Bonnie’s Pond

Amber sent through an e-mail which I loved she write so beautifully, you don’t have to know amber to apreciate her writting. The other person who used to write wonderfull over seas e-mails was Nenard, I wonder what ever happend to that boy

dearests,
it’s a grey, windy day in gansu’s xiahe and the monks’ robes and prayer
flags are flapping in the breeze. (i’m secretly hoping the wind picks up,
cos there’s something about a shaven headed man swathed in crimson that
really intruiges me). my being here is a culmination of maaaany hours on
several buses. including this one: i’m sandwhiched between a nursing mother
and a grandmother on one seat and two tibetan monks on the other as i squat
on a stool in the aisle of a minibus. in front of the monks, a family of
three is sharing a seat and their daughter has motion sickness. brilliant.
the collective interest was first piqued by my $1 rural victorian shell
necklace which my monk friend and leaning post decided would substitute for
real prayer beads and so began my buddhist education. i wasn’t a very good
student, and instead got out my book to attmept to read, but this turned out
to be an even more fascinating object than my shells and was passed from
hand to hand and oooh and ahhhed over by my bus mates like a precious jewel.
i then had to stop the monk from throwing their empty drink can out the
window of the bus. and composed these letters;
‘dear dali lama,
please educate the monks abou their precious environment.
love from amber.’
and
‘dear dali lama,
please teach the monks to chew with their mouths closed.
thanks!
love for amber.’
feeling counter-revolutionary and frustrated that being illegally smuggled
onto a minibus had resulted in us squatting in the aisle, josh and i began
to re-write disney show tunes. ‘a whole new bus’ was a hit.
after a while, i swapped spots with brock and was sprawled disasterously
ungraciously over our packs in the door jam of the bus being stared at by a
kind looking man fingering his prayer beads and muttering under his breath.
here’s hoping he follows buddhism and not voodoo.
this is all against the backdrop of a road made of mud, on which the bus had
to stop every few ks so the aformentioned grandma could drop pastries off to
pilgrims by the roadside. perhaps the mud is sacred?

this bus ride, though, is nothing compared to the mammoth 30-50hour ride
from golmud to lhasa which i should be embarking on this weekend. woohooo.
rock up the big stuff.

china is everywhere. it’s massive. and complex. we all (me and my
boyfriends) just read this book about china, it was about ten years old, and
written by americans, but it was interesting none the less. i think the most
accurate portrait of china in the book was a quote from walt whitman that
says ‘do i contradict myself? / then i contradict myself / ( i am vast. i
contain multitudes.)’ because china does contradict itself. at most every
opportunity. kind of like japan. but both would resent the comparison.
having left behind the wealthy east coast and dragged myself through the
middle (on a boat and a train which i’d rather die than live again by
recounting. that’s going to have to be something that only comes out under
hypnosis) to find myself travelling up the western reaches of china,
sometimes it’s hard to believe it’s all the same country. but then someone
spits and lights up a cigarette under the no smoking sign on the bus, you
look around and marvel at the fact that the sky is lit up like the afternoon
and it’s half past seven because the whole country operates on beijing time,
and you’re reminded that yes, yes, (hello, taxi) that it’s completely china.
everywhere.

and so disintegrateth the prose

teracotta warriors = old mud in shapes less interesting than archeaologists
would have you believe. most of them are broken or haven’t been dug up yet.

new favourite chinas:
hiking in tiger leaping gorge with josh and brock and sonia and stu and a
rando australian named paul and eating ‘happy’ pancakes (yes mum and dad,
the kind you’re thinking). breath takingly beautiful.

riding horses up ‘mountain’ in songpan. i had a great time, everyone else
got a face full of horse fart because i was riding the most flatulent horse
in the history of the world. possibly not helped by the fact that each night
the poor horses had (literally) half a basketball full of beans strapped to
their faces.

blah blah. i love you. i miss you. i wish you were here.

see you when you get here,
love and kisses
p. a
xx