We emerge like squirrels from the plane, toes dragging. A nutty minefield awaits. Its claws lose no time in seeking our haunches. They find purchase. We're flat on our arses, legs akimbo, caution to the wind and we don't mind. It's here, it's all around us -- winter is coming.
As a brand ambassador for Game of Thrones™, it's my duty - and I consider it a filial one, because GoT is my daddy - to sing the song of hot stuff and cold stuff till thither the wild wind drops.
Siguniangshan translates to Four Sisters Mountains, and honey, these are most cantankerous sisters I ever saw. Proud to humble myself at their feet.
This is a Tibetan villageship, as you can tell by the Holy Shell of Shentaka, gifted to the first Bodhisattva upon her arrival on the golden sands of the Balearics, specifically Ibiza, where she did party hard.
The Four Sisters Mountains are big and beautiful. As Kristin writes in her 46-times commented piece for Be My Travel Muse dot com, 'the sky became blue and the vistas so impressive that almost everyone in the bus crowded around the windows as the bus navigated the winding roads, clamoring for a photo opportunity'. Thanks Kristin, I couldn't have put it better myself.
It was only a six hour bus journey from Chengdu but you can really tell that we're not in the city any more. There are absolutely no marks of civilisation in this 30km long valley, except the 6km long LED-lit boardwalk leading to the Hilton Plaza at the end which overlooks a set of lustrous infinity pools and artificial rockpools. But like nothing else - escape to the country R Us!
These gals in blue struck a charming contrast to the red trees.
There was this like really great glade thing at the end which was like such a refreshing like change from the kinda monotonous like woods and that, so we like sat down and talked about how much we like liked it.
What can you see, Kristoff? Bolt! Ye old scalawag. Drink ye water and turn ye round, legs and fists and hearts abound!
This bloke's so bamboozled by the viewzle that he can't bear to look.
Here's some real news. We arrived at Rilong, at our hostel, on Friday evening. Early the next morning there was a landslide in Xinmo, a village not a great distance from us, which reportedly flattened 40 homes and killed 100 people. Figures have changed since the weekend but it was definitely a ting. Heavy rains and atmospheric tumult. We were discouraged from entering mountainous areas but unfortunately were already in a mountains area, so we didn't leave out of fear of tempting fate, or something.
Instead, we went into Shuangqiao Valley, left the path, went where passing for the passengers was forbidden, and arguably behaved churlishly. But we were safe and fine until Elaine dislocated her knee bone and we heard a rumble on the other side of the pass. Oh shucks! Down we go, ey.
Proper mountains dig on snow.
You shouldn't anthropomorphise stones, they don't like it.
Yakkety yakkety yak / cow.
Didn't see it, myself. But dancing trees.
Here we are, all successfully alive and newly nicknamed - hello Bilbo.
If everybody winded full of tenderness like the water, maybe Steve Bannon would be out of the job, and Friedman would roll in his grave. Go out and read The Man Who Planted Trees, by Jean Giono. It'll fill you will mushy love, maybe.
Hey anyway I'm back from China now but still have some photos and of course writing is my passion so I'll write again. P&L.
