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By Szu-ting Yi, on February 17th, 2011
 Karen Fletcher I am excited to announce that LittlePo Adventures is partnering up with Karen Fletcher to provide an integrated experience of inner energy and the wilderness!
I first met Karen in spring 2009 in Seattle where we both attended a workshop ran by Landmark Education. During the event, we had several brief interactions. Karen radiated many strong qualities of a holistic person. Both of us have been busy on personal pursuits since, but our life paths have crossed many times, thanks to a shared passion towards Chinese philosophy and the wilderness.
Karen has an inquisitive mind and expresses herself in an artistic way. She started her journey in Chinese healing arts in 1995 and has practiced tai chi (太極) and qigong (氣功) since. She is also the innovator of Qi Dancing (Qi means “energy” in Chinese) and leads regular sessions of ecstatic QiDance in Seattle area. Recently she has started to explore a closer integration between Qi and the wilderness, which naturally leads to the partnership between her and LittlePo Adventures.
Drawing on the connection between nature and qigong, this partnership will inspire and cultivate people’s connection with their natural strength and exuberance that is ever present in our wilderness. The means will be day hikes, backpacks, and natural wonders integrated with qigong and movement/terrain exploration, play and training. We look forward to being part of a strong community in which people share enthusiasm towards nature and greater connection with their inner well of vitality.
Karen was interviewed on Voices of Women, a program of Dr. Pat’s Radio Show. Listen to her interview on Qigong and Exuberance. She will be presenting this practice/way of life at the Women of Wisdom Conference on Saturday Feb 19th 2011 at 5 pm. Here is the Saturday schedule of the WOW Conference. A description of Karen’s program is as follows:
Step into your Joy and Vitality! This is a unique practice combining the fundamental and powerful practices of Qigong with stone-toning and staffs. Trees, rivers, mountains, wildlife, and Nature are naturally Exuberant. Their strength interwoven with all life and grounded in our Earth’s massive Qi. And Qi – our vital energy – is in some languages also translated as JOY! Remember, Recover, and Restore your natural strength and vitality! Come Ground and Grin and be prepared to laugh and smile! This is a ‘new’ yet ancient, original, most natural and ‘organic’ practice grounded in our own “EARTH GYM” – and our Earth Gym is everywhere!
Read Karen’s bio to learn more about Karen and her amazing work.
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By Rhys Emmanuel, on February 14th, 2011
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Living and doing development work as a medical professional in Asia has given Rhys Emmanuel unique insight into many areas of life and work and a broader perspective on various subject matters. Hiking in remote highland areas, seeing patients, assisting his wife with homeschooling, cooking and eating a variety of interesting Asian cuisine and interacting with many different Asian people groups have enriched his life and given him many privileged opportunities. Rhys has developed a passion for writing as he has recounted many of his experiences to interested people. At the same time Rhys has developed an interest in photography and is currently pursuing publication for a photography book of Asian people, wildlife and landscapes. |
When I first went to Shangri-La in the north west of Yunnan province I met a Tibetan girl named Senga. Senga had never been to school a single day in her entire life. I’d never met someone who’d never been to school even one day. I had met uneducated people before, but in the lucky country of Australia, even indigenous people have been to school at least one day.
Senga didn’t go to school, not because she didn’t want to; on the contrary, she felt a deep disappointment that she had not been able to. She knew she had missed out on something truly valuable in life. She was a nomadic Tibetan girl, which means she grew up living in a tent a long way from even a basic school. Tibetan nomads live in tents made from the black wool that comes from the yak’s annually shed fiber. When Senga grew up, her life consisted of herding yaks to the nearby grasslands that plateaued out at 4500 meters (14760 feet) above sea level, not in the official border of Tibet, but part of the many Tibetan areas outside the official borders. The yaks would eat grass while Senga gathered the yak dung for fire fuel. While the marmots would scurry into their burrows, Senga would come along with a big basket on her back and scoop up the yak dung and take it back to the tent to dry it in the sun. This was the daily routine, but each year in the summer time, the horse racing festival would come around and everything was so exciting catching up with old friends and making new ones. After the horse racing festival, it would be back to herding yaks. When she wasn’t herding the yaks, she would help her mother prepare a simple and typical Tibetan meal. She loved to sing Tibetan folk songs at the top of her voice while making the un-yeasted Tibetan flat bread, and churning yak butter tea for her father, her uncle and her seven brothers and sisters.
 Nomad children. Photo Courtesy: Rhys Emmanuel Her father and uncle were both married to her mother. This was relatively common in this part of Tibet. No one really knew if the man she called her father was her biological father or not, but because he was the oldest of the two men, he was given the title of father, while his younger brother was always called uncle. Her uncle Tashi started coughing when she was about 10 years old and it never stopped. He became more and more thin in his body and eventually he started coughing up blood. The family took him to see the local monks at the Tibetan Buddhist monastery and they said many prayers on his behalf. They then took him to see the local medicine man who prescribed some Tibetan medicine that had been collected in the surrounding mountains. He didn’t get any better and after years of wasting away, he eventually died. Senga told me they took his body to a site where they performed a sky burial. This meant they put his lifeless body on the hillside, made insertions in the flesh and let the vultures eat his flesh and organs. Afterward, they smashed the bones and mixed them with food to feed the vultures until nothing was left. She recounted the story to me stating it was a very dark period for their family.
Senga made me my first cup of yak butter tea and I thought it was the most disgusting drink I had ever tasted. It would be better described as salty butter soup because that’s really more what it’s like. It is served hot in a bowl and one sign of Tibetan hospitality is that they will never allow your bowl to empty; it will constantly be refilled. This means that if you don’t like drinking it you will never be able to finish, but because you can never finish anyway, it doesn’t matter all that much. You just need to put the bowl to your lips several times to look like your making an attempt. After living in this part of the world for nine years, I have acquired the taste for yak butter tea, although I still find it difficult to drink when it is made with rancid yak butter (not so uncommon).
 Sporting tricks at the horse racing festival. Photo Courtesy: Rhys Emmanuel I helped Senga study some English. She was very diligent and determined, but after quite some time she only attained an intermediate level because she didn’t have the foundations of learning that we take for granted getting a primary school education. When she was about 23 years old, her family arranged a marriage for her. She had never met her husband before; he was also a nomad, living in tents and moving with the seasons. She returned to the nomad lifestyle on the grasslands far away where it seems as if time has stood still.
I wish there was a happier ending. I wish I could say Senga had a chance to study and speak English well and get a job. She will probably live in a tent for the rest of her life eating a poor diet lacking in basic vitamins and minerals. She will not have access to decent medical services, not to any medical services at all. Her children will also grow up not having the joy of going to school. Like many Tibetans she will probably live to the average life spanned age of 45 years old and die of tuberculosis or liver cancer. I wish I could say Senga’s life will not be like that, but just with so many other Tibetan people like her, this is what her life will be like.
I remember when I was a kid and Mum would always tell me how lucky I was to go to school. It seems I have heard this my whole life, but until I met Senga, I didn’t really understand it. Senga can’t read or write, she can’t add basic sums and she certainly can’t use the Internet. It seems considering myself lucky is just not enough; I knew when I met her that I had to do something to help those people. We built a school in a remote part of Tibet, which will help over 100 students to get to at least the fifth grade. Besides this we have also given student sponsorships to many Tibetans from remote communities facing financial hardship. It’s not much, but it’s a start. How will it finish? I’m not sure, but each person helped is one less person that will not feel that deep disappointment that Senga feels when she thinks about what her life could have been like.
This is a guest blog written by Rhys Emmanuel. If you would like to write a guest blog for LittlePo, please contact us.
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By Szu-ting Yi, on February 10th, 2011
 wontons: simple and comforting. Photo by Ian Farquhar Yangshuo is a small town located in southern China. It attracts thousands of tourists every year, who enjoy floating down the clear and winding Li River, appreciating the fabulous karst landscape. In recent years, because of its unlimited rock climbing potential, numerous climbers like myself have poured into this town to test their skills.
It didn’t take me long to find out that the featured food items here were rice noodles and beer fish because every restaurant was selling them. The featured items became ordinary after a week straight of consumption. I had to take a break and that was when I discovered my favorite restaurant in town – Zhou’s Wonton.
It is easy to order in Zhou’s Wonton as there is only one decision to make: small, medium, or large bowl. In less than five minutes, the wontons are ready. Wontons are similar to dumplings, but their skins are much thinner, so they float in hot soup like fluffy clouds and you could easily see the content inside. Wontons are also smaller; their filling simpler and usually finely minced. In Zhou’s Wonton, when I put one in my mouth and used my tongue to gently stir or press, the whole wonton would melt and the aroma spread. With a medium-sized bowl, I could repeat the irreplaceable experience 13 times, and it cost less than 1 US dollar?!
Watching Mrs. Zhou making wontons was another enjoyment. She held a small spatula looking like a medical tongue depressor on one hand, a set of wonton skins on the palm of the other hand. Right after she spread an appropriate amount of filling on one skin, her fingers danced, and a wonton dropped on the table. I did not dare to blink. For one blink, I could miss at least 3 wontons.
I soon became a friend of Mrs. Zhou because of my frequent visits and occasional help on translation between her and western customers. I therefore had the privilege to sit in the front row looking at her making wontons. This is one of the main reasons I love traveling – nothing can be more touching and fulfilling than the moment when I discover the extraordinary among the ordinary.
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By Dave Anderson, on February 7th, 2011
 Expedition Planning |
Associated Director of LittlePo Adventures, Dave Anderson, has just published a new book titled Expedition Planning. Expedition Planning is written for hikers, backpackers and other people who love the outdoors and want to plan their own extended expedition in the backcountry. The book provides detailed information about how to plan and successfully carry your dream trip and also contains fascinating narratives from Dave Anderson’s and Molly Absolon’s personal expeditions. Expedition Planning can be pre-ordered now on Amazon and will be available March 1, 2011 |
The following is an excerpt from the book about an expedition to a remote region of Pakistan.
 Summit of Tahir Tower- photo by Brady Robinson The summit was the size of two pool tables pushed together and nearly as flat. I untied from the rope and let the unobstructed 360-degree view of the Karakoram Mountains sink in. Above me somber clouds began to weep a fine mist, reviving dormant clumps of lichen clinging to the rocks at my feet. Responding to the moisture, the lichen started painting the brown granite with vibrant strokes of neon yellow and pumpkin orange. Below in the valley, the straight borders of green potato fields, outside the tiny village of Khorkondas, were the only hint that humans inhabited the chaotic glaciated land. The rain intensified, softening the jagged skyline and obscuring other high mountain treasures behind a thin veil of moisture.
For the last six months, my expedition team and I had poured our energy into this expedition. Now we were standing together on the summit of Tahir Tower, a previously unclimbed 3,000-foot granite spire.
The impetus for this expedition came from a 2 x 3 inch photo in a Pakistan travel guide. The photo showed what appeared to be large granite cliffs somewhere in northeastern Pakistan. My team and I figured out where the photo was taken, applied for and received the necessary permits to access the area, raised the funds to make the trip happen, packed the right stuff, and all along kept our fingers crossed that the photo was not lying and there actually was something there to climb.
Our small expedition team was composed of Jimmy Chin, Brady Robinson, Steph Davis, and me. Jimmy, Brady, and I work as field instructors for NOLS. Steph is a talented sponsored climber and writer. Though all the members of our small team had been on climbing trips out of the country, the complexity of this expedition was clearly going to be a big step for all of us.
As our planning began, we learned the photo was from the Kondus Valley in the Baltistan region of Pakistan. Unfortunately we also learned the Kondus was in a restricted military zone and had been closed to Westerners for the last 25 years. Despite this setback, the lure of unclimbed mountains persuaded us to try gaining access to the area, and we began filling out the necessary forms to enter the Kondus Valley. Six months later we were elated to learn that we had been granted a climbing permit by the Pakistani ministry of tourism. And though our enthusiasm was somewhat dulled by the reality that the Pakistani military, which ultimately controls the region, might not put much stock in our small piece of paper once we left the capital of Islamabad, we had a start.
 Stef and Jimmy sorting gear The next few months were a blur of applying for climbing grants, pursuing sponsorship, and collecting the right equipment. Before we left we had managed to pool together $15,000 and hoped it would be enough for our two-month expedition. With no real information about what types of terrain or weather conditions the approach and the climbing would include, we packed for every possibility— T-shirts to down jackets, rock shoes to ice axes, and everything in between. Our duffels multiplied like rabbits, and the only people who seemed happy with the huge amount of luggage were the airlines employees, who gladly charged us $1,500 in extra baggage fees. Nevertheless, a year’s worth of planning was behind us at last, and we, along with our baggage, finally arrived in the much-anticipated city of Islamabad.
Once in Pakistan, we drove up to the small mountain town of Skardu, the jumping-off point for every expedition that seeks to explore the crown jewels of the Karakoram Range. In Skardu, we made arrangements to meet with General Tahir, the commander in charge of all the northern areas of Pakistan and on whose approval the success of our expedition hinged. The general greeted us in the well-maintained garden courtyard of the military compound in Kapalu. Standing over six feet tall and carrying his 250 pounds on a broad frame, he projected an aura of strength and respect. We were led to a large sitting room decorated with finely upholstered furniture.
“So you are here to climb my mountains,” he stated firmly, looking at each of us. Just as the pause began to turn into an awkward silence, the smile lines around his eyes crinkled into life, and he continued, “Good. I love the mountains, and there is much to explore in Pakistan.”
As it turns out, as a young man the general had worked as a liaison officer for many foreign mountaineering expeditions. For the next hour he entertained us with nostalgic tales of the mountains and climbers he knew.
“But enough about the past,” he said, pushing aside a plateful of hors d’oeuvres and unrolling a map across the large glass table. Balancing teacups on our knees, we stared down at the map. Not only was General Tahir enthusiastic about us climbing in the Kondus Valley, a place he had visited many times, but he went so far as to point out a spire at the mouth of the canyon that we might be interested in. Watching the general trace his finger across a map marked “Military Map—Top Secret” as he talked, my climbing partners and I were wide-eyed with the wonder and excitement of becoming privy to information that we knew we did not have the clearance to see.
General Tahir continued, confirming that our permit from the ministry of tourism meant nothing there. In these remote mountains, the military, and ultimately Tahir, was in control. With a sweep of his hand over the map, he invited us to explore whatever we liked. The only stipulation was to send him some pictures of whatever we ended up climbing and to tell all our friends back in the States about the friendly people and great mountains of Pakistan.
Exuberant, but somewhat stunned by our good fortune, we piled our gear into hired jeeps, tied bandanas around our mouths and noses, and began the slow, dusty drive toward the unknown.
 Tahir Tower As we passed through one local police checkpoint after another on our journey to the “forbidden” valley, we found that the mention of General Tahir’s blessing to enter the Kondus unlocked door after door and would-be roadblocks melted into the dust behind us. We continued on, higher and farther until we turned one tight corner and the mystery of the Forbidden Kondus evaporated. There before us, and only 300 feet from the road, was the giant tower the general had described.
Closer inspection of the tower through our spotting scope revealed a continuous crack system that ran over 3,000 feet from the base all the way to the summit—this would be our route.
The climb would take us several weeks to ascend, and we would have to haul up everything needed to live on the wall—camping gear, food, and a 300-pound barrel filled with drinking water. While we were organizing our supplies for the ascent, we had a constant stream of curious onlookers in our base camp.
Being the first Westerners that most of the locals had ever seen, we must have appeared to them as part circus freaks and part aliens. We used an unfamiliar tongue and wore strange clothes, the three men had long hair, and the woman was smiling and laughing all the time. But the main fascination was for all the equipment we had brought from the States—climbing gear, solar panels, satellite phones, and even a computer. Each day we would have ten to forty villagers in our base camp content to stare in silence at us and our gear.
 The locals looking at our climb Being a military zone, there was a squad of special forces troops stationed nearby, and they were frequent visitors to our base camp as well. The troops were well versed in basic climbing techniques to access their posts, some as high as 20,000 feet. They used carabiners and pitons, but modern climbing protection such as camming units were something they had never seen. One day we spent two hours teaching a squad of soldiers rope systems and modern climbing techniques. In exchange, despite our feeble protests, they proceeded to show us how to properly handle and fire AK-47s.
After shuttling all our gear to the base, we began climbing the shimmering wall of granite, following the giant dihedral that spread up the wall like an open book offering endless pages of spectacular climbing. Sweating with exertion and sometimes fear, our bounty at the end of each day was a new collection of sore muscles, worn skin, and a few more feet of elevation toward the summit. Sleeping on ledges and eating energy bars, we found a home in the vertical world.
The last thousand feet of the wall steepened and the rock quality deteriorated to where it possessed all the qualities of compacted sand dune. Jimmy led one particularly loose section, and while he was climbing, the rock disintegrated, sending him hurtling headfirst onto a ledge below. Miraculously, he received just a few minor lacerations and some bad bruises from the 30-foot fall. The near disaster made us think about how remote our expedition was from medical care, and we proceeded with a new sense of caution.
When we finally reached the summit, after days upon days of intense physical and mental effort, we were simultaneously ecstatic and exhausted. There were hugs and high-fives and a seemingly endless series of summit photos. Before I headed down, I watched a sliver of light cut through the clouds and ignite the shimmering glacier below as it ran through the endless rock walls and illuminated the high peaks, connecting me with the wildness of the Karakoram range. In the end we named the granite spire Tahir Tower in honor of the man who, although he did not partake in any of the actual climbing, had given us the opportunity to try.
The storybook expedition came to an abrupt end on our return flight to the United States in the Chicago O’Hare airport, where we were greeted by thunderstorms that grounded our connecting flight, causing an unexpected bivy at the airport. Finally back in Salt Lake City, I stared at the empty baggage carousel for a good thirty minutes before I accepted that fact my luggage was still on an expedition of its own. Jet-lagged and suffering from a bout of travelers’ diarrhea, I argued with the airlines about my lost bags. I had to start working a NOLS mountaineering course in two days and needed the gear that was now on its way to Jacksonville, Florida. Frustrated and tired, I got in my truck and started the five-hour drive to Lander, Wyoming.
Driving east along the highway, listening to a radio station in English and drinking water that didn’t need to be purified, I was looking forward to sharing my adventures with friends and family waiting for me at home. Soon the monotony of the wide open landscape had me thinking back on the trip, remembering the wonderful people I had met and the unique cultures and amazing climbing I had experienced. The nuts-and-bolts reason for our success had to do with planning, permits, fund-raising, and technical climbing skill. But in reality it all started with one little photo in a tourist book, a lot of hard work, and of course luck.
Seven years have passed since the four of us stood arm-in-arm on the top of Tahir Tower. While the details of the expedition have faded somewhat over time, what remains unblinkingly clear to me is looking into the eyes of my three close friends on the summit and seeing the patience, courage, commitment, and friendship needed to make what was once just a dream a lifelong memory.
—Dave Anderson
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By Szu-ting Yi, on February 4th, 2011
 The next holiday will be the Lantern Festival! Make a wish with a sky lantern. China
- A recipe of Sichuan Wonton via Appetite for China. Sichuan wontons were the favorite snack food voted by the participants of Trekking the Oriental Alps when we were in Chengdu.
- Images of history’s largest periodic human migration. Chun Yun (Spring Festival Migration) via chinaSMACK. Migrants on motorcycles as well via chinaSMACK. Taking a tour during Chinese New Year holiday? Not recommended.
- Now you can read Amy Chua’s Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother in Chinese via China Digital Times.
- The establishment of Tibet Alpine Search and Rescue Team is approved by the Chinese government via 8264.com (simplified Chinese).
Taiwan
- Paragliding followed by Kung-fu tea and tea-flavored dishes via Wandering Taiwan.
- Taiwan travel bureau is giving away $100.00 worth of travel vouchers to American and Canadian tourists via go2taiwan.net
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By Szu-ting Yi, on February 3rd, 2011
 Happy Chinese New Year of Rabbit Ever since Wall Street Journal published an excerpt from Amy Chua’s new book, with a provoking title “Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior,” debates ramified from the topic have not abated. Jeff Yang on SFGate.com details the disapproval and questioning from Asian American community in Mother Superior? David Brooks thinks Amy Chua Is a Wimp and claims that Chua shields her children in an ivory tower of academic superiority and dares not let them face the social challenges. And Chua’s book Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother made the cover of Time.
I have not read Chua’s book and I don’t plan to, but here is just a story I want to share about my mother and I. My relationship with my mother is the toughest relationship I have ever had and will ever have.
My name is Szu-ting and in Chinese it roughly translates to “intelligent and beautiful.” My birth was highly anticipated – my father really wanted a daughter after having a son. When the nurse presented me to my parents, “congratulations, it’s a girl!” According to my mom, their hearts sunk when they saw my “ugly” face. My mom said that they dared not to take an ugly daughter out. Luckily after they closely observed other people’s daughters, they had decided that “our daughter is okay,” and I therefore could be part of the family travel.
My elementary years were worry-free and quite pleasant. My mom read books with me and rewarded me when I jotted down beautiful quotes from the books I read to prepare for excellent essay writing. We memorized poems together and I practiced simple polynomial in the 4th grade. I proudly figured out the number of rabbits and hens in a cage by given the numbers of heads and feet. Though I never questioned why rabbits and hens would hang out in a cage to start with.
The honeymoon ended after I started junior high. Since I had no hope to be beautiful, I needed to strive for intelligence. The world out there is cruel, and only academic excellence guarantees a bright future. There are only 3 kinds of jobs – professors, doctors, and lawyers – the competition is fierce and the only way my mother could help me to overcome the obstacles was to become a tiger mom.
Oh yes I know how it feels to disgrace my mom by not being the top student in one subject. I had the best scores for the remaining seven subjects but it was irrelevant. When I screamed and questioned her why she was so stingy on praising her own daughter. She pointed out my childishness for wanting candies, “praise is useless.” Just like candies create cavities and obesity, “praise softens your will of succeeding.” I didn’t want to be a loser, so I sucked it up and never asked for a compliment again. Thanks to her tiger philosophy, I went to the best high school, entered the best college in Taiwan, and eventually got a PhD degree in computer science from University of Pennsylvania. However, the feeling of “I am not good enough” had always jumped out to haunt me at various transitions.
The mother-daughter relationship was often tense. After my college entrance exam, my mother did not speak a single word to me for a month because I refused to go to a medical school. My friends told me stories about calling me and being asked by my mom to hang up and call again because she didn’t want to ask me to answer the phone. Our relationship was about to crash to the bottom when I took a gap year after college and didn’t hop on the graduate school train immediately. Stressed out by living under the same roof while carrying the label of being the shame of the family, I took the best advice of my life and escaped to the United States.
I call my mom rarely because I don’t want to, but the real reason is fear. I am afraid that she is going to point out something I did wrong or not good enough. I knew that deep inside I still want to be praised by my mom but the chance is slim. She once claimed in front of my sister-in-law that she wish she had never had me as her daughter. Surprisingly the comment didn’t register in my mind until my sister-in-law expressed her sympathy a few days later. It hurt. However, it also seemed that I had already accepted that a broken mother-daughter relationship is a price I need to pay if I want to pursue my dreams. Haven’t I fulfilled my mom’s requirements? I am driven, persistent, and tough. Why isn’t she proud? Perhaps that is because I am not a professor, a doctor, or a lawyer. I am a climber and an entrepreneur while a woman should be a mom and has a stable job.
One day her voice was faint and sad on the other end of the phone. She said that she didn’t understand me and complained why I was not like other sweet daughters sharing everything with their moms. A long sigh and a long silence. That was the end of the conversation. I cried after hanging up the phone.
I have been trying really hard to make my mom happy but perhaps I have stopped trying. I have never had a single doubt that my mom loves her children dearly. Her children are her world and she would do anything for her kids. She wants the best for my brothers and me. However, her definition of “best” is very different than mine. To her I am a rebel not wanting to take a paved road she planned for me. To me, she was a tyrant and eager to suffocate my free will. I do not agree with my mom’s approach but I understand where it is all coming from.
My mother grew up in a farmer’s family. As a young kid she had to do much physical labor and help raise younger siblings. If it was not for her school teacher’s protest, my mom’s education would be terminated, because my grandparents thought sending a girl to school is a waste of money and she would be more useful working. My mom married my dad in her early twenties. My dad was poor and as the oldest son he had to support his mom and four younger siblings. My parents had to endure significant financial stress for many many years. My mother always feels guilty about my drinking the cheapest powder milk and the family’s not being able to afford a single toy. She had “eaten enough bitterness” (a Chinese expression, meaning suffering) and she wanted none of that for her kids.
My mom is not a millionaire so in order for her kids not to eat any bitterness, she needed to equip them with essential life skills and education. That desire translated to swimming and English classes and strict requirement towards high performance on subjects evaluated during entrance exams. My mom had lived through scarcity and knows too well about the importance of money. If one cannot fulfill the basic needs of survival, it’s none sense to discuss the importance of other desires. She believes that financial stability is the key to any abstract concepts I had tried to raise to her attention, such as self-fulfillment and happiness. There should not be dreams; there are only goals. Everything we do has to be useful, otherwise we are taking a great risk of eating bitterness.
My mom loves me and therefore she fears that all the bad things that had ever happen to her might happen to me. She fears a great deal especially when in her eyes I am obviously taking a risky life path. Combining other factors such as competitive environment and traditional cultural baggage, her love for me became unbearable. Both of us are good at suppressing our emotions because sharing feelings is a sign of weekness. Once the connection between mother and daughter was broken, it was hard to repair.
I love my mom and there are many things I am grateful about my mom. I am very driven and persistent and these qualities had helped me accomplish many goals in my life, and they are the key to be a successful entrepreneur. Because of her I have a very good standing posture, a healthy diet, and have never wasted my time watching TV. I am not obese because I don’t like sweets; however, I do still want a candy from my mom. I very much want her to tell me that she is proud of me even though I know she brags about me at every possible occasion when I am not around. As the year of Tiger became history, I hope that my mom can take a break from being a tiger mom and acknowledge that it’s the year of Rabbit, which is my year. I am no longer a young child and I will pick up the phone to wish my mom a happy new year.
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By Mark Bir, on January 31st, 2011
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Mark Bir studied business in college and quickly decided that he did not want to wear a tie everyday at work and spend 40 + hours inside an office. Mark found his true calling in the outdoors and love of hiking and exploring. When he is not teaching outdoor education or supervising trail restoration projects, he can be found backpacking in the wilderness of the Pacific Northwest. On his first trip to China Mark decided to travel with LittlePo and has become a very good friend of LittlePo Advetnures. |
My visa and capital were running short. Szu-Ting my guide and my friend was soon to depart on her own travels. We had time for one more adventure.
As with many parts of our journey in Northern Yunnan a bus was required transportation. We crammed all of our worldly possessions in our packs and found the non smoking section, think window seat. At some point we transferred to a “bread truck”, a six passenger van.
Upon arrival to Liming, which roughly translates to dawn, we paid an entrance fee for Laojunshan National Park. The park was within the town/village limits of Liming. Unlike other parks in Southern Yunnan there wasn’t a local to sneak us in for a smaller than park entrance fee. Sometimes its fun to be on the up and up, other times its fun to support the local economy and slip an entrepreneur 30RMB versus the 50 RMB government fee.
 Lovers Pillar, Laojunshan National Park Yunnan China This area is known as the land of three sunsets, I was curious yet skeptical. What was truly evident was the beauty of abundant colors representing all adjectives between yellow and orange in your Crayola 64 box. Here in northern Yunnan the geology here was sandstone reminiscent of the desert southwest of the US. To the south karst towers fill the landscape adding yet another aspect of the array of diversity in Yunnan.
Our first full day consisted of hiking to Qian Gui Yi Tiao Long “1000 turtles one dragon.” Along the way we stopped for photos of the Lover’s Pillar. The phallic column had a large crack running down its length. Szu-Ting was thinking of first ascents. Me being a person who happens to sometimes climb, not a climber was thinking, yup that looks like a big penis.
The top of Qian Gui Yi Tiao Long lived up to its name with hundreds, if not a perfect one thousand odd structures resembling turtle shells. A sign just prior to the top, asked visitors to remove their shoes in order to preserve the rare formations. We were happy to oblige, the sun warmed rocks were a welcome sensation to our bare feet.
 Mark and Szu-ting sitting on top a dragon formed by a thousand turtles Being late December in a valley, day time temperatures plummet instantly with the setting sun. With a stair step like flank to our north we felt this effect three times within one hour while sitting on our guesthouse patio. The next morning the reverse happened with three glorious sunrises. My skepticism was replaced with awe.
After a celebration beer and journal entry Szu-Ting and I visited a nearby school. Several students were shooting hoops. I attempted to be friendly and started playing along. You gave us Yao-Ming; I give you air balls from behind the three point line.
One of the teachers approached me and started up a conversation. In English mind you, my Mandarin was limited to ordering cold beer. After a few minutes she asked if I minded leading a song to some of her students. Since my three pointers had fallen short I felt that I had a chance for redemption. Within the English workbook I spotted the only song I was familiar with Country Roads by John Denver. Having grown up along the Ohio River just north of West Virginia it seems natural I should know this song. All I really knew was the West Virginia chorus line, probably due more to Toots and the Maytals than John Denver. Regardless the students and I got a kick out of it.
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By Szu-ting Yi, on January 26th, 2011
 100 Fun Things to Do in Taiwan This year is the 100th year of Republic of China, which is known as Taiwan by most westerners. Before the revolution, Chinese history was written by one dynasty after another dynasty. When a new emperor comes into power, he chooses a title for his era and the calendar starts from the beginning of his reign. Republic of China is now a democracy; however the tradition of naming years remains, and 2011 is the 100th year.
The number hundred has a significance position in Chinese culture. 100 means excellency. We strive for one step further, and I believe this is the reason Taipei 101 was named. Many significant events has happened and new celebrations keep coming out in this centennial year. And this event caught my attention – “100 Fun Things to Do in Taiwan.”
“100 Fun Things to Do in Taiwan” is sponsored by Taiwan Travel Bureau. Foreign residents in Taiwan can submit an entry with 100 words and 5 photos to win cash prizes. Online viewers vote on their favorites and 40% of the score comes from their votes. The rules prohibit Taiwanese citizens or visitors to participate but of course everybody can voice their opinion by voting.
First of all, it seems that there are enough foreign residents in Taiwan for this event to get viral. Secondly, I’m genuinely interested in what foreigners love about Taiwan because I want to be a bridge builder between the East and the West.
I soon was drawn into voting even though the interface was challenging for browsing, and I have some personal favorites. I’d love you to support my favorites and help them to win prizes.
Below is my top 5 choices. From now on to Feb 10th 2011, you have 2 votes daily to support your favorite entries. If you have time, please browse them and let us know what your favorites are. Your input will greatly improve the services of LittlePo Adventures.
1. Postcards from Penghu by Carrie Marshall
Taiwan is the hidden gem in the Pacific, and Penghu is the diamond. It’s the best secret island and has perfect beaches. Carrie has our votes! Click the title to vote for Carrie.
 Temple on Makung Island. Photo Courtesy: Carrie Marshall  Chimei's Double-Heart Stone Fishing Weir. Photo Courtesy: Carrie Marshall 2. Hiking Snow Mountain by Stuart Dawson
Snow, mountain, and hiking. Should I say why I support Stuart? Check out more photos, hikes, and climbs on the official website of Shei-Pa National Park.
 Snow Mountain. Photo Courtesy: Stuart Dawson 3. Dabajiansan – 大霸尖山 The Atayal King by Matt Lewis
The national park Shei-Pa is named after the two peaks Snow Mountain and Dabajiansan. Both of those are pristine peak. While hiking Snow Mountain in winter requires crampons, Dabajiansan offers technical alpine rock routes.
 Dabajiansan. Photo Courtesy: sniper 4. Yanshui Fireworks (鹽水蜂炮) by AMIT KESARWANI
If you are in southern Taiwan at the right time, DO NOT miss Yanshui Fireworks Festival. It’s crazy and fun but please do shelter yourself with a helmet and heavy layers. Otherwise you will get hurt. Here is a good blog article about Yanshui Fireworks Festival.
5. Surfing in Kenting! by Lauren McCormick
There are many great places to surf in Taiwan but Kenting is the top place for many surfers because of its stable sunny weather! Go figure!
What are your votes? Share with us!
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By Susan Conley, on January 24th, 2011
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Susan Conley lived in Beijing for close to three years and returned to Portland, Maine, with her husband and two sons in December of 2009. She is cofounder and former executive director of the Telling Room, a writers’ workshop and literary hub for the region. She was an associate editor at Ploughshares and has led creative writing workshops at Emerson College in Boston. Her work has been published in the New York Times Magazine, as well as The Paris Review, Harvard Review, Ploughshares and other literary magazines. She is currently working on a novel for Knopf and settling back into life in the States.
You can follow Susan Conley on twitter & facebook. Her new book The Foremost Good Fortune will be released on Feb 8th, 2011.
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Just before my family moved back to the United States from China, we took a trip deep into western Yunnan Province: my husband, Tony, my sons, Aidan and Thorne, and myself, all piled into a white mini-van for five days up and over a series of stunning, snow-capped mountains until we reached the Mekong River. We’d been living in Beijing for close to three years by then and had been planning this trip to Yunnan for months. We wanted to get far away from the capital city and the screaming traffic and the miles of high-rises. We hoped to camp in the valleys and hike over two different mountain passes.
In Yunnan, the Mekong was brown and turgid and wound like a road through the low-lying villages. We drove past stone houses and wooden huts until we got close to a village named Cizong, where we’d later sleep in a family guesthouse for the night. It was there that the driver of our van, a kind,twenty-something Chinese man named Sonny with a gold-capped tooth, pulled over and parked. He said, in halting English that we should get out and see the stupas that stood above the one-lane road.
I climbed down off the bus and counted thirteen of these circular columns—tall, white Buddhist stupas on the hill behind us. After the Communist Revolution, the Chinese government had banned religion in China for more than a quarter century, but that ban had slowly lifted. Now here were these beautiful new stupas. They reminded me of how close we were to Tibet and how much Buddhism was the fabric of daily life in that part of China.
An hour later we made it to the guesthouse and met Shamir and Ama, the kind owners. Ama had boiled a chicken whole for dinner, and chopped it with a cleaver. She served the bird on a platter on a second-floor porch, where we all sat around a wooden table with chopsticks. A guide named Aki met us there for dinner. He was the man who would take us up and over the mountains. We trusted Aki. We’d hiked with him the spring before when we spent days following the Tiger Leaping Gorge further south in Yunnan.
Aki sat on Ama’s porch with us and shared the spicy chicken and said he had news: the pack mules we’d hoped for would arrive the next day. He wanted to leave for the first mountain pass as soon as the horses were saddled. I was nervous—all week I’d been worried about the altitude and if the kids could handle it. They were six and eight and had never climbed this high before. I was also worried about myself. The passes were at 14,000 feet. What if I couldn’t make it and had to come down?
In the morning the mules arrived—six of them and one pony. The animals stood on the side of the dirt road tied to tree, with cowbells around their necks that clanged in the wind. A gang of Tibetan cousins from the next village over tended to them. Aidan and Thorne petted the animals and tried to claim the one they’d ride. Aki stood near the tallest horse and told me that we’d go up thousands of feet that day. The kids could ride the mules but only until it got too steep, and then they’d have to walk along the side of an enormous drop off.
I went back into the courtyard and stuffed our clothes into backpacks. I hoped we’d be all right—no falling off horses, no sliding down the face of cliffs. Two men poked their heads through the courtyard door then. One looked like Keith Richards and said he was from London. He wore three silver crucifixes around his neck and had a mess of grey hair tied in a red bandana. “We’re just down today,” the other one said, “from walking the high pass.” Each year they’d do a trip—Everest base camp. Long treks in Ladahk and Tibet. But never Yunnan. They said they’d heard the climbing was worth coming for and steep.
Then the Keith Richards look-alike reached in his backpack and pulled out a white pill bottle. Tony caught it with one hand. “Secret British stash.” Keith said and smiled. “It’ll save you if your stomach goes south on you and it’ll keep you on your horse for the day.”
Outside the courtyard, one of the horsemen wore a small wooden cross around his neck on a black string. The other one wore a jade Buddha and a ten-gallon hat. Tony stepped up into stirrups hanging off a skinny mule and then I made it into the saddle of a fatter pony. The horseman in the hat lifted Aidan up in his arms and plopped him down on the back of the mare and then did the same for Thorne.
Then the horses started moving and we were off—climbing the first mountain face, a leg of the trip meant to take six hours. There were green trees that lined the dirt path and wild black pigs and streams that ran out of the woods and down into the open fields. Aki said if we looked directly north, we were staring straight at Tibet. Four hours into the climb we passed a wooden hut built into the side of the hill. Two barefoot children stood near the front door and stared at us and waved. We climbed higher and higher and then got off and walked. None of us fell off the side of the mountain. None of us seemed to have trouble with the altitude. All of us were transfixed by the vistas—long, wide views of the next mountain pass ahead and the green, terraced valleys below as far as the eye could see.
After the eighth hour, we got to a clearing near a small river—our campsite for the night. The boys slid off their horses and ran into the woods to find walking sticks that Aki said he would help them carve. We had four more days of hiking to go but we’d made it this far. I stood next to that river and listened to the sound of the moving water and looked up at the circle of mountains above us. We were days from the nearest town. Weeks from Beijing. It felt like we’d gone back in time and stepped into a different Chinese century. It was hard to imagine that the specter of the capital city even existed from that hushed valley. The air was clear and blue, the water was cold, and my boys were ecstatic. Thorne turned to me then and yelled, “This campsite is the best Mom. Can’t we just live here forever?”
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By Dave Anderson, on January 20th, 2011
 The Lenggu Monastery and Sachun Peak Genyen Mountains, China Being able to clearly see an objective in the mountains can provide the necessary information and incentive to complete a route or reach the summit. But sometimes what you can’t quite see or what is not known offers the greatest motivation. In 2003, an image in the American Alpine Journal caught my attention. The photo was taken by the famous Japanese explorer Tamotsu Nakamura, who is the modern Bradford Washburn inspiring alpinists with spectacular mountain images. The photo did not contain any enticing virgin peaks. Instead the image in the Journal showed a stunning 600 year old monastery in the center of the valley. However on both sides of the valley clean granite ridges poured down from some unknown spire hiding in the clouds above. After reading Nakamura’s description of the region, “The highest peak in the region Mount Genyen (6,204m) is a divine (sacred) mountain which was first climbed in 1988. However, more than 10 untouched rock and snow peaks over 5,800 meters await climbers. In particular a 5,965- meter peak towering like a sharp beak looks magnificent and the scenery surrounding the 600 year old Lenggu Monastery amid spiky rock pinnacles is truly enchanting,” I began planning my first trip the Genyen region.
In October of 2006, Sarah Heuniken, Molly Tyson, Andy Tyson and myself spent a month in Western Sichuan, China climbing in the Genyen Mountains. The unseen spires really did exist and we were able to summit several unclimbed peaks, including, the “sharp beaked” Sachun before the cold and snow chased us out of the valley. The expedition was overwhelmingly successful, but as we re-entered the modern world I was brought to my knees by a series of tragic events. First, while we were climbing in China, my good friend,neighbor and mentor Todd Skinner was killed in rappelling accident in Yosemite. Later after I returned home to the States, I learned that Charlie Fowler and Chris Boskoff were overdue from their own climbing trip in China.
Charlie had given me some advice about logistics and permits before I headed to China and after I got out of the mountains I sent him a short email detailing the amazing climbing in the Genyen region. As the days dragged on, reports indicated that Charlie and Chris had indeed headed into Genyen. Around Christmas a search team found Charlie’s crampons poking out of the snow at 17,000 feet on Mt Genyen. Was it an random avalanche, broken cornice, or a fall that claimed the lives of two amazing people? I do not know if Charlie ever read my email, but the thought of potentially enticing him to the region still weighs heavily upon me. Instead I like to imagine Charlie and Chris drinking yak butter tea while chatting with the monks of the Lenggu Monastery. Above them the glacial peaks and rock spires spread long shadows across the Genyen valley. Charlie points to Sachun and asks if it has been climbed. The monks then tells him of our successful ascent just a few weeks earlier. I can almost see the smirk come over Charlie’s face revealing his crooked front teeth. There is a small trace of envy in his smirk followed by a smile beaming with the knowledge that it was with his inspiration and help that made our ascent possible.
Four years have passed since the expedition, maybe it is time to return and safely climb some more of the true jewels of the Genyen Massif.
 Sarah Hueniken in front of one climbing obejective  Unclimbed unnamed peak  Enjoy this article? Share it:
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