Wondering in West Lake by Jinhan Li (16, Philippines)

One morning in summer, I wandered along the entrance of Sudi Causeway, which the poet Su Shi from the Song Dynasty built across West Lake. A scent of fried dough drifted from the entrance, beside which stood a small restaurant named “Cong Bao Hui”, the main dish that it offers for breakfast. ​

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Cong Bao Hui is flatbread wrapped around Youtiao and green onions. Although it was early in the morning, customers lined up in front of the restaurant. Watching the several yellow flatbreads sizzling on the pan, I ordered one for myself. 

“Three minutes,” the chef said, who was busy keeping track of all the orders and constantly turning them to ensure that both sides were evenly cooked. He quickly took a flatbread from the pile, stuffed it with youtiao and a bit of green onion, placed it on the pan and flattened it. A few minutes later, he poured sweet bean sauce on it and handed me the food. 

With my breakfast in hand, I walked down the Sudi Causeway. Fragrant olive and peach trees grew along the roadsides. Fragments of light cast across the road tearing through the leaves. Closer to the lake, soft branches of willow sagged against the water. Below the branches, a group of ducks flit across the causeway. To the right, an island shimmered in the middle of the lake as several boats carried tourists, moving steadily between island and the shore. Small house structures with slightly curved roofs perched on the boats. One of the branches above me started shaking. 

Suddenly, a small creature jumped between the trees. It climbed down the trunk and picked something off from the ground. A squirrel. This might be one of the last few places that people can see squirrels in Hangzhou, I thought. 

At the end of the causeway, one part of the lake grew lotus. Some of the pink flowers bloomed, while other buds were covered by lighter color. Dewdrops coated the leaves. A few people around me took pictures of the lotus and the lake moving to different places, trying to figure out the best angle for their pictures. Red and yellow fish swam between the lotus. Some people fed them with scraps of bread which the fish would quickly charge towards and swallow immediately. 

At noon, businessmen in suits entered the causeway in groups. They found chairs facing the lake and sat down to eat. Midday turned quiet. The white mist had started to disperse and the foggy shore cleared up. I lost track of time staring at the boats until moving figures quickly passed in front of me. The businessmen were walking to the exit. I pulled out my phone to check for time and realized that almost an hour passed. 

By the lake, an artist held his palette. He had the wooden drawing board in front of him. Several boats sailing on the lake and the island glimmered on his nearly finished work. The artist omitted the modern building in the distance and painted the trees sprouting across the shore and the island. The actual color of the water was blue with elements of green from the plants. He looked for a long time, picking and adding blue and green pigments from his boxes. The painting color gradually changed closer and closer to the blue color of the water. 

Further near the waters, some locals walked past me, carrying fishing tools. They sat on the rocky part of shore and unfolded their fishing rod. I observed for a few minutes and asked how many fish they usually catch. 

“It’s just a hobby, probably around three in the morning. Somebody from the restaurant will buy them.” 

I remembered a famous dish from the menu. “West Lake Sour Fish?” 

“Probably it’s the ingredient for that,” one of the fishermen said. 

Setting down the fishing rod, they took out a newspaper to read. It was rare to see people reading newspapers these days. People get all the information they need on the phone without the patience to read more about the other things in the world. While waiting, they read slowly from the first page of the newspaper and were interested in the events from the articles. 

After several minutes, one of the strings from the fishing rods started moving. A fisherman raised the rod and turned the handle of the coil to pull the fish up. When the hook emerged from the surface of the water, we saw that the bait was gone and the fish had escaped. He was not disappointed. Covering the hook with bait, he released the string again and waited for the next fish. 

“This happens a lot when fishing,” he said, “but I am not in a hurry for anything.” Music rang in a pavilion in the middle of the lake. A group of people wearing traditional robes with loose cuffs and different patterns of flowers rehearsed a local opera. Their dialogue used the Hongzhou
dialect, which made revelers and visitors stop by and watch from this side of the lake. Accompanied by romantic music, they sang and acted in a classic love story. 

Watching the play and getting emotionally involved in the great story, I took a pause and savored the moment.