Hangzhou #1

We took the bullet train here, which was wonderful, fast, smooth; during the brief layover, guys with squeegees cleaned the entire exterior of the cars, not just the windows. These were the same trains, same route that crashed, killing 35. The sight of rice paddies reflecting the evening sky, from the window of a train going 240 mph. Hangzhou is misty and has a sound-absorbing quality. The water is satiny and mirrorlike. It is easy to see how it inspired poets. It is hard to know just what color the sky or water is. Though there are paddle boats and other signs of festivity, it is essentially one of those places that makes one feel quiet and alone on the earth. This morning there are a few men tickling the water with bamboo poles, but it looks like they are just catching sardines. Swallows swoop over the water. Each blade of grass has a dewdrop poised on the tip, ready to drop off. I am here with Max and found a companionable hostel, but he is sick and we leave early the next day. But not before a night walk and an early morning one. There is a famous reconstructed pagoda near our hostel. After a brief architectural dig revealing the stone foundation, the pagoda was rebuilt.  When you go in, you see the ancient foundation and a ceiling above; then go up a level and see the ceiling was a scrim, since you can look straight down through a glass floor and the scrim ceiling to see the foundation. As I left, it started raining in earnest and we left Hangzhou, me soaked and Max wilted.