I want to Ride my Bicycle

As a child I can still remember Social Studies classes about China, and the ubiquitous idea that everyone in Beijing rides a bicycle, and there are few cars to get in the way. But as I travel through Beijing, it seems to be the opposite—bicyclists do weave between cars, buses and vans, but they seem to be the minority, while the honking of car horns fills the air and the machines dominate the streets. According to my tour guide, even such an idea as Beijing=Bicycles is outdated 10 years out. It’s a surprising idea, that the entire face of a country so to speak can change so rapidly, but as I’ve learned, in China it would seem many things are possible.

Still, we began our 3^rd day in Beijing with a bicycle ride, though we were protected from a sudden rain storm by tarp. We embarked on one of China’s numerous pedicabs to travel to a Hutong neighborhood nearby Tianamen Square, but our first stop was the famous Beijing Drum Tower. Beijing’s ancient atmosphere was once punctuated, every 2 hours, by a magnificent drum beat to help people keep appointments. As our tour guide said, “At one time, there are no clocks, no watches, no way to tell time. So we depend on the Drum Tower to know what time it is, and to make sure we are never late!” There are still individuals who beat these iconic drums, and we had rushed across several side streets in an attempt to catch them: it was quite an impressive show, and combined with the view of the Beijing skyline from the top of the tower, something I would highly recommend!

We strolled into the Hutong neighborhood, with our guide offering tidbits along the way—it was difficult to listen though, as we passed by beautiful shops selling hand-painted tea sets, leather bound journals, and numerous other wares! The Hutong neighborhoods are very traditional, with many being slowly updated for the new face of China. The government has torn many of them down to put up cloud piercing high-rises, but there are still a number of people living in the Hutongs. Older Chinese do not always care for these buildings, as the Chinese belief is that a human’s feet are like the roots of a tree: they should touch the door each day so that they can thrive, grow and change. This idea also speaks to the fact that Chinese individuals, though they may travel, often live their entire lives in the same town or city they were born in—something that surprises many of us in America! Still, both these ideas, and the fact that they are changing as buildings get higher and young people move further away speaks to a number of clashes across China between old and new—just another thing that makes the country what it is.

As for the neighborhood, Hutong is a word that describes the narrow alleys formed by these neighborhoods, and you can tell what type of person once lived in each home based on several factors—the characters on the door, the stone decoration at each home’s threshold. China’s thresholds are iconic—each one seems to frustrate travelers as there is a sizable lip to each door. These come from ancient Chinese beliefs about spirits and zombies—spirits are said to have no feet, but merely to glide along the ground. If there is a lip to the door, the ghost cannot enter a home and torment its inhabitants. As for zombies, they are said to be faceless bodies risen from the grave, that attach together in long lines with each one holding onto the shoulders of the creature in front of it. These faceless, shambling horrors are said to only be able to move by jumping in a line, so the lip of the door trips them up and prevents them from entering the home—it’s considered bad luck to step on one as you walk into a home, but I can’t imagine what people might think if you trip over one!

 

We visited a resident of the Hutong neighborhood, Madame Yuan. She welcomed us graciously into her home and told us about her life there: she lived in the rooms surrounding the courtyard with 3 generations of her family, and both she and her husband were retired. She claimed that it was even more of an honor now to live in the Hutong, because so many had been knocked down, and that she hoped she could be there for a long time yet. Her son, she said, was an artist (a painter), and her husband had inherited the art and business of silk paper cutting, in which silk paper is cut and layered to form beautiful prints. Both of their pieces were particularly beautiful, and I purchased one of her husbands silk-paper cuts as a souvenier of both the trip and the Hutong neighborhood. But before we left, I had to ask—what did the red chili peppers she had hanging by the door mean? Madam Yuan, surprised I didn’t know, told me that they represented longevity, luck, and prosperity. I was amazed to find that the chili pepper, an iconic symbol for Italians for the same reasons as far as I know, was also here in China! It always amazes me how these things happen.

We caught a ride with our pedicab drivers (Dan and I were quite glad that ours recognized us!), and were on our way to the Temple of Heaven, famous sight where ancient Chinese emperors would come to pray for a good harvest at the beginning of the lunar calendar. Once again color here is important: green represents the earth, while blue represents heaven, but for the first time, shape is as well. The Temple of Heaven and the surrounding grounds are iconic because of the mix of circular and square walls and buildings—circle represents heaven, square represents earth. The buildings were another look at iconic Chinese architecture and we took our time walking to the Sacred Mound at the center of the site.

The Sacred Mound is a famous spot for photos in China, but holds a much deeper purpose—it is said that standing on it, if you reach out the Heaven to speak to the Gods, they will hear and answer you in the moment you stand in the center. We did not want to prevent other people from listening, so we jumped on as a group, but it was still hard not to feel a chill as we ‘phoned’ God. Around the Sacred Mound the stones were arranged in concentric circles made up by 9 blocks, followed by 18, 27, 36, et cetera, once again reminding not only the importance of the Chinese lucky number, but also the preciseness of the architecture.

There is a symphony of noises: pops, beats, laughter, conversation, the splashing of water, it mingles and mixes to form the noise of a Chinese massage parlor. This was our next stop, where I marveled at how the massage artists made music with the human body, finding grooves, bones, and muscles I didn’t know I had, and yet somehow had managed to tense up. The highlight of the massage though was the fact that Dan and Steven, my fellow travelers, are both very ticklish, and could not stop laughing as two very confused young Chinese women tried to help them relax!

“100”

“You give me your final, no joke price”

“100”

“This is real silk, fine embroidery. Final price?”

“100”

“No! You go a little bit higher, I go a little bit lower, and we arrive at a price together!”

“…100”

The Silk Market in Beijing is a shopaholics dream: it is stall upon stall, floor upon floor, as if a building-wide bazaar, filled with every type of shop that you can imagine. You can have a suit made in any color imaginable, buy Nike and Adidas products (though noticeably with other company tags…), touristy t-shirts, traditional Chinese paper lanterns and masks, electronics from cell phones to DVDs, shoes, and almost anything else. No price is set, but watching my friend Dan haggle was a new experience—the exchange above came from a particularly exasperated stall-owner who could not believe he didn’t seem to follow any of the rules of bargaining. The best part—she gave it to him for 100 yuan (about 17 dollars!). I was not always so lucky, but I managed to pick up a few beautiful souveniers for myself at some basement level prices.

I have always thought that the warrior monk, the kung-fu Buddhist, is a Western conception, a stereotype of Chinese culture and people. But, as I learned in “The Legend of Kung Fu” at the Red Theater in Beijing, it is apparently more than mere fiction. The show was the story of Pu-Ji, a young Chinese boy given by his mother to a Buddhist temple, who learns Kung Fu with his friends from a wizened master, suffers temptations and trials, and overcomes it all to become the new Abbot of the temple. The kung fu in the show was absolutely amazing, and yet almost operatic in its story-telling ability. Though the show featured sound, light, and special effects, the story is apparently a very traditional one, as is the art of kung fu. The Warrior Monk is apparently more fact than fiction, so I suppose not everything I think of as a stereotype necessarily is!

Final stop for the night was a Peking Duck restaurant, which needs no introduction—suffice it to say that I am exceptionally glad this is one Chinese food I can find back in the states!

I will say that across the board one of the greatest things about food in China is the freshness—the foods literally burst with flavor, exploding any expectations I’ve had–I haven’t found a food in China I haven’t liked!

We all decided to have a few drinks in the hotel bar to celebrate our last night in Beijing, since the next morning we would be getting onto a plane to Changchun, bound for Jilin University!