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I walked with free-roaming peacocks in an empty garden the other day. As they crowed from their nests high up in the trees, I wandered down a twig-covered path and found myself at the edge of a lake. The wooden boat houses were empty, the glass windows dulled like white sheets over summer house furniture. I couldn't see the sky in the water; the sun's reflection was blinding. I peered through the branches, though, and saw the blue sky overhead. The lake shimmered at eye level, and I contemplated climbing a tree trunk bent down low.

Yesterday I played catch with my brother in the park. Further down the open field, a shirtless man did the same with his dog. Couples whispered under the shade, and a father and toddler son rode a tandem bike down the dirt path. We walked under the cloudless sky to the water's edge. Throwing off our shoes, we stepped gingerly on the sharp rocks leading down to the springs, where we cooled our feet and rested them on slippery, moss-covered stones. Little children and big dogs splashed noisily through the shallow water, while tadpoles attempted to swim uninterrupted.

Today I drove in circles through the hill country. I stopped at a red metal bridge and climbed an uneven path beside it. A lone tree marked the top, its knotted arms outstretched as if eager to dive into the river below. Boats drew white zigzags through the blue-green waves, and across the way were tree-covered hills and the cityscape on the horizon. I napped on a rock jutting out from the cliff as the sunlight seeped into my skin. I waited for dusk, but the sun refused to fall.

Austin. It's good to be home.

sore legs are our souvenir

I spent the latter half of this golden week climbing Huangshan, or Yellow Mountain as it's known in English, with three of my coworkers. Huangshan is considered one of the most beautiful mountains in China - if not the most beautiful one. It's famous for its Four Beauties: pine trees, rock formations, natural springs, and the 'sea of clouds', so called because the peaks of the mountain seem to float like islands above the clouds. Unfortunately, each of these beauties eluded us, no thanks to Mother Nature.

Thursday was spent in transit - a 6 hour bus ride from Shanghai with some stops to nearby villages (mostly tourist traps not worth the extra money) and a tea house where we tried various green teas unique to the region. That night my coworkers and I discussed whether we wanted to walk up the mountain the next day or take the cable car up, and we agreed that we would walk. Huangshan has three main peaks, Lianhua (Lotus), Guangmingding (Brightness), and Tiandu (Heavenly Capital), each of which is more than 1800 meters high. Lotus Peak, the highest of the three, was closed, so we were going to climb Tiandu Peak instead.

Friday, the weather looked fine for a hike. Our guide recommended that we spend the morning visiting some side attractions so as to avoid the morning crowd on the mountain. We therefore spent the first sunny hours visiting various waterfalls. By the time we set out to actually go up Huangshan, the sky had become deeply overcast, and just as we'd finished lunch, it started to rain.

Before we left Shanghai, we had decided that it would be silly to pack rain gear because even if it did start to rain, we could buy plastic ponchos on the mountain. So, when it started to rain at midday on Friday, we each bought ponchos and covers for our pants from the hotel before heading out. I guess for 5 kuai I shouldn't have expected quality gear, but these outfits were ridiculous. They were as thin as Saran Wrap (cling film for you Brits) and less durable, so that as soon as I pulled the ties to tighten my hood, I ripped a hole where the hood meets the jacket, and somewhere in the span of five minutes I managed to rip a hole in my pant covers that stretched from the bottom of my leg up to the middle of my thigh - not exactly waterproof anymore.

The rain was no dainty spring shower either. It fell heavily and ceaselessly and worked its way inside our raincoats as we climbed. The peaks were closed off (because three years ago, six people were killed by lightning while climbing Huangshan), so there went our plan to climb Tiandu Peak. We had to take the cable car instead. We waited in line - and in the rain - for about two hours before finally reaching the gates of the cable car station. We had just handed over our tickets when we heard the low rumbling of thunder. Perfect timing; the cable car stops running during lightning storms. Thankfully, the lightning stayed away, and about an hour later, we were on our way up the mountain.

The cable car supposedly takes a scenic path, and between the clouds and the fogged up windows, we saw the occasional waterfall or cluster of pine trees. However, we could not even see the cable car in front of or behind us. At some points, visibility was practically zero.

The cable car took us to about 1500 or 1600 meters up the mountain. Our guide then toured us around to various must-see scenic spots at the top, including the Welcome Pine Tree and the Beginning-to-Believe Peak, from whose vantage point it's said that people first began to realize how beautiful Huangshan is. It was a wasted effort, though, as we could hardly see anything at all. We were miserable: wet, cold, tired, and frustrated. Even if we could have seen more than 15 feet ahead of us to take a photo, we didn't want to bring our cameras out into the pouring rain.

Eventually we reached the Brightness Peak, the second highest peak of Huangshan. However, the wind was strong and the rain heavy, so we didn't even stay there five minutes. I hardly remember at all what it looked like. We tried to snap a quick photo, but all you can see is us looking like ghosts in our plastic rain gear. You can't see the trees or the clouds or the mountain.

When we reached our hotel, each of us was soaked through. We had left our change of clothing at the bottom of the mountain, thinking that we didn't want to climb with unnecessarily heavy bags, so we had nothing to change into when we reached the top. I had brought a sweatshirt, which managed to stay fairly dry in my backpack, but had no pants to replace my wet jeans. My coworkers and I, not wanting to catch cold at night, stripped off our pants before going to bed even though we were six to a room.

Saturday morning we were supposed to meet at 5:30 for breakfast and catch the sunrise, but it was still raining and the fog was thick. We could barely even see out the hotel door. We put on our wet clothes and soggy shoes from the day before (they were just going to get wet again anyway) and started our trek to visit still more oddly shaped rocks and pine trees. The rain was lighter, though, and when the guide told us we had the option of taking the cable car or walking down the mountain, we all said we would walk. I should have mentioned that climbing Huangshan is not like walking a steep path; rather, it's like an endless workout on the Stairmaster. So, coming down the mountain was 6.5 km of walking down a winding pathway of stairs. Our legs were like rubber by the time we reached the bottom.

The further we walked down the mountain, the clearer the weather became. We were able to take some photos whenever there was a break in the trees, but by this time we were no longer at the peak and could not get a good panoramic view of the mountain. What was worse, when we reached the bottom, a woman told us that the weather was perfect to see the sea of clouds from the peak. Just a few hours earlier or later and we could have done.

We made it back to Shanghai, exhausted, around midnight on Saturday. I would have liked to say that I enjoyed the trip, but the truth is that it was more of an experience than an enjoyment. We all agreed that the most memorable part of the trip was the rain. What's more, we have many pictures of waterfalls and a few of some pine trees, but none of the hot springs or the sea of clouds. We have no pictures to prove we witnessed the famous beauty of Huangshan - because we didn't actually witness it ourselves. And we have nothing to show for making it to the top of Huangshan, nothing, that is, but sore quads and calves and a waddle when we walk.

another golden week

Millions of immigrants and their supporters will take to the streets of America today in protest of HR 4437. They will not work, shop, sell, or go to school, their absence intended to highlight their significant contribution to the US economy and society.

In China, as in many other countries around the world, people also are not at work or school today. They are on holiday instead. For them, today is Labor Day, May Day, or International Workers' Day.

I learned, while researching the Day Without an Immigrant campaign, that May Day actually began with the Haymarket Riot of 1886 in Chicago. Anarchists led a rally to protest the May 1st killing of union workers who had gone on strike to demand an eight-hour work day and better working conditions. The rally turned violent: a bomb was thrown, killing a policeman, and the police then opened fire on the crowd. Eight labor leaders (five of whom were immigrants) were charged with the policeman's murder. Though no evidence linked these men to the bombing, all were found guilty, seven were sentenced to death, and four were eventually hung. The governor later determined that all of the accused were innocent and pardoned the survivors. Following this debacle, people across the globe chose May 1st as a day to commemorate the achievements of the international labor force. This holiday was embraced by the far left wing, including socialist and communist governments. The US government, not wanting to show solidarity with those movements, chose to celebrate Labor Day in September instead, following a tradition by the Knights of Labor.

On a day with such a rich and fascinating history, and today with history in the making, I find it extremely ironic that I, the American daughter of naturalized citizens who emigrated to the US from Hong Kong, am now in China and recognizing May Day with a full week off of work.