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The way to appreciate Hangzhou is on foot, not from behind the wheel
By Wang Yong |
April 16, 2009, Thursday
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A FRIEND of mine drove to a tea farm in Hangzhou over the weekend for fresh tea and air, only to find her car scraped by an angry farmer wielding a sharp branch.
"You guys have spoiled my quiet life," the old man shouted to all the tourists who came in cars. In a burst of temper, he grabbed a branch and damaged the paint job on every car parked near his home.
He is an exception among tea farmers who usually welcome visitors to spend a weekend in their hamlets and huts, drinking and buying freshly picked tea. After all, visitors are a source of revenue.
But this gent didn't attack anyone who arrived on foot. He hated only cars that came in large numbers.
That day, my wife and I were visiting a different tea farm in Hangzhou. While we walked all the way from West Lake to the tea farm, we saw lines of cars moving at a snail's pace at the entrance of the farm, ruining its bucolic serenity.
I may have erred on the side of cynicism, but like the old farmer, I really hate cars. I studied in the United States for two years and returned home only to surprise my friends when I told them I had never attempted to learn to drive in a country where everyone drives.
On Saturday, my wife and I got up at 5:30am to catch the earliest train to Hangzhou. After a short lunch on the tea farm at noon, we walked briskly in the mountains for about seven hours - nonstop - and returned to Shanghai at night.
The mountains are not very high, but some parts are steep and slippery, requiring considerable stamina and deep appreciation of nature.
Appreciation of nature, however, is evidently not the aim of those drivers who would rather use the internal combustion engine than their own legs. They drive to a tea farm at sunrise, drink some tea, play cards and make a lot of noise, and drive home at sunset.
These drivers may have lived in cities for so long that they no longer appreciate the fragrance of the earth or the strength of their own bodies.
To many of these drivers, visiting a tea farm is just a new way of showing off their deep pockets, rather than enjoying nature.
"You guys have spoiled my quiet life," the old man shouted to all the tourists who came in cars. In a burst of temper, he grabbed a branch and damaged the paint job on every car parked near his home.
He is an exception among tea farmers who usually welcome visitors to spend a weekend in their hamlets and huts, drinking and buying freshly picked tea. After all, visitors are a source of revenue.
But this gent didn't attack anyone who arrived on foot. He hated only cars that came in large numbers.
That day, my wife and I were visiting a different tea farm in Hangzhou. While we walked all the way from West Lake to the tea farm, we saw lines of cars moving at a snail's pace at the entrance of the farm, ruining its bucolic serenity.
I may have erred on the side of cynicism, but like the old farmer, I really hate cars. I studied in the United States for two years and returned home only to surprise my friends when I told them I had never attempted to learn to drive in a country where everyone drives.
On Saturday, my wife and I got up at 5:30am to catch the earliest train to Hangzhou. After a short lunch on the tea farm at noon, we walked briskly in the mountains for about seven hours - nonstop - and returned to Shanghai at night.
The mountains are not very high, but some parts are steep and slippery, requiring considerable stamina and deep appreciation of nature.
Appreciation of nature, however, is evidently not the aim of those drivers who would rather use the internal combustion engine than their own legs. They drive to a tea farm at sunrise, drink some tea, play cards and make a lot of noise, and drive home at sunset.
These drivers may have lived in cities for so long that they no longer appreciate the fragrance of the earth or the strength of their own bodies.
To many of these drivers, visiting a tea farm is just a new way of showing off their deep pockets, rather than enjoying nature.
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