China travel | Travel Thru History

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.

Mysteries of the Hangzhou Night Market

Hangzhou, China

by Rick Neal

A whiff of spicy, fried dumplings and the hum of human voices tell me that I’m close to the downtown night market in Hangzhou, China. I turn a corner and witness swarms of people jostling around a vast array of merchandise strewn across ramshackle, wooden tables. The crowds continue down the road as far as I can see. Undeterred by the cold drizzle, buyers and sellers shriek at each other as they plead, beg, and bargain. Multi-coloured hanging lamps lend the place a surreal atmosphere.

It is the low season for tourism, so other than myself there are only a few westerners out this evening. Vendors beckon with cries of “Hello, hello!” and “CD, DVD!” They are relentless, thrusting cracked plates and crumbling vases in my face as they scream, “Ming Dynasty!”

The downtown night market is the largest of several that appear every evening around Hangzhou, a city of six million situated about two hundred kilometers south of Shanghai. The stalls are loaded with enticing jumbles of collectibles along with the usual clothing, electronics, and houseware items found at other night markets. Pewter incense burners, ancient brass padlocks, and clunky old cameras compete with silk pyjamas, cooking utensils, and pirated CDs. None of it is really antique, but if you’re prepared to haggle you can pick up an unusual keepsake for the price of a dozen pot stickers.

I had ventured out that evening in search of two items: a birthday present for my sister and a wallet for myself.

After an hour of pushing and shoving among the chaotic stalls, I find what I seek: a pile of wallets crammed between a mound of padded bras and stacks of bootleg Austin Powers DVDs. I inspect a black leather model with a “Pierre Cardin” label. I’m pretty sure it’s a knockoff, but the quality looks decent.

“Best quality, best price,” a tall, willowy man croaks from across the table.

I coolly examine the wallet. Finally, I ask him the price. “Duo shao qian?”

He looks a bit surprised by my Chinese, but answers in English. “One hundred thirty renminbi.”

His asking price is twenty-five dollars. If I was a tourist I may have thought this was fair value. But I’m not a tourist. I’m a resident. I’ve recently begun a one-year stint as an ESL teacher. Earlier this evening my co-workers had warned me about the Chinese bartering system. They said that the price quoted to a foreigner is usually four times what is asked from a local. After several minutes of haggling the unsuspecting tourist negotiates a sum twenty percent lower and walks away thinking they have scored a bargain.

With this in mind, I retort, “ San shi kwai.” I’ve offered thirty renminbi, less than a quarter of what he’s asking.

“Ah!” he yelps, recoiling like I’d kicked him in the crotch. He folds his arms and mutters something unintelligible.

He makes a game effort to look offended. His lower lip trembles. He throws an old pocket watch and some fridge magnets on the table in front of me. “These thirty kwai,” he snorts.

It’s my turn to be indignant. I slam the wallet on the table, shake my head, and then walk away.

I’ve gone no more than twenty feet when I feel a tap on my shoulder.

“Okay. Thirty kwai, no problem.” He smiles and nods, as if our previous conversation had been a big misunderstanding.

I return to the stall and pay for my wallet. As I count out three faded ten renminbi notes I can’t resist feeling proud. I’ve stood my ground and won. And I’ve picked up a genuinely fake Pierre Cardin wallet for five bucks.

Buoyed by my shopping triumph, I pick up a bag of steamed pork dumplings from a street vendor and move on in search of something for my sister. A nearby stall looks intriguing. Amongst the clutter of goods are rusty tobacco boxes, wooden statues of goddesses, and worn ivory chopsticks. It looks like the vendor, a squat, older man, has cleaned out the family chest and put the best – or maybe this is the worst of it – up for sale.

He smiles and holds up a glass perfume jar. “This very old! Early Qing dynasty! Two hundred kwai! Okay?”

At second glance I realize that he isn’t overweight. His clothes make him look that way. Everything he wears – his frayed turtleneck sweater, his stained, blue jacket, even his sneakers – are too large for his slight frame. With his wide grin and wire-rimmed glasses he looks like the Dalai Lama.

He nods anxiously. His manner is less aggressive than the other hawkers but none of his merchandise appeals to me. I shrug and walk away, disappointed that I can’t do business with this precocious little man.

To my surprise he runs after me, touches my arm, and then scampers over to the alleyway entrance behind his stall. He turns and motions for me to follow. “Come, please!” he pleads, “Come, look! No problem!”

At first I wonder if he’s trying to lead me into an ambush, where his friends are waiting to rob me. I decide he’s too affable for something so sinister.

Maybe I’m being enticed into a smoke-filled opium den where Chinese drug lords play Mahjong and sexy Chinese girls wear qi paos – satin dresses with slits up the side. My curiosity gets the better of me. I follow him into the murky alley.

He scurries a few feet ahead, looking back every few seconds. Overflowing, stinking garbage cans line the alley walls. A rat darts from behind one, nearly touching my shoe. It starts to rain harder.

We come to a rotting, wooden door. My guide raps on it and hisses something through a narrow crack. A female-sounding voice answers shrilly. The door opens with a creak. He turns and motions for me to enter.

I step inside a small, musty room. The temperature is scarcely warmer than it is outside. A dim light bulb hangs from the center of the ceiling. A rickety table and chairs serve as the only furniture.

In a second room an old woman crouches over a hotplate. A cigarette dangles from her mouth. I recognize the pungent smell and sound of sizzling pork. She pays us no attention. Tinny-sounding music screeches from an unseen radio.

My host (who tells me his name is Mister Lu) brings a tiny, cardboard box from the other room and places it on the table. He opens it carefully, producing an object wrapped in old, yellowed newspaper. I can see his breath as he removes the paper to reveal a small, cracked vase decorated in blue Chinese characters. He offers me the vase. “Ming dynasty,” he whispers.

I grasp it cautiously, turning it over several times. The cracks extend over its surface; their uniformity suggests they were part of the original design, but whether they were made intentionally or not they add to its allure. I have no idea as to its age but I doubt that it’s Ming dynasty. Whatever it’s origin, it is indeed a thing of beauty.

I return the vase to the table. “Duo shao qian?” I inquire.

Mister Lu clasps his hands, grinning and jiggling like a bobble-head. “Two thousand American money.”

I laugh. I have no idea what the vase is worth but I know that his first price will be nowhere near his best.

He twitters like a shy schoolgirl. “Sorry, sorry. Two thousand Chinese money.” He has dropped his price by eighty percent.

I pick up the vase and feign another inspection while I consider my options. If this is an elaborate ruse that he stages nightly he has gone to a great deal of trouble. It’s possible that he really has pulled it from the family chest or even that it’s stolen. Still, I’m not about to lay out four hundred dollars for something that may be worthless. I also worry about getting it out of the country if it is genuine.

“Wo mingtian lai,” I tell him. “Wo mingtian lai wo pengyou.” I’ve told him that I will return tomorrow with a friend.

The next day I relate my encounter with Mister Lu to a Chinese co-worker, Ling. She agrees to return with me after her class that evening.

The night market is already winding down when we arrive. Many vendors are boxing up their unsold products and folding their tables. I lead Ling to the spot where I first encountered Mister Lu, but his table has vanished. We then proceed down the damp alley to the decaying, wooden door I had passed through the previous evening. I knock loudly but there is no answer.

Dejected, I return to the night market, which is now nearly deserted. The coloured lights are gone. Dimly illuminated by a single street lamp, the shimmering road now looks like any other street in Hangzhou.

If You Go:

China Guide: Hangzhou Travel Guide

Private Hangzhou City Tour

The Mostly Recommended Hangzhou City Tour with Authentic Lunch

Eat Like A Local – Hangzhou Night Food Tour

How to get There:
Hangzhou has an airport, but most tourists arrive by train from Shanghai, 150 kms. to the northeast. Speedy trains make the frequent journey to Hangzhou’s impressive new station in about two hours.

When To Go:
The summer months see the largest number of tourists, even thought the weather is unbearably hot and humid. Winters tend to be cold and wet, while Spring and autumn usually offer ideal dry and temperate conditions.

Things To See:

West Lake:
For the Chinese, West Lake is one of China’s most famous tourist attractions. Hordes of tour groups from all over the country descend upon this 3 km. long man-made lake that has become the symbol of Hangzhou. Well manicured gardens and pavilions that are scattered around the lake make for a pleasant daytrip. Early morning is an ideal time to visit, when hundreds of locals converge there to practise tai chi.

Lingyin Temple:
This Buddhist temple, that was originally built in 326 AD, has been destroyed and rebuilt 16 times. Today’s structures are restorations of Qing dynasty buildings. The most impressive is the Great Hall, where you’ll find an imposing 20m-high statue of Siddharta Gautama. Don’t forget to light a stick of incense and say a prayer at the hall entrance.

Places to Eat:
Laiwailou Caiguan is right across the street from West Lake. Famous for its poached fish in sweet vinegar sauce, prices are reasonable if you avoid the really fancy dishes. For cheap eats, check out Yanan Lu near the night market for tasty local cuisine. The Hangzhou and Yintai department stores, located downtown, both have excellent food courts on their upper levels.

About the author:
Rick Neal is a free-lance writer who lives in Vancouver, Canada. He writes short fiction and travel stories. He’s travelled to China, Mexico, Central America, Turkey, and Europe. His dream is to someday write the great Canadian novel.

Photo credits:
Hefang street Hangzhou by David Stanley via Flickr
Chinese night market by Bonkers The Clown / CC BY-SA
Chinese dumplings by Jason Goh from Pixabay
Hangzhou streets by Rick Neal

China: Beijing is Buzzing

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.