I got up from the piano; a few hours later I was listening to music on a plane.
The flights from Baltimore to Beijing were somewhat arduous but uneventful; the fact that China is exactly twelve hours ahead, though, made the adjustment easier. My wife, Nirmala, and I thus began a three-week tour of China and Tibet, along with a group of dance partners and others with whom we occasionally travel. We saw the usual things tourists see, which were quite unusual for us; this article, however, due to space limitations, will emphsize the rhythms, the pitches, the music we heard.
The first day we were on our own. We visited the Temple of Heaven, a huge park which includes as its centerpiece the temple where the emperor prayed for a good harvest. There were lots of activities in the park; tai chi, for instance, and even line dancing. Needless to say, we joined right in the line dancing. We couldn't understand the words they said, but the meaning of the gracious smiles that the Chinese dancers sent in our direction were clear.
The highlight of the day was a visit to Beijing's Lama Temple, a fabulous Tibetan temple that escaped destruction during the Cultural Revolution. The temple consists of many separate buildings and courtyards. The design is linear; one enters a building, exits into a courtyard, then enters the next building. The shrines contain statues of Buddha, guardian spirits, Tara, Kwan Yin, etc. The last building, much taller than the others, contains a very impressive, gigantic statue of Mitreya, the Future Buddha. It was carved from a single sandalwood block, apparently the largest such structure in the world. We felt quite uplifted. There were many devotees; about ten percent of the population is Buddhist. (There are some religious freedoms now, although any form of proselytization is banned.) I, too, lit some incense sticks, praying (wishing?) for things close to my heart, even though I don't believe in divine intervention. Do I contradict myself? Well, then, I contradict myself.
Yes, we visited the Great Wall, and, despite being seniors, were among the very few who reached the end of the long section open to the public. (We took the difficult path.) The next day we rushed through the Forbidden City and the Summer Palace, visits which laid bare the negative side of a group tour. Felt like ants in a maze.
One evening we attended a performance of Peking Opera, which was great. The acrobats were fantastic. In one scene, two acrobatic actors depicted two soldiers trying to strike each other in the dark. Their synchronized rhythmic movements were humorous and breathtaking in their precision. And what a wonderful sword dance a woman did, playing the role of the concubine from the famous piece, "Farewell My Concubine." The music, especially the percussion, which was used to intensify moments of emotion, was very effective and similar to the use of percussive instruments in Kabuki. Peking opera singers sing at a very high pitch, which reminded me of the very distant world of Blue Grass singing, which shares this similarity. Yes, it takes a while to get used to, a difficulty made even greater during this performance, since the instrumentalists tended to drown out the singers. The performance definitely encouraged me to explore this art form.
We subsequently visited the exhibition of terracotta soldiers in Xi'An, a very polluted city. The vast exhibition hall holding hundreds of terracotta warriors was impressive, but we felt we got a more intimate view of some of the statues when an exhibition came from China to the National Gallery in Washington. I was not too impressed by the city of Xi'An. Lots of humdrum concrete high-rises that seem to have haphazardly popped up like gigantic, drab mushrooms. In Beijing, the architectural standards are much higher. The office buildings there are clean, powerful and sometimes even beautiful temples dedicated to the all-conquering god of the yuan.
After a fascinating visit to Lhasa, Tibet, we embarked on a five-dave river cruise on the Yangtze. My friend Glenn and I were the stars of the language lesson on board, since we knew a bit, a very little bit, beforehand. I don't seem to have a problem with getting the pitches of the Chinese language right, since I am so interested in music. We did enjoy, rather unexpectedly, the talent show on the riverboat. Some of the waiters and other workers were quite talented. The star of the show was a young waiter who did a really splendid job as the "Face-Changing Master," a stock character of Peking Opera. Fierce masks seemed to change as if by magic, A few seconds after having covered his face with a fan, the dancer reveals a new mask of a contrasting, bright color. He had us gasping with surprise and delight. He was a good dancer, too.
The rhythms of Shanghai, "The China of Tomorrow," are brisk. Lots of young people with lots of energy walking along the Bund with its very pleasing vistas of a river lined with skyscrapers. During our stay in Shanghai, we visited Yu Garden, a traditional Chinese garden complex built by the commissioner of Sichuan province in 1551, during the Ming Dynasty. The garden complex is quite lovely. I imagined myself living in one of the spacious dwellings--I would rise early, have tea, read for a while; have a lesson in Chinese; play the piano; have lunch; have a lesson in calligraphy and then write poetry. Then afternoon tea with my wife; a walk together; supper together; then attend a Peking Opera performance at the Garden's stage. Not a bad life--if everyone who wanted it could have it, fine--but this is of course impossible. Conscience would therefore force me to turn the garden over to the people, which is exactly what the Chinese government did.
We visited a fascinating museum at Hubei. It houses the contents of the tomb of the Marquis Yi of Zheng, who died around 433 B.C.E. Very interesting bronze artifacts, which were made by a now forgotten wax mold procedure--the liquid bronze melted the wax and took on the desired shape. The most remarkable exhibit were the 65 bells which had been used in rituals. Strike the bell in the front and the pitch is the first note of the scale, "do," technically, the tonic note. Strike the bell on the side and you get "mi," the third note of the scale, or more technically, the mediant note. The bells spanned a range of over five octaves; all the major scales of the West, including medieval, blues and jazz scales, could be played upon them. This is a fascinating discovery, since previously one had thought that the ancient Chinese used the pentatonic (five note) scale exclusively. No one knows what scales were used, though; there was apparently no musical notation at the time.
At the end of the tour we listened to a delightful concert played on replicas of the bells and on other traditional Chinese instruments. All the musical numbers used the pentatonic scale, except for the melody, Ode to Joy, by Beethoven. One Chinese pentatonic folk tune with its tonic harmonies sounded a bit like a tune from a Viennese operetta. I enjoyed the visit immensely.
We finished the tour with a few days extension in Hong Kong. The last time I was there was in 1974. How things have changed! Modern structures everywhere. At the hotel, we sat and had a drink at the bar while listening to a really talented pianist. No one seemed to be listening to her but me, which I guess is the way it's supposed to be. I wanted to say shhh! to some of the nosier guests, but, of course, didn't. I said to myself, you have a lot of practicing to do.
Having returned to the United States, after a wonderful trip to China, I am happily doing just that.
