Jiu Zhai Gou

 

Dear me, it's been nearly a week since we got back and I put up this pic as a preview of the review I planned to write about our trip. I should be on to other things by now. Instead I will just say that this week has been a very very good one and for all the time I could have been sitting and writing or uploading pictures, I am glad I was present elsewhere, even if it was merely talking with my Man or finishing a chapter of Pollyanna to the kids (she sure had that glad game down, she did).

This trip we took to the Min Shan mountains of Sichuan at a stunning and increasingly well known place called Jiu Zhai Gou, was every bit the winter wonderland retreat I was expecting it to be, with a few little hiccups and standard traveling-in-China mishaps.

I had hired a driver with his car to transport the kids and I on the 8 hour drive to the valley, with the plan to meet the Man there where he had been attending a conference for three days. I wasn't too nervous about the drive on my own with the three little ones and thought in passing that this strange calmness seemed somewhat uncharacteristic of me. Well, I certainly had no idea what was in store.

Forty five minutes into our drive, our poor middle guy unleashed all of his breakfast and dinner from the night before into his lap, my hands, and nearly all his half of the backseat. The driver was extremely magnanimous, and the other two children became half-angel for the remainder of the trip, which was almost entirely filled with a sick little boy dry heaving in the front seat. Yes, I considered turning around-- but not until the point when it would have taken us longer to return than to keep going. It was not an easy day, but somehow we made it through without losing our sanity or our spirits.

After a restful evening in a hotel bed, lots of water and some juice, the little man recovered nicely and was ready to dive into snow drifts and snowball fights the next day. We discovered our room did not come with breakfast as we had expected, and as you soon discover when you head to remote places in China (as in, any city with less than 10 million people), the food options for westerners and especially their children are very limited. We were also housed in a small mountain tourist village, that was entirely closed down for the season. Our breakfast came from a small corner grocery (imagine an unheated storage garage with utility shelves and a few plastic crates of apples) and consisted of crackers, imitation hostess cakes without the cream filling, and apples.

The park itself did not disappoint however. Breathtaking heights of snow-covered peaks, their harsh rocky pinnacles thrusting themselves into a pristine blue sky. The valleys were blanketed with tall, stately pines laced with piles of white that glistened in the sunlight (sunlight!!) and sent such a muted quiet over the landscape that you could hear the snowdrifts falling off heavy boughs, and the crunch underneath your feet, and sometimes the thoughts of the person next to you. I stood there, watching my kids melt snow down each others necks and peg their dad with balls formed in their increasingly frigid fingers, and imagined all our friends sunning themselves on the beaches in Thailand, and did not envy them one bit. I love the mountains, always have, and always will and even if my lifestyle and situation has changed and I can't explore them on a pair of skis, or hike them on the weekends, I will soak up their every gift without remorse. 

Gazing at aquamarine waters and frozen waterfalls, Tibetan villages and prayer wheels nestled in the banks of the cold, clear river, is not always easy for children. They were troopers for the most part, but the misshappen bus schedule that left us stranded high in the park one day and required a several kilometer hike along the road with cold hands and wet feet was a trying moment for everyone. It was nothing that hot chocolate packs and the reward of a hotel pool (even if it was barely tepid temperatures) couldn't fix however, and for me, even these small inconveniences, along with losing a cell phone and the unpleasant breakfast situation, couldn't outdo the goodness this beautiful place was doing for our nature-sore eyes.

One of the best surprises and provisions of the trip was a local Tibetan restaurant recommended by a contact at the hotel. At first the doors were locked, and I was nearly ready to wring the taxi drivers neck thinking he had dropped us off in the wrong spot, but we soon found the lights were on and we merely had to knock on the door (our cell phone, with the owners number on it, had been lost). The atmosphere was absolutely charming and delightful with a large woodburning stove in the center where you gather to drink hot barley tea and warm your fingers and toes. The food was outstanding and some of the best we have had here to date. The children, even the picky ones, all found several things to love and devour, and no one was disappointed when we returned for a second round the following night.

After the debacle of a road trip that got us to the Park, we decided to change plans and fly everyone home, even though the cost made us dig deeper than we had originally planned. Overall, we were still grateful for the option and arrived home intact, with everyone healthy and happy and with another long, many-legged trip under their belts. I was proud of our little guys and the way they have learned to be flexible with food and travel, accomodations and circumstances, even more-so than their parents sometimes, though I was reminded that often their reactions are grounded in those they see in us.

Back home in the gray, damp, cold weather of the city I am still living a little off of the respite of those beauty-filled days. I am seeing the goodness in our choice to stay in country for this long break though. It has been good for our family, for our marriage, for our rest and need to regroup and gather ourselves for the next few months ahead.

All We Had Was Backpacks

 

The day after Christmas, we traveled down into the heart of the city to spend a couple hours assembly-line fashion, packing backpacks for a project undertaken by a local Relief Organization that was providing mittens, socks, hats, and school supplies to some of the poorest children in Sichuan province. The day after that, I was lovingly sent off by my husband and children to join a small group that would travel to two schools, and two registered churches in the province, where we would distribute the bags and see some of these communities firsthand.

There were many things about this trip that I was thankful for. The opportunity alone to get out of the city and see the mountain towns and people was enough on its own. Added to that the chance to talk with workers (like our leader, Joy) who are on the ground full time with these people and hear about the issues, concerns, victories, and struggles they are dealing with, as well as hearing the needs and hopes of the local leaders in their cities was something I am rarely able to do, but so thankful for and inspired by.

It was also eye opening on many levels. China is vast and complicated. Many things you hear are true in one place, but not another. So to hear how things are being done, and what the true needs are, was in some ways different than the way things are often presented in media or from decades old realities that are not always the case anymore.

Mostly though, I was just humbled to be in the presence of so many children who treated us as though we were offering them the moon, when all we had brought was simple backpacks with a few necessary items. They lined up to greet us, three thousand strong, and stood in the bitter cold as we bundled out of the bus and were offered hot tea and seats at a long, red table high up on stage. It is the standard practice in China, to do things with grandness and formality far beyond what the occasion may call for, even at a poor school in a rural town. And it is our duty to accept it all with graciousness, and allow them to treat us as honored guests, though I felt more like a sham who should have brought far more to deserve all this attention.

The backpacks mostly went to the poorest of students, and to those who are labeled as China's Left Behind children. These are children who are the victims of a cultural phenomenon of migration by working adults to the cities, where they go from poor rural areas with little opportunity, to be able to provide for their children and parents. Studies estimate that there are about 58 million of these children in China, living with aging grandparents or any family that is able to care for them, and often even being left to board at the schools they attend.

I went into the dorms of some of these children. Plain, unpainted concrete walls, black with mold, and long narrow rooms with no electricity lined on both sides with rustic metal bunkbeds, a simple slab of wood for a mattress and a quilt or two for bedding. This is all they own, besides the pencil and notebook and schoolbooks in their backpack down in the classroom.

 

We also visited a small woman and her fellowship. The small room, open to the outside was half filled with mostly old men and women, and she cried grateful tears as she told of their Christmas service which had gone so well, and had allowed them to go out on the streets. They sang, offered us more hot water for our freezing hands to hold, and shared with us their burdens and needs that they asked us to join them in remembering. It is remote there. Not many workers want to come. It is hard work, and slow- lonely at times.

The aging group is without a generation to follow it, and the young children are without a generation to parent them. It is a burdensome thing to see.

The church calendar traditionally celebrates Christmas for 12 days. On the fourth day, December 28th, we celebrate the Commemoration of the Holy Innocents, which is to remember the atrocity of Herod as he slaughtered all the two year old's in Bethlehem in an attempt to destroy the threat of the Messiah he had heard about. As I hugged these children who smile at me so willingly, but whose lives I can't imagine, the words of Bobby Gross, as he described the significance of remembering Herod's evil act, came to mind.

" To remember Herod's atrocity is to strip sentimentality from the birth of Christ. On this day we confront the evil in our world, the violence of the powerful against the weak, the sorrow of those who suffer injustice and the very real darkness into which the light shines."

Yes, Christmas is far more than just remembering it as Jesus' Birthday. There are real powers of darkness and suffering going on here. And there is a very real light that has come into the world and is coming again. It is not just a nice analogy.

Just as we shouldn't look at the manger with sentimentality, so we shouldn't view these children in that way either. There are many things about their lives that I am too far away from to understand or make conjectures about. But I am thankful to follow in footsteps of those who are far closer, and do what I can to be a hand or a foot or even just a big stubby toe.

return to things

It doesn't take long, the reinstating of motherhood. They fared pretty well without me for nearly twelve days, and yet the routine that Daddy had down pat was broken within seconds of my arrival. In a way, I'm grateful the little one didn't cry for him like she does for me, I'm thrilled they were all so helpful and played so lovely together. It made my shoulders light and my heart free when I was so many thousand miles away. It's a mother-love thing, this crying and grasping at the knees. At least that's what I try to tell myself.

So I returned home to fevers and weepy eyes, but smiles all around. And the day routine is slowly finding its way back into my blood. That's what a few too many days away, sitting by the poolside and exploring ancient relics will do to you, make the day routine return slow.

Besides all their beautiful blue eyes and silly welcome pictures taped on the door, it's the little things that are bringing a happy, inward sigh and making me feel at home again. I kept the camera close the last day or two, just to help me see and remember them.

1. Sitting across from bright eyes as they peek over the table, munching lunch and peering intently at puzzle pieces.

2. Running painfully, laboriously up a seaside hill, spitting on the fact it's been two weeks since these burning lungs have tasted fast wind. But the tight calves and cleared mind make it worth it, and the smiling wave from my polar swimmer Chinese friend who laughs gleefully at my slog jog, gives these lips a grin in the hair whipping wind.

3. Walks along the city streets in the late afternoon sun, air warming slowly to the tune of coming spring and my little man at my side, chatting cheerfully as though I were his closest friend. 

4. The sights of familiarity as roasted sweet potatoes pushed on an old cart come rumbling our way.

5. Korean food.  Fresh and light and fully of salty, pickled flavor. A shared lunch in a small, upstairs room, bright with sunshine and the sounds of women cooking.

6. A boy with chopsticks and a silly smile. He seems so old, so grown up and boyish with his cocked hat and serious questions.

6. Baking. With the middle one in tow. Back to flour on the counter, on his shirt, in her hair, on the floor. But back to warm breads and fresh lemon scones, french-pressed goodness and homemade smells in the air.

It's good to be home, in China.

egypt :: falafel any day of the week

Today I bring you some Egyptian cuisine. There's not much time as we are checking out of our hotel in a few minutes and moving to a different location for the next few days. But I have been enjoying this fantastic food so much I had to try to share some pictures with you. I really do enjoy living in China, but the eats here are forcing me to consider whether or not a move is in order. Is it okay to move for food?

Hummus (please say that H with as much guttural phlegm as you can muster), feta cheese, fresh marinated grilled vegetables (all in one mouthful- delightful), pita bread, filafel (for breakfast- yum!).

Turkish coffee. I was hesitant at first because I know they boil it with the grounds and leave it unstrained. But they are so fine they become a clay-like paste that sits at the bottom of the cup while the liquid above becomes a smooth, black delicious means of caffeination. You can order it plain, mildly sweet, or very sweet. But the most important thing to note here is how smooth and strong it is... just like this girl likes it, as long as it doesn't put any hair on my chest.

I leave you with one sad little shot of the glorious pool that we have looked longingly at for nearly four days now. This was all I could get before the pool manager came over and kindly informed me photos were not permitted. But let me tell you, there are cabanas, there is foliage, lots and lots of green foliage, flowers, and cool clear water. There are piles of towels, little votive candles everywhere in the evening, the sound of waterfalls.

The next two days we venture into the city on our own so hopefully I will have much more to share here soon, with pictures. For those of you who are interested, things on the homefront seem to be going well. I was informed by a friend that my daughter was adorably dressed with her hair neatly combed (didn't know we even did that) in the Nursery on Sunday, so the Man appears to have things in order. He did tell me that earlier that morning she had thrown herself into the tub fully dressed, twice, while her brothers were getting cleaned up. She does keep things interesting.