Gambapalooza

Some people have normal midlife crises. They buy cars, go back to school, change careers, or have a disastrous affair with some tyke. I, on the other hand, decided to learn how to play the viola da gamba.

I am blogging from the Viola da Gamba Society’s annual Conclave -- essentially a music camp / workshop devoted to the viola da gamba. I did not know this before I came here, but the VDGSA has been in existence for 45 years (!), which means over a decade before early music became fashionable for Baby Boomers in Birkenstocks. And yes, there are a lot of Boomers here like myself and my slightly older colleagues, but there are also a fairly respectable number of players who are half that age – very encouraging, since one of the most frequent laments in the early music world is the preponderance of grey heads both onstage and in the audience. (Actually, that’s happening in this country with a number of different kinds of music; a topic for another blog post.) There is also a huge range of participants here in terms of playing level: professionals (most of these are the teachers), semi- and “pre” professionals (such as advanced students), extremely proficient avocational players, amateurs at various levels, absolute newbies, and the occasional person like myself who is accomplished at some other kinds of music-making but tabula rasa on the viol. As a pretty limited player, I’m finding it to be extremely intense work, but quite enjoyable as well; and since my brain is fried at this point, I have put down the bow and picked up the laptop to muse on the different factors that brought me here.

First of all, I have this job, you see, part of which entails directing a university early music group. Quite a few of them are instrumentalists, and although I can play several instruments with varying degrees of skill, most of my formal training has been in the singing department. About 15 years ago I did take some gamba lessons from Wendy Gillespie, a highly-acclaimed virtuoso on the instrument who teaches at IU. I don’t remember much, but it was a beginning. At Big Flat Place University, we have several viola da gambas (or viols, as the English call them), and willing players to take them on; but there is no viol teacher at our school and, unless there is a seismic shift or some Texas oil tycoon suddenly becomes obsessed with early music, hell is likely to freeze over before we get one. So I must get these folks started on the rudiments of the instrument, and it would be very nice if I could demonstrate the rudiments instead of just yakking about them. It would also be nice if I could explain to them – most of them are cellists and string bass players – some of the details of bowing, phrasing, and performance practice, and get them started, so that when I get the money to have a pro come in to do a workshop, they get the maximum benefit out of it. So why not learn the rudiments myself? I mean, really, despite being an Irish music fellow-traveler with a DADGAD guitar, I think I am supposed to be an Early Music Person.

So why haven’t I done it until now, especially since I actually have “practical” reasons? Well, it was partly the expense and partly the commitment of time, but there’s also a little Calvinist devil, courtesy of about 8 generations of ancestors, who has been renting a room in my head since I was about 2. The following dialogue has been looping:

Little Calvinist Devil: Why do you want to screw around with some new instrument? Every moment you spend practicing an instrument is one step farther from finishing your doctoral work. And if you do persist in this folly, why not just get better at the instruments you already play, since you’re not particularly virtuosic on any of them?

Dharmo: Puhleeze, Devil, that’s not a midlife crisis pursuit. That’s sensible, like jogging and putting skim milk in coffee. Instruments we already play have Baggage – and I don’t mean the airplane kind, I mean the therapy kind. Don’t you remember? You packed about 5 of the bags yourself.

Little Calvinist Devil: You have no discipline and you will always suck. The Incubus who rents the room next to me agrees, and he’s a Catholic for God’s sake.

I’ve decided that my ultimate response to this dialogue is “there is no virtuosity, neither is there lack of virtuosity; neither is there a gamba, nor is there the absence of a gamba.” The best way to get rid of demons is to confuse the crap out of them. The truth is, I’ve wanted to play this instrument for a long time. When I was at the Early Music Institute I used to joke around with my colleagues and say that “in my next life” I would play the viola da gamba. (Indian classical music and uilleann pipes are also fairly appealing, but appear to require more than one lifetime.) You’d think that a good Buddhist would just let it go at that. The problem is, there is no guarantee that the next life will include opposable thumbs. So, in the event that my next life might be spent as a Formless Energy Being or an otter (hang on – I believe otters may have opposable thumbs), I decided what the hell, why wait? If I want to learn something new, let’s learn it now, or at least put some imprints on my mental continuum so that I can learn it faster if I find myself with human hands again.

There is nothing like a virtuosic consort of bass, tenor and treble viols; and the solo viol repertoire is also gorgeous. If you have never heard a viol consort or music for viola da gamba, I refer you to any recording by Fretwork, Hesperion XX (or XXI), Jordi Savall, Phantasm…there are many more, but that’s a place to start. Also check out the soundtrack to the film Tous les matins du mond.

Another appealing aspect of the viol is the people who play it. There are a good number of people here who obviously have known each other for years, and yet they also seem extremely willing to reach out to the new people they see. The first night, a former president of the organization came over to my table at dinner and invited me to join his table because “no one at Conclave has to eat by themselves.” It may seem like a ridiculous generalization, but when I started the Early Music Immersion part of my life, I noticed within a fairly short amount of time that I really, really liked virtually all the gamba players I met. Seriously folks, there’s a reason why there are stereotypes associated with certain instruments, and the viol seems to attract a large number of highly intelligent, literate, multi-talented, musical, capable, good-natured, mostly-level-headed and witty people. This last one is especially noticeable – they are all pretty good- humored, and a surprising number of the gamba players I have known are just plain funny and entertaining people. I just spent the evening at a fundraising auction with over a hundred of them, while they auctioned off donated items ranging from a stuffed toy rabbit made of fabric with musical notes all over it, to a two-week stay at someone’s lovely house in London, and they somehow raised almost five thousand bucks while everyone laughed their asses off for two hours. This just does not happen in all organizations (of course, not all fund-raising auctions place their coffee urn next to six bottles of alcoholic flavor-enhancements, either… but my point still stands.) I have always found that the viol players were a blast to hang around with. And I think I know why: although there is a certain amount of solo repertoire for the instrument, it was conceived as a consort instrument – it needs other people to play with. In other words, it’s community music, best appreciated while playing in community with other players. It doesn’t require a conductor, and while there are virtuosic pieces for the super-accomplished players and soloists, most pieces are written for several players to play together for their own edification.

So here I am. There’s lots of great music being played here every day, including wonderful faculty mini-concerts. The Early Music world being relatively small, there are a number of people here whom I know, many of whom I haven’t seen for some time. My classes are being taught by incredible players who also have excellent pedagogical skills and are generous enough to still be willing to spend time with relative beginners. And all of the classes I’m taking are going to greatly help me communicate with the viol players in my own Collegium, even the classes that spend time on rather specialized technical issues that are a little beyond my present ability. I can’t really do much in the way of subtle articulations when I am still trying to figure out where to poot mah wee fenghers, but I now know how to ask my Collegium viol players to match their articulations with the singer’s consonants, for example, even if I can’t do it myself.

I am also getting an excellent lesson in killing the Big Ego and swallowing one’s pride; I would recommend that all music teachers try something like this every couple of decades. It is very odd to look at a single line of music that you could sight-sing with one eye closed or instantly dash off on the piano, and listen to yourself making clam chowder out of it because your left hand is going Where the Hell is Middle C, your eyes are reading Alto Clef, and your right bow-hand is sending memos to the brain such as What Is This Diabolical Implement and Why Am I Holding It.

It’s also wonderful, once in awhile, for a professional musician to undertake some musical activity purely for the love of it. That’s why I climbed up on the piano at age 3 and plonked out “Silent Night” by ear; and ultimately, despite all the above practical rationalizations, I think it’s the real reason why I am plonking out the alto part of “Innsbruck Ich Muss Dich Lassen” by ear 50 years later. An instrument with no “baggage” – what a concept: music with no expectation of specific results, no pressure to get Really Good, or be fashionable, or get some blasted PhD in it, but music that’s played just because of some ineffable heart-connection that leads you to want to play it. And I played it today. I got through a piece in my “How to Practice” class, and during my “Viola da Gamba Dojo” class I actually (one time anyhow) got all the way through the alto part of Innsbruck on a tenor gamba with 7 other people, and no one cared if my tone sucked or if I was a beginner. Gassho!

China Trip Notes, Chapter 11: The Great Wall of China (5.27.2008)

There’s a whole genre of travel books that have titles like “Fifty Things to See/Do Before You Die.” I have a list like that in my head. My list is much longer than 50, and some of them have always seemed far more accessible than others. I started checking them off when I was a little girl, starting at age 12 with “See New York City,” and have slowly but surely gone through quite a few.

One of the more exotic items on my list was to “Stand on the Great Wall of China.” I never took this one very seriously, even though it was sincere, because I never dreamed that it would ever happen. It was on the part of the list that contained things like “talk to John Lennon” and “see Earth from space” – not bloody likely.

Which only goes to prove that You Never Know.


The Great Wall of China is the world’s longest human-made structure. Built as a fortification to protect China from Mongol invaders, it is 4000 miles long and was built between 221 BC and the 1600’s. Great controversy existed for many years over the notion that the Great Wall could be seen from space. This idea was pretty much pooh-poohed by science, but in 1994 this false-color radar image was taken by the space shuttle. So I guess it depends on whether your definition of space includes the low orbit of the shuttle, and whether your definition of “see” means “with the naked eye.”

Long a contender for the “Eighth Wonder of the World,” the Wall finally made the list of the Seven Wonders of the World when that list was recently re-created to reflect things that are still present in the modern world (as opposed to the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, only one of which, the Great Pyramid of Giza, is still extant).

The tour guides brought us to one of the restored parts of the Wall, a section known as the Juyong Guan Pass, in an area known as BadaLing.



The first thing to understand about the Great Wall of China is that it’s not a smooth path on top of a giant Wall, like one finds on certain Stone Age fortresses in places like Ireland. It’s actually an endless stairway, with steps set at uneven heights – much easier to defend from above, I imagine. Having had a stonemason Dad, I can’t even imagine the labor involved in carrying the bumpteen hundred zillion rocks that were hauled up the hills to build this thing. (One of the brighter bulbs among the band students declared - cue Bart Simpson accent - “I don’t get it. It’s just a wall.” Here, son – you carry these rocks up and down the hill for a few months, and tell me again that it’s just a wall.)

For those of us with the physique of the Pillsbury Doughboy, that steep, rocky stairway is quite the challenge. If I understood correctly, that section of the wall rises eventually to 800 meters above sea level; but I don’t know where it starts, so I can’t give you an exact estimation of the ascent. All I know is, Coop, having been a serious climber who’s gone to the top of Rainier in Washington and Cotopaxi in Ecuador, jaunted up to the top like a goat, while I damn near needed a heart transplant by the time I got to the top and back down again. But I’m getting ahead of myself here.

In truth, I did a pretty good job of pacing myself, having some idea of what I could and couldn’t do. I was exhausted before I began, and as I mentioned, I was having digestive troubles that day, so I didn’t try to do anything foolish. I rested when I needed to, and tried not to be bothered by all the 20-somethings ripping past me. I also took the time to stop at each one of the lookout posts and survey the landscape, which was mind-boggling: from the high points, you can see into Inner Mongolia and Manchuria, if I understand what I was told. The weather was beautiful; clear and dry, and while it was definitely warm, it was much (much!) cooler than the Yangtze river basin where we had spent the earlier part of the trip. The wind was very strong, and whipping dust occasionally. Some people were whining about that, but 80 dry degrees with the wind whipping dust around is Sunday picnic weather in the Big Flat Place, proving that the perception of all experience depends on the mind experiencing it.

As I climbed, the exhaustion and exhilaration combined to make it a rather numinous experience. Vivid memories of other travels kept welling up in my mind’s eye: standing on the Salisbury Plain staring at Stonehenge; driving across the North American continent with the other members of our medieval band; playing medieval music for packed houses in the Netherlands; staring up at the giant trees in California’s Muir Woods; getting a tour of the Romanesque churches in Cologne from my teacher and friend Ben Bagby; laying eyes on Taos Mountain for the first time; walking over the cobblestones of Gradoli, near Lake Bolsena in Italy, where my grandmother was born; staring at the Brueghels and Caravaggios in the Kunsthistoriches Museum in Vienna, while tears ran down my face; standing with Coyotebanjo on the stone-age fort at Dun Aengus, on the Irish island of Inis Mor, staring across the sea to the Cliffs of Moher and feeling as old as Elrond. And Coyote was there now, too, standing there patiently waiting for my 53 year old legs to catch up to him, standing on the Great Wall of China. I felt overwhelmed with gratitude and wonder; I’d better keep trying to “generate merit,” as the Tibetans say, because I sure have drawn a lot of good karma out of my cosmic bank account. As stressful as this trip had been, on this day, the Universe reminded me that despite whatever hardships I’ve had, and despite the sorrows that Samsara brings to us all, I have had a pretty damned cool life. And that moment, my friends, was worth the entire journey.

China Trip Notes, Chapter 10: Beijing, First Impressions (5.27.08)

I think it’s fair to say that most people, in any area of the world, develop certain notions about faraway locations on the basis of either fiction, propaganda, or fairly flimsy information – the old “streets of America paved with gold” nonsense.

Before actually setting foot in Beijing, here’s what I pictured:

1) Places like The Forbidden City and every bit of colorful exotica one could imagine.
2) Large, blocky, grey Communist architecture, rampaging Red Guards, and tanks in Tian’anmen Square mowing down courageous students.
3) Areas of crowded squalorous markets with piles of garbage fuming up the atmosphere and vendors selling food that’s still moving.
4) Neighborhoods of shanty-like slums in rather industrial looking areas (we did see a few of those from the train.)

Not completely wrong, but not completely right either.
Here’s what I saw:


1) An absolutely beautiful 21st century city with incredible modern architecture juxtaposed against exotic ancient buildings.
2) An amazing and very modern system of freeways.
3) Dozens of gorgeous parks.
4) A city in which every square inch of dirt has been landscaped; where the median strips in the highways are gardened; where there are flowers everywhere, including vast tracts of roses stretching along the side of the road.

The only drawback was the pollution, which was pretty terrible (not quite as bad as Shanghai, which is gas-mask material, but the haze is quite present.) Apparently they have recently attempted to address this by taking Beijing’s entire fleet of 45,000 taxicabs off the road and replacing them with Honda natural-gas vehicles. (Can you imagine trying to pull that off in an American city?)

Now, I realize that the Chinese have gone overboard to make Beijing look like Shangri-la because of the Olympics, but there’s only so much you can change a place in several years; you’ve got to have something good to work with in the first place (and our cab driver told us that the roads were always landscaped like that, even before any of the Olympic business.) At any rate, if you’re an American over 40 who has never been to China, I can pretty much promise you that whatever your mental image of Beijing might be, it’s probably wrong. As humongous cities go, it’s one of the most beautiful ones I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been around the block a couple times. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not in any hurry to move there. I know about the slave labor, the huge number of human rights issues, the constant surveillance, and all that stuff. And although we Americans have our own fish to fry in those departments, we do still have the Bill of Rights (despite Dick Cheney & Company, and several old farts on the Supreme Court). Plus, I like the idea of “innocent until proven guilty,” and the notion of “trial by a jury of one’s peers,” so I get nervous in places where there are signs in bars that say “Drug Dealers will Be Summarily Executed” (even though I suspect that sign would be rather popular with the gun-totin' yahoos here in the Big Flat Place if it were legal.) Nevertheless, Beijing is an incredible city, and I am grateful to the universe for having provided the opportunity to see it after it had been spruced up for the Olympics, but before the ravening Olympic hordes descended on it. I figure we got the best of both worlds there.


When we reached our desintation in Beijing, exhausted from the train trip, we all checked into our hotel, the Longdhu Hotspring Spa Hotel, so-called because it is actually built over a hotspring which is used for all the bathing and tap water. They’re not kidding – once you let it run for awhile, the water is HOT. (It’s also very light brown, which is a little disconcerting, but we weren’t about to drink it anyhow, especially after Maggie and Lisa told us we would be “going all the time to the bathroom” if we drank it.)

Frankly, I think there could be no better way to explain the hotel to you, dear readers, than to simply quote verbatim from the Longdhu Hotspring Hotel Brochure:

The cozy and graceful lobby together with the hospitality and excellent service of our staff make you feel at home in glory.

Well, thank God for that; the Baptists on the trip will be relieved to be at home in glory without having to experience the considerable inconvenience of dying first. To continue:

The hotel is the first environmental protection hotel in Beijing, the characteristic of traditional hotspring culture of China, for you with service sprite of wisdom, sincere and believes. “Dragon” is the Chinese symbol; “Lake” is the symbol of lakewater environmental protection. “Hotspring” means all lifewater inside hotel completely coming from hotspring. the water temperature is about 50 C. The water is good for health. So, the name of hotel and coluture characteristic are in one. Facilities material inside the hotel is environmental protection centified by Government. The ground and the wall in the lobby is decoated with import natural manable. The park is laid with hatmal rock.

Close observation of the ground and wall in the lobby suggests that “manable” is the shiny white rocky stuff from Italy – you know, as in "Manablehead,” where Coyotebanjo was born. I have no idea what hatmal rock is.

Enjoy the fractional food and customs of the Chinese from the Northern and Southern part of China.

Actually, I would have expected to find fractional food from the North and South in Ireland. (Or perhaps that would have been “fractious?”) I think this might have been a thesaurus mishap involving the word “diverse.”

And, the 99 Disco Club on the second floor will thoroughly release you from fatigue.

A quick evening glimpse into the 99 Disco Club later suggested that it might also thoroughly release you from any pesky marriage vows that might be cramping your style. Anyhow, no rest for the weary: we had about an hour to enjoy being “at home in glory,” and then the bus was taking all interested parties to the Great Wall of China, a plan certain to thoroughly release us from our fatigue.

China Trip Notes, Chapter 9: The Night Train (5.26-27.08)

Our concert in Yangzhou was very successful. Our Irish music “warm up” set in the lobby was very well-received. Each time we did one of these sets, people would stop and crowd around us, asking questions and applauding between numbers. The concert itself was great; we all felt very welcomed, and there was the usual abundance of flowers and gifts at the end.


After the concert, though, began a chapter of the trip that I personally found fairly stressful. There was a mad rush to get all the instruments and equipment back on the bus, because we had to catch the night train to Beijing. That was done with amazing efficiency, thanks to a number of very proactive students (especially the percussion section leader, who was a great organizer). The bus to the train station was longer than I thought it would be, so people were fairly sleepy by the time we got there – and then we had the incredibly challenging task of getting everyone’s instruments, equipment, luggage, and bodies through the train station (and its security x-ray machine) and onto the train platform. This took a LONG time, and was done with much sweat and scurrying, even though the same aforementioned percussion and brass guys did yeoman service. Then, we went down to the platform and prepared ourselves for the real mad dash -- getting all the equipment onto the train when it pulled into the station. The tour director had organized two teams of Chinese helpers in addition to the band guys, and to their credit, they did an absolutely amazing job of getting all the stuff onto the train. They had a kind of assembly line going – guys on the platform throwing luggage up to the boys on the train, who hauled the stuff as fast as they could into the compartment. Efficient – thank god for big strong Band guys and the Chinese helpers, not to mention Coop and Coyotebanjo – but extremely stressful, as Chinese trains are only allowed to stay at any given stop for 3 MINUTES. The tour director tried to get around this by assigning a small group of the girls to remain on the platform until everything was loaded – apparently the 3-minute rule could be circumvented by the fact that the train is not allowed to leave if there is anyone left standing on the platform. (I wonder how the train conductors deal with this conundrum?)

When all was loaded (hardly settled, but loaded), we all piled onto the train and found our sleeping compartments. These really were not too bad. (The Chinese hotel beds were about as cushy as a marble slab anyhow, so it didn’t seem that much different.) There were 6 beds in each compartment, 3 beds on each side, one above the other. The band director had assigned lower bunks to me and Coyotebanjo and a middle one to Coop, but I traded with Coop because the headroom wasn’t really enough for a guy (I pity the poor big American band guys in the top bunks, but they fell asleep instantly, so I guess they were fine.) My only problem was that the KFC chickenburger (absolutely no vegetarian options, so forget it) had my guts in a knot, which caused a difficult and not-very-restful night for me. (Squat-potties on a moving Chinese train at 3 am . . . the hostels in Ireland are going to seem like palaces.)

Coyotebanjo and Coop seemed to be fine, and I think they had fun. The tour director had gotten a bag of snacks for each of us, so there were sweets and some chips and fruit. Coyote & Coop bought a few beers from the vendor on the train (that guy did land-office business that night – he had a compartment full of American band kids who were legal in China.) There was a short search for a bottle opener, whereupon someone found the following sign on the table between the sleeping bunks:

Below the table is device for
liberating bottles from their caps.

Coop also opened the most recent bottle of Chinese baijiu they had procured back in Suzhou, I think, or was it Changzhou? Anyhow, this stuff, made out of sorghum, makes Irish poitín seem like Dom Pérignon. When searching for a picture of baijiu, I found the following description on the web:

Usually made by distilling sorghum, it is not unlike vodka in looks. The similarities end there however. Its subtle sweetness gives one an initial "this ain't so bad" feeling, which is quickly followed by panic and a rapid search of your memory for all available objects that might assist you in removing it from your system.

Seeking to share the abundance, Coop went up to one of the University Band professors and offered him some of the baijiu, asking him if he wanted to “try some Chinese Bang Bang.” This became one of the Most Memorable Quotes of the trip.

The train trip was pretty stressful for a number of our group. The train did move around a lot, which oddly didn’t bother me in terms of motion sickness (I knew trains don’t bother me, unlike boats and planes), but the motion got to some people. Also, being a train in Asia, there were only squat-pots, and if you’re not terribly adept at them, the motion of the train doesn’t help. I did fine with it, but I think there were some people on that train who held it for 10 hours, which is just not healthy.

When morning came, we all sat around and looked out the train window, watching the scenery change as we approached Beijing. One of the things we noticed was the staggering amount of construction that was happening all over China, but it got even more pronounced as we approached Beijing. The country is changing, at lightning speed. We saw quite a diverse landscape out the window: beautiful gardens on the one hand, depressing slums on the other. There were also a lot of brick-making construction sites (which are apparently the hot-point of a number of slave-labor and forced-labor issues, I discovered later.)

Finally, we reached Beijing, and the same scramble for bags and equipment happened in reverse order. Miraculously, everyone had all their belongings, except for the little red and black bag Coyotebanjo and I had bought in Changzhou, which had in it all the presents Ming gave me and a bunch of other stuff. (Our bags had been distributed all over the train compartment in order to have enough room.) Coyotebanjo and The tour director somehow talked the conductor into letting us back into the now-locked train, and Coyotebanjo found the bag quickly.

The heavy equipment was put on a van. It then became clear that we all had to walk, with all of our suitcases, instruments, and various paraphernalia, out of the train station (not a small distance) and then a couple of city blocks to where the buses were waiting. At this point in the story, I ask you to ponder the concept of a train station in a country with 1.3 Billion people. Perhaps a picture would work better:



The street was a total mass of humanity, and we were all moving at different speeds. In this sort of situation, someone my height has trouble seeing the rest of the group, but I did OK, although I frankly thought that for most of us, it was way too long a walk to carry that much crap.

Somehow, all 66 of us got to the buses. We were introduced to our tour guides, Maggie and Lisa (it’s very common for the guides to assume a western name. It’s supposedly for the ease of the western tourists, but probably also so they don’t have to be subjected to hearing us butcher their Chinese names.) They were wonderful; friendlym entertaining, and informative. Off we went to the hotel in Beijing – tired, but full of adrenaline to finally be in Beijing, where the biggest concert would take place, where many of us were greatly anticipating some of the sight-seeing activities, and where Coyotebanjo, Coop and I actually would play a session at a pub.

Next: climbing up the Great Wall of China.

China Trip Notes, Chapter 8: Lost in Yangzhou (5.26.2008)

To Secretary Chiu on an Autumn Night

Out walking and singing of cooler days
I think of you on an autumn night
Pinecones falling on deserted slopes
The recluse I suspect not asleep

[Wei Ying-Wu, from Poems of the Masters: China’s Classic Anthology of T’ang and Sung Dynasty Verses, transl. Red Pine (2003.)]


In his notes to the above poem, translator Red Pine tells us that Wei Yin Wu (737-792), prefect of Suzhou, wrote this poem to Ch’iu Tan, who had served briefly as his secretary and was the younger brother of the poet Ch’iu Wei. Ch’iu Tan had left his secretary post and retired to a hermitage to cultivate the Tao. The poem was written during the Mid-Autumn Festival, when relatives and friends usually gather, and Wei is imagining that his friend must be lonely. The hermitage was Pingshan -- which was also the location of Daming Temple, in Yangzhou.

The city of Yangzhou is 2500 years old. Being a major port of Silk Road trade, it was home to a number of Arab and Persian merchants in the 7th-8th centuries, until they were massacred in a rebellion. In 1280, according to Wikipedia, it was the site of a massive gunpowder explosion that was felt a huge distance away. Shortly thereafter, Marco Polo lived there while working for Kublai Khan; and there is evidence of an Italian community there as late as the 1400’s (!). Later, in the 19th century, the city fell into decline as railroads took precedence over the canal. The restoration of the canal and the construction of a railway line between Yangzhou and Nanjing have put it on the map again as a center of trade. Wikipedia tells us that Yangzhou is famous for its public bath houses, lacquerware, jadeware, embroidery, paper-cut art, and its toy industry.


As you approach the city by car or bus, you go over an absolutely enormous and quite dramatic suspension bridge over the Yangtze river. It reminded me a lot of the Bay Bridge in San Francisco, except that the scenery below it was utterly different (subtropical, flat river valley rather than temperate, hilly ocean bay.) It was almost unbelievable to me that I could actually be looking out at the Yangtze, the third longest river in the world (only the Nile and the Amazon are longer), roughly 3900 miles long from its source in the Himalayas to Shanghai, where it flows into the East China Sea. Now sadly quite polluted, it is still an awesome sight.

As for the experience of Yangzhou itself, well, that turns out to be one of the more dramatic three-hour periods of the trip. It happens sometimes that you go to a place, and you’re not there for very long – but the memory of what happened there is engraved on your brain. When writing in my travel notebook in the bus on the way to Yangzhou, I prophetically wrote “This day will be interesting.”

The bus got to Yangzhou just before lunch, and there was a big meal prepared for us at the hotel. (French fries appeared on the buffet, to great collective joy.) There wasn’t much point in unpacking, because we were scheduled to go directly from the evening’s concert to the train station in order to catch an overnight train to Beijing – too bad, it was a very nice hotel (Guangyuan Dingshan Hotel.)

Anyhow, we had about 3 and a half hours for some R&R, so Coyotebanjo and I decided to go check out the Daming Temple. We took along the map provided in the hotel magazine, complete with Chinese characters for different locations (quite handy), and caught a cab at the hotel. The cab driver seemed concerned, and gave us a long explanation in Chinese, complete with hand gestures done in a circular motion. Finally, he pointed to the city map, made a small version of the same circle, and we understood that for some reason he couldn’t take us directly there via the shortest route, but had to go around the city. We said that was OK.

He wasn’t kidding – it took a long time. But halfway there, we discovered why – we saw tens of thousands of people lining the streets, and several street blockades. The Olympic Torch! It had left Suzhou and made it up to Yangzhou.


At long last, we arrived at the hill where Daming Temple is located. It’s a gorgeous area, on the north-northwest side of town; actually a whole compound that includes several temples and a pagoda – I would say an entire monastery complex. It’s accessed by a very long succession of shallow stone stairs that goes all the way up the hill, assuring that you’ll be winded (in that heat) by the time you reach the top. When we reached it, we had a decision to make: go into the temple (admission charge), or go down to the lake-park at the bottom of the hill? We went with the temple, which was the right choice.

According to the DK Eyewitness Guide to China, Daming Su is the “Temple of Abundant Light” and was built sometime in the 5th century; however, it’s been rebuilt, since it got wrecked in the Taiping Rebellion in the 1800s. Its central hall was put up in 1973 to honor the 8th century monk Jian Zhen (Ganjin in Japanese, I think) who is credited with introducing many aspects of Chinese culture and Zen to Japan. In fact, the Toshodai-ji temple in Nara, Japan, was the model for the rebuild, which was also at least partially funded by the Japanese.

I wish I could describe the inside of these temples adequately. There are huge golden statues of Buddhas and Bodhisattvas. The walls are lined with statues of dozens of Arhats (Enlightened ones). There is every kind of decorative painting, carving. sacred objects, incense, flowers, candles, lamps, altars, floor cushions…and I mean from the floor to the high ceiling.
After viewing the main altar, one walks around to the back, only to discover another absolutely huge (25 feet? 30 feet?) statue of Kuan Yin, the somewhat androgynous Chinese and Japanese version of the compassionate Avalokiteshvara or Tara figure. She is emptying her vase of compassion onto the world. All around her and above her are dozens of creatures, humans and otherwise, representing all the Six Realms (Coyotebanjo said, “It’s Indra’s Web.”) The figures are carved in such a way that they jut out from the wall, which instead of going straight up vertically, curves inward in such a way that the figures all sort of loom above the viewer very dramatically. Coyotebanjo and I were completely blown away by this, and stayed for a few minutes to just look at it and attempt to take some pictures.


After that mind-blowing experience, we strolled around the grounds, looking at the various buildings (tea house, huge pagoda, various temples, gardens…) all of which were quite amazing. We had not expected it to be a whole compound, so we were starting to get a little concerned about the amount of time passing – we were supposed to get on the bus with the band at 4:30, and we wanted to be back by 3:30 to shower and relax a bit. Reluctantly, we left, and walked back down the narrow stone steps to the street.

Having left Daming Temple, we found a cab fairly quickly. The cab driver once again delivered a long and involved disquisition in Chinese, which we understood to be about the Torch procession. We tried using the same “go the long way around” sign language, pointing to the map that we had used before, and the cab driver appeared to agree.

To our chagrin, however, he got to a point that was probably all of a half-mile north of our hotel, and reached a place where both the east-west road, on which the procession was taking place, and the north-south road that crossed it, were both blocked. There he stopped and made us get out. We tried to communicate the “Go the long way around” thing again, but he either didn’t understand or was having none of it. A couple of local officials noticed, strolled over and tried to figure out what was happening, but were unhelpful. Finally the cab driver pantomimed “walking,” and we thought OK, that’s that – he’s saying You Walk Now, and there’s no two ways about it. We decided that we would try to find another cab and see if we could point to the hotel on the map (again) and communicate the “long way around” option.

Well, there was no such luck. No cabs to be found – they were all avoiding the area because they couldn’t get anywhere. So we walked a block south up to the road where the crowd was gathering (and a noisy insane mess it was), and tried to explain to the cops that we needed to get to our hotel (enthusiastic smiling and map-pointing) and simply needed to cross the street. No way – no one got to cross the street, not Chinese, not lost Americans, not nobody. This was all being communicated while dozens of Chinese citizens on their bikes and scooters were also howling at the cops in Chinese, because they also wanted to get across the street, and the police simply weren’t having it.

So, we turned east and attempted to walk in the opposite direction from the crowd. Since many of them were emanating from that direction, we figured that there must be a parking area somewhere to the east, and might therefore find the nearest cross-street that was just beyond the barricade. We walked… and walked… and walked. It was sweltering; high 80s and extremely humid. I was soaked. It’s probably an exaggeration to say that we were totally lost – we were going east in a fairly straight line, and we did have a map, but our anxiety was starting to build. We finally came to a group of cops who did attempt to help, but were absolutely not going to allow us to cross to the south. One of them, a woman who spoke a few words of English, said “Wait one moment please,” which we did, expectantly, and finally she said “Wait one moment until 5:00.” (It was 3:15.) Well, that wasn’t going to work, because the band bus left at 4:30, but there was no chance of us communicating that. Finally Coyotebanjo managed to somehow communicate (he is very good at this) that we were looking for a route to get around the barricade even if we had to walk. One of the cops pointed east and pantomimed that we should keep walking that way (at least our instincts were right.). So we walked…and walked…some more. Sweat. Pouring. Down. Faces. Coyotebanjo was starting to say “We’re going to miss the concert. We’re going to miss the bus.” I suggested that we call the tour director and the band director, and simply tell them the situation, and say that we would get a cab to the gig later. Unfortunately, though, as often happens in a foreign country, we obviously didn’t have the right code or exchange, because the calls did not go through, raising our stress levels even farther.

If you ever want a recipe for anxiety, try being lost in a city where you can’t even read street signs, can’t communicate, can’t make your calls work, everyone around you is in a state of high mob excitement, and you’re sweating so profusely that the salt is rolling into your eyes and making them sting. It really sucks. I wasn’t exactly panicked; I mean, we were not in any physical danger (except maybe heat-stroke). I knew that even if we missed the bus, we would be able to get back to the hotel eventually, even if we walked all the way; and that eventually the torch parade would go by, and we could get a cab to the concert venue. What troubled me was that we couldn’t reach anyone back at the hotel, and if we didn’t show up for the bus everyone there would be in a panic wondering what had happened to us, and they’d have half the Yangzhou police force looking for us. (In retrospect, I realize that would have worked rather well; several of the cops had encountered us, after all.)

We walked for what seemed like miles through an area that appeared to be some sort of pedestrian market, with a narrow paved lane in the middle, but not wide enough for traffic. It went on and on and on.
Then we saw some large modern high-rise buildings in the distance. Aha, we’re getting somewhere – but no, it was clear from the crowd movement that the torch blockade still extended to this point. Now we were really feeling desperate.

In the Buddhist pantheon, there is a deity called Tara. She is the female Buddha of Compassion and Enlightened Activity, and it is said that “Tara comes swiftly to help those in need.” My Tibetan teachers had told us this many times; if you are in extreme physical or emotional circumstances, call upon the swift and helpful energy of the Tara mantra.

I actually hesitated for a moment, because I didn’t want to use the Tara mantra “call for help” lightly. It seems to me that this particular use of the Tara mantra calls for situations such as extreme turbulence at 30 thousand feet or a truck barreling down the road at you. However, I thought: OK—we’re in China, we’re lost, I’m getting pretty freaked out, Coyotebanjo is getting freaked out, we can’t speak Chinese, we’re seriously overheated, we can’t find a cab, and we can’t reach our friends, so I guess we qualify as being in need. And, for goodness sake, I was just standing in front of her statue at Daming; or at least her Chinese-Japanese manifestation! So I started saying Tara mantra quietly to myself. After the equivalent of about another city block we could see a large street with the canal just beyond it – there was no going past the canal, but maybe – just maybe -- the main thoroughfare would be open to traffic, since it was running perpendicular to the Torch route…we got to the street and crossed, and started looking in vain for a cab. Om Tare…Very few cabs passed; the ones that did were full. No one was stopping at all, or even slowing down; it was decidedly not a place where vehicles stopped. Om Tare tuttare ture soha! Help!

Suddenly, a small black car passed, pulled a (terrifying) U-turn in the middle of the thoroughfare, and screeched to a halt next to us. About 5 or 6 young Chinese people piled out of the car, including the driver, who had a camera, and the young woman who’d been in the front passenger seat, who had a reporter’s notepad in which she was scribbling quickly. They rushed up to us and explained – In English! English! – that they were from the Yangzhou Daily News, and were we American? Were we here to see the Olympics? Of course – being the two obvious Americans in a huge crowd of Chinese, we had instantly attracted the attention of reporters. We were still so stunned that they spoke English that we were sort of stuttering out answers – Coyotebanjo explained that we were musicians, and that we had a concert, and we were quite worried because we got caught up in the street blockade, and were lost, and trying desperately to get back to our hotel…and while he was explaining this, they were thrusting little red Chinese flags and Olympic flags into our hands, and snapping photos and asking questions excitedly. “You like China?” Correct response: smile, brush salty sweat out of eyes, wave little flags, and say “We love China!” (And we did love the Chinese people we met...later for all the politics!) When they finally understood the hotel situation, the woman with the notepad had a quick conversation with the three young women who had been in the back seat – I am quite certain from her gestures that she said “Stay here, we’ll come back for you,” and then gestured to us, pointed to the back seat of the car, smiled, and said “We will take you directly to your hotel.” Who knew that Tara works for the Yangzhou Daily News, and rides in a tiny little black car? They did, in fact, maneuver through the crowd, find the one allowable crossing through the roadblock, and take us back to the very door of the hotel, while we tried repeatedly to express our gratitude to them.

Incredibly, we had enough time to go back to our room, stand exhausted, dumbstruck, and grateful in the shower (never has a shower been so welcome!), pack our stuff for the overnight train, make ourselves presentable for the gig, and get to the band bus with a few minutes to spare. As for having time enough to let the experience “sink in” – I don’t think that’s happened yet.

China Trip Notes, Chapter 7: Free Day in Suzhou (5.25.2008)

The next day, Sunday, was a free day (meaning no concerts.) Suzhou was humming: it was Olympic Torch Day. Out on the street, there was a large amount of public mayhem going on; there were about a bazillion scooters, bikes, and pedestrians all headed in the same direction, and the crowds were thickening.

Coyotebanjo and I began the day with breakfast in the restaurant next to the hotel, which was some kind of separate but clearly connected business establishment. They had set it up for the westerners: a small plate of scrambled eggs, a plate of rather stale bread on the carousel, and instant coffee. Then, we went for a walk to find an ATM and decide what to do. We walked through a small market that seemed to be doing land-office business as a result of all the festivities. It was oppressively hot and humid – no wonder they have beautiful gardens here; too bad humans don’t run on photosynthesis. You start sweating the minute you walk outside.

We pondered our options. Coop had left early; he ended up hiking about 12 miles and having a great time. A certain contingent of the band students ended up taking a train into Shanghai, an expedition that had been spearheaded by one of the faculty we were traveling with. We preferred to stay in Suzhou and look around, since there seemed to be lots of stuff to do. We decided to get a cab and go to the Old City, hopefully before they blocked off all the roads, since most of the things we wanted to see were there. Once in the old part of Suzhou, we went on a frustrating goose chase trying to find the Museum of Opera and Theater. The map in our guidebook was inadequate, and we walked up and down the sweltering streets while the Chinese merchants yelled “Halloo” at us and tried to get our attention. There was a particular street we were trying to find, and we weren’t having any luck, although I think Coyotebanjo was definitely headed in the correct direction. A couple of people tried to help us, seeing that we were obviously lost, and there was some peering at guidebooks and pointing, but to no avail. This was frustrating, especially to Coyotebanjo, who really hates being lost (not that I like it much either.) When they invent a GPS chip that can be installed right in the brain, I’ll be first in line to buy him one, because it will make his life much less stressful.


As we were trying to think, we were repeatedly accosted by the Boatie guys. Now, to be fair, the idea of taking a boat ride through the beautiful canals of Suzhou is wonderful; if we had more time, I would have done it. However, of all the market hustlers in China, the most persevering ones have got to be the characters in the Old City of Suzhou who hawk boat rides on the canal – their persistence is maddening. They chase you down the road yelling “Boatie Boatie!” until you finally have to be rude, and I hate being pushed to that point. The Chinese word for no -- bushi, pronounced kind of like Boo Shr – is very helpful here, although even that doesn’t always work (possibly because it literally means “not yes,” which is far too polite.) Then, 5 minutes later you pass by them again, and the whole thing starts all over again. Same guy: “Halloo! Boatie Boatie! Boatie! (Boo Shr!) Boatie Boatie!” Good Lord! Do you expect me to believe that you don't remember a white lady in an orange jacket and a six-foot-five inch Viking? Come on!

Having given up on the Theater museum and sick of the Boatie Boaties, we ducked into the Folklore Museum. Lovely, but too hard to figure out a museum without any guide when you can’t read the characters on any of the displays. Coyotebanjo suggested that we try to find some lunch, but that wasn’t really working either, mostly because of me, I’m afraid – I wasn’t in the mood for more challenging food, and we were having some trouble finding a place where we could point to some pictures on the menu.

We ended up passing by the entrance to the Lion Grove Garden, and decided to go there, which was a good decision.

The Lion Grove Garden (Shizi Lin) is an excellent example of the art of “rockeries” – ornamental rock arrangements made from the strangely-shaped, heavily-eroded limestone rocks pulled from Taihu Lake in Wuxi City. These rocks figure in many of the ancient classical-style Chinese gardens we saw. The rocks would be piled up into various shapes, some quite huge; and in fact the Lion’s Grove Garden takes its name from the fact that a few of the rock-shapes resemble lions. The idea was to “create” mountains and forests with the various rocks and plantings.

The garden was built originally in 1342 by a Zen monk named Tianru and a group of his disciples, in memory of their Zen master Zhongfeng. It became a popular place for both Zen disciples and poets. Over the centuries, the garden changed hands many times, alternating periods of cultivation and disrepair. Interestingly enough, it was purchased in 1917 by the Pei family (as in architect I.M. Pei), but after 1949 it became state property (one website says it was donated to the PRC). Since then it has been treated as a national historic site and maintained.

Though too exhausted and overheated to truly appreciate this incredible sight, I am very glad to have seen it and walked through it, especially since it did have a wonderfully calming effect despite the hoards of sightseers out that day. The rock labyrinth is mind-boggling (how did they build these things? The sheer weight of them must have been staggering.) The whole garden is beautifully laid out, and very evocative of every book on Ancient China one may have read; there is indeed something about the particular combination of water, rock, tree, and that particular architecture that instantly promotes serenity and contemplation – it’s no wonder they called the classical Chinese gardens “Scholar’s Gardens” (at least one variety, anyhow.) After, we cooled off in the “tearoom” - actually just a place to sit, with our bottled waters and an ice cream bar (what we would have called an Eskimo Pie when I was a kid.)

The next event, however – an attempt to get a cab back – was far from serene. We just couldn’t seem to find the right place to stand. We saw a few cabs come in and drop people off, but in every case other people pounced on them. It’s mostly a pedestrian area, so there aren’t a whole lot of cabs, either. One guy finally came up to us and gestured in a particular direction. We thought perhaps he was trying to tell us that it would be easier to catch a cab if we walked a few blocks. However, he kept pestering us, and we couldn’t understand what he was saying, so after many XieXies (thank you) and smiles and nods we crossed the street. Still no luck. After a few minutes, the guy came back over and gestured over at his friend, who had been sitting in a parked cab-like vehicle for a few minutes, but clearly was not picking anyone up or going anywhere. He appeared to be some sort of independent driver. After a bunch of sign language and pointing at the Chinese characters for our hotel, it was agreed that he would take us there.

On the ride, he kept saying “Suzhou Lookie Lookie?” We took this to mean, “Have you been sightseeing in Suzhou?” In hindsight, I figured out that it means “Would you like me to take you on a tour of Suzhou for which you will pay me to be your guide?” I think in reality the guy was an independent tourist guide – they are abundant in these tourist areas. Each time he would ask, we would smile and say “Hotel” and point to our hotel name. Eventually he pulled up in front of a different hotel, which was very confusing. We got out, figuring we would just hail a different cab from there, and he gestured that he would wait for us (in fact I think he actually said “I wait.”) Huh? We were then greeted by two women who were bringing people inside to attend some sort of silk market. Fortunately, one of them spoke English, and we explained to her that we were attempting to get back to our hotel. Aaaaah so. OK. Suddenly there was comprehension. She then had a conversation in Chinese with the driver, who seemed a little disappointed, but loaded us back in. He then proceeded to drive us to the wrong GreenTree hotel – there were two of them – and a lot of additional sign language and card-pointing ensued, after which he did find the right hotel. What a saga.

Too exhausted to explore, we ate lunch at the restaurant outside the hotel. There was no English menu; just pictures. I did get the waitress to understand “Doufu” (Chinese version of Tofu.) I ended up getting some sort of tofu dish, possibly in black bean sauce, possibly with some pork in there, God knows – and Coyotebanjo got some sort of Drumstick of Flying Beast. That and some weak Chinese beer, and we did calm down a bit.

We ran into Coop at that point, and we got to hear the great story of his 12-mile walk. He had gone through the whole area where the Torch procession was being held. He had lots of great stories about meeting people; apparently, with his fair skin and white hair, he attracts as much attention as a live Stegosaurus, so he makes a lot of friends. One of the places he’d been on his walk was a relatively western-style restaurant; I think it was called something like New Island Coffee. He had shown the wait-staff his photos from the concert the night before and explained that he was the flute player, so they had all been very interested in that. He said the coffee was really good, and we were all about ready for some western-style food at that point, so we decided we would go there for dinner after resting for awhile.

We had a good time at the restaurant. I think we were quite a diversion for the waitstaff- there were about three of them that took turns waiting on us. Coyotebanjo got a Japanese noodle dish; Coop got some kind of Thai-style soup and something that they called a salad, and I ordered chicken curry in light of the complete absence of vegetarian options. I had an iced coffee, and they ordered (many) beers – Heinekens I think or something like that. We stayed for a very long time, just having a good visit and talking about lots of stuff – the trip, the things we were experiencing, and telling stories. I believe we got into a religious discussion at some point; don’t remember how that got started. Anyhow, it was relaxing and a good time. We walked home then, which was quite pleasant since it cools off considerably after dark.

When we arrived back at the hotel, we found out that there had been some sort of train schedule snafu and the Shanghai contingent had gotten back a couple hours later than expected. The students had all had a good time, as far as we knew, and arrived back perfectly safe; however, Prof M had quite an experience. He had lost his wallet in a cab in Shanghai – it fell out of his pocket. (This is one of those nightmare things you hope never happens – the thought of wandering around in Shanghai with no identification, no money, and no train tickets is not appealing.) The police were called. When Prof M arrived at the train station in Shanghai, the police were waiting for him, and took him aside to another room to “ask him some questions.” The police plied him with questions: Who are you? What’s the nature of your trip? How long will you be here? Where are you staying? Where were you when you got out of the cab? What kind of cab was it? What color was it? What time did it happen? After answering all their questions, they brought Prof M to a video monitor, where they produced a video of him getting out of the cab. “Is that you?”

Turned out that the cab driver had found the wallet and instantly reported it to the authorities; they were apparently checking Prof M’s story against the cabbie’s. Having done all that, they took the address of the hotel where we would be staying in Beijing, and told Prof M that when they got the wallet from the cabbie they would express mail it to the hotel. (And they did.)

A handy thing to remember if you ever go to China: surveillance is everywhere. There are plenty of cameras that you can see, and plenty that you can’t see. (And guess where they apparently buy most of their surveillance technology? From the good ol’ USA.)

I was telling someone this story a couple of days ago, and we were musing over the fact that even though surveillance cameras are everywhere, it's hard to believe that they would be able to watch every nook and cranny of every possible place a cab could drop someone off. It occurred to us, then, that it might very well be the case that cabbies are trained to drop off foreigners in certain pre-designated spots. When pondering this, I remembered that there had, indeed, been several occasions in which cabbies had dropped us off in illogical places, or at a curious distance from the actual destination we had requested. Hmmmm.

Be it ever so dusty...

I know some of you are waiting for the rest of the China notes – I’ll get back to them. I'm briefly on hiatus from Big Flat University, visiting Big Swamp University, collecting data for upcoming exams, being RadioWoman, and musing on the similarity between the Yangtze and Ohio River Valley’s soggy air, abundant vegetation, chiggers, and mosquitos. Yeah, it shur' is purty here, but I don’t think there’s a single animal, vegetable, mineral or abstract concept in this town that doesn’t bite.

Never thought I would miss dust and hail, or get mildly annoyed because I couldn't see the incredible sunrise because of all those pesky trees. Hasta luego...

China Trip Notes, Chapter 6: Back to Suzhou (05.24.2008)

On Saturday morning, after our walk, we got on the bus and headed back to Suzhou. Tonight would be our second concert, followed by a free day on Sunday in Suzhou. Little did we know that a massive snafu awaited us at the hotel where we had stayed previously in Maple Bridge.

It would seem that the Olympic Torch Relay had originally been scheduled to go through Suzhou before we got to China. However, because of the Three Days of National Mourning, it had been delayed, and was now scheduled to be going through Suzhou the next day. So, while we were all in Changzhou doing the run-out concert, twenty-two of the thirty-some rooms that had been reserved for us back in Suzhou had been given away to the Olympic Torch runners and their whole retinue. The people at the hotel indicated, if I understood correctly, that there had been some pressure by local officials to honor the "original reservations" for the Olympic Torch people, and to move some of the Americans to a different location. (They had, however, made no arrangements with any other hotel.)

So there we were: in a hotel lobby with 60+ American students, a concert that night, and no hotel. Most of the students had figured out, from observing the consternation of their elders, that something was really wrong. The hotel staff, while having given away their rooms, actually had made lunch for them, but we didn’t know quite what to do, so we all stood around awkwardly. Finally the tour director told them to go in and eat lunch while he attempted to solve the problem.

After a few different ideas were floated, talk turned to finding another hotel. The Band Director was told by the tour organization that it would be hard to get another 4 star hotel, and we might have to settle for a 2 or 3. The Band Director, to his credit, explained politely but firmly that he wasn’t allowed to lodge the group in two different locations because of liability issues, and that we simply were not going to settle for a lesser hotel; the fact that our reservations had been cancelled to accommodate another group was insulting enough without settling for lesser lodgings. Many phone calls ensued, and eventually it was solved: our whole group was going to an entirely different hotel in Suzhou, which worked out fine (it wasn’t as new, but it was in many ways a better hotel for the group, since it was much further into the city itself, instead of being off at the edge of town.) So, it had a happy ending, but I can’t say it wasn’t stressful.

The concert in Suzhou took place at a venue that was translated for us as the Suzhou Arts Center. It was a beautiful hall, with comfortable facilities backstage, decent AC, and a well-organized event. You could feel the relief coming from everyone involved. The venue also had a beautiful lobby, and we came up with the idea of the Johnny Faa trio playing trad tunes out in the lobby for a half-hour before the concert; everyone agreed it was a good idea.

We three had some time to kill, then, while the Wind Ensemble prepared, and we were hungry / thirsty, so we thought we’d grab something quickly. Outside the venue, there were bazillions of security people and police, since the venue was right where the Olympic Torch run was going to happen the next morning. They were also preparing for the big road-block that would occur the next day. We purposely greeted a couple of them by the door so that they would recognize us when we came back a half hour later (as if there was any chance of them not recognizing a blond 6’5” giant and a white guy with snow-white hair – we all were stared at everywhere we went.)

Right next door to the venue there was a Teahouse, so we thought we’d go in and have a cuppa. Guess what – Teahouses in China ain’t Starbucks; you don’t go in and chug a cup and leave. They’re a whole experience that normally takes a couple of hours. We didn’t know that. We sat down and the waitresses brought 3 teas and an assortment of lovely dried fruits, nuts, and other little snacks. The waitresses were also accompanied by a tall Australian guy and his Chinese female friend, both of whom appeared to be regulars at the place. The Aussie greeted us and asked us if we knew “how the place worked” and we said “No, please help us out here!” Turns out, you pick a menu item depending on what kinds of teas you want, and the price includes the buffet. We explained that we only had about 25 minutes because we were playing a concert next door. He and his friend explained this to the waitstaff. They were momentarily flustered, but then the staff decided it was OK. The Aussie then had some sort of conversation with them, and it turned out that he had arranged for them to bring us tea and let us go “one time through buffet” for a reduced price, since we only had a very short time. We thanked him profusely. The tea was wonderful and so was the food; it would have been very easy to shoot about two hours there nibbling at the stuff, drinking tea, and yakking. I like the Teahouse concept – very civilized. I wish there was one in The Big Flat Place. (Sure, that’ll happen.)

After our Tea experience we went back to the venue (yes, they recognized us – duh) and played in the lobby for half an hour. Many, many people stopped to listen to us, and they were very enthusiastic, especially the kids. A couple of the kids in particular were very taken with it, including one little boy (maybe 9 or 10?) with glasses, a studious-looking little guy, who practically had to be dragged away to go get his seat with his family. People were also terribly curious about the instruments, and those who spoke English would ask us questions and then translate quickly for the crowd. Coop’s wooden flutes in particular were the object of much curiosity, I would guess partly because they have wooden flutes in their own folk music and can relate to it.

The concert went very well. The concert repertoire was a little different each night, but drawn from the same group of pieces. They always began with The Olympic Fanfare and Theme, which the audiences loved. Other pieces included Gould’s American Salute; at least one movement of David Gillingham’s “When Speaks the Signal Trumpet Tone,” which featured a beautiful performance by the university's trumpet professor; selections from Bernstein’s “Candide” Suite; Shostakovitch’s “October,” a piece called “Blue Shades” by Frank Ticheli; excerpts from “Rhythm of the Americas,” by Bob Mintzer, which featured a burnin’ saxophone quartet of faculty members form the university we were touring with; an arrangement of a Chinese folk song, “Song of Jasmine,” excerpts from the Star Wars soundtrack; and the second movement of Dan Welcher’s “Minstrel of the Kells,” which was the piece we were involved in. There were always two encores: “The Stars and Stripes Forever” and the “Song of the People’s Liberation Army,” a patriotic Chinese march that always got a very strong audience response. I mean, how many of them ever dreamed that an American band would be playing the PLA march for them? Not in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would live to see that.

During the Welcher, I was watching the aforementioned little guy with the glasses, who was in the front row as it turned out. There’s a moment in the Welcher when the band comes to the end of a tune, the drums roll, and then the orchestra drops out entirely and the Irish band (us) lights into a very energetic version of the reel called “Bunker Hill.” At the exact moment when we hit the first chord, the kid threw his arms out to the sides, looked up heavenward, opened his mouth in an “aah,” and closed his eyes. It was a completely transcendent moment which, unfortunately, my companions didn’t see (they were concentrating too hard on the bouzouki and flute; only the rhythm guitarist has the luxury of watching the audience.) After we left the stage, during the encores, I told the guys about it, and Coop decided that he would go out into the house after the last encore, try to catch the family before they left, and give the kid one of his extra whistles. Coyotebanjo and I found this to be a very moving gesture – Coyotebanjo, when we were back in Lubbock after the trip, told me that this was maybe his favorite moment of the tour. The kid and his family were quite tickled – the kid seemed a little stunned – and of course they all wanted “photos.” (Many of the Chinese know the words “Hallo,” “OK,” and “Photos.”) So we posed for quite a few, as did other musicians on the tour, and of course the band director.

After the concert, we were brought to a restaurant where another Chinese banquet was served to us – and again, I winced at the situation in which our kind and generous hosts offered huge portions of challenging food to a roomful of Americans who were going to waste half of it. We did better than the previous Suzhou meal, though – they’re getting a bit braver and the food was a little more attuned to western palates than the first time. I was a little concerned about the students at this point – they were mostly in need of about 60 Mickey D Happy Meals.

Next up: Free day in Suzhou; Boaties; and a colleague’s Excellent Surveillance Adventure.

China Trip Notes, Chapter 5: Changzhou (05.23.2008)

I realized as I was posting this that I never have actually explained why we were in China. We were invited by the director of Another University's symphonic wind ensemble to join them on their trip to China. Our mission was to provide the "Irish Pub Band" interlude in a piece written by composer Dan Welcher on Irish traditional music themes -- a piece that we had premiered with the same director some years before at Our University.


Our China trip was supposed to begin with two concerts in the city of Hangzhou. As it turned out, both of those concerts were cancelled because of the National Period of Mourning for the victims of the Szechuan province earthquake. So, the first concert actually happened 3 days after the group arrived, and took place in the city of Changzhou, about an hour’s bus ride away from Suzhou. The plan was to ride out from Suzhou, do the Changzhou concert, stay overnight, and go back to the same hotel in Suzhou, where we would do the second concert.

Changzhou is another city along the Grand Canal, bordering on the large metropolis of Nanjing. Originally the site of an ancient walled town (221 BC), it became a canal port in the 7th century. According to Wikipedia, the main industries are textiles (esp. cotton), food processing, engineering, and high tech. There are also several universities there, and an international school. Since the 1990’s, the city has also had an area called “Changzhou High-Tech Zone,” and according to Wikipedia, over 7600 Chinese and overseas companies have headquarters here. Changzhou is also the location of Tianning Temple, one of the largest Chan (Zen) Buddhist temples and monasteries in China, and its pagoda, which after its recent reconstruction is now the tallest Buddhist pagoda in the world. There are also a number of parks, including an amusement park and a dinosaur park. Our hotel in Changzhou (Changzhou Jinglin Mingdu) was extremely nice – a modern high-rise with nice beds and showers, a lot of services, and a full restaurant. The students were obviously quite pleased with it, and with the excellent catered Chinese lunch that was given to us in one of the function rooms.

After getting settled into our rooms we three did some exploring. The hotel was right downtown, with inevitable wild traffic, and the weather was still extremely tropical – smoggy, and not really conducive to a stroll, but we went anyhow. The stores ranged from large department stores to teeny little tobacconists to small sex-shops selling everything from videos to toys, none of which left anything to the imagination. Then, of course, there were all the street food vendors – very tempting for the guys, who restrained themselves in the light of the many warnings we’ve had (or more likely because they’d just had lunch).

One interesting thing we noticed in the department stores: it’s extremely popular here in China to wear T-shirts with English words printed on them. It’s also obvious that no one has a clue what they say. I am quite sure that we probably do the same thing in America, when we wear fabric that has Chinese lettering on it; see if I ever wear something like that again. Heaven forbid I should be walking around with the word “juicy” across my chest, like one young lady I saw today. It’s actually rather hilarious, because many of the shirts are vaguely suggestive but make no sense (“Men Fun Summer Park.”)

We passed an alcohol vendor, and Coyotebanjo and Coop took the guidebook and found a reference to a liquor that is “favored for toasts and banquets.” The salesperson showed it to them – forget it; price too high; obviously this is what one buys to show off one’s prosperity. There was the inevitable Erguotou (see previous blogpost); no point in buying that, since we had no plans to remove the corrosive residue from old car batteries that afternoon. So, onto a convenience store, and some browsing. Gosh, this looks just like the convenience stores at home, except for the Chinese letters on the packages. Hmmm…yogurt…ice cream (dairy!?) …fruit drinks…power drinks…peanuts…cashews…crispy chicken feet…OK I take back the part about home. The guys settled on a milk-white bottle of mystery hootch; some kind of white baijiu. (A mere few minutes later, at the hotel, my companions deemed this to be almost, but not quite, as hideous as the stuff they bought in Suzhou.)

While everyone else was napping, I decided to write in my journal, and for some reason, I developed an irresistible desire for a cup of coffee. I knew that most of the staff had been speaking basic English to us, so I thought I’d take a chance on the hotel restaurant and see if they could do some take-out for me. The following dialogue ensued.

Dharmo: Pardon me please, is it possible to get some coffee to bring up to my room?

Waitress: (excellent English) Yes, certainly. (Disappears.)

Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Maybe she forgot or misunderstood.

D: (to hostess) Pardon me please, is it possible to get some coffee to bring up to my room?

Hostess: Yes, of course.

Wait. Hostess does nothing either. I wait. Waitress comes back with a menu that has literally 40 different kinds of coffee, mostly in the 4 to 5 dollar range (twice as much as Coop just paid for a duffel bag in a small market out on the street.) Oh well, I want it, so what the hell? I go for the “house coffee.”

D: Can I charge this to my room?

Waitress: Yes, of course. (Chinese conversation between waitress and hostess, followed by flurries of apology) Sorry, so sorry, but we are going to have to put service charge on this because it’s going to your room.

D: That’s no problem, OK. (This service charge is a few yuan, the equivalent of about a quarter. I am smiling and nodding, trying to be as positive and friendly as possible.)

Wait. Silence. They are staring at me. Hmmm. What have I forgotten? Awkward silence.

D: So…I’ll just get it and…take it up to my room then. Do I use the cups that are over there?
Waitress and hostess: (Silence, nervous giggling, worried expressions.)

They are clearly starting to worry that perhaps I might be one of those Psychos and Drunkards the taxi signs in Shanghai were referencing. I'm screwing up here, and I don't know why...think...

Aha! I finally get it: I think I have been ordering take out, and they think I have been ordering Room Service. The concept of the honorable patron taking coffee up to his or her own room is unknown. This explains the service charge. It’s time to give it up and take the Room Service. Xiexie, xiexie, thank you…

I smile and walk away. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the waitress whispering to the hostess, while the hostess rubs her back sympathetically. All I wanted was a cup of coffee, and I have obviously totally stressed out these poor young women. I feel like a Gorgon.

(The coffee arrived at my room within 5 minutes; it was excellent.)

The first concert took place at a local civic center. Evidence suggested that there had already been an event here that afternoon; crews were still doing clean up, and they were hanging some huge Chinese characters up against the backdrop. At one point in the rehearsal, from up on a staging, one of the building crew dropped a small pipe-like object, which beaned the UK timpani player, much to the consternation of everyone (especially the percussion section.) He was OK, but would have a black eye to show for it.

I also observed that there was some stress building over the fact that at least half of them had to go to the bathroom, and a lot of them were severely freaked-out to discover that the venue had only the Asian-style squat toilets. For those who are not familiar with the concept of Asian toilets, here’s the deal: you don’t sit on them. They are built right into the floor, and you put one foot on each side and squat down to do your business. There are different styles of squat toilets, but all of them initially freak out many Americans. Ironically, it’s anatomically better for the human body to squat while eliminating (ask any mammal except a human), but we’re just not used to it. You definitely need good calves and quadriceps…so, now you know why that half-squat position used in martial arts is easier for the Asian guys.

Well, despite toilet angst, falling bits of pipe, the rather tropical temperature in the hall, and the general level of exhaustion and jet-lag, the performance was excellent. The students played beautifully. The programming of the concert was extremely well-done; the idea of doing the Stars and Stripes and the PLA March as a double-encore turned out to be a real crowd-pleaser in every concert. As for our bit – the Irish pub band interlude in Dan Welcher’s “Minstrel of the Kells” composition – it was very well-received by the crowds.

A very bright note for me this evening was the appearance of one of my music history students from the university where I teach. Her family lives hear Hangzhou, and since she was home for the summer, she had really been looking forward to coming to one of the concerts, even though I warned her that we only played for about 3 minutes in the actual concert itself (we didn't start doing the pre-concert lobby performances until the next night.) When the Hangzhou concerts were cancelled, I thought she might not be able to make any of them; we exchanged a bunch of e-mails and phone calls, and for some reason I thought that if she were able to, she might come to the Saturday concert in Suzhou. But in fact, she and her father drove (for 3 hours!) to Changzhou. She came laden with a huge abundance of presents – a silk shirt, silk scarves, a box of Chinese goodies and snacks, and 4 containers of Chinese cookies. I barely knew what to say, except to thank her profusely – it was so generous, and so kind of them to drive all that way. It was wonderful to see her, and I can’t get over the fact that I traveled 6000 miles and still managed to meet up with someone I know.

After the concert, we were treated to a huge buffet in the hotel; excellent food, a trend that continued the next morning with the substantial breakfast. After the breakfast, Coyote and I decided to go for a walk before it got too hot. We found a tree-lined street that ran along a shaded stone path; this looked like a good option, so we followed it, only to discover that it led to a beautiful park. I am fairly sure, from viewing the pictures and looking at the guidebook, that this was Hongmei Park, especially because on the other edge of the park was a giant pagoda. I wish we’d had a little more time to spend here – the park was beautiful, with lots of water, bridges, gardens (and piped-in New-Agey jazz, which was a little weird). It was also fun to watch the people; it was clearly a location where people brought their families for Saturday recreation. However, we were up against the deadline for getting back to the bus, so we couldn’t really visit the pagoda. I didn’t know at the time that this was the tallest pagoda in China, or that it was connected with the largest Zen Buddhist monastery in China. It’s probably just as well, because it would have been frustrating to know and not have the time to check it out. It does, however, interest me that we kept happening upon major Buddhist sites here without even really knowing what the heck we were doing or where we were going. Karma!

Next: back to Suzhou, and an encounter with Olympic fever.

China Trip Notes, Chapter 4: A Traditional Suzhou Banquet; or, “Dude, this is so not Pei Wei.” (05.22.2008)

One very striking thing one observes in China: I saw almost no fat people. OK, there are a few people who have maybe an extra 10 or 15 pounds on them, but that’s it, and they’re mostly grandmas. Most people look very fit, and the young ones are pretty much bamboo shoots. This is true despite the fact that there is enough oil in their food to cause cardiac arrest. So what’s different? I counted five big differences:

1) Very few sweets, and mostly they are in tiny quantities, or found in locations where western tourists eat. Dessert here is fruit.
2) Almost a complete absence of dairy (except for the Chinese versions of Klondike bars, most of which were in tourist areas.) I hardly saw one piece of cheese, except in hotels that catered to westerners; and the only milk is the stuff they pour in the Nescafe for the Americans.
3) Exercise - Walking, biking, moving, and manual labor.
4) A huge number of them smoke like chimneys.
5) They don’t eat enough for the entire People’s Liberation Army every time they sit down to eat.

And folks, that’s the bottom line. If you’d like to feel embarrassed, watch the faces of the Asians as they observe the Americans who go back to the buffet table three times and fill their large plates every single time. Forget all the analyses of the American diet – we’re not just fat because we eat too many sweets, too much dairy, and too much meat; you can say the same for half of Northern Europe. People, Americans are fat because we eat like hogs.

Americans also like Chinese food. In fact, for many of us, “Chinese take out” was our first experience of any ethnic cuisine. When I was a little girl, my parents used to take me and my sister to a restaurant in Springfield, MA, called The Canton. This was always a special occasion. I have no idea how the place would seem to me today, but as a little child who already had an overactive imagination, it was like a visit to another land. I can remember the dim lighting, the lanterns with the red hanging tassels, and the jade green and white tiles, many of which had pictures that were slightly raised in 3D relief. (My little sister really liked the bathroom there; more green tiles, porcelain, and lanterns. It was pretty, and I had to escort her there several times during each visit.) There was also a bowl of sugar cubes on the table, wrapped delicately in little pieces of paper. While waiting for our order (probably 10 minutes, but interminable for a child), those sugar cubes looked completely irresistible. Fearing (correctly) that Mom would cast a dim eye on the tooth-corroding practice of sucking on sugar cubes, we would attempt to get Dad to slip a few cubes to us, mostly by staring at the bowl of cubes and then looking up at Dad while attempting to be as adorable as possible, a tactic that worked 100 per cent of the time.

My parents always ordered the same thing: chicken chow mein (Mom), shrimp chow mein (Dad – or was it the other way around?), pork fried rice, tea, wonton soup, and egg rolls. I don’t remember what my little sister used to order; I only remember that she used to end up eating a respectable portion of the shrimp chow mein. The chow mein looked very scary to me; I was one of those little kids who isolated each different kind of food into separate piles, and heaven forbid any of them should touch (no sign yet of the future vegetarian). So, they would order me a cup of egg drop soup, an egg roll, a little plate of lean pork “strips,” and ginger ale. I was a happy camper.

This childhood experience led in turn to many happy hours chowing on chicken with cashew nuts and hot and sour soup, and after going vegetarian, mu shu vegetables, spring rolls, Buddha's Delight, and multiple variations on Bean Curd (tofu). But folks, I have now discovered an important thing. The food that I and three hundred million other Americans have come to love is Chinese-American food. This is not the same as real Chinese food. I thought I was a fairly adventuresome diner -- not as adventurous as Coyotebanjo and Coop, but not a total wimp either. I am embarrassed to say this, but the Chinese food in China kicked my butt.

The problem is, my #1 nemesis has always been certain kinds of animal-based food, especially organ meats and critters that come out of the water, and my #2 nemesis is slimy or “gushy” textures. (My Dad had to cram a steamed clam into 3 inches worth of Italian bread before I would even deign to try it, and even then I almost perished.) I simply can’t seem to choke down something that was once someone else’s innards, and I have a difficult time with crustaceans. A plate of eels – fuggedaboudit. And it was mighty tough to be a vegetarian in China. To be fair, there were always at least one or two dishes that are mainly tofu or egg or a vegetable; but in almost every case, those dishes also involved some traces of piggy, broth, or lard – a strict vegetarian would be up the creek. There are also a lot of challenging textures (even the tofu is the slippery silken tofu variety).

All this is leading up to the story of the Traditional Suzhou Banquet that was prepared for the group at the end of our afternoon of sight-seeing in Suzhou. The entire group congregated at the meeting point, and our tour director led us to a very old and venerable restaurant in Suzhou, where a feast of “traditional Suzhou food” had been prepared for us.

Dear readers, I believe that a multi-course meal of traditional Suzhou delicacies and a large group of American kids from Kentucky probably qualifies for the descriptive phrase “cultural train wreck.” This is no one's fault; it's simply two different worlds colliding. If you consult Wikipedia’s entry on Suzhou, you will find a list of the following famous dishes from Suzhou: Whitebait Soup; Squirrel-shaped Mandarin Fish; Cracking Eel Paste; Soft-shelled Turtle with Cream Sauce; Cabbage Heart in Chicken Fat; Green Bean Cake; and something called Taicang Wine-pickled Oil & Dried Meat Floss.

I’m not sure which of these were on the table, because no one identified anything for us. So, we just all sat there and visited cheerfully with each other while dish after dish of beautifully presented but terrifying stuff appeared. I felt really bad for the cooks – these were extremely kind people who spent hours preparing things that are precious recipes to them, and I am quite sure that it was beautifully prepared and delicious for the right palate; but I was embarrassed to witness the casting of these culinary pearls before us poor American swine. A shameful amount of it was wasted (although not by Coyotebanjo and Coop, who seemed to be putting it away happily, and not by our Korean-American flute section leader, who enthusiastically offered to eat the duck head). The students were brave – they tasted almost everything, and were relentlessly good-natured about it, as band kids tend to be – but they didn’t eat very much, and the amount of wasted food was just a shame.

As for me, it was (by far) the most challenging food experience I had while in China, and possibly the most challenging food experience I’ve had since the 7-course meal I had 30 years ago in Boston’s Chinatown after playing for the wedding of two Chinese-Americans, when someone had to explain bird’s nest soup to me. After Suzhou, most of the other food in China seemed pretty approachable, if you just avoided the street vendors and the scorpion-on-a-stick.

Now, where were those Klondike Bars?