Fuddland

Although I’m sure it makes a very pleasant day out at most times of the year, there’s really only one time of year that, if you happen to be in the area, you should make an extra effort to visit Tianping Hill [in Chinese, Tianping Shan]: in the latter weeks of autumn, from mid-November to early December, the maple-tree forest turns all shades of reds and deep oranges.

The park is nicely laid out so that you wander through the trees to the foot of the hill, peering into numerous small temples along the way should they take your fancy, before taking your time climbing the 221 metres up the not-too-steep carved-out stairway to the peak. At the top we found nothing more than some interestingly-shaped boulders and a fairly out-of-place fairground shoot-the-balloons game, although there were signs to a tea house which takes it water from a nearby spring that we never got around to following. But being able to look down and appreciate the contrast of the leaves against the surrounding evergreens is the real reason to have made the climb, as well as looking out towards Suzhou and trying to make out the skyscrapers through the haze of the pollution.

After a few minutes checking out the view in each direction, I wondered aloud if the collection of large pools of water in a quite bare-looking area below was a quarry—and if so, was it still active?—when the ground suddenly shook underfoot and a large rumble came from the direction I was looking: an explosion had just gone off, which seemed to confirm that it was indeed a quarry and it was very much still active.

Back down in the maple tree forest, we came across the obligatory couples having their wedding photos taken [every beauty spot comes with them], and of course no Chinese park would be complete without some sort of performance watched by a smattering of pensioners and teenage girls. We stood for a few minutes to watch the feats of a man standing on a wobbly plank, but decided not to stay for the graceful acrobatic displays of the girls with their coats on over their leotards.

One particular treat was coming across a local artist painting the view across the pond. At first I thought she was faking it for the benefit of a professional-looking photographer who had set up a tripod just behind her, but she really was putting paint to canvas. I don’t know how she was managing to hold onto her brush without gloves, let alone put the paint where she intended it to go without shivering, but manage she did, and the results were looking pretty good.