A Tour of Suzhou and Hangzhou
Hangzhou's scenery lives up to its reputation; perhaps the most famously celebrated is West Lake. I originally wanted to visit Wuzhen and Qiandao Lake, but due to time constraints and the considerable distance from Xiaoshan Airport, there was no time for Qiandao Lake. As for Wuzhen, its scenery is similar to Zhouzhuang’s, and since I was already going to Zhouzhuang, Wuzhen was off the list. So right after landing, I headed straight to West Lake. Though it was still early, the lake was already crowded with people. In this late spring, under the bright sunshine, the surface of West Lake appeared very calm. The willow branches by the shore swayed in the wind, sending fluff drifting down. Strolling along the lakeside, my heart was utterly at peace, as if the fatigue of travel had been forgotten. The water of West Lake is jade green. Compared to Huizhou's West Lake, this one was much broader—by my estimate, about three or four times larger. From one side, Leifeng Pagoda loomed faintly in the distance. There were throngs of visitors along the lake, their faces glowing with joy, all happily taking photos or interacting. Most were in small groups of two or three, but there were also quite a few who seemed to be students on spring outings, moving in whole classes. I walked on slowly, and before long, I reached Bai Causeway. “I love best walking east of the lake, / Under green willows shading the white sand causeway.” To me, Bai Causeway felt nothing particularly special—perhaps the season was wrong, and I missed the best scenery. After passing the causeway, I soon came to Su Xiaoxiao’s Tomb. The ‘Ghost of Poetry,’ Li He, wrote a poem about Su Xiaoxiao’s tomb, but the one described didn’t seem to be this one by West Lake, for Li He was from Shanxi, not Hangzhou. So I imagine that this famous courtesan is commemorated in many places, not just here. Not far from her tomb was Wu Song’s Tomb. Wu Song was a righteous man of the Song Dynasty, a real historical figure. I haven’t studied his deeds in detail, but one thing is certain: he is not the same as the character described in Water Margin, and the uprising at Mount Liangshan never happened.
The beauty of West Lake is not just the lake itself; the Ten Scenes of West Lake are also famous. I visited Feilai Peak, Lingyin Temple, and Yue Fei Temple. Feilai Peak didn’t seem as magical as I remembered. Though I studied Wang Anshi’s ‘Ascending Feilai Peak’ as a child—‘On Feilai Peak, a thousand-foot pagoda, / They say at cockcrow one sees the sunrise. / Fear not the drifting clouds that may obscure the view, / For being at the highest level lends clarity’—the Feilai Peak in Hangzhou didn’t seem as tall as the poem described, let alone a ‘thousand feet.’ This was a bit disappointing. So I suspect the Feilai Peak Wang Anshi referred to is not this one. Lingyin Temple lies within Feilai Peak; it is the temple where the beloved monk Jigong once practiced. Inside, the most impressive sight was the Thousand Buddha Hall, which is truly spectacular, with thousands of Buddha statues in every posture—gentle, smiling, stern. After that, I went to Yue Fei Temple, built on Qixia Ridge. The statue of Yue Fei there is solemn and dignified. Above it are four large characters: ‘Return My Rivers and Mountains,’ said to be inscribed by Yue Fei himself, full of heroic spirit! ‘My hair bristles with rage, leaning on the balcony, the pattering rain has ceased.’ Standing before the statue, I naturally felt the heroic aura expressed in his poem ‘Full River Red,’ and even felt my own hair stand on end! Further inside was Yue Fei’s tomb, where I saw the kneeling statues cast in iron of Qin Hui, Wang Shi, Zhang Jun, and Moqi Xie. This image is very famous from our middle school history textbooks!
Then I headed to Leifeng Pagoda. By then, the sun had dipped considerably to the west. But after climbing the pagoda, hoping to catch the long-heard-of Leifeng Sunset Glow, it seemed it was still too early. So I was rather disappointed. There were indeed a lot of people there. The old Leifeng Pagoda lies buried beneath this one. I once read Lu Xun’s essay ‘On the Collapse of Leifeng Pagoda,’ which included a photo of the pagoda right after it fell, around 1924, and the soil I saw here looked much like that. I climbed the stairs to the fifth floor. The wind was so strong that my thin frame felt like it might be blown away. Standing atop the pagoda, I took in the lake and mountain scenery—all of West Lake’s beauty lay before my eyes. And just then, I happened to see a beautiful woman on the pagoda, flawless in both face and figure. I thought of Song Yu’s ‘Ode to the Lustful Master of Dengtu’: ‘Add an inch, she’d be too tall; remove an inch, too short; apply powder, she’d be too white; add rouge, too red. Her eyebrows are like kingfisher feathers, her skin like snow, her waist like bound silk, her teeth like white shells.’ It’s been said since ancient times that Suzhou and Hangzhou produce beauties, and it’s true! Though the scenery was splendid, standing at such a height was a challenge for someone with a fear of heights like me. After just a short while, my legs began to tremble.
Having missed the Leifeng sunset, I descended from the pagoda as dusk approached. I then biked back toward the hotel, passing the Beijing-Hangzhou Grand Canal along the way. The canal shimmered in the lamplight. I recalled how in textbooks the Grand Canal seemed wider and grander. But this section was only a little over fifty meters across. Still, this is the canal that stretches over 1,700 kilometers, built at great human and material cost during the Sui Yangdi era. After more than 1,500 years of wind and rain, the canal looks ever more tranquil. I walked alone and somewhat listlessly along the old street beside the canal. This old street was not as noisy and bustling as Yangshuo’s West Street in Guilin; it was exceptionally quiet, with only a few scattered tourists strolling around. The scenery was not as striking as I imagined, just much like other ancient streets. I walked to the end of the old street and then turned around to head back to the hotel.
I only stayed in Hangzhou for two days. On the third day, around 7 in the morning, I hurriedly set off from Hangzhou to Suzhou. On the way, I met a lovely girl. Since we were traveling the same route, I mustered the nerve to ask where she was heading. She said she was from Hangzhou and had never been to Suzhou, so she was taking advantage of the May Day holiday to visit. She had wanted to see the Suzhou gardens, but had booked tickets too late and missed out. So she chose to visit the nearby Lion Grove Garden instead, while I was heading to the Humble Administrator’s Garden, and thus we parted ways. My first experience of striking up a conversation with a girl was not boring at all!
I followed the queue and slowly went into the Humble Administrator’s Garden. These gardens were the private gardens of high officials and nobles during the Ming and Qing dynasties, and Suzhou has many similar gardens. The Humble Administrator’s Garden is the finest example and a microcosm of them all. It is famous not only for its beautiful scenery but also because its successive owners were prominent figures in Chinese history—Li Hongzhang, Cao Xueqin, Hong Xiuquan, and other important cultural figures all spent time here. Despite the crowds and noise inside, the garden still felt leisurely and tranquil. Looking in from the entrance, trees stood in dense, lush rows. Having walked so much over the past two days, I was exhausted. When I spotted a stone bench, I quickly sat down. Not far in front of me was an elderly couple, who seemed over seventy. They just sat there quietly, not speaking, with sweet smiles on their faces. ‘Drunk with the soft Wu accent, charming each other, / Whose white-haired couple are these?’ I was moved by the scene before me, wishing time would stand still at that moment. Slowly, I grew drowsy, leaning against the railing, and nearly fell asleep on the stone bench. By then, the evening sun was slipping westward. I left the garden, and a line of poetry naturally came to mind: ‘Outside Gusu, Hanshan Temple, / At midnight the bell tolls reach the traveler’s boat.’
The roads in downtown Suzhou were quite confusing, nothing like Hangzhou’s traffic, which rivals Guangzhou’s. I wandered around for a long time but couldn’t find the way to Hanshan Temple. It seemed to close at 4:30 pm, so I had to give up and rushed to Tiger Hill Park instead. The driver kept telling me all about Tiger Hill Park. I also casually asked him about Zhouzhuang. He said Zhouzhuang and Tongli Ancient Town are similar, and Tongli might be even closer. But at that moment, my heart was still set on Zhouzhuang, so I stubbornly decided to go there.
Tiger Hill Park is not high, but its historical and cultural significance runs deep. It seems closely connected to the stories in the Annals of Wu and Yue. The centerpiece is the Tiger Hill Pagoda (Yunyan Pagoda), a leaning pagoda. I forget the exact angle of its tilt—it’s around 2.58 degrees, I think. The pagoda appeared very old, much like the old Leifeng Pagoda. In the glow of the setting sun, the ancient leaning pagoda seemed even more mysterious, making one wonder what secrets it holds. But for safety, one cannot get close. Past the pagoda, I saw Sun Wu’s troop-training platform, cultural relics related to Wu Zixu, and, most notably, the Sword Testing Stone of Gan Jiang and Mo Ye. This stone was split cleanly in two, a testament to the swords’ legendary sharpness. There was an on-site guide giving detailed explanations. I spent about an hour or so in the park, trying to explore every corner, afraid I might miss something. Only after I felt I had seen all I wanted did I walk out with peace of mind. By then, the sun had sunk below the foot of the hill. I turned to look at the scenery one last time; it seemed to whisper its long, long story, especially the thrilling history of Kings Fuchai and Helü of Wu. I closed my eyes, held my breath, afraid to miss even a tiny detail, and slowly walked on.
Back at the hotel, I was so exhausted I could barely move...
Early the next morning, I hurriedly took a taxi, then the subway, then another taxi to my next stop—Zhouzhuang. The closer I got, the more a slight nervousness crept over me. Memories of Zhouzhuang from my elementary school textbook flooded my mind uncontrollably. Would the scenery match what I’d seen in the textbook? I wondered.
Because of the May Day holiday, the crowds were enormous. By the time I reached the main entrance of Zhouzhuang, my stomach was growling with hunger. I went into a restaurant and ordered a Wansan pig trotter and a plate of stir-fried clams with chives. Across from me sat a rather strange person: he ordered six dishes and several bottles of beer for himself and ate as if no one else was there. He looked a bit dull in the face. I quickly finished my meal and left, a little afraid that if he got drunk and rowdy, it could be troublesome!
After eating, I entered Zhouzhuang alone through the main gate. As soon as I stepped in, the lake and mountain views greeted my eyes. Zhouzhuang felt more ancient than the Humble Administrator’s Garden. Strolling in this old water town, I unconsciously slowed my pace, treading lightly as if any louder sound would shatter the profound tranquility. Looking out, the ancient stone arch bridges looked almost exactly like those in my textbook. The water under the arches wasn’t crystal clear; it was a deep green, colored by the reflections of trees on the banks. Many pleasure boats bobbed on the water, and the queue for them seemed very long. Seeing the overcrowding, I didn’t stop but kept walking. Up ahead was the residence of Shen Wansan, once the wealthiest man in Jiangnan. In the center was his statue, with what looked like treasure bowls on either side. The residence wasn’t large compared to Suzhou gardens, but many visitors kept tossing coins into the treasure bowls, as if praying for fortune. Gradually, more people crowded in, so I squeezed my way out. The paths in Zhouzhuang are very narrow; I followed the stream of people, queuing out, and it took a long time to reach a more open space. I circled the entire estate more than once, revisiting some spots, still unwilling to leave. By the time I got out, it was past 5 p.m.
Originally, my May Day trip was to end at Zhouzhuang. But earlier, my classmate Chen Wu had insisted that I see the night view of the Bund in Shanghai. I took his advice, and after leaving Zhouzhuang, I immediately took a fast train to Shanghai without a break. Though it was already summer, I felt oddly cold. The journey was brief—under 40 minutes. I took the train to a nearby subway station and then the subway to the Huangpu River area. When I exited near the World Trade Building, the crowds grew dense, and the night scenery, lit up, looked resplendent.
Perhaps because it was so close to the river or the sea, sitting there eating beef brisket noodles felt bone-chillingly cold, making me shiver. I then chose to walk toward the Oriental Pearl Tower. It was nearing 10:30 p.m., and the streets were sparsely populated, giving a lonely feel. But as I approached the Huangpu River, it became bustling and lively.
The Bund in Shanghai is truly worthy of its reputation. Looking out, it glittered with golden lights. In China, I suppose only Victoria Harbour in Hong Kong boasts a better night view. The Oriental Pearl Tower and the buildings across from it complemented each other, their lights flickering, truly beautiful. Standing by the Huangpu River, the breeze refreshed me, clearing my mind. I was reminded of the song ‘Shanghai Bund,’ whose lyrics perfectly capture the helplessness of passing time and the loneliness of a hero.
After the light show ended, the city slowly returned to quiet, as if the shift from bustle to solitude happened in an instant. At this point, I extracted myself from the excitement and wearily returned to my hotel, ending the day’s journey.
