I had a three-day 5/1 “Laborer’s Day” holiday and invited Tracy, a Haikou English teacher to join me in mainland China’s “Best Tourism City.” Kansas City friends, Heather and Pete, who taught in Zhejiang Province 20 years ago quoted the old saying, “There is heaven, then there is Hangzhou.” A California artist raved about dragon boats on West Lake. Chinese children’s faces lit up when I mentioned I would visit there. I expected it to be yet another Chinese City with a proud list of firsts/biggest/oldest sights. I’d be glad I visited, even more glad to return to Sanya, my home for this school year. My plane landed just before midnight.
It took three tries to understand where to buy the 20-yuan ticket ($3, inside the airport) for a 45-minute airport bus ride. We passed a few moonlit fields and many new three-story dwellings with distinctive Muslim architecture, even to several onion-domed rooftops.The Rest-JiaLi hotel workers insisted I join a male guest with USA in his address, so I had to call Tracy and find out her room number to get to the proper bed. We mimed lowering the temperature, said hello and good night, and slept in luxury until breakfast.
Chopsticks clicked over vegetables, egg rolls, breads, meats, and sweets, buffet style, plus coffee or tea. We eagerly asked to extend two nights. “Dui!” The manager agreed and wrote 378 x 2, politely firm on his increased price. Tracy called the Hangzhou businessman she’d met on the airport bus. Mr. Zhou had offered “his hotel” for 200 the night before; he drove us to Han Ting Express, where we got the last room available for 249, holiday price that fit our wallets. Thanks to Mr. Zhou, it took only an hour, some kind of record for transacting business in China. Zhou showed us a bus platform under the viadoct and suggested dinner at 6:00 pm. Nearly all buses ended up at West Lake, so we stayed aboard past city center’s steel-towers to circle the lake.
It was barely visible, lined by people–three-deep–on Bai Causeway’s walks, Lingering Snow on Broken Bridge, and waiting for Autumn Moon over the Calm Lake boats. The bus spit us out at a restaurant with horned rooflines in time for chicken, mushrooms, green vegetables, rice and a flavorful, delicious tea. From our window table, we looked past leafy trees to a steel-gray lake rimmed in walkways and water lilies. A short walk and 20-yuan ticket took us and countless Chinese families to Peak Flying From Afar and its 340 Buddhist statues, carved in stone during five dynasties. Before starting the climb to Lingyin Temple and its largest woodcarving of sitting Buddha in China, we sat beneath a pavillion and peeled a pineapple, bought earlier from a street vendor. Nectar for Americans and reason to laugh like the fat Buddha we’d just seen!
It was slow going, what with crowds on the stone walks and stopping to take pictures; everywhere I looked, there was a symmetrical photo op.In/out of three temples on the way up Tianzhu Hill, the crowd thinned. Water and bird sounds filled the air. Fragrances lured us toward flowering trees. Bamboo shafts lifted our sights ever upward. Near the top, we followed paths into nature and left the hoards to kowtow in the “temple of soul’s retreat,” China’s oldest Buddhist restoration south of the Yantzee. Energy restored by Magnam ice-cream bars and a hotel nap, we had Hangzhou Noodles with Pork and Bamboo Shoots plus cucumbers dipped in a dark sauce in Zhou’s “very famous” noodle shop.
He suggested a shortcut by the canal. We strolled among subtle lighting, 
wu tung trees, and surprisingly few people to the architectural center of the city. Knife-sharp rooflines, graceful curvilinear skyscrapers, and metal sculptures of water caught the moonlight as we topped the city’s high point, learning WuLin Plaza and Starbucks was across the canal. Pleading tiredness, I steered us along the hand-dug, 1500-year-old Grand Canal’s park walks instead of across one of its 48 bridges. Actually, I felt I could have walked the ancient banks all the way to Beijing; it was the greenest, cleanest urban walk I’ve had in China. I suspect Hangzhou’s position as backdoor to Shanghai’s 2010 Exhibition visitors has helped them spruce up gardens, streets, waterways, and businesses in hopes of luring tourists their direction. Morning brought cloudy sprinkles, so we opted for Starbucks via Bus 8. Half an hour later, we suspected we’d taken it the wrong direction.
Near a northern mountain, we disembarked. A friendly student practiced his English and helped us retrace kilometers (another 2 yuan, holiday bus prices) to WuLin Plaza for a latte. With Dragon Boat Festival a month away, Starbucks had added traditional temple food zongzi to their menu–45 mg of mango or red bean, 11yuan in a trendy box. We chose Western traditions–raisin scone and chocolate chip muffin.. Tracy pronounced it her Hangzhou highlight–comfort food! Three busy turns, and we started snapping photos of three narrow streets lined with residences from past eras.
Children played with battery cars, folks cooked in open air, and a store-front
salon offered massages. We bartered for an hour’s foot massage, 30 yuan, a pause that refreshed us. After a nothing-special late lunch, we found Qing He Fang Lu, but were gun shy about which way to take Bus 38 home. A travel agency worker sent us east after saying “Mei you” (have nothing) to a request for opera tickets. Walking under umbrellas, my inner compass screamed “Wrong way!” We got hopelessly lost, unable to retrace our steps to the Plaza.
When we finally gave up, cab fare cost only 10 yuan and ten minutes in rush hour. I had big hopes for the evening–vintage Peking opera in playright Hong Sheng’s home (although Zhou said tickets ran 500 yuan–$75). Instead, we peeled a mango and shared dark Swiss chocolate while Tracy surfed the internet. Awake early to lifting clouds, we beat the crowds to West Lake and rented bikes–10 yuan plus hefty deposit for three hours.
A left turn up and over bridges, stops to peek into art galleries and snap photos, a half-hour at the pagoda where legendary Lady Snakewhite met scholar Xu Xian and endured hardships depicted by seven floors of art. A bird’s-eye-view of West Lake from the top made me wish I could explore each mountain path on my way down. Orioles sang in the willows, clouds scurried over Jade Emperor Hill, and we road the length of 126 meters of dancing fountain sprays’ hourly show. In search of the right bus stop, we walked all the way to Silk Street. Fluttering silk flags beckoned us toward more silk garments and fabrics than we’d imagined. Bargaining was expected and, usually fun.
When bags became unwieldly, we exited to eat Muslim beef and noodles, crossed a Golden Canal tributary and caught a bus to the hotel. Lucky Tracy had two more days, but I boarded the airport bus. I thought to myself, “If I’d have found Hangzhou my first year in China, I might never have left!”
