Wednesday, October 19 – Suzhou to Wuxi

Karen and I were up by 6:30 and down in the breakfast room by a little after 7. This was definitely several cuts above the breakfast at our Beijing hotel. The room was on two levels, attractively appointed, with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out on the garden. The food was much better too: lots of fresh fruit, everything fresher, more choices of western fare. I had an unusual crêpe – sort of an omelette-crêpe – made to order. The chef cracked an egg over the open pancake on the grill and spread the egg muck around, then added an odd combination of vegetables, piquant sauce and a sugary pastry thing, before rolling it up. It was delicious. We sat by an open door with gusts of cool, damp air coming in – which Karen appreciated, me not so much. Pat and Ralph, we discovered after settling at our table, were seated elsewhere, but already had table mates.

After breakfast, Karen and I wandered out into the garden, but didn’t last long. It had started raining. Rain would continue off and on – mostly on – sometimes light, sometimes torrential, pretty much the rest of the trip. The garden, what we saw of it, was impressive, patterned on a classical Chinese garden, with a trickling canal, little arched bridges and pretty views of the hotel’s pagodas. We wandered for less than ten minutes, with me awkwardly balancing an umbrella over my camera, trying to take pictures. Then we found our way, with some difficulty, back to the room, where we packed for leaving.

Suzhou, Pan Pacific hotel, garden courtyard

That morning on the bus, Yvonne talked at some length about silk production, a specialty in the region because of the quality and volume of silk grown here. All across China, she said, Suzhou is known for producing the highest quality silk merchandise. She also explained about the tradition of how locals use the thin, light, but very warm silk quilts made here. Cathy Basile had told us about these, and how much she regretted not buying any the year before. Families prepared six of the lightweight quilts for a daughter’s trousseau, three for the husband and wife, three for their future children (this was before the one-child law.) Suzhouites typically use one quilt in summer, which keeps them comfortably cool, Yvonne said, then double- or triple-layer them in winter to stay warm. Yvonne is so slick and plausible that it didn’t dawn on me until much later that a selling job had begun.

She also told us a little about her own life. Her uncle, she said, had owned a silk worm farm when she was young, and little Yvonne kept silk worms as pets. (Eeew!) But wait a minute. If Yvonne is 53 now, she would have been 10 in 1973. That was only a couple of years after the end of the Cultural Revolution, and well before the 1978 policy changes that ushered in the possibility of private business ownership in China. Could her uncle really have “owned” a silk farm when she was a child? Was he possibly a high party official? As much as I liked Yvonne – she was hard not to like – I was never sure she always told the truth.

Our first stop of the morning, and last in Suzhou, was back at the silk spinning mill/embroidery workshop – if they were the same place. It would be Karen’s and my downfall as committed anti-shoppers. We caved here – big time.

As at other such stops, there was a pretence at making it educational – in fairness, more convincingly here than at most. They showed us some of the process of getting silk from a silk worm, and then weaving it. We saw live worms (actually larvae). One of our number drew out the coiled strand from a single larva, and we saw how surprisingly long and strong it was (30 feet or more). We saw a loom in action. We saw how much stronger multiple twined strands of silk could be when made into thread. We saw how the meshes of silk are woven to create quilts, and were told how to distinguish good- from inferior-quality quilts (the number of strands in the thread used.) One of our group took the challenge to see if he could punch a hole through the silk batting used in the quilts. He couldn’t, of course. We were led into a gallery with samples of silk bedding, and from there, quickly, into a sales room.

And here, gentle readers, we lost our heads.

Most of the shopping places we visited in China tried to tell us we were “special” customers because we were visiting the factory. (Sound familiar?) The sales staff always pitched deals that were especially for us – and the gazillions of other punters who came before and will come after. They usually involved supposedly steeply discounted prices for buying multiple items, sometimes free gifts and, in this case (and at least one other), free shipping back to Canada for the bulkiest and most expensive purchases. The silk bedding store was an extreme case. The sales woman here kept introducing product bundles, then going on to say something like, “But if instead, you buy this, this, this, this and this together, it’s only this much! And we’ll give you a free gift too!” It was one such bundle we ended up purchasing.

It included free express shipping (10 days) back to Canada, and our choice of (very inexpensive) lady’s silk scarf. We got a beautiful woven silk duvet cover, a floral design in pewter and copper tones, two matching pillow cases, a top sheet (cotton), two silk quilts, one sewn into the duvet cover, and two silk-batting pillows, with little removable pockets of dried silk worm “poop.”

Huh!?

By the time of this writing, I had forgotten why the Chinese do this. There were supposed to be health benefits, I remember. But what were they? I Googled it, and found a blog post, mostly exclaiming at the bizarreness of the practice, but also quoting a sales spiel from a Chinese vendor’s literature. It sounded similar to what we heard:

“Silk worm excrement pillow improves eyesight and promotes brainpower. It also can dispel heat, remove toxin and cool blood heat. With the help of our silkworm excrement pillow, your baby would have a sweeter sleep. Our silkworm excrement pillow is an excellent gift for the aged to relieve rheumatic pains. Our silkworm excrement pillow is especially appreciated by those with hypertension and tinnitus.” Wow! Just from putting dry insect crap in a pillow!

The price for this very attractive (other than the silk worm poo) set that we had decided was essential in our lives came to 3,800 CNY, or about $750! What were we thinking? I’m going with a plea of temporary insanity. The malaise was apparently catching. Ralph and Pat bought the same deluxe set, as did Cathy Basile and her husband. In Ralph and Pat’s case, they even chose the same duvet design. “You realize I can never go in your bedroom again,” Karen told Pat, which must have raised some eyebrows among those who overheard.

A brief chronological digression here for the postscript. As part of processing the order, the clerk asked us, and wrote down, the date we would arrive back in Canada. I assumed this was so they could time delivery for after our return. When we got home, I found an email from the courier that had tried to deliver the parcel, two days before. So much for foresight and planning. At the factory, the products were shown in a sturdy plastic case with a carrying handle, the same kind of packaging used for high-quality bedding here. The parcel that eventually turned up at our door two days later was a tight roll, wrapped in plastic and about seven thousand layers of packing tape. Our bedding emerged intact and complete, but very wrinkled.

I had stupidly failed to consider the taxes and duties that might be charged on a $750 import from China – I who had routinely received packages from outside the country when I was working, and had more than once been stung with unexpected extra charges. I should have known better. But, as it turned out, it was not a problem. The silk factory had simply lied and given the value for customs of our shipment as $70. There was only a little over $30 in extra charges. I had played the same trick when shipping items I’d sold on eBay to American buyers, and routinely urged firms sending me review equipment to do the same. But the silk factory must courier similar shipments to Canada every week. Wouldn’t someone at Canada Customs at some point notice and grow suspicious? That big a bundle of bedding for $70? Maybe the laxness is deliberate, part of Justin’s strategy for wooing Chinese investment.

We were sick when we first got home, so Karen didn’t put the silks on our bed until more than a week later. It really does look pretty, and it fits the bed well, hanging over to hide the sides of the mattress and covering the whole length of the bed, something our old linen did not do. It also turned out to be just as warm as Yvonne had claimed. I usually need great piles of bedding, sometimes two feather duvets and extra blankets, to stay warm in the ice box that is our bedroom in winter. In the first cold snap of November, I was quite comfortable with only our silk quilts. The pillows are comfortable too. So overall, not such a bad purchase maybe.

We have seen no relief, however, from Karen’s arthritic pain or hypertension, or my chronic tinnitus. And I’m pretty sure my brain power remains woefully low. I couldn’t say about our blood temperatures.

After the purchase, we were directed upstairs to a department store-size floor with racks of silk clothing. Stunned by the events downstairs, we wandered in a daze, or I did. We were certainly not in the market for silk apparel, but we dutifully looked at it – there was nothing else to do in any case, as lunch was still 20 minutes away. I was surprised to find that the stuff was almost as expensive as it would be at home. One not-unattractive sports shirt was priced at the equivalent of $130. Which made me wonder if the price we’d paid for the bedding was as great a bargain as we fondly hoped.

We had lunch at the factory. Wait. The same factory restaurant as yesterday? No. This was definitely a different place. So. Does this mean the silk spinning mill wasn’t the same place as the silk embroidery workshop after all? Maybe. Maybe not.

Ah, memory!

We said goodbye to Yvonne at this point. We were driving on to neighbouring Wuxi (Woo-shee, the middle diphthong between an English ‘sh’ and ‘s’ sound), about 40 minutes away. We would pick up a new local guide there. The clouds by now were oppressively low, and it was raining again.

Our new guide, David, joined us at our first stop, the Lingshan Grand Buddha, just outside Wuxi. David was obviously – stereotypically – gay, with a drawling, whiny voice, long shaped finger nails and a slightly effeminate manner. What are the attitudes to gays in China? About where they were in Canada 35 years ago apparently. Homosexuality was banned in the PRC  until 1997 when it was legalized. It was only removed from the official list of mental illnesses in 2001. There is a nascent gay culture – Pride parades, LGBT websites, cruising zones in big cities, etc. – but much of it is still underground.

David told us at one point that he hoped one day he would have a wife and children himself, which surprised us. Were we wrong about him? Or was this maybe a sly joke, possibly for the benefit of a couple of gay guys in our group, whom he might well have spotted. Or was it something he said to disarm and mislead possible homophobes in his audience?

He was also, apparently, a frustrated stand-up comedian. For someone speaking a foreign language, he was pretty funny. He had one good bit about how Chinese men ruled their roosts, while “Canadian” men indulged their wives, letting them buy whatever they wanted. “’It’s up to you, dear,’ or ‘whatever you want, dear.’” He droned this in a bored-sounding imitation of – well, of us. I’m sure he would have changed it to “Australian” or “American” if that’s what we’d been. I’m guessing it was based on observation of his foreign clients. It hit particularly close to home for us given our morning at the silk factory. Maybe Leo had tipped him about the crazy Canucks on a spending spree.

I found interesting, though, that a gay man would seemingly approve the Chinese male’s supposed macho, master-of-the-purse-strings attitude, and mock Canadians for “allowing” their wives to spend freely. For one thing, wasn’t he supposed to be encouraging the foreigners to spend? Certainly other Nexus guides did.

The Lingshan Grand Buddha is much more than the 80-plus-foot golden statue that is the main draw. I think of it as Buddhaland, a kind of Buddhist theme park, complete with a little trolley-train that shuttles visitors around to the different attractions. You can also walk, of course, which most of us did. The first place we were led was a square with a huge statue of what looked to be a closed lotus blossom. There were fountains around it, and fearsome mythological figures bounding out of the base. We were there to see a fountain show with music. I didn’t hear exactly what it was about, but after a brief, aimless wander, we all gathered around the statue at the appointed hour and waited expectantly. It was now raining steadily, the square a sea of bobbing umbrellas.

Lingshan Grand Buddha, blossoming Baby Buddha

Ominous music burst from hidden speakers around the square. Fountains shot up. I still didn’t really understand what was going on. Finally, I noticed that, as the fountains sprang up and died back in time to the music, the lotus flower was opening. It looked to be, maybe was, made of cast bronze, but it was animatronics! Wild. Rising from the centre was the figure of a pudgy baby Buddha.

Wuxi, Lingshan Grand Buddha, blossoming Baby Buddha

This is one of the mythological overlays on the story of the real Siddhartha Gautama, the Buddha – the notion that, like Jesus, he had had a miraculous birth. In the legends, he is always a prince. He is born naturally to his mother, a queen, but can walk and talk right away. No swaddling clothes or manger for this lad. He’s up and at ‘em! As he takes his first steps, a lotus flower springs from wherever his feet touch. So the Buddha is associated with lotus blossoms in the iconography. How this gets translated to images of baby Buddha emerging from a lotus, I’m not sure. And are any of these depictions taken as literal truth by believers?

In any case, our baby Buddha gradually rose up, as the small crowd madly snapped pictures, and when he was all the way out, began to rotate in the spread-open lotus flower and wave to all watching, his one raised arm moving in a stiff, royal gesture. We were being blessed by the Buddha! In a trip with many silly spectacles, this may have been the silliest.

The next stop in Buddhaland, after a ten-minute stroll in the rain, was the Brahma Palace. It’s a very modern-looking brick structure, into which we filed with no real expectation or understanding of what it was. I think they told us it was a conference centre, which it partly is. Inside, we found this incredibly opulent space that wasn’t really a palace in our sense – there were no royals or aristocrats in residence to our knowledge – but was certainly interesting, and entertaining.

Lingshan Grand Buddha, Brahma Palace, laughing Buddha

Lingshan Grand Buddha, Brahma Palace, zodiacal figure

The reception areas were stuffed with sometimes spectacular artworks – a giant Buddhas carved from huge tree trunks, cloisoné-accented statues of Chinese zodiacal figures. We poked our heads into richly- and colourfully-decorated conference rooms, where they apparently hold high Buddhist enclaves. 

Lingshan Grand Buddha, Brahma Palace, cathedral putti

Lingshan Grand Buddha, Brahma Palace, Buddhist cathedral

The pièce de résistance was a space in the centre of the building that I think of as the Buddhist cathedral. The layout was reminiscent of a cathedral. There were putti, or the Buddhist equivalent, flying out from the ceiling in the “nave”. There was a domed tower, in about the same position it would be in a Christian cathedral, with what at first looked like stained glass, but revealed itself to be some kind of electronic light show that changed the colours and pattern every few seconds.

Lingshan Grand Buddha, Brahma Palace, cathedral wall hanging

Everything about this place shouted, “This is not what Buddhism is supposed to be about.” Some of the art was impressive, but the overall effect was gaudy excess. Meditation, asceticism? Not so much.

Lingshan Grand Buddha, Brahma Palace

Leo came to fetch us after 40 minutes because it was nearly time to leave. From the Palace, we walked a short way to the park’s main attraction, the great golden statue. It stands in front of a wooded hill, which was now almost completely shrouded in low-hanging cloud. The top of the statue itself was only hazily visible in the mist. Leo accompanied us to make sure we didn’t dawdle too long. No chance of that as it was still raining steadily. I did take some pictures, holding the camera under my umbrella. 

The Grand Buddha - over 80 feet high

We started walking back towards the bus, which was about 25 minutes away. There was a brief stop at a small working temple, complete with chanting, gonging monks and smouldering incense. In front of it was another golden statue of the Buddha, smaller but similar to the big one. Inside, we could see a row of seated golden patriarchs.

Lingshan Grand Buddha, temple, less grand Buddha

When we got back to the entrance, we found we’d have to wait for stragglers before going to the bus. When we finally did get back on the bus, everybody was damp and grumpy. Karen’s one shoe, which she’d had repaired just before we left home, had sprung a leak. Others, including Leo, were in the same boat. We drove to an early, fast dinner – surprisingly, one of the best so far. The dishes included a whole fish, dumplings and other Dim Sum-type foods.

Wuxi, Nanching Street, canal scenes

It was by now dark, still damp, and we were tired, but timetables must be adhered to, and no opportunity to shop should be lost. So we drove into the centre of Wuxi for the scheduled visit to Nanching Street, a pedestrian shopping area in an ancient part of the city. The rain had mostly let up by this time, and it was a charming place, with cobbled streets, traditional Chinese-style architecture, posh-looking boutiques and a canal, prettily lit with red paper lanterns. But they gave us 40 minutes of free time here. Karen and I, the disgruntled non-shoppers, walked briskly along Nanching Street, stopping nowhere except to take pictures, crossed the canal at a bridge and walked back on the other side, along a not-quite-so-busy shopping street. I think almost everybody except us bought something in the shops.

Wuxi, Nanching Street

Our hotel in Wuxi, a Swisshotel, was one Leo feared would disappoint us. It was really only a three-star establishment, he said. Karen and I thought our room was fine. It certainly wasn’t as luxurious as the Pan Pacific. The room had no bathtub, the fridge was unplugged and empty, and only Lipton tea was on offer. (Pity.) But the bed was comfortable, the shower hot and the corridors quiet. We could open a door (onto the balcony) and a window to let in fresh air, and because the room looked out on an inner courtyard, it was still quiet. We had not a bad night of sleep.