Tom: Nanjing (May 15)

Nanjing (May 15) · May 16, 10:36 PM

“Mei you.”

There were no sleepers — either hard or soft — on today’s train to Qingdao, home of China’s “little Switzerland” and a well-known Chinese beer. So I go to Nanjing instead, by bus. I want to stay two nights and leave on an overnight train to Beijing on the evening of the third day. Even after eight hours of sleep last night pulled me out of a foul mood, I am still ready to end this tour of the Eastern seaboard — I’m overloaded on big cities, ancient temples, construction, high-end shopping, and concession-era architecture. There are just under two weeks left on my visa, and I want to get all the way to Harbin.

This morning I slept in, which felt good. My cold is at a steady level now — please, don’t last long. After buying my bus ticket for a 14:00 departure to Nanjing, I walked down to the Suzhou Silk Museum, bought several scarves from Dong Wu Silk (a store attached to a silk factory) and took lunch at a Mexican restaurant. I think it was Mexican, based on the large mock corona bottles and cave drawing of a steer with the ords “chico” and “chica” beneath it. If Chinese food is clear water, and Mexican is tequila, this lunch was stale bud light in a red plastic cup with melted ice.

On a disturbing note: I had a dream last night. I was play-fighting with somone, and then got angry and hurt them. Then I apologized and explained to both myself and my friend why.

Because I’m sitting on the bus: there’s not much road-rage in China. But there aren’t many unwritten rules to break, either. Horns are used — and often — for communicative warnings. Traffic lights are mostly obeyed — painted road lines are not. Drives casually weave though pedestrians, cyclists, pedicabs, taxis, cars, trucks, and buses. If you crash, your kung-fu was bad.

...

I walked from the bus station in Nanjing over to the rail station, which is north and east of the city, across remains of the huge city walls and a lake with a park. I stood in front of the station on a vast expanse of concrete to admire the skyline with my ticket to Beijing in my zippered pocket. I took the bus down to a stop near the HI hostel for which I had picked up a flyer in Suzhou. The hostel wasn’t in the latest LP yet, but I’m getting used to that. But, like a stopped clock, the LP was right after all — the entire block the hostel is part of is being demolished. Though bamboo scaffolding and green mesh I can see the “Hostelling International” logo. I was fortunate to run into the manager, who pointed this out, and who pointed me to a reasonable hotel across the street, adjacent to the entrance to the Fuzimiao area. I checked in to a windowless double for 138Y — versus what would have been 40Y for the hostel.

I ended the day wandering through Fuzimiao, loud with nightlight and bright with neon, eating strange bits of something on a stick, a boiling bowl of noodles, and a sweet gummy green block of something. Fuzimiao is near the south of Nanjing. A Chinese author made the region popular with an essay on a river that runs through the area. Now there are clubs, restaurants, bars, street vendors, clothing shops, and markets selling luggage, produce, clothing, puppy dogs, watches, baby rabbits, &c.. Lights and sound blare out. At the center is a Confucian temple across from a display of two colorfully lit dragons on the side of the river.

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http://tom.spacing-guild.net/2006/05/20/nanjing-may-16

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