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Published: October 27th 2005
I can’t remember the last time I had been invited to “climb a mountain” but I got one Wednesday. The women who manage the studio decided to get out of the office for a little quality time. Sean, my manager and co-teacher, gave me an inkling of what to expect: “I’ve never seen a mountain in China that didn’t have stairs to the top,” he said.
Lynn picked up Sean, Shirley and I at 6am. Ten minutes later we’d packed Merry and Sunny into late-model Audi and after as short ride, arrived at Jade Emperor Mountain. The parking lot was crowded, which kind of goes without saying around here. Everything is crowded. But there is always one more space and as soon as we’d squeezed the car into a spot another co-worker arrived. Aida lived just across the street and had arrived carrying bottled tea and coke. Suitably armed for the assault on Yu Huang Shan we joined a throng of middle-aged and older people scaling the 237 meters of stairs.
Some of the stairs were concrete, but many were carved from stone, a few of which were inscribed with Chinese characters, perhaps recycled from another stone project centuries before. Along the way we passed trails leading to small temples.
As the only westerners, Sean and I drew a lot of looks, a few thumbs up and one guy urging us to get with the program and pick up the pace. Our accompanying womenfolk were taking a more leisurely pace and along the way, Sean and I joined people going through their daily stretch routines.
At the top, we found a temple with monks dressed in black and white, preparing for the day’s ceremonies. Nearby, retirees were doing tai chi as another group practiced swordsmanship. Behind another corner, a few guys were taking a cigarette break between weight-lifting routines. Morning in China is really pleasant. People are doing their various exercise routines, saying “nee how” to friends and enjoying the freshness of the day.
Ninety minutes after leaving the parking lot, we’d returned and walked across the street to what I think was Aida’s house where someone, relatives perhaps, were gathered around a rickety wooden table in the lane sharing tea. After our strenuous climb, we rested our butts on bamboo chairs and shared a cuppa.
While all this is going on, the office staffers are going on about all manner of things that I, with no language skills, would completely miss were it not for Sean’s occasional explanations. Mostly, though, I smiled politely and enjoyed the atmosphere, feeling lucky to even watch locals engaged in everyday life. After tea, Sean informed me that, if I had no plans, the party would continue with going boating.
At this point, it’s worth noting that most times, I’m just going along for the ride in whatever is happening. I don’t have to plan much around here, stuff just happens and I get to go along. Back in the car, we drove the 15 minutes back to town and parked in the lot of a fancy hotel. Upon entering, we all found the bathroom and headed to the back of the hotel. Sean and I stopped at a diorama inside. It was a sales office for a planned development aimed at cashing in on French cache. From the brochure I deduced they were going to build a replica of Paris’s city hall, the Hotel de Ville. The center of the development prompted Sean to wonder about a particularly egregious example of copyright infringement. “Can they really build an Eiffel Tower?” Apparently so.
Separated now from the tour directors, Sean dialed Shirley’s cell. They were just around the corner, eating steamed buns, filled with a choice of veggies or red bean paste. I had one of each before we headed off to the lake. There are several kinds of boats plying Xi Hu, the West Lake, including some that looked like you’d expect, slow boats with the classic upturned wooden roofs, ferrying people to sites on the islands. Our group was more adventurous: Shirley rented two flat-bottomed Jon boats made from 3/8s inch steel. I was appointed captain of one, Sean the other and the stevedores issued each of us orange life jackets, diligently instructing us to tie them on. There was no risk of these barges flipping so a few strokes from the dock I turned mine into a seat cushion while others created sun shades and back rests. At this point I was overcome with happiness at being surrounded by beautiful Chinese women that I had to sing my best version of an Italian aria. Of course it was bad and a few hundred yards from shore, paddle weary, we rafted the boats as the crew declared it time for “Savasana” the Sanskrit shorthand that everyone in the office interprets as “time for a nap.”
Back at the dock it was nearly lunchtime and Shirley suggested Thai and took us to a favorite restaurant where she knew the manager. The group put together an order and when the first dish arrived it was put before me. “Pickled chicken feet,” someone said. I tell people I pretty much eat anything but this was a new one for me and without the cover of vegetarianism, there was nowhere to go. I can report that although most of the time they are standing in shit, pickled chicken feet are gelatinous, crunchy and filled with bones. Though the taste was new to me, I’d have to say…they taste like chicken. I only had one.
Lunch closed the chapter on the morning and it left me feeling of immense gratitude. I’ve found myself in an amazing place with interesting people doing work that I enjoy. I offered this observation to Sean who having lived here on and off for four years often finds himself feeling similarly. “It’s because you were willing to take a chance,” he said.
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Joyce in Delta
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Thank you!
Oh, John - I can tell already this is going to be an amazing experience for you - how wonderful you can share it with us through this blog! I look forward to each chapter to come, and Steve and I send you warm hugs from the frozen north. Hurry and write more soon! Love, Joyce p.s. We miss you!