Bright lights, big city
I just spent two days in Shanghai. Big buildings! Amazing architecture! More organized traffic! Westerners! Higher prices! I went to the Shanghai Museum. I saw an amazing acrobatic troupe. I shopped. I had a meeting with my company's China branch. It was all great, and you can read about all of it except for the meeting in any travel guide.
It made me happier than ever that we are in Fuzhou.
When we told people who know China that we were coming to Fuzhou, the reaction was a unanimous: "You don't want to go there." The consensus was that it wasn't an exciting place and there wasn't much to see--expressed in much harsher terms. That's true; it is a generic Chinese city, and that's been perfect for us.
Fuzhou, capital of Fujian province, is about 25 miles from the southwest coast of China, across from Taiwan. It's about one-third surrounded by the Min River and two-thirds by mountains. These natural features give it what character it has and make it more pleasant than it would otherwise be. I can't say that the city itself is beautiful; few Chinese cities are. Even Shanghai, outside the incredible central areas, features the same cement apartment blocks and drab streets. Several of Fuzhou's mountains are in or easily accessible to the city. We climbed one the first week, and while we did not enjoy the climb, the forest scenery was lovely. Of course one doesn't get amazing vistas due to the ubiquitous Chinese pollution. Another mountain is about half an hour's walk from our apartment, and the lush smell of the subtropical vegetation overpowers the city's smells; it's nice just to sit at its base. We've spent some time at a riverside beach and today I took a walk through riverside parks.
There's a miniscule play area outside our building--I can tell my eyes are adjusting to Chinese spaces, because I no longer consider it so tiny--and the smell of honeysuckle is strong and lovely in the early evening. After school and work, kids and parents from our apartment complex gather here to play and talk. They try to talk to me, though I can't say much beyond "She's two," "Thank you," and "American." This perfectly landscaped little area also has a walking path and fishpond. This is in not more than 500 square feet. The play area probably takes up about half the space. The complex is a community and we are a welcome curiosity, even if we can't be part of things due to the language and cultural barriers.
Blanca's and my walk home from nursery school has several landmarks. We smile and wave to the people on the alley where her school is, then to the people on the small street leading to the alley, including the tailor who sets up shop under a tree. The other day we waved and said hello, and I actually understood when a neighbor of his laughed and asked him, "Your friends?" Blanca watches the fish pond outside a nondescript Chinese hotel and wine shop. Then we stop in to say hello to the shopgirls in the clothing stores on the larger street leading home. They rush out to greet and hug Blanca, who loves the full-length mirror in the men's clothing store. Then we stop at a very chic salon with a fishpond indoors, and large stepping stones leading to the salon area. We wave to the money-changing woman, the tea woman, and the fruit stand people, then the doormen, and then we are back to the play area.
Every day I wander around for a few hours; there's rarely anywhere specific to go. I've found tree-lined alleys filled with small shops each selling a single sort of merchandise. One nearest us has a canal running alongside, and old-fashioned three story apartment houses with vegetable gardens running in between. Just looking at that canal calls for a tetanus booster, and those houses have community bathrooms. It's probably some of the worst housing stock in the world, but it's a great adventure for me, if not for the inhabitants. One day I ran across a mustard-yellow Buddhist temple, all painted the same color as two of our living room walls. It was a large, pleasant complex, empty except for the monks and people working there. No tourists come because it's really not tourist-worthy; it's just a nice feature of the neighborhood.
Not only people on the street are thrilled to see us, but Zack's colleagues have been welcoming and kind, hosting banquet after banquet in our honor. Part of this is just the way China is; part is because Westerners are a rarity here. Had we been in Shanghai or Beijing, or even Xiamen, a small pretty coastal city we visited this weekend, we would have been among other Westerners and less of a curiosity. We would have seen far more sights, but have missed a lot of China.
It made me happier than ever that we are in Fuzhou.
When we told people who know China that we were coming to Fuzhou, the reaction was a unanimous: "You don't want to go there." The consensus was that it wasn't an exciting place and there wasn't much to see--expressed in much harsher terms. That's true; it is a generic Chinese city, and that's been perfect for us.
Fuzhou, capital of Fujian province, is about 25 miles from the southwest coast of China, across from Taiwan. It's about one-third surrounded by the Min River and two-thirds by mountains. These natural features give it what character it has and make it more pleasant than it would otherwise be. I can't say that the city itself is beautiful; few Chinese cities are. Even Shanghai, outside the incredible central areas, features the same cement apartment blocks and drab streets. Several of Fuzhou's mountains are in or easily accessible to the city. We climbed one the first week, and while we did not enjoy the climb, the forest scenery was lovely. Of course one doesn't get amazing vistas due to the ubiquitous Chinese pollution. Another mountain is about half an hour's walk from our apartment, and the lush smell of the subtropical vegetation overpowers the city's smells; it's nice just to sit at its base. We've spent some time at a riverside beach and today I took a walk through riverside parks.
There's a miniscule play area outside our building--I can tell my eyes are adjusting to Chinese spaces, because I no longer consider it so tiny--and the smell of honeysuckle is strong and lovely in the early evening. After school and work, kids and parents from our apartment complex gather here to play and talk. They try to talk to me, though I can't say much beyond "She's two," "Thank you," and "American." This perfectly landscaped little area also has a walking path and fishpond. This is in not more than 500 square feet. The play area probably takes up about half the space. The complex is a community and we are a welcome curiosity, even if we can't be part of things due to the language and cultural barriers.
Blanca's and my walk home from nursery school has several landmarks. We smile and wave to the people on the alley where her school is, then to the people on the small street leading to the alley, including the tailor who sets up shop under a tree. The other day we waved and said hello, and I actually understood when a neighbor of his laughed and asked him, "Your friends?" Blanca watches the fish pond outside a nondescript Chinese hotel and wine shop. Then we stop in to say hello to the shopgirls in the clothing stores on the larger street leading home. They rush out to greet and hug Blanca, who loves the full-length mirror in the men's clothing store. Then we stop at a very chic salon with a fishpond indoors, and large stepping stones leading to the salon area. We wave to the money-changing woman, the tea woman, and the fruit stand people, then the doormen, and then we are back to the play area.
Every day I wander around for a few hours; there's rarely anywhere specific to go. I've found tree-lined alleys filled with small shops each selling a single sort of merchandise. One nearest us has a canal running alongside, and old-fashioned three story apartment houses with vegetable gardens running in between. Just looking at that canal calls for a tetanus booster, and those houses have community bathrooms. It's probably some of the worst housing stock in the world, but it's a great adventure for me, if not for the inhabitants. One day I ran across a mustard-yellow Buddhist temple, all painted the same color as two of our living room walls. It was a large, pleasant complex, empty except for the monks and people working there. No tourists come because it's really not tourist-worthy; it's just a nice feature of the neighborhood.
Not only people on the street are thrilled to see us, but Zack's colleagues have been welcoming and kind, hosting banquet after banquet in our honor. Part of this is just the way China is; part is because Westerners are a rarity here. Had we been in Shanghai or Beijing, or even Xiamen, a small pretty coastal city we visited this weekend, we would have been among other Westerners and less of a curiosity. We would have seen far more sights, but have missed a lot of China.
posted by The Baltimore Bibliophile at 8:27 PM
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