Taishan wasn’t on my list of ‘must see’ places in China, but it definitely is for many Chinese, going by the more than 8 million visits a year reported for the most easterly of China’s ancient sacred peaks. Despite being only just over 1500 metres in altitude, Taishan has a lofty reputation in the national psyche for China, just as Mt Olympus has for Greece or Machu Picchu for the Incas. It is the place to go to see the sunrise and to visit the viewpoints that also attracted and inspired Confucius and China's first Emperor Qin Shi Huang.
Located about 60 kilometres south of the Yellow River at Jinan, I took a back road to Taishan over the hills, through which the pedal assist of the e-bike came in very handy.
The first half of the journey was spent simply trying to escape the nightmarish traffic of Jinan, and in particular avoiding being taken out by the silent and swift electric scooters that rushed up on me from behind. The minor road that I followed literally ran out about half way to Taishan, and I had to push my bike past the remains of an abruptly unfinished road and across waste ground under a motorway flyover to join up with another road that took me up into the hills. I enjoyed perfect clear skies, sunshine and 20 degree temperatures as I ascended a gentle incline into what was obviously holiday villa territory.
The villages on the northern slopes of Taishan must have been designated for tourism because they had been prettified with flowers and had water channels lined with willow and plum trees, their stone buildings scrubbed and smartened up to appeal to sightseers, of which I saw none.
Maybe it was because it was midweek in the off season, but I had the picturesque lanes and villages all to myself. I bypassed the ancient Buddhist temples and pagodas of Lingyan monastery (灵岩寺), intent on reaching the West Gate of Taishan and finding somewhere to stay. After surmounting a modest ‘pass’, I freewheeled down the narrow road zigzagging through rocky scrub terrain, passing orchards and clusters of beehives that could have been rural Italy or Greece as much as northern China.
The road eventually bottomed out and I arrived at a new tourist precinct with a wide avenue that led me to a near-empty car park and one of the official gateways for Taishan mountain park. The crags of the western side of the mountain loomed above me. The hotel I had pre-booked lay just beyond the entrance gate, but nobody stopped me from entering to find the idyllic setting of the Taohuayuan (Peach Garden) Guesthouse. I checked in without any fuss, and again appeared to be one of few, if any guests. The manageress showed me to my tatami-style room and then retired back to her snoozing on a lounge chair in the hallway.
After a simple dinner of stir fried egg noodles at an empty snack bar near the gatehouse, I retired with a bottle of Kronenbourg to the hotel garden to enjoy the late afternoon and evening sun amid birdsong and the croaking of unseen frogs in the garden’s pond and artificial backyard stream.
The reason for the relative seclusion and tranquility of the Peach Garden Hotel was that the vast majority of visitors to Taishan enter at the south gate via the nearby city of Taian (泰安). I only realised this when I ascended the mountain the next day as one of the few users of the cable car from the west gate. Feeling somewhat self satisfied after having again secured a senior citizen’s discount on my ticket, I emerged from the summit station to be swept up in a mass of people equipped with trekking poles and hired red overcoats, all intent on reaching the summit at the Jade Emperor Temple a little further along the trail.
Most Chinese visitors to Taishan aim to walk the thousands of steps up from the main temple complex on the south side, and the ones around me must have set off very early in the morning to have reached this high point by 10 am. I went along with the boisterous crowds, soon feeling tired after ascending just a few flights of the stone steps whose edges had been worn smooth by the passage of millions of feet.
It was a perfectly clear morning and there were excellent views in all directions from the multiple viewing points around the flat summit of Taishan. From the Jade Emperor Temple I could look down to see a continual wave of additional visitors ascending up the long series of stairways from the Taian direction. I hiked across to the weather station on the north eastern side of the summit to find the spot where many visitors make for in the early hours to await the sunrise. I then hopped over some crags to a spot marked as “Viewing Lu (Shandong) State”, where Confucius is supposed to have been inspired to make his profound observation that “from high on the mountain the country looks small”.
I didn’t linger long on the summit of Taishan. The crowds were oppressive and it was no longer a place for solitude and Confucian contemplation. There were food stalls and trinket sellers, and overpriced guesthouses offering rooms for 1000 yuan a night for anyone who wanted to be up early for the sunrise. I thought I would try the walking trail back down the mountain, but the pathway was blocked off by a park staff member who told me brusquely that would-be hikers needed download an app and register their ID details before being allowed on to the trail, just in case they got lost or had an accident. I opted instead to go back down the cableway.
This time I shared the cable car with a mother and daughter who eyed at me warily and must have assumed I could not speak Chinese. They made a few quiet comments about my presence, speculating on what ‘this American’ was doing alone at Taishan. I didn’t correct them.
Another occupant of the cable car then spoke up, announcing that she was from Taiwan and that she was familiar with Americans, of whom there were many in Taiwan. Ignoring me completely, the Taiwanese woman went on to enthuse for the next few minutes to the Chinese mother and daughter about her travels in China. She listed all the places she had visited: Beijing, Xi’an, Huashan, Emeishan, saying how wonderful they were. “Much more scenery and history than we have in Taiwan, only one mountain there and not much to see,” she said.
The Chinese mother told the Taiwanese visitor she was lucky to have the time, money and freedom to visit so many places. The Taiwanese woman then launched into a another long-winded lecture about how living costs in Taiwan were high and the wages were low, and how she was only able to enjoy travelling because she had worked so hard and been good at business. I was glad when we reached the end of the ride and could escape her self-important boasting.
To follow up my visit to Confucius’ viewing point on Taishan, the next day I made an excursion a further 90 kilometres south to Qufu, the hometown of ‘Master Kong’ (Kongzi, 孔子) who lived there in the sixth century BC.
It was a simple ride across Tai’an and down a major highway until I reached the curved city walls of the place where descendents of the Kong clan still made up the majority of the 200,000 town population.
To be honest I didn’t have much interest in Confucius, but since the culture of Confucianism seems to back in official favour in China, I thought it would be worth a visit. And after reading a bit about the history of Confucius I was also fascinated by the family continuity of someone who had lived in the same era as the Old Testament prophets. I was amazed to learn that the direct lineal descendant of Confucius had lived in Qufu until just a few decades ago when he had fled to Taiwan to become an official in the education ministry. It was as if the heir to the family of Prophet Isaiah or Ezekiel had living descendents in Palestine who were working in the civil service.
The town of Qufu was like a Confucius World theme park, but in an authentic way. Within the city walls I rode around the tree-lined streets to pay a visit to the Kong Family Mansion and the adjacent Confucian Temple. There were many Chinese visitors, but the vast scale of the complex meant that it never seemed overcrowded, and the atmosphere was respectful and subdued compared to the crowds of Taishan. I didn’t know enough about the history of Confucius to appreciate the many steles and memorial halls in the grounds of the temple complex, but I saw enough to observe that the reverence for Confucianism and its values was genuine and not just some superficial state-backed hero worship or superstition campaign.
I enjoyed even more my visit to the Confucius family tombs, set in a large area of tranquil forest park in the northern part of Qufu. For a national cultural landmark, the actual tomb marker at the Confucius grave site was remarkably low key and austere. There were just a few visitors paying respects at the stone tablet that was not behind any barriers and could be approached and touched by hand.
Perhaps not surprisingly for the hometown of a scholar, the people of Qufu seemed to have a noble, almost genteel bearing. I went to a bike shop to have another troublesome wheel spoke attended to, and the owner gave me a patient explanation of the problem and what I needed to do about it, refusing any payment for the adjustment he made. After I thanked him he also advised me to avoid the touristy restaurants around the city wall, and gave me the address of a local restaurant where I could sample some genuine Qufu home cooking. And so at the simple eatery just a few doors away I got to sample some Qufu smoked tofu and local pancakes for just a few yuan.
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