View allAll Photos Tagged Periphery
‘Periphery’
By Pongsakorn Tantiwattanapong
At Soy Sauce Factory 11/1 Soi Charoenkrung 24, Bangkok, Thailand
2 December 2016 – 4 January 2017
Lehde Open-air Museum: Farm buildings from the periphery of the Spreewald. At the left edge you see a farmhouse from Kittlitz, built in 1775, and in the centre a house from Suschow, built for the old parents of a farmer's family.
Am Rande des Spreewalds besaßen die Bauern Anbauflächen von etwa 7 bis 15 Hektar, abhängig von der Qualität des Bodens. Damit hatten sie bessere Voraussetzung für die Landwirtschaft als im inneren Spreewald, wo alle Generationen sich ein Haus oder sogar eine Stube teilen mussten. Daher konnte man sich leisten, für die ältere Generation auf dem Hof ein eigenes Haus zu errichten, das sogenannte Auszugshaus.
At the periphery of the Spreewald the farmers owned cultivated areas of about 7 to 15 hectares, depending on the quality of the soil. This gave them better conditions for agriculture than in the inner Spreewald, where all generations had to share a house or even a living room. Therefore they could afford to build a separate house on the farm for the older generation.
Lehde (Lědy in the local Sorbian language) is a village situated near Lübbenau and meawhile integrated into that town. While Lehde had 298 inhabitants in 1929, only 150 people still live here (as of 2017). The place is a village consisting of many small islands. For centuries, until the early 1950s, Lehde could only be reached by water. Even today, practically all plots of land have their own access to one of the many canals between 0.8 and 1 meter deep, which largely have the function of roads. Postal deliveries and waste collection still take place by water. During the winter months, however, mail is delivered to mailboxes set up by the residents on the landside, by mail bike or car.
Due to the unusual location of Lehde and some preserved historical Spreewald houses, Lehde, which is completely under monumental protection, is a popular destination for tourists. Lehde can also be reached on foot, by bicycle or by car, however, the beauty and special features of the place can be experienced above all from the water side. (Wikpedia.de)
The Spreewald (German for 'Spree Forest'; in Lower Sorbian: Błota, i.e. 'the Swamps') is a section of the German state of Brandenburg located about 100 km sou It is known for its traditional irrigation system, consisting of more than 200 small canals (called Fließe; total length: 1,300 kilometres or 810 miles) within the 484-square-kilometre (187 sq mi) area. The landscape was shaped during the last Ice Age. About 50,000 people live in the biosphere reserve (1998). Many of them are descendants of the first settlers in the Spreewald region, the Slavic tribes of the Sorbs and Wends. They have preserved their traditional language, customs and clothing to this day.
Most inhabitants depend on tourism. Many tourists explore the Spreewald in punts. Agriculture, forestry and fishery are other important sources of income. The principal town of the area is Lübbenau. Alder forests on wetlands and pine forests on sandy dry areas are characteristic of the Spreewald region. Grasslands and fields can be found as well. About 18,000 species of flora and fauna have been identified. In 1991, the Spreewald was protected by the UNESCO under its Man and Biosphere Reserve Programme.
This truck was spotted in the periphery of Orléans. The truck was in front of a Opel dealership.
Sorry for the bad photo, I was on the city bus !
An outsider. Perched on the periphery of a place I cannot reach. The sediment shores of new lands crumble under each new footfall. Seductive waves splash at my ground. Ahead of a bright horizon. Observer my cast role. Camouflage granting only superficial access. Destined to glimpse community. Experience but a taste of its golden offerings. Before reality comes for repossession. Tossing my vessel to the fringe. Where I await the next welcome opportunity.
Live at Nouveau Casino (01/05/2013)
Paris, FR
Camera: Nikon D7000
Lens: Nikkor 35mm f/1.8
Visit my Facebook page: www.facebook.com/MartinsGuillaumePhotography
On the periphery of the Goffs Schoolhouse Museum there a series of rock lined paths out among the sage and creosote bush. While the area is flat desert sand it appears that rains and wind move the sand and sometimes bury the detritus and trash left behind surrounding the community of Goffs. When the mining was in full swing and later when later when General George Patton established the Desert Training Center here this was a busy place. Today, little is left but the Schoolhouse Museum and the Outdoor Museum dedicated to mining. The discarded remains of the past are scattered everywhere and some volunteers and visitors have endeavored to organize them.
Star Citizen 3.4.1 Alpha
Hurston Planet
Join now your space travel on Roberts Space Industries. Become a Star Citizen and get 5,000 free Credits robertsspaceindustries.com/enlist?referral=STAR-NBKR-CMDZ
You clench your teeth. You look up. You tell yourself, if they see you cry, it will hurt them, and you will become nothing but a sadness in their lives, and you must not become a mere sadness, so you will not cry, and you say all of this to yourself while looking up at the ceiling, and you swallow even though your throat does not want to close and you look at the person who loves you and you smile.
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Left to right: Misha "Bulb" Mansoor, Adam "Nolly" Getgood, Jake Bowen, Spencer Sotelo, Mark Holcomb, and Matt Halpern.
Photo was taken during a break from their recording session at Oceanic Recording studio in Bethesda, MD. We were planning to do it outdoor but it had been raining for 2 days straight so we ended up shooting in this small area of the building, glad i brought my 24-70mm. I had to place my camera on a tripod and literally up against the wall to avoid more distortion on their faces.
Periphery also welcomed new member Adam "Nolly" Getgood (ex-Red Seas Fire) as their new bassist!
Strobist info:
2x SB-800 into medium softbox above camera for key
SB-600 into small shoot though umbrella left and above camera for fill
SB-28 with red gel on the (left) stairs for rim
SB-28x under the (right) stairs and behind for additional rim and pointed to a white reflector in front of Matt Halpern for more fill (specifically for him and may have spilled into Mark too)
Vignetting is a reduction of an image's clarity at the periphery compared to the center of the image. It may be gradual or abrupt. Usually photographers think of it as a darkening that starts at the corners, and, in some cases, spreads along the edges of the photo to create a rounded off image. Other forms of vignetting include photos with a periphery that fades to white, loses color saturation, or generally looks “washed-out.” Blur in the corners or along the edges of a photo might also be considered vignetting.
A variety of factors contribute to dark vignetting – for example, optical limitations in the lens (especially in toy cameras with inexpensive lens) and lens hoods, filters and other lens attachments that reduce the angle of view. Dark vignetting is most obvious at wide-open aperture, especially in wide-angle lenses with filters. It might be hidden in images with complex details, while being more obvious in photos that contain areas with few features, like clear skies or blank walls.
Because dark vignetting usually results from the “problem” of light being blocked, some photographers, especially those who are invested in a pure or totally realistic image, will consider it undesirable. They might try to crop it out, or use an image editing program to correct it.
For artistic purposes, vignetting might be desirable and even added to a photo that doesn’t have it. There are a variety of techniques for achieving the effect: by deliberately shooting with a camera, lens, or filter that will create vignetting, by burning the outer edges of the image, or using masks in an image editing program to selectively alter the periphery of the photo. Some programs, like Photoshop, have a feature specifically designed to create dark or light vignetting. To create blur vignetting, some photographers suggest smearing Vaseline along the edges of a UV filter. That might result in some very interesting effects, although I imagine the clean-up job could be tedious.
Vignetting is often used in portrait photos, usually by creating an oval shape around the subject. Along with film grain and black/white or sepia treatments, dark vignetting is also a good technique for creating the look of an “old photograph” because the relatively low quality lens of old cameras often resulted in vignetting.
It’s helpful to think about vignetting in terms of the psychology of perception. If the vignetting is symmetrical, it focuses the eye towards the middle of the photo and creates a feeling of centeredness. Sometimes the effect can be quite subtle and not consciously noticed by the viewer. It mimics the cognitive process of concentrating on something while toning down attention to any distractions in the periphery of awareness. Imagine yourself, for example, reading a book or watching TV. Your attention zooms in on the words or pictures, while you just barely notice things around the book or TV.
In some respects vignetting mimics the way the eye works. The receptor cells known as “cones” are sensitive to color and concentrated in the center of the retina, while the “rods,” which detect light but not color, are found on the periphery of the retina.
Dark vignetting that is obvious or blatant creates the sensation of "looking in" or “looking out,” as if through a hole, window, or tunnel of some kind. We experience the sensation of a space out there and some barrier or plane through which we are looking at it. We are here in this space, the subject over there in that space, and there’s distance between us. With some subjects the feeling of voyeurism and even peeping might be quite strong.
When people are in an altered state of consciousness, or when losing consciousness, as in passing out, they may experience darkness closing in from the periphery of their vision. Under conditions of stress, some people have “tunnel vision.” To recreate these sensations of a mind that is intoxicated, fading, or traumatized, a photographer might use vignetting.
When vignetting is not symmetrical around the periphery of the image, the off-balance feeling that results can enhance this sensation of a mind gone awry. Asymmetrical vignetting might also serve the more mundane function of focusing the viewer’s eye on an element of the image that is not at the center, or of providing balance to other elements of the image.
White vignetting similarly helps focus the eye, but its other psychological effects can be quite different than dark vignetting. The image will feel more light, airy, and ethereal, as if in a reverie or dream. For this reason, white vignetting will probably work better in high key photographs. It also tends to lift the image up towards the viewer rather than make the subject appear to be in a distant space. For subjects that are uplifting, happy, and joyful, as in wedding photography, white vignetting will usually be more appropriate that dark vignetting, which tends to create a more introspective, moody, or even sinister feeling.
Fading to white at the edges of the image can create the sensation of the subject opening up or spreading out into the surrounding space. In some cases the subject might appear to be evaporating, while in others it seems to be “coming into being.” Dark vignetting can result in a feeling of darkness closing in, of a subject that is disappearing or being engulfed. Or, in images with bright and colorful subjects at the center of dark vignetting, the impression might be that of light penetrating darkness or of the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.
In both fading to white and black at the edges, the sensation of an image border might be lost. As a result, the image and subject might appear as if they are drifting, floating, uncontained, or boundless. Without a distinct frame that separates viewer from photo, we might also find it easier to psychologically enter into the image.
Some people define the word “vignette” as a small, graceful sketch of a scene from a story. This too might be the emotional impact of vignetting in photography. We feel as if we are getting a brief but elegant glimpse into a scene from an ongoing story.
* This image and essay are part of a book on Photographic Psychology that I’m writing within Flickr. Please see the set description. If you have a photo that illustrates the ideas in this essay, please feel free to post it
I consider this a core pattern:
"The end-goal for vibrant, sustainable community networks is the core/periphery model. This topology emerges after many years of network weaving by multiple hubs. It is a stable structure that can link to other well-developed networks in other regions. The network core in this model contains the key community members, including many who are network weavers, and have developed strong ties between themselves. The periphery of this network contains three groups of nodes that are usually tied to the core through looser ties:
1) Those new to the community and working to get to the core
2) Bridges to diverse communities elsewhere
3) Unique resources that operate outside of the community, and may span many communities.
The economic landscape is full of imperfectly shared ideas and information. The periphery allows us to reach ideas and information not currently prevalent in our network. The core allows us to act on those ideas and information. The periphery is the open, porous boundary of the community network. It is where new members/ideas come and go. The periphery monitors the environment, while the core implements what is discovered and deemed useful."
Footnote:Influenced by the research and analysis of Ronald S. Burt.
From Building Smart Communities through Network Weaving © 2002-2006 Valdis Krebs and June Holley
August 26th, 2016 - Periphery performs live at Saint Andrews Hall in Detroit, Michigan. Credit: Mirak Habbiyyieh. www.schwegweb.com
The bus ride from Shenzhen to Enping was long, like watching a freight train chug by, except it doesn't. We had to have been on that bus for seven hours, sometimes napping, and at times, staring out our windows, looking at a world standing still. Traffic was not only a nightmare, but also a mystery, for as many instances in which we could plainly see another egregiously bad vehicular accident, that which has become commonplace, ubiquitous in Chinese travel culture, there were other inexplicable stops in movement, when all of a sudden, as though finishing a swift countdown, our speed dropped so precipitously as to let out a collective lurch, if not in body, then definitely in mind. Calvin, thankfully, in his perspicacity, in his wide-angled, unique view of things, saw beyond the myriad vehicles which lay unmoving as if rocks on a dry riverbed; view the periphery, he bade us, and when we looked to the edges of the road, indeed we witnessed the most peculiar instigator of traffic congestion in the world - men en masse pissing on the side of the road! Men taking leaks creates a domino effect; that one sees another enjoying the relief of an unburdened, easy bladder, so seductive a yoke, that the only retort to the entreaty of this blissful state is to join in with abandon, and impunity. And so soon as the last few shakes are made, back into the cars do these men go, and a few hasty minutes later, traffic flows again!
Mike wanted to stop at a village, so we exchanged an increasingly crowded highway for a narrow, cement road, on which we ventured into the dense verdure. Having reached an impasse in the road soon thereafter, and not knowing how to advance further, to actually enter the village proper, we saw two lovely young ladies saddling a moped, motoring towards us. They then suddenly broke, and turned off our path and onto a dirt one which squeezed through two homes as though a mouse through its diminutive hole - that was our key. We greeted them as the girls turned their heads, offering us inquisitive, yet gentle looks. They would be our guides into town.
Blue showed me around her neighborhood. Together we walked along bumpy corridors and peered through open windows, beyond flitting cobwebs, to lay eyes on rooms where nowadays only impenetrable shadows repose. She and I examined the perfunctory red banners which framed each door in the village, and subsequently hit it off when I began inquiring into the nature of those two swarthy demons who hung menacingly before the closed doors, their gazes insidiously wild, drunk with rage, perhaps. Indeed later, in the quietude of a sunset raining down on us, while standing by ourselves in front of the village hall, I finally shared my faith with her, and in return she declared the lack of her own - her cousin and older sister, however, do know Jesus, she said, which verily warmed my heart, if not hers.
We left the village with much rapidity, but not before I blessed and encouraged Blue's cousin, in whose arms a smiling babe lay, and received joyfully a delectable departing gift: mysterious, "Blue Cookies" (the official Chinese name is 艾糍), whose mottled, homely complexion would disgust if not for the sweetness (an amalgam of sugar, peanuts and herbs) buried inside, a treasure which would be discovered again and again on our tour.
The food around Enping epitomizes, I believe, Guangdong cuisine: inexpensive and egregiously non-spicy. For what they lack in price and incendiary acidity, however, these dishes more than compensate with copious amounts of oil, salt and sugar, mixed together for a tantalizing effect on the taste buds. Our group was fortunate enough to have frequented several Guangdong-style dai pai dongs whose victuals both nourished our bodies and replenished our wallets - it's amazing to consider how $250RMB can feed 15 ravenous, cantankerous-when-hungry Christian bikers. In fact, the feasting grew exponentially more enjoyable as journey progressed, as our two primary orderers began to refine their culinary acuity, accurately predicting what would invigorate and excite our collective palate; it helped, too, that our utensils were pretty clean for Chinese standards!
Our first evening, we secured accommodations in a building that was not so much a hotel, or even a motel, as a grey, dry concrete edifice in which hardwood beds were arrayed neatly in each room; the spartan conditions dismayed some, including myself, at first. However, thankfulness trumped peevishness, and the realization that, in the middle of nowhere, we had mosquito nets to ward off the inexorable squad of mozzies, and one bathroom with boiling water for a very, very scalding shower was more than enough to placate everyone, especially after a hard day of riding. Besides, austerity succors the soul. We even managed to sleep pretty soundly without mattresses. In my somnolent state, I only remember shifting desperately maybe six, or seven times. It was a good night, and a bargain at only 15RMB per person!
On the second day our group dared to test itself on an unknown avenue. Consequently, we were spared the sonorous alarms of gigantic, indomitable trucks and instead subjected ourselves to the vicissitudes of off-road biking, whose soundtrack, undoubtedly for the day, was provided by an orchestra of buzzing cicadas, accompanied, at times, by the rumbling tympani of motorbikes. Oh, the countryside was lush, beautiful verdure all around - a feast for the romantic soul. Yet, for one of my companions, the environment was anything but endearing, for her adeptness at handling the desultory trail, she surely felt, was more chaotic than controlled. She persevered, nonetheless, pushing through her disconsolation to conquer the race marked out for her; such tenacity that only the Father could supply; and that left me thoroughly impressed.
At lunchtime, the evangelization effort began in earnest. It started innocently enough, as I asked a group of girls about the secondary school down the dusty road from our restaurant. Then, on cue, the Spirit, whose pacing can only be described as frenetic, whose rhythm is beyond my comprehension, overwhelmed and took over. Leanne and I brought those three girls to Christ; while Tim was assiduously preaching by our side to a band of boys who had gathered to look on; and behind us, ah Cheung had cajoled five boys to form a circle, hand in hand, for prayer. Many people came to know Jesus that hour. There was undoubtedly some serious fire falling down on us!
We made a pit stop at the Tam clan village. It was another bucolic community, replete with idling boys, young and old, and those two duplicitous demons standing watch from steady doors, which, it appeared, held together together the ramshackle walls beside them. An electricity meter evinced the reality of life in the village, of a living community that flows flittingly in and out of the houses as though cats leaping over canals; because I for one couldn't see how hundreds of people somehow resided inside those homes when I couldn't spot a single one during my brief tour of the grounds. In the open, by our bikes, there were conspicuous signs of life, however. I was standing in the sun, letting its warm rays melt on my skin, when a young man, not even twenty, approached and asked me about our intents and purposes on what was once such a dull afternoon. His curiosity got the better of me, and together we broached a conversation in faith. Simon joined us, and although he whom I named Henry, told us in his obstinacy that he depends on himself alone, I feel as though a small seed of faith was still planted within him. May it bloom at the appointed time when he most needs it.
At last, inside the unlit store where we shared our gleaming hopes and fantastic dreams, Simon and I noticed, to our surprise and delight, two blackboards on which the shopkeeper had written the alphabet, for English as well as for Putonghua (Pinyin). Besides the letters, numbers too had been painstakingly etched into the board, each meticulous stroke perfectly formed. So they ironically were learning that which continues to elude their more economically mobile brethren in Hong Kong, despite their most humble upbringing. I encouraged Henry to pursue this knowledge, since, as the cliche most rightly states, English - and Putonghua, these days - opens up a world of opportunity.
China, it seems to me, is one interminable housing start being carried on the shoulders of giants. Behemoths, really, an armada of green and blue dump trucks, on whose backs are the physical manifestation of the hopes and dreams of billions - timber; stone; and coal - were an inescapable part of our three-day trek. They blew passed us, literally, horns afire; and if you stared into the eyes of the drivers high above on those mechanized elephants, you would see the glee with which they pounded both the road and the eardrums of those unwitting peons foolish enough to be nearby. China - and China Mobile, whose stores we uncovered even in the most remote suburb, might I add! - still has much growth left, and the transportation and infrastructure industries, I'm sure, shall assiduously work to keep it that way. My recommendation: keep investing in China.
Visiting the hot springs had been on our agenda since the inception of the trip. We eventually had our chance the second evening, when we raced down a wending hill to our hotel - a real hotel. Our excitement reverberated in the air, crackling with laughter and shouting. Choosing to swim first and foremost, we left dinner to wait and hurried across the street. The resort was packed with other like-minded people, dressed in swimming costumes that should have left more to the imagination; the temperature of the pool water varied, from tepid in one enclosure to skin-searing in another; and for one marvelous hour, we swam and frolicked like little children again, delighting in some wet fun, a suitable reward for one more arduous day spent on the dusty, dry land.
We capped the end of a successful day with a bang. The girls, oddly enough, were furtive pyromaniacs in our midst, longing in secret to raid the fireworks shop at the base of the hotel. So after our meal, they raced into the cool evening air and we could only endeavor to follow them in their explosive folly. Inside the store, all sorts of bombastic devices were on display, from the unwieldy, block of (Chicago) bull to the sleek spears adorning the wall whose warheads, no doubt, could just so easily take out a few eyes as mercilessly rip the pitch black from the wall of night sky. The ladies suffered to leave no type of firework untouched by the flame, quickly purchasing an arsenal of rainbow-inducing rockets and slim sparklers to make any pyrotechnic maven proud. Outside we went. At length, the bombs burst in the air, and laughter abound so much as we watched the brilliance of Chinese engineering on display. With the girls' scintillating stock depleted, we finally collected ourselves, and headed upstairs for one more day of wonderment.
There was one last village to visit before we reached our final destination of Enping city. As we sped into the shanty community, we knew something was amiss because unlike our other entrances into villages, during which residents would emerge in droves to glimpse us, it seemed as though these villagers preferred the comfort of their own veiled homes to the company of a few, ebullient strangers. It was an ominous setting in which we found ourselves, one characterized by inhabitants rather mistrustful than gregarious, and affable. Nonetheless, we dispersed to share kindness and mercy. To that end, I approached a young lady, a mere 25-years old, who had her three-month old boy on her shoulder and her three-year old son - who was without pants, might I add, preferring to wave them in the air like a terrible towel - by her side. We spoke briefly about her hopes and dreams, which, she says, rest in the well-being of her sons; and then Leanne and I blessed her. That was the end of our village experience in China.
To be around people who sharpen you as iron sharpens iron, that verily is a joy. The villagers were simple, warm and welcoming; my teammates were jocular, presumptuous and faithful; and I, in the midst of this confluence, this mosaic of personalities, philosophies, hopes and dreams, could only seek to love, especially in one of my more pensive moments. The trip tested my patience and tolerance, my ability to accept others for who they are - each a flawed creature like myself. Ultimately, so much as we seek the men of peace everywhere we go, we individually must become men of peace too. A true disciple of Jesus runs that race, and appreciates His grace, which shall always be enough in this life.
The bus ride from Shenzhen to Enping was long, like watching a freight train chug by, except it doesn't. We had to have been on that bus for seven hours, sometimes napping, and at times, staring out our windows, looking at a world standing still. Traffic was not only a nightmare, but also a mystery, for as many instances in which we could plainly see another egregiously bad vehicular accident, that which has become commonplace, ubiquitous in Chinese travel culture, there were other inexplicable stops in movement, when all of a sudden, as though finishing a swift countdown, our speed dropped so precipitously as to let out a collective lurch, if not in body, then definitely in mind. Calvin, thankfully, in his perspicacity, in his wide-angled, unique view of things, saw beyond the myriad vehicles which lay unmoving as if rocks on a dry riverbed; view the periphery, he bade us, and when we looked to the edges of the road, indeed we witnessed the most peculiar instigator of traffic congestion in the world - men en masse pissing on the side of the road! Men taking leaks creates a domino effect; that one sees another enjoying the relief of an unburdened, easy bladder, so seductive a yoke, that the only retort to the entreaty of this blissful state is to join in with abandon, and impunity. And so soon as the last few shakes are made, back into the cars do these men go, and a few hasty minutes later, traffic flows again!
Mike wanted to stop at a village, so we exchanged an increasingly crowded highway for a narrow, cement road, on which we ventured into the dense verdure. Having reached an impasse in the road soon thereafter, and not knowing how to advance further, to actually enter the village proper, we saw two lovely young ladies saddling a moped, motoring towards us. They then suddenly broke, and turned off our path and onto a dirt one which squeezed through two homes as though a mouse through its diminutive hole - that was our key. We greeted them as the girls turned their heads, offering us inquisitive, yet gentle looks. They would be our guides into town.
Blue showed me around her neighborhood. Together we walked along bumpy corridors and peered through open windows, beyond flitting cobwebs, to lay eyes on rooms where nowadays only impenetrable shadows repose. She and I examined the perfunctory red banners which framed each door in the village, and subsequently hit it off when I began inquiring into the nature of those two swarthy demons who hung menacingly before the closed doors, their gazes insidiously wild, drunk with rage, perhaps. Indeed later, in the quietude of a sunset raining down on us, while standing by ourselves in front of the village hall, I finally shared my faith with her, and in return she declared the lack of her own - her cousin and older sister, however, do know Jesus, she said, which verily warmed my heart, if not hers.
We left the village with much rapidity, but not before I blessed and encouraged Blue's cousin, in whose arms a smiling babe lay, and received joyfully a delectable departing gift: mysterious, "Blue Cookies" (the official Chinese name is 艾糍), whose mottled, homely complexion would disgust if not for the sweetness (an amalgam of sugar, peanuts and herbs) buried inside, a treasure which would be discovered again and again on our tour.
The food around Enping epitomizes, I believe, Guangdong cuisine: inexpensive and egregiously non-spicy. For what they lack in price and incendiary acidity, however, these dishes more than compensate with copious amounts of oil, salt and sugar, mixed together for a tantalizing effect on the taste buds. Our group was fortunate enough to have frequented several Guangdong-style dai pai dongs whose victuals both nourished our bodies and replenished our wallets - it's amazing to consider how $250RMB can feed 15 ravenous, cantankerous-when-hungry Christian bikers. In fact, the feasting grew exponentially more enjoyable as journey progressed, as our two primary orderers began to refine their culinary acuity, accurately predicting what would invigorate and excite our collective palate; it helped, too, that our utensils were pretty clean for Chinese standards!
Our first evening, we secured accommodations in a building that was not so much a hotel, or even a motel, as a grey, dry concrete edifice in which hardwood beds were arrayed neatly in each room; the spartan conditions dismayed some, including myself, at first. However, thankfulness trumped peevishness, and the realization that, in the middle of nowhere, we had mosquito nets to ward off the inexorable squad of mozzies, and one bathroom with boiling water for a very, very scalding shower was more than enough to placate everyone, especially after a hard day of riding. Besides, austerity succors the soul. We even managed to sleep pretty soundly without mattresses. In my somnolent state, I only remember shifting desperately maybe six, or seven times. It was a good night, and a bargain at only 15RMB per person!
On the second day our group dared to test itself on an unknown avenue. Consequently, we were spared the sonorous alarms of gigantic, indomitable trucks and instead subjected ourselves to the vicissitudes of off-road biking, whose soundtrack, undoubtedly for the day, was provided by an orchestra of buzzing cicadas, accompanied, at times, by the rumbling tympani of motorbikes. Oh, the countryside was lush, beautiful verdure all around - a feast for the romantic soul. Yet, for one of my companions, the environment was anything but endearing, for her adeptness at handling the desultory trail, she surely felt, was more chaotic than controlled. She persevered, nonetheless, pushing through her disconsolation to conquer the race marked out for her; such tenacity that only the Father could supply; and that left me thoroughly impressed.
At lunchtime, the evangelization effort began in earnest. It started innocently enough, as I asked a group of girls about the secondary school down the dusty road from our restaurant. Then, on cue, the Spirit, whose pacing can only be described as frenetic, whose rhythm is beyond my comprehension, overwhelmed and took over. Leanne and I brought those three girls to Christ; while Tim was assiduously preaching by our side to a band of boys who had gathered to look on; and behind us, ah Cheung had cajoled five boys to form a circle, hand in hand, for prayer. Many people came to know Jesus that hour. There was undoubtedly some serious fire falling down on us!
We made a pit stop at the Tam clan village. It was another bucolic community, replete with idling boys, young and old, and those two duplicitous demons standing watch from steady doors, which, it appeared, held together together the ramshackle walls beside them. An electricity meter evinced the reality of life in the village, of a living community that flows flittingly in and out of the houses as though cats leaping over canals; because I for one couldn't see how hundreds of people somehow resided inside those homes when I couldn't spot a single one during my brief tour of the grounds. In the open, by our bikes, there were conspicuous signs of life, however. I was standing in the sun, letting its warm rays melt on my skin, when a young man, not even twenty, approached and asked me about our intents and purposes on what was once such a dull afternoon. His curiosity got the better of me, and together we broached a conversation in faith. Simon joined us, and although he whom I named Henry, told us in his obstinacy that he depends on himself alone, I feel as though a small seed of faith was still planted within him. May it bloom at the appointed time when he most needs it.
At last, inside the unlit store where we shared our gleaming hopes and fantastic dreams, Simon and I noticed, to our surprise and delight, two blackboards on which the shopkeeper had written the alphabet, for English as well as for Putonghua (Pinyin). Besides the letters, numbers too had been painstakingly etched into the board, each meticulous stroke perfectly formed. So they ironically were learning that which continues to elude their more economically mobile brethren in Hong Kong, despite their most humble upbringing. I encouraged Henry to pursue this knowledge, since, as the cliche most rightly states, English - and Putonghua, these days - opens up a world of opportunity.
China, it seems to me, is one interminable housing start being carried on the shoulders of giants. Behemoths, really, an armada of green and blue dump trucks, on whose backs are the physical manifestation of the hopes and dreams of billions - timber; stone; and coal - were an inescapable part of our three-day trek. They blew passed us, literally, horns afire; and if you stared into the eyes of the drivers high above on those mechanized elephants, you would see the glee with which they pounded both the road and the eardrums of those unwitting peons foolish enough to be nearby. China - and China Mobile, whose stores we uncovered even in the most remote suburb, might I add! - still has much growth left, and the transportation and infrastructure industries, I'm sure, shall assiduously work to keep it that way. My recommendation: keep investing in China.
Visiting the hot springs had been on our agenda since the inception of the trip. We eventually had our chance the second evening, when we raced down a wending hill to our hotel - a real hotel. Our excitement reverberated in the air, crackling with laughter and shouting. Choosing to swim first and foremost, we left dinner to wait and hurried across the street. The resort was packed with other like-minded people, dressed in swimming costumes that should have left more to the imagination; the temperature of the pool water varied, from tepid in one enclosure to skin-searing in another; and for one marvelous hour, we swam and frolicked like little children again, delighting in some wet fun, a suitable reward for one more arduous day spent on the dusty, dry land.
We capped the end of a successful day with a bang. The girls, oddly enough, were furtive pyromaniacs in our midst, longing in secret to raid the fireworks shop at the base of the hotel. So after our meal, they raced into the cool evening air and we could only endeavor to follow them in their explosive folly. Inside the store, all sorts of bombastic devices were on display, from the unwieldy, block of (Chicago) bull to the sleek spears adorning the wall whose warheads, no doubt, could just so easily take out a few eyes as mercilessly rip the pitch black from the wall of night sky. The ladies suffered to leave no type of firework untouched by the flame, quickly purchasing an arsenal of rainbow-inducing rockets and slim sparklers to make any pyrotechnic maven proud. Outside we went. At length, the bombs burst in the air, and laughter abound so much as we watched the brilliance of Chinese engineering on display. With the girls' scintillating stock depleted, we finally collected ourselves, and headed upstairs for one more day of wonderment.
There was one last village to visit before we reached our final destination of Enping city. As we sped into the shanty community, we knew something was amiss because unlike our other entrances into villages, during which residents would emerge in droves to glimpse us, it seemed as though these villagers preferred the comfort of their own veiled homes to the company of a few, ebullient strangers. It was an ominous setting in which we found ourselves, one characterized by inhabitants rather mistrustful than gregarious, and affable. Nonetheless, we dispersed to share kindness and mercy. To that end, I approached a young lady, a mere 25-years old, who had her three-month old boy on her shoulder and her three-year old son - who was without pants, might I add, preferring to wave them in the air like a terrible towel - by her side. We spoke briefly about her hopes and dreams, which, she says, rest in the well-being of her sons; and then Leanne and I blessed her. That was the end of our village experience in China.
To be around people who sharpen you as iron sharpens iron, that verily is a joy. The villagers were simple, warm and welcoming; my teammates were jocular, presumptuous and faithful; and I, in the midst of this confluence, this mosaic of personalities, philosophies, hopes and dreams, could only seek to love, especially in one of my more pensive moments. The trip tested my patience and tolerance, my ability to accept others for who they are - each a flawed creature like myself. Ultimately, so much as we seek the men of peace everywhere we go, we individually must become men of peace too. A true disciple of Jesus runs that race, and appreciates His grace, which shall always be enough in this life.
The bus ride from Shenzhen to Enping was long, like watching a freight train chug by, except it doesn't. We had to have been on that bus for seven hours, sometimes napping, and at times, staring out our windows, looking at a world standing still. Traffic was not only a nightmare, but also a mystery, for as many instances in which we could plainly see another egregiously bad vehicular accident, that which has become commonplace, ubiquitous in Chinese travel culture, there were other inexplicable stops in movement, when all of a sudden, as though finishing a swift countdown, our speed dropped so precipitously as to let out a collective lurch, if not in body, then definitely in mind. Calvin, thankfully, in his perspicacity, in his wide-angled, unique view of things, saw beyond the myriad vehicles which lay unmoving as if rocks on a dry riverbed; view the periphery, he bade us, and when we looked to the edges of the road, indeed we witnessed the most peculiar instigator of traffic congestion in the world - men en masse pissing on the side of the road! Men taking leaks creates a domino effect; that one sees another enjoying the relief of an unburdened, easy bladder, so seductive a yoke, that the only retort to the entreaty of this blissful state is to join in with abandon, and impunity. And so soon as the last few shakes are made, back into the cars do these men go, and a few hasty minutes later, traffic flows again!
Mike wanted to stop at a village, so we exchanged an increasingly crowded highway for a narrow, cement road, on which we ventured into the dense verdure. Having reached an impasse in the road soon thereafter, and not knowing how to advance further, to actually enter the village proper, we saw two lovely young ladies saddling a moped, motoring towards us. They then suddenly broke, and turned off our path and onto a dirt one which squeezed through two homes as though a mouse through its diminutive hole - that was our key. We greeted them as the girls turned their heads, offering us inquisitive, yet gentle looks. They would be our guides into town.
Blue showed me around her neighborhood. Together we walked along bumpy corridors and peered through open windows, beyond flitting cobwebs, to lay eyes on rooms where nowadays only impenetrable shadows repose. She and I examined the perfunctory red banners which framed each door in the village, and subsequently hit it off when I began inquiring into the nature of those two swarthy demons who hung menacingly before the closed doors, their gazes insidiously wild, drunk with rage, perhaps. Indeed later, in the quietude of a sunset raining down on us, while standing by ourselves in front of the village hall, I finally shared my faith with her, and in return she declared the lack of her own - her cousin and older sister, however, do know Jesus, she said, which verily warmed my heart, if not hers.
We left the village with much rapidity, but not before I blessed and encouraged Blue's cousin, in whose arms a smiling babe lay, and received joyfully a delectable departing gift: mysterious, "Blue Cookies" (the official Chinese name is 艾糍), whose mottled, homely complexion would disgust if not for the sweetness (an amalgam of sugar, peanuts and herbs) buried inside, a treasure which would be discovered again and again on our tour.
The food around Enping epitomizes, I believe, Guangdong cuisine: inexpensive and egregiously non-spicy. For what they lack in price and incendiary acidity, however, these dishes more than compensate with copious amounts of oil, salt and sugar, mixed together for a tantalizing effect on the taste buds. Our group was fortunate enough to have frequented several Guangdong-style dai pai dongs whose victuals both nourished our bodies and replenished our wallets - it's amazing to consider how $250RMB can feed 15 ravenous, cantankerous-when-hungry Christian bikers. In fact, the feasting grew exponentially more enjoyable as journey progressed, as our two primary orderers began to refine their culinary acuity, accurately predicting what would invigorate and excite our collective palate; it helped, too, that our utensils were pretty clean for Chinese standards!
Our first evening, we secured accommodations in a building that was not so much a hotel, or even a motel, as a grey, dry concrete edifice in which hardwood beds were arrayed neatly in each room; the spartan conditions dismayed some, including myself, at first. However, thankfulness trumped peevishness, and the realization that, in the middle of nowhere, we had mosquito nets to ward off the inexorable squad of mozzies, and one bathroom with boiling water for a very, very scalding shower was more than enough to placate everyone, especially after a hard day of riding. Besides, austerity succors the soul. We even managed to sleep pretty soundly without mattresses. In my somnolent state, I only remember shifting desperately maybe six, or seven times. It was a good night, and a bargain at only 15RMB per person!
On the second day our group dared to test itself on an unknown avenue. Consequently, we were spared the sonorous alarms of gigantic, indomitable trucks and instead subjected ourselves to the vicissitudes of off-road biking, whose soundtrack, undoubtedly for the day, was provided by an orchestra of buzzing cicadas, accompanied, at times, by the rumbling tympani of motorbikes. Oh, the countryside was lush, beautiful verdure all around - a feast for the romantic soul. Yet, for one of my companions, the environment was anything but endearing, for her adeptness at handling the desultory trail, she surely felt, was more chaotic than controlled. She persevered, nonetheless, pushing through her disconsolation to conquer the race marked out for her; such tenacity that only the Father could supply; and that left me thoroughly impressed.
At lunchtime, the evangelization effort began in earnest. It started innocently enough, as I asked a group of girls about the secondary school down the dusty road from our restaurant. Then, on cue, the Spirit, whose pacing can only be described as frenetic, whose rhythm is beyond my comprehension, overwhelmed and took over. Leanne and I brought those three girls to Christ; while Tim was assiduously preaching by our side to a band of boys who had gathered to look on; and behind us, ah Cheung had cajoled five boys to form a circle, hand in hand, for prayer. Many people came to know Jesus that hour. There was undoubtedly some serious fire falling down on us!
We made a pit stop at the Tam clan village. It was another bucolic community, replete with idling boys, young and old, and those two duplicitous demons standing watch from steady doors, which, it appeared, held together together the ramshackle walls beside them. An electricity meter evinced the reality of life in the village, of a living community that flows flittingly in and out of the houses as though cats leaping over canals; because I for one couldn't see how hundreds of people somehow resided inside those homes when I couldn't spot a single one during my brief tour of the grounds. In the open, by our bikes, there were conspicuous signs of life, however. I was standing in the sun, letting its warm rays melt on my skin, when a young man, not even twenty, approached and asked me about our intents and purposes on what was once such a dull afternoon. His curiosity got the better of me, and together we broached a conversation in faith. Simon joined us, and although he whom I named Henry, told us in his obstinacy that he depends on himself alone, I feel as though a small seed of faith was still planted within him. May it bloom at the appointed time when he most needs it.
At last, inside the unlit store where we shared our gleaming hopes and fantastic dreams, Simon and I noticed, to our surprise and delight, two blackboards on which the shopkeeper had written the alphabet, for English as well as for Putonghua (Pinyin). Besides the letters, numbers too had been painstakingly etched into the board, each meticulous stroke perfectly formed. So they ironically were learning that which continues to elude their more economically mobile brethren in Hong Kong, despite their most humble upbringing. I encouraged Henry to pursue this knowledge, since, as the cliche most rightly states, English - and Putonghua, these days - opens up a world of opportunity.
China, it seems to me, is one interminable housing start being carried on the shoulders of giants. Behemoths, really, an armada of green and blue dump trucks, on whose backs are the physical manifestation of the hopes and dreams of billions - timber; stone; and coal - were an inescapable part of our three-day trek. They blew passed us, literally, horns afire; and if you stared into the eyes of the drivers high above on those mechanized elephants, you would see the glee with which they pounded both the road and the eardrums of those unwitting peons foolish enough to be nearby. China - and China Mobile, whose stores we uncovered even in the most remote suburb, might I add! - still has much growth left, and the transportation and infrastructure industries, I'm sure, shall assiduously work to keep it that way. My recommendation: keep investing in China.
Visiting the hot springs had been on our agenda since the inception of the trip. We eventually had our chance the second evening, when we raced down a wending hill to our hotel - a real hotel. Our excitement reverberated in the air, crackling with laughter and shouting. Choosing to swim first and foremost, we left dinner to wait and hurried across the street. The resort was packed with other like-minded people, dressed in swimming costumes that should have left more to the imagination; the temperature of the pool water varied, from tepid in one enclosure to skin-searing in another; and for one marvelous hour, we swam and frolicked like little children again, delighting in some wet fun, a suitable reward for one more arduous day spent on the dusty, dry land.
We capped the end of a successful day with a bang. The girls, oddly enough, were furtive pyromaniacs in our midst, longing in secret to raid the fireworks shop at the base of the hotel. So after our meal, they raced into the cool evening air and we could only endeavor to follow them in their explosive folly. Inside the store, all sorts of bombastic devices were on display, from the unwieldy, block of (Chicago) bull to the sleek spears adorning the wall whose warheads, no doubt, could just so easily take out a few eyes as mercilessly rip the pitch black from the wall of night sky. The ladies suffered to leave no type of firework untouched by the flame, quickly purchasing an arsenal of rainbow-inducing rockets and slim sparklers to make any pyrotechnic maven proud. Outside we went. At length, the bombs burst in the air, and laughter abound so much as we watched the brilliance of Chinese engineering on display. With the girls' scintillating stock depleted, we finally collected ourselves, and headed upstairs for one more day of wonderment.
There was one last village to visit before we reached our final destination of Enping city. As we sped into the shanty community, we knew something was amiss because unlike our other entrances into villages, during which residents would emerge in droves to glimpse us, it seemed as though these villagers preferred the comfort of their own veiled homes to the company of a few, ebullient strangers. It was an ominous setting in which we found ourselves, one characterized by inhabitants rather mistrustful than gregarious, and affable. Nonetheless, we dispersed to share kindness and mercy. To that end, I approached a young lady, a mere 25-years old, who had her three-month old boy on her shoulder and her three-year old son - who was without pants, might I add, preferring to wave them in the air like a terrible towel - by her side. We spoke briefly about her hopes and dreams, which, she says, rest in the well-being of her sons; and then Leanne and I blessed her. That was the end of our village experience in China.
To be around people who sharpen you as iron sharpens iron, that verily is a joy. The villagers were simple, warm and welcoming; my teammates were jocular, presumptuous and faithful; and I, in the midst of this confluence, this mosaic of personalities, philosophies, hopes and dreams, could only seek to love, especially in one of my more pensive moments. The trip tested my patience and tolerance, my ability to accept others for who they are - each a flawed creature like myself. Ultimately, so much as we seek the men of peace everywhere we go, we individually must become men of peace too. A true disciple of Jesus runs that race, and appreciates His grace, which shall always be enough in this life.
The bus ride from Shenzhen to Enping was long, like watching a freight train chug by, except it doesn't. We had to have been on that bus for seven hours, sometimes napping, and at times, staring out our windows, looking at a world standing still. Traffic was not only a nightmare, but also a mystery, for as many instances in which we could plainly see another egregiously bad vehicular accident, that which has become commonplace, ubiquitous in Chinese travel culture, there were other inexplicable stops in movement, when all of a sudden, as though finishing a swift countdown, our speed dropped so precipitously as to let out a collective lurch, if not in body, then definitely in mind. Calvin, thankfully, in his perspicacity, in his wide-angled, unique view of things, saw beyond the myriad vehicles which lay unmoving as if rocks on a dry riverbed; view the periphery, he bade us, and when we looked to the edges of the road, indeed we witnessed the most peculiar instigator of traffic congestion in the world - men en masse pissing on the side of the road! Men taking leaks creates a domino effect; that one sees another enjoying the relief of an unburdened, easy bladder, so seductive a yoke, that the only retort to the entreaty of this blissful state is to join in with abandon, and impunity. And so soon as the last few shakes are made, back into the cars do these men go, and a few hasty minutes later, traffic flows again!
Mike wanted to stop at a village, so we exchanged an increasingly crowded highway for a narrow, cement road, on which we ventured into the dense verdure. Having reached an impasse in the road soon thereafter, and not knowing how to advance further, to actually enter the village proper, we saw two lovely young ladies saddling a moped, motoring towards us. They then suddenly broke, and turned off our path and onto a dirt one which squeezed through two homes as though a mouse through its diminutive hole - that was our key. We greeted them as the girls turned their heads, offering us inquisitive, yet gentle looks. They would be our guides into town.
Blue showed me around her neighborhood. Together we walked along bumpy corridors and peered through open windows, beyond flitting cobwebs, to lay eyes on rooms where nowadays only impenetrable shadows repose. She and I examined the perfunctory red banners which framed each door in the village, and subsequently hit it off when I began inquiring into the nature of those two swarthy demons who hung menacingly before the closed doors, their gazes insidiously wild, drunk with rage, perhaps. Indeed later, in the quietude of a sunset raining down on us, while standing by ourselves in front of the village hall, I finally shared my faith with her, and in return she declared the lack of her own - her cousin and older sister, however, do know Jesus, she said, which verily warmed my heart, if not hers.
We left the village with much rapidity, but not before I blessed and encouraged Blue's cousin, in whose arms a smiling babe lay, and received joyfully a delectable departing gift: mysterious, "Blue Cookies" (the official Chinese name is 艾糍), whose mottled, homely complexion would disgust if not for the sweetness (an amalgam of sugar, peanuts and herbs) buried inside, a treasure which would be discovered again and again on our tour.
The food around Enping epitomizes, I believe, Guangdong cuisine: inexpensive and egregiously non-spicy. For what they lack in price and incendiary acidity, however, these dishes more than compensate with copious amounts of oil, salt and sugar, mixed together for a tantalizing effect on the taste buds. Our group was fortunate enough to have frequented several Guangdong-style dai pai dongs whose victuals both nourished our bodies and replenished our wallets - it's amazing to consider how $250RMB can feed 15 ravenous, cantankerous-when-hungry Christian bikers. In fact, the feasting grew exponentially more enjoyable as journey progressed, as our two primary orderers began to refine their culinary acuity, accurately predicting what would invigorate and excite our collective palate; it helped, too, that our utensils were pretty clean for Chinese standards!
Our first evening, we secured accommodations in a building that was not so much a hotel, or even a motel, as a grey, dry concrete edifice in which hardwood beds were arrayed neatly in each room; the spartan conditions dismayed some, including myself, at first. However, thankfulness trumped peevishness, and the realization that, in the middle of nowhere, we had mosquito nets to ward off the inexorable squad of mozzies, and one bathroom with boiling water for a very, very scalding shower was more than enough to placate everyone, especially after a hard day of riding. Besides, austerity succors the soul. We even managed to sleep pretty soundly without mattresses. In my somnolent state, I only remember shifting desperately maybe six, or seven times. It was a good night, and a bargain at only 15RMB per person!
On the second day our group dared to test itself on an unknown avenue. Consequently, we were spared the sonorous alarms of gigantic, indomitable trucks and instead subjected ourselves to the vicissitudes of off-road biking, whose soundtrack, undoubtedly for the day, was provided by an orchestra of buzzing cicadas, accompanied, at times, by the rumbling tympani of motorbikes. Oh, the countryside was lush, beautiful verdure all around - a feast for the romantic soul. Yet, for one of my companions, the environment was anything but endearing, for her adeptness at handling the desultory trail, she surely felt, was more chaotic than controlled. She persevered, nonetheless, pushing through her disconsolation to conquer the race marked out for her; such tenacity that only the Father could supply; and that left me thoroughly impressed.
At lunchtime, the evangelization effort began in earnest. It started innocently enough, as I asked a group of girls about the secondary school down the dusty road from our restaurant. Then, on cue, the Spirit, whose pacing can only be described as frenetic, whose rhythm is beyond my comprehension, overwhelmed and took over. Leanne and I brought those three girls to Christ; while Tim was assiduously preaching by our side to a band of boys who had gathered to look on; and behind us, ah Cheung had cajoled five boys to form a circle, hand in hand, for prayer. Many people came to know Jesus that hour. There was undoubtedly some serious fire falling down on us!
We made a pit stop at the Tam clan village. It was another bucolic community, replete with idling boys, young and old, and those two duplicitous demons standing watch from steady doors, which, it appeared, held together together the ramshackle walls beside them. An electricity meter evinced the reality of life in the village, of a living community that flows flittingly in and out of the houses as though cats leaping over canals; because I for one couldn't see how hundreds of people somehow resided inside those homes when I couldn't spot a single one during my brief tour of the grounds. In the open, by our bikes, there were conspicuous signs of life, however. I was standing in the sun, letting its warm rays melt on my skin, when a young man, not even twenty, approached and asked me about our intents and purposes on what was once such a dull afternoon. His curiosity got the better of me, and together we broached a conversation in faith. Simon joined us, and although he whom I named Henry, told us in his obstinacy that he depends on himself alone, I feel as though a small seed of faith was still planted within him. May it bloom at the appointed time when he most needs it.
At last, inside the unlit store where we shared our gleaming hopes and fantastic dreams, Simon and I noticed, to our surprise and delight, two blackboards on which the shopkeeper had written the alphabet, for English as well as for Putonghua (Pinyin). Besides the letters, numbers too had been painstakingly etched into the board, each meticulous stroke perfectly formed. So they ironically were learning that which continues to elude their more economically mobile brethren in Hong Kong, despite their most humble upbringing. I encouraged Henry to pursue this knowledge, since, as the cliche most rightly states, English - and Putonghua, these days - opens up a world of opportunity.
China, it seems to me, is one interminable housing start being carried on the shoulders of giants. Behemoths, really, an armada of green and blue dump trucks, on whose backs are the physical manifestation of the hopes and dreams of billions - timber; stone; and coal - were an inescapable part of our three-day trek. They blew passed us, literally, horns afire; and if you stared into the eyes of the drivers high above on those mechanized elephants, you would see the glee with which they pounded both the road and the eardrums of those unwitting peons foolish enough to be nearby. China - and China Mobile, whose stores we uncovered even in the most remote suburb, might I add! - still has much growth left, and the transportation and infrastructure industries, I'm sure, shall assiduously work to keep it that way. My recommendation: keep investing in China.
Visiting the hot springs had been on our agenda since the inception of the trip. We eventually had our chance the second evening, when we raced down a wending hill to our hotel - a real hotel. Our excitement reverberated in the air, crackling with laughter and shouting. Choosing to swim first and foremost, we left dinner to wait and hurried across the street. The resort was packed with other like-minded people, dressed in swimming costumes that should have left more to the imagination; the temperature of the pool water varied, from tepid in one enclosure to skin-searing in another; and for one marvelous hour, we swam and frolicked like little children again, delighting in some wet fun, a suitable reward for one more arduous day spent on the dusty, dry land.
We capped the end of a successful day with a bang. The girls, oddly enough, were furtive pyromaniacs in our midst, longing in secret to raid the fireworks shop at the base of the hotel. So after our meal, they raced into the cool evening air and we could only endeavor to follow them in their explosive folly. Inside the store, all sorts of bombastic devices were on display, from the unwieldy, block of (Chicago) bull to the sleek spears adorning the wall whose warheads, no doubt, could just so easily take out a few eyes as mercilessly rip the pitch black from the wall of night sky. The ladies suffered to leave no type of firework untouched by the flame, quickly purchasing an arsenal of rainbow-inducing rockets and slim sparklers to make any pyrotechnic maven proud. Outside we went. At length, the bombs burst in the air, and laughter abound so much as we watched the brilliance of Chinese engineering on display. With the girls' scintillating stock depleted, we finally collected ourselves, and headed upstairs for one more day of wonderment.
There was one last village to visit before we reached our final destination of Enping city. As we sped into the shanty community, we knew something was amiss because unlike our other entrances into villages, during which residents would emerge in droves to glimpse us, it seemed as though these villagers preferred the comfort of their own veiled homes to the company of a few, ebullient strangers. It was an ominous setting in which we found ourselves, one characterized by inhabitants rather mistrustful than gregarious, and affable. Nonetheless, we dispersed to share kindness and mercy. To that end, I approached a young lady, a mere 25-years old, who had her three-month old boy on her shoulder and her three-year old son - who was without pants, might I add, preferring to wave them in the air like a terrible towel - by her side. We spoke briefly about her hopes and dreams, which, she says, rest in the well-being of her sons; and then Leanne and I blessed her. That was the end of our village experience in China.
To be around people who sharpen you as iron sharpens iron, that verily is a joy. The villagers were simple, warm and welcoming; my teammates were jocular, presumptuous and faithful; and I, in the midst of this confluence, this mosaic of personalities, philosophies, hopes and dreams, could only seek to love, especially in one of my more pensive moments. The trip tested my patience and tolerance, my ability to accept others for who they are - each a flawed creature like myself. Ultimately, so much as we seek the men of peace everywhere we go, we individually must become men of peace too. A true disciple of Jesus runs that race, and appreciates His grace, which shall always be enough in this life.
From Wikipedia -
Philippi (in Greek Φίλιπποι/ Philippoi) was a city in eastern Macedonia, established by Philip II in 356 BC and abandoned in the 14th century after the Ottoman conquest. The present municipality Filippoi is located near the ruins of the ancient city and it is part of the periphery of East Macedonia in Greece.
Philippi was established by the king of Macedon, Philip II, on the site of the Thasian colony of Krinides or Crenides (Κρηνἱδες, "Fountains"), near the head of the Aegean Sea at the foot of Mt. Orbelos about 8 miles north-west of Kavalla, on the northern border of the marsh that in Antiquity covered the entire plain separating it from the Pangaion hills to the south of Greece.
The objective of founding the town was to take control of the neighbouring gold mines and to establish a garrison at a strategic passage: the site controlled the route between Amphipolis and Neapolis, part of the great royal route which crosses Macedonia from the east to the west and which was reconstructed later by the Roman Empire as the Via Egnatia. Philip II endowed the new city with important fortifications, which partially blocked the passage between the swamp and Mt. Orbelos, and sent colonists to occupy it. Philip also had the marsh partially drained, as is attested by the writer Theophrastus. Philippi preserved its autonomy within the kingdom of Macedon and had its own political institutions (the Assembly of the demos). The discovery of new gold mines near the city, at Asyla, contributed to the wealth of the kingdom and Philip established a mint there. The city was finally fully integrated into the kingdom under Philip V.
The city remained despite its modest size of perhaps 2000 people. When the Romans destroyed the Antigonid dynasty of Macedon in 167 BC and divided it into four separate states (merides), it was Amphipolis and not Philippi that became the capital of the eastern Macedonian state.
Almost nothing is known about the city in this period, aside from the walls, the Greek theatre, the foundations of a house under the Roman forum and a little temple dedicated to a hero cult. This monument covers the tomb of a certain Exekestos, is possibly situated on the agora and is dedicated to the κτίστης (ktistès), the foundation hero of the city.
The Roman era
The city reappears in the sources during the Roman civil war that followed the assassination of Julius Caesar. His heirs Mark Antony and Octavian confronted the assassins of Caesar, Marcus Junius Brutus and Cassius, at the Battle of Philippi in the plain to the west of the city in October, 42 BC. Antony and Octavian were victorious in this final battle against the partisans of the Republic. They released some of their veteran soldiers, probably from legion XXVIII and colonized them in the city, which was refounded as Colonia Victrix Philippensium. In 30 BC, Octavian became Roman emperor, reorganized the colony, and established more settlers there, veterans possibly from the Praetorian Guard and other Italians. The city was renamed Colonia Iulia Philippensis, and then Colonia Augusta Iulia Philippensis after January, 27 BC, when Octavian received the title Augustus from the Roman Senate.
Following this second renaming, and perhaps after the first, the territory of Philippi was centuriated (divided into squares of land) and distributed to the colonists. The city kept its Macedonian walls, and its general plan was modified only partially by the construction of a forum, a little to the east of the site of Greek agora. It was a "miniature Rome," under the municipal law of Rome and governed by two military officers, the duumviri, who were appointed directly from Rome.
The colony recognized its dependence on the mines that brought it its privileged position on the Via Egnatia. This wealth was shown by the many monuments that were particularly imposing considering the relatively small size of the urban area: the forum, laid out in two terraces on both sides of the main road, was constructed in several phases between the reigns of Claudius and Antoninus Pius, and the theatre was enlarged and expanded in order to hold Roman games. There is an abundance of Latin inscriptions testifying to the prosperity of the city.
In AD 49 or 50, the city was visited by the apostle Paul who was guided there by a vision (Acts 16:9-10). Accompanied by Silas, Timothy and possibly Luke, the author of the Acts of the Apostles, he preached for the first time on European soil in Philippi (Acts 16:12-40) and baptized Lydia, a purple dye merchant, in a river to the west of the city. While in Philippi, his exorcism of a demon from a slave girl caused a great uproar in the city, which led to their (Paul and Silas) arrest and public beating (Acts 16:16-24). An earthquake caused their prison to be opened. When the jailer awoke, he prepared to kill himself, thinking all the prisoners had escaped and knowing that he would be severely punished. Paul stopped him, indicating that all the prisoners were in fact still there. The jailer then became one of the first Christians in Europe (Acts 16:25-40). At this time, there was barely a Jewish community and no synagogue (Acts 16:13). Those Jews present did not seem to include any men and met by the river, a common meeting place in the absence of a synagogue.
Paul visited the city on two other occasions, in 56 and 57. The Epistle to the Philippians dates from around 61-62 and shows the immediate impact of Paul's instruction. The subsequent development of Christianity in Philippi is well-attested, notably by a letter from Polycarp of Smyrna addressed to the community in Philippi around 160 and by funerary inscriptions.
The early Christian era
The first church attested in the city is a small building that was probably originally a small prayer house. This Basilica of Paul, identified by an mosaic inscription on the pavement, is dated around 343 from a mention by the bishop Porphyrios, who was present at the Council of Serdica that year.
From the Acts of the Apostles (Acts 16:12) and the letter to the Philippians (Philippians 1:1), early Christians concluded that Paul had founded their community. The prosperity of the city in the 5th and 6th centuries was attributed to him and to his ministry. As in other cities, many new ecclesiastical buildings were constructed at this time. Seven different churches were constructed in Philippi between the mid-4th century and the end of the 6th, some of which competed in size and decoration with the most beautiful buildings in Thessalonica, or even those of Constantinople. The relationship of the plan and of the architectural decoration of Basilica B with Hagia Sophia and Saint Irene in Constantinople accorded a privileged place to this church in the history of early Christian art. The complex cathedral which took the place of the Basilica of Paul at the end of the 5th century, constructed around an octagonal church, also rivaled the churches of Constantinople.
In the same age, the fortifications of the city were rebuilt in order to better defend against the growing instability in the Balkans. In 473, the city was besieged by the Ostrogoths, who were unable to take it but burned down the surrounding villages.
The Byzantine and Ottoman era
Already weakened by the Slavic invasions at the end of the 6th century, which ruined the agrarian economy of Macedonia and probably also by the Plague of Justinian in 547, the city was almost totally destroyed by an earthquake around 619, from which it never recovered. There was a small amount of activity there in the 7th century, but the city was now hardly more than a village.
The Byzantine Empire possibly maintained a garrison there, but in 838 the city was taken by the Bulgars under khan Isbul, who celebrated their victory with a monumental inscription on the stylobate in Basilica B, now partially in ruins. The site of Philippi was so strategically sound that the Byzantines attempted very soon to recapture it ca. 850. Several seals of civil servants and other Byzantine officials, dated to the first half of the 9th century, prove the presence of Byzantine armies in the city.
Around 969, Emperor Nicephorus II Phocas rebuilt the fortifications on the acropolis and in part of the city. These gradually helped weaken Bulgar power and strengthen the Byzantine presence in the area. In 1077, Bishop Basil Kartzimopoulos rebuilt part of the defenses inside the city. The city began to prosper once more, as witnessed by the Arab geographer Al Idrisi, who mentions it as a centre of business and wine production around 1150.
After a brief occupation by the Franks after the Fourth Crusade and the capture of Constantinople in 1204, the city fell into the hands of the Serbs. Still, it remained a notable fortification on the route of the ancient Via Egnatia; in 1354, the pretender to the Byzantine throne, Matthew Cantacuzenus, was captured there by the Serbs.
The city was abandoned at an unknown date, but when the French traveller Pierre Belon visited it in the 16th century, there were nothing but ruins, used by the Turks as a quarry. The name of the city was preserved at first by a Turkish village on the nearby plain, Philibedjik (Filibecik, "Little Filibe" in Turkish), which has since disappeared and then by a Greek village in the mountains.
Archaeological excavation of the site
Noted or briefly described by 16th century travellers, the first archaeological description of the city was made in 1856 by Perrot, then in 1861 by L. Heuzey and H. Daumet in their famous Mission archéologique de Macédoine. Nevertheless the first excavations did not begin until the summer of 1914, and were soon interrupted by the First World War. The excavations, carried out by the École française d'Athènes, were renewed in 1920 and continued until 1937. During this time the Greek theatre, the forum, Basilicas A and B, the baths and the walls were excavated. After the Second World War, Greek archaeologists returned to the site. From 1958 to 1978 the Société Archéologique, then the Service archéologique and the University of Thessalonica uncovered the bishop's quarter and the octagonal church, large private residences, a new basilica near the Museum and two others in the necropolis to the east of the city.
Periphery - Mark Holcomb
Opening act for The Devin Townsend Project, on the Z² Tour
La Cigale - Paris, France - 05/03/2015
Live report on MusicWaves
Philippe Bareille
Lehde Open-air Museum: Farm buildings from the periphery of the Spreewald. At the left edge you see a farmhouse from Kittlitz, built in 1775, and in the centre a house from Suschow, built for the old parents of a farmer's family.
Am Rande des Spreewalds besaßen die Bauern Anbauflächen von etwa 7 bis 15 Hektar, abhängig von der Qualität des Bodens. Damit hatten sie bessere Voraussetzung für die Landwirtschaft als im inneren Spreewald, wo alle Generationen sich ein Haus oder sogar eine Stube teilen mussten. Daher konnte man sich leisten, für die ältere Generation auf dem Hof ein eigenes Haus zu errichten, das sogenannte Auszugshaus.
At the periphery of the Spreewald the farmers owned cultivated areas of about 7 to 15 hectares, depending on the quality of the soil. This gave them better conditions for agriculture than in the inner Spreewald, where all generations had to share a house or even a living room. Therefore they could afford to build a separate house on the farm for the older generation.
Lehde (Lědy in the local Sorbian language) is a village situated near Lübbenau and meawhile integrated into that town. While Lehde had 298 inhabitants in 1929, only 150 people still live here (as of 2017). The place is a village consisting of many small islands. For centuries, until the early 1950s, Lehde could only be reached by water. Even today, practically all plots of land have their own access to one of the many canals between 0.8 and 1 meter deep, which largely have the function of roads. Postal deliveries and waste collection still take place by water. During the winter months, however, mail is delivered to mailboxes set up by the residents on the landside, by mail bike or car.
Due to the unusual location of Lehde and some preserved historical Spreewald houses, Lehde, which is completely under monumental protection, is a popular destination for tourists. Lehde can also be reached on foot, by bicycle or by car, however, the beauty and special features of the place can be experienced above all from the water side. (Wikpedia.de)
The Spreewald (German for 'Spree Forest'; in Lower Sorbian: Błota, i.e. 'the Swamps') is a section of the German state of Brandenburg located about 100 km sou It is known for its traditional irrigation system, consisting of more than 200 small canals (called Fließe; total length: 1,300 kilometres or 810 miles) within the 484-square-kilometre (187 sq mi) area. The landscape was shaped during the last Ice Age. About 50,000 people live in the biosphere reserve (1998). Many of them are descendants of the first settlers in the Spreewald region, the Slavic tribes of the Sorbs and Wends. They have preserved their traditional language, customs and clothing to this day.
Most inhabitants depend on tourism. Many tourists explore the Spreewald in punts. Agriculture, forestry and fishery are other important sources of income. The principal town of the area is Lübbenau. Alder forests on wetlands and pine forests on sandy dry areas are characteristic of the Spreewald region. Grasslands and fields can be found as well. About 18,000 species of flora and fauna have been identified. In 1991, the Spreewald was protected by the UNESCO under its Man and Biosphere Reserve Programme.
The bus ride from Shenzhen to Enping was long, like watching a freight train chug by, except it doesn't. We had to have been on that bus for seven hours, sometimes napping, and at times, staring out our windows, looking at a world standing still. Traffic was not only a nightmare, but also a mystery, for as many instances in which we could plainly see another egregiously bad vehicular accident, that which has become commonplace, ubiquitous in Chinese travel culture, there were other inexplicable stops in movement, when all of a sudden, as though finishing a swift countdown, our speed dropped so precipitously as to let out a collective lurch, if not in body, then definitely in mind. Calvin, thankfully, in his perspicacity, in his wide-angled, unique view of things, saw beyond the myriad vehicles which lay unmoving as if rocks on a dry riverbed; view the periphery, he bade us, and when we looked to the edges of the road, indeed we witnessed the most peculiar instigator of traffic congestion in the world - men en masse pissing on the side of the road! Men taking leaks creates a domino effect; that one sees another enjoying the relief of an unburdened, easy bladder, so seductive a yoke, that the only retort to the entreaty of this blissful state is to join in with abandon, and impunity. And so soon as the last few shakes are made, back into the cars do these men go, and a few hasty minutes later, traffic flows again!
Mike wanted to stop at a village, so we exchanged an increasingly crowded highway for a narrow, cement road, on which we ventured into the dense verdure. Having reached an impasse in the road soon thereafter, and not knowing how to advance further, to actually enter the village proper, we saw two lovely young ladies saddling a moped, motoring towards us. They then suddenly broke, and turned off our path and onto a dirt one which squeezed through two homes as though a mouse through its diminutive hole - that was our key. We greeted them as the girls turned their heads, offering us inquisitive, yet gentle looks. They would be our guides into town.
Blue showed me around her neighborhood. Together we walked along bumpy corridors and peered through open windows, beyond flitting cobwebs, to lay eyes on rooms where nowadays only impenetrable shadows repose. She and I examined the perfunctory red banners which framed each door in the village, and subsequently hit it off when I began inquiring into the nature of those two swarthy demons who hung menacingly before the closed doors, their gazes insidiously wild, drunk with rage, perhaps. Indeed later, in the quietude of a sunset raining down on us, while standing by ourselves in front of the village hall, I finally shared my faith with her, and in return she declared the lack of her own - her cousin and older sister, however, do know Jesus, she said, which verily warmed my heart, if not hers.
We left the village with much rapidity, but not before I blessed and encouraged Blue's cousin, in whose arms a smiling babe lay, and received joyfully a delectable departing gift: mysterious, "Blue Cookies" (the official Chinese name is 艾糍), whose mottled, homely complexion would disgust if not for the sweetness (an amalgam of sugar, peanuts and herbs) buried inside, a treasure which would be discovered again and again on our tour.
The food around Enping epitomizes, I believe, Guangdong cuisine: inexpensive and egregiously non-spicy. For what they lack in price and incendiary acidity, however, these dishes more than compensate with copious amounts of oil, salt and sugar, mixed together for a tantalizing effect on the taste buds. Our group was fortunate enough to have frequented several Guangdong-style dai pai dongs whose victuals both nourished our bodies and replenished our wallets - it's amazing to consider how $250RMB can feed 15 ravenous, cantankerous-when-hungry Christian bikers. In fact, the feasting grew exponentially more enjoyable as journey progressed, as our two primary orderers began to refine their culinary acuity, accurately predicting what would invigorate and excite our collective palate; it helped, too, that our utensils were pretty clean for Chinese standards!
Our first evening, we secured accommodations in a building that was not so much a hotel, or even a motel, as a grey, dry concrete edifice in which hardwood beds were arrayed neatly in each room; the spartan conditions dismayed some, including myself, at first. However, thankfulness trumped peevishness, and the realization that, in the middle of nowhere, we had mosquito nets to ward off the inexorable squad of mozzies, and one bathroom with boiling water for a very, very scalding shower was more than enough to placate everyone, especially after a hard day of riding. Besides, austerity succors the soul. We even managed to sleep pretty soundly without mattresses. In my somnolent state, I only remember shifting desperately maybe six, or seven times. It was a good night, and a bargain at only 15RMB per person!
On the second day our group dared to test itself on an unknown avenue. Consequently, we were spared the sonorous alarms of gigantic, indomitable trucks and instead subjected ourselves to the vicissitudes of off-road biking, whose soundtrack, undoubtedly for the day, was provided by an orchestra of buzzing cicadas, accompanied, at times, by the rumbling tympani of motorbikes. Oh, the countryside was lush, beautiful verdure all around - a feast for the romantic soul. Yet, for one of my companions, the environment was anything but endearing, for her adeptness at handling the desultory trail, she surely felt, was more chaotic than controlled. She persevered, nonetheless, pushing through her disconsolation to conquer the race marked out for her; such tenacity that only the Father could supply; and that left me thoroughly impressed.
At lunchtime, the evangelization effort began in earnest. It started innocently enough, as I asked a group of girls about the secondary school down the dusty road from our restaurant. Then, on cue, the Spirit, whose pacing can only be described as frenetic, whose rhythm is beyond my comprehension, overwhelmed and took over. Leanne and I brought those three girls to Christ; while Tim was assiduously preaching by our side to a band of boys who had gathered to look on; and behind us, ah Cheung had cajoled five boys to form a circle, hand in hand, for prayer. Many people came to know Jesus that hour. There was undoubtedly some serious fire falling down on us!
We made a pit stop at the Tam clan village. It was another bucolic community, replete with idling boys, young and old, and those two duplicitous demons standing watch from steady doors, which, it appeared, held together together the ramshackle walls beside them. An electricity meter evinced the reality of life in the village, of a living community that flows flittingly in and out of the houses as though cats leaping over canals; because I for one couldn't see how hundreds of people somehow resided inside those homes when I couldn't spot a single one during my brief tour of the grounds. In the open, by our bikes, there were conspicuous signs of life, however. I was standing in the sun, letting its warm rays melt on my skin, when a young man, not even twenty, approached and asked me about our intents and purposes on what was once such a dull afternoon. His curiosity got the better of me, and together we broached a conversation in faith. Simon joined us, and although he whom I named Henry, told us in his obstinacy that he depends on himself alone, I feel as though a small seed of faith was still planted within him. May it bloom at the appointed time when he most needs it.
At last, inside the unlit store where we shared our gleaming hopes and fantastic dreams, Simon and I noticed, to our surprise and delight, two blackboards on which the shopkeeper had written the alphabet, for English as well as for Putonghua (Pinyin). Besides the letters, numbers too had been painstakingly etched into the board, each meticulous stroke perfectly formed. So they ironically were learning that which continues to elude their more economically mobile brethren in Hong Kong, despite their most humble upbringing. I encouraged Henry to pursue this knowledge, since, as the cliche most rightly states, English - and Putonghua, these days - opens up a world of opportunity.
China, it seems to me, is one interminable housing start being carried on the shoulders of giants. Behemoths, really, an armada of green and blue dump trucks, on whose backs are the physical manifestation of the hopes and dreams of billions - timber; stone; and coal - were an inescapable part of our three-day trek. They blew passed us, literally, horns afire; and if you stared into the eyes of the drivers high above on those mechanized elephants, you would see the glee with which they pounded both the road and the eardrums of those unwitting peons foolish enough to be nearby. China - and China Mobile, whose stores we uncovered even in the most remote suburb, might I add! - still has much growth left, and the transportation and infrastructure industries, I'm sure, shall assiduously work to keep it that way. My recommendation: keep investing in China.
Visiting the hot springs had been on our agenda since the inception of the trip. We eventually had our chance the second evening, when we raced down a wending hill to our hotel - a real hotel. Our excitement reverberated in the air, crackling with laughter and shouting. Choosing to swim first and foremost, we left dinner to wait and hurried across the street. The resort was packed with other like-minded people, dressed in swimming costumes that should have left more to the imagination; the temperature of the pool water varied, from tepid in one enclosure to skin-searing in another; and for one marvelous hour, we swam and frolicked like little children again, delighting in some wet fun, a suitable reward for one more arduous day spent on the dusty, dry land.
We capped the end of a successful day with a bang. The girls, oddly enough, were furtive pyromaniacs in our midst, longing in secret to raid the fireworks shop at the base of the hotel. So after our meal, they raced into the cool evening air and we could only endeavor to follow them in their explosive folly. Inside the store, all sorts of bombastic devices were on display, from the unwieldy, block of (Chicago) bull to the sleek spears adorning the wall whose warheads, no doubt, could just so easily take out a few eyes as mercilessly rip the pitch black from the wall of night sky. The ladies suffered to leave no type of firework untouched by the flame, quickly purchasing an arsenal of rainbow-inducing rockets and slim sparklers to make any pyrotechnic maven proud. Outside we went. At length, the bombs burst in the air, and laughter abound so much as we watched the brilliance of Chinese engineering on display. With the girls' scintillating stock depleted, we finally collected ourselves, and headed upstairs for one more day of wonderment.
There was one last village to visit before we reached our final destination of Enping city. As we sped into the shanty community, we knew something was amiss because unlike our other entrances into villages, during which residents would emerge in droves to glimpse us, it seemed as though these villagers preferred the comfort of their own veiled homes to the company of a few, ebullient strangers. It was an ominous setting in which we found ourselves, one characterized by inhabitants rather mistrustful than gregarious, and affable. Nonetheless, we dispersed to share kindness and mercy. To that end, I approached a young lady, a mere 25-years old, who had her three-month old boy on her shoulder and her three-year old son - who was without pants, might I add, preferring to wave them in the air like a terrible towel - by her side. We spoke briefly about her hopes and dreams, which, she says, rest in the well-being of her sons; and then Leanne and I blessed her. That was the end of our village experience in China.
To be around people who sharpen you as iron sharpens iron, that verily is a joy. The villagers were simple, warm and welcoming; my teammates were jocular, presumptuous and faithful; and I, in the midst of this confluence, this mosaic of personalities, philosophies, hopes and dreams, could only seek to love, especially in one of my more pensive moments. The trip tested my patience and tolerance, my ability to accept others for who they are - each a flawed creature like myself. Ultimately, so much as we seek the men of peace everywhere we go, we individually must become men of peace too. A true disciple of Jesus runs that race, and appreciates His grace, which shall always be enough in this life.