Wuyi Shan
I had been to Japan for 5 of my last 7 trips, the other two being familiar Kinmen and hometown Christmas. I decided to try a place in China, enroute to another visit to Jinmen. Wuyi Shan 武夷山. The gaotie was wonderful as usual, but the driver to pick me up at the train station was late which irritated me much more than it should have. Compounding this was that the hotel was overpriced considering that 3 meters away from the reception the doors of what I assumed used to be a conference room were open revealing trash and rubble with a makeshift carpeted path through that lead to the staircase--this was no accident but actually a disaster guests could not just see but also use to get to their room. The sunset on the mountain was the only point scored in the town's favor that day.
Adding cliché to injury, the next morning we bought tickets for the park--again ripped off despite that I was with a Hunanren and I had to return to get my passport which I never came close to needing. We went into the park, a massive area with many scenic mountains and valleys, and went to the #1 recommended activity called The Heavenly Peak Tour. It was a crowded hike up stone stairs in the entirely bearable wet sauna 40 degree heat; a sultry misery for most. We were constantly stopped and poked by umbrellas for a view that was as spectacular as that of any hill next to a stream. I was resigned to a mediocre at best experience and remembered at least I would go to Kinmen next, and probably Japan for the following 5 vacations.
The next site we visited was called roaring tiger rock. This place was worthwhile. Looking back down, it was strange that the stairs could even remain attached to the side of the rock we just climbed, which was much more difficult than the first ascent. The view here was legitimate. Unique, massive green shapes stood out of the ground like rounded teeth. And mountain-like protuberances that weren't covered with vegetation had beautiful scars from wind or water or a glacial time long ago. Some even defied physics to remain standing without collapsing given that the top seemed much heavier than the supporting base. It's what I pictured the interior of Fujian province to look like from my last train ride to Xiamen.
And that was the turning point. The descent was filled with more fantastic views and was as empty of other tourists as was the way up. What was once seen from a distance was now at arm's length and we saw up close the strange, angled sheer faces that despite having stood for exponential lifetimes should bury me now. With distant rumblings of thunder, we walked to the shuttle bus for our last destination of the day--Da Hong Pao meadow valley.
Living in Shanghai, I had noticed on a many non-umbrellaed occasions that there were rarely thunderstorms. And even those weren't like the raging, fork lightening summer torrents common in the Southern and Midwestern United States. This Fujian storm had taken its time strolling in, but it was here in full force--except without any bite. The lightening remained unseen elsewhere, but the cooling rain and accompanying bass showered us as we marched in what was the most beautiful area yet. We were between these Herculean hills, marching on a sometimes wide sometimes narrow path that nearly always had views of the manicured, tiered tea plantations. After passing a large bamboo constructed, thatched roofed Da Hong Pao sales bungalow that was wooden yet modern underneath, the few tourists that had gone that far vanished. I daydreamed that if not a tea house, it would have been probably the greatest place in the entire world to drink a beer in a downpour. There was some climbing up and down, but not as before--we were in the valley happily soaking and flowing between the pillars around us. The sun finally came out, but the temperature remained set at Eden. We were lost and our legs were sore and we couldn't have been happier. The sounds of water falling and running were all that let me know I wasn't deaf, and my companion the only way I knew I wasn’t the last person on Earth.
An hour after the last signpost we had spotted, we came to a temple with its traditional accoutrements and remarkably large drum. There were some people just hanging out and who calmly provided my friend no information on which direction to go or how long it would take. I never understood why she asked because I could have walked forever there and was ambivalent when an hour later we arrived back to an area with people nearby a shuttle stop.
The warm shower at the hotel was admittedly nice. We wanted to go to a fancy restaurant with a view, but it was booked so instead we went to a famous local one. The freshest, most delicious vegetables were neatly organized in baskets displayed out front. The quality and taste of the food matched shortly after and the quantity would have served another three people. They had three homemade alcohols: a waxberry, a bug and a snake. I assumed that after a few of the 40% waxberries that tasted as smooth as apple juice that I would be in that drunk, bold, careless mode and try what made my stomach turn thinking about it and gag to look at. But whether through a lack of booze or an insurmountable distaste or most likely, a wussy fortitude, I didn't try the non-vegetarian options.
Now it was time for the show. I won't describe it other than to say it was perhaps the best I've ever seen. To put in perspective, the only two to come to my mind are the water puppet show in Hanoi that I saw twice and what I call the Fish Dance show in Cambodia which I also saw twice. It should not be taken lightly that it took only a little time for me to put it ahead of the water puppets. And I LOVE that show. This performance struck me in so many ways--modern technology telling an old story with fantastic dancing, organization, attention to detail and moving music. I still can't say whether it is tied or falls short of the Fish Dance. I think of Mill and Bentham and whether or not pushpin is as good as poetry. The Fish Dance is a trip to humanity's history in a way that impacts more than an amazing light show or spectacular scenery.
The show, like the other two, was linguistically incomprehensible to me, which mattered little. The same was not true of the bamboo raft trip the following day. The poleman on our raft was quite interested in me, since in the entire park I was the only obvious laowai, and I didn't hear any Korean, Japanese, Tagalog or non-mandarin except for one very friendly father who at Tiger Rock spoke possibly native English to me. Next to me on our delightfully rickety 6 seat ‘boat’ was a plump elderly man with plenty of spirit. So jovial I thought perhaps he was drunk and he insisted on offering me cigarettes while he took it upon himself to be my publicist and agent. The poleman asked me questions like 'where are you from laowai?, how old are you?, is that your girlfriend?' And he received responses that made the whole boat laugh: he's half Shanghainese, so don't call him a laowai, it's rude. “‘You know Chinese are laowai in other countries?’ ‘None of your business.’ and ‘No, it's his classmate.’“ The entire boat laughed and so did the poleman who had plenty of his own funny responses. They seemed as if they were two comedy titans that coincidently, fortunately for the cruise, had been put together to make a routine. Then the man started singing. At the end, when a non-written rule tip was asked for (20 yuan per person), my 'classmate' was asked if she wanted to pay and she declined for good reason not mentioned here, my champion offered 100 kuai for the boat. The poleman refused as it was 20 short at which point the humorist offered to jump off and swim so that the money was right. My lack of Chinese kept me from enjoying the full extent of the back and forth, as it truly seemed as if it was a standup set for an audience of 5. But the others’ laughter easily put me in a joyous mood via ricochet.
Lastly, even more so after the performance, I wanted to learn more about Da Hong Pao tea. I love tea, and my favorite to that point was tieguanyin. Not that taste is determined by price, but as an interesting fact that I had picked up during the drive to dinner, the most expensive tea ever sold was a type of this tea which at auction to a Brit—shocking-- went for 180,000 pounds for 20g. Our always cheerful driver took us to his cousin’s shop—not the tourist trap tea emporiums. I only had time to try two varieties, I only wanted to learn, and so they offered to me for free but I came away with a big bag of the first one I tried. It was time to move on, and I enjoyed the afterglow of Wuyi shan the entire train ride to Xiamen.