My search for pagodas has taken me to many places from the secluded mountains of Korea to the bustling centers of China's busiest cities. I was ready then for another chapter in my search for these buildings which had begun as ancient Buddhist towers in India. My tour guide for this trip was a Shanghai native whose English name was Gastone. I had meet him a month earlier. He was an older gentlemen 73 years of age to be exact. Though our previous adventures are of some interest I will not digress into bearing further mention of them now. Suffice it to say that we had developed what may be best described as a close friendship.
Our journey would be begin with the first step that would take me away from my comfortable room and lead me to the subway. We would pass 10 stops in all as we distanced ourselves from the high rise buildings at the heart of shanghai. However we could not escape them entirely as fifteen story apartments still under construction greeted us as we exited. A group of men standing at the entrance asked Gastone if we would like a ride in their taxi but he just shook his head no. The private cars just outside the door confirmed what he had thought. They were just locals who happened to own cars, and they hoped to make some extra money driving people new to the area to the destination. They often charged more than the corporate taxis, and had developed a reputation of ripping people off.
Two police officers were also conveniently located just outside the subway and the old man went up to them and asked for directions to the QingLong pagoda. As the old man spoke with them I quickly gave up trying to understand what they were saying, and began to analyze their uniform. I always felt police officers in the US had a certain authority and strength, but that seemed to be lacking with these two officers, whose uniform did not include a weapon of any kind, nor a radio for that matter. As I considered how well I would do in a fist fight with both of them, the officers pointed towards a bus stop across the street. We turned around and began crossing the street to where they directed us.
In all my journeying I have never seen a less convincing bus stop. There was in fact no evidence that it was a bus stop at all, except for the fact there were a few people already standing there. It was a rather busy intersection with trucks, cars, motorcycles and occasionally even bicycles passing by. The mopeds were the most amusing to watch as they frequently showed no regard for traffic signs or personal safety as they buzzed through the intersection at times illegally. Some of them were overloaded with random things from bags to water jugs.
Our short wait for the bus seemed to be at an end as two buses came within site. The old man moved a bit onto the road as they approached. The first came to a stop right in front while the second one which we had intended to ride simply changed lanes and accelerated forward. Several of the passengers waiting signaled for it to stop but to no avail. One elderly lady seemed quite upset about the whole thing and she grumbled about it with Gastone for some time. I couldn't understand much but didn't need to as her frequent use of the phrase 不停 (to not stop) left little doubt in my mind as to what she was saying.
Her grumbling did not speed up us having to wait for another bus which would arrive 10 minutes later. The frustration however would only increase as yet another bus passed us by. By this time we both were feeling a little agitated and I suggested we continue on to the next bus stop which might actually look like a proper bus stop should. He agreed and we walked along heading in the general direction of where we had seen the other buses go. Our walk led us to cross a bridge which workers were working to repaint. It was indeed of need of it, but I thoght their efforts might have been better spent cleaning the filthy water below. The old man seemed to realize what I had been thinking as he mentioned that the river was actually much cleaner than it had once been.
Our attempt to find another station would also meet with failure however as a local man walking in the opposite direction informed us that we were in for quite a walk as the next bus was quite some distance away. He reassured us that buses did stop at the station we were at and that we should just backtrack. The old man meanwhile was getting more concerned it was not 4:30 pm, and he hoped to be on a bus before 5 pm, as from 5 to 7 pm he was unable to ride public transit for free. Undaunted however we returned to the bus station and continued our wait.
New faces now greeted us as apparently everyone else had been able to board a bus while we were gone giving some credence to the man's words. As we waited I noticed a man who was well dressed and seemed to know what was going on. I asked him if he knew where the Qing Long tower might be. He admitted he was not sure, but the old man went on to explain the general location of the pagoda, and the man seemed to know the area being referenced. I found it hard to understand him, but gathered some solace from Gastone's telling me that he had a thick local accent. The man informed us we could just follow him as we would need to transfer to a different bus.
A few minutes later we were finally able to board a bus. It was a short trip as within a few stops we were able to get off at a station that looked more like what a bus station should look like. There was actually an overhang with advertisements and a few maps outlining the major stops of the buses that came by. After a short wait we boarded another bus. The next fifteen minutes were quite an experience as nothing had prepared me for the country road we were soon traveling down. The street was scarcely wide enough for two lanes of traffic but aggressive farmers often placed carts filled with food onto the road leaving even less space for drivers who already shared the road with a number of mopeds whose slow pace often forced the driver to time deliberate acceleration to pass them before oncoming traffic became too close. This process of swerving in and out of lanes and speeding up and slowing down required a liberal use of both the brakes and the gas, but fortunately the driver seemed to have no problem doing either. My grip on the hand bar remained tight throughout and I was thankful to be able to change hands when a seat became available for the old man to sit on.
The trip ended without a mishap and we stepped off following the local who was getting off there as well. He pointed to a pagoda in the distance and then walked off. I looked at the pagoda with some disappointment as it did not match the one I had seen in the photograph. It turned out to be the WanShou Pagoda, which had recently been renovated. The old man and I both discussed the pity of renovating it, as an older pagoda would have been of more interest to both of us. However I had not come this far to see nothing, so we headed in the general direction of where the pagoda would be. We soon discovered that it was surrounded by a number of poorer houses, which seemed quite interesting to me. I shall not try to explain their appearance as I have pictures that you can see yourself. We soon found that the awkward maze of a road we were on did not seem to lead immediately to the pagoda. After several attempts to find a pathway we came to the simple conclusion that the pagoda could not be reached. I got as close as I could though and took the picture of the pagoda you see.
With our mission accomplished we began our trip home which would have to be delayed as the old man refused to ride a bus until 7 pm even though I had offered to pay for his and my ticket. So we walked to another bus stop and began waiting yet again. After 10 minutes I began to wonder how often the bus came and looked to see if I could gather anything from the route map. My Chinese is far from impressive but it didn't take as much Chinese as it did common sense for me to realize we had already missed the last bus which was to have stopped there 15 minutes earlier at 6:55 pm. I pointed this out to the old man, who was rather concerned by this development. He came to the conclusion that we would simply need to take a bus to the center bus station in the area and see if we could find a bus that would take us to the subway from there.
Fortunately it did not take long to execute the plan and we walked into the ill lit central bus station at 7:25 pm. The old man pointed to some benches inside and mentioned that we could sleep there if there were no buses and just catch something in the morning. I looked over to see if he was joking, but the realization that he wasn't caused a slightly increased degree of concern that was quickly dissipated as I noticed a bus schedule showing that there was an outgoing bus at 7:30 pm that would be going to the South Railway Station. As we got on board the old man told me that sleeping in the station wouldn't have been bad, and he told me of his 2 night stay at a McDonald's in Beijing just prior to the Olympics there. I nodded my head and spoke with him in a while in Chinese before we both fell asleep. I would arrive home at 10 pm thus concluding another chapter in my pagoda adventures.
