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Bryan Stumpf's China Journal |
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Beijing Journal The completed Beijing journal is so long that I decided to
mail it out in parts. There's going to be six parts all together. Enjoy!
Here’s the second part of the six part series on my trip to Beijing – it’s kind of a long one. Warning: There is one section
of this part that is not for the squeamish. I’ll let you know when you get
there. Soon after we left emerged from the Beijing subway, we arrived at our accommodations, a condo owned by Yaping’s cousin. The condo was on the top floor of a 30 story building. It had a great view of the city, and you could see the Xi Shan (West Mountains) in the distance. Perhaps the coolest part was that each room had an alcove and all three walls of the alcove was floor to ceiling glass. So when you walked into an alcove, it was almost like you were standing on a really high diving board. Also, you could stand in the alcove of one room and wave to someone in the next room’s alcove. After settling in, we got started with Beijing by first going to Tiananmen Square. This is a huge expanse of concrete with a lot of Chinese history. This was where Mao Zedong announced in 1949 that the Republic of China to would thereafter be under communist rule and renamed the “People’s Republic of China.” Tiananmen Square is also where in 1989 student protestors gathered by the thousands to demand democracy in China. Nowadays, mostly you’ll find people trying sell Mao memorabilia, like Mao alarm clocks, Mao cigarette lighters, and Mao lunchboxes. (Just kidding about the lunchboxes.) And of course, you’ll find lots of tourists. And lots of Chinese soldiers strategically placed around the square to closely watch the tourists - and to give directions to lost tourists. Yaping has a particular fondness for asking the soldiers for directions - where the nearest bathroom is, good places to eat, etc. What surprised me about the soldiers was that many were just boys - Yaping said most appeared to be between the ages of 16 and 18. Also, many of them were as skinny as a rail – I saw several who couldn’t have had more 20-inch waists. Though the soldiers of Tiananmen Square may be teenage lightweights, the Chinese military itself is formidable – it’s the largest military in the world. Walking through Tiananmen Square, I was stopped by a few Chinese so that they could take their picture with me. I’ve noticed that being an American in China, you often get the rock star treatment. There’ve been several times in my six weeks in China when random Chinese people on the street will ask me if I could be in a picture with them. The first time was about three weeks ago. I was walking with Yaping at the Bund and a Chinese teen comes up to me, points at his camera, and then points at a scenic spot nearby. I assumed he wanted me to take a picture of him. But Yaping was there to translate - he actually wanted to get a picture with me. I guess he was excited to see a foreigner and thought it would be real cool to get a picture of himself with one. I obliged - mostly because I thought it would be fun to be like a celebrity. And after that, a friend of his emerged from the woodwork and also asked if he could get a picture with me too. And after that picture, ANOTHER friend asked to get a picture with me. Fortunately, there were only three of them and the celebrity photo session was soon over. Mostly, Chinese parents want me to pose with their children. For example, in Tiananmen Square, one of the people who stopped me for a picture was a mother and father with an adorable 6-year-old daughter. The parents had me pose with their daughter. The girl was all smiles and pigtails and the parents posed us so that Mao’s stern portrait loomed in the background. (In the following day, I would have a similar experience: the parents of a shy 8-year-old boy coaxed him to ask, in halting English, “Could...I…get…a…picture…with…you?” As I stood next to the boy, he was so nervous he was frozen stiff. As soon as the proud parents had their shots, he scampered away to hide behind them.) Once we got past the paparazzi of Tiananmen Square, we ventured towards the gates of the Forbidden City. Today, we were only going as far as the gates. Because of its sprawling size, the Forbidden City would have to wait for another day, when we could arrive early and stay all day. But between Tiananmen Square and the Forbidden City, there are many small museums about the emperors of China. Yaping and I visited a few of them, mostly because Yaping thought I should brush up on my Chinese history before venturing further into Beijing. I learned about Genghis Khan leading the Mongolians to Beijing in 1215, burning and slaughtering everything in sight. Khan and his descendents ruled the capital until 1368 when the Chinese took back their capitol in an uprising. I also learned about the various emperors, both men AND women, who ruled China through the Ming Dynasty (1368-1644) and Qing Dynasty (1644-1911). I was particularly curious about Pu Yi, the last emperor – the same last emperor of the movie “The Last Emperor” – who started his rule of China at the age of 3. With Yaping satisfied that I had acquired a modicum of Chinese history, we set off in a cab to meet her friend Gloria at a lake in the Shi Cha Hi area, just north of Tiananmen Square. (The following ten paragraphs are not for those who are squeamish about violence.) As soon as we stepped out of the cab, we were suddenly in the middle of some commotion. People were running past us and yelling. At first I thought it was just some teenagers joking around and chasing each other. But then I saw one young man carrying a folded metal stool rush after a man in a business suit. He cornered him, and then, to my horror, he raised the stool high and brought it down hard on the man’s head. Not just hard, but VERY hard, as if he meant to kill the man. In fact, the stool’s wooden seat splintered on impact. Very quickly, I realized that Yaping and I had just stepped into the middle of a street brawl. It seemed to be some sort of business transaction that went bad. There were about eight people involved, most of them young men in their later teens. Some of them seemed to be carrying some form of weapon, not guns but things they seemingly had just picked up off the street, like the folded stool. One of them, a young, scrawny guy in a black shirt was carrying what at first looked like some sort of medieval mace. Actually, it was a thick chain with a heavy padlock on one end. He was walking around and swinging the chain, looking for someone to use it on. Whether they had weapons or not, they were all pretty mad, pumped with adrenaline, and eager to inflict violence. And Yaping and I were in the middle of it all. After our cab sped away, we were stuck on the curb. On one side of us was the busy street and on the other side was the melee. Also, a large crowd of onlookers had gathered on the other side of the sidewalk to watch the fight. It was a busy area in the city; they had all just stopped what they were doing to watch the violence. The only thing Yaping and I could do was wait for the melee to subside, and then cross over to the crowd of on-lookers. I was most worried about Yaping - my only reaction was to make sure she was safe. It probably looked strange, but I had Yaping back up to the concrete base of the lamppost behind her, then I put my arms on both sides of her and held the lamppost. That’s the best I could do to keep her out of danger. And then I saw the worst part of the fight. One youth pulled out a sizeable dagger and stabbed at the abdomen of another youth. The knife was really big; I don’t know how the attacker could have concealed it. I turned my head away as he started to stab. Even as I stood in the middle of the whole melee, I couldn’t help but notice the excited fascination of the on-lookers. I was disgusted by how thrilled they were to be seeing the violence. I resumed looking for a way to get us out of there. I noticed there was blood spattered on the pavement. The man in the business suit had miraculously survived the blow to the head with the stool. In fact, he had somehow acquired the stool and was, in a daze, walking with it in his left hand. But his face was totally covered in blood. I think most of the blood on the pavement was his. Fortunately, in his right hand he had a cell phone and was presumably calling the police. As for other victims, one of the youths had a large gash in his lower left back – he was apparently a victim of the chain and padlock. He was bleeding pretty bad, but he was applying pressure to it to stop the bleeding. And I don’t know if the youth with the knife lost his nerve or his victim wriggled free, but it appeared as though nobody had actually been knifed. Either the rest of them noticed the man calling the police or enough damage had been inflicted because there suddenly seemed to be fewer of them. And that’s when I quietly walked Yaping across the sidewalk and we melted into the crowd. Before I go any further, I want you all to know that none of the bystanders, Yaping and myself included, were ever in risk of being directly attacked. Also, this kind of street violence is extremely rare and the chances of Yaping and I walking into the middle of such a situation again are very slim. Beijing, or any city in China, is no more dangerous than any large city in the U.S. Also, we saw the police arrive very soon after we walked away. (Scary part’s over!) After a short walk to collect our bearings, we walked over to the nearby Starbucks, our rendezvous point with Yaping’s friend, Gloria. Yaping took moment to fill her in on what just happened while I took pictures of the Starbucks with Chinese characteristics – it was like a cross between a Starbucks you’d see anywhere and a Chinese pagoda. Then, we walked around the lake and saw many quaint sights, like a large crowd gathered around four elderly gentlemen playing what looked to be an intense game of Mah-Jong. Also, we saw polar bear swimmers. Even though it was mid-Spring, Gloria explained that the locals knew the lake water would still be cold enough to be considered suitable for a “polar bear dip.” Of course, here too, a crowd had gathered around the men. However, it appeared as though they had not only gathered to watch the daring men, but perhaps also to conceal the portly Speedo-clad men from the tourists. And we also saw a man writing Chinese characters on the sidewalk in water with a giant paintbrush. The paintbrush had a large pointed sponge on one end, about the size of a man’s head, and a Pepsi bottle reservoir at the other end. Yaping loosely translated the writing: “Springtime is the time for sleeping, time to be lazy.” Then we arrived at an area the locals referred to as “bar street.” Yaping hasn’t tried many alcoholic drinks so she was unsure of what to order. For some reason, she was dying to try a Long Island Ice Tea. But after describing my friend Bob’s buffoonery after drinking a few Long Island Ice Teas on the night before his wedding, she decided to play it safe and take Gloria’s suggestion - a Pina Colada. I ordered a small gin and tonic and Gloria ordered a screwdriver. Yaping detested the Pina Colada, but preferred my gin and tonic. Afterwards, we walked to a restaurant to meet Gloria’s husband and daughter. The name of the restaurant, loosely translated, was “Ji’s Roasted Meat.” Gloria’s husband described the kind of food I could expect in Beijing - he called it “Northern” cuisine. It would be much heartier fare than Shanghai food. He described Shanghai food as “too delicate.” I soon discovered that I loved Northern cuisine. There were large quantities of mutton: mutton ribs, mutton pancakes, and mutton moo shu. The moo shu is different than American moo shu – it’s mostly scrambled eggs and bits of meat in a kind of gravy. Actually, it was quite good. And of course, we had the food Beijing is most known for, roasted duck. Even though the dish wasn’t called moo shu, we ate the roast duck like American moo shu. First, you dip the pieces of roast duck in a kind of plum sauce, then you wrap it in a pancake with cucumber and green onion. And we washed everything down with a few pots of warm rice wine. After dinner, we all took a nighttime stroll along the lake. There was a full moon and all the buildings were beautifully lit. Along the waterfront, there were people playing guitar, people selling paper lanterns, and there was even someone screening what appeared to be a homemade movie, using a digital projector and the side of a restaurant. We bought some paper lanterns and found a dock where they rented boats. There were a lot of boats on Shi Cha Hi lake that night: paddleboats, rowboats, and motorboats. We decided to rent a motorboat. As we cranked the boat’s throttle to full speed, I realized the motor was so weak, we could have moved faster in a rowboat. What made the ride distinctly Chinese was there were lots of floating candles on the water – intended as a memorial for those who had died. Gloria’s husband graciously let me do most of the driving. The ride went mostly trouble-free. There was only the one instance when we needed to stop to use a restroom. Gloria’s husband stood at the bow and directed me to get as near to a concrete wall at the edge of the lake as possible. I remember him saying, “Keep going…keep going… keep WHOA!” We ran aground on some submerged shelf of concrete. Luckily, we rocked ourselves back into the water. Eventually, we made it back to our dock and walked back to the main street. We found ourselves in the exact same area where we had seen the fight earlier that day. It looked as though the blood had been wiped off the sidewalk. We said good-bye to Gloria and her family, got into a cab, and headed back to the condo. As we rode through the vibrantly lit streets of Beijing, I thought of all that we had seen in just one day. And this was just my first day in Beijing. We still had six more days to go!
Day 2 - Saturday The next morning, I slept in a bit late. The night before, I held off going to bed so I that I could hang out in my alcove. At the condo, I had my own room and my alcove looked out onto some nice side streets and a park. And the alcove had a very comfortable chair that I made sure to position for best viewing of Beijing. So instead of going straight to bed, I settled into my alcove with a good book. I loved the alcove’s floor-to-ceiling glass because, at any moment while reading my book, I could glance up at the full moon or I could glance down at the night streets of Beijing. Needless to say, I stayed in my alcove until my eyes could no longer stay open. When I woke up, breakfast was already waiting for me. We were having Chinese porridge. Yaping’s cousin Xiaoming joined me for breakfast in the condo’s dining room. I wanted to show Xiaoming that I understood Chinese table manners so I served him porridge first. In scooping the porridge from the serving bowl to Xiaoming’s bowl, I dropped a little on the table. I tried to say “oops” in Chinese, which is “aiya,” pronounced “eye-ah.” Instead, I said “ayi,” which is a totally different Chinese word, pronounced “eye-ee.” Roughly translated, “ayi,” is the Chinese word for “aunty.” So as I served Xiaoming his porridge, I basically called him my aunty. He nodded and smiled as if he understood, probably hoping to save me from embarrassment. I called out to Yaping to help me explain my mangled Chinese. Yaping decided we needed a nice, relaxing day after the previous day’s excitement, so on this day in Beijing, we were going to the Temple of Heaven Park. Actually, it’s not just a park, it’s a huge, expansive park, and before the 1900s, it was where the emperors went for prayer and various Buddhist ceremonies. The buildings are considered to be China’s best example of Ming architecture. But the major draw for most tourists was the Echo Wall, a curved wall 65 meters in diameter that was so acoustically sound that a person could whisper at one end of the wall and the sound could travel along the wall and be heard at the other end. Pretty impressive considering it was built hundreds of years ago. Yaping and I hopped aboard a Beijing bus and were deposited in a very unattractive and noisy part of the city. But we just had to walk down the street and turn a corner and we were suddenly in very quiet, serene, and peaceful park. We had entered through the West Celestial Gate, part of the semi-circular northern end of the park. The Ancient Chinese believed that heaven was round and earth was square, so the northern end of the park is circular and the southern end is square. What I thought was great about the park was that it’s biggest, most impressive structure, The Hall of Prayer for Good Harvest – 120 feet high and amazingly held together without any cement or nails – is basically a hall intended to support the humble farmer. It made me think of my own father. On his dairy farm, he’d be gearing up for harvest in a few months. And here at the Temple of Heaven Park, Buddhists were praying for him. If you observed construction closely throughout the park, you’d notice that every feature was constructed in a multiple of nine - there’d be nine steps to every temple, nine tiers on every altar, nine bolts on every door. Nine was considered the most heavenly number - it was built into the very foundation of every structure intended for emperors. Near the Hall of Prayer for Good Harvest, I learned that some emperors had a good sense of humor. Though many emperors started their rule of China young - some as young as three and five - few of them actually grew very old. One emperor, who actually aged into his 70s, wanted a shortcut built to the Good Harvest temple because of his ailing health. After the shortcut was built, the emperor worried that the son next in line for rule, who was very lazy, would use it undeservedly. To put it in modern terms, he was afraid his son would use the handicap-only access just because he was too lazy to walk the regular route. So he made a rule: “No emperors could use the shortcut until they were in their 70s.” Well, it turned out none of the emperors after him lived much beyond their 40s. So he was the only emperor to ever pass through this shortcut. We couldn’t test the acoustics of the Echo Wall because it was too inundated with tour groups, but the rest of the Temple of Heaven Park took most of the afternoon to see. The portion of the park we saved for last was the Long Corridor; we knew that musicians often performed here in the afternoon for park patrons. As we walked along the corridor, we noticed many musicians had brought traditional Chinese instruments, but we also saw an accordion player, a saxophone player, and one ambitious soul brought his drum set. I had seen street musicians performing around Shanghai and I was always impressed by how Chinese passers-bys were so willing to accompany them, usually with back-up singing, but sometimes with a solo. Yaping and I were walking behind this one Chinese man, who appeared to be just another tourist enjoying a stroll along the Long Corridor, but when he reached a group of musicians, he suddenly burst into this huge booming baritone. Soon, Yaping and I decided it was time to leave the park and grab dinner. We journeyed into the hustle and bustle of Beijing, a sharp contrast to the placid park, and searched for a restaurant. Usually, I consult with my trusty China guidebook for places to eat, but Yaping seems to distrust my book and prefers uncharted territory. I didn’t care where we went as long as they served Northern cuisine. Too often throughout the day, I had mooned about the Beijing food that we had had the night before and how it was so much better than Shanghai food, forcing Yaping to finally quip, “Why don’t you live in Beijing, then!” Not finding a lot of choices
for restaurants, Yaping finally deferred to the culinary preferences of the
Beijing police. She spotted two officers and made a few inquiries. They both
pointed to a nearby place the locals frequented. The service was rude, but the
food was Northern, so all in all we had a satisfying meal thanks to Beijing’s
finest. Before leaving for Beijing, many had told us how crowded we could expect it to be in China’s capitol during the May holidays. In the previous days, we luckily hadn’t seen much in the way of excessive crowds. Yaping and I wondered if possibly Beijing wasn’t going to be everyone’s destination of choice this season. But as we arrived at front gate of the Forbidden City on Sunday morning, reality finally came crashing down. The Forbidden City was packed. Streams of tourists flooded into the front gates and there were long lines everywhere. Fortunately, once we paid the exorbitant prices to get through the front gates, there were less crowds. And better still, around mid-morning, rain clouds hovered above the city, and the crowds diminished even more. Rain didn’t matter much to Yaping or me - I actually like the rain and Yaping brought her trusty umbrella. So our passage through the Forbidden City turned out to be not nearly as crowded as earlier predicted. We discovered that the Forbidden City was not as forbidden as one might think - after crossing through the sacred gates we found a Starbucks nestled next to The Temple of Heavenly Purity. It was another Starbucks with Chinese characteristics. In fact, it was so harmonious with its surroundings that one might believe the emperors of China could have had lattes there. We had to lunch there since they had a deal going with the gift shop - spend the equivalent of $10 and you get an “exquisite key chain.” After our tuna sandwiches and lattes, Yaping made sure to get a rabbit keychain for me since I was born in the year of the rabbit. The exquisite keychain resembled a medallion and had an engraving of a rabbit that had a striking resemblance to the Trix rabbit. He was holding what appeared to be an aerosol can in one of his paws. When we inquired about the aerosol can object, the key chain seller insisted it was a radish. But of course, the biggest reason to visit the Forbidden City was to take in the sights of the palace where 24 emperors had ruled. There were so many temples, halls, and gates, that it wasn’t long before the distinctions between each one became blurred. What stood out to me was the interesting rank and file of the emperor’s concubines and eunuchs. Many emperors had their favorite concubine and their favorite eunuch. It was interesting how certain concubines and eunuchs earned these positions, and how others fought for the esteemed positions. Families in the Ming Dynasty made their sons into eunuchs in the hope that they would attain the imperial court. In the imperial court, their roles were to serve the needs of the emperor and his harem in the parts of the palace that were off limits to adult males, barring the emperor himself. Many eunuchs often ended up being an emperor’s most trusted advisor. At one point in Chinese history, the eunuchs were so great in number that a collective of them actually usurped the emperor’s power. In the later years of the Ming Dynasty, there were upwards of 100,000 eunuchs and they exercised enormous control over China. I learned a lot of these
details from reading the informative historical markers around the palace.
Every structure in the Forbidden City had its history detailed on two brass
plates, one in Chinese and the other in English, usually found near the entrance
of each structure. I discovered that whenever I read aloud from the English
plate, I would draw a crowd. Yaping and I started playing a game of guessing
how many people I would draw at each reading. It seemed she always
underestimated and I always overestimated. And it was here that an incredible coincidence occurred - we saw the girl from Tiananmen Square who wanted a picture with me, the one that was all smiles and pigtails. Actually, the parents recognized me. Not only was it surprising that out of the thousands who were in Tiananmen Square and the Forbidden City on two different days, two people could choose the exact same days to visit the historical sites, and the exact same locations in those sites, and the exact same times to be in those locations, in the most populated country in the world, BUT ALSO that they could recognize each other. Actually, that last one isn’t so surprising since I’ve noticed the Chinese quickly recognize foreigners. To celebrate the coincidence, we had another little photo shoot right there in the imperial gardens. Afterwards we said our good-byes, and after a whole day in the Forbidden City, it was time to leave. Yaping and I ate a quick dinner at a dumpling restaurant and then took a cab back to the condo. Zhang Bei was there again tonight to talk inexhaustibly with Yaping. I, of course, adjourned to my alcove to read and gaze at the Beijing skyline under a full moon… And also to imagine what I
could expect for tomorrow, my fourth day Beijing, when I would be visiting the
Great Wall of China. PART IV: The Great Wall Here’s the fourth part of the six part series on my trip to Beijing. Sorry, for the delay in sending part IV - my mother was here in Shanghai visiting with me. But you’ll have to wait until after the Beijing journal to read about our madcap adventures together. Our goal for the Monday was to spend many hours walking the Great Wall - or so I had assumed. But as soon as we boarded our tour bus for the Great Wall, I had the feeling something was awry. After walking out of the Forbidden City on Sunday, Yaping was given a pamphlet about the bus tour from a solicitor on the street. Usually, I plan my daily itineraries with my trusty Lonely Planet guidebook. Throughout my journeys to eastern and western Europe, I trusted my Lonely Planet guidebooks to suggest tours to seek out and tours to avoid. But as I mentioned before, Yaping seemed to distrust my guidebook. So with this bus tour, we hadn’t consulted my guidebook at all, and instead we were trusting a pamphlet given to us by a total stranger. So there we were, early Monday morning - so early the sun was just coming over the West Mountains - sitting on a bus that was completely empty and parked behind a few dumpsters in some forgotten alley of Beijing. I asked Yaping if I could take a closer look at the pamphlet that advertised the tour. I inspected the pamphlet closely: it was a thin 8 by 10 piece of paper unevenly folded in half, it looked like it was spat out of some cheap printer, and it was completely written in Chinese. After my brief inspection of the pamphlet, I suggested to Yaping that we make a few inquiries of the guy in the pajamas that ushered us onto the bus. I figured it would be good if maybe we could find out things like when we would be leaving and when we would be arriving back in Beijing. She got off the bus, and after a brief exchange with a lot of back and forth smiling and nodding, she returned by saying that the person was being very “vague.” As soon as she said his answers were “vague,” I finally suggested we seriously find some alternative means to the Great Wall. I reminded Yaping that the taxis drivers were always soliciting to be our driver to the Great Wall. Although it would be costly, we would have complete control over the time of arrival and time of departure, something this bus tour didn’t seem to guarantee. For all we knew, this bus could be headed to the Great Wall by way of Inner Mongolia. While Yaping and I weighed the pros and cons of taking a taxi, a few more people boarded our bus. This caused a slight boosting of our confidence in the bus tour - if this tour was a scam, at least Yaping and I wouldn’t be the only victims. But I was still concerned about the vagueness about the departure from Beijing and arrival at Great Wall. After the bus reached maximum occupancy, it rumbled to life and we were our way to the Great Wall – we hoped. I found it encouraging when we veered onto a stretch of road called the “Badaling Expressway” – Badaling being the most touristed section of the Great Wall. I thought to myself, “Good, we’re heading directly to Badaling.” But as with all expressways, there’re off-ramps along the way. And I found it curious when we ended up taking one of the off-ramps when the Great Wall was nowhere in sight. We discovered our first destination would be an amusement park called “Nine Dragons Park.” As we drove by a plastic Tyrannosaurus Rex at the entrance, I surmised the park to be a Chinese version of Six Flags. Though I worried we’d be spending the day there, our tour director announced we’d stay there only for an hour. But unless you wanted to ride the water flume or float around in bumper boats, there wasn’t much to do. We saw a lot of off-duty military men there. Maybe I shouldn’t say “men” - like in Tiananmen Square, the soldiers were mostly young boys seemingly in their midteens. What I found interesting about these Chinese soldiers was that not only did they look like little boys but they often acted like little boys. In my experience, most American soldiers, no matter how young, usually carry themselves with some degree of formalness and restraint when in public. But the Chinese soldiers at Nine Dragons Park acted more like excited kids on a day out; they had no qualms about not looking macho. It might put things in perspective to say that the most interesting part of Nine Dragons Park was watching the soldiers playfully skip and bound from one attraction to the next. They especially loved the marching band. The band’s performers wore costumes that seemed to represent cartoonish American colonialists - like American Revolutionaries as portrayed by Muppets. The heads of the costumes were huge; the mouths were roomy enough for many of the performers to fit half of their instrument into the head. If you imagined there were no people inside the costumes, it looked like the Muppets had to half-swallow their instruments in order to play them. The funniest Muppet was the conductor. Part of his costume was a Muppet horse - it had fake human legs straddling it, creating the illusion the conductor was riding it. I had to point out to Yaping that one of his fake legs was twisted backwards in its stirrup. If that didn’t alarm the young ones, then I’m sure they were a bit alarmed when, as soon as the performance was over, the conductor turned his “horse” around and prematurely took off his Muppet head as he galloped away. Yaping, always the pillar of good spirits, assessed the mismanaged Muppet marching band and the prancing merriment of the military men and said, “You know, Bryan, I think we can safely say that no Highline person has ever been here.” Satisfied with her assessment of Nine Dragons Park, I suggested we board our bus and see where it takes us next. This time, we didn’t even return to the Badaling Expressway, but ventured to the Ming Tombs. The Ming Tombs turned out to be a very enjoyable detour and I didn’t mind at all that we still hadn't reached the Great Wall. As the final resting place of thirteen Ming Dynasty Emperors, the underground tombs were impressive, especially Ding Ling. Since it was known that valuable possessions were buried with the emperors, the tombs were damaged by looters during the Qing Dynasty. But recent renovations helped restore the tombs to their original grandeur. After the Ming Tombs, we were finally heading to the Great Wall. We would be visiting two sections of the wall: first, the section called Mutianyu, and then, as our last stop of the tour, Badaling. We only had 2 hours at Mutianyu. Yaping and I walked side by side for some of the way, by I got overeager and darted ahead to go as high as I could within our time limit. Notice that I say “as high as I could” and not “as far as I could.” When walking the wall, you’re basically climbing, not walking - imagine walking up steep stairs for a few miles and you might get the idea. Although it is safe to say that reinforced steps and handrails were not part of the wall’s original design back in 200 B.C., it didn't make the climb less arduous. Perhaps more arduous was bucking and weaving past the souvenir sellers along the way. Probably the most worthless souvenir was the “Certificate for Walking the Great Wall.” For about 10 American dollars, you could have an official looking document that certified that you had indeed walked the Great Wall of China. I guess it was something you could have framed and show your friends at home as proof of your stamina and strength. And I guess it didn’t matter that you could buy this certificate as soon as you stepped off the tour bus, without even setting one foot on the Wall. From one of the lookout points high on the Wall, with a good view of Beijing in the distance, Yaping caught up with me and we stopped to rest. Yaping started recounting the history of the Great Wall. She described how it took hundreds of thousands of Chinese over 100 years to build the 180 million meter wall. She described the elaborate system created to warn of incoming invasions and how the Wall was intended to protect from all invaders. She also described how the Chinese of the Ming Dynasty fortified the wall to keep Genghis Khan out. You could just see her swell with pride as she described the hard work and ingenuity of her ancestors. Then, I asked what happened when Genghis Khan’s armies finally reached the Wall. She frowned and said, “Well, they got past the Wall.” After our rest at the lookout point, we headed back down the steep steps and boarded our bus. I had read in my guidebook that Badaling was the most visited part of the Great Wall and one must wade through dozens of the tourist trap villages before even getting near the wall. I feared I would be inundated with crowds and people trying to sell me “Certificates for Walking the Great Wall.” And to make me even more pessimistic, there was a huge traffic jam at the parking lot and the tour director announced that our visit to Badaling would be cut short. The director gave us an option: rather than waiting for the bus to reach the parking lot, we could get off the bus early and walk to the Badaling's entrance. But after trudging up and down the Wall at Mutianyu, Yaping and I chose to just nap on the bus. When I woke, I discovered that we had arrived at the parking lot and that we would only have about 45 minutes at Badaling. After reviving Yaping from her slumber, she announced she was too tired to walk Badaling and suggested I walk it alone. I wasn’t optimistic about a solitary walk on the Wall, but I felt I couldn’t pass up my last chance to see the Wall. Yaping helped me buy my ticket, made sure I had food and water in my backpack, wrote down the directions back to the bus, and lastly, gave me an encouraging thumbs-up. Then, I bid her farewell and meandered through the tourist trap villages until I finally reached the Badaling section of the Wall. Actually, my 45 minutes at Badaling unexpectedly turned out to be one of the highlights of my whole Beijing trip. Two things made Badaling such a highlight: First of all, from where I started at the Wall, I could go in two directions and I chose the direction less traveled by the crowds. And instead of steep steps like at Mutianyu, the Wall at Badaling was nicely sloped, so it felt more like hiking than clomping up stairs. As I hiked upward, I started to really enjoy the fact that I was walking alone on the Wall with hardly anyone around. There were a few people way ahead of me, but it was almost as if I had this section of the Great Wall all to myself. And the second thing that made these 45 minutes such a highlight was the sun was at position on the horizon that made all the features of the rolling mountains more distinct. There was a nice breeze and the sun was hitting the mountains just right, washing everything in gold. I took a few of pictures of the rolling mountains, and I asked a few passer-by to take photos of me and the Wall, but mostly I just soaked up this quiet, peaceful, and solitary moment, and reflected on how amazing it was to be here. Feeling content, I took my time and hiked leisurely down the Wall. Yaping was waiting for me outside of the exit and I felt so happy to see her that I gave her a big hug. On our way back to Beijing (we ended up departing Badaling at 6pm), Yaping received a call from Zhang Bei inviting us to a home-cooked meal at the condo. We arrived back to the condo at about 8pm and I quickly showered and dressed for dinner. Both Zhang Bei and Xiaoming had prepared a banquet: six different dishes of food, not including soup and appetizers. And Xiaoming insisted we drink a special Chinese liquor. He poured the liquor into small porcelain cups about the size of shot glasses. As we sat down to begin our meal, Xiaoming held up his porcelain shot glass for toast. He said, “To Bryan, welcome to Beijing!” We all clinked our porcelain cups and - since they resembled shot glasses, I assumed they were to be used like shot glasses - I downed the cup’s contents with one gulp. But as soon as I gulped the liquor, there were gasps around the table. Everyone around the table was staring at me. Yaping explained that since the liquor was considered to be extremely strong, I was supposed to just sip it. They all watched me closely and waited for some sort of crazed reaction. I guess they were expecting me to either reel with agony or hop up and down like a monkey. But actually, the liquor wasn’t much stronger than whiskey and my only reaction was a shrug. Yaping tried to explain my subdued reaction to Xiaoming and Zhang Bei; she said jokingly, “he’s a drinker, a typical American.” And with that, they let out a sigh of relief. (Yaping later told me that Zhang Bei was so startled when I downed the drink that Xiaoming had to squeeze her arm to stop her from screaming out loud.) After the dinner, both Zhang Bei and Xiaoming talked inexhaustibly with Yaping while I, of course, adjourned to my alcove to read.
PART V: Mao’s Mausoleum Here’s the fifth part of the six part series on my trip to Beijing. The last few days have been busy. On Wednesday, the President of Highline Community College flew into Shanghai to meet with some Jiao Tong University delegates. She probably also wanted to make sure I was staying out of trouble.
I read in my China guidebook that in the Mao Zedong Mausoleum in Tiananmen Square, the actual body of the deceased Chinese leader was on display. Whether you know much about the revolutionary communist leader of the China or not, the man has been dead since 1976, so I felt compelled to visit the Mao Mausoleum. Mao Zedong’s massive portrait hangs at the gate of the Forbidden City. It hangs above the “Emperor’s Road,” one road among six that span across the moat that surrounds the Forbidden City. Only emperors were allowed to travel this road; it is off limits to tourists and is reverently chained off to preserve its sanctity. To see Mao’s portrait hanging above the Emperor Road and to know that his body remains displayed for public viewing 30 years after his death, one must conclude that China remains deeply proud and reverent of its former leader. Even though many Chinese would agree that Mao’s Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution were catastrophic mistakes that resulted in persecution and famine, he will always remain the man who liberated the Chinese people from an anarchic era of warring warlords. Whether Mao’s mistakes outweigh his triumphs, or vice versa, is not debated in modern China. In fact, there’s a widely known mantra that establishes the exact proportions of his mistakes and triumphs: “Mao was 70 % right, and 30 % wrong.” Other expatriates have told me that this 7:3 ratio has become so encoded, that in some conversations with the Chinese, they’ve tried slightly skewing the ratio– “Mao was 32% wrong” - but were politely corrected - “I’m sorry, but Moa was 30% wrong.” Regardless of your opinion of Mao, to be in Beijing is to feel his presence. And so on Tuesday morning, Yaping and I sped off to Tiananmen Square to visit the Mao Mausoleum. Upon arrival, we soon found out that the Mausoleum was closed and none of the soldiers standing guard knew exactly when it would be open again. We decided we would check back in the afternoon. Fortunately, we had a Plan B for that morning, and off we went to Yonghe Gong, the Lama Temple. The Lama Temple is the most renowned Tibetan Buddhist temple outside of Tibet itself. More importantly, it’s known to have one of the tallest Buddha statues in the world. But since we had seen so many Buddhist temples already, I wasn’t expecting the Lama Temple to make much of an impression. Unfortunately, the Buddhist temples of China were starting to blur together, just as the cathedrals of Europe eventually blurred together when I backpacked through Europe. At the first cathedral, I stood in awe and took 10 pictures of every detail. But by the 10th cathedral, I would just glance at it, muster a “Hm” in vague, ruminative tone, then look at the map for some place to eat. But the Lama Temple had a few distinctions that made it memorable. First there were the, as Yaping translated, “spinning prayer buckets.” You see them in practically every movie that has a Buddhist monk (there’s actually quite a few movies with Buddhist monks if you stop and think about it). “Spinning prayer buckets” are the size of a bucket, have Chinese characters on them, and can be spun so that your fingers can run over the characters. Yaping explained that wealthy Buddhists had these made for them because they didn’t have the time to read their prayers every day, so instead they could “read” their prayers by spinning the bucket and running their fingers over the characters. Also, I learned the different ways that Buddhists give offerings to their deities. Often they sprinkle coins and bills on the various Buddhist effigies. In honor of one Buddhist story involving a bear, there was a shrine with a bear statue. The poor bear had money shoved into every orifice of his body: dollar bills sticking out of his ears, coins in his nostrils, etc. And along with money, some offered non-monetary gifts, like fruit and bottled water. One particular deity, judging from the offerings on his altar, especially liked Ritz crackers and strawberry yogurt. Finally, there was the giant Buddha statue. The statue is so tall that you could also view it from the second floor AND the third floor of the monastery. On the third floor you could look at its face, and on the second floor you could look at its belly button. But what I found puzzling about the statue was its credentials. Prominently displayed near the statue was a bronze certificate authenticating the statue’s entry in the 1990 Guinness Book of World Records. But then, at the bottom of this certificate, there is fine print that reads: “This certificate does not necessarily denote an entrance into the Guinness Book of World Records.” I mustered a “Hm,” and pointed this out to Yaping. We both shrugged, and then left the temple for a place to eat. After lunch, we went back to the Tiananmen Square, to see if the Mao Mausoleum was open yet. We asked a few soldiers, and again none of them really knew, but suggested we try again tomorrow. Then, believe it or not, Yaping and I decided to go to a mall. But it wasn’t just any mall - a section of its ground floor was designed to replicate an old Beijing market from the Qing Dynasty. Though the rest of the mall was your typical shopping mall, the market itself was actually quite quaint. With its re-creations of old Beijing street scenes showing smiling statues fitted with Qing Dynasty attire, it reminded me of a Disney theme park attraction, like Pirates of the Caribbean. But there were several authentic artisans, from whom we bought a few traditional Chinese paintings. Then, we went to another mall to buy gifts for Zhang Bei and Xiaoming as thanks for providing their condo as our Beijing accommodation. In the open plaza at the entrance of the mall, there was a large cast-iron bust the size of a boulder. I asked Yaping if she could read the inscription to see if the bust was of a mayor or a president. After reading the inscription, she said, “You’re not going to believe this. He's a salesperson.” Apparently, the bust was a kind of “Employee of the Month” honor for some pretty spectacular salesperson. Once inside, we soon found suitable gifts: a toaster and a coffee machine. And then I discovered that when you buy an appliance in China, there’s a little inspection process that you go through. While Yaping went to buy the toaster, I waited for our coffee machine to be brought out from the stock room. When the saleswoman tapped my shoulder and showed me the box holding the new coffee machine, I just smiled, nodded, and expected her to hand it over. But instead, she opened the box, pulled out all the contents, and then proceeded to show me each part of the coffee machine for my inspection. I guess that since, in China, most products cannot be returned after they are purchased, the customer must make sure they are satisfied with their product before they take it home. As the salesperson showed each part of the coffee machine, I continued my charade of the discerning customer. I dutifully squinted at the parts. I sprinkled in a few “mmms” and “ahs” to express my deep admiration for the craftsmanship of the coffee machine. At one point, she plugged it in, put her hand on the burner, and invited me to do the same. I had to wonder if customers were ever severely burned during the in-store inspection of certain appliances. For example, would they be inviting Yaping to stick her finger in the toaster? I dutifully tapped the burner, recognized warmth, and nodded with approval. After the inspection, Yaping found me and then, arms full of the day’s purchases, we ventured back into the Beijing streets. It was dusk and streets were blazing with neon. Before heading home, we decided to check out Beijing’s famous Wufang Night Market, which was right next to the mall. The market was chaos: full of people, bright neon, conflicting aromas, and very demonstrative vendors. According to Yaping, you have not authentically experienced Beijing culture unless you have been screamed at by a Beijing vendor. The aggressive selling tactics of the Beijing vendor is widely known throughout China. As we walked from stall to stall, we were greeted by a cacophony of screams, yelling, singing, and excited screeches. One vendor, dressed in traditional Chinese attire, tried to entice us to try his dumplings by standing on a bucket and singing like Pavarotti. And one wide-eyed young man, in a pin-striped suit, brandished large metal rings - the kind that can magically be linked together - and kept screaming, “Magic! I teach you! Magic! I teach you!” And as we made our way out of the market, Yaping and I stopped to watch a Beijing Opera that was being performed on the roof of a 7-11. Finally emerging from the other end of the market, we hailed a cab and headed back to the condo. We never bought a thing at Wufang, but I thought the performances were great. There was an infectious energy surging through whole market. I considered it another highlight of the whole Beijing trip. Once we arrived at the condo,
we presented Zhang Bei with our gifts. She thanked us profusely, and we visited
with her for a while, but we didn’t stay up too late. During the cab ride,
Yaping and I had concocted a plan for tomorrow. We would awake early enough to
see the flag-raising ceremony at sunrise in Tiananmen Square, and then try the
Mao Mausoleum again. Day 6 - WednesdayNow when I say “early,” I mean early. The next morning, we were out of bed, showered, and in a cab by 4:30am. And even though we arrived 15 minutes before the 5am sunrise, there was already a huge crowd. Poor Yaping couldn’t find a spot where she could see over the heads of her countrymen. I didn’t have much of a problem. When the Chinese soldiers came marching out of the Forbidden City gate and across the Emperor Road, I lifted Yaping up a few times so she could get a good view. Since she is petite, lifting her was no problem. But when I offered to let her sit on my shoulders, she refused claiming she was “way too heavy and she would break my back.” Lifting her up every once in a while was all she allowed. The ceremony was very impressive and you could understand why Yaping swelled with patriotism – even though she only caught a few glimpses of the whole procession. The soldiers were drilled to march at precisely 108 paces per minute, 75 cm per pace. And China’s national anthem blared from loudspeakers positioned at every corner of the square. Yaping looked around and told me she was quite sure I was the only foreigner at the ceremony. But the procedure took less than 15 minutes. Yaping, still bitter about not getting a good view, grumpily suggested that we should hurry across the square to Mao’s Mausoleum because there would “probably be too many people there already too.” And sure enough, even though the Mausoleum wouldn’t be opening for two hours, there actually were a lot of people already in line. Though there was no pushing or shoving in this line, at one point there was weird, manic confusion when a soldier had to reposition the line to accommodate for its growing number. Apparently, people desperately feared losing their spots. When the line had to shift 50 feet to the right, instead of moving in a calm and orderly fashion, they all broke into a manic sprint to where they needed to be. And then, there was more confusion because they had moved too far to the right. So there was another manic sprint about 25 feet to the left. To me the whole manic running was quite funny, but staying in line at Mao’s Mausoleum was serious business for the Chinese. And this is understandable, considering that the day before there had been over 50,000 visitors to the Mausoleum. There is no question that the Chinese hold a deep reverence for Mao, especially when confronted with the physical presence of the man. When it was time to enter the Mausoleum, we were reminded to take off our hats, dress tidily, and there was to be no more speaking. Flowers were for sale and practically everyone in line bought one to place at Mao’s memorial, including Yaping. Once inside, sure enough, Mao’s actual body could be seen under a glass case. A red shroud, bearing the hammer and sickle of communism, covered his body up to his chin. The foundation of the glass case, the casket itself, also bore the hammer and sickle. Most of the room was red and the lighting was very solemn. People were shuffled through the room at a steady pace, and once out of the Mausoleum, there were booths selling Mao memorabilia. Seeing the Chinese pay respect to Mao left a profound effect on me. Many had come from all over China to Beijing during their May holiday just to be in the presence of Mao. It became quite understandable why the Chinese would correct anyone that mistakenly saw less than 70% greatness in their former leader. Having finally seen Mao’s Mausoleum, there was only one more place that we needed to see in Beijing: the Summer Palace.
PART VI - Good Bye to Beijing Here’s the last part of the six part series on my trip to Beijing. Don’t worry - I don’t get all sappy at the end.
And now we’ve reached the point in my Beijing journal where I describe the worst bus ride ever. First, a little background information: it was our fifth day in Beijing - we would be leaving the next day - and we had finally reached the very last destination on our “must-see” list: the Summer Palace. Both Yaping and I had been awake since 4am. It was Tuesday at 10am and we had already covered a lot of territory that morning - we had seen the flag-raising ceremony in Tiananmen Square, and we had stood in line for two hours at the Mao Mausoleum. After going through the Mao Mausoleum, I confessed to Yaping that I had the early symptoms of a cold - not that this wasn’t already obvious by my sniffling and coughing. (And by the way, in Beijing the week before there had been a few new cases of SARS, so let me just say that a cold in Beijing can be more stress- inducing than a cold in the U.S.) Most importantly, we were both in need of a nap. So at this point, I was already in such a frame of mind that when Yaping asked whether we should nap first or go to the Summer Palace, my cheery response was, “let’s get the Summer Palace over with.” So we boarded bus 8 to the Summer Palace. Our destination was quite a ways from Tiananmen Square, but it would be cheaper than a taxi – did I mention our funds were getting a bit low by this point? The bus was already extremely crowded; the only place for me to stand was on the wheel-well at the front of the bus. There wasn’t enough headroom for me to stand straight; I had to crouch slightly, bowing my head down until my chin rested on my chest. With all the optimism she could muster, Yaping said that most of the people were probably commuting to their jobs and they would be getting off soon. Well, it turned not a single person got off; instead, more people got on, making the bus even more crowded. Plus, the ride was longer than expected – by the time the ride was over, I would be standing in my crouched position on that overcrowded bus for more than one hour. Now for some more background information: On most Chinese buses, there is not only the driver, but also a “ticket-seller.” In my opinion, some convenience and efficiency is lost when the riders don’t just pay when they board the bus. First of all, the ticket seller tends to take up space. On a lot of these over-crowded buses, that little bit of extra space could make things just a bit less cramped. And not only do ticket sellers take up space, but usually they have to push, bump, and squeeze their way through the crowded aisle to get money from the new arrivals. And I’ve been on a few buses where the ticket seller wasn’t necessarily the slenderest passenger on the bus. Sometimes the buses are so crowded that the only way for the ticket seller to navigate between the front and back of the bus is by waiting until the bus stops, then hopping out one door and hopping in the other door. Also, the driver and the ticket seller constantly have to communicate to each other, and since a moving bus is already a noisy location, their communication mainly consists of screaming and yelling. So as I am riding bus 8, not only am I getting a crick in my neck, but my ears are ringing from the ticket seller screaming directives at the driver. But the worst aspect of riding buses, which I know isn’t exclusive to Chinese public transportation, is angry bus drivers. In my experience with the angry bus drivers of China, I’ve noticed that what usually triggers their rancor is a pedestrian venturing onto a crosswalk. And once the anger sets, get ready for a bumpy ride. Brakes are slammed dramatically, horns are blared, and pedestrians are screamed at. Every stop, start, and turn is a little more abrupt than necessary. On bus 8, not even halfway to the Summer Palace, the bus almost collided with a biker using the crosswalk. The brakes were slammed, and people and belongings were propelled to the front of the bus. In a voice that would have drowned the clang of a steelwork, the bus driver screamed at the cyclist, probably warning him to never use a crosswalk for crossing the street. When we continued our journey, sure enough, every stop, start, and turn was a little more abrupt than necessary. When we finally arrived at the Summer Palace, everyone eagerly piled out of the bus. As soon as the bus driver parked and cut off the engine, he promptly lit a cigarette. Though I was a bit bitter after the bus ride, it all soon melted away as I strolled past some of the most beautiful scenery I’ve seen in China. Before the 20th century, the Summer Palace was the royal garden and the summer residence for several emperors. Nowadays, it’s more of a summer park with lots of wooded trails, picnic spots, and a large lake full of motorboats, rowboats, and paddleboats. But it retains much of its earlier majesty with pagodas, elaborate bridges, and, rather oddly, a large stone boat. The boat, carved out of marble, was the primary location for many emperors’ banquets - perhaps to give the illusion of dining on a cruise, on a boat that couldn’t possibly float. Yaping and I checked out the Benevolence and Longevity Pagoda, and we also lunched in a stone garden with a good view of Beijing, but most of our time was spent strolling leisurely along the lakeside. We gazed around and said little. It was one of the most relaxing days of our trip. By mid-afternoon is was time for our nap, so we found the exit, hailed a cab, and were back in the condo by 4pm. I woke from my nap around 6pm and found Yaping and Zhang Bei already planning our evening in Beijing. Believe it or not, Yaping was willing to trust my China guidebook with a restaurant recommendation. The restaurant served Sichuan and was popular among tourists because on certain nights Peking opera and acrobats performed on a stage. So Yaping, Zhang Bei, and I took a cab to the restaurant and luckily found a table near the stage. We were first entertained by acrobats. The Chinese acrobats are famous for their impressive dexterity and agility – if you’ve seen the movie “Ocean’s Eleven,” and remember the scene with George Clooney and Brad Pitt watching Chinese acrobats, then you know what I’m talking about. Then, after the acrobats, some guy came out and started balancing things on a wooden stick that he held in his mouth. His finale was walking among the diners and balancing their food on his stick; he balanced bottles of beer, bowls of noodles, and pu pu platters. And then there was a magician. Her tricks were a bit run of the mill though; they were the kinds of tricks you’ve seen dozens of times before, like pouring water into a newspaper and scarves magically tying themselves together. Her last trick, however, blew Yaping’s mind. The magician had some audience members hold the four corners of what looked like a bed sheet, and then poured uncooked rice on the sheet. After rubbing the rice into the sheet with her hand, she magically produced “cooked rice” – it was actually puffed rice like the kind you get in cereals like Smacks or Super Golden Crisp. When the magician offered the puffed rice to the audience to sample, Yaping and Zhang Bei, wide-eyed and awestruck, were eager to try some. Upon sampling the rice, Yaping looked me straight in my eye, and with utter seriousness said, “THIS is MAGIC!” Once the performances were over, Yaping was willing to admit that my Chinese guidebook could actually be trusted in recommending a restaurant. Oh, and the food was pretty good, too. Then we went back to the condo and because of our messed up sleeping schedule, I couldn’t fall asleep until well after midnight. But I spent my waking hours in my alcove and read the last few chapters of my book. We really didn’t have any plans for Thursday. We would be boarding a train back to Shanghai at 7pm that night. But until then, the day was wide open. I searched every nook and cranny of the Beijing chapter of my guidebook, but the only recommended place we hadn’t visited yet was a “hutong.” Hutongs were the oldest boroughs of Beijing, early settlements that remained distinctively Chinese while the rest of Beijing became more modernized. The hutongs are mostly known for selling antiques. I’m not much of an antique enthusiast but it seemed like a pretty low-maintenance and relaxing way to spend our day. So by mid-morning, we were strolling the crumbling cobblestone streets of the hutong closest to the condo. Vendors were selling everything from Qing Dynasty jade jewelry to Red Guard hats and badges. One old gentleman was selling distinctive and unusual pets – I saw a giant cricket, another insect that looked like scarab beetle. It being my last day in Beijing, I bought a few souvenirs. I bought a refrigerator magnet with a depiction of the Badaling section of the Great Wall. Not only was it a tacky reminder of one of my Beijing highlights, but it was also functional since it had a nifty thermometer along the side of the Wall where the Mongols attacked. And in a little store outside of the hutong, I bought possibly the quirkiest Beijing souvenir ever: my Mao’s Little Red Book lighter. For those who don’t know, Mao’s Little Red Book is a collection of his quotes that became very popular during the Cultural Revolution. Mao’s Red Guards usually carried his little red book with them and often brandished the books to show their allegiance to Mao. Many of Mao’s quotes within his little red book established the goals and tenets of Chinese communism. As for the souvenir being a lighter - I am not a smoker, and for the most part, I’m not one to start fires – I just found it interesting that a souvenir of this nature could be sold in Beijing. Maybe I am looking a little too deep, but to me there is some symbolic irony in a Little Red Book lighter. And it’s an irony that should be troubling to the people of Beijing. Think about it: for many Chinese communists, this book could comparable to the U. S. Constitution in importance, yet when you open the cover of the book/lighter, you see a flame sprout from its first page. So basically, every time you want to use the lighter, it’s almost like you are doing a little book burning of Mao’s Little Red Book. After the hutong and the souvenir buying spree, it was time for our last dinner in a Beijing restaurant. Ever since the dinner with Yaping’s friend Gloria on our first day in Beijing, I had been gloating about Northern Chinese food. Maybe to bring closure to our Beijing trip, but most likely to shut me up, Yaping suggested we eat at restaurant that served Northern food. We decided to go to a place that served Uyghur food. Uyghur food is a Northern Chinese food that many would consider more Arabic than Chinese. Many Americans don’t realize that China borders on Arab countries. When most Americans think of China’s neighbors, they think of Japan, North and South Korea, and the countries of Southeast Asia. But in the Northwest, China borders Afghanistan, and almost borders Pakistan. So in the Northwest of China, there is a strong Arabic influence; and the Uyghur are a mostly Muslim minority of that area. And of all the Chinese food I have sampled in China, Uygher food is my favorite; the main reason being that most of the dishes are a hearty combination of meat and potatoes. And in my opinion, when it comes to food, you can never go wrong with meat and potatoes. So after gorging myself on Northern food, we sped back to the condo to prepare for the return trip. You could tell that Zhang Bei was a bit melancholy about our departure. She kept offering us food and taking pictures of us. She had Yaping and I pose in the alcove of every room. I have to admit I got bit melancholy myself knowing that I would no longer be able to adjourn to my alcove. While we were packing, Xiaoming called from his work. He first said “good-bye” to Yaping, and then he asked if I could get on the phone. I was worried that after calling him “aunty” and gulping down his best liquor, he wouldn’t be melancholy about my departure at all. But when I picked up the receiver, I was surprised to hear him speak English. According to Yaping, he speaks very little English. He spoke very slowly and very carefully. And he only said five words: “I…hope…you…come…again.” By 6pm, we were ready to go. Zhang Bei insisted on accompanying us all the way to the departure gate. I asked Yaping, “Would it be OK if I hugged Zhang Bei good-bye?” After a long, ruminative pause, and a few “hmms,” she gave a slow, deliberate nod indicating “yes.” I was surprised by the long meditation my question required – it was as if we were standing over a ticking bomb and I had asked her if we should cut the red wire or the green wire. I found out later that, according to Yaping, it is not common for Chinese people to hug. So after a quick cab-ride, we arrived at the train terminal. It was the same terminal where, only six days ago, I had seen the gold-bedecked foreigner and the Chinese boy doing his business in a puddle. I remembered how tired I had been that morning after riding in the soft sleeper compartment with the perpetually whining and crying 2-year old. As we walked through the terminal, I prayed we wouldn’t be sharing our soft sleeper with another kid. At the departure gate, we said our “thank yous” and “good-byes.” I hugged Zhang Bei in the least offensive way possible - with light, quick taps on her shoulders. When we found our compartment, we were happy to find a middle-aged married couple occupying the two bottom bunks. Though the married couple went to sleep at a decent hour, it wasn’t until after they had a few heated spats about various trifles. Yaping, always the translator, said they were arguing bitterly about things like whether the wife liked yogurt or not. Right at 7pm, the train lumbered forward, and from my bunk I could see the concrete platform slowly stream past the window. I had half a notion to hop down from my bunk to watch Beijing disappear into the distance. But I didn’t budge - I was either too lazy or too tired. Also, I rationalized that the Beijing I’d see from the train station wouldn’t be the same Beijing I had gotten to know during my visit. Soon after the married couple’s last spat around 9pm, I let the rumble of the train lull me to sleep. The next morning, I awoke to a Chinese rap song. As we gathered our belongings, I had to comment to Yaping that I had never heard a Chinese rap song before – it sounded like a Chinese Eminem. I suggested to Yaping that, before parting ways, we should grab a quick breakfast at my favorite café, the Rendezvous Café, not far from the train station. After a very American breakfast of pancakes and sausages, I walked Yaping to a crosswalk to bid her farewell. We talked about how we would be back in school and teaching classes in a few days, and how much preparation we needed until then. We agreed we wouldn’t have time to see each other until after our first class - three days away. I told how it would be strange to not have her around for three days. Finally, I said “thank you,” hugged her, and said “good-bye.” And then walked home to my alcove-less apartment.
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