Yesanpo Travelogue

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For three or four years I’d been shouting the slogan 'To Yesanpo!'—yet nobody ever took me up on it. I started to doubt my charm, and honestly felt a little ashamed. So I consulted Baidu, the wise nun. She admonished me: 'Persist, or nothing will come of it.' After much thought, I resolved to revive the old dream and kick a 20-year habit of 'big talk, no action.' I swore the slogan would not ring hollow again!

After many days of preparation, and with strong backing from dear friends, I finally assembled a mighty fivesome for a two-day goodwill visit to Yesanpo during the Dragon Boat holiday. At long last, the Yesanpo trip that had been on my mind for three years was settled, and my heart secretly rejoiced.

To squeeze every drop of value from the trip, I again consulted Baidu Shitai. She handed me a treasured travel guide she’d kept for years. I dove into it and grasped only a smattering—but time was short. Before I could absorb its essence, my friends and I leaped onto a little green train bound for Yesanpo. The train, groaning under its load, sped like a donkey cart, carrying us over hills and through countless pitch-black tunnels, sprinkling my face with sooty coal dust until I—once fair-skinned—looked more like an African. Then it gave a satisfied whistle and dumped us at a place called 'Bailixia'.

As we looked around, a man in his forties wearing a light black shirt suddenly blocked our way, brandishing a sign that read 'Sunshine Home Farmstay' in seven big characters. He asked point-blank: 'Are you the XX party?' I nodded quickly—password accepted! He waved grandly and bellowed 'Follow me!' We figured, while this guy wasn’t exactly heroic, he looked streetwise enough, so we went along. He led us off the main road, twisting and turning through alleys, until we reached an inn. He told us to go upstairs ourselves and said he’d contact us later via a 'lost art'—the mobile phone. Then he vanished into broad daylight. We climbed to the second floor and picked two rooms directly facing the stairs as our base. (Picture proves it.)

After a short rest, the old hand had a hearty lunch ready for us. We gobbled it up like a whirlwind, barely managing to finish, leaving only one steamed bun. A unanimous vote pledged not to waste a scrap at dinner.

Full and a little drowsy, we were about to nap when I vaguely heard Brother Shenyang’s voice: 'Close your eyes, open them, and a day is gone.' Naturally, the next line came to mind: 'Close your eyes, don’t open them, and a lifetime is gone.' That shocked me wide awake! Then from downstairs came the clip-clop of horse hooves. I leaned out the window to see a horseback rider pass slowly beneath my nose and disappear, leaving a stench so foul I had to slam all doors and windows shut—only to end up locking myself outside!

Another quarter-hour later, we started discussing the afternoon plan. Once we’d decided, I called the old hand. Mustering my courage, I said: 'Bro, if you don’t arrange a ride, we’re gonna stage a mutiny!' He, being a real fixer, replied calmly: 'Patience, my friend. In fifteen minutes, a car will come.'

At last, two surprisingly shabby cars appeared—but at least they had four wheels. We were shoved in, the door slammed shut tight, and the driver, speaking an unintelligible dialect, bounced us away from the inn. The road was lively: people riding horses, leading horses, chasing horses, and some who did none of the above—but none being ridden by a horse! Soon the car screeched to a halt. Thinking it had broken down, I was about to panic when the driver gave a hand signal so perfect it could have come from a traffic cop, indicating we should get out. But even after straining with all our might, we couldn’t find the entrance to Yugudong Cave. As we marveled at how even the cave mouth was so elusive, a local wearing a straw hat and carrying a short stick shouted in booming Baoding dialect: 'Rafting! Rafting!' A wild thought flashed: maybe we raft to the cave? That would be worth the trip! We considered—since we were here, why not try? Then we saw the water: murky yellow-gray, barely 10 centimeters deep, and heard the price: 80 RMB per person. Our rafting enthusiasm evaporated instantly. We tried to negotiate fiercely with the driver using our mutually mangled language, but he stubbornly insisted on taking us to the cave anyway, though we chattered like a flock of birds, we couldn't budge him. Recalling last night’s TV show 'Zhuge Liang’s Battle of Wits in Wu,' I sighed: these days, everyone is a master persuader. The four-wheeler finally showed its speed, and in about fifteen minutes, Yugudong Cave stood before us. (Another picture.)

One step and darkness swallowed us; a perfect chill hit our faces, driving away all unbearable heat. Our 1,800-meter Yugudong adventure began! Ten meters in, a Buddha statue stood before us. The guide said sincere prayers here are always answered, and as a believer, I looked at everything with reverence. A few steps further, a dazzling stalactite blocked our way, shaped exactly like the Dragon King seated. Legend says that in ancient droughts, villagers would come to worship, and rain would follow every time. Deeper in, we saw Guanyin Stone, Arhat figures, a giant sinkhole, and all manner of wondrous sights. At our feet ran crystal-clear spring water; beside us, crisp water droplets echoed. I couldn’t help but marvel at nature’s uncanny craftsmanship.

Every Grain Rain season, a spring inside the cave spouts fish constantly. Nearby villagers, using homemade baskets, catch up to a thousand pounds a day during peak times, and at least several hundred pounds. This strange phenomenon still remains unexplained. Walking on, a faint aroma of wine drifted through the air, making my stomach rumble. A few more steps and we found a wine cellar storing countless fine old vintages—but a large sign at the entrance declared: 'NOT FOR SALE'! Then, with a turn, we were out of the cave. Looking back, it was not only wondrous but deeply mysterious.

We rode back to the inn, reluctantly parting with 80 precious yuan, promptly snatched by the driver who kept muttering 'I’m losing money, losing money...' which oddly made me feel a bit guilty, yet also secretly proud—haha! After a quick wash, we headed straight for the rising smoke of kitchens. We picked a waterside pavilion to dine, ordered a few simple dishes, and bought a deck of cards to start a gambling game while waiting for the slow service. By the time we finished eating, who knows what hour of the night it was.

Exhaustion from the day overwhelmed us. We dashed back to the inn and fell asleep without even taking off our socks!

The music ends, the party scatters—will we ever return?

Continuing from above, it may seem a bit anticlimactic, only because my inkwell is shallow!

A distant afternoon bell rang, reminding us the show was over and it was time to leave. I looked back at the road we had walked in and would walk out, feeling the trip was not yet fully savored. Yet it was precisely that lingering taste that kindled a faint urge to come again.

Guided by a kindly local, we easily found the spot where the little green train had dropped us. I had hoped to grab a strategic position so we could at least get a seat when the rickety car arrived. But that lovely hope was ruthlessly crushed before my eyes by those who got there first. Oh dear! These folks were sitting, lying, slouching (one more standing and you’d have every possible posture), not even leaving us a sliver of shade. We stood stiffly under the scorching sun, like eggplants about to wilt, yearning for a rain from heaven as we longed for the green train. Sweat streaming and hearts burning with anxiety—that sums up our outer state and inner turmoil. The second hand seemed slower than the hour hand, almost frozen, giving the sun a chance to bake my brain to the point of cramp.

Just as I was about to lose my mind, the little green train finally appeared, creeping along. The folks who had been lounging in every pose instantly dropped those annoying positions and put on the air of revolutionary soldiers charging forward. Most of our territory was snatched by them; in the tiny space left, we were jostled and squeezed every which way.

But fortune smiled: the train door stopped right in front of us. We leaped aboard nimbly, then calmly chose a relatively good spot to sit. For the rest of the moment, I watched, through the door and windows, those less fortunate than us desperately shoving to get on, and felt grateful.

All the way there, we had seats, basking in many envious gazes. A sense of accomplishment rippled around the corners of my mouth and eyes.

Trip Contents:

1. Yesanpo Travelogue – Part One: Stay at the Farmhouse

2. Yesanpo Travelogue – Part Two: Exploring Yugudong Cave

3. Yesanpo Travelogue – Final Chapter

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Yesanpo Travelogue

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