Trip to Guiyang--A Symphony of Three Generations Part III 2
"Once a choice is proved to be wrong, you'll be very much unlikely to get on a right track." This is one of those little Chinese old proverbs that will discourage you and make you worried in your imagination. It is also a saying that tells the truth I discovered between Mother and her siblings, my uncle in particular
.
I first met my uncle when I was five. Everything is a blur now, except my memory of the moment when Father hurried me home to meet someone who came from "far far away," and whom I called uncle! My real uncle who was most related to me but
never heard of before! This was enough to entice a little girl into fascination, but he was carried here by a big big airplane! When he showed me the steel fork and knife and those little snacks with a plane printed on each of the bags,
I was entranced. How could this man be my uncle? He is not handsome with front
teeth too big to close his lips and with a pair of beady eyes too small for his
tough cheeks, but he flew here from far far away, like the Superman! Many years
later I learned that Uncle started to like me the moment he found me sitting by
our bed looking attentively at him while he was asleep (pretended to be, no doubt).
And I started to admire him from then on.
As the eldest child in the family with as much formal education as Mother received in a rural town, Uncle attended the College Entrance Examinations in 1978, a
year that changed so many lives hampered in the aftermath of the Cultural Revolution. Then driven by can-do spirit and hydro-geologic expertise, he worked himself from a technician up to a senior engineer and vice president in charge of technical work for a research institute of the largest hydro-geologic consulting corporation in China, and yet he was by no means a workaholic. Between endless meetings and business trips, he tried as often as possible to manage a few hours
being a chef at his parents' home. He had a happy marriage, in which he did most of the cooking and house cleaning. He also maintained a small vegetable garden on his roof where he got to relish his memory of helping on the farm years ago
!
And he seemed to be a man always readier to make quick decisions and to carry on
responsibility than any of his sisters. While it may be an important factor in
his success, this trait was definitely the reason why I found myself the morning on February 16, 2008 traveling in his car to the Huang-guo-shu Cataract, the second largest waterfalls in the world.
What a delight it was to sit by the window and see the world outside running past the familiar old buildings and streets that had been stuck into my life for the past 35 cold and wet days, and to something new and different ahead! And how
could I, even though in painful knowledge that Grandma couldn't come because Grandpa couldn't stand the 140 kilometer distance, hide my excitement when I learned that I was going to that place with a family troop made up of ten people!
It was easier to see how the "wild weather" had a major impact on Guizhou once we drove to the outskirts of Guiyang. Ice crystals were clearly visible hanging
on some tree branches in shadows. It was hard to imagine how the villagers fought the disastrous freeze up in these mountains, which had turned green by my northwestern standard, but obviously darker than locally usual. Where should have
been covered by yellow flowers of rape was now showing pitiful patches of gray and brown. Only tiny spots of green could be seen in a few places where did grow
rape. How many of us know, I wondered, that it is the pursuit of freedom in mankind that incurred such damage to ourselves?
With five passengers in each sedan, we continued to go southwest. In my joy of
either talking with Uncle and Aunt or simply looking out at the unique landscapes in silence, two hours passed unnoticed when a big "Welcome to Huang-guo-shu Cataract" sign came into view, and a few minutes later we got off the cars, only to find our stomachs cooing in hunger. After a simple lunch at a beanery that looked very much likely to give me a strike of diarrhea, we walked to the grand ticketing house for permits to see the falls.
In the low flow season, February was not a month good enough to visit the Falls.
It was Uncle who paid the entry fees, but I still thought 160/person was a little too much for natural scenery which, some years ago when there were no walls
built around, people could get a nice view at a bus stop nearby---free of charge
.
Stomachs full and pockets empty, we began our winding way down, down, down to the legendary watery grandeur Mother Nature presented to the world without asking
a penny of its children. On we went down steps after steps until a side vista of the falls peeked through the trees. Is this the world's second largest waterfall? I thought as I was looking down at it, which was in my opinion very much like a small bottle of milk spilt over a rugged tablecloth. Just when I stood there deciding if I should feel disappointed, ahead came a voice calling, "C'mon,
you'll have a lot more chance to see the falls!"
Thus we walked further down. Slowly the angle changed and what we were facing
now was the front of the falls, which had turned to a tasselled tablecloth itself, only more animated and dynamic, sparkling under the daylight. Thousands of silvery threads sleekly rushed over the rocky cliff down to the satiny river deep
below, splitting and separating themselves into millions of drips that jumped up and down a few inches above the water. Nano-sized dribbles that escaped from
the silver cloth flew with the wind and, though from a considerable distance, injected their cool moisture into the onlooker's skin. The sound was not deafening, but still we had to raise our voices in order to get heard. Many happiest minutes flowed away as I stood before the railings taking in the beauty and dew of
the falls. My first time ever to be so close to a waterfall! Hardly did I know at that moment that I was going to get closer still.
We continued our way downhill, and soon I found that the steps were all dampened
, and that the falls, now changed to simply a torrent of rain, were just inches
to our right side. It was no longer dribbles but water drops that hit my face.
According to my aunts and uncle, we were going to walk through the falls. In my excitement I was especially careful not to trip over the slippery cement steps
on which the damp became puddles of water as we walked towards the tunnel. Rain was getting intense on our right side, and on our left side the rocks protruded so low that I had to bend my back to avoid collisions of my head! A few minutes later we came to a panel that read:
Water Curtain CaveThe Water Curtain Cave may be rated as a unique miracle of the Huang-guo-shu Grand Waterfall. At the height of 40-47m behind the curtain-like waterfall, there
is a 134m-long cave running through it, including 6 cave windows, 5 cave halls,
3 fountains, and 6 passes.
We entered the "cave." Apparently "cave" is not a right word for a place where
there were man-made narrow steps leading to another exit. With rocks sticking out in a hazardous manner and water drops falling down on my neck and back, I did
not stop to look for the "fountains" and the "halls", nor did I try to understand what a "pass" here meant. But I did stop at one of the "windows" to look at
the falls just a step away. The water had transformed itself again from a tablecloth into a thin film through which the valley beyond looked as if it were shown on a television screen with snow in a dark room. The only difference would be
that the snow somehow enhanced the picture and, with a gushing sound, goaded the audience on to feel so amazed that a "wow" seemed ready to burst out from their lungs.
When we climbed out of the tunnel, large patches of the wet appeared on clothes
of each one of us except of my little cousin, who was well-informed enough to bring along his raincoat. Our backs to the falls, we took more steps that would
lead us further downhill. Past a suspension bridge, which really gave me suspending creeps with violent swings fueled by Aunts and Cousins behind, we came to the last viewpoint, where the waterfall towered over us like a arrogant giant who
just wore on his invisible head a gush of water as the his beard, the perpendicular part of which was 77.8 meters long and 101 meters wide. At its turning point where the water plunged and roared was a cloud of vapor hanging high above my
head at distance. The horizontal part of the beard, more peaceful and soothing
than its upper counterpart, was gently flowing over the two small cliffs and onto the farthest, carrying aqueous elegance along the way.
It was time to go uphill. As I retreated faceup to give the falls one last look
, I began to fully appreciate how petty and short-lived we humans are when compared with the works of Nature.
It is always more difficult to go uphill than downhill, but definitely not when
climbing the steps with a bunch of people you proudly call family who treat you
just the same. After what seemed like a surprisingly short time with jabber and
laughter, we arrived by the car, leaving the pouring sound of Huang-guo-shu toour memory.
In semi-darkness outside we hit the road home. My back against the furry cushion, I sat there staring at the window, but what I was seeing was not the scenery
running backwards. Before my eyes appeared the grand waterfall I observed at different angles.
Isn't life similar to the waterfall? I wondered. What seems to be a good choice made at a certain stage of one's life may be proven to be wrong later, and vice versa, when one enters another phase that gives him a quite different view of
life.
And that is what makes life both interesting and lamentable.
To be continued...
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