I sent my clothes to a washing woman in Shangri-La and they came out smelling like barbecued yak. I don't mind, because at least my clothes are clean and not filled with Tibet-dust, but I wish I didn't smell like a meat locker.

in the past few weeks, I left Shangri-La, stopping over in Kunming to stock up on snacks from Wal-Mart for the train to Guilin. I was on the third bunk for the 18-hour ride; below me were some very yappy Chinese ladies with tragic taste in fashion. I accidentally dropped the foil seal from my jar of peanut butter on their beds, and that sent them yapping off their rockers in unintelligible haranguing. I was happy to get off the train.

Yangshuo was pretty cool, a city outside of Guilin where all the karst is. Karst is limestone that has been chemically eroded to produce steep, jaw-dropping peaks covered in green, and it's really famous in southern China. I thought maybe the karst would be in this one little park cordoned off by the government, filled with boisterous Chinese tourists, and demanding a 70 kuai entrance fee to view from a crammed platform. Wrong. The bus ride from Guilin was spectacular, construction workers and pomelo vendors and rice paddies still brimming with water surround the towering, vertical karst peaks. Yangshuo seems to have squashed itself into the most beautiful piece of land of all, mossy cliffs everywhere in the backdrop. It was hard to get over. The company wasn't bad either.

we rode bikes through the karst valleys at sunset, and took a bamboo raft along the Li river.

Now I am in Kunming, which is cold and gray, trying to finish my paper in an internet cafe. I had my presentation this morning, thank god that is over. The only thing good about this city is the Indian food.