Website & Writing
Copyright protected Piper Selden
All rights reserved.
Copyright protected Piper Selden
All rights reserved.
Road Warrior:
There is so much I have not touched on and I find myself ending the journey. I will come back to my writing, fill in the blanks more as the weeks and months and years stretch my mind back to China. As a potter and ceramic artist, I have waited almost my entire life to see the terracotta warriors of Xi'an... in person. However, it is distressing that we have a stopwatch crazy tour guide. Her name is Patti, just like the other Patti, our guide from Beijing, she is sharp-faced and tempered to boot. This Patti, however, is worse. Although some in our group call the new guide Patty #2, I call her something else. With certainty I believe now that my grace and good manners are waning.
"Crack Patti" informs us that we have a measly 20 minutes to view the main area, the primary excavation site. Mute, I can only shake my head. 20 minutes with the terra-cotta warriors? This woman truly is on crack.
I want to vomit and throw a temper tantrum, kick and scream on the shiny marble floor. Somehow, I hold myself back. I resolve to find my own way back to the hotel in Xian if I have to, but I will not spend less than an hour with these pottery pieces I've read, studied and dreamed about. This is the highlight of my trip and I respectfully tell our tour guide that I will take a taxi back, rather than rush through something so important. She gives me a harried look and checks her watch. You'll miss the other place then. I read my copy of the schedule: "The bathhouse of Yang Kwi-hui, the most beautiful lady during the Tang Dynasty." It is my turn to sigh. I will come back and visit these pottery warriors another day.
I need a coffee... or perhaps something a bit stronger to drown myself in.
"Crack Patti" informs us that we have a measly 20 minutes to view the main area, the primary excavation site. Mute, I can only shake my head. 20 minutes with the terra-cotta warriors? This woman truly is on crack.
I want to vomit and throw a temper tantrum, kick and scream on the shiny marble floor. Somehow, I hold myself back. I resolve to find my own way back to the hotel in Xian if I have to, but I will not spend less than an hour with these pottery pieces I've read, studied and dreamed about. This is the highlight of my trip and I respectfully tell our tour guide that I will take a taxi back, rather than rush through something so important. She gives me a harried look and checks her watch. You'll miss the other place then. I read my copy of the schedule: "The bathhouse of Yang Kwi-hui, the most beautiful lady during the Tang Dynasty." It is my turn to sigh. I will come back and visit these pottery warriors another day.
I need a coffee... or perhaps something a bit stronger to drown myself in.
***
The Sound of Serenity:
The secret garden was a haven from the tour group crowds. Throughout China, we battled thick groups of groups-each with matching hats or well placed buttons. Many of the groups follow guides who squawk into tiny bullhorns:
"And on the right, you'll see this ancient grove of trees, planted by royal decree. Let's take a tranquil moment here with the cypress trees, shall we?" Squawk.
"Next you'll see…." Blah, blah, blah. A few people snap photos of the gnarled, thick-trunked trees.
But in the secret garden , that last place we visited before leaving the gritty-aired city of Xi'an, I lose them. The Red Hatters are gone, as well as the yellow buttons and the squawking mini-bullhorns--no more large tour groups.
The air here doesn't seem as polluted and gritty, although my lungs tell me otherwise. Time falls away, distorted like sound through water or heat as it rises in waves from baking asphalt. I forget China, the heat, and even "Crack Patti." I forget about packing and the long plane ride home in the morning. I forget myself entirely.
Walking through a tiny archway, I gaze down into a small pond lined with red lotus blossoms and breathe.
Thank you for joining me! I hope you enjoyed China as much as I did. ~ ps
The secret garden was a haven from the tour group crowds. Throughout China, we battled thick groups of groups-each with matching hats or well placed buttons. Many of the groups follow guides who squawk into tiny bullhorns:
"And on the right, you'll see this ancient grove of trees, planted by royal decree. Let's take a tranquil moment here with the cypress trees, shall we?" Squawk.
"Next you'll see…." Blah, blah, blah. A few people snap photos of the gnarled, thick-trunked trees.
But in the secret garden , that last place we visited before leaving the gritty-aired city of Xi'an, I lose them. The Red Hatters are gone, as well as the yellow buttons and the squawking mini-bullhorns--no more large tour groups.
The air here doesn't seem as polluted and gritty, although my lungs tell me otherwise. Time falls away, distorted like sound through water or heat as it rises in waves from baking asphalt. I forget China, the heat, and even "Crack Patti." I forget about packing and the long plane ride home in the morning. I forget myself entirely.
Walking through a tiny archway, I gaze down into a small pond lined with red lotus blossoms and breathe.
Thank you for joining me! I hope you enjoyed China as much as I did. ~ ps
***
Exerpt taken from "Red Lotus Reflections", 2007.
Piper is not currently under representation, but looking. If you are interested in her writing, please contact via email
Exerpt taken from "Red Lotus Reflections", 2007.
Piper is not currently under representation, but looking. If you are interested in her writing, please contact via email
Travelogue: China 2007