R.S. Evangelista

The Chinese government has a tight reign on their people in certain ways. For example, I haven’t been able to use Facebook since entering their country. They have also blocked silly avenues like twitter. Some places don’t even allow for blogs. I’m at a western cafe in Kunming. This city has been a base for some of my travels. And as I was warned, even with strict planning, usually things change in China. We were set to spend most of this last week in the smaller city of Mangshi but ended up in Lijiang in the middle of Tiger Leaping Gorge for a couple of days. And we are only in Kunming long enough to catch a train to Guilin this evening where the remainder of our time will be spent before catching a train back to Shanghai to return to the States.

The beauty of the Jade Dragon Mountain range where Tiger Leaping Gorge is found should be comparable to the glory of the Grand Canyon. We left our luggage and took a van into the range before hiking for a few hours to the Tea Horse Guest House where we were surrounded by fifteen or so Brits engaging in a month long Kung Fu retreat. We feasted and rested instead as we looked out on the vast glory of the place we were in. And to arise and look out at these mountains as the sun rose was awe-inspiring. We hiked for a few more hours before riding a van around the cliffs back to Old Town. This renovated, historic village is a tourist hub for mostly the Chinese with some westerners intermingled. This Old Town has over 700 places to stay with hundreds of shops for the day and countless dance parties and live musicians that come alive at nights. It was wonderful to go from such natural beauty to such man-made beauty in just a few hours.

So those are some of the highlights, some of the joys of our experience thus far while traveling. The not-so-pretty part of traveling in China is, well; traveling. I was unfamiliar with the “sleeper” bus before my journey here. But now I am well-aquainted. They pack folks in to these tiny beds for overnight trips. There is barely enough room to move. I learned that I am more claustrophobic than I thought, and that I don’t sleep well on “sleeper” buses. I could mention that one bus stopped fourteen times. We picked up furniture and rice. We delivered them. There were drug checks, oil checks, maybe washer fluid checks. Only God knows. Some things don’t translate. I can’t do justice to the mixed-emotions I have for these inbetween transporters. Nevertheless we have arrived to each destination relatively safe and unharmed. And it doesn’t stop us from continuing to travel.

My apologies for not writing more often. I desire to write about once a week, but China slows that process down. My mind is sifting through many thoughts, and leaving home is an interesting thing as I suspected. My heart longs for Atlanta and the people there. It’s strange how being in foreign cities solidify my love for my place on the map on the other side of the globe. Traveling is worth the experiences, but rootedness is rich and fruitful for me, especially where there is such fertile soil to be had in my city. I image that is probably true for the most of us. If you get a moment to slow down, step back outside of your busyness and view the city as if you are half-way around the world. Atlanta is pretty grand, and it’s groaning for life to be had.

I wonder if the kids fighting for Abe, or the farmers for Lee knew what sort of road they were paving for me. Were they conscious of the effects one generation has to the next and the next and after? The fossils of the Civil War age still remain; trade routes and railroads,  but every decision and step taken still has an effect on my being. It’s compelling enough for me to care; to care about how my decisions and actions effect those around me and maybe one day our children.

And in China I can see a glimpse of the effects from revolutions and ideals and globalism. Our first couple of days was spent in Shanghai, and I already feel as if I’ve gained new knowledge and perspective. We visited a museum at the site of the First Congress of Communism in China and the Shanghai Museum. I’m a westerner through and through, so I know little about the rich history of this place and of the chaotic transitions of power in the twentieth century. But being here has reminded me, we are all intertwined and connected, somehow bearing a great Image beyond us, billions of people before and now and maybe after.

Does my walking on to this flight to Kunming matter as minuscule as if might seem? or my job and desires? If life is all linked, we are all pieces to some beautiful landscape and the puzzle usually is made of similar sized figures. Or maybe we transcend space and our pieces mean more and are bigger in certain times and places. I want to matter, and I want to have an effect on my children’s children. I also want to be connected with the nineteenth century tradesman that walked along Glenwood and Moreland before Sherman’s flaming torch. Or I want to be connected to the sister who sang in the age old cathedral up the street or around the globe even if she was born in Kunming, or rather, especially if she dwelled there. Tower of Babel go in reverse and gather the people again. Let me hear all men and women sing one song and dance to that tune and melody. I know it’s there. I know it exists. The flowers don’t need words like we do and still bow together in unison and all get along. Peace will return. Peace is coming and I stand on it strong.

–Chris and I are safe and enjoying our journey. We are in Kunming and will be travelling to Guilin next.–