The Things (Birthday) Memories Are Made Of Part II

Please Note: This is a Part II and reading them in order will greatly increase your reading enjoyment.

Heading out on the 15th we were confident that local intelligence was good. The rains had stopped mid-day on the 14th and the other parties had decided to go ahead then. Dave and I used our judgement and decided to heed the advice of our host. We waited through the day and enjoyed the tranquility of a mountain villa all to ourselves.

We grabbed our bags and hopped into the minibus that had been scheduled for us. A little confused, we wondered why "Woody" was taking us rather than a taxi driver, but thought he may have wanted a piece of that 150 RMB we were counting on for our return trip. It seemed reasonable.

Breathing easy I rolled down the window and without crippling terror in my way, I tried to translate this immense beauty into digital media (didn't really work, but you can be the judge once we get an Internet connection that can handle the load of pictures waiting for upload). The remnants of landslides seemed to be distant threats - evidence of one moment in time that was gone. Local intelligence was surely stronger than nature...or was it?

It soon became apparent why a taxi had not come to collect us as anticipated. The road was impassable due to a landslide. Trucks were parked on both sides. I was envisioning a few more days, possibly longer, at Chateau de Woody and hoped we'd get Dave to his flight in time. Then "Woody" instructed us to get out and took our bags out of the back. A group of locals carrying small packages soon descended out of a neighboring truck and started bounding across the rocks...and we were to follow.

The rocks seemed stable enough and "Woody" and the locals were patient with our less graceful style of crossing - tense, rock-clenching, breath-holding, nervous, cliff-hanging, slow and steady. Between my fear of unstable rocks and Dave's distaste for heights I don't know how we made it, but we did, left only with a tremendous memory and a small cut on my right pinkie finger from refusing to let go of a rock as the rest of me moved past.