From our China Adventures Blog

PEPPY GUIDES, GORGEOUS SCENERY, PENANCE

Off we go through the French Concession in search of Mom's
old house on Urumchi Lu. The map is a little off - the block
that is marked is completely encompassed by the American Consulate
on one side and the French on the other, so we continue one more
block and think we recognize things from a video she showed us.
It's a bit of a treasure hunt: "there's a red brick house on one
side of the street, and then we lived across the street in a Spanish
style stucco one". Aha. There is only one brick house on this street,
and across from it is the stucco house, which is now 8 apartments,
tiny little warrens. I pull out my best Mandarin sentence, which is
wildly misunderstood, and soon we are surrounded by a dozen people,
all gesturing and trying to make sense of things. They finally
understand "my mother lived here", but think when I right down
"1930"s that this is the address I want. Aieeee! Finally some nice
young men who speak English stroll by and clear things up for us.
Everyone is very happy and smiles, and they suggest we go to the
police station to see if they have old records, which they don't.
But we make friends with the young men who take us there,
who have just finished graduate studies in water engineering, and
are big fans of American TV. They even know where the Superbowl
will be held next year, which I find amazing. Then we visit Lane 210,

which is a sort of new designer/art gallery/artisan area that is very trendy

and quaint at the same time.
Cool cafes, very expensive boutiques, etc. I almost go for a
t-shirt at a hip shop called ShirtFlag. Are we sure I don't need a
shirt that says "Worker Peasant Farmer Let's Kiss?"
I pass it up, thinking there will be other trendy Maoist kitsch
in Beijing. Then we visit the warehouse area (along Suzhou Creek, mom)
that now houses the contemporary gallery scene, including the well know
ShangArt and Eastlink. We have high hopes, since it seems that every
art mag in the last 6 months has done a feature on the hot
Chinese artists, but really, with the exception of a handful of
already very famous artists, the work is very derivative, old fashioned,
etc. Figurative stuff in which the faces all have tiny features or big
eyes, Social realist critiques/scenarios, etc.
We go to a cafe - everyone here smokes, and spits, and you just have
to deal with it. (Apparently, the government has started a campaign in
Beijing for the 2008 Olympics to try and get the locals NOT to spit,
since we Westerners find it gross). Good luck.SUZHOUThe next morning,

we are met by our SUPER PERKY young giggling happyguide, Celia.

We drive two hours to Suzhou, the city that is calledthe Venice of the East,

and famous for it's gorgeous gardens, some ofwhich have been maintained

for almost a 1000 years.

This ancient villageis, however, ringed by vast suburban industrial complexes,

a sort ofSilicon Valley of Korean, American, Japanese electronics firms.

Miles and miles of impeccably landscaped and maintained factories,

apartment buildings,etc.

It's a sort of testament to Chinese industriousness,and vigor, and desire,

and pretty scary. They could easily conquer the worldlike this.

The Indians have no way to compete with this - they are SO far behind in

modernization, not even having a govt. that can deal with pickingup the garbage,

much less getting anything done on this scale.

But the ancient city center is picture postcard gardens, canals,
(Jackie sees her first pagoda!) perfect Feng Shui, oasises of
pavilions and bamboo and scholars studies and magnificent rocks and ponds. I ask our guide "what are those beautiful buildings
behind the pagoda?" and she says "your hotel". Yahoo! The Sheraton here is perfectly designed to blend in, and just as lovely, though I suppose it's a bit like being in a Las Vegas version of a place.
We trek out to the Buddhist temple for the vegetarian restaurant, and are happy to see a few monks wandering around.
Our guide considers China to have complete freedom of religion, and when we question her, says everyone is very happy,

that things are so much better, they all feel so free, etc. But when we ask if there

is freedom to criticize the govt., she shakes her head no, we can't do that,

but we don't feel the need. Hmm...I think we'd have to talk to artists and intellectuals to
get a different version of this. But really, if you didn't know the history
of this place, there is almost nothing to let on that this is a communist
country, or had a long complicated terrible history, or circumscribed in any
way. Well, maybe the nationalist songs playing in People's Square in Shanghai
(the old racetrack, mom), but little else.Celia seems to know the words to every

American pop song you can imagine, and she sings them all beautifully,

and I'm sorry to say that we shame our country by not being able to come up

with even ONE new pop song to teach her. Jeez. Kirk tries an Aretha Franklin tune,

but she's not impressed. The driver, on the other hand, laughs with delight

when I sing him the Flower Drum Song.
Thanks, Dad! All day long is an English lesson for Celia, and cultural tidbits
for us, and it's a bit exhausting, especially the perpetual perkiness and
giggling. We think it might be nice to have a slightly more mature guide next.....

HUANGSHAN MOUNTAINS

But no. We are met at the airport for our trip to HuangShan by April,
who is even more PEPPY and HAPPY and BOUNCY and HAPPY TO SEE US than Celia.
Kirk thinks that they are all on Crystal Meth. This time we arrive at a hotel
that has seen better days and few Westerners and not, apparently, a vaccuum
cleaner. Breakfast is a debacle, with hordes of Japanese, Chinese, and Korean
tourists elbowing each other at the buffet, screaming loudly at the staff if
a platter is empty, and yelling a lot. I never knew how boisterous the Asians
are - we always have the cliche of the demure, polite, quiet Asian, but it ain't
true. Add to this the eating habits, where slurping, smacking the lips loudly,
picking the teeth, burping, and spitting out bones on the table is considered
the norm, and it's quite a scene. We are happy to get in the car and drive to
the Yellow Mountains, the Celestial Realm, where I'm hoping to see landscape
that looks like the traditional Chinese Taoist paintings. We have been told to

take only a small duffle - the car can only go so far, after which we will take

a cable car, and then after that we will walk UPSTAIRS for half an hour.

The mountains are so steep that they are pretty much inaccessible

except for on foot. (No, Martha, not even a mule). Which means,
to our shock, that we see porters, dozens of them, carrying enormous bundles
over bamboo poles, up the steps, from the bottom...the cable cars are reserved
for passengers only, so they will climb the three hours to the top with about
100kgs. Each. YIkes! These are truly the Chinese equivalents of the sherpas.
We realize in horror that EVERYTHING on this mountain - every bottle of water,
every grain of rice in the restaurants, every brick for each hotel, was hand
carried up these steps; and every piece of garbage, every single sheet and towel
will be carried down to be washed and then carried back up again. It is mind
boggling, and jarring, and we can only gasp and wince when we pass them.
You can even have them carry YOU up, which, believe me, became
tempting over the next two days. I promise I will never, ever,
complain about my job.Immediately we go on a hike, and realize that the world of contrastmeans the Sublime in terms of landscape, and countered by the

hordesof tourists who are up here with us. This has been a famous tourist

spot for over 1200 years, and immortalized by every chinese poet and painter.

The scenery is truly WHIMPER AND WEEP gorgeous.
It is exactly like Taoist paintings; the painters apparently were
abstracting nothing. It is all mist, and scraggly pine, and deep deep gorges,
and birdsong. We literally sit down and weep over a vista -
Beginning To Believe Peak. Kirk keeps saying "this MUST be the most
beautiful place on the planet, right?" The govt. has preserved
everything meticulously; the steps not only allow you to
climb up and down the super steep slopes, but protect the soil.
There are rock trashcans everywhere, not ONE speck of litter, and
ecological awareness is everywhere here. Are these really the same
people wreaking havoc with their dams? We take a gazillion photos,
which I'm sure will all look like cliches of the sublime,
but what can you do? Stone Monkey Gazes Over the Sea of Clouds, Cloud
Dispelling Pavilion, Purple Dragon Peak, etc. We are pixel sluts.After lunch, we do another 3-4 hours; the trails/steps are amazing,
and daunting, and exhausting. So now the Sublime, instead of including
fear of death like in the Himalayas, is touched with Suffering, of the
physical sort. We are sweating, and tired, and can't take our eyes off
the views, which are perpetual, and resplendent, and awesome. Yup, get to
use that word again. But really, I'm beginning to suspect
that the God of Stairmasters might have it in for me tomorrow.

We get up at, gulp, 4:15am (Kirk says "are we really doing this without
going fishing?") for the famous Beihai sunrise. And by the time we climb
to the Dawn Gazing Pavilion, there are already dozens of Japanese with
their tripods set up, gabbing at the top of their lungs, as do the Chinese.
It's amazing that these are the cultures that practically invented
Enlightenment through the Peaceful Contemplation of Nature. Hah!
They like to yell out loud, Samurai yelps, when they like the view.
I actually thought to myself "Jeez, in the States, even the assholes
would shut up at sunrise at the Grand Canyon, no?" Ah well, a cultural
difference that takes getting used to. This is the ONLY place in the world
where you can spot the Americans by how QUIET they are! But sunrise is lovely
and gauzy and faintly pink and gray and accompanied by an orchestra of
otherworldly birdcalls, which we can still hear over the cries of "HAI!!"

I wonder if it would be easier to achieve enlightenment as a Taoist monk here
in Huangshan or an Indian saddhu in the caves in the Himalayas....

Today, after six hours on the Celestial Stairmaster yesterday, I am a wreck.
Every step is killing my thighs (yeah, so much for Miss Ashtanga) and I'm
wincing, and bouncy little April says "today, we go up to Highest Peak!
Very Beautiful! Very Steep!" Aieeeeee! And we do it, and the mist is
appropriately magnificent even though I want to cry, and the gorges are
inducing nature's version of Stendhal Syndrome, and I really really want
to go back to the hotel later and try that "Mend-Foot Pinch" they are
advertising in the salon. At one point, I think to myself, while climbing
up to the Lion Crouching Mountaintop in the afternoon, well,
I know I supposedly wiped my karma clean last fall bathing in the Ganges,
but evidently I have some penance to do, and this is it. Mercifully,
late afternoon brings roaring thunder, and April says we can't go any
higher because it's too dangerous - people on top of the 1.2 million
year old granite spires act like lightning rods, and there has apparently
been an incident involving 20 people being hit by lightning simultaneously,
so I am granted a reprieve, and happily go back down the mountainside
step by step saying my new mantra,"ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch".
Now, tea and, good god, OREOS. Life is good!

To be continued next weekend...

by Jackie Tileston