Madness in Beijing

Lyrics: A room full of my friends, dancing round and round – Paulo Nutini

Beijing was an absolutely whirlwind trip. We took an overnight train there, stayed for two nights and left on the third day, on another overnight train. Roxy, Ami, Andrew, Nick, and I took Beijing by storm.

DAY 1: CONTROLLED CHAOS

The overnight train was incredible because we had given in and paid for the more expensive soft-sleeper beds. We arrived in Beijing in the early morning, only to be kicked out by a nervous attendant because we were the last people on the entire train. Thus, we found ourselves standing on the platform with our luggage, still wearing our pajamas! We made our way to the front of the train station, randomly met up with two Spaniards that looked more lost than we did, and proceeded to cut the hundred-people cab line by walking straight into oncoming traffic and hailing two cabs. Soon, we were at the Far East International Youth Hostel, unpacking in our 6-bunk-bed room and happy to see that there were multiple individual showers in the bathroom!

We immediately set out, taking the subway to the central lakes region of the city. The hutong district reveals the charm of old Beijing, with its alleyways, courtyard houses, and overlapping roofs. We walked around, admiring the miniature oasis in the middle of the capital, bought some ice cream, and proceeded to the Drum and Bell Towers. Walking up the steep stairs of the Drum Tower, we found ourselves overlooking the city and surrounded by the drums that were used, as far back as 1420, to mark the hours of the day. After this, we walked along the lakes, enjoying the presence of water and unaware that, the next day we’d return there to witness the city’s incredible nightlife. We finished the first part of the day by having lunch at an authentic – and delicious – Thai restaurant on the banks of one of the lakes.

After this, we embarked on an adventure to the Temple of Heaven, more correctly known as Tian Tan. It is one of the largest and most famous temple complexes in all of China, as well as a paradigm of Chinese architectural balance and symbolism. The pillars represent the seasons, the circular roofs are meant to represent the sky, the dark red of the walls is meant to honor the emperor, the dragon and phoenix motifs represent Man and Woman, Emperor and Empress. The symmetry, sheer size, and design of the temple are absolutely breathtaking, not to mention the beauty of the tiers of carved marble stairs wrapped in a circle around it. Fun Fact: the entire main hall was built without using a single nail!

At the entrance to the park, we came across an incredibly humorous sign, the highlights of which I felt the need to recreate here:
4. Keep the park clean. Please don’t bring football, pets and watermelon, etc. into the park. No spitting. No leaking. No littering. Collecting rubbish and begging are prohibited.
6. Playing percussion is prohibited. Don’t make any noises which will disturb others.
7. Illegal dealings, superstitious activities and other lavatorial behaviors are prohibited. No peddling, no posters, no advertisement. Don’t make profits by teaching dances and other exercise. No gambling and other illegal activities.
8. …No fire in the none-fire areas.
9…..No dancing along the long corridor. Please don’t pick up plastic bottles or other rubbish, etc.

Tian Tan is incredibly beautiful, in part because of the elaborate and comprehensive restoration that it has undergone in recent years. We spent a while wandering the grounds, walking into some of the other buildings in the complex, and randomly running into other Harvard students, before Nick and I decided to head back. We had wanted to get some clothes tailored and took the opportunity to run off and get our measurements taken. However, after almost sprinting to the front of the complex, we uncovered that no taxi would take us back to our hostel. We settled for, of all things, a rickshaw, driven by a thin, crazy Chinese man who alternated between chanting, “Ole, Ole, ole…,” smoking while pedaling, and pointing to his back while making pained facial expressions so that we would pity him and agree to pay him more!! In short, he was hilarious, and the slow ride through Beijing’s streets, half getting run over, half laughing, was a truly enjoyable experience. As soon as we arrived, Nick and I rushed out to find a good tailor. We succeeded in our quest but I lost the courage to bargain with her because a.) she spoke very good English and b.) she was pregnant. An English speaking, pregnant, incredibly feisty Chinese tailor was not something I could handle. In the end, we agreed on prices so that Nick would get two suits and I could get a beautiful qipao [those traditional Chinese dresses for women]. It’s worth noting that we were coming to pick up our handmade outfits in less than two days!

After our failed bargaining adventure but successful purchase of new garments, Nick and I ran back to the hotel to change, meet the rest of the group, and head out to a Beijing Acrobatics Show. Renowned in China, these children are trained and housed in a special school from the age of three. All in all, the show was impressive from an acrobatic point of view. However for me, who had seen Cirque du Soleil in Shangahi several weeks earlier, it was more sad than impressive. Though many of the acts were extremely similar, their costumes looked old, their flags were tattered, their props were cheap and used, and, most strikingly, the children looked unhappy. Especially the older performers seemed to have a smile that was glued to their faces from performance to performance, but their expressions were glossed over and the corners of their eyes didn’t smile along with their mouth. I wondered for how long they would work with the troupe in a country where your future is decided so early. They hadn’t studied in school so what else could they do? After the performance, they were bussed off immediately and we headed off, having thoroughly enjoyed the show but with a nagging sour taste in our mouths.

We headed over to Quanjude Roast Duck Restaurant. The cab ride to the famous 2,000 seating capacity restaurant was almost as fun as the meal. First, we fooled the cab driver by fitting five people in the cab, which is illegal in Beijing. Second, Ami kept stating “there are five people in this cab” every time there was a silence in the vehicle, causing the rest of us to combust into spontaneous laughter. Third, the driver, once he understood what restaurant we were interested in going to, proceeded to, at random moments, quack like a duck and laugh! In turn, we would echo his quacks and the cab sounded like a kindergarten classroom of wheels!

We arrived at the restaurant to find that it had closed fifteen minutes earlier. So we argued, shamelessly. We lied, claiming that it was our last night in Beijing, we begged and pleaded. In the end, Ami brilliantly busted out [there is no other verb for this] her Harvard id and claimed that we had been sent to evaluate the restaurant and see if we wanted to bring more Harvard students here on their next trip to Beijing. And, like some kind of magic wand, the doors opened. Though they claimed that they were only letting us in on the condition that we get a single duck, soon we ended up with three roasted ducks, 3 different servers, and a smiling manager. Five seconds before walking in, we also grabbed 3 Croatian tourists who were equally disappointed to have arrived late and added them to our group. And thus, the eight of us had a fabulous night eating one of China’s most famous roasted duck dishes! The family of Croatians, for whom the adjective “well off” was a euphemism, not only paid for most of the food, they also bought us wine! In the end, we even tried duck tongue, which, I must say, tasted no different than regular duck meat, despite the different texture.

And so, we wrapped up a day of whirlwind Beijing sightseeing!

DAY 2: TOBOGGAN & SCORPION

We woke up at 5:30am to shower, eat a hurried “Taste of Home” breakfast, and meet in the hostel’s lobby. Four days from now we’d be in Chicago, and then, after twelve or thirteen or fourteen hours of travel, we’d each be off to New York, Washington, or, in my case, Key Largo with the family. I’d barely be loosing thirty minutes that day, flying against time, flying much faster than the dawning day, beating the night at its own game of choosing how and when to eclipse what. Though I appreciated the not-lost time, I was already resenting the flight. In airplanes, they always tell you when to sleep, or strongly suggest it by closing all the windows and dimming all the lights. And sleep, at least when crossing the Atlantic, is strangely contagious. I usually loose the game of resisting – except once as a kid when I succeeded in not peeing on a flight from Mexico City to Moscow – and I knew that the energy required to wage war against my eyelids for half a day’s worth of hours, to resist the psychological manipulation of the resourceful American Airlines staff, even as an adult, would be too much. I would fall asleep and would have to rely on Eric to wake me up when the meals came.

So we climbed, all eleven or twelve of us, into a small white van with no seatbelts. I stared at the droplets of water on the windshield and played with adjusting the focus of my eyes between them and the dangling portrait of Mao as a young officer than hung from the rearview mirror. The driver spoke no English, so there was no use in asking. We moved out, slowly shifting down the alley and then quickly breezing on the streets of Beijing. In addition to our small group, there were a couple of Spaniards and a French couple who, even at this early hour and on a completely voluntary expedition, already looked irritated.

The driver was apparently reckless, but I had fallen asleep soon after departing and Andrew had to tell me about it in between chewy bites of the Swedish Fish he had brought halfway across the globe from upstate New York. We exited the van but could only see a hill. And so, under a thin sheet of rain, on the morning of our second day in Beijing, propelled by strict orders to be back by 12:30pm, we stepped forth in search of the ticketing office.

Soon, we were on a ski lift above a growing mass of green that resembled a small jungle valley. This is a coined phrase, “jungle valley,” used to mean a valley that looks like a jungle. It could have been a steeper drop, so I wasn’t scared, and the treetops had a certain cozy, fluffed look to them that allowed me to forget that under them were branches, trunks, and, eventually, a hard layer of Mother Earth. At the top, we disembarked onto the platform and, having walked around a pillar and up a short set of stairs, found ourselves in a misty throwback to the Ming Dynasty. Despite the fog – or smog, be what it may – the Great Wall stretched as far as I could see in either direction

I found a series of strange, colorful, and rather large insects in my path. Soon, we also met a group of mid-thirties backpackers from New Jersey who had come to China to study acupuncture. Then there was the flight attendant who had flown her faux-depressed, tight jeans-wearing, Decembrists-listening son and his two roommates over for the adventure of a lifetime. In the meantime, there were also bunches of schoolchildren, being herded along the walls of their past, instructed on the might of the empire and the obvious idiocy of Mongolian invaders. Silly Mongols. This is one of the new Seven Wonders of the World, I mentioned, thought I resented that fact because the Pyramids of Gyza had been removed and I felt that most of the list was anticlimactic. Andrew put in that this was the only man-made structure visible from space with the naked eye – two cent’s worth. We walked and walked, down the paths, in and out of the towers, and took tourist pictures. Nick bought a beer just to say he had drunk a beer on of the foremost works of architecture and manpower in human history. Someone (the name will not be mentioned) suggested it might be more impressive to pee off or on the aforementioned work, but the idea was dismissed as inflammatory and blasphemous. The Vatican was discussed briefly, since Andrew had seen it, Nick wasn’t too sure of what it was, and I had fun facts to share about United Nations trivia!

So there I was, hiking The Great Wall of China. Despite being a neophyte adventurer, I think I would have preferred to take the full-day trip, the one where you have to crawl on all four extremities because parts of the wall have not been renovated. But we didn’t have enough time for this.

After walking for a couple of hours, we stepped off to, prepare yourself, toboggan down the side of the Great Wall. Yes, we sat into little individual cars and were pushed off under a huge banner that read “Test Your Breaks.” Off we went, down the side of the mountain, with no railings or safety precautions, speeding down the winding metal half-tube. I was going as fast as my seat would let me, despite the imminent danger of flipping over and landing somewhere below. It was refreshing, it was invigorating, and it was insane, but now my claim to fame is to have tobogganed down from the Great Wall of China.

Upon our return to our hostel, we napped briefly and set out to discover another one of China’s most well known restaurants. The name escapes me, but it is a nation-wide chain of Mongolian hot pot. Hot pot consists in, no surprise, a pot of boiling water set in the middle of a table, seasoned with vegetables and spices. Into this mixture, you dip all sorts of vegetables, meats, etc and wait for them to cook before dipping them into a variety of delicious sauces and eating them. Wow – the meat, the spinach, and the potatoes we ordered constituted one of the best meals I had in China. The rest of the afternoon was spent walking around, exploring random parts of the capital. We discovered that everything seems to be under construction, which comes as no surprise as the city gears up for the 2008 Olympics. Beijing seemed somewhat calmer than Shanghai, despite the massive amounts of people everywhere and the smog hanging, literally, on the tops of buildings. This must be, at least in part, because it is not as finance and business oriented and focuses a lot more on it’s ancient history. Andrew remarked that Beijing had already seen its height as a city, whereas Shanghai was just reaching its peak.

At night we went to Beijing’s famous night market street, where locals and tourists alike gather to bargain shop, drink a couple of beers, and eat the street food if they’re brave, or stupid, enough. I bargained expertly and bought a couple of sandalwood fans and art pieces, while nearby by-standers stared at the crazy white girl who would not budge on her price! I must say that for the purpose of bargaining I always pretend to speak mostly Spanish. First, because it helps to not be from the US and second because the seller likes you more if your English is as bad as theirs. This liking either quickly dissipates when they realize that, despite the language barrier, you are not a stupid tourist, or increases when you begin laughing and calling them “friend.”

The high point of the night market was our consumption of fried scorpion. Yes, fried scorpion. They were alive before our eyes, then fried on a stick, and handed to us to eat. They are apparently a delicacy. The taste was crunchy and I was so intently focused on swallowing that I’m not sure if my palate registered any flavor! Beaming with pride from our culinary escapade, we made our way to the lakes region again, only to discover that the quiet, reserved quays had turned into the hub of nightlife in Beijing. The sides of the lake were overrun with outdoor cafes, bars, restaurants, full of people enjoying the evening breeze, the bright lights reflected in the water, and the variety of music. Of all the places where I have seen nightlife (though they have not been many), this has my favorite. The atmosphere is relaxed, the windows of every building are open, there doesn’t seem to be a clear distinction between indoors and outdoors, and the water adds a touch of serenity to the loud music and crowds of people.

After enjoying a drink in one of these establishments, we headed back to our hostel and were asleep before our heads even reached the pillows.

DAY 3: FLOWERS AND FREEDOM

The third and last day of our stay in Beijing went by quickly. We started the morning by spending several hours inside the Forbidden City, which I personally found to be completely anticlimactic. The structures had not been renovated in quite some time, the museums had a dearth of artifacts, and there didn’t seem to be a lot to, well, see. My favorite part was at the very beginning, having walked through the Meridian Gate, and walking across the five marble bridges, symbolizing the five cardinal virtues of Confucianism. The symbolism of Chinese architecture and design is an aspect that I found particularly enjoyable about my entire trip to the country. For me, the most impressive aspect of the Forbidden City was that it remained the seat of imperial power until less than 100 years ago and that even after a successful revolution, the emperor had been allowed to reside there for several more years. The complex was not fully opened to the public until 1949!

Note: the portrait of General Mao on the outside wall is just as large and pristine as I imaged it would be, looming over those who enter the palace as some kind of Supreme observer. Having walked outside, we crossed the street to Tian’an men Square, a vast concrete expanse in the heart of modern Beijing. It is said to be the largest public square in the world and is flanked by a series of the most Soviet buildings I had the chance to see in the entire city. On the far end, flanked by statues, is Chairman Mao’s mausoleum, but we could not see the casket because his body [or the casket, it was unclear] is currently undergoing some kind of restoration work for next summer’s Olympic games. What one could do to an embalmed corpse to make it look more presentable is beyond me.

After this sight seeing, we met up with Ami at the Beijing Hotel, one of the most expensive and fancy hotels in the city. We were meeting Ami’s family friend, Mr. Yang, and his daughter for lunch. We went to some kind of buffet restaurant inside the hotel that must have cost Mr. Yang upwards of $70 a meal per person. And that’s just my modest estimate. Mr. Yang quietly nudged us by saying, “This food is expensive, so eat a lot,” but we did not need any encouragement. All of his, starved from our cheap and small portions, devoured this food like a pack of wild, but neatly dressed animals. I had, in order: a salad, cheese, sashimi, homemade noodles, fried ride, prime rib, grilled salmon, scalloped potatoes, fruit, and a slice of every single dessert they had. In short, I ate like a fat man undergoing a mid-life crisis.

The highlight of the lunch, however, was getting to talk to Mr. Yang, who proved to be an enjoyable and kind host. At some point, he began explaining to us the role of alcohol in Chinese business. He began by claiming that, “You must lubricate a business with drinking” and the enigmatic statement, “Alcohol in China is like fire.” He then proceeded to explain that you should commit to either drink nothing or drink more than your opponent from the very beginning of structuring a business deal…if you start drinking a little, the other party will pressure you to drink more and more until, well, you start making unwise decisions. Mr. Yang, laughing so hard he could barely speak, told us, “Three times, I almost died at business.” Presumably he meant alcohol poisoning! After referring to himself as “Mr. Beer” because he prefers beer to hard liquor, he proceeded to expound the virtues of some women in business that, to his surprise, can drink more than men. His hypothesis was that they must have some kind of biological imbalance. His explanation was as follows: “Some chemical women drink more than men.”

When I thought that I could not be eating more or laughing any harder, Mr. Yang and I began a conversation about sizes in China and the US. He told me that he believed that everything in the US was bigger than in China; I said I disagreed. His examples hinged on the dumplings served in restaurants and the size of flowers. I couldn’t comment on the former, but I said that the latter was probably due to fertilizers and other artificial ingredients. At this point, Mr. Yang’s daughter who was sitting directly to my left and across from her father said, “Maybe in America flowers are bigger because they have more freedom to grow.” Andrew and I exchanged nervous glances, which were immediately alleviated by Mr. Yang’s roaring laugher. “Freedom….hahaha…freedom to grow!!!,” he yelled, and the rest of us joined the laughter about the innocently sarcastic comment about their own homeland.

We ended the day by picking up our tailored clothes, packing, buying some porcelain, hand-painted tea sets, and heading back to Shanghai on another overnight train. On the way to the train station I noticed that there are so many KFCs in Beijing that the Colonel almost begins to look like a Chairman Mao caricature, penciled in white against a suspiciously red background. I wondered again about how much of the westernization of China’s cities is desirable, how much of this is really “progress” versus a melding of cultures versus a taking advantage of something.