wintery moscow: where people wear fur and lamposts wear scarves

We barely scratched the surface but still enjoyed our sampling of sprawling, bustling, glitsy Moscow in wintertime.

First step, learning to navigate the extensive metro system. The tricky part: it’s all in Cyrillic

We could have passed the entire day inside the gorgeous metro system. Each stop has a theme, with elaborate details and moody chandelier lighting. It feels like a haunted underground

Entering the famed Red Square

The Kremlin wall in the Red Square

Colorful Saint Basil’s cathedral

We stumbled into a sweetness overload, the annual honey festival featuring whipped honey from the Russian countryside

Of course, we indulged in a purchase

Colorful veggies decorate the parking lot of the Dorogomilovsky Market

Delicious stuffed pastries, a roll of the dice with what you get inside since we couldn’t read the signs or communicate. One, lamb. The other, pumpkin. Both, delicious

Mmm pickled goods, I am in heaven

Farmers cheese stall

Wintery scene over the city

Keeping the lampposts warm in Gorsky Park

The Russians really do wear fur coats and hats

Wintery bridal photo shoot in Gorsky Park (note white boots and the Starbucks)

Trying (and not succeeding) to look bad-ass

Check out those icicles!

En route to Paris, we traded in our varied currency collection, which included Mexican pesos, New Zealand dollars, and Thai bhat. Armed with Euros, we were prepared to snatch up the first baguette we come across!

Ah, layovers: pensive airplane shots during our stopover in the (very swank) Copenhagen airport

allll aboard: the trans-siberian from beijing to moscow

We were ending our time in China… and we needed to get to Europe. The prospect of taking the Trans-Siberian railroad on a seven-day (non-stop) train journey from Beijing to Moscow would be much slower, slightly more expensive, and a bit more work to organize. But it appealed to the romantic traveler in us both.

First, though, the not-so-romantic stuff: obtaining tickets and visas. Tickets proved relatively easy. Apparently, not many people take this train in winter so we were in luck! The Russian embassy in Beijing, however, was mysteriously closed on the day we arrived. Luckily, we secured a rush visa the following day.

The Bradshaws are going to Russia! The Cyrillic version of our names

Set up in style at the apartment of Tian-Tian, a friend-of-a-friend, we had a comfy stay in Beijing. The city was interesting and despite the cold temps and visa/ticket shenanigans, we had a fun few days. We must return one day to explore more when it’s not so frigid!

And we’re off! Beijing train station lit up at night

There she is, our ride to Moscow (on the left)

Despite our legit visas, Steve’s multiple temporary passports meant he got held in customs for a few hours at the border crossing. Luckily, the border guards were mostly interested in teaching him some Russian words, including how to ask for four liters of beer. Best not to include what they taught him on the reverse side of this paper!

As it turns out, we should have learned how to say, “How long will this stop be?” The train made several stops each day, with each stop ranging from 10 minutes to an hour. However, as none of the train attendants spoke English nor were interested in attempts at communication, we never knew how long we had to get out and stretch our legs.

We did brave the elements (and risk of being left behind!) a few times though

Smoked fish for sale at one of the stops. Unfortunately many of the Russian travelers loaded up on this odorous snack item!

Steve makes an uneducated stab at the menu in the dining cart. With an all-Russian menu, it was a bit of a guessing game!

Obligatory vodka shots. Just not for breakfast, like some of our fellow travelers. Nastarovia!

The time went quickly. We read. We watched movies. We soaked in the snowy vistas. We made good use of the free hot water dispenser, eating lots of ramen.

Steve, chilling in our cabin. Lucky for us, no one else was in our four-person cabin until the final night. Traveling first-class at the price of economy, score!

Only one other English-speaking couple was on the train–Brits Chris and Alex. Luckily, they regaled us with travel tales, shared movies, and generally proved to be great company.

As for the views: it was mostly snow, birch trees, and more snow over sweeping snowy landscapes. Did I mention the snow? This was broken up by tiny villages of wooden houses and the occasional rather industrial, cold-looking city. While chilly outside, we were warm and cozy in our train… some of our fellow Russian travelers basically passed the entire trip shirtless.

Not the best scenery shots (they’re all from peering out the train window) but a few to give an idea:

And… seven days, no shower, several books and many, many cups of tea later… we reentered the real world in Moscow

A few tips:
- At the time of our trip, this page on Seat 61 had the most comprehensive information on the railroad options.
- To take the Trans-Siberian from China to Russia, we used CITS (the nationally-owned Chinese travel agency). We ordered the ticket online from their website, payed using PayPal, and picked them up in person at their headquarters in Beijing. It was relatively painless except they needed a few phone calls to prompt them to process our order.
- The train took European plugs.
- Bring your own food! The dining cart options are relatively expensive and harken back to the harsh days of the Soviet empire (though nice to break things up every so often). We stocked up on ramen, coffees/teas, and snacks in Beijing.
- Bring a Russian-English pocket book and learn how to say “How Long are we stopping?”

hobbits, whales and fjords: visual new zealand

We couldn’t have picked a more different country to break up our stay in China. New Zealand is famously under-crowded and a wildlife paradise. If green is the most restful color on the eyes, New Zealand wins. No contest.

In fact, we heard of a guy, a friend of my aunt Trish, who would periodically visit an old quarry just to rest his eyes from all the green!

Another magical tree on the North Island

Offsetting the green are impossibly-turquoise bodies of water, empty white sand beaches, impressive and often unmarked waterfalls, and all kinds of big knarled trees.

Beautiful beach at Cape Reinga (the white dots are seagulls)

Tasman, meet Pacific. Pacific, meet Tasman (looking north off Cape Reinga)

Aside from aesthetics, cars are cheap (New Zealand is Japan’s dumping ground), roads are orderly, prices are fixed, English reigns happily, and meat pies and free maps can be found on every corner. It’s the perfect pitstop for a culturally-overstimulated traveler.

Chaos and fractal theorists will love the abundant ferns

Did I mention sheep yet? Yes, there were plenty of sheep!

We started on the North Island, which is by far the more populated of the two. Still, we found it pleasantly bucolic with rolling green hills, cows, sheep, and kiwi fruit farms. Giant kauri trees and graceful tree ferns coexist in tropical jungles, and beaches are plentiful.  Surprisingly, a few volcanos and craggy mountains rise up from this landscape.

We spent a few pleasant weeks in Kerikeri over Christmas with my aunt, grandmother, and cousins, followed by sailing and hiking adventures with my parents in the Bay of Islands and Tongariro National Park.  Then we bundled my folks onto a bus to the airport (no, I’m not a very good child!) and scooted down south to the South Island.

Cruising down a river to Ninety Mile Beach. Roads are so last week…

Angie takes a swim break on Ninety Mile Beach

Plentiful kelp

Angie, getting her hike on during the Tongariro Crossing

My mom trying her best not to slouch!

Staring down the intimidating Ngauruhoe (location of Mount Doom in Lord of the Rings)

Looking across the crater-rim on top of Ngauruhoe (what was so hard Frodo?)

Blue Lake from the top of Ngauruhoe

The nearby Red Crater

Dust plain next to Red Lake

The improbable Emerald Lakes

Soft tussock hills around Ketetahi Hut

Unreal aqua blues at Huka Falls

Though it’s only a few-hour ferry ride between the North and South Islands, they might as well be separate continents–each has its own entirely unique feel.

The South Island is the adventure island. It’s far less populated, and the landscape changes quickly: snow-peaked mountains, lush rainforest, dramatic fjords, California-esque beaches, arid plateaus, vineyards, orchards, and yes, even more sheep.

Goodbye Wellington and North Island, hello adventure and sandflies!

Castle Hill–a bouldering mecca if you like polished limestone slopers, awkward slabs and soft, grassy landings

Flock Hill–more of a hike than Castle Hill but highly recommended. Once again, it’s a mecca if you like slopey aretes and smooth dihedrals (but with a few more features than Castle Hill). Unfortunately, I hiked up with just one climbing shoe, so it was more of a visual experience for me!

Delicate wildflowers we found around the Castle Hill area

The most delicious cherries we’ve ever had–from a farm-stall near Queenstown

Another surprising roadside treat: juicy, tart apricots

The Darrans, Fjordlands National Park–a fantastic sport and trad climbing spot near Milford Sound.  If you have time to wait out rainy spells, the Darrans offer the best hard climbing in New Zealand with several steep, featured granite walls (most notably the Big and Little Babylon crags.) Just be ready for steep approaches and reflective hut days!

Looking down toward Milford Sound from Homer Tunnel

Homer Tunnel following a light dusting

The cozy Homer Hut run by the New Zealand Mountain Club

Not a bad view from the doorstep!

The Chasm, a waterfall chute near the Milford Sound

Awesome rainforest around the chasm

Arrestingly blue Lake Pukaki

Mt. Cook–most commonly approached by helicopter these days, leaving just the summit push for would-be peak-baggers

Unlucky beached pilot whales at Farewell Spit, Golden Bay

Much luckier whales! (Although, sadly they beached themselves again that night. Apparently they just hate leaving part of the pod behind)

Gulls and black swans in Golden Bay

Paynes Ford, Golden Bay: a sport climber’s paradise, featuring a good-value unashamedly-hippy campground (Hangdog Camp), nearby swim holes and beaches, and a whack of high-quality limestone sport climbing. Here Angie sends Rhinoceros at the Rhinoceros wall

Good-natured Ben getting his crank on

Me hanging off 1080 and the Letter G

Family photo. (Taken on Robertson Island during our sailing adventure in the Bay of Islands)

all I want for valentine’s day is an 8c belay!

It was a classic case of winning ugly (read Agassi’s autobiography if you don’t get the reference, it’s incredible): the kind of send you’re not proud about, but you take to the bank anyway. I’d come really close to doing China Climb at the end of last year, throwing myself at it right up until our last few hours in Yangshuo.

In fact, it was the second time I’d come really close to sending 8c. The previous time was in Oudtshoorn, South Africa on the route Streetfighter. Grades aren’t everything but this one had become a mental barrier, cutting me off from further progress. Somehow, I’d been at the same level for ten years.

It was time to take a stand.  To come back to China and forcefully break out of my rut, however long it took. I felt like Sharma when he said he couldn’t move on with his climbing until he’d completed Realization. It was a much lessor goal and something of a vanity project, but isn’t life just a vanity project when you strip it down?

It wasn’t hard to persuade Angie to visit China again (especially on route to the Trans-Siberian railroad), so after six weeks in New Zealand we traveled back to cosy Yangshuo  to lay siege on my route.  In just a few tries, I was back to where I’d left off.  It seemed a matter of time before the defenses would crack.

I might have been close, but I seemed to keep finding new ways to unbalance the send vibrations. By miss-hitting and then over-crimping the crux hold, I managed to break off a part of it, earning a deep blood blister on the tip of my middle finger and doing some minor nerve damage. Luckily both my finger and the crux move survived the assault, although the nerves in my finger decided they would become a lot more vocal on the job going forward.

On the day it finally goes down, Valentine’s Day by chance, we’re treated with unusually warm and dry conditions. I know, not the most romantic outing considering… but luckily, I married a trooper!

Despite my damaged finger and steadily deteriorating high-points over the past several days, I can feel a send might be in the air. But first go, I miss-hit the crux crimp and treat myself to a world of pain before falling. The frustration starts to well up–will I leave China again having not sent this stupid route? I’ve now been up the climb 25 times and have fallen off caressing the finish jug (at try 13)–a high-point I seem incapable of getting back to.

Enough, I think as I tie in again. This time try harder. I sail up the first two-thirds of the route to the knee-bar–moves I can now literally do with my eyes closed. I spend a few minutes in the knee-bar psyching up. Then I hear myself yelling “climbing” down to Angie, and my body kicks itself into action.

It continues to feel like an out of body experience as I glide through the familiar upper moves. I’m talking to myself–imagining how I might explain what happened to someone later.  Then I snap into the first person; no more narrator.

It’s feeling easy. The crux crimp is twice its usual size and the holds feel close together. A few moves later I’m at the final boulder problem and still feeling fresh.  I skip the last three clips like usual (in the end I clip only six of the twelve bolts), but I’m not conscious of the potential fall, I have a lock on my target.

And that’s when it all starts going wrong. My mind has decided that it can’t be this easy, that I’ll have to work for it. For no good reason, I over-fire the last hard deadpoint and find myself barely hanging on to the bad part of a pinch. I bring my right foot up and clumsily miss the foothold. It takes a few ounces of precious energy to reset.

I latch an intermediate pocket and quickly assess my body position. Am I in a position to deadpoint the final jug or is the cause lost? It seems less than fifty-fifty, I’ve probably botched it again. But a new level of resolve kicks in. “Enough” my mind practically yells.  Somehow I lurch upwards and my hand sticks the finish jug. A few more shaky moves and I’m clipping the chains. I yell. It takes a while for me to process that it’s over.

Moments later the sun breaks through the clouds, and we’re treated to our first blue sky since getting here ten days ago. Relief floods my body but it’s also an anti-climax.  I’ve definitely reached a new level, but I seem to have adjusted to it already. In the end it’s just another climb, a valuable experience but just a small step on the never-ending ladder of improvement.

Thank you Angie for a great Valentine’s Day! (Here she is putting in time on her own project at Swiss Cheese)

off to sea a tiny tub

The weather forecast looked grim: eight days of stormy 30 knot winds, gusting to 40 at times, with plenty of rain. None of the locals could fathom why we’d venture out in these conditions–it was clearly the weather for a book, a fireplace and a cozy duvet.

But we were crazy South Africans with maybe just this one opportunity to sail in New Zealand’s Bay of Islands. My parents had flown in from Brisbane, and we had been planning on this excursion for a while. Plus, sailing in storms sounded more fun than idling along in the doldrums!

Our trusty ride, the Mystique 4, a New Zealand-made Nolex 25. (Yes that means it’s a cosy 25 feet long!) Though not exactly a racer’s dream with her raisable keel and low-set jib, she handled heavy conditions surprisingly well

And so we tossed a week’s worth of supplies onto our little craft and lurched out of harbor. (Our sailing would become a bit more refined as the week wore on.)

Our trusty compass–not actually that useful since most navigation was by sight

We sailed every day but one, when we caved to an especially dismal weather report. Because we had nice strong winds and were mostly sheltered from heavy swell, we careened around the bay, skipping between half-empty anchorages–evidence of a collective raincheck by the local sailing population.

The scenic Robertson Island with its twin lagoons, where we took shelter after being pummeled by a large downpour

The walk up to the lookout point on Robertson Island is a must. Captain Cook made his first landing here and used this vantage point to survey the area

So what did we do for eight rainy days in our shoebox? Strangely, the time flew by. Between sailing endeavors, we read, drank copious amounts of tea, and played many a hotly-contested game of scrabble. My dad also pretended to fish, and regular landing parties were launched for the dual purposes of exploration and ablution. (Indeed, one of the senior shipmates frequently steered the team to her favorite spot in Otahei Bay for the latter!)

Angie takes the helm in her well-coordinated sailing attire. Note our makeshift washing lines

When we want land, we want land! Here we are grounded after an aggressive lunch anchorage. Luckily, just a good shove and we were free. One of the benefits of chartering a toy boat!

Cruising into an idyllic anchorage for the night at Army Bay

My dad “fishing”

The Bay of Islands is unusual in that they look exotic and wildly tropical, yet in the middle of nowhere you’ll run across a Kiwi batch (what they call a holiday home), accessible only by boat and tucked away in a jungle above a secluded beach. Many of them were not even that well taken care of! Clearly, coastal properties are a tad more attainable than in the US.

We also visited a few BBS (Bogon Breeding Site) sanctuaries, the most notable being Urupukapuka Bay where we witnessed some of the famed mating rituals taking place on a public beach.

A cruise ship whistles past as we re-enter the Pahia channel

Rowing to shore in our dinghy. We seemed to be the only ones without an outboard motor.  Note the humble batch with this beach all to itself

Cooking up fresh scallops, which our generous neighbors dived for and delivered to us one morning

Rise and shine! Sun scorching your eyeballs! My mother shows off her Quantas business class pajamas (for people who travel business class)

My parents looking hardcore as we tack into a headwind

Chilling on deck. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to live it!

Taking in a sunset from the cockpit

Not bad camouflage, eh? A baby oyster catcher scurries along the pebble beach

Chilling in Otahei bay

Taking a stroll above Otahei Bay

The sun finally came out on our last day, and we could actually swim!

After eight days out in the bay, we sailed in to port under grey skies, suddenly feeling the strangeness of having lived together in such a small, defined space. After docking and unloading, we set out for my aunt’s house in nearby Kerikeri. We all felt a touch of sadness for the simple life we were leaving behind, though it wasn’t long before thoughts turned to the creature comforts that awaited.

Hopefully this marks the first of many family sailing adventures.  Thank you parents for making it happen!

catching the tail of the dragon

What luck! Returning from lunch in Yangshuo, we happened upon a parade celebrating Lantern Festival, which marks the last day of Chinese New Year celebrations.

Every few blocks, the dragons danced and and mock fought with frenetic energy

The fighting dragons were the highlight but lots of other groups participated too

That night, the park was aglow with lanterns and light structures, including a gigantic dragon which loomed over the entrance

Traditional Lantern Festival rice dumplings: filled with sesame paste, served in sweet ginger broth, handed out for free in the streets, and sadly only available this one day of the year

And of course, fireworks closed out the festivities

Happy Year of the Dragon!

fish, tortoises, and yaks: exploring northwestern yunnan

For a change of scenery, I set out on a solo trip to Yunnan, the Chinese province that shares borders with Myanmar, Tibet, Sichuan, Laos, and Vietnam.

On my first stop, in capital city Kunming, the fish and flower market proved especially captivating. (I avoided photos of the caged birds, squirrels, and chipmunks though–too depressing.)

Choosing among the goldfish

Help!

Turtles try (and fail) to escape

Hello, neighbor!

From here, I headed northwest to Lijiang, a booming tourist city in the mountains. I stayed a few kilometers outside of Lijiang, in the village of ShuHe.

Apparently, shopping with abandon is a problem which requires official warning from the ShuHe government

On the advice of some ShuHe locals, I hopped on a bus to Liming, a teeny village at the entrance of a national park. (Side note: taking local bus in these parts means breathing in an incredible amount of second-hand smoke. Cigarettes are cheap in China, and the high rate smoking rate seems to prove that sin taxes really do work. Second side note: Have you ever seen a baby pee on the floor and seat of a bus? I now understand how babies in China get along without diapers.)

Liming is home to Thousand Tortoise Mountain. I’d say it’s aptly named

To protect the delicate sandstone formations, you’re asked to remove your shoes before walking around

Liming is a new trad climbing area in China. (Here’s where I admit that, yes, I did hang out with climbers on my non-climbing adventure to Yunnan!) Sandstone cliffs with splitter cracks line the valleys, and for all you trad climbers out there, apparently it’s ripe for discovery.

Other than a few Chinese tourists riding around in golf carts and a handful of climbers developing the area, the village was relatively quiet. Hearing national park, the American in me had visions of hiking trails, maps, and an informative information center. Not so much here.

Besides the huge stairs built to walk up to the Thousand Tortoise Mountain, the rest of the area was completely without a map or DIY exploration information. I’d call what I did less hiking and more wandering. Still, the relative peace was a welcome change from the bustle of a typical town.

Locals use ponies to carry loads between Liming, the main village, and their farm houses and other villages further afield

The guesthouse and climber hangout, Faraway Inn, in the center of the village

The food in northern Yunnan reflects the mountainous landscape. Specialties include baba bread (fried flat dough), goat cheese, yak meat, and (not pictured though delicious) yak yogurt

I also stopped at the much more popular Tiger Leaping Gorge, where the Yangtze River cuts a path through a steep canyon. Though the entrance to the gorge was highly unsightly (think: bulldozers digging up the river and sprawling buildings), only a few kilometers later, the scenery became more dramatic and peaceful.

Tiger Leaping Gorge, from above and river side

From my guesthouse, I followed a trail heading into higher terrain, weaving through terraced rice fields and small farm holdings complete with pigs, cows, and goats.

These little piggies made me feel some guilt about all the pork I’ve eaten in China

A slightly deranged-looking cow

Pretty ferns lined the paths

I somehow got off the main trail and ended up on a cliff, bashing through shrubs in an attempt to find the lookout rock. Eventually, I gave up, snapped this photo, and spent an extra hour trying to get back to the path. In summary: Me + unclear hiking trails = bad combination

A view from (near) the top

Liming tips:
To get to Liming via local bus, I suggest following the directions in Mike Dobie’s climbing guide for Liming. You can download the guide book here. If you can, plan your visit to coincide with Liming’s monthly market, when minority groups from other villages come into town for trading.