Our train trundled through Inner Mongolian haze to finally release us on the Chinese capital, Běijīng. To tell the truth, I was apprehensive about China. This was the land of my ancestors, but this was also a country that had undergone dramatic social changes since. I had no real idea what to expect.
We arrived at Beijing's main train station, and met with "the crowd". At least it wasn't rush hour. I know Beijing had a lot of people and I expected crowds, but I didn't expect the presence of crowds to be just so constant. So many lives bustling about throughout night and day, routine and life changing journeys crossing paths seemingly all at once. We resigned ourselves to the idea that "the crowd" would most likely accompany us throughout our China journey. So we fought the queue-jumpers to get our next train tickets (elbows, shoulders and big backpacks help), shrugged off the aggressive fake taxi touts (just be typically Chinese and avoid eye contact), successfully dodged the poopy land mines left by children (that's right, parents encourage their kids to defecate openly in public), and navigated the constant stream of electric bicycles to find our way to our hostel in Nianzi Hútòng.
It was tucked quietly away amongst the web of Beijing's hútòng, an endangered network of small tiled buildings and alleyways in the heart of the city. Somehow in these little enclaves, a local community culture survived, complete with morning table tennis games, bird singing in the park, and card games in the afternoon. One could almost forgive the sight of a mother teaching her child to urinate in the sink instead of the perfectly functional toilet nearby. Our hútòng was amazingly crowd-free, people helpfully pointed out the direction we needed to go, and there were plenty of greasy street snacks to be tasted.
We were well situated in Dōngchéng to get to some of Beijing's main attractions. We discovered 800 year old cypress trees at Tiāntán Park, amongst which city folk spent their Sunday practising their ribbon twirling skills with friends, or whiling away a solitary afternoon with a bout of water calligraphy.
We browsed the bustling streets of Nanluogu Xiang, an historic hútòng street converted into a colourful shopping, eating and sightseeing destination. It had a upbeat, albeit more crowded, atmosphere, where Ben soon found that owning a large DSLR in China did not make you stand out.
And of course we visited Tiān’ānmén Square and the Forbidden City.
The huge, sprawling complex was thankfully vast enough to spread out the crowds, and the audio guide commentary was informative, although rather dry.
Artefacts from various periods of Chinese imperial history were displayed in various halls with superfluous names like "Joyful Longevity", "Heavenly Purity" and "Military Prowess". One cool highlight was the Clock Exhibition Hall with hundreds of exquisite antique timepieces gifted to Qing emperors of the 18th Century, including an automaton robot that could write Chinese calligraphy.
Despite the crowds and some restoration efforts of questionable authenticity, it was a pretty awesome place to see, and we did find some nice architectural features that we'd love to include in our future dream home, one day.
We met up with an old friend of mine from Australia, Meilian and her partner George, who had carved out a life for themselves in Beijing. They took us out to try some amazing Beijing hot-pot - a big city blend of the Mongolian (tasty, mild) and Sichuan (tongue-numbing pepper) styles of hot-pot, including a spinning display of noodle pulling at our table.
We queried our hosts on what life was like in Beijing compared to Sydney. Yes, the pollution is bad, often very bad. Yes, people are rude, often very rude. Yes, children are often found peeing and pooing in awfully public places, but you weren't here at this very restaurant a few months ago when one child was directed to relieve himself into a soup bowl … WTF! But there are certain freedoms one has when moving from an orderly, ordinary established western society to the wild, exciting contrasts of a developing eastern society. Plus Meilian was fully committed to her up-and-coming Sweet Tooth venture.
They also took us to a top class Peking Duck restaurant, where we enjoyed the whole shebang of Peking Duck: start with the crispy, delicate skin of the duck breast, sliced separately for you to dip in sugar; followed by the carving of the tender, lightly seasoned duck meat, which you wrap with scallions and dipping sauce within a pancake; ending with the rich broth made from the remaining fat, meat and bones.
The whole bird even came with it's own certificate to "prove" it was a quality specimen. Decadent.
I was lamenting how we didn't have time this trip to check out any of the famed Chinese acrobatics, when all of a sudden, the restaurant lights dimmed and we were treated to a complimentary show. Score! It started out with four musicians on traditional Chinese stringed instruments, followed by a girl throwing bowls with her foot, catching and stacking them on her head, all while balancing on a unicycle, a Chinese opera singer in traditional elaborate costume, a guy who could pour water in some crazy ways, a dual character with a flipping mask, and a juggler of one huge ceramic pot. It was a happy evening, and a great entertaining way to catch up with good friends.
We arrived at Beijing's main train station, and met with "the crowd". At least it wasn't rush hour. I know Beijing had a lot of people and I expected crowds, but I didn't expect the presence of crowds to be just so constant. So many lives bustling about throughout night and day, routine and life changing journeys crossing paths seemingly all at once. We resigned ourselves to the idea that "the crowd" would most likely accompany us throughout our China journey. So we fought the queue-jumpers to get our next train tickets (elbows, shoulders and big backpacks help), shrugged off the aggressive fake taxi touts (just be typically Chinese and avoid eye contact), successfully dodged the poopy land mines left by children (that's right, parents encourage their kids to defecate openly in public), and navigated the constant stream of electric bicycles to find our way to our hostel in Nianzi Hútòng.
It was tucked quietly away amongst the web of Beijing's hútòng, an endangered network of small tiled buildings and alleyways in the heart of the city. Somehow in these little enclaves, a local community culture survived, complete with morning table tennis games, bird singing in the park, and card games in the afternoon. One could almost forgive the sight of a mother teaching her child to urinate in the sink instead of the perfectly functional toilet nearby. Our hútòng was amazingly crowd-free, people helpfully pointed out the direction we needed to go, and there were plenty of greasy street snacks to be tasted.
We were well situated in Dōngchéng to get to some of Beijing's main attractions. We discovered 800 year old cypress trees at Tiāntán Park, amongst which city folk spent their Sunday practising their ribbon twirling skills with friends, or whiling away a solitary afternoon with a bout of water calligraphy.
We browsed the bustling streets of Nanluogu Xiang, an historic hútòng street converted into a colourful shopping, eating and sightseeing destination. It had a upbeat, albeit more crowded, atmosphere, where Ben soon found that owning a large DSLR in China did not make you stand out.
And of course we visited Tiān’ānmén Square and the Forbidden City.
The huge, sprawling complex was thankfully vast enough to spread out the crowds, and the audio guide commentary was informative, although rather dry.
Artefacts from various periods of Chinese imperial history were displayed in various halls with superfluous names like "Joyful Longevity", "Heavenly Purity" and "Military Prowess". One cool highlight was the Clock Exhibition Hall with hundreds of exquisite antique timepieces gifted to Qing emperors of the 18th Century, including an automaton robot that could write Chinese calligraphy.
Despite the crowds and some restoration efforts of questionable authenticity, it was a pretty awesome place to see, and we did find some nice architectural features that we'd love to include in our future dream home, one day.
We met up with an old friend of mine from Australia, Meilian and her partner George, who had carved out a life for themselves in Beijing. They took us out to try some amazing Beijing hot-pot - a big city blend of the Mongolian (tasty, mild) and Sichuan (tongue-numbing pepper) styles of hot-pot, including a spinning display of noodle pulling at our table.
We queried our hosts on what life was like in Beijing compared to Sydney. Yes, the pollution is bad, often very bad. Yes, people are rude, often very rude. Yes, children are often found peeing and pooing in awfully public places, but you weren't here at this very restaurant a few months ago when one child was directed to relieve himself into a soup bowl … WTF! But there are certain freedoms one has when moving from an orderly, ordinary established western society to the wild, exciting contrasts of a developing eastern society. Plus Meilian was fully committed to her up-and-coming Sweet Tooth venture.
They also took us to a top class Peking Duck restaurant, where we enjoyed the whole shebang of Peking Duck: start with the crispy, delicate skin of the duck breast, sliced separately for you to dip in sugar; followed by the carving of the tender, lightly seasoned duck meat, which you wrap with scallions and dipping sauce within a pancake; ending with the rich broth made from the remaining fat, meat and bones.
The whole bird even came with it's own certificate to "prove" it was a quality specimen. Decadent.
I was lamenting how we didn't have time this trip to check out any of the famed Chinese acrobatics, when all of a sudden, the restaurant lights dimmed and we were treated to a complimentary show. Score! It started out with four musicians on traditional Chinese stringed instruments, followed by a girl throwing bowls with her foot, catching and stacking them on her head, all while balancing on a unicycle, a Chinese opera singer in traditional elaborate costume, a guy who could pour water in some crazy ways, a dual character with a flipping mask, and a juggler of one huge ceramic pot. It was a happy evening, and a great entertaining way to catch up with good friends.
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