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Copyright protected Piper Selden
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Copyright protected Piper Selden
All rights reserved.
From Beijing along the Ancient Silk Road
The Yellow River:
Mother of the Yellow River with Mr. Yea, our tour guide. Each time we hear his name, Mr. Yea (and I have no idea how it is actually spelled), we do the stadium wave. Yea!! We take a bus to a non-descript, gray metal bridge. Our group (sans matching hats) trudges across the span, wondering what we'll find on the other side. At the half-way mark, I peer over the edge into the murky, curiously yellow-green water below. It is a fast-moving river, fully opaque and dirty. Or could it be turbid, muddied water filled with small particulates of sand and soil? I'll never know because if water quality tests were performed on the famous Yellow River, the results would not likely be available to the general populace.
The rushing water has a faintly sour smell that makes me turn up the bottom half of my shirt and cover my nose. Finally, we reach the meeting place on the other side and Mr. Yea (do the wave!) tells us flatly that we've just crossed the Yellow River, "famous in all the land for its beauty and for the tasty fish which are found in its waters." Really?
I look back across the river to the other side. I see a large, open drain pouring charcoal-colored water-actually shooting it out like water from a fire hose-into the boiling river underneath. Industrial runoff? Agricultural or city waste water? Is this the trade-off for a mechanized and developing nation? We climb to a lookout and enjoy the hazy, ocher-tinged skyline. Somewhere from the back of my brain I call up a TV ad from the 1970s, a crying Native American in full regalia who looks out over a polluted land. Weird how the brain works, eh? Will China repeat the environmental sins of the United States? Have they surpassed us in damage to Mothers Earth and Yellow River?
Hiking back down, we take a photo with the bronze sculpture of our Chinese Zodiac animal. I arrange my body to mimic the monkey's posture and smile. Cheeky Monkey! Mr. Yea (do the wave!) takes us on a long stroll along the river's bank to see "beautiful mother of the Yellow River." I am not disappointed; the personification is carved in a massive slab of stone with long flowing lines that extend from the form and give it a fluid, watery feel.
Later, our group dines on fried fish, straight from the Mothers yellowed river. I stick to the steamed greens, a dish I've dubbed "lucky lettuce." I have eaten steamed greens at each of my three daily squares for almost a full month and not once been sick. So effective is this vegetable that I purchase a small piece of the "good luck Chinese cabbage" carved out of a piece of real jade. I didn't buy it from my special friend from the Silk Market.
The Yellow River:
Mother of the Yellow River with Mr. Yea, our tour guide. Each time we hear his name, Mr. Yea (and I have no idea how it is actually spelled), we do the stadium wave. Yea!! We take a bus to a non-descript, gray metal bridge. Our group (sans matching hats) trudges across the span, wondering what we'll find on the other side. At the half-way mark, I peer over the edge into the murky, curiously yellow-green water below. It is a fast-moving river, fully opaque and dirty. Or could it be turbid, muddied water filled with small particulates of sand and soil? I'll never know because if water quality tests were performed on the famous Yellow River, the results would not likely be available to the general populace.
The rushing water has a faintly sour smell that makes me turn up the bottom half of my shirt and cover my nose. Finally, we reach the meeting place on the other side and Mr. Yea (do the wave!) tells us flatly that we've just crossed the Yellow River, "famous in all the land for its beauty and for the tasty fish which are found in its waters." Really?
I look back across the river to the other side. I see a large, open drain pouring charcoal-colored water-actually shooting it out like water from a fire hose-into the boiling river underneath. Industrial runoff? Agricultural or city waste water? Is this the trade-off for a mechanized and developing nation? We climb to a lookout and enjoy the hazy, ocher-tinged skyline. Somewhere from the back of my brain I call up a TV ad from the 1970s, a crying Native American in full regalia who looks out over a polluted land. Weird how the brain works, eh? Will China repeat the environmental sins of the United States? Have they surpassed us in damage to Mothers Earth and Yellow River?
Hiking back down, we take a photo with the bronze sculpture of our Chinese Zodiac animal. I arrange my body to mimic the monkey's posture and smile. Cheeky Monkey! Mr. Yea (do the wave!) takes us on a long stroll along the river's bank to see "beautiful mother of the Yellow River." I am not disappointed; the personification is carved in a massive slab of stone with long flowing lines that extend from the form and give it a fluid, watery feel.
Later, our group dines on fried fish, straight from the Mothers yellowed river. I stick to the steamed greens, a dish I've dubbed "lucky lettuce." I have eaten steamed greens at each of my three daily squares for almost a full month and not once been sick. So effective is this vegetable that I purchase a small piece of the "good luck Chinese cabbage" carved out of a piece of real jade. I didn't buy it from my special friend from the Silk Market.
***
MSG and the not so industrial city of Wuwei:
Mr. Yea (do the wave!) speaks clearly into the microphone on our bus: "Girls and boys, we approach Wewei (he pronounces this Ooo-way). It is an agricultural town. No industry."
Hmmm. I peer out the window of our bus at the large, black smokestacks. What is grown in those factories? I wonder. A friend looks at me after we pull our bus into the dusty, weary town of Wuwei. "Ewww!" she says. "This doesn't look good." And we, like the town, are dusty and weary from our travel.
After a shower, dinner, several bottles of the local beer, and a good round of songs from the partying chapter of the local Communist Party, we are refreshed and ready for almost anything. I took a photo of the large MSG factory across the street.
The beer in Wuwei was plentiful and tasty in that order. And that's all I have to say about that.
Mr. Yea (do the wave!) speaks clearly into the microphone on our bus: "Girls and boys, we approach Wewei (he pronounces this Ooo-way). It is an agricultural town. No industry."
Hmmm. I peer out the window of our bus at the large, black smokestacks. What is grown in those factories? I wonder. A friend looks at me after we pull our bus into the dusty, weary town of Wuwei. "Ewww!" she says. "This doesn't look good." And we, like the town, are dusty and weary from our travel.
After a shower, dinner, several bottles of the local beer, and a good round of songs from the partying chapter of the local Communist Party, we are refreshed and ready for almost anything. I took a photo of the large MSG factory across the street.
The beer in Wuwei was plentiful and tasty in that order. And that's all I have to say about that.
***
Mysterious Caves:
Dunhuang Grottoes or Caves, is also known as the Caves of the Thousand Buddhas and Magao Caves. It is a mysterious place and I fall into the groove, having read about the caves in my guidebook the night before. We're not allowed to take photos here. That's refreshing. I wonder, who were the faithful masses who constructed these caves? Who defaced them? What were these people like? I stop dead in my tracks, seeing a familiar looking deity at the doorway of Cave 285. Is that Ganesha, the Hindu elephant-headed god of good fortune? Our guide tells me that I am correct, but blows my socks off when she tells me the bowl he's holding contains blood. What? I take out my notebook and lag behind the group to document the inside of the cave as much as possible.
Our guide had a strange look on her face when I asked her about Ganesha. Her voice faltered when she gave her explanation. I'm not entirely sure that she really knows what she's talking about in this particular cave. I see a scary dude on the ceiling surrounded by lightening bolts. Chariots, and strange, angel-like creatures are flying around the walls. I see some characters that I recognize: Ganesha and his dad, Shiva, stand near the door. I'm not sure who is above the door frame, but the pair look Indian. Buddhas abound along the bottom edge of the frescoed walls. Two half-naked men hold up a large flower; it looks like a white lotus.
I'm excited and float back to our group. It's cool here and I breathe in the dust of ancient people: artists, faithful believers, scholars, skeptics, and a ragtag group of students from UH Hilo. This one stop has done wonders for me.
Dunhuang Grottoes or Caves, is also known as the Caves of the Thousand Buddhas and Magao Caves. It is a mysterious place and I fall into the groove, having read about the caves in my guidebook the night before. We're not allowed to take photos here. That's refreshing. I wonder, who were the faithful masses who constructed these caves? Who defaced them? What were these people like? I stop dead in my tracks, seeing a familiar looking deity at the doorway of Cave 285. Is that Ganesha, the Hindu elephant-headed god of good fortune? Our guide tells me that I am correct, but blows my socks off when she tells me the bowl he's holding contains blood. What? I take out my notebook and lag behind the group to document the inside of the cave as much as possible.
Our guide had a strange look on her face when I asked her about Ganesha. Her voice faltered when she gave her explanation. I'm not entirely sure that she really knows what she's talking about in this particular cave. I see a scary dude on the ceiling surrounded by lightening bolts. Chariots, and strange, angel-like creatures are flying around the walls. I see some characters that I recognize: Ganesha and his dad, Shiva, stand near the door. I'm not sure who is above the door frame, but the pair look Indian. Buddhas abound along the bottom edge of the frescoed walls. Two half-naked men hold up a large flower; it looks like a white lotus.
I'm excited and float back to our group. It's cool here and I breathe in the dust of ancient people: artists, faithful believers, scholars, skeptics, and a ragtag group of students from UH Hilo. This one stop has done wonders for me.
***
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