Lonely in Shanghai

Shanghai is a lovely place to be if there is someone fun to share it with. Otherwise it can be a sort of lonely place. How weird is that? Being in the most populous city of the most populous country on the face of the earth and feeling “lonely”. Due to some urgent family matters, shortly after returning from Peter’s wedding Monique turned around and went back to the US for several weeks. During that time I have to admit I got a bit lonely.

For me, alone times like this cause minutes to stretch into hours. I always remedy this by hitting the streets and going exploring. With Mo gone I decide it is a unique opportunity to go scout some places we might like to visit together later. After asking around about less-traveled places, I learn of a city in the mountains called Anji. Anji is inconvenient enough to get to (no direct train service and limited airline service) and far enough away (3 hour bus trip) that so far it has remained relatively undiscovered – especially by foreigners.  A city of 450,000, Anji is set at the foot of some grandiose, rugged and steep mountains covered with ancient Bamboo forests. I had heard that scenes from “Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon” were filmed there. I had to go!! So I arranged to go during the 3-day weekend of Labor Day (May 1).

After a keystone cops episode of trying to find the right bus station, making sure I got the right bus and eventually finding the right seat, after my 3+ hour “bus tour of the lower Yangtze River Delta”, I finally arrived in Anji at about 5:00 at night. The bus station in this smallish city was downtown, close to the city plaza which was a-buzz with a carnival-like environment of people and peddlers – all in town to celebrate (or make money during) Labor Day. My walk to the hotel, only blocks away, was a precursor of enjoyable things to come. It is Late Spring / Early Summer here and the temperature was perfect. More important for me was the immediate feel of clean fresh air. Although Anji is small, it is a blue-collar town and I had been warned of possible pollution. Not so. Other than the dust that had recently blown in from a Gobi Desert dust storm in far western China, it was (mostly) fragrant and clean.  Smells of grilled meats, and a wide array of fresh fruits as well as weird “why would I EVER buy THAT” types of things made for an interesting stroll through the plaza. Based on how I was received, apparently few foreigners come to Anji, and fewer still that are old foreign guys with full-sized backpacks traveling by themselves. I was met with not a few stares followed by wide toothy grins from everyone ranging from babies (without the toothy grins) to weathered old men and women.

Given that there were no English speaking TV channels and my Chinese is not yet sufficient to keep up with Chinese TV shows, I spent a lot of time surveying the city from my 9th floor room at the top of the tallest building in town. As the sun set and the city lights came on I could easily see into the lives of the families who live in the 2-3 blocks immediately behind the hotel. I felt a little like Jimmy Stewart in the movie Rear Window. If only I’d had some binoculars! At least now I know how to do my laundry the same way Chinese families do (pretty much EVERYONE was doing their laundry on their back balcony).

What an odd experience I had at 5:30 the next morning hearing the music of Jingle Bells wafting through my open window? “What was THAT?” my foggy brain was trying to decipher. It was one of those “where am I?” kind of moments.

                I sprang from my bed and threw open the sash,

                to find it was workers, collecting the trash. 

Seriously – the way the trash guys let you know they are on your street (and thus you should get up and bring your trash down) is by playing – wait for it – Jingle Bells. What an appropriate song, don’t you think? The whole experience was Monty-Python-esque. “Bring out your dead”.

The complimentary breakfast is served at 6:30 am. Wanting to get an early start, and already having been wakened by Christmas songs, at that early hour I thought I’d be the only one there. Far from it, the place was a beehive. Turns out Chinese breakfast is pretty much the same as Chinese dinner. Hmmmm, I wonder if it WAS Chinese dinner from last night? (sarcastic grin - I have to remember they don’t get many foreigners here.)  Most of the selections didn’t fit my palette, but I was grateful to see a guy cooking eggs to order, and there were some wonderful fresh fruits, as well as some other bread-like items that were different, but not bad. I also looked forward to some of the Orange Juice I saw on the beverage table. Oddly, it was too hot to drink. I finally figured out that it was powdered fruit juice, and they no doubt had to boil the water from which they made the juice – thus it was hot. OK, I can handle that. At least they boiled the water!

I was up and out by 7:30 am. From there I took an hour long taxi ride into the mountains to a place whose name translates to “Big Ocean of Bamboo”. Just from the name you can almost imagine the scenes. After getting instructions from the cab driver about how I should get back to town, then passing the ever-present peddlers – ALL of whom sell the exact same thing as the guy next to them – I made my way to the entry gate. The young men manning the gate dared each other to try to speak English to me. The girls just giggled. Asking if I was the first foreigner of the day, they all confirmed my suspicion. Unfortunately they did not buy my story that the first foreigner of the day was supposed to get in free. We laughed, I paid. Doesn’t hurt to try.

I noted that everyone was following each other along the same route towards a well-worn pathway. I spied “a road less traveled” to my left and took it. As I made my way into the forest I heard a weird high pitched whine above me and looked up to spot a guy on a zip line some 200-250 feet over my head (that’s like a 15-20 story building). He was making the ¼ mile crossing from one side of the steep canyon to the other at lightning fast speeds. Guess where I headed?  The higher I climbed up the side of the mountain, the less certain I was that I wanted to do this. This was seriously high!

When I arrived at the take-off point and saw the rickety equipment I was even less sure. The “safety platform” that jutted out from the mountain just as you take off, was made of bamboo and didn’t seem too solid in the first place. Worse, it was falling apart – certainly NOT designed to instill confidence. But I figured that there were lots of people who were successfully making the crossing and I would probably regret NOT doing this, so I proceeded to suit up. Of course I would be safe! After all, I figured, how many times do you ever hear of catastrophes in China due to lack of inspection and improper maintenance of equipment?  . . . . . . . OK, scratch that last part.

So enduring wise cracks about foreigners from the jovial veteran zip line operator, I slip on my harness. He animatedly yells at the younger harness-putter-oner, pointing out that the selected harness had a defect, carefully pointing it out for me (and the gawking crowd of over 50 people) to see. “Better use that one” he says, pointing to another one.  Gulp. Now terrified, but with lots of onlookers, I only have one choice. I must continue. I slip on the new, “safer” harness and get attached to one of the two zip lines. They instruct me to sit down, placing all my weight in the harness as a test. “No, no, no” says my friendly old zip line guy. I stand up and they disconnect me from the first line and connect me to the second line, which I now realize is thicker. “This is good” I think. Then from somewhere in the crowd I hear someone say in heavily accented Chinglish “too heavy”.  I look at Mr. Zip Line to realize this WHOLE thing has been a show. He grins and winks, and instructs the younger guy to send me off. Whoosh!

Yikes. In seconds I am screaming (speed-wise, not literally) across the canyon. I look down to realize exactly how high I am. The people look like ants and the few vehicles in the parking lot down the canyon look like Hot Wheels. I don’t look down for too long. Faster than expected I’m half way across. All of a sudden the line starts to wobble and a shot of major fear runs through me. Trying to understand what the problem might be, 50 yards ahead I see the stopper-guy is tugging on the cable. At first I thought he was trying to scare me, but then I realize he was just trying to get my attention (he did). He is yelling for me to put my head back. I do as he says and discover that somehow aerodynamically by putting your head back it lines you up for landing. My legs automatically rotate forward and all of a sudden I’m face-first into the dusty mattress that acts as the backstop in case Mr. Catcher-man can’t catch you like most Catcher-men can. Given that Mr. Catcher-man couldn’t catch me, harkening back to the comment on the other side of the canyon, I guess I was indeed “too heavy”.

I’ve been warned that sometimes less is more, and sometimes I give more when I should give less. Ergo, I will simply say that the rest of that day was an amazing set of experiences ranging from solitary hikes in the bamboo forest to careening taxi rides in a weird three wheeled “car” on a road carved out of the canyon walls, to visiting one of China’s Panda sanctuaries, to wandering around Anji in the evening making friends at the carnival.

But wait, there’s more.

Day 3 starts just like Day 2. I guess they collect trash every morning. After breakfast, I call my same taxi-driver friend from yesterday who takes me up to “100 Waterfalls Grotto”. I have learned of this place from a person I met on the city plaza last night. She’s an English teacher and wanted to speak “real” English with a “real” English speaker. At the end of the day I am profoundly grateful that she directed me to this spot.

After the 1+ hour trip into the mountains, I am dropped off with my backpack (I didn’t carry it the day before) in this small town that is crammed impossibly into a wide spot of this otherwise unbuildable canyon. The driver points to a path between two buildings telling me that this is the take-off point up the mountain. We agree that he will come back by 3:00 pm so I can get back down the mountain to make my 5:00 bus trip back to Shanghai. We synchronize watches and separate.

From there I begin a 2 hour hike up the steepest canyon I've ever hiked. For those who live in the Layton/Kaysville area north of Salt Lake City, Utah, this canyon can be compared to Andy Adams Canyon on a double dose of steroids. It is called “100 Waterfalls Grotto” for a reason. (Duh) There are easily 100 waterfalls within the canyon on the climb to the top. Some of the waterfalls are magnificent, some of them are quiet. Many are hidden and out of view. The trail is formed primarily of ladders, raised catwalks and bridge-like contraptions, constructed of Rebar built into the sides of, and above the steep canyon. Early on I had seen signs encouraging women not to climb the canyon in high heels – of course I thought the sign was silly and unnecessary – until I noticed that pretty much everybody climbing the canyon appeared to be dressed as though they were attending a wedding. Men in suits, women in dresses wearing high heels, and many carrying designer bags and even their small pets. Silly me, there I was with my hiking boots and backpack – how unnecessary!  (We’ve discovered that on holidays people dress up and go out – even if they are going to climb a mountain! This is just one more of the odd nuances of China.)

Unfortunately, the concept of “Take only pictures, leave only footprints” has not taken hold here yet. With every step I am aghast at the amount of plastic bottles, cigarettes and food trash that has been thoughtlessly tossed into this beautiful river. Maybe you remember in the 60’s and 70’s (OK, I’m dating myself) the many commercials and ads encouraging Americans to place trash in its proper place and to “Keep America Beautiful”. For the most part that campaign appears to have worked in the US – except maybe in the south. I well recall moving to Lake Charles, Louisiana and, upon arriving in my new neighborhood, finding all manner of trash indiscriminately thrown into the roadside ditches. That trash included everything INCLUDING the kitchen sink - literally. I remember being appalled then and I was similarly appalled in 100 Waterfalls Grotto. Despite the frustration over the trash – the grandeur of this place is overwhelming.

Once at the top everyone treated it as "the end of the road". I did not anticipate that there would be a small village at the top of the mountain, however, it seems that in this populous country people will find a place to live anywhere they can. Determined to really get away from it all, I found another trail leading towards a small peak at the top of these high mountains, so I took off on foot again. After crossing a series of raised terraced rice paddies, the trail crept into a bamboo forest. I followed along, remembering to keep my bearings. No one knew where I was and I had no cell reception up here. If I got lost or hurt, I was on my own.

The trail quietly retreated from civilization. With every step the scene before me became more ethereal while the sounds of commotion faded away. Before long, I found myself alone, deep in a beautiful forest of tall and stately bamboo. The wind wafted through the bamboo leaves creating a beautiful continuous rustling sound. I couldn't hear a single man-made sound – a first for me since arriving in China. Sunlight dissipated through the various-colored green leaves high in the canopy of the bamboo forest, creating an amazing light-green hue . . . almost like wearing bamboo-green colored sunglasses.

I frequently hear foreigners talk about seeing "the real China". I always wonder what they envision with that statement. I can certify that “the real China” is overpopulated, unsanitary, loud, stinky and polluted (did I hold back too much?), but what I was able to experience on that mountain that day was probably what the "old" China was all about. I could almost see some Confucian scholar meditating in the bamboo forest, painting a scroll or writing Chinese poetry.  OK, maybe that's a little overboard, but you catch my drift.

On the way back down, not far off the trail, I spotted a stand-alone open-walled hut built on a raised platform in the side of the hill. As I descended I heard someone call out to me in Chinese. When I responded, across the open rice paddies I could hear them say “It’s a FOREIGNER!” They excitedly invited me up for a cup of bamboo tea. I unloaded my heavy pack and we chatted a while, sharing stories and taking pictures. I suspect it was as unusual for them as it was for me. Maybe they are writing on their blog about the unusual old foreign guy that came out of the woods one day. It was pretty cool.

As I start my descent back to meet the cab driver I am part of a virtual parade of people returning from their individual adventures. At one point a fellow traveler tells me the Chinese have an ancient saying about climbing down the mountain: “Climbing up is easy, returning home is painful” (it sounds much more poetic in Chinese). At first I don’t fully understand what he means, but in no time my quivering calves explain the statement. I discover the muscles you use to slow down your descent are seldom used and thus quickly susceptible to fatigue. I am shocked and impressed to see old (I mean REALLY OLD) women casually sauntering down the mountain. For me, I’m struggling. With every step my legs grow more painful and shaky. I am just short of that feeling where you know your legs are going to cramp up any second. In my mind I can just see the moment when my knees finally buckle and everyone gets to watch the silly guy with the backpack and hiking shoes bounce and roll down the steep path. That vision is enough to cause me to pause frequently, pretending to chat with curious folk, when in actuality I just need a rest.

During the lengthy return trip I am befriended by three curious young Chinese – 2 girls and a guy. The girls don’t speak English but he does – sort of. He tells the girls to walk ahead. I find out why – he wants to tell me that he likes the cute girl on the left. This is their first “date” and he is excited about getting to know her. They work at the same factory and he has had his eye on her for a while. He finally got his friend, the “other” girl, to introduce them – so today is their first time getting to know each other. Sort of a chaperoned blind date. It seems like this is standard procedure in the courting game here. I ask him why he is wasting time with me? He says he is embarrassed and nervous to talk to her. I explain that women like two things: a confident guy and to be the center of a guy’s attention, and that by talking to me he is ruining his chances with her – get your butt down the trail and talk to HER. For another 15 minutes he doesn’t catch my drift, so finally I have to get rude and simply blurt out that I am tired of talking to him and he should get out of my face (again, it sounded better in Chinese.) I felt bad, but reason that I may have just helped this guy more than he will ever know. Someday he may figure it out and forgive my rudeness. Maybe they’ll name their first (only) kid after me? Doubt it.

Fortunately, my cab-driver friend is on time and we make it safely down the narrow rutty road and back to the bus station with time to spare. Other than the long drive made longer by the “returning from holiday traffic” the trip back home is uneventful.

A couple of more additional lonely days go by while Monique is still in the states, then finally the happy day arrives for her to come home. On a (for others) non-descript Thursday night Monique finally touches down. For me it was an amazing exciting day, but for the rest of the world it was just another Thursday.

Interesting how small things can change the world. In this case simply replacing the letter “N” with the letter “V” changes a lonely life to a lovely life. No longer lonely in Shanghai.

For those who would like to follow along with photos, click HERE

Jay