Karolina Wróblewska is a Shanghai enthusiast. She has lived there for over a decade, mesmerised by old Shanghai lanes and their inhabitants. Trained in sinology, she enjoys Chinese ink wash painting and writing about her Shanghai experience.
Guilin Park
It was pure naivety on her side to go to a park in the middle of October holiday to seek some tranquillity. She realised that as soon as she reached Guilin Park on Wednesday morning. Renshan renhai, as they say in Chinese, which literally means people mountain people sea, or in one word – crowded.
It felt unreal to be surrounded by this sea of people while in other parts of the world people sought shelter in their homes, and were advised not to leave their seclusions unless necessary.
Nevertheless, she was determined to find a quiet spot, away from the crowds, where she could open her drawing pad and do some sketches of nature, pretending it was a remote place, somewhere in the country, not a busy park in the middle of one of the biggest cities in the world. She spotted a little pavilion on a tiny hill. To find the way to the top of it was not easy, because the stairs were hidden among tall trees and bushes, and there was a pond on the other side of the hillock.
She was surrounded by vivid colours. The grass was dazzling green. The sun shone brightly, the sky was perfectly blue and so was the still water of the pond, mirroring the heavens. As if to complement this idyllic ambience from time to time she could sense the sweet fragrance of Osmanthus blossoms. The most marvellous and ephemeral scent ever.
Her chosen spot looked completely deserted but while she was climbing the winding stairs she noticed a man coming out of nowhere, aiming the same direction. They reached the pinnacle at the same moment. The situation was awkward. It was obvious that both of them wanted to be left alone, but none wanted to withdraw. The spot was too perfect to give it up easily. The pavilion was surrounded with a short concrete fence, and the passing which constituted an entry to the little square in front of the building was blocked by a blue tape, so none of them could give way and go to the opposite side. She put her bag down, he put his flask on the wall. “He might as well stay,” she thought generously, after all, she wanted to avoid crowds not a single person. He must have thought otherwise because, after a while of hesitation, he grabbed his glass flask filled with tea, which has probably been refilled many times, and turned to mildly rusty colour, and left.
Pretending to be indifferent to the situation (although she did feel guilty a bit), she took out her sketchbook and pencils and sat quite restfully on the short wall. As soon as she made herself perfectly comfortable she heard the sound of a whistle. She looked around, and as could be expected, there was a guard down the mound near the pond pointing at her and shaking his head as if saying, “sitting on the wall is not allowed.” “I should have brought my bamboo chair” – she thought. People do bring strange objects to parks all the time. People here carry strange objects around the town all of the time! No one would be surprised or indignant. Even today she saw old men strolling around the park lanes with beautifully ornamented cages and birds inside them. Not to mention all those senior citizens with their own foldable stools that frequented subways during rush hours.
Let alone strange things that happen here all the time. Just yesterday she had witnessed that utterly surreal scene. She walked down Shanxi Road when suddenly someone walking a dog came straight at her. As she stepped sideways to let them pass she nearly bumped into a pig! It was quite a handsome pig with grey patches all over its pink body; as if carrying a map of the world on its back. The owner, a young man, was pushing his pet gently forward with nudges. Would anyone pay any attention to a bamboo chair if she brought it to the park? Very unlikely. She caught eye contact with the guard, made an OK sign with her hand and stood up, just to lean against the wall, which was less comfortable but still acceptable.
She created a little view of a pond with a small stone bridge over it, with an old crooked tree, a strange stone, so-called guai shitou or gongshi, and a pagoda in the distance. Gongshi means Scholar’s rock and is a must-have element of a traditional Chinese garden, and so should also appear in landscape paintings. Three places in China are sources of scholar’s rocks. The ones in Shanghai are the most probably from Lake Tai area, from neighbouring Jiangsu province, so are called Taihu stones (Taihu shi). Their appearance must be very unique, the shape irregular, and they have to have some holes and cavities in them. And so she placed a big and perfectly irregular Taihu shi in the foreground. Her sketch emanated calmness. The place she created was quiet and deserted, and so black and white compared to the bright colours of the nature that encircled her on that perfectly sunny day.
She has always been surrounded by woods, she thought dreamily. The view of the crippled tree made her think of those handsome, tall trees in her Chinese name; Lin sounded dignified and earnest. Funnily enough by adding merely three drops of water to her two slim trees you would get yet another version of lin – a shower; thousands of little tears. But it was a bright day with no threatens of showers.
At some point, by the corner of her eye, she noticed the man with the tea flask on the other side of the pavilion. There must be another way up the mound to the other side of it. He placed his bottle on the wall and put his hands together in prayer. He bowed several times and was gone.
She witnessed a great and clandestine scene, she thought. The park was once (at the beginning of the XXth century) privately owned by a rich gangster. She knew that much. It’s a very picturesque place full of magical hidden corners, beautiful pagodas, charming pavilions, tiny hills, old bamboo trees. The place radiates wealth and splendour. There is water, there is a mountain, elements of a perfect landscape much loved by southern Chinese.
Now, she was sure of that, she uncovered a great secret, she had figured out that the man (most probably) was a descendant of that powerful family. He comes to pay respects to his ancestors, intimately when no one is there. She was overwhelmed by solving the mystery. No one else, but she knew who the man was.
She continued drawing, occasionally disturbed by passers-by who probably wanted to take a photo with the house as a background. And they did with the pavilion and a foreign lady in the background. But she did not mind… She drew.
At one moment “a descendant” of the rich gangster appeared again with his glass tea flask and a middle-aged couple and gesticulating was explaining something to them vividly. “So what is this place?” she asked as if in passing, pretending disinterest, but in fact deeply curious to hear about his family secrets. “It’s Guanyin pavilion, you know?” She turned back, and behind herself she noticed a large board hanging above a beautifully carved front door. The sign in huge golden characters on black background clearly stated Guanyin ge. She realised once again that she tends to be carried away by her imagination quite some times.
Of course, she knew the slim statue of Guanyin, seen so many times in Buddhists temples. “She is the Goddess of Mercy, you know?” “I do.” And upon realizing that she can understand what he says, he explained with great engagement: “You see those twisted stone stairs? They are so tricky, that old person should not try to climb them. And do you know why? Because human life is intricate. In the course of our lives, we deviate from the straight route. That’s why our life path is not straightforward, just like this path up the hillock. Now we must climb up this mound to seek Guanyin’s mercy and forgiveness, repent the sins, you know?”
The couple was still there, mesmerised by this surreal scene. It seemed there was something wrong there. A Chinese man was explaining some intricate stories in his mother tongue using sophisticated expressions to a foreign woman, and she nodded as if in understanding. “Do you understand what he says?” – a man asked in disbelief. “I do,” she replied and immediately was overpowered by the feeling of losing the ability to comprehend this foreign speech. It happened repeatedly before. Often when someone praised her language skills she froze and blocked the words from her ears.
As expected, from that moment onwards she couldn’t grasp the meaning of what he was trying to convey. “Blah, blah, blah, you know?’ “No,” she admitted with shame. “No?” now he was surprised. “It’s history, you know?” She might as well keep on nodding, after all, she knew he was introducing her to the history of Guilin Park, which was not owned by his ancestors after all, and which she could later google. So she was “nodding in advance.”
And later on, she did make it up and learnt that the residence was built by one of the three most infamous Shanghai criminals, Huang Jinrong, in 1929. Even Wikipedia states his occupation as a gangster!
Huang and his family moved to Shanghai from Suzhou when he was only 5. He was a good and obedient child. As a young boy, he worked as an apprentice in a picture framing shop near Yu Garden. Back then he did not show any signs of making a gangster. Later on, he shifted to work in his father’s teahouse. Here he found opportunities to make connections with the underground world and built his first gang. He led a double life. In 1892 Huang entered the French Concession police force and became a detective in the Criminal Justice Section. He proved to be an outstanding detective. Doubtlessly thanks to his wide connections in the criminal world. Having built a broad network of informants he had great achievements. It is said that he used to accept bribes and gifts while receiving visitors in his teahouse. “Friends” would pay for dropping investigations, or intensifying the investigation on their enemies. He worked for Police force while running his profitable “business” at the same time, until his dismissal. Some say he crossed a line by beating in public a son of one of Shanghai Warlord in 1924. He was even arrested but soon released thanks to the help of his faithful friends; two other prominent figures of The Green Gang – Du Yuesheng and Zhang Xiaolin. Some say he simply retired in 1925. After that, he entirely devoted himself to the shady businesses of qingbang triad.
He must have sinned greatly throughout his life. Now she understood the need of those winding steps up the hill to Guanyin Pavilion climbed to repent of sins. She understood also the meaning of qingbang repeated by the old man in the park as if the alien word would be more understandable if is repeated enough number of times (qingbang meaning green gang).
“Blah, blah, qingbang, blah, blah, qingbang (…)” the man perorated. The situation got a bit awkward, she was not sure whether to nod or to shake her head. Maybe her face expression was not showing enough understanding or emotions, because she was soon left to herself again in the pious vicinity of Guanyin. Not for long though. Soon a rather very elderly lady, with heavy make-up, wearing a traditional dress (from some ancient times), with bizarre ornaments in her hair and a silk flat fan with a wooden handle, so-called tuanshan, appeared with a male photographer. Lin put her sketchpad down and looked at the scene with a certain dose of disbelieve. The woman was looking fantastical, as she posed with grace half-hidden behind the fan. She was mesmerised by the absurdity of that scene. There were other people like herself here, acting as if they existed in another world and a different era. They too left her alone, soon afterwards.
The drawing was nearly completed; an idyllic picture of a non-existing landscape, an idealized world. From far away she could hear a man’s voice. He was singing old Shanghai hits, she knew them from the soundtrack of “In the Mood for Love” by Wong Kar Wai. Her favourite movie. “Huayang de nianhua”. She was moved by the feeling of nostalgia. “Ruguo meiyou ni”. The tune made her emotional. Nage bu duo qing”. She wanted to run down the winding stone stairs to listen to it at close range. It didn’t matter that the old man was not a first-class singer, but just merely a neighbourhood songster. “Ni zhen meili”.
She eventually went down the stairs. Down there people were doing more strange things. Some women were dressed up in traditional Chinese qipaos, made of shiny colourful fabrics. They posed with paper sun umbrellas, which were as colourful as their qipaos. They would raise their hands high up and freeze in that pose like statues of ballerinas or dancers accidentally scattered around Guilin Park. Their shadows were dancing simultaneously with them as they changed their postures. They looked somewhat grotesque but heart-warming at the same time. They were all smiling and laughing, clearly having a good time, indifferent to the glares of onlookers. They did not mind little kids running here and there around the place, adding ambience to that spectacle. The weather was splendid and the photographs would look fantastic on their moments on Social media.
Eventually, she made it to the open-space gallery where an enthusiastic crowd was just applauding the home-grown singer. He was still singing some old hits to the great delight of people. There he was, dancing and gesticulating with exaggeration to the rapture of gathered Shanghainese ladies. It was an extraordinary and peculiar performance. The crowd was clearly in a festive mood. Everyone was so cheerful and joyful, you could tell it was the middle of the long October holiday, and for a moment people forgot about their worries, everyday problems. As if the world outside Guilin Park was an entirely different reality.
But the sun will only be up for a few more hours, and eventually, before dusk, they all will have to wrap up their belongings and return to the real world, and people mountain people sea will flood Shanghai streets again.
October-December 2020.