It is not at all uncomfortable to stare directly at the sun with the naked eye, in Beijing. (If you can find it.) Sadly, I believe blue skies are a thing of the distant past for this over-populated, smoggy, icky city. A pale grey fog sits overhead, visibility is reduced to your immediate surroundings and your throat and lungs begin to feel clogged and raw. I had always thought China today would illustrate a valuable foresight into our probable future. If, in generations to come, our earth is as contaminated as this vast country's capital, then to be honest, it's a terrifyingly grim and gloomy outlook for us all.
It was fare-thee-well Facebook when we left Warsaw on Thursday. The Chinese government blocks around 3,000 Western websites behind their giant and increasingly impenetrable Firewall. Twitter, YouTube, major sections of Google and numerous Blogger sites are among those internet domains lost and unknown to the Chinese. Perhaps another reason to be grateful I come from a democratic part of the world that respects the freedom of its people.
22 million live in Beijing and you can tell. Old, new, the wealthy and the poor reside side-by-side, one atop the other, in this mish-mashed messy medley where life's essentials are simply met one way or another.
It's not dog faeces you have to watch out for, it's human excrement. Baby poo to be exact. The Chinese regard the floor (any floor, inside, outside, anywhere) as the most filthy place in their world. You don't blow your nose into a tissue in Beijing, (that's disgusting) you blow it onto the floor. You spit on the floor. Your kids shit on the floor. You throw cigarettes on the floor - even in some restaurants, where it is left until someone sweeps it up at the end of the night.
If you're in one of the minority public toilets that contains a familiar looking western resembling loo - you might think you've struck lucky. But they don't equip these "conveniences" with paper, and if they do, you are strictly prohibited to flush it as their over-flowing drainage system cannot handle the load. In hostels we stayed in in Beijing there was always a bin beside the toilet for your soiled tissue.
So far, we've found food is good 60% of the time in China and it's unashamedly similar at every one of the hundreds of street-eateries filling main roads and back alleys alike. Lots of tofu and bean curd. Excellent news for vegetarians. Everything is extremely salty and many things fried to oblivion, especially those items for the more acquired taste, like cats ears, centipedes, silk worms and snakes. Although we hear rumours that such foods are sold amid what is actually just a tourist trap inviting foreigners to pay good money to foolishly munch the inedible.
Lots of meat, lots of noodles, lots of rice, lots of vegetables, and my personal favourite - seaweed. Eating is a very social thing in China. Their dishes are for sharing and often restaurants offer means for you to cook your own menu choices at the table. It's all about community, having a good chat, and taking your time.
Stereotypically, the Chinese are smaller people. Undeniably true, as a generalization. Petite frames. Tiny feet. But I'd suggest they are not exempt from the growing worldwide obesity struggle. (Obviously not to the extent of countries like the US.) My guess, through nothing but a weeks worth of observation, is that around 50% of the Chinese are technically overweight on the BMI scale. (Height not doing them any favours on that calculation of course.)
It's rare to see a Westerner in China. Not because the complex and strict visa rules deter visitors. In fact a great number of tourists venture here daily. Many come to work, or stay for extended periods. But nonetheless they are an obvious minority in a country of 1.6 billion Chinese people, and so locals are understandably fascinated by the white-stuff. They gaze in bewilderment and awe. They say "Hello", and when you respond they giggle shyly. They ask to take pictures of you, and they take pictures of you without asking.
They say you should never plan more than one activity per day in China, because everything is so massive. A recommendation only appreciated once one has attempted to disbelieve it. We aimed for the Forbidden City and Tiananmen Square - must-see historical locations of great importance, which appeared mere skipping distance from Beijing Saga International Youth Hostel on Shijia Hutong Street. There was no skipping. It was 34 degrees and it took more than an hour to walk to the gates of the ancient palace. The Forbidden City is beautifully preserved and colourful. That recognizable Chinese architecture from the Ming Dynasty, with it's curved and pointed tiled roofs, generous amounts of rouge, intricately decorated with blues and gold.
It is perplexing why buildings were designed with such enormity for a race that 400 years ago was surely even littler than they are today. Even the cobbled roadways and courtyards are huge. Original steps are challengingly steep.
Our one excursion with strolling time there and back entailed seven hours on foot. One day. One activity. Unless you count the street market we stopped by on the way back where I ate slices of hot tofu in hoisin sauce and Guillaume chewed on a squid-on-a-stick.
The Great Wall of China - a man made wonder of the world, stretching more than 13,000 miles in its entirety (including all branches) and more than 2000 years old. Merged together by Emporer Qin in 220 BC from pre-existing northern stone boundaries of once divided provinces and cities. The theory is that the Himalayas protect the west of China - a natural wall higher than any man could build - and that the ocean protects from the East and South (mostly), so where they really needed two million people (yes, it really was that many, equivalent to one in five of the population at that time) to come together and erect a sturdy barrier was in the north, to shield the land from Kazakstan, Mongolia and Russia. These days it's just a tourist attraction, and nemesis for hikers - it's been rebuilt and strengthened several times, the section at Mutianyu (where we visited) was last rebuilt in the 15th Century.
We hiked along that wall for three hours. No one ever suggested August might not be the best time to do this. I have truly (and I know I've said this before, but I really mean it this time), have never sweat so much in all my life. You could have collected gallons in my wake I'm sure.
At Mutianyu the wall climbs up and down mini mountains, through thickly forested terrain. Watchtowers are intermittently dotted at varying elevations along the horizon, where once armed guards (armed with swords rather than guns of course - and when I say guards, I like to think I actually mean 'masters of martial arts') -- so in fact I want to say these stone wall turrets were once patrolled by samurai-weilding Kung fu ninjas. Very exciting.
It was a relentless 36 degrees the day we climbed the Great Wall of China, and I did it in sparkly flip-flops that I purchased in Calgary more than a year ago for $5. Achievement! But, this does remind me of the ridiculous extremes some backpackers go to, to look like 'worldly hippies' - we saw a few of them, always men, barefoot in the city and in the hostel. What's that about? "I'm on so much of a tight budget as a backpacker, that I cannot afford shoes." Or maybe "Shoes are too heavy for me to carry. Haven't you noticed how much I have to carry, as a backpacker?" $5 my flip-flops were. $5. And don't they know the floor everywhere is a combined toilet, ash tray and handkerchief?
At Pearl Market you can pick up anything from, well, pearls, to iPads, handbags, and silk. Fake brand names are the lure (apparently). That and the fun of bartering. Having spent five weeks in Marrakech in 2011, and many occasions bargaining in the souks with persistent Arabs, Pearl Market is comparatively a pleasurable place in which to play this game. Unlike a lot of the Moroccans who pretend to like Westerners, the Chinese people genuinely are fond of us, and (in our opinion) by nature are not as aggressive as the Arabic.
They use calculators to type how much they want for something. Always beginning with a ridiculous amount that you wouldn't even pay half of - for the real deal in your home country. We would laugh and walk away. They'd call us back and ask how much WE WANT to pay for it. We'd enter an amount, usually 100 times lower than their original number. They'd reject this, appearing offended, sometimes emphasizing the "quality" of the product, even "setting light" to faux leather to prove its real. (I wouldn't want real leather anyway. Given the choice, I'd prefer something that looks cool but not at the expense of an innocent animals skin. Cheaper too.) So again we'd walk away. They'd call after us again, sometimes chasing us after a few seconds and we'd bargain back and forth, walk away a few more times, until eventually they'd accept our lowest offer, or very close to it. Both sides know they've still got a good deal. Everyone's happy.
Our second hostel in Beijing was apparently a hotel. Un-named in this blog for fear of repercussions, the ****** is impossible to find and probably for sinister reasons. This dirty five storey building alongside a gated residential area, down a dusty, smelly lane, rents rooms out by the hour. (79 yuan, if you're interested.)
Our room (which, by the way, was the only thing available within our budget in Beijing that night) was a double en-suite with no window. The 'en-suite' bit referred to a toilet and shower behind a glass screen - so you can spectate while your partner has a wee. After some interesting spicy comestibles down the road, let's just say we did not want to be seen on the loo. We're married, we're pretty open, I once made Guillaume hold my hand in the Sahara desert at night while I squatted for a tinkle, because I was scared... But - we draw the line at watching one another suffer from explosive diarrhea.
I sat in the lobby on the ground floor, perusing a limited selection of Chinese approved government websites on the iPad, when a young Chinese man with floppy hair and glasses started talking to me. At first I thought he was just being nice. The Chinese are genuinely very kind, helpful, friendly people for the most part... I became uncomfortably suspicious as he eased closer to me and asked "How much?" Confused, I told him to ask the receptionist. He leaned right into my personal space and repeated, "How much?" I literally swatted him away just as Guillaume appeared to send me up for 'my turn.' Already convinced the place is run by the Chinese mafia, we sensibly opted not to create a fuss. The disgusting man was clearly terrified by my 6ft, bearded, Canadian husband and we left it as the funny incident it was. ...Do many Westerners prostitute themselves in Beijing? ...I'm totally baffled.
In the park grounds around the Temple of Heaven, local people are behaving as if they don't breathe polluted oxygen daily. They appear health conscious. There are runners, tennis players, strange aerobics classes for old people, and solo, topless, wrinkled men practising some sort of t'ai chi among the trees. It's a peaceful place, and a welcome contrast to its exterior, which is separated by a wall and a 15 yuan entrance fee.
The temple itself, accessible if you pay another 20 yuan, is magnificent. Not only does it happen to be made IN China, it also appears to be made OF China. Despite its deceptive fragility, this beautiful, perfectly symmetrical temple rising from its circular base, inspires the imagination to wander back through time and picture the masses of religious hopefuls who came here annually, to pray for a good harvest.
We left Beijing via its West Train Station, a busy transport centre and the place to catch a high speed train to almost any destination in Eastern China. We travelled there via the underground (which costs just two yuan per journey, including transfers - encouraging public transport may be one late attempt at lowering carbon emissions) with our heavy backpacks - which must go through security scanners upon entry, along with handbags, man bags, and any other kind of bag one might be carrying.
We believe there are heightened safety concerns after the terrorist mass stabbings in the country not so long ago. Being aware of this, Guillaume feared he would have to lose his knife. A handsome gift bought for him by his best friend, Seb, from Corsica about 12 years ago - Seb had the blade engraved with Guillaume's last name. We have travelled to many places with that knife, always finding it useful, particularly when we were camping. We used it to peel and chop fruits and vegetables in Italy, and to slice duct tape in Morocco to patch broken boots...
Knowing the scanners would pick it up and forbid it's presence on any train, perhaps leading to questioning from the authorities (you never know in China) as to why we were carrying a 'weapon', Guillaume decided to ditch it. Reluctantly he threw it in a bin not far from our hostel. I have unfortunately inherited an occasionally somewhat worrisome nature from my overly cautious Mum, and did suggest they might find it (as folk often rummage through trash in China, searching for mis-disposed recycling that might be worth as much as half a yuan.) My tiny, far-out concern was that someone would commit a crime with it, police would find it, and then it's only got Guillaume's bloody name on it! The irony is, that should we or any other Canadian find themselves in that sort of hot-water, the person to call would be Seb, who works for Canada's Department of Foreign Affairs. The conversation would begin "so remember that knife you bought me from Corsica?"... Let's just hope it's scrambled in a junk pile somewhere by now.
Beijing West Train Station is a blur and buzz of eager, excited beings. You cannot enter the train station without a valid ticket and ID. There are at least 30 platforms. Each train number is assigned a waiting room, where people "line up", waiting to be told which is their Platform once the train starts boarding half an hour before departure. It's very difficult to move in these rooms (akin to the dance floor in Vegas' Hakkasan at the MGM Grand when Calvin Harris was playing) and these rooms alone are the size of the average city train station in the UK. Your ticket is checked a second time before entering the waiting room, a third time before boarding the train, and a fourth time in your carriage.
We had standing tickets to PingYao as they were the cheapest and the only available. We found a spot to rest on our backpacks by a window, and settled in readiness for the four hour journey, reflective of our time in Beijing and feeling a sense of accomplishment as we pulled away from the Platform. So much of China still to come. We've had a taste and we're keen for more of the flavours...