Traveling Diaries 20 – Retreading Old Ground

A week ago I returned to Florence, on what is my third trip to the city. I had a great time.

That seems like the most banal of possible statements, except in revisiting my old blog entries I remembered I had a singularly unpleasant impression of Florence. During my 2014 road trip through Europe, I had this to say:

“What I found instead were: tourists; historic scenery made unsightly by the presence of posing tourists; the impossibility of getting anywhere on time due to parade of tourists; three hour long lines for every attraction composed of impatient tourists; overpriced goods and services to swindle tourists; and locals who despise you for being another god-damned tourist”

I don’t believe tourism in Italy has declined since then, in this post-pandemic boom; nor has my tolerance of long lines improved. Certainly for the entire weekend, there was always an interminable line around the Duomo and the other two most popular attractions, the Uffizi Gallery and Palazzo Pitti. So what’s changed?

To be frank, 2014 was my first big solo trip, and I made many, many mistakes. Looking back, I almost wince at the wasted time and squandered opportunities. The only saving grace is to see it as a learning experience. With the benefit of greater experience, especially after moving to Zurich in 2018 in order to have easier access to Europe, I feel I have a much better grasp of how to enjoy a city like Florence. Hopefully there is someone else in the world that might benefit from the things I’ve learned.

The Duomo, or Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore, with line going around the corner.

1. Going in with a plan

This is not the same as preparing a full itinerary. I prefer to be fairly spontaneous in my travels, and a great part of the joy of exploring European cities is in the wandering. But I knew I had one goal for the weekend, which was to see the David, and that was in the Galleria dell’Accademia, which always had long lines, so I made sure to book my ticket well in advance.

For everything else, I had a rough list of secondary attractions, and I did not anticipate any of them to be particularly problematic as long as I avoided the Big Three. Indeed, I had no trouble getting into the basilicas Santa Maria Novella and Santa Croce, and San Marco was positively deserted despite being a mere block away from the Accademia. I was excited to find the Bargello National Museum unexpectedly open in the afternoon, which only happens on Saturdays, and that added an impromptu stop. When it turned out La Specola, the natural history museum founded by the Medici, had been closed since COVID, it was no great matter to instead visit Museo Galileo.

And for this, the sheer concentration of interesting places to explore and how traversable the old town is by walking, Florence really shines. Yes, the cathedral is a magnificent edifice of the high renaissance, but if you spend half a day in line just to get in, then it’s not really as comparatively impressive as other cities you could visit.

Better instead to just drop by and spend fifteen minutes walking around the courtyard of the Badia, which is not really even an attraction as much as a functioning monastery with monks selling their daily produce instead of tickets to some exhibit. But its belltower is an iconic fixture of the Florentine skyline, and the Benedictine cloister makes for an interesting contrast with the Dominican San Marco and the Franciscan Santa Croce.

2. Spend money where it counts

Pretty much every European city is a better experience to walk or take public transport than to drive in. Florence in particular is a nightmare to take a car into its narrow winding alleys. This time I was able to catch a direct flight and simply take the tram from the airport, but in 2014 I was driving. That in itself is not a problem. Roadtrips are great fun and the best way to visit the equally interesting and picturesque villages and natural scenery. But when staying in the center is a key part of the city experience, sometimes you just have to suck it up and pay for the downtown hotel valet parking, even if the car itself will be utterly useless to you while you are in the city, and even when it costs 50 euros a night. Following this one rule would have saved me so much time and frustration back then.

Conversely, so long as the accomodations are well located, I’ve found little reason to splurge on space and quality. Star ratings are quite inconsistent across Europe, and generally hotels in the city center will feel cramped compared to the American standard unless you really pay through the nose. In the end it matters little, as there is always something to do out there, and no reason to be in the room except to sleep.

Another costly purchase that I’ve never regretted is a good data connection. I’m paying almost 80 a month for an unlimited pan-Europe phone plan, though if I lived in the EU it would be much cheaper. Even in the year of our lord 2023 there is no guarantee that even a well-regarded hotel will have reliable wifi. The problem is thankfully moot when you have 4G and tethering.

Food is a good opportunity to save money, while at the same time sampling the native streetfood specialties like tripe or lamprey sandwiches!

3. Nothing beats local expertise

This is perhaps the most common traveling tip out there, and not a point worth belaboring. Of course it’s obvious that having a friend who knows the place makes everything better, but not everyone has that privilege! But look, I don’t know anyone actually from Florence either. And it is possibly for that reason that it remains off my list of favorite Italian cities, surpassed by some others I was more intimately introduced to. But what I did have (and anyone could have) to my advantage this time was an extended perusal of Ada Palmer’s excellent history blog exurbe.com, half of which content is basically a love letter towards the city of Florence. Thanks to her, my trip was made more entertaining in a myriad ways, either by spotting the local saints Zenobius, Cosmas, and Damian in all manner of artwork, or sampling her recommendation of the city’s gelateria.

Walking into Santa Croce, I had my most vivid recollection of this, when immediately above the portal I spotted this painting of the embracing Saints Dominic and Francis, recognizable respectively by their red star and stigmata. The old me would have simply walked past this in blithe ignorance, but thanks to the blog teaching me not only how to recognize the two saints but the history of their orders in Florence, I managed to really appreciate this small token of fraternity.

Traveling Diaries 19 – State of Indifference

After my ambivalent experience in China last time, one would think I’d wait longer to go back there again. Unfortunately, family obligations say otherwise, and so once more unto the breach… In retrospect, China is a country well worth revisiting. In the intervening three years there have once again been changes that would take decades to resolve in the west. Even in my mother’s small hometown of Bengbu (which, whilst a tier 3 city by the national standard, nevertheless rivals San Francisco in population), this is more than evident.

Xidi, Anhui, a historical site where beauty of the pastoral life has been so romanticized as to resemble nothing of actual Chinese villages.

On the one hand, many things seem to have improved. Drivers are marginally more respectful of pedestrians, people are mildly less liable to spit in the street and more likely to form queues. All in all, the advances in common decency are subtle but fairly noticeable, as might be expected for a country whose wealth has seen such steady increase. Large scale problems like pollution and housing prices are becoming milder as well, at least if state media could be believed.

 

At the same time, sweeping reforms have overtaken the nation. I was shocked to find that people barely spend cash anymore. Everything from vending machines to restaurants to brand name stores now preferred to accept payment from the smartphone via Wechat or Alipay. The sharing of bicycles, facilitated by Ofo and other such companies, has suddenly become ubiquitous in urban areas. Every street corner is now littered with these yellow and orange bikes, and commuters riding them have become an iconic sight. Meanwhile, the bullet train network continues to grow bigger and faster. The newest Fuxing model makes the trip from Beijing to Shanghai in just over four hours, an unthinkable feat in my childhood, and still several hours faster than when I last took the same route in 2010.

The mists of Huangshan offer a welcome moment of solace, though one needs only turn around to find the crowds.

The convenience of these things are hard to overstate, and probably sound wondrous to the beleaguered Bay Area suburbanite. Indeed, all my Chinese relatives and acquaintances have expressed rightful pride at the changes to the country. Unfortunately, none seem to also see the inherent danger. I mentioned drivers becoming more law abiding. Why has that occurred? Because security cameras are now placed at seemingly every intersection and interspersed  throughout the highway. Every driver I spoke to understood that the slightest infraction will likely result in a fine and point deductions arriving in the mail. I mentioned the convenience of phone payments and bullet trains, but in truth I could not use Wechat to pay for things because it required binding to a Chinese citizenship card. Likewise, purchasing train tickets with a passport was painfully difficult. Are these deficiencies mere oversight or bad engineering? I would argue no. The government wants to ensure you bind everything to your ID so they can track your every purchase (after all, Tencent and other Chinese tech companies are well known for their abundant cooperation with the CCP), and when you scan the shared bike that you use, they can also track your every movement. Living in China is to live in the constant gaze of some unseen watcher. This has become a mere fact of life for the citizens, as unremarkable as the TSA-like security checks at every train and subway station, or the requirement to provide identification for every guest at hotels. I just watched Blade Runner 2049, and the most unrealistic aspect of the movie isn’t the robots / synthetic people, it’s the thought that you would still need detectives to find anyone in the future.

 

Look, I know that the US and other “free and democratic” countries also have traffic cams and security check-ins. I know the NSA also aspires to track my every action, and undoubtedly they wish they could emulate the Chinese’s efficiency. What I wanted to find out was why, when China dialed the whole surveillance state up to 11, no one seemed to care. And I don’t think it’s just a matter of suppressed political discourse – at least in my experience, people’s private opinions matched their public personas. That is to say, everyone is too preoccupied with managing their Taobao stores and speculating on the housing or cryptocurrency market to care about their own rights to representation and privacy.

At the Sun Yat-Sen mausoleum, the founding father of the country rests high above the city, carefree of its ills. Will the visitors do the same?

As always, a visit to China leaves me thankful for the things I otherwise take for granted in my life. This time, more so than clean air and sanitation, I am thankful for the people: journalists who bother to report on policy instead of the next celebrity gossip; corporate elites who champion net neutrality or decry the installation of backdoors; everyday joes who give up a workday to protest in front of the White House. Even if their purposes may ultimately be misguided, their motivations are not.

Traveling Memoirs 1 – The Keystone

Sometimes, in my travels, I encounter a rare keystone moment. Memories of the overall journey will, regrettably, fade with the passage of time. An experience is eventually reduced to a collection of details. I can remember cheering for Real Madrid with a group of locals in a Spanish tavern on a warm September eve, but can no longer recall the faces of any patron of staff, or the taste of the undoubtedly delicious suckling pig, or even what team they were playing against.

The keystone is different. Here, a memory seems to persist so vividly that all the images, sounds, and other sensations can be conjured up, and relived, as though they had just occurred. It is a precious and magical form of time travel. The romantic side of me would say that is has become a part of the tapestry of my soul. The analytical side would say that these memories have been recalled so often, those neurons triggered so frequently, that they have settled into an almost permanent configuration.

Alas that, too, is a lie. In truth there is no way to convince oneself such potent memories bear any resemblance to the actual circumstances that created them. Each time we remember something, we are also distorting it, coloring it with our current biases and perspectives. In a sense, as much as the keystones are the most lifelike of recollections, they are also the least real.

That does not mean they are not something to be cherished. My fondest keystone memory was borne thusly: I had just arrived in Athens at the first stretch of my Central European trip. An extended and sleepless flight followed by the train ride from the airport left me harried and limp. When I checked into the hotel it was mid-afternoon, and I hadn’t even the energy to eat. A complimentary bottle of wine from the receptionist did not help matters. Next thing I knew I had awoken in the early hours of the following day.

Amidst the Plaka narrows, a sign towards the Acropolis.

The entrance of the hotel led directly into the narrow labyrinths of the Plaka – the ancient neighborhood directly below the Acropolis. Sensing no prospect of an early breakfast, I decided to make the trek upwards. Overnight rain made the cobblestone inclines surprisingly treacherous, and the twists and turns of the road frequently led to dead ends or barred gates. Nevertheless, I made it to the park entrance before it had opened for the day. The only other early risers were the owner of a gift shop and two dozy hounds – to date I do not know if they belonged to the shopkeeper or were strays. Together we waited, half asleep, for fifteen minutes or so before the portal finally parted.

By then more had arrived and there was a small group of us, as we headed inward the first thing that grasped my attention was the Odeon of Herodes Atticus, a remarkable sight in its own right and enough to distract me on any other occasion. However everyone else had also stopped to gaze so I resolved to find my own way up onward. Ascending the Acropolis for the first time is, I’m certain, a defining experience for anyone. Doing so alone in the dim predawn twilight doubly so. I felt the smile of Athena Nike lend me strength as I crested the last steps of the Propylaea. There I caught my first glimpse of the Parthenon, but even this did not make me tarry. Some force drove me to the deserted eastern edge.

Lycabettus from the Acropolis

And then, the wind stilled along with the birdsong. A gravid suspense lingered in the air, directing my gaze to the horizon. There, I stood transfixed as the first light of dawn peeked above Mount Lycabettus, crept its way over the still drowsy Athenians, caressed the Temple of Olympian Zeus, climbed its way up the Rock that bore the Acropolis, and finally brought the full glory of day to the topmost frieze of the Parthenon. This brief sequence, lasting no more than five minutes, came to define my experience in Greece. I imagined the ancients who once resided here, basking in the same morning warmth as I did, laying down the bedrock of western civilization, to which I felt, for the first time, a part of.

Olympian Zeus from the Acropolis

Oftentimes I am given to wonder – why do I spend so much time and energy in traveling, in planning my trips and recording what I did? If so much is so quickly lost to memory, would it not be more efficient to simply read or watch documentaries about distant places. What purpose does actual experience serve if the end result – a few fragmentary details – could be obtained so much more easily and economically? My only convincing answer is the creation of keystones. I do not believe any book or film could have given me my “Acropolis Moment.” Even though it might no longer depict reality, it serves an even more important purpose: it is the kind of thing I recall, in every moment of stress or doubt, to remind myself why I should find joy in life. These are the things that define me, without which my identity would be that of a stranger’s. After all, nothing about oneself can truly be distinctive, except for those singular, unrepeatable, and unforgettable instants. “Upon this rock, I will build my church.” And it is with these keystones that I realize what is myself.

Agora from the Acropolis

Traveling Diaries 18 – The Myth of El Dorado

Since I started my last entry by drawing reference from a video game, I’ll continue the tradition. This time, I want to talk about another game series by Paradox (hmmm there seems to be a trend here) called Europa Universalis. It’s rare for a video game to have an apparent central theme or thesis, but I always felt like EU had one – namely, the sheer futility of trying to control all of Europe. While other grand strategy series like Civilization and Total War enable the human desire to grow and dominate to an unrealistic extent (which is not to say that I don’t enjoy them), EU has always exemplified the saying “mo’ money mo’ problems” in all its aspects. Here, being bigger just meant having to deal with more hostility from without  and insurrections from within, while the most carefully laid out political schemes can be toppled by untimely deaths and sheer happenstance.

Plaza Vázquez in Úbeda

Spain learned this lesson firsthand starting from the 16th century. One could hardly say that the then nascent empire was not favored to become the new European hegemon – champion of the faith, with most of the Americas as its treasury, and territories as far reaching and strategically vital as Sicily, Naples, and the Spanish Netherlands. “God is Spanish,” declares Gaspar de Guzmán, as he marshals his forces into Germany, Italy, and France. Of course, his own downfall came about not much later, and by the time of the War of Spanish Succession, Spain had become almost devoid of agency, a mere morsel to be divided among the dynastic powers of Vienna, Paris, and London, never again to become the central focus of international politics.

The palace complex of San Lorenzo de el Escorial

So how did all this come about? How did a kingdom whose supply of New World silver was nearly endless end up declaring bankruptcy continuously? How did Spain repeatedly come within an inch of becoming the first global superpower, only to be thwarted each time? These are the questions I brought with me as the first leg of my journey ended, I departed Andalusia, and the Spain of the Reconquista unfolded into the Spain of the High Renaissance, of the Age of Sail, and of the Spanish Golden Age. I knew what I was looking for was not some singular event like when the armada was broken at the isles, what I was looking for was a pattern, an overarching plot.

Monastery of San Juan de los Reyes, Toledo

What I found were the soaring rooftops of Toledo, and I was wowed. I found the gilded chambers of the royal palace of Madrid, and I was stunned. I was blown away by the elegant hallways of El Escorial, made speechless by the towering heights of its royal chapel… the sights to be found just in Madrid alone would take a lifetime to explore. The same can be said for a few other places – Rome, perhaps, but that has millenia of utmost historical signifiance as opposed to a mere 500. Whereas there is but one Versailles in France, it seems no city in Spain is complete without its own palace complex. Therein, I think, lies the problem. You must understand that these things were not constructed separately – their origins can all be traced to that same time period at the height of the golden age. I’m not saying that building a few extra palaces bankrupted Spain, but it betrays a mentality that poisoned the actions of the Spanish rulers – a grandiosity that cannot be sated, reaching too far and aspiring to too much. This was a Spain that tried to do everything at once: to subjugate Italy, to encircle France, to contest the Holy Roman Empire, and economically dominate the Maritime Powers. Meanwhile to assert religious authority she had to fight the Ottomans. All this required gold, and so the American colonies, still in need of pacification, were instead brutally exploited. At the same time, religious divide lingering from the Reconquista was still present, thus the inquisition was born to persecute and control the populace. All this, I think, are symptoms of a monster that consumed too much and grew too fast, only to eventually have to spit it all back out again.

Foyer of the Royal Palace in Madrid. This is the only room where pictures were allowed but I can attest that every other one matched or exceeded it in splendor.

Ultimately, perhaps the follies of the Spanish Empire were such because she was the first to have a real opportunity at true global domination. We will see that those who came after, such as the British, employed much more subtle strategies. This is perhaps why the Victorian Golden Age left seemingly more legacies around the world than the ephemeral Spanish one. Alas, that is also why El Escorial is not to be found in England.

 

My Route:

 

Traveling Diaries 17 – Arrival at Andalusia

The “traveling diaries” concept originally suggested that I would write about my daily insights on the same night in the hotel. This of course immediately proved untenable. I gradually trailed days behind on my writings, and then eventually weeks… at some point it no longer felt like a diary in any sense and, once work stopped, the motivation to resume was hard to find. Some day I hope to return to the topic of my previous journeys, about which there are still much I’d like to record – for my own future reference if nothing else. Presently, the “diary” continues with the occurrences of my current life.

 

I’d missed Spain in my previous European escapades, so it was a no-brainer for me to extend a wedding invitation to a full vacation. Generally, before I visit a place, I can attribute my existing notions about it to some second hand source I’d seen or heard. For example, my original impression of London came from the tales of so many British friends and coworkers. My original impression of Vatican City, as mentioned before, came from a Dan Brown novel. For southern Spain, my familiarity with both people and popular media proved lacking, and my only impression comes from a computer game called Crusader Kings 2.

Alhambra complex in Granada, once the last Muslim foothold in Hispania.

In a sense, CK2 is not so much a game as an examination of the feudal system in medieval Europe. Considering the gameplay itself basically constitutes spreadsheet management, it’s really that examination which bears any cause for interest. In that game, playing as a northern Iberian kingdom like Castile or León at the start of the Reconquista is considered easy mode: you had natural allies in your Christian neighbors (whom you could also annex through marriage), and boundless Muslim lands to the south to conquer – for which you always have a casus belli, and will also positively reap in papal approval. Meanwhile, if the Muslims counter attacked, you can call upon powerful and eager allies such as France with only the slightest of diplomatic maneuverings. With enough papal influence you could even spark Crusades to specifically thwart the Muslim advance.

This Moorish fortification in Alcaudete is just one of many examples of such cultural remnants found on the wayside.

So the game made it seem like the triumph of Christendom and the eventual Spanish unification were all but inevitable. Real life is, of course, rarely so simple; and the Reconquista represents 800 years of almost continuous warfare in the subcontinent. Today, Spain is littered with the relics of this era, and the high point of my trip has been in visiting Moorish fortifications that tell the story of these conflicts. However, my takeaway has been surprisingly positive. Today we are too used to any religious confrontation – especially those involving Islam – to be unforgiving and bloodthirsty to the extreme. Spain of 1200 years ago paints a different picture. Increasingly, my understanding of the Reconquista has changed from cavalry charges and siege engines to a gradual cultural shift combined with political give-and-take between the Christen kingdoms and the caliphate/emirates. In terms of actual bloodshed, I’d even wager that infighting among Christians and Muslims outweigh those between the groups.

The fabulous Alcázar of Seville

I believe this relatively low amount of casualty and destruction was inspired by the Iberian Muslim rulers in the first place. The cathedral of Córdoba makes for an interesting case study. Not only was the original Christian church not destroyed when the Muslims took over, but it was later shared by worshipers of both religions. Then as the Umayyad emirs (whose religious tolerance apparently bordered on the absurd) sought to create a great mosque to match their opulence, they did so by buying out the Christian rights to the land. Later when the Christians retook Córdoba, the mosque was converted forthright to a cathedral. If anything, we show less religious tolerance today, as Muslims are now forbidden from worship on the cathedral grounds. Indeed, at the time, Córdoba was just one of a myraid jewels that marked an Islamic golden age fueled by temperance and rationality. In Seville, I could only marvel at the Muslim architecture of the real alcázar, with all its infinitely complex geometries and the unique designs of each palace. But my true amazement came from the fact that this palace had survived so many years unscathed – indeed, many parts were added under Christian rule despite the obvious Islamic influence: the so called mudéjar style. In contrast, in India I could not find any Muslim palaces so well preserved, and that is with the Mughal empire being such a more recent affair.

 

I would not be so bold as to say that there are lessons to be learned here by the people of today. Suffice it to say that seeing the Spanish past firsthand gives me a bit of hope for the future.

Traveling Diaries 16 – Panda Country

 

Some have accused me of being too judgmental of Chinese civility and decorum (or lack thereof). This I readily concede. It stems from genuine observations about just how uncouth Chinese locals can be: no one bats an eye at a child relieving himself in the middle of a courtyard; people spit on the sidewalks and bushes as they please; every time the subway doors open, it is a mad scramble as boarding and departing passengers collide like random particles in an accelerator. I reject any argument that this is simply due to overpopulation. Taiwan has five times the population density of China, and Taipei well exceeds Beijing in that regard, but you do not see any such behaviour. This also goes hand in hand with the lack of culture in modern Chinese society – at least, any culture that can be traced back to our own history. I do not generally view the past through rose-tinted glasses, but it is a fact that both in imperial times and the republic, people valued scholarship, courtesy, humility, and restraint more than they did mere wealth. Culture is not just about building a fence around a historical site and charging for entry. In the western world, in Japan, in Taiwan, and even in Hong Kong, people enter churches and temples to worship. In China, they kneel before the Buddhas like everywhere else, and then proceed to throw money at the monks for “blessings,” but I have never seen the least sign of genuine respect, nor do they go on to live their lives in remote accordance with Buddhist precepts. Some argue that there are plenty of places in the world where people behave just as atrociously. That may be true, but I have not gone to visit those places. Even if I did, I would not judge them as harshly as I do the Chinese, which I still consider my own stock, and therefore suffer their indiscretions more personally. Being such an enthusiast for the wonders of Chinese history and traditional culture, I am pained by how irrelevant they’ve become. Furthermore, the notoriety of Chinese backwardness is becoming well-known worldwide, thanks to increasing amounts of Chinese tourists and western expats (and indeed, whilst in Europe, there was nothing I despised more than Chinese tour groups). This shows a growing disconnect between the Chinese’s international influence and their behaviour.

Wuhouci, Chengdu. The figure honoured here is Zhugeliang, a sort of Chinese amalgamation of Socratic scholarship, Napoleonic tactics, Charlemagnesque administration, and Einstein-levels of intellect. Such were the traditional Chinese paragons of virtue.

Alright, that rant aside, I’ll admit there is still plenty to enjoy in China. While the last sixty years have eradicated anything which was once considered high or intellectual culture, there still exists a low or common culture, reflected in the lifestyle of the people. Every region has its own unique lifestyle. A lot of this has to do with the regional foods (to be expanded upon later), but it can be seen everywhere else as well.

The city of Chengdu is known by many names. Among the most grandiose is “the Treasury of Heaven” (天府之国) [note: Wikipedia translates this as Country of Heaven, or Land of Abundance. My translation is more accurate, I think, as the word 府 here specifically refers to treasury. Source: http://www.shz100.com/article-6360-1.html]. Situated at the head of the Yangtze River, it is far removed, yet not cut off, from the politics and economic upheavals of the eastern coast. Shielded by mountains on all sides, yet sitting upon a fertile plain, Chengdu nurtures an independent and contented people. Here, life is slow and locals are given to enjoyment. Indeed, soon after stepping off the plane, I found myself settling to the easy lethargy here. Everything seemed to emulate the indolence of the pandas over at the breeding center.

These baby pandas practise for adulthood by lounging around like their elders. They are model Chengdu citizens.

The Jinsha excavations show that Chengdu has been settled for at least 3000 years.

The most iconic symbol of the languid Chengdu lifestyle is the tea houses. Located at practically every street corner, they are packed to the brim at all hours by the locals, who apparently have no jobs to attend so important as to squander the pleasures of a cup of tea and hours of idle conversation with friends and strangers. Unfortunately, my Sichuanese was often not good enough to fully comprehend them (China has far too many mutually unintelligible dialects). Still I managed to pick up bits and pieces, and invariably the content of these talks is not as crucial as gratification from the act itself, in such an atmosphere uniquely suited for pointless banter.

The quintessential Chengdu “covered tea”

Exterior of a Chengdu tea house

Wenshuyuan, a gathering place for artists and poets to exchange ideas, wander the gardens, and not really get any work done.

The surroundings of Chengdu are similarly sedate. The region houses some of the most sacred holy grounds of the major Chinese religions. Most significant are Mount Qingcheng to the north for Taoism, and Mount Emei to the south for Buddhism. Each location rivals the other in beauty of natural scenery, magnificence of temple complexes, and dominion of sheer height. While Chengdu is made quiet from lazy enjoyment, these mountains exhibit the tranquility of serene contemplation.

Mount Qingcheng, a mysterious lake appears halfway up the mountain.

Dujiangyan, a waterworks under Mount Qingcheng, guarantees the fecundity of the Chengdu plains. Constructed over 2000 years ago, it is still in use today. Here at the “fish mouth levee,” the natural river is split into the inner stream for irrigation, and the outer stream for diverting flooodwater.

All in all, Sichuan marked the most relaxed portion of my trip, and a well-needed break before returning to the hustle and bustle of life outside.

Traveling Diaries 15 – Shanghai Nights and Su-Hang Lights

The term Jiangnan refers to the geography just south of where the Yangtze River empties into the East China Sea. Known as Chu (楚) during the Warring States and Wu (吴) during the Three Kingdoms, Jiangnan has always been a term associated with poetry, timeless romance, and beauty in both its landscape and its women. While wars and consolidation of power took place in the north, Jiangnan was considered a place of quiet escape. To “go down Jiangnan” was a favourite activity for scholars, artists, and emperors who fancied themselves one or the other.

After centuries of blatant romanticization, the true concept of Jiangnan had become blurry to me. In my mind’s eye, I always pictured the region to be an assembly of fishing villages and silk farms, with small cities only existing to house workshops where that silk is hand-spun and woven into works of elegant artistry. Travel would only be permitted upon small hooded boats that traverse the network of rivers and streams. People would spend their leisurely days practising their calligraphy, attending poetry conventions, or playing a lone zither long into the warm autumn nights… On this trip, I paid a visit to the three most iconic cities of Jiangnan – Shanghai, Hangzhou, and Suzhou. Alas, my idyllic images did not survive the harshness of reality.

Shanghai was the least surprising to me. I’ve been here before for the 2010 World Expo, and in any case it is new enough to not warrant much aggrandizement. Still far-fallen from its glory days in the early 20th century, Shanghai today can only be described as sprawling and metropolitan, the most populated city in the world by right. The various districts of Shanghai are hardly distinguishable in their congested traffic and complexes of high-rises. Of course, the eastern side of the Huangpu River boasts the tallest and most luxurious buildings, which together constitute what is now the familiar Shanghai skyline. Across the water, the Bund is the only area where some history survives. Once the banks and consulates of various western powers in the international settlement, the Bund is now mostly converted shops and hotels, but at least carry on the Eclecticist styles from the height of 20th century European architecture.

The Bund at night

Pudong, Shanghai, from our hotel room

Contrasted to Shanghai, Hangzhou and Suzhou are truly historic cities which feature prominently in poems and stories. The landmark of Hangzhou is West Lake, which is described as the pinnacle of all sights under heaven by Su Shi (西湖天下景，游者无愚贤) and comparable to the greatest beauty of legend by Li Bai (欲把西湖比西子，淡妆浓抹总相宜), who are the greatest poets of their respective dynasties. However, to me, West Lake is simply a lake. Wondrously decorated, to be sure, but no more exceptional than what a few temples and bridges accord. In particular, it is hard to gaze into its waters and garner a moment of artistic inspiration when you are likely to be jostled by the next passing tourist. The silk trade is still going strong here, but now takes place in factories and outlet stores: romance given way to industry.

Musical fountains upon West Lake

Linying Temple, Hangzhou

Suzhou is renowned for its numerous gardens of exquisite design. The fact that these gardens all charge entry fees of over a hundred RMB was beyond my expectation. After all, they are analogous to the city parks of any other community, and I cannot fathom how locals would consider spending a day’s wages to visit the park. Then again, charging for entry to any and every locale is an honoured custom of modern China. The interiors of these gardens are pleasant enough, but more jarring are their situations amid block after block of concrete buildings and cacophonous streets. Indeed, this the number one thing which destroyed my illusions about Jiangnan. I failed to realize that these are now all great urban centers, each housing millions. In the face of such expansion, my picture of pastoral tranquility is bound to only be a pipe dream.

A pavilion in Dingyuan

A sheet of silk spread out after being drawn from the cocoon. Seen in a workshop attached to a store. Don’t be fooled, though. The real work is done offsite.

North of Suzhou, there yet remain a glimpse of what I had envisioned, at Zhouzhuang. A preserved fishing town, Zhouzhuang makes for an apt Venetian comparison with its canals and waterside houses. Still commercialized to an exuberant degree, Zhouzhuang at least makes the effort to present the pretense of what Jiangnan might have been, a millennium in the past. I am beginning to fear that such pretensions may be the only remnants of traditional culture left in China.

This lady shopkeeper is diligently hand-sewing her tapestry while awaiting new customers. The implication is obviously that all her wares are thus produced. They are not.

View of Zhouzhuang from a river boat

Traveling Diaries 14 – Heart of Darkness

Ask any Chinese local about Shanxi province, and the first word that springs to mind will inevitably be “coal.” In a developing country such as China, coal is still an immensely important resource, particularly for steel production, power generation, and heating in the rural regions. Shanxi is home to some of the largest, and by far the most exploited, coal deposits in China.  However, there is no parallel to be drawn between Shanxi and other resource-laden states such as Saudi Arabia (or, indeed, Alberta). In China, a locality has no opportunity to benefit from its own assets. While Shanxi’s coals are emptied and consumed by all of the country, the province itself is left scarred, polluted, and as destitute as ever. In recent years the central government has only ramped up its control, and a number of arrests of Shanxi’s highest officials has left the region nearly leaderless. Located far from the technological and financial centers along the coast, Shanxi lies forgotten and buried in the grime of coal dust. It is truly the heart of darkness.

Of course, it was not always like this here. For thousands of years, Shanxi boasted opulent cities and luxurious trade routes. Its farmlands once nourished the dawning Chinese civilization. Its merchants were once affluent enough to rival kings and emperors. That is why my first stop in China, with barely any respite after landing in Beijing, was to join a tour group to explore Shanxi. As a rule, I despise traveling with tour groups. By my measure, their main function is to optimize going to the most places, taking the most pictures, and checking off the most boxes on the proverbial to-do list. Personally I don’t maintain such a list, and would much rather enjoy the places I like at my own pace. Nevertheless, family obligation compelled me to join this trip, and I must say I learned a lot from my experiences. Unfortunately, everything I learned revolves around the theme of the death and decay of civilization.

The magnitude of the Wang family estates shows just how powerful the merchant houses of Shanxi once were.

It began with the weather. Pollution from industry and coal-mining was so abysmal during the first days that we could barely count the fingers at the ends of our extended arms. Afterwards, this toxic fog gave way to a frigid rain that chilled the very soul. Our route required at least five hours’ bus ride on the dusty trails each day, taking us across much of the province. Along the way, everywhere I looked I saw an impoverished and backwater people, living in shoddy shacks among pools of garbage and human filth. Unsettled regions were hardly more picturesque. Millennia of overgrazing and deforestation had reduced the once fertile land to the Loess Plateau, a yellowish patch of eroded soil that now stretches across the entire province. In this backdrop of crumbling civilization, the scenic sites we visited appeared especially jarring with their artificial prosperity.

Weathered patterns in the soil at Tulin marks what once might have been bounteous farms or pastures.

The Sakyamuni Pagoda at Ying County has stood for a thousand years. With the upper floors beginning to topple, it may not stand for much longer.

Rising from the precipice, the Hanging Temple at Mount Heng is surely an impressive sight. Perhaps survival across the ages requires hiding in such crevices.

Yanmenguan is one of the most famous keeps along the Great Wall. For centuries it protected Chinese civilization from northern invaders. Now, it is China on both sides. But where is the civilization?

Visiting historic sites in China always provokes a troubling thought: here there are relics and monuments that have survived thousands of years of war and dynastic succession However, a scarce fifty years ago, there would have been so much more of these treasures. The Cultural Revolution had outdone countless generations in its eradication of our cultural heritage. Today, everything which survived that disaster is a miracle in its own right. And yet, many perpetrators of this unforgivable crime are still alive, and are entirely unrepentant. For Shanxi, it is merely another step on a long descent from magnificence.

This Jinci complex only exists now because locals took up arms against the red guards to defend their ancestral temples during the revolution – a rare tale of bravery in that dark era.

Much of what survived the Cultural Revolution still became perverted. Pingyao is a great example. The remains of a prosperous walled city from the Qing Dynasty, it became a farce as it acquired international renown.  Today, every structure on this street is of modern construction. Inside each one, a different merchant proffers the same worthless trinkets to the hapless foreign visitor. The true Chinese experience.

Yungang Grottoes was the one thing that truly wowed me in Shanxi. These massive Buddhas, carved over a thousand years ago into the rocks, still appear vividly lifelike. The site is extensively damaged, and there was a time when every statue was covered in a layer of soot from passing coal trucks. Nevertheless, what remains doesn’t fail to astound. Given leave, I would have spent the entire day here. On this tour, we were only given an hour.

All in all, I am very glad that I came to Shanxi. Every time I return to China, I go through a period of adjustment when I must reacquaint myself with the way of life here – the noisiness, the materialism, the utter lack of courtesy, and the complete disregard for culture. In Shanxi, I got over all that in one dose. Objectively speaking, the places I visited would be very impressive when matched against any other nation. It is only through what is missing and how little people seem to care that I experience the sensation of loss and ruin. I believe Shanxi would be a wondrous place again once its people learn to appreciate the real wealth they possess – not in coal but in history and culture. Until then, I don’t think I will look to return.

Traveling Diaries 13 – So Long and Thanks for All the Fish

As the footnote to my European exploits, some recollections are due about a point I’ve so far neglected: the food and drink. Firstly, it should be pointed out that with my limited budget, I could hardly be expected to attempt the priciest of options. Indeed, though I had passed by any number of famously expensive restaurants, in particular the throng of Michelin Three Star establishments in Southern France, my deflated wallet kept me well outside their thresholds. Furthermore, a busy schedule of running around makes it difficult to find time to sit down for grandiose cuisines – especially seeing as I dined alone for the most part. On the other hand, I dispute any claim that Europe can only be appreciated from high tables and through seven course meals. Though I may have missed some parts of the culinary arts reserved for the elite and the bourgeoisie, I tasted plenty of different local foods which wowed, amused, and surprised me. All in all, I consider the foodstuffs one of the most important aspects of my trip.

If I could have one last wish, I would like a tasty fish.
Photo taken at Genoa Aquarium

According to the stereotype, the Brits have the most uncouth and tasteless dietary profile in all of Europe, with no respectable native dish to speak of save for fish and chips. In truth, London in recent years has quickly grown to become the gastronomic capital of the world, and exquisite cuisine of every kind can be found there. Nevertheless, in between tea houses during the day and visiting those centuries-old pubs by night, I had little opportunity to enter a proper restaurant. So fish and chips it was! And they were not bad. But English tea, along with its many associated accoutrements, certainly was my favourite part of the British lifestyle. Indeed, I discovered this as early as my flight over, and will now forever begrudge American airlines for not serving their tea in dinghy little china cups with the accompanying pastries. However, I still can’t trust myself to differentiate between a biscuit and a scone.

A pot of meat simmers in the early morn at this London street market. Soon the alluring aroma will attract a hoard of passers-by.

When it comes to Belgium, likely the first phrase that comes to mind is “Belgium waffles.” Of course, Belgium waffles as such are an entirely American invention. And while there were waffle shops aplenty, I did not find the occasion to enter one. What I did enjoy were pralines – cream-filled chocolate candies that delight the tongue in the same moment that they terrify the pancreas. Of course, when it comes to chocolates, the Belgians can hardly go wrong. In fact, those seashell chocolates – which as I recall are held in fairly high regard back in Canada – were literally being given away on the street.

A lot of the time, what makes a food “unique” and “regional” is the fact that it employs ingredients no one of sound mind would regularly consume. In France, if anywhere, this rings especially true. Truffles and escargots are two better known examples. My particular experience pertains to the previously-mentioned quenelles found in the bouchons of Lyon. The rich and creamy quenelle, which is delicious beyond power of description, is made largely out of lake fish from the Rhône. I had the dubious pleasure of trying that same fish in a more standard preparation: it was honestly a most bland and bony piece of cat-feed. In addition, traditional fares such as pâté en croûte rarely make use of what might be called the choiciest parts of the animal. When it comes down to it, even the revered foie gras is a method to create haute cuisine from what is otherwise usually discarded.

A seaside feast in Marseille. Here I also found out that what the Europeans call lobsters are barely medium-sized shrimps.

Italy is a shining beacon in the culinary culture of the world. I would forgive that country of any faults simply for how it has made everyday fare wondrous. I spent my meals in between pizzerias and trattorias – hardly what one might call upper-class institutions. There was little cause for extravagance when, for twenty euros, I could have at once the tenderest prosciutto and the most delectable pizza of my life. This experience was particularly marvelous in Genoa, becoming somewhat dampened in the more crowded Rome and Venice (Florence again being the worst of the lot), and coming back again in Milan.

This delicious and overloaded pizza cost a whopping €8 at a nameless pizzeria in Nervi.

And this is what constitutes street food in Milan.

Finally there was Germany, aptly known for its sausages and fine beers. However, a more careful observer should note that internally this is one of the most culturally diverse countries in Europe. One could hardly expect Bavarians, Berliners, and Rhinelanders to share all the same traditional dishes. Of the ones I tried, I especially preferred the food of Frankfurt. Liverwurst and sauerkraut is simply a divine combination, and even now my mouth waters at the memory of eggs in Grüne Soße. Frankfurt’s apple wine also makes for the ideal autumn lunchtime drink. Of course, fondness for beer really is a characteristic shared by all true Germans. I happened to arrive just in time for Oktoberfest, when celebration of that glistening golden liquid reaches its height. Unfortunately, the nature of imbibing in too many brews is that you proceed to forget everything about what you’d drank in the first place.

Europe is a worthy destination for any traveler – for its food if nothing else. However, my next chapter on diet should be all the more exciting. For I believe it is safe to say that there are no people more singularly concerned with eating than the orientals.

My route (created via Google Maps)

Traveling Diaries 12 – A Farewell to Arms

Upon entering Germany, the first distinct change I noticed was an increase in the quality of nearby vehicles. Beamers, Porsches, and Audis came to dominate the road. Not content to let their powerful engines run idle, the drivers invariably zoom by at speeds ranging from what I estimate to be 160 to well over 200 km/h. I am thus relegated to the rightmost lanes, to join the ranks of ponderous trucks and other foreign vehicles of inferior make. I admit to having later tried, for my own part, to hit the 200 km mark on a deserted stretch of the Autobahn. Some worrying noises which started rumbling under the hood quickly dissuaded me from the idea.

For all their reckless heroics on the highway, the Germans I met in person displayed mannerism befitting the stereotype: they were rule-abiding to a fault. Late afternoon on an empty back alley, there was not a single car to be seen. I confess that under the same circumstance, I would have crossed the street with utter disregard. Nevertheless, the local I was with insisted upon finding an intersection and then waiting for the light to change… such is but a glimpse of the qualities that make the Germans such fine citizens – and soldiers.

Of course, Germany had hardly benefited from its military misadventures. The ravages of war have thoroughly decimated and scarred every corner of this country. This was first made evident to me in Frankfurt am Main, a city noted for its thriving commerce since medieval times (as mentioned in The Merchant of Venice), and boasts the only skyline of high-rises in the country (or so I am told). However, none of the city’s history survived unscathed through recent conflicts – not its markets, its iconic opera house, or the landmark that is the Frankfurter Dom, which had crowned so many Holy Roman Emperors in the twilight of that great nation. Today, Frankfurt is again a bustling center of finance and trade on the international scale, a demonstration of the speed by which the German people recovered.

Timberframe houses line Frankfurt’s marketplace now as they always have, but these structures are all newly constructed after WW2.

One might think that the remnants of war are rare in the rural regions. Indeed, on the surface Gelnhausen – a small town of 20,000 people – appears the very image of idyllic countryside. The houses grow nestled into the hillside, and above their midst the cathedral majestically looms. Elsewhere around the town, medieval markets and palaces can be found, still vibrant with life. However, Gelnhausen had been a station for US army troops well into the present century. The nearby city of Fulda contains many wonders as well, including the magnificent Benedictine monastery (see the top banner), and the Stadtschloss which evokes some of the imagery of Versailles – seemingly far too grandiose for so small a settlement. And yet, Fulda is also the site of the infamous Fulda Gap, along which both sides stationed obscene amounts of armament during the Cold War.

St. Peter’s Cathedral, Gelnhausen

Front entrance of the Stadtschloss (City Palace) of Fulda

After that, I happened upon Berlin, whose very foundations had been reduced to rubble by the end of Wold War 2. The sight of Berlin’s desolation had reportedly caused even Churchill to despair at the prospect of its reconstruction. Furthermore, tearing down of the Berlin Wall is an event that happened within the memory of the current generation. Even if the rest of the world forgets about the follies and consequences of war, I am confident that Berliners will not. Today in Berlin, there are still very few historical sights predating the 19th century to speak of. Instead, all around the city are museums, memorials, and sites commemorating the victims of Nazism and the Cold War. Here, the memory of those tragedies are far from remote.

The Berlin Wall is gone, but Checkpoint Charlie remains to mark the point where NATO control once ceded to the Soviet.

The Topography of Terror is a more recent museum detailing the cruel history of the Gestapo and the SS. True to its name, even its surroundings evoke a stark horror.

The above is a brief account of my experience in Germany with regards to how it relates to war and destruction. Possibly it paints too bleak a picture of my visit. In truth, I greatly enjoyed my time there, and in particular the food and people. Hopefully I will be able to justly address those things in a future entry. Germany also reminded me greatly of Canada. Doubtlessly, it has to do with the abundance of maple trees, whose leaves were just starting to change hues and fall as befit the season. However, from Berlin my next destination would not be my current home, but my birthplace in the orient. An adventure in Europe concludes, and yet another begins.