Stories from China
A reader keeps asking for stories from my time in China.
The first time I was there was almost 40 years ago, entered via
Hong Kong, then continued by train until I arrived at Shaolin
Temple after many stops.
At that time I didn't understand a word of Chinese, but I had a
translation computer with me (yes, that existed at that time),
with which I managed more badly than well.
On the way in a Chinese sleeper car, surrounded only by Chinese,
I felt pretty stupid. What a stupid idea I had, what a stupid
idea, with every kilometer the doubts grew. To the Shaolin
Temple, I, the spoiled billionaire's son (my father Rolf Deyhle
owned (almost) all the musicals in Germany at that time (CATS,
Starlight Express, Phantom of the Opera, Miss Saigon), the big
entertainment shows were firmly in Swabian hands.
And I was simply on the road, to a temple, I felt so stupid. Why
not go back to New York, party nicely, or to Milan, meet
beautiful women. No, to a temple the trip should go. In a men's
magazine there was a report about the home of Chinese Kung Fu, I
was electrified, I wanted to go there. I had always done martial
arts, fit "like a fiddle" all my life, almost addicted to sports,
despite all my faults like a wind-up man.
There I was sitting in this train, my fellow passengers were
getting drunk the whole way, there was smoking and cooking in
this compartment. The people were so friendly, I was the first
foreigner they had met.
I interrupted the trip near the Chinese provincial capital of
Xian, where I went to see the Terracotta Army, which was supposed
to guard the first emperor of China in the realm of the dead. An
impressive affair, wonderfully sculpted soldiers, each figure
different, incredible.
After extensive amazement, I gathered my courage to continue
towards the temple, the train went to ZhengZhou. Again drinking
fellow passengers, I began to learn Chinese, already obeying the
need.
The sanitary conditions were adventurous, my father gave me on
the way: "Who makes a journey, can experience something". And
that's exactly how it was, the smells, the food prepared on the
train, simple but kind people who wanted to make China
"palatable" to me. And they managed to do that, collectively they
took care of the foreigner.
But I doubted more and more my state of mind.
In the next few days I will continue to tell the story.
The way is the goal!
As a flame goes out from the wind, is blown away and concepts no
longer fit, so is the wise man freed from "spirit and body": He
can no longer be grasped conceptually
- Buddha - honorary name of Siddharta Gautama - 560 to 480
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