Notes From Xi'an 西安随感

A chair is, of course, just a chair but for some reason I like these chairs in more ways than for simply being chairs, or I like them in more ways for the nature in which they are chairs. Ever since I came across an article, some time ago, reviewing Michael Wolf’s book ‘Sitting in China’ I have had a few pictures of these random creations stuck on my wall. But I have just come across his website and these collective images for the first time.

I am not an inactive fellow, I get out and about town and do try to keep a little fit, but I am partial to a good chair, particularly a good comfy armchair, though here in Xi’an they are sadly few and far between. So, first off, I like these chairs from the perspective of a chair lover. I am though also a fan of these chairs because they seem to symbolize to me so much of what is still so good about China and what is increasingly not so great about our world.

I will highlight the former first. A directive here from a wise elder observing a young fellow standing uncomfortably by a number of seated and crouching locals, might go something like: “If you need to sit, find something to sit on, and if you really can’t use anything nearby to sit on, then crouch.” Sadly ‘the crouch’, or ‘the squat’, is becoming an increasingly frowned upon habit within this fast developing nation, even though for many ‘the squat’, once mastered, is actually quite comfortable and also quite conducive to a bit of street side banter, while also allowing a little youthful courting.

Though, of course, crouching, or more specifically squatting, should be cleansed from daily life if this country does want to find representation on the board of great civilized civilizations and certainly if it wants to become its Head. Or, so it might go. However, these chairs, like the crouch or squat, are useful; they are cheap, they are practical, they are full of life and they are varied. And they must have simply evolved out of a communal desire to continue chatting with neighbors, street sellers, local beauties and customers alike, in whatever random location you had found yourself short of a seat. The nature of the chair here in this context is one of pragmatism and utility; with a pronounced nod towards necessity and re-use, though they are also not short of design ingenuity, variety and are a simple representation of the reality of community here. Happy Days.

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This is Chang'An Lu, the road running right to left, it dissects Yang Jia Cun in front and Shi Da Lu behind. It was taken late 2006.

This is just a Note that has been brewing for a while.

*Cháng’ān Lù 长安路

We have grown up together side-by-side but now your behaviour has gotten to a point that I cannot abide, nor simply hide, or ignore that which crosses my mind. But, first I gotta ask: “Sweet Cháng’ān Lù: Is it really you?”

I am sure, back then, it wasn’t just me who revelled in the criss-crossing mass of humanity, which descended on the Junction of Shi Da Lu; like some joyous, incongruous stew. No matter spluttering car or steaming truck, we strode out with a little good luck and little regard, knowing, in fact, it was we who would pass.

Halting the traffic in our wake we grasped our long fought for humanitarian stake. But, make no mistake Chang’An Lu, you must take responsibility for the lack of humanity that now resides at your gate, you leaving us simply to wait and to wait. But, I ask… for what?

Back then buses would halt as an aged old lady would take to the street, simply sweeping a broom made from plastic bagged sheets, while motorcycles still weaved between pockets and sleeves. But, the time most enjoyed was when we all at once, directed and objected from the centre of stage, before being forced to turn the page: losing that urgent, organic, glistening spell which storybooks will never be able to retell. We all halted, we all moved, the life was all there at that crossroads at Shi Da Lu.

A tear now crosses my eye for the deep sadness of goodbye, and a progress more reminiscent of a creational mess than a strategic game of post-war chess. The shiny black wasteland that one-day you will be, now carries eight high-speed lanes of immovability, directly dissecting our community.

Oh Chang’An Lu, I stood there at your side as the last roll of new tar was itself applied, giving your potholed visage a life a new. That night we watched as an aged old man not far from his grave, contributed his last efforts for you to be paved. So hot, it was steaming in the dark of the night, but we, a few, gathered in the future knew, one life had passed and another… who knew?

You changed then Cháng’ān Lù, you were never the same once this glistening black coat was tied at your neck. I wanted to believe it could be as before but now the reality has sunk in, there is no drop of that past left for us to draw. Today, we are no longer allowed even to gather at your side. “Take a chance” I hear you say, but sweet Cháng’ān Lù that’s a thing of the past, it just wasn’t able to last. A fact we cannot hide, if only you knew, no chance now, unless of course we are ourselves taken for a ride.

Don’t look back I hear wise words say but it was actually you who taught us that way, back in the day: “Don’t look back, stride out, you are Kings on my road”, you would say, and we believed you. Because, be sure, back then, as those who travelled with us knew, looking back was not something we knew how to do. We strode with criss-crossing glee, oh yeah, really quite free. May be some say it is not the case to be true, but today is a place less free, to be true, to be true. Oh Cháng’ān Lù what has happened to you?

Just a day or so ago, I was thinking of you, as I held up a bus, of course, not wishing a fuss, but when I looked out from the North to the South, do you know what I couldn’t see Cháng’ān Lù? It was you. I could not see you, for a continuous, sickening metallic hue, which had morphed into one almighty incomprehensible queue: that quite simply had obliterated you.

But now, at the dawn of a new modern era, it does in turn dawn upon me what I probably always could see. You have gone Cháng’ān Lù. It is no longer you. I talk to myself now it does seem but if that is all I have left then what I wish say I wish to be clear, to be fresh, to be seen.

Oh consume, Oh swoon, Oh legitimate heir, Oh the reason so fair, Oh fair: the fair of fair rides, fair maidens and fair despair. Oh pollution, Oh evolution, Oh ignominious death, Oh development, Oh wither, Oh sickened river, Oh imbedded, hot headed, earnestnessness. Sweet love, sweet freedom and sweet redress.

Oh Sweet Cháng’ān Lù, I really miss you.

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Chinese New Year (Guo Nian) seemed to have come and gone but on returning to Xi’an it is obvious it is still in the process of going, pleasantly. Back in the village, my girlfriend is actually from a small village outside town, New Year was spent trying desperately not to eat a feast of fine proportions at every home in the neighbourhood. However, when the neighbourhood consists of fields and homesteads drifting off into the far distance and when everyone seems to be a second father, an uncle, a sister, an elder brother or an aunty this can prove quite difficult. Even harder, having arrived at the destination where you have actually planned to have dinner, is to politely find excuses for why you cannot now eat all the delights laid before you. In areas of China where maybe the selection of food on offer is not usually of the widest variety, come Spring Festival things are different. Fish are found, pigs and chickens are killed and even the odd dog finds its way to the plate. This is the time of year in China to treat yourself and, as best you can, everyone else around you.

As an aside and with reference to the subway system that is being built here in Xi’an, it is marvellous to have returned to discover Chang’an Lu (the main southerly tributary from the city centre and the south gate) free from a couple of sections of subway related road closures that have been causing disbelief and despair for months. These closures seem to have coincided with a noticeable increase in car use over the last year or so and have accordingly led to a noticeable increase in the number of minor accidents. I will refer back to these issues in later notes but it is enough to conclude here, with the observation that people maintain the habit of crossing the road and swinging out of junctions as if cars were still a strange anomaly here in Xi’an, they are not. This week I am able to trundle down the street on my bike with an absentminded holiday attentiveness, next week I will not be able to do so but then I will be back at work.

* This is not my picture but I like it.

Chinese New Year is fast approaching and people in their masses are heading home. Yesterday I wandered down to the bus station to buy a ticket for my girlfriend who is also returning home for Spring Festival, a few days before I join her. No problem I had thought, a bit of a wait then I would arrive back at the flat a knight in shining armour, clutching a much sought after ticket when she returned from work. However, upon arriving at the station I was faced with the unexpected sight of lines circling, exiting and then re-entering the building. This meant I would start off in the building, follow the line back out of the building, back in again and then wait with the 90 odd still ahead of me who were pressed as tightly together as possible, so to make the numbers seem smaller than they actually were.

Sadly, the numbers were themselves actually greater, swelled by those nipping in with the offer of cash to the lucky ones already edging towards the front of the queue. After surveying this scene I decided to check what time the station opened in the morning and what time I should realistically arrive. I was told it opened at 7 and I should be there by 6.30. Ok.

I awoke earlier than intended and headed off on my bike. Upon arriving again at the bus station, this time in the dim light of morning and with hat and scarf sheltering my face from the cold, I discovered the queue to already be leading away from the main entrance, along the path and around the furthest corner, the end out of sight! I hovered for a few minutes by the entrance working out if it was possible to just join the line at this end but the yelling and wielding of 1-2 metre long sticks by security guards made that option look bleak. The guards were creating a safety zone around the official queue so anyone attempting to push in would be spotted, prodded, potentially whacked and then ejected. I slowly walked the length of the queue weighing up the depth of my chivalry, as I considered the necessary 2-3 hour wait that now faced me. Then as I a sauntered back up the line un-decided, worried in true prisoner’s dilemma style that if I joined the line around the corner others would join it further up when the queue started moving, there was intense activity at the front of the line as the station opened.

At that point I was walking quite close to the queue and a gap appeared as people moved off ahead, without thinking I just stepped into it. It wasn’t my greatest chivalric moment and my heart was beating a lot faster having done so but I was glad to be in line. Many others had done the same and the guards began running the queue, pulling out people here and there and at one point one headed straight for me with stick brandished, but instead threw out a chap just behind me. I heard one man behind me say I was a Laowai (foreigner) and not to worry. Terrible I know but great! These actions meant that once inside I couldn’t bring myself to say anything to the ones’ offering cash to those just ahead of me in the queue, where otherwise I probably would have done. I was out of the station and home before my girlfriend had even left for work. However, I was unsafe in the knowledge that as I am planning to leave on Thursday and with the fact that you can only buy your ticket three days before departure, I would be back at the station on Monday morning for more of the same, or maybe a little worse.

Chinese New Year at Xi’an’s Bus Station. Part II.