Lazy Nanjing:Songs of Indolence and of Experience

After thirty years of breakneck growth, China in 2012 is home to a peculiar phenomenon. Formerly industrial regions like the northeast have been revitalized into hi-tech hubs, while former backwaters like Shenzhen have transmogrified into modern international cities. Even age-old hamlets in Yunnan, once discovered, become buzzing tourist Meccas, trampled beneath the marching feet of half a billion serenity-seeking Chinese tourists.

In the midst of this sea change, however, certain locales seem to retain a time and place all their own beyond the push and pull of modern China. Nanjing, nestled in the arms of lower Yangtze and home to over 6 million, is just such a place, difficult as that may be to believe. The transportation, architectural and financial accoutrements befitting a big city are all here, but don’t be fooled. Life in Nanjing is a few steps slower, a waltz to Beijing’s foxtrot, and a few decibels quieter than your average metropolis. When you’re wandering in the cool shade of parasol trees on the banks of Yangtze, it all starts to make sense.

Upon your arrival to Nanjing, the hardest choice is where to go first. The city sports a cultural legacy second only to the modern capi- tal, Beijing. Climb up the city wall and Zhonghua Gate? Ming Palace Ruins? Or maybe the Taiping Rebellion Museum? All worthy choices, but for my money the Drum Tower is an ideal first stop to relax and regroup after your bus or flight. Located in the heart of this ancient city’s oldest extant quarter, you have no excuse not to see Nanjing’s Gulou, or Drum Tower; it has its own subway stop, after all. Take Line 1 and exit at the busy intersection of Zhongshan and Beijing Streets. Occupying the center of a busy traffic circle, Gulou is a quiet oasis of green amidst the autos and office towers. The park’s bamboo shoots and willow trees make it hard to miss. Enter the gate along Beijing Street and into Gulou’s shaded paths. While some public parks in China can feel like massive spaces better experienced via helicopter than a Sunday stroll, Drum Tower is a city sanctuary meant for conversation, a bit of chess perhaps. Truly a park for the people.

The district around Gulou provides a study in the contrasts of modern Chinese cities. Unlikely angles abound at the narrow intersection of winding hutongs, but walk further and you may emerge across from Zifeng Tower, the third highest in China and top ten worldwide. Despite commercial development, it remains one of the most walkable city centers in China. This leafy neighborhood is stitched together by parasol trees, 1930s architecture, and Nanjing University, known locally as Nanda. Walk the grounds for a potted architectural history of the modern city, with buildings dating from the institution’s founding in 1902 until the present.

Hankou Street marks a line between the northern and southern halves of the university grounds and proves a haven for foodies. Chinese xiaochi can best be translated as snacks, but with only a few yuan in hand you can eat until stuffed. Sushi, fried steam buns, pastry, and barbecued seafood can all be found at street stalls along this stretch connecting Zhongshan Street and Shanghai Street. Hankou and the adjoining alleyways exude a distinctly international vibe. Nearby the northwest corner of the campus curious travelers will find multiple beer gardens and bars featuring an array of craft brews from as far as Belgium and as near as Beijing. Between Shanghai and Ninghai Street lays an arty cross section of the city’s wares, from Korean-inspired women’s fashion to high-end pottery. The energy here seems to be pushing the city outwards; walk west and gaze across the Yangtze to the satellite development zones that will someday hold Nanjing’s future.

This time head south on the subway for fuzi miao, or the Confucius Temple. Despite its ostensible old age, the temple area remains spry and is one of the few places in Nanjing to match the hurly burly of China’s first-tier cities. Tour groups mill about snapping photos and peddlers call their wares. The vibe here is roughly akin to Beijing’s Tiananmen Square. In drawing so many travelers, the festive atmosphere of the temple area exists outside the slower and more workaday pleasures of Nanjing. Come at night to watch the boats come and go along the Qinhuai River that divides the temple area. Nanjing salted duck, Pteris shrimp and other local specialties can be found here as well.

After a night of fine dining, strike out early for Xuanwu Park. Simply put, Xuanwu Park is huge. Of course, you can see that from a quick look on at a map. But in person, Xuanwu’s lake becomes an ocean, and the Purple Mountain a lofty summit. Located in east Nanjing, Xuanwu dominates the cityscape. Though not as wellknown as some of Nanjing’s other historical landmarks, this public space deserves wider public attention.

Enter the park from the more crowded west gate downtown or through the old city wall to the east. Getting around the lake takes about an hour in either direction, enough time to get a taste of Nanjing’s breezy charms. Nanjingers nap in hammocks or tents, rollerblade, steal quiet time by the shore, play cards past dusk. The lake is ringed with red beamed pavilions, and as you round the shore you’ll find nearly all of them filled with some event or another: Chinese opera, the local orchestra rehearsing, maybe a birthday party or two. For those determined to venture onto the lake itself: as a rule of thumb, paddle boats are a bad idea and even worse with kids in tow, but the lake here is big enough that you just might get your money’s worth. Be sure to pack an umbrella, though, as the shade of the lakeside won’t follow you out to the middle of the water.

Abutting Xuanwu Park is the Purple Mountain. Not so much a single peak as a sprawling series of ridges, the park’s rolling features provide a number of recreation areas, smaller lakes and historical sites. Certainly the most famous is the memorial for Dr Sun Yat-sen. Widely revered both in China’s mainland and Taiwan, Sun is considered one of modern China’s crucial political leaders and revolutionaries, an icon for both sides of the Civil War, though the mainland kept his bones.

Construction on the memorial began soon after Sun’s death in 1925 and was completed four years later. You might not believe this when taking in the sheer size and grandeur of the burial grounds. The memorial entrance is marked with by an elaborate paifang, or ornamental gate, followed by a long series of stairs. Especially during summer visits to the city, you’d do well to bring a few bottles of water, as the endless steps also double as a short hike. There are plenty of food and beverage options nearby the entrance gate, but nearly all are overpriced. Pack lunch ahead and make it an afternoon; if you linger long, you’ll be in time for a dusky view of the city from lookouts along the mountaintop, even better when the wooded hills turn red in autumn.

tu cao undermine

Tu cao originates from the Japanese word tsukkomi, an expression meaning to “butt in”and jokingly undermine or contradict what someone has just said, a common device in traditional Japanese two-man stand-up comedy. In real life, this often happens between people who are familiar with each other, such as friends or family members. For example, when someone is bragging, someone else might blurt out the truth to make fun of the bragger.

When read in Chinese, the Japanese characters for tsukkomi sound like tu (“to spit”) and cao (“container”), so the phrase literally means“to spit in someone’s bowl.” It has come to mean exposing someone’s shameful behavior, or complaining about others. Today, the phrase is often used in daily conversation, and has expanded to wider uses.

For example, office workers might gather in bars after work to tu cao their boss’s behavior over drinks. Here, tu cao simply means to vent one’s frustration about something or someone behind their back.

In late August, residents in Shenzhen tu cao’d to the media that a 50 million yuan(US$7.9m) government-invested viaduct project had greatly inconvenienced them. Here, the phrase means to complain publicly to elicit media exposure.