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It was not until the pilot announced that we would soon be travelling over the Hawaiian Islands that it hit me. The dream of travelling to China was about to come true. Of course, I had been preparing for this trip for close to eight months (in between gallery exhibitions, family birthdays, and household chores) but it was not until the turbulance and the subsequent conversation with the woman from Shanghai, seated next to me, that the magnitude of this quest became apparent. Her name was Wang Feng and she had been living in Boston for the last four years while her husband was working as an electrical engineer for a major American company. She had relatives in the states who had immigrated during the late 1940's just as Mao Zedong was comming into power. Her immediate family remained in China and lost everything during the Cultural Revolution. They were labeled capitalist, beaten and paraded through the streets by the Red Guard. Wang had travelled throughout the United States and Canada with her relatives and shared with me her thoughts about her temporary home. She found the people warm and genuinly interested in her personal ideas and experiences. Wang said, "Life is easy in the United States, but I deeply miss China". She ached for the food, the sounds and the smells of Shanghai. For all the pains and uncertainty, it was her home. I was about to arrive into a country that I hardly knew anything about. The point of this trip had suddenly changed, and I would not be aware of this for several months. I had first proposed to the Durfee Foundation in November 1997 to look at the variety of ways penjing (commonly known as bonsai) is woven into the fabric of China. Is it considered a part of China's cultural arts? Is there a structure in place to ensure that future generations are able to maintain and appreciate this artform? Are personal and stylistic innovations supported? I was arriving prepared. Cameras, questions, bonsai books and magazines printed here in the United States, as well as pictures of my own collection of trees. I was not prepared for the effect that China would have on me, nor how it would change the focus of this adventure. I arrived
late in the evening, not at all tired after fourteen hours in
the air, to the Hongjiao Airport just outside of Shanghai. I was
suprised at how empty the airport was. Unexpectedly, the custom
staff just waved me through. I was entering a Communist country
and was anticipating, a thorough inquiry of why I was visiting
their country. I was caught off guard but exhilarated and with the old adage, "when in Rome do as the Romans do", I quickly found a cab and headed into the city. I made three attempts to pronounce the name of the hotel that I was staying at before the driver understood. He gave me a "thumbs up" gesture and a huge smile. As we approached the city the streets became more and more active with both traffic and people. The cabbie weaved in and out of lanes, adhering to traffic laws that I wasn't able to figure out. As we exited the expressway on to Shongshan Dong Lu, the cabbie pointed ahead with great pride and I saw the Bund in all its glory. The Bund runs along the Huangpu River (one of the world's largest ports) and was known as Shanghai's Wall Street. The buildings from the 1920's and 30's are reminicent of downtown New York of the same period and are bathed in bright white lights. It is like a huge working movie set that comes to life at night. On the east side of the Huangpu is an area known as Pudong New Area. There has been nothing like this development in all of China. Over 50 skyscrapers have been built since 1991. Shanghai's most recent Special Economic Zone is visually announced by Pearl TV Tower rising over 1300 feet above the river like a UFO emitting purple light. The contrast is extraordinary. The Pujiang Hotel, where I made reservation to stay and the only reservation I had for the entire trip, sits at the north end of the Bund and directly across the street of the Russian Embassy. The Embassy, a great blue neo-classical building with video cameras all around, posters of Russians working in the fields, was oddly, very quiet. In the seven days that I stayed in the Pujiang I never saw anyone enter or leave the building. I had three days in Shanghai before I was to meet with Lianquan Zhang, the Director of the Shanghai Botanic Garden, so I decided to explore the city. I would hit the streets by 8:00 in the morning and usually return to the Pujiang by 10:00 in the evening. Walking became my preferred choice in getting around the city and I would cover between ten and twenty miles a day. I began each day by plotting on my map all of the sights suggested in the Lonely Planet and Insider's China guide books as well as places that had been suggested to me by friends, and then off I went. While in Shanghai, I began reading Wild Swans: Three Daughters of China, by Jung Chang. Later, when I had returned home, Chang's account would have a great impact on me. It is a beautifully written account of the lives of three women: the author, her mother and her grandmother. Their story spans sixty-nine years, 1909 - 1978, and describes the enormous changes that took place in China and how each of them experienced the hope and the atrocities by those in power: the Kuomintang and later the Communist Party. The books effect on me was heightened for several reasons. First, Jung Chang and I were only two years apart and I reasoned that we had shared a certain frame of time together. Secondly, it was a first hand account about a country I knew very little about. Thirdly, I was walking, eating, and travelling among those who had similar experiences. Lastly, they had survived one ordeal after another. How did they overcome the injustices? As I followed my daily
itinerary, visiting the Old Chinese City, the French Concession,
museums, gardens, bazaars, temples and tombs, I was always a curiosity
and yet completely anonymous. It was as if I was invisible. Travelling
alone without knowing the host language, without any reservations
or an itinerary, was like an extended out of body experience.
I would watch and talk to myself for hours on end. There were
nights that I would go to bed exhausted, conversations overlapping
conversations, and I would realize before falling to sleep, that
I had only spoken to a couple of people that day. Fortunately,
I have always enjoyed those periods of time. They are rare and
priceless in today's world. It is during those moments that I
can afford to be creative, curious, thoughtful, or amusing. In
fact, while on my way to see some penjing at the Yuyuan Gardens,
I had one of these "amusing moments". I was at the Yuyuan
Bazaar where on a Saturday all of Shanghai can be found shopping.
It is literally shoulder to shoulder and the sights, sounds, and
smells are quite astounding. Outside of a department store, two
young men were wildly waving people over to see what they had
in several wooden boxes. Of course I had to go and see. There
I found a half a dozen puppies, a breed I couldn't figure out,
and by all accounts the most unusual dogs that I had ever come
across. They were chocolate brown with burnt orange stripes extending
around their bodies and continuing down to the tip of their tails.
I was wide eyed and these two young men knew it. As they offered
me these pups (placing three in my arms at once) I tried my best
to find out what kind of dogs these were. I couldn't believe that
this breed had escaped me and all that I could think of was that
I may have, in fact, just scooped the Smithsonian, National Geographic,
or any other scholarly organization that pursues this sort of
evolutional phenomenon. I also noticed that a crowd had gathered
the size usually associated with a rock star or Head of State.
Free from any social constraints. I turned to the crowd and shouted,
"What kind of dog is this and are there others?" Amongst
the chatter, laughter, and some jeering, a man stepped forward
and offered to translate. He said it was a brown dog and that
there were many other kinds in Shanghai. "But the stripes,"
I said, "the stripes," as I ran my finger along each
one. "We do not have anything like this in America."
"Oh," the man said, "the owners dye them to make
them more attractive to the buyers." Roars of laughter rose
from the crowd as the man translated to them what I had said.
Pictures were taken, backs were patted and I had the time of my
life. The nights in Shanghai consisted of entertainment such as the Shanghai Acrobats, the opera, and poetry readings. Due to the difficulty the Asian economy was experiencing while I was there, the tourist business was at a a low, and I often was the only westerner at these events. I was quite a curiosity. The Chinese must have been wondering why I was there alone and was I able to understand what was even going on. Of course I couldn't, but inevitably someone would saunter up and say hello or good evening. We would introduce ourselves. I would explain that I was traveling alone without a tour and that I was in China to look at penjing. This only confused them. They didn't understand why I might be interested in potted trees, but they would always congratulate me for being clever and courageous by choosing to travel by myself. They seemed to admire this and would often invite me to sit with their friends and family. I seemed to always have the good fortune to have plenty of eager translators, close by, to explain the history and the stories of the performances that I went to see. By the third day I had checked off everything in the guide books and really needed to slow down, to just pace myself. I had seventeen days left and I didn't need to fill every minute of every day. During the month of May, Shanghai holds a music festival in every park. On every stage from 1:00 to 10:00 pm you could find people performing. I was able to watch performers of all ages, sing or dance to their favorite songs. Their songs ranged from Chinese folk, the songs from "The Sound of Music", to Madonna. I heard acapella, Chinese and Western operas and even Country and Western tunes. An elderly gentleman in a military coat whistled revolutionary tunes to an enthusiastic crowd. The time spent listening was refreshing and informative. I was touched to see how open and affectionate the Chinese were. Men draping arms around each other, girls and their mothers laughed and giggled, old men held hands. It was very sweet. By the end of the week it started to rain. It had been a threat for several days. The air had been heavy. It was really refreshing to walk carrying my new umbrella (I had never owned an umbrella as I grew up in Southern California) and walking alongside business men and women on their way to work. This was a city unlike any that I had been to before. I would often just stop, look around, saying out loud, I was in China. China! It still seems amazing to me. A boy from Pomona, California who like others his same age would spend hours trying to dig his way to China. How one day this simple activity that filled the time between play and dinner could become a reality is astounding. The world has become increasingly interconnected and although my interest in penjing made the trip possible, it would be the images and stories of the people that I would bring home. The Shanghai Botanic Garden is the largest of its kind in China. I had been in contact with its Director, Mr. Lianquan Zhang, through letters sent over e-mail from the very begining of this project. He was generous and extremely helpful in assisting me in shaping my itinerary. He had offered to introduce me to several people involved with culitvating penjing. What I didn't know was that I was going to meet a Penjing Master. I arrived at the entrance to the garden very wet, and was directed to a large building in the center of the park. As I would find over and over again, the first set of directions were not always accurate, but they always led me to the unexpected. As I followed the meandering paths I arrived at a three story building that I thought was the Directors office. Upon entering, it appeared empty, so I went looking for someone, anyone. One the third floor (the first two floors being empty), I heard some music coming from the end of a long corridor and followed it to a set of heavily carved doors. Remember, I am at the botanical garden, to meet the Director and talk about penjing. I opened the heavily carved doors and found a dozen very suprised men and women dancing the Tango, cheek to cheek. It was nine in the morning and they were seriously into their steps. I apologized for the interruption and attempted to leave. They invited me to dance with their teacher who was already in the center of the room. I smiled, nodded my head, and I hurridly dashed down the stairs to the safety of the outdoors and the rain. Mr. Zhang met me in the lobby of their conference room with three other men. Mr. Hu Yong Hong, Horticulture Engineer, Mr. Chang, Director of Planning, and Mr. Shoa Hai Zong, a Penjing Master. I was at peace for the first time since arriving in China. That is not to say that I hadn't been enjoying myself, but it was the first time someone was actually expecting to meet and speak with me. Also, being at a garden where the surroundings were familiar, made me feel comfortable for the first time in days. We were served tea, exchanged gifts, and the conversation began. They were interested and suprised at my love for penjing and were astonished that there was as much interest in the United States as there is. There was not any rush into our conversation, it seems that they had set aside the entire day to spend with me. I was able to ask all my questions regarding penjing as a cultural art, how and if they are supported by the Government, and whether or not they encouraged this artform through instruction. I was saddened by their responses. It seems that the art of cultivating penjing is in the hands of botanical gardens, Buddhist monks, and a small band of individuals who are usually older citizens. Although the government proudly supports the large collections of trees through visits by international dignitaries, there is no financial support specific to the nurturing and development of growing penjing. At the University level, one can attain a degree in Ornamental Horticulture, but formal penjing training is not offered anywhere in China. As for any assurance that art of penjing will be maintained and passed on to the future generations, it is in the hands of the growers themselves. Shao Hai Zhong described for me how one becomes involved in this activity and how penjing Masters are selected. The responsibility of growing penjing is shouldered, mostly by the older generation. These gentlemen (there are more women practicing penjing, but the Masters and teachers are predominately men), pass on their expertise through informal apprenticeships. Volunteers at gardens, neighbors in small towns or villages, and retirees are often the ones who become the next generation of growers. When a Master or an experienced penjing practioneer notices a talented individual, he or she will be offered an apprenticeship which will continue for as long a tenure as the mentor believes is needed for the student to master the necessary skills. The training will generally last six to ten years. Masters are selected by other Masters around China as they all know each other, meeting at informal setting around the country, several times a year. Attaining this level is a combination of skills, dedication, and innovation. Those who have attained the level of Master, have generally been cultivating penjing for at least forty years but there are not any formal guidelines or criteria to follow. When the rain had stopped I was invited to go out and view their collection of over 1000 trees. I was beside myself. I spent three hours photographing the trees, which were very different, from the specimens you might find here in America or Japan. The trees were certainly very old but what I had not expected was their size. Three to five feet seems to be the average height, and they were less manicured than I had previously seen. I was at first startled, Japan has elevated bonsai to a very high art form, where the shape, branch placement, and leaf pads are very carefully articulated. The United States enthusiasts have copied the aesthetic style and the demand of details from the Japanese. The trees in China have a looser, more natural look. The size and focus on the trunk was very appealing to me, which I hadn't previously noticed, before seeing these trees. Shao Hai Zhong found me laying on my back and photographing up through the branches of a magnificent Chinese Oak. He suggested that we go to his preparation area. This was what it was all about. To go to the Masters own area and see through his very own collection the steps in creating a completed penjing. I had a bounce to my step and when we arrived at his personal gardening area, let out an audible gasp. It was a joy that is more often associated with children, or collectors, or the village idiot. I couldn't believe it. In front of me were rows and rows of trees in different stages of being shaped. I said to Mr. Zhong that he had found the equivalent to the fountain of youth. He didn't quite understand. So I tried again. I said, "Working alongside these trees whose ages spanned from 20 to 350 years, you must feel like a very young man". I scored some BIG zen points. He agreed and proudly showed me his prized trees and then walked me through the process of how he shaped them. He showed me many trees, each slowly being shaped, but not yet completed. I was familiar with most of the species. I had the good fortune to see a large selection of Chinese oaks that are banned from export and are nowhere to be found in the United States. It was 6:00 by the time I said my goodbyes. I left with the names of other gardens to look at as I travelled on to Suzhou, which was my next stop. I had been warned that the bus and train stations were nearly impossible to navigate if you were not fluent in Chinese. They were right on the mark. Anticipating havoc, I made it my practice to have the desk clerk at the best hotel (they do provide the most service) to write for me in Chinese, where I wanted to go and what time. These took on the form of flash cards that I would collect and use over and over again. Bus and cab drivers, conductors and waitresses. They worked beautifully. My trip to Suzhou was on a beautiful train and I purchased a soft seat and felt very fortunate. Two and a half hours of reading, drinking tea, and watching others was pure poetry. Suzhou, a garden city of 600,000 people, was a welcomed change from the hustle and bustle of Shanghai. I felt like I was in a small town. Traffic was manageable with hardly a honk from a frantic driver. There were tree lined streets where people strolled, leisurely window shopping, and eating at restaurants with outdoor seating. A calmness replaced the agressive skills that I needed as I navigated the streets of Shanghai. A famous Chinese proverb, often repeated to visitors goes, "In heaven there is paradise, on earth Suzhou and Hangzhou." With canals, arched bridges, cobbled streets, Suzhou was paradise and it was here that I fell in love with China. I walked the back streets and discovered neighborhoods with families that would come out of their houses and engage me in conversation. On several occasions, trays of tea were brought out and we spoke about our home cities. Family members were often summoned to these "teas", in one case, a son who spoke english was called at work and ordered to come home to meet the foreigner. The people I met were very proud of Suzhou and would insist that I visit their favorite sites. I certainly made a gallant attempt, visiting sixteen temples and gardens during my short stay. I was taken aback by this hospitality but really enjoyed the attention. I had brought photos of my family (suggested by a former Durfee recipient) and this was as good as a trump card. When I brought it out, crowds would gather wherever I was. Strollers would stop, cooks would come out of their kitchens all to admire my family. They would then share theirs, either in person or in pictures. Children received most of the attention which was just fine, since I was missing my own young daughter. I learned about several very interesting gardens that were local favorites and not in any of my guide books. It was from one of these locals that I was directed to the Garden of the Master of the Nets for a night of music and poetry. It may have been the most magical evening of my trip. It was warm and clear as I headed out along the cobbled streets filled with the sounds of families together at the end of the day. The sweet smells of food filled the air, while children played outside their homes, and I felt, oddly a part of this city. The Garden of the Master of the Nets was first laid out in the 12th century, restored during the 18th century, and was the residence of a retired official. It is a small garden but its space, by use of the architectual scale, gives the garden the sense of vastness, while creating intimate and peaceful areas. One night a week, during the summer, the rooms are open and groups are taken through by a guide to listen to operas, folk music and poetry. I was invited by an elderly gentlemen to be a part of one such group. He was born in Suzhou and had left in the 1930's to attend college in New York. Because of political unrest, he stayed and continued his graduate studies. Upon finishing he was not able to return until 1978. This was his third visit back to where he was born. He was obviously quite proud of Suzhou's cultural history. He made sure, by translating, that I understood each operatic passage, the poems that were read, the names of the instruments being used and the history of the garden. Having been there during the day and not allowed into these rooms, I felt privileged. The wind had begun to blow through the trees. With the light from the lanterns filtering through the branches and the patterns that were cast from the intricate lattice work of each window, I imagined that I was in the company of the old official who had once lived there. This was as close as I got to experience old China. So much has been destroyed, that it was often quite difficult to find a visual history of the country. My friend for the evening invited me out for a drink with the Deputy Secretary, Mr. Tang Ronglong, of the Suzhou's People's Association for Friendship with Foreign Countries. I gladly accepted. We drank long into the evening, each taking turns trading traveling stories, sharing thoughts on politics, our families and the arts. Mr. Ronglong insisted on contacting Conni Diack, President of the Portland, OR - Suzhou Sister City Association to accompany me to Tiger Hill, which is where the founding father of Suzhou, He Lu, is buried, and also has an exquisite collection of penjing. It was serendipity, my wife hails from Portland, so we had a lot in common. It was a wonderful afternoon and I was able to see hundreds of specimens in a variety of styles. Thousands of people were visiting that day but seemed to be more interested in viewing the pagoda that is leaning more than the Tower of Pisa. The penjing collections were more often used by couples looking for a lovely backdrop for a photograph than to appreciate them for their age and beauty. I was always looking for someone to share my excitement with and to talk shop with, but to no avail. It was a solitary experience and I sometimes felt like the monks that I would watch at the temples, as they prayed, or went about their daily activities. As I prepared to leave Suzhou, its beauty, hopitality, and history, would become my treasured memories, where jewels were found around every corner. Next stop was Nanjing. I bought a "hard seat" for a short three hour trip and what I got was much more than I ever bargained for. The train was built in the early 1940's. From what I could gather, nothing had been modified. The age of the train matched the time frame of the book I was reading, so I felt that I was really in the right place. The car that I was riding in wasn't crowded, so I nestled in (as much as one can do on benches) and delved into Chang's account of the Communist underground and Mao's inevitable victory over Chaing Kai-shek and the Kuomintang army. The countryside became more agricultural with farmlands being cultivated by hand and ox. It was almost pastoral, except for the acid laden sky (ten days and I still hadn't seen a blue sky), and a familiar factory, here and there, when the train came to a sudden stop. With no station in sight, I wondered what might be the problem and asked the car attendant. There was no gesture or pictograph that could express my question, so I went back to reading. After an hour without any movement, I got up and went for a walk through the train. People seemed to be quite accepting of this delay. Some played cards, read, slept, or kept busy making calls on their cellular phones. Everyone seemed to have one. A ring would find everyone reaching for his or her portable and I found this quite incongruent with our immediate surroundings. Still no explanation of why we were stopped but with a grumble and a lurch, we were on our way, so I thought. Ten minutes is what it took for us to get to the next station and most everyone appeared to get off. I sat waiting for some message, but there wasn't one offered. I kept reading. Two more hours at this station and I was now getting hungry and slightly annoyed at the large number of teenage boys that would pull themselves up to my window and shout at me. I never did find out what they were saying but the father of a young family in the next car approached and invited me to have a late lunch with them. He had an uncle who had lived in Chicago and wanted to practise his english with me. I enthusiastically accepted. He was studying Business in Nanjing and had been visiting family in Shanghai. We spoke of my itinerary and they couldn't quite understand how I knew where to go and how to get there, without knowing the language. I explained that people like them, had helped me in getting around. That with every chance meeting, I was learning more about their country than anything that I could have learned in a book. This pleased them to no end. I was asked many times from these encounters, if I would consider doing business in China, or would I correspond with them. There appeared to be an economic hope or rather an entrepreneurial spirit in many of the conversations that I had. They felt that opportunities were opening up for the Chinese people that had never been there before and they wanted to be a part of it. I would come away from these talks renewed and impressed in ways that I had not been before. While reading Wild Swans, the story of survival was told over and over again, and these conversations reinforced to me, this ability to re-invent ones self in ways, that was completely new to me. I would be continually moved by the people I would meet and wonder how I would have done if I had been living in a similar social, economic, and political climate as they had lived. It was humbling. The three hour trip would eventually take seven hours and I would arrive at Nanjing after ten that evening. I spent several days, staying at the Nanjing University Foreign Students' Dormitory, where the lodging was inexpensive (six dollars an night), and it was easy to get around. I was half way through my trip. I had been going at full tilt since I had arrived in China, so in Nanjing, I hit the wall. Actually, I wasn't aware of this until I read an e-mail, that I had sent from the University to a friend at Scripps, after my return. Here is, in part, what I wrote: "I have had a range of moments from sheer excitment to absolute exhaustion but c'est la vie. I have visited gardens, temples, museums, and of course everywhere I go there is shopping. For a country with widespread economic hardships, the people love to shop. For a guy like me who only shops during Xmas, I am a little out of my league. I have tried to put myself in their shoes and understand how one survives the ravages of one dictator to another. It is really quite painful for me. For a country with a history of over 5000 years, it appears to have been visually erased. I will travel to the Purple mountains and leave for Yixing on Monday. I don't know how I will get there, but I will". Nanjing, it
turned out, was not the city to view penjing but the weather finally
cleared up and I saw my first blue sky. The Purple Mountains were
lush, filled with conifers, maples, bamboo groves, and substantial
monuments. I visited the Sun Yatsen Memorial (recognized as the
father of modern China), the Linggu Temple, the Beamless Hall,
the Tomb of Hong Wu (Emperor of China who died in 1398), and the
Memorial of the Nanjing Massacre. At the last minute, I decided
to visit Fuzimiao, it was a center for Confucian study for over
1500 years. Today, it is a crowded and colorful marketplace filled
with fresh fruits and vegetables, meat, seafood, nuts and berries,
and anything else that you can imagine. I enjoyed the lively,
shoulder to shoulder activities. I viewed penjing, as well as
songbirds for sale, more than I had ever seen before. Old men
would gather along the sidewalks "airing"out their birds,
in beautiful wooden cages, some of them quite old. I would stop
and admire them, thumbs up for those with golden voices. I specifically
enjoyed the trips to the open markets. It was a sensory experience
like no other. I took a long hot shower, and went out to survey the town. It was very small and I was able to walk everywhere I needed to go. I passed street vendors that were selling bear paws, antlers, and daggers. They were colorful and slightly menacing. I watched them and they watched me. The downtown buildings appeared new, with wide boulevards and medians planted with trees. Outside restaurants, you could find cages with squirrels, and snakes, next to terrariums filled with frogs. I had only vegetarian dishes while I was there. In the morning, I went to Dingshu. A ceramic town, home to twenty-five or more pottery factories which make approximately two thousand different ceramic products from benches, tables, garbage pots, oil and grain pots, teapots, etc. I could see from a distance, a dozen kiln chimneys, rising as high as six stories. The Director was waiting for me at the entrance but hadn't been told that I didn't speak Chinese. He was clearly worried. Somehow we both got over this difficulty and he gave me a complete tour of his factory. I was able to watch the artist work on their elegant teapots, and watched them loading these magnificent old kilns. Before I left, I purchased as many teapots that I could carry and off I went, to the center of town. On my way, I was able to see dozens of small family owned potteries with their wares stacked out in front of their homes. Along the river, I watched the junks loading thousand of ceramic pots, some as large as three fee tall, for travel to Wuxi and then to Shanghai. It was on this walk, that I found some ceramic walls that a potter friend of mine had told me about. At one time, all of the garden walls and sometimes the exterior walls of old homes were made of old pots, laid on their sides, standing on top of each other or a combination of both, throughout the town. Unfortunately, as the town grew, these walls were torn down and replaced. I was able to see and photograph some of the few remaining walls and they are really quite beautiful. Now that I was perfectly comfortable riding on the back of a motorcycle, I hailed one for the ride back to Yixing. Twelve miles, carrying six packages of teapots, I felt like Jack Nicholson in Easy Rider. With my hair flying, I felt like a free spirit. The pots and I arrived safely. Hangzhou, was the last city that I would be visiting and having found Suzhou so beautiful, I was looking forward to the city that Marco Polo described as, one of the finest and most splendid cities in the world. I asked the taxi driver at the hotel to take me to the bus station so I could catch a bus to Hangzhou and he nodded that he would. Now, I hadn't had any reason to be worried, so I didn't notice when he took some side streets and was heading in the opposite direction of the station. I then began to wonder what I was in for. I got nervous when he waived a passenger van to a stop and had a heated argument with the driver then motioned me to get out. What do you do in this situation? Well, I paid the taxi driver, followed his directions and got into the van. There was a driver, a co-driver and a passenger in the van and the co-driver grabbed my bags and we quickly took off. I was slightly bewildered but figured I was off to somewhere in China and if it turned out to be Hangzhou, that would be great. There was some discussion of money being hashed out between these three guys and they came up with an amount that was way below what I had figured it would cost to go to Hangzhou. When, I said something to myself out loud, the man in the back asked if I was from America. He spoke some english. It seems that they were trying to decide whether I might be from Russia, Germany or the United States. They couldn't decide what to charge me. Since I had been so quiet, they decided that I was an American and they charged me less. And, they were going to Hangzhou after all. In the center of Hangzhou, I found West Lake, a large freshwater lake surrounded by temples, tea pavillions, and gardens. It is considered one of China's most famous tourist attraction, and I could see why. It is beautiful, serene, and picturesque. I was able to take advantage of the lack of tourism and stay at a hotel overlooking the lake. I would begin and end each day by strolling around the lake, drinking tea at the lakes edge, in one of many pavillions. I visited the Hangzhou Botanical garden that had an excellent collection of plum, pear, and azalea's that had been trained as penjing. The location, on the north-western corner of the lake was breathtaking. I stopped at different times of day and found that the ambiance changed depending on the quantity of light. I continued to visit sites such as the Temple of Inspired Seclusion, Six Harmonies Pagoda, Lingyin Temple, Feilai Peak, Huagang Park, as well as the Xiling Seal Engraver's Society, Liuhe Pagoda, and the Dragon Well. I saw several collections of penjing and was able to photograph all of them, but I did miss the Director of the Hangzhou Botanical garden. These sites were relatively quiet and I had the chance to sit and experience the solitude without being rushed. Hangzhou and Suzhou are both filled with a richness that repeated visits would surely reveal. I traveled back to Shanghai by train and the experiences of the last sixteen days seemed to steep, getting stronger and richer as the distance grew. Arriving into Shanghai was like seeing a good friend. I knew my way around and enjoyed the last few days seeing some museums and revisiting some favorite temples. I did have a chance to see Mr. Shao Hai Zhong, the Penjing Master, one last time. He was gracious and had hoped that I had seen some beautiful penjing, I knew that privately, he felt that his trees were the most beautiful. I didn't disappoint him. I have corresponded with him, since my return, and I hope that this will continue. I returned home with, an appreciation and a lot of questions about the quality and diversity of life that most of us take for granted. We spend most of our lives insulated from the rest of our community, and country, and ignore the rest of the world. We all trust that someone else is in charge and will let us know when something needs to be known or done. I have discovered that
ideas and observations, continue to percolate about this adventure.
I have a renewed sense of ownership to the experience, and that
it changes and enlarges when shared with others. |
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