About 45 minutes down the road southwest from Jianchuan, along the busy Lijiang-Dali road is a town where most travelers fail to stop. No one pays too much attention to Shaxi these days. Its heyday is long gone.

Once it stood on the busy Tea Horse Road—a less famous trading route than the Silk Road, it still played an essential role sharing not only goods, but philosophies and ideas between Tibet and Yunnan Province. The Tibetans sent their strong horses down into China, and China sent bricks of Pu ‘er tea up into the high elevations of the Tibetan Plateau. There, the Tibetans enjoyed the black tea though the long, cold winters and the Chinese, in the lowlands, put the much needed horses to use.

Today all is quiet on Shaxi’s main square, or cobbled Sifang. A few infrequently visited cafés line the fringes. Guesthouses are tucked away into historic homes, featuring beautiful courtyards. The tourists and travelers are noticeable, but few and far between. The historic center, filled with mud-brick houses and cobbled lanes seem like a ghost town.

It’s best to visit on a Friday, when seemingly the entire surrounding village population is in Shaxi buying and selling goods and produce. You’ll see Yi and Bai people in traditional dress, live animals for sale, and may even catch a brief glace at some sidewalk dentistry.

As far as sights, you’ll want to check out the Xingjiao Temple, founded in 1415, located in the main square. From there, you’ll see the theater located directly across the square. Down on the east side of town, an old stone bridge arches gracefully over the river and farms stretch to the mountains. It’s a quiet town, save for Fridays, and a walk through the centuries old streets will give you the essence of Shaxi.

There is plenty of accommodation in the old town, but I stayed at Horse Pen 46, which is a hostel affiliated with Hostelling International, and located right on the main square. Like many of the other accommodation options, Horse Pen 46 is located inside an authentic Bai minority courtyard. The hostel has maintained the traditional look and feel of the local architecture and it’s a great experience staying there.

Stephen Bugno spent three months traveling through China in 2012. He edits the GoMad Nomad Travel Mag and blogs at BohemianTraveler.com

The Soviet fossils in Ashgabat are strewn over the surface of daily life here. One in particular is the bukhanka. This is the Russian word for “loaf”, as in “loaf of bread”. However, the word is used as a standard sort of measure of the state-subsidized and state-produced bread that fills a lot of stomachs here in the capital of the country with the second largest natural gas field in the world.

During the USSR, a bukhanka was a standard, one kilogram loaf of bread. Stuffed with starch, it was not great but it apparently sold for just kopeks (cents in a ruble). Cheap bread subsidized by the productive areas of the economy, and especially oil exports, was a cornerstone of the USSR’s policies towards the citizen.

Ashgabat’s residents try to catch the bread as it just gets delivered. It is pretty tolerable when fresh, straight from the factory. It is a completely different story just a few hours out of the oven. The crust is tough and chewy with burn marks at the points where the pan sat on the rack. The bread is stacked on a shelf, several deep, and everyone handles this with the same care you might show a shoe box.

It is not possible to blame the bad taste on the handling, though. The gray color of the bread stems from using the worst available flour. This shows itself in the taste and the only way I have been able to eat it was to either dipping in soup or salting each slice, salt having been one of the last corners to cut. And instead of a standard weight of one kilogram, the loaf is at least a third less. And yet, it gets taken off the shelf almost as fast as it is re-stocked by the bread truck’s bread boy.

The reason for the local tolerance to such a shabby product is the price. The state controls the production of the bread and charges a price of four loaves for one manat (which makes each loaf about eight US cents). Consumers come in and grab eight loaves at a time. Those with exact change and just buying the bukhanka effectively have a second check-out line where a flash of the loaves and some tossed coins is enough to walk out. Within an hour, this terrible tasting and poor quality bread is gone. The non-subsidized, but much better quality bread is between four and ten times more expensive. This is the kind I buy with my rich foreigner tastes.

This subsidy and the bread distribution system is a direct carry-over of the Soviet era. The state-owned trucks plying the streets, labeled simply in Turkmen, “Bread”. The state-owned grocery stores stocking the bread keep people satisfied and fed despite their low salaries. Paid for with foreign currency, the bukhanka will continue to fill the shelves and stomachs of a lot of people here in Ashgabat.

Read the first post in this series: Landing in Ashgabat

This is a standard government-owned bread truck. Green license plates are all government vehicles, so it is helpful in figuring out what the various state monopolies are. The 'ÇÖREK' written on the side of the truck (pronounced 'chorek') reads "Bread" in Turkmen language.

This post has been written by an expatriate currently working in Ashgabat, Turkmenistan.

By Stephen Bugno

The Good

The sights—Where else can you see the Great Wall of China, panda bears close up in their hometown, or a gorge the likes of Tiger Leaping Gorge? Nowhere. That’s why you come to China, for these heavy hitters. I won’t deny that I’ve seen some cool sights here. Climbing Emei Shan sacred mountain and living temporarily in Dali Old City have been some other personal highlights.

China is still a challenge. Yes, that’s a good thing. It can be frustrating at times, but it’s reassuring to be reminded that you can’t just travel everywhere in this world and people will know English. There is a sense of accomplishment in China doing what in other places is just a simple task—booking a train ticket, checking into a hotel, ordering a meal. It will take a phase book, body language, and two willing partners to communicate if you don’t know Mandarin.

You are special—if you’re a westerner, one of European decent, you are special. Bonus points if you are tall and blond, although then you may get borderline unwanted attention. You will get practiced on (English), you will get photographed, you will get stared at, long and hard. You might expect all these factors should lead to unique cultural experiences, and in theory you’d be right. But many folks are just too shy to approach you, nor do they possess enough English skills.

Inexpensive—this mostly applies to the south and southwest. We’re talking about dorm rooms for the equivalent of $5 US, doubles for $12, a bowl of noodles for $1, a nice meal for $3, inexpensive trains and buses, 50 cent beers. I wrote a post on the expenses for travelers in Yunnan Province. Get here before prices go up (and they will).

The Bad

China can be an annoying place to travel most of the time. You need to adapt and be really good at ignoring things. The overwhelming rule of the road is “conduct yourself whatever way you want and be able to ignore everything around you”. The biggest annoyances are as follows:

Smoking—this is difficult to get used to for those of us who have been living in smoke-free environments for 10+ years. Worst of all, people even smoke in confined areas. What is so mystifying is that there is no concept of smoking is bad, even if you are next to a child in a confined space.

Loud talking—Loud talking I can ignore. But I can still get annoyed by it. Nowhere in the world have I heard people shout for an entire conversation on a cell phone than in China. It doesn’t matter if they are young or old, from the village or city, speak mandarin or an ethnic minority language, people in these parts blast their voice through the phone as if they are not sure if the other end of the line can hear them. It also doesn’t seem to matter if you are in a bus, a restaurant, or a museum—this phone conversation is all that matters and you must deal with it.

Beeping—China is not the worst country with beeping horns. That award may go India. But it is bad. It’s not necessarily the frequency of beeping, but one ear-piercing, brain-penetrating, intense type of bus horn. The screech from this type of horn gives one an immediate headache and if close enough, scares the hell out of you.

The ugly

Toilets—especially those in Yunnan Province have been some of the most revolting I’ve ever seen. But it’s not only the sight of these public toilets; it’s the nauseating smell that goes along with them. I won’t go into too much detail, but a lot of people have missed the targeted area with their warheads and even though there is usually a person on duty to collect a small fee from each user, the toilets are not being adequately cleaned.

I’m not exaggerating or speaking of isolated cases—nearly every public bathroom in Yunnan I visited was a roll-your-pantleg, hold-your-nose experience. It was almost like you didn’t know whether to laugh out loud at the extreme disgustingness of the situation or be angry that people could tolerate such severe unsanitary conditions.

Pollution—We’ve read about this in the papers and heard the conditions from the Olympics and I’m here to tell you it really is that bad. The air in Chinese cities is deplorably, disgustingly, filthy. It messes your eyes, it hurts your throat, it affects your lungs. The urban areas are horrendous and much of the time, the countryside is bad too—with mega-clouds of smog drifting over from industrial areas.

Stephen Bugno traveled around south and southwestern China for three months in 2012. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. He blogs at BohemianTraveler.com and edits the GoMad Nomad Travel Mag.

The following post is brought to you by Skyscanner.

Body

Most of us, when preparing to travel, don’t take a bathroom cabinet of drugs and potions with us on holiday. This is because we either believe we won’t get ill or that we’ll be able to furnish ourselves with the necessary medications on arrival, in-country and only if and when the need arises.

A combination of these two schools of thought is advisable in our opinion. Relying solely on your destination of choice to provide an unending choice of safe drugs can sometimes be misguided but it really does depend on where you are going. If heading for the Med, you should find no end of suitable hangover cures. If you’re jetting off to Japan, a phrasebook and dictionary will make invaluable companions.

Be Prepared

If you take regular medication, an NHS doctor can prescribe you with up to a three month’s supply. If you’re worried about it getting lost, stolen or confiscated, ensure you take a prescription and doctor’s letter with you making it easier to find the same stuff abroad. Having the original packaging to hand can also help enormously in identifying the correct prescription, as company and brand names can vary from country to country. Be sure to ask your doctor, pre-travel, whether your particular medication comes under any other name in your destination as well as for comparable alternatives should yours be unavailable.

Procuring Minor Medication

If an unexpected headache or bout of ‘Delhi belly’ gets you mid-holiday, it should be fairly easy to obtain the necessary remedies locally. If you’ve booked flights to Tenerife, you should have no problems getting your hands on paracetamol, asprin, diarrhoea tablets and the like. However, if you’ve booked flights to Goa, getting your hands on these could prove a little trickier. Rather than chancing your arm in a local store, ask advice of hotel staff to see if there is a travel clinic you could attend to seek professional advice.

The Pitfalls of Foreign Medication

Whatever you do, carefully inspect any medication you intend to purchase before buying it, particularly the expiry date. If you are unsure you are being sold the correct drugs, there are pill identification websites (drugs.com) that provide pictures that can be useful for comparison. Make sure that whoever you are buying from is familiar with your ailment, particularly if there is a language barrier. If you are unsure they have understood you, go elsewhere and seek alternative advice.

Home and Away

Try and be informed about what you’re taking in and out of different countries as rules and amounts vary considerably from country to country. Sometimes even special licences are needed. The embassy of your destination should be able to provide this information. Also remember that liquid medication has to go in hold luggage if it’s over 100ml, otherwise you’ll lose it.

All that’s really required when buying medication abroad is a little common sense. Forward planning and pre-travel research can help avoid many a close-call. The higher the country’s risk of illness or lack of available healthcare options, the more prepared you should be. 

By Jett Thomason

I like Djibouti in the morning.

I wake up early in the US, so jetlag throws my natural tendency into overdrive with a 3:15, 4:30, or if I’m lucky, 5:00 am wake-up call. I have spent the past week in Djibouti at a training conference for our new Somalia program. US Government restrictions on official travel to Somalia (and Puntland and Somaliland) have channeled a large number of donor conferences and foreign involvement in the Horn of Africa to Djibouti. Arriving on business, working all day and a large part of the night, I have sadly not been able to see much of the city, to say nothing of the country.

However, the ridiculous hour that my body insists is time to get up also makes it easy to be the early morning jogger. I do not normally like these people. And in fact, I do not normally like to run.  But as a good friend says about writing, I like having run. And so, after ten minutes of forcing the eyelids closed, knowing that the battle was lost, I roll out of bed and by 5 am have my tennis shoes on the quiet morning streets of Djibouti. I start my run.

There is, as with all colonial experiences, a foreign sector. The hotels used for official business are always in this zone. At this hour, though, I am the only international around. Guards laze back on their cheap plastic chairs, bored and letting their rifles droop on the ground. A few women are bent straight over at the waist, whisking the road clean of dust. They turn at the sound of my feet on the beaten asphalt. Unlike the daylight hours, our eyes meet for a moment. Whether they are more emboldened with no one watching or too tired to pretend not to see me I cannot say.

The guard at the end of the barricaded street is a worker at the hotel. I am a paying guest and there are vast gulfs of space between our two worlds. However, at this hour I get a nod as I pass by. We are both among the few awake and that is some shared bond.

In Africa, local athletes rally at city stadiums or school yard fields to run. Streets in the developing world are among the worst places for exercise – normally. Taxis and diesel fumes and vendors spreading their wares out to the edge of rushing traffic make road running impossible during the day. In the morning stillness I pad down the center of the street luxuriating in the space.

Djibouti is an old French outpost on the Indian Ocean. Strategic only for its location, the country has continued to mine its sovereignty rather than build any real industry. It is easy to get a feel for the city just a few minutes into my run. The avenues are straight and angled to the cross streets. The expat sector is on a jutting peninsula of land so I run out from this zone down the wide boulevards. Returning along residential streets is easy with the confidence of knowing my hotel is at land’s end.

I raise a hand to the small merchants in each of the roundabouts I pass on my jog. There is an inevitable clustering of these small stores lit with white fluorescents and hawking dry goods, browning bananas and cylinders of propane. They wave back. Taxis tend to coagulate at odd corners and I do not greet them for fear they will think I am a fare and fire up the cars. Most of the drivers are sleeping on a piece of cardboard next to their cars with thin cloth scarves covering them as some defense against the mosquitos.

Turning into the side street the crackle of an intercom flares up and the recorded call to prayer begins from the side mosque. A group of guards eating from a large platter of rice call out in French, “Bon Courage!” I respond with “Merci” and turn sharply down another street to avoid the stray dog that suddenly jumped to attention at the sight of me. Courage is needed indeed.

The chewed leaf stimulat khat is as prevalent here as in Yemen just across the water. Evenings on the street in Djibouti are always marked by men sitting on a stoop and feeding sprigs of khat into their mouths. The effect of each leaf fades fast so users clasp their bunch of leaves in their left, preparing the next bunch of leaves with their right. Those who are already heavily into the chew grab you on the street and try to pull you in to look at their cheap trinkets that one finds from Senegal to Kenya and that are probably made en masse in southern China. Spraying bits of green leaf and their khat eyes crazed by the prospect of tourist dollars, it’s a side of Djibouti I have come to dislike within just a few days.

Running up the side streets I can see gnawed stems of the khat and wisps of micro-thin cheap plastic used to wrap the bunches. These are always found in piles where the users stood together the day before. Sure enough, I turn a corner and see a big sign for “Khat Awady”, or “Evening Khat”. It is 5:30 am now, and instead of the huddled groups of drugged men, I am greeted by several older men passing me on their way to mosque.

Sun licks at the sky while a woman coaxes a fire into life near the taxi stand. She sells rice and meat to drivers and there are a few women like her on this street. Squat, dusty trees shelter the place and improve her stand’s marketability. She is either too busy to acknowledge me or I have crossed some time limit when foreign men are not allowed to directly into women’s eyes.

The end of the run is the hardest. The fatigue sets in and the exoticness of the place wear off and it is tough to stay motivated. I approach the end of the street and can see the hotel lights. They are preternaturally bright and speak to foreign currency establishments with generators and razor wire enclosures. This is not generally how I want to see another country but this is the job and the reality of Africa.

Sweat rolling off me in the humid air and feet beginning to hurt as much as my sides, I see someone coming down the road. He has a bag packed and the look of a night watchman coming off duty. The lilt in his step is does not fit with the other laborers I see packed onto mini-buses, driven into the foreigner zone for their menial jobs.

“Courage!” he says as I run by with a great smile and nod. I smile, nod back.

This is Jett Thomason’s 14 post at GoMad Nomad. Over the past decade his travels and work have taken him throughout the former Soviet Republics, Europe, and Africa to Afghanistan and Iraq. He blogs for GoMad Nomad at the No Leave Travel Blog.

1. Perros Calleros (Street Dogs)

In Cajamarca, they’re everywhere. They are untamed, off-leash, un-spayed/neutered, and sometimes un-vaccinated. Last year while running on public roads near my house, a small dog ran out of the bushes and attached its teeth to my leg. As the dog had no owner (or no one willing to admit it was theirs) I had no way to know if it had been vaccinated against rabies. So as a precaution, I had to go through a series of 10 shots to get myself vaccinated. My friend Amy got bit last year too. My dog Brandy has been attacked several times.

2.Hombres Calleros (Street Men)

They might as well be dogs. They bark disgusting comments as you walk by or growl weird kissing noises trying to intimidate you.  Sometimes they just stare at you up and down, make easily audible comments to their friends while puffing out their chests and holding their heads high. They sure think they’re studs. No humility. No respect. They make me want to puke. I used to try to accept machismo as a part of the Latino culture. Screw that. Men who behave like this are scum buckets, they know it and culture is not a valid excuse. While I’ve learned it’s best to ignore it, on occasion it’s hard not to respond with a comment such as “voy a vomitar,” or if I’m on a run, by aiming a loogie or snot rocket in their direction.

photo credit: by Ivan Mlinaric

3. Poor Medical Care

I hope I never get seriously sick in Cajamarca because every experience I’ve had with the medical system here has been scary. Perhaps, coming from a medical background I’m hyper-aware of these things.

When I first moved here I was very sick with some abnormal symptoms (extreme thirst, sore eyeballs, spider veins, etc.). Having recently made a trip to the jungle, I asked to be tested for a variety of illnesses such as Dengue fever, Malaria, etc. I was diagnosed by three different doctors as having a stomach infection and each time sent home with antibiotics and pain killers. A month

Last year I helped an American family’s 13-year-old daughter who got appendicitis on their vacation to Cajamarca. Not only was Eliza conscious for most of the surgery, but when the doctor removed the appendix, he brought it out to the waiting area to show it to the parents before closing their daughter up. Poor Eliza! After surgery, they didn’t give her pain medication until we requested it. They told me she had a 50% chance of the wound getting infected (this may be due to the fact that gloves are highly undervalued in the medical system here). In the beginning, I feared for her life. In the end, she was fine. But I doubt the Webbers will EVER be coming back to Cajamarca.later when I was listening to a public service announcement about Dengue fever, I noticed they had listed my symptoms perfectly. I went back through my paperwork to discover that I had indeed tested positive for Dengue fever. None of the three doctors ever looked at the results of my testing.

Each time I get my blood drawn, I find myself lecturing the lab tech about the importance of wearing gloves. I’ve heard every excuse in the book, “We only wear gloves when the patient requests it,” or “I don’t have any open wounds so I don’t need to wear gloves.”

Out of fear of contracting Hepatitis B, AIDS, or the flu due to poor sanitation standards, I avoid going to the doctor in Cajamarca at all costs. Fortunately, in Peru, you don’t need a prescription for most medications, including antibiotics and pain killers so I tend to use whatever resources I can and diagnose and treat myself. Seems like a safer option. Most people go to Lima for any serious surgeries or illnesses. While the health care is better in Lima, it’s hard to find the quality of health care that you expect in the States.  Why is this annoying?  Because there is a constant fear that something bad might happen and we would not be able to get adequate healthcare.

 

4. Dangerous Drivers

Speeding, running stop signs, illegally passing on either side, going the wrong direction on one-way streets, driving drunk. Anything goes. For this reason, the municipality puts speed bumps all over the place so that people HAVE to slow down. Cars have the right-of-way before pedestrians. Once, as Charlie was riding his motorcycle in Cajamarca he slowed down for an older woman who was crossing the street with a cane. The car behind swerved around Charlie (typical) and hit the woman dead on. Judging by how hard she was hit and the fact that there was blood everywhere, Charlie doubts she survived.

I don’t get it. Peruvians are generally fairly laid back as a culture, they arrive hours late to everything, but put them in a car and they drive like complete maniacs! If you live in Peru, you learn quickly to be extremely careful when crossing the street.

5. Public Urination/Defecation

At the risk of sounding like a pervert, I see at least one wiener that’s NOT Charlie’s every day since I’ve lived in Cajamarca. People pee everywhere with little shame or effort to hide it. In fact, one of my biggest pet peeves is when I’m walking on the sidewalk near our home and need to step into the street to avoid walking through the pee stream of some guy who couldn’t find a more private spot. He’ll even say hello to me as I pass him! They are a little more discreet about public defecation, but it happens plenty. It is not uncommon to see my neighbors defecating in the stream or the eucalyptus grove across the street from us.

6. Littering!

I live in a city filled with litter bugs. People open a candy bar and throw the wrapper on the ground. People throw bags of trash onto the street to get torn apart by dogs. Despite an abundance of waste bins throughout Cajamarca, people choose to litter. On Wednesdays the butcher in Banos del Inca slaughters large animals (cows and pigs). This is the day that our local stream which runs through town turns red with the blood and remains. Gross!

7. Nothing is easy

I used to think it was because of my inadequate Spanish, but now I know that’s not it. I swear that Peruvians are professionals at turning a simple task such as the purchase of a printer into a half-day ordeal. First, go to the electronics department and select your printer. Wait in line and eventually they will print you a receipt which you will take to the cash register at the front of the store. Wait in line, make your payment and work your way back to the electronics department. Wait in line. First they will check your receipt, then they will open the box to confirm that everything that should be in it IS indeed present (shouldn’t it always be?). There are rules and systems such as this in place for most circumstances. The problem is, most people don’t know what they are, so they need to consult someone else…who may not be around. You end up going from one person to the next to do something as simple as opening a bank account.

8. No one has change

This can be VERY inconvenient. Unless you’re making a big purchase, you can’t pay with a large bill because the vendor won’t have change. If a vendor does have adequate change, they claim they don’t until you tell them you won’t make the purchase. I don’t get it. If we all pay vendors in small bills, where do they go? WHY doesn’t anyone have change?

9. Noise

Cajamarca loves firecrackers. Not fireworks, the pretty things that light up the sky, but firecrackers, the explosions that make nothing but a loud boom. Their only purpose is noise. You can expect to hear these throughout the days for at least three weeks following Carnival and constantly around the time of political elections.

Then there’s the music. If you go to a party or a bar, it is guaranteed that the music will be turned up so loud that conversations are impossible. Everyone complains. Everyone says “why do they turn the music up so loud?” No one turns it down.

10. Cutting in Line

No matter where you are (the bank, pharmacy, grocery store, movie theatre) people do NOT respect lines. People behind you in line will physically push you forward or try to get around you. It is not uncommon for someone to come along, say ‘perdon’ and squeeze their way in front of you. When you finally arrive at the counter, someone may just step in front of you and begin talking to the person at the register or making their purchases. I used to get so frustrated, but now I just follow suit. You need to be aggressive and throw your elbows out to avoid cutters. If someone says ‘perdon’ and tries to step in front of me, I say ‘no, I was here first!’ If you follow what you think are the traditional expectations for waiting in line, you could be there all day.

Cajamarca. I love it here despite its flaws...

Ah, Peru. To love a thing, person or place you must forgive it for its flaws. I’m trying, but it can be tough.

By Stephen Bugno

Some specialties of Guangxi Province

China is a foodie’s utopia—the regional diversity of offerings is outstanding. Although it can’t compete with the powerhouse food regions like Sichuan, Beijing, or Guangdong, Guangxi Province still had some interesting food culture to investigate.

Guangxi Province is located in southern China, west of Hong Kong and Macau. It’s most famous for the limestone mountains around Guilin and Yangshuo. After a long day of cycling around Yangshuo or rafting down the Li River, we explored the culinary scene of Guangxi.

Guilin rice noodles are a favorite for breakfast. In addition to the broth and meat, different condiments like soy beans, fermented green beans, chopped spring onions, cabbage, radish, and chili are piled on top.

Snails are another specialty. We ate them stuffed with a pork, ginger and other-herbs blend.

Beer fish and beer duck are two specialties of Yangshuo, both prepared with local ingredients. Watch a video of a local chef preparing beer fish.

Due to the favorable climate, fruits are also popular in Guangxi: mandarin oranges, kumquats, persimmons, and the Shatin grapefruit. We also saw Gingko seeds for sale.

It’s also not unusual to see live animals outside of restaurants in Guangxi Province: chickens, pheasants fish, turtles, clams, and many others.

Now watch the video:

The following is a guest post.

The Yorkshire Dales are well-known for their attractive blend of rolling hills, woodland, wild moorland, dramatic landscapes and gentle valleys. The scenery here is some of the finest in all of Britain. Opportunities for great walks abound. Visiting pleasant little dales towns and villages provide a glimpse into traditional old-fashioned Yorkshire life. The Yorkshire Dales are situated in North Yorkshire County in the northeast of England.

One of the best ways to experience the Yorkshire Dales is via one of England’s most scenic railways, the Settle-Carlisle Railway. The Settle-Carlisle Railway can be boarded from Leeds Station, stopping throughout the Dales: Skipton, Settle, Horton, Ribblehead, Dent, and Garsdale.

Some of the highlights of the Yorkshire Dales include:

Masham, which sits on the edge of the Dales, is a pleasant small town with thriving market place and some interesting shops and cafes.

Ingleborough is one of the tallest peaks in the Dales which offer fabulous views and excellent walking opportunities.

Bolton Abbey is known for its river-side abbey in a picturesque location.

Grassington is a prosperous market town and a great base for walking.

Pen-y-Ghent is another hill popular with walkers.

Settle is a handsome little market town with a great traditional atmosphere.

Skipton is an attractive historic market town with one of England’s largest and best preserved castles.

Nearby cities include Ripon and York. Ripon is a small historic cathedral city, which is considered to be the oldest city in England. It’s also the fourth smallest city in the country. York is larger and far more famous. York has an ancient history with some of the best preserved historical buildings and structures in Europe.

London is a fine place to base yourself while living in England. Serviced apartments London makes an excellent choice for short-term or long-term accommodation. But occasionally you’ll need to get out and explore the countryside as well as other regions of England.

Favorites include the Lake District, a mountainous region in the North West of England.  It’s famous not only for its lakes and mountains but also for its associations with the early 19th century poetry and writings of William Wordsworth and the other Lake Poets.

The Peak District is another classic getaway. Most of the Peak District lies within the Peak District National Park, which was established in 1951 as the first national park in Britain.

Cornwall is located in the extreme southwest of the UK. Together with its neighbor Devon, Cornwall is one of the most isolated parts of the United Kingdom. Its relatively warm climate, long coastline, amazing scenery, and diverse Celtic heritage have made it popular with travelers.

The shops are all closed up. There’s hardly any foot traffic or cars on the streets. Red lanterns hung around the city add to the atmosphere. But the most noticeable way to tell it’s the Eve of Chinese New Year is by the excessive and near constant explosions of firecrackers.

Children light them off. So do adults. But it’s the teenagers that are most aggressive. One will ride on the back of a scooter facing backwards lighting a series of firecrackers and dropping them while his or her friend drives away. I saw others having mini-wars; throwing clusters at their friends. Others just set them off near random people and scurry off before being seen.

Some firecrackers are bigger and louder than others. After a long string of big ones, at least one car alarm will get set off. The climax came at midnight, when it seemed like each of the city’s citizens was setting fireworks off at the same time.

I am witnessing all this in the small city of Jianshui, in Yunnan Province, about 200 km south of Kunming. Jianshui is known for its traditional architecture: its huge red gateway arch Chaoyang Lou, its venerable Confucian academy, the traditional Zhu Family Gardens, and the captivating 17-arch Twin Dragon Bridge.

Tomorrow, the 23^rd of January will be New Year’s Day and people will leave their homes to promenade through the old cobbled streets during the afternoon. The shops will all be open; the Taoist temple will be busy, and the street vendors will be cooking up their famous Jianshui barbecue.

The Chinese call this Lunar New Year’s celebration Spring Festival. The Lunar Calendar is observed in much of Asia. Last year I celebrated Lunar New Year in South Korea, which was an incredible cultural experience for me, spending the entire day with a Korean couchsurfer and his family. This year was not as special for me—I’ve just been watching people celebrate in the streets. I wasn’t able to see how any Chinese families celebrated in their homes. Nevertheless, it was fun to see everyone excited and in a festive spirit.

See the photos below of Jianshui preparing for Spring Festival, or Chinese New Year:

Red lanterns for sale in Jianshui, China

Red lanterns hang on the city gate in Jianshui, China

Decorations hung at the traditional Zhu Family Gardens in Jianshui, China

New Year’s decorations at the Confucian Temple in Jianshui, China

Red lanterns hung at the Confucian Temple in Jianshui, China.

Fireworks for sale in Jianshui, China.

Setting up fireworks at a private residence.

After the firecrackers

Exploded fireworks in front of the Linan Inn in Jianshui, China

Shops closed up on New Year’s Eve. Smoke after the firecrackers.

Out with last year’s red lanterns.

One day last June, I went for a jog with my new friend Shannon.  She had moved to Cajamarca as part of a Fulbright grant to teach English at the university.  While she loved her life in Peru, she missed working with school-aged children and was looking for opportunities to volunteer with an under-served community.  I had been informally teaching English to several children on my street for months.  I wanted to formalize my efforts into classes, but didn’t know how to go about it.  By the end of our three-mile jog, we had decided to start a school.  It was as simple as that.

After a couple meetings, we bought some markers and a dry erase board and began teaching free English classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays.  Following the principle that you don’t need a building to have a classroom, we began to teach in the street where the kids usually play soccer.  After two classes, a neighbor quickly volunteered a few child-sized chairs and the use of a roofed patio outside of his house.  Over time, more and more children came consistently and now we have an attendance between 12 and 18 children per class between the ages of four and eleven.  With geese, chickens and dogs wandering around us, we sing songs, play games and walk these kids through basic English. 

As terrible as it sounds, for most of my life I have not been a fan of children.  In graduate school, I dabbled in Pediatric occupational therapy but quickly became disinterested; preferring to work with a my-aged or older, even geriatric population.  Perhaps I hadn’t met the right kids.  For some reason, I find myself drawn to these children, who, despite the bad hands they were dealt, manage to be seemingly happy-go-lucky kids. 

Some of our students have it better than others.  Some eat three meals a day, others are lucky to get one.  Some go to school, others don’t.  One of my eight-year-old students lives in a closet-sized mud-and-grass hut with her 13-year old sister (who raised her).  Her parents live in the countryside and don’t want her.  One of our brightest students, Pepe, can’t walk due to a congenital spinal deformity; this seven-year-old boy crawls on his hands and ankles.  The family has been given money twice to bring him to Lima for a surgery that would give him the ability to walk, but they used the money on other things.  No matter what, each afternoon the kids gather to play soccer in the street with their worn ball and smiles on their faces.  Pepe is a surprisingly good player.

Each kid has a story.  These kids are TOUGH.  These kids rarely whine, cry or ask for anything more than for me to play soccer with them after class (a disgraceful sight).  In my opinion they need so much.  I want to give each one the same opportunities I had growing up.  However, saving the world or even one child is far more complicated than one would ever imagine (trust me, I’ve tried).  So, I offer free English classes twice a week to anyone who wants to come.  The kids and parents show extreme gratitude and have graciously welcomed me into their close community.

Not only are these kids happy, grateful and tough…they are SMART!  One day as I was conversing in Spanish with a small group, I asked a question and soon realized I already knew the answer.  “Duh!” I blurted out in English.  “Duh!” I heard the kids repeat.  From that point forward, I began to hear the expression “Duh,” used commonly and appropriately throughout the children of my neighborhood.  I was proud.  Fortunately their quick acquisition of the language carries over to more useful expressions such as “hello” and “how are you?” which I am greeted with frequently nowadays.

Shannon and I have faced challenges and worked around them.  No funding and lack of materials in English has not been a problem.  It forces us to be inventive.  Originally it was hard to get the kids to show up on time (four o’clock, gringo time tends to translate to four thirty or later, Peruvian time). We nipped that one in the bud by using constant reminders, starting class at four whether all the kids have arrived or not, and teaching classes that kids want to attend.  If you ask one of our students when the next class is, they will respond in English “Tuesday at four o’clock, punctual!”

The greatest problem we faced was that of classroom management.  With a teacher:student ratio of about 1:50 in the public schools, you can imagine it would be difficult to structure things.  In the local school that our students attend, the teaching is done mostly by lecturing in the front of the classroom.  During the first few classes, when we asked a question the children would either shout out the answers or stand up and wave their hands in front of our faces pleading “please miss, me, please!”  At the end of class when I read a book, the children would crowd me, trying to all sit in my lap at the same time.  Okay, so THESE kids are tough, happy, grateful, etc. but I don’t like them enough to get suffocated.  The chaos needed to be controlled and fast. 

Shannon, being a more patient person than myself and a more experienced teacher was good at ignoring the more outgoing children and calling on the polite ones.  I, on the other hand, couldn’t focus with this disorder.  First, I tried changing my typically “fun” demeanor.  I looked at the children who were talking amongst themselves with a frown on my face and disappointed and said “what are you doing?  Listen to your teacher!”  This was effective for about 15 minutes. Eventually we implemented rule: “when my hand is up, my mouth is closed” which has had a longer lasting outcome.  Generally we structure our lesson plans to keep the kids active and engaged, eliminating opportunities for them to act like brats.

While I spent time in the States in the early fall, Shannon continued to teach classes and upon my return in October I was greeted warmly by our students.  At that point we decided to get this on paper.  Shannon and I (both being major nerds) enjoyed long work sessions during which we wrote our mission and guiding principles, methodology, a profile of the community we serve, lesson structures and more.  After a couple weeks, we had our first draft of a portfolio.  All we lacked was a name and who better to ask than our bright young students? 

The one-and-only naming session was productive.  Shannon, myself, and several of the kiddos made suggestions.  Some were stereotypical names given frequently to schools, churches, buildings, and programs in Peru. “Escuela del Corazon,” (School of heart) “Escuela de las estrellas,” (school of the stars) “Escuela bonita,” (beautiful school) to name a few.  There were a few humorous suggestions such as “escuela de las gringas” and “escuela de los monos” (after their favorite song about monkeys jumping on the bed).  While the name “school of the monkeys,” was amusingly tempting (both to me and the kids), the final decision came down to a vote.  The winner?  “Mundo Maravilloso”.  In English: Wonderful World.

We’ve got a lot to do and a lot more kids to cater to.  At least 20 children have recently asked if they can join, but with Shannon back in the States, I’m putting a pause on new admissions.  I’m developing a long-term (3 month minimum) volunteer program under the principle that children need consistency to learn efficiently.  Little by little, I’ve gathered a box full of books, scissors, markers and a few other supplies to improve our activities.  Shannon and I are working together in the upcoming months to develop a set curriculum with matching lesson plans.  But Mundo Maravilloso has a great beginning and lots of exciting things to come.

–Danielle L. Krautmann

 *If you are interested in learning more about Mundo Maravilloso or receiving a copy of our portfolio, please contact me directly via my email: DanielleLParker [at] gmail [dot] com.