National Day – Take 1 October 5, 2008

Five days ago, I didn’t know if any plans would work out for the October 1-8 holiday, explained as in years past, “a gift from the government of eight days’ combining Moon Cake Festival and National Day.” Because schools were “giving back the Sunday because the government gave us one day over a week,” kids were in school, not studying at Babe Training School on Sunday. I scratch my head each year when I half understand it.

It gave Mark, weekend teacher, a long break. Mark and I were drinking coffee in Zhejiang University (freshly ground, 10 yuan on a willing student’s card) when Foreign Affairs head, Bob, pressed us into a video as “friends of” a passel of Ukranian students, then told us to “Keep in touch.” We hoped that meant, instead of going to HongKong, the plan a little over a week ago, he was processing visa papers for us to go before our next deadline, October 31. Mark told a group of faculty families he’d camp with them at Qingdao lake.

I felt Helen’s longterm invitation to visit her hometown would surely come through. Instead, her e-mail: “I have a fever. Stay tuned.” October 1 found me researching places to go shortterm. Bear Lee, ex-student and friend, e-mailed that he would watch the National Day parade, then “try to come” to LinAn. Anna, mother of a kindergartner, Rita, called me to watch festivities. “It starts in ten minutes!” Anthony, Anna’s friend’s son and my new college tutoree, picked up Mark and me.

Rita ignored their big screen and batted balloons, peeled golden kiwi from New Zealand, and ate hickory nuts. Anna had wanted “to produce a second child to be a girl” and adopted Rita when she was a few months old. Father works as an official; Mother exports cable; and junior high brother and housekeeper take attentive care of Rita on the 18th floor of lavishly decorated apartments. Anna told me I could ask to move to their tropical landscape, “only 2000 yuan/month” for small two bedrooms. She had inquired. “Babe School pays 500 yuan for your home.” I told her I’d consider it.

We watched the wide screen: float after float in oceans of dancers, representing each Chinese province. What I took for flower designs in Tianamen Square’s backdrop changed symbols, and I realized people were standing stockstill for long stretches of time to form precise golden characters in a red poinsettia field. They did quite a 60th birthday celebration: dignitaries in red ties applauding military precision marches, tanks and other missile muscle in camoflage/pink/powder blue; ethnic dancers–all in perfecft formation and symetry.

Sixty years ago, Mao Zedong stood on Forbidden City’s North Gate balcony, overlooking Tiananmen Square, and established Communist Red China. Mao said, “The Chinese People…stood up… October 1, 1949 marked the end of 150 years of foreign occupation and wars.” I thought of some of China’s upheavals–Taiping Rebellion, Boxer Rebellion, Opium Wars, Sino-Russian War, Japanese occupation, and WWII. The past sixty years’ additional bloodshed–i.e.,the Great Leap Forward, Cultural Revolution, Tiananmen Square Incident, and recent unrest in Tibet and Xinjiang, came to my mind too.

However, October 1, 2009 celebrated six decades of China’s undeniably great strides. Rita’s parents took us to a hot pot lunch, pleased that Mark’s chopsticks fished out beef, mutton, mushrooms, and sprouts boiling in the spicy side of the divided bowl. Cilantro, water chestnuts, and spinach came last, as I ate my share from the non-spicy side. I lifted my orange juice glass, “Happy 60th birthday, China!” Later, I heard that an important building in Washington DC was decorated in red and yellow lights with the same message. Anna drove us in her navy Lexus to Lin’An’s theatre. “The Founding of a Republic” was expensive (30 yuan, US prices), enjoyable (big stars, but I missed Jackie Chan’s reporter role), and exasperatingly short of historic footage (I wished for more black/white documentary pictures).

Soft-spoken Chaing Kai-shek strode about, thoughtfully regal in flowing robes, unlike my mind’s picture of an ex-gangster hunting in the hills around XiAn before fleeing with the Nationalists to Taiwan. Mao was constantly chuckling, playing with children, a likeable worker who allowed himself to be swept to leadership. A soldier who ended the Civil War, he then cultivated old enemies capable of governing the People’s Republic of China. I saw little evidence of the person whose maxims are reread quoted in the little red book on sale everywhere. Characters were distinctively developed, and the surprisingly-short movie focused strictly on 1946-49.

I came home to Helen’s e-mail, “When will you meet me in Hangzhou?” I put 1000 yuan in my backpack and figured that would carry me through a few Hangzhou days with Helen and, maybe, a trip to Ningbo or Xiangshan, past homes. There followed a flurry of text messages: “I’m on the bus to Hangzhou!” in spite of long lines at the station! “What hotel will you stay?” “I have no hotel.” (I had understood I’d stay with her.) “Let me think. There is (Chinese Symbols for Nanshan Hotel) near my apartment. Have taxi take you there.” West Bus Station appeared to leave for LinAn every fifteen minutes, I noted, along with landmarks to be able to return home.

My hotel was very nice on Tianmushan, an east-west thoroughfare, and cost 348 yuan. At that rate, I’d need to go home after two nights! Helen and family took me villa shopping. One development (we would call them condos) was a manicured oasis in the edge of Hangzhou, but the sales office was closed. Helen’s sister and husband, in real estate themselves, picked us up and drove to two huge Xixi Wetlands developments under construction.

After viewing the doll-size layouts and drinking red tea, we went by golf cart, then speedboat, to check out their one finished show villa. We donned shoe covers to climb five tiny stories while 11-year-old May fell in love with big screen TVs, drum set on a lighted stage, rec room bar (no sink for water access), fireplace, jacouzie, and furnishings that would have felt at home in Jackson Hole’s spacious condos. A deer-antler chair sat beneath the head of a hunting trophy in the entry. It brought familiar memories of real estate shopping days in Kansas and Wyoming: the smell of sawdust, the pleasure of colors that blend perfectly, the squeak of pristine tile floors, and the anticipation of sinking into endless pillows with a good book and just-poured hot tea.

My eye turned critical: narrow winding stairs, the prospect of endless dusting as construction continued, a long drive from Hangzhou, no nearby market. Later, I heard my words from Helen’s mouth:”If we buy here, we will be too close to neighbors (probably 1000 or more, just across a nicely hedged walkway).”

They took me to lunch–a delicious assortment of the usual beef, duck, tofu, mushrooms, rice buns, greens–and duck tongue. It was nicely flavored, but definitely an acquired chew. May pronounced it “Very good!” Back at my hotel, I napped through half an English movie, then went for a walk. Red banners with yellow characters fluttered. The colonel smiled from KFCs. McDonald’s employees wore Mao Era caps backwards with a golden arches “M” on them nstead of the Republic’s red star–Mao or McDonald’s? Flags fluttered from vending carts, light posts, and trash carts.

I remembered the movie’s controversy over selecting China’s new national flag. A four-star design had lost to a Yellow River symbol chosen by People’s Congress: then movie-Mao was persuaded by some pretty girls to select the current design. It symbolized the unity of China around the Communist Party, the four small stars represted workers (like the young lovelies), peasants, petty bourgeoisie, and patriotic bourgeoisie (like Soong Ching Ling and Zheng Lan in the movie).

Musing and window shopping for too-small clothes (I’m XL here), I somehow managing to get turned around. A young Chinese couple walked me to my hotel, apologizing for taking so long to find it. My only acceptable repayment was English exchanged with them. Helen’s text came: “I am very tired. We will pick you up at 12:00 tomorrow.”

To my surprise, KC teachers, Alan and Dana answered their home phone. They biked to hotel breakfast buffet with me and a good chat. Their Zhejiang University students sound top-notch; Alan said he’d never worked so hard in his life and Dana said her students actually take notes and come prepared for each lesson, unlike their last two China-teaching experiences. Helen, May, sister Linda, and I crossed Hangzhou by cab to find their hometown, Xiangshan, tickets sold out. “We are going to Ningbo Two-and-a-half hours.” I’d see Ningbo! It was a seaport city where Helen, before marriage, worked for a furniture exporter.

I saw one busy street and their ticket office, where we bought four tickets to Xiangshan. Five hours’ bus rides through mountains had brought us to a small town penninsula and her 80-year-old dad’s cooking! Their home (apartment style) had three Western toilets, one for each bedroom. Friends came to pick up orchids for the winter, while Helen’s parents stay with her in Sanya.  They brought a sack of bean pods and animated conversation. Helen interpreted: “We talk about Nanshan Temple’s general manager. He drove into the ocean from Kuan Yin’s base and died. My husband cried many days. We don’t know why Kuan Yin did not protect him. It was a place he often went to think and be at peace.” Another reason for me to wish I could understand Chinese: Until she interpreted, I had no idea if they discussed the size of the full moon, early childhood pranks, or their wishes for their children.

My moon cake was filled with sweet green herbs. May’s had a boiled egg in it. It felt good, after so much sugar, to brush my teeth and sleep. “I take you for lunch at my friend’s. He’s a famous carver of bamboo.” Six of us were warmly welcomed at Zhang De He’s studio and home, five stories of award-winning wood carvings, paintings, and antique furniture. 

 Some were mammoth, utilizing entire tree trunks; all had distinctive features and personalities. Zhang’s wife and cook brought dish after dish–crab, shell fish, river fish, beans, jelly fish, calamari, sashimi, boiled peanuts, water chestnuts, bamboo shoots…It was hard to leave the toasts (tea, red wine, beer, soda) and laughter as Zhang told stories and gave Helen’s parents a framed picture posed by Sanya’s Kuan Yin harbor statue. On the way to the bus station, Helen told me, “Zhang is #1 wood sculptor in China; many follow him.” It was easy to believe. People everywhere! No ticket to LinAn until late evening. Helen advised going to Ningbo, rather than Hangzhou and having to cross it to change bus stations.

Two hours’ later, I was told “No ticket until tomorrow, 5:00,” too late to join Zoe and Bear for Yellow Mountain. I knew no one in Ningbo, had someone write down the symbols for hotel, and went to McDonald’s for a coffee to chase the multitudinous cups of tea the past few days. I decided Hangzhou would work better, so I bought a ticket and found the right queue. Darkness descended out the bus window.

I easily got an East Station cab to “Xi Zhan”–to find it a dark hulking building with hoards of people pouring through the “Way Out” gate. I tried to enter: “No, no, no!” The guard was proud of his one-word vocabulary. I tried to ask him where to buy a ticket to LinAn. Mr. No-no shook his finger and shouted again. I shouted back in my indignant teacher voice, and he directed me past people bedding down on benches outside the station. So much for “Bus leaves West Station every fifteen minutes for LinAn!”

I called Zoe, learned they were in her hometown and had no idea why the station closed, “Maybe Moon Cake Festival holiday?” Thankfully, Alan and Dana were home. They had an extra bed. Two hours’ later and three calls later, the cabbie had dropped me at Zhejiang University gate–not 22 Xixi Lu gate, where we parked and inquired the whereabouts of Alan’s reported address, “47 Xixi Lu.” I saw Alan’s tall form crossing to meet me. Whew!

Next morning, I browsed and bought tomes in the English section of BooksUUU bookstore, riding on the back of Dana’s bike. What a picture we must have made–two foreigners pedaling among black-headed Chinese. She took off for a futile search for CATS tickets; it seemed that scalpers had bought them all up. Noodles at a Muslim shop fortified me for what I might find at West Station. It was bustling, and I got on a bus within 15 minutes for LinAn. Doing laundry and knocking about in pajamas to write this never felt so good!