I was heading ever slowly towards Shanghai, planning to stop off at Hangzhou, one of China’s premier tourist cities, along the way.
But first I had to get there.
Trying to get from one town to another is never easy and on this day, after asking the location of the bus station, I was pointed in ‘that direction’ by the lone taxi driver, alert as a feline cat, sitting in his cab, having already watched me approach. Taking the cab driver’s advice, I walked aimlessly in ‘that direction’ for a few hundred metres, until I heard the purr of the taxi cab following close behind.
While I had been walking, he had captured another passenger and wanted more.
A reduced rate, a split fare, a beguiling stare, a spell, licked lips; acknowledging I had no chance of finding a bus station, I accepted.
Into the cab, reversal, changing direction, turning corners, confusion; I am sure I passed a bus station diagonally opposite and opposed to any advice I had received, but everything was now to no avail.
We were within the process of being transposed and transported, through the tunnels, under the mountains and beyond comprehensible range.
Numbers, so many numbers, enough to get lost when you know you are only 1,134 metres from your chosen destination, but still there is no address with any comprehensible logic.
A feel, a feeling without words; for it has no intrinsic value yet means everything to the one you love, yourself.
I had confused too many people, and some would call it quits, but not I.
I had more to accomplish.
A walk around a lake and a visit to a tea museum; except the museum could not be found and to add insult to injury, its entry was apparently free.
Instead I only found an inner city tea plantation of questionable size; for the museum could not exist and must only be a fabrication of my mental facility.
Like that feeling; of love and of loss.
A setting sun that never rises again.