That happens to be the route and vantage point from which I videotaped a trip on the Hong Kong Bus Route 65, I believe it was, hitting the pause button every time the bus stopped, re-starting the video when the bus began rolling again. The trip itself takes an hour or more but — explaining why this is just an 8-minute video — it turns out that most of that time is spent not moving at bus stops and red lights.

Here’s a map to highlight the approximate route you’ll be seeing in this “Virtual First-Person” video (although — can’t give it all away for free — great views of Repulse Bay are not included in the video footage):

Instead of forcing you to listen to a chorus of mostly inaudible conversations in various languages and dialects going on within earshot of the camera’s microphone, your relaxing background music is … and for a view from a bus headed to a drop-off near Stanley Market, this musical selection will either make complete sense to you or none at all … Cracker’s “Euro Trash Girl.”

And now, all aboard! The bus — and with it this blog, as you are reading the last post I expect to make in it — is now leaving the station. Until we meet again, Happy Trails!

But in southern Fujian province, like most of China, the tea ceremony isn’t historically so much a ceremony as it is a method. Lately, though, it seems to be turning into a bit of a fashion in this region as well.

Back in the post “Hell Freezes Over (And Other Cultural Changes Afoot in China),” I alluded to the fact that folks in Fujian’s Jinjiang area, between Quanzhou to the north and Xiamen to the south, are even making the art of brewing tea a competitive social event, replacing some of the older social habits in practice when men get together to talk business:

So if men aren’t offering each other cigarettes and drinking themselves into silly stupors with bai jiu when getting together at one another’s home or sitting down to talk business, then just what are they doing?

The answer contains a new twist on an old theme: around here, they’re now into seeing who makes the best pot of tea. And I don’t mean just putting the kettle on and pouring it out. There’s a skill to it, and a great deal of competitive pride, and all this seems to have revitalized the tea culture here in southeast Fujian province in a way that’s quite surprising to me. They’re even showing up at each other’s homes or businesses with their own tea, which formerly would have been unthinkably rude, and with small portable tea sets.

The method of making tea in this region is referred to as Gong Fu Cha (功夫茶), or if you prefer, the “Kung Fu Tea Ceremony.”

What the novice will notice first in this “Way of Tea” is how small the teapots and teacups are. The first time I was served Gong Fu Cha style tea, I felt like we were using little girls’ dolly-size make-believe tea party cups and pots. They’re that small and dainty. Not like in Chengdu, where your manly tea cup is nearly larger than your rice bowl.

But in the Gong Fu Cha “ceremony,” it’s about quality–aroma and taste–not quantity, something that took me quite some time to appreciate. Put another way, Gong Fu Cha is about tasting, not drinking. In any case, I’ll attempt to describe this method in this, my

Lao Wai’s Illustrated Primer of Gong Fu Cha

Before starting up the tea brewing, make sure you’ve got all the necessary tools of the trade–at a minimum, that probably means a drip tray, a teapot, a tea pitcher, tea cups, and the tea itself. Let’s take a look:

Instead of big bags or containers of loose leaf tea, the locals now go for these small containers with airtight individual serving pouches. These small canisters contain perhaps 10-12 packets, each with enough tea for one small pot and between a few and several brewings each:

You’ll also need a drip tray to catch the spills and overflows. Most driptrays in everyday use are plastic, with a catch-pan that slides out to be emptied, but you can splurge on fancy ones carved from rare wood if you like, decorating them with all sorts of little ceremonial tea knick-knacks:

Then comes the teaware proper. In addition to the small teacups on the left and right, here we see the brewing pot (many of which lack a handle, as pictured), the tea strainer, and the tea pitcher:

Next, on the left, we see that some fancier driptrays have hoses that drain into two-level receptacles: Trash goes on top, overflow water and tea is piped into a secondary bucket below. As shown on the right, you’ll also need a method of boiling water. This year, everyone seemed to be using this particular model from Japan:

And by the way, just as a cultural aside, teacups aren’t typically taken away for a good sudsy washing between uses, just “sterilized” by either dipping them in boiled water or pouring boiling water over them:

And in case you’re wondering: Yes, I have been served teacups with remnants of lipstick on them before.

Next, put the tea in the brewing pot, and fill it to the brim with just-boiled water:

I’ve noticed two approaches to the next step. Some people quickly drain off this water as soon as they’ve poured it, in order to “rinse” the tea leaves, then refill immediately to start brewing. Others use the pot lid to “scrape” any foam or bubbles that appear from the top of the brew:

In either case, many tea brewers then use the pot lid to gently “press” the tea leaves, perhaps helping to release better flavors.

I like my tea a bit stronger, but most folks let it steep for less than a minute.

After this, you again have two choices.

If you aren’t using an intermediary tea pitcher (and are more likely brewing in an Yixing style pot with a spout), you will have moved the tea cups into a bunch in the middle of the drip tray, and then will pour the tea out over the tea cups, circling over the cups a few times, so that they’re all gradually filled at about the same pace–meaning that they’ll all end up at about the same strength. If you were to fill one cup first, then move to the next, the first-poured cups would be too weak, the last ones too strong.

If you are using a tea pitcher, you’ll instead pour the entire brew into the pitcher, using the lid to hold the leaves back, so that the tea mixes to an even strength before you pour it into the cups. Note the strainer placed into the pitcher to catch any stray bits of leaf or stem:

Now pour out into the cups:

If you’re feeling all fancy, use one of these contraptions to move the tea in front of your guests:

Last step: Enjoy!

In case that was all too remedial for you, try this Wikipedia entry, which takes a more linear approach to Chinese tea ceremonies. This one adds a few more details.

This trip to HK was also the first time I’ve ever visited Hong Kong Park.

Which makes me an idiot on all my previous visits, because it’s an amazing place, with enough scenes and attractions to fill an entire day, if you’re so inclined. Ponds with koi and turtles; walking paths; a restaurant or two; an aviary; a large 5-level playground built on a hillside; a marriage registry office (bring your camera); waterfalls; flora and fauna; a tea and teaware museum; plenty of backpacker chicks on benches pouring their lonely hearts out onto the pages of their diaries; the Hong Kong Visual Arts Centre; and more.

We took in all we could, but probably spent more time than anywhere on the extensive multi-level playground, built in broad stages going up the hill, and which for most of our visit was populated only with (1) me and my daughters and (2) a handful of international nannies and au pairs with their young charges. I chatted with a couple of them and overheard some others’ conversations–pretty fascinating combinations. Japanese nanny with kids from England. English au pair with kids from India. Hong Kong nanny with kids from the U.S. American nanny with kids from Japan. Even one rare Hong Kong nanny/Hong Kong kids combination.

And here are some pictures and a video from our visit….

Look! There’s a signpost up ahead…:

Turtles and fish in the background; they really really really wanted to catch one:

Scenes under the waterfall:

Flora:

Video demonstrating how the park is in a “fishbowl” surrounded by skyscrapers:

Definitely worth a visit for anyone, but I’d say it’s a must if you’re in Hong Kong with your kids. For more information on the park, check out the Hong Kong Park’s own Web site, and this Wikipedia entry.

Related:

But for my daughters and me, not so much. A whole day of shopping would be too much for them, and I’d rather have a root canal with rusty pliers than shop, so the youngsters and I took off by ourselves in the opposite direction just to explore and play and see what trouble we could get ourselves into.

The big idea was to slowly explore and make our way to Hong Kong Park. We did that, but soon after reaching the park, it began to rain, so–irony alert–we headed back into the shelter of the nearby Pacific Place shopping complex for the rest of the afternoon…which for pre-schoolers can have about the same effect as visiting the park. You know, ride the escalators umpteen times, play hide and seek in Hong Kong Seibu, that sort of thing.

Here are some pictures from that day’s adventure–right up to the point when the rain began.

The girls all ready to hit the pavement on our way out of the hotel room:

Riding the subway from North Point to Central:

On a roof across from the Bank of America Tower:

Just hangin’ out, watchin’ the world go by:

In front of a map outside Hong Kong Park:

At the playground in Hong Kong Park, just as it started to rain:

Next time: Our return trip to Hong Kong Park

So this time we went…but because I was either having a pre-senior moment, or because I’d just spent a good spell in mainland China, where this probably wouldn’t have been a problem, it didn’t occur to me that children ages 2 and 4 wouldn’t be allowed into the raceway proper. No one under 18, for that matter. Silly me. What’s the world coming to?

But all was not a total loss. The kindly security guard who intercepted us as we were coming through the entryway turnstiles let us know that there is a public trackside viewing area down to the right of the main stands. From there, you (and your kids) can still catch a decent view of part of the track. You just can’t bet on the ponies down there. At least not using the track’s sanctioned betting system, that is. But if you and some other chap who has also brought his kids along want to wager a few fiveskies between yourselves on the sly, that’s left entirely to your discretion. Just make sure the authorities–and more importantly, your wives–don’t catch you.

On a more serious note, don’t even think of betting with illegal bookmakers in HK. The maximum fine for that is HK$30,000 and nine months in the slammer.

Here are some pics and videos from the outing…

Getting the turf ready:

Checking out the scene:

Horses!:

The crowd goes wild:

I wonder if the people living in those apartment towers across the way can phone in their bets then watch the races with binoculars and telescopes:

A tiny bit of grainy video footage:

For a “What Web Sites Looked Like in 1996″ flashback, you might like to visit the race track’s own Web site.

Some of the figures represented in marionette form are exactly what you’d expect.

The Tang Dynasty sages and The Monkey King marionettes, sure, no big shock there.

The marionettes representing soldiers in the Chinese revolutionary war, OK, that seemed to make sense after I saw them.

However….

The set depicting a pair of Japanese “Little Barbarian” invaders and their captive Chinese prisoner, well, that was as startling as my 2-year old’s follow-up question: “Daddy, why he got a doggie chain ’round he’s neck?”

Anyway, here’s your visual tour of just some of the Quanzhou Marionette display cases…

This first marionette is a replica of one found in 1979 during the excavation of a West Han Dynasy tomb in Shandong Province. The tomb and marionette were estimated to be over 2000 years old. The original marionette is as tall as me, 193cm/6’5″, but the one on display here is just half that size:

Head case:

The Period of Japanese Occupation:

The Communist Revolution:

Note: If you’d like to plan a visit to the Quanzhou Marionette Troupe Headquarters, Bill and Sue Brown have some additional information–including lots more background on Quanzhou Marionettes–for you over at Amoy Magic.

To visit the Troupe’s own Web site, in Chinese and with embedded midi audio on every page, go to http://www.cnqzmt.com.

I’m fortunate in that one of my former student’s in-laws live and have an optical shop just a short walk from the Troupe’s small campus, so we were able to arrange a private tour and demonstration on fairly short notice. (You can do the same; I’ll point you to how in a follow-up post.)

You have to understand, though, that this marionette art is far more than fancy puppetry. Some of the marionettes have up to 36 strings to manipulate, and they’re all important, but a master puppeteer can bring them to life. And I don’t mean just “making them walk like real people,” but making you feel that there are real emotions and unique personalities coming from each of the figures. And real, independent thoughts. Sometimes really evil independent thoughts. Like they remember some Opium War atrocity and are thinking of ways to exact their revenge on you.

Anyway, in a follow-up post, I’ll take you on a tour of some of the marionette display cases and rooms, but here are a few other pictures from our visit to set the stage, so to speak.

The Troupe’s training and office building, which are located at No. 24 Tong Zheng Lane, Quanzhou, Fujian Provice:

The entrance to the Troupe’s performing hall:

Mr. Xia Rong Feng, the Quanzhou Marionette Troupe’s Vice Director of Performers, demonstrates a marionette technique for us on the exquisite performance hall’s stage:

Another view of the performance stage:

A table full of banners in one of the troupe’s award rooms:

Next time: Meet the marionettes up close….

The Definitive Guide to Quanzhou Marionettes

From the 1990′s to 2003 the author followed four marionette theatre companies in the Quanzhou area. Based on this unique fieldwork the author describes both the theatrical and social context of the marionette theatre. He shows it as a complex entity in which elements of religion, ritual, language, history and social structure all come together. The study includes an analysis of the companies’ organization, libretti, music and puppets, as well as of the social and religous context of the performances and their ritual aspects. Its important insights into the functioning of a traditional form of theatre in the economically advanced region of southern Fujian provide a fascinating window on contemporary China.

About the Author
Robin E. Ruizendaal, Ph.D. (1999) in Sinology, Leiden University, is director of the Lin Liu-Hsin Puppet Theatre Museum in Taipei, Taiwan. He has published extensively on Asian puppet theatre.

Obvious premise: Put a foreigner in China–and by foreigner we mean a non-Far-East-Asian person–and the person is going to be stared at. A lot. Known fact, no need to dwell on it.

But in my nearly 14-year relationship with China, I’ve passed now through three types of staring. And it’s that third one we’re going to highlight today. Disclaimer: This of course reflects my own experience. I’m not, say, a woman with one African and one Latino parent, so yeah, we’re talking just Dumb White Guy in China stuff.

OK, then.

First type of staring: You’re a single Dumb White Guy in China. People stare at you sometimes like you’re a circus freak.

Second type of staring: You have a Chinese girlfriend, fiancee or wife. The staring sometimes takes on a different dimension: He must be a predator of some sort, deceiving our sister there into some evil foreigner type of relationship, or She must be a Gold-digger, looking for that green card, or…You go, girl!…planning to cheat him out of his extensive Lao Wai fortune, all of which he’s probably carrying around in that faded green backpack.

Now on to the third type of staring. I touched on this in an earlier blog entry, “Gawking on Gulang Yu: The Revenge Photos,” but here we are again.

Third type of staring: People stare not so much at you, or your wife, but at your kids.

Now, it’s fine if they look at your children in a pleasant sort of way, but when they stare en masse, and for far too long, as Jimi Hendrix put it, “That ain’t too cool.”

So there we were, my daughters and I, enjoying ourselves in front of the Lao Zi statue at Qingyuan Mountain.

I took some pictures of the statue, and was then taking some pictures of my girls, like this one:

But when I was about to take a later shot, I noticed that an entire line of tourists, like crows on a telephone wire, had caught sight of my youngsters and were staring at them like they were witnessing some sort of optical illusion, and simply could not avert their eyes:

They look amiable enough in this shot, but this staring went on for several minutes. We went here and there, and this group of people just followed us with their eyes the whole way. Yes, tour bus people, my daughters are adorable. And smart–they do vector calculus just for fun. And they’re extraordinarily well behaved. But C’mon, don’t overdo it.

If you see them, have some courtesy, have some sympathy, and some taste. Use all your well-learned politesse, or I’ll lay your tour bus to waste.

Even the girls, who generally learned to shrug this stuff off quickly, were starting to feel a bit uncomfortable.

I know what you might be thinking, so Yes, we could have left, but why should we? We made quite the effort to get there. And Yes, I could have politely asked these people to stop, but prior experience suggests they would not have done so, and it would have required taking the girls even closer to these folks. And Yes, I could have said some abrupt things to them to make a point, but that’s not my style–or at least not the sort of thing I want to demonstrate in front of a 4-year old and a 2-year old–so I just tried to keep the kids active and focused on other things…which of course these people ended up finding even more stare-worthy.

Finally, this group got up to leave. But one woman in particular just wouldn’t friggin’ blink or stop staring at the girls even as they were on their way out. If there had been a stone wall in front of her, she would have bumped into it. And I admit, by this point, I would have broken out into evil, evil laughter when she did.

As they came by us, I tried to make the point by taking this woman’s picture–that has sometimes brought people to their senses, even garnered an apology or two–but not even that phased her.

So here she is, Ms. Orange Jacket, who could not mind her manners and instead STARED AT MY KIDS LIKE A STUNNED BUNNY FOR TEN MINUTES STRAIGHT. This has won her a spot here in this next Revenge Photo, where you can now pretend to stare at her unabashedly for as long as you’d like:

Have a nice day.

Related:

Which is to say, ol’ Lao Zi spends his days looking out on a steady stream of Chinese tourists and the occasional Lao Wai, and has probably has more photos snapped of him each day than Brad Pitt, Angela Jolie, Jennifer Aniston, and Vince Vaughn combined.

And I must say, for being over 1,000 years old, the old fellow is looking remarkably good–that Thick Face, Stone Heart approach to life is to thank, no doubt.

Make your way through the entryway and up the footpath, and here’s your first sight of the Old Stone Man:

If our visit is any indication, one tour group after another comes along to take their pictures in front of the effigy:

Just after I clicked this one off, the two ladies on the left lost their footing and had to head back down to base camp before gearing up rejoin their comrades on the summit:

If you wait long enough for crowds to thin, you can catch a decent shot:

Here’s a close-up for you; I didn’t even bother to PhotoShop out the moss and lichen:

Next time: A personal PostScript to our visit….

My favorite book on Taoism/Daoism:

It is perhaps most famous for being the spot where “Old Man Rock,” often claimed to be Lao Zi (a.k.a. Lao Tzu), the founder of Taoism, has been sitting around now for well over a thousand years.

I first visited the spot in 1993. During our most recent visit back to China, I took my daughters there one afternoon.

The China.org.cn Web site spins Mount Qingyuan this way:

Located in the northern suburbs of Quanzhou, it is a beautiful rocky hill with clear streams and luxuriant woods. It has been a scenic attraction ever since the Tang Dynasty (618-907) and is known as the “first fairyland of Fujian.” The statue of Lao Zi- forefather and founder of Taoism-in sitting position on the hill is 5 meters tall, 7 meters deep, and 7 meters wide. It was made of a single piece of rock during the Song Dynasty (960-1279). The smiling face and flying beard of the statue bring to life the kindly character of this legendary old man.

Mount Qingyuan’s surrounds, or my memory of the area, or both have changed in the past 13 years. I recall Old Man Rock being in a fairly remote area away from Quanzhou, but apparently the city has matured and developed to the point that Mount Qingyuan now qualifies as being in a Quanzhou “suburb.” The road in and parking area are a bit more hospitable as well.

Anyway, to start a three-post record of our visit to this attraction — “It’s not easy to pad these things out to 30 minutes, you know…” — here are a few photos remarking “the way in” to see the Old Man.

My daughters just outside the entrance to the park:

Here, you can read this for yourself, “General Description of Hill Qingyuan,” which calls the spot “a grotesquely charming and relaxing place.” And I just love those end-of-line hypenation rules:

You can read this for yourself too:

Next time: The Old Man himself….

A thousand years of Taoist thought all compacted into two easy volumes: