We visited one of Kunming's tourist attractions--Dianchi Lake, where flocks of Siberian seagulls stop over during their annual migration during this time of the year. Our local friend told us that they didn't always used to; when they were younger, the seagulls simply appeared one year and after that always came. Well, why not. They're smart birds. All the free bread and bird food that people willingly give them are worth the stopover. Having seldom seen seagulls before, we were fascinated when we reached. They were everywhere. Filling the skies. Swooping along the railings with keen eyes. And pooping indiscriminately. My brother's excitement was dampened when he 'won a prize' in this way, as the locals so euphemistically put it.
They were neat, trim fellows, looking impossibly white against the blue sky and the murky green waters. They were smart ones too. We realized after a while that they flew in loops, coursing along the length of the wharf where the people stood throwing bread for them, and the beady black eyes were watching our hands. If you flicked your hand up as if you were throwing a piece of bread intot he air, they would swoop upwards to catch it, even if there wasn't any.
If you were very patient, and had a big piece of bread in your hand, one especially bold one might come and snatch some straight from your hand. The rest, however, preferred to catch the pellets we tossed into the air, and keep their distance.
It always makes me feel strangely honoured when animals eat from your hand.
The weather in Kunming was actually very pleasant, but it took me days to get used to what the locals called the 'four seasons in a day.' The weather could change completely in a couple of hours. In the mornings it would be bright and windless but so cold you could see your breath when you exhaled (something tropical Singaporeans got a huge kick out of, and went around like foolish kids trying to catch it on camera as we breathed noisily.) In the afternoons there would be bright sun with strong UV (being at such a high altitude) which made your skin feel taut and warm and glowing in the crisp air, and made your eyes suffer if you were foolish enough to not have a cap, sunglasses, or even a scarf to protect them. If you weren't used to it, you could get a headache walking in the face of that sun for a short period of time, unshielded, and probably considerable sun damage to your skin as well. Having learnt from experience, I wrapped my head in my scarf, looking absurdly like the Abominable Snowman and reducing my field of vision to own my feet and the feet of whoever was within five feet of me. Then again, in a couple of hours the sun would have vanished and the air would get thicker, colder, the wind poking disrespectful and unpleasantly cold fingers through the gaps in your clothes. One night as I watched the boys play rugby in almost pitch darkness, despite sundry cars passing through, and my helpful contribution of phone lighting, the cold cut right through my clothes, without the protection of a winter coat, and I found myself stamping my feet to keep warm, my fingers chilled numb. But then again, I am notorious for getting cold too easily, even in sunny Singapore. I blame it on poor circulation--my hands get cold and clammy even in air conditioning and movie theaters, and even on rainy days. I didn't realize this until a cat I tried to pet flinched and glared at me, scornfully avoided my attempts to pet him, then stalked away with a tremendously offended air. Crushed, I am more conscious of my corpse hands now and try to warm them up before shaking hands with people or touching animals. So in Kunming I had to apologize almost every time I shook hands with someone, and explain hurriedly against their anxious inquiries that no, I wasn't sick, I wasn't too cold, I was just a cold-blooded creature.
One of my favourite things about walking around Kunming was how well-behaved the dogs were. I didn't see a single one on a leash, but they all went about minding their own business is such a respectable, matter-of-fact manner that I felt bad for staring. This regardless of size--from a small roly-poly Corgi that trotted around in a woolly sweater with a purposeful, dignified air, to a simply enormous chocolate brown dog waiting for his owner to conclude a deal on his motorcycle. He--the dog, not the man--was so big and hairy I almost thought he was a young bear; and he sat there, so meek and quiet, like a giant teddy. Some girls say they want a man who is strong enough to sweep them off their feet. The sense of security that gives you is quite likely nothing compared to that of having a dog you could literally ride on like a horse. I have always wanted a big dog for that reason and all those old feelings came back to me when I passed that chocolate brown mountain of well-trained doggo.
Which brings me to another part of our adventures in Kunming city. I managed to convince everyone to pay a visit to one of the flower markets Kunming--which is one of the world's top flower suppliers--is famous for. These markets range from ones wholly dedicated to flowers to ones which also sell all sorts of animals for pets, gifts, curios, ethnic minority handicrafts etc (read: tourist traps.)
The one that we went to started off with a whole row of shops selling police, fireman, and army supplies. We Singaporeans were amazed at what was on sale--legit looking uniforms, helmets, batons, badges, riot shields, even tazers and walkie talkies and what looked like some guns. The boys were sorely tempted to outfit themselves. I thought wistfully of how many great props for home movies and skits were before me.
That was just the beginning. The market continued to astound us. As we walked on we passed all sorts of shops and wares, from wood crafts (ranging from backscratchers to furniture to pipes to hashish water pipes) jade and precious rocks (one shop had a 'lucky draw' bin where you chose a plain looking stone and paid to get it cracked open, on the chance that there was a geode inside)
Beef jerky, with chilli powder and the local mala spice--it looks inconspicously like a peppercorn and numbs your mouth.
Tough chewing, but addictive.
--and all sorts of flowers. And succulents.
I have a soft spot for succulents. So I was thrilled to discover more types than I'd ever seen before in Singapore, and so many...
If you don't like succulents (is that possible, by the way?) I apologize.
I realize I am the kind of person who, if I had my own apartment in Kunming, would most likely have it lavishly adorned with a complete garden of them on windowsills, in corners, etc.
I think one reason I am so drawn to them is their illusion of hardiness. Very attractive for people without green fingers, like me. I say illusion because I have somehow managed to kill several cacti and succulents, all with the best intentions in the world. I've gotten a bit skeptical now whenever the seller assures me it's "practically no work, hardly needs any care at all!'
But there. Why am I talking about succulents when there are animals to talk about.
There were an abundance of puppies and kittens--cages of sleepy baby guinea pigs--hordes of bunnies melting into each other in a big fluffball--entire dynasties of hamsters. At this point I experienced a cute attack for the first time. I've had plenty of heart-melting furry cuteness from Pinterest and the web, but all the real live cute animals I've seen have always been in carefully controlled doses--one or two puppies behind the glass cages in pet shops, a scruffy mongrel pup on the road, or several skinny stray kittens. This was different. Here before me was a basket with six or seven healthy puppies in different colours, fat, wriggling, with limpid eyes and wet noses and the tiniest absurd tails.
You know those videos you see on Instagram about kids who are surprised with puppies/kittens for their birthdays and start crying uncontrollably because "they're so cute?" I was like, aw, kids. At that moment however I felt something unhinge in my brain as cuteness overwhelmed my cynical grown-up soul and triumphantly melted any prosaic practicality there.
As with one accord all of us--adults, teens--squatted around the basket and made anguished oohing noises as our brains went kapoot with cute overload. The seller looked rather grumpily at us as we took photos, made babytalk, and argued fiercely over which one was the cutest, looking like a motley gang of baby-mad godmothers/godfathers. We got shooed away eventually when he realized that the foreigners were not likely to buy any puppies, however crazy they were going about them. Perhaps just as well or we might have left with our arms full of sleepy puppies.
It was almost painful to go through the pet section, though. So many tiny creatures whose clumsy legs and big eyes screamed "take me home! love me to bits! snuggle me under your chin! let me dominate your house and make you unable to use your brain again!" The sad part was that some of them were crowded into cages, or simply put in net sacks. My only consolation was that if they meant money to the sellers, hopefully they wouldn't be mistreated.
There were other animals too, the sort of animals that Singaporeans would never be able to keep as pets--hedgehogs! real live hedgehogs! Lizards. Hermit crabs. Snakes. In fact as we were walking through there was a slight commotion to the right and we were told that a snake had escaped from one of the stalls.
The greatest pity of all was that we hadn't allotted ourselves enough time to really browse and explore the market as we would have liked to--I think we underestimated its fascination. We had to tear ourselves away from the animals, and--a personal achievement-- didn't stop to buy a single pair of embroidered shoes. There were several shops selling beautiful collections of shoes and boots, embroidered in the different ethnic minority styles; all so pretty I was reminded of those Grimm's fairy tales I used to devour growing up. (yes, the original version with the nail-studded casks and carving knives. Bettelheim would approve. My parents were quite cool with it and I never had any nightmares because of it, whereas Brian the Brain in Space: 1999 did.) Just the phrase 'scarlet slippers' would conjure up a vision that gave me the same feeling those shoes did.
continued in part 3