Foreword: I
decided to take a short break from my usual blog content today, since I wrote a
little report of one of my favourite activities recently. That is mindlessly
going up and down hills on foot-a remarkably calming interval between fairly
stressful and thought filled days at work. I’ve been reading a book based in 16th
century England recently, so this probably affected my writing a bit.
It was a warm
spring morning when I awoke, a mite earlier than perhaps one might hope on a
day of rest, but no matter, more day to be enjoyed then. It was with not a
slight disappointment that I discovered my honey bee was still in the throes of
an irksome malady. I did my best to rouse her from her malaise with some
Chinese medicine and a cup of steaming and indeed most energising and
delicately piquant lemon and ginger tea. However, it was to no avail, this low
weather was not to be cleared with such ease. Had I considered the significant
lack of will for the pungent aroma and wakeful bite of her usual steaming mug
of coffee, I would have realised slightly earlier the thickness of the clouds
over her health.
Upon the
discovery of this unfortunate state of affairs she settled back into her bed
and made a comforting nest of pillows, blankets and a game of the Sims, a game
that mirrors reality in a most post-modern sense; one builds one’s own family
and house as a paradigm of suburban reality. I felt I could not with good
disposition miss such a spring day, hence I set off for Mudu 木渎. Being so
familiar with not owning a bike in this city I struck out for the well-ordered
coolness of the underground. I strolled up Bin He Lu 滨河路, the hot sun enveloping me in its penetrating
rays. I dodged between the murderous traffic and past the liang mian 凉面 man concocting
his cold witches’ brew of noodles and other Chines accoutrements in a metal
bowl, thronged by a small crowd of hungry onlookers. Then I escaped, plunging
into the dark tunnels to catch the train to the hills.
Out I came, into
the unforgiving midday sun, as hot as mid-July back in my green and pleasant
land, and dodged some more killers of metal and rubber. I surmounted the noisy
belching bus and headed towards Lingyan Shan 灵岩山, whereupon I was greeted by the usual
Chinese attempts to employ as many of its fine citizens as possible-some
stalls, a ticket office and a separate man taking tickets, and almost
terrifyingly sprightly old man of a pleasingly helpful disposition. He informed
me that I should under no circumstances
dispose of my ticket, but should store it in safely in my pocket of some other
relevant safe area. I was then allowed to enjoy a rather small and empty little
garden for 20 yuan and, after something of a short stroll, came to an exit gate
where I was informed that the reason I should keep my ticket was to re-enter
the tiny area of vague prettiness upon my return from the hill-which one can in
fact enter gratis from around the corner.
As I began my
walk up the hill, through an emerald tunnel of spring greens illuminated by
vernal rays, I ruminated upon what Celia should least prefer: a congested head
of mucal concrete or this sweaty stomp up a large hill-the latter I decided.
Up, up I went, past crowds of laowai 老外 braying locals, panting and perspiring-for
it was seldom that I felt I could run in the sticky polluted air of Suzhou 苏州 . At the top I
came upon a temple with a much more reasonable 1 yuan entry fee. I willingly
passed the happy old monk a 10p note and headed in.
It was a calming
place, somewhat weather beaten in a charming sort of way. Inside there was a
yard, a fine looking pagoda (closed to climbers) and a few gardens. In the
garden at the back I was greeted by a wonderfully apt cultural display. No, not
someone spitting on the ground and slurping soup, more the displays you hope
for. There was a small group of about five practitioners of martial arts,
practicing to a soundtrack of Chinese flutes, they were all clad in silken garments,
loosely fitting to suit their flowing acrobatic arts. One man was clearly the
master, and his fluid dance was a triumphant example of true human endeavour to
behold. After some time observing this spectacle I felt it was the moment to
continue my wander. As I reached the bald head of the shan 山 I walked through
the usual rabble of hawkers one finds in these places, stopped at the top, took
a few pictures of the surrounding verdancy and headed down. On my way down I
was distracted by a delightful Ugwei (turtle) artfully constructed of dried
plant matter that I felt I had to buy to bring some sweetness to my honey bee’s
day. I purchased it and continued my lope down the hill. As I left the
chattering mob I was suddenly left alone and, filled with vernal joy, I broke
into song. However, not for long, as I once again to run the gauntlet of the
laowaing masses.
I remembered the
little spot of calm, and was suddenly quite satisfied with my purchase as I was
blanketed with a deep calm, far from the braying. I strolled for a little while
more, allowing my feet to relax upon the welcome flatness. I came to the bottom
of the garden, whereupon a little teahouse presented itself from behind the
ornamental features. Therein I had a short discussion with the proprietor about
her old teas and new teas from this year. I then settled down with a new green
tea from this year and, for the first time in many moons, put pen to paper. I
sincerely hope that this is but the first of many such fulfilling occasions.
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