Part 7
Through the blur of memories
It's Spring Festival Eve. The roads are deserted. And families
around China gather. To share again in the celebration.
And China invites us to join in. To share in a traditional
Chinese family feast. Steamed Prawns. Roasted Duck. Duck
blood. Pigeon tongue. Chicken feet. Wriggling Crabs. Fish.
Pork. Liver. Sheep. And red wine. And baiju. And laughter.
And people. And the celebration meets with the magic up
there. Where Fireworks light up the purple sky. And the
Monkey makes his triumphant return. Happy New Year.
A year that begins cold. Brings the coldest day yet I have
ever known. And makes you wish that leaving the hotel room
isn't an option. A cold that stings the face on the trip
to Nanjing's great bridge. To see the Yellow River snaking
across. And then, another lake. Rimmed across the edges
of the city. Shrouded by tinges of green. Water that stills
the frenzies of the mind. And a cold, that leads to another
cold. Having ice cream in the peak of winter. Yes, truly,
the Chinese would agree, the laowai are really crazy…
And Nanjing moves on through the craziness. Through pizza
again. Through sunrise surprise, Indian food at an Indian
restaurant. Through the chilled frost of the night. Through
the good-byes again. Through the bus. Through the four hours.
Through the blur of memories. And reaching the place called
home. Lianyungang. And finding the snow that has fallen.
And finding that it can get colder still at -7 degrees.
That winter is this. This freezing. This numbing. That ice.
That frost. This and that. Adds to one word. Beautiful.
So very beautiful.
Winter moves on. Exploring the ancient 1000-year-old town
of Haizhou. Quaint buildings. Ancient mountains. Climbing
one. And meeting Confucius. And whizzing down in the toboggan.
And then pausing a while. To wait. Wait for the next holiday.
Where the magic of Shanghai awaits.
Some things happen which are inexplicable. Some places happen
that are indescribable. Some travels happen that are unending.
That leaves behind the touch of lights and silver rimmed
stars with you long after the journey ends. Only to begin
again. And again. Memories that carry the magic with you
forever more. Shanghai was one such place. Intoxication.
An enticing lure of breath taking swirls. Shanghai sweeps
you. Casts you in its spell from the time you glimpse its
lights laid carelessly across the ground, from above the
skies. And beckons through the dazzle.
And you can
feel the magic. The magic that begins in a hotel room, which
has the same furniture as the apartment in the school. The
magic that continues where the taxi driver, understands
the helpless gesturing for a place to eat, and lands us
exactly where we wanted to go. To Pizza Hut. And then moving
through the magic to this little bar. Where magic lands
a friend from Spain. And surely it must be magic, which
makes me hit bulls-eye three times in a row on the dartboard,
never having even held a dart in my life. Magic which is
hard to express, simply because it must be
felt.
