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By: Jack Dillon, Contributing Editor Wandering around Guilin, China, Johanna and I eagerly anticipated dinner and talk of tomorrow's cruise on the mystical Li River. Crossing the Li River foot bridge not far from our hotel, we just had witnessed a golden sunset over a singular limestone mound called "Fu Bo Hill". The river shores were rimmed with artists, and strollers. People were swimming, others washing clothes. Artisans, positioned for just the right spot to capture in oil or lens that distant orb in all its glory framed in luxuriant foliage lining the banks.
The scent from the river still lingered in the air as we touched the other side. This foot bridge was for people, and of course, bikes. Sounds of spring seemed to rise over the chatter of the hordes. I could still hear the river behind me as birds chirped away, settling in for the gathering darkness. A small linear park dominated the west bank of the river. We turned south looking for a restaurant. It was too dark by now to distinguish color...but the feel was there. Although we were hungry our steps were hesitant. We unconsciously wanted to absorb it all - let China penetrate into our souls. Art was everywhere. Canvasses, mostly of the river showed under dim lights - calligraphy stood out next to mist shrouded domes. The "wall" and temples were other common themes. Eager vendors quoted prices for the efforts of millions of artists. Our stomachs urged us on as we blundered past mahjong players, children, lovers, gawkers, and story tellers circled by awed listeners in rapt attention hearing tales of old China. Traffic loomed ahead.. We had to cross a street. At home this is easy. You wait for the light. In most of Asia it's an adventure. Cars, trucks, and bikes whizzed by as we stood with hands clasped waiting for an opening. Women, babes in arms, sometimes two in tow, stepped off into the chaos of traffic, dodging and side stepping in a way any running quarter back would envy. NOW! we sprinted off the curb, a bike streaked behind us, a cab in front, a truck slowed, we accelerated and jumped onto the sidewalk. We made it. Looking up, neon seemed to dominate the scene now. Merchants of various kinds stood outside their stores beckoning. This was the shopping district so a restaurant had to be near. All signs were in Chinese as we tried to recall how "Eatery" characters had looked in "Fodors". Scrutiny would be the only way so we continued on. At home, a Chinese restaurant is quite different from one in China. The real McCoy displays what is available outside or in the window, often live or pickled. Hesitantly, we gazed at slithering snakes, creeping scorpions, croaking frogs, cooked locusts, large roaches, squirming larvae and some incomprehensible calligraphy followed by understandable numbers. That was the menu. We looked at each other as our stomachs growled for attention. A musical voice filtered to our brain. "Can we help you?" Turning, we saw two beautiful girls astride their bikes. Long black hair flowed on lovely shoulders as their confident gaze met our confused eyes. One spoke: "We're art students from down the alley." Their English was good, better than mine, I thought, as they ambled on. "Are you looking for a place to eat?" Salivating returned. I blurted out an eager "Yes!" They giggled, swung shapely bare legs over the seats and approached, walking the bikes. "Follow us", they exclaimed. It's easy to wend your way behind such lovely interference. Gone are the drab blue of Chairman Mao. Girls in China are proud of their figures, preferring flattering western styles. Crowds of vendors, shoppers and strollers melted away as we advanced. We looked at each other as they halted in front of what looked like a combination of museum and menagerie with a slant towards entomology. The girls kept emphasizing that the place was "clean" and I guess it was - floor spotless and no debris around. I could hear the final gasp of some unfortunate chicken in the back as the four us took seats in the Chinese restaurant. May Lei and Su had introduced themselves outside and told how this was the best place to eat this side of the river. I insisted they join us for dinner, secretly hoping they would help us order as well as interpret. They joyfully accepted. Settling in our booth, they explained the choices like sea slug, yak penis, par boiled intestines, and roasted sugared scorpion, thinking we were adventurous. "Keep going," I said, thinking of the McDonald's we saw back in Beijing. After last year's visit to Thailand, I turned vegetarian; but here in China, this choice was hard to follow unless you knew exactly how to order. Meat dominated the menu. How do you clarify the status of insects? "Meat?" I settled for stuffed dumplings with rice and shrimp while Johanna, usually daring preferred something conservative tonight, ordered the baked fish (not hot, ha ha). Our guests had boiled snake with rice and chicken which they ate with gusto. During the meal we talked of art, the student life, travel, and their curiosity about the USA. They seemed well informed but avoided political figures completely. They could not understand our reluctance to trade with China and told of complete religious freedom in their country. During the meal I could hear sporadic shouts and laughter coming from behind closed doors. It was quite intense. Curiosity got the best of me as the parting waitress left the door ajar. Peering in this smoke filled room I could see what appeared to be a private party, children cozying up to elderly adults, while women gossiped. Younger men were engaged in a hand game like the Italians played where fingers thrust forward as shouts of numbers filled the room. They spotted me and at once dragged me in. I found myself the center of attention as a drink was thrust in my hand. Grinning faces circled me urging me to gulp down a toast. No English was spoken but I managed my best Chinese "Ni Hao" (hello). They roared approval and croaked their best "hello" in English...By now my left hand had a plate while my right hand held another drink I could see they were friendly. I was urged to sit down but gracefully declined, gesturing I was needed outside. Toddlers stared at me with a curious grin. The smoke was choking. May Lei came in and rescued me. She spoke her language and I could see the understanding of my dilemma on their faces. Thanks to May Lei, good international relations were salvaged. They showed no offence as we retreated to the comparatively fresh air. But a small child was still tugging at my pants. The streets were still buzzing with activity. May Lei and Su were leading the way to their "master's" Studio and Gallery - this was where they studied their art. Gracefully, Wung Ho bowed and shook our hand, then indicated we should sit down. He spoke no English. Glancing around we saw we were surrounded by the traditional art of China. A large number of the paintings were rectangular, the format up and down. This allows for the calligraphy in the ancient Chinese style. Modern Chinese writing is across the page as in the western world. The "chop" or signature of the artist is "stamped" by a special tool with red ink. Each artist has his own exclusive chop. In the center of the room was a table for working and viewing art as well as pallets in various corners. I could see an abacus next to a PC off in an adjoining room, a curious combination, but then when the PC fails or is overwhelming with complexity the old reliable energy saving abacus will do. Right now I could see class was out and selling was the preference. Two other "Westerners" had eyes fixed on a painting of a lowering sun over the Li River. How distinctive. Once seen you never forget it is different from any river in China and probably the world. Misty conditions with fishermen and cormorants drifted on the placid waters. The "Great Wall", tigers, bearded men, elderly women and children also were represented. Not one picture of Chairman Mao could be seen even off in the "office". May Lei and Su kind of melted into the background. Johanna urged them to display their work. Shyly they produced a pen & ink portrait and orchids in watercolor. The details in the man's face, a fisherman with a pipe, was beautiful. Su's orchids with dew drops reflecting the light was exquisite. The other two westerners came over to the table, and immediately bought the two paintings. There was no quibbling about the price. "Wow!" - My head was still swimming with how fast things can happen. My guess was that the buyers meeting the artist on the spot had something to do with it. "May Lei, what else do you have?", I asked. I look up on my wall and see the Li River. It's shrouded in mists, a lone fisherman poles his boat while cormorants wait patiently, he never reaches the shore. It's like a lot of other paintings I saw in China, but this one, I know the artist. We had dinner together.
-- Jack Dillon |
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