After another exhausting walk, by now the heat was beginning to take its toll on everyone, we arrived at the pagoda forest.
A little history first:
The pagoda forest is located west of the Shaolin Temple and the foot of a hill. As the largest pagoda forest in China, it covers approximately 20,000 square meters and has about 230 pagodas build from the Tang Dynasty (618-907) to the Qing Dynasty (1644-1911).
Each pagoda is the tomb of an eminent monk from the Shaolin Temple. Graceful and exquisite, they belong to different eras and constructed in different styles. The first pagoda was thought to be built in 791.
It is now a world heritage site.
No, it’s not a forest with trees it’s a collection of over 200 pagodas, each a tribute to a head monk at the temple and it goes back a long time. The tribute can have one, three, five, or a maximum of seven layers. The ashes of the individual are buried under the base of the pagoda.
The size, height, and story of the pagoda indicate its accomplishments, prestige, merits, and virtues. Each pagoda was carved with the exact date of construction and brief inscriptions and has its own style with various shapes such as a polygonal, cylindrical, vase, conical and monolithic.
This is one of the more recently constructed pagodas
There are pagodas for eminent foreign monks also in the forest.
From there we get a ride back on the back of a large electric wagon
to the front entrance courtyard where drinks and ice creams can be bought, and a visit to the all-important happy place.
And then there those horrible things called crosswords.
There are antonyms and synonyms
Sometimes we use words we don’t know the meaning of because of their similarity with others we do
Then there one or more words that make other words as in anagrams
There are substitute words, words we use around children like fudge instead of, well you get what I mean
There’s no doubt we would be lost without words
Words are to be chosen carefully and thoughtfully
They need to be delivered in an appropriate manner, not in haste, and not in anger
We need to believe in what we’re saying before others will believe it
We need to learn how to express our feelings
We should take advantage of learning English (or any other native language) when at school
We need to start reading as soon as we can and keep up reading as we get older. One should never underestimate the power reading and writing gives us no matter who we are.
Always have a dictionary by your side. It is the most valuable book you can own.
And always remember the power of speech can at times move mountains
One minute I was sitting out in my office, working on some tweets, and the next I woke up, staring at a black screen.
I thought we’d lost power.
No, I’d been asleep for a long time.
To be honest, I’m worn out. It’s the end of the year and when it’s supposed to be a time to relax, go on holidays, do something else, I find life is getting more and more hectic.
Yes, I’m going on holiday, but it will be a time when I’m subconsciously looking for new locales for stories, the people, the places, what goes on, all different to my usual humdrum.
So, not a holiday in the true sense of the word.
What put me into this trance-like state was writing the next line, yep, it was as simple as that. I stopped at a particular point where I had something else to say, and it just felt like the train had come to the end of the track, out there, in the middle of nowhere.
I wrote that line in my mind, and it sounded good, much the same as we sometimes say something in our mind before we speak, and when we finally do, it sounded better in my head than out loud.
Perhaps I’m losing my touch.
Perhaps that ability to sum up everything I want to say in less than 200 characters is beginning to desert me, and old age and decrepitude is setting in.
Which reminds me, pills before bed.
Perhaps I’m just tired and it’s time to go to bed.
I keep putting it off because sometimes I can’t go to sleep and I’m just lying there staring at the ceiling, sometimes the cinema of my dreams.
I imagine I’m somewhere else, someone else, doing something else.
Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.
I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.
But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.
Once again there’s a new instalment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.
Before the waterfront cleanup, the Shingle Inn was another of those places respectable people didn’t go to. And those from out of town only stayed there if everything else was taken, or they were looking for a reason to visit a hospital.
I knew this not because it was advertised on the radio or television, or it was in the newspapers, or it probably was but I never read any of them, but because several of my senior year classmates went there on a dare to sample ‘the fare’.
They learned the lesson the hard way so all the rest of us wouldn’t make the same mistake.
So, the question I had to ask myself when I reached the safety of a bus shelter about 100 yards from the bar, was the reason Nadia was staying there, or if she was not, how did she have a room key.
I was hoping she had not fallen into the ways some of the girls did, going down the path of drugs, loans they couldn’t pay, and ending being owned by some seedy man. That had happened too, and to girls, I had believed knew better.
I guess I was no judge of character, then or now.
Should I go there now and wait for her, perhaps check the place out, and the room, and see if she was staying there.
Or should I read between the lines, and consider this might be a trap of some sort, and that her brother, Vince, would turn up and ‘teach me a lesson not to meddle in their affairs’. The latter seemed more likely.
And yet it was the dumb ass stupid streak I had that was telling me to go, just to see what happened. I wasn’t looking for nor did I expect that she was offering me anything, so, giving her the benefit of the doubt, it might mean she was entertaining my suggestion of getting the map to get her off Alex’s hook.
That would then leave only one question, what did I want from her in return.
Fifteen minuted before the hour was up, I was standing in the shadows watching the Inn. In the hour since the bar, the sun had gone down, and now the Inn, shrouded in gaudy colours from broken neon lights, and a sign that made it look like a hotel in paradise, looked like it was, a den of iniquity.
The girls for hire were still there. The rooms had different lights above the door of each room that I could see, one red one green which I guessed let others know the room was free or occupied.
The room the key Nadia had given me had no lights on, so I was not sure what that meant.
Ten minutes to go, a car pulled up outside the office, and I saw Vince get out.
Illusion shattered. It was a setup, she was upset by my appearance at the bar and had called in the punishment crew. Two minutes later he came back out of the office with a briefcase, got in the car, and drove off.
Was the Inn one of the Cossatino’s establishments, or was that for protection, or picking up drugs? Or all three?
I shrugged. Time to find out what Nadia’s intentions were.
I kept to the shadows, crossed the road where it was darkest, and came upon the room from the rear fire stairs. The room was the second from the end, so I would not have to walk along the balcony very far, and risk being seen.
At the door, a look in either direction, I unlocked the door, opened it, and waited to see if there were any surprises inside waiting, nothing stirred, so I went in and closed the door behind me.
There were no surprises inside; it was just a room with two beds and a bathroom. A suitcase was beside one of the beds, and its contents spread over the bed.
The aroma of some recognisable perfume came from the bathroom, looking a mess with worn clothes on the floor in one corner, and used towels in the other.
She was staying here. One of the questions I was going to ask was why?
The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.
But, it seems our hero has ‘escaped’ and had found his way back home.
Except not quite how he expected it would be.
Rest was impossible while so many thoughts about my recent experiences were swirling around in the back of my head. Now, when thinking it through, it made sense that they make sure I was found alive, but in very bad shape.
Two reasons, one, to remind me that they could do whatever they liked to me, and the second, to appease Breeman, who, no doubt realizing a helicopter was missing, would send out search teams, a no-fly zone or not.
But it was a calculated risk assuming I would not tell Breeman, or someone else, about what had happened to me, whether they believed it or not.
That led to the next thought, why was I still alive. It would be just as easy to kill me and be discovered after dying from injuries received in the crash. Supposition, they still needed me, or, and this was a hail Mary at best, they needed access to the base, and Breeman.
Did that mean either of the two men I’d seen at the other camp would suddenly turn up? My money was on Colonel Bamfield. He was my first Commanding Officer, he had a keen interest in me from the get-go, and he was the one who facilitated my transfer to my current base before I knew he was working for ‘other interests’.
I still didn’t want to think it was the enemy.
Another question popped into my head, what was his, or their, interest in Breeman because the line of questioning centered on her.
My best guess was that it was no accident I was on that helicopter, that she had directed the pilot to make a flyover, and wasn’t expected that we would be shot down and that she had assumed there would be no repercussions on either myself or the pilot.
It was also clear that if she had to explain how I came to be where they found me, and the fact no one had launched a similar attack of the rescue team, that what happened was simply a breach of orders, and a court-martial offense.
It would solve Bamfield and his new friend’s problem. Whatever the outcome of the court-martial she would be sent home, relieved of her command.
It seemed the military, as always, had a mind of its own, and not always have the best interests of its personnel at heart.
Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.
I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.
But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.
Once again there’s a new instalment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.
Feeling a little miffed at Boggs’ dismissal, I decided to go on my own fact-finding mission.
Of course, it depended a lot on whether the Cossatino’s still hung out at the same bar, and whether I’d get a foot in the door.
I was going to talk to Nadia, or at least try to.
The Lantern Inn was about as far from the image the name threw up, it was more a place where respectable people wouldn’t be caught dead in.
And, as I recall, a few had. Seemingly respectable people anyway.
It was the place to go if you were looking for three things, not necessarily all at once, trouble, girls, and drugs. Soggy, a friend of Boggs and I, had always looked older than his age and was able to get into places like the Lantern Inn, mainly to buy us beer, and we would go down to the beach and drink it before going home.
When I found a spot to keep an eye on the place and assess whether it was safe or not to go in, now I was old enough, I saw old man Gattle, Soggy’s foster father stagger out, on his way home. It brought back memories of Joel, Soggy’s real name.
Soggy got his name because he was always falling in the water, whether it was a pool or the ocean, and one day, after too many beers, he fell in and didn’t come back up. Boggs and I almost finished up in jail for that, since we were with him, but there was no way we could rescue him as it was in a spot where there was often a rip, and he had been carried away before we could get to him.
And, the body was never recovered. I thought, at the time, he may have jumped in, because his life with foster parents was no fairy tale, and he had suffered. Of course, those foster parents were friends with the Benderby’s so they were never held to account.
It would be easy to lie in wait in a dark alley and simply hit him over the head with a four by two, but I doubt it would make me feel any better.
I watched him stagger and fall several times before I looked back at the Inn. In days past, the patrons often spilled out onto the sidewalk where there used to be tables and chairs. Now, it was just the Inn, and it didn’t look like many people were there.
Had it changed from a den of iniquity to something more respectable?
A large truck, an F350 by the look of it, stopped outside the front entrance, the passenger door opened and what looked like Nadia, or another Amazonian woman, got out. She spoke to the driver, slammed the door, and the truck left.
The light over the door shone on her face, yes, it was a woman, and yes, it was Nadia. By herself? Was that Vince who dropped her off, or Willy, her younger brother, and why didn’t they join her?
I guess I was not going to get any answers from where I was sitting.
Time to make my first foray into the place my mother always told me never to step foot in.
Beijing west railway station is about eight kilometers from the Forbidden City, located at East Lianhuachi Road, Fengtai District. Most trains traveling between south central, southwest, northwest, and south China are boarded here.
This place is huge and there are so many people here, perhaps the other half of Beijing’s population that wasn’t in the forbidden city.
Getting into the station looked like it was going to be fraught with danger but the tour guide got us into the right queue and then arranged for a separate scanner for the group to help keep us all together
Then we decided to take the VIP service and got to waiting room no 13, the VIP service waiting room which was full to overflowing. Everyone today was a VIP. We got the red hat guy to lead us to a special area away from the crowd.
Actually, it was on the other side of the gate, away from the hoards sitting or standing patiently in the waiting room. It gave us a chance to get something to eat before the long train ride.
The departure is at 4 pm, the train number was G655, and we were told the trains leave on time. As it is a high-speed train, stops are far and few between, but we’re lucky, this time, in that we don’t have to count stations to know where to get off.
We’re going to the end of the line.
However, it was interesting to note the stops which, in each case, were brief, and you had to be ready to get off in a hurry.
These stops were Shijiazhuang, Zhengzhou East, Luoyang Longmen, Huashan North, and Weinan North. At night, you could see the lights of these cities from a distance and were like oases in the middle of a desert. During the day, the most prominent features were high rise apartment blocks and power stations.
A train ride with a difference
China’s high-speed trains, also known as bullet or fast trains, can reach a top speed of 350 km/h (217 mph).
Over 2,800 pairs of bullet trains numbered by G, D or C run daily connecting over 550 cities in China and covering 33 of the country’s 34 provinces. Beijing-Shanghai high-speed train link the two megacities 1,318 km (819 mi) away in just 4.5 hours.
By 2019, China keeps the world’s largest high-speed rail (HSR) network with a length totaling over 35,000 km (21,750 mi).
To make the five and a half hours go quicker we keep an eye on the speed which hovers between 290 and 305 kph, and sitting there with our camera waiting for the speed to hit 305 which is a rare occurrence, and then, for 306 and then for 307, which happened when we all took a stroll up to the restaurant car to find there had nothing to eat.
I got a strange flavored drink for 20 yuan.
There was a lady manning a trolley that had some food, and fresh, maybe, fruit on it, and she had a sense of humor if not much English.
We didn’t but anything but the barrel of caramel popcorn looked good.
The good thing was, after hovering around 298, and 299 kph, it finally hit 300.
We get to the end of the line, and there is an announcement in Chinese that we don’t understand and attempts to find out if it is the last station fall on deaf ears, probably more to do with the language barrier than anything else.
Then, suddenly the train conductor, the lady with the red hat, comes and tells us it is, and we have fifteen minutes, so we’re now hurrying to get off.
As the group was are scattered up and down the platform, we all come together and we go down the escalator, and, at the bottom, we see the trip-a-deal flags.
X’ian,and the Xi’an North Railway Station
Xi’an North Railway Station is one of the most important transportation hubs of the Chinese high-speed rail network. It is about 8.7 miles (14 km) from Bell Tower (city center) and is located at the intersection of the Weiyang Road and Wenjing Road in Weiyang District.
This time we have a male guide, Sam, who meets us at the end of the platform after we have disembarked. We have a few hiccups before we head to the bus. Some of our travelers are not on his list, but with the other group. Apparently a trip-a-deal mix-up or miscommunication perhaps.
Then it’s another long walk with bags to the bus. Good thing its a nicely air-conditioned newish bus, and there’s water, and beer for 10 yuan. How could you pass up a tsing tao for that price?
Xi’an is a very brightly lit up city at night with wide roads. It is very welcoming, and a surprise for a city of 10 million out in the middle of China.
As with all hotels, it’s about a 50-minute drive from the railway station and we are all tired by the time we get there.
Tomorrow’s program will be up at 6, on the bus 8.40 and off to the soldiers, 2.00 late lunch, then train station to catch the 4.00 train, that will arrive 2 hours later at the next stop. A not so late night this time.
The Grand Noble Hotel
Grand Noble Hotel Xi’an is located in the most prosperous business district within the ancient city wall in the center of Xi’an.
The Grand Noble Hotel, like the Friendship Hotel, had a very flash foyer with tons of polished marble. It sent out warning signals, but when we got to our room, we found it to be absolutely stunning. More room, a large bathroom, air conditioning the works.
Only one small problem, as in Beijing the lighting is inadequate. Other than that it’s what I would call a five-star hotel. This one is definitely better than the Friendship Hotel.
In the center of the city, very close to the bell tower, one of the few ancient buildings left in Xi’an. It is also in the middle of a larger roundabout and had a guard with a machine gun.
Sadly there was no time for city center sightseeing.
It’s still a battle of wits, but our hero knows he’s in serious trouble.
The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because the enemy if it is the enemy, doesn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.
If at first, you don’t succeed, try a few threats, or leverage.
Or just get rid of the problem
Back in my cell, delivered more forcibly than when they escorted me to the interrogation room, I had time to consider his words.
A tactic, I told myself. Classic divide and conquer.
It was obvious that he wanted me to corroborate his suspicion that Breeman had sent the helicopter out to find his operation. Did it sound like something she would do or any other commanding officer whose jurisdiction this operation fell under?
Why hadn’t they told her? If t was military and being run by our side, why would they keep it secret from their own people, especially when something like what just happened, could happen?
It didn’t make sense.
Unless, of course, it was the CIA. They seemed to be a law unto themselves, except in this case they needed something to incriminate her with in order to have her removed, and replaced with a more sympathetic commanding officer.
It was all too much for a gunnery sergeant like me to understand.
At least I didn’t know anything so I couldn’t tell them anything. A little solace perhaps, but the trouble was, they’d never believe me.
I sighed. Perhaps some sleep before they returned for the next round.
They came in the middle of the night. Or day, I had no idea what it was outside because there were no windows in my cave cell.
They had no intention of being polite, I was dragged up by the scruff of the next and tossed in the direction of the door. When I stumbled, still half asleep and unable to see properly, one of the guards kicked me and said he would do it again if I didn’t get up.
He did anyway because I took too long.
My ribs were hurting when I breathed, as I staggered in front of them, one behind me giving me a shove every two or three steps, perhaps hoping I’d stumble again so he could kick me.
At the interrogation room, a different one this time, he shoved me in and shut the door. I didn’t hear a key in the lock, so perhaps they were hoping I’d try to escape.
There was only one chair in the room, and I sat in it. I couldn’t sit up straight because it hurt, so I had to slump over.
A half hour later a man and a woman, both with white coats like a doctor would wear, came in. Nothing was said. The man took up a position behind me, then held me so I couldn’t move.
The woman then joined him, produced as a syringe, and jabbed it in my neck.
The man let me go, and a few seconds later I fell off the chair onto the floor hitting my head in the process, and a few more after that, it was lights out.
Can you actually say you know the exact moment a story is done, finished, and that’s it?
For me, the end never quite seems to be the end, that point where you finally draw a line in the sand and say, that’s it, I’m done, step away from the typewriter.
But are we ever satisfied the story is done, can we not make one more change, it’s just a little tweak, it won’t take long.
Please!
My editor tolerated three ‘minor’ changes.
Firstly, a change of name for a character
Secondly, consistency of word use, such as times and contractions
Thirdly, I wasn’t happy with the overall story, and it needed some more action. More writing, more editing, more prevaricating.
It took three weeks to sort out all of those issues, and last night I send the final draft to the Editor.
It’s like watching your child go to school on their first day. Not knowing what will happen but expecting everything will be fine.
This morning I sat in front of the computer, a blank sheet of paper on the screen. I know it’s not a matter of starting the next story from scratch; I have so many started and finished, sitting in the wings to be ‘tinkered with’.
Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.
I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.
But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.
Once again there’s a new instalment of an old feature, and back on the treasure hunt.
…
“Do you remember Nadia?”
Boggs was out the back on the veranda, sitting in an old lounge chair that had seen better days, eating tacos, or at least I think they were tacos. He offered me one but I didn’t like the look of it. Aside from the fact I wasn’t a fan of Mexican food.
“One of the Cossatino’s, Vince’s sister, tall, shorts skirts and big, well you know what I mean.”
Statuesque, Amazonian, yes I did. We all coveted what we couldn’t have.
“The same. She’s back in town.”
“And this means what to us if anything. As I recall, the one time we tried talking to her, Vince had his friends rough us up.”
“I saw her with Alex today, in the warehouse.”
I had his attention. I knew what he was thinking.
“Doing what, as if I couldn’t guess?”
“Alex wouldn’t be that stupid.”
“And we also said that when he fucked Annie in front of the class in the sports hall, not that we knew then what he was doing.”
Good point. “No. He told her to get the map from Rico. Has Rico and her…”
“Dated? Like Rico would be in her league. He’d be little more than trash in her eyes. But, no, not that I’m aware of. But, if she was to throw herself at him, I’m sure he would react like any other dumb bastard who thinks with his dick and not his head. But he hasn’t got the map.”
“Yet.”
“I still think I should try to sell it to Alex.”
“And I think if you are looking for a reason for a long hospital stay, that would be it. You need to be careful where Rico is concerned. Maybe we should check him out tomorrow.”
“I thought you had a job, and couldn’t get away.”
“My shift has changed to the afternoon, so I’ll be available in the mornings. Do you know where Rico lives?”
“On his boat. He has a small cruiser at the docks. Uses if for, he says, fishing trips for businessmen, but I think he does the drug run from the shipping lanes to a quiet cove.”
“For the Benderby’s?”
“No idea, and don’t care. But you’re right. We should check him out. Tomorrow morning. I’ll meet you at Al’s fishing shop at about 9:00.”
He’d finished the tacos, and clearly had something else to do, something that didn’t involve me. I felt a little disappointed.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 