Away from the City nunu luo
I like to call myself a wilderness person. When I was younger, I’d climb trees, fences, anything that provided me with the feeling of adventure. Thus, when my grandmother notified me this summer that my aunt and her family wanted to take me up to Pan Mountain (Pan Shan) in Tianjing, China, the omnious feeling that I had in my gut surprised me. Pan mountain is one of the more famous attractions in Tianjin (the second largest city in China). It’s renowned for its towering pine trees, clear streams, and strange rock formations. The group going up the mountain consisted of me, my grandma, my cousin, and her grandma. As we drove up the winding path of the mountain and the air cleared up, I felt for the first time since I had arrived in China that summer, air clean enough to breathe. The scenary was beautiful. We drove so high up the mountain that the only thing around were trees and small animals bounding about the road. As we winded up, I started looking around for our hotel. After almost breaking my neck glancing each and every way, I asked my uncle where we were staying. He replied in one of those voices where you don’t know if he’s joking or not but you certainly hope that he’s not joking, “in a five star hotel of course.” Five star hotel my ass. Our “hotel” was a nonming’s (farmer’s) house. As we drove up the uneven dirt road, there were cheap colored flags with five stars on them. As the car slowed to a stop in front of a little compound, there was a laundry line strewn across two trees with multicolored blankets hanging on them to dry. Glancing around, I felt completely out of place. I didn’t feel one with nature, I felt like a city girl transported to an unknown planet. The owners waited out in front for us. The father of the household had swarthy skin the color one has when they drank too much, too fast. His son resembled him from head to toe, both had potbellies covered by shirts stained with sweat and pants with creases on them. The wife wore mismatching pajamas and smiled at us with a large gap in the middle of her teeth. After exchanging greetings, they took us to see our rooms. Our beds was one big bed, called a Kang, that stretched from one side of the wall to the other without any breaks in between. It took me eight rolls to cover the width of the bed, that’s how big it was. I learned after questioning our grandmothers that farmers slept on those beds in the past to keep warm during the winter days. After settling in, they brought us out into the their home’s courtyard and served us our lunch. It was that meal that gave me the
first glimpse into their world. They grew everything that they ate. Picture this. You’re standing in a courtyard and you’re blocked in by four walls, except the four walls are actually halls of rooms. If you’re facing foward, there’s a traditional Chinese gate, one of those red wooden ones with iron door handles. If you walk outside, there’s a brick walkway and if you take more than five steps, you’ll fall down the ledge 12 feet into a patch of vegetables. Every morning, the 90 year old grandma who had eight children hobbles up a mountain to gather eggs for her chickens. When I went with her one morning, after scattering feed for her chickens (she could identify her own five chickens out of twenty ones running around the yard), she would climb up a small part of the mountain to gather flowers or random vegetables that were edible. As I gasped and panted for breath after reaching the top, the grandma strode on ahead of me without a hitch in her breathing pattern. The entire family lived the healthiest lifestyle I’ve ever known. Getting up at 6 AM in the morning, the women would pick vegetables and start cooking for their “hotel” guests while the men started building and fixing anything that was needed. All of the family and guests would gather in a separate dining room for lunch and eat together. Afterwards, the women would resume cooking except this time for dinner, while the men went back to their construction sites. What I experienced it so vastly different from anything I’d ever known. To me, life is suppose to be exciting. There are so many places that I want to go, so many foods that I want to eat before my life is over, so many people I have yet to meet. For the family in the mountains, the 90 year old grandma had never been more than an hour away from home. She had never learned to read or write anything besides her own name. I can only imagine that her image of the world must be so small. Yet, she’s content. In her small world, there are many details yet to be discovered. During my stay, I became a champion mahjong player and my Chinese improved by leaps and bounds. Both my cousin and I got sick on the second day with fevers and chills (so my omnious gut feeling was right) and we ended up watching enough Chinese dramas to last us a lifetime. However, most importantly, I saw that even if one lives in a small house up a mountain without access to computers, a tub, or all of the luxuries I have come to associate with everyday life, happiness is given by the family and nature around you. So if you are ever near PanShan and want to stay at a five star hotel, give me a call and I’ll direct you to the right people.
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