by Leslie Hebert 

The young rickshaw driver in the bright blue jacket bore down on the pedals of his bike to get us moving. My husband and I, definitely not small people, were squeezed tightly into the seat of a small carriage behind the bike. Bundled in a threadbare black and red plaid blanket, we squirmed uncomfortably in our narrow conveyance. I calculated the burden of our combined weight, thinking that perhaps our driver was not going to be strong enough to move us, but he made one final push and we began to roll forward.

Push, groan, squeak.

The ancient bike creaked and moaned as its driver huffed and puffed, his breath making dragon-like clouds of steam in the cold November air. The icy wind whistled down the narrow street, I buried my hands in the blanket for warmth, and we followed a long line of red-canopied rickshaws through the narrow alleys of the Hutong District in old Beijing.

Local residents smiled in amusement and waved at the parade of foreigners passing by as the rickshaw convoy picked up a surprising amount of speed. We sped through the alleys, narrowly missing scooters and taxis coming from the opposite direction. Above my head, completely out of context, I was astonished to see a shipping container hanging in the air. Being from the port city of Vancouver, I am used to seeing containers sitting on barges, at the dockside, or behind trucks on the highway, but I had never seen one on top of a residential building. Yet here, in this overcrowded district of one of the world’s largest, most populous cities, one had been creatively converted into a second floor apartment.

The rickshaws brought us to our lunch destination, a noodle house in the home of a local resident. The tour group, all 30 of us, filed through a tiny kitchen, where freshly cut vegetables lay ready for stir frying, and crowded into a small living room to squat on low stools, elbow to elbow, ten to a table. There was little warmth in the house, but the combined heat of thirty crammed bodies and the heat of the green tea our hostess served were a comforting relief from the cold outside.

Plates of food arrived and we happily shared noodles, bean sprouts, summer squash, chicken legs and delicious fried peanuts. I relaxed. Warmth flowed through my body and down into my fingers, and I leaned comfortably back against the flaking, whitewashed wall behind me to savour more hot tea. Then just as I got comfortably warm the guide abruptly announced it was time to go, and I was reminded that we were on a tight tour schedule

As I headed back out into the chill November air the hostess and cook, who were standing in the kitchen to see us off, grabbed me and started laughingly swatting whitewash from the back of my black coat. Smiling and nodding, I extricated myself as politely as possible and caught up with the group making its way back to the rickshaws.

Our next stop was a traditional courtyard house, built to accommodate the many members of a traditional extended family. This was a large sprawling house, a maze which seemed to contain at least three courtyards each surrounded by long, low buildings containing various storage, sleeping and common rooms.

The owner of the house was a piece of living history, a genial, round-faced 99 year-old who stood in the open doorway of one of the rooms waving us in. I smiled and greeted him with a polite “ni hao” but, being completely deaf, he smiled and nodded vacantly and beckoned to the next person. I walked out across the chill of the courtyard and escaped from the freezing wind once more by squishing into the main living room with the rest of the group. I sank down into the warm embrace of a low, soft couch placed against the wall. Someone perched on the arm of the couch, people sat on rows of rickety folding chairs lined up in front of the couch, and others crowded into the doorway.

Against a red wooden fretwork on the far wall hung a giant fan. To my left was a floor to ceiling bookcase stuffed with musty old books, and in the centre of the room stood a dark wooden coffee table covered with piles of photo albums and a miscellany of old black and white photographs.

The guide passed some of the photos around and told us that the old man who now lived in the house with his son and grandson had made his fortune in the 1930s, midway between the fall of the Ching dynasty and the rise of Chairman Mao. With his new-found wealth he had bought the house we were sitting in for three one-kilogram bricks of gold.

One of the faded photo passed around showed two young girls and two small boys standing in front of the house. They were dressed in traditional Chinese clothing. The girls had long braids, and wore quilted jackets with pretty floral patterns. Each of the four children stood in a different pose, as if caught in an instant between bouts of energetic play. In the second photo, four older children stood sternly at attention, all sporting identical short haircuts and identically dressed in peaked caps and thin denim “Mao suits”, the uniform of the Cultural Revolution.

Chairman Mao began the Cultural Revolution in the 1960s by removing all his political opposition. In 1966 he shut down the schools and many of the now idle students joined units of the Red Guard, a paramilitary organization that persecuted the elderly and intellectuals, and battled for power with other Guard units. By the fall of 1967 anarchy loomed in many cities and the economy was failing. After lengthy power struggles between various factions, China achieved stability once more, but the economic and human cost of the Cultural Revolution had been high. Millions were imprisoned, many were tortured or had their property seized, and 1.5 million were killed.

“Look at these children,” said the guide. “They are smiling and mischievous. They are normal, happy human beings. Now look at these same children a few years later, how sad and serious they are. Before, they were individuals. They all dressed differently and wore bright colours. Now they are soldiers of Mao. They are all dressed the same. See how sad they look!”

“Life under Mao,” he added, “was 28 years of hell.”

Members of the tour group began to fire questions at him.

“So why is Mao still honoured?”

“Why is his picture displayed?”

“Why is he still portrayed on the money?”

“Isn’t China still Communist?”

He explained that the People’s Republic had evolved into a mixed economy, part socialist, part capitalist, but that Mao was still honoured as the founder of the current system and because the current administration was part of his legacy.

Yes, indeed. In the new China I had seen clear evidence of capitalist activity such as private banks, luxury hotels and fast food franchises like KFC and Starbucks. But I also sensed a tense undercurrent. I had seen security everywhere, sometimes unobtrusive videocam surveillance and sometimes more obvious groups of police officers, and there were unbelievably thorough security checks at every national monument.

According to the guide, the house we were sitting in was worth 40 million dollars in the new capitalist economy, a tidy profit on a long ago investment of 3 kilos of gold, and a nice legacy to be shared or perhaps fought over by the owner’s six sons. Sadly, the guide informed us, this old house would probably be torn down and replaced by an apartment block or office tower.

Leaving the cosiness of the living room for the chill air outside, I crossed the uneven surface of the courtyard past bare fruit trees and the remains of the summer vegetable garden. Two gourds clung to life on the branches of a dying vine and a string of artificial chili peppers made from shiny red and gold fabric hung from a bare branch like an enormous yet bizarre Christmas decoration.

Out in the alley the rickshaws with their gold fringed red canopies and cramped seats were lined up waiting to return us to the warm spacious luxury of the tour coach taking to the airport.

As we sped back through the Hutong District, I sat rubbing warmth back into my chilled fingers, anticipating the short flight south, and looking forward to the milder climate of Shanghai.

If You Go:

I recommend going to Beijing in the spring or early fall. It was surprisingly cold in November and can also be unbearably hot in summer.

Although the Hutong tour was part of our tour itinerary, independent travellers can book a similar tour through their hotel. Rickshaw, group and private walking tours are available. They vary in length from 4 to 8 hours and prices range from $US 49 to $US 69. You can read more information at www.tour-beijing.com/hutong/#.Wh9eODD_q1s

About the author:
Lesley Hebert is a graduate of Simon Fraser University. Now retired from teaching English as a second language in the classroom, she teaches ESL to international students via Skype. She also writes on-line articles which reflect a lively, inquiring mind and a love of travel, language, history and culture. Read more of Lesley’s articles.

Photos by Lesley Hebert

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.

What to See, Where to Go, What to Do

by Marilyn D. Pennell

Beijing is buzzing with activity as it prepares for the 2008 Olympic games. If you’re headed there for either business or pleasure, you’re in for an unforgettable journey into the history and culture of a 5,000 year old civilization. China’s capital city is packed with magnificent historical sites and out of the way alleyways teeming with life, just waiting to be discovered.

One of the first stops on your itinerary should be Tiananmen Square, the world’s largest public square and the site of the 1989 pro Democracy student protests. During the summer, about 20,000 people visit the square every day.

Walking among the throngs, you’ll encounter visitors from all over the globe trailing behind tour guides like eager puppies. A delightful sight is that of local residents flying kites and posing for photos next to the stern looking military sentries who stand guard. Much like the guards at Buckingham Palace, the sentries never crack a smile, but it’s fun to try to get them to grin anyway.

A visit to the Mao Mausoleum, located in the square, is an eerie and strangely moving experience, Be prepared for up to an hour’s wait to get a thirty second glimpse of the embalmed body of the former leader of the PRC.

Mao’s body has been on public view since his death in 1976. Rumor has it that there are actually two or more “Maos” i.e. the real embalmed body and a wax replica or two. What is perhaps most impressive in the mausoleum are the people of all ages who come to lay flowers at Mao’s feet, a testament to his enduring legacy. If you ask a Chinese friend or a person on the street about Mao, he or she is likely to say that he was “Sixty percent right and forty percent wrong.”

At the north end of the square, you’ll be greeted by a huge portrait of Chairman Mao hanging above the Gate of Heavenly Peace. This is the entrance to the Forbidden City, a 200-acre complex that stretches over a maze of courtyards, towering gates and majestic halls. Yellow, the symbol of the royal family, is the dominant color. The roofs are built with yellow glazed tiles and even the bricks on the ground are yellow.

In imperial China, 24 different emperors of the Ming and Qing Dynasties lived here with their families and courtesans. It could take anywhere from two hours to a full day or more to soak up even a small part of the 500 years of history and culture that this vast labyrinth represents.

Even if you aren’t a history buff, a visit to the Forbidden City will stir your senses and make you feel as if you have wandered onto the set of the film “The Last Emperor.” It’ s easy to imagine the Emperor’s concubines and the palace eunuchs rustling through the vast halls built with striking traditional architecture. The curved roofs, colorful lacquered eaves and walls of red, gold and green are exquisitely crafted. Look up and you will notice the fine decorative details of dragons, delicate flowers and calligraphy etched on the brightly painted ceilings.

The Temple of Heaven south of the city center should be your next stop. It was originally built as a site for imperial sacrifices and prayer for good harvests. Followers of numerology and feng shui will be impressed with the fact that the temple grounds were designed with these concepts in mind. The three tiers of the altar represent the heavens, earth and mortal realm.

What seemed to attract the most attention the day I visited was The Circular Mound Altar. Here groups of students, seniors and the middle aged gathered, hopping up and down on a circular disc, laughing, stamping and yelling. I’m not quite sure what this was all about but it did seem to make the sound reverberate. It was a very hot July day so maybe people were praying for rain!

Take a step back in time to the days the Empress Dowager Ci Xi, at the sultry Summer Palace on the shores of Kunming Lake. Ci Xi a notorious and controversial figure in the history of imperial China. She came to the imperial court as a concubine and rose to power under the rule of her young son, The Tongzhi Emperor and her nephew, the Guangxu Emperor. At one point during her rule, she imprisoned her nephew, the Guangxu Emperor in order to establish herself as ruler.

On a bright summer day, the palace grounds are overflowing with throngs of people strolling along the promenade in their summer finery, shielding themselves from the sun with pastel parasols. The lake is covered in sweet green lily pads. Exotic multicolored dragon boats glide along as if floating on air and are available to the public should you desire a ride.

But don’t try to hitch a ride on the Marble Boat. This “boat” is a two story, stationary building constructed of marble and stained glass. Ci Xi allegedly had the “boat” built with embezzled funds. Legend says that it was her favorite place to have tea.

If you like people watching or want a more relaxed visit, go on a Sunday. This is when the locals come out to play. You can watch local people paint calligraphy poems on the sidewalk using buckets of water and big bristly brushes. On Sundays women perform traditional Chinese dances, couples enjoy ballroom dancing and people of all ages practice the slow and graceful movements of T’ai Chi.

One of the most memorable scenes on my Sunday visit was a group of older men playing “Jingle Bells” on traditional Chinese instruments, while a woman in a red dress sang classical Chinese songs nearby and another group of men and women played a lively game of Chinese chess.

The old Beijing is quickly morphing into the “new Beijing.” Though much of the ancient charm is still evident, every day old buildings are being torn down and rebuilt, much to the chagrin of many locals. So, to discover hidden gems, one has to search and spend some time away from the crowds. These are just a few of the many “small delights” you may find along the way.

To experience the old Beijing, a visit to a “hutong” is a must. Hutongs are narrow back alleys formed by rows of siheyuan, or traditional courtyard homes. Here, life is lived on the streets. It isn’t unusual to see groups of people sitting in the alleys playing cards, hawking vegetables and cooking food on outdoor grills. Though it may seem a bit touristy, a good way to see and experience the hutong is a tour by pedicab. My tour included a stop at a traditional courtyard home where our group helped make a lunch of Chinese dumplings with the family who lives there.

The most visited religious site in Beijing is the Tibetan Buddhist Lama Temple. What makes it special is that it is a place to appreciate the fervent and moving devotion of Buddhists in China. The atmosphere is almost intoxicating. The smell of incense floats among the pagodas painted in red, green and gold, as worshipers light joss sticks and clasp their hands in prayer.

BEYOND BEIJING: THE GREAT WALL

What’s so great about the Great Wall? There isn’t enough space here to list everything that makes this iconic creation the stuff of legend. It stretches along a winding path from the Yellow Sea to the Gobi Desert, through five provinces and two autonomous regions. Whether seen from a distance or up close, breathtaking is about the only word that can come close to describing it.

The three main public entry points are all about a drive of an hour or two from Beijing. The Great Wall at Mutianyu is located about sixty miles from Beijing. This is the section of the wall that former President Bill Clinton visited. They say his name is inscribed on one of the cable cars.

At Mutianyu the walk from the parking lot to the lowest point on the wall is a strenuous hike. Fortunately, you can also take a cable car. At the wall, after hopping off the cable car, I was a bit surprised to see groups of Chinese businessmen on cell phones, a man dressed up like Genghis Khan and grannies with small children out for a day of hiking.

One of my sweetest memories of my meanderings along the Great Wall is of a young Chinese couple with their toddler-aged son. The little boy couldn’t have been more than two years old but he toddled along the rocky path like a trooper.

At the end of our afternoon at the wall, my travel mates and I had the option of taking an alpine slide back down the slope. Since I was loaded down with cameras, I opted for the cable car. But my companions, all of whom were sensible adults, said the slide was a great way to finish the day. If I had it to do over again, I’d take that slide, too.

If You Go:

Beijing Tours Now Available:

Private Walking Tour Forbidden City
Jinshanling Great Wall Group Tour with Lunch
Confucius Temple and Imperial Academy Walking tour

For More Information:
The China National Tourism Office at www.cnto.org or www.chinatravelservice.com.

Getting Around:
Your best bet is to hire a Chinese speaking guide since English is not widely spoken and the attractions are spread all over the city. The prices for guides are reasonable and you’ll enjoy the city more with someone who knows the lay of the land. Taxis are inexpensive though most drivers don’t speak English. Chinese taxis are not as roomy as Western taxis. Most can only fit four average sized people, at best. If you’re headed to the Olympic games a new Beijing subway line built to accommodate the games, will open in summer 2008. The line will run between the city center and the Olympic Green, the park-like complex where the new National Stadium and other prime Olympic venues are located.

Shopping:
If you like shopping, be prepared to bargain. It’s almost a game in China and the salespeople have fun with it. Bring small change. For silk goods and souvenirs, try the multi floor Xiushui Silk Market located in downtown Beijing. Beware of the knockoff designer labels – the market is notorious for fakes. But you can also find some quality silks here, though you should watch out for polyester being marketed as silk! If you’re looking for good buys in pearls and jade, the Hongqiao Pearl Market is terrific. There are five floors with all types of jewelry shops. I recommend Sharon’s Store for pearls. (This is where international celebrities shop). The market is located near the Temple of Heaven. For ultra modern mall shopping, go to the Wang Fujing Street area. Here you’ll find real designer clothing, Starbucks and of course, McDonalds. This is “western style shopping” – no bargaining allowed! The street has two major shopping malls, one of which, Oriental Plaza, sprawls a further two blocks to the east (and another 15 minute walk).

Travel Tips:
Get a business card written in Mandarin from your hotel before you venture out. If you get lost, it can be a lifesaver.
“BYOTP” i.e. Bring your own toilet paper. Public buildings in China usually do not provide it. So, don’t leave home without your own supply.
A good way to begin your tour of the Forbidden City is to rent an audio player with headsets at the entrance that can help guide you through the main hall of the complex.
When visiting temples in China, dress appropriately. Women should avoid low cut tops and shorts and men should wear conservative shirts and pants. Be aware that people come to worship so try to be sensitive with cameras. In general, Buddhist monks are not allowed to be photographed.

About the author:
Marilyn D. Pennell is an award winning writer, teacher and filmmaker based in Massachusetts. She recently circumnavigated the globe for four months as a faculty member on the Semester at Sea, visiting 11 ports on four continents. In July 2006 she traveled throughout China as a Fulbright Hays Fellows, studying its history and culture. Contact: Marilynvdp@hotmail.com

Photo credits:
First Tiananmen Square photo by clarkelz from Pixabay
All other photos are by Marilyn D. Pennell.