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Alex Abraham

GUANGZHOU. The White Swan Hotel was on the Shamian Island in the Pearl River, between the Renmin bridge and the Zhujian Tunnel. This was originally a beach on the Pearl River facing the White Goose Pool and it was in the early Qing dynasty that, during a flood, the island of Shamian was separated from the mainland. Breakfast at the White Swan Hotel, they informed me, was laid out in the Jade Café overlooking the Pearl River through a sheer 18-foot wall of sheet glass that ran the entire length of the hotel. The buffet was to be open from six o'clock in the morning.

It was a quarter to seven as I ambled past the Hare and Moon bar taking in the serenity and beauty all around me. To my right was a gushing waterfall, its waters crashing down twenty feet over protruding rocks with green clinging creepers and an abundance of trees all around. Greenery abounds in every available nook in urban China, reflecting a longing for all settings green. Fanlike ferns drooped down from atop the cliff framing a gracious Chinese Pavilion that, in a surreal sense, seems to float in space. Its gently upward curving bamboo roof served to add to the pleasant illusion.

Off to one side was a golden gilded cage, six feet high, with a three-stepped upward curving roof. Green creepers ran along and around the railings of the cage. The cage itself was full of bright chirping birds, multi-hued miniature parrots, song birds, bulbuls flitting from branch to branch within, in a seeming competition to reach the highest point in the upward curving Chinese roof.

Set beside a gentle sloped pathway along the entrance to the Jade Café', their chirping peaked in unison as I passed, their joy, verve and expressive greetings providing infectious vibes. The Jade Café was dotted with palms, creepers and other greenery set in ancient pots and urns. Tall vessels of history, full of the past, exuding the confidence of a defining civilisation, the culture, talent and genius of an ancient nation.

Dominating the middle of the café was a polished grand piano and a beautiful pianist — at seven in the morning — running her long, slim fingers softly over the keyboard. Her dainty fingers created a magical musical medley of Chinese melodies and jazz, interspersed with an occasional piece from the Titanic or The Phantom of the Opera. The soft strains of the lingering notes hung lightly in the vast spaces below the tall sloping ceiling.

Alongside the White Swan Hotel, overlooking the river, was a vast manicured lawn with orderly beds filled with flowering plants. A line of tall Royal Palm dominated the riverbank, their green tops each a perfect reproduction of the next in height, in profusion and bounce. Beyond the garden on the mighty Pearl River, barges, tugs, ferries, trawlers and ships glided by as if in some ethereal heavenly painting.

The first rays of the rising sun hit the water and sparkled in eclectic profusion. The morning mists thinned slowly over the waters, to reveal gradually, the vast waking metropolis beyond. Tall modern buildings, broad well-laid-out tree-lined avenues, beside large wharves and moorings, waking to a new day.The breakfast buffet, like all food in China, was infinite in variety and exquisite in presentation. Irresistible aromas, artistic arrangements, intriguing choice, contrasting colours, all added to the promise of tantalising taste. A choice of exotic fresh fruit juices was arrayed in crystal containers atop a glistening bed of solid ice. Chinese noodles, Japanese Sushi, Dimsum, German sausages and, for those inclined to English tastes, eggs, mashed potatoes and masses of crispy bacon that sizzled and dripped fat. Fragrant rice in many forms — fried, sticky or steamed — in woven wicker baskets that exuded steam. Exotic pickled and fresh vegetables, stunning sauces, gooey gravies and an array of choice in delicately baked breads. But then, food in China is always as much a feast for the eyes, nose and ears as it is for the tongue.

A silken carpet was hung on the bare expanse of wall behind the buffet table with hardly a third of the classical design on the ancient carpet now visible. Lending visual credence to the legend that it was once owned by a General of Genghis, the famous Khan, more than seven hundred years ago. It was, the legend says, a prized possession of the General's favourite concubine, and the design did commemorate his most famous victory over the tribes from the west of the Talikmakan desert. The battle was fierce and furious. The General himself courageously led his troops to victory long after he had been grievously injured.

It was said that his fame spread far and wide as much for his valour as for his goodness. He was, in life as in death, the proof of Lao Tzu's (famous sixth century BC philosopher) dictum "When an effective leader finishes his work, the people say it happened naturally!"

Alongside the wall stood eleven ancient wooden statues, each four-feet tall. Statues of perfect proportions, exquisite grace and slender form. Maidens in flowing robes, manicured hair, chiselled features, and delicately painted lips. Their fingers gave life to what would have been otherwise just another collection of wooden statues and each was entranced in playing a musical instrument.

Chimes, cymbals, flute, Guo Dino, Se, stringed instruments and bells that were so life-like, so full of elegance and charm. Entranced, I leaned back in my chair, closed my eyes, and listened to the lilting music, as I let it touch me.

Too soon, work beckoned and reluctantly I arose to leave the room. I passed between two great big Chinese urns and I recalled Tao's words, "People who focus on the event, too often miss the experience." Surely the last half-hour was not breakfast but really an experience where the ancient and the modern, the yin and the yang, my being and the world, the morning and a piece of eternity coalesced to soothe the soul and energise the mind.

(The author is a Bangalore-based consultant and writer.)

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