Travelogue, day 8
As though especially for my last day in Shanghai, the sun decided to come visit, glancing intermittently through the cloud cover in that particular way created to warm passing travelers' backs. All things fell into place in symphony-like perfection. I made it to the Puxi dock theater just in time to catch an embarrassingly hilarious Romance of the Three Kingdoms shadow puppets play: my purpose in this was actually to see how the Romance would be adapted for children, never imagining that this adaptation would include Expo-tan. It's somewhat adorable to see Chinese kids gaze upon the Arrow-Stealing Scheme with the same love born of familiarity that we reserve for Snow White or Little Red Riding Hood, but by far the high point of the show was that the voice actor behind Kongming gave him the villainous laugh to end all villainous laughs. I'm not sure if it was on purpose, or if someone really ought to tell China that one of their best beloved folk heroes is a huge dick.
Following this, took the ferry and trotted over to the UK Pavilion and actually managed to get inside. Miracles. This pavilion is one of the most popular in the Expo, the line often longer than four hours; following my humdrum experiences of the similarly crowded Japan and South Korean pavilions, I was understandably wary. From the outside, the most prominent part of the UK Pavilion is a very large blob that causes you to blink constantly, trying to bring it into focus. On closer inspection, it appears to be a very large tribble. Once you're near enough to truly look, though, the blob is actually a cluster of very long, semi-flexible, mostly-transparent plastic tubes. That is the Seed Cathedral. Each of these rubes contains, frozen within the glassy plastic, a seed from a different species of plant: there are sixty thousand of them, and not one is like the other. Wandering among them is breath-taking, crushing, transformative. With only a little bit of imagination, you realize that each little treasure - none bigger than a human eye - blooms into a world of patterns, colors, habits, functions, scents and flavors, completely unique, completely irreplacable. The splendor of biodiversity encompasses you like a cocoon. I took photo after photo, as though that could do the least bit to help preserve all of these tiny worlds, finally understanding just what my favorite author meant when he wrote this will not come again, nor this, nor this.
The Seed Cathedral lies on angled planes coated with something like gray artificial grass, warmed by the sun, where friendly Brits perform Romeo and Juliet with too-loud passion probably brought on by the fact that their audience understand not a word. Following some sun-soaking, and some deep thought - I had to phrase that gush of adoration you read above, after all - I moved on to the Italy Pavilion, which could not help but underwhelm despite its very nice and slick interior design. From there I detoured through the entirely forgettable Colombia Pavilion - no, Colombia, you are not much of a land of opportunities - and to the other major experience of the day.
I won't try to describe the interior of the Canada Pavilion. Words would only reduce the experience. I have it all on video. That is all.
Then I walked the Expo Axis, almost all five kilometers of it, taking an embarrassing amount of pictures: I tried to get every pavilion of note at least once, sometimes twice, sometimes fifteen or twenty times as in the case of the China Pavilion. After all, I can always erase the bad photos. But this will not come again, nor this, nor this.
Inevitably, I know that nothing of what I take with me - photos, words, recordings - will really reflect the experience. This travelogue concentrates my emotions into a high dosage; the experience was not so tangibly profound at the time, and will not be when I return to it. Inevitably, when I come back, show the photos, play the videos and try to pass it on, some of you who see it will wonder where has the marvel gone, or how I could have been so moved by what might, removed from context, seem less than remarkable. There is something about the Expo - for me, because I've dreamed of it for a literal year, but I think for anyone who is willing to take it on the terms it asks for - that carries you along like a wave, immerses you and switches your sense of wonder on on overdrive.
Or perhaps - and this is very much possible - I am creating this space now, at least for myself, with my words, with the way I record and hence shape and fix the experience in my own mind. Perhaps this is going to be the Expo, for me, in years to come: this travelogue, the framework on which to hang my memories.
I've had a lot of time to think on this trip, being away, being alone. I don't want to make any resolutions: when you're away from the creeping, ongoing waves of everyday life, it's easy to build in sandstone and call it granite. But one thing I did learn, or rather relearn, is the joy of this kind of writing. I've written eight travelogues, which come up to 6,731 words; some are gushing, some are funny, some were easier and some harder to write, some began as a chore when I was tired and preoccupied with the next day. But in the end, there was nothing about this trip that I enjoyed more than writing them. Between them and the endless photographs, this is what I take with me from China, more than anything else: the joy of beauty seen becoming beauty shared.
I miss you all, and will speak with you soon.
And so, with joy in my heart,
I hum this song.