It's my last night in Chengdu. Tomorrow, I head to Beijing, and then back home to Washington. As I was thinking about what to write in this final blog post, and what to say about the earthquake anniversary today, I realized how the day has captured almost all of the emotions I've felt over the past month that I've been here.

The day began with fear and unease, as we drove back up to Juyuan Middle School outside Dujiangyan, and found scores of uniformed police and military personnel surrounding its perimeter. There were people - presumably family members - buying paper money, candles and firecrackers at a stall just a block or so away from where the school once stood, but it did not appear that the guards were letting anyone cross the police tape.

Then there was the almost reassuring sense of normalcy, as we joined crowds of mostly tourists headed up the mountainside north of Dujiangyan. Many people had the day off, and the government had waived admission fees at all the tourist sites, so it felt like a holiday weekend. The road up the mountain was so clogged, not even motorcycles could weave their way through traffic. So we found ourselves hoofing it alongside hundreds of others who seemed to be having a pretty good time.

Then, after we left the crowds behind, there was profound sorrow as we reached the public cemetery where many of the children who died in Dujiangyan schools are buried. A couple we'd met earlier on this trip had told us about the cemetery, and had told us where to look for their 8-year old son's grave. The stone markers are laid out in tidy rows, sadly reminiscent of desks in a classroom. Each has a photo of a child next to the child's name and birthdate. All of the graves were adorned with colorful paper ornaments, fresh flowers, and remnants of red candles.

Small groups of family members mourned quietly over the graves, burning paper money and lighting the occasional firecracker. It was an intensely private moment, and I did not want to linger. We placed a bouquet of yellow flowers next to the grave we'd come to see, and turned and left.

And then, at 2:28 pm, there was hope. A year to the moment that the earthquake struck, we were standing on the second floor of the new wood-framed Xiang'e Elementary School, listening to the uninterrupted sounds of construction all around. We'd been invited to visit the site by Jerry Lee Dickison, a 63-year old general contractor and wood expert from Kentucky who's been living in Xiang'e for the past seven months as the site supervisor for this Canadian-government backed project (all the wood is from Canada).

As Dickison walked us around, I realized that I'd visited this very spot last year. The new school is going up right next to where the old Xiang'e Middle School once was. It collapsed in the quake, killing more than 300 students and teachers. I don't know what the middle school used to look like; it was just a terrible mass of debris when I saw it. But the new elementary school looks to be gorgeous. Not something that's easily replicable elsewhere, given the materials and expertise and money that's gone into it. But something that just may lift this community's spirits and make people feel safe again.

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Though the date on this entry will read May 11th, it is in fact the morning of May 12th here in Chengdu, the one-year anniversary of the Wenchuan earthquake.

As the anniversary has neared, I've been wondering a lot about how people will mark it. My friend Lily friend told me that at her daughter's nursery school in Chengdu, children will wear white flowers on their sleeves and hang paper hearts from trees. Our friend Wang Dan told me she'll visit the graves of her parents and her nephew, on the far side of Qingcheng mountain. I've heard that a lot of others are also heading out to Qingcheng mountain for the day, though likely to the part that's set up for tourism. The government has waived admission fees to almost all the tourist attractions today, so big crowds are expected. And Premier Wen Jiabao is expected to visit the region today, one year to the day that he first touched down, hours after the quake.*

The Hope Tree at one of the Half the Sky tents in Gaogeng Temporary Camp, Dujiangyan. Andrea Hsu/NPR

 

Yesterday, I had the chance to see a small commemorative event, held at one of the Big Top tents set up by the group Half the Sky. Half the Sky was originally founded to help orphans in China, but after the quake, they set up recreation centers for children in six temporary camps in Dujiangyan. That later evolved into all-day preschool for several hundred kids, and a weekend rec center for older kids.

Children and parents place wishes on the hope tree. Andrea Hsu/NPR

 

At the Gaogeng camp yesterday, nursery school teachers invited parents and grandparents to join their two and three year olds for a special anniversary activity: placing wishes on the hope tree. Everyone huddled around tables - the adults in tiny wooden chairs with the toddlers in their laps. Teachers handed out markers and colorful paper flowers. The moms and dads, grandmas and grandpas were asked to write their child's name in the center of the flower, and a wish for the child. Then one by one, they approached a large poster drawing of a tree and picked up the little ones so they could stick their own flowers on the tree.

Afterwards, when everyone was eating cake, I went to get a close up look at the flowers. Overwhelmingly, the parents and grandparents had one wish: May you grow up to be healthy and happy. A simple wish for not so simple times.

Most everyone's flower included this wish: May you grow up to be healthy and happy. Andrea Hsu/NPR

 

*It turned out to be President Hu Jintao, not Premier Wen, who came to the region today. Hu attended a memorial ceremony in Yingxiu, the quake's epicenter.

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I realized as I opened the computer just now that it's been almost a week since my last post! I'd wanted to write a little something every day, but there were too few hours in the days last week. Melissa is in Beijing now, taking a couple days to explore the sights there for the first time, before she heads home. I'm still here in Chengdu for a couple more days, wrapping things up and seeing friends.

Huang Meihua

 

I've also been responding to a number of emails we received last week. A number of NPR listeners wrote in after hearing Huang Meihua's story, anxious to find ways to help. Larry Guo, one of the volunteers with the group 512 Children, has copied me on his follow-up correspondence with these listeners. The group has been trying to find ways to get better prosthetics for Meihua and better care and is grateful for the outpouring of support from listeners.

One piece of good news is that it looks like Meihua now has a school to go to in the fall. The private Guangya International School in Dujiangyan has agreed to give her a full scholarship and a place for her and her family to stay. While this does not solve the problem of her medical care, her family is relieved to know that she'll be able to continue her education.

Larry emailed the other day to say he'd spoken to Meihua.

She just had a science exam the day before, and she was the second in the class. She was nagging about her little mistake that made her the second. I told them about the broadcast, the response. She was very happy and asked me to thank everybody.

On a related note, Melissa on Friday reminded me of the adult amputees we'd met a couple weeks ago at a rehabilitation center in Chengdu. Two men, both in their 40s, who'd lost both legs after being buried in rubble, much like Meihua. These men separately told us that the most difficult thing now is handling their children's grief over dad's injuries. Liu Rui told us he no longer attends his 7-year old daughter's school meetings and other activities - he wants to relieve some of the pressure she's feeling. When she cries, he comforts her by reminding her of all the people who died and telling her that he's the lucky one.

Liu Rui practices walking with his wife close behind. Andrea Hsu/NPR

 

Zhang Xin's 9-year old son also cried when he saw that dad's legs were gone. He told us his son wanted his dad to go swimming with him - something they used to do a lot - but Zhang had to break it to him that he could no longer swim. Dad also said he thought it'd be upsetting for the other swimmers to see someone without legs. At the same time, he told his son that whenever other kids ask, he should explain that his dad's injuries were caused by the earthquake, and that he's not some kind of a monster.

Unlike Meihua, these men are getting physiotherapy and were practicing walking under the supervision of therapists in Chengdu when we met them. We asked if we could take photos of them for our website. They said it was fine as long as we did not show their faces. Liu Rui told us he didn't want his daughter to go online and find anything that might upset her.

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NPR's Beijing Correspondent Anthony Kuhn joined Melissa and Andrea in Sichuan this week to offer his analysis one year after the earthquake.

This week, I came back to the old country town of Beichuan, revisiting some of the sites where I had witnessed death and devastation last year, just three days after the earthquake. It was calming to see life go on -- albeit with great difficulty -- for some of the survivors.

I wouldn't think of returning to Beichuan without a trip to Stone Chair Village, an enclave of the ethnic Qiang minority, halfway up the side of a mountain on the approach to Beichuan. The Qiang are an ancient people culturally and ethnically close to both Tibetans and Han, China's majority. Most of the Qiang live in Beichuan.

I was curious to hear what impact the earthquake had had on the Qiang's efforts to preserve their culture, and their efforts to generate income from tourism. Many of the families run country inns, which struck me as a great getaway for weary urbanites.

My host last year and this time was Chen Yan, whose father and grandfather were both Duangong, the Shamans that serve as the Qiang's priests, healers and historians. Ms. Chen told me that some of the remaining Duangong, now in their 70s and 80s, were indeed killed in the quake, but many survived. Luckily, many chose not to move out of the mountains and into nearby towns, where they would likely be cut off from their cultural roots and assimilated among the local population.

Everywhere in Stone Chair Village, the sound of saws and hammers reverberated, as residents rebuilt their architecturally distinct buildings, with stone exteriors and sheep's head decorative motifs.

Mrs. Chen told me that her country inn had gone empty last year, as visitors were too afraid of aftershocks to venture up the narrow road that winds up the steep mountain. This year, she reckons she's had about 100 guests -- better than last year, but still far from normal. Luckily, they still have income from their fruit orchards, where the first plums of the year were emerging -- still green and tiny -- on the trees.

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This time, Mrs. Chen put on a delicious feast of down-home Qiang cooking for Melissa Block, our assistant Xiaoyu Xie, our driver and myself. It included al dente ribbons of potato flour pasta, home-made bean curd stewed with pork, mountain greens in soy sauce, vinegar and spices, pork sausage cured for a year and -- my favorite - three kinds of "la rou," or smoke-cured pork, some of which was left over from the half-ton batch (that's about three big pigs) she made in 2007. We also tasted the family's excellent home-made wine and liquor. Mrs. Chen then showed us her smokehouse out back next to the kitchen, proudly noting that this yielded tastier meat than her neighbors down the hill, who just air-dry their pork.

After my lunch at Mrs. Chen's inn last year, a powerful aftershock hit the area. We all bolted into the village square, where the villagers huddled around me in a circle, as the mountain shook and rumbled. I'll always be thankful to the residents of Stone Chair Village, whose hospitality included protecting a visitor from far away.

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Melissa Block and Wang Dan talked over glass pots of aloe and pomelo tea, a year after their first encounter. Philip He

 

by Melissa Block

Our time here is winding down, and as I think over the many people I've met and places I've been on this trip, I'm especially grateful for one encounter in particular.

I'm very thankful I was able to reconnect with a woman I met last year, two days after the earthquake. Her name is Wang Dan; she's chosen Diane as her English name. When I saw her again, we talked about what's happened with her family over the year since we met. (That conversation ran on All Things Considered on Tuesday.)

As I explain in the radio story, I first met Diane on the worst day of her family's life. She and her brother and sister-in-law were desperately hoping that three of their family members would be found alive in their crushed apartment building: Diane's nephew, not quite two years old, and her parents. I spent a long day with the family as crews searched through the debris and they waited for news. I watched as hour after hour, hope drained from them. By late afternoon, I witnessed their excruciating grief as they got word that all three of their family members had been found dead. We aired their story on All Things Considered that night.

In e-mails she's sent me over this past year, Diane has told me a bit more about her nephew who died, Wang Zilu. She told me her nephew would greet her at the door and bring her slippers to put on; that one of his favorite playthings was a little toy turtle he would pull around by a rope. He loved playing hide and seek, but would make little noises to give his hiding place away, then laugh in excited delight when he was found.

In those e-mails, Diane also told me about her great respect for her parents, who spent all of their savings on the best possible education for Diane and her brother, Wang Wei. She described her mother, a college graduate who was hard-working and liked things to be clean and orderly, and her father, an avid reader of everything from Chinese philosophers Confucius and Mencius to books on investing.

Diane's English is quite good, and in one of her emails she said this about the day we met last May: "I think you must be a very kind person, I saw tears in your eyes in that sad day." It's true about the tears, anyway. There were many times during that day that my emotions overwhelmed me.

Wang Dan, who's chosen Diane as her English name. Melissa Block/NPR

 

When I saw Diane again last week, we chatted before dinner over glass pots of aloe and pomelo tea, with flowers floating inside. The family's sadness is still profound, and it pained me greatly to hear that her brother has deleted the photos of his son from his computer and cell phone, because he can't bear to be confronted by what he's lost. Her brother and sister-in-law are expecting a baby next month. Diane hopes the new child brings the family consolation. I do, too.

After I left, I sent Diane an e-mail, thanking her for agreeing to talk to me and to share her family's experience with our listeners. I think it's a brave thing to do, to reveal such painful, honest truths. Diane wrote me back that she hoped the story would have a positive effect: "Even if people live in different countries," she wrote, "all of them have the same feelings. If our cooperation can help to bring out those same feelings in many people, we will also feel happy."

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If you can't join us live, you can always leave your questions in the comments section, but we hope to see you then.

Live Chat: China Earthquake, One Year Later

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An update to my earlier post about the super-sized billboards outside what will become the new city of Beichuan. When I was there last Tuesday, I saw gigantic poles set into the ground, one batch on each side of the road leading to the work site. Today when we drove by - one week later - lo and behold, the billboards were up, promising a bright, shining new city.

A vision of the future. Melissa Block/NPR

 

This one shows an artists's rendition of the new Beichuan, with a stone tower typical of ethnic Qiang villages, wide boulevards and people gathered on a plaza. It bears this message: "We must firmly remember the mission that the General Secretary has entrusted to us: We must definitely do a good job of rebuilding Beichuan."

The General Secretary refers to President Hu Jintao, and the second part of that message is a quote from him, which unfortunately was rather pallid and bland. The second (equally gigantic) billboard across the way shows clusters of new apartment buildings that wouldn't look out of place in any planned community in the U.S., with a stream running by.

Will the new city bear any resemblance to the artists' drawings? I'll have to come back at the end of 2010 to find out. That's how quickly city planners say the new Beichuan will be built, with homes for 30,000 people.

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31-year old He Wang in front of words of inspiration spoken by China's leaders after the earthquake. Andrea Hsu/NPR

 

In our story today about Beichuan, you hear two quotes read aloud magnificently by Beichuan's new deputy chief He Wang:

I firmly believe that no hardship can conquer the heroic Chinese people! (Hu Jintao)

Raise your strong heads, stiffen your unbowed backs, ignite your ardent hearts and march forward with full confidence! (Wen Jiabao)

As you can see from the photo, the exclamation points were not our addition.

He Wang is a Tsinghua-educated architect and urban planner, who was sent by Beijing to oversee the planning of the new Beichuan. He wasn't at all what I expected when the local propaganda department sent us to meet him.

First of all, he's young - just 31 years old. Second, he agreed to the interview with no prior notice and did not ask for a prepared question list. Third, I thought he was pretty frank with us, both about the pressures the local government is facing, and about the moral complexities of developing disaster tourism in Beichuan. You'll hear more about this in a story we're working on for Wednesday.

Clearly, he's well liked in these parts. As we were standing in the lobby in front of the quotes, a young woman from the government-run Sichuan News Network ran up to him giggling, and asked if she could have a photo with him. Then, as we were having lunch, a local official stopped by to tell us what a good man he is. "He's young! Smart! Came all the way from Beijing! And so handsome! All the girls love him! But he doesn't even have a girlfriend!"

Embarrased, He Wang muttered in English, "He is kidding. Just kidding."

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A few thoughts on our report that runs on All Things Considered today about the city of Beichuan, old and new: some things you didn't hear in the radio story.

I posted earlier about the uncomfortable tension I sometimes feel here: knowing that I have to ask painful questions for these stories, and hating that I'm asking them. This was the case when I talked to the vendor you hear in today's ATC story, Mu Zhenxian.

Local vendor Mu Zhenxian lost 16 relatives in the quake. She now sells photos and DVDs of earthquake destruction on a hill overlooking the city of Beichuan. Andrea Hsu/NPR

 

Sixteen members of her extended family were killed in the earthquake, their bodies never recovered. Now, she sells earthquake memorabilia to tourists who come to stare out over the shattered city where the bodies of her family members are entombed.

As we talked about what had happened to her family in the earthquake, Mu was quite stoic, pointing out on an aerial photograph where her daughter and her niece were killed. But when I asked her if it bothers her that noisy tourists with snacks and cameras come by to pose for pictures in front of the wreckage, tears began to glisten in the corner of her eye. She continued to talk quietly for some time, wiping away the tears as they slid down her cheek. When she told me she felt responsible for the death of her young grandson who was in her care when the earthquake struck, her voice broke. "I should have been the one to die, " she told me. "The little boy shouldn't have to die."

"It's not your fault," I offered feebly. Small consolation indeed.

Fifteen miles south, away from the mountains, they'll soon be building the new city of Beichuan on a flat river plain. Right now there's no construction underway; they're still leveling the ground. But Beichuan officials promise that by the end of 2010, a city will have risen with homes for 30,000 earthquake survivors.

I went to the worksite with a friendly 22-year-old staffer from the county propaganda department, Wang Shoulei.

A few weeks ago, one of his colleagues from that department, 33 year old Feng Xiang, committed suicide. Feng's seven-year-old son had been killed in the earthquake. As I mentioned in my earlier post, Feng wrote a blog message on the day he hanged himself. It included these exhausted words: "I really find it too painful to be living. Please let me rest." You hear a lot about the pressures these local officials are under to speed up the pace of rebuilding.

Wang Shoulei nodded when I asked him about the stresses. "Yes, some people are experiencing a great deal of pressure, " he said. But Wang and many other officials were brought in to Beichuan from elsewhere, to replace the hundreds of Beichuan leaders who were killed in the earthquake. Wang is from Shandong province - 1,000 miles away - so he's surely not experiencing stress in the same way as someone who saw his city crushed and his colleagues die.

Just before we left, a man in a suit and tie with trendy glasses walked up. I was a little worried we were about to get kicked off the site. Instead, he greeted us with a big smile: "Welcome!," he said. Bai Hua is a builder from Shandong province in the east, sent here to rebuild Beichuan.

Bai Hua, of the Shandong Good Guy Construction Company, on the site of what will become the new city of Beichuan. Melissa Block/NPR

 

The name of Mr. Bai's company translates as the Shandong Good Guy Construction Company, and he seemed like a genuinely good guy. A year from now Bai told me he can envision the muddy, open field we were standing near transformed into a new city, with walkways and beautiful trees and flowers, and, he says, "people leading a happy life."

But first things first. As we left, I asked about the two sets of gigantic poles that have been erected - each maybe four stories high - facing the road. Those are for the billboards, Bai explained to us: supersized testimonials to the new Beichuan. They'll include an inspirational message from Chinese premier Wen Jiabao. Soon, those billboards will greet passers-by, trumpeting the new city that will rise to replace the ruined one.

Gigantic pillars form the structure for a super-sized billboard that will promote the new city of Beichuan. Melissa Block/NPR

 

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On today's All Things Considered, you'll hear the story of 12-year old Huang Meihua, who lost both her legs in the earthquake after her school collapsed on her. She's an incredibly spirited girl who had us all laughing, even while she was describing the earthquake. You'll have to listen to the story to know why.

Huang Meihua and her parents, father Huang Sheqing and mother Yan Xiaorong. Andrea Hsu/NPR

 

But there were also moments during our visit that made me want to cry. Those moments came when Meihua's parents, Huang Sheqing and Yan Xiaorong, talked about their long journey back home and their struggle to get Meihua to safety.

Yan and Huang had left their village, and their life as farmers, and were living in Heishui, some distance from Meihua - at least a day of travel under normal circumstances. They had a small shop selling mantou - steamed bread - and other snacks. With the money they earned, they rented a room for Meihua and her grandmother outside her school in the nearest town. They'd hoped a good education would lead to a brighter future for their daughter and for the family.

After the earthquake, it took Meihua's parents four days to walk home. Meihua's dad, Huang Sheqing, who seemed very quiet at first, described the entire journey with barely a pause. It was as if he'd been waiting for the right moment to let everything out. He talked of the terrifying walk over mountain roads that had been wiped out, of the aftershocks, and the huge boulders that tumbled down from above. He described passing dead bodies along the way, one of someone who'd been just ten minutes in front of them. They had news that their village had been flattened, but had no news of their daughter. Meihua's mother Yan Xiaorong told us she believed Meihua was alive. She said if she thought for a moment that her daughter wasn't alive, she couldn't have kept going.

Huang Meihua's mother shows me a photo of Meihua in the hospital, receiving a visit from Wu Bangguo, one of China's top leaders. Andrea Hsu/NPR

 

When they reached home they were led to a tent in the town square where Meihua had been taken after being rescued from the rubble of her school. Her father cried at the sight of her horrible injuries. Her mother cried. Meihua - according to her parents - did not cry. And she told them not to cry.

There was no transportation out of the mountains, so Meihua's parents made a makeshift stretcher out of bamboo poles. They were determined to walk her out to safety. But to do that, they'd have to climb over five mountains. People told them it'd be impossible even if they weren't carrying anything. They eventually gave up and turned back.

Finally, on May 18, six days after the quake, Meihua was flown to Chengdu by helicopter, along with others who'd been severely injured. There was no room on the helicopter for family. So Meihua's mother hiked the five mountains and slowly made her way to Chengdu. She arrived many days later, and today wonders whether she could have saved Meihua's legs had she gotten there faster.

Huang Meihua and two classmates, who were skipping an athletic competition outside to hang out with her in her room. Andrea Hsu/NPR

 

So much has changed for this family since the earthquake, and at the same time, so much remains the same. While Meihua's mother stays with her at her new school, her father is back in Heishui most of the time, running the shop. He just happened to be back for a visit. They still talk about her education as being their number one priority. Her sunny personality has gained her many friends at the temporary new school. Classmates come by to wheel her to class. In fact, Meihua's mother told us, it wasn't long after her legs were amputated that Meihua began cracking jokes again. She even had the hospital director laughing.

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This coming week, I thought I'd use the blog to tell some of the stories behind the stories you'll be hearing on the radio. So often there are details or little moments that we just can't work into the six or eight minutes of radio that we put on the air. So far on this trip, I've gathered close to 15GB of audio, so you can imagine how much I have to write about.

But today, I'll start with a few photos from a ceremony we attended in Xiaoyudong Township, quite close to the fault. The group Heifer International was donating thousands of chickens to farmers of Dawan Village, whose livelihoods were affected by the quake.

Farmers from Dawan Village listen, some more attentively than others, to speeches by local officials and representatives from Heifer International. Andrea Hsu/NPR

 

There was something about this scene that I found really touching. The ceremony was held on the grounds of the local Communist Party office. The farmers had walked down from their homes in the mountains, and were sitting in the courtyard on stools and chairs. Right behind them was a new brick structure going up. To the other side stood the old dormitories belonging to the cement factory across the street, windowless and abandoned. Behind all of this loomed mountains, lush with foliage, except for the wide swaths that had suffered landslides.

The view from the spot where the ceremony took place. Andrea Hsu/NPR

 

At the end of the ceremony, there was some craziness as local TV and photographers moved in for the photo-op. The chicks that had been brought in for the ceremony were moved here and there, and the farmers positioned just-so. Then everyone was herded to another spot, in front of the banner. More photos. Normally such moments make me cringe. But that day, there was something genuine about the excitement.

The perfect photo, chicks and all. Andrea Hsu/NPR

 

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We've spent the past few days in Chengdu, putting together the stories that you're going to hear this coming week. I have to get back to the tape momentarily (actually, it's not tape anymore but wav files!), but I wanted to give you a short preview of the stories we'll be airing Monday.

Visitors leave flowers at a spot on a hillside overlooking the ruined Beichuan County seat. Andrea Hsu/NPR

 

First off, we head to Beichuan County - one of the places worst hit by the earthquake. Anthony Kuhn went there a few days after the quake, traveling by motorcycle and foot to reach the county seat. It's since been fenced off and we could only view it from a spot on a hillside. The aerial view of the destruction is pretty unsettling. Our story this year talks about plans for the new Beichuan county seat, which is being built 15 miles south. A county official tells us of the pressures he's under, saying Beichuan is no longer just Sichuan's Beichuan, it's China's Beichuan, and even the world's Beichuan.

12 year old Huang Meihua Andrea Hsu/NPR

 

Our second story on Monday is a profile of a remarkable 12 year old from a mountain village in Beichuan, and the challenges she's facing post-earthquake. I'll leave it at that for now. Do tune in if you can, or listen online.

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OK, I promise this will be my last post about the floral display in Tianfu Square here in Chengdu. I admit I've become a bit obsessed about this technicolor May 1st blooming extravaganza. But it is finally May Day, the start of a three-day weekend in China. And this morning, the bright floral 5/1 was a tempting backdrop for lots of people to take some holiday shots.

This young girl took a picture of her mom, then her mom took a picture of her. Melissa Block/NPR

 

I was looking forward to some grandiose, florid - if not floral - official Chinese speechmaking to mark the day in Tianfu Square. Turns out, there was none. May first was simply an occasion for folks from the city to go out to the country, and for country folks to come into the city for some r&r and photo ops.

This work unit posed for a group photo in front of the iconic statue of Chairman Mao in Tianfu Square. Melissa Block/NPR

 

The language barrier kept me from finding out where this happy family was visiting from, but their smiles are universal. Melissa Block/NPR

 

Also today, I caught up with these three cute schoolgirls walking down the street, each holding a cage with two tiny bunnies inside. May Day presents?

These girls were happy to show off their bunny rabbits. Melissa Block/NPR

 

When I spotted a long string of schoolchildren in red vests and caps walking toward Tianfu Square, I followed along in great anticipation. "Terrific!", I thought. "Must be a May Day parade!" But then all the kids piled on to tour buses. Using some pantomime and one of the very few Chinese words I know - dizhen, or earthquake - I was able to figure out that they were going on a field trip to the earthquake zone. They were heading up to Hanwang and Beichuan, some of the most devastated areas, to witness the destruction. The earthquake of last May 12th has become a May 1st adventure.

One of a large group of schoolkids heading out on an earthquake field trip from Chengdu. Melissa Block/NPR

 

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The other day we walked into a warehouse and into the mind of a fanatic collector.

We were visiting the Jianchuan Museum Cluster built by government official-turned-real estate mogul Fan Jianchuan. Construction workers buzz about, finishing up a new earthquake museum that will open on May 12, 2009 at 2:28 pm, the moment the quake struck. We'll have more on that next week.

By May 12, 2009, the anniversary of the earthquake, these halls will be filled with artifacts collected in the month after the quake. Andrea Hsu/NPR

 

The earthquake museum is one of 25 museums planned for a sprawling campus an hour's drive from Chengdu. Sadly, we had no time to walk through the galleries that already exist, but we did get a drive-by tour with a woman from Fan's office. There's the museum on the War of Resistance Against Japan, with photos of Chinese POWs collected from Japanese archives. There's the museum on Communist Party history, the Long March and all. There's the museum on the Flying Tigers, the only museum in China dedicated to the US military. Staff dressed in Sichuan military uniforms stand guard outside each.

Two weeks before its opening, the earthquake museum was still just a shell, so we asked to see the warehouse where artifacts are stored. As we stood outside waiting for someone to open the oversized metal doors, we had no idea what we were in for.

Fan Jianchuan has collected more than 50,000 records from the Cultural Revolution era. Andrea Hsu/NPR

 

In several cavernous rooms are tables and tables of newspapers, shelf after shelf of housewares - teapots and mugs, wash basins and bowls, stacks of mirrors, some with images of Mao, and more than 50,000 record albums, all from the Cultural Revolution (1966-1976). Except for the newspapers, these are things that I remember seeing in people's homes in the 1980s and 90s and for sale in Beijing's dirt market in the late 90s. But seeing these things by the thousands was a whole different experience.

One of the major campaigns of the Cultural Revolution was the Destruction of the Four Olds: Old Customs, Old Culture, Old Habits, and Old Ideas. Just about anything pre-1949 was subject to destruction.

Fan tells us he collects so that people will remember.

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A brief floral update from Chengdu: the huge May 1st flower display in Tianfu Square that I described earlier is fully enflowered and ready for Friday's holiday.

The giant 5/1 in the heart of Chengdu is now fully festooned with flowers, ready to greet the crowds on Friday's May Day celebration. Melissa Block/NPR

 

(In case you're wondering, the numbers 5 and 1 are made up of red poinsettias by the thousands - all poked through a wicker frame. The orange and yellow flowers are marigolds; the pink ones are begonias.)

The last big public gathering I saw in Tianfu Square was on May 19th of last year: a moment of silence rally to mark the one week anniversary of the earthquake . People had flocked to the center of Chengdu by the thousands. They brought huge floral tissue-paper wreaths and wore white carnations in honor of the dead. The moment of silence segued into an outpouring of raucous and emotional patriotic chanting, as the people gathered in the square wept and raised their fists in the air and shouted, "Stand up! Be strong! Go China go!"

I'll be curious to go back to Tianfu Square this Friday to see what the May Day celebration is all about.

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