CHAPTER 132

First written (Published in Evergreen News): 2011-12-08

Rewritten: 2026-02-25

I am deeply attached to the scenery of classical China. As for the new China, I - this wanderer - saw too much in too short a time. I could neither finish seeing it all, nor see it clearly.

From the moment I was officially placed on the liver transplant waiting list, I was warned not to travel far—only to remain within a two-hour drive of the hospital, lest a donated cadaver liver exceed its preservation time and waste everyone’s efforts.

More than half a year earlier, my wife had enrolled us in a ten-day “luxury” East China tour for overseas Chinese, at an unusually favorable offer . The listed price was CAD 288; after bargaining, we paid CAD 250. The service was far better than those CAD 99 extreme low budget tours.

When we learned that the doctor intended to arrange my liver transplant, we became even more determined to seize this heaven-sent opportunity. While I could still move about freely, we wanted to make a trip back to our own country and see China as it was in 2011. The itinerary was packed—more like skimming flowers on horseback. I can only briefly sketch a few impressions here.

The service on China Eastern Airlines was excellent, and arrangements were smooth. The flight attendants were professional, except for one outspoken attendant who stood in the aisle, loudly discussing merchandise trading and prices with a colleague. Room for improvement.

The staff at Shanghai Pudong International Airport were young, tall, handsome, polite, and friendly—completely overturning my impression from 30 years ago at Guangzhou Baiyun International Airport, where comrades wore loose clothing and looked stern and unsmiling.

Both the airport and hotel were grand and magnificent. A refined young receptionist learned that I had visited Beijing in 1985 and told me she had only been born that year. After dropping off our luggage, we, rustic fellows, ate Japanese cuisine in Shanghai. Only after the meal did we discover that tipping is not customary there. We marveled at it. In unfamiliar surroundings, we hurried back to the hotel under the streetlights.

Breakfast was abundant and buffet-style, including authentic Shanghai, Cantonese, Western, and Japanese options. Thinking we should adapt to local customs, I focused exclusively on Shanghai dishes—only to realize later that lunch and dinner were all Jiangnan cuisine: little meat, plenty of vegetables, oily dishes, freshwater fish full of bones, tiny shrimp, and chicken stewed until meltingly soft. At a table of ten hearty eaters, our stomachs rumbled audibly. On the third morning, we switched to a Western breakfast to rebalance our digestion.

In Hangzhou, we toured West Lake. It was as crowded as Victoria Park’s Lunar New Year Fair in Hong Kong. We walked along Su Causeway, climbed Leifeng Pagoda, and took a boat ride drifting past lotus blossoms—broad, upright leaves quite different from Vancouver’s water lilies. Mist and haze dimmed the sun; in all four directions, one could savor only the beauty of West Lake.

That evening we ate very small hairy crabs—bland in flavor. Later, we watched the grand song-and-dance performance “Romance of the Song Dynasty.”

In Yiwu, the wholesale markets were astonishingly mega—truly awe-inspiring. Merchants from the developing world streamed through in endless flows.

Wuxi (nicknamed “Little Shanghai”) was clean and had the freshest air. We then visited Hengdian Film Studio and toured the Qin Palace. The Qin favored black—imposing and severe—reminding me of Jing Ke’s attempted assassination of the King of Qin.

Wuzhen’s water town was simple and unadorned; Suzhou’s Lingering Garden was elegant and refined, with extraordinary grandeur. The Lingshan Grand Buddha site showcased cultural diversity. Even Suzhou’s wet market was clean, orderly, and odorless.

By fortunate coincidence, during the centenary of the 1911 Revolution, we paid tribute at the Sun Yat-sen Mausoleum. Reflecting on a century of national hardship, tears fell. Standing on the Nanjing Yangtze River Bridge, in Jiangnan and gazing toward Jiangbei, I bought a novel titled Biography of Li Hongzhang. A tour member asked, “Do you admire Li Hongzhang?” I replied, “…There’s no reason not to scold him—but no reason to scold him either.” After reading it, I found the tone somewhat flippant and was not entirely satisfied.

We returned to the Huangpu River to gaze at the hazy Pearl Tower—Oriental Pearl Tower.

I am deeply attached to the scenery of classical China. As for the new China, I—this wanderer—saw too much in too short a time. I could neither finish seeing it all, nor see it clearly.