Hangzhou

Here we are back in Hangzhou, my favorite place in China.

Hangzhou was the capital of China in the Southern Song Dynasty (1127-1279). That’s about one thousand years ago. So you can probably figure out that it's a pretty important town. Marco Polo visited it in his travels.

There is a mountain called Precious Stone Hill (Baoshi Shan) with all of these big climbing rocks that is really fun. It is my favorite place in Hangzhou. We have seen it in the rain, heat and now crispy autumn air. On the mountain there is a famous pagoda called Baochu Pagoda. Dad painted a picture of it.

The rocks feel more solid than usual rocks and are excellent for climbing. Over time foot holes and hand notches were formed into the face of the handsome rocks and made them easier to climb. The last rock I climbed was the highest rock on the mountain. You could see for close to fifteen miles.

Anyway I was sitting on a rock writing in my journal when along came a group... or I should say horde of high school girls saying "oh look at the little boy it's so cute." IT!!! Really? This is supposed to be a fun climbing writing paradise not some fluffy cute bear petting zoo. I was thinking about going to get my dad's phone and calling the humane society but alas they were beginning to box me in. I panicked and ran for my life to the steepest and highest rock I could find scrambled up it and hid in a little notch for about 25 minutes.

Later on in the afternoon we went to the very fancy Louwailou restaurant on an island in famous West  Lake (which you can see from the rocks).

It was lunch hour and was as crowded as ever. In the restaurant you could get different assortments of dim sum, fish cooked with vinegar, chicken seasoned in mud and a hot fishy soup.

I got pork noodles from the dim sum menu and my parents got the fish, soup and tofu. They decided to show us the fish so we could approve of the size. They brought it forth in a glaring red bucket and when we nodded our heads cheerfully took it back into the kitchen and chopped its lovely head in two and stuck it in the frying pan with a bunch of sweet vinegar. 

  

After the busy morning we decided to go for a hand rowed pleasure ride on the lake. 

While we were riding along I looked and found several boat lantern buoys. They looked like the picture on the back of the one yuan bill. I told mom and dad about it. Suddenly the driver stated rummaging around in his money bag and eventually pulled out... a rabbit?... no a one yuan bill. He pointed to the Baochu Pagoda in the background and then pointed to the buoys.

For a cool 360 degree view of the boat lanterns, go to: http://www.360cities.net/image/hangzhou-three-pools-mirroring-the-moon - 195.76,14.03,67.2

The lake is beautiful for riding on and the fishermen caught the fish we ate in the lake as well. There was a gentle breeze as we crossed the lake in the boat. The waves were so soft that I felt like we were riding on air. The water was slightly warm and felt like cotton. I felt so free and before I knew it the ride was over.

Now we were stranded on some remote part of the city and didn’t have any means of transportation. All the cabs were taken, the boat ticket office was closed, the bus stop was too far away. We fell into a deep pit of despair.

Oh but we did pick up this cool transforming paper hat. 

  

                        lamp                            vase                                            
               

wine glass

                  king tut                     random sun hat pedestrian

So now stranded in uncharted territory the only thing we could do was get a taxi... a cycle taxi. 

We were able to cram onto the tricycle and get to a distant Starbucks where dad got a coffee.

As you can see we were moving pretty fast.

Then we walked down a long path to a cafe where we would have dinner and talk. On the crisp autumn night feeling the cool breeze we talked about what and how we would write to you when we got back.

Thank you for your time now here’s Mom.

Parker was so excited to get to the top of Baoshi Shan that he ran right up the steep steps that lead there. Peter and I followed more slowly, feeling old. When we were here three years ago, Peter had to carry Parker part of the way.

     

    

When we got to the top of the steps we saw dozens of families with small children, too young to be at school. It was a beautiful, cool day, and the kids were running crazily around, climbing on the rocks, and looking out over the boats on West Lake. 

 

A couple of butterflies fluttered over the bushes, even though there weren't many flowers left. Seeing them reminded me of a Chinese poem I'd recently read. 

Decorated Zither

Li Shangyin (813-858)     
 

            A decorated zither, for no reason, is made

            of fifty strings – one string, one peg,

            each reminiscent of the youthful years. . .

            Walking in the morning, Master Zhuang wonders

            whether he dreams of being a butterfly,

            or a butterfly dreams of being Master Zhuang.

            Wangdi, an ancient emperor, poured out his grief

            into the cuckoo cries in the spring.

            A pearl holds its tears

            against the bright moon on the blue ocean,

            a jade-induced mist arises under the warm sun

            over Lantian field. . .

            Oh, this feeling, to be recollected later

            in memories, is already confused.
 

(From Qiu Xiaolong, translator, 100 Poems from Tang and Song Dynasties.)
 

I will be fifty in February. Pretty old, huh. After I re-read the poem up on the mountain, I wrote one of my own. 
 

At the Bachu Pagoda  

Pamela Grundy (1962-)  

            Children's voices: high, swift-moving.

            Small feet on ancient steps

            patter.

            October butterflies dream

            of what?

            Parker has gone on ahead.

            Three times we have climbed these rocks.

            In rain, summer's heat

            now autumn cool.

            Mist covering West Lake.

            Boats still, as if fixed in time

            trying to remember.

            Snatch of song.

            Children's voices: high, swift-moving

            rise, then fade

            as they run by.