The Road to Lake Tai

It's week 8, which means the semester is almost halfway over.  Now there is a scary thought.  I finish up my eight-week class tomorrow with an oral exam.  They're "interviewing" each other for one of six different jobs.  It could be an epic failure, but it should be at least amusing. On a side note, somehow half of my Thursday @ 3:30 class managed to forget their textbooks last week (on one of the few days we were actually using them)--either more evidence of the "collective" culture of China or just my students screwing with me.

This past weekend I visited Suzhou with my usual cohorts, Adrienne and Amy.  Since it was the Qingming holidays, it was a 3-day weekend and we made full use of it.  Saturday was gray and rainy, so we stuck to downtown area, checking out the various gardens for which the city is famous.  We also got to hear some lovely, if unintelligible, operatic storytelling in a cozy little music hall amongst the city's most prominent septagenarians.  The evening was capped-off with several margheritas in what could only have been the former cocktail bar of the Queen Elizabeth II. 

The real highlight of our trip was the day-long journey to Lake Tai.  It turns out that Suzhou is not the city most people go to in order to visit this pond (see "Wuxi") and it was actually quite an effort to get there.  After spending 2 hours trying to get on the right bus line, we found ourselves in the scenic town of Wudu, where I decided to pull out the map that by some miracle I had managed not to forget.  After finding the proper bus route, and tracing it with my fingers to make sure it did indeed go to das Meer, we set out to find and get on the previously-elusive "502" line.

However, when we did find the stop, it was not the proper 502 that we boarded, but a much smaller jalopy unaffiliated with Suzhou transportation or any of the other "regulatory commissions" which at least guarantee you are not being extorted by the Triad.  The shuttle was commanded by a peremptory little woman who barked out our destination ("Dongshan") to everyone at every bus stop we passed.  Needless to say it took a while to get there.

After about an hour we arrived at the Dongshan city center, still out of sight of the cool, blue waters we had traveled 3 hours to see.  We were immediately assaulted by the local tourist hustlers, whom normally we would awkwardly ignore, but because we were so desperate to see the damned lake, we gave in to one.  And that's how we came to be riding in an upscale golf cart around the tip of the peninsula.

Our chauffeur, whom I endearingly named "Chuck," wanted 100 yuan for his services, and to be frank, I think he was worth every jiao.  Our first stop was an ancient little village where residents had opened up their centuries-old homes as museums.  It was by far the most authenticity I had seen since coming to China.  And by "authenticity" I mean not rebuilt two dozen times.  As we traveled the narrow streets Chuck followed us around, usually taking a nap at the entrances of each "exhibit."  Even if he disappeared he somehow always found us again. Then again, we are white.

After getting our money's worth, we hopped back in the buggy and proceeded to the Zijin Nunnery, a Buddhist temple famous for something or another.  It proved a bit anticlimactic after "Museumville."  After whacking the temple's bell several times for our own amusement (and profile pictures), we rejoined Chuck.

After a series of heated miscommunications regarding the local tea leaf and purchase thereof, we finally made it back to where we started.  Chuck almost left us with one of the menacing black unlicensed cabs, but we avoided a possible scam and got to the bus stop.  After saying goodbye to our friendly guide, we hopped on a bus that could have been worse and were on our way back to Suzhou.

And then we did other touristy things that I'm too tired to talk about.  Leb Wohl!