The 800-Year-Old Beauty - Lijiang Old Town

A Typical Lane in Lijiang Old Town

I saw a friend’s Facebook status the other day, and it went like this, “Two friends: one lives in Beijing, the other lives in Lijiang. One is making a hundred thousand a year, can’t afford to buy a house, rents a tiny apartment, has a 9 to 5 job, takes bus to work, breathing car exhaust, working like a dog trying to climb the corporate ladder; the other is a freelance photographer, no fixed income, lives in an old traditional Chinese courtyard house by the lake, sleeps until noon, drinks tea all day in the sunshine, watching clouds float by snow-capped mountains. One thinks the other has no ambition. The other thinks he doesn’t know to enjoy life.”

Which one would I rather be?

I think I’m moving from the former to the latter. Slowly. In transition.

Especially now that I’m in Lijiang, I fully intend to do some tea drinking and sunbathing and cloud watching.

Lijiang is the reason I came to Yunnan.

I saw it in a movie 10 years ago, and have wanted to visit ever since. It’s love at first sight. The old town of Lijiang is 800 years old, and it takes you back in time the moment you walk in.

Red lanterns, willow trees, bluestone streets, narrow and winding lanes, 350 little bridges, wood houses, lush gardens, green ponds, brilliant gold fish, it captures your eyes like a beautiful woman, and your heart like a lovely soul (too cheesy?, but that’s really how I felt. It’s like a woman who’s got the face the body and the depth). The air is intoxicating. Everywhere you look is a picture perfect scene for an ancient love story. It amazes me that so much visual interest and architectural variety can be neatly crammed into 900 acres of land. It’s like a decadent chocolate cake. You cut it open and then realize how many layers of flavor are hidden inside. I felt like I don’t have enough eyes to take it all in. Every corner you turn, you discover something new that tickles your interest. It’s a book you never tire of reading. A dish you never weary of eating. It’s like aged Pu Er Tea, you can wash it, steep it endless times and it’s still full of fragrant flavor. It’s a town you walk away from and miss right away.

In addition to this entire sensory overload, there’s something very sensual and poetic about Lijiang.

I think it’s the presence of water that lends it that feeling. Water is the spirit and soul of the old town. Lijiang, literally means “beautiful waterway”. Some people call it Oriental Venice. It used to be the “palace” of the local ruler, who must have hired an excellent irrigation engineer, with the skills and brilliance way ahead of his time, when he designed this place. I’ll explain in a bit.

Downtown Lijiang is called Si Fang Jie (Four Square Street). It’s a square shaped open space, paved with stone, connecting four major streets in different directions. Then in a spider web formation, smaller lanes radiate from the four main streets, reaching every corner of town. The main water source from Black Dragon Pool divides into hundreds of little streams running in parallel with these stone lanes, reaching every household.

In each house, there are three pools the water flows through. The top pool is used for drinking and cooking, the middle pool for cleaning fruits and vegetables, and the third pool, the bottom pool, is used for washing clothes. See what I mean by excellent irrigation engineer? Such efficient use of water all designed from 800 years ago.

Three different pools for drinking, cleaning vegetables, and washing clothes.

Streets are paved with local bluestone, which are neither muddy in the rainy season nor dusty in the dry season. At night the sluice at the center is opened and the resulting water current flushes the town to keep it clean.

Houses are made of timber and tiles, mostly two stories tall with a courtyard garden and engraved figures of people and animals on windows and doors, perfect environment for sipping afternoon tea and watching the clouds float by. (No wonder that freelance photographer never wanted to leave.)

The old town is quaint, intriguing, and mysterious. It’s ancient scientific wisdom married charmingly with ethnic minority multiculturalism. I could spend all day piling on all of my favourite words to describe her, and it doesn’t even begin to illustrate how in awe and in love I am with it all. When standing in her presence, in her eternal embrace of charm and beauty and grace, I feel some ancient, famous love story must have happened here.

How could you not want to fall in love here? The air itself smells like sweet romance.

Unfortunately, the only story I’ve heard about the place has nothing to do with love. It’s about why the old town doesn’t have a city wall.

Not to despair, young travelers make up for it with modern reenactments of Romeo and Juliet, or more commonly known as - “what happens in Lijiang stays in Lijiang”.

At night, the town is so well-known for intimate encounters that some pubs have it advertised on a carved wooden board hung proudly outside the door, and some tourists would walk into the pub and order an “intimate encounter” like a dish on the menu. To which the hostess would politely respond with a smile, “Gentlemen, please follow me to the bar, where you’ll be most strategically positioned for meeting pretty ladies who walk in. And … good luck!”

The board says, "Lijiang Intimate Encounters"

I also had my little share of “intimate encounters” in Lijiang.

Well, not exactly.

The City of Buddha

My first day on the tour bus was exhausting, but completely exhilarating.

Most of you probably have heard of the Shangri-La Hotels. Shangri-La is often described as a mystical, earthly paradise. It is in fact a real place in the mountains of Yunnan.

Yunnan is “a land of the wind, flower, snow, and moon”. It’s located at the southwest tip of China, close to Tibet. One time around sunset, when the sky was painted a fiery orange, a famous poet pointed at the beautiful mountainous landscape in the distance and said, “The land to the south of the brilliant clouds.” That was how the province got its name. If you break down the word Yunnan, it literally means south of the clouds. (“Yun” means clouds and “nan” means south).

Within the province of Yunnan, Dali is the City of Buddha. Our tour guide took us to the biggest temple in the City of Buddha - the Three Pagoda Chong Sheng Temple. It used to be the royal temple of the Kingdom of Dali, housing 39 gods, blessed by 108 gurus, 9 emperors have abandoned worldly pleasures and the supreme power of ruling a nation and chosen to become monks at this temple.

It's gigantic, backed by green mountains, facing an expansive naturally formed lake, over 2000 meters in altitude. At this height, one can’t help but feel at eye level with the clouds in the sky. It’s like a temple built in heaven.

The magic number 9, being the highest level of enlightenment, is used extensively throughout the design of the place. For example, there are exactly 9 hills in the mountain they’ve chosen to build the structure, 9 temples, and the gold tiled roofs of the main hall are guarded by 9 lucky creatures to protect the building. I'm not a religious person, but I can't help but feel the holy powers that reside within this place. It reminded me of the feeling when I first stepped into the Notre Dame Basilica in Montreal. I had decided back then that if I ever get married, I’d like to get married there. No five star hotels, exotic beaches, carefully manicured backyards of exquisite mansions could match the holy powers I felt in that place. It’s as if the vows made in that church take on a whole new level of meaning. The Gods are watching, so you better keep your promise.

I have no urge to have a wedding here or anything, but like I said, I did feel the holy powers of the place, like the wishes made here would come true. There’s a saying, and it may be a Buddhist saying, “When you were born, you brought nothing with you to the world, and when you die, you can’t take anything with you.” When you think about it, it’s so true and so liberating. All the material possessions we strive so hard to get can’t be taken with us when we leave the world, so the best thing to do, is just enjoy this gift of time in between. Be happy and give generously. There’s a reason why the phrase “give and take” goes in the order that it does. Give first.

I burn 3 sticks of incense, kneel before Buddha, and make a prayer I’d come to make over and over again at every temple I visit in the subsequent months of this trip.

A corner of the temple - with 9 lucky creatures on the roof

All You Want After a Long Flight...

After the weekend with Angela, I moved back home and promptly signed up for an 8 day trip to Yunnan with a travel agency.

Before I left, aunt was really helpful in reminding me of all the little things I should bring, “Here’s insect repellent, sunscreen, face wash, bring some shampoo because the ones at the hotels will make your hair dry like wires, oh and do you have a case for your glasses?” Chinese parents are like that, they’ll scold you like there’s no tomorrow and support you when you’re about to leave. And I’m consumed with guilt.

I started washing all the dishes after that.

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The next morning, I was off to Kunming.

Kunming is the capital of the Yunnan Province. It was a 5 hour flight with a half hour stop-over in Changsha. My first impression of Kunming was green, poor, and agricultural. Looking from the sky, you can see patches of green, white and brown - being undeveloped soil. Yunnan people have their own dialect and way of speech so distinct that it's virtually incomprehensible to an “out-of-provinc'er” like me.

Driving through the city of Kunming, I see a lot of buildings being torn down, in fact my shabby 3 star hotel overlooks rubbles of a recently torn down building, bearing surprising resemblance to ground zero when I looked out of the Hyatt hotel window in New York City.

By the time we arrive at the hotel, it was already dusk. I quickly stow away my belongings and go outside to explore the city. I pass by what must've been the street of shoes, among which I was desperately hoping to find some restaurants that would rescue my stomach from growling any louder. Luckily in the end I find one that served their local specialty - Yunnan rice thread - which looks very much like angel hair spaghettini but made of rice. For 5 Yuan, I order a steaming bowl of hot noodles, bathed in an appetizing red oil and chicken broth, with pickled vegetables and ground pork. I took my big bowl of noodles up to the second floor, found a brightly lit table overlooking the lobby, and slowly savored every spoonful of that delicious goodness.

The Honorary Third Wheel

B ut the next day, I did get to go on a date…

With Angela and her “blind date”, as the honorary third wheel.

Before I go into detail about the date, I should tell you a little bit about Angela. Angela’s my good friend from university. Charming, witty, funny, direct, cute as a button and has a smile that lights up the room. I could take her anywhere and grandmas and grandpas, aunties and uncles, basically the general population from the previous generation would fall in love with her instantly. A princess at heart. But without the fussiness. Clear headed on the things that matter, and quite muddy headed on the things that don’t. Not the most organized and diligent student, but efficient and effective at cramming. She always did better than me on last minute cramming sessions, especially if it involved math. We’d spent many nights studying together, painting nails, talking about boys, sharing diet tips, I’d tell her how to be sexy, and she’d tell me how to be classy, and I’d crash on her couch and she’d make me overcooked instant noodles in the morning.

After graduation, much to my disappointment, she moved back to China immediately for, well…love. (Don’t you just hate it when men steal your favourite girlfriends from you?!) I’ve known her for many years now and seen the boyfriends come and go, all of which were seriously considered for marriage. I really thought she’d be married by now.  I had twice planned to come back to Tianjin for her wedding as the maid of honour and twice the plan fell through. She is turning 30 this year. Thirty is an awkward age for a single woman in Tianjin (even though it’s the third largest city in China, after Shanghai and Beijing, people are still somewhat conservative here), where most girls have serious boyfriends at 23 and get married at around 25. At 30, you really are considered, kind of… left over.

Angela’s mom is determined to find her a husband, this year. She’s fully retired but completely at work with this matchmaking business for my dear friend. For a woman, in the eyes of the Chinese at least, happiness for the latter part of her life is largely attributable to the man she chooses to marry. Choosing the right man, is almost more important than choosing the right career. I have heard a famous Chinese actor say, and he’s well known for being a great husband, “If you want a woman to be more beautiful, give her more bliss.” A beautiful woman is a happy woman. A happy woman is happy because she’s in a blissful marriage. Auntie Sun is such a woman.

Auntie Sun, when you first look at her, you don’t immediately think she’s a wife, or she’s a mother, you’d think she’s a woman, first and foremost. Years of child rearing, of duty and responsibility haven’t left a trace of bitterness or hardship on her face. All you see is beauty and grace and peace. Like life has been a smooth flowing river, and she a boat, letting the gentle current carry her, running its course.

Now that she’s recently retired, her days are even fuller than when she was working. When she’s not busy scheduling men for Angela to meet as potential husbands, she’s taking photography lessons, getting facials at the Spa, or going to badminton practices. One week she’s in Vietnam and the next she’s ready to check out Bali, perfectly happy to pick up her bags and head on out on her own. Smooth as silk in all kinds of social situations. She’s someone who gets happiness. Who won’t stress herself out over nothings, or belabor over duty, or force her daughter into doing things against Angela’s will. She’s a caring and thoughtful mother with the enthusiasm for life as a twenty year old girl. And she has impeccable taste: she likes my panda eyes.

Auntie Sun used to work as a flight attendant, back when it was a glamorous profession reserved for only the young and beautiful and privileged. She later on married the captain of the flight crew, before he became big and successful. It’s the classic fairy tale of a woman from a distinguished family, who marries a man from the village for nothing but love. The man later on becomes successful, and they live happily ever after. It really worked out that way in their case. You see, like dreams, fairy tales sometimes do live in reality.

Auntie Sun is trying to replicate this success formula with Angela’s man-hunting mission.

And I get to go on these matchmaking dates with her.

The first boy I meet is the son of one of Angela’s customers. Angela has a good job working at Chinese bank managing money for rich people. A couple of her premier clients really liked her and introduced their son to Angela, which makes logical sense, “Hey we trust you with our money, why wouldn’t we trust you with our son?”

The boy is 28, good looking, educated, has a stable job and comes from a rich family. Check, check, check and check. On paper he’s perfect. But when it comes to chemistry…not so much. They went to watch a movie while I got my nails done, and then we all went for dinner together.

Nice nails, eh? Even butterflies can't keep away.

Anyways, back to the point.

Being the observant third wheel, it’s clear as day that Angela’s not into him. But I didn’t exactly understand why, until later, when she explained things to me, “He’s two years younger than me. Some of the things he does or says still make me feel like he’s immature.” A lot of girls prefer guys who are older. If not older, then at least more mature. We don’t go through dramatic events on a regular basis from which to judge a guy’s character, but we need to make a decision nonetheless, and quickly. So we watch for the details. Love is in the details.

One time, Angela, her date, and I went to Beijing on a day trip. A friend I’d met in Toronto was acting as our tour guide and showing us around town. When we came out of a popular tourist spot, empty cabs were few and far in between, since it was also a long weekend. While all of us were standing in the middle of the street in the heat and wind trying to flag down a cab, Angela’s date went to sit at the curb to rest. She later told me that was very impolite of him. “It’s your friend from Toronto, who’s doing us a favor showing us around. He’s not even his friend. How could he just sit like a spoiled brat and wait to be served a cab?”

You see, a lot of women, no matter how independent, or mature, or accomplished, deep down, they really just want to be taken care of. It is very easy to tell quite early on, whether the guy is up for the job.

And he wasn’t, so the search continues.

Clubbing in China for the Very First Time

I love Angela for so many different reasons, one of them being how much fun she is.

The first night I move in with her, we go clubbing together…with her mom.

Angela’s mom – Auntie Sun, is an interesting character. And terrifically attractive. She’s been everywhere, seen everything, and is open to trying everything at least once.

Which of course includes…clubbing. It was Auntie Sun’s birthday, what better way to celebrate than to party it up after a nice meal?

And so here we were at SiTong, a popular night club frequented by foreigners and Chinese alike in downtown Tianjin. Like Auntie Sun, it was my very first clubbing experience in China. I was brimming with excitement. We enter a beautiful high rise building, walk down a winding staircase of polished marble, and arrive at a glittering wall of gold bird cages housing ravens, which hung over a small pond sprinkled with red rose petals. We ended up sitting at the coolest seat, or more accurately, bed, in the house - the Dragon’s Bed. (Why does this remind me of the TV series Dragon’s Den?)

This bed was like a mini house, or a four poster canopy bed with a roof on top, carved out of rosewood. Hanging off the center of the bed "ceiling" was a red lotus flower, illuminating the entire bed with a seductive glow. There were padded cushions made of embroidered yellow silk everywhere. We sat cross-legged around the short and stubby little wooden table on the bed eating watermelon and drinking pre-mixed Jack Daniels and Bacardi Breezers, while the band played American music on stage. Auntie Sun blended in just fine, in her olive sweater and black pencil skirt, classy as ever, “I feel like a mama-san sitting on this bed with you two!” (Mama-san is a woman who works in a supervisory role in certain establishments in Southeast Asia, typically those related to sex work.)

Angela called up a couple of her friends to join us, two tall, handsome boys in their twenties, Leo and his little brother. I felt tiny standing between the twin towers, being at eye-level with their perfect pecs even in my five inch heels.

I love being around Chinese guys, they make you feel like such a woman. The way they walk with you, frame you with their bodies, blocking others, and even telling you where to stand, makes you feel like a little bird in their mighty presence. Leo's shy younger brother, though not a man of many words, has a face that speaks for itself. He should be on television for being so good looking. I couldn’t help myself from stealing glances his way throughout the evening. He was afraid to look at me, while I loved gawking at him. We did get to dance a bit. Thanks to Angela. Our awkward dance must’ve have looked like lady gaga wooing her body guard – my busting out all of my best moves trying to make an impression and his standing stiff like a totem pole avoiding eye contact at all cost. Angela whispered to me in secret, “he's a couple of years younger, but for a summer love interest, he'll definitely do!” I can’t believe she’s putting such thoughts in my head! I mean, I would consider it…

If he’d only ask for my number!

Until the very end of the night, he never asked for my number.

Maybe I was being too forward with all the dancing and staring? Maybe I’m not their cup of tea? You know, the kind of tea for authentic Chinese men?

Love or Hate? The Joys and Woes of Seeing Your Extended Family

On a cloudy Sunday in April, I packed my bags, boarded the plane, and set out on my journey to return to the motherland.

Before I land in China, I should tell you a little bit about me. I was born in China, and moved to Canada when I was 11. Like most Chinese girls in their twenties, I still live with my parents. And like most Chinese girls who moved to Vancouver at the end of elementary school, I spent my summers watching Asian soap opera, reading Kung Fu novels, and listening to Jay Chou’s music in the car. I had my fair share of fantasizing meeting this Hong Kong star or that Taiwanese actress, with an intensity no less than the affection I feel for any of the heart achingly beautiful people from Hollywood. Of course, in order to understand all of that Chinese pop culture, I still speak and read Mandarin fluently. All of these signs have led me to believe, that despite having lived abroad for 15 years, at the core, I’m still very Chinese.

With this fully loaded trunkful of Chinese heritage, you’d think returning to China would be a lovely affair.

But no…

No, no no no no…

On the contrary, my first few days in China were anything but pleasant. Especially upon seeing my extended family.

I wasn’t quite showered with love and adoration like a homecoming baby. Instead, I felt like fish out of water, unsure of my place or how I should behave.

It turns out, there’re a lot of unspoken expectations in everything: table manners, drinking manners, social manners involving how to treat your father, your grandma, your aunts and uncles, your aunt twice removed, relatives I do not know the names of or how they’re related to me, family friends and their families, etc., that I’m totally unaware of. But hey I’m back, aren’t you delighted by my sheer presence that no matter what I do, or do not do, you’ll love me just the same?

Hmm… not quite.

I thought I was Chinese, until I came back to China.

I will shamelessly admit here, that I don’t do any house work at home. I do clean my room from time to time, but I’m in no habit of making the bed when I wake up in the morning. When I’m not at home, I live in a hotel. As you can imagine, when I go back to China and stay at aunt’s apartment, how irritated she’d be to witness this.

It’s like the whole family hates me for being so…dysfunctional, on matters of a household nature. Finally, my aunt, my plump, pushy, Nazi-commander of an aunt, (who’s really just trying to friggin’ help you for god’s sake), couldn’t take it anymore, and says to me, “I wish you would start taking care of your dad. Put food in his bowl. Insist to wash the dishes. Don’t just let him wash them when he offered to! You’re so inefficient at arranging your things. And you don’t even know how to use the washing machine. You have no basic life skills and are completely dependent! How do you expect anybody to want marry you if you don’t even know how to make dumplings?!!”

On top of that, my aunt and grandma and cousin (who’s 28 and male by the way) critique me on my dress and attire, constantly, like, every time before I go out. “Why do you show your bare shoulders like that? Nobody dresses like that in China. And what are those two black rings around your eyes that make you look like a panda? Good little girls only wear mascara!” (I seriously thought I had a great sense of style. What used to be sexy and cute and unique is now repulsive, awkward and weird-looking?) When they’ve collectively expressed their opinions through horrified stares and verbal outbursts on my outfit, they’ll try to pick something out of my suitcase that’s more…China-appropriate, but only to discover it’s full of sweat pants and tank tops. Then, they’ll dig through aunt’s closet and dress me in her clothing, which are way too large for my size. I walk out one day in a silk chiffon dress and sparkling stilettoes (I was only going to the mall for god’s sake) thinking I’m finally all prim and proper and lady-like, my friend Angela takes one look at me and says, “Whose dress is that?!”

I swallow my pride and let them say what they want. It’s more important to maintain peace and harmony, and obey your elders, whether you agree or disagree. I will tolerate this. The Chinese character “tolerance” literally looks like a knife above the heart. Living with family is not nearly as painful as that. I can handle it. No problem. But after a few days, it starts to bother me. And that tolerance concept went completely out of the window. I mean, my mom doesn’t even interfere with what I wear or what I draw on my face, especially when I’m 26! And on top of that, I come all the way from Canada, to celebrate your birthday and visit the family, bringing gifts for everyone, and all you could do is pick on my flaws and FIX me? (Flaws or not, that’s another question) But really, can’t you just focus on the positive and enjoy my company for a while? I almost started to wish I hadn’t come back at all.

One day I’d had enough. I blew up at my Nazi-commander aunt, “I’m on vacation. Why do I need to be efficient? I get to be efficient 12 hours a day, 5 days a week at work. I take care of my parents in ways you may not see. And that washing machine, uncle doesn’t know how to use it either, does that make him dysfunctional in basic life skills too? We don’t make dumplings! We buy them frozen from the supermarket!”

My aunt fell silent, and started doing the dishes. I felt bad right away for talking back at her. Everyone started looking at me in silent hatred. I wanted to move out.

And I did, well, at least temporarily. Coincidentally, my good friend Angela had invited me to sleepover for the weekend, my perfect escape. I felt like a twelve year old running away from home for the first time. The rebel in me is somewhat of a late bloomer, considering at the doddering age of 26, I’m doing what most people have done at 16. Well, we all grow at different paces.

The Tipping Point

Oftentimes we need a catalyst to initiate change.

Grandma’s 90th birthday was exactly that, the life-saving straw to pull me out of this life stuck in second gear. The decision to take 3 months off work was a gradual process, kind of like the way Canada gained its independence. I didn’t just wake up one day and rushed into my boss’ office to tell her I wanted a 3 month vacation. We probably all secretly wish for it, but when it comes to time for action, need a logical reason, a sound excuse, to pursue dreams that seem to give us no tangible benefits other than pure pleasure, as if the pursuit of happiness isn’t good enough of a reason.

Of course, I am acutely aware, especially with constant reminders from grandma and my loving Chinese parents, that another major contributor to happiness is - love. And I need to find that too.

My love life has been more or less, a blank one for the past few years. That is not to say, I haven’t been trying to meet people. The dating scene in Vancouver offers quite a bit of multicultural diversity. If you wanted to date an Indian, or Korean, or Chinese, or European in Vancouver, it is as easy as going to any of the above listed restaurants. And with this diversity comes quite a wide range of interpretations of what it means to be a gentleman. If it is still cool to be a gentleman. (Some believe chivalry is dead, and act like it is.) And equally importantly, what do the men want? Do they want the Asian face but none of the Asian values and habits that come with the face? I’ve been struggling with this fusion (or perhaps more accurately, confusion) of identity. Do I want an Asian boyfriend or a non-Asian one? Just exactly how Chinese am I? Sometimes I feel like I connect with the locals better, other times I feel like there’s a big part of me, the Chinese part of me, that they can’t understand and don’t care to know. What do I want and what can I realistically expect from the dating scene here? How much of it is cultural and how much of it is individual? Is the reason I haven’t had much luck because I’ve been looking for oranges among a pile of apples?

Maybe I’ll find some oranges in China…

For the past few years, grandma’s been not-so-subtly hinting that she would like to have everyone come back to China for her 90^th birthday. In Chinese culture, obeying your parents, grandparents, and respecting your elders is number one in the rules of proper moral conduct. So my dad and I from Canada, uncle from Japan, and cousin from the US, we all book our flights to go back to Tianjin, China, to celebrate this important day with her.

I am lucky in the sense that I work in the consulting business, where it’s possible to even take a year of unpaid leave-of-absence if you ever felt like you needed to volunteer in Africa. The firm will simply not staff you onto new projects. So I book one month off in my work calendar, notifying my HR rep and career counselor. But when it came time to booking flights, I thought about all the places I wanted to see in China, which would take at least 2 months to cover. Why not book the return flight two months out, and ask for an extension once I’m in China? If the firm insists on having me back, I could change the date, or quit.

And then, almost as an afterthought: since I’m already in China, why not go to Bali, live by the beach and experiment with my dream for a month? Could living my dream, however temporary it may be, be this close to reality? Great idea! I give myself a pat on the back and change return date from June 10^th to July 10^th - three whole months of freedom. I click confirm, and the flights are booked. I sit back into my chair, and relished for a moment, the sweetness of having to decide between Window or Aisle?

This was how I gained my independence, a gradual process.