We plopped ourselves down on main street (well, the only street) in Quitou, the small village at the end of our Tiger Leaping Gorge trek, and waited for a bus to come by. There was only one road in this remote part of the province so we knew that any bus coming up from the south would take us towards Zhongdian, our destination. Before long a rickety white bus came squeaking along. We stuck out our arm to hail it and hopped aboard. Little did I know this was about to become My Worst Bus Ride Ever.

The ride started quite nicely. We wound our way up a small canyon, then climbed up pine and maple covered mountains. As we rose higher, the low evening sun lit up the changing gold leaves -- our first and only sign of Fall on this trip. Eventually we reached a pass and dropped into a completely different environment. Instead of steep rugged peaks we entered a long, broad valley. The soil was dry and dusty and the lush vegetation dropped away into low shrub. Most dramatic, however, was the sudden change in architecture. For the past week we'd seen primarily Naxi buildings, all wood beams and stone. Now all we saw were the white rectangular shapes of Tibetan barns and houses. Huge wooden drying racks were spread across the valley facing southwest, their wooden lattice holding newly harvested turnips and hay. And sprinkled generously along the route were Tibetan buddhist monuments. With their gleaming white points they looked like Vermont churches buried up to their steeples.

All in all, it was a beautiful drive. In fact, I might have called it A Beautiful Drive rather than My Worst Bus Ride Ever except for one thing -- road construction.

I believe the golden rule of chinese road construction goes something like this: Rip up as much of the existing road as possible, then take as long you possibly can putting it back together, and while doing so endanger the general public in as many creative ways as possible. The idea of working on, say, a 5 mile stretch of road, finishing that section, and then going on to the next is blasphemy amongst chinese Civil Engineering students.

Instead, we were left with 30 or 40 miles of roadless, pockmarked landscape. Worse than roadless, actually, because the construction crews has peppered our path with a wide variety of obstacles. Potholes and ruts, of course, but also giant gaping muddy pits 40 or 50 feet deep, landslides, random piles of rock, oncoming dump trucks, and more. Of course there wasn't any signage to direct traffic so cars and busses zig-zagged back and forth across the full width of the construction zone trying to pick out the best route. Frequently, our dusty path would divide into two and we would have to pick a side. As we drove on, I'd see that one path went through while the other ended without warning in a bridge that had just been torn down or hadn't been put up yet. Sarah and I were stuck at the back of the bus, so we sat there, choked by cigarette smoke and the dust, catapulted out of our seats with every pothole.

Still, none it would have been that bad if by some unlucky chance I hadn't contracted diarrhea the day before.

We were on a minibus without a toilet. The only available choice of facilities involved a dusty squat along the road, in full view of my fellow passengers. So instead I forced myself into a Zen-like state, where through sheer singular concentration I managed to keep my bowels inert.

Eventually we reached Zhongdian, a remote frontier town set 3200 meters up in the mountains. From here we would walk to the monastery. We found a cheap hotel, had a good dinner in their "Coffee Shop" (though they didn't have coffee), and fell sound asleep.

We woke up early the next morning, eager to get to the monastery near sunrise and beat the chinese tour groups. We had steeled ourselves for a long hard hike, but I can't say I was disappointed when the receptionist at our hotel informed us that there was now a city bus that would drop us off right at the front gate. 30 minutes later, we were there.

Songzanlin looked more like a village than a monastery. It was spread out in front of us across the whole face of a hill, rising about 400-500 feet. The lower part of the complex was the living quarters where the 300 monks lived in their white square houses and at the top of the hill were the 3 largest temples. A broad staircase led from the foot of the hill, where we were, straight to the temples at the top. We started up the stairs, feeling every inch of the elevation.

As we peaked into courtyards, we saw that the monastery was just waking up. Monks were bent over faucets, splashing water over their bald heads, washing, adjusting their burnt-red robes. It was a bright clear blue day, but cold, and you could see their breath in the air.

Part way up the stairs we saw a small temple to our right. A young monk, maybe 12 years old, stood out front. Through hand gestures we asked if we could look inside and he nodded "yes." We stepped from the bright courtyard into a dim entryway. Once our eyes adjusted we could see that bright, psychedelic paintings covered the walls. Blue gods, naked humans, black monkeys, other strange creatures. We moved into the main chamber, darker still. At our feet were a small pillow and an ash bowl for burning incense. Across the room 3 large gold buddhas were set into the wall behind glass. Red pillars rose to the ceiling, three stories high. Rows of pillows were laid out where the monks sat for their prayers. Candles were burning. Bowls of oil or water were placed out in offering.

The young monk motioned for us to go upstairs. Once up the stairs (more heavy breathing from the elevation) we heard a strange sound coming from somewhere. We followed the sound to a small back -corner room where a monk sat chanting and ringing bells. Fromt he pillow and bowl of money in front of him, I assumed you could be blessed for a small fee. I probably could have used a blessing (and I knew my intestines could) but I didn't know the proper way to go about it, so we moved on.

We continued exploring the monastery for a few hours. The 5-6 other temples followed basically the same design, though the ones on top of the hill were larger in scope. Monks of every age were going about their business, the young ones clowning around like all boys do. Chickens, pigs, and oxen roamed freely through the courtyards and paths. Many of the buildings were in extreme disrepair, but others were beautifully restored. I have a feeling the Chinese government caught a whiff of tourist dollars and decided not to burn the place down after all.