City Wall

In September 1st 2004, I had a nice trip to City Wall with my friend Fancy.

Rent a bike to see the wall.

One of the most delightful experiences I had during our 2000 trip to China was the walk I took with sister-in-law-equivalent Harriet through the park that runs alongside the outside of the wall of the ancient city of Xi’an. Aside from other strollers, we encountered several small, distinct communities of park users. First, we came upon martial arts practitioners working with their instructor. Around the bend from them, we found an assembly of about a dozen senior citizens. Most of them were standing, ready to sing, facing a director. And one man sat just off to the side as accompanist, securing the base of a long, one-stringed instrument with his feet, working the string and frets with his hands. As they began their music, they did not seem to mind our stopping to watch. At some point during our walk, the number of bird cages I was spotting hanging in trees reached a critical mass, and I realized I was observing “A Thing.” It seems that residents take their pet birds out for fresh air or something. Do the birds enjoy each other’s company, if only from within the confines of their respective cages? If I later inquired about the matter with our tour guide, I do not remember. I remain curious. The most gratifying encounter was the last. Just as we were nearing the gate through which we would re-enter the old city, we found ourselves witness to a kind of dance enterprise on the part of a half dozen girls of about 10 to 12 years of age. Looking for all the world like cheerleaders—and perhaps that’s exactly what they were—they were equipped with pom-poms and vivacity, launching into their routine of coordinated movements, only to pause and relaunch repeatedly after having consulted with or corrected each other, giggling at every turn, less and less shy before so entranced an audience as Harriet and me. With the language of gesture alone, Harriet secured their permission to photograph them with her digital camera, and then was able to show them the images on the tiny screen. Breaking huddle after the viewing, they entreated Harriet to join them. One girl surrendered her pom-pom to Harriet, and The Limping White Woman from America did her best to pick up the series of gestures. It is in search of just such moments of trans-cultural and trans-generational happiness that I lurch out of and away from the haven of home in the first place. Pondering the story anew in this moment excites me, energizes me, and gives me a smidgen of hope for our struggling planet.