It shows the distance traveled as being about 32,681 km (including flights to and from Toronto), but I’m sure it was more than that. The distances were “as the crow flies,” so didn’t account for the winding, weaving roads and railroads between places. The trip started with a flight in to Shanghai, located around the center of the image, and ended when I left Hong Kong to return to Toronto. Looking at this stark map, it brings to mind vivid memories of those places and experiences represented by the magenta pins and lines.

Related posts:

1. The Asian blur
2. Back in Shanghai
3. Xi’an I get along just fine

We wandered for hours, eventually finding ourselves in a major tourist area and then at a bus stop. After studying the various out-of-date maps posted for everyone’s inconvenience, we worked out how to get back to the hostel on the bus. I find these little adventures to be rewarding.

Dinner tonight was Peking duck. No visit to Beijing would be complete without the city’s famous roast duck recipe. The food was so good last night that we decided to eat at the same restaurant again. The chef and owner of this restaurant clearly appreciates that having good Chinese food doesn’t mean you need to have a dismal dining experience to go along with it. The presentation and service were top-notch, and the price was very reasonable. There was even a dude who stood by our table and patiently wrapped and served us the traditional “duck burritos” that are an essential part of the Peking duck experience. I remembered to bring my camera this time. No, the wriggling still-alive scorpion skewers are not from our dinner. They were from a local street-food market. I was gratified to note that everyone, including domestic Chinese tourists seemed grossed out by the scorpions.

Immediately after dinner, I set out to the Olympic park to try again at shooting the “Birds Nest” stadium and “Water Cube” aquatics centre. This time, I had better luck and managed to score a few shots of these iconic structures. That’s good, because between walking and the subway, it’s about two hours each way to get to the Olympic park.

Now it’s time for bed. I’m leaving for Bangkok tomorrow. More thoughts about China later.

Related posts:

1. Going with the flow in Beijing
2. In Inner Mongolia
3. Getting used to culture shock

Related posts:

1. Going with the flow in Beijing
2. Peking ducks and a Beijing marathon
3. In Inner Mongolia

Tonight after a delicious and artfully prepared meal at a restaurant down the street (sorry, I wasn’t expecting it to be so good, so no photos), I went out to see what I could shoot. I decided to hop on the subway and try to get myself over to the Olympic park to have some fun with all those celebrity buildings, like the National Stadium. I’m truly amazed at the changes to the subway system in the last two years. When I was here in 2007, I had to battle a crowd to get to this little cage containing a woman selling paper tickets. You then had to battle a crowd to get to a guy who would punch a hole in the ticket and let you down the stairs to the trains. There were four very limited subway lines open, covering a small part of the city. That’s all changed. Now, you buy your re-usable plastic subway tickets from a bank of bilingual touch-screen terminals, and pass through automated gates to get to the trains. There are nine lines now, with 147 stations all over the city. The cost has also changed. Instead of three to five Yuan (about 50-80 cents) that it cost in 2007, it’s now 2 Yuan (about 36 cents) to ride anywhere this massive system goes. According to Wikipedia, the system is still under massive expansion, with plans to double its current size by 2012. This is why I’m baffled that Toronto can’t build proper public transit to Pearson airport. It’s all about priorities.

So, I rode the subway for quite a long time, transferring a couple of times to get to Olympic park. It took about an hour to get there because it’s pretty far, and I kept missing my connecting trains. By the time I arrived at the Olympic park station, it was about 9:35pm. I was surprised to discover that the Olympic park closes at 9:30pm, so I was just in time to see the security guards let the last people out, and slam the gate shut. Also, it started raining.

I chalked it up to experience, and comforted myself in that I’d at least figured out where the airport express subway line started, and headed back to the hostel. When I came out of the subway, the rain had pretty much stopped. The reflections of the buildings in the wet pavement made me feel like doing some long exposures. Earlier in the night, I’d been shooting this old church that was sandwiched between a giant hotel and a mega-ultra-modern department store in the busy Wangfujing shopping area. It looked amazing reflected in the wet pavement.

Just as I was getting into shooting this, and finding some interesting angles, someone abruptly turned out all the lights on the building. It took a moment for me to realize how awesome this was. I truly believe that to get great night shots, you have to shoot what seems impossible to shoot. There are so many photographers who can easily recognize the photographic potential of brightly lit night scenes, and will get out the tripod to take some very ordinary shots. However, I want to make it my mission to capture those rarest of photons, because the fewer there are, the more potential they have to make night photos that really shine. After the lights went out, those remarkable photons were reflecting off of the moving clouds, creating a surreal backdrop. The sparse light from the shops across the street provided ample fill for the building itself, even though the scene at the time looked almost totally dark.

I only have one more night left here in China before I head over to Thailand. In some ways, this trip has seemed to have flown by so fast. In other ways, I feel like I’ve been here a lifetime. In either case, I’ve done my best to make it memorable.

Related posts:

1. Peking ducks and a Beijing marathon
2. Beijing shows me up
3. Spring has sprung

Our mini bus picked us up at the hotel at 8:30am. It was a rickety old thing, and the driver seemed a bit nervous that it wouldn’t make the trip in one piece. He phoned ahead, and we did a bus and driver swap with some Spanish tourists who were returning from the grasslands. Both the new bus and the driver seemed more comfortable. The tourists advised us to ask for a heater when we got to the grasslands.

The drive to the grasslands is spectacular, over a couple of hours of winding roads through desolate mountains, ascending to a plateau of wide grassy fields and crisp blue skies. The smog and pollution that blankets most of China doesn’t exist here. The fresh air was very welcome indeed. There was a pleasant absence of most everything except for the golden grass on the wide plains. Once in a while, we’d see someone galloping on a horse, but that was pretty much it. At once, it was easy to imagine Genghis Khan rallying the Mongol warriors on horseback to take over all of Asia and part of Europe back in the 13th century, but also difficult to imagine how such a desolate land could produce enough of those warriors to hold such a massive territory.

There were some interesting moments during the drive. At one point, there was a toll booth ahead, charging 10 Yuan to pass through on the highway. Our driver had a mischievous grin as he pulled off the road into a tiny village made of dirt. That village was conveniently located around the toll booth, so by giving the locals about 2 yuan to pass through their rocky dirt roads and coming out on the other side of the booth, we avoided paying the full toll. This extremely rough shortcut made it obvious that the toll money the locals collected was not being spent on road maintenance. Also, I’m certain the driver caused more than 8 Yuan of damage to his suspension during that little trip. But, it clearly gave him great joy to “stick it to the man,” so that has to be worth something.

We ended up staying at the home of a Mongol family. When we arrived, there were some Chinese tourists there. No one spoke any English, but they were eager to communicate. Dad can read a bit, so one of the guys wrote down his questions in Chinese, and we had fun struggling to answer them in our limited vocabulary. It never ceases to amaze me how you can make friends despite the barriers of language.

Our new friends were not staying overnight, so they left after a couple of hours. We spent the rest of the day just wandering around the property, taking in the fresh air and the bright sun. The wind was blowing constantly and strongly. It was so strong that often it was hard to hold the camera steady because the wind pushed on the lens hood like a sail.

We enjoyed traditional Mongolian meals, which were about 90% carbs, including moon cakes, shredded potato, noodles, etc. That pretty much trashed my caveman diet, but I was in no position to refuse, because our hosts were so warm and friendly, and there really wasn’t anything else to eat anyway.

Dad and I slept in a “yurt,” which is a circular tent traditionally used by the nomadic Mongol tribes. Our host family kindly set up that little heater for us. It was fueled by coal, and started by lighting up a wad of dried cow and sheep dung. I’ll tell you now that the smell of that was not entirely pleasant, but in the middle of the night, the heat was well worth it.

Anyway, I enjoyed the stay there very much. I felt like such a city slicker, amazed at the farm animals that wandered around us at will. I’m sure they must have rolled their eyes every time I snapped a picture of one of the shaggy little horses, their eyes squinted shut against the blowing wind and grit.

The next morning, we said goodbye to our Mongolian family and headed back to Hohhot. Because we had many hours to kill before our evening flight to Beijing, we left our luggage at the train station and took a cab to the brand new Mongolian museum. This super-modern structure had just opened, and was offering free admission to the first 3000 guests every day. The exhibits were well presented and informative, and as with all Chinese museum exhibits, had a political bent that glorified the achievements and benefits of the Communist revolution.

At night, we took a cab to the Hohhot airport, which is brand new and very nice, and flew to Beijing. We’ll be riding out the rest of our stay in China here in the capital, after which I head to Thailand, and Dad goes home to Canada.

Related posts:

1. In Inner Mongolia
2. Peking ducks and a Beijing marathon
3. Beijing shows me up

We needed to take care of some particulars, including booking the rest of our trip. We secured flights to Beijing leaving on Friday night, and booked an overnight tour of the grasslands starting tomorrow morning. I booked our hostel in Beijing too, near the Forbidden City.

All of that being done, we could enjoy a walk around the city. Hohhot is a modern and relatively affluent place. Because it’s kind of in the middle of nowhere, it’s quieter here too, with less pollution. It was a pleasure to walk through a large park in the middle of the city.

Dinner tonight was Mongolian hot pot, which is served all over China, and in many places in Canada too. It seemed only fitting to have Mongolian hot pot while in Mongolia. The idea is that you get these different kinds of boiling hot soup at your table, and you dunk in various meats and vegetables until they’re cooked. Delicious.

Related posts:

1. Peking ducks and a Beijing marathon
2. Getting used to culture shock
3. Grasslands and blue skies

The last day in Xi’an was relaxing and fun. We checked out of the hostel, which was the best yet. For anyone staying in Xi’an, I can highly recommend the Xiangzimen Youth Hostel near the South Gate of the city. The atmosphere is great because it’s located in restored older building with lots of charm. The thing that makes hostels work though is the staff, and the girls that work the desk at the Xiangzimen were always friendly, helpful and cheerful. They assisted us in figuring out train travel, booking our next hostel, and recommended a restaurant that we ate at two nights in a row.

Because we had a number of hours to kill before our overnight train to Lanzhou, we decided to rent bikes and ride around the top of the city wall. It was fun to zip along the top of these ancient walls on a bike. Because it was a Monday afternoon, there were few people up there. The wall forms a square around the city about 3km along each side. It’s made of grey stone bricks, many of which bear engravings in very old script. Could they be original bricks from when the wall was first built around 900 years ago? The ride was extremely educational. The walls are about 5 stories high, which gives a great vantage point from which to see the city from all sides. We could see how old areas are being flattened to make way for new development. Just outside the walls, numerous 50-storey apartment buildings were crowding the sky, with many more under construction. Some people lament the loss of these traditional neighbourhoods, but I can’t see China’s burgeoning “me generation” being satisfied living in the conditions that their parents and grandparents endured, with no indoor plumbing, makeshift electrical and telephone wiring, and plague-inducing hygiene. My bike was a aging contraption with flat tires and barely-functional brakes. It made the crappletrap rattletastic I rented a couple of years ago feel like a Rolls Royce. By the end of the ride, I felt fairly pummeled on multiple surfaces, but it was still worth it.

After dinner, we headed to the train station to board our overnight train to Lanzhou. I was determined not to spend the night in Lanzhou, because from all accounts, there’s nothing there to redeem it from its grubby industrial status. I’ve spent only a few days in grubby industrial cities, and that was enough for me. The train left Xi’an after 10:30pm and arrived in Lanzhou bright and early at 6:30am. Lanzhou taxi drivers seem quite reluctant to make the trip between the train station and the south bus station, which are about 20 minutes apart. We ended up being crammed into a cab with a couple of strangers, our luggage hanging precariously out of the trunk. When we got to the bus station, we got dinged for a bill that was about three times higher than a normal cab fare in any other Chinese city. So, the lesson here is, just because something is uncomfortable and weird doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s better or cheaper.

Dad and I were using Lanzhou as a transit point to get to Linxia, and then ultimately to the remote town of Xiahe. Xiahe is the home of a large Tibetan monastery, and the destination of many Tibetan pilgrims who go there to make a circuit around the monastery and to spin the 300 prayer wheels. Because of the heavy Tibetan population, the Chinese government places some restrictions on traveling there. I had done some research online, so I was prepared. My discussion with the ticket lady at the bus station went something like this:

Me: I want to buy two tickets to Linxia.

Ticket lady: What country do you come from?

Me: We’re Canadian.

Ticket lady: Ahah! You need to have a photocopy of your passport to go to Linxia. (waves a sample photocopy of a passport)

Me: I’ve got one! (producing a photocopy of our passports)

Ticket lady (inspecting the photocopy, disappointed, then lights up): Ahah! You need to have a photocopy of your Chinese visa too!

Me: Here it is! (producing the photocopy of our visas)

Ticket lady (inspecting the photocopy of the visas): Ahah! But you need TWO copies of each!

Me: Here are the other copies! (producing the other copies of the passports and visas)

Ticket lady (begrudgingly): That will be RMB 59.

Thank you, Internet. Again, you have proven yourself most useful.

With that, we found our way to our red bus, bound for Linxia. The bus was of the normal long distance Chinese kind, which is to say, it is filled with Chinese people who shout into their cell phones, snort and hawk up phlegm from their throats, cough on the back of your neck, and smoke like chimneys, despite the prominent “no smoking” signs posted everywhere. Over the sound of all of this, there is either blaring Chinese pop music or movies played on the overhead LCD screens. The bus driver uses the horn in every possible way, and makes me want to invest in a Chinese bus horn concern, because I’m sure they wear out a horn at least once a week. On the highway, the horn can either mean, “I’m going to ram you if you don’t get out of my way,” or “I’m in incoming traffic passing you so look out.” While cruising slowly through villages looking for passengers, the horn means, “Hey, we’re going to Linxia, isn’t that exciting? Get on the bus!” In any case, it means the horn is blaring for approximately 96% of the trip. If you can endure all of this, there is stunning scenery outside.

The bus wound its way through the mountains, climbing higher and higher. We passed terraced farms built into the sides of the mountains, and cave dwellings dug out of the earth, which I’m almost sure are not used anymore. The land is extremely tough, scrubby, rocky and dry. The plots of land are often nearly vertical patches of tilled dirt, accessible only by thin, winding mule trails. Yet, the farmers here manage to scratch out a living somehow, growing corn, lettuce and cauliflower against all odds. Seeing these dirt farms redefined the term, “a tough row to hoe” for me.

A couple of hours later, we arrived in Linxia. We were dumped off the bus in an area that resembled a hillbilly’s backyard filled with old and dying buses. It wasn’t a bus station as we knew it. After inquiring about the bus to Xiahe, we were again bundled into a taxi, and driven a couple of blocks, where the taxi driver ejected us and our luggage onto the side of a dusty road between a couple of carts selling fruit. Apparently this was the bus stop. Sure enough, about 20 minutes later, a blue bus trundled down the street with its door open, and a lady shouting, “Xiahe! Xiahe!” to the street.

We passed a lot of interesting sites on the way to Xiahe. There is a heavy Muslim population in the area, so there were many mosques, some of which were Chinese style pagodas with minarets on top. There were butchers with piles of sheep heads on the sidewalk in front. There were sheets of bright yellow corn kernels drying on the front steps of peoples’ homes while birds pecked at them. There were crowds of Muslim men in white caps congregating on the street for no apparent reason. Between towns, the bus crawled up valley roads, with a wild river below, and mountains forested by green pines and deciduous trees with fluttering golden leaves. As we went along, mosques gradually gave way to white Tibetan temples with golden tops. I don’t have photos of these things because the bus was moving too fast and vibrating too vigorously to catch them.

Finally we were in Xiahe, about 2900m above sea level. We walked the entire dusty 1km length of it to find our hostel, which initially seemed fine, but turned out not to have any electricity or running water. We thought this was a bit too much to endure, so we headed next door to the “International Hotel,” whose great claim to fame was their 24-hour availability of hot water. They also had no electricity, and we were told there wouldn’t be any until 7pm. There was some construction happening nearby, and that had knocked out power for most of the town. We also had no key to our room, because one of the staff had taken the key with her and left town until later that night.

We decided to spend some time walking around the monastery, following the pilgrims as they spun the ornate prayer wheels. The beautiful blue sky and forested hills were offset by chugging diesel tractor motors spewing choking fumes, and acrid piles of burning garbage. China never fails to provide a wealth of stunning contrasts.

I seem to be prone to altitude sickness, and my head was throbbing in no time. So after a quick but tasty meal in a very grimy local restaurant, I was ready for bed. Unfortunately, the hotel wasn’t. There was no heat because the radiators are heated by the so-called 24-hour hot water. I’m not sure when this 24 hours exists, but I now believe it’s sparsely dispersed throughout the year in five minute increments. The room was bone-chillingly cold. Combined with what I believe to be the one-watt lighting, it was a very gloomy evening indeed. I wore my jeans, socks, t-shirt, sweater and jacket to bed, and piled a sheet, two comforters, and a blanket on top of me. The freezing subsided, and I dreamed mostly about escaping from places, and helping other people escape from places.

This morning, we made an early break from Xiahe, catching the 7:30am bus back to Linxia, and then another bus back to Lanzhou. I was thrilled to be able to get train tickets to Hohhot, the capital of Inner Mongolia, leaving in the afternoon. So that’s the train we’re on now. By the time I can post this, we’ll be in Hohhot.

Related posts:

1. What would Confucious say?
2. Back in Shanghai
3. In Inner Mongolia

Anyway, I’m not going to write a lot tonight. I’ll just let the photos from today’s walks around Xi’an do the talking.

Related posts:

1. Plotting my China trip
2. In Inner Mongolia
3. Going with the flow in Beijing

The taxi stand at the train station in Xi’an isn’t immediately apparent, unlike in other cities where it’s directly in front of the exit from the station. Dad and I wandered aimlessly for a while before discovering it. After that, it was a brief drive through the city until we arrived at the hostel, which is located in a beautifully restored historic building. We checked ourselves in and then immediately turned around went out the door to tour the areas around the tomb of Qin Shi Huang, who united China as a single country about 2300 years ago, and declared himself the first emperor. I was excited to be there, because I’ve heard so much about this emperor and the massive army of clay warriors he had buried in his tomb to ensure his rule in the afterlife.

We took a couple of public buses to go about 40km outside of the city. Along the way, I couldn’t help but notice the dozens of brand new high-rise buildings being built in the suburbs. These were enormous apartment buildings, each at least 40 stories high. This is the kind of development that is happening all over China, in its rush to modernize. When I try to picture China’s population of over a billion, it becomes easier to imagine when I consider dozens of brand new apartment complexes simultaneously rising out of the suburban landscape of every small Chinese city.

Our first stop was the emperor’s tomb. This site was extremely dilapidated. It looked like they started restoring the tomb and its grounds, and then promptly stopped as soon as the U.N. designated it a world heritage site in 1987. The grounds themselves are impressive, consisting of long paths bordered by tall coniferous trees, and (what should have been) manicured gardens. In the middle, there is a large burial mound, with steps leading up to the top. It was surprising to see that so little effort has been put into maintaining it though. Grass is uncut, and displays are worn out, unfinished or just plain missing. Nonetheless, I enjoyed the experience of visiting it. There were few visitors, so it was quiet and peaceful, and there were many song birds warbling in the trees. We even saw a pheasant fly out of one of the bushes. The view from the top of the burial mound was impressive, if not smoggy.

The next stop was the site of the buried terra cotta army. It was discovered by a peasant in 1974 while he was digging a well. He reported his find to the government, who within a short period of time turned it into a major archeological exploration slash tourist attraction. The peasant, who is now in his 70′s, still works at the museum. The site is enormous. The heart of it is three large pits, over which three huge buildings have been constructed, with viewing galleries from which you can see the terra cotta warriors in their original formations. Work is still ongoing to excavate these sites. So far, they’ve discovered about 8000 of these warriors, no two of which are the same. You aren’t allowed too close to them, so I’m glad I brought my 70-200mm lens to get a closer look. Surrounding the site is an sprawling complex of shops and food stands, a gigantic outdoor mall. Hawkers selling pomegranates, persimmons, and terra cotta figurines shout at anyone and everyone passing by.

In fact, everyone seems to be selling pomegranates and persimmons. From the bus, we could see dozens and dozens of fruit stands, side by side. Each of them stocked nothing but pomegranates and persimmons. When we weren’t passing pomegranate and persimmon stands, we were passing groves of pomegranate and persimmon trees. It’s amazing that they could stay in business with this level of uniformity. If these guys can survive, it blows our theories about product differentiation right out of the water. Dad bargained hard and bought a choice pomegranate for RMB 1.5 (about 20 cents).

After a pretty fancy dinner down the street, which consisted of goose, jellyfish, green veggies, fancy mushrooms and surf clams, we did some planning. We’re getting down to the last few week or so of our trip, so we have to be a little more careful with our time so we can see what we want to see. I’ve planned an itinerary that’s going to take us into the boonies and back. More about that later…

Related posts:

1. What would Confucious say?
2. Back in Shanghai
3. In Inner Mongolia

The hostel in Nanjing is located in Fuzimiao, the city’s major shopping zone. This makes for great eating and buying opportunities, as well as moderately good photo opportunities. Fuzimiao basically means “Confucian temple.” The central building in the area is a Confucian temple. Staring around at this blinking, flashing assault of rampant commercialism, I wonder what Confuscious would say about it all?

Today, Dad and I went to the museum commemorating the 1937 Nanjing massacre by invading Japanese soldiers. According to records, the Japanese killed 300,000 people here as they invaded the country. The museum was very impressive. It occupies an entire city block, and is decorated on the outside by a series of very sobering statues, emblazoned with quotes like, “My poor dear wife! The devils raped you, killed you… I’m right after you!” and “Never returns the son killed, never returns the husband buried alive. Sorrow drowns the woman raped. Heavens…” Inside, the displays include photos, movies, and testimonials by people who witnessed the event. Thousands of artifacts, including weapons, uniforms, newspapers, money, etc. from the event are meticulously documented and displayed. The museum is also built around an archeological dig of one of the mass graves, so you can peer down into a pit and see hundreds of skeletons belonging to victims dumped into a pit by Japanese soldiers trying to hide the evidence of their activities in the city. It was eerie, to say the least.

Being that the museum was so enormous, I managed to lose track of Dad in there, and returned to the hostel on my own. I asked a stranger in Chinese if she had change for a 10 RMB note, to which she immediately replied, “Do you speak English?” I take that as a critique of my Chinese skills, but nonetheless, it was nice to talk to a native who spoke excellent English. She actually took the time to put me on the right bus, which happened to be the same one she was taking, and then walked me directly to the hotel. There’s something to be said about the kindness of strangers. It’s especially amazing in China, which can often seem like the most dog-eat-dog of places.

Tomorrow we board an overnight train to Xi’an, home of the famous terra-cotta warriors. After that, I’m looking forward to stretching out further west, into more remote areas of the country, away from the big cities.

Related posts:

1. Hangzhou at all hours
2. Back in Shanghai
3. In Inner Mongolia

We’ve spent most of our two days here walking around the lake, and eating. One of the local specialties is Dongpo Pork, which is a chunk of fatty pork that’s steamed in a delicious brown sauce. It’s said to have been invented 900 years ago by the governor Su Dongpo, to reward workers who dredged the lake to create the Su Causeway, a 3km-long land bridge that bisects the lake. We also ate at a Brazilian barbeque place, which was an interesting experience. It’s the same as the Brazilian barbeque at home, except the buffet consisted of Chinese items like taro cakes and pickled cuttlefish. I suppose it’s like finding roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, and french fries in the buffet at the Mandarin.

We visited the memorial and tomb of Yue Fei, who was a Song Dynasty general particularly famous for his loyalty to his country. He was falsely accused of treason, and was beheaded by the emperor. Yue Fei’s son had his limbs and head tied to five horses, who ran in different directions and tore him to shreds. Shortly after this, the emperor realized the mistake, punished Yue Fei’s treacherous accusers, and then built an enormous memorial in Yue Fei’s honor. If you ask me, too little too late.

I took some night photos at the lake side on the first night. My favorite time to take night photos is when there appears to be no light at all. I make it my mission to capture those sparse photons that come from whatever illumination is available, even if it’s something as faint as street lights reflected off of low clouds. The night photos below were captured in nearly complete darkness using 20-30 second exposures.

This morning we’re taking a train to Nanjing, which is the site of a famous massacre called “The Rape of Nanjing.” Apparently the museum is pretty gruesome. Some 300,000 – 400,000 Chinese were slaughtered by Japanese troops who were invading the country in the 1930s. 20,000 women were raped and then killed. It’ll likely be a strong contrast to Hangzhou’s beauty…

WordPress refuses to sort my photos by date/time, so the gallery is a bit mixed up. I hope the descriptions help make sense of the mess though.

By the way, I love comments!

Related posts:

1. Peking ducks and a Beijing marathon
2. In Inner Mongolia
3. Communism, 60 years in

Today, we strolled along the canals until we reached the “Humble Administrator’s Garden.” The garden, although crawling with tourists, was still a soothing spot. It’s not too humble though, covering about five hectares, with large ponds, pagodas, bamboo groves, pavilions and bridges.

After spending an hour or two in the garden, we had lunch at a little restaurant built on a bridge over one of the canals. Then we walked a few more blocks to see a large pagoda in the north end of the city.

We returned to the hostel on one of the main streets, and then through an enormous outdoor shopping complex, only slightly less impressive than Shanghai’s East Nanjing Road. The contrast of these bustling, cosmopolitan urban spaces to the peace and reflection of the quiet canal lanes and gardens was astounding.

I’m presenting the photos in a slightly different way today. The square thumbnails aren’t proportional, but WordPress makes this gallery automatically, and that saves me a ton of time. I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, if you know what I mean.

Related posts:

1. Here we go, Suzhou
2. In Inner Mongolia
3. Hangzhou at all hours

I didn’t write anything yesterday, mainly because I didn’t do a lot of photography. The day was devoted to recovering from the last couple of days of strenuous activity and body-clock adjusting. Dad and I took a river cruise to see Shanghai from a different perspective. The amount of development evident in the city is astounding. There’s a neverending stream of barges heading up-river, carrying loads of construction materials. At any time, and in every direction, there seem to be dozens of skyscrapers under construction. In the run-up to the 2010 Expo, Shanghai is fully caught up in a frenzy of transformation.

In the evening, we got dinner and massages, which is probably about the best way you could spend an evening. After the very vigorous massage, I feel ready to tackle the rest of the country.

This morning, we checked out of the hostel and taxied to the train station. The high-speed train to Suzhou was a snap, taking about half an hour. Suzhou is one of many canal towns in this region. I use the word “town” lightly, as there are almost 6 million people living here. Considering Shanghai’s ballooning population of 19 million, it’s all relative, really.

The hostel is charmingly located on the edge of a canal, along a pedestrian street of renovated Ming Dynasty buildings. It’s been renovated, and has plenty of character, although some things don’t work. Some of the fancy light fixtures in here remain stubbornly dark when you flick the switch.

I took a few photos around the neighbourhood around dusk, and then later on in the evening. The town is pretty lively. There was some sort of dance warmup or rally in front of one of the local businesses. That’s a pretty cool marketing trick!

Related posts:

1. Back in Shanghai
2. Suzhou’s gardens
3. Traveling to a lot of places with X in the name

Afterward, I headed down to East Nanjing Road, which is a seemingly endless, neon-encrusted mall floating upon a boiling sea of consumers. This frenzy of consumerism makes Times Square look like a convenience store. Through the heart of this was a long line of Communist Chinese flags, set out to commemorate the 60th anniversary of the founding of the People’s Republic. Those flags, adorning this, the most capitalist place I’ve ever experienced, created a fascinating contrast even in a country that’s seemingly made of juxtapositions.

Related posts:

1. Here we go, Suzhou
2. What would Confucious say?
3. Suzhou’s gardens

Dad and I spent the next four hours wandering around the old part of the city, including a park filled with seniors exercising, swinging their arms in vigorous calesthenics, and repeatedly slapping circulation into their skinny legs. There was a group of them grooving to pulsing dance music too. Fun.

We returned to the hostel by about 10am, feeling like we’d already had a full day.

One thing that’s new since I was here last is that many more sites seem to be blocked by the Great Firewall of China. Facebook and Twitter are both verboten. Oddly, I can still get on Twitpic.

Related posts:

1. Back in Shanghai
2. In Inner Mongolia
3. Here we go, Suzhou

We have checked into our hostel. It’s not a bad littleplace, built upon a traditional building in the heart of the city. We’re going to spend a few days getting acclimatized to the country before heading out to the more remote areas of the country later.

More updates after I get some sleep.

Related posts:

1. What would Confucious say?
2. Jetlagged in Shanghai
3. In Inner Mongolia