Asia Travel - Part 33

The Many Faces of Macau

People’s Republic of China

by Mikko Hizon

Macau is a unique story among the world’s most popular tourist destinations, as it’s one of the few to pull off a successful — if you measure success by wealth and money — transition from a quiet sleepy port town into the top gambling destination in the world, eclipsing even the bright lights of Las Vegas. Millions of gamblers flock to Macau to play casino games such as slots, baccarat, and roulette yet the former Portuguese colony retains much of its unique character and charm, with nearly five centuries of history behind it. Visitors who are solely interested in gambling can revel in many of the world’s largest casino, with cavernous halls dedicated to nothing more than chasing Lady Luck, while those with an eye for history can find plenty to enjoy as well.

If you’re looking for cheap and at the same time world class accommodation, check out the Grandview Hotel Macau and Metropark Hotel where rates start rock bottom at only $75 per night! They have all the amenities and the rooms are cozy and crisp that even the luxury seekers can like. Free jacuzzi, sauna and gym use isn’t a bad addition for both hotels as well! Another thing a jet setter would never forget is to taste the local dishes and savor the flavors being offered by the destination. In Macau, do not forget to dine at Wong Chi Kei as they offer the most famous traditional Cantonese noodle dishes with outlets at Rua de Cinco de Outubro and another one near Senado Square. Noodles usually cost $2-3 only and you’ll be surprised that what you get is way more than what you pay for because most dishes are good for 2 people. You’d also enjoy the dessert stalls located in Senado Square. Don’t forget to drop by Lai Kei Ice Cream for homemade ice cream goodness.

Ancient temples, churches, statues, and plazas dot the port, including top destinations such as the Plaza Senado, St. Francis Xavier Chapel, the ruins of St. Paul’s, the A-Ma Temple, and the Guia fortress. One of the unique charms of Macau is the mixture and mingling of Portugese and Chinese elements, which is present not only in the architecture but also in the traditional foods you’ll find. Macau was a key point for the spread of Christianity into both China and Japan, so you’ll also find traditional Christian churches and other influences throughout Macau. Museums and art galleries are also popular, including the Museum of Macau and the Museum of Art.

If you’d like to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city and main tourist areas, the villages of Taipa and Coloane offer a look into just what life was like in the past, with the daily life and routine of many villagers unchanged over the last several centuries. Nearby islands also host very popular beaches such as Hac Sa beach, where you can enjoy the famous black sand beach as well as restaurants such as Fernando’s, which is famed for its Portuguese menu and comfortable, laid-back atmosphere. After being a thriving bustling port in the 15th and 16th centuries Macau slowly slipped into obscurity, an important fact to remember when visiting. Macau has become synonymous with the chance to play casino games in various new mega casinos but step outside the busier areas and you’ll encounter a much different Macau, one very similar to what you’d find if you’d visited during the 18th or 19th centuries.

For the adventure seekers in the audience, Macau offers a wealth of opportunities for swimming, karting, windsurfing, canoeing, diving, and horse-back riding, as well as the chance to attend (or even participate in) sporting events such as the Macau Open golf tournament, the Macau Grand Prix, and the Macau International Marathon. Guided tours are available for many of the outdoor activities in Macau, but it’s also possible to go it alone and plan out your own adventures, as numerous rental shops are available and provide everything you’ll need.

If You Go:

AIR
Try checking Air Asia for the lowest fares available. Some start at only $10!

SEA
Catch the ferry from Hong Kong to enjoy the views and really savor the experience! The ferry costs around $12-100 depending on the type of cabin you take. Be sure to bring a jacket or even a windbreaker as these waters are surprisingly cold.

CHEAP HOTELS
Check out the Grandview Hotel Macau and Metropark Hotel where rates start rock bottom at only $75 per night. They have all the amenities and the rooms are cozy and crisp that even the luxury seekers can like.

About the author:
Mikko Hizon is a film buff and an avid blogger with a penchant for traveling. Catch him in sporting events as well as he is very fond of basketball especially the Los Angeles Lakers! Visit www.solereapers.com to view his personal blog.

Photo Credits:
Macau Venetian canal by: WiNG / CC BY-SA
Macau skyline by: kewl.lu / CC BY
Hac Sa Beach by: English: Abasaa日本語: あばさー / Public domain

Japan: Out of Atomic Ashes, Hiroshima Lives Again

by Thomas Kenning

Hiroshima. The very name conjures powerful images of mushroom clouds and devastation. The city’s atomic past is an integral part of its identity, but it is also a living city with fantastic opportunities for fun, culture, and entertainment. During my recent visit, I had the chance to meditate on a dark past at the Atomic Bomb Dome, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, take in a major league baseball game with the Hiroshima Carp, and participate in the annual lantern ceremony on the banks of the Ota River.

The Hypocenter

My first stop is the hypocenter upon which sixty-six years ago, the world’s first atomic bomb was used against human targets. Aimed at the T-shaped Aioi Bridge near the geographic center of town, wind blew the bomb slightly off course some 500 meters to the southwest where it detonated over Shima Hospital.

Contrary to the assertions of U.S. propaganda and President Harry Truman, Hiroshima was not a military base by any stretch. It was a city of about three hundred thousand, seventy thousand people died instantly, and nearly one hundred fifty thousand died by the end of the year. Of that number, only a few thousand were soldiers. The very fact that U.S. military planners were willing to leave the city untouched for so long testifies to its irrelevance as a military target – it was so unimportant that military planes could afford leave it untouched for the last, grand act of the war.

Hiroshima was singled-out early on during the extensive U.S. firebombing raids against Japan that were ongoing through mid-1945. As such, it was spared any preliminary destruction by incendiary or other conventional bombs. Planners wanted a pristine target to measure the true destructive capabilities of their new weapon. Residents of Hiroshima invented sadly misguided explanations for why their city was spared the devastation that rained down on so many other cities that summer. They speculated that they were granted mercy since a large portion of the Japanese population in the U.S. had emigrated from Hiroshima. Instead, the city was chosen as a target for the atomic bomb based on several criteria, its position on a large, level river delta first among those reasons.

Today, the hypocenter is a narrow street where the reconstructed Shima Hospital stands. A block over is the Hiroshima Peace Park featuring the T-Shaped bridge, the Hiroshima Peace Museum, and, for Americans, the most iconic A-bomb-related image aside from the mushroom cloud itself – the Atomic Bomb Dome, formerly known as the Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall. As a concrete structure designed and built by Europeans in 1921, it was one of the few buildings left standing in the otherwise wooden city of Hiroshima. Today, though the city around it is modern steel and glass, it stands in ruins, slightly reinforced but largely in the same apocalyptic condition it was in by the end of the day on August 6, 1945. A lot more grass grows around it these days, underscoring the fact that time has passed and that for many, even in Hiroshima, life goes on.

The Hiroshima Carp

I have a special Japanese friend serving as my informal guide on this trip. Her name is Koko, and she is a remarkable woman. She was just eight months old when Hiroshima was destroyed, so has no direct memory of that day. Yet the bomb has shaped and defined her life in many inscrutable ways. Standing not much more than four feet tall with salt-and-pepper hair pulled into a bun, she looks mild, but in relating the story of her journey from infant in the wrong place at the wrong time – the epitome of an innocent bystander – to peace activist and nuclear critic, she speaks with a stirring fervency, translating her Japanese into her own fluent, vivid English.

Aside from a brief stint at American University in Washington, DC to earn her bachelor’s degree, Koko has lived all 66 years of her life in Hiroshima. She remembers when, in 1950, just five years after the bomb, in the lean years when families still lived in temporary housing and school was still held outside for lack of standing buildings, the people of Hiroshima scraped together their yen to start a proper baseball team in their city. A testament to the human spirit as well as to the unrivaled Japanese love of baseball.

The Carp are still going strong 61 years later, playing their home games in picturesque Mazda Zoom Zoom Stadium. Most American stadiums are surrounded by several square miles of concrete wasteland devoted to parking every individual spectator’s car. The Carp’s stadium is within easy walking distance of the Toyoko Inn where we’re staying, and instead of passing row after row of cars, we pass a much more compact though very densely packed bicycle lot. It’s so full that it’s actually got double-decker racks to handle all of the spectators’ bikes. What a great thing! We’ve got the cheap seats, and I wouldn’t ever want to pay for the more expensive ones. This is where the true action is. From here, you can watch the salmon pink sunset over the mountains that enclose Hiroshima on three sides. The city lights come up, and modern bullet trains come gliding silently to rest in nearby Hiroshima Station.

This is the pep block. There is almost no canned music at a Japanese baseball game. Instead, a bare-bones band leads the rabid fans whenever the Carp are up to bat. Bleating trumpets and pounding drums, elaborate sing-song chants with prescribed movements. The crowd cheers, “Bonzai!” then lapses into a pointed silence when the Tokyo Giants are up to bat. They reel their energy in again, least it accidentally offer encouragement to the other team. This is unrivaled in American sports anywhere; American sporting fans would be ashamed.

I look around, and Japanese are eating French fries with chopsticks. Others just enjoy a nice bowl of hot soup at the ball park. Beer-vending women carry backpack kegs. I myself sup on Philly cheese steak as interpreted by the Japanese. It is a strip of actual steak on a hard roll drowning in nacho cheese.

Every attendee receives a green sheet of paper with a prayer for world peace printed on it. When John Lennon’s “Imagine” plays over the stadium sound system, the whole crowd waves their green papers high over their heads. This is the eve of the sixty-sixth anniversary of the bombing. That experience and a subsequent commitment to world peace are fundamental to the identity of this city. There is no escaping it. It is inspirational to see so much idealism spring from such negative roots.

The Lantern Ceremony

There is a spiritual sense of communion, a union of the intimate and the universal found at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park this evening. The park is the site of the toro nagashi, or lantern ceremony, a traditional Japanese memorial service for the dead. It is by far the most moving part of the day. The skeletal A-Bomb Dome glows bright in the dark, its reflection dancing and shifting shape on the dark surface of the river like some Rorschach test of tragedy, an all-purpose steel and stone reminder of the fragility of even the most durable of man’s accomplishments.

By this light and the light of the primeval moon, people gather to write messages of peace and love on colorful paper, which they proceed to fold into lantern shades. I join several of my new Japanese friends to decorate one, adding the message, “No nations, just people. Peace.” This is written beside the kanji script peace messages of my Japanese friends. This is beautiful, because when you think about it – our grandfathers were trying as hard as they could to kill each other.

We place a lit candle inside our lantern and join thousands of others – Japanese, Americans, Asians, Europeans – on the banks of the Ota River. Lanterns of dozens of colors, the collaborative work of many hands, drift like luminescent souls toward the unknown sea. This communion is profound. Your feet get wet, and you cannot help but feel connected on a spiritual level to what happened here. Suddenly the people who died here are your own people. They are your mothers, fathers, brothers, and sisters.

It is so calm, you can feel every heartbeat in your chest. And if you let yourself, you will almost certainly be moved to tears. My friends and I stake out a spot on the river, and watch the lanterns drifting slowly past our position downstream. We reflect in sparse language on everything we have seen and done these past few days. Hiroshima has the power to chance you. That much is apparent, even if we can’t articulate just what we will carry home from this very special place.

Eventually we find ourselves in Hiroshima’s downtown nightlife district. It’s not very busy for a Saturday night, but that is perfect for our purposes. We’re just looking for a quiet dinner, and we’re rewarded with an intimate little place – shoes off at the door – serving contemporary Japanese cuisine and the best sake I have ever tasted.

Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park and Miyajima Island Tour from Hiroshima

If You Go:

The Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park is easily accessible from the Hiroden Genbaku Dome-mae Station, a clearly labeled stop on the extensive Hiroshima street car system. The Lantern Ceremony takes place only once a year on August 6, the anniversary of the atomic bombing, but it’s well worth your effort to plan your visit to coincide with this beautiful service.

The Hiroshima Carp play in the beautiful Mazda Zoom Zoom Stadium which is an easy ten minute walk from central Hiroshima Station, the main JR West and Shinkansen terminal for the whole city. Tickets are often available right up to game time.

About the author:
Thomas Kenning decided to leave his life as a high school history teacher in order to do crazier things. One of those crazy things was traveling to Japan to study the legacy of the atomic bombs. He’s written about this and other foolhardy experiences in zines and on his blog at cattywampus.tumblr.com.

Photo credits:
Itsukushima Shinto shrine at Miyajima island, near Hiroshima photo by Nicki Eliza Schinow on Unsplash
All other photos are by Thomas Kenning.

Bangladesh: Doin’ Dhaka

by Paola Fornari

When I arrived in Dhaka a few months ago, I was full of enthusiasm and desire for new adventures. People looked at me skeptically: ‘Hmph, you’ll see, in a couple of months you’ll get real like the rest of us. You won’t venture much further than Gulshan II unless you really have to.’ Gulshan II is the neighborhood where most expats live.

With a population of fifteen million, Dhaka is not the easiest place to get around. It takes about an hour and a half to drive five miles, and it’s not safe to walk or cycle. So you eventually give up trying.

As my friends predicted, I soon lapsed into the home-club-nearby shops circuit, anything else seeming like too much of an effort. But that changed one morning in June when I found a message from Virginia Ironside in my junk mail. Virginia Ironside? She’s not junk: she’s seriously famous! Back in the Seventies I used to read her Agony Aunt column in Woman magazine. She’s written loads of books. And now she has a weekly column in The Independent, and a monthly one in The Oldie.

And there’s the connection. Virginia had read my expat piece about rickshaws in The Oldie, and liked it. In her e-mail she explained that she had been in Dhaka a few years ago, and had bought some rickshaw art – paintings on tin plate. She had given them away. Did I know if they were still made? Would I be able to find someone who could locate some?

This was exactly the push I needed. I decided to hire a professional guide for the occasion. So a couple of days later Mithu arrived at my home. Together with Willington, my driver, and my Danish friend Anette – new to Dhaka and still not jaded – we ventured off into the old city.

Our two-hour journey was not wasted: Mithu, speaking excellent English, gave us his views on Bangladeshi politics, current issues, transport, and so on. Our first stop was Curzon Hall, named after Lord Curzon, the former British Viceroy to India. It was built in 1904 as a Town Hall, and is now part of Dhaka University’s science faculty. It is a harmonious blend of Mughal and European architecture, built in red brick. Set a little back from the busy main road, near a small lake, it has a peaceful feel about it. Curzon Hall is historically significant. In 1948, after the partition that established what is now Bangladesh as East Pakistan, this was the seat of the language movement, which opposed the imposition of Urdu as the sole national language of Pakistan.

We then moved on to Bangsal Road, known by expats as Bicycle Street. This is a busy narrow street which sells everything from bikes to motorbike spare parts to Allen keys – which Anette was looking for … and rickshaw art. Virginia had specified that she wanted hand-painted tin plaques, rather than the ‘new-fashioned’ screen textile prints.

We were in luck. Several shops sold them, and after some good-humoured bargaining, we had bought nine. From Virginia’s e-mails, I understood she fancied animals, which we found, and aeroplanes, which we didn’t though there were pictures of several other scenes depicting forms of transport which we bought. (Example below)

Then there were birds and flowers. I knew my sister would love a Bollywood one, and there was much discussion about the selection – were the faces too scary? Were the guns too violent?

From Bicycle Street, we headed to Hindu Street, a tiny winding lane packed with shops selling Hindu religious artifacts, bangles made from conch shells imported from Sri Lanka, incense, and all manner of bits and bobs.

The street was lined with tightly packed with tailors, hairdressers, and hawkers. Women filled up their pitchers at standpipes, and carts laden with pineapples wove their way through the general chaos.

We emerged into a wider street, and right in front of us was the Pink Palace, locally known as Ahsan Manzil. It used to be a government and trading centre, and Lord Curzon used to stay here on his visits to Dhaka. in the mid-19th century it was sold to the Dhaka nawab family, who converted it into a private home. It was left in a state of disrepair after the nawabs, then restored in 1985 and made into a museum.

Our last stop was the Sadarghat, Dhaka’s boat terminal. It is from here that you can head south towards the Bay of Bengal – or simply cross the river.

No new garments factories are allowed to be built in Dhaka, and the other side of the river is not Dhaka, so there are a lot of factories going up there now.

We wandered up onto a huge boat where a couple of people had found shelter to sleep. Imagining these huge hunks of iron packed with three times their intended capacity brought me closer to those headlines that so often figure in the newspapers here: ‘Hundreds drown as ferry sinks.’

And so, past children playing in the putrid water and shoes sheltering from the sun under umbrellas we headed back to our car, hot, hungry and thirsty, glad of our trip beyond the bubble of Gulshan II.

Private Full Day Tour of Dhaka City

If You Go:

City Guide: dhaka.com
wikitravel.org/en/Dhaka

About the author:
Paola Fornari was born on an island in Lake Victoria, and was brought up in Tanzania. She has lived in almost a dozen countries over three continents, speaks five and a half languages, and describes herself as an “expatriate sine patria”. She explains her itinerant life by saying: “Some lead; others follow.” Her articles have been published in “The Buenos Aires Herald”, “The Oldie”, and “Practical Fishkeeping.”

All photos are by Paola Fornari.

China: Changing Chengdu

by Eleanor Herzog

As I hailed a taxi to take me to the nearest, least flea-ridden hostel, I looked around at the industrialized blocks that stretched out before me. Although I knew the first settlers named the area Tianfuzhi Guó, (The Country of Heaven) four thousand years ago, this reference didn’t sit easily with the veneer of dirt encrusting the buildings and occasional person. Still, as it was recently named as China’s fourth most liveable city, I was certain I would be able to unearth the cultural charm.

Ancient Wonders in Modern China

I started my search in Jinli Ancient Street, one of the few remaining spots where the vestiges of a rapidly disappearing culture are permitted to shine through, albeit under the strict control of the local tourist board. I walked along the cobbled streets determined to ignore the overhead neon lighting and pumping music.

Lining the antiquated streets, backed against the three story balconied buildings, tiny one-man stalls sell traditional fares. Makers of dragon shaped candy sticks neighbour paper cutting artists. In true Chinese style, every bit of space is exploited and it was hard to move without tripping over beggars, acrobatics or boom boxes.

Slightly spoiled for choice in terms of entertainment, I pushed my way through the masses, simultaneously drawn and repulsed by a high pitched warbling. Carefully manoeuvring around the youthful looking ear cleaners probing the ears of their worried looking customers, I pushed my way to the front of a crowd. I found Sichuanese male opera singers crescendoing to the finale of their highly costumed and theatrical show, their carefully applied makeup melting under the strain of the vocal effort and lighting.

Puppetry Through the Ages

It was when I was hanging around one of the quieter stalls that I truly felt like I had found a moment to enjoy the China that was spread over the glossy pages of the travel magazines. Beneath bobbing red lanterns and the dangling sea of wishes entwined within the branches of a clematis, a crowd gathered to watch the shadow play of the Hidden People.

The Hidden People, who operate the puppets from behind the flood lit screen, belong to a thousand year old tradition. They release part of their own soul to animate their puppets. The play of shadow upon light re-enacts traditional fairy tales in a symbolic dance that seems to pirouette straight into the hearts and minds of the entranced watchers.

Time to taste some of the local delicacies. I walked through the heavily scented smoke that swamped the BBQ street, stopping at every stall to question the vendors. Uncertain about my toneless Mandarin, the vendors simply nodded and let fly with the la jiao, the famed Sichuan spice that could knock the socks off even the most experienced traveller.

I took several risks and sat down to an outdoor feast of kung pao chicken, zhang fei beef, zhong boiled dumplings and mapo tofu. I tentatively tried my wares under the watchful eye of the smiling Chinese diners who, slightly sadistically, awaited my reaction. I certainly didn’t disappoint them.

Panda Country

The following day I decided to head to Chengdu’s must-see panda sanctuary. I eagerly welcomed the green haven after the polluted streets, yet it was still impossible to escape China’s infamous crowds. Through the throngs of tourists and clapping children, I eased my way to the front in time to see an incredibly docile panda obligingly pose for pictures next to newly-weds. They had tentatively entered the enclosure and now grinned into the flashing cameras.

For me, the highlight was not the slightly lonely looking pandas, but the smaller red pandas that moved with the dexterity of cats and responded to the calls of the tourists. When the park wardens were busy elsewhere, the crowds would entice them to stand on two legs and paw for food. My eyes locked momentarily with one panda’s fox like eyes, and for that fleeting instant I thought I saw an intelligence that seemed aware of its captive situation, yet was prepared to manipulate it cuteness to full advantage. I smiled, perhaps baring a few too many teeth and our mutual gaze was broken. She turned her back and padded away with the arched haughtiness I probably deserved.

Having had my fill of panda enclosures, I wandered down to the lake for green tea and noodles. It seemed even the massing fish had learnt to manipulate the tourists, and as I watched them writhing to the surface to chow down upon the tossed breadcrumbs, I wondered what this place would be like without the protection of the sanctuary. It seemed to me the only animals in the park that were not somehow manipulated by the crowds were the unusual black swans that glided across the surface of the lake. Necks outstretched and wings beating in harmony with their mates, they seemed oblivious to the snap happy tourists.

The following day I packed up my bag. My trip was to take me further North to the spectacular scenery of the Jiuzhai Valley. As I climbed back onto the minibus, dreading the bumpy journey that stretched out before me, I knew that the pockets of beauty I found in Chengdu would keep me warm as I hit the road again.

Private Chengdu Impression Day Tour including Chengdu Panda Base

If You Go:

Where To Stay

The Chengdu Mix Hostel is a real down to Earth place where you can have a beer with other travelers and sample the delicious banana pancakes. The friendly staff are incredibly helpful and are able to provide local information.

At the other end of the market is the Kempinski Hotel. Although expensive, for some travelers it is worth the price after an arduous journey. Situated close to the airport expressway and ring roads, it is also rather convenient.

The Chengdu Lazybones Backpacker Boutique Hostel must have derived its namesake from its central location. Boasting a six minute walk to the ‘Mao Statue’ and a one minute walk to ‘Luomashi’ Metro Station, the lazier travelers among us will never be far from comfort. In addition, the hostel the staff speak English to quite a high standard.

Where to Eat

Baguo Buyi Restaurant, located near Wu Hou Temple, offers a house specialty known as Yuer Shao Jiayu. This adventurous dish combines stewed tarot with a gelatinous green turtle.
Qiang Jiao Jiao means “the corner of a wall”. Accurately named, this kebab/skewer vendor is hidden down a tiny alley that leads off Niu Wang Miao Street. If you are lucky enough to find it, you will have the privilege of tasting some of the best chuan chuans in town.

At Lao Ma Tou Hot Pot on Yulin Central Street is home to some of the fieriest Sichuanese hot pot in Chengdu. Be prepared for raucous clientele, unusual ingredients and a burning tongue.

Transport

The Chengdu Shuangliu International Airport (CTU) is in the southwest of Chengdu City. It is about 20 kilometers from the center of Chengdu City.
Chengdu is home to the largest railway hub in southwest China and transports thousands of passengers back and forth everyday. It is relatively convenient to navigate around.
Chengdu has several main coach stations including Chengdu Bus Station (Wugui Bridge Bus Station), New South Gate Bus Station, Beimen (North Gate) Bus Station, Ximen (West Gate) Bus Station, Dongmen (East Gate) Bus Station, Gaosuntang Bus Station, and Chadianzi Bus Station.

About the author:
Alongside other projects, Eleanor Herzog attempts the odd bit of writing. Her current projects are focused upon Asian cultural documentation and she is particularly interested in endeavors that prioritize development in their approach. Her assignments include television writing and production, travel writing, features, reviews, short stories and photography. Her work takes her all over the world as she prioritizes meeting and creating strong relations with the people she is writing about. For more, please visit her website: www.eleanorherzog.wordpress.com

All photos are by Eleanor Herzog.
More pictures at: www.flickr.com/photos/eleanorherzog

The Mausoleum of Mao Zedong

Tiananmen Square, China

by Thomas Kenning

I don’t know for sure, but I doubt Mao was a late sleeper. And these days, if you want to see him, you can’t be either.

I get to Tiananmen before 7:30. The guys who work the metal detectors at the gates aren’t even here yet. The decadent capitalist has gotten out of bed before the communists.

Well, not all of the communists. A few thousand Chinese citizens are already here, queuing and eager to pay their respects to the Chairman. His mausoleum is only open for business before the hours of 8-12, so if you want to say hi, now is the time to do it.

Tiananmen Square is this massive open space, designed to impress and to intimidate, depending on who issued you your passport – several Chinese I meet claim this is the biggest open space in the world. There’s imposing 1950s and ’60s Soviet era architecture to the east and west and a 40 foot tall obelisk, the Memorial to the People’s Heroes to the south, behind which lies Mao’s four or five story tall mausoleum. The real eye-catcher from this vantage point, though, is the gate to the Forbidden City in the north. You know it. You’ve seen it – the one with the two story portrait of Mao on it.

I check my camera and bag at a stand across the square – neither is allowed inside Mao’s mausoleum – and join the surprisingly orderly mass of Mao-philes. This is the neatest line I have encountered in China – normally people just push and shove their way ahead of you, no matter where you are. Soldiers on crowd control duty definitely help with this problem.

Pale and blond, I stand out everywhere I go in China, but never more so than at this precise moment, I realize. Literally, every other person in this line – all several thousand of them – is Chinese. I feel not just self-conscious, but downright uncomfortable. People are looking at me. Staring at me. Chinese have no compunctions about this, it seems. They’re eyeing me openly. I’m sweating, and the sun is barely even up yet.

Finally, a middle-aged guy in a pink polo shirt sidles up next to me in line. He asks the question that’s on everyone’s mind.

“You? Where are you from?”

I’m currently living in nearby Tianjin. It’s a city of ten million that most westerners have never heard of. I think about answering “Tianjin” and smiling rakishly, but I know from teaching English to my Chinese classes that my sometimes puckish sense of humor is lost to the language barrier or the Chinese temperament. Or both.

“If you are from the USA, why do you want see Chairman Mao?”

They have a way of being direct here that can be a little disarming. A way of just putting it out there, no matter what is on their mind. For many Chinese, visiting Mao is a quasi-religious experience, a chance to pay homage and prostrate oneself before greatness. His cult of personality still runs strong thirty-five years after his death. Many Chinese are sensitive about outsiders who come to this place with their minds made up that Mao is a megalomaniacal despot, as we’re often taught in the west.

But I thought about this in advance, and I’m ready with a sincere answer. “I’m very interested in China and its leaders. I want to learn.” This is a nice value-neutral statement.

“Ah, yes!” He is pleased with this answer, and he decides in this moment that I am alright. He is going to be my new best friend until we get through this line. He turns to the crowd which is still staring shamelessly at me and offers a translation of our exchange. Smiles and waves all around. And I rejoice, not only because I am no longer quite so isolated in this sea of humanity, but because seeing Mao is only half of the experience – it’s not complete without the interactive and earnest reactions from a real Chinese. I wanted to learn, and I am going to.

According to my new friend – a former teacher, and now a “boss” from Dalian – “Mao was a great man. In the US, the only thing close is your Washington. Mao did not just change China, he changed the world.”

I can’t argue with this, whatever the human cost of Mao’s reign may have been. Without Mao, there is no People’s Republic, and it’s hard to imagine a modern world economy without it. Even though Mao favored a collectivized, socialist paradise, his more economically liberal successors in the ’80s, ’90s, and ’00s benefited immeasurably from the authoritarian political framework that Mao was instrumental in laying down. The Chinese economic miracle is carefully managed by fiat from the top down, and the power to do this rests on the shadow of Mao and his cult of personality.

We talk about all of this, too, more or less, as much as his limited English allows. He wouldn’t say it the way I say it either – his take is much more reverential, of course. Maybe it’s the fact that we’re smack in Tiananmen Square – symbolic in the west for the draconian suppression of the Chinese regime, but in China as the home of Mao, the People’s Congress, and the National Day military review – but this man from Dalian is brimming with visible pride. Literally – his voice quivers, and I swear he’s near tears at one point.

During the whole conversation, he is especially keen to point out China’s wealth. How Americans may earn more, but their cost of living is much higher – so the average Chinese does nearly as well in the end. Of course, some of his questions of me are telling about how big that gap still is… For example, when he’s asking about my life as a teacher in Tianjin, he asks, “How many people do you share a bedroom with?” He’s floored when I answer with “None.”

We draw near the door, through several layers of security, and Dalian wants to buy a yellow carnation to leave as an offering to Mao. But he misses the flower stand in the heat of our conversation, and the soldiers won’t let him go back for one. Despite his pleading. Here’s where he comes closest to tears. But the line toward the inner chamber of Mao’s Mausoleum is ever-moving and inexorable. Even though he says he has been here so many times that he can’t count them, this ritual clearly means a lot to him. It is secular religion here, and I have brought a modicum of shame upon him before his Lord. He tells me that having the chance to guide an American through this experience is honor enough.

Everyone’s hushed and reverent as we finally enter the chamber that houses Mao’s crystal casket. Dark marble and high ceilings, lots of red velvet. The man himself has aged well, considering he has been dead for almost four decades. He truly looks like he’s just sleeping peacefully.

Dalian is genuflecting and his hands are pressed together like devout Christian in prayer. This is as intense and as sincere as anyone having a moment in Jerusalem. Except, in the presence of Mao, your feet are not allowed to stop their shuffle.

Like that, our audience with Mao is over, and we’re stewarded back into the heat of the noonday sun. Stalls full of officially licensed Mao memorabilia do a brisk business among the faithful, and I don’t want to be left out. Dalian gives me his name and his number and urges me to call if I ever need anything. He’s really impressed when I purchase a framed red ink lithograph of Mao in profile at the official state-run souvenir stand outside of the mausoleum. For him, this is a sacred icon. For me, it’s pure, unholy kitsch.

My feelings about this reverence for Mao are ambivalent at best. It means a lot to this guy and to many others. It is genuinely spiritual, if not religious. But what is the moral code that that spirituality animates? I’ve been told several times by several Chinese that politics is not something for the people to worry about. That is the first line in the profession of faith of the state religion of China.

I was raised Catholic, so I know that it’s not easy to forget a prayer that you’ve been reciting since before you understood the words…

Private Beijing Sightseeing Tour: Forbidden City and Tian’anmen Square

If You Go:

The Mausoleum of Mao Zedong is easily accessible from Qianmen station on line 2 of the Beijing subway. Exit the station toward Tiananmen Square. The Mausoleum is only open between the hours of 8am and 12pm Tuesday through Sunday. Lines are long, so plan to arrive early.

About the author:
Thomas Kenning decided to leave his life as a high school history teacher in order to do crazier things. One of those crazy things was moving to China, even though he spoke no Chinese. He’s written about this and other foolhardy experiences in zines and on his blog at cattywampus.tumblr.com

All photos are by Thomas Kenning.