Memories of Murder; A Farm Village Thriller

Memories of Murder, directed by Bong Joon-ho, is perhaps one of my favourite Korean films of all time. If you haven't seen it, stop reading now. Go and watch it, then come back and continue reading. Below is a modified version of an essay I wrote for my Cinema East module, analysing the importance of setting and the extent to which Memories of Murder could be described as a Thriller.    

Before garbing Memories of Murder in the dress of the well known - if somewhat vague - Thriller genre, one must first look at what tropes this classification contains. Only then can one see where the devices of the Thriller can be applied to the film. The conventions of the thriller are as broad as its sub-categories, but there is a overarching recognition that a thriller should induce heightened emotions such as; exhilaration, anticipation, expectation, uncertainty, anxiety, suspense, excitement, tension and terror.

These emotions are engendered through narrative devices like red herrings and cliff hangers. Cinematic devices can also evoke the Thriller's emotions; for example an ominous mise en scene, or fast paced editing to build suspense. Attempting to cover all of the characteristics typical to the ‘rich literary feast’ of the Thriller would require much more time and space than can be discussed in a brief overview. However, regarding the most obvious tools of the genre, Bong - as a self-confessed fan of  the classic thrillers of Hollywood - has managed to generate the intense emotions distinctive to this genre. 

Ostensibly, one could view Memories of Murder as a thriller in a Korean setting - the small developing city of Hwaseong, far from the bright lights of Seoul. Certain scenes track the last movements of the victims, evoking the apprehension and suspense in-keeping with the thriller genre. What could be more chilling than a woman walking through Hwaseong's dark paddy field singing, only to hear the killer whistling along, as we realize the terrifying truth - she is not alone. We are provided with the thrill of the chase as the detectives pursue a suspect. Yet this chase is not in cars on a highway, but through the back-alleys of the small town. The detectives tear through narrow streets, hindered by a ill-placed rubbish bins, only to lose, find, re-lose and finally capture their target. Memories of Murder  provides the roller-coaster of emotions as we follow the detectives being dragged through mishaps and mistakes at the mercy of external events. 

From this point, the similarities with the Hollywood Thriller begin to thin. Bong has not used the villain as the only means to drive plot, as general convention would stipulate. Instead the detectives are thrown around by Bong’s ‘strategy of reproduction’, which is a technique of weaving real events from 1986 into the world of the film. The detectives are further waylaid by shamans and school gossip, and to some extent are even victim to the weather. In fact, the poster used to advertise Memories of Murder focuses on the desperate faces of the detectives, while in the foreground the photograph of the suspect is blurred. Surely Bong is demonstrating that while the killer's identity is important, or perhaps forever unknown, the film hinges upon the hopeless mission of the detectives. 

As a consequence of presenting the main characters as powerless, Bong challenges the typical Hollywood notion of a climatic ending where the mystery is solved and the killer defeated. A Korean audience may be aware of this theme far earlier than foreign viewers, as the name Hwaseong recalls the 1986 case. The setting and contemporary events invoke their personal memories of the murders, and ultimately the failure to resolve it. Thus as the film begins, it is bound with a tragic undercurrent of ‘forgone defeat’. However, the cause of this failure remains ambiguous. 

On the one hand Bong presents the police as blundering by series of contrasts throughout the film. Our first introduction to a sergeant is him tumbling into the crime scene, contrary to the suave entrance required of a respected crime solver. The detective's impotence in the investigation is portrayed by the almost slapstick way they fight and fall over; they are more 'clowns' than serious crime solvers. An interrogation is interrupted by the entrance of a boiler repairman, whose presence goes unnoticed by the detectives. Furthermore, halfway through the intense chase scene driven on by rhythmic non-diegetic sound, a detective stumbles in on a family at the dinner table. This juxtaposition of significant events punctuated by moments of triviality produces a comedic effect when it is least expected and ensures that the audience never view the detectives as fully competent. On the other hand, Bong also contrasts the idealised role of the police, who are supposed to be the maintainers of justice, with the harsh reality of the political situation of 1986. This connection to contemporary politics and events places blame at the door of the era; the incompetence of the military regime and the under-development of Korea failed these women. 

Detective Park greets Detective Seo with a fly-kick after mistaking him for a rapist 

Detectives Park and Cho visit a shaman to try to reveal the killer's face

While we long for a hero character who can prevent the gruesome fates of the victims, what we are given is far from that. Detective Cho Yong-gu comes to epitomise this disparity. Cho uses his authority to abuse and beat suspects, he punches a female protester and drags her along by her hair, he makes misogynistic comments about his colleague while he is meant to be preventing crimes against women. This antithesis is summed up in the amusing but disturbing image of Detective Cho’s shoes. There is the contrast between the strict black shoes of regiment and order, which he covers with a flowery shower cap to prevent blood from his “interrogation methods” marking them. Hence Bong elicits frustration in the audience over the lack of an untainted protagonist and lack of control the detectives have over events. They waste time bickering while the killer remains uncaught. However, Bong was not just implying that the detectives’ inability was due to personal flaws, but more importantly as an allegory to criticize the era.  

Detective Cho's boots, complete with flowery shower cap

Memories of Murder could be described as ‘archeological’ film, to borrow Walter Benjamin's term. Bong used archaeological methods as his film looks back to the incidents of Korean society in 1986 and incorporates snippets of events from that era. Furthermore, the setting of Hwaseong once again uses contrasts to present the problems of the development, or more correctly, underdevelopment, of Korea. Bong opens with extreme wide shots firmly placing the film in a small city where rice cultivation is still an important way of life. Detective Park, resident of rural Hwaseong,  Yet the industrial park bordering the paddy fields is an imposing, dominating feature. The looming factory provides a reminder of the economic change taking place at the time. Extreme wide shots continue throughout the film and Bong incorporates the characters into them, but they are minuscule in comparison to the vast fields. Like a landscape painting, extracting the characters from the era or setting is impossible. Or perhaps Bong wanted to show the characters are all victim to the larger forces at work in Korean society. For example, the portrait of Korea's military dictator looms down from the wall in the police station with a constant presence. Either way, this firmly roots the film in a Korean setting and in a specific time in Korean history. 

The fields of Hwaseong - wide and bleak

The detectives chase a suspect to a large industrial quarry

However, Hwaseong is more than just a setting for a thriller themed plot. Memories of Murder is more than ‘archeological’, at its core it is a Korean Thriller. The strategy of reproduction actually alters the narrative as contemporary events are used as turning points; the riots prevent police from being deployed to Hwaseong to stop a murder, and the television reports of police brutality tip Detective Cho over the edge. This unfortunate train of events leads to the death of their only witness, the mentally retarded Kwang-ho. Bong presents Detective Park’s powerlessness in the opening where a long take  shows the chaos around him as we follow his viewpoint and see his only evidence get destroyed. 

Furthermore, the helplessness of the detectives is represented through the motif of the blackout, which was a common practice in the military regime of the 1980s. The blackout drill not only provides the killer with the perfect opportunity to abduct and kill his victims under complete darkness, but it is also a metaphor for the cluelessness of the detectives, who are figuratively left ‘in the dark’. Actual fade outs to black are used after the killer captures his victims, a vestige of traditional thriller as we dread what happens next. Moreover, the blackouts also implicate the government in the murders, who force these drills upon the populace, placing the maintenance of their social order above the safety of their citizens. A portrait of the military dictator hangs above the police in the station while they discuss the crimes. This simple aspect of mise en scene implies the government is always at the top of the hierarchy delivering justice and law. Thus the failures of those at the grass roots are symbols for larger failures of the system, summed up with the DNA tests which have to be sent to America as Korea has no facilities conduct the tests. 

Another possible metaphor for the ignorance of the detectives could be the expansive rice fields. The tall stalks allow the killer huge freedom of movement while also being able to remain completely hidden. If one enters the rice fields there is a limited area which is visible, but if you never venture in then you will never find what is hidden within it. The rice paddies also conceal one of the first victims, one which Detective Park believes to be alive and living in Seoul. This is an aspect of the film that simply could not be translated, as the rice fields are typical of Korean scenery and provide a staple diet for East Asians, compounding the relationship between the narrative and the setting. Memories of Murder is inextricably Korean as it relies on events of the 1980s to drive the narrative, it exploits the social consciousness of the failures of the era, it uses the setting of Hwaseong to represent how 'pathetic', as said by another Korean director, Korea was at the time. Bong has expanded the Thriller; the disappointment of the ending evokes a sense of pity and frustration, and leaves anything but nostalgia in the minds of Korean audiences as they recall the blackouts, the oppression, the police brutality and most of all their own weakness.  

Bong himself described Memories of Murder as a ‘farm village thriller’; the plot is far too interwoven into Korean society to be transported elsewhere. It belongs in the small town of Hwaseong; ‘farm village thriller’ removes the grandness of ‘crime thrillers’, or ‘psychological thrillers’, and encapsulates the frustration of the lack of a solution because it represents the backwardness of the times. With young Korean directors of the 2000s there was a movement - intentional or not - to merge genres or weave in a distinctly Korean flavour into them. Bong may have been caught by the drive that he “can’t do it like Hollywood, and mustn’t do it like Hollywood” due to financial constraints and cultural pride. In which case Memories of Murder is a success in diversifying what a thriller can achieve and how it can manipulate people’s emotions and memories. 

Listening to Mirrors 镜听

This is a translation of the short story 镜听 from the Qing compendium 聊斋志异, which introduces the interesting custom of listening to mirrors. It also happened to be Emperor Qianlong's favourite story. The name of the collection of short stories roughly translates to 'Strange Tales of the Drawing Room', and is known as Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio.

Listening to mirrors was a type of prognostication, as mirrors were regarded as magical objects. On the night before Spring Festival, Chinese would pray to their ancestors, asking a question which they later hoped to be answered. Then they would light a stove, and fill a pot with water. A spoon would be dropped into the boiling water, then they would go in the direction indicated by the spoon. They would go the nearest door, carrying a mirror, and secretly listen to people passing outside. The first sentence overheard would be the answer to their question.

镜听

益都郑氏兄弟，皆文学士。大郑早知名，父母尝过爱之，又因子并及其妇；二郑落拓，不甚为父母所欢，遂恶次妇，至不齿礼。冷暖相形，颇存芥蒂。次妇每谓二郑：“等男子耳，何遂不能为妻子争气？”遂摈弗与同宿。于是二郑感愤，勤心锐思，亦遂知名。父母稍稍优顾之，然终杀于兄。

Yì dū zhèng shì xiōngdì, jiē wénxué shì. Dà zhèng zǎo zhīmíng, fùmǔ chángguò ài zhī, yòu yīnzǐ bìng jí qí fù; èr zhèng luòtà, bù shèn wèi fùmǔ suǒ huan, suì è cì fù, zhì bùchǐ lǐ. Lěngnuǎn xiāngxíng, pō cún jièdì. Cì fù měi wèi èr zhèng:“Děng nánzǐ ěr, hé suì bùnéng wéi qīzi zhēngqì?” Suì bìn fú yǔ tóngsù. Yúshì èr zhèng gǎn fèn, qín xīn ruì sī, yì suì zhīmíng. Fùmǔ shāoshāo yōu gù zhī, rán zhōng shā yú xiōng.

In Yidu County, Shandong Province, the Zheng family had two sons, both were scholars. The elder son achieved fame at an early age so his parents favoured him and his wife. The second son was disappointed as his parents were not fond of him. They were also mean to the second son's wife and weren't in the least bit polite to her. As the parents were warm to one son and cold to the other, a distance grew between the sons. The younger son's wife said to him, "You are both the same type of man, why is it that I am the wife with no respect (face)?" Thereupon, she refused to sleep with her husband. Consequently, the second son was motivated to be hardworking, he changed his ways and became studious and diligent, and finally he also achieved fame. His parents showed a little bit more regard towards him, but he was still not treated as well as the elder son. (杀 in this case does not mean kill, it means 不如)


次妇望夫甚切，是岁大比，窃于除夜以镜听卜。有二人初起，相推为戏，云：“汝也凉凉去！”妇归，凶吉不可解，亦置之。闱后，兄弟皆归。时暑气犹盛，两妇在厨下炊饭饷耕，其热正苦。忽有报骑登门，报大郑捷，母入厨唤大妇曰：“大男中式矣！汝可凉凉去。”次妇忿恻，泣且炊。俄又有报二郑捷者，次妇力掷饼杖而起，曰：“侬也凉凉去！”此时中情所激，不觉出之于口；既而思之，始知镜听之验也。

Cì fù wàng fu shén qiè, shì suì dà bǐ, qiè yú chúyè yǐ jìng tīng bo. Yǒu èr rén chū qǐ, xiāng tuī wèi xì, yún:“Rǔ yě liáng liáng qù!” Fù guī, xiōng jí bùkějiě, yì zhì zhī. Wéi hòu, xiōngdì jiē guī. Shí shǔqì yóu shèng, liǎng fù zài chú xià chuī fàn xiǎng gēng, qí rè zhèng kǔ. Hū yǒu bào qí dēngmén, bào dà zhèng jié, mǔ rù chú huàn dà fù yuē:“Dà nán zhōngshì yǐ! Rǔ kě liáng liáng qù.” Cì fù fèn cè, qì qiě chuī. É yòu yǒu bào èr zhèng jié zhě, cì fù lì zhì bǐng zhàng ér qǐ, yuē:“Nóng yě liáng liáng qù!” Cǐ shí zhōng qíng suǒ jī, bù jué chū zhī yú kǒu; jì'ér sī zhī, shǐ zhī jìng tīng Zhī yàn yě.

The second son's wife was extremely eager to see her husband be successful. As there would be Imperial Exams (大比) held that year, on the eve of Spring Festival she secretly listened a mirror to help divine the outcome. The wife had only just gone outside when she heard two people playing a game of pushing one another, when one said, "You should go and cool down!" The wife went home, but she could not tell if the sentence was favourable or not, and so shelved the matter. After the exams, the brothers both returned. At that time, the summer heat was still particularly strong, and both wives were in the kitchen preparing a meal for the workers. The heat was almost unbearable. Suddenly a messenger arrived at the gate, informing the family that the elder son had passed the exam. The mother entered the kitchen and said to the elder son's wife, "my eldest passed the exam, you can go and cool down." The second son's wife was angry and sad, she cried but kept on cooking. Suddenly, another messenger arrived announcing the second son had also been successful. The second wife threw down her rolling pin and said, "I (侬) am going to go and cool down too!" At that moment, she was overwhelmed with emotions, and did not notice what she had said. But later when she was thinking, she realised this was the outcome shown by the mirror.


异史氏曰：“贫穷则父母不子，有以也哉！庭帏之中，固非愤激之地；然二郑妇激发男儿，亦与怨望无赖者殊不同科。投杖而起，真千古之快事也！”

Yì shǐ shì yuē:“Pínqióng zé fùmǔ bù zi, yǒu yǐ yězāi! Tíng wéi zhī zhōng, gù fēi fènjī zhī dì; rán èr zhèng fù jīfā nán'ér, yì yǔ yuànwàng wúlài zhě shū bùtóng kē. Tóu zhàng ér qǐ, zhēn qiāngǔ Zhī kuài shì yě!”

The author (who refers to himself as 'the historian of the odd', or 'the other historian') adds, "if you are poor, then your parents will not regard you as their son; this really does happen! In the story, the rousing part was the second son's wife inspiring her husband, which is not the same as when normal people argue. When she threw down the rolling pin, that really is happiness!"



Wasn't this story a rather odd choice for an Emperor? It lacks grandiose and some of the language it uses is practically vernacular, but Qianlong had a purpose. During the reign of his father, a new wave of taxes came into being that hit the scholarly elite. The scholars were appalled at the idea they would have to pay taxes like the common farmers and merchants, as they saw themselves as completely above the common masses. In anger, scholars and their disciples boycotted the imperial examinations. 

Without applicants to take the exams, the Qing bureaucracy would begin to crumble. While Qianlong was still a prince, he had many contacts in scholarly circles. He would tell them this story as a way to encourage them to sit the exam. Even though the story's main event is the second son passing the examination, it is told from the view of the wife. It depicted how passing the exam affected not only the candidate, but all the people around him. In this case, it gave the wife great happiness and respect. 

Spring in Bloom 盛开的鲜花

It is said that the most beautiful aspect of cherry blossom is its ephemerality. Seeing as there is such a small window of time to enjoy the flowers before they fall, Qingdao's Zhongshan Park draws in tens of thousands in one week in April. With that in mind, on the 17th of April I rushed to Zhongshan Park to see the blossoms for myself.

Outside of Japan, Qingdao can boast the largest concentration of cherry blossom trees, some 20,000. They were planted by the Japanese during their occupation from 1915 to 1922, and the trees have remained as perhaps the only welcome feature from that period. 

Capturing the moment

Zhongshan park has many other flower gardens apart from just Cherry blossoms

A view along Sakura Road

A bride and groom between wedding photos

Thousands of people took advantage of the spring bloom to visit Zhongshan park

Of course, where there are people, there is business opportunity. This was no ordinary walk in the park. Hundreds of stall holders had set up stands, peddling everything from portraits to bunny ears. Despite being in a park, don't breath in through your nose, because it won't be the scent of cherry blossoms that greets you. Stinky tofu is a hugely popular snack, and its unpleasant odour pervades the entire park. If that wasn't enough to disrupt your meditative stroll through the spring flowers, add the sound of thumping technopop, pounding away into your very soul.

Perhaps try visiting very early in the morning to avoid the crowds and music, because the scenery is stunning.


So, here's a really badly filmed video about spring blossoms. Cannot believe this is a song about how beautiful flowers are and they've filled the video with CGI. What.

Tales of Taroko 太魯閣的故事

So a few of you may have already heard me tell this escapade, in which case, read it again! Unless you are my mother. Mother, do not read this post under any circumstances. It will just make you angry and unnecessarily distressed. / End disclaimer. 

All the way back in February, I fled from cold China to temperate Taiwan. I had an absolutely great time meeting up with my old friend, Helen, who is currently studying in Japan. Our week was jam-packed with touristy goodness. We managed to visit the Chiang Kai-Shek Memorial Hall, the Palace Museum, Shilin Riverside Park, Shilin night market, Taipei 101, Zhinan temple, teahouses in Maokong, Longshan Temple, the restored Bopilao street, Botanical Gardens, the shopping hotspot of Ximending, the Red House, the Contemporary Arts Museum, Tianmu, hotsprings, and a massive hot pot dinner. One experience will tower above them all in my memory, and that is our trip to Taroko National Park. 

Having spent 4 full days touring urban Taipei, we were determined to get out of the city and explore some of Taiwan's spectacular countryside. Hello Taroko. The plan was to spend one afternoon in Taroko, and catch a late train back to Taipei so that Helen would have plenty of time to pack for her flight the next morning.      

The view from the tourist centre in Taroko National Park

To make the most of our time in the wilds, we set out from Taipei early. We caught a fast train from Taipei Main Station and arrived in Taroko around 1pm. In the tourist centre, the man at the front desk advised us to take the bus tour that stops at all the famous scenic spots. Helen and I listened. But we had just been on a 3 hour long train ride and were itching to stretch our legs. We wanted to walk in the great outdoors, to feel at one with nature. We weren't gonna sit on no bus, nuh-uh.

So we checked our map, and saw there was a route starting just next to the tourist centre. The route led to a small village on top of the mountain called Dali. We figured we'd climb up, see the village, climb down, then if we had time maybe take the tour bus. And so the journey began...

Setting off...

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step

Checking out the flora... 

...and the fauna

Up, up, up the stairs we go

Not all those who wander are lost

We reckon there must have been about 1km of steps. All of a sudden the stairs came to an end, with a
signpost saying 1320m left to Dali village. The route ahead was a path of moist soil, slippery rocks and winding tree roots, but we hadn't just climbed a kilometre of stairs to just turn back now. So we pressed on.

I had never been hiking. I've walked up hills before, but considered it different as I assumed the activity of hiking involved more equipment. Well now I've hiked, without equipment, or experience, or training. Hiking is just regular climbing but with more adrenaline and more risk of FALLING OFF A MOUNTAIN. Because when the stairs ended, so did the barriers. At one point we had to climb across a section where some kind of landslide had blocked the path and had cleared the trees right off the slope, giving a clear view all the way down. We hadn't seen a single person for a long time, and we were starting to get nervous about the route. Helen and I agreed that we would climb for another half an hour, then turn back if we hadn't reached Dali. Suddenly we rounded a corner to find a couple of Taiwanese aborigines and their pet monkey having a barbecue. Luckily, they spoke mandarin. We were offered some of their meat, which we declined, and were told it was only another 20 minutes to Dali.

Damn you, signposts

Oh what a cute monkey!

I

Then things turned nasty. The monkey grabbed the knife the man was using for his barbecue and proceeded to chase us up the mountain. Yes, I have a photo of a knife-wielding monkey. 

OH MY GOD IT HAS A KNIFE, RUN FOR YOUR LIVES

We could hear the shouts of the lady echoing through the trees as she tried to call the monkey back. This is hopefully the closest I'll ever come to be hunted by Predator. GET TO DA CHOPPER!!!

Eventually, we lost the monkey and sound of the lady's voice faded out. We climbed for another 20 minutes. Then maybe another 20. And finally we came upon Dali village. If you can even call it a village. There was a fenced off electrical box, and a couple of scooters. It was an anti-climax of mountainous proportions. Especially considering how dangerous our path up had been. I didn't want to go back down the same way; climbing up was hard, climbing down would be even more risky. Helen agreed, and we pulled out our map. It showed a route that joined Dali to a scenic trail. Sure that reaching the scenic route would be less perilous than turning back, we decided to persevere. I can only remember one obvious road leading away from Dali, and the map next to it didn't actually give the direction of the road. We did what we do best, and forged ahead.

I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. 

I travel for travel's sake, the great affair is to move.

The beauty is in the walking - we are betrayed by destinations

You have got to get lost before you can be found

Hours passed and we hardly noticed. The air was fresh and warm. Our feet had set a rhythm we couldn't break free from. We walked on and on and on, weaving round an endless green mountainside. All the while hoping to reach the scenic route and head back to the tourist centre. 

As the sky gave in to the first hues of dusk, we came across a multi-coloured, single-story house in the middle of a field. A woman called out to us in Chinese, "where are you going?". We approached her and asked her where we were. "Datong," she replied. Our map showed a small point called Datong, miles away from Dali, accessible by logging trail. She told us that the path we mistakenly thought we were on had been closed last year due to damage from high winds. It wouldn't re-open until next year. Helen, meanwhile, was baffled. I was getting answered in Chinese, and all Helen really wanted to know was how to get back. When I asked, and was met with, "it's not possible, you won't make it back". The route we had arrived by was the only way. Helen and I finally wanted to turn around, admit defeat, but the woman stopped us. She asked if we had torches, or proper night clothing, which of course we didn't. She was angry we had arrived so unprepared, but was even more stubborn in refusing to let us go. 

Helen can't speak Chinese (if she can, she's been hiding it from me very well), so I spent the next hour getting an earful of how reckless we were, and how could we do this without male accompaniment, while Helen nodded happily. However, we did get complimented on the fact that we made it all that way across some pretty treacherous mountain. Hells yeah.

The lady, called Ximut, who had generously offered to let us stay for the night heated water for us over her fire. We ended up washing ourselves in buckets in her outhouse. As we were bathing, Ximut cooked us a dinner of rice, fish, vegetables, and soup. I felt so bad about imposing on her and her house that I tried to eat as little as possible, but she kept forcing food on us until we were full. The handful of villagers who live in Datong stopped by at different points during the evening. The women were horrified, and somewhat maternal, that we had journeyed to Datong alone. Whereas the men seemed more impressed by our accomplishment. One man poured us glasses of 'whiskey', which was in reality very sweet black-current juice with a little bit of alcohol. 

We headed to bed early, knowing that we had a race on our hands to make sure Helen caught her flight on time. In contrast to Taipei, we fell asleep listening to the chirruping of insects rather than the hum of traffic.

Rising with the sun the next day, Ximut prepared us plain rice porridge for breakfast with pickles and eggs on the side. The previous night I found out that Ximut actually runs a guesthouse, and takes in guests who want to experience real countryside living. Helen and I luckily had enough money cover our stay, so it ended up almost as if we had pre-booked! I don't have enough words to express how grateful I am to Ximut, her rainbow house, and her friends that looked after us when we didn't realise we needed looking after. You've got to be pretty trusting to let two foreigners who've just stumbled out of bushes stay in your house overnight.

Me and our mountain mamas

Helen and co

Our breakfast and the stove

The cloud from the day before had cleared, and on our hurried journey back, I was able to take a few shots that capture Taroko's natural landscape in all its majesty.

A good traveller has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving - Laozi

Morning over the mountains

I'm pleased to say, we made it back safely (just about) and Helen caught her flight back to Japan. I will leave you now with a quotation from Ernest Hemingway which I feel rightly sums up this adventure;

"It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end."

Laicising Lei Feng 雷锋被淡忘了吗？

Who was Lei Feng? What does his image mean today? 

"Learn from Lei Feng's example; love the Party, love socialism, love the people."

It has been 50 years since Mao used Lei Feng's image as the paragon of party. Lei Feng was an ordinary member of the PLA, a squad leader of a transport unit from Changsha. In 1962, he died at the young age of 21 (22 using the asian way of counting age) while assisting another soldier direct a truck. A year later, the communist party released Lei's (supposed) diary, and Mao venerated the young soldier as icon of selflessness, modesty, and dedication. Despite his youth, the diary detailed his relentless dedication to helping others, and his unwavering devotion to Mao. In death, layman Lei became a deity.

For a man whose diary professed he was content to be 'a single grain' of rice trying to feed the people, the 'smallest screw' in the socialist revolution, he turned out to be the most important screw in the Party's propaganda machine. The real authorship of the diary is in dispute, as it very conveniently came to light after the failed Great Leap Forward (1958-1961) which damaged Mao's reputation. Party propagandists seized Lei's diary to promote selfless deeds and, more importantly, lionise Mao. The Party gradually managed to shift the focus of 'Lei Feng Campaigns' from fervent service and altruism to a 'cult of Mao'. Countless posters depict a smiling, rosy-cheeked Lei Feng working hard, serving the people, and providing a moral ideal which everyone was to unquestioningly follow.   

Several decades later, Lei Feng persists in the form of 'Learn from Lei Feng Day', falling on the 5th of March. However, he is no longer the idol he used to be, he languishes as an anachronism of a bygone China. This year, several films commemorating Lei Feng's life were released to coincide with 'Learn from Lei Feng Day'. All the films publicly and embarrassingly bombed. Major cinemas failed to sell any tickets at all and held screenings for empty theatres. The only place Lei Feng's actions seemed to hold any resonance were government controlled organisations, for example, Xinhua News Corporation, who reported on good deeds happening across the country. On the whole, Lei Feng and his lessons have been laid aside. He is now a mere mortal.

Here in Qingdao, bus stops were suddenly plastered with posters extolling politeness and courtesy. However, the signs were consolidated with the government's new priority of development.

顺应人民群众新期待新追求, 加快建设宜居幸福的现代化国际城市

Shùnyìng rénmín qúnzhòng xīn qídài xīn zhuīqiú, jiākuài jiànshè yi jū xìngfú de xiàndàihuà guójì chéngshì

We are meeting the people's new expectations and goals, by quickly establishing the standards of living and happiness of a modernising, international city. 

文明赢得尊重, 利让从我做起

Wénmíng yíngdé zūnzhòng, lì ràng cóng wǒ zuò qǐ

Courtesy earns respect, manners arise from me 

讲文明, 树新风, 携手共创文明城

Jiǎng wénmíng shù xīnfēng xiéshǒu gòng chuàng wénmíng chéng

Be civilised, nurture a new character, together we will build a cultured city

学习雷锋, 奉献他人, 提升自己

Xuéxí léifēng, fèngxiàn tārén, tíshēng zìjǐ

Learn from Lei Feng, devote yourself to other, improve yourself

以世界眼光谋划未来, 以国际标准提升工作, 以本土优势彰显特色

Yǐ shìjiè yǎnguāng móuhuà wèilái, yǐ guójì biāozhǔn tíshēng gōngzuò, yǐ běntǔ yōushì zhāngxiǎn tèsè

Use a world perspective to plan for the future, use international standards to enhance your work, use local strengths to highlight special characteristics.

改善城市环境, 提升发展质量, 增进市民福祉 

Gǎishàn chéngshì huánjìng, tíshēng fāzhǎn zhìliàng, zēngjìn shìmín fúzhǐ

Improve the city's environment, raise the standard of development, enhance the well-being of citizens

East or West, Guilin is Best 桂林山水甲天下

Saturday 23rd March, and I arrive in what is reputed to be China's most beautiful place: Guilin. The air is warm and I shed off the coats and jumpers I wore in the north; I'm liking it already. Driving from the airport to the hotel, it's clear spring blossoms early here. Whereas Qingdao is still caught in a shroud of grey, Guilin is an explosion of fresh verdant hills. Buildings rarely reach a fourth story. They sit crouched so green peaks can dominate the skyline, as if the city is bowing down to marvel nature.  

We spent the first evening in the hotel, acclimatising and relaxing. That night also happened to coincide with the global event of Earth Hour, so for sixty minutes the Shangri-la was plunged into darkness. We had booked a long river cruise for the next day, with a start time of 8:20am, so I welcomed the early night.

A view along the Li river

The next morning we met our lovely tour guide, David. Or rather, 'happy David', who greeted us with "you can see my smiling face always." He also warned us that Guilin's weather is "changeable like a baby's face" so we had better bring our raincoats. Luckily for us the rain held off all day. The river cruise was a four hour long journey, sped up a little by the strength of the current. We were aboard a boat for 'international tourists', which was slightly bigger, cleaner and newer than the boats for domestic tourists. All the tour boats are managed by the government, but private (and illegal) tours are available in the form of tiny (and probably unsafe) speed boats.

When you see the scale of the tourist operation being run on the Li river, it becomes understandable why the government wants a monopoly. Roughly 10 million tourists come to Guilin every year, meaning over 27,000 tourists arrive every day. To cope with the huge volume of travellers, the river has an enormous fleet of cruise boats, that set off down the river in a long line. Add in multiple companies vying for business, and you have a recipe for disaster. As it was, the whole journey went by very smoothly; we passed by several farmers using water buffaloes, Nine Horse Hill, and the landscape painted on a 20yuan note!

The boat for domestic tourists

Cat hill - complete with ears and pricked up tail

Chinese tourism at its finest

Just part of the Armada

Multi-coloured cliff face

I had seen plenty of Chinese landscape paintings before the cruise. However, I hadn't realised how much the natural scenery inspired the paintings, as they look more like fantasy than reality. In fact, the real mountains almost look like they are the ones that have been painted! As the surface of the rock is uneven, rainwater can only touch certain parts. Afterwards, a black type of moss grows on the moist areas of the rock, which turns huge strips of rock black as if a brushstroke had been painted down it, contrasting against the original white limestone (click here for a good example of a landscape painting).

Just chillin' in Guilin

Shopping in West Street, Yangshuo

The river cruise's destination is a 'small' village called Yangshuo, that has recently swelled with effects of tourism. Yangshuo can now boast its own Macdonalds and KFC. Happy David told us language schools in the town are thriving, as all the shopkeepers want to learn that extra bit of English, Spanish or Russian that will help them reel in customers.

We stopped in a small traditional tea shop for a while. Having heard that Guilin is named after the osmanthus tree, we decided to try tea made from osmanthus flowers. The shopkeeper prepared the teapot and cups (by splashing a lot of hot water around), and brewed us several glasses. The small yellow flowers smell exotic, almost like mangoes, but when brewed they take on a rather smoky flavour. In the end, we bought a pot of Wolong tea mixed with osmanthus flowers.

We didn't stay long in Yangshuo. It was heaving with people and all there was to do was shop. For those interested, Yangshuo is also home to a famous performance called Liu San Jie, which I've heard is similar to the Beijing Olympics opening ceremony.

Local Guilin Beer

Dinner was a very interesting affair. Happy David told us the local speciality was osmanthus fish cooked in osmanthus wine. Come dinnertime, we set out to try to find it. We stumbled upon an island in the river, accessible by rickety bridge, dotted with little restaurants. We settled on a lively establishment right next to the river. The proprietress took us round the side to where the buckets of live fish were kept. After Will's father chose the biggest fish the restaurant had (unfortunately not osmanthus fish, also known as mandarin fish), we became the restaurant's VIPs for the night. There was no menu, instead, we were led into the kitchen and shown the vegetables they had on offer. The rice was complimentary because we had bought such a big fish, and we had no idea how the fish was going to be cooked. The fish was priced per jin (500g), and the manner of cooking it after the original purchase was free. In the end, the fish turned up as a stew and as a fried spicy dish with tomatoes. The proprietress came over and made us all take shots of some kind of local osmanthus liquor. She kept calling out homemade dishes for us to try for free. I didn't want to offend her so I even ate one of the pieces of tripe she offered me. She also presented us with homemade 'nian gao', which literally means 'year cake', and is a special type of dessert people eat during the new year. I had a great time and ate substantial amounts of fish, the two of which are usually linked in my view. 

The next day was supposed to be a 9 to 5 tour of Guilin's main city sights. We finished by 2pm, after we added in two more stops of our own! It turns out that Guilin is a small-scale city in comparison to the normal Chinese behemoth, or as happy David put it, "Guilin is peanut city, small like peanut." Guilin only has a population of 750,000 people, and there is a joke that if a meteor was to fall and kill any four Guilin residents, two of them would have been tour guides. With that, we prepared to battle the huge groups of cap-wearing, flag-waving, megaphone-blaring domestic tourists. To avoid losing each other in the rush he asked to "stick to each other like sticky rice, sticky rice please." Anyway, here's how the third day went down.

 Elephant Trunk Hill - the symbol of Guilin's scenery

1000 Buddha rock in Fubo Hill

Buddhas here, there and everywhere - Fubo Hill

Reed Flute Cave

More of Reed Flute Cave

The view from Solitary Beauty Peak in the Ming Prince Mansion, in the centre of Guilin

Monkey escaped from the zoo - seven star park

Camel Hill once visited by Bill Clinton- seven star park

Eating the traditional local dish, rice noodles, for lunch

Impromptu inner city river tour on a bamboo raft

Incident with local fisherman - our propellor got caught up in his net

After our record-breaking whistle stop tour of the city, we headed back to the hotel for some down time. While I was on a treadmill overlooking the street below, I saw a man driving a small herd of water buffalo down the road. I love this city.


For dinner we stayed in the hotel and were lucky enough to try the rare Osmanthus (mandarin) fish. It really is delicious!

Looking out from the Shangri-la's Horizon Club at breakfast 

 I suppose the only thing left to do is say - goodbye Guilin!