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Ah, Suzhou, pleasant little town, easy to navigate. I wish I could say that, but I don't wanna lie. In fact, though, most Chinese people would think of Suzhou as a small town, as it has only around four million inhabitants. Referring to the 2010 Census, that means there are still 20 (!) cities in China that are bigger than Suzhou. Probably only the Top 6-8 would be considered 'big cities' by most.
This time I arrive by train, catch a local bus, which unfortunately again takes almost an hour to near my host's place. Slowly but surely I'm getting fed up by the time wasted using local transport. The sheer size of Chinese cities really takes it out of me. Once again I start pondering whether it wouldn't be easier to just stay in a hostel in the centre. But then I would have to put up with all the crap that drove me away from hostels in the first place.
Anyway, after the usual complications, I find my way to a relatively posh gated condominium complex. Finding building no. 87 proves to be a lot harder than I thought. I walk the whole length of the complex,
and find that it ends at 86. On the opposite side starts no. 91, so what happened to the other condos? I ask a few people who walk around inside, but they don't seem to have a clue, or aren't keen on helping me. I write the number onto my hand, so they understand precisely which one I mean. A friendly man starts walking around with me to look for it, and every now and then he stops somebody to ask, but none of them seems to know. After about 10 minutes I get the feeling I would be a lot quicker without his help, but then he finally has a flash of wit and asks a guard. The latter looks also a bit clueless, contemplating if he's ever seen that number on a house in here. He in turn has to ask another guard, who ends up finally knowing where it is. He explains it to the helpful man, who then mercifully takes me there.
***
My Mexican hosts Dalia and Armando are still at work, but they left me the key on the door frame. I let myself in, drop my stuff,
and head back to the city. After a little stroll around the centre, stopping here and there to marvel at the scenic canals and temples, I enter the Lion Grove for a first glimpse at one of Suzhou's classical gardens. These are actually so famous that I should write 'Gardens' with a capital 'G'. What makes them so unique, especially for the Western visitor, is that they reflect Chinese culture, life, philosophy, religion and art, combined with a palpable Taoist influence. My guidebook says: "Contrary to geometrically designed, formal European gardens, where man saw himself as master, Chinese gardens seek to create a microcosm of the natural world through an asymmetrical layout of streams, hills, plants and pavilions (they symbolise man's place in the universe - never in the centre, just a part of the whole)."
It is also noteworthy to state that Suzhou's Gardens were all part of residences, i.e. they were lived in. Obviously, not by plebs, but by officials, poets, scholars or wealthy merchants, who used the gardens for family gatherings, meetings both formal and informal, strolls and plain relaxation and reflection.
Although the Lion Grove, which dates back to 1342, is considered one of
the smaller gardens, it feels quite sprawling. The name refers to the many taihu rocks, some of which were thought to resemble lions. Taking in all the pavilions, towers, halls, bridges and ponds, I wander around in amazement at this approach at landscaping that differs so radically from those I'm accustomed to. In the garden's centre stands a large, labyrinthine grotto consisting mainly of taihu rocks. One can traverse it, dodging the sharp edges, climbing up and down the stairs hewn into the rock.
A maybe 14-year old Chinese fella, a bit nerdy-looking with his skinny jeans, black-framed glasses and zipped fake emo-hoodie approaches me and asks me to take a picture with him. He calls me "Mistah", which I find almost flattering. I do the usual incredulous "What? With me???", but it doesn't need a lot of persuasion for me to acquiesce. He takes out his smartphone, I put my arm around him in a comradely fashion, and he takes the picture. After thanking me profusely and obsequiously, he walks away, looking at the picture on his phone in delight. I turn around to go, but then hear him call out to me:
"Mistah! Hey,
mistah!"
-"Yeh?"
"So cool! So beautiful!"
I look at him and pantomime the whole Robert de Niro-spiel: You talkin' to me? Well, I'm the only one here. He waves at me one last time, and runs off.
***
At a tiny eatery on the way to the next garden, I eat my first real Chinese zhōu, a rice porridge otherwise known as congee. The grumpy waitress brings my order after a couple of minutes, then goes back to slurping noodle soup with the other waitresses. The zhōu is delicious, simple and tasty, with only a few greens and grated carrot mixed in for good measure. I add just a little dash of soy sauce, and demolish the whole affair.
I enter the Humble Administrator's Garden, Suzhou's largest garden, and one of its finest. It feels more like a park than a garden, compared to Lion Grove, there is a lot more wide open space. To fully savour the experience, I just let myself drift through noble-looking halls replete with delicate art and intricate furniture, across corridors lined with ancient trees, passing square or octagonal pavilions with hipped gable
rooflines and flying eves. I end up at the heart of the garden, a large lake containing numerous stunning bridges and hexagonal pavilions set among a maze of connected pools and islands.
I sit down, trying to digest the visceral onslaught on my senses, when all of a sudden, the face of a Chinese man in a suit appears in front of my face. "Ni hao", he says, and I answer in the same fashion. He proceeds to pour a torrent of Mandarin words on me, and when he stops, I look at him with an expressionless face and say "что?", probably inspired by the Russian tour groups wandering about the structure. Still bending over to be on one level with my head, he turns his to his friends, a group of middle-aged Chinese men in what looks to my inexpert eyes like very expensive suits, and tells them something, which I'm imagining to be: "Hm, I don't think he speaks Mandarin." -"No, of course not! Why would he speak Mandarin, he's a laowei! Just use gestures!" one of his mates answers, potentially. The man nods, then carefully raises his hands to simulate taking a picture, and again I
feign being taken aback for a second before I say "OK, OK", so he and another guy sit down on both sides of me, all smiles. After the picture is taken, guy #2 wants to have a special picture alone with me. He looks at me and extends his hand, and I just go along with it, so we do the whole 'international friendship'-handshake, nodding gravely at each other, as if to seal an important bilateral treaty. I hope the photo looks more like Rabin-Arafat and less like Hindenburg-Hitler.
***
Later, I finally meet my hosts. Dalia studies Chinese and works in a kindergarten on the side, while Armando is a full-time student of Chinese and Business Administration. They propose we go for dinner in a nearby restaurant. Dalia says she'll call some of her friends, "they're German as well!", as if that was something to get excited over. Thus I meet Christian from Mannheim and Nadine from Regensburg, both interns at Siemens, who'da thunk it? Christian's behaviour is the complete equivalent to standard German behaviour, without the attempt at intercultural adjustment or mitigation. The result of this is that I start hating him
after about 7 minutes. He cracks some lame jokes, laughing about them louder than anyone else. He has this very vexing habit of sticking out his tongue a little when he laughs, as if to communicate "Screw you, I'm laughing anyway!". Nadine, luckily, is of the harmless type, were she just not to rape my ears with her Bavarian English.
We eat some lovely food, the usual combination of greens and shredded potatoes and tofu for me, complete with an endless supply of rice, por supuesto, and some meaty stuff for the others. Afterwards, we go for a drink to a local pub called Habana Bräuhaus (yes, with a fake umlaut). I feel like beating my head against the wall for going to a place with the word 'Brauhaus' in its name in China. Christian says that he goes there at least twice a week, "I brackdiggly liff sere!", uttering another one of his obnoxious laughs.
Fortunately for me, my Mexican hosts still have plans for the night, plans which don't involve the Germans, so they head home, and we hop on a taxi to a friend's birthday party. The fête takes place in a very posh condominium
on the other side of the city. A small Australian bloke, a few years older than me and with a very pockmarked face, lives there with his mum. I don't ask them why. The birthday girl is a Russian chick, whose delight when I wish her 'Happy Birthday' in my broken Russian is only surpassed by mine. Most of the people present are students, which makes for a more pleasant atmosphere than if they were career-driven airhead expats with broom sticks up their arse. There are Spaniards, Frenchies, Japanese, Turks, Merkins, Russians, Mexicans, Germans, Canadians, Brits, Australians, Chinese, Kazakhs, Italians and even a group of four Saudi Arabian guys (leering intensely at the scantily clad Kazakh chicks).
After a few hours of multilingual conversations and a few beers, everybody heads out to the playground of the complex, where the Mexicans have attached a massive piñata on the monkey bars. In accordance with the tradition, the birthday girl gets blindfolded and spun a few times, before attempting to hit the piñata with a stick. This is quite a new experience for me, as I've never been to a birthday party in China where a Russian chick had to hit a
piñata prepared by Mexicans, but I'm open to all kinds of stuff. After she beats the shit out of it for a while, it dawns on the guests that the piñata wall might be a tad too thick. Her boyfriend tries, swinging the stick with all his force, but still to no avail. Two guards arrive to let us know that we should hurry up, as some neighbours have complained about the noise. Only the small, pockmarked Australian can finally break the curse and the piñata, which unleashes a flood of lollies. Everybody cheers and starts picking them up, even the guards do.
***
The following morning, back in the city centre, I visit Xuanmiao Temple, which was founded in 276. That's right, 276 AD. It's full of mysterious gold-plated statues of an enormous size. What they symbolise, I am not able to find out, but their exaggerated representation somewhat diminishes the serene ambience for me.
Outside, two giggling teenage girls with braces come up to me for, guess what? I put my arm around one of them, which makes her giggle even more, while the other one takes the picture. I don't
mind these little photo sessions all that much, actually. I just go along with the flow. Why not let them have their fun? If they're so keen on taking pictures with a weirdo laowei, why the hell not. So long as they behave in a respectful manner and don't treat me like a monkey in a zoo or a dolphin at the oceanarium. Actually, now that I think about it, that might have happened once or twice.
I take a bus to Tiger Hill, located outside the city centre. Pretty much the only reason I go there is to visit the Yunyan Pagoda, but before hiking up the stairs towards it, I pass some very cool, steep little bridges spanning over the distinctive, picturesque canals. The pagoda itself leans about 3 degrees due to the cracking of two suporting columns, thus it's also known as the 'Leaning Tower of China'. Although impressive in itself, this aberration makes the pagoda even more memorable and unique.
With all those winding canals, tranquil temples and gorgeous gardens, one can state with confidence that Suzhou is a romantic city. The Chinese people already noticed that a while ago, naturally, and as a
result, Suzhou is insanely popular with freshly married couples keen on having their picture taken in a charming setting. There to cash in on that desire are the endless rows of shops specialised on wedding photography lining the streets of the centre. Looking at some of the sample pictures, I have to acknowledge the professionalism of the photographers, they even seem to know their pirated Photoshop, but the cutesy, over-the-top idealised representations of the newly-wed pairs make me cringe in primeval agony. The shops must have an endless supply of costumes, for the scenes usually re-enacted range from medieval via baroque to bubblegum pop with everything imaginable in between.
I visit one last of Suzhou's gardens, the Master of the Nets Garden. As pleasant as it is, I already feel rather gardened out. A change of scenery is something I need now, preferrably a smaller town.
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Dancing Dave
David Hooper
GREAT BLOG
Really enjoyed this blog Jens. Had a nice feel and great assortment of photos...great Chinglish signs...keep them coming, windows, canals, food, buildings...and a bit of movie star involvement...always adds to enjoyment to get on with locals.