After a long and weary trip, we arrived in the shiny new Beijing airport which was built for the Olympics.Impressive.
Kristin, my step-sister who previously had lived in Beijing, decided we should try getting to our hotel via the new subway line, also built for the Olympics.We piled our bags into the train car and began a journey into...hell.
Okay, an exaggeration.It was hot, but everything was clean and the English lettering of the Chinese words were clearly written, if you had a clue where you were going, which I most definitely did not.I am generally baffled by subways, anyway.
We lugged our suitcases down stairs and onto connecting trains, cramming them and ourselves through narrow turnstiles and into the crowded subway cars.We were both getting a bit stressed, having been awake in a cramped plane many more hours than prescribed for humans.
As I was making my way slowly down a set of stairs, bump-dragging my heavy suitcase behind me, I felt it abruptly go weightless, though the handle still rested in my grasp. Looking over my shoulder, I realized a man had lifted it and was taking most of the weight.He just smiled and nodded and set it down for me at the bottom on the stairs.I thanked him in English and attempted the Chinese.He smiled again, probably at my awful pronunciation (hey, what do you expect of an Alabama girl in Beijing?) This happened twice more, once with two teenage girls pitching in unasked.At the final, daunting set of stairs leading up en route to our Temple of Heaven (Holiday Inn) hotel, Kristen snagged a couple of young men who had just begin their asen ahead of us.Obediently and kindly, they complied with her request.
I was moved by the kindness to strangers in a strange land.
October 4, 2008
Today, after a leisurely breakfast with Kristin at the hotel, where everything is served at one buffet--traditional Chinese breakfast (rice gruels), American eggs, bacon, oatmeal (think milk with a few pieces of uncooked oatmeal floating around), pastries, fruit, noodles and vegetables, meatloaf and fungi--we went to the “Dirt” Market, a lively hodgepodge of outdoor “stuff.”Fortunately, there was little hawking, (minus the annoying people selling tote bags). If a vender managed to catch your eye, he/she waved gracefully at the display of items, inviting your consideration.Imagine a giant flea market with everything from jade statues, antiques (real and fake) birdcages, armour, chinaware, heaps of pearls (pink, black, and dyed multicolors), jewelry, clothes, knick-nacks, etc. Some had storefronts, some tables, some sat on a mat.
Beijing "Dirt" Market
"Dirt" Market vendors
The custom of bargaining for everything is so pervasive that you can hardly get away with saying “no,” because it is taken as a ploy in the negotiation transaction process.As we wandered the aisles, we were not harassed, though alert sellers watched for signs of interest.Touching an item signaled the seller to approach.I should have made a decision before touching anything, because the bargaining begins at that touch.First-asking-price is never the one to go with, as it is inflated.I watched with respect as Kristin worked this system.At the announcement of the price, she would either laugh or shake her head sadly and look down. Another price would be offered on a calculator. If Kristin was adamant, the calculator was often extended to her to name her price.This interaction was a lengthy process, going back and forth.Once we had gotten into it, there was no getting away.If we started walking off, we were followed with cheaper offers.The only cure was to walk fast, out of sight and shouting distance.
At the market’s edge, bowl caught my eye, and impulsively (still not having learned my lesson) I went over and picked it up.It was a sculpted bronze phoenix surrounded by deep green.As soon as my fingers touched it, a man approached and began praising the piece, which he claimed was very old (as later related by Kristin).She asked the price—500 Yuen ($73). Based on what I had paid for other things, I thought this was way too much, so I shook my head and started to move away...but the game had begun.The fish was on the hook, so the seller was not about to let us get away and followed us.Wait!This was not junk like some of the others venders sold, but a really nice piece.His head cocked sincerely to the side, he offered it for our inspection.Couldn’t we feel how heavy it was?The quality of the carving?
Kristin got him down to 300 Y.I noticed other people were watching us.I think hearing Chinese coming out of Kristin’s mouth was a novelty.I don’t think every negotiation attracted this kind of interest. Kristin shook her head sadly several times and the price began to lower incrementally.After several attempts to move away failed, Kristin asked my bottom line.I said 150.She explained that I was her tight older sister and had little money. This delighted our salesman who laughed in appreciation and offered 180.By this time, I was totally charmed by this man and his family who crowded closer and closer but not spoken, wanting to follow every detail of the negotiation.This was business, but something more--a cultural exchange. Because of Kristin’s fluency and skill in negotiation, we were dancing on their turf, honoring their custom. The spectators stepped in closer, intent as any theater crowd on the action. When I nodded my head at 180 Yuan ($26), smiles broadened all around.We were both winners, although who knows if that was anything in the vicinity of the plate’s real worth. At Kristin’s request a receipt was carefully written on a piece of notepaper, a procedure that took almost as long as the negotiation and included the man’s phone number. When I asked him if the people who had watched the “event” were his family, he smiled and nodded, however, I have learned that “family” is a loose term and could include anyone he knows.He did snag his young son, presenting him to us.He beamed with pride as Kristin took a picture of us all.
Conclusion of plate negotiations
I am glad I have the plate, but what I take home will be more--a memory and a piece of China. ***
Kristin took me to dinner “downtown” (everything is downtown here) at a place in a huge mall.The restaurant was called “Southern Beauty.”Go figure. The decor was interesting: a pond with goldfish curved along the wall; the path to the bathroom was lit from within (a common decoration I've noted. The columns along our hotel wall are also lit.) Delicacies included tripe soup, which I understand to be pig intestines.Though this is also a Deep South cultural item, it is too deep for me… at least at the moment.
As we studied the menu, which thankfully included English and pictures, I noticed the exact same dish (in the English version at least) in two places with different prices.When Kristin asked about it, our waitress looked confused, and then bent over to explain. Her efforts brought two other servers to our table (labor is cheap here).Another stopped to listen. I think they are fascinated by Chinese coming out of auburn-headed Kristin’s mouth. Ten minutes later, we learned--not the difference in the dishes (our question)--but why there was a difference:It seems a cook for a famous general who was feeling ill went to market to buy ingredients for his general’s favorite dish to try and reclaim his appetite, but the cook couldn’t find everything he needed, so he substituted ginger for something and thus was born the different dish (that kept the same name, as it was properly a variation).
I ordered the original and it was delicious. *** Yesterday was the Great Wall and a trip to the Sacred Way, a corridor lined with huge stone animals (which included elephants, camels, generals of different ranks, and mythical-compost creatures—-head of lion, tail of dragon, feet of cow, etc.--called the “sons of the dragons”).At the emperors’ funerals, the pall bearers bore them along this Sacred Way to their tombs.It is bad luck to walk down the Way's center or take “too many” (?) photos along the Sacred Way because it will attract ghosts into your camera, who will then accompany you home.Likewise, it is not good to step on a lintel at a gate because a ghost may rest on your shoulders.I think perhaps ghosts can’t cross the lintels (raised bars along the base of an entrance), but if you stand on one, the ghost can rest on your shoulders and cross over with you. I found it difficult to write about the trip to the Great Wall of China.For now, I will say the Wall was... ...a magnificent mountain vista; a thrill to stand on; exhausting to climb; awesome to contemplate in its entirety, and terrible to consider its cost in blood.
The Great Wall of China with me on it
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
Today was my first opportunity to be on my own without Kristin or a guide. During the day, Kristin was busy shopping for her online store (www.chinafinds.com where one can get good deals -- see above!:-) I was setting off for the Temple of Heaven, which turned out to be a straight shot from the street in front of our hotel.I, of course, did not go that way...
Having mastered the compass directions, I confidently headed out the wrong way.Well, perhaps not wrong, as you could get there that way…eventually.My no-way-to-get-lost path came to an abrupt end at a cul de sac. Armed with my map, I smiled and asked for help.All I can say is “hello,” “please” and “thank you” in Chinese.These words with a smile and a wave of the map made up for my terrible pronunciation of my destination and sent me up a muddy, dingy alley behind a tenement house.I made a wide berth around a scraggly kitten that was playing with a plastic bag.Kristin had warned that rabies was a chief cause of death in China, and this poor creature, perhaps the size of my foot, loomed as large and daunting as the Sons of the Dragon on the Sacred Way.
If this alley had been in a U.S. inner city, I would have had more than the cat to be wary of, but the people I appealed to were very nice and waved me along in the right direction, which seemed like an endless alley to me.Finally, however, I descended some stone stairs and was on the road I should have started on. The Temple of Heaven is beautiful.It is actually a series of buildings that were built at a time when the people worshiped their ancestors and heavenly bodies with animal sacrifices.The emperor played his part in the intricate ceremonies to insure heaven’s grace and the earth’s bounty—a time-worn custom that has been early humanity’s pattern throughout history. I took lots of pictures and tried to imagine the majestically clothed emperor and his attendants, the priests, the burning incense, the music and the smoke from the burn offerings.Who is to say that the holy cannot be touched in this way? But remaining solemn and contemplative was difficult with the chattering crowds (mostly Chinese), a flock of eager elders in bright red ball caps and gamboling children.These people love their children.This was evident my first day on the subway from the airport.Children are cherished.Children evoke joy in their parents.Children are happy.I have yet to see a Chinese child cry, though I’m sure it happens.In the less affluent neighborhood (where we are)young children go bottomless if the weather permits and do their “business” outside.Babies are held and encouraged by a soft whistling noise, which they learn to associate with that function. In the U.S., potty training a child to go somewhere is often fraught with tension and anxiety, but this method (although startling to see) takes the stress out of the process.The bathroom is wherever the child is.Kristin tells me that in the better-off neighborhoods, this is not done anymore and there are no bare bottoms running around. In this neighborhood, I was the only foreigner visible.I got many stony looks as I passed, but everyone helped me when I asked, and smiling at a child instantly melted the stranger-barrier.Taking a picture of the child delights them and they are eager to see the photo on the camera. After the Temple excursion I walked in the surrounding park, relieved to be away from the crowds for a bit.The straight cedars grew upright in attention, planted in perfect, straight lines, as though to do otherwise would fail to show proper respect for the emperor. (Along the roads, the Chinese have mirrored this landscaping with the newly planted trees in precise rows.)
My path took me into a lovely rose garden where I saw an old woman in a wheel chair surrounded by younger women, perhaps her daughters or nieces.They had stopped to sit on the edge of a fountain and one of the women was cutting a piece of apple.Their movements were unpretentious yet graceful, communicating love, respect, and the peace of being there in that moment.I don’t know how to explain what I saw, in particular, in the old woman--a depth of character in the carved lines of her face, the simple, profound way she ate the apple slice, perhaps a glimpse of what Michelangelo saw in the Mona Lisa. At that moment, I wanted to be a painter, instead of a writer.
I tried to take a picture without attracting their notice, hoping to capture something of this mystery.But the old woman’s eyes were too sharp. She spied me and pointed, speaking to her family in excited tones.Worried that I might have offended her, I approached and showed her the picture on the camera screen.She laughed and showed it to her family.Then she looked up at me, her eyes smiling as much as her mouth, amused and delighted that I wanted to take a picture of her, perhaps that I wanted to take her image home with me. We did not need to know each other’s language to understand that we were exchanging unexpected gifts: the pleasure and wonderment of finding that we were valued in an unexpected way.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008 First day to take the subway by myself.I did well!Actually got off at the right place and everything.(Can you tell I was proud of myself?)
The subway exits between Tiannamen Square and the Forbidden Palace.I was accosted by an art student who offered his servies as a tour guide.I didn’t want a tour guide, but he refused to leave me and walked beside me, chatting away.He introduced himself as Bill and claimed to have studied calligraphy at the School of Art for twenty years, and that he took part in the opening ceremonies of the Olympics. Bill dragged me over to a building where the students were selling their art to raise money for his school. I had read about this show being here and had wanted to catch it. This was the last day. The art was beautiful, and I bought several pieces, including some of Bill’s own work, which he was very eager to have travel to America.His teacher took a picture of us (that magic social -bonding instrument in China!) and he gave me his email to send him the photo.I made him sign the backs of his paintings...just in case.
Then I turned to the imposing walls of the Forbidden City.Like the Great Wall, it is difficult to write about.The scope is amazing.I wandered the complex and took a zillion photos.Everything was beautiful and overwhelming.Standing in the massive first courtyard, (about two football fields?) and looking up at the walls, I couldn’t help thinking of the emperor’s bride, allowed to pass through the central gate only on the day of her wedding and otherwise, not allowed out of the grounds (except when the emperor’s entourage moved to the Summer Palace).Despite its extravagance and grandeur, this must have been a prison to her.I can’t say she was unhappy, but I can say, despite my desire to be a queen of something, that I would have been.
Forbidden City (first courtyard)
Interior room
I visited my little hole-in-the-wall beauty shop for a wonderful foot rub. I found it the day I visited the Temple of Heaven, a trip I made afoot.By the time I was approaching the hotel, my feet ached, and I was fussing silently at my friend, Chuck, who promised that great foot massage places were all over Beijing.I was making up the email I planned to send him, something of real literary merit like: Dear Chuck, Where the hell are those foot massage places? Grumbling to myself, I turned the corner and there, a stone’s throw from our hotel, was a tiny place with “Foot Massages” printed on the door.Jackpot!
Back to yesterday.I wasn’t feeling that great and decided I deserved a little pampering (at 50 Q or $7.37). My masseuse, (why are all Oriental young girls slender and graceful?It seems to be their birthright.In fact, I have not seen a fat Chinese.) Anyway, my masseuse brought a bowl of herbal hot water for me to soak my aching feet in (and, bless her, offered some pills for my sinuses, which I didn’t take, of course.Kristin would have axe-murdered me, and I was already popping antihistamine and decongestants.)The massage was wonderful.Despite the somewhat dingy surroundings, I was in the Temple of Heaven.
Friday Oct 10, 2008
I postponed my plans yesterday to visit the Summer Palace, because the weather was not good and I had a full blown cold.Kirstin also was stricken.We went to several places before we found a clinic that could reproduce the sinus medicine I had made a special point to purchase for the trip and thought I had packed.A large package of travel tissues was also on our list.
That night we decided to eat in the hotel.The night before we had gone to a “very famous” place that was “hot and noisy,” (a Chinese saying that means it is a “happening” place).It was indeed, three floors of “hot and noisy.”The menu was a small book, and it took us a while to determine what to order. I was still not ready for Pig Blood Soup, Hairy Crab, or Stinking Bean Curd, but settled on eggplant stuffed with pork and more of the wonderful sautéed green beans that Kristin had introduced me to at the Southern Beauty Restaurant.
So, that night, because of our sniffles, we decided to repeat our lovely dinner of two nights ago (when we had the entire restaurant and staff of six to ourselves—-definitely not “hot and noisy,”-- but very enjoyable.)Reading the menu is an entertainment unto itself.We especially delighted in the offering of “Braised Towel Gourd With.”So far we haven’t tried that, but after much conversation, Kristin managed to determine that we were talking about some kind of gourd (squash?)with olives.I’m not sure how the “towel” got in there and why the olives got left out, but whatever.I haven’t seen olives on a menu here either, but that is what our waiter said.He was very nice (as they all are) and couldn’t help notice that I had a growing pile of tissue paper and a red nose.He recommended an ancient Chinese medicine, which he insisted was Coke with garlic.Aside from the thought of trying to drink such a mixture, I declined on grounds that caffeine that late at night would keep me awake.I promised to try it in the morning. Next morning (today) I woke up feeling somewhere between crappy and corpselike. I struggled into the shower and took all my medicine, determined to see the Summer Palace.The day was glorious.At breakfast, which I did not feel like eating, Kristin asked for the Coke remedy for me.Once again, Kristin’s question gathered a crowd to try and figure out what she was saying. Chinese is a language of tones.The same word intonated differently can mean different things. In addition to appreciating the wonder of her speaking Chinese, I got the sense that this flocking behavior represents an ingrained cultural response to tackle problems as a group.Although the original person on the scene is the main communicator, if he/she runs into an unknown word or concept, perhaps someone else might know it or have an idea to contribute.In America, having two or three people hanging over your shoulder while you are trying to figure something out might be annoying or even insulting but here, it is commonplace.I wonder if this spirit of cooperation is one of the secrets to China’s phenomenal progress?Perhaps there is a lesson here for us. Thanks to the group effort, it was clarified that the concoction was Coke and ginger, not garlic.Ah, what’s in a name?
Plenty. As I was playing around with the scrambled eggs Mother Kristin was trying to get me to eat(which tasted like paper), a server set before me a steaming cup of what looked like coffee.The smell, however, was unmistakably Coke, and there was a nest of slivered fresh ginger at the bottom.I added a lemon and it wasn’t too bad, in fact, I felt better after I finished it. Perhaps it was just psychological or my medicine happened to kick in, but I felt like I could tackle the Summer Palace.
Summer Palace was my favorite spot so far.Like the Forbidden City, it is a maze of beautiful buildings with exquisite colors painted over doorways and rich, ornate furnishings.One courtyard leads out to a jade lake framed in willow trees.I sat at the lake’s edge for a long time, soaking up the sunshine and fresh air.If I were the emperor’s queen or consort, I would not mind this prison nearly as much as the Forbidden City.
Lake at the Summer Palace
Saturday, Oct 11, 2008
Today I went to the Olympic park.It was a long, hot subway ride. Everyone wears Fall clothing, including jackets and boots and don’t seem to be bothered by the stifling heat.Kristin says they dress by the calendar, not the weather.My Capri pants and sandals got a lot of surreptitious looks.I still have not seen another foreigner on the subway.I spotted wavy auburn hair on a girl with her back to me and was just about to speak to her, when she turned, and I saw it was a Chinese girl.She had either been through a lot in the beauty parlor or it was a wig.
The park itself was lovely.Wide open spaces, spectacular buildings, a nice breeze.The broad main path led north and south, as do all the major roads here (a Feng Sui thing), so I thought I could not possibly get lost.
Wrong.
Somehow I misplaced an entire subway entrance.I also mispronounced the word for subway so badly that nobody understood me.A guy from Colorado understood me, but didn’t know where the subway entrance was.I walked with him a ways, anyway, just grateful to hear English.Finally, it dawned on me to show the map with the subway trains and then I got help.To my chagrin, I was all of 40 feet from the entrance.
Birdnest Stadium
Sunset thru Aquatics bldg
That night, we ate out with a friend of Kristin’s husband whose name was Mike. He took us to the same “very famous” restaurant we had been to a few nights ago. (In all of Beijing, he picks that one!) It was still “hot and noisy.”Even more so, because we sat downstairs and there was an auction going on onto of the general clamor.
Mike ordered food for us, and I ate odd looking things that tasted pretty good, considering my cold makes everything taste the same.Some chicken soup hit the spot, however, even though it had black chicken in it. ??
When we pulled up to the restaurant, a person who looked like a valet parker approached the car.I was expected him to offer to park the car or at least give Mike an idea where he could park, but he jumped into the car with us, directing Mike to a parking lot a couple of blocks away.Then he got out and walked back to the restaurant. I guess.We never saw him again. Mike thought it odd that people in the U.S. would trust our car to someone else to park.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Went to Jingshan Park, which is just north of the Forbidden City. I climbed “Green Hill,” which used to be an Imperial Garden spot, to a lovely view of the Forbidden City.The climb was made with natural stones without much consideration to the human scale and not easy.I was thinking about taking a break when I looked up and saw a very old, hunched-over woman ahead of me, climbing steadily with only a hand from the young man accompanying her.The Chinese elderly are made of stern stuff.
Corner of Forbidden City from top of Green Hill in Jingshai Park
The lower section of the Park was definitely a “happening place”—the “Beijing Happiness Mouth Organ Band” was making a merry tune.Across the path, a large group of line dancers moved in sync with each other to their own beat.Deeper into the park, I came upon a group of young students drawing gladioli, a small choral group, and a story teller relating an amusing tale or possibly a standup comedian, hard to tell which. I stopped to watch an elderly woman practicing Tai Chi.Imagine how a dolphin might move if it had hands and feet.Imagine the air molded by an artist’s hands into soft curves and precise angles.Imagine a dance that celebrates the body’s flexibility and its power.
It was a perfect way to spend my last day in China.
Tai Chi - Jingshai Park
Kristin and I fly home tomorrow morning.I’m trying to fit all my clothes in with the stuff I’ve bought!It’s been a great experience and so much richer because of Kristin’s knowledge of the language and insights.Not to mention the opportunity to get to know my new sister and share an adventure with her.
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See my Photo Album on my FaceBook for more photos!
