John and I barely survived our weekend trip to Harbin, the capital of Heilongjiang in Manchuria. Oh. My. God. Colder than my worst nightmare of expectations. Maybe I could have gone better prepared. I doubt it. As you can see in the pictures, I was already fat, blimpy, and practically immobile from my layers. Ok, boots might have helped.

So the first night, we went to the Ice and Snow Festival north of the Songhuajiang River. The event was well worth the trip, but because we were on the water and it was evening, the temperatures and wind gusts were brutal. Guess this was a good way to jump start our systems with a full-on shock. Let me apologize in advance for our pictures. They are no where near the greatness of Todd King’s. Allow me to offer several reasons. First, it took us awhile to figure out the right settings. Second, our hands had trouble holding steady in the freezing cold. Third, once we finally did decipher the optimal settings, we grew very reluctant to take our hands out of our gloves and pockets to fidget with the camera. Please forgive.

Day two, we got up bright and early for a Chinese tour of a lifetime. I have to say, once again LP China misled me. Damn you, Damian H*rper. Man, talk about blowing smoke out the ass… all this superlative-laden language: the biggest ski resort in Asia, the best equipped facility in China, blah, blah. Purportedly, Yabuli hosted the 1996 Asian Winter Games… We got sucked in, I tell you. John, me, and four others in our group endured three hours on a cacophonous Chinese tour bus to check this grand place out. In the end, what did we discover? Nothing all that superb. Just tons of snow, tempertures between -10 to -20 F, and decrepit, single-seater lifts to the summit of Yabuli’s tallest mountain. Big frickin’ deal. Key indicators for disappointment: various abandoned and neglected buildings, lodges, and ski lifts along the way up. The building windows were shot out even. Next to our lift, a steep slope (that may actually have been a nice trail during the Asian Games) was clearly not in use. Still, like sheep, we just hopped on and inched higher and higher into desolation.

When we reached the top, the peace and quiet offered somewhat of a welcome respite, but by then, my feet were losing feeling fast. I started thinking unhappy thoughts. I wondered how many people died atop this mountain of snow and cold. Would I be saved? The puny lift alone took 35-40 minutes each way! You know people do lose fingers and toes and noses to frostbite!! I guess it was nice having an 8-year old with us. He interrupted my morbid thoughts with more important (and harassing) questions about Uno, formerly my favorite card game.

Twenty minutes passed, and it was time to ride back down. At the base, we warmed our hands and feet in the coffee hut. Then, we were back on the bus for another three hours of coerced on-bus entertainment: a Chinese variety show played at the highest volume setting possible.

Day three, we wandered about Harbin. Temps were actually colder than the previous two days, so we rode around in taxis mostly. Saw St. Sophia’s Church. It was nice, but kind of out of place. A single piece of Russian architecture in the middle of an otherwise typical Chinese city. Inside, the church had obviously been converted into a tourist stop/center, so there were black and white historical pictures of Harbin mixed in with random religious paintings (including a version of the Last Supper), and all of it surrounding a city model on display.