Statues Without Plinths

A Collection of Plinthless Statues, Starting in the Caribbean and Moving East to the Shore of the China Sea

Introduction

There was a time when effigies of ‘the great and the good’ stood on plinths so pigeons could perch on their heads and the rest of us could look up to them. The ultimate was Admiral Nelson whose plinth – or column - is 52m high. The figure itself is over 5m, but for the sculptor (Edward Hodges Bailey) it must be galling to have worked so hard on something that very few people ever see properly.

Nelson's column, Trafalgar Square, London in November sunshine

I don’t know where or when the fashion started but I think I first saw statues of normal sized people standing on the pavement (or, in this case, sidewalk) in Tacoma, Washington (the western US state, not the eastern city) in 1998. The next summer, in the south of France, we found them in several towns; whichever side it started the idea had already jumped the Atlantic. Over the last twenty years it has spread to most corners of the Earth.

I like these statues. Most (but not all) are light hearted, and I appreciate being able to look a statue in the eye. So here is a selection of writers and musicians, ordinary people and eccentrics, cats, dogs and more. My (arbitrary) rules for inclusion accepts a pedestal up to knee height, but the figure must to be roughly life size. I also feel free to bend my rules whenever I want.

Cuba

No doubt I took some photos in Tacoma in 1998, but prints are so much easier to loose than digital photos, so I will start in the Caribbean, in Cuba to be precise.

Havana
(visited March 2020)

When not physically looking up at a sculpture, there is no pressure to metaphorically look up to the person portrayed, you just have to enjoy their company.

El Caballero de Paris outside San Francisco de Asís

El Caballero de Paris (real name José María López Lledín) stands outside the former Church and Convent of St Francis of Assisi. Brought to Havana from Spain by his parents aged 11, he had mental problems in later life and lived on the street while believing he was a French aristocrat. Despite his loose grasp of reality, his charm and education made him a well-known and popular figure. He died in 1985 aged 85. Such statues, appreciate being touched and Lynne earned good luck, as many had done before, by stroking his beard.

Ireland

Dublin
(visited 25 June 2014 - Joyce and Famine Memorial)
24 June 2014 - Oscar Wilde)

The Prick with the Stick (more formally, James Joyce) is arguably the foremost writer in a city of writers, though he spent most of his adult life on the continent of Europe. I am overlooking his plinth as it is (just) below knee high.

Lynne and James Joyce, Earl Street, Dublin

His statue is one of four with rhyming nicknames. The Queer with the Lear is Oscar Wilde who sits on a slab of quartz (not a plinth) in Merrion Square Park opposite the house of his father, an eminent Dublin surgeon.

Lynne and Oscar, Merrion Square Park, Dublin

We missed The Tart with the Cart (Molly Malone) as she had been temporarily removed to allow for the construction of a tramway, and The Floozie in the Jacuzzi (Anna Livia Plurabelle, James Joyce’s personification of the River Liffey) due to my poor research.

The Famine Memorial stands beside the River Liffey. Most of the statues in this post are light-hearted, but not this one. The group of ragged people and their equally thin dog stand on the quay, almost staggering to the point of embarkation. Dublin has plenty of public art, much of it very good, but this is at another level. You can almost feel these people's misery as they embark on a journey they may well not survive. For some it will be the gateway to a new and better life, but as they stand here, on the very edge of Ireland, they have few dreams and little hope.

The Famine Memorial, Dublin

And here is a photo from behind - I felt the sculptor wants us to see them this way, too. They stand facing the sea with their backs to their old lives knowing there can be no return as the cringing dog realises that he will be left behind.

The Famine Memorial, Dublin

Galway
(visited Jul 2016)

Meanwhile, over on the west coast, the city of Galway also has an Oscar Wilde. He shares a seat with his Estonian contemporary and near namesake Eduard Vilde. They never met and as far as I have been able to ascertain, their lives had little else in common. The sculpture was a gift from the people of Estonia when they joined the EU in 2004.

Lynne with Oscar Wilde and Eduard Vilde, Galway
The original (minus Lynne) is in Tartu the 'intellectual capital' of Estonia

United Kingdom

I have a 2013 post entitled Commemorating Comedians in Caerphilly, Morecambe and Ulverston - which I whole-heartedly recommend (well I would, wouldn't I). It consists of statues of four comedians and their background stories. One of them has a plinth, the others would be appropriate here but I don't wish to repeat myself, so please click on the link.

Edinburgh
(Visited July 2021)

Greyfriars Bobbyis by far the oldest work in this post. He has stood patiently, with an ever-shinier nose, atop a substantial plinth since 1873. Only it isn’t really a plinth, it’s a double drinking fountain, people at the top, dogs at the base. As Bobby is a small dog, he needs a plinth or passers-by would trip over him.

Greyfriars Bobby, Edinburgh

Greyfriars Bobby was a Skye Terrier. After his owner died in 1858 the dog kept a vigil at his graveside in the nearby Greyfriars Kirk cemetery, until his own death 14 years later. This demonstrates the heart-warming loyalty of man’s best friend - or perhaps the pathetic neediness of dogs; a self-respecting cat would have raised its tail and stalked away

Burwash, East Sussex
(Visited Sept 2021)

For most of his adult life Rudyard Kipling lived in house called Batemans (currently owned by the National trust and open to the public) just outside the village of Burwash. He now sits in perpetuity on a bench beside the main road through the village.

Lynne and Rudyard Kipling, Burwash

Kipling had the instincts and attitudes of any man of his class born in the latter half of the 19th century. As an unabashed imperialist and the Poet of Empire, he should be out of fashion, but isn’t. He cannot be blamed for the circumstances of his birth, but he should be celebrated for the humanity which shines out of so many of his works. People may argue about his qualities as a poet, but he was undoubtedly one the greatest versifiers in the English language.

Portugal

Loulé
(Visited Oct 2022 and many times previously)

We have been frequent visitors to the Algarve, and for many years Loulé market was our first stop, directly from the airport. In 2006 and 2007 we found the market closed. When it reopened the familiar handsome neo-Classical/Moorish façade fronted a bright, clean and airy new market. Everything was back as it was, only its soul was missing. Revisiting Loulé in 2023 for the first time for several years we found a market trader from the old days, sitting on the steps outside, wondering what had happened to it all.

Bewildered market trader, Loulé

North Macedonia

Stepping lightly from one side of Europe to the other we arrive in a land that was once part of Yugoslavia.

Skopje
(visited May 2015)

Nikola Gruevski (Prime Minister 2006-16) initiated the‘Skopje 2014’ project and ‘Antiquization’. These were exercises in nation-building, promoting a Macedonian identity with unbroken continuity since antiquity and involved, among other things, the building of many large, nationalist statues and memorials. There were two problems. The Macedonia of antiquity, the land of Alexander the Great, was Greek and modern North Macedonians are mostly descended from the Slavic tribes who settled here some 900 year later. Secondly, he spent a great deal of money the city did not have. He resigned after riots in 2016, was subsequently charged with corruption and sentenced to two years in prison. He fled to Hungary and claimed political asylum.

Gruevski’s statues have enormous plinths, but Skopje also has several plinthless statues. A necessary antidote to Gruevski’s bombastic monstrosities, they exemplify a pleasanter and more approachable side of the Macedonian character. The Musicians can be found near ‘Warrior on a Horse’ (under an agreement with the Greeks it is not called ‘Alexander the Great’)

The Musicians, near Macedonia Square, Skopje

While The Divers are on one of the piers of Skopje’s 6th century Stone Bridge. Not great sculpture, perhaps, but it makes you smile, and that is good enough for me.

The Bathers, Stone Bridge, Skopje

Lithuania

Vilnius
(Visited July 2011)

I am always surprised how far east the Baltic States are. Vilnius is actually east of Skopje, but never looks it on a rectangular 2-D map.

After achieving independence from the USSR in 1990 Lithuania had a wealth of statues it no longer wanted, so Lenin and friends were retired to a park near the Belarus border. New statues were raised to various medieval heroes and, in a car park beside an anonymous apartment block in a residential area near the city centre, to Frank Zappa. The bust was erected in 1995 after funds were raised by civil servant Saulius Paukstys. A man blessed with an individual world view and a keen sense of irony, Paukstys commissioned the sculptor of many of the Soviet heroes, to produce the bust. Zappa has no connection with Lithuania, has never visited and before the bust was largely unknown, but the project caught people’s imagination as a wryly ironic gesture in a country that had seen enough of political monuments. (Rough Guide)

Frank Zappa,Vilnius
I know he has a plinth (or column?) but, like Greyfriars Bobby, he would be a trip hazard without it

Armenia

Yerevan
(Visited July 2003)

Mesrop Mashtots (Մեսրոպ Մաշտոց) (362 – 440CE) sits outside the Matenadaran (Մատենադարան) at the top of Mashtots Avenue, one of Yerevan’s main throughfares. The positioning is appropriate, the Matenadaran is a museum and research institute specialising in ancient Armenian manuscripts, and Mashtots is the man credited with inventing the Armenian alphabet (examples above). The (rather weathered) 36 letter alphabet is engraved on the stela to his right.

Mesrop Mashtots, Yerevan

The Fat Cat. I am breaking my own rules here, the plinth is small enough, but the figure is many times life size, but if you are going to portray a Fat Cat it has to be a very large and very fat cat. I hope this is a political statement, but I don't know if fat cat has the same meaning in either the sculptor's native Colombia, or Armenia.

Fat Cat, Yerevan

Georgia

Tbilisi
(visited August 2014)

The Tamada.

Modern Georgia includes the ancient land of Colchis, where Jason and the Argonauts rowed to steal the Golden Fleece.

The myth of the Golden Fleece has historical origins. Many of the streams flowing down from the high Caucasus bear gold, and it was traditional extracted by damming the flow with fleeces so the shiny metal adhered to the sticky untreated wool. This practice may date back to the 3rd millennium BCE, and archaeologists have found huge quantities of golden grave goods, many of which can be seen in the National Museum in Tbilisi. Among them is a seated figure, less than two centimetres tall, holding a drinking horn.

Tamada and us, Tbilisi

The supra (feast) is an essential part of Georgian culture and every supra need a tamada, (toastmaster) who proposes toasts for others to elaborate upon and so keep the wine flowing. Cast in bronze, many times the size of the original, the little fellow has become Tbilisi’s permanent honorary toastmaster. Every visitor to the city poses with him, those small enough sitting on his lap.

China

With a long eastward leap we reach the final country of this post, and two very different cities.

Pingyao
(visited Sept 2014)

600km southwest of Beijing, Pingyao is an old, walled Qing/Ming city, an artfully pickled oasis among the usual Chinese urban sprawl. We visited during the mid-autumn holiday when the town was packed and the Chinese tourist machine was turned up to eleven.

During our perambulation on the city wall we met the night watchmen…

The Night-watchmen, Pingyao city walls

…and the city governor holding a writing brush and about to get down to work. Nothing is taken too seriously here.

The city governor gets down to work, Pingyao

Hangzhou
(visited Nov 2016)

200 km southwest of Shanghai, Hangzhou is the centre of a metropolitan region of over 10m inhabitants. It is the home to Alibaba, one of the world's largest retailers and e-commerce companies and the fifth-largest artificial intelligence company. If Pingyao is China’s past, Hangzhou is its future. Street statues here are not primarily to amuse, though they may make older people smile.

Workers, Hangzhou

For many they are images of a past they do not remember.

Street market, Hangzhou

I have more, but this as probably as much (or more) than most would want at one sitting, so I shall stop. I do like these statues, I like to see who or what the locals wish to commemorate, or how they view their past. Most are not intended to be taken too seriously while one is very serious indeed, but all add to the interest of the towns or cities they call home. And can I have a bonus point for for a post which references Greyfriars Bobby, Frank Zappa and Alexander the Great?

Possibly also of Interest

Statues Without Plinths (2023)
Socialist Realism: In Praise of Bad Art (2022)
The Boxes of Carvoeiro (2016)

Sculptors and Dates of Installation (when known)

Liverpool
Duke of Wellington by George Anderson Lawson, 1865
Havana
El Caballero de Paris by José Ramón Villa Soberón, 2001
Dublin
James Joyce by Marjorie Fitzgibbon, 1990.
Oscar Wilde by Danny Osborne, 1997
Famine Memorial by Rowan Gillespie, 1997
Galway Wilde and Vilde by Tiiu Kirsipuu, 2004
Edinburgh
Greyfriars Bobby by William Brodie, 1873
Burwash
Rudyard Kipling by Victoria Atkinson, 2018
Loulé
Market Trader by Teresa Paulino and Pedro Felix
Vilnius
Frank Zappa by Konstantinas Bagdonas, 1995
Yerevan Mesrop Mastots by Ghukas Chubaryan, 1968
Fat Cat by Fernando Botero
Tbilisi
Tamada by Zurab Tsereteli, 2013

Pingyao to Taiyuan and the Bullet Train back to Beijing: Beijing and Shanxi Part 5

"Fumes that Incident the Fancy"
slogan seen on a tee-shirt, Beijing

An 18th Century Family House, a 7th Cemtury Temple and a 21st Century Train

People's Republic of China

Taking our leave of Pingyao we set off towards Beijing, driving the 100km to Taiyuan, the capital of Shanxi Province, before taking the bullet train to Beijing.

The Qiao Family Compound

The Qiao Family Compound is 30km north of Pingyao. The Qiaos made their pile during the Qing dynasty and started building the house in 1756.As the family grew and prospered the house grew with them until by the end of the century there were 313 rooms arranged round 6 large and 19 smaller courtyards.

Shanxi and Beijing

It is one of the finest remaining courtyard homes in northern China, but although the Qiao family were benevolent landlords and good employers - at least by the standards of 18th and 19th century China - the family fortunes did not survive Mao’s revolution and the compound is now a state owned museum.

It is a popular day out for locals, particularly on a public holiday. We crossed a forecourt where the basketball courts had been pressed into service to dry the newly harvested corn crop, and joined the crowd.

Drying corn outside the Qiao Family compound

The rooms were well laid out with period furniture….

The Qiao Family Compound, near Pingyao

…and glass cases of porcelain and other objects of interest.

Qiao Family Compound, near Pingyao

The courtyards, small and large, were richly decorated.

In one of the courtyards, Qiao Family Compound, Pingyao

In China, like anywhere else, grand houses attract film producers. The house starred in the 2006 television serial Qiao's Grand Courtyard and was the primary location for the 1991 film Raise the Red Lantern directed by Zhang Yimou - best known in the West for House of Flying Daggers and the opening and closing ceremonies of the Beijing Olympics. The film, a ‘veiled allegory against authoritarianism' was briefly banned in China despite the script having been passed by the censors. There is an exhibition of memorabilia from the film.

Garden, Qiao Family Courtyard, near Pingyao

The authorities have yet to grasp the benefit of visitors leaving via the gift shop, but just beyond the gates a variety of stallholders have spotted the gap in the market.

Stalls outside the Qiao Family Courtyard, Pingyao

Shanxi is renowned for its vinegar and between the market and the car park we passed a vinegar factory. The large black jars we have seen in so many shops were here in their hundreds.

Vinegar storage outside the Qiao Family Compound, near Pingyao

A Problematic Journey to Jinci Temple

We continued north towards Taiyuan, with another intended stop at Jinci temple.

While waiting for some traffic lights to change we heard what sounded like a volley of gunfire. As usual in China this turned out to be firecrackers. Setting off a ring of firecrackers round a newly acquired lorry ensures it is free from demons and has the happy side effect of telling the world how well the new owners are doing. That is fair enough, but I am not entirely convinced that igniting hundreds of firecrackers round a truck parked beside a petrol station is a desperately good idea. We were relieved when the lights changed and we could move off before the big fireball arrived.

Not, perhaps, the best place for firecrackers, Pingyao - Tiayuan road

A few kilometres later the traffic ground to a halt. 'Congestion can cause long delays here,' said Jonathan, our guide. Inching slowly forward we reached a junction and the driver swung into the minor road. Most Chinese cities are built on a grid, and often country roads follow the same pattern. The driver’s idea was to take a minor road parallel to the main road, and the plan worked well - until we encountered a road that was closed. Trying to get round that we discovered an area where the grid pattern broke down. Soon we were wandering around the flat, featureless Shanxi countryside and I for one had entirely lost my sense of direction. It was a frustrating journey; harvest time meant either we were held up by large slow moving vehicles or zigzagging round piles of corn dumped in the road.

Piles of corn in the road, somewhere near Taiyuan

Eventually the driver stopped to ask a group of agricultural workers for directions, a request which provoked much discussion and a lot of head scratching. We started to follow their laboriously worked out advice but soon discovered it involved a rough, unsurfaced lane. The driver had a careful look and decided - wisely I thought - not to venture down it.

We resumed what felt to us like aimless wandering. Jonathan had started to look worried, but the driver maintained a confident air – maybe he was bluffing. Lynne and I were beginning to think we might be wandering this featureless agricultural landscape for the rest of our lives.

If you drive for long enough you must eventually encounter a main road. When we did the sign said Taiyuan was only 10km away and Jinci Temple even closer. Maybe the driver had everything under control all along or perhaps he was lucky - the Chinese traditionally regard luck as a character trait, so he took the credit either way. Amazingly we were only 15 minutes behind schedule.

Jinci Temple

Jinci, reputedly the most important temple in Shanxi, was founded in the seventh century. Being in continual use for 1400 years it has seen much building and rebuilding so little or nothing of the original temple remains.

The open area in front of the entrance was used as a theatre, the Ming dynasty Water Mirror Platform (over my left shoulder) being its centrepiece.

Water Mirror Platform, Jinci Temple, Taiyaun

The ‘gift shop’ stood nearby.

'Gift Shop', Jinci Temple, Taiyuan

Chinese architectural styles changed little between themedieval period and the middle of the twentieth century, so all temples have a tendency to look alike, but the Hall of the Goddess Mother, with carved wooden dragons curling round its eight pillars, does stand out. Originally built in the Jin Dynasty* (836 to 947) it was rebuilt between 1023 and 1032 during the rather more durable Song Dynasty (960-1279) and is one of the largest surviving Song buildings in China.

Hall of the Mother Goddess, Jinci Temple, Taiyuan

Inside is a statue of the Goddess Mother. She was the mother of Prince Shuyu who founded the Jin Dynasty and was attributed with supernatural powers.

The Mother Goddess, Jinci Temple, Taiyuan

She is attended by a group of Song dynasty female figures in coloured clay, the best of the temple’s collection of over 100 statues.

The Mother Goddess' Song Dynasty handmaidens, Jinci Temple, Taiyuan

There is also a large classical garden with some pleasing corners...

Formal Garden, Jinci Temple, Taiyuan

…. and a pagoda whose origins I have been unable to find.

Pagoda, Jinci Temple, Taiyuan

The Song figures, some ancient Cypresses (which we managed to miss) and The Eternal Spring are the ‘Three Great Things of Jinci Temple.’ The spring, protected by a small pavilion, has been gushing water at a steady 17º since the temple was built, or at least it did until 1998 when one of Shanxi’s many coal mines unwittingly diverted the underground stream that fed the Eternal Spring. Undaunted, the authorities pipe in water to replicate the natural gush. Neither the authorities nor the great mass of Chinese tourists (nor, indeed, Jonathan) see any irony in this. We encountered something very similar at the Crescent Moon Lake in the Gobi desert at Dunhuang.

The Pavilion of the (not very) Eternal Spring, Jinci Temple, Taiyuan

To Taiyuan for Lunch

It was only a short drive to Taiyuan. Founded in 500BC thecapital of Shanxi Province is now a huge modern city and home to over 3 million people, although it is virtually unknown outside China. It became infamous in 1900 for the Taiyuan Massacre where 45 foreign Christian missionaries and their Chinese converts, some of them children, were murdered in the mayhem surrounding the Boxer Rebellion.

We left the car within sight of the station. 'The driver is going back to Pingyao now,' Jonathan told us.' 'And you?' we asked as Jonathan showed no sign of getting back in the car. 'After you have had lunch and I've seen you onto the train I'll get the bus back.' This seemed silly so we suggested he go with the driver, but he had his instructions and fully intended to carry them out.

To prove he was necessary he took us to a huge shiny noodle shop with an unnecessarily complex system involving peering at food behind a glass screen and telling the server what you wanted so she could write it down. I then took this document to the cash desk where I paid and got it stamped before returning to claim my food. I could probably have just about managed without Jonathan - or gone somewhere more normal, but he was a help.

I returned in triumph to our table bearing the spoils only to see Jonathan advancing with two huge bowls of noodle soup. This was a noodle restaurant after all, and everything I had bought was, I now discovered, in addition to the default noodles.

As we set about making some impression on the huge quantity of food Jonathan sat outside on the pavement smoking.

The High Speed Train to Beijing

Lunch over he walked with us to the station. 'You need to go to waiting room 6,' he said which we could see for ourselves as the sign alternated between Chinese and pinyin. 'I can't come in as there are no platform tickets for the bullet trains.' Again we wondered why he had not gone back with the driver. We took our leave and psyched ourselves up for the inevitable security checks the Chinese authorities believe are necessary for train travel.

We had taken eight hours travelling from Beijing to Datong and a further eight to Pingyao. From Pingyao we had driven 100Km back towards Beijing, but even so the scheduled three hours on the bullet train was a statement about how fast the bullet train is - and how slow the regular trains are.

The second class carriage was, if my memory of our trip to Brussels in 1995 serves me well, less comfortable than the Eurostar. The seats were laid out like on an aeroplane even to the extent of fold down tables. There was much more leg room, but the luggage racks were far too small for our two suitcases. After a mimed discussion with the carriage attendant we were allowed to store them in the area set aside for wheelchairs. Had any wheelchair users boarded the train a rethink would have been necessary, but that situation did not arise.

We stopped three times, as we made our way through the flat countryside. Before the first stop the speedometer stayed below 200kph, but afterwards it gradually built up to 300. The ride was smooth and quiet, unlike the regular trains at 60kph.

The Bullet Train near top speed, Taiyuan to Beijing

We arrived on time at Beijing’s western station and had to make our way to our hotel beside the central station - a rush hour metro journey requiring three changes. The last was onto one of the old lines which have neither escalators nor lifts. Lynne was tired and our cases were heavy. I carried one down a flight of concrete steps while Lynne waited at the top with the other. I turned to fetch the other case only to find a middle aged Chinese man putting it down beside me with Lynne just behind him. It was the third act of random kindness visited upon us in the Beijing metro on this trip.

*China has enjoyed five ‘Jin’ Dynasties. This one is the ‘Later Jin’ from the ‘Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms Period’ or 10th century as we would call it.

Beijing, North Korea and Shanxi

Part 1 Return to Beijing: Some Things Change, Some Stay the Same

Part 2 Beijing (2): Xicheng and Beihai Park

Part 3 Beijing to Pyongyang

Part 4 Pyongyang (1): A Day for Bowing 

Part 5 Pyongyang (2): A Day for Waving
Part 6 Panmunjom and the DMZ
Part 7 Sariwon and Nampho
Part 8 The Nampho Barrage and back to Pyongyang
Part 9 Last Day in Pyongyang (1), Gifts and the Metro
Part 10 Last Day in Pyongyang (2) Serious Study and Juche Thought
Part 11 By Train out of the DPRK
Part 12 Datong
Part 13 Pingyao, Preserved Ming City
Part 14 Pingyao to Taiyuan and the Bullet Train back to Beijing
Part 15 Beijing (3): A Duck and a Rant

Pingyao, Preserved Ming City: Beijing, and Shanxi Part 4

"London Bruins UCLA that and"
slogan seen on a tee-shirt, Pingyao

Pingyao: The Chinese Mid-Autumn Holiday and Annual Photography Festival

Wednesday 18-Sept-2013

People's Republic of China

By Train from Datong to Pingyao

Our train for Pingyao left early so we checked out of our Datong hotel at 4.30 blearily clutching our hotel packed breakfasts and regretting that we could not have another go at the haggis.

Again we were in a four-berth soft sleeping compartment for a day-time journey, but boarded so early that we inevitably woke our sleeping room-mates. The two girls gathered their wits and belongings and quickly tidied the compartment so we could store our cases.

The train rattled south through Shanxi Province, eventually swapping the industry of Datong for agricultural countryside, mostly given over to maize.

Shanxi Province, Datong to Pingyao is just under 400km

The girls disembarked. We spread ourselves out and bought lunch on trays from a passing attendant: rice, onions, bacon, mushroom and green beans – cheap and simple but well-cooked as we have always found Chinese railway meals to be.

Introduction to Pingyao and the Tianyuankui Guesthouse

We were met at Pingyao by a young man who said his name was Jonathan, a moniker thrust upon him in a childhood English class.

His driver negotiated the traffic of modern Pingyao until we passed under a Ming gate; beyond, everything was different. Modern Pingyao, like most Chinese cities, consists of identikit high-rises lining wide streets; old Pingyao has characterful single storey buildings and narrow alleys. It has been restored, repaired and artfully pickled, but at heart, unlike Datong with its freshly rebuilt city wall and brand new 'Ming' gatehouses, it is real. Much of the old centre is, inevitably, pedestrianised and we finished the journey on foot.

The main Ming/Qing Street, Pingyao

We checked into the Tianyuankui Guesthouse on the main street. Reception doubled as a rustic looking bar and restaurant while behind a maze of alleys led to the guestrooms. A padlock secured our room while from inside it was closed by the sort of a metal hook you would find on a garden gate. We had a long thin room with dark wood panelling and a raised area at one end serving as a huge bed, a modern version of a traditional Chinese kang. Traditional as the room was, a flat screen television sat almost unobtrusively on a chest and a door led through to a modern bathroom.

Kang, Tianyuankui Guesthouse, Pingyao

Our arrival, we discovered, clashed with the mid-Autumn holiday when the whole of China has a few days away, and a walk in the street suggested that half the population had come to Pingyao. It was also time for the annual photography festival so the streets were not only packed with Chinese tourists but also with people from all over the world staggering around under the weight of enormous cameras - or at least enormous lenses.

The streets of Pingyao full of autumn holidaymakers and photographers

We walked up and down the main street to the walls at either end. The streets were packed with gift shops and restaurants. Pingyao is proud of its cuisine which features a number of local specialties and there seemed to be a standard style of menu board, though the dishes varied as did the English translations*. I am not sure I fancied a 'bald wet bowl' but it sounded better than 'mobil oil aubergine' - presumably with a WD40 dipping sauce. For connoisseurs of Chinglish this was a good place to be.

Menu board, Pingyao

It was a warm afternoon so we stopped for a beer, a rather unchinese thing to do. Restaurants serve food and drink at any time of day but just dropping in for a drink is deemed a little eccentric. There were, though, few people eating at five o'clock and they seemed glad of our custom.

We had not been seated long when music - a self-parody of Disney-style Chinese music - announced the arrival of a troop of a dozen or more teenage girls dressed in pyjamas, carrying fans and walking with the half shuffle, half mince that I assume would have been the gait of women with bound feet. They were, perhaps, the emperor's concubines out for an evening constitutional.

Here come the girls, Pingyao

We had almost finished our beer when another tune heralded the arrival of their male counterparts, armed with fake swords and walking with a martial swagger, they formed the guard party for a couple of important mandarins. As we were to learn, this goes on all day, the city authorities’ contribution to the holiday feel.

There go the boys, Pingyao

We usually avoid having dinner in our hotel, but this seemed a place to break that rule. The restaurant was open to the street and packed with Chinese holiday makers and there was one free table. We grabbed it - it could be the only free table in town.

The English translation on the menu did not make choices easy, but we ended up with our standby of chicken, chillies and peanuts and a local specialty of vegetables in a hot and sour sauce.

Returning to our room, Tianyuankui Guesthouse, Pingyao

Thursday 19/09/2013

We slept well on the giant kang. Arriving for breakfast next morning we were immediately issued knives and forks and offered slices of sweet flaccid bread, indeterminate jam, a scrape of something yellow and industrial, and a glass of black, unsweetened Nescafé. As so often in the past we politely requested it be taken away. Our request was greeted with the usual surprise bordering on amazement but they soon produced some noodles, boiled egg, tofu, soya beans and a 'special pancake' consisting of jam layered between circles of pastry - a local variation on the traditional Autumn moon cake.

Pingyao Walking Tour

Another Ming Gatehouse, Pingyao

The City Walls and the Opening of the Photography Festival

Jonathan arrived and we started our tour by walking to the gatehouse and climbing onto the town wall. At the risk of sounding blasé, when you have seen one Ming gatehouse you have seen them all. A crowd had gathered outside for the opening of the photography festival. A man in cowboy boots and Stetson occupied the stage, a guitar slung round his neck. He had his back to us but spoke English with an American accent and sang so off-key even the inmates of a Vietnamese karaoke bar might have winced.

Regrettable Country and Western singer opening the Pingyao Photography Festival

We walked along the wall and Lynne posed with the night-watchmen who once kept the streets of Pingyao safe at night.

The Night-watchmen, Pingyao city walls

Hearing a cheer from outside we looked down into the morning mist (or smog!) to see the country and western singer had been replaced by a small Chinese man. Yan Weiwen is, Jonathan informed us, especially popular here being from nearby Taiyuan, but is well known throughout China. Unlike his American predecessor, Yan could sing; he had a huge voice for a small man and a rich operatic tone. We paused to listen – he is on You Tube, too, but he was better live.

Yan Weiwen, Pingyao Photography Festival

Further along we met the city's governor.

The city governor gets down to work, Pingyao

Over the wall, in an area where houses had been demolished, people were fossicking among the debris. Newly conscious of the gem for which they are responsible, the authorities have decided to give their old town some breathing space. I tentatively approve though I am concerned that the Chinese authorities do not always give proper consideration to the people they displace. Pingyao is a World Heritage Site so UNESCO oversight should avoid the overzealous reconstruction we saw at Datong, and I would like to think it also safeguards those outside the walls whose homes and businesses have been demolished.

Cleared area outside the city walls, Pingyao

Looking the other way we saw the roofs of the old town, the wide eaves designed to keep dripping rain from wooden walls.

Looking over old Pingyao

The Confucian Temple

We descended to the Confucian temple. The contribution of Confucius to Chinese society was philosophical rather than religious so encountering such temples always feels slightly odd. Most, like Hanoi’s Temple of Literature, have a secular purpose with a religious overlay but Pingyao’s is a standard Chinese temple. 'The Han Chinese' a Muslim Uigher once told us, 'don't have religion, they only have superstition.' That might be harsh, but looking at this temple you could see his point.There was advice concerning the throwing of coins as offerings….

Instructions for being lucky, Confucian Temple, Pingyao

…. and petitions for luck written on red or gold paper padlocked to the railings and incense burners.

Petitions for good luck, Confucian Temple, Pingyao

One courtyard was doubling as a gallery for the photography festival. Mainly landscapes, there was an impressive series on the Yellow River, some pictures of the Mongolian grasslands and even some Indian temples.

Photo gallery, Pingyao Confucian Temple

These seemed more in tune with Confucian ideas, as did the old school house, though Lynne claims to have used such desks in the 1950s.

The Old Schoolroom, Confucian Temple, Pingyao

Taoist Temple of the City God

Across the road is the Taoist Temple of the City God. Religious Taoism, which is only distantly related to Philosophical Taoism, is largely an updating of Chinese traditional religions and fortune telling. Offerings to ensure luck are entirely at home here.

They do a fine line in incense burners, both of the usual design....

Traditional style incense burner, Temple of the City God, Pingyao

And some which might be unique.

More unusual incense burner, Temple of the City God, Pingyao

In one hall a group of actors were making a petition to the gods. 'In times of drought,' Jonathan said, 'the priests must plead for rain.' He ushered us forward into the small crowd, 'Stand on the left,' he added 'to get the best view.'

We took his advice, though how this gave us the ‘best view’ was unclear. When a large youth stood in front of us to take photographs - it was once true that the Chinese were short of stature, but this particular big lump was hardly unique - we moved to the right. The actors finished, bowed to the crowd and, as they made their way off stage, their pleading took effect and hidden sprinklers suddenly dropped a medium sized rain shower on the spectators. Hilarity ensued. Had we been standing where Jonathan had suggested we would have stayed dry, but we had moved.

'Priests' petition the gods for rain. Temple of the City God, Pingyao

Money was and remains the true 'City God' and our next stop should have been at China's first bank, but there was a queue and Jonathan suggested we change the order.

The Tongxinggong Escort Agency

The museum of the Tongxinggong Escort Agency was a short walk along the pedestrianised streets. Bollards exclude cars, but not bicycles and motorbikes and several were making their way through the crowd - though not always with the passengers facing the right way.

Not all passengers face the right way, Pingyao

Pingyao was once the banking capital of China. Banking involves moving money, which in nineteenth century China meant shifting pillow shaped ingots of precious metal across the country.

Money, or replicas of it, Tongxinggong Escort Agency, Pingyao

Clearly transporting bullion opens up possibilities for banditry and in response martial arts expert Wang Zhengqing set up the Tongxinggong Escort Agency in 1849. The escorts, an elite quasi-religious community, survived until Pingyao ceased to be a banking centre in 1913. Their old headquarters has exhibits of money (or at least replicas), their weapons....

Fearsome weapons. Tonxinggong Escort Agency, Pingyao

....and the distinctive one-wheeled carts they used to move the treasure.

One-wheeled cart for carrying money, Tongxinggong Escort Agency, Pingyao

Lunch in Pingyao

By the time we left Tongxinggong it was lunchtime. We visited a restaurant that, according to Jonathan, was famous for its dumplings, and indeed dumpling production was in full swing. We were, as so often happens, parked in the window of the old wooden building. There were many tourists but few westerners, and if you have captured a couple you want to show them off.

Dumpling production line, Pingyao

We were treated to the local specialties, Pingyao beef, kaolao noodles and dumplings. The region prides itself on its unique dishes, but although all were pleasant, we found none of them particularly exciting. Pingyao beef, served with fried bread, is remarkably similar to corned beef. Kaolao are wide-bore 2cm tall buckwheat noodles stuck together to resemble some blanched internal organ and flooded with vegetable broth – minestrone in all but name. The dumplings - stuffed with sweet corn and pork - were good, but they were only dumplings.

Lunch in Pingyao

The Rishengchang Bank

After lunch we got into the Rishengchang without queuing. The bank was the first in China and led the way so successfully that during the Qing dynasty over 400 finance houses opened in Pingyao.

Front office, Rishengchang, Pingyao

After the anti-foreigner Boxer Uprising of 1898/1900 the Empress Cixi was required to pay a substantial indemnity to the 'Eight Allied Forces' (the European powers plus the USA and Japan). She raised the money in Pingyao but the royal court first defaulted on the loan and then, in 1912, the Emperor abdicated. There was no way back for Pingyao and banking in China fell into the hands of foreigners and became concentrated in Shanghai and Hong Kong, where it remains to this day.

Meeting room, Rishengchang, Pingyao

The Rishengchang gives an account of nineteenth century Chinese banking, the front office, the meeting rooms for the more well-to-do and the dwellings of the bankers, who 'lived over the shop'.

Courtyard, Rishengchang, Pingyao

That finished our tour of the old town. The driver was not booked for an hour or so, giving us the opportunity to shop for traditional Autumn Holiday moon cakes ....

Moon Cakes, Pingyao

Shuanglin Si

....and take a short but welcome break before driving the five kilometres to Shuanglin Si. Like the Yungang Grottoes, the Buddhist monastery was founded, during the northern Wei dynasty (sixth century), but most of current buildings are Ming or later. It looks like a fortress from the outside with high walls and a forbidding gate.

Forbidding gate, Shuanglin Si

Inside is the usual arrangement of incense burners and halls. The architecture here is considered less interesting than the statues, but I like these solid old wooden buildings.

Old wooden hall, Shuanglin Si

Some of the 1600 statues are terracotta others wooden. There are gods….

Many armed god, Shuanglin Si

…and muscular guardians, many of them behind bars, presumably for their protection…..

Muscular guardians, Shuanglin Si

…but they were fierce enough for us to wonder.

Scary 'protector' Shaunglin Si

Students from the local art school were busy on their own statues. Lynne was particularly taken by the tableaux of the sufferings to be endured in Hell. It was a tit for tat arrangement, if you had stabbed somebody in life you would be stabbed repeatedly in the afterlife, if you had strangled somebody then you would be strangled and so on.

Dinner in Pingyao

Typical Pingyao restaurant

In the evening we would considered eating at our hotel again, but the restaurant was full so we had to take to the streets. Pingyao was heaving, but we eventually found a vacant table in a long thin restaurant, rather like eating in an alleyway. It was basic but the food was good. We had black fungus with tofu and chilli, morning glory and kaolao with lamb, which was better than the lunchtime version. The woman in charge kept coming over to stare at us and when we left she gave us a big smile and complimented us on our chopstick technique. We sat beneath one of the local menu boards and again enjoyed the creative translations*. ‘Woodles’, we understood, but even with the benefit of a picture we have no idea what 'Date and seabnekth orm soup with yam' was about.

Your guess is as good as mine

Well fed at a very reasonable price we wandered up and down the streets, still packed with shoppers and bought some presents to take home.

* I am aware that the people responsible for these translations have better English than I have Chinese. I am, therefore, not mocking them but sympathising with the problems of explaining particularly local dishes in a language not designed for that explanation.

Beijing, North Korea and Shanxi

Part 1: Return to Beijing: Some Things Change, Some Stay the Same
Part 2: Beijing (2): Xicheng and Beihai Park
Part 3: Beijing to Pyongyang
Part 4: Pyongyang (1): A Day for Bowing
Part 5: Pyongyang (2): A Day for Waving
Part 6: Panmunjom and the DMZ
Part 7: Sariwon and Nampho
Part 8: The Nampho Barrage and back to Pyongyang
Part 9: Last Day in Pyongyang (1), Gifts and the Metro
Part 10: Last Day in Pyongyang (2) Serious Study and Juche Thought
Part 11: By Train out of the DPRK
Part 12: Datong
Part 13: Pingyao, Preserved Ming City
Part 14: Pingyao to Taiyuan and the Bullet Train back to Beijing
Part 15: Beijing (3): A Duck and a Rant