Yesterday was a fine day. The sun, brutally neglecting the vast majority of China, chose our backs to shine on, again. Fickle orb. Sammy and I were going to bed the night before and heard the unmistakable ignorant cursing of fellow Americans. I turned to Stumpy-Swarthy and says:
'Well, Shit Otis, we got us some more crackers up in here" and Sam-otis-me says "Well Shitgoddamn!"
He waddles out in his longjohns with a smoke and peers over to investigate. Sure enough, two crackers poke their mangy heads out. Sammy, by way of testing their persuasions, tells them: I am more hungover than I have ever been before in my life.
They laugh. Comraderie established. Roberto is a Salvadoran-American hiker, birdcaller, permanent traveller, snowboarder, fisherman etc etc Joe aka Flesh is a moonchild of two well-to-do Macallister alumni, grew up in Hopkins. Minnesotans out there will feel me.
Anyway we chill and puff and sip tea. And trade tall tales. Oh Brother, get four American travellers together and the bullshit will pile up. I mean, the pile of truthisms is large as well. DUDE that sounds awesome, gotta get down there one of these days .. rings out along with .. hold up, hold up, thats crazy, but check THIS out.
As long as everybody gets a shot at the Pin(tilda)ate of Cool, well then the party can proceed. We all took a couple swats, some sort of temporary mutt-pack order was established. And now we can carry on.
First spot we hit was Shi Bao Shan. And brothers and sisters, don't let the Chinese Commies fool you. The whole homogeneous Han control over grateful minority bullshit is an insult to their own sublime heritage. Shaxi Valley here is quite amazing in that all faiths, all creeds, all genders are given their due amount of respect and honor. The Shi Bao Shan temples have bearded sages from Arabia carved into Tang Dynasty cliffs, right next to Burmese ladies of much renown and Indian yogis with lofty caps and upturned toes. There is one particular cave with the Eight Heavenly Gods, unique in all of China in that it combines the spiritual legacies of Indian, Tibetan and Chinese Buddhism into one beautiful, symmetrical carving. Those people are timeless. Posterity learns from them, forgets, then discovers and imagines itself unique.
And there is a natural rock formation further down that is the exact replica of a wonderfully inviting vagina. What a heartwarming sight. There is a source of water somewhere in the cliff that just happens to poke its way out right between those puckered stone lips. For hundreds of years, this stone pussy has been soakin, waitin, sighin.
We all paid reverent homage. Those geniuses 1000 years ago carved Buddhas and bhoddisatvas around The Mighty Yoni, worshipping the reproductive capabilities of the finer side of humanity and no doubt pleasing the local womenfolk. Women are to be worshipped. They demand it, sooner or later. Why not beat em to the punch?
We climbed down giggly and sweaty, got to town as nightfall blasted the fickle orb into countless points of light, ate proper, passed out.