Taoist Temples, Haunted Hotels
ZHOUZHANG, CHINA
APRIL 17
The drive from Shanghai to Zhouzhang took us through terrible traffic,
heavy smog, and past a billboard advertising snake meat.
The photo showed a deep-fried snake, baring its fangs. It made me a
little queasy. Just as well the smog obscured the photo.
Canals of Zhouzhang.
Our "Intrepid" group was headed to Zhouzhang, the "Venice of China."
Although famous throughout China, this small town is relatively unknown in the
western world.
"Just try and find it in your Lonely Planet," dared the Intrepid
handout. So I tried. And it was there, under Zhouzheng. Rob was a bit flustered
when I showed him this, but he took the news well.
The town was packed with Chinese tourists (who were sightseeing us in
addition to the canals), but as promised, there were few westerners. Zhouzhang
was a quaint, old-style town, with no vehicles allowed in the center. The roads
were the dirty, picturesque canals, and only pedestrians could pass through the
narrow, stone lanes.
Zhengdu Hall, a historic home in the center of Zhouzhang, was our hotel
for the night. There weren't enough rooms, so the three single male travelers
bunked together, and I stayed in the downstairs room with Rob.
Normally, Rob would've bunked with the two males and I would've shared with my pal Yancey. But there was a catch at Zhengdu Hall. One of the upstairs
rooms was haunted. And Rob was petrified of ghosts.
I tormented Rob mercilessly, and threatened to wear a sheet into the
room later. I don't have a problem accepting that there are things in existence
that I cannot see. I cannot see atoms, but I know they exist. I am not totally
a Scully of yore, but I don't believe that ghosts are necessarily 1)capable of
conscious thought and 2)evil, and 3)out to get me. Swiss-German Hans and his
son Hauser had laughed the ghost threat off and taken the haunted room with
good cheer.
Rob was suffering from traveler's illness, and we left him behind to
hog the toilet, while Yancey and I and six others went to rent a gondola.
The pier was inside a stone cottage, containing winding steel railings
that gave the impression that we were waiting in line at Disneyland, perhaps
for the "Secret Waterways of the Orient" ride. We boarded, and an older man
poled our gondola down the narrow canal, under arched bridges and past
atmospheric teahouses. And past the haunted hotel, where Rob was either napping
or acquainting himself more intimately with the inner workings of our bathroom.
I wish I could say that we were alone on the scenic canals, but we were in just
one of the many tourist gondolas in Zhouzhang. We were unique, however, in our
skin colors, and Chinese tourists took as many photos of us as they did of the
UNESCO World Heritage Site around them.
Boat operator.
Our canal cruise ended near Zhengdu Hall, as our gondola driver's cell
phone rang. We thanked him (he ignored us, busy with his phone call) and
strolled through the lanes of Zhouzhang.
Bridge over canal.
The houses were straight out of "Raise the Red Lantern," with tile
roofs, carved doors, and red lanterns swinging from wooden eaves. Souvenir
sellers were everywhere, hawking postcards, trinkets, and strangely, ceramic
figures of little boys looking up little girl's skirts.
Artist at work.
I took my turn at the "dragon bowls." For two yuan, I could try to make
the water jump. An old woman sat with a metal tub of water. She rubbed the
tub's handles back and forth, creating friction that caused droplets of water
to jump out of the bowl and into the air. I failed miserably at first -- and
the woman grabbed a bar of soap and washed my hands. Humiliated but undaunted,
I gave it another try. I, too, made the water dance.
Making the water jump in a dragon bowl.
There were pig knuckles for sale everywhere
in Zhouzhang. Or pork hocks. Or something like that. It wasn't totally clear
what they were, but this delicacy obviously came from the leg or foot of a pig.
And from the rampant supply of pig knuckles on display throughout town, I'd say
there were quite a few hapless hogs rolling around on skateboards.
Pork hocks for sale, cheap!
These pig knuckles, decked out in orange sauce and lacking
refrigeration, did not look appealing to me. Nevertheless, three of our
fearless tourists decided to try this local specialty. Yancey, Michael, and Tim
split a hock. With dexterity and skill reminiscent of Edward Scissorhands, the
butcher grabbed scissors and chopped it into shredded pork in seconds.
Cutting up the pork.
"Mmmmm," said Yancey. "This is good. It's all fat. Want some?"
I declined, and shared some chestnuts with Emma, Tim's vegetarian
girlfriend.
The guys test their digestive tracts. Tasty pork hocks.
Later, the guys bonded upstairs. They had managed to lure Rob onto the
ghost floor. I took my new Rohan travel trousers (ordered by me via the
internet, shipped to Lynne in the UK, sent to Yancey in the US, and hand-
carried to me in Shanghai) across the canal to a seamstress for hemming.
It seemed that I was the first foreigner to stumble into the
seamstress' store. She was a class act, however, and after her initial
surprise, she got right to work. I showed her that my pants were too long. She
measured me and started cutting. She chattered to me in Mandarin, and I chatted
back in English. Neither of us had a clue what our conversation was about.
Grandma and chicken.
We must've looked like we were having a lot of fun because four local
women dropped by to join the party. One of them offered to buy my leftover
fabric for four yuan. I pretended not to understand and left it for the
seamstress.
The only interaction I was certain was clear to all parties was my
explanation of the Rohan's purpose. I was trying to demonstrate that travel
trousers were durable and easy to care for (why else would anyone wear such
ugly pants?). I gave up trying to indicate "quick-drying" and crumpled a pant
leg. I released and look -- no wrinkles!
"Ahhhh," said my appreciative audience.
I met up with Yancey, Rob, and Carl for a sunset walk to the river. We
stumbled through the back door of a temple (for, ahem, free) and sat down to
watch the sun go down.
Temple at sunset.
Offhand, Rob mentioned that we might be able to go to Shaolin Temple
while visiting Luoyang.
This sent us Americans into an excitable tizzy. Yancey and I were both
Hong Kong cinema fans, and Shaolin would be a pilgrimage for us. Yancey started
quoting Kung Fu movies while I ranted about hopping vampires. Rob realized he
had a cooperative audience, but warned us that we could only go as a group. I
decided to lobby the others.
Rob's response to my hopping vampire stories (you stop them by slapping
a yellow paper charm on their foreheads) was to tell me about the Drain Monster
he'd been afraid of as a child. That sounded like nonsense to me, so I told him
of my fear of the Bunny Man. The Bunny Man dressed in a rabbit suit and carried
an axe. Kind of an unpleasant Peter Cottontail. Yancey and Rob mocked my fear
of the Bunny Man, and suddenly the ghost in Zhengdu Hall seemed a lot less
scary. The guys decided that if there was a ghost, he'd probably try to sell us
postcards.
"Oooo, postcards, fifteen yuan," would be the ghost's opening line.
"Fifteen! That's ridiculous. Ten," would respond the savvy tourist.
"Booooooo," would say the ghost.
"Okay, okay, fifteen!"
Dinner was a group meal where no one ordered seafood after noting that
half the fish in the "pick your dinner" tank were floating upside-down. As we
walked back to the guesthouse, we noticed a cheering crowd across the road. We
investigated, Rob at the head of our inquisitive party.
It was a makeshift carnival game, where cheap prizes were handed out if
you could get a ball through the hoop.
I volunteered Yancey, and he managed to get one ball through the hoop.
We oohed and aahed, and the crowd went along with us, hooting the Chinese
equivalent of "ooh," which sounded eerily similar to the English "ooh." Yancey
scored better than Rob, who got no balls through.
"Oooooh!" we all yelled, even though Rob hadn't scored.
Emma was up next, and she won a "Kate" doll with her record of two
sunken balls. She gave the doll to a small Chinese girl who was watching with
wide eyes. I only scored one, and was rewarded with a plastic demon head, whose
red gel eyeballs popped out when squeezed. I left it on Rob's bedside table,
facing him as a morning surprise.
Boat operator.
SUZHOU, CHINA
APRIL 18
No ghosts had appeared during the night, and my dreams had been only of
the Marvel bullpen. The beer bottle that had been soaking in the bathroom sink
had disappeared -- Rob collects labels from beer bottles around the world --
and Rob had gone out to photograph the sunrise with Yancey.
We packed up and all met to walk to the speedboat that was going to
take us down the river towards Suzhou.
Boat from Zhouzhang to Suzhou.
Two Chinese tourists boarded the boat with us. They were keen
photographers, and called our attention to a number of Kodak moments (all
covered in dense smog), until they finally were comfortable enough to start
photographing us tourists.
We passed fishing beds, all cordoned off with netting, and a number of
fishing houseboats, where the morning chores were getting done. Dogs and
bicycles were plentiful on the small boats we passed.
Finally, we reached Tongle Town, where we were to catch a minibus to
Suzhou. We carried our packs to the bus meeting point, but the bus wasn't
there. A crowd gathered around to stare.
"It isn't so much our skin color," explained Rob. "It's the whole
package -- the westerners traveling with the giant packs, walking instead of
watching from a giant tourbus."
Rather than hang out like we were in a zoo, we walked through Tongle
Town to find the bus.
Small town en route to Suzhou.
"Promote tourism to help with development," exhorted the banners
straddling the streets. Presumably, these slogans were also written in
Mandarin. Unless they were just for our benefit, and the translation
read: "play along with us so that Beijing can get the 2008 Olympics."
Grandma. En route to Suzhou.
Rob sat down by the bus and watched our packs, while we quickly had a
look at the town.
A parade started up, and we were surrounded by colorful dragons and
middle-aged women in duck outfits. A few people spit absent-mindedly. The famed
Chinese propensity to spit had begun, but not yet with a vengeance.
Everyone loves a parade.
Yancey, Michael, and I were distracted by the parade, and by the abacus
used by a convenience store clerk. Our bus was ready to go by the time we
returned to our group.
At the convenience store.
A symphony of horns surrounded us as we drove to Suzhou's "Dong Wu"
hotel. Every time Rob tried to address us, he was interrupted by a honking
horn. Which is perfectly normal in China, as everyone uses their horns (or bike
bells if they are automotively-challenged) to express every emotion, including
the popular "I'm bored from sitting in traffic" emotion.
If only it were staged. Marie and Rob discuss directions. Photo by Michael.
We checked in. I was back to my single room, with Yancey and Michael
sharing a double. We all rented bikes and went for a ride around Suzhou.
Conferring over directions in Suzhou. Photo by Michael.
The city was huge, and we were lucky to have bicycles to cover the
miles. There were many gardens, all packed with Chinese tourists, and a few
quaint streets. Mostly, Suzhou was a modern city of shopping centers, car
traffic, and separate bike lanes. McDonald's, KFC, and Pizza Hut were all
represented on the main drag.
Commercial center of Suzhou.
We stumbled onto the main drag by accident. We were looking for
the "Temple of Mystery," a Taoist complex that sounded appealing. Instead of
being pleasant, however, it represented modern China encroaching on ancient
China. The "Temple of Mystery" represented today's China successfully -- it was
dedicated to an ancient religion, but was surrounded by Pizza Hut. Tacky
souvenirs were sold in the back, and we bought one each. They scanned in our
photo and pasted it onto the image of the temple. This was a popular souvenir
at all major tourist destinations. Scan your photo in next to the Great Wall!
Show you were there. How this differed from taking a photo in front of the
actual site wasn't really clear.
What a souvenir!
Michael and I headed off to see the North Pagoda, which offered a great
view of the smoggy Suzhou skyline. It was ten yuan to approach the pagoda,
another five to climb to the seventh floor, and then one more yuan to climb up
to eight. Tired of shelling out cash every few minutes, we halted at seven.
Northern Pagoda, Suzhou.
Suzhou seen from pagoda.
I was going to the post office, so I split with Michael at the main
road. We studied the map so that he could bike back to the hotel without
getting lost.
"Pass this KFC icon and take the next left," I said. The map's
landmarks were all KFC's. Suzhou, with navigation by the Colonel, I thought.
After posting my cards home, I was all alone, so I snuck to McDonald's,
where I pointed at a photo of "no. 1" to order a Big Mac, fries, and a Coke. It
was rush hour and the streets were packed with traffic, so I had to walk my
bike down a ramp to a bike underpass to get to the golden arches. And then when
I got there, I had to pay a parking attendant to park my bike. Bicycling is an
art in China. I hadn't quite mastered it, and was terrified to bike back
through the dense bike lane at rush hour. To complicate matters, mopeds also
use the bike lanes, so there are all kinds of two-wheeled vehicles going at
different speeds. And I was constantly distracted by the horrendous beige-
colored pantyhose worn by the businesswomen.
Later that night, our local guide took us to a touristy Chinese culture
variety show at the "Master of the Nets" garden. Groups of tourists walked from
pavilion to pavilion to view different aspects of Chinese culture. One featured
Chinese opera, another a folk dancer, another featured a musician on the
zither. Our local guide was tedious, and his accent unfortunate. It sounded
like he said that we were going to see "fuck dancing" and "colorful panties."
Everyone struggled not to giggle.
SUZHOU, CHINA
APRIL 19
Silk museum highlight.
Yancey, Michael and I visited the Silk Museum, which housed an
interesting collection of historical silk cloth in addition to a mangy stuffed
cat. It was all good fun until I pointed out that silk kills silkworms, boils
them to death, in fact.
Getting silk from worms.
The guys went off to race around the countryside on bicycles, while I
locked myself in an internet cafe. We left Suzhou in the evening, on an
overnight "soft sleeper" train bound for Luoyang.
NEXT: the promised cicada-eating contest! Yancey and Michael punch a Shaolin monk!
