oxygen

Summer ’25: V – Dali

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Dali Lannatai Coffee Cute Pet Hotel [大理兰纳泰式咖啡萌宠美宿] located on人民路下段东玉街51号 has a rather girthy name. Coffee and pets. What more do you need?! Turned out to be such a cosy place that we stayed twice – and even extended the second stay for a few nights. It did help that our Mancunian Panda teddy was left behind on the first stay. A rescue mission return was required.

A steep cable car up Cangshan took us close to the highest summit. At the top end, Ganton ropeway has paths leading to a lake view at Ximatan (3920m up) and many, many stairs. The cloud cover, damp, thinner air, and gentle breezy movement made walking a tad slippy but doable. Dali-Cangshan UNESCO Global Geopark is gorgeous but treacherous at parts. Steep rocks, sudden drops, and streams slice through the vast landscape offering ample opportunities to test gravity.

The ancient old town of Dali dispersed with its modernity amongst many nooks and crannies is quaint and wild. Party life sits alongside the classic. It feels freer than most Chinese cities and towns. It howls and it barks. Yet, with hotels that have star-gazing rooftops and hidden parks with orange-bellied Hiamalyan squirrels chewing on dropped nuts, the old and new work well together. Its cosmopolitan heartbeat is loud and quiet at the same time. There’s adventure outside the walls and discovery within. Cafes, artists, independent dealers of novel fashion, and mass-produced and much-copied formulas work for space. This synergy is harmony in action. Yet, even having visited in 2021, I could sense that in 2025, the growth and change of Dali was unsustainable and yet another characterless city will emerge. I hope I am wrong!

The amount of disposable oxygen canisters for sale on the ropeway concourse and single-use rain jackets, hoods, hats and more is worrying. Yes, oxygen may be needed but surely adapting and slowing your wandering is much more sensible. Altitude is not to be played with and rising a kilometre in Yunnan can be fatal if rushed. Any dizziness, lightheaded feelings etc can be alarm bells. Take it at a more gentle pace and don’t race to the top. Or not: just buy oxygen canisters.

I can understand hiring big waterproof rain and winter jackets but far too much has been geared for waste. Nature needs harmony and help. The litter levels were low on the pathways at the top but it was clear that far too many people ignore waste bins. This is a global problem. Not just China. Not just Manchester. Scenic streams and lakes need that crispness and freshness that only Mother Nature can bring. We must reconnect to the air, water, and plants that bring us so much comfort and essential conditioning for life. With that the air around Dali and Cangshan is lush and comfortable. Next, Shangri-la calls once again.

Yunnan, of course, was great for fruits. The fertile soils and close proximity of Vietnam and other nations (for swift importing) gave numerous chances to try new fruits. Nothing stood out. Apart from local blueberries and raspberries. The sharp Salak or snake fruit wasn’t that tasty. Nor a fruit that looked like a purple banana. God bless the Silk Road.

Subcutaneous Optimism.

oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

How do! Nihao! 你好～

Yesterday evening I received my 11th pokey hole. Subcutaneous injection to the stomach number 6 went smoothly. The spectacled nurse grabbed some belly flab, didn’t hesitate and squirted the Heparin into the belly muscle and fat. This new nurse to me did not mess around. From arrival at the bee’s foot to departure was comparable to that of an F1 car having its wheels changed in a race.

Following breakfast, Doctor (Hu?) and Dean (Wang?) did their rounds. I feel much better today. Optimism has been manufactured well. The Dean and the Doctor said my lung is subtotal (not at full capacity) and the right leg trauma was recent (but I’ve not experienced anything bad). I did mention the calf tear two years ago. He said it’s possible but unlikely, unless there are recent micro tears.

The Dean also suggested I was drunk and fell over but truth be told I’ve only drank at the craft beer festival (and that was small glasses but not too numerous. Maybe 7 glasses). The medical professionals must have seen similar to suggest such a thing, but aside from a few drinks at Katherine and Stephen’s in early October, and the Here! Dongguan craft beer festival, I’ve avoided booze. Just not been my thing lately. I prefer a casual chilled out beer from time to time, like watching the Revolution band at Irene’s Bar before the October holidays.

The Dean mentioned two weeks here and to be patient. Those three to five days became seven and now it could be a fortnight. It is what it is. Just like the 12th pokey which was another belly injection. Yet another nurse arrived. I could see air in the top of the fluid. Must be safe though. It wasn’t the calmest or the most comfortable injection. It is what it is.

All of this on Guy Fawkes Night. It’s enough to make you put a mask on and go crazy. The masks featured in V for Vendetta (graphic novel and movie) are based on Guido Fawkes. He fought for the Spanish too. His group’s plan to reinstall a Catholic monarch didn’t work. The protagonists of the Gunpowder Plot were provisional terrorists of their time. Your man Guy was snitched on by anonymous note and captured. Tortured. Convicted. Sentenced. He didn’t get hung (as duch), he did get drawn and quartered (postmortem) because he conveniently fell off the scaffolding. The agony of losing bits like genitals didn’t happen as that slip or jump gave Guy a merciful end. Nevertheless his body parts were scattered to four corners of the kingdom, both as “prey for the fowls of the air” (Fraser, Antonia (2005) [1996], The Gunpowder Plot, Phoenix, ISBN) and to warn off other treasonous swines.

These days British celebration of failure involves toffee apples, parkin cake, bonfires, effigy burning (like in Lewes), and processions. The Observance of 5th November Act 1605 means to celebrate this failed treason was law but by the 25th March 1859 it was repealed. A fairer world. However, Bonfire Night carried on. I recall many damp autumn nights filled with sickening smoke from too many fireworks and bonfires killing the dreams of the unborn Greta Thurnburg. In later years I tired of the bonfire and funfair commercialism and sought to see the artistic firework displays. Still, they’re special days. It’s just a shame they’re mostly so commercial. It is what it is.

Guy Fawkes 13 April 1570 – 31 January 1606. He was what he was.

Ta’ra! Zai jian! 再见～