connie's space

              With the year 2008 came some interesting changes concerning holidays in China.          

              There used to be only 3 holidays in this country:  Spring Festival (Chinese New Year), which was during the school’s 5-week winter break but for businesses, was officially 3 days.   May 1st  holiday, which was for 3 days but with the weekend, it was counted as 5.  Lastly, October 1st National Day, which was 2 days but extended to 5 or 6 by including weekends and having school make-up days the following weekend. 

            In an attempt to spread out the holidays a bit more, the government decided to take away two days from the May 1st holiday and put these somewhere else.  Their decision was to choose two Chinese traditional festival days and make them into two new one-day holidays:  April 7^th, known as Qing Ming Jie (Tomb Sweeping Festival) and  Duan Wu Jie (Dragon Boat Festival).

            Tomb Sweeping Festival is a traditional day when families gather at the tombs of loved ones, clear the area of weeds and other debris accumulated over the years, and burn incense and paper money, which is supposedly sent to the dead in heaven to have spending money in the spirit world. 

            Dragon Boat Festival, however, has a bit more history behind it.  It’s always celebrated on the fifth month of the Chinese lunar calendar, which just happens to be today, June 8.  With the added holiday, however, Monday is the official day off.

             There are all sorts of theories as to the origin of this day but the most popular is the one that has to do with Qu Yuan (choo yu-ehn), a famous poet from the Chu state, who lived from 339 B.C. to 278 B.C.

            Qu Yuan served in the court of Emperor Huai during the Warring States period (475 – 221 BC). He was a wise and erudite man who fought against corrupt leaders in the emperor’s palace and realm.  Naturally, this antagonized quite a few court officials. They exerted their influence on the Emperor and convinced him that Qu Yuan was a dangerous person.   Emperor Huai dismissed Qu Yuan from his presence and eventually exiled him.

             During his exile, Qu Yuan traveled extensively, taught and wrote about his ideas. At this time, he composed many poetic masterpieces that have become invaluable for studying ancient Chinese culture.

            At this time away from court, Qu Yuan saw the gradual decline of his mother country, the Chu State.  Upon hearing that the Chu State was defeated by the Qin State, he was so distraught that he ended his life by flinging himself into the Miluo River.

            After people heard he drowned, they were greatly dismayed. Fishermen raced to the river’s spot in their boats to search for his body. Unable to find him, people threw zongzi (a special traditional food), eggs and other food into the river to feed the fish, who might nibble on his remains so that there would be nothing left of him for the afterlife.

            Since then, people started to commemorate Qu Yuan through dragon boat races, eating zongzi and other activities, on the anniversary of his death, the 5th of the fifth month.

            I’m sure many of you have seen the dragon boat races either in person in your area, on TV or read about them in newspaper articles.  But it’s the zongzi (zohng-zuh) that everyone in China really cares the most about, especially in areas where there are no dragon boat races taking place.

           Zongzi is the most popular food for this particular festival as it reminds people of the importance of loyalty (Qu Yuan’s principles) and commitment to community (his attempted rescue by the fishermen who threw zongzi into the river).

            Zongzi itself is made of special glutinous rice wrapped in bamboo leaves, tied tightly together and then boiled or steamed for many hours.   Wrapping and tying leaves takes a special skill, otherwise it opens up, the rice spills out, and you have a huge mess on your hands.

            I should know.  I tried making it only once.  My rice freed itself from my loosely wrapped bamboo leaves and stuck fast, along with the fillings, to the sides of the rice cooker.  It took me awhile to scrub the thing clean.  After that, I bought my zongzi from the experts.

              As the glutinous rice cooks, it congeals together and creates a sticky mass that adheres to the bamboo leaves.  Zongzi are triangular shaped, pyramidal or rectangular depending on the maker.  The most popular are the pyramidal, which are sold everywhere in China along streets and from small shops.     

            Inside the zongzi are popular fillings which differ from region to region.  On the mainland, people prefer several kinds:  the sweet red bean or the savory hunks of meat as well as egg yolk middles.  In Taiwan, however, we had many more varieties, such as nuts (peanuts and pine nuts), dates, lotus seeds, sweet red and white bean paste, chunky meat pieces or lumps of pork fat. 

            So where exactly can you buy zongzi?  At this time of year, it’s not difficult to find them, but where you choose most likely will depend on whether you like them or not.   Every major chain grocery store is now selling them.  They’ll either be frozen  by manufacturers or freshly made by grocery food staff.  Small convenience stores will carry them in freezers. 

            For the most part, store-bought zongzi are not so great.  They’re cheaply made, priced higher, smaller and don’t have that nice, fresh taste to them of those piping hot straight from the steamer. 

            For the best zongzi, it’s wise to check out China’s numerous back alleyways.  Many small shop owners or those selling snack foods from carts specialize in making zongzi only at this time of year.  The owners will prepare 100 to 200 a day, selling them for 1.5 yuan each (20 cents) or give you a cheaper rate if you buy in bulk.  You can even order zongzi ahead of time in case you’re expecting to give away to friends, business colleagues, or family members.

            In all the cities I’ve lived in in China, I always knew the best zongzi places in town because people told me.  But I had to search a bit around my  Chengdu neighborhood since I wasn’t here last year to know where to go.  I tried out those made in mass at the Trustmart, a frozen variety from a convenience store, a snack seller’s offerings and finally a family-owned traditional Chinese steamed food shop.

             I think you can guess which turned out to be the best:  definitely the traditional steamed food shop.   The couple there has had plenty of experience in wrapping and cooking zongzi.  I could tell they were well-known because as soon as they piled their bamboo containers high with their wrapped specialty items, people flocked around and bought them out in a matter of minutes.  I was lucky enough to get some of the last ones before they sold out for the day.

            If you’re an adventurous soul who likes trying something unique, you’d probably like chewy, sticky zongzi.  It has a very distinct, different flavor from anything you’ve had in the States. 

            For me, a big one or 2 small ones are enough for a meal as they’re quite filling.  The Chinese, however, eat them as a snack food.   For Dragon Boat Festival, you rarely see people eating only zongzi but instead supplementing the meal with regular stir-fried dishes.

            Millions of zongzi are bought all over China for this festival, but it’s a bit like any other popular holiday food item.  It only tastes good during the season it’s meant to be eaten.  By Tuesday, none of us will want to see or eat another zongzi for as long as we live.

            Well, maybe not as long as we live, but at least until next year’s Dragon Boat Festival.  By then, our pallets will be ready for yet another savoring of this very special Chinese traditional food:  the zongzi.   

             Until next time, here’s wishing you a Happy Dragon Boat Festival and an additional "Ping An!" (Peace)

            My Chinese is O.K. but I wouldn’t stake my life on it, or anyone elses’, for that matter.

            This is why, when it came to transferring  funds into Jason’s (Ji Ke’s) banking account, I asked for assistance.  

             Jason is my former student at Luzhou Vocational and Technical College.  He currently is attending Qing Hai University, a 24-hour train ride from here.   His family lives near Dujiangyan, a hard-hit area of the quake, but luckily all escaped without harm or a great deal of damage to their home.   

            In my May 17^th blog entry, I talked about Jason’s farming family and his sister, who was in need of a heart operation.   The money was almost collected when the family was told they needed another 30,000 yuan ($4,285) more. The situation was quite dire but the money wasn’t there.

             Then the earthquake struck.  Hospitals in Chengdu filled with tens-of-thousands of injured people.  Jason’s parents managed to borrow just about enough to pay for their daughter’s operation but due to the hospital overload, they were told to wait. 

            Almost 4 weeks later, Jason’s sister is now in the number one hospital in the province here in Chengdu.  That last extra bit to reach their needed monetary goal sat in my drawer yesterday.  This was the life-saving amount that was to be wired into Jason’s family’s bank account.

            As I mentioned, my Chinese is O.K. but I wouldn’t stake a life on it.  I wasn’t about to trust doing such an important bank transaction by myself so I enlisted the help of Rich (Wang Yun), a 1^st year student at Chengdu Medical College. 

            Rich and I had met several weeks ago when three of my former students from Luzhou came to participate in a provincial English language proficiency contest.  One of the contestants, Diana (Ding Yanbin), had been corresponding with Rich for about 6 months after being introduced to him by her middle-school classmate, Irena (Zhang Lijuan).  Irena and Rich attend the same medical school and she felt this nice young man might be a good match for her friend.  Telephone numbers and emails were exchanged and the two began their friendship through phone calls and written words.

            When Rich learned Diana would be coming to the big city, his immediate reaction was to race to the bus station and anxiously wait for her (three hours) until she arrived.  I was somewhat the sponsor of the three Luzhou contestants so we spent quite a bit of time together touring the campus, eating out, getting settled into hotel rooms and visiting.  All the while, Rich was present, enjoying the company of us four gals, who made a big fuss over him, but most importantly getting to know Diana a bit better.

            It was rather sad when everyone had to part.  Rich had hovered outside of the contest building, waiting for the competition to finish, before being seen off to his bus stop by the girls.  He and Diana waved to one another, not knowing when they’d see each other again.  A trip to Chengdu is expensive for those without much money.  The $25 round-trip bus ticket is enough for a month’s worth of food in the student cafeteria.  Young people from poor families in China have very little money to spare on such extravagant journeys as visits to the capital city so most likely, they wouldn’t see one another for some time.

            As luck would have it, this weekend the Chinese government has given us all a holiday.  Dragon Boat Festival, which before was merely a traditional day, has become a national day-off.  This year, it falls on Monday.  Diana took advantage of our 3-day weekend to return to Chengdu.  She decided to stay for 2 nights before leaving for her own hometown an hour away.  And of course, a stay in Chengdu meant a visit with Rich.

            Now we come to the money transfer.

            Rich and Jason had talked on the phone about the details of this transaction but although being a fully capable individual to handle such matters, Rich was worried.  What if he got the account number wrong?  What if he didn’t fill out the transfer paper properly?  What if the bank refused to do the transaction?  He needed back-up.

            So on Friday afternoon, it wasn’t just Rich who came to my aid but Diana as well and none other than Irena, the matchmaker, who tagged along for the ride.

            I must say, I was quite moved to see my three Muskateers waiting for me  at the West Gate of Sichuan University.  I, the maiden in distress, had little to fear being surrounded by such a united, strong three-some.    

            As with anything, we did have some glitches in our first efforts to send the money. 

            We all weren’t  sure where we needed to go so I suggested we ask if the Bank of China could do this for us.  Jason hadn’t given us clear instructions about how to do this.  The nearest bank seemed a good place to start.

            In China, a group venture comes with it some cultural dilemmas which many foreigners find annoying.  If a task is to be done, there’s a lot of loud, seemingly chaotic, talk going on.  Ideas have to be shared, discussed, argued about, and decided upon before another round  takes place on who’s going to actually follow through with it all.  These kind of  dialogues can take anywhere from 10 minutes to an hour, depending on how many are involved.  And they almost always draw a crowd of curious onlookers who may (or may not) like to give advice as well.

            Once in the Bank of China, Rich approached the service desk to ask about transferring money to an account which was not a branch of the bank’s.  What proceeded was one of those typical group venture projects which I mentioned above.  Three bank attendants had to be consulted if this was possible.  Two said it wasn’t; one said it was. More talks ensued by Rich, Diana and Irena explaining in detail to the bank people what they wanted to do.  Misunderstandings took place, ideas circulated on alternative methods, Rich made several cellphone calls to Jason while the girls debated what to do next, a crowd started to gather and I?  I sat off in a corner, very happy to be the maiden in distress with not a worry in the world as my three Muskateers took care of everything.

            Eventually, after about 45 minutes, it was decided we should go to a Postal Service Bank which was where Jason’s account was held.  The Bank of China service workers were very helpful in directing us to the nearest Postal Bank, which happened to be at our nearby Sichuan University, just inside the North Gate entrance.   

            We were a bit worried about the time the bank would close so we taxied to the main entrance of the university.   Diana quickly asked one of the gate guards where the Postal bank was located.  He merely pointed around the corner, inside the campus, and there it was, a two-window tiny bank  with a short line of students getting money from home.

            Diana took control of the situation and pushed her way to the front of the line to ask the postal bank worker inside what time they closed and how to do a money transfer.  She came back to report we had 1 ½ hours to spare and just needed to fill out a form, hand the money over and off it would go.  

            And that’s exactly what happened.  Within 15 minutes, everything was finished.  According to the teller, Jason could expect the money in his account immediately.

            To complete the mission, Rich went to a nearby payphone to give Jason a ring and tell him all had been taken care of.  He next handed the phone over to me as Jason had a few words to say.

            “I will check my account after class,” he said gratefully.  “I just want to thank you so much for your help.”

            “Forget about the money,” I replied.  “For now, we just think about your sister, O.K.?”
            Jason promised to tell me the day of the operation and then contact Rich about the where and when we could pay her a hospital visit. Sadly for him, he’d still be in school until mid-July so he wouldn’t be able be there for her.

            “Rich and I will do that for you,” I assured him, then we said our goodbyes.

            Rich, Diana and Irena walked me back to the west gate, nearest my apartment, by route of the  university campus.   As we went along, I expressed my thanks again and again for their help.

            “You have all done a wonderful thing,” I said. “And how nice to have so many of us participating. We all shared, didn’t we?  Rich, you were the worrier.  Diana, you were the do-er.  Irena, you were the cheerleader and I just followed along with the money.  We made such a great team.”

            “Yes!” Diana piped up as the rest of the group smiled.  “Now that’s cooperation.”

            Here, here, Diana.  I second that.

            Or better yet, as our Muskateers would say, “All for one, and one for all!”

               From Chengdu, sending you "Ping An!" (Peace)

            In my small U.S. town, a visit to the bank is a quick affair.

            There are no lines to wait in and no numbers to take.  It’s a breezy in-and-out, just under 5 or 10 minutes.

            But in China, it’s a different matter.

            For anyone  transferring, wiring, withdrawing, exchanging and depositing cash into accounts, this can be a several-hour affair.  It doesn’t have so much  to do with the number of customers (although there are quite a few) as it does with the  tedious paper work involved.  The bank tellers are inundated in piles as they stamp, sign, copy, clip, paste and staple little bits and pieces of flimsy paper here and there, all to make sure your transaction was handled properly.  And there’s always a supervisor’s check to make sure everything has been done accordingly. 

            Due to this, tempers are short in the bank.  It’s not unusual to see a patron suddenly charge from the waiting area and accost the tellers behind their glass windows.  The irate Chinese wave their arms, shout nasty comments and fight off the floor clerks who try to calm them down.   

            Adding more to the frustration  are the ticketed numbers we have to deal with. 

            At the entrance, we choose from a machine the type of transaction we want to perform.  “A” numbers are one type (such as depositing or withdrawing), “B” numbers another (exchanging money and traveler’s checks),  the “C”s (wiring, transferring) and a “Z” category for “other”.    If you’re new to the bank, it’s easy to choose the wrong type, which then has you being told at the counter that, yes, your number 58 is correct but your transaction, B, isn’t.  Go back and get a C number.

            After waiting for 2 hours, no one wants to be told to go back and get another ticket before you’ll be serviced.

            Because I know the routine by now, my treks to the bank have me bringing along my Chinese textbooks and bi-lingual dictionary.  There is no sense in wasting 2 hours at the bank when I could be doing something productive.  It makes the time go faster and I have a feeling of accomplishment afterwards.  Not only do I finally have my traveler’s check cashed and exchanged for Chinese yuan, but I have my homework done as well.

            Yesterday afternoon at the bank, I settled into my seat to wait along with everyone else. I flipped open my book to Chapter 9 and began the lesson. 

            Things were quiet for about 30 minutes, and then the ruckus to began.

            A woman who had obviously been waiting for some time was told that she had chosen the wrong transaction letter. As she stood at the counter, the teller informed her  she should have a “B” number not an “A”.   Go back, get the correct one, have a seat and wait her turn.

            It was just too much for her to handle.  She refused to move and insisted she be taken care of.  .

            “I’ve waited a long time!” she said angrily, squeezing in front of the next in line.  “I have the number.  You must service me.”

            The teller’s face remained calm as he apologized and quietly asked her to move aside.  Her response was to shove all her papers at him through the slot.  She pushed them so ferociously that one of them ripped.

            “I’m sorry,” the teller continued, sliding her items back, “but it’s the next person’s turn.”

            Eventually, one of the floor attendants came to lead her away.  The young girl forcibly tugged on the woman’s arm to budge her.  Once dragged to the other side of the bank, the woman was given a second number from the machine.  

            Throughout all this, she fumed and snorted.  She refused to sit down with the rest of us but preferred to stand and publicize her displeasure.  But finally, emotional exhaustion took over and she plopped down next to me.

            Despite her sour mood, I was in need of help reading characters I didn’t know and she was sitting next to me so . . . .

            “Excuse me,” I said.  “Sorry to bother you but I don’t know these two characters.  Could you please tell me how to say them?”

            There’s nothing like a helpless foreigner to bring out the best in the Chinese.

            She peered at the Chinese symbols I pointed to.

            “Duan lie,” she answered. 

            I looked lost until she motioned something breaking in half.

            “I thought that was po le,” I said.

            “Yes, but for duan lie, we can  say . . ,” she thought for a moment, then brightened.  “We can say the bridges in the earthquake duanlie (broke).  We don’t say po le.”

            “Ah, I understand,” I replied. “Duan lie.  Did I say it right?”

            “Yes. Duan lie.  You said it very well!”

            The next thirty minutes, my companion, Ms. Yu, cheerfully assisted me with my homework.

            Our conversation moved on to other things, like why I was at the bank.  I explained I was exchanging money to help one of my former students, Ji Ke, whose sister was in need of a heart operation.  It was a lot of money and the family, who are farmers, didn’t have enough  to pay the hospital.  I was helping them out.

            Ms. Yu was very sympathetic.  She tsked when I said how young Ji Ke’s sister was, only 25, and gasped when I told her the total cost was 50,000 yuan ($7,150).  In China, this was an astronomical amount of money, especially for poor, countryside farmers.

            “A heart operation is very expensive,” she said.

            “Jiushi,” I agreed in Sichuan dialect.

            It was my turn at the teller’s window before Ms. Yu’s, and although I finished earlier than she, I still had another paragraph to read for my homework assignment.  Since my new-found teacher was all to happy to continue her tutorial, I returned to my same seat where Ms. Yu continued to guide me.  When her number finally came up, we said our goodbyes.

            Seeing Ms. Yu’s impatience and anger at the bank reminded me of another person who reacted in a similar fashion when things didn’t go her way.    You might recall an entry from last week about a taxi driver who received quite a bit of grief from me concerning a traffic jam he could do nothing about.  In the end, he encouraged my better half to shine through. 

            That brief encounter with driver Liu taught me something valuable:    It doesn’t take much to bring out the best in someone.  All we need do is look for the opportunity and take it. 

            Yesterday in the bank, when presented with a distraught Ms. Yu, I like to think I did just that.

            China’s cold-weather swimmers are suffering here in Chengdu.

           All winter, they’ve been enjoying frigid water temperatures of  40 to 55 degrees Farenhieght.  Every day, from October to April, I’ve watched these winter swimming  friends of mine in  the outdoor, unheated 50-meter pool at Meng Zhui Wan Park.   While I headed for the comfortable indoor natatorium, they bravely persevered in their Alaskan wilderness.  Our unusually cold temperatures had snow falling as they jogged around the deck.  They bared to the elements all but what their thin, lycra suits covered.  Hitting the water, they’d let out a sharp, triumphant “Ho!” before wildly swinging their arms for that first lap warm-up.   

             I was asked again and again to join them but cold is definitely not my thing.   

            Then May 1^st came.

            The 3 outdoor 50 meter pools at Meng Zhui Wan Park officially opened to the public.  Temperatures rose to the high 50s, then 60s, 70s and now today’s sizzling 93.  The indoor pool is practically deserted, the outdoor pools crowded with young adults trying to cool off in this heat.  Meanwhile, the winter swimming club members have disbanded, forced out of their wintry home by the coming of summer.

            Schools have not yet dismissed in China so come mid-July, I expect Meng Zhui Wan will be filled with kids either taking group swimming lessons in the morning or playing about in the afternoon. Yet another month-and-a-half to go is not dampening their water spirits. With this heatwave, they’re now spending their 2 ½ hour noontime siesta (China’s xiuxi) not at home, napping or  finishing up homework for afternoon classes, but at the pool.

             Today, their moms and dads brought them over for a quick 12:30 to 2 p.m. dip before hustling them off by 2:30 to school again.  

            While the kids frolicked, the parents sat on the deck under umbrella-sheltered tables, drank tea and chatted  After seeing the pools empty and forlorn for so long, watching our xiao pengyou (little friends) playing about so joyfully  brought a smile to all  of us passing by.

            I’ve been using the outdoor pool now for about a month without any difficulty in completing a full 2-hour work-out,  but today was impossible.   People were everywhere:  floating in their tubes, splashing their neighbors, racing against their friends.  I had to call it quits within an hour. 

            “You have to come earlier,” the women’s locker room attendants told me.

            “Jiushi (Yes)!”  I agreed in Sichuan dialect.

            “10 to 11 a.m. is a good time.  No one’s here but the serious swimmers.”

            I really have sympathy for these four ladies.  They’re in the locker room every day, 8 a.m. to 10 p.m., taking care of people’s things and cleaning.  For 7 days a week, 12 hours each day, they work for a measly 35 yuan ($5) a day or 1,050 yuan a month ($150).  A lot of the time, there’s nothing much for the four of them to do so they sleep on the hard wooden benches that line the walls.

            Not a great job, but if you only have a junior high or high school education, as is theirs, they are fairly lucky to have a steady income at all.  At least the environment is clean, the work not taxing and the company pleasant.  As far as jobs go in China, they could have done much worse.

               Although I go to Meng Zhui Wan Park to swim, there are plenty of others who don’t.  The park itself is composed of two parts:  One is an amusement park full of carnival rides; the other is the swimming pool area with shaded benches, a little tea house, a veranda for club meetings  and tiled open spaces for performing exercises.  Early morning, there are groups of elderly doing their slow-movement taiqi, some martial arts individuals and other seniors doing stretching exercises.  There are fan dancing and drumming clubs, accordion gatherers, choirs singing under the veranda, and even a few players of the erhu (the two-stringed Chinese fiddle).  On the weekends, I’ve also seen children practicing their recorders or traditional Chinese flutes while their parents looked on. 

            Now that our warm weather has arrived, I am able to sit outside of the pool after swimming and enjoy the park’s pleasant surroundings.  Today, I sat under the veranda and enjoyed a 3 yuan  (40 cent) glass of  tea.  I talked to some of the retired ladies who were about to begin their Chinese dance practice.  I met a singer whose choir was rehearsing “We Are Chinese” for their upcoming concert.   

            This is why many overseas’ visitors enjoy China so much.  There’s a lot going on, no matter where you might be — a temple, a mahjong parlor, a roadside tea house, a bustling restaurant, a crammed night market or, as in my case, the Meng Zhui Wan swimming pool.

            From Chengdu, wishing you all a cool, breezy day and “Ping An” (peace)

            I’m not very much of a tourist.

            Drop me off in any Chinese city and my first order of business is where to find a 50-meter swimming pool.   Years of competitive swimming are not about to be drowned out of me by Beijing’s Forbidden City, Nanjing’s Ming Tombs or Hangzhou’s West Lake.

            But I must admit that Chengdu has places to offer that come very close to tempting me away from a cool water work-out.  One of these is Du Fu’s Thatched Cottage, a preservation park dedicated to the Chengdu life of an infamous Tang Dynasty poet, Du Fu.

            Last Saturday, I was very privileged to wander our famous poet’s pathways along with Art Silverman.  Art is an  NPR (National Public Radio) producer now on vacation after completing his stint with colleagues for NPR’s The Chengdu Diaries.   After following the stories of the group on their website, I contacted Art to see if anyone was interested in doing something in the area aside from earthquake coverage.  Since Art was free, he took me up on the offer with my recommendation being a visit to Du Fu Cao Tang (Du Fu’s Thatched Roof Cottage).

            In 759, Du Fu (712-770) moved with his family to Chengdu from Gansu province in order to escape the Lushan Rebellion.  They traveled through the dense, rugged forests of Sichuan to finally alight in the western suburbs of Chengdu.  Here, Du Fu set up a thatched cottage near Flower Washing Brook, where he and his family lived for almost 3 years. 

            During this time, Du Fu composed over 240 poems about his cottage life in this place far from home.  Although Du Fu’s current thatched cottage is a replica, the nearly exact location is known due to his meticulous references to this home:  “To the west of the Ten Thousand Li Bridge,/ To the north of the Hundred Flower Pond,/ Lies my thatched cottage.” (Du Fu, Fond Memories of Living by the Brocade River). 

            The poet’s careful descriptions also helped park planners recreate the quiet, natural surroundings that Du Fu himself must have experienced during his life here.

            A fence of woven bamboo winding

            Along the river bank;

            A picket gate set askew

            Yet true to the bending stream;

            Fishermen setting their nets

            In clear waters;

            Cargo boats sliding quietly

            Behind the rays of the setting sun.

                                    –Du Fu, Old Man in the Country

            When I arrived at 4 p.m., Art was already inside the park, having entered from the “back door,” so to speak, which is the south entrance.  Most of us enter via the main north gate so I hustled through to meet up with him inside. 

            Admission fee is 60 yuan ($8.60), which includes a souvenir postcard and a small folded map (bilingual) to navigate you around the park.  Winter hours are 8 a.m. to 6:30 p.m., summer hours 7:30 a.m. to 7 p.m.  For 50 yuan ($7.15), you can even hire your own English-speaking guide for a private tour. Although I have always preferred to wander the small park by myself, if you are truly into Chinese history and poets, I suggest you go for the tour.  In other Chinese tourist areas, I have found that the English speaking guides are very well-informed about their subject, can answer difficult questions and truly give you good insight into what you are seeing.  I’m sure your 50 yuan at Du Fu’s Cottage would be well-spent.

            Art and I greeted one another near the south gate, in front of the Ten-thousand Buddha Tower (or pagoda).  This is a fairly new addition, about 3 years old, and offers a great view of the entire grounds.  Unfortunately, due to the earthquake, we weren’t able to climb to the fourth tier to see it.

            My great love of this place has largely to do with the fact that it is so quiet, peaceful and beautiful.  Tall bamboo groves dip downward, shading visitors from the hot sun as they slowly walk along the many paved pathways.  Sitting areas nestle in forested niches.  Fish-filled ponds and trickling brooks, crossed by wooden bridges, dot the landscape.  Small temples, winding verandas, pavilions  and tea-sipping areas all help to create a picturesque scene of Du Fu’s China.  Even the exhibition halls are designed to blend into the park’s Tang Dynasty poetic atmosphere.

            Of course, the highlight of the park is the cottage itself, rebuilt in 1997.  It rests on well-swept grounds, enclosed by a woven bamboo fence. The thatched roof is thick, and the outside walls are faced with clay.  Wooden beams inside and out create the strong support needed to keep safe the rooms inside. 

            Every time I approach this infamous spot, I feel as if I am an expected guest. In the cool, mystical shade of the surrounding trees, it is as if Du Fu himself is ready to step out onto the raised stone porch to greet me. 

            Entering the open doorway and peering into the rooms of his home gives one the feeling that a poet is present, if not physically then spiritually.  I imagine Du Fu sitting at his desk in his small study.  His calm surroundings embrace him, his feelings of this cottage life now moved into words:

            My home in the suburbs,

            Commanding a fine view

            Unobstructed by any village

            So that I can see

            Far into the distance

            With but a quiet stream beside

            Low banks, and a view of a tree

            In blossom at sunset; able to watch

            Small fish rise in the rain

            And swallows that clip the breeze

            As they fly. In the city,

            A hundred thousand households;

            Here, but two or three.

— Du Fu, Leaning Over the Railing I Free My Heart

            If I were ever a poet in need of inspiration, this is certainly the place I’d come to.

            In my opinion, the only eyesore of this great historical place is a 2004 addition of an archaeological dig site open to the public.  A low-lying metal building houses a completed dig of the village which Du Fu often visited.  Inside, you can gaze down upon the remnants of wells, walkways, house walls and stone entranceways.  It’s not exactly a favorite stop for visitors but it does hold some interest if you’re really into Tang Dynasty village life, which I’m not.

            Art and I finished our pleasant stroll through the park in just under two hours, although if you wanted to make it an all-day respite from the crowded, noisy outside city, you could easily do so. 

            Of all the places in Chengdu, Du Fu’s Thatched Roof Cottage is my favorite.  There is a feeling of sanctuary here which quiets the soul and allows busy minds to rest.  Perhaps this is one reason why I chose it. The NPR coverage of the Sichuan earthquake I’m sure had a very strong emotional and physical impact on all who worked so tirelessly to bring listeners the stories of people so greatly affected by this horrific event.  And while I would have loved to have the entire staff with us to enjoy Du Fu’s healing serenity, I at least managed to get one of them.

            From Chengdu, wishing you all  “Ping An!” (Peace)

Note:  I am by no means a Du Fu expert nor a scholar of Chinese poetry.  All information and translation of poems came from a great hard-cover English guide book sold at the cottage.  Best $8 I ever spent!

REMINDER FOR AID IN BUYING TENTS, VACCINES, AND OTHER SUPPLIES FOR EARTHQUAKE RELIEF EFFORTS

United Methodists:    UMCOR Advance #982450, International Disaster Response, China Earthquake

Others:  www.amityfoundation.org

            The strong tremor this morning caught all of us by surprise. 

            After several days of very little “felt” ground activity, the rumble at around 11:30 will most likely be yet another excuse to keep our Chengdu tent dwellers outside.  Little Flower and I passed them all today on our walk out of the apartment complex and through the small public park that hugs our back side street.

          Yes, they are still there.  No, these few die-hards don’t seem to be leaving quite yet.   

            Our neighborhood’s outdoor campers were nothing new for today’s entry into the month of June, but something else in the city was – a fee for plastic bags. 

            When I first came to China in 1991, a plastic bag (or any grocery-type bag, for that matter) was hard to come by.  I used to cherish the ones I had from the States, using them over and over again until they finally broke or smelled so rank that I absolutely was forced to give them up. 

            With few plastic bags, the Chinese used other means of carrying their shopping things.  Going to the open-air market, many of us browsers carried our wicker baskets and put the produce inside.  Fresh meat was wrapped in newspaper or nothing at all.  The butchers handed over our selected hunks and  into our baskets or cloth bags they went with all the rest of our  mixed and jumbled produce piles.

            China had not yet reached the plastic bag stage in their push for modernization.

            But since 2000, bagging groceries or market purchases in plastic bags has become a given.  All outdoor market sellers now have them.  Street-side sellers likewise have a stash.  Even the poorest farmers, in from the countryside to sell their wares, have plastic bags for their customers.  

            At first, these were cheaply made and often broke.  We almost always asked for our things to be double-bagged.  But when upscale chain stores such as Carrefore, Wal-mart, Metro and Trust-mart entered China, a stronger variety of plastic bag was introduced.   The quality now is much better and one bag will usually do just fine.

            Yet old habits die hard.  Despite the bag’s excellent quality, every time I went to the grocery or convenience store, my heavier items would automatically be double-bagged by the cashier.   Not only that, but small, light things (such as a bar of soap, a package of candy,  a small bottle of shampoo) were often placed in their own separate tiny bag and then put inside the larger one.  No wonder reports are that this country goes through 3 billion plastic bags a day. I’m certainly proof of that.  I’m constantly inundated in plastic bags which I have absolutely no use for aside from lining my trash baskets.

             If you can imagine the millions of people in Chengdu, and in cities across China, faced with the same dilemma, you get an idea what a landfill in this country must look like.

            But the days of  zealous bagging are over. 

            Today, when I finished my wandering through the aisles of a local convenience store, I was told that my plastic bag would cost 2 mao (1.4 cents) for a small one or 3 mao (2 cents) for the larger.  In the nearby international food store, favored by many of us foreigners, the larger bags went for a higher 4 mao (2.8 cents) due to their superior quality and larger size.  A carefully printed English sign posted next to the cash register announced this was a government move:   either buy a bag or carry yourself.

            Out of curiosity, I wondered just which stores were charging for bags and which weren’t.  The street sellers, with their fruit or snack carts, weren’t charging.  Neither were the many tiny family-run convenience stores I patron.  Bakeries, clothes stores, book sellers, tea and other specialty shops were likewise giving their bags for free. Yet not so for the more popular chain stores, such as Wo Wo (similar to a 7-11) and the Hong Hui Supermarket.  But I did find that the Hong Hui stores weren’t exactly in agreement on the policy.  One Hong Hui I visited gave me the bag for free, saying they’d not been informed about selling bags, while the other, just a block over, made me pay the 1.4 cents.

            The question is, will this one or two-penny purchase make a difference in the number of plastic bags being used here in Chengdu? 

            At the Trust-mart, I positioned myself at the exit to find out.  It was interesting to see the number of people who now were carrying their items out the door without having them bagged.  Some had their smaller purchases stuffed  into their purses while others had a very popular flower-designed green nylon tote overloaded with items.

             I stopped one young man and asked him about this green bag.  He said these were being sold in the store for 2.5 yuan (35 cents) as an alternative to paying for plastic bags.  They were sturdy and big enough to hold a reasonable number of groceries.   The nice thing was that people really seemed to be buying them.  In 15 minutes, I counted 8 of these greenies going home with customers.  I even passed a few more along the street while walking the dog back home.  This move by the Trust-mart seems to be a winner.  I can only imagine other stores, such as the Wal-mart and Carrefore, having similar bagging options to offer consumers.

            Chinese are so good at recycling to begin with that it only makes sense plastic bags should be next on the list.  Now maybe my cupboard full of these nuisance items can start to dwindle.

             In the meantime, I’m off to the Trust-mart to buy my 35-cent green flowery tote. 

            Some may think China isn’t my country so why bother following in the footsteps of my neighbors.  Just pay the few extra cents every shopping trip and be done with it.  But this is our shared world, and while it’s true I’ve often been accused of being the overly independent American, in this case, I’m joining the masses and going green.

            From Chengdu, wishing you all an environmentally friendly “Ping An” (Peace)

REMINDER FOR AID IN BUYING TENTS, VACCINES, AND OTHER SUPPLIES FOR EARTHQUAKE RELIEF EFFORTS

United Methodists:    UMCOR Advance #982450, International Disaster Response, China Earthquake

Others:  www.amityfoundation.org

            Yesterday, while going through pictures to post of our neighborhood pets, I came across a few photos from  the Chengdu Theological Seminary which I visited last September.  I had a short feature in a past newsletter about the seminary, but no visuals to accompany it.  So I thought I’d re-introduce the seminary to you with pictures to boot.

            I also haven’t been the only one interested in doing a story about the seminary.  The NPR (National Public Radio) “All Things Considered” staff were here doing their Chengdu Diary series in the city when the earthquake struck.  Their light pieces were originally to be life in the city and surrounding areas, but that changed with the May 12 earthquake to visits into the disaster zone areas.   By coincidence, they happened to be in the seminary itself, sitting with Rev. Mao in his  4^th floor office, when the shaking began.  They immediately ran down the stairs and gathered outside on the street.

            Later, I heard they returned to finish their piece.

            Here is my personal experience with Rev. Mao and the Chengdu Theological Seminary.

The Chengdu Theological Seminary

            Pastor Liao at the Luzhou Protestant Church  encouraged me to visit the Chengdu Theological Seminary where she received her religious education. This was one of my first missions when I came to the city to study Chinese last September.  After a few phone calls, I was able to speak to the president and arrange a Tuesday afternoon visit.  In a short 15-minute taxi ride across town, I arrived down a narrow sidestreet to both the Chengdu Enguang Protestant church and the seminary, which rests next to it.  I entered the building and quickly proceeded up the stairwell where I had been told the president’s office was located.

             Sure enough, the seminary’s 78-year-old president, Rev. Mao Yang San, was waiting anxiously for me in his office on the 4^th floor.  He greeted  me with such warmth that it was hard not to feel right at home in his presence.

            Rev. Mao is a tall, silver-haired gentleman with a spiritual flare about him that makes everyone instantly love him.   His knowledge of the seminary and its history proved to be quite interesting.  And his English language ability made it easy for us to communicate.

            The seminary opened in 1984 with the fervent Christian prayers from Christians in 3  provinces (Yunnan, Hunan and Sichuan).  Churches were in great need of pastors but due to the Cultural Revolution, when all religious activities ended for 10 years, there were none.  It wasn’t until 1992, however, that a seminary building was erected and Rev. Mao selected as the president.   Before that, the school was being held in the church which proved quite uncomfortable.  Sometimes, students were  sleeping in back rooms and in the sanctuary balcony because there was no place to house them. 

            Now, however, with money from the Amity Foundation (a Christian-founded Chinese NGO) and other Chinese churches, they now can study under much better conditions.

            At present, there are 79 seminarian students (all ages) in the 4-year program, 42 men and 37 women with 36 of the students being minority people from the Miao and Yi tribes.   Costs for the entire year are 2,500 yuan ($312.50) which includes tuition, book fees, housing and food. Classes begin after morning worship (8:00 – 8:30) and end in the late afternoon around 5 p.m.    

            As for the building itself, a lovely chapel-assembly hall is located on the 7^th floor.   The male and female dorm rooms are on the 6^th and 5^th floors and have 5-6 students in a room.  The administration offices are on the 4^th floor and classrooms are spread throughout the 3^rd and 2^nd  floors.  There is a small dining room area and a single room kitchen on the 1^st floor where a staff of three prepare all the meals.

           According to Rev. Mao, there are 10 teachers who give the courses required of seminary students, such as Bible interpretation, Biblical history, worship theology, and Greek, to name a few.  All students are also required to study English, which is a major component in any higher education institution in China.            

         When Rev. Mao led me along the hallways, students were having their English lessons, taught by Christian Chinese teachers in the area.    I addressed the senior class and was very touched by these adults and their commitment to their studies, the Chinese church and the Lord.  It was a  moving experience to hear them chorus, “God bless you!” as I left their classroom to complete the tour.   

            My introduction to the seminary gave me a better understanding of the great challenges the Chinese church faces in educating clergy.  There just aren’t enough graduates to fill all the vacancies throughout both rural and bigger city church congregations.

             These dedicated seminarians and their teachers are truly an inspiration to those of us who are of the Christian faith.   I wish them many blessings as they continue on their journey toward becoming strong, faithful leaders of the Chinese Protestant Church.

            Tomorrow’s reports will be of Little Flower’s recuperation from her hospital stay and other news from the city.

From Chengdu, until another day,  wishing you all a “Ping An!” (Peace)