Read first half of Time Traveller's Wife yesterday evening. Dumplings and Yunnan cheese for dinner (Yunnan being the province of which Kunming is the capital). Somewhere between French toast and pizza.
Rented a bike this morning, set out for a park beside Yunnan Lake. On the shore, I admire the steep hills opposite. I consult the map and realise there are roadways to the top, where there is a temple. Ah, the liberation of cycling! An antidote to the countless days I've spent on trains. I cross the causeway, stopping to take a photo. The water is green. Not pond scum green, but radioactive green. American-river-on-St-Patrick's-Day green.
I press on, heading along the far shore. Frequent map consulting. As ever, I have underestimated the scale of things. I am pouring sweat before long. I round a corner, and at least half the mountain lies ahead still. I grimace. A Chinese woman gives me a thumbs up.
I get frequent hellos and 'ni hao'. They're not used to white madmen ascending their hills. On the way through Kunming, a man with his three daughters overtook me on a scooter. All three screamed "hello!". I kept pace about ten feet behind for 30 seconds, and then they shouted 'goodbye' as I began to drop.
The climb reminds me of the last day of the Ras de Cymru, but now I've nobody to race. I reach the end of the road, lock the bike, and buy a ticket for the Dragon's Gate. It reminds me of Skellig Michael somewhat. An ancient religious site, on the edge of a cliff. Though this one is surrounded by forest, and contains a multitude of halls, temples, pagodas, and a miniature stone forest (v. missable).
I stop by Nie Er's tomb on the way down to gather my thoughts, and people stop and stare. Now I sit by a temple lower down the hill. It's so peaceful. Incense burning, a pond with fish and terrapins, and no crowds. Bliss. IN the temple itself, there is a big laughing Buddha, and six other gods, huge, ornate, vivid - each one stamping their feet. People kneel and pray, monks stroll about, and there is fresh fruit on the altar. I take no photos. In a further building, the walls are covered with hundreds of statues, looking like something from Dante.
I left writing about cycling in the city until I got home safely. Descent was fun - no good brakes, and roving pedestrians meant the front blocks were down to a sliver by the bottom. Cycling in traffic was far simpler than expected. Drivers (cars and scooters) use their horn frequently, but only to warn of their oncoming presence (like a cyclist's bell) rather than in anger ,frustration or threat. I could weave easily, overtaking some over-laden scooters. One lady was transporting a bed! Mattress and all! On the back of a moped! Astounding.
Exhilarating to be back on a bike. Fuck trains, cycling's the way to see the world. But I need a bike with the saddle at the right height.
Roche won a stage of the Tour of Beijing! Deignan second - super!
***
Rented a bike this morning, set out for a park beside Yunnan Lake. On the shore, I admire the steep hills opposite. I consult the map and realise there are roadways to the top, where there is a temple. Ah, the liberation of cycling! An antidote to the countless days I've spent on trains. I cross the causeway, stopping to take a photo. The water is green. Not pond scum green, but radioactive green. American-river-on-St-Patrick's-Day green.
I press on, heading along the far shore. Frequent map consulting. As ever, I have underestimated the scale of things. I am pouring sweat before long. I round a corner, and at least half the mountain lies ahead still. I grimace. A Chinese woman gives me a thumbs up.
I get frequent hellos and 'ni hao'. They're not used to white madmen ascending their hills. On the way through Kunming, a man with his three daughters overtook me on a scooter. All three screamed "hello!". I kept pace about ten feet behind for 30 seconds, and then they shouted 'goodbye' as I began to drop.
The climb reminds me of the last day of the Ras de Cymru, but now I've nobody to race. I reach the end of the road, lock the bike, and buy a ticket for the Dragon's Gate. It reminds me of Skellig Michael somewhat. An ancient religious site, on the edge of a cliff. Though this one is surrounded by forest, and contains a multitude of halls, temples, pagodas, and a miniature stone forest (v. missable).
I stop by Nie Er's tomb on the way down to gather my thoughts, and people stop and stare. Now I sit by a temple lower down the hill. It's so peaceful. Incense burning, a pond with fish and terrapins, and no crowds. Bliss. IN the temple itself, there is a big laughing Buddha, and six other gods, huge, ornate, vivid - each one stamping their feet. People kneel and pray, monks stroll about, and there is fresh fruit on the altar. I take no photos. In a further building, the walls are covered with hundreds of statues, looking like something from Dante.
***
I left writing about cycling in the city until I got home safely. Descent was fun - no good brakes, and roving pedestrians meant the front blocks were down to a sliver by the bottom. Cycling in traffic was far simpler than expected. Drivers (cars and scooters) use their horn frequently, but only to warn of their oncoming presence (like a cyclist's bell) rather than in anger ,frustration or threat. I could weave easily, overtaking some over-laden scooters. One lady was transporting a bed! Mattress and all! On the back of a moped! Astounding.
Exhilarating to be back on a bike. Fuck trains, cycling's the way to see the world. But I need a bike with the saddle at the right height.
***
Roche won a stage of the Tour of Beijing! Deignan second - super!
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