King Monkey and the Peach Blossom Festival

I return to Sim’s Cosy Garden Guest House in Chengdu with a noisy, irritating and embarrassing cough. I was glad there was no answer when I called Allen for all I wanted for the few remaining days was to indulge my sorry state in bed watching Sim’s DVDs.

It was before 9am when I finished my breakfast of a rare glass of hot milk and a swig of cough syrup when a three-way conversation struck between the girl at the reception desk, a Chinese lady guest, and me. The girls said we should not miss the Peach Festival that was taking place in the hills outside Chengdu. The trip to the hills would take well over an hour with a change of two or three local busses. “Too complicated for me”… I thought.

Before I borrowed the DVD’s and return to bed, the Chinese lady said she had the day to spare and no particular program in mind, could we join together for a trip to the blossoming hills. When she heard my cough she handed me a fresh package of lozenges. What luck… I couldn’t refuse, nor hope for a more perfect companion… She effortlessly led the way, and I can honestly say I would not have made it without her…

Born in Malaysia she spoke Mandarin, Cantonese, English and Malay. When still a child her parents immigrated to Australia, she was married to a tall, handsome Australian, at present both were working and living in Beijing.

Her slightly cynical, good-humored philosophy coincided flawlessly with the brightness of the day. We got along well. Like a couple of school girls we took pictures of each other, pictures of the blossoms, pictures of the hills, of the skyline, the people, the food stalls... and talked as we shared our lunch among the peach blossoms.

I wanted to know the Chinese word for peach, She said it was t’ao. T’ao in China is the symbol of spring, eternal renewal, and longevity. . According to Taoist legend, Hsi Wang Mu, Queen Mother of the West, guards the Peaches of Immortality that grow in her palace garden.

As a gift to newlyweds a peach is a wish for happiness, the written character for T’ao is also that of marriage. The Chinese carve the figures that guard doorways out of peach wood as it is believed T’ao wood can repel evil spirits.

A peach blossom can allude to an early death, and a fallen peach blossom symbolizes a prostitute.

The cheeky mythological King Monkey, was a mortal born with magical powers. After more than 300 years of life, he was at point of death visited by two messengers who carried him off to the underworld. Once there Monkey inspected the Register of the Dead and found his own name: ‘Monkey: Soul number 1,735; 342 years and a fateful death.’ He deleted his name from the Register and returned to life.

On hearing of his daring escape, Yama , god of the underworld, sent Monkey to heaven where he could be supervised. There, mischievous Monkey ascended the heavenly hierarchy from ‘Keeper of the Heavenly Horses’ to Great Sage Equal to Heaven,’ and then to ‘Guardian of the Garden of Heavenly Peaches’ that belonged to the Queen Mother.

When the peaches ripened, once every 6000 years, The Queen Mother held a great feast so the Immortals by eating the fruit could renew their immortality. But Monkey stole and ate all the peaches himself, while drinking from the gourds filled with the elixir of immortality belonging to the philosopher Lao Tzu.

It was so that Monkey stole his immortality, and it was so that the day stole away… a perfect ending for a magical journey…

LANGZHONG

Why Langzhong? I was told only 220km north east of Chengdu, Langzhong merited a stopover before the emerging local tourism industry would promote an onrush of visitors… and before the inevitable invasion of the ever expanding frontiers of modernity…

I was also told when in town I should check out The Du Family Inn. I checked it out and checked-in, so gracious were (owner / manager?) Paul, and his staff of pretty ladies. The Inn, located in the heart of the old town is the sort of place where even the key-holes conjure some mysterious attraction.

In this ancient part of town with flagstone narrow alleys and sloping tiled roofs is easy to relax. Lacking 4-wheel vehicles, the streets are clean and quiet; actually if you want to go there, take small luggage as the only way to get to-and-from the Inn besides using your own leg-power is by bicycle rickshaw.

On an exploratory walk I encountered a peculiar old lady, she scanned me up and down, she playfully placed her right hand on her own chest and then on mine loudly repeating, like a mantra, FRIENDS… FRIENDS… - Taking my hand she took me through a series of narrow passages into her home.

I was motioned to sit next to an older smiling man who I assumed was her husband. The room was long and narrow resembling a wide corridor with sofas and chairs, exquisite silk embroidery paintings covered the entire walls and the man was watching pre-Olympic sports on a wide-screen TV.

After a few minutes squeezing my hand, she led me towards the river bank, pointed to the ferry-boat approaching the jetty, and uttering the mantra - FRIENDS… FRIENDS - she waved goodbye and disappeared.

I took the ferry across the Jailing River. I hiked up a hill’s tortuous trail towards a landscape of temples and shrines. As I approached a wide open gate, I came upon a couple of snarling dogs. I am not a dog-friendly person and as I don’t expect them to be friendly with me, I turned back and walked across the bridge. I suspect I missed something there…

My room at the Du Family Inn

Back at the Du Family Inn I had an early dinner of rice, green leafy vegetables that could be described as Chinese spinach, a heap of sliced zăngféi niúròu, a local preserved beef I ate nowhere else, and some delicious vinegary pickles.

Indeed Langzhong may be the vinegar capital of China. Everything smells of vinegar, local soft drinks are made with vinegar, vinegar recipes are jealously guarded and I’ve heard there are even public vinegar-bathhouses…

At night Langzhong literally lit up, Shoe shops, dress shops, jeweler’s shops, silk shops and noodle houses busy until late gave the city an atmosphere of holiday, a particular feeling of well been and safety. For what turned out to be my last night in Langzhong I was taken on a two-minute motorcycle ride to a Shadow Puppet performance, and a stroll along the river bank…

The Bus Ride

I intended to take a direct bus back to Chengdu, but… I got sidetracked after sharing a bit of conversation and two Bing Tang with an English-speaking guest at the Ludao. That’s why I was on my way to Chengdu, but not before a stop in Langzhong.

Fortunately I purchased my bus ticket the night before; it can be a frightening experience trapped in a long line up advancing one slow step at a time towards a ticket window, not knowing how the person on the other side will respond to your foreign “Ni Hao, Langzhong please…”

If you ever get that far to begin with; Chinese folk are not shy, can actually be quite swift at bus stations, before you have time to say “Hey, don’t do that…” they take place between your alien soul and the ticket window, and you step forward but never get ahead…

Almost everywhere however, there seems to be some out-of-the-way office or secret wicket reserved for foreigners, all you have to do is find it…

It was a long ride from Xian to Guangyuan where I would change bus to Langzhong, The sleeping girl in the photo who introduced herself as the Conductor, would let me know when and where this would happen.

She kept busy for an hour or so providing passengers with bottles of water, soda-pop, and packages of sweet and salty cookies. Later, when she was not sleeping she would flirt with the tall, good looking bus driver, or play with a couple of tiny turtles in a clear plastic container…

The highway appeared brand new; the bus smoothly cruised between mountains, coasted along the steep banks of a river, passing towns, villages, and mile after mile of beautifully cultivated fields. Almost perpendicular on mountains-sides, every bit of land available seemed to flourish with yellow-flower crops…

It started to rain, The countryside trough plump raindrops streaming down the dusty window looked like watercolour paintings…

We pulled up at a road-side eatery. Following the other passengers I took a plate and chopsticks and helped myself, buffet-style, to the best Chinese food I have ever tasted. Methinks I would go back for a second helping …

Back on the bus I perceived the handsome bus driver and the playful conductor had more interest in each other than a working partnership…

On the wet bitumen a few hundred meters ahead of us, a truck with a heavy load slid sideways obstructing the way… There was a long delay. I detected no sign of highway police nor sounds of ambulance… nor could I tell how severe the accident had been. Everyone remained silently calm, no one got off the bus, there was nothing we could do but wait…

Xian City Walls

For the admission fee of less than 6 Australian Dollars I embarked on the fantasy journey of the 18m-thick, at the base, 14km-perimeter of Xi’an’s City Walls…

There are four gates to the rectangular walls. At the South Gate entrance, climbing the last stair onto the 12m high bastion, I had the bizarre feeling of being aboard Noah’s Ark.

I read the present walls were built in 1370 by the first Ming emperor Hongwu on the foundation of the Tang imperial palace. They were constructed using rammed earth, quicklime, and glutinous rice extract.

At the South Gate there was a bicycle rental. For tired walkers or time-conscious visitors, battery-operated carts ran between sectors or entire perimeter of the Walls. I counted more people walking…

The views were spectacular. For parents and grandparents walking with children, or for the young at heart, there was a lively Chinese fairyland every step of the way...

I could have easily walked another 4 hours and taken a second gigabyte of photos had it not been for extinguishing digital-camera batteries and imminent sun set…

Hard to find lithium batteries in China, other batteries are cheap but of short duration, I soon learnt to buy them in large quantity…

The Terracotta Warriors

This post is dedicated to my friend Judy

I saw Kim and Louis for the last time as I lingered on the path towards the entrance of the Terracotta Army Pits… I have a dream and a wish of meeting them again in some strange corner of the world…

But at that moment there I was, about to fulfill for Judy her own wish… an arm and a leg to see the Terracotta Soldiers… A 2200 year-old clay army ready to serve Emperor Qin Shi Huangdi’s afterlife military endavours..

It should not have been a surprise to find the site so highly organized, but while traveling from Xian on bus 306 I imagined myself descending into a clay necropolis surrounded by farm fields… Not so… yet, though housed in museum-style constructions the pits are awesomely surreal…

Over eight thousand life-size pottery pieces! One pit contained 6000 warriors. The figures were constructed using loops of coiled clay; hands and heads were fired as separate moulds that loosely fitted into open wrist and neck sockets. Each figure sculpted with individual facial expressions and hairstyles.

Judy told me that though faded by exposure to air, originally the figures were painted in vivid colours and equipped with swords, spears, bows and arrows…

Justifiably the pits are dim and protectively fenced off, but making it difficult to admire the figures’s individuality or take a respectable photo. Up to that moment I resisted temptation to buy souvenirs, but as I exited the Pits I was approached by cheery teenagers offering cut-down replicas of boxed warriors… for Judy…

Text and Photos Coyright©2008 M.Della Marina

XIAN in 2008

I landed in Xian for a two good reasons; 1st reason: the train stopped there. From Xian by bus back to Chengdu, seemed the most direct way to steal a look at China in a short time and conservative budget.

2nd, most important reason: because my friend Judy who visits Hong-Kong every couple of years to eat Chinese food and stock up on cultured pearls said she would give an arm and a leg to see the Terracotta Warriors…

On approaching the Xian train station I felt the tempo increase, and was I ever thankful for Kim and Louis, whose first stop on their way to Beijing was also Xian.

In the enormous area outside the train stations, two walls came into view: the ancient 14km-long rectangular wall that bounds the city center, and a second more intimidating wall of people; man, women, young, old, walking, standing or sitting on the ground, everybody talking at the same time…

Newly arrived passengers seemed quickly targeted by a variety of men offering assorted services; I was still trying to sort out the scene when with his uncanny aplomb, Louis chose an eagerly pleasant young man named Peter to guide us to the Ludao Youth Hostel.

I liked the Ludao. Train and bus stations were only 5 minutes away. Along with a pleasant restaurant-bar, internet, luggage storage, book exchange, tours-plane-train-bus tickets, Chinese massage or free information by English speaking staff, it offered everything a traveler needs.

I liked Xi-an. Even in the twenty first century, through steady street traffic and soaring city noise, Xi-an exuded ancient history, it echoed Marco Polo’s China…

Yet apart from the Terracotta Warrior I did not feel particularly interested in historic or religious sites. I wanted to walk the streets… stand on a corner merely watching people get on and off the bus… or trees…

Or take 5...

Text and Photos Coyright©2008 M.Della Marina