Emails From Xinjiang

Xinjiang, the Westernmost Province of China

The following is a post-edited (for grammar and expression) compilation of emails sent to Madeline and Joy

Sent: Wed, May 20 0646 Beijing Time

Urumqi1

Hi girls

Arrived safely in Urumqi, but went to bed early in the evening after a short walk exploring the city. It is just like any other Han Chinese city, except that it has a huge Uighur quarter. I tried to locate the hotel where we last stayed in 2006, but could not find it.

For dinner I went to the restaurant recommended by my guide book. I ordered pilaff rice (polo) cooked with chunks of lamb and carrots with raisins, two skewers of lamb kebab, and 酸奶(sour milk). I had expected the sour milk to be a sort of lassi drink, but it turned out to be more of a yoghurt form, to be eaten with a spoon and optional sugar. I had also expected the pilaff to be like our biryani, but I was disappointed. The rice comes soggy, with chunks of fatty lamb. I mistook the colourful but tasteless yellow carrots for capsicum. Initially I had asked for chicken polo, but they had no other meat but lamb. The strong smell of lamb can be quite off-putting, and will be especially so for Mum I am sure. The kebabs are a little better, spicy and tasty, but very fatty. I bit into a mouthful of fat, and quietly spitted it out when I thought no one was looking. I did not enjoy the meal, but will give the food another chance. In any case there is always KFC to fall back on.

Today I will go to the Provincial Museum to see the multi-millenium old corpse exhibits for which Xinjiang is famous.. And to continue to practice the Uighur language. There is a considerable amount of interest and goodwill when they know that I am not Chinese,. Besides, I never fail to let them know that. ‘Yahximu siz, men Singapurdin kelidim - How are you, I am from Singapore’ or ‘Rahmat sizge – Thank you’. It goes a long way to allay the suspicions of the locals towards me. Due to their unhappy history, the Hans and Uighurs are always wary of each other.To make matters worse, the Han immigrant makes no effort to understand the cultural practices of their Uighur compatriots. Is there any wonder then that there are independence seeking movements such as the Turkish Islamic Republic of East Turkestan (TIRET). I believe there are some lessons here about racial and social harmony that Singapore can offer.

Dad

Sent:Thu, May 21 0914 Beijing Time

Urumqi2

Hi

I had a good day yesterday, and overslept this morning, till 730. My one and a half hour flight to Kashgar will be at 1405, and I have checked out the free bus service to the airport. The China Southern Airlines office a few blocks away provide free shuttle. I stumbled upon it by accident.

After writing to you yesterday I took a bus to a place about 25km away. It was supposed to be the geographic centre of Asia, the point furthest away from all the oceans. How it was determined escapes me. It is much like deciding on who is the one millionth visitor to Singapore Changi Airport, not quite rocket science!

Of course I had lunch at KFC yesterday. I tried the black pepper beef wrap set. It was good but not adequate, so I ordered another piece of chicken and a blueberry egg tart. Yummy. On the next table sat five young lads from Turkmenistan, whom I mistook for their ethnic cousins the Uighurs. They are studying Chinese in Urumqi. Only one can converse in English. All have heard and thought well of Singapore.

When leaving KFC I found out that there is a food court on the 4^th level. The food looked good and the place very clean. I will surely come over for a meal.

Here it doesn’t get dark till 1030 at night. For dinner, at eight, I went to a local Uighur restaurant for their kebab and ban mian拌面. This time it is slightly better, but only just. There was plenty of liver and gizzard among the meat and vegetables. The evening was chilly and the food quickly became cold as I sat in the open portion of the restaurant, This well patronised restaurant was named after the Chinese singer Dao Lang刀郎 whose mournful song about Urumqi in winter topped the charts a few years back. Tuck On and myself each bought a CD in Chengdu when I visited him then. In Urumqi at least I have a choice of food. I think I may have a problem in Kashgar.

Dad

Sent: Fri, May 22 1751 Beijing Time

Kashgar1

Hi girls

I moved hotel this morning. Upon my arrival in Kashgar yesterday I checked into the new wing of the Chinibagh Hotel, the former British Consulate. Although it is supposedly in the new wing the hotel room is typical of those 3 or 4 star hotels in other parts of China. The room was stuffy, the carpet worn, the toilet leaked, and the wardrobe doors creaked. The breakfast is the usual substandard fare. Imagine my delight when I discovered a brand new Home Inn a few doors away. I wasted no time in moving. Besides it cost 80 yuan less, and everything about the place is brand new! This is clearly the best Home Inn I’ve lived in. Its really comfortable, with everything in place, even the exact position of the bedside light switch, just like in your own home.

The former British Consulate, the Chinibagh Hotel and the former Russian Consulate, the Seman are relics of the Great Game of the mid to late19th century, a period when China was at its weakest poltiically. They were then great centres for spying on each other. The likes of Francis Younghusband stayed at the Chinibagh, whereas equally well known Prejevalsky stayed at the Seman.

Yesterday I explored the city on foot and by bus. Food is a problem. I couldn’t find a clean enough restaurant. Finally I ate at an average looking restaurant near the famous Id Kah Mosque, with predictably disastrous consequence. I had 3 skewers of lamb kebab, yet again, and a bowl of laghman, a sort of kwayteow in meat sauce. Earlier in the evening I made friends with some locals at a tea kiosk, and was offered a complimentary ice-cream, since I was their honoured guest from Singapore.

In my few days here I haven’t once encountered anyone hostile as yet. All, including the old lady in the bus this morning to Opal, offered nothing but welcome and goodwill. They do look at you with suspicion initially, but you have only to make simple conversation with them to put them at ease. I do it with my favourite words – men Singapurdin keldim, I am from Singapore. They never fail to express compliment.

As they say ‘Hands up, those who have never crapped in their pants’.

It happened to me this afternoon, on my way back. Earlier I had taken the bus to Mahmud Kashgari Masouleum 45km away in the outskirts. The return fare is really cheap, and the sights along the way, interesting. Believe it or not, the total transport charges, by local bus of course, is only 14 yuan, $3. Its incredible. If I had joined a group tour, it would have set me back by more than 100 yuan!

On the bus back I started to feel the need to go, for the big one. After holding back all the way to the hotel, right up to getting off the lift on my floor level, I pooped! Okay, I know what you girls are thinking, but it just happened. Like I suspected, it was either the laghman or the ice cream. Never mind, my tummy would now have gotten used to the kind of new bacteria, so I should be OK from now on, but one can never be too sure.

After writing this I will take the bus to the nearby orchard garden where there will be traditional singing and dancing, and then to the world reknown Kashgar Bazaar, reminiscent of the ancient Silk Road. Ciao! As Marco would say.

Dad

Sent: Fri May 22 2259 Beijing Time

Kashgar2

Hi girls

I bought 1kilo of almonds, and 1kilo of raisins, after much bargaining. Who is going to eat them you might ask, I don’t know. I just had to buy something from the Silk Road Bazaar. Yes, I was also persuaded to buy two pieces of vanity mirrors by a smooth talking Uighur merchant: one for your wife, and one for your daughter, he suggested. Personally I think they are very pretty. See them for yourselves.

On the crowded bus leaving the Bazaar, I gave up my seat to an elderly lady. That caught the attention of two local men in their forties, seated at the back of the bus who nodded their approval. The bus was packed with lots of people, some of whom also lugged heavy bulky items with them.

It was time for the two men to alight, and one of them motioned to me to take over his seat. As I was barely seated, one of the alighting men was seen manhandling and verbally abusing a young man, accusing him of pickpocketing. I quickly checked my own pockets. Safe. I’m sure I will know if anyone tried to lift my walletJ I know what you both are thinking! I would deserve it when that happens, right?

Yesterday I witnessed another commotion, right across the Id Kah Mosque. Two men were fighting in the middle of the road, causing a gridlock in rush hour traffic. I wish I had the guts to film it, but thought the better of it. Unfortunately, I must be the only one there who didn’t know what they were fighting about.

Another thing worth mentioning. I saw two sets of twins today, and I am not talking about Copy and Paste. The set I saw on the bus reminds me of Satoshi Sato of Leedon Heights. Decked out in colourful Uighur costume, they have big lolling heads and sleepy eyes, chubby cheeks and a somewhat dumb look. I would have loved to take a picture, but I didn’t dare ask as there were so many people in the bus.

Another pair I saw walking down the street. One was playfully jaywalking, and her father took her aside for a sound spanking. Ha ha! So cute. I wonder if multiple births are more common amongst the Uighurs. I know for a proven fact that it is among the Nigerians.

Tomorrow I leave for the more remote of the Tarim Basin towns, Khotan. It is famous for white jade, carpets and silk. Not to worry, I wont be able to afford any of these.

Bye, and not sure of writing in the next few days.

Dad

Sent: Tue May 26 1255 Beijing Time

Kashgar-Khotan-Korla

Hi girls

I thought I heard a clap of thunder last night but was too sleepy to think too much of it. Thunderstorms in the desert? This morning I woke up to a power failure. I am not sure if it is city wide or only affecting the hotel. I am writing to you on battery power and will send this when the power resumes. Outside it looks dusty and hazy, with very poor visibility. I was told that this is normal in summer and will get much better in the autumn months.

I have not written since leaving Kashgar, so I shall continue from thenceforth.

The bus trip from Kashgar took 11 hrs, along the ancient southern Silk Road. It was worth every minute of the time. As I was early I sat on the front left window seat. My fellow passengers were mainly Uighur peasants travelling to other oasis towns along the way. Although it was a public bus, a group of Han military men seem to treat it like their own. They made the Uighur driver pick up their bulky belongings from their well fortified garrison in Shule outside Kashgar, and drop them off at the gates of their destination outside Khotan. That added more than an hour to the normal journey. I protested to the driver of course but he simply shrugged it off.

Outside the town of Yengisar, famous for their homemade knives, a Han Chinese farmer boarded the bus and sat next to me. He looked much older than his 51 years. He had two heavy sacks with him and I couldn’t resist asking him what they were. He showed off his 10kg bag of freshly dug potatoes which he got for only 2 yuan a kilo. He dug them out himself, he told me proudly. The other sack contained some sort of tuber(木薯) for his rabbits, which he is raising as a source of protein.

We were travelling generally northeast along the southern rim of the Tarim Basin. On the right are the mighty snow capped Kunlun mountains over which is Pakistani Kashmir, and on the left the empty Taklamakan desert, The road condition is quite good, with occasional long stretches under repair. When that happens the girl seated across the aisle from me will start to retch non-stop. Poor girl, she must suffer badly from motion sickness. She’s quite shy but friendly, and can muster a few words in Chinese.

Khotan

At Khotan bus station I booked my cross desert bus ticket for the next day, but not before yelling at the people for jumping queue. They were quite amused and at the same time puzzled by this old man who was gesturing wildly and speaking in a foreign tongue (English). Buying my ticket early ensures a good seat, I thought.

I checked into a decent hotel for one night. It was by far the most expensive for the trip, 228 yuan, about S$50. After a late meal of polo (pilaff) and kawap (kebab) I fell off into a good night’s sleep. No phone calls asking if I wanted a massage, or something more.

The next morning I arranged through Abdullah, the hotel security guard, to get me a cab to take me to 3 places for 100 yuan. Abdul Kadir took me to what was claimed to be the oldest walnut tree in China. Even President Hu Jintao was here, as evidenced by prominently displayed photographs. Another specious claim was that the tree was planted by the Tang dynasty monk Xuan Zang, who was on his way back to Changan via the southern silk road after collecting Buddhist sutras from India.

Next, to see traditional silk production and weaving, of the sort done since ancient times. Here they demonstrated the most primitive means of extracting silk threads from moth weevils. Deya’s mother Soma would be interested. Remember? she wrote a book on handlooms. Last destination was the Khotan River where I wanted to see ordinary people prospecting for jade on the river bed. Abdul Kadir did not understand Chinese, so we ended up just driving alongside the river. He dropped me off at the Bazaar ,100 yuan richer for two and a half hours work, a good day for him. The first driver I tried to engage on my own, a Han Chinese, wanted 150 yuan.

This bazaar is just like any oasis bazaar, except that there is one section where there were a lot of men milling around, with seemingly nothing to buy or sell. As usual I was curious, and let myself lose amongst them. Surreptitiously, they sidled up to me and produced from their pockets and sleeves tiny pieces of so called jade, which they confidentially showed to me, and were willing to part with them from 1800 yuan at first, to a low 300, or even lower. These stones looked pretty, especially the milky white ones (羊脂玉, lamb’s fat jade), but I am sure they are merely stones, as real jade cannot be so cheap. For sure, there are real ones. I just didn’t know the difference.

I hailed a cab back to the hotel just before checkout time. As fate would have it, the driver was the very same Han Chinese driver whose service I declined in the morning. He was from Chongqing, one of those resettled here more than 10 years ago due to the construction of the three gorges dam. He rued the missed opportunity of making easy money that morning!

Back at the hotel Abdullah wanted to treat me to lunch during his one hour lunch break, since I was his honoured guest from Singapore. I graciously accepted, but instead took him to a larger and more expensive (by his standard) ashxana. Here was an opportunity to know a little more of the Uighurs.

Abdullah’s identity card says he is 27, but he is really 25. He had to register as two years older because he wanted to marry. His daughter is now five, and his wife is expecting another child. He was a farmer, working on his father’s land, tilling cotton, wheat and a myriad of fruit trees. Life was hard under the harsh conditions. He knows a little of Uighur history, but not from official sources. He also taught himself Chinese, without which he will not be able to secure his present job as a security guard at this hotel. His monthly salary is 1200 yuan a month, of which 300 goes to rental in the town. Money no enough. I didn’t think he told me his story to get anything out of me. Not at all. They all have the same story anyway. The next time I come to Khotan, he pledged, he will take me to his village and many other interesting places where tourists seldom venture. I said ‘deal’. I like Abdullah because I had observed that he is hardworking, honest and sincere. Before I left I gave him 100 yuan ‘to get something for the children’.

Taklamakan Crossing

In summer the bus leaves for Korla at 1800hrs, a 13 hr journey. My seat was not only a good seat, it was the best seat in the bus, I reckon. It was much like seat 1A, First Class on SIA’s Boeing 747-400. The seat was a reclining lower bunk, looking straight ahead with an unblocked panoramic view of wherever we were headed. For 178 yuan that’s a steal. The entire bus was lain with carpets, and passengers must take off their shoes when getting on. Failing to do so will earn you a barrage of profanities hurled by the bus driver, albeit in unfathomable Uighur-accented Hanyu. There were 4 crew on board, though I noticed only 3 took turns to drive.

To be really honest, the crossing was a letdown, as it was done on a moonless night. By the time we reached the crossing point at Niya it was already pitch dark. Though having a front view seat I couldn’t see much, except that for the entire 400km stretch of desert road there was a line of bushes on both sides. This is to prevent the desert sand from shifting onto the road. I forgot to ask how the bushes manage to survive. Perhaps they were watered once in a few days, like how it was done in the towns. For hours we drove through the mostly straight desert road. I understand that it was designed to curve occasionally to prevent drivers from falling asleep due to the monotony of driving straight continuously. For a desert road I must say that it was pretty busy. I suppose most chose to drive through at night. Here lies the disadvantage of sitting in front. I was constantly awakened by the bright headlights of oncoming traffic, not that I tried very hard to sleep. Before we started our journey it was hot in the early evening. In the desert night the temperature fell into the teens. I might add that I had the honour and pleasure of peeing in the Taklamakan Desert under a clear star studded moonless night. I did not see the reputedly numerous oil rigs, nor did I see any correctional facilities housing political prisoners (the gulags). I was told that prisoners housed here have no desire to escape, as there was nowhere to escape to. My biggest disappointment however is not being able to see the Tarim River as it was still dark. This river is the longest in the Tarim Basin. It rises in the Kunlun mountains and ended ignominously in the sands of the Taklamakan. What a pity, on both counts!

Korla

Here I am now, the second day in this mostly Han city on the northern rim of the Basin. I arrived yesterday morning, without any idea where I was going to spend the night. The taxi driver took me to a decent hotel and I took down his phone number. I had intended to use his services in the afternoon. We negotiated to go to the Hawaii of Xinjiang some distance away. Foolishly I agreed to pay half of whatever the meter read.

I really should have known better. Hawaii of Xinjiang is a grossly exaggerated tag, deliberately coined to con the unwary tourist. It is on the shores of Lake Bosten, one of four huge lakes featured in the pioneer issue of English language edition of Chinese National Geographic. This part of the lake was acquired for tourist development, and turned into another nightmarish spot so typically Chinese..

The lake though is huge, much like a sea, complete with seagulls flying about. It is fed by snow melt of the Tianshan mountains, and is the source of the legendary Peacock River, which flows past the equally legendary lost (and found) city of Loulan. The lake is teeming with fish, of which my driver can readily testify. He used to be a fisherman on these shores for 10 years. He has not the faintest idea that we eat our fish from the oceans.

Meanwhile the meter was ticking away. It was reading more than 550 yuan and ticking away when it suddenly packed up and started from the basic fare again. I had a good hearty laugh, as the agreement with the driver was to pay him half of what the meter read at the end of the trip! You should have seen his face. Anyhow, I paid him 300 yuan for 5 hrs work, quite a fair price for him. Besides I allowed him to pick up two other passengers on our way back, and I saw him taking 20 yuan from them.

Just skyped with Joy and Alvin, but the connection was not too good. Heard that Amanda delivered her baby safely. Give her my regards. She’s such a nice young lady. I will leave now for an ancient Chinese fort 铁门关not too far away. I’m sure it won’t cost me another 300 yuan. Will take bus to Urumqi tomorrow morning and plane to Beijing the next day. Bye,

Dad

Sent: 2005 Beijing Time

Korla

Hi again

I am writing for the second time today. It is quite relaxing for me since I didn’t have to travel any long distances. I went to the old Chinese fort 8 km outside the town for the good part of this afternoon. Finally I managed to actually trudge, on foot, along a short part of the ancient Silk Road between Yenqi and Weili. The guide Ms Liu said that this track through the hills was part of the Middle Silk Road, the other two being the northern and the southern routes. I climbed at least a thousand double steps up one of the nearby hills, and as luck would have it, ran out of battery power for a panoramic photo-shot of the place. It was raining and the wind gusting up to 40 to 50 knots. At times I had to crouch real low to avoid being blown off the barren slopes. Besides the howling wind I could almost hear the tinkling of camel bells. I should be able to sleep well tonight.

Back in town I had lunch at a lamian shop, the same one I went to last night. It was clean, and the noodles comforting. This time the yoghurt tastes just like our sweet lassi. The rain actually washed out a lot of the dust, onto the streets and more visibly, onto the cars and buses. Today’s temperature is a lot lower. I needed a jacket to venture outside.

The town of Korla was actually lesser known than its neighbour Yenqi, which I have read about in ancient records. These days it is getting bigger and richer, growing to be the second largest in Xinjiang after Urumqi. This is because the prospecting for oil and the running of associated installations in the Tarim Basin are based here. It claims to be the best tourist city and also one of ten most liveable cities in China. The Shandong taxi driver I spoke to says that’s all humbug 全是骗人的. I agree wholeheartedly. The riverside promenade is very pretty though. Yesterday, when it was much warmer, I saw quite a few migrant workers stripping off the banks and going for a dip in the cool waters of the Peacock River.

I will be leaving early tomorrow morning. Will write if anything interesting crops up.

Dad

Sent: May 27 1833 Beijing Time

Korla-Urumqi

Hi

Korla

I am now writing from the bus station at Korla. My bus doesn’t leave till more than an hour later. All earlier seats are booked out, and mine is the last of 4. The seat assigned is 44, right to the back, for the 6 hour trip to Urumqi. The announcements here surely beat the record as far as announcements are concerned. They go on and on, first in Chinese, then in Uighur. I marvel at the people who are in charge of these announcements. Besides, no one pays any attention.

There was a minor commotion this morning when I checked out of the hotel. They claimed that a face towel was missing from the room. Of course, you know me. Do you think I’d pay? Instead I demand compensation from them for making me miss my bus schedule. I love these situationsJ One of the girls was very nice about the whole affair, not the other. By the way, I sent my jeans for wash and iron for only 5 yuan. Maybe they washed it in the Peacock RiverJ

As I got off the taxi at the bus station I heard someone call out to me. It was Arkhan, a 23 year old belt-seller I had met two nights before at the Uighur night market. He has greenish eyes, and reminded me of the Afghan woman portrayed in Nat Geo. In fact I saw another Uighur with sparkling blue eyes in Kashgar, an obvious descendant of Alexander. Arkhan speaks a little Chinese, though it takes some getting used to. Last night I had wanted to look for him at the bazaar again, but did not go because it was too cold. It is such an amazing coincidence that we meet again.

Arkhan comes from a small village near Kashgar, from a family of 4 boys. His 2 older brothers are policemen in Kashgar, and his younger brother, the most educated of the lot, has migrated to Kazakhstan.

To remember Arkhan by, I bought a nice leather belt from him, a BOSS, no less. I gave him twice the price he asked for. While waiting in the departure area, he came to me with two pieces of nan and a bottle of Pepsi for my journey. It was so thoughtful of him. I really didn’t want the nan but has not the heart to reject it.

Urumqi

I left my jacket in the taxi and the hotel staff is trying to get in touch with the taxi company. It’s the one we bought together in Shanghai, the light green Armani one. Other than that all’s well. Safely back at Home Inn and getting ready to fly to Beijing early tomorrow morning.

I have listed out my thoughts about my trip to the Tarim Basin:

1. The Uighur people are a very hospitable lot, especially when they know you pose no threat to them, and respect their culture and way of life. I always let them know that I have visited the tomb of Mahmud Kashgari, their famous poet and scholar.

2. They drink their tea using a bowl, and they eat their noodles with chopsticks, which to me looked rather odd.. They eat lots of noodles. The Han Chinese have a peculiar name for their polo, or pilaff rice. They call it 抓饭, which translates to catching rice.

3. The poplar tree interests me. In Chinese it is called 通天杨, and is everywhere in the oases. It started off as a spindly sapling, but grows into a sturdy multipurpose giant. I tried knocking on it, and it felt really hard. The toothpicks made from poplar wood is very very strong, not like ours. I kept some samples.

4. The oases along the way. It must be a welcome sight for the Silk Road travellers in the old days. Out of nowhere appear a green patch. It indicates that there is ground water available. Some of these patches holds only one village, but in this one village there are lots of fruit trees and grape vines. One enduring sight for me is the scene of the peasant-farmer sitting astride his mule cart, with the rest of his family piled on board, and urging the poor clueless donkey on with a whip. This is seen over and over again in the villages along the rim.

5. The dust devils forming in the desert. I saw one up close, whirling anti-clockwise.

6. The babies and the children. You should see their lovely faces.

7. I got to actually walk along the real ancient Silk Road.

8. The mountains in the distance. The Pamirs, the Karakoram or in Chinese, Kunlun mountains and the Heavenly 天山mountains. They are so beautiful in the distance, at the moment very much snowcapped. Over the mountains is Pakistani Kashmir, Afghanistan, Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan. I’d like to visit some day.

Now I will list out why you will suffer terribly if you had come:

1. The sun’s harsh rays, the heat and the dust.
2. The long distances travelled. One bus ride took 14 hours.
3. The toilets along the way. Luckily I wore dark glasses into the toilet, just enough light to make sure I don’t fall in. They were abominable..
4. The food. You will starve.

This should conclude my Xinjiang travelogue. Looking forward to making another one of these trips.

Dad

PS: Jacket not found.

This Time To Guangxi - Part 1

Preface:

I had not set out to write about my travels in China this time, but events that occurred prompted me to share this account of my recent trip to Guangxi Zhuang Autonomous Region. Most of the photographs are culled from the various websites promoting Guilin and Guangxi. They do more justice to the scenic places than I possibly can with my point and shoot instamatic.

Dec 21

This morning I abandoned Sasha and my wheelchair bound mother, in that order, to the care of my wife, and flew to Guangzhou. From Guangzhou I took a connecting flight to Guilin, in China reputed to be the most beautiful place under the heavens 桂林山水甲天下. It was near 4 oclock when I arrived at the hotel, my well trusted Home Inn. Reaching the hotel was not without frustration. The airport bus dropped me off at a busy intersection of the city, and the driver told those of us who alighted that the train station was just around the corner. My hotel was supposed to be right across the train station. As usual there were lots of transport touts at the drop-off point, but I ignored them all and went about my own way. As I was walking in the direction of the station a guy on motorbike, also touting fares, called out to say that the station is a 20 minute walk away. That planted an element of doubt in me, so I crossed the road to hail a cab.

“Can you send me to the train station. My hotel, the Rujia, is right across the station” said I.

“On vacation? I can send you to a nicer and cheaper hotel.”. The taxi driver’s opening gambit.

“No thanks. I already have a reservation at the Rujia” I said.

“ The Rujia is a small hotel and it can be rather noisy around the station.” he persisted.

“No thanks, please send me to the Rujial”

“OK, you’re here”

Incredibly the hotel was only a hundred meters away from where I hailed the cab. That s.o.b. of a driver could have told me so, but he chose not to. The fare? 8 yuan. One dollar seventy Singapore.

I took a stroll around the hotel, got my bearings and checked out the possible makan places. It was too late for a day tour of the city so I booked one for the night. There were a couple of night tours to choose from. The hotel receptionist recommended that I do the ‘Two rivers and four lakes tour’ of the city that night as the weather for the following day would be wet and cold.

Come nightfall I took a taxi to the Wenchang Pier boarding ramp for the tour. There was another hassle on the cab. This time the driver wanted to drive me to buy tickets for the tour at an agency. I said it won’t be necessary, as I will be getting them at the Pier itself.

“They don’t sell tickets at the Pier” he lied.

“That’s okay with me. If they don’t I will just walk around the area.” I wizened.

Guilin is a tourist city, and of course its cab drivers are fare savvy, even resorting to disinformation to clinch some extra income through commissions. So be it. I have no problems with that, except that I do not want to be inconvenienced.

Just as I was paying for my ticket at the Pier office, a fifty-ish woman rushed up and offered to sell me her ticket, at a lower price, she claimed. I pretended not to understand her and begun to speak to her in English.To my surprise she answered in reasonably good English. She said something about her father not being able to come and she had to give up his ticket. She even volunteered to intepret the on-board commentary for me. Who knows. I have been made used of before. Years ago in Shanghai a Beijing woman wanted to exchange her husband’s clothing coupon for cash. When she couldn’t do that she then needed someone to model for her husband’s clothing entitlement. That was where I played my part. It was definitely some scam to make money, and when I was no longer of use, I was summarily dismissed by a light flick of her wrist. 去!去!去! Go! Go! Go! How demeaning! I well remember the look on that woman’s face. So this time round I stood my ground. No deal! That really puzzled her. She couldn’t understand why I was not willing to help her, just buy over her ticket. Like I said, I do not wish to be inconvenienced. By now I have already formed an opinion of this place. It is full of crooks and hasslers!

The tour of the city by boat was rather interesting, not unlike the canal tour of Amsterdam, except that the seating on the boat was badly designed and extremely uncomfortable. Also it would have been helpful if I could at least listen to the tour commentary but for the din created by my fellow riders’ incessant chatter. They never stopped talking, mostly in their incomprehensible regional dialects, continuously competing with the guide’s commentary over the loudspeakers.

On land, Guilin’s two rivers and four lakes are interconnected by a system of well tended and picturesque parks. It would be nice to wander around on foot had the weather been kinder. On water, an intricate system of locks enable waterborne craft to be transfered from one river system to the other. The city’s planners have done a good job in preserving Guilin’s river and lake façade, keeping at bay those unsightly and downright ugly high rise buildings, like those I have seen in Hangzhou. Kudos to the city planners!

回家

Acknowledgement:

For my initial attempt writing in Chinese I wish to thank Pastor Kenny Chee for his confidence in me. If not for his encouragement I would not have found the courage to put my thoughts down in a second language. Pastor Kenny is a blogger himself. His postings, mostly on religious matters, are a lot more thought provoking. You can follow them at:

http://www.blogpastor.net

回家

第一次踏上中国国土是在1988年的四月初旬。我带着年迈的父亲一起回到他久违的故乡。对我父亲来说他此行是‘回家’，而不是 ‘回乡’。虽在狮城立足了60年之久，在他的心中依然是怀着‘家在祖国’的概念，可见他对故土的思念是多么地浓烈和渴望。

是年离邓小平所领导的改革开放已有十年之久。年庚37的我，是当一名空勤机械师，随着喷射客机在空中驰骋。中国的民航业仍是处于对外开放的初期，所以新航还没有开往中国大陆的航班，我也没有到访中国大陆的机缘。有一次偶然地与一名英籍机长合乘 组，交谈中获知他和太太刚从中国畅游回来，还叙述了他们旅途上的经过。我对他说我父亲是出生于中国南方的农村，来新已有六十年的光景，至今未有机会返回故土，再及双目失明，年岁已高，行动有碍。各种籍口说完之后，机长瞪了我一眼。他带着谴责和劝勉的口吻简单地对我说，假如我为儿子的不带他去，他可能今生也没有

机会了。

听了机长的忠告，反省了半天，结果一个月后我带着父亲母亲和她一位姊妹启程回乡。是年父亲78岁，已是个白发苍苍的老翁，可是他归心似箭，带着轻盈的脚步，就像拥有他19岁时离乡的体力般，踏上回乡之路。

当年我们是乘坐飞机经香港过境。那是他毕生以来第一次乘坐飞机，心情紧张兴奋。翌日转搭快捷渡轮到位于珠江口的珠海市码头。途中虽然遇上多种的不便，可是父亲没有怨言，默默地承受了路途上的艰难。

我曾两度在中国国土上有过非寻常的心灵感受。首次就是当时第一步跨上中国领土的霎那，其次是数年后乘渡轮漫过长江水，这两次我都有过一份难以解说的情怀。当时一股莫名奇妙的激情涌到了心头上。我领略到我的根源就是出自于这一片神州大地，这一道滔滔长流的江水。

我父亲的老家是位于广东省中山市古镇镇古一村。离珠海港大约40公里左右，还距有

一段路程。在亲戚们热情的陪接下，上了简陋的小巴，缓缓地驶向目的地古镇。中山市的原名为香山县。1925年为了纪念同县翠亨村出生的国父孙中山先生而更名为是也，先县而后市。父亲的记忆仍是异常清晰的。所有途经的大小乡镇，如石岐，曹步，小榄等他一一记得清清楚楚。可惜父亲未能亲眼目睹当年珠江三角洲迅速的发展建设。这里是全中国工业发达得最快的区域。多条宽阔的道路，多座横跨江河的新桥梁都在兴建中，与十年前文革期间相比是繁荣昌盛得多了。

来到了古镇下榻的宾馆。那是一座五层楼高的楼房。我们恰恰被安顿在四楼的阁间，房费每晚30元，相等于新币10块钱。房内的设施简陋，卫生间又频频漏水，马桶像好几年没刷过似地，环境设备差得很。它只有一个好处，就是离父亲的老家不远，步行五至十分钟就可到达。

在村里父亲唯一的亲属是他一名堂弟。这些年来他家里的大小事也就是这位堂弟以零希的信件告知。我记得每逢有家书寄来都引起我父母之间的不愉快。信中往往提及修补祖屋的相干事。话说到底无非是要父亲急寄一笔修补费回去。那时我们家穷，父亲只当一名跑街的小贩，收入微薄，而要维持一家八口已是件困顿的事。记得母亲的唠叨，自家的茅屋漏得不勘也没钱去补，哪里还有资格顾及于哪个乡下的老房子呢！

带着父亲由陋巷逐步向他的故居走去，路经一片栽种着蕹菜的池塘，塘底仍有泉水连连冒渗出来。父亲跟我说他年幼时经常在那儿洗澡玩乐，还说池里所种出来的

蕹菜特别香甜爽脆。水塘对则就是咱苏家祠堂，简陋不堪，长年无人修管。祠堂旁边就是我父亲朝暮思念的老家了。

老家现任的住户是一门远房的亲戚。进屋之后我父亲站在门槛的内则，肃立良久，瞻望着远处，似乎有说不出的万语千言。我看到他这种神情也不禁为他心寒。

父亲到了堂叔的家，一番寒暄过后，第一项重要的事情就是问及他母亲真正的死因。我父亲曾经对我说过奶奶是在日据时期去世的。当时她身边一个至亲也没有。父亲一直都默默地惦念着他母亲是否缺粮而饿死的。对这件事他内疚了四十多年，也一直耿耿于怀，成为他心理上一个重负。堂叔与其他亲信都一致确认奶奶是得了一场重病后而死的。无疑地，她的病与死也很可能是缺乏营养滋补而导致的。

亲戚家里的环境布置使我联想起成长时的一些小环节。小时候带引着父亲去他朋友的家里聚合，在那儿往往看到几位长辈相约在一起。他们经常以我听得半懂的古镇话大声交谈，说东话西。过

了这些年，这一幕情景又重现在我的跟前。就像那老朋友的家一样，堂叔家里也备有罕见的一杆大竹管水烟，听他说这种抽烟的方法是凉性的抽法，不会导致喉咙干渴或体衡过热。堂叔家大厅还贴满了明星月历海报，挂上陈旧的生活写照，这一切都引发起我对往日的回忆。

回乡的期间刚巧是清明时节，乡亲们已安排好父亲隔天上山去祭祖.是日场面气派可观，游子还乡，供香烛，奉烧猪，燃鞭炮 。祭祖过后还摆了酒席宴请乡亲们吃喝一顿。亲友们当时在议论，数年前祖坟要挖迁，当挖掘太公的古墓时，发现其骷髅的双眼孔已被树根钻透。他们大致上都论定我父亲之所以双目失明，根由在此。

这几天在乡里我一直都没有好好地吃过一顿饭。每逢在堂叔家里用餐时我都觉得很困顿。堂叔家前院围放着几头猪，时而阵阵熏天难闻的猪粪味被风吹进客厅里，到了吃饭的时候特别难耐。每顿饭都有鱼肉上桌，人数很齐，大人一桌，小孩们一桌。我父亲吃得特别称心，因为他再次尝到了久违的家乡菜。我对乡亲们吃饭时座上的举止很不习惯。他们嘴里嚼过的碎骨头不是吐在桌上就是直接地吐到家里的地板上。我估计堂叔家里那几只小猫肯定乐极了。

有一天一名堂兄领着我，踏着自行车到镇外附近的农村巡游一周。四月初正是庄稼插

秧的季节。农家门出动了全体成员协助插秧这一项辛苦繁杂的工作。且看农家老少们个个身处于水膝深的稻田里，有的忙着择分稻苗，有的忙着把幼苗转插到沃土上。有些农耕子弟还乘着小舟在田里协助插秧，气派异常。

除了稻田，这里淡水鱼塘星罗棋布，到处皆是。不久前养鱼企业属于大队，现都已私营化。我族下也有好几家是经营这门行业的。挣来的收入虽不多也算足够维持生计。

游览农畜地之后堂兄便带我到一条命名西江的江边。那里有一座破旧的渡头。据说当年父亲就是由这里乘着小舟沿江出到大海，经澳门然后从香港转乘大船南下去到南洋。父亲曾说过他是以‘卖猪仔’的方式来到南洋的，就是说乘船的费用到了南洋要当一个时期的苦力，以劳力代还。我心里为他诉叹，那是一段多么艰苦的历程啊！在离渡头不远，正兴建着由日本资助的横跨西江连接到江门市的一座大桥。

这五天来我除了没吃好饭，连觉也没睡好。原因是蚊子太猖獗了。房里虽然有备着蚊帐，可是一打开来用时一股袭鼻的尿腥味从帐里散发出来。再说这五天里我没有正常的如厕过，村里和宾馆的卫生间实在太可怕了。这几天父亲反而吃得饱睡得好，连每天爬上四层的梯级他也不觉得一点累。

在离开古镇的当天，艳阳高照，亲友们都齐来送行。父亲兴高地对他们说希望来年可以与我大哥一起回乡一趟。话别情长，出发的时间即到了，我情不自禁地对父亲说了一句:‘爸，我们回家了！’