the great wall九年级英文作文【一】
A Trip to Beijing
My American friend Tom and I went to Beijing by plane last summer.
On the first day，we visited the Palace Museum and Tian\'anmen Square. The next day，we climbed the Great Wall. We took lots of photos. Although we felt tired，it was a fantastic experience. The third day we relaxed. Then we had the Beijing roast duck for lunch. I think it is the most delicious food in the world. Tom is interested in Chinese culture，so we drank tea and saw Beijing Opera in Lao She Teahouse in the evening. Finally，we did some shopping and flew back to Guilin.
The trip to Beijing was short，but it was wonderful. Tom said that he would never forget it.
the great wall九年级英文作文【二】
There were three of them. There were four of us, and April lay on the campsite and on the river, a mixture of dawn at a damp extreme and the sun in the leaves at cajole. This was Deer Lodge1on the Pine River in Ossipee, New Hampshire, though the lodge was naught2 but a foundation remnant in the earth. Brother Bentley's father, Oren, had found this place sometime after the First World War, a foreign affair that had seriously done him no good but he found solitude3abounding4 here. Now we were here, post World War II, post Korean War, Vietnam War on thebrink5. So much learned, so much yet to learn.
Peace then was everywhere about us, in the riot of young leaves, in the spree of bird confusion and chatter6, in the struggle of pre-dawn animals for the start of a new day, a CooperHawk7 that had smashed down through trees for a squealing8 rabbit, yap of a fox at a youngster, a skunk9 at rooting.
We had pitched camp in the near darkness, Ed LeBlanc, Brother Bentley, Walter Ruszkowski, myself. A dozen or more years we had been here, and seen no one. Now, into our campsite deep in the forest, so deep that at times we had to rebuild sections of narrow road (more a logger's path flushed out by earlier rains, deep enough where we thought we'd again have no traffic, came a growling10 engine, an old solid body van, a Chevy, the kind I had driven for Frankie Pike and the Lobster11 Pound in Lynn delivering lobsters12 throughout the Merrimack Valley. It had pre-WW II high fenders, a faded black paint on a body you'd swear had been hammered out of corrugated13 steel, and an engine that made sounds too angry and too early for the start of day. Two elderly men, we supposed in their seventies, sat the front seat; felt hats at the slouch and decorated with an assortment14 of tied flies like a miniature bandoleer ofammunition15 on the band. They could have been conscripts for Emilano Zappata, so loaded their hats and their vests as they climbed out of the truck.
"Mornin', been yet?" one of them said as he pulled his boots up from the folds at his knees, the tops of them as wide as a big mouth bass16 coming up from the bottom for a frog sitting on a lily pad. His hands were large, the fingers long and I could picture them in a shop barn working aprimal17 plane across the face of a maple18 board. Custom-made, old elegance19, those hands said.
"Barely had coffee," Ed LeBlanc said, the most vocal1 of the four of us, quickest at friendship, at shaking hands. "We've got a whole pot almost. Have what you want." The pot was pointed2out sitting on a hunk of grill3 across the stones of our fire, flames licking lightly at its sides. The pot appeared as if it had been at war, a number of dents4 scarred it, the handle had evidently been replaced, and if not adjusted against a small rock it would have fallen over for sure. Once, a half-hour on the road heading north, noting it missing, we'd gone back to get it. When we fished the Pine River, coffee was the glue, the morning glue, the late evening glue, even though we'd often unearth5 our beer from a natural cooler in early evening. Coffee, camp coffee, has a ritual. It is thick, it is dark, it is potboiled over a squaw-pine fire, it is strong, it is enough to wake the demon6 in you, stoke last evening's cheese and pepperoni. First man up makes the fire, second man the coffee; but into that pot has to go fresh eggshells to hold the grounds down, give coffee a taste of history, a sense of place. That means at least one egg be cracked open for its shells, usually in the shadows and glimmers7 of false dawn. I suspect that's where "scrambled8 eggs" originated, from some camp like ours, settlers rushing west, lumberjacks hungry, hoboes lobbying for breakfast. So, camp coffee has made its way into poems, gatherings9, memories, a time and thing not letting go, not being manhandled, not being cast aside.
"You're early enough for eggs and bacon if you need a start." Eddie added, his invitation tossedkindly10 into the morning air, his smile a match for morning sun, a man of welcomes. "We have hot cakes, kulbassa, home fries, if you want." We have the food of kings if you really want to know. There were nights we sat at his kitchen table at 101 Main Street, Saugus, Massachusetts planning the trip, planning each meal, planning the campsite. Some menus were founded on a case of beer, a late night, a curse or two on the ride to work when day started.
"Been there a'ready," the other man said, his weaponry also noted11 by us, a little more orderly in its presentation, including an old Boy Scout12 sash across his chest, the galaxy13of flies in supreme14 positioning. They were old Yankees, in the face and frame the pair of them undoubtedly15 brothers, staunch, written into early routines, probably had been up at three o'clock to get here at this hour. They were taller than we were, no fat on their frames, wide-shouldered, big-handed, barely coming out of their reserve, but fishermen. That fact alone would win any of us over. Obviously, they'd been around, a heft of time already accrued16.
Then the pounding came, from inside the truck, as if a tire iron was beating at the sides of the vehicle. It was not a timid banging, not a minor1 signal. Bang! Bang! it came, and Bang! again. And the voice of authority from some place in space, some regal spot in the universe. "I'm not sitting here the livelong day whilst you boys gab2 away." A toothless meshing3 came in his words, like Walter Brennan at work in the jail in Rio Bravo or some such movie.
"Comin', pa," one of them said, the most orderly one, the one with the old scout4 sash riding him like a bandoleer.
They pulled open the back doors of the van, swung them wide, to show His Venerable Self, ageless, white-bearded, felt hat too loaded with an arsenal5 of flies, sitting on a white wicker rocker with a rope holding him to a piece of vertical6 angle iron, the crude kind that could have been on early subways or trolley7 cars. Across his lap he held three delicate fly rods, old as him, thin, bamboo in color, probably too slight for a lake's three-pounder. But on the Pine River, upstream or downstream, under alders8 choking some parts of the river's flow, at a significant pool where side streams merge9 and phantom10 trout11 hang out their eternal promise, most elegant, fingertip elegant.
"Oh, boy," Eddie said at an aside, "there's the boss man, and look at those tools."Admiration12 leaked from his voice.
Rods were taken from the caring hands, the rope untied13, and His Venerable Self, white wicker rocker and all, was lifted from the truck and set by our campfire. I was willing to bet that my sister Pat, the dealer14 in antiques, would scoop15 up that rocker if given the slightest chance. The old one looked about the campsite, noted17 clothes drying from a previous day's rain, order of equipment and supplies aligned18 the way we always kept them, the canvas of our tent taut19 and true in its expanse, our fishing rods off the ground and placed atop the flyleaf so as not to tempt20 raccoons with smelly cork21 handles, no garbage in sight. He nodded.
We had passed muster22.
"You the ones leave it cleaner than you find it ever' year. We knowed sunthin' 'bout16 you. Never disturbed you afore. But we share the good spots." He looked closely at Brother Bentley, nodded a kind of recognition. "Your daddy ever fish here, son?"
Brother must have passed through the years in a hurry, remembering his father bringing him here as a boy. "A ways back," Brother said in his clipped North Saugus fashion, outlander, specific, no waste in his words. Old Oren Bentley, it had been told us, had walked five miles through the unknown woods off Route 16 as a boy and had come across the campsite, the remnants of an old lodge1, and a great curve in the Pine River so that a mile's walk in either direction gave you three miles of stream to fish, upstream or downstream. Paradise up north.
His Venerable Self nodded again, a man of signals, then said, "Knowed him way back some. Met him at the Iron Bridge. We passed a few times." Instantly we could see the story. A whole history of encounter was in his words; it marched right through us the way knowledge does, as well as legend. He pointed2 at the coffeepot. "The boys'll be off, but my days down there get cut up some. I'll sit a while and take some of thet." He said thet too pronounced, too dramatic, and it was a short time before I knew why.
The white wicker rocker went into a slow and deliberate motion, his head nodded again. Hespoke3 to his sons. "You boys be back no more'n two-three hours so these fellers can do their things too, and keep the place tidied up."
The most orderly son said, "Sure, pa. Two-three hours." The two elderly sons left the campsite and walked down the path to the banks of the Pine River, their boots swishing at thigh4 line, the most elegant rods pointing the way through scattered5 limbs, experience on the move.Trout6 beware, we thought.
"We been carpenters f'ever," he said, the clip still in his words. "Those boys a mine been some good at it too." His head cocked, he seemed to listen for their departure, the leaves and branches quiet, the murmur7 of the stream a tinkling8 idyllic9 music rising up the banking10. Old Venerable Himself moved the wicker rocker forward and back, a small timing11 taking place. He was hearing things we had not heard yet, the whole symphony all around us. Eddie looked at me and nodded his own nod. It said, "I'm paying attention and I know you are. This is our one encounter with a man who has fished for years the river we love, that we come to twice a year, in May with the mayflies, in June with the black flies." The gift and the scourge12, we'd often remember, having been both scarred and sewn by it.
Brother was still at memory, we could tell. Silence we thought was heavy about us, but there was so much going on. A bird talked to us from a high limb1. A fox called to her young. We were on the Pine River once again, nearly a hundred miles from home, in Paradise2.
"Name's Roger Treadwell. Boys are Nathan and Truett." The introductions had been accounted for.
Old Venerable Roger Treadwell, carpenter, fly fisherman, rocker, leaned forward and said, "You boys wouldn't have a couple spare beers, would ya?"
Now that's the way to start the day on the Pine River.
the great wall九年级英文作文【三】
This summer my sister and I follow my mother to travel to the United States, we went to the three cities and one island, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Las Vegas, and Hawaii.
Hawaii is my favorite, although only two days, but I went to the beach for several times, is the famous waikiki beach, listening to the tour guide said where the sand came from Australia, where the water is clear, the sand is very clean, when I was in the sea waves to see the small fish, I also into base sand castle on the sand beach, made apple mould sand, crabs, bottle gourd, the shape of a fish, I also want to go to the seaside.
the great wall九年级英文作文【四】
This winter holiday I have been to BeiJing for a travel. it was a great journey! we have went to see the Imperial Palace and the great wall and them let me feel that I was proud to be a Chinese.
The Imperial Palace noted the history. there were many antiques which we could espy the great culture .
From the great wall,it was a well-known wonder in the world.it is made of big stones which was too heavy to bring even uesing it to buil a construction of ruggedization. what a great grandeur!
这个暑假我去了北京旅游.这是一个伟大的旅程!我们去参观了故宫和长城,他们让我觉得我很自豪作为一个中国人.
故宫的历史.有许多古董,我们可以看到文化的伟大.
从长城,它是世界著名的奇迹是由大的石头太重,甚至利用它建立带结构加固.真是个好宏伟
the great wall九年级英文作文【五】
青岛是一座美丽的海滨城市，三面环海，一面接陆，巍峨的崂山傍海屹立，风光秀丽，气候宜人。“红瓦绿树，碧海蓝天”辉映出青岛特有的美丽身姿，具有典型欧式风光的建筑，形成了中西合璧，欧亚风情的特色。赤礁、细浪、彩帆、金色沙滩构成青岛美丽的风景线。
一开始，随着清凉的海风，我们慢慢走到青岛第三海滨浴场，青岛的大海美丽极了：天是一片蓝玉，海是一块翡翠，远望水天相连，蔚为壮观。我首先看到的是在阳光的照射下，金光闪闪的沙滩上，有的人在遮阳蓬下睡觉；有的人在海里游泳；有的人在吃烧烤……早已换上了泳衣的我赤足踩在细软的沙滩上，了望那浩瀚无边的大海。海，平静时，像一位温顺的孩子，每当在海水波光粼粼时，似一面镜子，又似在与广阔的天地微笑。而我们，正在风平浪静的水里玩耍，不时有几只海鸥飞来凑热闹。这是海平静的一面，可有时海又像一头愤怒的雄狮。那是在大海涨潮时，波涛犹如千军万马，向海岸冲来，人们还会在远一些的陆地上隐约听到海浪直奔沙滩的声音，让人觉得此时的海是那么汹涌澎湃。我们在海浪声中相互扑打嬉戏，一层层美丽的浪花，呼啸着向沙滩打来，一眨眼它又逃了回去，就像一群顽皮的孩子打闹着。这时，一个一米多高的大浪拥上来，我赶紧把身体背过去，一浪过去了，我就向前走几步。不一会儿，又一排大浪冲来，我赶紧往回跑……绿海碧波留下了我们欢乐的笑声，那感觉正是爽极了！
随后，我们来到素有“海上名山第一”之称的崂山，它位于黄海之滨。主峰海拔1133米。我们一家人，一边爬山一边欣赏这美丽的景色。看崂山的险峰异石，山海奇观。我们来到崂山规模最大的道场——太清宫。宫里有上百年树龄的银杏、松柏等树木。宫舍150余间，分别为三个独立主院。院子的屋顶蓝瓦金檐，在阳光照耀下显得金碧辉煌。四周的墙壁镶嵌着许多精美的图案，显现出古代劳动人民精湛的技艺和无穷的智慧。
我爱青岛，那幽雅别致的建筑，碧波荡漾的大海，绵长的金色沙滩，平坦洁净的马路，使我领略到祖国河山的壮丽，青岛人民的勤劳智慧。啊，美丽的青岛！我爱你！
Qingdao is a beautiful coastal city, the sea on three sides, one side connected to the land, the towering Laoshan stands beside the sea, beautiful scenery, pleasant climate. The \"red green trees, blue sea and blue sky\" reflect Qingdao\'s unique beauty, a typical European landscape architecture, the formation of Chinese and Western, Eurasian style. The red color, the reef, sail, golden beach of Qingdao beautiful scenery.
At the beginning, with the cool breeze, we walked slowly to Qingdao third beach, Qingdao sea very beautiful: the sky is a turquoise sea, is a piece of jade, Yuanwang spectacular water. The first thing I saw was that when the sun was shining, some people were sleeping under the awning. Some people were swimming in the sea, some of them were having barbecues. I had put on a swimsuit on the beach barefoot in the soft, at the vast expanse of the sea. The sea, in peace, like a gentle child, like a mirror when it sparkled in the sea, as if smiling in the vast world. And we were playing in the calm water, and from time to time several seagulls flew in. This is the calm side of the sea, but sometimes the sea is like an angry lion. It is in the high tide of the sea, the waves rushed to the shore as thousands upon thousands of horses and soldiers, and people will be in the far some land vaguely heard the voice of the waves went straight to the beach, let a person feel the sea is surging. We in the sound of the waves in each other furiously playing a layer of beautiful waves, the roar of the sand from it, and fled back in a blink of an eye, like a group of naughty children playing. At this time, a one meter high waves hold up, I quickly put the body back in the past, a wave of the past, I will walk a few steps forward. In a few moments, another row of waves rushed, and I ran back... The blue sea has left behind our laughter, the feeling is very good!
Then, we came to Laoshan, known as \"the top of the sea,\" located on the coast of the Yellow Sea. The main peak is 1133 meters above sea level. Our family, while climbing the mountain, enjoy the beautiful scenery. Look at the Xianfeng rocks in Laoshan, mountain wonders. We came to Laoshan, the largest temple -. There are hundreds of years old trees, such as Ginkgo biloba, pine and cypress, etc. More than 150 Palace houses, respectively, are three independent main houses. The roof of the blue wajin eaves, in the sunshine is beautiful decoration. The walls around them are inlaid with many exquisite designs, showing the exquisite craftsmanship and infinite wisdom of the ancient working people.
I love Qingdao, the elegant and chic building, the blue waves of the sea, the long golden beaches, clean and flat road, so I appreciate the magnificent rivers and mountains of the motherland, the Qingdao people\'s diligence and wisdom. Ah, beautiful Qingdao! I love you!
