Life on the Edge

Looking somewhat like a Muslim is how Sally presented herself to the world on Christmas Day. Nothing religious in intention; just what one has to do to keep healthy in air that knocks most Westerners about.

Air, that makes for great sunsets and sunrises. Big red sun filtering through the smog is always dramatic. Makes me think fondly of Los Angeles.

And, when one does get sick, Chinese herbal medicines are readily available.

Speaking of Christmas, what a traveller’s ordeal. On the Friday before, while we were at police headquarters applying for an extension to Sally’s visa we were told that she would have to hand in her passport while the visa was being processed over the next five working days. This meant that we would not be able to travel to the coastal city Qingdao for the weekend as all hotels are required to see one’s passport (photocopies aren’t accepted). So, we left without the visa extension, but fully aware that her visa would expire on Christmas Day and that we would need to be back in Jinan, at this same police station, before 4PM on that Monday or else risk Sally being deported.

I mean, why stay in Jinan over the Christmas weekend when we could be hanging out in the town settled by the German’s at the turn of the last century and made famous by their brewed beer, Tsingtao? Let’s take a chance. We’ll get back in time.

The bus for Qingdao was around a 5 hour trip. Rather comfortable, with a bus stewardess offering tea and snacks. The view out the window, though, was disconcerting as visibility was very limited because of a combination of fog and high pollution. Our hope was that, as we approached the coast, the air quality would improve. Not to be. We arrived in brownish air at a different bus station than the one described in the Lonely Planet. The view from the hotel balcony was somewhat surreal. Luckily, a sea breeze followed the tide in, blew out most of the pollution and revealed more of the harbour and its surrounds.

On a larger scale, the air quality prevented the taking of dramatic, sweeping views of the city and its mountains. However, like I mentioned in last week’s blog, the real beauty of the city was to be found in the small: the splashes of colour and detail found in bamboo gardens, street side flower arrangements of cabbage (they grow in the winter), pine paths along the coast, buckets of seeds and beans for sale at market stalls and the relatively quiet, incense infused temples.

So…. Early on Christmas Day we awake at 6AM to get a taxi to take us to the bus station to make sure we get back to Jinan on time to deal with the visa extension. We have no tickets; we don’t even know what time the bus leaves (staying at the cheaper hotels usually means forfeiting the right to have an English speaking person on the other side of the counter answering all your travel questions about how to purchase tickets, etc.). Anyway, we get to a bus station of sorts, but there is no one around, just a cleaning woman sweeping dust out of the doorway. The taxi driver gets out and talks to her. He comes back and says: “xxxxx, xxxx, xxxxx, xxxxx,xxxxx.” We don’t understand a word, but the implication is that we are in trouble. After a bit of struggle with our language differences and a bit of scribbling on a scrap of paper, the taxi driver was able to convey to us that there were no buses because the road to Jinan was closed due to fog.

The one and only option is the train. So, a mad dash through thickening traffic to the train station to meet up with everyone else trying to get to Jinan. Next, find the ticket counter (no English anywhere, just Chinese characters). Then, try to purchase a ticket for the next “fast” train to Jinan (four and a half hour trip instead of seven).

What time will the train arrive?  I receive several answers; all, though, should get us into Jinan in time to make it to the police headquarters. We manage to get two upper berths in the sleeper carriage. Tight squeeze with a smoker below, but who’s complaining? We made it.

We even got back in time for some Christmas music in our hotel lobby and a bit of roast turkey at a nearby Kiwi, western restauarant.

Looking out of the hotel window here in Jinan (a relatively small city by Chinese standards of 5 million where Sally is studying Chinese Medicine at a TCM hospital) the haze and numerous undistinguished buildings make it not unlike any other polluted global city.  However, what I am finding out is that the city’s visual beauty lies hidden in cultural detail. One aspect of this being the usage of the colours red and gold.

On the cold, windy peak of Thousand Buddha Mountain, the leafless bushes are brought to life with red strips of prayers and well wishes, while nearby, golden locks symbolizing fidelity and long lasting love contrast easily with the red cloth.

Peeking through the prayer strips, the giant statue of the Buddha at the foot of the mountain brings life to an otherwise barren winter landscape. It stands well over 150 feet/40 metres tall.

In courtyards, winter’s trees are warmed, and, in temple doors, red and gold peek through smoky incense.

For tired legs, the best part and most appreciated of this past weekend’s hike up the sacred Thousand Buddha Mountain was being able to descend a portion of it in a way that was totally carbon neutral. From the country where mass bicycle usage for transportation is a great environmental asset, coming off the sacred Buddha mountain on a sled was a hoot.

I can’t say that it has been an easy/healthy start into living in China for a month. Just getting to Hobart’s airport for my flight out last Wednesday saw the car’s radiator hose blow up with a huge pressurized “bang” that sent clouds of steam into the passenger compartment fogging up the windows. Luckily, being 4:30 in the morning there was no traffic on the road and I managed, somehow, to blindly steer the car off the road onto the grassy verge. Without too much panic, but with some regret, I left my friend, Miche, with the broken down car and hitched a ride to the airport in time to catch my flight.

Such was the beginning.

I’ve now been in China for seven days. Four of these days have seen me in bed; first with a pulled lower back muscle (the result of the cramped conditions on the plane) and now with a sinus infection (the result of the persistent air pollution).

The good news is that, with Sally’s knowledge of Chinese herbal medicines, I am on the mend. Before, when I developed sinus infections in Russia and Hungary because of their air pollution, these infections were always much worse and, in the end, required antibiotics to cure. Now, the black liquid that Sally has formulated, is working and by tomorrow I should be up and about and exploring the town of Jinan that I arrived in on Sunday night after four days in Beijing.

I’m excited. From the little I have seen, it has all been fairly amazing. One first observation is that the people are consistently friendly. I have yet to run into the sort of anti-foreigner, why can’t you speak our language, verbal abuse Asians might encounter when coming to Australia or America. Give the Chinese people any indication that you are trying to learn their language and they beam the sweetest smiles. Ordering a meal might be difficult, but their good manners make it a pleasant, difficult experience.

And besides, no matter what my physical health is, being with Sally certainly makes the heart grow stronger.

All this past week and even earlier I have been walking the property saying good-bye to all the little people that live here. For I am leaving Windgrove. Tomorrow. My first trip out of Australia in six and a half years.

To be honest, despite the hugh joy and real excitement in my heart at the thought of meeting up with my partner, Sally, there is, as well, a wee bit of trepidation and a few butterflies built into the leaving.

Is this because I am now 60 and am losing my sense of adventure? Is this because I’m turning into a grumpy old man, set in my ways and content to just potter in the garden? Is this because my last trip was before 9/11 and travelling is now, if not dangerous, more tedious with long security checks?

No, no, no to all three questions.

The simple fact is that Windgrove is a place where I have sunk deep roots into the landscape. Leaving one’s home and one’s family is always hard.

When I returned from my last journey in 2000 (to England and America), I was living a fairly simple life in the Peace Bus. Now, however, a substantial home has been built. There is a domestic familiarity with the place that makes it easy to want to just hang out here, forever. 

So where am I going?  China for one month. More or less staying in the relatively small city of Jinan (population, 5 million); southeast of Beijing towards Shanghai. Sally is there already at a university hospital studying traditional Chinese medicine and I miss her enough to want to leave Windgrove behind for a few weeks. During weekdays, while Sally is at the hospital, I’ll be engaged in learning a new language. The spoken language of the locals, for sure, but also the silent, unspoken language of the customs and culture of this fascinating country. During weekends, we’ll be exploring any number of “tourist” spots.

My desire is to be able to keep writing my blog while away and share what I am experiencing. If internet access is easy enough, maybe even twice per week.  Stay tuned for “Windgrove in China: stories of flailing chopsticks”.

Lots to do. Need to get packing.

Well, the view was certainly great while I worked this week installing a new 2,000 gallon water tank at the far edge and on top of the Gully dam. A bit of ditch digging in hard, rocky clay brought forth a few swear words, but I sit here this morning happy that the job is done.

The other two tanks, seen to the right and below this new tank, hold fresh, drinking water that I collect off the several roofs that comprise the Windgrove Centre (house, studio, shower block, shed). This rain water is first stored in tanks down at the centre (around 10,000 gallons) and then pumped up to the Gully Dam tanks as the need arises. What this is all about is insuring that there is great water pressure when showering. I mean, who likes to take a hot shower after a long, hard suffering day and have just a piddling amount of water drip onto one’s sore, tired body?

The new tank, however, will be filled with dam water and will serve two important functions. First, and foremost, is that for the first time in Windgrove’s 15 year history, there is now an immediate and quick response capability for fire fighting. Previously, if a fire were to break out (which happened in the painting studio in 2001) one had to chose between running the three hundred meters to the fire pump by the Peace Garden, starting it and then running back to the house to fight the fire, or, grabbing a bucket, fill it with water from the shower and throw it on the fire. Either way there were problems. The former took several minutes and the latter, although initially quicker, didn’t give much water.

Now, though, if there is a house fire, either of the two fire hoses fixed at opposite corners of the house can be immediately turned on.

The other use of this new tank will be to water the gardens in a more efficient way. And next year, when I hope to build a fairly large garden complex, this will help immensely.

Of course, having the best fire fighting equipment and the best designed garden are useless if there is no water.  In the last 14 months there has been no serious rain to speak of. The water tanks at the house are empty leaving only the Gully tanks three quarter full to provide potable water. The photo shows the level of water in the dam for fire fighting. Although not yet at a serious stage, if no good rain falls in the next couple of months things will start to get a bit parched.

I hate to admit it, but I might be forced to install a water saving device onto my favourite shower.  Bummer.