M-whY

Foshan translates into 'Buddha Mountain', and I was a little disappointed to learn that it was just another city as opposed to a quiet village as I had imagined. After disembarking, I was met by a host of locals holding out their helmets. Initially, I thought they were beggars looking for handouts, until I realized they were motorbike drivers offering taxi services. I wanted to take a moment to orient myself first though, and when I finally pinpointed my location on a map, realized the ancestral temple, Zu Miao, was just around the corner.

Within the complex were a number of sights, such as the Lucky Tree, the Two Dragon Mural, and a Confucius Memorial. Most interesting was probably the Huang Fei-Hong Memorial. A Foshan native, Master Huang was a martial arts grandmaster who has appeared in numerous books, movies, and even cartoons. Over 100 films have been made about this personality, including the classic Drunken Master flicks starring Jackie Chan.

Enshrined in a different courtyard was a 2.5 ton bronze statue of Beidi (the Northern Emperor). According to myth, Beidi was the god in charge of water, and temples housing his visage were built with the belief that it would protect the locals from flooding. Flanking the approach were several more bronze statues, all of which were probably cast sometime in the Ming Dynasty (15th century).

The elaborate ridge tiles and pleasant atmosphere made it a nice place to sit down and plan the rest of the day. At Renshou Temple, I met a fellow American named Jorj, who was studying graduate physics in Seoul, Korea. His wife worked in the American Embassy in Guangzhou, and so he had come down for a couple weeks to do some sightseeing. We had lunch at a nearby restaurant.

"So did you have any trouble getting here?" I asked. I recalled the big board at the bus station had no english.

"I sort of just went up to the counter and pointed at my guidebook," he explained. "I guess it wasn't too hard."

Up til now, I've blended in perfectly. Even touts, who I'd expect to have the best eye for recognizing my American-ness, have mistaken me for a local. Hanging out with an obvious westerner totally changed my day. The waitress directed all questions to him through me; Souvenir vendors all looked to me for translation. In short, everyone thought I was his tour guide.

I didn't mind the extra attention, as now I had someone to be my photographer. A brief stop at Liang's Garden was followed by splitting the taxi fare to Nanfeng Ancient Kiln. According to the Lonely Planet, the two kilns within have never gone out since they were first built and fired up in the early Ming dynasty.

"Is this it?"

"I guess so." The stone was warm to the touch. Clay pots lay around, probably awaiting their turn to be glazed.

"It's kind of odd how they just let us wander around like this." noted Jorj. "It feels like we're trespassing." I agreed; But the artisans nearby paid us no attention, so we continued roam freely.

Either the LP was ambiguous or flat out wrong, as the kiln on the left no longer seemed to be in use. The walls were knocked down in certain spots, allowing us to crawl through.

"I hope I don't trip over anything," I said, and promptly stumbled over some pots. Fortunately, nothing broke.

According to the brochure, which was printed in chinese and (poor) english, the Miracle Tree rooted on top of the right kiln was planted by a supernatural being. Although such high temperature, it has luxuriant foliage and spreading branches... There is no doubt comes a saying. After touching the tree, there is no sorrow all your life.

"I guess we have to go rid our lives of sorrow then," concluded Jorj. I've partaken in so many of these beliefs that even if only half are true, I'll be returning home the luckiest, wealthiest, and happiest man in the world.

Foshan didn't have much else to offer, so we cabbed to the bus station and bought tickets back to Guangzhou. We split up at Shamian Island, but not before he gave me his contact info, in case I decide to visit Korea. I recollected my belongings and hung out in a coffee shop to kill some time. Another cab took me to the chaotic train station, and somehow, I found the right platform to board from. I stretched out on my comfortable sleeper bunk. Only 13 hours to Guilin.

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