China
Chapter 1
The Dogs That Never Barked
20-00hours finds us eating double large fries in a McDonalds. Airports, long
considered the most awful places in the world are managing to deteriorate.
The only alternative to big Macs was an overcrowded smoky theme pub. Most
of the departure lounge is given over to franchisees of various junk. I spoke
to an airport marketing manager recently about the tedious two hour checking
in time and supposed it to be a result of counter terrorist measures but she
assured me it was to hold bored people with lots of money in a shopping area
with no means of escape. Airports make more from the franchisors than they
do from the airlines. The long stay car park has moved a further 4 miles away
and charges 13% of the cost of our holiday, just for allowing our metro to
stand on a piece of concrete. To earn their share, Jules Verne are going to
transport us over half way round the globe, house us in luxury hotels and
feed us. Don't worry about the very negative attitude I seem to have at the
start, this is a very good holiday.
I'm browsing in dutyslightlyreduced
when they call our flight to gate 10. I dawdle, sure we are just being shipped
to another waiting area, but minutes later we are boarding a big comfortable
Airbus. Loads of leg room, excellent food, free drinks. Our opinion of Uzbekistan
Airlines soars with us into the night sky dead on on time. We are anticipating
that at some juncture we will work out how Jules Verne have cut the corners
sufficiently to make a profit at their prices. A tatty airline was one possibility
but this turns out to be a dog that did not bark. They move our connection
to Beijing forward 2 hours so we never get to the terminal at Tashkent but
are bussed directly to out Tupalev 154. Via a lot of modern looking Illushins
in a bus made in Germany but bearing the ominous legend "Intourist"
There are no seat reservations and the cabin crew are reluctant to allow us
to sit at the front but we persist and grab a window seat. Still enough leg
room, but less comfort and the seat belts don't seem to have ever been used.
The seats in front were it turns out, reserved for what appears to be a spare
air crew dressed in leather jackets and coats though one of our group considers
them to be wrestlers from their powerful build. Though to look at they would
please the casting director looking for bad guys in an international thriller,
the one next to me is friendly enough and gets me a second drink of the green
stuff that is being handed round. No it's not the "green stuff"
of Orcival, this is sweet with an unrecognisable taste. The almost silent
take off is slightly unusual in that the beetle browed leather jackets are
strolling around when it happens hence the unused seat belts in this section
of the plane. Below an endless mixture of mountains and deserts flow past.
The food is poor. Meg nibbles a biscuit made in Glasgow. The toilet is appalling,
but we are still to experience Chinese toilets. The spare air crew disappear
for long periods. The pilot puts the plane down like a feather. Its 17-00
Beijing time but we have been traveling for 11 hours, 16 if you count the
trip from Sheffield. We must line up in Group Visa order. Meg and I are 9
and 10 in a series of 51. Number 27 Clamp G chooses this inappropriate moment
to visit the lavatory, probably too well brought up to face, if that is the
word, the one on the plane. He gets out of order and is refused entry because
his visa has been cancelled. It didn't take long to cancel it but it took
an hour to correct the error.
Weng, our guide is a bit tedious, Beijing seems bustling with life, more cars
and less bikes than I expected. The Xiyuan Hotel is fabulous, another silent
dog. There are a pianist and violinist in the lobby, which also has a huge
map of the world with China in the middle. We are tucked in the top left hand
corner for a change, the place normally occupied by Alaska. We frequently
end up in the lobby after a strenuous day on foot. Sometimes on our own, often
with another couple off the tour. We compare notes and sip wine or coffee.
On occasions the duo is enlarged to a twenty piece orchestra. Meg sometimes
prowls round the lobby boutiques pricing goodies. Our room is spacious and
comfortable. The plastic key that unlocks your door also activates the power
supply if you remember to insert it in the appropriate slot. Jasmine tea is
always available and as well as towels, combs toothbrushes, shampoos are provided
new each day. We wonder why we bothered to pack? The floor to ceiling window
offers a magnificent view of the city as we are on the fourteenth floor. The
lift runs up the outside of the building so you get a fairground ride each
time you use it. One odd feature that we never quite come to terms with is
watching CNN news and it still being yesterday in America. . We prowl the
neighbourhood for food as most of the party settle for the hotel's revolving
25th floor restaurant. Rejecting two that seem horrendously expensive are
lured into a bar-b-cue by young ladies in red kimonos bowing and smiling at
its entrance. The four Welsh on the tour follow us in and we sample our first
taste of superbly flavoured chinese cooking. Actually we do the cooking ourselves,
because the centre of the table has a recess into which red hot embers are
placed and our marinaded beef, goldeneye? and vegetables all come raw. Combining
a bar-b-cue with chopsticks seems an unnecessarily severe test but its good
for our diet because we eat so slowly. Some of the dishes are accompanied
by sauces but if we go about them in the wrong order, a red kimono springs
giggling to our rescue. We are not only doing the cooking, we are the cabaret.
No wonder it only costs #5 a head. Well we have lasted out till it is officially
bed time but we still wake at 03-00am. I force myself to stay in bed until
06-00.
Chapter 2
ANOTHER BRICK IN THE WALL
Breakfast is a spectacular
buffet, conventional international down one side, distinctly odd down the
other. We have a bit of this and a bit of that. The Welsh eat vast amounts
of bacon and eggs
We take the tour which calls at the Ming Tombs but doesn't let us stroll down
the avenue of carved stone animals, preferring instead to fritter our valuable
time with a visit to a souvenir shop, coach tours, ugh!! We have among our
party one who is always delaying the coach while she goes back to look for
something she hasn't lost. The tombs are impressive and surprisingly tourist
free. Their beauty is enhanced by soft ethereal Chinese music that drifts
through the buildings and trees, and the bird song provided by caged birds.
Lunch is excellent. The wall is GREAT. Well actually it might be more appropriate
to call it The Ridiculous Wall, or The Ludicrous Wall. I recall Steve's comment
of running round in circles like a labrador about to be taken for a walk as
we near it. Michael, our tour guide wants us to pass through the entrance
together as he has all the tickets. It takes some of our party a frustrating
15 minutes to make the steep ascent we cover in 5. Coach tours, Pah!!
Once free, we bound up the steep steps to reach the top, wide enough to take
six horses abreast. To either side the wall soars and plunges over the mountainous
terrain. There is no way a horse could manage these steps and slopes let alone
six of them abreast. Every few hundred metres or whatever they measured distance
in there is a tower which affords a panoramic view. The route is ludicrous.
The wall goes round nothing. straight up and over the steepest obstacle. Then
for no reason it turns through X degrees where X is a number between 5 and
340. In places it is possible to walk along it for two miles and be only quarter
of a mile from where you started. The landscape between where you are and
where you were is no more difficult than that over which the wall has been
built. So if they wanted to get to here, why did they go that way?? Mind boggling.
From some towers you can see bits of wall in whatever direction you look.
Plunging, rearing diving soaring its ridiculous route, the product of a deranged
mind. Perhaps only the Chinese could have built it. We reach our time constraint.
Michael wants us back in time to visit an enamel factory somewhere. Coach
tours stink!! Next time I go on holiday, please give me a call and remind
me. Only five of our party have reached the tower at which we turn back. Liz,
'Essex Woman' and Margaret and Keith from Preston. Liz is travelling alone
because her partner preferred a new computer to a holiday. Full of wonder
and photographed to the end of the film. We plough back through the vendors
who infest the early stages of the tourist bit of the wall. They are even
more certain that we are in need of certificates to say we have been here
and tee shirts and postcards and books and plastic models. Souvenirless we
board our bus to visit the state enamel factory. We are given a tour of the
workshops to see the process. Some of the party buy enamelled pots to support
the poor enamelers, enamelling their enamel in appalling conditions. Some
of us do not buy enamelled pots as a protest against the appalling conditions
the enamelers are compelled to enamel in. The goods on sale are in fact very
attractive and as a visit to a gallery it would have been a success. I particularly
liked the hand embroiderd silk screen, but as they didn't show us embroiderers
embroidering we can only presume their lot was worse. As I considered the
life expectancy of an enameler Meg reminded me that these were the ones they
were showing us.
The coach crawls back to Beijing, partly because he was done for speeding
on the way. 40mph seems to be the speed limit on the open roads. in the city
the traffic moves at a fast jog for reasons I will come to later. The other
reason we crawl is the roadworks. Our single carriageway runs parallel to
the new motorway that is under construction. The vendors on the wall must
be rubbing their hands at the thought of its completion later this year. The
method of construction is interesting. We would build a section at a time
using men and lots of powerful ironmongery. the chinese are building the whole
length at the same time with millions of men two thirds of whom at any one
time have stopped for a fag. They will all finish together. so one minute
there will be no motorway and the next day the whole length will be ready.
What is more it will be tree lined because hundreds more men are planting
full sized trees along the route. I thought the sexes were equal in China
but none of the workers on the motorway appear to be women.
In China every one works, in the restaurants there are seven waitresses where
back home there would be only one. We often have our own waitress who stands
about a metre from the table watching intently. Three porters manhandle your
suitcase. In a shop you choose a purchase with one assistant, take the chit
she produces to another who stamps it with her chop and a third wraps your
purchase.
The city is cleaned by another army, dressed in blue uniforms wearing white
hats and sometimes smog masks, elderly Chinese collect every item on refuse
using long handled tweezers. It seems that everyone has a stake in the economy
and a wage rather than a benefit. The lateness of the hour back means an almost
immediate departure to the group Beijing Duck meal but its no where near as
good as lunch and significantly inferior to our local take-away. We make a
vow to repeat the exercise under our own steam later in the week. We seriously
consider doing Beijing by night but on returning to the hotel jet lag steals
quietly up on us and that too is postponed.
Chapter 3
35 Million and Counting
The Japanese hit breakfast
like they hit Pearl Harbour the staff shovel debris clearing space we spot
two chairs but they are immediately occupied by six japanese with twelve plates
of breakfast. Eventually in an undiscovered alcove we share the leftovers.
It will take all day to restore this room.
We have announced our intention to go it alone on the tube and the idea has
caught on so there is a small rebel tour awaiting our leadership. Our first
experience of Chinese map reading gives us an inkling of the awesome size
of the place. The map is of average size but the scale is something else.
Basically, if two points are a measurable distance apart you cannot walk it
in under an hour. By the time we reach the tube half our party have decided
that they will rejoin the main group tomorrow. most of the others are committed
to taxis or bikes. For the final 200 metres we are escorted by a beautifully
spoken aged Chinaman with the most gentlemanly manners he is called Mr Corby
and is dressed in the Chairman Mao boilersuit and cap that many elderly Chinese
wear. His assistance is invaluable because underground stations are camouflaged
for some reason and whereas you can spot one anywhere else by the hundreds
of people streaming in and out, here there are hundreds of people streaming
in and out of everywhere. The fare is 2 yuan, about 17 pence.
The underground map lacks the complications of St Petersburg so we detube
without problem in Tien-an-men square. People wishing to go one up on in cocktail
hour conversations note it is not Tianamen as popularly mispronounced. We
are proud to add this square to our collection. Trafalgar, Wenceslas, Red,
Place de la Concord, Jemaa el Fna and note that we are missing Time. Something
that obviously needs putting right. The fact that one is a rectangle and another
a triangle doesn't seem to matter. Tienanmen is as huge as by now you are
beginning to expect. Appropriately it is April 5th, the anniversary of the
incident in 1976 everyone remembers the student confronting the tank. Bet
you can't remember what it was over!
April 5th is in the Quing Ming Festival when the Chinese honour their dead.
They were doing it today. Long snaking lines of children boa constricting
the Monument to the Peoples Heroes, and some privileged ones taking turns
to hold the flags. Proud parents snapping away to the delight of Kodak or
more probably Fuji. In 1976 Zhou Enlai had died and the authorities objected
to the laying of wreaths in his honour and the wreath layers objected to the
premature clearing of the wreaths. Simple as that. Thousands were arrested
in what has come to be known as The April 5th Movement against the Gang of
Four. We aren't the only ones with idiots in government. The next best thing
to having your picture taken in front of the memorial, is having your picture
taken with a foreigner. We are much photographed. The square is bounded, though
they are a long distance away, by the Tienanmen gate to the North, The Museum
of the Chinese Revolution to the East on which is a giant digital clock counting
down the seconds until Hong kong is reabsorbed into the republic. The Quianmen
gate to the South and the Great Hall of the People to the West. Chinese of
all ages fly kites, eagles, dragons, fish. They do it calmly. Non of this
swerving and stunting that you see on an English heath. On a later trip we
buy a kite but as yet it is unflown. It spreads its wings across the wall
of Stephen's bedroom. Just off one corner of the square is one of the five
coal mines in Beijing. I suppose its as big as your average coal mine but
on this scale its hardly noticeable. What is magnetic and unavoidable is the
picture of Mao Zedong looking ominously like big brother from the walls of
the Tienanmen Gate. He is actually looking towards himself because his body
still lies in state in a mausoleum near the Monument to the Peoples Heroes.
We declined to pay to see the dead dude as Steve called him.
Chapter 4
Yang and Yin
Behind the portrait of the
inscrutable Chairman lies the Forbidden City. Not quite so forbidden these
days as for 80 yuan you can have a personal guided tour by Rodger Moore.
Its wonderful to be going where we want at our own pace. pottering and pausing.
Separating then meeting up again to share some new wonder. The power of the
Emperors was beyond the comprehension of a westerner, but makes the absolute
success of the current decree that couples can only have one child.
In his city only the Emperor could cross certain bridges, only he could sit
facing South. Only he could wear yellow. In the inner city he was the only
intact male. I'm afraid you are in for the now customary Dave cop out. I really
cannot describe the city in detail. We spent about four hours in it with Rodger
Moore on the first visit. Went back for a further four hours a few days later
and have still missed large sections. The Saint describes the construction
in terms of Yang and Yin.
Yang is Masculine, Fire, Red, Yellow, Big, Sun, Powerful, South.
Yin is Feminine, Water, Earth, Blue, Green, Cool, Moon, North.
Everything is Yang or Yin and the secret of harmony is to keep them in balance.
The city does this, courtyard by courtyard, building by building. There are
999 buildings in the city. They get smaller and more intimate the further
North you progress. Incidentally make a note of the number nine, it is a serious
Chinese tip to success in the lottery. The most striking decorations are the
ceilings, masses of intricate hand painting. Patterns rather than pictures.
The roofs are gold or green, yang and yin, and have two common features. The
highest ridge always has two dragons which protect the building from fire.
Well some of the time for it has burned down several times and no wonder.
The construction is 100% wood. Even the massive pillars are lacquered tree
trunks. They were lit with paper or silk shaded lanterns and incense burning
accompanied all ceremonies. Beijing is a city in which strong winds frequently
occur and if that was not enough, the fire brigade were unworthy to enter
the city so the women and eunuchs had to put the fire out themselves. Large
water pots are strategically placed to assist the hopeless task. Two lions
guard most of the entrances. The male on the right, paw on the globe, female
on the left paw on a cub. Yang and yin again.
Some of the larger buildings have two roofs and another common feature is
that each eave will have a procession of carved figures facing outwards. There
are usually the magic number nine of them but always at the front is a man
riding a chicken. We were told two completely contrasting stories about him.
He was a prince fleeing from danger when faced with an impassible river a
phoenix rose up and bore him across. A piece of luck that so he represents
luck. Or, he is a man who was hanged from the eaves and is there for a warning.
I prefer the first version because it accounts for the chicken and its just
the sort of thing that would happen to a fleeing prince. Princes have all
the fleeing luck. The larger buildings have several marble terraces spouting
hundreds of marble gargoyles to disperse the torrential rains. I'm doing it
again, I'm trying to describe the indescribable.
Just one or two more features, then I promise I'll stop. When you get near
the north end you come to the gardens. The Chinese do wonderful gardens. Places
to relax and unwind, perhaps with some T'ai Chi.
There is an artificial mountain in this one but the feature that appealed
to me was a 29 metre canal about 20cm wide that wound like a snake across
the floor of one arbour. The Emperor would lie by the canal with his favourites
and wine cups would float past. A eunuch out of sight would interrupt the
water flow every so often. If the cup stopped by you you had to compose a
poem of drink the wine. This is a win/win situation unless it is played in
Uzbekistan.
I can't leave the forbidden city without listing some of the wonderful names:-
Palace of Supreme Harmony
Gate of Heavenly Purity
Palace of Earthly Tranquillity
Hall of Imperial Peace.
Thousand Autumns Pavilion.
Palace of Peaceful Old Age
Palace of Eternal Spring.
Meg feels the inferiority of our system of naming the places that comprise our homes like Kitchen and Bedroom or back garden, front garden. All are to be renamed in suitable manner when we get back to Derbyshire.
We leave by the Gate of the
Divine Military genius, Pausing to photograph Meg for some strange reason
sitting under a notice praising the Peoples Republic of China for restoring
some of the building. You can always tell my photos, they are the ones that
cause people to say "Why did you take that?" On this occasion I
am saved by a beautiful six year old in her Sunday best dress who rushes up
to join the picture. Anywhere else people skirt round you to avoid spoiling
your shot. Here they turn a landscape into a portrait and a portrait into
a group.
We are at the foot of Coal Hill but cannot see a way up. A pedal driven rickshaw
pleads with us to let him take us to the entrance. He actually takes us all
the way round before returning us to a door near where we started. Later we
spot a second entrance that was exactly where we started. In addition he attempts
to change the agreed price from yuan to dollars. In this he does not succeed
but Meg gives him a substantial tip. I think she has been mentally unbalanced
by the trip. As pedestrians we have been aware the the traffic was heavy,
but there are so many people on the pavements that we have had to concentrate
on where we were putting our feet. From a rickshaw one gets the complete picture.
All the roads in Beijing are always full in both directions but the traffic
keeps moving at the slow jog I mentioned earlier. The secret for keeping moving
is simple. Turning a corner and driving on the right side of the road are
two quite separate concepts. If you come to a cross roads and wish to turn
right or left you turn right or left. The next problem is to get on the correct
side of the road. This may take 100 200 400 metres or the next junction may
arrive and save you the bother. Anyway if you had got to the right side of
the road you would still have to deal with the drivers who hadn't. This does
not only apply to rickshaws, it applies to bikes taxis and bendibusses. I'm
sure it was the full frontal view of a bus from the rickshaw that got the
rider his tip. We never pluck up enough courage to board a bus during our
stay, they are not only full, the passengers appear to be piled three high
inside. The slow speed ensures that no one gets killed. Life is a continuum
of near misses. The wealth of the Chinese is increasing rapidly and the price
of the car is falling. In the next few years it will be quite interesting
to see how the government sort the problem of congestion. Traffic lights??
One of Chairman Mao's loopier thoughts was that red should mean go and another
was that the Peoples Republic should drive on the left where it was politically
aligned. Implementing these thoughts brought chaos but putting them back the
way they were hasn't worked either so they simply take no notice of the lights.
They would interfere with the flow.
We climb Coal Hill to try to imagine what a wonderful view one would have
got of the forbidden city spread out below had the sun been shining and the
pollution been less. This was to be the only cloudy day of the trip so I'm
not complaining. On top one or two courting couples are cuddling in the pagodas
which offer no protection from the strong wind. Below we can here someone
with a loud hailer and what sounds like the wembley crowd at a hockey international.
It is the thousands of green and yellow children, who having done their duty
to their ancestors are being given the afternoon off. Green and yellow, because
in China the school children wear a school uniform, but they all wear the
same one. A green track suit with a yellow baseball hat. They swarm up the
hill sounding like a murmuration of starlings arguing over who is going to
perch where just before they settle down for the night. The courting couples
and us are engulfed which is fine for the courting couples because no one
takes a blind bit of notice of them, but the starlings all want to practice
their English of us. It makes for a very entertaining hour.
Beihai Park is quiet by comparison. The park is consistent with our Beijing
experience to date. Vast. but without giving that impression. We visit the
walled settlement once occupied by Kubla Khan, don't names like that make
you drool with pleasure. It is notable for the Jade pagoda which houses an
immense jade bowl. When you see the fabulous prices charged for slivers of
jade, the bowl must be worth a double roll over lottery or five. The 'Hall
Which Receives The Light' is a small airy pleasant building. Nice to think
that Kubla and I both appreciate the same delights. The settlement is tucked
away in a small insignificant corner of the park which is dominated be a hill
on an island on top of which is a Buddhist temple. I wonder what picture that
creates in your minds eye?
Wrong! The White Dagoba (pagoda) looks like a white plastic plunger used for
unblocking drains. It was built in 1651 by Emperor Shun Zhi to commemorate
the first visit of the Dalai Llama. I wonder if he had a grudge against him?
The design is said to be Indian, perhaps it lost something in translation?
Perversely the way to it is beautiful. You cross the lake to the island by
a marble bridge then ascend through intimate gardens and the 'Temple of Everlasting
Peace'. There are quiet corners, pine trees small temples, drum and bell towers
carvings and statues. A few yang here and a few yin there gets us in to all
sorts of Buddhist caves with Buddhist things in them. The only thing missing
are the birds. There appear to be no birds, well a few sparrows and pigeons,
anywhere in Beijing. Apparently Mao thought there were too many and decreed
that everyone should kill a bird. Perhaps it was habit forming. The final
section before the plunger is beautifully tiled. From the top we can see that
there remain vast areas of Beihai yet unexplored but we are shattered and
descend by way of the 'Hall of Rippling Waves' and the 'Bridge of Perfect
Wisdom'. We pause to consider refreshing ourselves at the very very expensive
lakeside restaurant but it is at least two verys too many and it hasn't opened
yet. We laugh at the pedalos, probably an Indian design, they all have a large
white goose on the prow, a duck would have been more appropriate in Beijing.
There are hundreds of them aligned in a rectangle. A few mallards would have
made the place more friendly. That's enough pausing, we flop into a taxi who
does a passable imitation of a rickshaw driver with the added element of choosing
the back street with the maximum number of potholes. The taxis are cheap and
cheerful and surprisingly, don't expect a tip. He is particularly chuffed
to find he can swap us for another fare at the hotel door thus jumping the
mile long queue of taxis parked near the entrance. On one of our rides, when
stuck in traffic the cabby brewed himself some tea. We bathe our aching limbs
then return to the bar-b-cue where they have worked out a way of making the
fire 50 degrees hotter. We cannot find the Chinese for "Could we please
have some protective clothing?" in our phrase book so the air is soon
filled with the unmistakable aroma of charred human flesh.
Talking of strong smells reminds me that I have not yet reported on the Chinese
public lavatories. Public is an apt choice in this case. No saga would be
complete without a description of the loos. They are one of the features that
seem to mark the differences between nations. A bit like the word tomato and
unlike the word for coffee. You will have to think about that one. The smell
of a Chinese lavatory is strong but not surprising. Ammonia and sulphur di
oxide smell the same in any language. The geometry is what singles out the
Chinese. Like the French they have squatty loos but the cubicles have narrow
bat wing doors so the passer by can see the occupant from the waist up and
from the knees down. Each occupant can of course see each other. It is true
that in this mass of humanity the concept of personal space has gone out of
the window.
Chapter 5
Silk, very heavy, CD-ROM, very cheap
The sun has returned so we
lead the Welsh to the underground and photograph Tianamen square in the sunshine.
There are less children and more kites. Hong Kong's absorption is about 100,000
seconds nearer. Forgetting my recent geography lesson we set off to walk the
two blocks to the Temple of Heaven. For the first half hour we are passing
through street markets so our progress is slow but interesting. The most interesting
feature is that this could be Chesterfield market. Shoes, tee shirts, pots
and pans, tapes, ties, greetings cards. there is nothing to suggests we are
in China. The prices are cheaper though. Silk ties 80p, suits #24, shoes #8
I wonder if any would fit me? The Chinese are not only small, they are slim.
We don't pause to try anything on because we are templing today. The east
gate of the Temple of Heaven should be around here somewhere, just before
the National History Museum. We find a road junction and consult the map.
We have covered less than half the distance. We accelerate and after another
half hour, find the Museum, retrace our steps to a narrow road we had disregarded
and boldly go where no tourist has gone before. We are passing through some
third world housing, a soldier bars our way. A group of locals call to us
and indicate that we cannot go this way. Not a word of English between them
and they cannot understand phrase book Mandarin. We show them the map but
some point back left and some back right. I want to know where we are but
no one gets my message. They seem quite upset that they cannot help us. We
choose back and right. Wrong! They had extended the museum we were quite close.
By the time we reach the Temple we had been walking for two and a half hours.
The Temple is however memorable. The buildings are circular, the roofs blue.
Here the Emperors signalled that spring had arrived, it hadn't until they
said so. I told you how powerful they were. The vermilion road isn't. The
'whispering wall' is rendered inoperable by dozens of wailing Chinese children
to whom the concept of whispering seems totally alien. There are a raised
series of terraces, circular again and heavily featuring 9. 9 steps 9 rings,
the rings containing 9, 18, 27, 36, .... flagstones. Everything had relationship
with 9. This was intended to be a pretty lucky place. Not a casino or betting
shop for miles. We sit in the extensive gardens a while admiring the cherry
blossom then find that getting out is nearly as difficult as getting in. We
taxi to the Friendship Store, a government owned department store catering
for the wants of tourists. We are here to judge the quality and price but
not to buy. Quality is excellent and prices favourable compared with the places
Jules Verne have been taking us. A short detour take us to the International
Post office for a new experience. After years of writing to far off lands
to communicate first with Stephen and latterly with Steve and Karen we are
going to collect our mail. Sure enough in a small cardboard box, among a jumble
of mis assorted letters of all shapes and sizes is one addressed to Mr &
Mrs RIDLEY, c/o Poste Restante, Beijing, China. and it is from Brazil!!.
Yippee. We gladly pay our 2 yuan and devour its contents as if they were the
original expressions of Confucious.
The silk market, silk street is close at hand. There are a few beggars around.
They are not intrusive or pushy. One or two seedier individuals sidle up to
us and offer CD-ROM very cheap. We explain ashamedly that we do not have the
technology to take advantage of their bargains. They give us a pitying stare.
Silk street is not like Chesterfield market, it is long and narrow and lined
with stalls that are crammed with silk. If they make it in silk, here it is.
Shirts, blouses, dresses, jackets, paintings, slippers, lanterns, pyjamas,
kites, hats.
Silk, very heavy, best quality, treble stitched, designer labelled, every
colour, every size. we are to make three trips here altogether and but for
ourselves for our relations for our friends and for the hell of it. My favourite
is a black silk jacket for #14, Meg's is also a jacket, smokey blue, heavy,
tailored for less than a third of the UK price. When Gran sees her hand embroidered
pink blouse she remarks
"oh dear that will be terrible to iron".
We do not buy everything we see, Meg toys for ages with some divine cashmere.
I stop when my silk shirt count reaches 5.
We have our last trip with Jules Verne tonight. On the way to see the Chinese
acrobats, they feed us on deep fried sweet and sour fat. The acrobats are
excellent, as polished in their presentation as they are in their acrobatics.
They all appear to be children. One girl seems to be able to balance one chair
on top of another until she runs out of space, she by the way is on top of
the skyscraper of chairs. A boy balances on a short plank balanced on a cylinder
that is balanced on another cylinder at right angles to the first that is
balanced on another....you will be very bored if I go on as long as he did.
Watching him of course was not boring it was very exciting. Our other cultural
experience came a few days later when we went it alone with Keith and Margaret.
First to a much better meal, though among its excellent dishes there was one
clanger, someone, it may well have been me, ordered "Three Delights'
One was tripe and the others were definitely not delightful.
The culture was provided by the Beijing Opera. Very colourful, Music rather
strange. The seats are unreserved. be sure to be there half an hour early
we are advised. We are the first in the theatre.
The story is easy to follow, in spite of the odd translation into english
that is transmitted on an electronic scoreboard.
This beautiful girl is admired by her next door neighbour who she has never
seen. He drops a jade bracelet in her path. If she picks it up she is accepting
his proposal. Should I shouldn't I she agonises for an age. She does, the
brazen hussy. We knew she would. The marriage arranger is sent for to make
it legal and decent but they have no money to set up in business so rob a
bank which results in the monkey king having to fight 12 Arhats. Pretty run
of the mill every day story of countryfolk. The last scene had great significance
for me. In 1997 Cock and Magpie Morris side are invited to visit China. We
have a dance in our repertoire called Southport Polka which is not from Southport
neither is it strictly a polka but it does involve stick throwing.
Arhats are Buddha's buddies and later we expressed our surprise at their warlike
tendencies. Our host explained that Buddha assumed his peaceful love of all
his fellow creatures only after he had murdered all the significant opposition.
Not many people realise that. Where was I ? The Arhats are armed with spears
and they throw them at the monkey king who is actually the young girl who
picked up the bracelet. She hits the spears with her sword and returns them
to the throwers. She can do this with her feet, she can do it two at a time
she can even do it with a scorpion kick. She gets it right 100% of the time
as fast as the Arhats care to throw. It makes stick throwing look pretty feeble
I can tell you.___________________________________________________________________________
Chapter 6
Mildred and the Cherry Blossom
The Jules Verne tour did the Summer Palace in 90 minutes and took in the Zoo
and several trinket shops. We arrive at with Keith and Margaret at 10-00am.
when we meet later this afternoon at 3-00pm we will have spent six hours seeing
different things and neither of us will have seen a number of the main attractions.
I make no apology for repetition. Everything in Beijing is BIG.
The Summer palace is a little
way out of the city, in the hills where it is slightly cooler in Summer hence
the Emperors predilection for staying here. In the glorious spring sunshine
we will always remember the cheery and almond blossom. Entering at the East
gate we visit the Hall of Benevolent and Longevity, which we leave feeling
very benevolent. The longevity remains to be seen. by bearing right we are
bound to come to The Garden of Harmonious Interest. No kidding you could spend
the day in the garden and its tucked away in a small corner. We are trying
to find Sozhou Street, a recently opened section of Traditional Chinese shops
staffed by people in traditional Chinese costume. To call it, as some guide
books do, a Chinese/Disney theme street is unfair, it is a lovely place. Meg
has Catherine's name painted by a craftsman. We catch the ferry to an island
and leave the island by the 17 arch bridge. We try to assess our chances of
walking right round the lake and decide to walk for half an hour and see how
far we get. Encouraged by the first half hour we go for it. Well if we are
seriously going to attempt the coast to coast this Summer we ought to be able
to stroll round the pond in someone's garden. The crowds are thinner but we
are frequently joined by people who want to talk or to help. Even passing
motor boats cruise alongside and pause to practice their English... Meg sees
photo opportunities in every direction. The jade belt bridge, the marble boat.
The Pavilion for listening to the Orioles, but mainly the cherry blossom.
We climb the man made Longevity Hill and visit some more temples and finally
accept that we are not going to make it to the Long Corridor on this visit.
When we rejoin K & M we find that they didn't either. Good job we plan
a return visit next year.
We stay with Keith and Margaret for the evening. A real Beijing Duck meal.
Keith has a book which has been very reliable so far. It recommends the best
and if your only going do do it once it might as well be the best. It looks
horrendously expensive. We order the house speciality and to Margaret's horror
we are invited to go and choose our own duck. She has visions of it swimming
around in a tank like the frogs and lobsters. Actually there are a dozen plucked
birds hanging from meat hooks. I ask the waitress for advice and confirm her
choice. On returning to the table I tell Margaret that our duck is called
Mildred. She probably hasn't forgiven me. Mildred was delicious. The Beijing
way of cooking duck is not crispy, but succulent. Mildred with all the trimmings
and other courses cost us 304 yuan for the four of us. that's #6 each. We
finish the evening strolling round Beijing by night. They have switched on
the fountains by Tienanmen Gate. Mao seems to approve The forbidden city looks
more forbidding but the area is safe. Taxis are a bit hard to come by. The
Chinese go to bed early. Many of the places we eat take last orders around
9-00pm. All the Chinese seem to eat out. We rather unadventurously confine
ourselves to the top end of the eating out establishments. There are a vast
number of much simpler looking cafes, there are row upon row of places that
will seat about six people they will always be next door to each other so
you have what might be called a food street. Around six pm the capacity of
the street will be at least doubled by another army of chefs who set up mobile
of easily assembled kitchens with no seating arrangements on the pavements
outside the cafes. These temporary constructions disappear about 9-00pm.
We presume that most of the nomadic cafes are part of the vast black economy.
Our guides tell us that Chinese taxes are very low and that most Chinese have
several jobs. He himself has a small farm in addition to his Jules Verne job
and employs four peasants. He omits to tell us what their second jobs are
but he does proudly admit that he pays them practically nothing. I think you
just blew your tip Ian. Taxi driving is probably another of the big second
jobs. Street market trading must be another. The Silk Market looks very professional
but many of the streets have markets that are clearly aimed more at local
than tourist trade. One gets a very clear impression that economically the
Chinese are on the move. The government claims that the economy is growing
at 9% There is that 9 again. The black economy is presumably outstripping
that. The under fourteens are having everything they want bought for them
and their education and health is top priority. It will be interesting to
see what happens not only when they all want and can afford cars but when
the authorities realise that the current policy will starve them of consumers.
Eating vast amounts of food does not result in obesity the adults are small
and slim. The only signs of overweight is in the new generation of only children.
Since the decree has gone out that a couple may only have one child it appears
to have been obeyed. Mind you the penalties for transgressing are a huge fine
and loss of all state benefits. our guide tells us that only the very rich
can have a second child. We presume that second pregnancies are terminated.
There is no evidence for the rumour that Chinese couples kill daughters at
birth to ensure that their child will be male. We see as many young girls
as boys and plenty of evidence that they are adored by their parents. The
children are always accompanied and very often by both parents. Although by
comparison with their parents they look overweight we only ever see the babies
carried. Toddlers walk. We see no prams of push chairs, no dummies and very
young children putting their legs to good purpose. From about 7 year old and
up they will approach us to practice an English greeting often encouraged
by parents standing a few yards back. The very youngest are slightly startled
if we engage them in conversation but the older ones tell us their names,
ask where we are from in very good very polite English. We are often asked
for English coins, but cannot imagine what they are going to do with them.
The yuan is going to strengthen against the pound without a doubt.
The Chinese invented paper, not knives and forks, but paper and the unnamed
inventor could not imagine a use for his neat little discovery so as quite
an ingenious bit of marketing strategy, he os she decided to print paper money
so that the Chinese could burn it at funerals thus ensuring the dear departed
of a happy after life or reincarnation. Fancy not thinking of it as a writing
material. I wonder what they would have made
Chapter 7
T'ai Chi, Tango and Tea
The sun rises at 06-08 finds
me sitting in the window looking down on the awakening city. The sun probably
cleared the horizon half an hour ago but at 06-08 it cleared the smog. Fourteen
floors below the first bicycles and bendibusses are terrorising the odd pedestrian.
A solitary jogger shuffles past the security guard who is keeping our two
lions company. The Chinese clearly use old ancient and modern methods for
guarding their assets. It is odd to see the Beijing streets empty. Most of
the time they look as if a major football match has just ended. It is unexpected
as well because since the restaurants closed at nine, I presumed they all
got up early. The taxi drivers are clustered round the first of the seven
waiting cabs. There will be no tourists about for a couple of hours. By then
the line of cabs will stretch to forty and will never shorten. The cabs charge
different rate according to their degree of luxury. The rate is clearly marked
on the outside of the cab. We never catch a cab at the hotel where most of
them are the expensive variety, preferring to walk a couple of hundred yards
first.
Today we are going to walk a little further to a local park which is not a
tourist attraction.
There is a 1 yuan charge to get in. Lots of Chinese are practising T'ai Chi.
This takes many forms. Here a group will be gesturing in harmony using fans.
Elsewhere you come across an individual walking very slowly and making slow
deliberate arm movements
The individuals outnumber the groups. They seem unconscious of people around
them, totally absorbed in what they are doing. It looks very therapeutic.
The strains of a waltz drifts across a bamboo bridge. We investigate. Sure
enough to a battery operated ghetto blaster about twenty couples are waltzing.
Well to say they were waltzing does not give quite the right impression, they
were doing a variety of manoeuvres to a western modern waltz. About half of
them were Viennese waltzing some were doing a cajun style dance others were
more individual. It is about 09-00 am. We join in for a couple of tunes with
our version of the Viennese. It causes a few smirks. Then we continue via
lakes play grounds and bridges to see about a tenth of the park. Just outside
we come across a rival group who are dancing the tango the their tape machine.
Very tempting but we have our schedule to keep.
We visit the Citic bank which is the only place we have found that will turn
our plastic into currency. I bet it does not take them long to invent the
hole in the wall. We reload with yuan for our final raid on the Silk Market.
We seriously consider obtaining a few dollars for our Uzbekistan trip but
remember Jules Verne advice that this is unnecessary, Mistake! Big Mistake!!
We try to walk to the old shopping street, another mistake but this time we
recognise our error early and hail a passing cab.
Old China was and maybe new China is very bureaucratic, so every official
has a stamp which they call a chop. It is a very Chinese souvenir and Michael
took orders for them on one of our coach trips, but its much more fun to order
your own and watch them being engraved. Meg chooses a statue of Confucious
because he is a teacher and I choose a dragon because it is my Chinese year
sign. We watch as they are engraved with our names in both languages.
Tea buying comes next. This does not involve belting down the third aisle
in Sainsbury's. It is a serious and time consuming process. The shop stocks:-
Black tea: Green tea: Jasmine tea: Oolng tea: and there may have been others.
Each of the flavours comes in a range of prices. We never found the tea which
looked more like a rock pool that one place served. They do not offer free
samples but you are expected to buy a small quantity and drink it on the premises
then buy a larger quantity of the one you like best. Tea is served in a tall
cup that has a lid. The leaves are put in first and water that is not quite
boiling added. Here it was added from a thermos, in some restaurants they
used a kettle that looked like a watering can with a very narrow spout and
poured from about a metre without spilling so much as a drop. Milk and sugar
make no appearance, in fact we saw no dairy products all the time we were
there. The original leaves are strong enough to make several cups. For all
our meals, tea was served immediately you sat down. Surprisingly rice was
always served at the end of the meal. We want tea for ourselves and for presents
so order lots of small packets. This is a most uneconomical way to order but
the small red boxes are so attractive that Meg is sure people will like the
boxes even if they don't like the tea.
There are shops that specialise in jade, in kites, in metal. in paper and
we find one that is like an indoor market that appears to sell a load of junk.
Each trader has about a metre of display in a long rambling building. They
chat to each other until you come opposite then they implore you to look at
their stall. I pause to look at a pair of green dragons. The stall holder
gets very excited. In the next half hour I pass to and fro and each time I
pass him the price falls. I didn't like them originally but at the new price
I am getting seriously tempted. However the temptation passes and to my knowledge
he still has them.
Meg wants to visit the Llama temple before we leave. I am a bit iffy, now
understanding what Karen meant by being templed out. Meg was right as usual.
This is different because it is definitely a place of worship. Celebrants
kow-tow and burn incense, they are accompanied by the clashing of cymbals
and some off stage chanting. There is a very peaceful air about the place.
The main feature is a massive statue of Buddha which is rather too big for
the temple. he has been sunk into the ground and towers into the rafters but
you cannot get far enough back to see him so people tend to worship his knee
caps. We finish with the best meal we have had. T-bone steak, pork and cashew
nuts and miniature leeks all done to perfection. We have remembered Steve's
comments on the food when leaving Mongolia and entering China. Tonight we
leave China and enter Uzbekistan. We intend to arrive well fed. At the airport
we line up in visa formation once more with no absentees. However they still
manage to find a two hour delay lying around somewhere. No one in the party
seems unduly perturbed and just when I am thinking that I might try a little
T'ai Chi to stop my nerves fraying, we are back in the air and over the mountains
and deserts on our way to somewhere that even Stephen has not been.
Chapter 8
The departure from Tashkent airport is as bureaucratic as the entry. It is interesting to find that in addition to not giving us easy access to our own money, neither the hotel nor the airport will accept their own currency. But neither delays nor officialdom can depress us now for this has been another great experience.So what are going to be the lasting memories this time?
The Registran in Samarkand.
The Great Wall particularly its odd route.
Bicycles carrying three piece suits
The children
The roofs
The markets, spice and silk.
Yang and Yin
The contrasts between old and new China
But mainly the Enormity of everything about the place.
WE SAW THE START OF THE FUTURE._______________________________________________________________________