Part 14
The one abiding memory
I never expected that the bus would arrive again. But it
does. Just ten days later. Driving me to a totally unexpected,
surprise destination. Qingdao. Four hours from here. To
meet family again. Surprises are beautiful, especially because
surprises aren't expected. And for the first time, I have
a borrowed Lonely Planet as my companion.
Afternoon finds
me here, with backpack, but no hotel to go to, no idea how
to even find the person I come to meet, but as always, sometimes,
it's better to turn those cares over to the blue sea, the
blue sky and the blue villa which stares at me. Villas,
replicas of castles, and spires and churches. This is Qingdao.
A colonial legacy of Europe. A former German possession.
A city so unlike China. A city so like China.
And finally I have someone to lead. To give me the moments
of these places before the moments are created. The LP guidebook.
Tells me where to go, and as I know of no way myself, I
follow. Walk up to the Huashi Villa, a quaint castle once
built for a little princess. Climb its wooden steps, feeling
at once how strange it is, for feet that have known concrete
and stone all its life, to tread and tap at the dark brown
of wood. Peep into its rooms, drawers and tables mahogany
painted, fireplaces carved into bronze panels, and imagine
a life of yesterday, when these same rooms would have heard
the clink of tea cups, smelt the smoke of cigars and heard
the chatter about the Chatterleys. And stand at its tower,
and glance around as the city falls away, beyond the haze
of spires that spear the horizontal skyline, across the
blueline of the sea.
I leave the villa and this time I don't follow. I ignore
the next in the guidebook, and instead create my own guidebook.
Left, straight, right, turn left again. And the directions
were right. The most beautiful avenues to walk around in
welcome me. Shaded by trees, flowering with flowers I can't
even begin to name, and cobblestone pavements, next to charming
bungalows, that gently echo life and its unnamable moments.
It turned out to be the longest walk I have ever taken.
But only in terms of distance. The
short hand of time seemed so short, and the setting sun
a cruel end to this aimlessly careful walk.
Walks down
all the avenues, moving past the cobblestones to the sand
of the sea, through the pier, walks through all the reflections
that could be possibly taken in by the senses. The one abiding
memory is one that never got captured by the digital mechanism
of the camera. But was captured in all detail by the other
camera. A camera which shows me now, sitting on one of those
little benches, by the sea, with ice-cream in hand, next
to a little dog which found my tired feet the ideal resting
place for a snooze, behind the Peace landmark sign, and
in front of kids roller-skating, and musicians playing gentle
flutes, and beyond all this, as the ice-cream melts, so
does the sun.
Smiles a glow,
paints careless colors across the sky, and melts into the
horizon and leaves me, a mere speck. Just
that, leaves this mere speck.
Part 15: That moment which is to be
