A return to Leaping Tiger, Jade Dragon
Tiger Leaping gorge sounds just as alluring in Chinese: hutiao xia. Pronouncing the words makes the mouth mirror the required footsteps through the world's deepest canyon, the falling and rising tones echoing the path taken by your spirit on the 30-mile hike.
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The gorge's name is what first drew me in nearly a decade ago. I was a Peace Corps volunteer in a mobbed, muddy town where the sun seldom shone. I am a sucker for place names, so Tiger Leaping gorge and its locale - Jade Dragon Snow mountain, Golden Sand river, South of the Clouds province - proved too much to resist. So I set off even though getting there involved sitting on a bench during a 24-hour train ride, then bouncing for another day inside a bus that struggled over the peaks to a truck stop by the headwaters of the Yangtze.
The journey turned out to be worthwhile in spite of the sleeplessness, the breakdowns and the brawl begun when one passenger vomited on another rider's chicken. This breach of etiquette aside, Tiger Leaping gorge lodged in my mind as one of the best destinations in China. Here was that rare place with nothing man-made to tour and free from the signs of human chronology - no temples, no walls, no steel, just nature. The gorge is 12,000ft deep and 100ft across at its narrowest point. It has an 18,000ft peak at one side with a jade green river tumbling below and a mule path making a dusty ribbon across terraces of wheat fields. Two basic guesthouses in Walnut Garden, serving simple staples and river-chilled beer by candlelight, allowed visitors to shelter for the night.
As the years passed and China'sdisposable income soared, I'd hear the odd report from Tiger Leaping gorge. I'd been told that a road now ranalongside the river, that tour buses rumbled in, that guesthouses were mushrooming along the trail and that power lines rimmed the path - bringing refrigeration, floodlights and the internet. Two hikers had been robbed. It sounded bleak yet believable. Nearby Lijiang, once the magnificent wood-and-cobblestone seat of the Naxi kingdom, had turned twee. Now its 20,000-resident old town hosted 500,000 tourists each year, most of them Han Chinese on package tours to a region of their country that tourism officials had seriously identified as Shangri-La. I downgraded Tiger Leaping gorge to another lost horizon.
It's usually a mistake to revisit a beloved locale - it has changed and so have you. But after a bleak Beijing winter, curiosity got the better of me. I left China's capital at breakfast and by dinner stood at the gorge's entrance - a journey made possible by an expansion in airline flights and improved roads.
On a clear spring morning, I had a pre-hike breakfast at the Gorged Tiger café run by Englishwoman Margo Carter. She first visited Tiger Leaping gorge in 1997 and was so taken by it she decided to stay. But now, she said, paraphrasing a disappointed customer: "Ecotourism in China is walking all day to a remote waterfall, then finding someone pissing in it." I asked how this hike had changed. Carter's tone signalled caution: "See for yourself."
But once I paid the Yn30 entrance fee, turned off the paved road, walked through the grounds of the middle school (where bored kids still hollered hellos) to the gorge's high path, little seemed different. In fact, the trail looked better. Formerly it wound through the gorge, past rocks spray-painted with yellow and red adverts for Walnut Garden's competing guesthouses. Signs for the new hotels - the Half-Way, Tina's and the Naxi Family - look politely muted in comparison. "We are a home in the mountains having silence with beautiful scenery, but not nothing commercial," reads a rock enticing hikers to the Old Horse Inn.
I arrived on the high trail at the same time as another man. I'd travelled all this way to be alone with memories. Now there was no way around the fact that I'd have a walking partner.
If Coen Weddepohl was as disappointed by the idea of company, he was polite enough not to show it. The28-year-old was on a long Asian vacation from his job in the City of London. Dressed in a FDNY T-shirt and hiking pants, he stopped to ask me to snap a picture of him against a backdrop of the Golden Sand river. The lime green river runs under black cliffs striped with orange lichen and alkaline tears - part of the legend of the river-crossing tiger that gave the gorge its name. After passing a farmer's home, he asked me to photograph him beside a wheat field. I framed the lens, fearing I was in for a long day. Three times in the next hour, my backpack spilled open, littering laundry along the trail. I saw Weddepohl's face register the same worry.
We made small talk for the two hours leading into the high trail's24 Bends, a gruelling series of switchbacks that took us to 8,800ft. Weddepohl mentioned needing to get into shape. It looked impossible for him to get any more sculpted. As I panted up the dusty path under the unclouded sun, I remembered that a younger me could make this climb without pain. Not any more, mocked the crows from shady pine bough perches. A middle-aged farmer descended, leading a donkey. "You're not even close to the top" he laughed.
Three hours into the walk, Weddepohl and I parted - he to eat lunch and be alone with his thoughts, me to collapse beside a waterfall. An hour later, he caught up. We continued single-file down a perfect path - cushioned by pine needles, shaded by bamboo, crossing frequent creeks brimming with melted snow. The hike felt exactly as I remembered it - gruelling, isolated, uplifting.
As the day wound down and the sun arced behind us, we threaded our way along a cliff-face towards a waterfall. Over his shoulder, Weddepohl mentioned that he'd been diagnosed with a condition. A moment passed. On the road, solitude with a stranger can be liberating - a safe zone to talk without consequences. And Weddepohl is the kind of guy with whom you want to talk, preferably over pints. He told me all about hedge funds, about growing up in the Netherlands, about being held in a Congo jail, about his girlfriend. He'd made me roar with laughter by confessing to once substituting Chinese currency for absent toilet paper: "And all I had were tens and twenties!" So I decided not to let it go. I asked about his condition.
While watching a goat teeter on a tree limb, he said he had leukaemia. This trip was in part to strengthen his body for the bone marrow transplant awaiting him in England. He described the operation and recovery details with the same confident optimism he brought to calculating how long our hike would take. We made it in eight hours just as he predicted.
We said goodnight in Walnut Garden. The next day's leg required another four hours under the hot sun, descending to the river, then up again to a waiting bus that would rattle all afternoon into town. Weddepohl's chemotherapy pill made him too fatigued to go on. He had a long journey ahead - on to Bangkok, north to Pyongyang, south again to Hanoi. They were places he always wanted to see, he said, but had never previously had the time. The guesthouse called for a cab. The taxi's shape dimmed as it returned Weddepohl to the gorge.
I continued down the old trail, past the explosions of the dam survey crew's work. At the river crossing, the ferry sat anchored but unattended. Spray-painted instructions on the landing stone said to phone for a lift. The ferryman used to stay next to his boat but the new road is making his once-profitable job obsolete. Now he only leaves his farm work and descends the steep switchbacks when hikers call. After a dozen rings, the answering voice asked how many passengerswere waiting at river's edge. I didn't know that Weddepohl would go on to survive his transplant and so my voice broke when I said that only one of us would be crossing to the gorge's far shore.
Mike Meyer lives in Beijing. His first book 'Echo Wall: The Last Days of Old Beijing' will be published by Walker Books in 2007
重返虎跳峡
峡如其名。虎跳峡(Tiger Leaping gorge)，如同她的中文名字一样，充满了迷人的诱惑。读她的名字，嘴唇的运动就好象穿越这条世界上最深的峡谷时必须迈出的脚步，抑扬的声调正如你鼓起勇气徒步走过的30英里小径那样起伏不平。
我第一次被虎跳峡的名字所吸引，是在10年之前。当时，我作为和平队(Peace Corps)的一名志愿者，正呆在一个封闭、泥泞、终年难见阳光的小镇上。我对地名颇为痴迷，因此，虎跳峡及其所处的玉龙雪山、金沙江、彩云之南省(云南省：译者注)便有了不可抗拒的诱惑力。于是动身前往。尽管为了到达那里，我坐了24个小时的火车硬座，紧接着经过公共汽车一整天的颠簸，跨越多个山峰，才到达长江源头附近的一个卡车驿站。
虽然一路上无法入睡，疲惫不堪，一个旅客呕吐溅到另一旅客的鸡肉上时还引发了争吵，但这次旅程终究物有所值。抛开一些文明礼节上的缺憾不谈，虎跳峡存留在我心里，成为中国旅行的最佳目的地之一。那是一个中国少有的、没有任何人造旅游设施的地方，游离在人类历史痕迹之外――没有寺庙，没有城墙，没有钢筋，一切都是那么天然。这条峡谷纵深1.2万英尺，最窄处仅有100英尺宽。一侧最高峰海拔1.8万英尺，碧绿的江水在谷底奔腾而过。一条骡马道宛如一条积满尘土的缎带，蜿蜒在种满小麦的梯田之间。核桃园(Walnut Garden)有两家简陋的旅店，提供简单的主食和江水冰镇的啤酒，就着摇曳的烛光，游客可以在此小憩一晚。
随着光阴的流逝和中国人可支配收入的迅速增加，我曾听到些许来自虎跳峡的报道。据说现在沿着江边修筑了一条公路，旅游巴士隆隆开进山谷，道路两边的旅店鳞次栉比，输电线路也顺着道路往前延伸――也带来了冰箱、电灯和因特网。有两个徒步旅行者在此遭遇了抢劫。这听起来令人沮丧，但并非不可信。距此不远的丽江，曾经是一个令人赞叹的、用木材和圆石筑就的纳西古国首府，现在也失去了当初的淳朴。拥有2万居民的丽江老城现在每年接待50万游客，其中多数是汉族人，跟随旅行团来游历国内一个被旅游官员郑重命名为“香格里拉”(世外桃源――译者注)的地方。我担心虎跳峡将成为又一个消失的地平线。
重访一个至爱的地方通常是错误的――因为景色已经改变，你也发生了变化。但是在北京熬过了一个凛冽寒冬之后，好奇心最终战胜了自我。我早餐时离开了中国的首都，晚餐时分已经到达虎跳峡的入口――航线扩展和道路改善，使得这样的行程成为可能。
在一个明媚的春日早晨，我在餐馆Gorged Tiger café享用了徒步旅行之前的早餐。这个餐馆是由来自英国的玛尔戈?卡特 (Margo Carter)经营的。她在1997年首次到访虎跳峡，被这里深深吸引，从而决定留下来。但是现在，她却像是一位失望的客人：“中国所谓的生态旅游就是走上一整天去看一个偏远的瀑布，到了那里却发现有人在里面小便。”我问她徒步旅行变成什么样了。卡特的语调略显谨慎：“你可以亲眼看看。”
不过，当我付了30元人民币的门票，避开铺好的公路，穿过中学操场(那里无聊的孩子们仍然对你大声喊“hello”)，走向峡谷高处小径的时候，似乎还没看出有什么变化。实际上，沿途看来更好了。以前，小路在峡谷里蜿蜒盘旋，途经的一些岩石上面喷着黄色和红色油漆广告，标注着核桃园相互竞争的旅店名字。比较而言，新旅店“中途客栈(Half-Way)”、“中峡旅店(Tina’s)”及“纳西雅阁(Naxi Family)”的标志看起来更加优雅柔和。一块岩石上写着“我们是山里人家，环境幽静，景色优美，但并非没有商业因素”，吸引徒步旅行者前往“老马旅馆(Old Horse Inn)”。
我和另一个人同时到达了高处的小路。记忆中，我在这条路上一直是独自旅行。现在，很显然，我有了一个步行旅伴。
或许科昂?韦德波尔(Coen Weddepohl)对结伴而行的想法颇感失望，但他还是足够礼貌，并没有把失望表现出来。他28岁，在伦敦金融城工作，在亚洲休长假。他穿着FDNY牌T恤和徒步旅行长裤，停下来请我帮他照张相片，以金沙江为背景。灰绿色的江水在黑色的悬崖下奔流，橙色苔藓和碱化裂缝在悬崖上形成斑驳的花纹――这些都构成了老虎跳跃过江传说的一部分，这条峡谷由此得名。经过一户农家之后，他请我给他在一片麦田旁边拍照。我用镜头取景，唯恐自己会由此耽误时间。在接下去的一个小时里，我三次打开背包，沿途抛弃了一些脏衣服。我看见韦德波尔的脸上也露出同样的担忧。
在24弯盘山路的崎岖路途中，我们闲聊了两小时。这累人的上坡路一段接一段，将我们引向海拔8800英尺的峰顶。韦德波尔提到他需要获得好身材 ，但他看上去似乎不太可能更有型了。当我气喘吁吁地爬上晴朗阳光下尘土飞扬的小道，不禁回忆起当初更年轻的时候，我可以毫不费力地攀登上去。时光不再啊，乌鸦栖息在成荫的松树主枝上，向我发出嘲笑。一位中年农夫牵着一头驴下山来，笑着说：“你离峰顶还远着呢。”
又走了三个小时，韦德波尔和我分头行动――他准备吃午饭，一个人静静想点事；我则精疲力尽地瘫倒在一处瀑布旁。一小时后，他赶了上来。我俩一前一后，沿着风光绝美的山路继续前行――小道上铺着软软的松针，两侧竹影掩映，不时还有融雪流淌的小溪穿过。这次远足和我记忆之中的感觉完全符合――疲惫不堪、与世隔绝、情绪振奋。
一天将尽，日斜身后，我们沿着一道绝壁向瀑布走去。韦德波尔扭过头来告诉我，他被诊断患有一种病。一刻钟过去了。在路上，与陌生人同行的孤独感可以得到释放――这是一个讲话可以不管后果的安全地区。韦德波尔是那种你想和他聊的家伙，而且最好是饮酒谈天。他告诉我很多事，譬如对冲基金、他在荷兰成长的经历、在刚果蹲监狱的往事、还谈到自己的女友。他承认有一次没有厕纸、被迫拿人民币代之，引得我哈哈大笑。“我所有的钱都是十块和二十的！”于是我决定不放过他。我询问他的病情。
他将目光投向一只踩在大树枝上摇摇欲坠的山羊，说，他患了白血病。他此次旅行的部分原因也是为了增强体质，为将在英国进行的骨髓移植手术做准备。和计算我们此次远足所需时间的时候一样，他自信乐观地向我描述了手术和康复细节。不出他预计，我们此次徒步旅行花了8个小时。
我们在核桃园互道晚安。第二天的行程要在太阳暴晒之下走四小时的路，先下到河边，然后再折上去到一辆等候的公共汽车处，在车上晃荡一下午才能回到镇里。化疗药物让韦德波尔太疲劳，无法继续前行了。他还有很长的路要走――先到曼谷，后北上平壤，再南下河内。他说这些都是他一直想看、以前却没时间去看的地方。下榻的客栈叫了一辆出租车。车身轮廓逐渐黯淡，，载着韦德波尔返回峡谷。
我继续沿着老路前进，还经过大坝勘察人员的爆破工事地点。走到河流渡口，只见渡船停锚，却无人照看。渡口踏脚石上的喷漆说明上写道：渡河请打电话。那位摆渡者过去常呆在渡船附近，但新路一开辟，让他这份曾经有钱可赚的活计变得少人问津。现在，他只有在渡河者打电话时才会搁下农活，从陡峭的山路走下来。响了十几声之后，电话那头问我河边有多少乘客在等。我不知道韦德波尔是否能在移植手术中活下来，于是当我回答只有一人要过河到峡谷对岸时，我的声音突然哽咽了。
麦克?梅尔(Mike Meyer)居于北京，他的第一本书《回音壁：老北京的最后岁月》将于2007年由英国出版公司Walker Books出版。
