Everything about the trip, from its conception to its end, was all adventure until its distillation into something else.
I arrived back to the loft in Shanghai and caught up with Julio. We talked about our respective trips, his, to his hometown of Cantabria, Spain, and mine, camping in Tan Xiang Shan Village, a few hours west of Shanghai.
I was in a mood of self-disclosure, coming back from an experience that I had reached for out of the corners of my eyes for many anticipatory years, an experience I had identified as far outside of my comfort zone. I hadn’t known that that opportunity existed here in China, and yet here it happened, Dragon Burn. In its 5th year, I lived China’s regional Burning Man and all its 10 principles. Four days in secluded forest, outlined by reservoir, a full moon, a BURN, experiences designed for human exploration and connectivity, and a small piece of a universe mapped out in art installations, for what we knew to be a limited amount of time. It opened me in ways I was still experiencing.
Between sips of thyme tea and a weary wakefulness, Julio and I were talking travel, reminiscing about train trips we had taken and romanticizing about ones we had yet to take. And then, a thought bloomed, “Why not take a train trip, one that would bring a story or two to unfolding?”
The next day, I held four train tickets in my hand. Guangdong, China, was to be our destination. Somewhere within the province, would be my mother’s hometown. That was all the information I had. Here we were, planning to embark on the trip I had been taking detours around my whole life. Yes, no exaggeration there, my WHOLE life
30 years, and all I had managed to wrestle out of her past, 66 years, was, “Guangdong 广东.”
