Being Bejing

As my friend Mark and I zoom past Tiannaman Square on a late Saturday night, wrapped in winter coats, Mao’s Picture stares back at us through the red tint of the Forbidden City, and we realize, withold halting our political conversation, that the taxi may be bugged, that this email may be monitered, and that very soon we will be re-educated in some remote rat invested cell of one autonomous region or another. My Mao watch won’t save me and it seems that the only safe haven may be the MCdonald’s or Starbucks that is within view of the main square. China, and especially Beijing, is a place emerging from a sleep of social opression.
My week began with an overnight train from Shanghai, on a hard seat. The natives gawked and asked questions I couldn’t answer. And as the ride moved forward I grew more uncomfortable. The couple next to me, and I mean right next to me (no elbow room here), carried a package of food seemingly big enough to feed the entire Chinese army. Passengers without reserved tickets, slept in the aisles, newspapers for blankets. A woman at the end of the car carried on a 14 hour conversation with a friend seated next to her that I could hear from the other end of the train car. What they could be discussing with such fervor at 4am was beyond me. And men smoked chains of cigarettes pacing up and down, eyeing the toilet for a time that the line might slacken. This is China, pushing and shoving in endlessly stalemated lines.
Mark, teaching English here, was due to meet me at the Beijing train station, however as I emerged into the mist of the morning, a million faces met mine, but not his. I called him on the cell phone of a man I met on the train, and when he answered it was as if he didn’t recognize my voice. It was his birthday party the previous night, and in Asia that means your collegues and students are not content until alcohol seeps out the pores of your skin. He slept through his nine oclock alarm and as i spoke to him it sounded as if three frogs were lodged in his throat. In the end he told me to take a taxi, and this was best, there was no need for two of us to fight the crowd.
Another birthday party was scheduled for Saturday evening so we tried to nap in the afternoon to refresh both of our bodies. But being old friends, prone to philisophic banter, we talked the afternoon away until the reserved dinnertime. I was quite impressed with Mark when six woman and only one man showed up for the evening’s festivities. Three of the ladies were from Xinjian, the Muslim popualted western autonomous region that borders Afghanistan. This area, like Tibet, was added when Mao came to power, and though the residents do not look Chinese in the least, the Chinese government claims the territory as its own. The point is, the restaurant that we attended served Xinjian fare and included a performance by musicians and dancers. I couldn’t believe I was in China but rather envisioned myself somewhere in Central Asia or the Middle East. During the performance Mark was challenged by one of the dancers to summersault, twist, and perform other such contorted movements. For his trouble he was rewarded with a cap that looked like a Mororocan fez. At the end of the performance all in attendance were encouraged to dance on the tables. One Iranian man, who was making himself quite visible the entire evening, fell off the table but quickly rebounded to dance with us.
Sunday was installment number three of Mark’s birthday celebration and coincided with the arrival of my friend Ben from Korea, who I began my trip with in Thailand. He planned to stay three days and with him he brought my heavy coat. I was greatful for that. Two days before I was clad in shorts and a tshirt. Arriving in Beijing I jumped far too rapidly from summer to the prewinter. After meeting Ben at the airport with two of Mark’s students we journeyed to the center of town, Tiannenmen, and ate the world famous Beijing Duck, made to each order. The walls of the restaurant were lined with famous customers from George Bush to Fidel Castro, eating duck in military fatigues. I knew the dinner would be expensive, but I also knew that Mark’s student would pay for it, so I grubbed down. The duck, rolled out whole on a silver platter, is eaten with vegetables wrapped in a thin tortilla. The students marveled at the amount I consumed. I was on a mission to fatten myself up.
Monday was reserved for the Summer Palace, with its central lake, pagodas, and temples. This is where I bought my Mao watch, his right hand counting seconds in the motion of a wave. The vendor asked for 280 Yuan (about $30), I offered 50 and after a bit of bargaining attained the prize at my price. I found it quite ironic that by the end of the day Mao was no longer waving and the Chinese watch making ingenuity had failed. Regardless, it is a worthwhile souvenir. For dinner Mark took us to a restaurant within walking distance of his house. He removed his small spiral bound pad with lists of foods and ordered mutton, vegetables, an orange flavored sweet and sour whole fried fish, and a few beers. A table of men sat near us drinking and screaming, a scene that I have become all to familiar with in Asia but one that wouldn’t fly in even the rowdiest of American restaurants. Its not easy to hide a white face in Asia and they soon spotted our table. The came over to drink our beer, hug us, shake hands unceasingly, and finally break Ben’s glass by dropping it on the floor. The waitress gave us a free beer for our trouble. After dinner we walked to the basement bar beneath Mcdonalds listened to Guns and Roses and Bon Jovi (not our choice, but it could have been) and spoke of religion and the issues that surround it.
On tuesday Mark was required to teach in a suburb thus Ben and I ventured to the Great Wall. The Badaling section of the wall was restored in 1984 and therefrore is the most heavily touristed section. We took pictures of ourselves at the landing where many a foreign diginitary has also been photographed over the years. We began our ascent at a little past nine and the Chinese tourists clad in identical ill fitting ballcaps were already beging to fill up the area. The day was cloudy and cold, but by the time we reached the 890 meter (about 3000 feet) peak, i had stripped off my coat and sweater, panted and sweat. At the top Ben and I were more of a tourist attraction then the wall itself and every Chinese tourist within spitting distance wanted to snap pictures of us. Im sure they would return to their homes to show their pictures of the wall and the strange white faced creatures that they had met while there. The longer Im in Asia the more I feel like a zoo animal or freakshow attraction.
Ben departed for Korea the next day and I spent Halloween alone waiting for Mark to return from Changping on Thursday. We were gearing for our weekend trip to Ti Shan, which can only be done justice with another lengthy and yawn inspiring dissemination.