Where In The World Is Evan?

In accordance with the deal we’d struck with Sergio, he returned to Chengdu, while the three of us went out on a day trip to visit a Tibetan monastery. By the time we’d woken, Sergio’s bus had already departed, so we grabbed some breakfast and walked down to meet the guides. As our trip today did not involve an overnight stay we weren’t carrying much luggage and were able to actually ride the horses, as opposed to the luggage. Before we could leave, however, Olen and I made a quick dash down the street to buy cowboy hats, as neither of us wanted our sunburn to get worse.

After a couple of hours of riding we came upon the beautiful Tibetan monastery that was our destination for the day. Dismounting the horses at the entrance to the grounds, we left the guides to set up lunch and wandered about. As we circled the buildings in a clock-wise fashion–that being the only appropriate way to circumnavigate Buddhist temples–we encountered several gnarled old women, doing their prayer rounds. Climbing to the top of hill on which sat the temple’s stupa, we surveyed the region around us and marveled at its beauty.

Feeling a little hungry, we started walking down towards where lunch was being prepared. On the way we encountered a young Buddhist boy, who gave as a tour of the temple complex. Through the few words we had in common, he was able to communicate that he had painted much of the recent artwork that decorated the beautiful temples. After taking some photos with the boy, we wandered over to get some lunch. Before lunch was served we gave our guides some traditional Chinese presents–a bottle of baijiu each, and a carton of cigarettes–to show our appreciation at the great job they had done. After eating another splendid meal Olen and I mounted our horses, crossed a small river that ran beside the temple, and started to explore the mountain on the other side. Unfortunately Dickie reigned us back in when he deemed the path we were on to be too dangerous. As we arrived back in Songpan a Muslim funeral procession was winding its way, on foot, up into the mountains. This encounter seemed to cause Dickie quite a bit of embarrassment–as a practicing Muslim it probably didn’t play well for him to be seen getting about without the Muslim hat and attire that he’d worn every other day of the trek.

After arriving back in town we ran into Mike Lee, the manager of the horse trekking company. Mike seems to be the de facto mayor of Songpan, based upon his status as the best English speaker in town. He has a finger in almost every pie available, and is always to be found scooting about town on his motor scooter. We inquired with Mike as to the best places to get a hair cut and a massage. We were all feeling a little dirty and tired, and wanted to pamper ourselves as a reward for our days of hard days of trekking. Arriving at the hairdresser that Mike recommended, it soon became apparent why they were Mike’s first choice. Like most brothels masquerading as hairdressers they were staffed almost exclusively by beautiful young women.

I don’t believe I’ve described the process involved in a Chinese hair cut before, but it certainly warrants a detailed mention. To being with they shampoo your hair while you’re sitting in the cutting chair, by slowly dripping water into your dry hair and massaging it in. This process is very relaxing, and lasts for about five minutes. Following the hair rinse, over a basin in a reclining chair, you’re often given a ten-minute head, face and eye massage. You’re then brought back out for the hair cut, after which they wash your hair a second time (to remove all those annoying bits of hair) and return you to the cutting chair. Bending you over the bench they then give you a back, neck and arm massage for another ten minutes, or so. To finish up they put a little styling product in you hair, and voila, done!

The presence of three young foreigners at this hairdresser had caused quite a commotion among the staff, and during our haircuts more women had arrived to watch what was going on. Olen, having finished his haircut first, was playing with some local kids and then decided to buy everyone something to eat. When Jon and I were done, we walked up to the counter, and announced in Chinese “How much? For free?” The girls looked at each other, nodded, and said yes. One hour and a half after walking in, we wandered out with haircuts, shaves, and feeling great from a full upper body massage–all for free. Feeling a little bad not to have paid anything we volunteered to pay 10 yuan–the going rate in Chengdu for a hair cut–and set off up the hill to the massage parlor.

A Chinese massage can be somewhat of an ordeal if you don’t know what to expect. Unlike Western forms of massage, a Chinese massage can rarely be said to be enjoyable. They are, however, highly relaxing after the pain of the experience fades into memory. After getting one hour of work done on our feet–involving something of a pedicure–we moved into the main room for the full body massage. Considering the painful rigor of the foot massage we should have guessed what we were getting ourselves into. I was the first on the table, which later on afforded me the pleasure of getting to watch the excruciated faces of both Olen and Jon, without the apprehension that they no doubt faced when they knew they were up next. At one stage the masseur stopped and asked, “How do you feel?” to which I responded, “I’m in great pain.” He laughed and pressed harder on a pressure point on the inside of my elbow, sending bolts of pain running the full length of my arm. Some time later Jon was heard to scream, “I’ll tell you anything… all of my secrets… anything you want to know…”

After the massage was over we all felt a million bucks, but decided that some heavy drinking was in order to hasten the fading memory of our pain. After a few drinks at different places about town, i.e. we were drinking on the street, we wandered into a small shop that had bottles of medicine baijiu. Spying the most rank looking bottle, Olen soon discovered that it contained the complete pickled penis and testicles of a yak. Sensing where this was headed I refused to drink such a abhorrent drink and walked out of the shop. Jon, however, turned out to be a lot easier to convince than I, and once it was two from three I couldn’t really say no. Needless to say, it tasted like dick… animal dick!

Check out the Songpan photo gallery.