Somewhere near the Beginning...

Four hours from Pullman to Seattle, four-hour flight to Houston, followed by a 15-hour flight to Beijing. The international flight was followed by yet another three-hour flight, sending me into the heart of Southwest China. Add on a three-hour bus ride then a 45-minute taxi ride totals around 31 hours of just traveling minus layovers. Oye...

 

You really don’t understand that long of a flight until you step off the aircraft. I settled into my coach seat in row 42 of the Boeing 777-3 plane; the only blonde in a sea of dark hair. The announcements were first made in Chinese, followed by an at best rough English translation.

My gate to Chengdu in the Beijing International Airport. 

Landing in Beijing around 5am local time meant the airport was next to empty. The glimmer and expansive modern layout was lost on my tired eyes as I found the gate for my final flight to Chengdu. Stopping at baggage claim to make sure my bag did not try to spend the week in Beijing, I came across the most practical idea we do not use here in the US.

As bags came tumbling off the conveyor, the belt would stop if bags were on the rotating caravan below it as to protect the luggage and allow passengers to hull theirs off more easily. I snapped a video for those of you who think it is a novel idea that should be implemented here (hint hint airlines).

Once I landed at the next checkpoint in Chengdu, I realized my bag had managed to deceive me and was still in Beijing. After what seemed like hours trying to communicate with Air China staff who spoke a few phrases of broken English, a group of young Chinese students fresh from the States approached and helped negotiate the shipment of my bag. No warm clothes and heading into the mountains where there is no central heating? I knew this would be an adventure for sure.

 

Architecture outside Chengdu International Airport. 

A young girl holding my name on a crumpled piece of paper outside the terminal brought me to McDonald's to grab some much-needed grub. Sadly, everything was in Chinese and I ended up with fries and chicken that smelled like fish. Eating in a rush, we made our way to the bus station where I was handed a ticket with more gibberish I didn’t understand on it, hurried to the bus, and we were on our way to Ya’an.

One moment I will truly never forget is our taxi ride through Ya’an to the town center. So many different sights and sounds. My guide Sunni said the weather was very bizarre and the sunshine usually never shows it face this time of year. Lucky for me I got to see the city with clear eyes.

The bus station where we purchased our tickets to Ya'an. As you can see, no English signs. 

An alley in Ya'an, as you can see it is a BEAUTIFUL day outside. Odd weather for a rainy city.

The twisting road up the mountain was a bit scary. Drivers in China don’t rely on marked streets or signs. They simply honk while turning a corner or passing with no visibility. Not sure I would call it safe, but we did arrive in one piece.

 

Most apartments in China don't have dryers, so hanging clothes is a common sight in cities and rural areas.

The view from the entrance of the CCRCGP park. 

The driver who is about to get us into a head-on accident.

A small argument with the center security guard that yes I belonged here, yes I had paperwork, yes I was blonde and no one else here was eventually got me to my hostel. A warm smiling woman greeted me with a hug and I followed her to my room. I tried to ask what time dinner was, but I was left only with a smile and wave.

After hours of travel, I have arrived at the Center! 

No English though, no one seems to speak English here. Next up, the China Conservation and Research Centre for Giant Pandas.

The Saga of the Panda Keeper

The backbones of the CCRCGP are the panda keepers. Mostly a thankless job, the keepers still seem to have a great deal of pride in their daily activities. From maid, chef, doctor, trainer, keepers are jacks-of-all-trades.

This 22 year old keeper has been working as a keeper for almost a year now. Keeper to Yi Bao and Xin Hui, he also helps oversee the work of the volunteers at the center.

Mornings begin around 9am with enclosure and den cleanings. Because it is all bamboo, panda droppings do not smell as badly as you may think. 

Keeper playing with Xin Hui after a feeding. 

Keepers are experts at keeping track of their panda’s diet. While cleaning, keepers account for the normal tendencies of each panda. The number of feces present, the amount of bamboo spread throughout the cage, and any differences to enrichment activities must be noted.

 

Keepers carrying out un-eaten or ripped apart bamboo from the panda enclosure.

After cleaning inside and out, the pandas are called in for 

their first feeding of the day. Pounds of bamboo are loaded into their cages for munching.

Myself feeding Yi Bao his afternoon "panda cakes". I am wearing the
uniform required by the center as well as my ID badge. 

The day flows through a certain rhythm. Keepers prepare the second feeding around 11am. This time the pandas are given a variety of tasty treats from “panda cakes” filled with vitamins, to carrots and apples. Volunteers are allowed to feed these to the pandas and sometimes sneak a pet or two.

Keepers and volunteers warming around the small heater. 

Lunch breaks for the keepers and volunteers, followed by another rounds of feedings at 2pm. Downtime for keepers and volunteers is usually spent in the Animal Management office. There a heater warms the hands and toes from the chilly mountain climate. Keepers and volunteers sometimes play cards or will watch shows on the internet (in Chinese off course).

The charts in the Animal Management Center tracking each panda. 

Sometimes in the afternoons, keepers will participate in enrichment activities with the bears. Researchers sometimes will place basketballs, ice blocks filled with treats, or bowls of different substances into the panda’s habitats to record their reactions. Although it may seem fun, each exercise is specific to a study being performed at the center.

The fourth and final feedings take place around 3:30pm, and consist again of panda cakes and bamboo. The diet of each individual panda varies. Some cannot have apples due to problems with their digestive track, while others require only small amounts of panda cakes. Each keeper has to track their panda’s needs and coordinate with other keepers to ensure a high quality of life each animals.

The Rainy City

The bridge we were dropped off near. Beautiful architecture and colors. 

While at the center, we had most of our evenings free to do with as we pleased. Playing cards, discussing our home countries, or sitting under heated blankets watching movies were prevalent. My favorite night though was when we ventured out of the center and down the city of Ya’an.

Ya’an is a 45-minute taxi ride from the entrance of CCRCGP. Traveling down the winding road can be a bit scary at times with how the Chinese drive (if you have been following my blog posts I talked about this on my first day here). We were dropped off at a place I only know as “the bridge” and were told eight thirty was our departure time.

 

A grandmother walking her grandson home fro school. We thought because of the backpack it would be a girl, but
it was a little boy around 7 years old!

The air was cool and damp as the group of us ventured down the dimly lit streets. I was use to being stared-at at this point, being the only blonde. People walking the streets graciously smiled at us as we made our way to a few shops and grocery stores.

All the different Oreo flavors available at the grocery store. 

The funniest thing I did find in the grocery store we entered was a variety of different flavored oreos. With the American song “Milkshake” playing in the background (I’m not sure what else I can say about that…), I curiously took mental pictures of the selection. Grape cream filled, banana, limeade, grapefruit lime mash up. I decided to purchase the banana flavored ones to bring home to my father and sister.

After our group checked-out, it began to rain. Ya’an is know as the rain city by many because of the high humidity year-round and almost constant rain. Thankfully my bag had arrived after it was left in Beijing so I had my trusty Northface to keep me dry as we explored.

 

Mopeds and motorcycles lined every street in Ya'an. 

There were mopeds everywhere, lining the streets with their metallic colors. There were a number of cars, but the most popular mode of transportation was by far mopeds or motorcycles. Riders would wear a backwards jacket to keep their arms and fronts warm and dry as they zigzagged around traffic.

It took us awhile to find any real food we wanted to eat, but eventually we came across a stand selling chicken sandwiches. It was a struggle to order as the server behind the counter didn’t speak a word of English. It took nearly 45 minutes for our group of 5 to all get our food and pay. The prices of everything were relatively cheap in US terms. Every dollar exchanged to 6 Yuan. My chicken sandwich, which would cost around $3, ran me only 4 Yuan.

Temperatures dropped significantly, and we were all beginning to get pretty chilly as we made our way back to cross “the bridge”. It was a stunning sight at night. The bridge was lit-up with changing lights and what looked like Christmas lights outlining the architecture of it.

The Ya'an Old Bridge features long two-story columned arcade topped by Chinese houses with flying eaved roofs. Truly a beautiful sight at night with the changing lights. 

You can see the little flowers that came in our Jasmine
Tea. It was very delicious and warmed me right-up.

We arrived with nearly an hour until our time to be picked up. Luckily, we found a tea lounge just up the road. We were quickly seated by a heater and handed a menu. As is everything here, there were no English translations. Anon, one of the other volunteers, randomly pointed at a tea and the woman rushed off. In a few minutes, she emerged with five glasses filled with a blurred liquid and a pitcher of steaming water. 

We decided we had selected the jasmine tea option. As you can see in the photo to the left, there were even little flowers floating in it. They were edible, as another volunteer decided to taste them. "Not too bad," she said with a big smile. 

 That is exactly where we sat, playing cards near the heater until our ride arrived. A slow drive up the mountain and now I am back under my heated blanket. Only one fully day left here at the center.

Social Solitary Creatures

One thing that really struck me about these magnificent animals during my time at CCRCGP was how social these solitary bears can be.

Observing the youngsters at the panda kindergarten provided endless laughs and aw moments. These pandas spend their days lounging, eating, sleeping, and playing with other cubs around their age. Keepers house pandas at this age together for a few years. Interaction with other pandas is very important in this stage of life for these furry babies. It makes for less aggressive adult pandas and safer interactions if older pandas need to be house together for some reason. It also provides an opportunity for playmates and learning. 

Two panda "kindergardeners" relaxing after a log day of playing. 

Between two and three years of age, the pandas are moved to their own separate enclosures. In the wild, pandas will leave their mother’s side around 18 months of age. They will share a home range area with their moms until they are between two and three. The rest of their life after this point is lived in almost complete solitude. It may be hard to believe by watching the yearlings roughhouse, but they will one day travel through their lives alone.

Adult pandas like the solitary lifestyle. The only other time they come together is for mating. Males home ranges tend to overlap with multiple females ranges in the wild. Female pandas will leave scent markings indicating they are coming into estrus, or are ready to breed. Sometimes multiple males will come after finding scent marks left by a female.

Either way, it was quite a sight to see these little furry guys romping around every afternoon. As you can see in the pictures, the bears had tire swings, trees, a little swing set, and other toys to play with. They did seem to have much more fun with each other though! 

57 Hours Later... The Longest Journey

By Stevee Chapman reporting from the Galapagos

57 hours. That's how long it took me to reach my final destination. What I thought would be a straightforward trip added up to an adventurous 57 hours.

For most students, getting a much-needed break at home is the light at the end of the dark tunnel following finals week. However, this semester the light at the end of my tunnel didn’t shine from home, but from an entirely different hemisphere.

Traveling itself isn’t as foreign to me as it once was. In the past two years I have had the opportunity to travel to 10 different countries around the world. However most of those trips I’d been in the company of friends and classmates. What made my trip to the Galapagos different was that this time, I’d be completely on my own, at least for a while.

Tools of Backpack Journalism

So, on the Friday night in which final exams were complete, I got in my car at 10:00pm and drove overnight to Seattle to catch the first leg of my journey.  The flights themselves were pretty uneventful. Besides the fact all of them were delayed for one reason or another, things were going pretty smoothly.  Sure, I was tired, but traveling takes it out of everyone. By the time I reached the Guayaquil airport in Ecuador my tiredness was being replaced by a growing feeling of excitement.

"Just one short flight, and I will arrive at my destination," I excitedly thought to myself as I cleared customs, and headed to check in with the airline worker at the counter. 

As I began to check in, the woman began explaining where I needed to go. Half way through she paused as she glanced down at my boarding pass. 

It's gonna be a long day

"I'm sorry," she said. "I thought you were going to San Cristobal." 

She then proceeded to tell me slightly different instructions, and as she did, I became confused.

"I am going to San Cristobal," I said, cutting her off mid-sentence.

"This flight is to Baltra," she explained.

Slowly, I felt my previous rush of excitement being replaced by a growing sense of dread. Surely there must have been some kind of mistake, I dug through my papers realizing that all my itineraries confirmed what they were telling me. The Seymour airport wasn't in San Cristobal as I had previously thought, but Baltra, an island that felt like it may as well be a world away.

Panicking as I entered the terminal, I took out my laptop and began emailing my professors and trip

Layover Survival Kit!

coordinator. Luckily, the instructions in one of my packets had an emergency plan in it, that explained how to get to San Cristobal via the airport in Baltra. Boarding the plane I felt slightly more confident. Once in Baltra I would take a bus ride from the airport, get on a ferry to the island to Santa Cruz, then take an hour bus ride into to Puerto Ayora. There, I would buy a boat ticket to San Cristobal, my final destination.

Directly off the plane I went to collect my luggage, only to find it had not arrived. Now not only was I on the wrong island, I was on the wrong island in the same clothes I'd been wearing now for two days. Just my luck.

The ticket counter where I was supposed to buy my bus ticket  was also closed, so I got on the airport bus hoping that if and when I crossed the ferry, there would be a way to buy a ticket once I got there. The bus from the airport did drop me off at a ferry, which so far was the first good sign I received in a while. As soon as my feet touched land off the ferry, I rushed to the bus with the company letters I was told to get on.

Headed to the wrong island, but the
view from the plane is cool

"Is this going to Puerto Ayora?" I asked the man outside who looked like he may be the driver.

"I don't know, I don't I'm not the driver, I just look like I am," he cheerfully said in a thick Australian accent.

The man, who I later found out was named Doug, helped me onto the bus, and as we stepped on, it immediately began its departure.

"I'm headed to Puerto Ayora, and everyone else seems to be as well, so let's hope that's where its going," Doug told me, seemingly without a worry in the world.

The bus was hot, and filled to what was definitely way over its maximum capacity. All the seats were filled, and so was the aisle. Doug, the last one on the bus was squeezed against the door, and I stood on one of the steps.

The crowded bus ride across Santa Cruz

Finally after an hour of a slow and bumpy ride, the bus driver let us off. I immediately rushed to the pier to ask about a boat to San Cristobal.

"Oh no, you just missed it," explained the workers in the information booth.

Lost my luggage - just my luck.

They told me the next one wasn't until the next morning at 7:00. Wrong island, no luggage, missed boat. It seemed like my losses were really out-numbering my wins at this point. I left the pier and crossed the street where I saw a shop advertising boats to San Cristobal. Their price was $30, which was what the information I was given said it would be. I went inside and bought my ticket. The lady told me the boat would leave at 7:00 am sharp, so I should be sure to get there by 6:30 am.

I found a hotel with Internet for the night, sent emails to my parents, professor, and coordinator, assuring them that I was still alive and safe. After exploring Puerto Ayora a bit, I went back to my room and got what I felt to be some well deserved sleep.
---

Enjoying the Beautiful island of
Santa Cruz While I can 

The next morning, I woke up before the sun. I got the the boat docks by 6:15, because there was no way I was going to miss the boat. The dock began to fill, and the time passed. I began to worry that maybe I was at the wrong dock. 7:00 rolled around, and still, no boat had come. Finally, a group of travelers approached the dock with luggage. I handed my ticket to the lady with a clipboard. I was nervous she'd tell me this was the wrong place, but thankfully she took my ticket, and

Santa Cruz wildlife

 led me into the boat. The ride was pretty smooth, and only took an hour and a half. This also worried me at first, because theinformation I was given said the ride would take 2.5 to 3 hours. Thankfully, I spotted a "Welcome to San Cristobal" sign. For the first time since arriving in Ecuador, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief.

After what felt like the longest voyage to the islands since Charles Darwin's in 1831, I have finally arrived.

Finally in San Cristobal! Giving in for the day and becoming one...