Chaozhou Impressions Day 3: Guihu Town, Anxi Village & A Karaoke Hall Under a Red Star | 24 Sep 2022 скачать в хорошем качестве

Chaozhou Impressions Day 3: Guihu Town, Anxi Village & A Karaoke Hall Under a Red Star | 24 Sep 2022

24 Sep 2022, Chaozhou. A sky of crystalline blue and cotton-white clouds—rare, as locals remarked, for many days. Sunlight poured generously over the lush subtropical vegetation, and the green cascading past the window felt strangely cinematic. It reminded me of certain Taiwanese films: unhurried days, sentient plants, a southern rhythm of life. We passed a town called Guihu.“When I retire,” one local researcher said, “I’ll return here. Even the name says ‘return’.” Guihu was once “Guihu”—Turtle Lake, named for the turtles that inhabited it, and for its low-lying land that often gathered water into lakes. In the Daoguang era of the Qing dynasty, one character changed: from “turtle” to “return”. A single character’s shift—from a creature to a longing. Gui is a verb. It means homeward. We entered a village called Anxi.Nestled deep in the mountains of Chifeng Town, Anxi looks as if it walked straight out of a Little Forest film set—hills embracing it from all sides, a stream threading through, and a banyan tree centuries old, its aerial roots brushing the water’s surface. When wind passes, the entire valley breathes. The first thing we saw, though, was a brand-new basketball court. Beyond it stood a solid hall, the faint trace of a Soviet-era red star still visible on its facade—likely a former public assembly hall from the mid-20th century. We pushed the wooden door open. Inside, a screen scrolled Mandarin pop song lyrics, karaoke-style. I recorded a snippet. I imagined villagers—elders, children—gathering here at dusk, watching shows, singing along, chatting. A red star, a karaoke screen, a few plastic chairs. History does not break; it simply changes clothes. I walked onto the stone bridge over the stream, turning slowly to take in the entire valley. Ancient banyan, flowing water, old houses, cooking smoke. “If this village were closer to a big city,” a friend remarked, “it’d be packed every weekend.” I didn’t know how to respond. Bustle is joy; silence is fortune. Would more visitors heal this place, or consume it? I stood on the bridge a long time, memorizing the moment. Another village we visited—its name now escapes me. I remember only that it was formed by merging several smaller villages, and somehow they never quarreled. And I remember the local staff member’s accent: endearingly, he pronounced xuéxiào (school) as “xié xiù.” At first I was puzzled; then I smiled. That’s a linguistic fingerprint. That’s how land leaves its mark on speech. Where do we begin to understand a piece of land? With its name—that character “Gui” carrying homesickness across centuries. With its spaces—that hall where pop songs echo under a red star. With its sounds—that transformed yet affectionate “xié xiù.” And with the ambivalence we feel, standing at its heart, not knowing whether to wish it bustling or silent. That ambivalence itself—is where love begins. #应该从哪里开始了解一片土地#WhereToBeginUnderstandingALand #慢下来看世界#SlowDownSeeTheWorld #治愈#Healing #发现生活发现美#DiscoverLifeDiscoverBeauty #潮汕#Chaoshan #活态遗产#LivingHeritage #小森林春夏秋冬#LittleForestFourSeasons #田园风光#PastoralScenery #山谷里的生活#LifeInTheValley #潮州#Chaozhou #归湖镇#GuihuTown #安溪村#AnxiVillage #赤凤镇#ChifengTown #广东#Guangdong #亚热带地区#Subtropics #台湾电影#TaiwanCinema #卡拉OK#Karaoke #古榕树#AncientBanyan #小镇故事#SmallTownStories #把生活拍出电影感#LifeAsCinema #听见你的声音#HearingYourVoice #WanderingWithYeJun #YeJunsWorld #NotesOfAWanderer #WhereToBegin 2022年9月24日，潮州。当地朋友说，这样澄澈的蓝天白云，许久未见了。阳光慷慨地洒满亚热带茂密的植被，车窗外流动的绿意，总让人恍惚——这画面太像某些台湾电影，那种日子悠长、草木有情的南方叙事。 我们经过一个镇，名字叫归湖。当地人笑着说，等老了要回这里住，“连名字都写着‘归’”。归湖，原名龟湖，因产龟得名；又因地势低洼，常积水成湖，清道光年间改称归湖。一字之易，从物名到心境的迁移——归是动词，是动作，是方向，是所有离乡人藏在舌头底下的那个念头。 我们进入一个村，叫安溪。这是赤凤镇深处的一座山谷。说它是“中国版小森林”的取景地，毫不为过——四面青山环抱，溪水穿村而过，百年古榕的须根垂落水面，风来时，整座山谷都在轻轻呼吸。 进村第一眼，却是崭新的篮球场。走过球场，是一座外表敦实的大厅，墙上的苏维埃五角星痕迹依稀可辨。这大概是上世纪集体议事堂的遗存。推开半掩的木门，里头竟传来流行歌曲的旋律——屏幕滚动着歌词，像极了镇上的卡拉OK厅。我录了一小段。想象中，傍晚时分，村里的老人和孩子聚在这里，看剧、唱歌、闲聊。一颗红星，一张点歌屏，几把塑料凳——历史没有断裂，只是在换装。 我走上溪上的石桥，360度环顾这座山谷。古榕、流水、老屋、炊烟。朋友说，若这村挨近大城市，周末怕是要挤破头。我一时不知如何应答。热闹是喜，寂静是福；来的人多了，原本的“治愈”会不会变成另一种消耗？我不知道。我只是在桥上站了很久，记住此刻。 还有一个村子，名字已模糊，只记得是几个自然村合在一起，竟从未内讧。同行的本地工作人员口音很可爱，一路说着“斜绣”“斜绣”（学校）。我起初困惑，后来听懂了，会心一笑。那是语言的指纹，也是土地的印记。 我们可以从何处开始了解一片土地？ 从它的名字——那个藏着乡愁的“归”； 从它的空间——那座红星下唱流行歌的大厅； 从它的声音——那句被长久浸润、变调却依然亲切的“斜绣”。 还有从我们面对这片土地时，那种“不知该盼它热闹还是寂静”的复杂心情。 这心情本身，就是爱的开始。