Hill with a Hole

Hired bicycles and pedalled through a mixture of narrow, barely cemented lanes and dirt tracks to Moon Hill, an impressive karst hill with a natural cresent-shaped hole in it. Stiff hike up but rewarded with fabulous views, as well as the sight of climbers making their way up a pretty challenging cliff-face. Amazing to watch them navigate what seemed like impossible overhangs. I did a little bit of rock-climbing in my teens, nothing too strenuous, and quite enjoyed the technical aspect, but not keen on the heights. 

    

Grantchester Meadows

This morning we somewhat reluctantly checked out of Yangshuo Village Inn and into its bigger sister hotel, Yangshuo Mountain Retreat. But if the former was great, the latter is perfect, sandwiched between a karst cliff and the Yulong River... which we wasted no time in rafting down. But this was no white-water adventure; instead a sedate punt à la Oxbridge. Liz even had a straw hat. Back at the hotel, the gentle music playing in the lounge even included Roger Waters' ode to lazy summer days by the River Cam, 'Grantchester Meadows' from Ummagumma. Someone knew their stuff.   
It's a small world. Staying in the same hotel are a British family from the Alyssa & Naomi's school, and we met another Brit family from Hong Kong who know our friend KC (they work for the same company). This often happens. I remember queuing up for the loos in a campsite in Brittany in the 70s and my teacher being four in front; or ten years ago when we first visited Beijing, bumping into some friends in Tiananmen Square.
Anyway, in the evening we went - without newly found friends - into Yangshuo town which 20 years ago was visited only by a few adventurous backpackers but is now full of (mainly Chinese) tourists. Its main pedestrianised street, Xilu, is a riot of cafes and tourist shops but it's pleasant enough. At times it was quite otherworldly, as the karst hills which loom over the town take on the appearance of darkened giants.  

No Room at the Inn

Next week China shuts down for National Day holidays but, owing to a flight mix-up, we've jumped the gun and at crack of dawn flew to Guilin in the deep south. It instantly reminds us of Thailand: the heat (30C), the greenness, the landscape (peppered with karst hills, like in Krabi), the fruit, the laidback people... Like coming home.
The flight mix-up also meant that our first night was in the Not-The-Hotel-We-Originally-Wanted, but it turned out fine. Lovely place, the sister hotel to the one we we'll be moving to, with an Italian roof-top restaurant called Luna, from which you can gaze at Moon Hill. 
For some reason - in my case, manic wind-down from work? - we had the hysterics all evening. A real tonic to be en famille and just laugh and laugh about nothing in particular. 

Wrong Way Round

Weird being in our new home. The tower we live in has two flats per floor. Our old one was on the right, the new one is on the left. So it's the same layout, but in reverse. This subtle change makes a surprising difference. Go into the kitchen and it looks the same but the oven is on the right, fridge on the left; the cupboards are all 'wrong'; and I can't find the light switches.

Aside from that, we're stuck with the landlord's furniture which is Fancy French Classical, too big and too much of it. Same with the lighting fixtures which look like they belong in the Louvre. And speaking of which, we can't hang up all our pictures. 

Still, we'll get used to it and make it ours... starting with the records & CDs.

Things in Public Spaces

Seph, who did all the work

Yesterday was kind of by the way. The real reason I came to Wuhan (with four of my team in tow) was for two big public art projects. 

The first was set in a massive housing development in the north of the city, with Architects of Air's Miracoco luminarium. It’s the ‘thing’ I saw in Edinburgh last summer with Liz and the girls. Fiendishly hard to describe, but let’s go with ‘giant, light-infused, multi-chambered, maze-like adventure-playground tent', beautifully designed & engineered for adults and children. Whatever, it’s dead impressive and has wowed people in 37 cities across the world. Surprisingly this is its China debut.

The opening ceremony, outdoors, was a scream. Big stage, guy-&-girl MCs, speeches, ribbon cutting, fireworks, gold cannons firing confetti and a finale of Abba’s Dancing Queen. And somewhere amongst it all, Robin Robertson read out his short poem, Donegal. I could see him cringing, especially when ‘sad’ music wafted from the PA, but it was saved by an excellent translation which brought a genuinely warm response from the audience. I've got to say it was a real slog pulling this thing off - not that I did much: new boy Seph did all the work. And the two managers from AoA who went through minor hell.  

From there we headed south to a press conference for our Poems in Public Spaces project, which is essentially Poems on the Underground but on the Overground. Great project. Together with the local Writers Association and Propaganda Department, we managed to secure 337 hoardings (many of them huge) on the overground light rail network, on which is a mix of Chinese and British poems. I spoke at a press conference, with one of the poets, Robin Robertson, and the really good Wuhan team who worked so hard to make it happen.  

I'm always proud of my team and the work we've been doing, but today it really hit home. They're fantastic. 

The Audience Halts

Early morning flight to Wuhan with Yuxi. Yes, it’s huge and sprawling but I rather like it. We visited Hubei Art Museum and Wuhan Art Museum, the latter for the first time. It’s in a grand, classical building, what used to be a bank, renovated four years ago. We were shown around by Mr Liu, Deputy Director, including an interestingly presented exhibition on traditional ink painting. Instead of simply hanging them on walls, limited numbers of visitors sign up for exclusive ‘private viewings’ complete with tea ceremony, the artist explaining the works on a table top, and an opportunity to try painting something yourself if you wanted to. It was a zen-like experience, perhaps a little elitist – but then that kind of art was always by and for the few.

It was hard to imagine the Rankin exhibition here. I couldn’t think of anything more different. Lovely signs in out-of-bounds areas by the way, poetically saying “The audience halts”. 

A Poem about a Daughter

Continued packing, but eventually curtailed by dinner with the poet Robin Robertson who's just arrived from London. Together we'll go to Wuhan for our Poems in Public Places project. Meanwhile, we got to know each other over Yunnanese food. Like me, he has two children, both girls. Here's a poem called Donegal, about the elder of the two: 

Ardent on the beach at Rossnowlaghon the last day of summer,
you ran through the shallows
throwing off shoes, and shirt and towel
like the seasons, the city's years,
all caught in my arms
as I ploughed on behind you, guardian still
of dry clothes, of this little heart
not quite thirteen,
breasting the waves
and calling back to me
to join you, swimming in the Atlantic
on the last day of summer.
I saw a man in the shallows
with his hands full of clothes, full of
all the years,
and his daughter going
where he knew he could not follow.

Lovely.