Story & photos by Joshua Berida
The rhythmic hum of the bullet train leaving Xiamen for Nanjing was the soundtrack of my ride en route to see the Fujian Tulou.
The moment I saw these architectural wonders online, I included it in my itinerary. It was a slow day going in fast forward as the train zipped through towns and eventually reached Nanjing Station. The concrete jungle of Xiamen was replaced by jungle, plants and hills as far as my eyes could see.
I stepped out of the station and waited for the bus to the Tianluokeng Tulou cluster.
The Ancient Earth Towers
The bus meandered through the small towns and villages of Nanjing. Locals came and went, going about their daily business; grocery-check, go-to-school-check, go-to-work-check routine. Then the bus drove up and around the mountains, the snake-like roads providing stunning views of the countryside. We passed by a handful of tulous but these were not my final destination.
Thankfully, there was a local who spoke fluent English; she was a teacher, teaching English in Chinese. As the cliché goes, you’ll discover some of life’s many contradictions and jokes while traveling. She asked the driver where I should alight; directly at the tourist center she said. Time slipped by smoothly, under the door, through the cracks in a window, like the slow pouring of rain.
I got down in almost empty tourist center and bought my ticket. The driver spoke to me in Chinese, I didn’t understand what he said but I replied “I’m not Chinese.” He spoke again; this time I tried my best to understand him. We were just waiting for other passengers he said. A group of three friends arrived and we were off. We occupied a bus, just the four of us, and the driver as our captain.
It took a while before I finally got to see the Earth Towers or Fujian Tulou. But I was there looking down at them, my eyes on their circular frames. China’s Hakka settlers built these architectural wonders centuries ago. The construction of some of these structures spanned three centuries, wood by wood, piece by piece, family by family. The fire-resistant materials used allow it to survive the years, and natural and man-made disasters. The round and oblong-shaped tulou is the most common design.
The designated English speaker of the three friends I was with asked me to have their photo taken. I obliged and did the usual tourist photographer thing, yi-er-san (one-two-three) all smiles, click, click. OK my turn, yi-er-san, click, click. Why don’t all of us take a selfie? Okay, click, click. Traveling is not just about discovering the meaning of life (or death) and immersing in a unique culture or learning about its history for a day, two days, or three or more days, then leaving (sometimes never to return with a post on social media as a memory or commentary). But also about the small things, taking selfies and photos, and random conversations; like the ocean, there is the shallow, and then there’s the deep blue in different gradations.
Vestiges of the past in the present
We hopped from one small village to the next, click, click. The locals didn’t mind us entering their homes and taking pictures. The tulous weren’t just attractions; they breathed, they ate, they lived. Laundry lines stretched across the balconies, airing out their clothes and beddings, a worn out bicycle with a rusting body, a brand-new umbrella and a room under repair. The makeshift shops just outside the kitchen, bedroom or living room on the ground floor bustle with a slow, easy pace. Different families shared the communal homes, probably passed on from great-grandparents to grandparents to parents to children; an internal serpentine river of memories from life to life, with death only a memory at the end of a melting candle or burning incense stick.
As we walked back from the village toward the bus, our trip ended, yi-er-san, click, click. Now that we ticked off a place on our list, we went back to discussing practical matters, like how am I supposed to get to the train station before the last train for Xiamen leaves. The designated English speaker (I forgot his name) spoke to the driver on my behalf. He found a shared taxi that will take some staff members and me to the bus station, where I can catch another taxi to the train station.
Time went by at its usual pace outside the bubble of sightseeing and childlike wonder of experiencing life inside a tulou, in a fast forward sequence with no pause button in sight. In a moment I was at the station with my shoe wet in the rain. I ran into one of life’s contradictions again, the one I left as I got off the bus, the English teacher teaching English in Chinese. It’s funny how these things happen while doing the most routine of things. I was waiting for the train to arrive while eating cup noodles and drinking my favorite bottle of milk tea.
We talked about nothing in particular, if I could speak or understand a little Chinese which I confirmed, showed pictures of the tulous we just saw, how much the taxi fare was, what seat number and cabin we were in, etc, etc, click, click.
Our train arrived, just on time. We parted ways and decided to meet at the metro station that connected with the high-speed railway station. We would return to Xiamen together, at least until we reach our stop.
Image credits: Joshua Berida