In the Land of Confucian -- Foreigners in China

Week 16 (December 12, 1997) -- In the Shadow of Jiuhua

Episode 6

by Scott Urban

Introduction: Scott Urban went to China in 1994 to work at the China Daily newspaper in Beijing, where he stayed until 1997. While in China, Scott contracted a severe form of bicycling mania, which manifested itself in his 6,000-kilometer bicycle journey to Xinjiang in 1995 with friend Brice Minnigh.

In the Fall of 1996, Scott Urban and another friend William Lindesay spent every weekend possible cycling to the Great Wall of China to find lost sections of the Wall, with nothing more than curiosity, bicycles, and a map of the greater Beijing area.

This Jiuhua story was written in April 1995 about Scott's brother Pat's visit to China, their unusal encounters with Chinese people. The story begins in the middle of that visit. Jiuhua is one of China's four sacred Buddhist mountains (the other 3 being Pu Tuo in Zhejiang, Emei in SIchuan and Wutai in Shanxi). Jiuhua is located in Anhui Province, East China. In its heyday there were more than 300 monastaries around Jiuhua Mountain.

Scott currently resides in Denver, Colorado, USA, and is involved in a number of China-related projects. He can be reached at scott.urban@dacg.com .

[Continued from last week]

Less than 24 hours later, we were out-of-bounds marching down the shady side of the Buddhist Jiuhua Mountain.

Rapidly approaching the small homestead in the ravine behind Jiuhua, I babbled a string of nervous gibberish to my brother, trying to smother the anxiety with talk.

"I don’t feel guilty about being here. I don’t feel guilty about descending that mountain, out of bounds as it may have been. We are on a mission of friendship and goodwill."

In fact I did consider it the responsibility of myself and every foreigner working in China to forge goodwill and friendship. Rather than fear us or suspect our intentions -- many one meets in China will believe you are a spy -- use the rare chance of personal contact to show someone what you and your country really are; use the rare opportunity of human contact to show people that foreigners are not spies or aliens.

And in the era of an opening China, it couldn’t be said that we were imposing ourselves on Anhui Province or the Chinese people. China alone decided it wanted to open to the outside world. If that be the case, then the farmers in our route would be meeting the outside world.

I continued talking. "I’m just worried they’re going to refuse us and send us back up the mountain. I’m worried they won’t know what to do with us. I’m worried they’ll sense their patriotic duty is to report us to the authorities." That last likelihood seemed impossible since there were no phones up here among these hills and lonely homesteads. Electricity, yes. Phone, no.

We got closer to the homestead and the scene was beautiful. This part of the valley was dotted with flowering trees and surrounded by lush hills also in bloom. Surrounding it were terraced gardens.

We reached a juncture: one trail led to the house, another bypassed it and continued down the valley. I hesitated.

"We’re not on the lam," my brother pointed out. "We better approach that guy."

The figures we’d seen from afar were gone now. A lone person stood in front of the house, a middle-aged man, his hands behind his back, chin up slightly, looking straight ahead with us in his peripheral vision. It was a pose as if to say, "I don’t know who you are. But I’m going to stay here until you’re gone."

I must have been nervous because I don’t remember what I said to the man. I showed him where we were going on the map, and he pointed to the trail descending from his house, joining the path we had been on a bit further down. We thanked him.

Just as we began to part, he abruptly asked if we’d like some water. I knee-jerk declined his offer.

It’s true that we had no water, and were getting fairly thirsty. In retrospect, the chance to interact with his family and drink the water should not have been missed. Anyhow, we wanted to reach Ling Yang and it was already afternoon. We had ground to cover.

"Man man zou," he said as we departed. "Go slowly" -- the Chinese equivalent to "take care" or "go well" or "safe journey."

Further down the valley, on the other side of the dog-leg, we ran into farmers hoeing the soil. This encounter was different. The first woman we neared was giggling and smiling at the sight of our approach.

"Excuse me. I have a question," I shouted to her from about 20 or 30 feet away.

"He wants to ask a question!" she shouted to a companion another ten feet away.

"What question?" he asked. There was more giggling. He put his hoe down and approached us, and we exchanged pleasantries. I showed him the map and pointed out Ling Yang. He pointed up over our heads behind us, to a steep trail that bordered some woods. It was the trail I’d spotted from Jiuhua.

"How long is the trip?" I asked.

"We can do it in about two hours," he replied. "Cross this bridge here and go up that way," he told us as we confusedly set off. We couldn’t quite see a trail but we crossed the bridge and found what he was talking about. There was a trail, and it went along the terraced, steep hillside away from him and the woman. It went up and up, past some more farmers working on the side of the mountain.

Coming down the trail were an old woman and young girl. We told them our destination and they carefully explained to us to keep going up, then right when the trail forks, then follow the trail along the spine of that ridge, after which it will drop into Ling Yang.

"To the right," the old woman re-emphasized as we parted ways. They did the same sort of pointing to the ridgeline as the two farmers had done. We thanked them and continued.

Near the top was an extraordinary sight: a large cherry tree in full bloom. It was spectacular out there in the mountains of Anhui. It was as if fresh snow had covered the tree. We stopped for a photo.

Atop the ridge the trail forked, one path dropping down the other side, the second climbing along the top of the ridge. We knew which way to go.

Never had I felt so serene in China. We were truly alone.

[To be continued]

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