A Hangzhou postcard
Apr. 25th, 2009 09:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
khiemtranIt's a rainy afternoon in Hangzhou, a day only for the true West Lake stalwarts. Of course, this being Hangzhou, the lake is far from deserted. Tourists come here from across the Chinese-speaking world, in search of one of the most famous places on the map. Of all the West Lakes dotted around China, this is the only one the poets have meant when they've used the words "West Lake" for the last thousand years. Its banks and causeways don't teem with people as they do on sunny days, but there's still a steady stream of people clutching umbrellas as they follow the famous routes.
I'm not sure exactly why I'm amongst them. I've only been here three days, and I've already been to the lake, once, but here am I again, on my last day in Hangzhou, when I should be out celebrating the end of my seminar.
The mood amongst the walkers is relaxed and bouyant. Most have come here from afar and no-one is in a hurry. The skies might be cloudy and the view shrouded, but at least the willows and cherry blossoms are in view. Out on the causeways, the noise and bustle of the city will gone, and we'll all be able to walk in peace. "Paradise on Earth", as the expression goes. Ren jian le yuan, one of the few Chinese phrases I can remember. It sounds complicated, but all four words are ones that any student learns soon enough. Ren for "People". Jian for room. Le for happiness. Yuan for garden. I listen to the happy chatter of the Chinese tourists around me and wish I'd studied harder over the last semester.
As if drugged by the august location, the tourists are also happy to interact with strangers. There are glances and smiles from all directions. One of my classmates, with bright red hair, ended up posing for dozens of photos when we went as a group. Less conspicuous, I am largely left alone until I get to the start of the Bai Causeway. I am working my way delicately through the throng of photo takers on the Broken Bridge, trying not to walk through anyone's shot, when a thin woman with striking angular cheekbones asks me a question in Chinese.
There's something just a little odd about her tone of voice. Not quite agitated, but maybe wistful. "Dui bu qi. Wo bu hui jiang hanyu." I say in return. I'm sorry, I don't speak Chinese. She gives a small smile and I half-expect her to switch to English - more and more people speak it these days - but, no, there's just this sad little smile and she turns to look out over the lake.
I'm not going to able to move for a few minutes anyway - there are a bunch of grey-haired tourists posing for a photo-opportunity at one end of the bridge, so I follow her gaze and look out across the lake with her. I think through the phrases in my head for anything that might be usable. I know how to order food or a taxi, but not much more.
"Duan qiao," I say, remembering the name of the Broken Bridge from the guide book and gesturing at the bridge beneath us. She turns and looks at me and smiles again. What else did the book say about this bridge? "Bai... bai she", I manage. White snake. A magical snake who transformed herself into a human. I hope I got the tones right. I wonder if she's heard the story. And who did Bai She meet here? The scholar Xu Xuan. Now what were the tones for that? I have completely forgotten, so I say "Xu xuan?" as neutrally as possible.
"Xu xuan," she says, in that same wistful voice. So she does know the story. I've reached about the limits of what I can say about it without resorting to charades, so I point to the the distant Lei feng pagoda, which Bai She was supposed imprisoned under and say Lei feng da.
"Dui," she says, and then starts off with a stream of Chinese that I couldn't hope to understand. She goes on and on, even though it should be clear that I don't understand a word. Still, she seems happy to talk and I've got plenty of time. And it's not unpleasant to stand on the bridge and watch the mist and rain sweep across the lake and share a smile with this strange woman. No-one else on the bridge seems to have noticed us either. Two men in costume brush past us - dancers probably from a troupe I saw earlier practising by the side of the lake.
"Nin shi cong nali lai de?" the woman asks me suddenly. Where are you from? I can understand that bit. "Australia," I tell her and she looks puzzled, but shrugs her head and smiles again. Whatever she needed to talk about, getting it out seems to have done her some good. There's still a hint of sadness in her eyes, but her striking face looks happy. She starts talking again in Chinese way beyond my level.
I notice for the first time that she's also in costume of some sort. Most of the other tourists are in some form of western dress, but she's wearing a long Chinese tunic. I wonder why I haven't noticed it before. Looking out across the lake, something else has puzzled me. Is the mist really so thick that the buildings on the other shore have vanished? Then why can we still see the Pagoda?
She mentions Xu Xuan for the third or fourth time, and a sudden fear creeps through me. I glance up and down along the Bai Causeway and realize that suddenly everyone is in costume.
I turn in panic back towards the near bank of the lake, and there, to my relief, is the modern city of Hangzhou, still noisy and dirty, with buses rumbling up and down the road by the lake.
"Guan yin si jian." sighs the Lady White Snake behind me, and I recognize the line. "Time flies like an arrow". I know, even before I turn around, that when I do she'll be gone.
I'm not sure exactly why I'm amongst them. I've only been here three days, and I've already been to the lake, once, but here am I again, on my last day in Hangzhou, when I should be out celebrating the end of my seminar.
The mood amongst the walkers is relaxed and bouyant. Most have come here from afar and no-one is in a hurry. The skies might be cloudy and the view shrouded, but at least the willows and cherry blossoms are in view. Out on the causeways, the noise and bustle of the city will gone, and we'll all be able to walk in peace. "Paradise on Earth", as the expression goes. Ren jian le yuan, one of the few Chinese phrases I can remember. It sounds complicated, but all four words are ones that any student learns soon enough. Ren for "People". Jian for room. Le for happiness. Yuan for garden. I listen to the happy chatter of the Chinese tourists around me and wish I'd studied harder over the last semester.
As if drugged by the august location, the tourists are also happy to interact with strangers. There are glances and smiles from all directions. One of my classmates, with bright red hair, ended up posing for dozens of photos when we went as a group. Less conspicuous, I am largely left alone until I get to the start of the Bai Causeway. I am working my way delicately through the throng of photo takers on the Broken Bridge, trying not to walk through anyone's shot, when a thin woman with striking angular cheekbones asks me a question in Chinese.
There's something just a little odd about her tone of voice. Not quite agitated, but maybe wistful. "Dui bu qi. Wo bu hui jiang hanyu." I say in return. I'm sorry, I don't speak Chinese. She gives a small smile and I half-expect her to switch to English - more and more people speak it these days - but, no, there's just this sad little smile and she turns to look out over the lake.
I'm not going to able to move for a few minutes anyway - there are a bunch of grey-haired tourists posing for a photo-opportunity at one end of the bridge, so I follow her gaze and look out across the lake with her. I think through the phrases in my head for anything that might be usable. I know how to order food or a taxi, but not much more.
"Duan qiao," I say, remembering the name of the Broken Bridge from the guide book and gesturing at the bridge beneath us. She turns and looks at me and smiles again. What else did the book say about this bridge? "Bai... bai she", I manage. White snake. A magical snake who transformed herself into a human. I hope I got the tones right. I wonder if she's heard the story. And who did Bai She meet here? The scholar Xu Xuan. Now what were the tones for that? I have completely forgotten, so I say "Xu xuan?" as neutrally as possible.
"Xu xuan," she says, in that same wistful voice. So she does know the story. I've reached about the limits of what I can say about it without resorting to charades, so I point to the the distant Lei feng pagoda, which Bai She was supposed imprisoned under and say Lei feng da.
"Dui," she says, and then starts off with a stream of Chinese that I couldn't hope to understand. She goes on and on, even though it should be clear that I don't understand a word. Still, she seems happy to talk and I've got plenty of time. And it's not unpleasant to stand on the bridge and watch the mist and rain sweep across the lake and share a smile with this strange woman. No-one else on the bridge seems to have noticed us either. Two men in costume brush past us - dancers probably from a troupe I saw earlier practising by the side of the lake.
"Nin shi cong nali lai de?" the woman asks me suddenly. Where are you from? I can understand that bit. "Australia," I tell her and she looks puzzled, but shrugs her head and smiles again. Whatever she needed to talk about, getting it out seems to have done her some good. There's still a hint of sadness in her eyes, but her striking face looks happy. She starts talking again in Chinese way beyond my level.
I notice for the first time that she's also in costume of some sort. Most of the other tourists are in some form of western dress, but she's wearing a long Chinese tunic. I wonder why I haven't noticed it before. Looking out across the lake, something else has puzzled me. Is the mist really so thick that the buildings on the other shore have vanished? Then why can we still see the Pagoda?
She mentions Xu Xuan for the third or fourth time, and a sudden fear creeps through me. I glance up and down along the Bai Causeway and realize that suddenly everyone is in costume.
I turn in panic back towards the near bank of the lake, and there, to my relief, is the modern city of Hangzhou, still noisy and dirty, with buses rumbling up and down the road by the lake.
"Guan yin si jian." sighs the Lady White Snake behind me, and I recognize the line. "Time flies like an arrow". I know, even before I turn around, that when I do she'll be gone.
