OK, I love Beijing.
In the morning in Chengdu, I, of course, get behind, but make my flight with some margin. As soon as my cabbie starts driving, I know I have a good one: rarely staying in one lane, he floats between motorcyle and bus, deftly blocks Audi's aiming to make a U-turn, veers into secret unused lanes. Having been in China over two weeks now, I appreciate his skill for what it is. On the flight, I get a very cute smile from the flight attendant as I try to say "ju2zizhi1" (orange juice), but it's the kind of smile you give a kid. Eh. This flight has both a gentle takeoff and a flare on landing, so maybe it was the mountain approaches in Guilin and Chengdu or just really short runways.
I'm getting nervous again. New city to navigate with a 50 lb pack. New hostel to find. I decide to take it easy and get a cab ($12) rather than navigate the public transporation. But upon getting my baggage, there are great big "Airport Train" signs in English, and so what the hell. Part of me suddenly says, "Let's have fun!" Well, this is a nice change. The nervousness is gone, and enters a sense of adventure. The Metro is great, though I have to do a few sorry's and "rang4 yi1 xia4" (literally, "let a little" as in "let me by"). "Rang yi xia" works miracles, like parting the Red (er, China - ha!) Sea.
More guidance. I exit the metro, and have to my find my hutong (think narrow lane that old, classic houses front on). After trying to get my bearings, I realize I'm not where I thought I would exit (the actual Metro exits are never at the locations on maps). I see a nice hotel and guess it might be on the map. It is! I'm a few blocks south of where I need to be. While I'm figuring this out, a guy asks me in very fine English if I need help. (Note: not a scam.) He is just about done with University and will be heading to England. We exchange numbers and will probably meet up on Sunday. As I start walking down my hutong, I see a few young Westerners ahead of me, leading me to the hostel. We chat a little. Guidance, guidance, guidance.
The hostel is awesome. Huge room, nice bathroom, helpful staff, very quaint (it's a hutong, after all). Part of the reason I booked this one, besides having double rooms with bathroom, is that the guidebook mentioned they do tours for acrobats and the Great Wall. Actually, I want to see the Shaolin show more than acrobats. As I'm waiting to check in, there travel agent shows me tours to exactly the part of Great Wall I want to do (a 10 km hike from Jianling (sp?) to Simatai) and a Shaolin show package. I sign up for the Shaolin tonight and the Great Wall tomorrow. Sunday, the Forbidden City, Imperial Archives, and maybe a Premier League soccer game in an ex-pat English pub. Then dinner at a swank veggie restaurant.
I only have an hour before I have to leave for the Shaolin show. Following vague directions, I head out of the hostel and turn left to find a restaurant. I walk in the first I see, a small place, unremarkable, but local. I feel local. Of course, I don't look it, but this is one of a million places throughout China, simple, marked white walls, basic furniture, a place to eat, not a please sit-down and enjoy our ambiance kind-of place that I normally frequent. I say "Wo chi su" and， wonder of wonders, the guy understands me. He turns to the lady who runs the place, says "Ta chi su." She hands him, who hands me, an English menu. Chao mian with some greens and spicy vegetable kabobs with tea. Perfect, 15 yuan.
I rush back, and we leave for the Shaolin show. I have a shepherd who takes me there in a taxi and gives me a hostel card (with address), a ticket to the show, and 20 yuan fare to get home. I have an hour to kill, which I do in the neighboring internet cafe.
Driving to the Shaolin show, I get a look at Beijing. It is a city of perspectives, as in everything recedes into them! Major streets are ten lanes - and there are many major streets - lined by thirty-story buildings of either modern but modest architecture or classic European with a Chinese twist. They are set back by the width of thoroughfares, allowing you to see a greater expanse of them stretching into the distance, like some vast array of imperial forces, too mighty to
be squashed together. Settling into the mild glow of a winter's sunset, they are not showy, but replete with a quiet dignity. Power is here, they say, no need to be crass about it. The picture does not do the experience justice, but it does capture part of the blend of old and new that is China. The Beijing Train Station almost seems Russian in grand scope, but the discreet pagoda roofs let you know where you are...well, and so do the huge, lighted red characters saying "Beijing Station." It's brilliantly lit at night.
The Shaolin show is theater as much as matrial arts. It is heavily influenced by ballet and tells a classic story. Having gotten a little used to "tourist quality," the professional choreography is fresh air. There are the wonders of Shaolin and aerial acrobatics, but the dancing and singing really catch me. I buy lots of merchandise (c'mon, a t-shirt with pandas doing taichi? who can resist that!? and I had to get a CD...and a few other things.) I catch a cab home, haggling with a cabby almost like I'm used to doing it.
Plane ticket from Chengdu to Beijing: 1000 yuan.
Three nights in a hostel: 594 yuan.
Seeing the sun set over a hutong; riding a metro full of French, Africans, Americans, and Chinese; stir-fired noodles in a local restaurant where the waiter understands my Mandarin; jay-walking like a Beijinger; a cab ride through a cold, bustling city at the heart of the most populous nation in the world; an angel's voice singing an ancient poem; falling in love with a lead ballerina; a tourist show with truth; haggling with a cabby and walking away; getting lost and found when the new cabby drops me off five blocks from my hutong; finally looking forward to the adventure of discovering a new place...all so priceless.
In the morning in Chengdu, I, of course, get behind, but make my flight with some margin. As soon as my cabbie starts driving, I know I have a good one: rarely staying in one lane, he floats between motorcyle and bus, deftly blocks Audi's aiming to make a U-turn, veers into secret unused lanes. Having been in China over two weeks now, I appreciate his skill for what it is. On the flight, I get a very cute smile from the flight attendant as I try to say "ju2zizhi1" (orange juice), but it's the kind of smile you give a kid. Eh. This flight has both a gentle takeoff and a flare on landing, so maybe it was the mountain approaches in Guilin and Chengdu or just really short runways.
I'm getting nervous again. New city to navigate with a 50 lb pack. New hostel to find. I decide to take it easy and get a cab ($12) rather than navigate the public transporation. But upon getting my baggage, there are great big "Airport Train" signs in English, and so what the hell. Part of me suddenly says, "Let's have fun!" Well, this is a nice change. The nervousness is gone, and enters a sense of adventure. The Metro is great, though I have to do a few sorry's and "rang4 yi1 xia4" (literally, "let a little" as in "let me by"). "Rang yi xia" works miracles, like parting the Red (er, China - ha!) Sea.
More guidance. I exit the metro, and have to my find my hutong (think narrow lane that old, classic houses front on). After trying to get my bearings, I realize I'm not where I thought I would exit (the actual Metro exits are never at the locations on maps). I see a nice hotel and guess it might be on the map. It is! I'm a few blocks south of where I need to be. While I'm figuring this out, a guy asks me in very fine English if I need help. (Note: not a scam.) He is just about done with University and will be heading to England. We exchange numbers and will probably meet up on Sunday. As I start walking down my hutong, I see a few young Westerners ahead of me, leading me to the hostel. We chat a little. Guidance, guidance, guidance.
The hostel is awesome. Huge room, nice bathroom, helpful staff, very quaint (it's a hutong, after all). Part of the reason I booked this one, besides having double rooms with bathroom, is that the guidebook mentioned they do tours for acrobats and the Great Wall. Actually, I want to see the Shaolin show more than acrobats. As I'm waiting to check in, there travel agent shows me tours to exactly the part of Great Wall I want to do (a 10 km hike from Jianling (sp?) to Simatai) and a Shaolin show package. I sign up for the Shaolin tonight and the Great Wall tomorrow. Sunday, the Forbidden City, Imperial Archives, and maybe a Premier League soccer game in an ex-pat English pub. Then dinner at a swank veggie restaurant.I only have an hour before I have to leave for the Shaolin show. Following vague directions, I head out of the hostel and turn left to find a restaurant. I walk in the first I see, a small place, unremarkable, but local. I feel local. Of course, I don't look it, but this is one of a million places throughout China, simple, marked white walls, basic furniture, a place to eat, not a please sit-down and enjoy our ambiance kind-of place that I normally frequent. I say "Wo chi su" and， wonder of wonders, the guy understands me. He turns to the lady who runs the place, says "Ta chi su." She hands him, who hands me, an English menu. Chao mian with some greens and spicy vegetable kabobs with tea. Perfect, 15 yuan.
I rush back, and we leave for the Shaolin show. I have a shepherd who takes me there in a taxi and gives me a hostel card (with address), a ticket to the show, and 20 yuan fare to get home. I have an hour to kill, which I do in the neighboring internet cafe.
Driving to the Shaolin show, I get a look at Beijing. It is a city of perspectives, as in everything recedes into them! Major streets are ten lanes - and there are many major streets - lined by thirty-story buildings of either modern but modest architecture or classic European with a Chinese twist. They are set back by the width of thoroughfares, allowing you to see a greater expanse of them stretching into the distance, like some vast array of imperial forces, too mighty to
be squashed together. Settling into the mild glow of a winter's sunset, they are not showy, but replete with a quiet dignity. Power is here, they say, no need to be crass about it. The picture does not do the experience justice, but it does capture part of the blend of old and new that is China. The Beijing Train Station almost seems Russian in grand scope, but the discreet pagoda roofs let you know where you are...well, and so do the huge, lighted red characters saying "Beijing Station." It's brilliantly lit at night.
The Shaolin show is theater as much as matrial arts. It is heavily influenced by ballet and tells a classic story. Having gotten a little used to "tourist quality," the professional choreography is fresh air. There are the wonders of Shaolin and aerial acrobatics, but the dancing and singing really catch me. I buy lots of merchandise (c'mon, a t-shirt with pandas doing taichi? who can resist that!? and I had to get a CD...and a few other things.) I catch a cab home, haggling with a cabby almost like I'm used to doing it.Plane ticket from Chengdu to Beijing: 1000 yuan.
Three nights in a hostel: 594 yuan.
Seeing the sun set over a hutong; riding a metro full of French, Africans, Americans, and Chinese; stir-fired noodles in a local restaurant where the waiter understands my Mandarin; jay-walking like a Beijinger; a cab ride through a cold, bustling city at the heart of the most populous nation in the world; an angel's voice singing an ancient poem; falling in love with a lead ballerina; a tourist show with truth; haggling with a cabby and walking away; getting lost and found when the new cabby drops me off five blocks from my hutong; finally looking forward to the adventure of discovering a new place...all so priceless.
Tomorrow, the Great Wall!
Good night,
Dan
t-shirt with pandas doing taichi----priceless! Dan and China---double priceless! Thanks so much for your wonderful "journey" writings.Love, Mom
ReplyDeleteGreat Mastercard commercial! :)
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