Into the Clouds

While Yellow Mountain is known the world over for its majestic scenery and other-worldly peaks, the city of Huangshan--at its base--is dark, dirty and gives one the feeling they could be mugged at any time. After much confusion (our hostel operator didn't speak a word of English, and everything had to be translated, over cell-phone, to someone we never met, who did) we finally had a plan to get up Yellow Mountain, spend the night, and then get back to West Lake in time to catch a train to Guilin.

We took a minibus to the mountain, found loads of tourists at the entrance, (including one woman, hurling into a trash can, who evidently couldn't handle the ride up), and bought our cable car tickets to the top. It became clear, before we even set foot on it, why this mountain was so famous. Our cable car lifted us gradually out of this world and into that of a classical Chinese painting brought to life. I'd seen the artwork many times before; improbably steep peaks, shrouded in fog, pines clinging to their sides, and temples perched atop, as if floating in the sky. I never believed these scenes were real, until I saw Yellow Mountain. The views transformed at every turn as we climbed up, down, and around the stunning mountainscape.

If Yellow Mountain has a flaw, it is that it is too beautiful, and therefore too popular and somewhat over-developed. We were there on a week-day, yet still encountered hundreds of Chinese tourists, and at one point even had to line up, two-by-two, in a congested gorge while hikers climbed a particularly steep and narrow part of the trail. There is little connection with the mountain, either, as the entire trail consists of stone steps, carved into the rock, along which are frequent signs, trash cans, fire-hydrants--even shops, hawking souvenirs. However, despite these drawbacks, there is still plenty of magic to be found on Yellow Mountain. Whether watching a distant temple slowly reveal itself through the fog, or coming down of a summit and, for a few minutes, finding yourself completely alone, witnessing the frosted tips of pines melting off the branches, causing sudden snowfalls along the trail.

After seeing the sun rise (through the trees) on our second day, we took the cable car down. During the descent, Hyangmi said, "I think a white dragon lives in these mountains." Considering the view just then, I couldn't argue with her; but I took the thought one step further. Maybe the mountains were the dragon, a great slumbering beast, petrified by time, whose bad dreams cause earthquakes, half a country away, which wipe out entire villages, and bury towns.