the other, especially when it was largely to no purpose, had quite exhausted me.
We sat in the sunshine while the sun still had some power, but a chill wind off the lake soon came up, driving us first into the canteen tent for some tea, + then I at least took to my bed, to keep out the cold + rest my aching limbs. Inside then yurt it was very comfortable. Tent-style, but luxurious, with thin mattress, sheets + quilts – almost exotic, in fact.
At 8 o’clock we were called to dinner + there met the only other 2 guests in the place, Peter + Hillary, a VSO couple teaching English. They were quiet but nice, + were able to put us right on going up the valley. The bridge had been washed away (aha!), so we would have to catch a ride across with a passing horseman… for a fee.
And after a day of lassitude, off we go again, to sample the pleasures of Lake Dianchi. All seemed to be going very smoothly, when as is quite normal for us, we managed to get lost. Not entirely our fault, as we were to discover – a missing bridge is a pretty big omission – but sufficient to remind ourselves of our own (frequent) fallibility.
