Dear friends,
This writing plan has always been in my mind ever since I came back from a one-day trip three weeks ago, but I just didn't get around to it till now, when the heat has been washed away by a good bit of rain today and no assignments have been given to me...yet. So, here I am, sitting at my PC and looking out of the window through safety bars attached to it. What I can see from here is very different from my memories of the trip, where there were no bars, computers, or books,
but a lake as big as a sea, the sky blue as a sapphire, and sand as a colossal
piece of gold lying under the blazing sun.
Due to some reasons I rarely do overnight traveling. But this time, all had been arranged as Dad had some useful contacts in the other end. We left Urumqi the
night on June 20.
In the early morning on that very day, luck began its mayhem as Mom sprang her back in the bathroom. At nine o'clock, by which time I finished my breakfast and was about to do some computer work to cover up the time loss of the next day,
electricity was suddenly cut and would not be back until nine o'clock in the evening, just the time when our train departed. But, hey, what about our digital camera, which had not been fully charged! To solve this, Mom, with a rigid back,
had to take it to a building nearby where the electricity was available. (Oh,
I forgot to mention the eye infection she got the day before.) For three times
she climbed up and down the stairs of the fourth floor to check how our dear digicam was doing. The bad luck didn't stop there. The seconds after we stepped out of our apartment building, big rain drops fell down while only one patch of thick cloud could be seen. The seconds after we got on the train and took our compartment, rain drops turned to hailstones! It was not most unusual, but very
rare to have such a big hailstone shower here.
Finally, we settled in a quiet compartment. An hour later the train pulled
out of the Urumqi South Station. In the next few eventless hours I sat there, watching through the window that what could be seen in the twilight now become a
blur of grayish darkness. Suddenly, without any warning, a bolt of lightning pierced through the darkness far, far in the wilderness. It was like a thin, silver tree truck thrown to earth in a supersonic speed. I was awestruck. My first
time ever to get such a clear view of this natural force!
I am not a superstitionist or follower, I assure you, but was it God that sent all those disturbances to warn us, to stop us from going? Mom believed it was.
I had a very bad sleep that night, partly because of the sleeper which was the least comfortable bed designed on earth. But the major culprit was the eager anticipation of the next day.
"The next day", 21st of June, was a bright sunny day. One could almost smell out the afternoon heat by just one look at the morning sun, which seemed more dazzling than ever against a backdrop of the forget-me-not blue.
We got off the train at ten o'clock, and the city of Korle stood right before us
. After a quick glimpse of the city, we drove to our first tourist site. I had
liked it the minute I was told its name: Lily Lake.
If Korle honors Xinjiang with its famous title "Pearl in the Desert", then the Lily Lake is definitely a diamond of Korle. It takes a 25km drive to admire its
beauty.
Its beauty is most unique in the way it presents itself. Reeds, miles of them,
patch the emerald blue lake, poking right into the azure above. But if you look at the opposite direction, you'll find nothing but desert soil with drought-enduring weeds everywhere.
It was very quiet, the silence only broken by conversations of wasps and us, as
the day was not a Saturday or Sunday. Neither had the tourist season begun. Past a small suspension bridge, which looked very old with shabby floor-planks, we
came to a paved landing where speed-boat tickets were sold.
Life vests on, the six of us (the driver, two companions, Mom, Dad and me) sped
towards what looked like a border between the sky and the lake.
Seconds before there was great heat all around us; but now pleasantly cool wind
swept our faces as the pilot swiftly maneuvered his boat along, past, and through bundles of reeds. Wavelets were curling and curving behind, with splashes at
both sides and ripples ahead. A few minutes later, a bird took flight out of fright. I looked at it, and suddenly, a strange feeling struck me:
I am freeeeeee!
Soon, we came to what seemed like a small sand beach in the middle of the lake,
where we changed another boat and continued our journey to the lily area. Other
tourists, however, could just sink into the deck chairs there, drinking beers and enjoying the scenery of the green and blue.
But before we reached the area, what seemed like bubbles drifting on the water caught my attention. Oh, no, the water is polluted even in here! At this moment,
the boat slowed down, and I recognized what they really were. Down in the lake
, inches beneath the surface, waved millions of thick leafy lithe twigs, many of
which had overgrown and tipped their "heads" out of water to create those white
little circles that bore an exact resemblance of bubbles if looked from a distance. They were in different shapes and colors of green, vying with their above-
water neighbors for tourist attention and sunlight. The pilot told us this was
an "Underwater Forest."
About another ten minutes, the boat slowed down again, and the pilot announced the arrival of the area where grew wild water lilies. But where are the flowers?
We asked. All we could see was some kind of water leaf that somewhat resembled the lotus we usually see in pictures or on TV.
This is it, said the pilot, pointing at those leaves. Don't worry. There is a
larger growth just ahead.
So there was. With thousands of round leaves around them, the precious flowers
stretched their heads an inch or two above the water, many still in bud. Their
petals were purely white, glowing elegantly under the sun. Those few of them that blossomed were not wide open, as if they were protecting what was inside, though they were not strong bodyguards. I strained my neck to see what was inside
the flower. It was not easy, as the boat was not allowed to get close, but I saw it alright. It was yellowish something shaped like the heart of a sunflower.
On our way back, we learned from our pilot that the plant is in its best state in the early afternoon, when the sunlight is at its strongest. After the sun goes down, they will go to "sleep" and "wake up" again when the sun rises. This is
the reason that people call it "sleeping water lily". It produces blossoms in
most of the summer months, while its sister, the lotus is in bloom only in June.
Back in the minibus with a few reed leaves and loads of pictures, we proceeded to our next stop: Bostain Lake, the source of the Lily Lake.
The landscape out of the widow changed dramatically as we drove in the lake area
. Quite unlike what we had seen earlier, where only existed hard soil with dried weeds and Red Willows, sand, like gold powder, followed us all the way to the
lake, dotted by ponds and pools here and there. Nested in plants near the ponds
, birds took occasional flights across the ponds to what appeared to be a long blue ribbon over the horizon. A minute later, so it seemed, we came to a halt on a platform from which a bird's eye view feasted our eyes on the magnificent lake.
The time with the Bostain Lake wasn't quite fun as on the Lily Lake. No boat ride, no flowers, few greenery. Instead, we just ate away on the beach, protected
from the burning sunshine by an awning, thousands of water mosquitoes buzzing in our ears and a few of cute little toads at our bare feet. Before that, however, we rolled up our trouser-bottoms and walked towards the water. The sand is so hot! But, whooooh, what a wonderful feeling to step into the warm, silky water! The sand beneath, too, felt like the finest silk on earth. We kept onwards
until our lower legs were immersed. The water felt cool now, and it became harder to keep balance. Small fish swam inches around us. For a minute or two I really felt like I was in the ocean. The only thing missing was probably the plantation of coconut trees.
By the time we climbed up the stairs and got back into the minibus, half of the
afternoon had passed. The lake bid us farewell in its different hues of blue.
Most of us slept all the way back to the city.
The Korle City has been famous for its large green areas and clean streets. An
after-dinner walk by the Peacock River proved that it was not just a sheer brag.
Willows lined up against the steel rails of the river that ran miles westwards
from the Lily Lake with a long narrow open park where people could walk and sit
. It was very difficult, if not impossible, to find a scrap of paper or a mouthful of phlegm on the ground. Even in this stifling hot weather, no one was discovered sitting on the grass. Together from the earlier impression on it, I think the city is quite like me. Quiet, simple, young, and with a love for being clean.
There were several tall buildings under construction in a distance. And just like me, it is growing.
The start of the train at 8:52 pm drew an end to our trip. We lied down at half
past eleven, and after what seemed a second, the outskirts of Urumqi swam into
view.
Oh, home again!
Jenny
Saturday, July 15, 2006
