Du Fu lived from 712-770 and is, apparently, a key poet in the history of China. He moved to Chengdu as a political exile, where he spent 5 years living in a thatched cottage and writing about how happy he was, despite being destitute. Coming to China to see a thatched cottage seemed a little odd considering where Claire lives in the UK is full of them (in fact we had our goodbye to England meal in a thatched pub), it would be like going all the way to Beijing to see some dry stone walling.

But it was highly recommended in the guides, so we went. At 60RMB it was pricier than pandas, but the scenery and atmosphere is exceptional. We were just a few minutes out of the city and it was really peaceful. Compared to the tourist mecca that is Shakespeare's cottage, it was very tastefully done. There were lots of pagodas to enjoy the view, terraces to relax, a bamboo garden, and loads of sculptures which were inspired by his poems. Even though we didn't really know much about the guy, it was great to see a real writer's retreat - the house and furniture had been replicated very sympathetically and I'm sure it strikes a chord with the rural poor that someone living like this could still have big and, later, influential ideas. We also met a very friendly Chinese family who were taking an elaborate picture at a pagoda, arranging themselves into a kind of totem pole. After staying in Cambridge for 6 weeks over the summer, I'd become immune to waiting for people's photos and continued walking, but Claire insisted we were courteous. The family seemed highly amused to see a white couple, so we were quickly invited into their photo. It's a great shot, and I've uploaded it to the album.

Every camera of every family member had to be used in triplicate, and so was ours, then we had a few solo shots. It was great to meet a friendly group, because previously we'd only met friendly individuals. Usually in Asia you get looked at more than you might expect, or have people shouting "HI! HOW ARE YOU?" before running away laughing, but in Chengdu it's different. You still get looked at like a celebrity, but like a bad celebrity. Like Gary Glitter walking through Covent Garden. I'm still trying to figure out whether China really wants people like us here. People our own age and uni students seem to be very keen, but all the children run around screaming "Foreigner! Foreigner!" (unless they're just trying to engage me in a conversation about 80s soft rock, clearly marking me as a fan) and the old people seem to give contemptuous looks as often as possible. Especially for Claire, unless they're old women and then they seem to dote on her a bit.

I looked up translations of Du Fu's poetry, and I'm not sure how influential he was. Here's a well-known extract which makes me think that Callum could turn out to be a great Chinese poet:

Behind the gates of the wealthy

food lies rotting from waste

Outside it's the poor

who lie frozen to death

Coming from the UK, the attitude of not wasting food (that "waste not, want not" idea) seems fairly sensible given war shortages and historical famine. Neither of these are absent from China's history, but there is a real tradition of food waste that is really surprising. We were taken out for a meal when we arrived, and more was left than eaten. I talked about this with a class I taught, and apparently it is polite to waste food because finishing everything, or even nearly everything, implies you are not satisfied. There's a Chinese buffet in the centre of Leeds that warns of a penalty charge if you waste food from their 'all you can eat' selection. Presumably they don't get many Chinese there.

After Du Fu's cottage, we went to see the pandas. The local reserve was damaged during the earthquake, but there's a local breeding centre still here and the reserve is still only about half a day away. More on those beautiful beasts next time.