The light that shines on travelers is a special kind of light, bestowing upon those living their everyday lives a simple yet powerful kind of evaporating magic. At least this is so in western China where a foreigner can still cause passersby to gape in open-mouthed stupefaction. I was gaped at, gawked at, grinned at, cursed at, welcomed, worshiped, and hello-ed repeatedly, and at least twice on every major street someone would shyly point to their phone requesting to take a photo with me. Those who know me know how much I dislike having my picture taken, but I endured it gracefully, sort of, seeing as how I enjoy taking pictures, I realze have to submit to pictures as well Besides, some teenagers were so happy with their photos they almost exploded with joy and that was nice to witness. Still, at some point you reach a saturation point of being studied and stared at, so I chose a restaurant tucked away on the second floor above the busy streets. It was new and clean and just opened and I was the only patron in the place. The menu looked promising, and suddenly, the staff realized they had a laowei (foreigner) customer in the house and appeared out of nowhere. They literally surrounded me, yes, all gaping and pulling out their phones to take a picture. I was trapped, but their enthusiasm was infectious so I stayed. After posing for photos with each of the staff, the owner, the owner's family and the cook, I was fussed over and led to the best table. They crowded around, excitedly pointing at the menu and jabbering away in rapid-fire Chinese, of which I understood little. No matter, they were all laughing and having a good time. I ordered two dishes, but relented and ordered a third because the owner looked crestfallen when I hadn't taken her recommendation. Then, more photos. I somehow conveyed that I was tired of all the photos, and I expected them to leave, being at that point so eager to be ignored, but they stayed. Then I got it. Chinese never eat alone and they were simply being nice, keeping me company, laughing and being merry, and so who was I to complain. The food was brought out personally by the chef, who waited expectantly while I sampled each dish, then beamed when I gave him two thumbs up. This also infected the staff and owner with another round of glee. I had enough food for three people. It consisted of Big Plate Chicken, a plate of fried potatoes, and the pasta the owner recommend. The food was great and they bagged up the excess carefully as carry out. The leave-taking was prolonged with even more photos and smiles and wishes and gratitude and I walked out feeling as if I were the king of somebody's world, served well, and glowing in the light of an agreeable evening. The Hunter's Moon walked me back to my hotel. Zoos in general I find hard to take, though some would say most of us are kept in zoos of our own making, but that's a different story entirely. I was out wandering the next day around a lake in a park and came upon a curious façade. Intrigued, I entered. Inside, there was a deep, dank, smell of moldy aquariums housing listless fish and open pools containing a small dazed crocodile and other terrariums imprisoning various boa constrictors, tortoises, and other large snakes. I apologized to their animal spirts and got the flock out of there. Outside, I was immediately accosted by the keeper of this zoo demanding payment. As I had unwittingly entered, I could not argue with him and gave him his ticket fee. I then realized by the look on his face that he was probably overcharging me, and he saw that I knew it, so as a consolation he beckoned me toward his other curiosities housed in a separate facility. Why did I follow him? Complacency, I guess, or the curiosity that has led me down a thousand false trails and a thousand more true ones. Anyway, I followed him back into his little house of horrors. He wickedly gloated over his realm containing a defeated monkey, a wildly, feathered vulture hungrily eyeing me, a cow with a part of a leg and hoof growing out of it's shoulder, and absolutely the saddest black bear in the world. He was so dispirited he wouldn't even look at me. I wanted to take his photo to share his sadness but felt ashamed. Instead, I squatted down and tried to commiserate with him. The zookeeper was motioning me onward, maybe toward some other horrors, but I couldn't leave the bear. His sadness was moving outward in waves, like burst star ripples in space, washing over me. It was the flat dull ache of loneliness. It was the deflation of a once wild creature unable to understand captivity. It was the criminality of imprisonment. It was the soul of all of our failures. I decided the only thing that mattered was to set this bear free. I started testing for weaknesses in the cage. The zookeeper got nervous and ordered me out. I complied, but once out, looped back around on reconassence. It didn't matter that it was impossible to sneak back in, undo the locks and set a bear loose in the middle of a city, I was fully and completely engaged in it. That's how far the sadness of the bear had propelled me. While normal people went about their lives I spent hours planning a crime impossible to commit. What does that say about me? What does that say about the world we live in? What does that say about all the bears we have let down in this life? The conclusion of Late Autumn, Danxia Landforms, Sad Ferris Wheel, Gansu Province,, China will follow.
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