Just over three years now, since Hong Kong and Guilin--overland to the border, then the mad explosion of Shenzhen, supersized--and miles of gray, tear-stained apartment blocks, each balcony strung with laundry, the roads packed, ox cart to Audi--unrelenting. An overpass with Western faces, looming above, vacant media smiles, while Hakka women in wide black cloth hats bend patiently, hoeing, at the side of the road...
A love for the past--even never having known it (maybe better that way). Knossos, Zamoscz, Hangzhou rain...
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