Clear sunny days in Tongling, (likely anywhere in China) where the air pollution has been tamed temporarily by heavy rains 2 days ago, are rare and precious. I took an early (by local standards) walk in the garden close to my apartment. I am developing a standard walk: I say "Nihao" to the bored and lonely old man who sits in a bashed up chair near my bus stop, as he enjoys a break from his dark and cold home in the old-style residential area on the other side of the street-facing wall. Then I stroll through the row of little shops that sell pot plants and flowering shrubs. I stop to admire their selection of truly ancient and no doubt expensive Bonsai trees, checking for any autumnal color changes. Then, either clockwise or counterclockwise I walk around the garden's central lake. I can hear the girl practicing her trumpet in a side garden, and, today, I stop to listen to the Chinese Opera singers, who occupy the primo spot near the lake with a fountain. It's a big group today, with 3 retired ladies who sing well. There's also a foursome of skilled musicians, playing their long necked Chinese violins and tapping some sort of bamboo percussion instrument , so the performance is actually good today. The ladies aren't screaming into their microphones and they're doing some dance moves as they perform. Usually I find these groups of amateur enthusiasts utterly dreadful, like a bunch of yowling cats. Yes, the weather today is quite lovely, but I don't think that's the only reason I'm upbeat about the opera singers.
I exit through some steps I've noticed that lead into another old style community behind a wall abutting the garden. Here I enter the community of shabby homes by way of a path along the side of the community toilet block. I'm no longer disgusted by the stench, and step carefully around the garbage. It's what you do in China.
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