The second day in Zhongdian saw us sleepy-eyed due to a late night rude awakening when the owners of our guesthouse suddenly started blasting techno beats into the courtyard. Aren't the guests supposed to be the ones having the parties? We've been good little travellers for the most part, going to bed by 10 or 11 most nights. So Brandon had to go tell them to turn it down and apparently they had forgotten to turn off the courtyard speakers--an honest mistake. The next morning when we woke up to our owner hanging out with his buddy shooting a crossbow into the front gate we decided to get on our way into the mountains before we lost an eye.
We scoured the streets to rent a car and the thinly moustached driver who hailed us from his maroon SUV won us over for 170yuan for the day. We rode up into the mountains past old villages until we arrived at Bita Lake, 35km from town. Our driver escorted us to the ticket booth and made sure we got safely onto the bus which took us on a road that reached an altitude of 3700m to get to the lake. From where we were dropped off it was an easy walk down to the lake on a boardwalk over marshy grasslands speckled with rhododendrons and grazing yak herds and horses. The lake was gorgeous and reminded us of Canadian landscapes, making us dream of the day we'll live in a place as beautiful. After the lake we soaked our bones in a natural hotspring which flowed out of an enormous cave in the side of a mountain. We were quite happy with the day so far and as we drove back to town our driver serenaded us with an acapella folk song.
But that wasn't the end! We had our hearts set on finding a tibetan hotpot for dinner and on our wanderings to find and ATM, stumbled upon a string of restaurants offering just that and ambiance that would turn the weak of stomach. It was a yak hot pot joint with short wooden tables and stools and along the walls hung the ribcages of tens of yak carcasses, reminiscent of a Francis Bacon painting. Bunches of dried chilli peppers added colour. The fuzzy chinned proprietor guided us cheerily to our table and explained the rules of the game. Men sat around shooting back rice wine and sratching their ruddy wind-weathered chins. We ate our fill and gave our thanks to the mighty yak. Needless to say, they're back in my good books.
Naomi
