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This article was published in The Star today

Ziying’s brush

Confucius was so revered that the eldest male descendants of his family married imperial princesses.

QUFU’S 2,500-year-old Confucius Temple or Kongmiao (Kong is Confucius’ family name) is reputed to be the second largest historical complex in China after the Forbidden City. But unlike the magnificent red gates and processional ways of the great palace, the unimposing stone archways leading into the temple seem to reflect Confucian humility and decorum.

The sage taught at the Apricot Pavilion (Xingtan) at the Temple of Confucius.

I had expected the ambience of a temple dedicated to the Master himself to be all calm and gentility. But the moment we stepped through the Lingxing gate into the temple’s extensive grounds (22 hectares), we found ourselves among masses of tourists and worshippers – not only Chinese from the mainland, Taiwan and Hong Kong, but also groups of Japanese and Koreans. Even worse was the din made by tour guides speaking through megaphones.

We tried our best to steer clear of the crowds but everyone seemed to be heading towards Kongmiao’s main building, the majestic Hall of Great Achieve-ments (Dachengdian). On Sept 28 each year, participants in classical costumes conduct elaborate rituals at this temple to commemorate Confucius. Attended by people from all over East Asia and beyond, the celebration is based on the rites of the Zhou dynasty (Zhou li), and considered no less important than the annual sacrifice to the Yellow Emperor Huangdi, ancestor of the Chinese nation.

The palace-style double yellow roofs of Dachengdian are supported by stone columns of which the ones at the entrance are carved with five-clawed dragons; the fifth claw in most of the dragons, however, is cleverly obscured by a cloud design. To avoid arousing the Emperor’s ire over the use of this imperial icon, and as a mark of respect, these dragon-carved columns were wrapped in yellow silk whenever a Son of Heaven came to worship.

A short walk from Kongmiao is the mansion of Confucius’ descendants. Traditionally the home of the first-born male of each generation (bearing the hereditary title “Yansheng duke”), it became the largest private estate in China and is the second largest residential complex, after the Forbidden City.

Like the Confucius Temple, the mansion has nine courtyards, a mark of the lofty status of the Kong family since nine is a number normally reserved for emperors. Seventy-seven generations of Kongs lived there until it was vacated in 1937 during the Japanese invasion. Yet, despite its size and importance, the mansion’s architecture is subdued and modest.

The weight of history rests heavily on Qufu. The town dates back some 3,500 years to the Shang dynasty and in the subsequent Zhou period was capital of the state Lu for 800 years. During the Cultural Revolution, Red Guards inflicted massive damage on Kongmiao and the Kong mansion. The abuse, perhaps aggravated by subsequent neglect and inexpert maintenance, still reverberates as many of the structures are in dire need of restoration.

Confucian society was decidedly patriarchal and the Master and his male descendants were buried in a vast cemetery called the Forest of Confucius (Konglin) just a short distance north of Qufu. Of late, however, this male-only tradition has been challenged, though unsuccessfully, by a female descendant.

Covering an area several times the size of Kongmiao and planted with thousands of trees, some more than 10 centuries old, Konglin seems more like a botanical garden than a burial ground.

The Sage’s family was so revered in dynastic China that many direct male descendants were honoured with aristocratic titles and given the privilege of marrying imperial princesses. Thus it came as no surprise to find steles, archways and stone animal figures – normally reserved for royal burial sites – at some of the tombs.

The resting place of Confucius and his eldest son is at the end of a long, elegant processional way flanked with tall pines and cypresses, stone statues of officials and mythical animals, and vermilion pavilions for ritual use. Despite these regal trappings, however, the tombs themselves are appropriately unpretentious.

It is said that tens of thousands of Kong males are buried at Konglin with the earliest graves dating to the Zhou period 25 centuries ago. The most recent ones, from the 20th century, belong to the 78th generation of male descendants.

I boarded a buggy for a 30-minute ride on a route that took us deeper into the forest, past the graves of generations of Kongs. Except for an old gardener gathering fallen twigs and branches there was not a soul around. I didn’t witness any of the ritual ceremonies and etiquette I had hoped to see in Qufu.

But in the serenity of that ancient forest, I did feel the spirit of Confucian dignity and restraint. And it was there, among the tall pines, cypresses and elms that I finally found a quiet moment to pay tribute to the Great Teacher.

Ziying makes frequent trips to China to refurbish a traditional family house in her ancestral village. She can be reached at ziyingster@gmail.com.

This article was published in The Star 28th November 2007

A cultivated Confucian gentleman has to master specific arts, such as music and calligraphy.

ZIYING’S BRUSH

TO BE perfectly honest, Qufu was my main motivation for going to Shandong. The town is the birthplace of Confucius and its name has always had a special resonance for me; it sounded classical and evoked images of serene courtyards, ancient rituals and people in elegant flowing hanfu (classical Chinese) robes. Most of all, I wanted to pay homage to the Great Teacher.

Qufu is only 130km south of Shandong’s capital, Jinan. Since the province is known for its excellent and extensive road system, I was somewhat puzzled when told the trip would take three to four hours.

Horse carriages provide alternative transport in Qufu.

The reason soon became obvious as we set off on the expressway. The thoroughfare was buzzing with traffic – besides passenger cars, entire lanes were jammed with goods vehicles and long-bed trucks loaded with everything from new cars to livestock to gigantic windmill fins. Directional signs on the expressway indicated destinations as far away as Fuzhou in Fujian province and port cities like Rizhao. Quite simply, we were getting a glimpse of the region’s economic might in motion.

An hour-and-a-half out of Jinan, traffic came to a standstill. Passenger vehicles, our coach included, were all but edged off the road onto the emergency lane on the verge. We sat there for at least 30 minutes, watching bumper-to-bumper commercial vehicles crawl past before resuming our journey. By the time we reached Qufu, it was already dark. The short trip had taken three-and-a-half hours.

A local resident said that of the 600,000 population of Qufu, 100,000 are surnamed Kong (Confucius’s surname). In a town so full of the sage’s descendants, I was hoping there might be a chance to see a re-enactment of some of the Six Arts – rites (li), music, archery, calligraphy, charioteering and mathematics – required of a cultivated Confucian gentleman (junzi).

I was especially interested in the rites taught by the master 2,500 years ago during the Zhou dynasty’s turbulent Spring and Autumn Period. The strictures governing not only religious rituals but also modes of behaviour (courtesy was a particularly important li) had a profound effect on Zhou society at a time of impending chaos, and centuries later, an equally deep influence on the neighbouring Koreans, Japanese and Vietnamese.

The night we arrived, our guide recommended a show that he said reflected Confucius’ teachings, with performers dressed in ancient costumes.

Qufu extravaganza: The antiquity show featured Tang dynasty dances and costumes.

The performance was in a large outdoor amphitheatre and began appropriately enough with a recitation of some of Confucius’ most well-known sayings: “Friends have come from afar, should we not be happy?”

A pair of projection screens hung from the wings provided translations in English, Japanese and Korean. Ancient music filled the night. Soon, “Master Kong” made a dramatic appearance standing in a horse-drawn cart on a darkened stage lit only by roaring “holy flames” from burners set dramatically high above the arena. Actors in classical costume filed onto the stage holding flame-like lanterns.

The show looked promising but, before long, Master Kong was replaced by scholars grasping fans, clubs and books made of bamboo slips. The stage exploded in a display of acrobatics and juggling, and a kungfu exhibition; Beijing opera was given its due. Cowboys and blond-wigged “westerners” in striped pants cavorted as did “Cossacks” and China’s minorities.

Any remaining pretence of a Confucian performance was completely forsaken as dancers in central Asian and Indian costumes twirled their way into the audience. The narrative said something to the effect that Confucian culture is universal and enlightens the world. At the finale, in the midst of all that glitter and razzmatazz, Master Kong again made his appearance in a horse-drawn cart, his outstretched arms embracing all under heaven.

The colourful extravaganza seemed the antithesis of Confucian decorum. Though it was professional and entertaining, it was not quite what I had hoped to see.

In the Analects, it is recorded that the sage was as meticulous about his food as he was with behaviour; he would eat only food that was fresh and properly cut, seasoned and cooked. Our itinerary promised a Confucian banquet with “antiquity music and dance”, and despite the eye-popping spectacle of the night before, I still harboured hopes that perhaps we would see a rite or two.

A total of 26 dishes appeared on our table – cold gingko nuts, Shandong’s famous peanuts and pear, soup with minced meat and fish dumplings; breads; biscuits with sweet and savoury toppings. I wondered if they were authentically Confucian, but it was a delicious feast nevertheless.

As for the 30-minute antiquity show, the dances and costumes were Tang dynasty, a thousand years after Zhou. There were no rites. Still, both evening and lunchtime performances featured plenty of music, and like rites, music is among the most important of the Six Arts.

This article was published in The Star 14th November 2007<

strong>ZIYING’S BRUSH

Jinan in China’s Shandong province is the home of poets, painters and strategists.

THE first time I heard about China’s Shandong province was years ago when I was still a child. My maternal grandmother spoke of the tall, strong Shandong men who made valiant soldiers, of the thick dialect spoken in certain parts of the province and of Penglai, home of the mythical Eight Immortals (baxian).

My mother too liked to talk about the brilliant Zhuge Liang, a military strategist from Shandong who became prime minister of Shu 18 centuries ago and whose exploits are described in the classic novel, The Romance of the Three Kingdoms.

While at university, my interest in China brought me in contact with some of the country’s rich literature and I discovered another Shandong native, Sunzi, whose 2,500-year-old military treatise influenced not only Zhuge Liang, but is still as relevant today, whether for business, corporate or military applications.

Above all, Shandong is the birthplace of the great sage Confucius, whose ideas on human relationships continue to influence east Asia 25 centuries after his death, and of his admirer Mencius who produced a classic that forms the basis of Confucian studies.

Small wonder then that in my imagination Shandong has always been a place of ancient history and classical culture.

In recent years, however, this northern coastal province has focused on economic development and become one of the richest in China. This was evident from the moment my friends and I arrived in Jinan, the provincial capital.

We flew in on a dark and foggy evening and our guide said we would have dinner before checking into the hotel. Half an hour from the airport, we found ourselves in front of several large buildings, their traditional-style roofs outlined with lights.

A brightly lit sign announced this was the Sharksfin Palace Hotel, and a pair of huge, equally brightly lit couplets unabashedly proclaimed, “Today we are number one; tomorrow we shall be the only one.”

I have been in large restaurants in other parts of China but this complex was so extensive that as we got off the coach, we were given the option of riding a buggy to the main building. The dining rooms were in a bustling atrium with several floors.

There were tanks with all sorts of live creatures from the cold seas around Shandong and from other parts of China, plates of carefully prepared dishes to help customers make their selection and young chefs on hand to demonstrate their skill.

At one end of the atrium stood a fountain surrounded by six gold carps spewing water; “blue sharks” were suspended in the air, and a long couplet announced the hotel’s mission – to bring honour to the people of Jinan.

One would imagine that the food and service at a restaurant this size would leave something to be desired, but the standards were international and as soon as we sat down, platters of finely prepared fish, prawn, duck, pork, vegetables and bread appeared on the table.

The next morning, our guide began by rattling off a list of historical personalities who, he said, came from Jinan or its vicinity, the most famous of whom were King Shun, the second of the legendary tripartite of China’s wise rulers over 40 centuries ago, Sunzi and Zhuge Liang. Yuan dynasty calligrapher and painter of horses Zhao Mengfu lived there for several years, as did a number of poets and poetesses.

The word “Ji” in Jinan is derived from an ancient appellation for the Yellow River and the metropolis of seven million is famed for its clear spring waters. Our first stop therefore, was the Baotu Spring Park in the city centre.

Autumn is the season of chrysanthemums and this lovely park with tall pines, a bubbling spring and ponds fringed with willows and colourful blooms was preparing for the chrysanthemum festival.

Groups of amateur Beijing opera singers performed for their own pleasure while in a clear stream, a shimmering electric blue fish caught my eye. A hall in the park commemorates Jinan’s patriotic poetess Li Qingzhao, who unsuccessfully urged the Song dynasty emperor to resist the encroaching Jurchens.

The nearby Daming Park was equally resplendent with stately pines and cypresses and colourful flowers, though the summer lotus in the large lake had already withered.

A Ming dynasty pavilion is now an artists’ studio while a tiny hall is dedicated to Ming dynasty minister Tie Xuan who, according to our guide, was boiled alive in oil for resisting Emperor Yongle’s (Zhudi) claim to the throne.

I had expected the Shandong Provincial Museum to be similar to the ones in the other history-rich provinces. But it was tired and dated and its collection of over 200,000 artefacts will be moved to a new facility next year.

Though I am told the nearby counties have significant Buddhist sites, there seemed little left of the province’s ancient glories in Jinan city, and I hoped to find more traces of classical Shandong as we prepared to head deeper into province.

Ziying makes frequent trips to China to refurbish a traditional family house in her ancestral village. She can be reached at ziyingster@gmail.com

This article was published in The Star 7th November 2007

Ziying’s Brush

Xiamen, one of China’s cleanest cities, has won a string of awards for its and green environment and the good habits of its people.

ON Oct 7, the Sunday Star carried an article from the China Daily concerning steps being taken to change the bad habits of Beijing residents ahead of the 2008 Summer Olympics. The extensive multi-pronged measures adopted by the local government have ostensibly yielded impressive results, with “sins” such as spitting, littering and queue-jumping dropping several percentage points between 2005 and 2006.

Two days later, a China Daily article reported a significant decline in the garbage left behind at Tiananmen over the recent National Day holidays in October, to about one-third that of the previous year.

I remember a few years ago, whenever I mentioned China, friends would invariably launch into the horrors of the toilets and the unsavoury practices of the locals. However, granted that rural areas and townships still lag behind, recent years have seen improvements in both the habits of the Chinese public and of the physical environment in many urban centres.

In this regard, one of the most impressive places I have visited is Fujian province’s wealthy port-city Xiamen, an island so spick and span that even the backlanes are litter-free. The clean streets make walking in this very affluent city a rare pleasure.

Our guide said the no-littering rule had been in place since a decade ago and those who violate the rule, such as dropping a cigarette butt, are subject to a penalty of collecting 20 discarded butts or cleaning 20 roadside ashtrays.

Unlike many cities in China where the noise and din from blaring car horns continue relentlessly day and night, honking is banned in Xiamen, with a fine of 500 yuan for violations. Much effort has also been made to green the city with small communal parks and streets planted with bougainvillea, the city flower.

The local government’s initiatives to improve Xiamen’s environment and the habits of its populace have proven so successful that the city has received more than a dozen awards over the past decade including National Sanitary City, Model City for Environmental Protection, International Garden City (2002) and in 2004, the United Nation’s Habitat Award.

No wonder the island has become one of the most desired living environments in China; I was told that high-end property values are in the range of 20,000 yuan per square metre (approx RM1,000 per sq ft).

Xiamen’s commitment to a healthy environment is evident from the moment one arrives at Gaoqi international airport. Pots of gorgeous purple and white orchids greet the traveller, but it is the electronic garbage bins that catch the eye. All one has to do is wave a hand over the cover and it automatically opens. There is no need to touch the dreaded lids and flaps. When I returned to Xiamen a month ago, I found the electronic bins gone but they had been replaced by recycling containers.

As for public conveniences, I have come across waterless suction toilets at Jiuzhaigou where both seat and bowl are lined with single-use sections of plastic. At Gaoqi airport on the other hand, the seats are covered with plastic that rotates at the touch of a button so that each user gets a fresh cover. I hear these devices are also in use in some other countries, but Gaoqi is the first place in China where I have seen them.

Generally, toilets in China still have much room for improvement, especially in the remote and rural areas. But over the past few years, the public facilities in many of the cities and tourist sites have improved significantly.

I spend a fair amount of time in the county townships of rural Fujian, which as expected, cannot be compared with Xiamen by any stretch of the imagination. In the dusty town centres car horns blare 24 hours a day, loud music fills the air and I have to be careful where I step on the sidewalk.

But recently, while having lunch at a restaurant near my ancestral village, I was surprised to find each customer’s set of plates, bowls and chopsticks shrink-wrapped in protective plastic. Someone had come up with the idea of commercially cleaning dining utensils and supplying them sealed to food outlets at 1 yuan per set. Used crockery is then sent back to the company for washing. The business motive of setting up such an enterprise is obvious but the concept of sanitary practices has evidently also made inroads into that rural town.

Xiamen is an example of what can be achieved if there is the will to improve both urban environment and the habits of residents. Happily, I have seen varying degrees of change in other Chinese municipalities as well. Hopefully, with these cities as examples, and spurred by the drive to improve behaviour and environment ahead of the Beijing Olympics, county townships too will begin to show improvements in these areas.

Ziying makes frequent trips to China to refurbish a traditional family house in her ancestral village. She can be reached at ziyingster@gmail.com.

Another humorous incident about the Father of the Nation in the NST yesterday:

All Tunku wanted was ‘to mandi’, not Mandy

Reading a reprint of the Aug 26, 1957 edition of ‘The Straits Times’, Sit Hin Kin was reminded of a humorous incident involving Tunku

KUALA LUMPUR: Sit Hin Kin is a great admirer of the Tunku. And like so many people who were acquainted with Tunku Abdul Rahman, he has a humorous story to tell about our first prime minister.

The 71-year-old was reminded of a quirky incident that occurred in London when he came across an article with the headline “Templer (I want bath) flies in” in the reprint of the Aug 26, 1957 edition of The Straits Times.

“In the 1960s, the Tunku visited England at the height of the Christine Keeler scandal. She was a high society call girl, having an affair with the then British war minister, John Profumo, and a Russian naval attache at the same time. She had a good friend named Mandy Rice.

“When our good Tunku arrived at London Airport, our high commissioner asked him what he wanted to do first. The Tunku replied: ‘First, I want mandi.’

“The British reception party stiffened, the polite smiles frozen on their faces. They thought the Tunku wanted Mandy Rice,” he laughed.

Sit, the executive chairman of oil and gas firm Petro-Mekong Corp Sdn Bhd, said he was excited when the New Straits Times distributed reprints of the Aug 26, 1957 to Sept 1, 1957 editions of The Straits Times.The newspapers, reprinted to mark the 50th anniversary of independence, brought back a “flood of memories, especially the advertisements”, said Sit. Pointing to the Gammeters Ltd watch advertisement in one of the old newspapers, he recalled: “I fell in love with the Eterna-Matic watch when I saw it on display in Singapore in 1955. It was the one and only watch that wound and ran on ball bearings. But at $200, I couldn’t afford it,” he said.And by the time he had saved up enough for the watch years later, it was nowhere to be found.

Ten years ago, he chanced upon one in Singapore and purchased it for S$2,000, he said, proudly showing off his rather simple Eterna-Matic.

Sit added that he missed the spirit of unity of the old days.

“Back then, for example, we recognised that our Muslim friends did not eat pork and our Hindu friends did not eat beef. So we separated the food at the table but not the people.

“Today, both people and food have gone into separate corners, and that is very sad.”