In my mind's eye, I am already there, away from the boisterous bustle of the train station in Shanghai, and in the midst of the serene gardens of Suzhou...
I imagine them luminous with the fresh green foliage of spring; drooping willows, blazing red peonies, jade-green carp ponds glinting with gold and silver fins - everywhere a harmony of earth and air, and wind and water. And, amidst the rockeries and low bridges, halls and pavilions with enchanting names: here the 'Hall of Distant Fragrance', there the 'House of Sweet-Smelling Rice'; in a solitary corner, the 'Listening to the Sound of Rain Pavilion' and the 'Room for Sighing in the Cloud'; and in another sequestered space, the 'With Whom Shall I Sit Pavilion', filled with the langorous sighs of little maidens in the flush of first love...
As it turns out when I get there, the gardens are delightful, but any hopes of quiet contemplation are quickly dashed by the crowds of chattering domestic tourists and their bellowing guides.
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