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It has been a decently awful day, so I'm letting myself recuperate from it by working on posting photos. After spending an hour immersed in the memories of my wonderful China trip, I feel a great deal more peaceful and somewhat more charitable to the world.
Standard warnings of extreme bandwidth-heaviness apply.
7月24日06年
One of the hardest parts of travel in a foreign country is that you don't know the rules. What you should do, what you shouldn't, how to behave where, what to say . . . all you can do is be as polite as possible and watch other people, trying to do as they do.
Perhaps more frightening is the thought that there might not be any rules to follow. People here seem to come and go at will here, work when they will, rest when they will, talk when they will. Presumably there's work to be done, and it gets done, but no one's on a fixed schedule that I can figure out. Of course, this is my first real experience in truly rural areas, scary as that is to admit. I have no idea how things work, or even what's supposed to be going on.
The countryside continues to roll past, woods and fields and brick houses. From a billboard two children in red scarves salute, backed by the Chinese flag. A Hong Kong martial arts/comedy movie blares from the TV. My knees ache faintly, but the bus will get there when it gets there and not before. Transportation in China is a somewhat iffy affair.
7月25日06年
Sipping bitterness in a Chengdu tea house, on the veranda overlooking the boat pond. Am not much good at it, alas, I keep sipping tea leaves by accident instead of tea. How does one manage it, anyway? The requisite person came by and offered me a massage; him refused, I am now left alone.
The boats drift back and forth according to the whim of the travellers. Here and there along the banks, willows sway in the light breeze. The noisy hum/roar of the cicadas is almost enough to drown out the canned music for the dancers beyond the trellis. In the other direction, beyond a garden courtyard and over a steeply arched stone bridge, groups of women play majong. I can't hear the rapid clicking of their tiles from here, no more than I can hear the voices of the men playing chess near the entrance of Renmin Park. It is serenity of the Chinese variety, I am learning. True quiet is not something I've experienced since landing in Hong Kong.
Another tea leaf down my throat, blast. And a sketch artist selling portraits. There must be some sort of technique to drinking tea without inhaling leaves and being left alone that I don't quite get. If it has to do with being Chinese instead of displaced American, I fear I'm out of luck. I ought to be used to sticking out like a sore thumb-- perhaps I am a little, but I'm not used to being a commercial target on account of it.
After I left the tea house I meandered towards what I thought might be an exit. A glimpse of stone and greenery pulled me through another archway into a small garden. The sound of an erhu caught me then and drew me across a space of rocks, water, and blooming lotus flowers to an isolated corner of veranda. There I found the player sitting on the railing, and perhaps a lesson in progress. I sat down to listen, and in that music found the peace that's been so long lacking this past week.
Cliche as it may be, music has a power that surpasses simple words alone, a language that is beyond language. No wonder, then, that musicians share a kinship that goes above the boundaries of country and culture. Listening, watching, I could think to myself, "these are my kind." And, "I belong here."
We ate at the Wenshu Temple monastery, excellent vegetarian food. 20 minutes to wander around beforehand, and my compatriots left directly after. It's not something I understand; I took two hours in that temple yesterday, admiring, taking photos, watching the monks walk back and forth with dinner deliveries. How can you see everything in 20 minutes? Like rain, the sights and sounds and smells fall on your skin, bead up, and then roll off again. There's no time to absorb or reflect on what's before you.
For my part I sat for a long time in the flagstone courtyards, admiring the flaring roof trees, the geometric screens, the elaborate carvings and colorful paintings. Scented smoke rose from giant censers shaped like ancient bronze ceremonial vessels, and tongues of fire flickered in the iron lanterns that flanked them. The Buddhas and bodhisattvas were golden, imposing, elaborate, and impressive-- too much so, for me. Out of respect and preference I directed my camera away, down open cloisters hung with tasseled lanterns, towards round archways that simultaneously closed off one courtyard and opened up the next.
A garden lay off to one side, meandering pathways designed to set off graceful, airy pavilions and the contorted rocks so prized here. One grove of such was spiky and harshly vertical, a perfect contrast to the gentle curse of the plants that surrounded it.
Went to the culture show. Touristy to a large extent, but I still enjoyed it. The erhu music, the puppets, the shadow-play and the changing faces stand out in my mind as being particularly excellent.
Disappointment came later, not with the show but with my companions. No sooner were the lights up again than they were discussing what trick the performers had used to accomplish the miracle of instant change, debating slight-of-hand and distraction. And the delight inside me died, listening. Nothing spoils a good experience like talking about it afterward-- but more, what is this strange compulsion people feel to destroy magic wherever they find it, to reduce miracles to tricks, to deny space inside them for wonder? Why is it that magic is not allowed to be magical?
Photojournalism: Giant Panda Research Center
First, here's a page of information about the Center if you're curious.
We arrived early in the morning, since that's when the bears are the most active. Which is perfectly understandable; if I had to spend my days in a sweltering fur coat, I would spent the hottest part lying around in a cool cave. But we were early enough that it was still breakfast time for the pandas.
They eat a lot. Like, a lot a lot. 40 pounds per day a lot. In fact, they have to eat almost constantly when they're awake, otherwise they don't get enough. Comes from having such a high-fiber diet, I guess. Despite this, they're very picky eaters. Of the 120 different kinds of bamboo, pandas will eat 25.
This panda is engaged in the other behavior typical of its species: sleeping!
In a tree, yes.
The eating continues!
Wait, it's moving! . . . to get more food.
Here's another panda! Guess what it's doing?
Despite my sarcasm, it was really impressive to watch them. Being that close to a wild animal is always a special experience, since normally one's experiences are limited to TV. Actually seeing them with your own eyes . . . it's really different.
Young pandas, like many young animals, think about other things from eating and sleeping. These three were engaged in a lively game of "King of the Panda Heap" . . . until the keeper showed up with an early lunch, that is.
These two twin sisters were having fun climbing on their jungle gym. Climbing down for lunch turned out to be quite a process; I caught a portion of it on video. I'll have to open up a youtube account or something to put my videos up, though.
The red pandas were a great deal more active than the giant pandas. I also found them insanely adorable.
You could pay for the privlege of holding one of the red pandas. I was too cheap, but two of our group members tried it. You could pay even more money and help to feed the giant pandas, but all of us decided that was outside our budget.
I love the way it's holding its foot.
That's an apple slice it's eating, by the way.
We were right outside the red panda enclosure. After the photo shoot was done, the keeper just took the red panda and put it on the ground, and it walked right back into the enclosure. I guess the red pandas know a sweet deal when they see one.
Photojournalism: Chengdu
Perhaps Chengdu's most recognizable landmark is the massive statue of Mao in the city center.
Say hi to Mao!
Mao is very pleased to make your aquaintance.
One of the first places I went in the city was Wenshu Monastery, where we later ate an excellent vegetarian lunch. It was farther away than I thought-- I ended up spending a hot, dusty hour walking across the entire city. The narrow road that led up to it was lined with tiny shops; it was also very under construction. The bathroom down the street from the temple was rather dirty and very simple-- just a trough with rough "stalls" separated by low walls. There were no doors to the stalls, either. I'm not sure if that was my winner for "scariest bathroom in China" or not; the one in the upper monastary on Emei Shan gave it a run for its money. But we'll get to that later.
For now, Wenshu Monastery! Here's some information on the temple, in case you're curious.
This is the main courtyard.
Aside from the occasional tourist or worshipper, the monastery was largely a peaceful place when I visited. This was mainly because it was late in the afternoon, approaching dinner time; it was much more crowded when we came back for lunch. Since I prefer my temples peaceful and serene, I was glad that I'd come, despite the tremendous amount of effort it cost me.
Detail of the carving in the main courtyard.
Another courtyard.
A low flame, burning. All the courtyards were interlinked in a row, with adjacent courtyards flanking them . . . it was very geometric, and yet graceful.
A monk delivering suppers to the dormitories. Those dinners were probably not as sumptuous as the food that we ate the next day in the restaurant.
Detail of the temple roof.
The main hall.
I loved the red laquerwork that decorated the temple, and the contrast between the deep red and glossy black.
Gateways were wonderful, so variously shaped. They acted as wonderful frames for the scenery beyond; no doubt the intention behind them.
The monastary's gardens. Aside from the mosquitos, they were both lush and lovely. The harsh shapes of the stones compliment the softness of the greenery around them by providing contrast.
This graceful pavillion was one of several, but I found it particularly of note because the tall, thin support columns echoe the tall, thin trees around it.
One of two matching pavilions behind the monastary.
This path runs behind the monastery . . .
. . . and separates it from this extremely grand building. I have no idea what the building was for, but it certainly was impressive.
It had very elaborate carvings of various arcane beasties.
I don't know what it is, but it's pretty cute, don't you think? In an odd, grotesque, sheep-dog-caterpillar kind of way . . .
The painting on the ceiling was very beautiful.
Quite a building indeed.
I took this picture on the way back from the monastary. It particularly amused me for the way the clouds seem to be moving forth at Mao's waved command: I feel that this correctly approximates Mao's estimation of his own importance with regard to the heavens.
Another major place on Chengdu's tourism map is this double shopping street. The street forks into two parallel branches; the right-hand branch is full of shops, the left-hand branch is full of food vendors who sell all sorts of appetizing and possibly-not-so-appetizing snacks on skewers. This is the gate that leads to both.
Let us proceed down the street, shall we?
This would make a great setting for a kung fu movie.
At the end of the street was a peaceful courtyard . . . well, not precisely peaceful, since it was crowded with people, but I could see how it might potentially be peaceful. It was pretty, in any case.
Here's the free-standing gate at the far end, where the two streets join up again. Behind me was a store selling rocking horses of all descriptions, I kid you not.
I spent a good deal of time in Renmin Park, but didn't actually take many pictures there. Still, I enjoyed wandering around and observing everyone, though I was footsore and in need of a break. It took me a while to figure out how to order tea and get myself settled, but it was wonderful once I did. But the most beautiful thing was the side garden with the musicians, which I found on the way out. It had a lovely lotus pond in the back.
This building really fascinated me, because it appeared to be growing from the rocks.
The erhu and violin musicians. A moment of perfect beauty.
Standard warnings of extreme bandwidth-heaviness apply.
7月24日06年
One of the hardest parts of travel in a foreign country is that you don't know the rules. What you should do, what you shouldn't, how to behave where, what to say . . . all you can do is be as polite as possible and watch other people, trying to do as they do.
Perhaps more frightening is the thought that there might not be any rules to follow. People here seem to come and go at will here, work when they will, rest when they will, talk when they will. Presumably there's work to be done, and it gets done, but no one's on a fixed schedule that I can figure out. Of course, this is my first real experience in truly rural areas, scary as that is to admit. I have no idea how things work, or even what's supposed to be going on.
The countryside continues to roll past, woods and fields and brick houses. From a billboard two children in red scarves salute, backed by the Chinese flag. A Hong Kong martial arts/comedy movie blares from the TV. My knees ache faintly, but the bus will get there when it gets there and not before. Transportation in China is a somewhat iffy affair.
7月25日06年
Sipping bitterness in a Chengdu tea house, on the veranda overlooking the boat pond. Am not much good at it, alas, I keep sipping tea leaves by accident instead of tea. How does one manage it, anyway? The requisite person came by and offered me a massage; him refused, I am now left alone.
The boats drift back and forth according to the whim of the travellers. Here and there along the banks, willows sway in the light breeze. The noisy hum/roar of the cicadas is almost enough to drown out the canned music for the dancers beyond the trellis. In the other direction, beyond a garden courtyard and over a steeply arched stone bridge, groups of women play majong. I can't hear the rapid clicking of their tiles from here, no more than I can hear the voices of the men playing chess near the entrance of Renmin Park. It is serenity of the Chinese variety, I am learning. True quiet is not something I've experienced since landing in Hong Kong.
Another tea leaf down my throat, blast. And a sketch artist selling portraits. There must be some sort of technique to drinking tea without inhaling leaves and being left alone that I don't quite get. If it has to do with being Chinese instead of displaced American, I fear I'm out of luck. I ought to be used to sticking out like a sore thumb-- perhaps I am a little, but I'm not used to being a commercial target on account of it.
After I left the tea house I meandered towards what I thought might be an exit. A glimpse of stone and greenery pulled me through another archway into a small garden. The sound of an erhu caught me then and drew me across a space of rocks, water, and blooming lotus flowers to an isolated corner of veranda. There I found the player sitting on the railing, and perhaps a lesson in progress. I sat down to listen, and in that music found the peace that's been so long lacking this past week.
Cliche as it may be, music has a power that surpasses simple words alone, a language that is beyond language. No wonder, then, that musicians share a kinship that goes above the boundaries of country and culture. Listening, watching, I could think to myself, "these are my kind." And, "I belong here."
We ate at the Wenshu Temple monastery, excellent vegetarian food. 20 minutes to wander around beforehand, and my compatriots left directly after. It's not something I understand; I took two hours in that temple yesterday, admiring, taking photos, watching the monks walk back and forth with dinner deliveries. How can you see everything in 20 minutes? Like rain, the sights and sounds and smells fall on your skin, bead up, and then roll off again. There's no time to absorb or reflect on what's before you.
For my part I sat for a long time in the flagstone courtyards, admiring the flaring roof trees, the geometric screens, the elaborate carvings and colorful paintings. Scented smoke rose from giant censers shaped like ancient bronze ceremonial vessels, and tongues of fire flickered in the iron lanterns that flanked them. The Buddhas and bodhisattvas were golden, imposing, elaborate, and impressive-- too much so, for me. Out of respect and preference I directed my camera away, down open cloisters hung with tasseled lanterns, towards round archways that simultaneously closed off one courtyard and opened up the next.
A garden lay off to one side, meandering pathways designed to set off graceful, airy pavilions and the contorted rocks so prized here. One grove of such was spiky and harshly vertical, a perfect contrast to the gentle curse of the plants that surrounded it.
Went to the culture show. Touristy to a large extent, but I still enjoyed it. The erhu music, the puppets, the shadow-play and the changing faces stand out in my mind as being particularly excellent.
Disappointment came later, not with the show but with my companions. No sooner were the lights up again than they were discussing what trick the performers had used to accomplish the miracle of instant change, debating slight-of-hand and distraction. And the delight inside me died, listening. Nothing spoils a good experience like talking about it afterward-- but more, what is this strange compulsion people feel to destroy magic wherever they find it, to reduce miracles to tricks, to deny space inside them for wonder? Why is it that magic is not allowed to be magical?
Photojournalism: Giant Panda Research Center
First, here's a page of information about the Center if you're curious.
We arrived early in the morning, since that's when the bears are the most active. Which is perfectly understandable; if I had to spend my days in a sweltering fur coat, I would spent the hottest part lying around in a cool cave. But we were early enough that it was still breakfast time for the pandas.
They eat a lot. Like, a lot a lot. 40 pounds per day a lot. In fact, they have to eat almost constantly when they're awake, otherwise they don't get enough. Comes from having such a high-fiber diet, I guess. Despite this, they're very picky eaters. Of the 120 different kinds of bamboo, pandas will eat 25.
This panda is engaged in the other behavior typical of its species: sleeping!
In a tree, yes.
The eating continues!
Wait, it's moving! . . . to get more food.
Here's another panda! Guess what it's doing?
Despite my sarcasm, it was really impressive to watch them. Being that close to a wild animal is always a special experience, since normally one's experiences are limited to TV. Actually seeing them with your own eyes . . . it's really different.
Young pandas, like many young animals, think about other things from eating and sleeping. These three were engaged in a lively game of "King of the Panda Heap" . . . until the keeper showed up with an early lunch, that is.
These two twin sisters were having fun climbing on their jungle gym. Climbing down for lunch turned out to be quite a process; I caught a portion of it on video. I'll have to open up a youtube account or something to put my videos up, though.
The red pandas were a great deal more active than the giant pandas. I also found them insanely adorable.
You could pay for the privlege of holding one of the red pandas. I was too cheap, but two of our group members tried it. You could pay even more money and help to feed the giant pandas, but all of us decided that was outside our budget.
I love the way it's holding its foot.
That's an apple slice it's eating, by the way.
We were right outside the red panda enclosure. After the photo shoot was done, the keeper just took the red panda and put it on the ground, and it walked right back into the enclosure. I guess the red pandas know a sweet deal when they see one.
Photojournalism: Chengdu
Perhaps Chengdu's most recognizable landmark is the massive statue of Mao in the city center.
Say hi to Mao!
Mao is very pleased to make your aquaintance.
One of the first places I went in the city was Wenshu Monastery, where we later ate an excellent vegetarian lunch. It was farther away than I thought-- I ended up spending a hot, dusty hour walking across the entire city. The narrow road that led up to it was lined with tiny shops; it was also very under construction. The bathroom down the street from the temple was rather dirty and very simple-- just a trough with rough "stalls" separated by low walls. There were no doors to the stalls, either. I'm not sure if that was my winner for "scariest bathroom in China" or not; the one in the upper monastary on Emei Shan gave it a run for its money. But we'll get to that later.
For now, Wenshu Monastery! Here's some information on the temple, in case you're curious.
This is the main courtyard.
Aside from the occasional tourist or worshipper, the monastery was largely a peaceful place when I visited. This was mainly because it was late in the afternoon, approaching dinner time; it was much more crowded when we came back for lunch. Since I prefer my temples peaceful and serene, I was glad that I'd come, despite the tremendous amount of effort it cost me.
Detail of the carving in the main courtyard.
Another courtyard.
A low flame, burning. All the courtyards were interlinked in a row, with adjacent courtyards flanking them . . . it was very geometric, and yet graceful.
A monk delivering suppers to the dormitories. Those dinners were probably not as sumptuous as the food that we ate the next day in the restaurant.
Detail of the temple roof.
The main hall.
I loved the red laquerwork that decorated the temple, and the contrast between the deep red and glossy black.
Gateways were wonderful, so variously shaped. They acted as wonderful frames for the scenery beyond; no doubt the intention behind them.
The monastary's gardens. Aside from the mosquitos, they were both lush and lovely. The harsh shapes of the stones compliment the softness of the greenery around them by providing contrast.
This graceful pavillion was one of several, but I found it particularly of note because the tall, thin support columns echoe the tall, thin trees around it.
One of two matching pavilions behind the monastary.
This path runs behind the monastery . . .
. . . and separates it from this extremely grand building. I have no idea what the building was for, but it certainly was impressive.
It had very elaborate carvings of various arcane beasties.
I don't know what it is, but it's pretty cute, don't you think? In an odd, grotesque, sheep-dog-caterpillar kind of way . . .
The painting on the ceiling was very beautiful.
Quite a building indeed.
I took this picture on the way back from the monastary. It particularly amused me for the way the clouds seem to be moving forth at Mao's waved command: I feel that this correctly approximates Mao's estimation of his own importance with regard to the heavens.
Another major place on Chengdu's tourism map is this double shopping street. The street forks into two parallel branches; the right-hand branch is full of shops, the left-hand branch is full of food vendors who sell all sorts of appetizing and possibly-not-so-appetizing snacks on skewers. This is the gate that leads to both.
Let us proceed down the street, shall we?
This would make a great setting for a kung fu movie.
At the end of the street was a peaceful courtyard . . . well, not precisely peaceful, since it was crowded with people, but I could see how it might potentially be peaceful. It was pretty, in any case.
Here's the free-standing gate at the far end, where the two streets join up again. Behind me was a store selling rocking horses of all descriptions, I kid you not.
I spent a good deal of time in Renmin Park, but didn't actually take many pictures there. Still, I enjoyed wandering around and observing everyone, though I was footsore and in need of a break. It took me a while to figure out how to order tea and get myself settled, but it was wonderful once I did. But the most beautiful thing was the side garden with the musicians, which I found on the way out. It had a lovely lotus pond in the back.
This building really fascinated me, because it appeared to be growing from the rocks.
The erhu and violin musicians. A moment of perfect beauty.
