I
I write this article, in 2004, spring, Beijing, the window is being inundated with catkins and told I had left the road for a long time a long time. And I went to Pingyao, in 2002, in the summer, when the air is not a trace of wind, only a touch of smoke surrounded the city. In between these two points, separated by two years and 800 years of time and space. After such a long distance, there is always the last part of the scene has become blurred, as if slowly evaporate the mist, weak and pale. While others, but it will withstand the time, baked in the course of a long forgotten survive, and condensed into crystals, glittering in the bottom of my heart.
These crystals are solid and subtle, in my mind precious.
II
With regard to Pingyao, I know is that it was well-preserved ancient city wall, the Ming and Qing-era buildings, as well as former national financial center. All this will undoubtedly be able to arouse people's yearning for the past, those glory days. I even could imagine that in the years to come the waves, in the vast land of Shanxi, many of the more spectacular fortresses have fallen, and buried in the ocean of history no longer visible, while the islands of Pingyao was the same as l up, such as the moon rising to the surface, Seiki shining. And I, just like a devout pilgrim who came to the old man front, look up his light.
Entering the city at a time of noon. City pedestrians scarce, tricycles from walking on the streets empty, issued creak sound, a kind of trance in the illusion of space-time overlap. Gradually expand the street in front of me, as if a fairy gradually become a reality. On both sides is the kind of very old, very old house has a dilapidated brick walls, arched doors, the door still engraved some of this time has little mention of the word, these words represent some of that era were respected, while in the virtues of this era gradually decline.
All this is really wonderful! Time passed, and cities grow old, while the spirit has stayed. This is probably the charm of traditional culture, right? - Although I know little about the so-called traditional culture, but can not stop I belie-like delight. History of stroke after left sigh as if in ears. Every door, every brick behind the story seems to be hidden, they are the same as the old book by oil is wrapped in paper, hidden in there, waiting for me to be discovered. And I, like an open door to the children Alibaba treasure the face of this full house of treasures, excited and can not be themselves.
All beautiful, until Yao asked me that question.
III
Yao is my tricycle. In the ancient city, he gave me Fifteen Half day prices. I did not counter-offer, then on his car. This is a simple, lovely middle-aged, thin, strong, medium tall. Because the reason for pulling carts, face was tan with dark complexion, eyes, and thus an even spirit, his face, he always wearing a smile, as if the sun and crafts, and not torture him, life did not matter much to be sad.
I like young people like him, the spirit of optimism.
Sometimes I wonder why I have come across is that Yao, and not other people? Interpersonal encounter is so strange. In a strange journey, meet strange people. Can not be denied is that the stranger in front of the decision of my track - if another one of my journey will undoubtedly change a face. However, I am seeing are not the best? All this is like waiting for roulette in the casino was full of hope when you're stopped - in the end it will give me a look forward to the results? Unfortunately, the wheel each time can only be stopped in a grid, but every time we can only meet a stranger.
Fortunately, I met is Yao, he is a very smart person. He is clever at the right time to say the right words.
Just as I was moved to Lost and Delirious in front of all of the moment, he asked me:
"Do you know why the preserved buildings Pingyao so okay?"
This issue to the scratching of my chords - the pursuit of causes, has always been my hobby.
"Because, like, like Lijiang, Pingyao conscious to protect the residents of old buildings?"
"Also the building in the city of Pingyao, or that there are good planning, not too much to destroy the old town?"
Give me the answer, Yao had rejected lightly, his face still showing childlike sly smile, as if knocked out of this town because of a person who secretly pleased.
Could it be ... ...? One word out of my mind, but hesitated.
"Because poverty," said Yao out for me, or with the same smile.
Plains where one out of fireworks, sun lost its color. Pingyao Pingyao is no longer in front of me, my journey from this change in direction.
IV
After returning I have been thinking, why Yao will ask me this question? Why did he want to tell a stranger such a major secret?
Till travel experiences older, I began to wake up: Yao is a mentor. He gave the students pointed out the walls of ignorance behind the rift, so that the retardation of the child to touch the grass under the cover of the pearl. He wanted to tell me, Pingyao Pingyao is not in front of me, like the moon, Pingyao has its back. For me, he opened the back of the back door leading to the fan, but I also completely forgetting I did not notice.
In fact, every journey has such a mentor. They all face the emergence of an ordinary driver, poor peasant woman, or humble beggars. They are around the corner, on board, or in a noisy cafe, waiting for our passing. They appear, is to lead us to see more real, independent outside in the tourist world. The truth with which they have the keys ready to open the door for us, but we do not miss them from time to time.
If not them, my way but others down the road, my view is nothing but people see the landscape.
If not them, my journey is only dolphin imitation pearl, distribution of the dark and normal light.
V
Production of optical paint muddy courtyard, is the first stop we visited, is said to be the largest city yard.
Strangely enough, the door did not Zhaizi visit, almost can be described as sparsely visited.
From the door of the ticket to stand up a 20 in his early youth, as my guide. Yao told me that he is a master of this Zhaizi less. Less the owner wearing a white vest, wasted and stunted stature, there is no style guide, but rather was captured sufficient number of extras, just waiting for a gunshot would be "snapped" to fall into a dead body. His Mandarin with a thick local accent, so I had to frequently asked him to explain the contents of the.
The owner took me into the little visited a lap. He explained a lot of content I do not remember. I only remember that this is indeed a very good house. Large doors, a lot of yard. Remember stone carvings on the stone steps handrails are lions, tigers, and so animals vary. The same is their heads are cut out of the Qi Shuashua manner. You can guess, this is that cultural disaster of the credit.
Little master told me that his family are doing hand-painted. I saw their works, it is refined and prices are not expensive. With regard to the house, it was a few years ago, in Pingyao not become the world's cultural heritage, the county auction house, their home to 1.2 million under the higher price.
This business, from an economic point of view there is no profit to speak of. Because Zhaizi not known where in the ancient city on the map is not marked, the Tourist Board did not consider it as a tourist attraction to promote the vast majority of visitors here know nothing about. 10 tickets to rely on the money return on investment, I do not know where to go and year and what month.
Therefore, their behavior, I would prefer to protect the monuments as a magnanimous act.
On the second floor, I saw the empty hall. Little master told me that to fix the status quo ante in which needs a large number of Ming and Qing dynasties of home, each one is expensive.
"Affordable, decoration can not afford呀." He says with exasperation.
VI
Yao took me to the county high school visits, which has a building called the Confucian Temple, a former county institution of higher learning.
"Yes, this is the best school, but even the best secondary schools in Shanxi ... ..."
"Here come a lot of college students, but they eventually did not come back ... ..."
"Because here, there is no opportunities for development."
"... ..."
VII
Yao pulled me to the museum, I went in, he waited outside the door. Turn full circle only to be out. I said: "Take me, casually walk it."
Random walk he realized it is only the Ming and Qing Street, Pingyao busy.
In the city from another angle, the local population in the world. Here, there is no such as the weaving of the visitors, there is no lively shops, there is no rickshaw, no beef jerky. Yes, yes muddy roads, Pan raises animal farmhouse, wells, uncle, as well as holding pail latrines carriage ... ...
VIII
I stopped in front of an alley. I heard the loud noise inside. I walk off. Alley very short end of the bend, is a small courtyard. There are several kids in the yard playing.
See me come in, the children were all stopped, looked at me curiously.
Then I saw them at the foot of "football."
But it's how can we count a football? Is just a plastic bag, which filled with a variety of colors of paper rotten box, red, blue, yellow, white, sparkling in the sun strange light.
In the cities, this is just a plastic bag full of garbage, it is discarded prelude to the full. However, it is here, the children's football, is a collection of children's hard work, careful love, could not bear to discard pets.
I am reminded of a set of public service poster. During that time, this set of three posters of certain spring in Beijing subway overwhelming: black and white photos, simple village school, after class bell had just sounded, the children rushed out from the classroom, mixed with confusion and joy The screaming, ran to the playground. A moving, is one by one full face, but - they do not jump rope dancing feet, waving their hands there is no racket hand in hand, they did not run hard football scrolling - screen, should appear in the rope skipping, ping-pong the location of the racket and soccer, have to live with the dashed border, which empty.
The poster reads: "two dollars a rope skipping, a ten-dollar racket and thirty dollar a football, which, in the eyes of a child in poor areas, is an extravagant hope ... ..."
I thought, posters in the scene, only in the distant and deserted place on the land, those poor rural areas of the land, perhaps we do not have the opportunity to finally set foot on their lives. But now, this scene at hand, in this world-famous ancient city, in the Ming and Qing Dynasties from the busy street only a short distance from the alley where tens of meters, and so unprepared, as shining like a knife to stab my eyes.
I suddenly realized that poverty is neither far away, not just a handful of people a nightmare - it's sphere of influence, more broad than I imagined.
What if I have been hit by a flash of consciousness a blank. I try to seize what. I raise my camera, but they hide in a corner of the children.
I am playing in a trick. I retreated to the corner, hidden in the wall, they then proceeded to play. I stuck your head, lift the camera. They found that the, in turn are hiding corner.
Silence of the child, my silence, in the middle there is no words can be contacted.
I ended up back out, from the same route, step by step, like the extremely obedient servant back out. The first time I face this head in such a close much more powerful than I, called the poor beast, it is slightly open eyes, to live in the moment frighten me. I have been back streets, dare to call in one breath gently. I should not see this scene, it does not belong to tourists in the world. Only - group of people living in it will be for life under the shadow of the children?
Perhaps they have a track, this track is not that we can interfere. Sometimes I feel life for their pity, but I can do, it would only pity only.
Just that why I raised the camera? That moment what I want? Why I want to play that bad tricks? All this I can not answer, every thought, I have for their own greed and arrogance ashamed.
I finally did not take pictures of playing children. I just photographed that football. Fog over the years, it is strange in the sun shining light, tingling, my soul.
IX
Dinner that I asked, I and Yao two people at a restaurant where the Ming and Qing Street. Yao is the rules place the extra dishes, there is a special product of Pingyao beef, there are some other pasta, the two are even a bottle of beer. The dinner table I asked Yao, Pingyao Why so poor?
According to Yao's argument is the lack of resources. Pingyao were many fewer per capita is only one-third of agricultural land, nature is not conducive to the development of agriculture, coupled with abundant natural resources do not, we can only rely on trade, conquer. This is the year the world famous Pingyao can be the reason. But the environment can also damage the cause of a successful career. As economic center of gravity shift from the inland to the coast, Pingyao has lost financial center, and able to recover from this.
Then this will be what happens? No one can give a positive answer. Yao told me that an American is planning to invest to buy the right of Pingyao Tourism. This seems to be a good thing, but --
"Today's parent-not positive ... ..."
"They do not consider these long-term thing, just want to be able to power more than when fishing for a few strokes."
X
Evening, I bid farewell to the Yao, himself a man wandering in the city. Ming and Qing Dynasty street lights as bright as day, Yourenruzhi, but impossible to attract my interest. With just took a few steps, over the two blocks area, Pingyao, thus revealing a completely different morphology. Here, there is no lights, no moon that night happened to be uncertain, so the road will be the dark one, and occasionally a few dark shadows moving slowly forward, are living in here, old man. They go very slow very slow, no change in this city, they are already accustomed to such a speed. Roadside basic open the door yard, but most of which there is no lights, lit a small number of so few is a small 15-watt light bulbs, dim lighting. Sometimes, in such a light, sat a child homework, but also sometimes, sitting a few mouthfuls, surrounded by lights, they are not talking.
Like all mime-like, in the endless darkness of the film market, the quiet play, quietly walk through my eyes.
XI
Pingyao are helpless. Stained so many monuments and even a house could be so fragile to survive complete surprise, just because a "poverty" is the word, when a city rich under heaven even reduced to the fields, just as an inability to build new houses of peasants have stumbled quite accidentally into has become a pacesetter in the protection so tracks, and there are somewhat ironic, but more bitter.
In any case, Pingyao was brilliant, those neat streets, sturdy houses, mighty walls, and the solemn city floor and did not live up to my original expectations. However, all this is the same as the steam and did not survive two years of the grill. Today, they are in my memory, only some vague images. On the contrary, those black after another, the shadow, that the strange flickering light of the football, there are both good in that eye, but more and more clear. These inadvertently planted the seeds, in my heart made a bud, rooted, and I grasped the old hurts and old pain. The city, if I have a trace of the impression, then, that is, he is not as elegant and poised like I imagined. That luxurious appearance, but on the political stage costumes. In the back of the stage, who accidentally discovered the actor's passing the other side. Play off robe, he exposed the holes in socks, underwear patch, and an increasingly wizened and hoary body. At this time, he is no longer that great success, pride and brilliance of the successful businessman, in the dark corner, he is nothing but a Gouhuo too troubled times, while the situation faced by ordinary old man. After a day of toil, he was relying on back of a chair and gently puffing. Suddenly, he was aware of my peep, sieve Ran surprised, hurried his head down, hands covered those patches and holes, not cover, is the embarrassment of face.
Only, this situation in this territory, which passing through the mind how there had been a trace of feel good?
Author: andrewyu
