We land in the capital city of Anhui Province, Hefei. The city lies between the Yangtze River and the Huaihe River and has historically played an important role in connecting the eastern and western areas of China, and linking the north and south. It is an ancient city with a history of over 2,000 years. Its’ most important historical resident was the ‘upright man,’ Lord Bao. He gained this title by being a model of incorruptibility. To honor his virtue, a memorial temple was built in his honor. Lord Bao, on several occasions, discovered corruption among the emperor’s personal favorites and brought them to justice. This may not seem quite big enough to rate a personal memorial temple, until you understand that on several previous occasions, other officials had gone to the emperor with similar tales and were castrated for their efforts. Not only was Lord Bao an upright official, he was an incredibly brave one.
But our destination is not Hefei; we are off by van, headed southwest toward Huang Shan Mountain. My friend, Wang Yueming, has made the arrangements, and he and his wife Bo are good company along the way. Our driver is a young man named Wang Yang. As you travel in China, you are often struck by the fact that family names, which unlike ours are written first and given names second, are few in number. Historically, the Chinese have been referred to as ‘Old Hundred Names,’ referring to the major family names. Over time, additional names have been added, but you will still find names like Wang, Zeng, Xi, Gu, Li, extremely common.
The Chinese pay special attention to the naming of their children. Not only must the name be formed by characters that look noble, the names themselves carry special meaning and parental aspirations. Often in China, when you ask someone their name, they will tell you Michael, or David or something else that is easy to say. This is their English name, often adopted when they were taking classes in English. They use these to assist foreigners who have difficulty pronouncing Chinese names. It is my recommendation that you try to use their actual names, bad pronunciation or no. Take, for instance, the two Mr. Wangs’ in the van on our journey to Yellow Mountain. Wang Yueming’s given name can be translated into something like ‘radiant beams’ from above: his wife’s name can be translated into something like ‘undulating water.’ Their daughter’s name can be translated into ‘little boat.’ Thus their names form this lovely picture of the small boat gently rocking on the water with a radiant beam coming from above. To have missed that and have called him David or Bob, would have been a loss. As for the young Mr. Wang Yang who drove our van that morning, he is married and has a beautiful young daughter. Her name is Wang Shengyi – When I asked the meaning of the name, he told me that it was derived from placing his family name and his wife’s family name together with the word yi (one). What they meant by this was that the two leaned on each other and were one. How lovely is that?
We drove through beautiful country on our way to Yellow Mountain. Along the roads were small fields of rice, with farmers using water buffalo. These are small terraced plots of land, totally unsuited for the methods of American agribusiness. I imagine that had I been here fifty years ago, or come again fifty years in the future, that the scene would be pretty much as it is today. Our drive slowly took us from the lowlands to highlands, with hillsides cultivated in tea, and forests of bamboo. You could almost see how the sword fight in ‘Crouching Tiger’ could have happened. Well, almost. Our hotel this night will be a five star Golf Hotel. I did tell you that Mr. Wang was an excellent arranger.
The next morning I awake at three-thirty. It is that stupid body thing again. But, it also creates an opportunity to watch the sun rise on Yellow Mountain. On my morning walk on the grounds of the hotel, there are slight mists rising from the pools, and a lushness to the vegetation. My mind smiles, a Five Star Golf Hotel! Chairman Mao must be turning in his grave. It is a good morning for a walk, and I continue until the path ends. Off in the distance, I hear a horn. Are animals being called to the barn? Are the faithful being called to service? It is a haunting sound and it is with regret that I turn back.
We are off this morning to the villages of Xidi and Huncun. These are ancient villages whose history extends back nine hundred years. They are great examples of ancient south China architecture. It is said that if you want to learn of imperial life in China, you should visit the Forbidden City in Beijing, but if you want to understand how the people of the Ming and Qing dynasties lived, you should come to Xidi. The villages were listed as World Cultural Historical Sites in 2000. My Chinese pamphlets describe them as Top 10 – Charming Town and National Civilized Town in China.
As we enter the village we pass by a great city gate. I am told that it is the last remaining gate of its type in the area. The others gates were unfortunately destroyed by the Red Guard in their misdirected enthusiasms of the Cultural Revolution. Many ancient treasures were destroyed in this time as the Chinese were caught up in revolutionary zeal. How did this particular gate survive? The answer is both clever and simple, it became patriotic. When the Red Guard, carrying their little red books and sledge hammers arrived, they found a new inscription on the gate. “May Mao’s Thoughts and Words Live for Ten Thousand Years.”
The walk though the village is very pleasant; artisans show their wares, and gardens and halls are open to visit. The Hu family dominated the town and there is a great hall where the Hu family gathered for weddings, special occasions, and decisions. On the wall are portraits of the great family patriarchs and Chinese characters urging righteous living. “Take care of your parents.” “Study Hard.” Admonitions, useful then and today. I especially liked this hall and sat thinking of what decisions were made here. What did they think of the Boxer Rebellion? How about the 1911 Revolution that toppled the emperor? Was it here that they decided to paint the city gate with the Mao slogan? A thousand decisions were made here - the room almost hums with its past decisions.
We continue walking about and enjoying the sites. Everywhere there are young people, who I believe to be art students, doing paintings. I bought several carvings, not from need, but from the desire to meet and talk with the artisans. This is a special place. We’re walking along a small creek as we leave, when I’m approached by a man in the saffron robes of a Buddhist monk. He is pleasant looking with angular features and intelligent eyes. I’m surprised by his approach and it’s obvious he wants to talk. Yet, neither of us speak the language of the other. Mr. Wang comes to my rescue, and tells me that the monk is saying something like – “You and I do not share the same religion, but what we believe is universally true.” I responded that yes, I agree, some truths are universal – with even the smallest degree of reflection, we would discover that all religions share these truths – there is much that unites or should unite the human family. After a bit, he brings his hands together and wishes me well and I respond in kind. I later ask Mr. Wang, why the monk came to talk to me. He said he heard someone else say that “I look like a scholar.” I laughed thinking of an earlier trip in China, where as I passed through a crowd, I heard several people whisper – “Karl Marx.” Perhaps that was it, I look like a scholar. So once more my persona shifts – today it is not the dangerous ‘Carlos the Jackel’ nor the generous ‘Grandfather Christmas.’ Today, it is the simple scholar who is approached by a fellow pilgrim. This has been a fine morning.
