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I have some fond childhood memories of good times spent in Disney World. The whole family would pile into the minivan, and we would cruise down I-95 along the Eastern seaboard. Along the side of the road were multitudes of billboards, all building up an attraction called South of the Border. You’re inundated with commercials for this place as you drive south, but when you actually pass it, there’s surprisingly little to see.

Yunnan is one of the more remote province in China, and accounts for fully half of China’s 56 minority ethnic groups. Coupled with this diversity are some of the most incredible landscapes I’ve ever seen - its no surprise that this region has become something of a backpacker’s mecca. Its name translates literally into South of the Clouds, and unlike Carolina’s highway amusement park, this place definitely lives up to the hype.

The vast majority of our time was spent in a Naxi town named Lijiang. Here, its easy to rent bicycles and cruise from village to village, getting a taste for the local life. Even though Lijiang is relatively close to the equator, its nestled in an alpine valley so the air has a cool crispness to it year round.

Here, I encountered vistas that were so achingly beautiful, I could feel it in the pit of my stomach. It’s not unlike those times when I brushed up against a high school crush - there’s a rush where I would clench up inside, and find it difficult to breathe.

Every available surface has been lovingly cultivated so that no matter where you look, there’s lush agriculture and vibrant green to greet your eyes. In the distance, the imposing Jade Dragon Snow Mountain looms overhead, breaking up the deep blue sky with the soft white of fresh snow. At dusk, rays of sunlight splinter through the clouds to reflect golden fire off of scattered rice paddies.

In the Tiger Leaping Gorge, massive granite cliffs hold a silent vigil above the churning turqouise waters of the Jinsha river. Across the chasm, an aging, gap-toothed Naxi man rests on his haunches on the side of the trail, gathering sour grass for his evening meal. Herds of goats graze peacefully while perched precariously on steep precipices. Village life here seems to have remained simple, isolated and untouched for an untold number of centuries.

I must confess that we’ve become a bit addicted to this bucolic lifestyle and have spent far more time here than we originally intended. Still, the road beckons, and its time to move on.

Having been in the Middle Kingdom now for over 6 weeks, my Chinese has improved tremendously.  However, a series of unfortunate events have highlighted a major gap in my vocabulary.  I don’t know how to express What the Fuck?! in Mandarin.

You would be amazed at the multitude of opportunities that Sarah and I have encountered that simply cry out for this eloquent response.  In chronological order: 

• A freakish Tibetan sandstorm delays your flight by 31 hours.  The airport is devoid of helpful people, and you’re only informed about the delays until after the 8th hour - what the fuck?!
• The queue to purchase train tickets during the madness of Chinese New Year is at least an hour’s wait.  30 minutes into it, people start blatantly cutting to the front of the line - what the fuck?!
• 5 hours into a 25 hour train ride, someone ties a still alive-and-shitting chicken underneath your seat.  It absolutely reeks and when agitated likes pecking at your leg - what the fuck?!
• On that same train, a man who looks like he hasn’t showered in a week decides to sleep with his greasy head resting on your shoulder - what the fuck?!
• While you’re takng a nap on a table, and someone decides it’s a good idea to sit on the aforementioned table so that their ass crack is perfectly aligned with your nose - what the fuck?!
• The train station sells over 40 standing-room-only tickets per train car for that wonderful 25 hour train ride - what the fuck?!
• The grandmother sitting across from you repeatedly hulks up phlegm and spits them right at your feet - what the fuck?!
• The local market is selling bloody, vein-covered muck that Sarah swears looks like fetus - what the fuck?!
• You check in to a hotel room for all of 5 minutes, decide not to stay, and the owner demands that you pay for a 1/2 day - what the fuck?!

Thankfully, things have turned up for us, and we can laugh about these situations now.  I suppose its the perils of traveling that make up half of the adventure. 

I knew Tibet’s lunar new year, Losar, would be something special, but nothing could prepare me for the spectacle that ensued. I can still feel the echo of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Sarah and I had waited patiently in the Barkhor Square with some fellow travelers and Tibetan friends for evening to fall. There were squads of jing cha patroling the area, as well as a fire truck clearly on stand by, yet all was quiet. Then, according to some unspoken cue, Lhasa erupted.

Throughout the city’s maze of alleyways, small sparklers and hand shells were being fired. We ducked into a narrow street to get a closer look - just as things got interesting. One after another, the rat-tat-tat machine gun of chains of firecrackers rang virtually non-stop in our ears. Someone had set a small pile of rubbish ablaze in the middle of the street. Tibetans emerged from their homes to add fiery armfuls of cardboard and straw - attempting to burn away their troubles in the coming year. More lengths of firecrackers were tossed into the mix, violently exploding within the raging inferno.

The heavier ammunition was slowly brought out, and Lhasa lit up in a riot of colors. Fireworks as impressive as any I’ve seen in the US blanketed the sky in every direction. The smoldering remains of exhausted explosives were now steadily raining down, forcing observers to seek cover. Billowing smoke from both fire and fireworks were making it difficult to breath. So this is what a war zone is like.

Yet a war zone this was not. We could just make out beaming Tibetan faces through the haze, and every now and then a delighted scream would pierce the cacaphony when a child danced too close to the pyrotechnics. The atmosphere was simply electrifying and you couldn’t help but be swept up in this unbridled expression of joy.

Perhaps most amazing, is that this is only the first night of the festivities. I can’t fathom what other kinds of new experiences the remainder of Losar has in store.

I’ve recently become acquainted with a Canadian radio host working in China who shared with me an incredible insider’s perspective on how the PRC maintains an iron grip on the media.  Consider that:

• Major broadcast centers must be based in Beijing, so that the political elite can keep the media close at hand.
• Security is taken very seriously - the aforementioned broadcast centers all have guards armed with assault rifles deployed in their lobbies. 
• DJs are all issued lengthy lists of forbidden topics each week, which include unfavorable news stories and certain personalities. 
• All programming is carefully scripted and pre-recorded.  These recordings undergo scrutiny from at least 4 officials before being played over the air.
• Senior leadership and even middle management is composed entirely of party members. 
• Taiwan can’t even be mentioned in the same context as other independent nations, such as Korea or Japan.  Instead, it must be listed along with the rest of China’s provinces.
• Many Taiwanese artists that refer to Taiwan as independent are banned.  Yet Western songs with curse words can be freely played.

Its absolutely astounded by just how deep this censorship rabbit hole goes.