Thoughts From My Bike Seat

Yesterday as I was riding my bike, Gwen in tow on the baby seat in back, I pondered what impressions of China she will end up with, after spending these early years here.

We were making our way towards a place we can see from our apartment, and that we often pass in the car, but that I had never ridden to before. It's a giant sculpture of some kind that looks sort of like a wire top resting on its side. We've named it the sun dial, although I really don't think it's meant to be one.

As we wove our way through traffic and crowded sidewalks, little shops and high rises, I wondered what Gwen will remember of China. It depends, of course, on how long we stay here. The general plan is that we are here for three years, give or take some months, but nothing is set in stone. But if we leave in the prescribed time, Gwen will be six years old when we move on from the land of her birth.

Will she remember the intricate dance of taxis, bikers, buses and pedestrians, all turning and crossing and weaving around each other? Will she remember the many older people who come out for their daily shopping wearing only cotton pajamas or the bare chested men that wear only boxers out on the street in the heat of summer? Will she recall the smells of the street, with all the cooking at tiny stands, and people eating great plates of noodles at 10 o'clock in the morning? What about the strange mix of glass and steel office buildings alongside tiny closet-sized shops selling bottled drinks or miscellaneous cleaning supplies? Or the bike carts, their riders laboriously pedalling along with enormously huge loads of garbage, heading who knows where? There are beautiful flower gardens lining Century Avenue, meticulously cared for. Will she remember them?

I hope that Gwen is getting a sense of this place, from her view on the back of my bike. It's certainly not representative of all of China, but it's something, and I think that having little bits of it in her heart is a Good Thing.