Taking in the temples

Growing up, temples to me were Jewish houses of worship where I went for Friday night services. Back then, I knew nothing about Hinduism and Buddhism, but these days, I’m clear on the fact that temples come in many flavours. Two of them are the focus at Siem Reap, Cambodia’s centre for Hindu and Buddhist ruins, and what an amazing range there is to be found: small and large, limestone and sandstone, dedicated to Vishnu or Shiva or Buddha, reasonably intact or crumbling. All awesome in their individual ways.

I mentioned sunrise at Angkor Wat, the largest temple, in my last post, but it is equally impressive during the day.  The carvings on the walls tell tales of Cambodian history and of Hindu mythology, and the visitor can follow along. The towers offer views of the surrounding jungle, and there are still some remaining statues of Buddha there to worship.

Although I knew very little about Angkor Wat and the other temples when I arrived, an afternoon at the Angkor National Museum, a day with a guide and some reading have brought me up to speed on the meaning and symbolism. But there is also the sheer scale of the ruins at which to marvel! Apparently, Angkor Wat was built with the help of hundreds of elephants hauling blocks of limestone from mountain quarries, and there must have been thousands of stone masons involved to build something so intricately decorated in only 37 years! Think pyramids and you’ll get the idea.

The Angkorian period in Cambodian history lasted from the 9^th century to the 13^th and I also visited Angkor Thom, a city constructed late in the period, that contained Bayon, a temple for the king, as well as temples for the commoners. Bayon offers 216 faces looking out at the visitor from four-sided heads – quite a daunting site, but wonderful! 

And the Tomb Raider temple was also on the agenda for the day. I envy Angelina Jolie and her crew for having the entire place to themselves as they filmed. It must have been magnificent; apparently, at night, it is home to thousands of small, green parrots!

On the final day of my visit, I took a tuk-tuk (a motorcycle pulling a cart with a seat in it) out to Banteay Srei, a temple 37 kilometres away from temple central. It was worth the drive. The temple itself is a marvel. It was created from red sandstone and done on a small scale, so it is more or less human size. Its reliefs were carved more deeply than those at Angkor Wat, and so many of them are intact! It was a gem of a place to experience, and given the distance, there were few visitors.

The outing was also remarkable because it gave me a real glimpse of the local countryside. It took me a while, as I passed shacks with thatched roofs and shacks on stilts for use in the rainy season, to realize what was so different: no electricity!!!!! That likely means no indoor plumbing and no real kitchen facilities. 

Houses had wood stacked up at the front, and I saw people cooking at the side of the road. Women were making palm sugar candy in huge bowls over coals, stirring and pouring it into moulds. Wow.

I was also lucky enough to catch a glimpse of traditional fishing, using bamboo traps to cage a fish and pull it out of the river shallows. Quite something.

Great food, too! I’ve discovered amok, a Khmer dish that is so wonderfully spiced, it’s to die for. And their salads with fresh fruit and meat/fish are also so different and flavourful. Yum.

It was a wonderful stop on my travel circuit, and the Cambodian people were so warm and kind. It was a pleasure to talk with them and earn a smile or two. Phnom Penh isn’t quite as welcoming, but that’s a story for another day.

Travelling and temples

After spending two weeks travelling alone in China, I had the impression that solo travel was very solitary. I spent lots of time talking to myself, since I knew no one and there weren’t many English speakers around.

It seems that circumstances can make it a much more social experience: here in Cambodia, and also in Vietnam, there are tons of Western travellers, and it’s not hard to have a chat with someone or occasionally, find a dinner buddy. I’m starting to get the hang of this solo routine!

Today, for example, I encountered two young men fumbling their way through the dark, as I was, to reach the sunrise spot at Angkor Wat, the standard for all temples in this area. It turned out that they were from suburban Washington, D.C., one of my old stomping grounds. Even better, one was teaching English in Shenzhen, China, the city near the Hong Kong border where everyone goes for discount goods. And better yet, the other was a serious Baltimore Orioles fan – gotta love it! I watched the sunrise with them, then went on with my plans, delighted by the chance meeting.

 And last night, I had dinner with a teacher from Norway who is staying in my hotel and offered to show me the way into town. It was delightful to pass a few hours learning about life in a place I’ve never visited.

And that’s just the people. The temples are another story entirely, one that will be continued. I have just scratched the surface with a brief look at Angkor Wat, bordered by a lily pond and rising out of the jungle like a wedding cake gone wild. Amazing stone work, all done before mechanization.

This afternoon, I rented a bicycle and rode down to the Angkor National Museum to learn more about the background of the temples and the symbolism they contain. The Khmer people were once Hindu, but converted over to Buddhism under a king that ruled more than 8,000 years ago. Angkor Wat was originally built in homage to Vishnu, the Hindu god, but became a Buddhist temple over the years.

There are so many stories, I don’t know if I’ll ever keep them all straight, but tomorrow, I’ll have the help of a guide. I’m preparing to stuff my head full of information!

Now, it’s back to town to find some dinner and check out the night markets.

City Mouse, Country Mouse

The past two days couldn’t have been more different from each other, as I explored various sides of Vietnam.

Yesterday, Hanoi and Vietnamese history were the focus; today, it was rural Vietnam.

Visitors to Hanoi all make the obligatory stop at the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum, where the embalmed body of the leader who helped drive out the French and Americans and unify the country lies in state. It’s a weird pilgrimage, to be sure, and even getting there is a challenge. Signs lead visitors around the block, down the street, around another corner and into the complex. Respectful dress is mandatory: no short shorts.

The line is long, but moves quickly, and it takes you past a glass coffin bearing the body of the former leader, who looks as if he is simply asleep, so real is his skin’s pallor. Apparently, he is sent to Russia annually for a tune-up by the folks who perfected embalming for Lenin’s remains. (One of my guides said today that visiting other countries is too expensive for many Vietnamese, but even though he’s dead, Ho Chi Minh gets to travel!) Soldiers stand at each corner of the coffin, and we all file silently by. Very odd, but there’s a compulsion to visit.

Afterward, it was off to see a house nearby where he had lived and worked while the presidential palace was under repair, then to the Ho Chi Minh Museum. Many of his writings are displayed, along with photos of his years in office. He is the George Washington of Vietnam, father of the modern country, and his principles were firmly socialist. Removing the bourgeoisie from power was one key goal, and constant improvement was another.

I had lunch on the street – I’m getting to be an old hand at this – at a bun cha stop. Bun cha is noodles, a vinegary sauce, roast pork and salad, which the diner mixes together. Eating on the street means sitting on a low plastic stool at a tiny table, and lots of local workers were doing the same.

Afterward, it was on to Hoa Lo Prison, aka the Hanoi Hilton, where American pilots shot down during the Vietnam War were kept, including Senator John McCain. Interestingly, most of the museum’s displays focused not on the Americans, but on the Vietnamese insurgents who were locked up here during French colonial rule, and those who lost their lives during that period. There’s even a guillotine, which, given the dark, damp rooms, is ultra-creepy. There is a shrine to the Vietnamese imprisoned there and their names are inscribed on plaques. Conditions were primitive, at best.

I had dinner at a restaurant that served local cuisine, and was seated with a young French woman travelling on holiday. We had a lovely chat as I enjoyed some wonderful clams sautéed with basil and garlic – double yum!

Today, off on an excursion to the countryside outside Hanoi with a guide and driver. We did about an hour and a half of cycling through farm country and rural villages, looking at rice paddies, pineapple fields, banana crops and tea fields. I’d never seen tea growing before and we stopped to chat with some of the women harvesting the leaves. 

Next, we visited a retired local farmer for tea from leaves grown locally and dried and prepared by his family. His land had once been a chicken farm, but he found it to be a losing proposition, and now he grows some fruit of various kinds. In fact, his peach blossoms are in demand as decorations for the upcoming New Year.

Back on our bikes and off on dirt roads, where people were burning the remains of last year’s corn crop, and other fields were being prepared for a change from corn to bananas for export: more lucrative, apparently. It was such a treat to be breathing fresh country air and getting a glimpse of life outside the bustling city.

 After joining up with our driver, we headed to a 400-year-old village for lunch – Vietnamese specialties, including spring rolls and sesame pork – and a visit to a temple dedicated to their local gods and a pagoda where Buddha is worshipped. My guide, Thung, was a graduate of a tourism program at university and was full of information about religion, history and life in Vietnam today. It was such a treat to get the local perspective.

Tonight, Friday, many workers leave Hanoi for weekends in their villages; jobs are much easier to find in the city, so they do what they must. However, the Old Quarter was still bustling, and I wandered through the night market, along with lots of locals and other tourists. With Tet (the lunar New Year) only a few weeks away, red and gold decorations were much in evidence.

Dinner – my last in Hanoi – was at another local restaurant featuring local cuisine. I tried buffalo meat and actually enjoyed it. I also sat with a woman from Australia who was travelling alone – dinner with strangers is getting to be a trend -- and we exchanged stories. It’s a great way to meet people and to discover which attractions are most interesting in the places I’ll be off to next.

Tomorrow, it’s off to Siem Reap in Cambodia, home to Angkor Wat and the many smaller Buddhist temples, another site that is unanimously recommended by all and sundry. And back to the heat, too: 30 (90 F) degrees and up. Was it just a week or two past that I was shivering in Beijing? Hard to believe.

Hooray for Halong Bay!

There were no thoughts of Halong Bay when I put Hanoi on my travel agenda. Halong who? What? Where?

However, the instant I mentioned to any of my Hong Kong that I planned a stop in Hanoi, their first response was, “Oh, you must go to Halong Bay. It’s amazing!”

With such unanimous endorsement, how could I refuse? I pulled out the trusty Lonely Planet guide – on loan from a colleague – and crosschecked it with Trip Advisor to come up with a reliable tour operator,  then booked my trip.

Two days later, I was on board a mini-bus, one of a group of 16 heading south for an overnight cruise on Halong Bay, three-and-a-half hours south of Hanoi. We were an interesting crew: ages ranging from 21 to 60-something, and quite the mix of nationalities: England, Israel, Austria, Germany, Australia, the U.S. and Canada. A number of my compatriots were on trips of four months or more, some taking a year off from work to see more of the world. Others were “youngsters” travelling before settling into “real life”: one of the Israelis was a young man doing a gap year after finishing his army service.

We arrived at our ship, the Treasure Junk, and were greeted with a welcome drink of fresh mango juice before checking into our cabins. The ship is quite new, appointed in dark wood, with a main passenger deck, a dining deck and a sunbathing deck on top. My cabin was on the dining floor, and I was lucky enough to have a balcony. Worth the splurge to read outdoors after dinner and watch the scenery slip by.

But back to Halong Bay! It is a bay dotted with more than 1,900 limestone rock formations (“islands”) rising steeply from the water. A few have tiny beaches, a few others have caves, and most are dotted with bamboo and other vegetation. It reminded me very much of the Broken Islands, the national park outside Ucluelet on Vancouver Island, minus the whales and sea lions, but the islands here are much greater in number.

The setting is spectacular. As the boat chugged along, there were islands everywhere I turned; at night, we slept anchored in a bay ringed by islands. Absolutely breathtaking.

Even better, we had a sunny day, the first they’d had in weeks! After lunch, everyone changed into sporty gear and bathing suits and set out for a kayaking excursion. I have only been in a kayak once before, in Newfoundland, but luckily, I was teamed up with Carly, a young college graduate from Pennsylvania, who grew up kayaking on rivers near her home. Lucky me – all I was required to do was to paddle – Carly had the chore of steering.

The scenery, which is amazing from shipboard, is just as awesome close up. We churned our way through the passages between islands, and the only sounds were our chatter, our paddles and eagles screaming overhead. After the cacophony of Hanoi, the silence was even more stunning.

We stopped at a small sandy beach to stretch our legs. The water was cold, so no one went for a swim, but I conducted my usual shell hunt. ( I make a point of saving shells from all the beaches I visit, and my oversized brandy snifter is getter fuller by the year.) Surprisingly, I had two fellow shell enthusiasts: a French gentleman and Clare, a teacher from England. So nice to know I’m not the only shell junkie!

We paddled back towards sunset, passing a heron taking flight, and Carly and I enjoyed the setting sun from our kayak. What a treat.

This morning, we started the day with a tai chi lesson on deck and felt suitably energized. It was followed by a trip to a floating village, created by the government to promote fish and pearl farming. Amazing to see the tiny huts built on platforms atop oil barrels that keep them afloat. There’s even a floating school for the children.

We also got a glimpse of cultured pearl production, a process that can take up to three years, with only 30 per cent of the oysters producing pearls, and only 10 per cent of those suitable for jewelry.

After a brunch back aboard ship, it was time, alas, to take a last look at the amazing scenery and hop back aboard the bus for a return to the pace of the city. My colleagues were right: no trip to Hanoi would be complete without an excursion to peaceful, scenic Halong Bay.

The Streets of Hanoi

Hanoi is a lively, noisy, crazy, wonderful place, and I am so pleased that I decided to visit. It’s a city on steroids, with its manic motorcycle drivers honking their horns left and right and its bustling street life.

Life in the Old Quarter, in fact, seems lived largely on the sidewalk. Motorcycles park there, drivers for hire hang out there, vendors wander along with baskets of anything from fruit to pastries to flowers to Tet decorations, and food purveyors cook on outdoor burners, inviting customers to pull up plastic stools for spring rolls or pho or noodles. Meanwhile, tourists wander these same sidewalks, their mouths open in awe. I know my jaw was close to the floor much of the day!

Many museums in Hanoi are closed on Monday, so I set off on a walk, veered out of the Old Quarter and decided to keep going. Along the way, I saw all kinds of oddities, including a motorcycle carrying a family of five (true, I swear it!) and a row of barbers who set up shop on the sidewalk alongside a local park, giving haircuts and shaves to customers right outdoors.

I decided to walk toward West Lake, the more expensive part of town, and along the way I met a young woman from Shanghai who had the same intent. We decided to walk along together and ended up wandering the city all day.

Our travels took us to the lake, with its charming pagoda and men fishing along its shores, to the old French area with its colonial mansions, many of which are now government buildings, past Ho Chi Minh’s Mausoleum (closed on Monday!) and on to the Presidential Palace, where some official in a suit shooed us away for getting too close to the entryway – but not before we’d snapped some nice photos.

We stopped for lunch at a small restaurant that served beef noodle soup (pho), which I’d actually never had before, and it was surprisingly yummy.

Then, it was on to the Temple of Literature (open, by golly!), where scholars studies and stelae marked  those who succeeded at the highest level of national exams, questioned by the king himself.  A short walk later, we were at St. Joseph’s Cathedral, a Gothic structure that looked grey and worn on the outside, but had a stunning interior: white stucco walls with wooden ribs outlining the vaulted ceilings and brilliant stained glass in the nave and in windows along the length of the congregation. Most of the latter depicted French saints, which indicates that the building came about during French rule.

Nearby, we came upon a shop selling reproductions of old propaganda posters, and you had better believe there were numerous anti-American posters from what the Vietnamese call “the American War.” So interesting to see events from a different perspective!

On we walked to Hoan Kiem Lake, a small lake near the Old Quarter, which is a haunt of locals and tourists alike. It has a deserted temple in the middle and a temple that’s still used at the other end. Around the lake, we came upon a number of couples having their wedding photos taken. The women were in traditional dress: just beautiful!

Soon, it was dinnertime, and that meant more street food! We walked from stall to stall, eating spring rolls at one, salad rolls at another and renowned bun cha (noodles with grilled meat and broth) at a third.

Afterward, alas, it was time to part ways: Shimin, who returns to Shanghai tomorrow, headed to the water puppet show, and I returned to the hotel to organize my upcoming trip to Angkor Wat.

An unexpected new friend and a lovely introduction to daytime Hanoi!

Good Evening, Vietnam!

Who would have thunk it? Here I am, smack in the middle of Ha Noi – or, as is more appropriate, Ha Noise!

After only half an hour here, I realized that the national bird of Vietnam is undoubtedly the honking horn! Everyone does it reflexively, it seems! And there are plenty of people to lean on their horns – taxis and cars and more motorbikes than I’ve ever seen in my life. They come at you in waves – and keep on coming! People warned me that it would be rough to cross the street, but I learned the secret pretty quickly: start across the street and the traffic will weave around you. Amazing, but it works.

The insanity on the roads was apparent as soon as my taxi driver left the airport. No lights, no gentle merges, just people taking their chances. Taxi driver in Ha Noi immediately dropped to the bottom of my list of preferred jobs. (Yes, I tipped my driver handsomely – wow, did he earn it!)

I’m staying in a darling little hotel, the Art Hotel, in the Old Quarter of the city, and it turns out that my street is a hotbed of street food. I’ve already dipped my toe in those waters: sausage on a stick; rice paper rolls filled with noodles and coriander, dipped in fish oil, vinegar and peanuts; some type of cheesy deep-fried thing, and a pan fried rice patty with some other unidentifiable filling. Not bad for one evening’s work! Let’s see what my stomach says tomorrow.

In addition, when I arrived at the hotel, the staff greeted me with fresh watermelon juice, watermelon slices and mini tarts. I couldn’t eat all the treats, but the juice was lovely and refreshing. My room also has a plate of rambutan, a relative of the lychee that has a spiny skin. So nice to be welcome.

Tonight, I wandered through the Old Quarter to the Water Puppet Theatre for a performance of a craft that originated in the flooded rice fields. Puppeteers stand waist deep in water to maneuver jointed wooden puppets attached to long sticks. They make them move, dance, swim and even, in the case of a water dragon, spout water at other puppets.

I thought the puppets, painted with traditional costumes, were unusual, but I was actually more intrigued by the accompanying live music: traditional Vietnamese instruments, including a string stretched taught that is plucked by one hand to make different sounds that are created by a pole that is massaged by the other. The variety of rhythm instruments was also amazing. I need to do a bit of research to determine what they all were.

After turning down numerous offers for rides home (taxis, pedicabs, motorbikes), I managed to get only mildly lost and am back in my hotel, with rose petals scattered on the bed and some yogurt as a bedtime snack. (I put it in the fridge.) Very sweet touches – I do feel welcome. And even though my room faces the street, with the window closed, the honking horns are barely audible.

China on my mind: final reflections

China!

What can I say? I have enjoyed getting to know it, and it has been good to me in return.

One thing that will always stand out in my memory is the kindness of the people. They were never cross, mean or unpleasant when I had a question. If they didn’t understand English or speak it well, they were apologetic, embarrassed by their failing, rather than being annoyed that a foreigner didn’t speak Chinese.

When I did try to speak Chinese, they attempted to understand my strange accent and were thrilled – and surprised – that someone had made the effort.

Yes, there were scams and overcharging for cab fares, and my uncertainty about when to bargain was a liability, but overall, people dealt with me in good faith.

As for the history here, it is so long and rich that it is hard to absorb all at once. To think that Westerners condescend to a people who were creating and inventing thousands of years before North America was inhabited, and whose light was shining brightly as Europe went through the Dark Ages. Was England’s class system any kinder than Chinese feudal society?

We judge China based on an understanding of today’s Communism, but there is much more lurking beneath the surface. And it’s worth a look! The art, the food, the gardens – all derived from an outlook and way of life so different from our own.

Visiting some of the historic sites in Shanghai – the site of the first Communist party congress and the home of Soong Ching Ling – made me realize how little I actually know of China’s more recent history. Something to explore further.

 It also was a revelation to see that these sites were jammed with Chinese, proud of their country and its history. What did I expect? Disdain, the lens through which the West views the country? As I said, I’d be interested in talking with some real people in more detail. The few I encountered – tour guides, generally – seem to have accepted the “One country, two systems” approach without bitterness, and it’s hard to tell what they think of the West, but they are proud of their country.

And don’t let me get started on comparing things like public transit here – comprehensive and cheap --and at home, or the waterfront in Shanghai versus Toronto’s sorry efforts. Yikes.

That said, I would like to know more Chinese language when I return. It would make it possible to have real conversations with people. It would also ease the way in cities like Xi’an, where I was clearly an oddity among the local population and felt like an object of curiosity wherever I went.

Travelling alone has been an education. Luckily, money makes it easier than worrying about fitting things into a tight budget. In a rush? Take a cab. Unhappy about a hutong with no heat? Stay at a luxury Western-style hotel.

But, I must say, it is rather odd to go for days without having a conversation with anyone. Thank heavens for Skype.

Sure, I could have sought out more tours, but that takes work, and it’s usually not my style.It just would be nice to occasionally talk with someone speaking English.

Things that struck me, more specifically?

Shanghai is, indeed, a more Westernized city than the others I visited, and I felt quite comfortable, almost as if I were in Hong Kong. Beijing has a large Western population, but it felt very Chinese nonetheless. And in Xi’an and Suzhou, Westerners are almost invisible. It will be nice to be in HK again, where people are used to seeing expats and don’t stare – or pester me to buy things or urge me to hire a cab, although it’s nowhere near as bad as someplace like Jamaica. The word “No” is understood.

The traffic in China is crazy! Cars are such a relatively recent addition to the culture, and it seems as if everyone is still adjusting. The streets in Beijing have bike/scooter lanes, but Shanghai! What madness to have all of them on the road together, along with a right-on-red law that puts pedestrians in jeopardy. Not to mention scooters and bikes riding the sidewalks, too. Yowza!

The scale of China’s cities is amazing, too. Shanghai has 19 million citizens, and three or four million workers from outside the city/country. That’s about two-thirds of Canada’s population.

I don’t think there’s a melting-pot concept here. Minorities seem to be Other. Not sure that they are treated badly, just that there’s a verbal recognition of difference.

Cities in China don’t seem to have the Hong Kong strolling disease. People actually move with purpose. What a pleasure! However, on Shanghai’s escalators, there’s no “stand right, walk left” rule, so you can’t be in tooooo much of a hurry.

Despite the veneer of modernity, in many ways, China has some work to do. The infrastructure needs help. In Beijing, at least in the hutongs, many homes don’t have indoor plumbing, and throughout China, the sewer systems are fragile. One is asked to throw toilet paper in the wastebasket so as not to clog the drains. And squat pans are still very popular and common, although perhaps that’s preference, not modernity.

But for such a massive place, with a massive population, the country is moving right along. In fact, the slogan should be, China: Under Construction. My guide in Xi’an, Bryan, told me that the national bird of China today is the construction crane, and he’s not kidding. Roads and buildings are springing up everywhere.

Another thing missing here – for the good – is anti-Semitism. The Chinese don’t hate the Jews; they seem to respect their strong family ties and a reputed ability to make money. It’s a relief to find a culture where anti-semitism isn’t ingrained. Way to go, China!

Now, if they’d only allow people to criticize the government without fear ...

To Suzhou for silk and gardens

Nothing like morning rush hour to get one going! I caught a 9 a.m. train to Suzhou from Shanghai station, so the subway was jammed, but I emerged alive.

This was my second high-speed train experience. It moves quickly, but doesn’t seem to be flying. However, we arrived in half an hour, so I know we were zooming along. The countryside we passed included fields, orchards and housing developments.

Suzhou is one of China’s smaller cities J -- it has only about four million people living in the city proper. It is known for its gardens, which are UNESCO World Heritage Sites, and for a silk industry that has flourished for thousands of years.

I was lucky enough to see a demonstration at an actual silk factory before I went on to the Silk Museum. The factory contracts with farmers to raise silkworms, feeding them mulberry leaves. The worms’ cocoons are then collected to make silk, which is extracted once the cocoons have been steamed in water. (My guide informed me that the worm larvae are often saved and stir fried. Protein ...)

A single cocoon can produce a strand of silk 120 metres long. In this factory, the threads were pulled by hand and attached to a winding machine – twelve strands were woven together.

The Silk Museum had scraps of fabric unearthed from tombs in China dating back thousands of years. As time marched on, the patterns became more complex, and colour schemes changed, too. At one time, Suzhou’s silk was sought after by the Emperor, and it was also traded along the Silk Road, both overland and maritime, as far west as Rome.

Of course, silk was on sale everywhere in town – clothes, purses, handkerchiefs, ties – you name it, someone was selling it. I must be a bit travel weary – when I see a series of stalls featuring local items, my instinct is to run.

I visited three gardens, all well known: the Humble Administrator’s Garden, where I had a local guide; the Lion’s Grove Garden and the Master of the Nets Garden. (Wonderful  names!) The last was further from the tourist centre of town and the least crowded. I was able to wander at leisure without negotiating around lots of other people. However, a nearby school playground also meant it was the noisiest garden. (This is January and the gardens were busy – I shudder to imagine what they’re like in spring and summer!)

Those who could afford to create their own gardens back in the day were lucky. The gardens are amazing spots: each area has a name that offers a chance for reflection. Rocks – or cloud roots, as they were called -- symbolize mountains, there are ponds to provide lovely vistas, flowers to offer beauty and meaning and pagodas and pavilions for places to relax and entertain. They even had libraries in their pavilions! ( I imagine some wealthy Chinese still have gardens such as these – it would be amazing to be invited to a private one.) Every detail is considered, including the pattern of the paving stones.

The winter landscapes were somewhat austere, but the gardens would be lovely places once the trees blossomed – magnolias, plum, etc. My guide told me that there are no mosquitoes to bother visitors, because the camphor trees give off a scent that offends the bloodthirsty little bugs.

Suzhou is also notable in my book because it was the place that I took the various types of transport I hadn’t yet experienced in China: a bicycle-drawn cab, a bus and a motorcycle “cab.” Add in a taxi ride, the high-speed train and the subway, and it was quite the transportation fiesta!

Shanghai on Shabbat

Shabbat in Shanghai was one of the most memorable days I’ve had during my China trip, thanks to a visit to the Shanghai Jewish Refugee Museum. Since I wasn’t attending services anywhere, I thought it would be a fitting way to mark the day, and I was rewarded with a moving experience.

During World War II, Shanghai became the home of about 20,000 Jewish refugees who were saved from the Nazis by a compassionate Chinese consul general in Vienna. Ho Fengshan issued thousands of visas to Austrian Jews fleeing the Nazis, allowing them passage to Shanghai, one of the only places open to them. (Yes, our “broadminded” Western countries like the U.S., Canada and England wanted nothing to do with more Jews.)

When they arrived, they found an existing Jewish community in Shanghai that dated back to the 1850s when Iraqi Jews took part in the opium trade, in the fine tradition of robber barons through the ages. In the 1930s, a wave of poor Russian Jews escaping pogroms joined the Sephardim.

Although it was wartime and there were privations, the community pitched in to settle their brethren, and they settled in the Hongkou part of Shanghai. Their Chinese neighbours, who were in the midst of war themselves, made an effort to help them, too.

Today, the neighbourhood’s Ohel Rachel Synagogue is used as a museum commemorating their life in China and the horrors that they escaped. There is a Sephardic sanctuary that was re-consecrated about 20 years ago for a visit from Hillary and Chelsea Clinton and Madeline Albright, the former U.S. Secretary of State, whose family had converted to avoid persecution.

There are also photos of the neighbourhood as it was in the 1930s and 1940s and stories of the inhabitants, with current updates. Most of the Jews left China after the end of the war, not only because Israel came into being, but because China was going through its own upheaval that resulted in the Cultural Revolution and much pain and suffering for the average person.

Shanghai came under Japanese occupation during the war, but the Japanese weren’t interested in “liquidating” Jews – they had more important battles to fight. However, they insisted the Jews stay in a specific area.

The Jews who lived in Shanghai have returned for visits, and there was a reunion in 2010 that drew former inhabitants from all over the world. It’s a wonderful story, and one that warms my heart. With so many people quick to look down their noses at Jews without having any acquaintance with them, it is wonderful to think that the Chinese are different.

In fact, my young tour guide was quick to point out that both Chinese and Jews have strong family ties and other things in common. And the Chinese women at the ticket office saw my Star of David and made sure to wish me Shabbat Shalom!

I wandered the streets of the old neighbourhood and the local park where the children played. One of those children was the former U.S. Treasury secretary, Michael Blumenthal!

Shanghai has won a special place in my heart, thanks to the goodness of the Chinese people.