Veleur July 13, 2008

I started off early on Saturday.

Weeks earlier I had spotted a derelict amusement park in the middle of a jungle in the middle of Guangzhou. It was a perfect destination for my first veleur. I brought my RB67 along with the Canon. The Mamiya, in a little backpack, fit nicely on the rack, while the Canon nestled into the basket, along with the tripod, and a big bottle of water.

I decided to bike East then south, crossing the river on a big bridge next to a small port. The ride was fine as it usually is in GZ, with bike lanes or wide sidewalks making things easier. I made it all the way to the bridge before I found something.

I knew that before crossing I would pass yet another derelict, half-constructed building, of which there are many here. Abandoned dreams or sink-hole con jobs, I have no idea what they are, but they are gnomons of sunnier plans. As I rode up I saw a nice white staircase and ramp which kept its shininess but had the patina of neglect and mislaid plans that can be attractive.

Then I saw the row of tired brick building below. I went down the stair, took a quick look around at the children playing amidst rubble and rows of garage doors, then went back up for my bike and the RB. I switched to my wide angle lens for the Canon and took a few shots, trying to get the family into the left of the frame (I feel sneaky at these times, but I know that pointing my camera directly at the people would be a problem). I didn’t really get anything great so I turned.

Along one wall was a sheet of beautiful blue glass, resting against the weathered brick, a trail of fragments leading to it. I set up the RB. As I had found out the previous day when I took some crowd shots in front of a popular computer mall, the tank-like RB gets people curious. Sure enough, a young guy wandered out of one of the businesses and came over. I just let him look through the frame and smiled a lot. We talked a bit and I snapped off a bunch of photos of the window, excited that it reflected the unfinished building.

The rest of the area had piles of rubble and bric a brac fighting with plants.

I left and made it about ten metres toward the derelict when I noticed the old underpass, a grass infested and garbage covered road leading down to it. I wandered down and found a small enclave of old brick houses. The other side of the underpass was more passable, and cars, trucks, and bikes slowly climbed into and out of this little secret mystery. A few taxis and a truck were on the road, and I could see some guys playing cards around a table in the cool darkness of the tunnel. Another of GZ endless number of sloughs passed between road and houses.

I saw something through the trees between a wall and the dark water. I poked my head in and found scattered torsos, limbs, and hands from old mannequins. They reminded me of the buildings. Models tossed by the wayside. I brought out the RB67, which was loaded with Ilford B&W, for some hand held shots. Crouching in the underbrush wasn’t the easiest thing, but we’ll see how things turned out. I also fired off a few other hand held shots with the beast. It’s getting a little easier to use, but I have a problem with the interlock when I turn the back: it has a habit of not firing. I’ll get used to it and figure something out, but it’s annoying.

I rode on, getting a few shots of the building’s levitating staircase, and making it almost onto the bridge before pulling both cameras out for shots of the bridge and a smokestack. Then a little further, when I saw the pool of green water and what is probably an old loading dock area standing next to modern apartment buildings with a playground and soccer field. I loved the contrast and tried to get some shots. The Canon’s screen, though, is a bitch to use in the light.

The Pearl is an impressive and wide expanse of dusty brown. It took a few minutes to ride over. I never made it further south, though, as the underside of other side of the bridge, captivated me and I stayed. I like bridges, and I like the places beneath them, where unnoticed lives go on. It might be the “Billy Goats Gruff” living on in my memory.

Here they try to make the areas attractive, planting fields of lilies which are lovely when in bloom. I found a balled-up red sign, an advertisement for workers, and it made a nice image. I made some other shots and packed up to move on.

I was moving my bike out when the sunlight shone through the slatted cement area between the lanes overhead and lit up the ground. I couldn’t leave. I unpacked and waited. The RB malfunctioned some more because of the interlock and I had to wait. And wait. The sun arrived finally, I got what I wanted, and I left.

I rode along the river, down the wide path the city built on either side. In most cities, this place would be packed with people: people biking and rollerblading; people jogging and walking their dogs. Here, there was almost no-one. It’s sad because it is beautiful and lonely.

The storm clouds began to collect and move in. Typical for a Sunday afternoon here. I get together with friends for some Ultimate Frisbee at 2, and the last few weeks have been wonderful except starting at about 1pm on Sundays, when the storms decide to return. There was a great shelter in front of the immense trade fair centre (it was huge and with recent construction it’s monstrous). A group of performers in costume for some reason, a family of four children and their mother, and a bike mounted fisherman waited underneath the glass canopy.

It poured for a while. I took more pictures and read a bit of a detective novel set in Shanghai that Richard had lent me. I left when the rain became a drizzle. I passed the fisherman who had left before me, then another who had a line of six poles propped up. I stopped under the next bridge because I spotted a small triangle of red fabric caught and hanging. Some more fisherman were underneath along with one of the ubiquitous uniformed guards who are everywhere.

Like most people though when I am out on my bike, the guard was friendly and eager to talk to me. A foreigner on a bike is a rare site, particularly down in those areas—the highest peaks in Tibet no doubt see more white people than the bridge bellies of Guangzhou. We stumbled through a conversations, joined in by the others underneath. I still don’t have the courage to ask people if I can take their pictures, so I rode away.

I was exhausted at this point. I had been out and riding for nearly six hours and hadn’t eaten. The riding takes energy, but so does the picture taking. It takes an effort to look and to see, and I was losing that awareness. I pedalled about, finding an amazing swamp and jungle in the middle of the city. Vines and plants climbing over old buildings.

A pair of shoes tightly wrapped up in a plastic bag lay on the vines that covered the ground. Discarded clothes disturb me a bit. These weren’t so threatening. They seemed forgotten.

I found a huge and wonderful park in which noone flew a kite, or walked, or played, or had a picnic. I rode down vast roads that had no cars. I saw red mudflats, watched over by three men and a bulldozer that had a great poster in front of it. I turned down cigarettes offered by these workers who always asked where I was from and where I lived and what I was doing.

I said that Guangzhou is a strange city.

It is. It is the weirdest place I have ever been and certainly ever lived. It is confusing in so many ways. It is a wonder in other ways. It made me really happy. It was a perfect veleur.

Maybe next time I’ll make it to the amusement park. But I have to return to the abandoned buildings in the jungle and swamp next to the Zhuzhiang brewery and the park. I haven’t even begun and I am further behind.

Here’s a map of today’s veleur

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