Heading in to the Dulong Valley in the rain, we anticipated the occasional rockfall. What we weren't expecting to encounter was snake-fall! The sizable reptile lost its grip on the slippery face of the road cut and hit the edge of the road just as my wheels passed by. I screeched to a stop--not that I was going that fast up the endless hill--but only managed to get a blurry snapshot before it regained its composure and retreated into a crevice in the rock wall.
We had departed Bingzoulao in the upper Nujiang Valley that morning, our efforts to get going earlier than usual thwarted by the temptation of an unexpected street market and saying goodbye to our cycling companion Will over a dumpling breakfast. It was afternoon by the time we made the turnoff and began a gradual 25-mile long climb on an amazingly smooth, newly-paved, but traffic-free road. We weren't even sure if the Dulong Valley was open to foreigners, having heard accounts of restricted access within the last few years. At the only checkpoint we encountered, we ducked under a barricade and waved to the teenage police that we spotted through the open doorway of an adjacent building. They didn't bother to get up from the couches they were lounging on, so we figured we were in the clear.
We had departed Bingzoulao in the upper Nujiang Valley that morning, our efforts to get going earlier than usual thwarted by the temptation of an unexpected street market and saying goodbye to our cycling companion Will over a dumpling breakfast. It was afternoon by the time we made the turnoff and began a gradual 25-mile long climb on an amazingly smooth, newly-paved, but traffic-free road. We weren't even sure if the Dulong Valley was open to foreigners, having heard accounts of restricted access within the last few years. At the only checkpoint we encountered, we ducked under a barricade and waved to the teenage police that we spotted through the open doorway of an adjacent building. They didn't bother to get up from the couches they were lounging on, so we figured we were in the clear.
We reached a newly constructed five-mile long tunnel in the late afternoon that was open to traffic despite lacking some finishing touches inside. At 10,000 feet, it was the first time we had felt genuinely cold since winter in the Himalayas. We bundled up for a brake-disintegrating descent on the other side. The scenery was mist-ifying with waterfalls at every inward bend of the sharply curving road and lush vegetation carpeting the vertical hillsides. Dusk quickly turned to dark while we were still far from reaching civilization or finding feasible campsite. By the beam of our headlights, we narrowly missed cows in the road, piles of manure from said cows, a snake coiled and ready to strike, and the rockfall we were originally on the lookout for. The one thing we didn't see was any vehicles, which greatly contributed to a growing feeling of paranoia that we were actually on a road to nowhere. Nonetheless, by 10pm and an impressive 78 miles (for us, at least) on the bikeometer, we reached Kongdang, the principle settlement in the Dulong Valley. We checked in to a basic guesthouse and cooked up our old standby of instant ramen for dinner, since all of the restaurants had closed hours before we arrived.
The next morning was no less foggy and rainy, so we slept in and took a leisurely walk around the color-coordinated town adorned with contrived ethnic embellishments. While searching for information on this valley, we came across one blog that perfectly described Kongdang as akin to the look of an Olympic Village. We took these efforts as a sign that Dulong is poised for promotion as a domestic tourism destination, a hunch that was only strengthened when we left Kongdang that afternoon and encountered village after uniform village, with a Chinese flag flying above every identical house.
Apparently, the government has been consolidating the traditionally dispersed population of Dulong by building housing with modern amenities at little to no cost to the occupants. This offer is enhanced by providing a nice subsidy simply to reside in the development and do a whole lot of, well, nothing. While I can only speculate about the motivations for this generous assistance, it seems to be the perfect combination of placating minority groups with an easy life while making their ethnicity an easily accessible attraction for urban Han seeking an exotic vacation. Does this ring any bells? Perhaps Tibetan ones?
Just twelve miles down the road, we too became recipients of the government’s generosity when we stopped in search of a restaurant in Bapo. An employee of the local development office informed us there was no restaurant but invited us to “eat with many people.” He also mentioned something about a dance happening later that night. We were intrigued, so he arranged for us to stay in a spare room of an old lady’s house, unfortunately at a price more than double our usual guesthouse rate.
While we were getting situated in our room, the entire village gathered for a meeting in the government office complex. We wandered over as the meeting ended and people filled the adjacent courtyard. A large sound system began blaring music and beers were cracked open. We grabbed a spot on a concrete ledge and watched the celebration unfold. Small groups frequently approached us to cheers, but for what occasion we had no idea. A long row of tables was set up in the middle of the courtyard, then covered with tremendous bowls of rice and pots of various meat dishes. A serve-yourself frenzy ensued and brought clarity to our host’s phrase “eat with many people.” When everyone had their fill, the leftovers were divied up and carried off to nearby homes. Cases upon cases of beer replaced the food on the tables and the party got started in earnest with villagers beginning to dance in a revolving circle around the beer centerpiece. Of course, it wasn’t long before we were beckoned in to the circle, but it was a long while before we caught on to the repetitive but complicated steps. Somehow, the more beer we drank, the better we danced though!
When we took a break from the dancing, we met a fellow visiting from Indonesia who explained that we were in the midst of honoring the 94th Anniversary of the Founding of Communist China. We wondered how much of the local Dulong people’s enthusiasm was rooted in patriotic pride versus the monument of free beer they were dancing around, considering they have only recently been brought into the fold of modern political events. As for us, we would soon be missing the fireworks and barbeques of Independence Day back home, so why not raise a glass to Chairman Mao in the meanwhile? The Communist Party was buying all the rounds, after all.
A return of the rain shifted the dancing indoors and provided the opportunity to transition from the traditional Dulong dances to a club-style free for all. We particularly enjoyed seeing some of the Dulong men wearing traditional colorful striped vests getting into it. As entertaining as this was, we slipped away for some rest before too long. Even as we headed out late the next morning, we encountered a few dedicated comrades for whom the celebration was still going strong.
The ride was absolutely gorgeous as we continued south for fifteen winding miles to Qinlandang. We checked in to the only guesthouse in town, a pepto-pink concrete monstrosity that did not fit in with the wood cabin-style residences surrounding it. We have stayed in plenty of hotels that did not have a bathroom in the room, but this was the first place we stayed that did not have a bathroom in the entire building. We were directed to the public toilets somewhat close by, which were simply tiled trenches without running water.
We continued past town a few miles along the river to the base of Moon Falls, thundering down the hillside with an impressive volume from all of the recent rain. We had hoped to ride to the Burmese border just for fun, but the waterfall was pounding the road, which had turned to a rough dirt track at the edge of town. While we were admiring its force, a few guys sporting ponchos and galoshes popped out of the forest after having traversed a route somewhere above the falls. They simply smiled at us and continued on their way on foot. We presumed they were Burmese crossing the border for work, or trade, or both. Then an SUV zoomed by and drove into falls without pause, that is until it got stuck midway through. We could see the reverse lights through the flow, but the vehicle was not budging. Eventually a guy got out in nothing but his "reddy-tighties" and got pummeled while placing rocks under the tires. It was amazing that the engine didn't get flooded while getting out of that mess.
That was an illustrative enough lesson for us not to be tempted to cross, so we rode back to town. We found a restaurant with an official looking sign outside, but upon poking our heads inside we were welcomed into a cozy home. They did had the ubiquitous display case refrigerator, which effectively convinced us that it really was a restaurant. We sipped tea and warmed up sitting by the fire that was also cooking up the veggies we pointed to in said refrigerator.
The next morning was no less foggy and rainy, so we slept in and took a leisurely walk around the color-coordinated town adorned with contrived ethnic embellishments. While searching for information on this valley, we came across one blog that perfectly described Kongdang as akin to the look of an Olympic Village. We took these efforts as a sign that Dulong is poised for promotion as a domestic tourism destination, a hunch that was only strengthened when we left Kongdang that afternoon and encountered village after uniform village, with a Chinese flag flying above every identical house.
Apparently, the government has been consolidating the traditionally dispersed population of Dulong by building housing with modern amenities at little to no cost to the occupants. This offer is enhanced by providing a nice subsidy simply to reside in the development and do a whole lot of, well, nothing. While I can only speculate about the motivations for this generous assistance, it seems to be the perfect combination of placating minority groups with an easy life while making their ethnicity an easily accessible attraction for urban Han seeking an exotic vacation. Does this ring any bells? Perhaps Tibetan ones?
Just twelve miles down the road, we too became recipients of the government’s generosity when we stopped in search of a restaurant in Bapo. An employee of the local development office informed us there was no restaurant but invited us to “eat with many people.” He also mentioned something about a dance happening later that night. We were intrigued, so he arranged for us to stay in a spare room of an old lady’s house, unfortunately at a price more than double our usual guesthouse rate.
While we were getting situated in our room, the entire village gathered for a meeting in the government office complex. We wandered over as the meeting ended and people filled the adjacent courtyard. A large sound system began blaring music and beers were cracked open. We grabbed a spot on a concrete ledge and watched the celebration unfold. Small groups frequently approached us to cheers, but for what occasion we had no idea. A long row of tables was set up in the middle of the courtyard, then covered with tremendous bowls of rice and pots of various meat dishes. A serve-yourself frenzy ensued and brought clarity to our host’s phrase “eat with many people.” When everyone had their fill, the leftovers were divied up and carried off to nearby homes. Cases upon cases of beer replaced the food on the tables and the party got started in earnest with villagers beginning to dance in a revolving circle around the beer centerpiece. Of course, it wasn’t long before we were beckoned in to the circle, but it was a long while before we caught on to the repetitive but complicated steps. Somehow, the more beer we drank, the better we danced though!
When we took a break from the dancing, we met a fellow visiting from Indonesia who explained that we were in the midst of honoring the 94th Anniversary of the Founding of Communist China. We wondered how much of the local Dulong people’s enthusiasm was rooted in patriotic pride versus the monument of free beer they were dancing around, considering they have only recently been brought into the fold of modern political events. As for us, we would soon be missing the fireworks and barbeques of Independence Day back home, so why not raise a glass to Chairman Mao in the meanwhile? The Communist Party was buying all the rounds, after all.
A return of the rain shifted the dancing indoors and provided the opportunity to transition from the traditional Dulong dances to a club-style free for all. We particularly enjoyed seeing some of the Dulong men wearing traditional colorful striped vests getting into it. As entertaining as this was, we slipped away for some rest before too long. Even as we headed out late the next morning, we encountered a few dedicated comrades for whom the celebration was still going strong.
The ride was absolutely gorgeous as we continued south for fifteen winding miles to Qinlandang. We checked in to the only guesthouse in town, a pepto-pink concrete monstrosity that did not fit in with the wood cabin-style residences surrounding it. We have stayed in plenty of hotels that did not have a bathroom in the room, but this was the first place we stayed that did not have a bathroom in the entire building. We were directed to the public toilets somewhat close by, which were simply tiled trenches without running water.
We continued past town a few miles along the river to the base of Moon Falls, thundering down the hillside with an impressive volume from all of the recent rain. We had hoped to ride to the Burmese border just for fun, but the waterfall was pounding the road, which had turned to a rough dirt track at the edge of town. While we were admiring its force, a few guys sporting ponchos and galoshes popped out of the forest after having traversed a route somewhere above the falls. They simply smiled at us and continued on their way on foot. We presumed they were Burmese crossing the border for work, or trade, or both. Then an SUV zoomed by and drove into falls without pause, that is until it got stuck midway through. We could see the reverse lights through the flow, but the vehicle was not budging. Eventually a guy got out in nothing but his "reddy-tighties" and got pummeled while placing rocks under the tires. It was amazing that the engine didn't get flooded while getting out of that mess.
That was an illustrative enough lesson for us not to be tempted to cross, so we rode back to town. We found a restaurant with an official looking sign outside, but upon poking our heads inside we were welcomed into a cozy home. They did had the ubiquitous display case refrigerator, which effectively convinced us that it really was a restaurant. We sipped tea and warmed up sitting by the fire that was also cooking up the veggies we pointed to in said refrigerator.
Map used without permission from Matthew Hartzell (http://matthartzell.blogspot.hk/)
The following day was a hard-earned 28-mile return trip to Kongdang, particularly the first section of climbing from river bottom to ridge line. We had to push the bikes up a couple of the steepest parts, but at no point did we question whether it was worth it. Even with three days of more rain than not, we were completely enamored with the valley and its incredible scenery, dramatic road, and the definitive absence of urbanization. We wondered, and worried, about how long this cyclists' paradise would last. We felt certain that the state-of-the-art tunnel and the smoothest road in China (minus rockfall) would not have been constructed without bigger plans in the works. Mass tourism? Dams? Natural resource exploitation in Myanmar? More control in Tibet? Given China's recent course of events, I'd place money on all of the above. Yet the Internet is suspiciously quiet regarding Dulong's development with the exception of an insightful blog or two written by expats exploring the Yunnan. In 2013, they noted Chinese maps of Myanmar's ore and mineral deposits posted at the Burmese border, crossed paths with dam surveyors, and witnessed crowds of domestic tourists harassing old Dulong women for photos.
The oldest generations of Dulong women bear the markings of tradition in the form of elaborate facial tattoos. Since the practice was abolished in 1949 with the formation of the People's Republic of China, less than 28 women with them are still alive. Even those women are not sure of the tradition's origin. An article explains, "Some experts have posited that the tattoos were to make the women less attractive, lest they be taken as slaves or raped by enemies during conflicts between the Dulong and other ethnic tribes. Some say that it marked a girl's transition to womanhood, while still others believe that it was a sign to differentiate various clans or families. Others hold that the Dulong people regarded tattooing as a beauty enhancer and a way to exorcise evil spirits."
As Kongdang is located in the middle of the north-south oriented valley, we were of course curious to explore the road to the north. The terrain was more gentle heading this direction the river was more mellow accordingly. We made it as far as the road was paved, making Xiongdang village the turn around point of our day ride after we ate fried rice (with chicken feet on the side) in an informal restaurant. Had we kept going, we would have eventually reached Tibet and somewhere within it the glacial source of the Dulong River. A dream adventure for another time and another political regime.
We had a gradual goodbye with Dulong as we slowly climbed out of the valley on the road we rode down on a rainy pitch dark night. The drizzle had finally subsided, but low clouds still clung to the contours of the hills and we fully appreciated what we had initially missed. After 4,000 feet of elevation gain over twenty miles, we officially left the domain of Dulong at the crazy five-mile long tunnel. It still felt frigidly cold inside, even though we were pedaling uphill to get through it. On the other side, we stopped to take in new views of that had not been visible when rode through before. It was a beautiful descent, but after just a few days in Dulong, somehow Nujiang seemed almost ordinary, and believe me, the Nujiang is far from ordinary. Oh, and the hot sun overhead in a bright blue sky was nearly blinding.
The oldest generations of Dulong women bear the markings of tradition in the form of elaborate facial tattoos. Since the practice was abolished in 1949 with the formation of the People's Republic of China, less than 28 women with them are still alive. Even those women are not sure of the tradition's origin. An article explains, "Some experts have posited that the tattoos were to make the women less attractive, lest they be taken as slaves or raped by enemies during conflicts between the Dulong and other ethnic tribes. Some say that it marked a girl's transition to womanhood, while still others believe that it was a sign to differentiate various clans or families. Others hold that the Dulong people regarded tattooing as a beauty enhancer and a way to exorcise evil spirits."
As Kongdang is located in the middle of the north-south oriented valley, we were of course curious to explore the road to the north. The terrain was more gentle heading this direction the river was more mellow accordingly. We made it as far as the road was paved, making Xiongdang village the turn around point of our day ride after we ate fried rice (with chicken feet on the side) in an informal restaurant. Had we kept going, we would have eventually reached Tibet and somewhere within it the glacial source of the Dulong River. A dream adventure for another time and another political regime.
We had a gradual goodbye with Dulong as we slowly climbed out of the valley on the road we rode down on a rainy pitch dark night. The drizzle had finally subsided, but low clouds still clung to the contours of the hills and we fully appreciated what we had initially missed. After 4,000 feet of elevation gain over twenty miles, we officially left the domain of Dulong at the crazy five-mile long tunnel. It still felt frigidly cold inside, even though we were pedaling uphill to get through it. On the other side, we stopped to take in new views of that had not been visible when rode through before. It was a beautiful descent, but after just a few days in Dulong, somehow Nujiang seemed almost ordinary, and believe me, the Nujiang is far from ordinary. Oh, and the hot sun overhead in a bright blue sky was nearly blinding.
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