The Emperors’ Mountain Retreat: II

Kangxi was actually only the second Qing emperor to rule China. As a Manchu, he needed to win the loyalty of the Han Chinese, especially those who had supported the Ming dynasty the Qing had deposed. The Mountain Retreat was thoughtfully designed to achieve that end. The arrangements of the emperor’s quarters and the names selected for its structures were traditionally Chinese (the conviction that ‘sincerity’ would create a ‘tranquil heart’ is classically Confucian). And the gardens, as already noted, had been created to incorporate pavilions and geographical features from around China. Moreover, Chinese (as well as Mongol, Uighur and Tibetan) in addition to the Qing’s native Manchu, was used on inscriptions above doorways and on stele in courtyards, acknowledging the multiple languages in use in the empire.

The most stunning evidence of the Qing efforts to unite a diverse people are found in the 8 surviving temples surrounding the Mountain Retreat and the city of Chengde. Notable in this regard is the Putouzongcheng miao or temple of the Potala or Putuo Sect which was built to resemble the Potala Palace of the Dali Lamas in Lhasa, Tibet. It was constructed by the Emperor Qianlong as an appropriate site where his Tibetan Buddhist subjects could pay their respects to him on his 60^th birthday and one year later to his mother, the Dowager Empress, on her 80^th.

The temple complex is found on the side of a steep hill. At the bottom is a stout pavilion containing a stele recording the reasons for the temple’s construction (in five languages). Throughout the grounds are mock structures with false doors and windows designed to provide a suitable ‘stage setting’ for the main buildings. At the top is the replica of the Potola Palace which looms high above as one climbs the hillside. Some visitors take advantage of the sedan chairs for rent and are carried up the hill and the steep flights of stairs without any effort on their part. The rest of us labor up the slope under our own power.

At the top of a long flight of steps is a large terrace where four poles stand. Here the faithful can hang prayer flags purchased from vendors on the terrace. Climbing yet higher, there’s a courtyard within the palace where, during my visit, a young Tibetan with microphone was singing folks songs to a small audience. On the same level, within another courtyard, is a three story temple. After climbing yet more stairs, you emerge onto a terrace high above the city with fine views of the surrounding mountains. Here there is a yet another temple, this one containing a figure of Guanyin.

Impressive as is the Putouzongcheng miao, I was much more taken with the Temple of Universal Peace or Puning Si. Perhaps I liked it more because this temple is once again an active lamasery. As such it attracts many devout Buddhists, as well as tourists like myself.

Like the little Potala palace, this temple is modeled after another Tibetan Buddhist site, the Samye Monastery in Tibet. Like it, it contains many mock buildings. And, like the little Potala palace, it was built by Emperor Qianlong to (re)gain the good will of some of his Tibetan Buddhist subjects, in this case Mongolians whose rebellion he had recently put down. (Force as well as diplomacy was used by the Qing to create their empire.)

One enters the Puning Si through a gate located on a Chengde city street. Within is a courtyard with bell and drum towers and a pavilion containing a stele in Qianlong’s own words describing the construction of this temple (again in the five languages of the empire). In the center of the next courtyard is a large metal container filled with sand into which the devout place incense sticks whose smoke will help to carry their prayers aloft. Beyond it is the Precious Hall of the Great Hero (a reference to the Buddha’s ability to overcome demons) in traditional Chinese temple style.

Here young lamas are at prayer.

Farther up the sloping hill is the main temple building, the five-story Mahayana Hall. On the steps outside eight musicians performed in exchange for contributions from those who came to pay their respects.

Within is an awesome wooden statue of Guanyin, the Buddhist goddess of mercy (often likened to the Virgin Mary). Stretching four stories above the viewer, the statue is the largest sculpture of its kind in the world. The goddess is represented with 48 arms each with an eye in its palm. Below her clasped hands are another pair holding a dorje and a bell—a traditional Tibetan feature.

It is possible to climb a set of stairs within the hall to view the statue ‘eye to eye,’ so to speak. But I decided I preferred to view her from below where she towered above me. Instead, I went back outside and climbed a flight of stairs up the hillside to a terrace behind the Mahayana Hall. Here couples can purchase a lock and have it inscribed with their names. The locks are then hung from a chain where they weather providing rusty testimony to the couple’s shining and eternal love. Yet higher was a rockery with a small pavilion and a stunning view of the city below.

Happy Thanksgiving!

We’re going to celebrate Thanksgiving with some other foreign teachers. Got a turkey from Beijing (a very small bird with a very large price). We’ll have pumpkin soup (pie’s alittle too complex), baked and mashed potatoes, cranberry jelly, carrots, and cake for dessert. Despite the ingredients, I imagine it’s going to come out rather Chinese!

The Emperors’ Mountain Retreat: I

On October 1, 1949 Mao Tse Dung proclaimed the creation of the People’s Republic of China from the Gate of Heavenly Peace in Tiananmen Square. Mao and his once puny communist party had succeeded in ending a century of political chaos. The last emperor, Puyi, had abdicated in 1912 as a boy of 5 when efforts to establish a constitutional monarchy failed. Long before then, however, China had been racked by foreign wars and internal rebellions. The fall of the Qing Emperor Puyi, however, did not bring stability; it took another 40 years before the Chinese Communist Party was able to do that. And so, the Chinese celebrate the founding of the People’s Republic with a two day national holiday every October. University students (and faculty too), I discovered, get a full week’s holiday!

I decided to use the long break to visit Chengde in the mountains to the northeast where the Qing emperors had established a summer retreat for themselves. Most people assume that the emperors of China were Chinese. Not so. The last ruling dynasty was actually from Manchuria on the other side of the Great Wall. A summer place in Chengdu appealed to them because it was close to the grasslands in the north where the Manchu had their tribal roots. (It was also cool there, unlike Beijing where the summer heat is often unbearable.)

I had imagined that Chengde would be a small, picturesque town ringed by impressive Chinese mountains. Well, I got part of it right. It was set in mountains just like those portrayed in classical Chinese paintings. But small it was not. Chengdu is now a city of over 3 million people. (That shouldn’t have been a surprise, there are 1.3 billion people in China today and they have to live somewhere.) Despite its size, however, it is still visually dominated by the Qing emperors’ resort, now a World Heritage Site. Against a west hill is the resort itself, an impressive 3 ½ square mile area enclosed by a wall which stretches up and above the city, dominating the skyline. Surrounding the city are 8 colorful temples (once 11), most now restored and again visible on its hillsides.

The resort was begun in 1703 by the Emperor Kangxi and completed 87 years later by his grandson, the Emperor Qianlong. Both were remarkable men. Each had long and successful reigns in which China knew prosperity and peace. Each worked to unite China’s disparate lands and ethnic groups into one people, in one empire. Together they successfully incorporated Manchuria, Inner Mongolia, Tibet, Taiwan, and the northwestern region of Xinjiang, and together they unified the culturally diverse peoples over whom they now ruled. One can understand why the present regime admires their accomplishments and has chosen to restore Kangxi’s and Qianlong’s long-abandoned summer resort.

To enter the retreat, one goes through the rather ordinary, but ambitiously named, Gate of Beauty and Uprightness. Today you can use any of the three entrances; originally, only the emperor and his immediate family used the center passage. Beyond the first gate is a second, followed by a small courtyard leading to another gate (this one named the Gate of the Mountain Village Where You Can Escape the Heat) and a large courtyard. Here the emperor would sit on soft cushions and watch archery contests or receive dignitaries from around the empire. Beyond that courtyard is another (the Courtyard of the Tranquil Heart and Honor to Sincerity) with 42 pine trees. Facing it is a deceptively simple, almost rustic, seven bay hall constructed of cedar transported from western China and set on a low stone pediment. It was here that the emperors held formal receptions.

Within the hall is an imperial throne under a coffered ceiling. On either side are incense burners of cloisonné, storks (symbolizing longevity) and behind the throne peacock feather fans. The carpets and cushions are the imperial yellow only the emperor could use. All this testifying to the power and majesty of the Qing.

In a second courtyard beyond, is the Hall of Refreshing Mists and Waves containing the living quarters of the emperor. It was here that the unfortunate Emperor Xianfeng signed the Treaty of Beijing, ceding yet another defeat to the West, and it was here that he died in 1861. That was enough for his widow, the Dowager Empress Ci Xi ,who summered thereafter in the Summer Palace she restored in a northwest suburb of Beijing.

Beyond the emperor’s compound lies a landscaped garden. It was carefully fashioned to create a picturesque lake, steep hills, and a large grassy plain where tame deer wander freely. Throughout are pavilions where the emperor and his guests could admire a view, converse, paint, listen to music or read. Barge-like boats moved Qing aristocrats leisurely from shore to shore.

Among the more interesting structures, is the Pavilion of Literary Delights (what a great name for a library) built to contain Qianlong’s immense Si ku quan shu, a complete anthology of all the classics, philosophy, history and literature of China (all, that is, that met with the Emperor’s approval).

Each area contains references to regions of the empire. There’s a pagoda from Hangzhou in the south, the lake is modeled after the West Lake, also in Hangzhou, and the hills and grassy plain are intended to evoke Qing memories of Manchuria.

It is easy to understand how even powerful emperors would find release and relief in such a setting. Here are Kangxi’s own words describing the delight he felt there:

It is when one is beyond the Great Wall that the air and soil refresh the spirit; … the mountains are densely packed with woods ‘green and thick as standing corn.’ As one moves further north the views open up…instead of feeling hemmed in, there is a sense of freedom….

Before leaving, my tour included a trip north into inner Mongolia. Despite my better judgment I mounted a horse (some would say, pony) and set out onto the grasslands where Kangxi and has court had gone to hunt and compete with one another in archery and horsemanship. The vast expanse of steppe was exhilarating. Kiangxi was right; there was an undeniable sense of freedom!

Peter Gets Married

Peter is the young faculty member who has been given the responsibility of working with me and the other foreign teachers in the English department. Shortly after we met, he invited me to his wedding, along with my fellow foreign teachers, Barbara Burton, Tom Olala and Jim and Kay Tichenor. I was a little hesitant to accept his offer; after all, I’d only met him two weeks before. ‘Come’ he said. ‘Weddings are a most happy event and the more people, the more joy.’ (I also later learned that the Chinese still reckon the relative important of the bride’s and groom’s families by the number of guests each brings to the wedding.)

Unfortunately, I had not packed a suit, nor did I think a Marywood t-shirt would make it as a wedding present (especially because the t-shirts I brought were white, the color of funerals and death). I was quickly reassured by Kay that the guests would dress informally, and a gift of 100 Yuan in a red envelope was all I need provide.

So, about 4:30 pm on Saturday, September 15^th—a most auspicious day—I found myself at a restaurant in the nearby Nankai district of Tianjin. Picking a date is still important in China, and many weddings, as was true of Peter’s, take place near the Harvest Festival in early Fall when the moon is full. The pillars on the restaurant displayed the ‘double happiness’ symbol, virtually always on view at weddings. (There are several explanations of the origins of this symbol, at least one of which involves a diligent scholar who married a village girl—diligent scholars are popular heroes in traditional Chinese culture—as they should be.) Beside the door was an enormous photograph of the bride and groom in their Western wedding clothes taken several months before. A heart shaped string of firecrackers had been laid out on the ground before the front steps. Shortly after we arrived, they were set off to a deafening roar. No demons, we could be assured, would survive such noise.

The bride arrived next in a cavalcade of red cars. Red traditionally represents good luck and is still very common at weddings. (Earlier I had noticed that women guests were provided with a red barrette to put in their hair.)

Peter went to greet his bride, only to be forced by laughing friends to bow deeply to her three times before carrying her into the restaurant. The guests followed and were seated on the left, if members of the groom’s party, and on the right, if the bride’s.

Seemed to me that Peter had done well; the left side was very full. Next restaurant waiters brought candy, several types of seeds, and peanuts (representing the birth of boys and girls). While I struggled to crack sunflower seeds between my teeth, the guests milled about. Various people posed with the bride—her mother-in-law

(once an object of terror to Chinese brides whose household they would soon join), Peter’s foreign colleagues, and young bachelors who believe proximity to the bride will bring them success in their search for brides of their own.

Apparently, we were waiting for the ‘Master of Ceremonies.’ These are often TV or entertainment personalities—the more famous the better. Once he arrived, the bride and groom with ‘bridesmaid’ and ‘best man’ walked up the aisle to stand before him.

The actual marriage had already taken place in a government office when the couple filed their marriage papers with a clerk. The ceremony we were attending would include the exchange of vows, complimentary speeches from family, friends and supervisors and much kidding of the couple. Personal, embarrassing questions are the order of the day—‘when did you first kiss?’ generally produces some titters in the audience and a blush from the young couple. In Peter’s case, a vestige of the traditional tea ceremony was also included as the bride served tea to her parents-in-law.

But the most important part of this celebration was to be the wedding feast. This is traditionally paid for by the groom’s family. It is an important occasion on which they repay their friends and kin for their kindness in the past, and celebrate their son’s future happiness. Many Chinese parents of couples marrying today had to forgo any celebration when they married during the reactionary times of the Cultural Revolution or risk being denounced as counter-revolutionaries. Now they can make up for their hardship with an elaborate celebration for their son and daughter-in-law. (Earlier I had noticed on the restaurant wall a now ironic photograph of Chairman Mao greeting a worker in this restaurant years before—giving the restaurant some continuing prestige in Tianjin.)

While we were assembling in private dining rooms on the second floor, the bride was changing into a second dress (she would later don a third in which she would say farewell to the guests at the end of the meal). We were seated with the Chairman of the English Department and a Chinese member of the departmental faculty. I soon lost track of the number of dishes. They came one after another, in rapid succession. Traditionally, there should be 8 or 12, but I think we had more, perhaps 16.

Duck is commonly served, because ducks mate for life, and indeed we had a fine duck dish. But there was also fried soft-shelled crab, very tender squid, baked fish, pork, jellied meat, corn, deep fried hot peppers with sesame seeds, steamed bread filled with noodles, and, at the end of the meal, soup and fruit. Before we were through, the bride appeared and served 7-Up to each of the guests. (7-Up it turns out is thought to be a lucky drink, because the ‘uh’ in ‘up’ sounds like the Chinese word for luck.) She was now dressed in a more traditional Chinese dress, but not the Qin pao her mother-in-law was wearing. Before leaving, we thanked Peter’s father for his hospitality.

I left well fed and impressed by the remarkable adaptability of Chinese culture. Very old elements of traditional Chinese weddings had been combined with Mao’s secular socialism, and then overlaid with a veneer of popular western wedding traditions—and it all seemed to work.

Tianjin Normal University

Tianjin Normal University (TJNU) is remarkably similar in many respects to Marywood.

Both were founded as teacher’s colleges; both enroll many more women than men; both tend to serve first generation college students; and both are now comprehensive universities with many undergraduate and graduate programs besides education. TJNU is younger than Marywood, it was only founded in 1958. It is also much larger; it enrolls nearly three times as many students. And, I had been told, it had just opened a brand new campus.

I had already explored the old campus in the Balitai neighborhood. I liked its older buildings, they reminded me of other universities I had visited in China. I also liked the neighborhood. It was full of good restaurants, close to two of Tianjin’s best universities (Nankai and Tianjin), and near many of Tianjin’s major attractions. But I wanted to see the new campus where I would be teaching.

So on my first Sunday morning, I boarded the Number 8 bus and headed west to Tianjin’s outskirts where the city is establishing a new university district. I had been invited to attend an English department meeting where I presumed I would be ‘oriented’ and given what I needed to begin teaching the following day.

After a 20 minute ride, I arrived in a large parking lot filled with buses from all over the city. The campus was striking. But I wasn’t sure I liked it. The buildings are gray, angular, very modern, and somewhat severe.

They lack the warmth of the brick buildings on the old, Balitai campus. The campus also lacks the trees. Sure there are trees, but they are young, recently planted and barely leafed out. (I would later learn the students had nicknamed their new home, the ‘stick campus.’)

Peter was supposed to meet me at the yard where the bus had stopped. He is the young English Department faculty member who has been assigned to work with the foreign teachers, including me. After waiting 30 minutes, I decided I would have to find the College of Foreign Languages myself. At the first building, that of the College of Chinese Language and Literature, I met a young woman who took me over to the Foreign Language building where the meeting was to be.

On the way, we passed through a large circle, not unlike Marywood’s Commons, where a large, impressive fountain plays in different patterns on different days.

I was soon directed to the English department’s office and introduced to Gloria. Gloria runs the office, speaks excellent English and appears to be indispensable to everyone. I rapidly learned that the best way to get information or supplies was to ‘ask Gloria.’ Sure enough, Gloria supplied me with my class rosters and teaching schedule. I had been asking for both since I arrived the week before. No one, including Peter, had seemed able to help. It turns out that who teaches what and when is all worked out in the last days before the semester begins! It’s almost enough to make one appreciate Marywood’s registration procedures.

Students within a major are assigned to blocks of courses determined by their year at the university (first, second, third or fourth) and their section. Section membership tends to be the same for all four years, so you take the same classes with the same students for most of your four year career. There are few or no electives for undergraduates and few courses outside the major, those there are tend to be mandated (military training and Chinese political thought for two).

I was assigned to teach ‘oral English’ to six sections of second year English majors. I also had a graduate class of students in English Language and Literature and in Linguistics to whom I would be teaching ‘American Cultural Studies.’ For some reason, the graduate class was scheduled to begin four weeks after the undergraduate classes began. Each of my classes would meet for 1½ hours, once a week. I was assigned three classes on Monday and four on Tuesdays—and that was it. The rest of the week was mine to do with as I pleased.

As I was getting all this information from Gloria, Peter showed up. It was Peter who had invited me to the meeting. He apologized for not greeting me at the parking lot—the time of the department meeting had been changed; hadn’t anyone told me? And there was really no point for me to attend the meeting—it would be held in Chinese afterall. He showed me the office I would share with him and another foreign teacher and gave me a key to the door. That was my orientation!

As I rode back to the Balitai campus on the Number 8 bus, I reflected on my introduction to academic life at Tianjin Normal.

There seemed to be a heavy reliance on informal channels of communication. (Hadn’t someone told me the time had been changed?) Formal orientations weren’t really necessary. Most people already know the routines. When there is something new, someone they know will fill them in. Complete strangers like myself are very rare. Moreover, the department meeting, I later learned, wasn’t used to disseminate information. Instead, it was devoted to greetings and exhortations to achieve official goals (a little like Marywood’s faculty meetings). Such a meeting wouldn’t have meant much to me, even if I did understand Chinese. And, given the ad hoc , last minute manner in which schedules were put together, formal channels of communication would probably prove too slow and cumbersome to keep people informed.

It was also clear that neither students nor faculty had much choice in the courses they would take or teach. This was still a highly centralized system, despite the presence of a strong reform movement in Chinese higher education. Many Chinese faculty have now been educated in American graduate schools where they were influenced by many of the ideals of American education. As a consequence, more emphasis is now being placed at many Chinese universities on student choice of electives within a broad undergraduate curriculum. Evidently, these reforms have had little impact on Tianjin Normal as yet. Their proponents (at TJNU and elsewhere) hope they will reduce rote learning and foster greater intellectual flexibility and creativity. After more than 30 years experience with American higher education, I can’t help but wonder whether adopting American educational patterns is a very good idea!

Survival Skills

I had promised myself that I would work on my Chinese while I was here. I bought a text and a CD for aural work thinking that I would have the time and the incentive to develop some rudimentary, everyday Chinese. So far, however, they lie on my desk where I put them when I first arrived.

I tell myself that learning Chinese is too difficult, that I am not good at languages, and that I am too busy at the moment. More importantly, I am able to get by with only a few phrases. Here’s how I do it.

First, most Chinese will greet you with Ni Hao (you good?). To which I respond when I’m alert with Wo hen hao. Ni hao ma (I very good. You good too?) or more simply, Ni Hao. Some Chinese will also simply say Hello, but that tends to be young men on the street who are familiar with this single English word and want to try it out with a waiguoren (outside country person). Another important phrase is Xie Xie (thank you). The Chinese don’t use it as frequently as we do, but I find it helps and use it whenever I want to thank someone. They are likely to respond, Bu Xie (not at all). Duei bu si (I’m sorry) is also a very useful phrase. You will also quickly learn the word, Mao (none or not possible) as someone tries to explain in Chinese that they cannot do something for you. It is also important to be able to count in Chinese. Their system is very simple, but you do have to memorize the words and their tones.

The tones are one of the things that make Chinese so difficult to learn. One word can have four or more meanings, depending on the ‘tone’ with which it is spoken. So Ma can mean mother, or to scold, or horse, or linen and, when placed at the end of the sentence, that you are asking a question. In Mandarin there are only four tones: a high even tone, a rising tone, a tone that first descends and then rises and a descending tone (and sometimes, as in the case of ma, there’s a fifth neutral tone as well). Cantonese has 7 or 8 tones. The result is that a Mandarin speaker may not be able to understand someone who speaks Cantonese and vice versa. When two Chinese speakers cannot understand one another they will sometimes write down the characters; these are the same and so people from different parts of China can understand one another this way. You will occasionally find that someone who realizes you don’t understand their oral Chinese will start writing down the characters—which certainly doesn’t help someone like me a bit.

Second, get to know people who do speak Chinese. I am fortunate to have several veteran English speaking teachers here at Tianjin Normal. I will also soon have students who will be happy to act as interpreters in return for the opportunity to practice their English. When you anticipate trouble communicating, bring a ‘translator’ along.

Third, eat in restaurants where they display the food or have pictures of it or chose a cafeteria. You can then select what you want without knowing what the dish is called in Chinese.

Sometimes this results in a surprise—either pleasant or unpleasant. The dark drink I selected in a Taiwanese restaurant turned out to be plum juice—a nice surprise. Sometimes you can find a menu in Chinese and English. If you can’t find a restaurant with English translations, bring your phrase book or memorize in advance the basic name of the dish you would like. Ju rou is pork, nyou rou is beef, ji rou Is chicken and fan is rice. And most important of all Pi jou is beer!

(Don’t be surprised if the waitress brings you a warm bottle of beer—most Chinese beers are better drunk warm. The exceptions are beers that have been influenced by the German tradition of beer making—Tsingtao and Tianjin beers, for example, should be drunk cold and will be served that way.)

Fourth, if you are in a city, get a good map in English and Pin Yin and get your bearings as soon as you can. Walk around your neighborhood and then take longer walks. When you travel by bus or taxi, try to keep track of the route and memorize major landmarks. Have a Chinese friend write down your address in Chinese characters and memorize it in Pin Yin. If you are lost, show the map to someone and they may be able to point you in the right direction. (You may also find that a cluster of smiling and nodding people will gather around you each one of whom helpfully points you in a different direction.) If you are trying to get home, hail a cab and show your address to the cabbie. (Most cabdrivers in China are honest, but you do have to be careful around train stations and other places where tourists are common.) Be prepared to find that your cab driver doesn’t read Chinese; that’s why it’s a good idea to memorize your address in Pin Yin. Finally, carry a cell phone and call a Chinese speaking friend, if you’re really in trouble. They can act as a remote translator.

Fifth, don’t try to do too much. It takes much longer to do things in China, even when you are an ‘old China hand’ and speak fluent Chinese. The pace of life is much slower here. If you get one major thing accomplished in the day, you are doing well. Slow down and enjoy yourself. When you get back to the states you’ll find you miss the leisurely life you enjoyed in China.

Finally, never lose your temper or make a scene—only children or ‘bad’ people do that. It is always a good idea to smile. If you disagree strongly or wish to insist on something look very stern and serious—but don’t raise your voice or threaten. More times than not, your Chinese host or opponent will attempt to find a compromise or to placate you in some way. There is a very old and deep seated Chinese belief that people who are moral and good will always enjoy calm emotions and an even temper. I have watched American tourists get into deeper and deeper doodah because they raised their voices and grew visibly upset about something.

Oh yes, and it’s a good idea to learn Chinese. You’ll get a lot more out of your visit and your Chinese hosts will appreciate your efforts. I think I’ll start tomorrow!