“The opportunity you’ve got here is way better,” he said before I had time to respond.
“Hrmph,” I grunted stubbornly.
Turning his green eyes on me, he said, a bit more forcefully this time, “You’re so lucky. Seriously. I wish my parents had taken me travelling when I was younger!” I often got this sort of reaction to the trip from envious travelers I’d met along the way. “Trust me about this,” the anonymous Canadian said firmly. “But hey, I gotta get packing for the trek tomorrow. Good luck, kid.”
“Thanks,” I whispered, burying my face in my palms.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The mystery man staying in our room, Ryan, was yet another scruffy backpacker, this time an American. He had to have been about twenty-five, around Ammon’s age, and he’d been on the road for four months now. Four months!!! And he seems to think we’ve done something impressive.
“I cannot imagine travelling with my mom,” Ryan joked, “let alone my whole family!”
“So, how long have you guys been out?” another guest with an accent I didn’t recognize asked. He scooted his chair towards us to get in on the conversation.
Ammon, our leader and the one with the most experience, answered, “Almost two weeks so far.” I could see the mockery his statement evoked in their raised eyebrows. Two weeks wasn’t much to be proud of compared to someone who’d been “out” for four months! I felt I’d already conquered the world, but measured against his travel experience, I was just a pathetic greenhorn.
“But we’re planning to go for about a year,” Ammon quickly added.
“Or two,” Mom jumped in. I don’t know whose eyes grew wider at hearing that, mine or theirs. Two years? I nearly choked. Since when was it two years?! We haven’t even completed our second week! I’ll be having a word with her later.
The two backpackers didn’t need to say anything. I knew they thought we were insane to think we’d last even two months. If I could just pick their brains and take their bets, I’m sure they’d wager, “a couple of months, MAX,” just like the rest of my traitorous family at home. No one believes we can do this. The men slowly nodded in sync.
“Oh, that’s cool! A world-travelling family,” a second man with dirty blond hair and a pointy nose said. I don’t fit in here. I’m not one of them. I feel so stupid and out of place. This isn’t my thing at all, so why do I suddenly feel like I’m competing for something? The pressure continued with a list of questions we could only answer vaguely. “Have you ever travelled abroad before?” he continued. He was really beginning to get on my nerves.
“I have,” Ammon explained. “I did three month trips in Europe, Southeast Asia, and Venezuela. This is the girls’ first time.”
“What’s your time frame, then?” Ryan asked. He’s just fishin’ for a good laugh.
“Well, we know for sure that we want to be in Nepal in five months for the trekking season.”
“And what comes after that? Where is the big adventure going to end?” he prompted Ammon to tell him more.
“We’re headed to India from there, and then, who knows?”
“So you only know what you’re doing for the first six months?” the first man butted in. I began to feel we were being interrogated about what seemed a foolish trip, even to me. How can they take us seriously?
“What’s the route after that?”
“We haven’t planned that far yet.”
“Sounds cool,” Ryan said, the doubt written all over his face belying his words and implying that it was easier said than done. What do they expect from an unplanned trip? For it to simply unfold into a nice, tidy, year-long itinerary? Obviously, we look ridiculous, I thought, angry that Ammon and Mom had put me in such an awkward situation.
I could almost hear the backpackers’ thoughts. They’re going to kill each other way, way before a year is up, or That’s what they think now, or Yah, right. When mosquitoes stop drinking blood! And yet, as I watched Ammon talking, he didn’t look the least bit ashamed. Suddenly feeling insignificant compared to these experienced travellers, I wanted to prove them wrong. I can’t let them be right. To think they’re assuming we can’t do it! They think I’m too prissy? I’ll show them! I was shocked by my impulse to defend the very trip I hated. In that moment of rage, I wanted to run upstairs, strap my backpack on, and do lots of intense push-ups, but I’d have collapsed in a heap after two of them, so I stayed put with my head held high instead.
~~~~~~~~~
Closing the door behind me, I cornered Mom defiantly. “TWO YEARS?! What’s THAT about?”
“Oooh, I don’t know,” she said, backpedalling a bit.
“Two years?!” I repeated coldly.
“Let’s just see what happens.”
“See what happens? You can’t say that. You said a year! ONE year.”
“But who knows what’s going to happen? There’s no huge rush to go home. We already packed it all up.”
“Oh, I KNEW you would do this to me.” Without at least a date to count down to, this trip had become open-ended and could go on forever.
“We’ll just see what happens and see where all this takes us. Maybe we won’t be ready to go home in a year. Right now, though, it’s just one year.” I set my jaw and raised an eyebrow, daring her to continue. “Well, maybe a year and a half.”
Chapter 21: Trekkers
The backpacks would not be trekking the Tiger Leaping Gorge with us. We stored them at Granny’s place, planning to return for them later. But if there is any justice in the world, they will magically disappear. Just in case that happened, by some amazing stroke of good fortune, I planned to take some precautions.
“C’mon Savannah, we’re leaving in a few minutes. Get downstairs,” Ammon pushed.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” I said, fiddling aimlessly through our pile of bags in the corner.
“Don’t forget to go pee before we leave,” Mom said.
“Yah, yah, yah,” I waved her away.
I heard a few stairs squeaking and cautiously peeked over my shoulder to make sure they were gone. I reached into my daypack and slid the item out. Oh it was so heavy, so massively huge. “I just can’t take you with me. If only you weren’t so heavy, we could stay together.”
I scanned the room, holding the thick pages to my chest as I searched for the right spot. Stopping in mid-rotation, I knelt down beside a small desk and slipped the drawer open before slamming it shut again. No! some book-hungry traveller might think it’s up for grabs. I walked over to our backpacks which were squeezed between a corner and a bed. A thief would have no use for my treasure, and I simply could not let it be accidentally snatched away. I put it on the floor under the bed, separate from the rest of our things. It had no monetary value, but I had to guard against the possibility that we might be separated before I could finish reading it. Crouching down and slipping Gone with the Wind under, I whispered, “Dear Rhett, I’ll be back for you in only three short days,” and secretly kissed him goodbye.
Glaring cynically at my backpack, I casually kicked it on my way out. “I won’t be missing you, you miserable sack of dead weight.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In a few days, we’d be returning to the quiet village to restock on essentials, but right now, the two-hour drive out of Lijiang highlighted an impressive mountain range that towered over us and prompted me to imagine I was immersed in a new level of “Zelda,” carrying “items” and “potions” on my back. Even here, in the nooks and crannies of a deep, rocky gorge, people miraculously managed to cultivate and farm every spare inch. Rice terraces were patched into valleys and balanced precariously over daunting cliff edges. The spotty green fields blazed brilliantly against the grey stone face of the gorge. How do they even get up and over there? I marvelled, as I looked across the narrow gap between towering cliff sides. A few horses were scattered about whenever our trekking trail opened into grassy fields. Men looked up from their work to wave as we passed. It all seemed so myst
ical.
“This’ll be your second World Heritage Site,” Ammon began.
“A what now?” Bree asked.
“UNESCO,” he said, trying to ring a bell.
She stared blankly. “Oh, you mean the outer space thingy?!”
“No, dork! That’s NASA.”
“So, what is it then?” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Different natural or man-made sites around the world that the World Heritage Committee, elected by their general assembly---”
“You’ve already lost me,” she interrupted, putting her head between her palms and squeezing as she groaned, “Oh, my head.”
“A World Heritage Site is somewhere or something that UNESCO believes has historical or cultural significance to the world,” he tried again, but she had already run away. “It means it’s cool, okay?” he shouted after her.
Though I didn’t quite understand the process Ammon was trying to explain, I did get that this place was special. Looking at all the foreigners around me with their backpacks and hiking boots was proof enough. There were not a ton of tour buses around, by any means, but it was the largest collection of foreigners we’d seen since Hong Kong. We would pass a few dozen by the end of the trek. I’ll see this World Heritage Site and I’ll conquer it, I decided, making it my mission in this still largely involuntary game to collect as many “sites” as I could.
“Legend has it that in order to escape from a hunter, a tiger jumped across the river at the narrowest point, which is still 25m (83ft) wide, and that’s why they call it Tiger Leaping Gorge,” Ammon said, trying something a little more creative that might appeal to Bree.
“They have tigers?!” she exclaimed.
With an exasperated sigh, he clarified, “You’re not going to see a tiger, Bree.”
In that moment, she grabbed me from behind, put her chin on my left shoulder, and directed me where to look. “Is that? Is that THAT guy?!” At this point we were hiking up seemingly endless switchbacks, zigzagging our way slowly and seemingly endlessly up the steep slope.
“Oh my gosh! It’s purple guy,” I said. He was one level above us and was still in the same peculiar outfit we’d first seen him in a few days earlier, hence the name. We never would have recognized him had he not worn his famous purple outfit. We each simultaneously took Mom by one arm, hostage-like, and whispered, “Mom! Look at him! He’s so cute.” We hadn’t had the chance to point him out to her before.
“Yah, he is cute,” she admitted, and we smiled encouragingly, our hands squeezing her tighter, “Oh, you two are so silly!” she said, yanking her arms back. “It’s not happening,” she stated emphatically to try to burst our bubble once and for all.
Not long after, once the trail flattened out and we’d overcome the switchbacks from hell, we again glimpsed the flowing fabric of purple guy’s pants just ahead of us. He was well built and not too short, with very attractive, dark features. There was just a hint of grey hair around the edges, his eyes were warm brown, and most importantly, his nose was not too large.
“Where’s Mom?” I asked stumbling over a small boulder. I followed Bree’s wide-eyed gaze and saw what I hadn’t noticed at first glance; purple guy and Mom had somehow started walking side by side. Purple guy had started a conversation with our Mom! “Oh my gosh, look at her go!” We both leapt behind the nearest small tree. Following as unobtrusively as possible, we snuck from bush to bush. “This is great!” I whispered to Bree, shaking my fists to contain the giddiness I felt. “And she’s laughing, too!” She was blushing when we caught up with her a bit later. We had all learned to live with blushing at the drop of a hat as our own, occasionally embarrassing, family curse, but on its own, it didn’t necessarily mean anything.
“He’s a really friendly guy,” she started, knowing we were going to force everything out of her anyway.
“Where’s he from?” I asked. Am I really asking that typical backpacker question?!
“Iran.”
“Oh, that explains his weird garb. Well, I think it’s sexy!” Bree said.
“He’s a yoga teacher,” Mom told us.
“Yoga, eh?”
“You guys! Stop it. It’s not going to happen. I’m not ready for anything like that.” We knew she couldn’t really mean it. He was too much of a hottie to escape her attention. She was just not interested in the idea of dating itself. Having only ever been intimate with one man in her life, it was not going to be easy for her to give herself to another. We knew this process would take some time, but patience was not our long suit. When she offered the excuse that she was still married, we rolled our eyes derisively.
“Dad is already living with somebody else. Surely, you’re allowed to look!” we told her, irritated.
“Oh, he’s like Costco guy,” I carried on, remembering a cashier we’d picked out for Mom before leaving home. He was a slightly younger version of George Clooney, and we’d ogled him suggestively for months, making numerous special trips to do groceries and purposely choosing his till. We never got much past asking if he liked baseball, though, and were a long way from arranging a date.
“Oh, I dunno. It is a close call,” Bree said, snagging a leaf from a tree hanging over the narrow trail. “I think this purple guy might even be cuter---”
“No! How can you say that about Costco guy? Ok, fine. Then I get him,” I said.
“Hey. That’s not what I said. You can’t have him,” Bree complained, selfishly.
“They’re both too old for either of you,” Mom mumbled as she shook her head, bemused, as we continued to bicker in her wake.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As we passed other hikers, everyone was making friends and sharing stories. I was so happy to be around familiar words and accents. I had been craving any English that was not spoken by my family, because that was as unsatisfying as listening to my own voice. I quickly learned that as much as I wanted the backpackers to be my messengers from the other side, they weren’t. They were not there to tell me the latest gossip about my friends, which movies had come out, or which fat girl slipped on a banana peel. They were only interested in one thing – travel.
“Where are you from?” “How long have you been out?” “Where have you been?” “Where are you going next?”
The conversations never seemed to change. Despite this, I soon learned that travellers were really there for each other. During one of our hikes, Bree developed a nasty blister. Forced out of her stiff, new hiking boot, she started working on getting a callus under her foot, something she somehow didn’t seem to mind. Luckily for her, though, she didn’t have to trip and skip over rocks and twigs for long before a young trekker came by. She must have been in her late twenties; her hair was a thick matt of curls tied up above her visor.
“Hey, I’ve got an extra pair of flip-flops I don’t need. If you want, you can have them,” she said, noticing that Bree’s bare foot made an odd match with her clunky boot.
“Oh wow! Thank you. You are too sweet!! I totally owe you one,” Bree said.
“Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s my pleasure.” It seemed there was an unwritten travel rule about passing on help in the future, even if it’s the smallest thing. It could be anything from information to a used book, or even an old pair of flip-flops. Offering help was an unwritten code between travellers.
Just when I was getting used to having company and people to talk to, the 22 km (13.6mi) stretch of trail slowly spread everyone out. Some continued longer than others before calling it a day, and hikers stayed in different guest houses along the way. Before I knew it, we were alone again.
The trail got narrower and narrower the higher we climbed. It was rocky and bare, with little vegetation. Despite the gorge getting deeper and deeper, the white painted peaks never seemed to get any closer. I suddenly felt as miniscule as the grains of rice which I was surprisingly learning to like. I felt pretty darned tiny from a top-of-the-world perspective.
“The Yangzi River,” Ammon announced. “That
right there is the longest river in China. It’s like the Amazon of Asia,” he told us, leaning over to peer down at the narrow gorge. “And it’s one of, and possibly THE, deepest gorges in the world – 3,800 metres, which is about, what? 12,000 feet? Maybe a bit more.” I moved in behind him to lean forward to see the river, cautiously putting my weight on my front foot. There were no rails or fences of any kind. If you tripped, you were a goner.
“Whoa!” I gasped when a few rocks fell loose, disturbing the dust as they tumbled down the sheer, sharp cliffs. Just when I thought the trail couldn’t get any narrower, our passage was constricted even more. We were occasionally forced to shimmy along with our backs pressed hard against the rock face. My legs started quivering visibly only halfway through the first day, and I had slipped a few times, tripping forward as my legs gave out for a microsecond. I was suddenly grateful that Rhett was safe at home rather than weighing my daypack down. As soon as we found a guest house, I would collapse anyway, with no energy reserves left to entertain my new-found “crush.”
“I swear, I’m going to go flying off this cliff,” I told no one in particular. “And how long until we get to stop?” I asked, when I noticed that once again, my complaints had no effect. To be fair, even I could see that we could not stop until we reached a place to stay, hopefully as soon as the path was wide enough to accommodate such a facility. We hadn’t passed by any houses or potential accommodations in a few hours.
Until then, our only comfort was the sight of a few scattered companions who enjoyed nibbling the tufts of dry grass growing in the cracks of rock, and even the goats generally kept to themselves, either above or below the path. The apparent ineptness of blocky hooves didn’t thwart their mobility in any way. They climbed fearlessly to the edges to reach the last bits of untouched grass and twigs. I couldn’t decide whether they were too brave or too stupid to realize or care that gravity kills, but watching them kept my mind off the walk ahead.
Five Bestselling Travel Memoirs Box Set Page 100