The Hutongs in Beijing is where real life occurs. Hutong is a Mongolian word that means water well and was given to the small lanes and alleyways during the Yuan Dynasty (1271–1368) that spread out from the four corners of the Forbidden City, gathering around wells and gardens that from the ground make little sense to the visitor, yet seen from the air look like interlaced chessboards with all the dwellings connected. In ancient times there were no signposts and the names of the alleys were only known to the residents who lived there and were passed on by word of mouth. Names like Skewed Tobacco Pouch Street were later renamed and the original evocative names vanished into history. Today the number of remaining Hutongs varies and are hidden from view by the modern metropolis, but like a conjurer’s trick, the curtains of time can be drawn back, revealing hidden ancient neighborhoods coexisting stubbornly behind the modern ramparts of the everyday city. The Hutongs are a wanderer’s dream. Narrow, maze-like alleys of compressed life, in all its joyous, gossiping wonder, laundry hanging, bikes and scooters parked helter-skelter, open air, clever-cut slabs of meat, tiny shops offering anything and everything, overflowing out into the lanes, Cezanne shadows, Bukowski attractions, handmade brooms sweeping it all away, red neon signs in Chinese, buckets emptying, green umbrellas advertising beer and offering shade, everything raw, cooked or steamed, bending off into every direction, a crooked, arthritic ancient hand—beckoning. Eventually, I wandered into the Red Star baijiu winery. Red Star brand is known as ‘The People’s Baijiu’ and was the first state-run winery. To put the popularity of this brand into perspective, three hundred thousand liters of Red Star are drunk every day. Red Star is brewed according to an 800-year-old recipe developed by three brothers, and then was manufactured in government factories. It was the best quality baijiu for the lowest price. Workers were given tickets for one bottle of Red Star wine and one kilo of meat. Hard workers got more tickets and could buy more baijiu. For legions of workers, Red Star was the only choice. Now it is a symbol of Beijing. In a Hutong pharmacy, another miracle happened. I bought something for 15 RMB and gave the cashier a 100 RMB bill (approx. $16.29 USD). Distracted, I put my purchase in my pocket and browsed some more, then left. I got half a block away and realized the cashier was chasing me, returning my change, Abe Lincoln-like. I tried to give it to her in appreciation, but she wouldn’t take it, and left me with a smile and the renewed sense that not everyone was crooked, willing to sell their soul for a few coins. Then on the subway it happened again. On my way to dinner with Loreta I went down into the subway with the directions she had given me, confident, and then realized I didn't know which side of the subway tracks to stand on. I found my destination on the subway guide map, kept my finger on it, then got the attention a man and gestured which side of the track I should stand on. He pointed to the north track and I thanked him and waited patiently. After a few minutes, the man drifted away and a woman came up to me, got my attention, looked in the direction the man had gone in, then pointed to the opposite track. When I looked confused she pointed to my destination on the map, and again pointed to the opposite track. Suddenly, I got it. The man had given me the wrong information, but not wanting to correct him and make him lose face in public, she waited till he moved away in order to give me a heads up. How polite and sweet, and my effusive thanks only served to embarrass her, as she waved her hand as if to dismiss her action and disappeared into the crowd. When I boarded the subway, she turned out to be right. The sweetest gift of all is kindness when you least expect it. So I got to the station where I had to transfer and was walking along all alone, then entered a corridor and suddenly a thundering herd appeared all in a rush, coming towards me in the close confines of the corridor, and I just stopped and the masses cascaded by as if I was a boulder in a river and they were white water flowing around me, and no one even touched me, then they were gone like vapors, leaving me stunned and breathless and laughing, looking around for someone to bear witness, but that’s just everyday life in Beijing. When I finally got to the right stop and found the exit, there was another surprise. Loreta was waiting there with Mike, a Peace Corps teacher I had met in Lanzhou who had just returned from a month’s long vacation in the US. At first I didn’t recognize him because he had cut his long hair, but then he started speaking, using words like specificity and emotional resonance, the kind of phases that to my writer’s ear were like a Niagara Falls of the English language, having become so accustomed to the common, everyday, bludgeoning of English by innocent and well-meaning Chinese English speakers. We made our way though the Lana Temple Hutong—an oasis of western foreignness, and finally settled in the Sand Pebbles restaurant, a quirky name for a great Mexican food joint, and I just sat back and prompted Mike to talk, listening to my mother tongue spoken so well, all meanings instantly understood, a shared language, shared, eating surprisingly great Mexican food con salsa excelente. After, Loreta showed me photos of her recent trip to Thailand, Cambodia, and Singapore, and related among other things how it is against Singaporean law to chew gum in public, then later we walked through the rain as streaks of lightning stitched the skies of Beijing together. The following day I caught a train back home, noting there are never enough chairs in waiting rooms in Chinese train stations, that miracles come to those who seek them, that when traveling I am always asking what is entering me and what I am leaving behind, as the spiral of the universe pulls everything in its wake, drawing to a close one adventure and leading ever onward into the next. I sigh; I stir, in gladness, Waiting for . . .
1 Comment
Mary
10/2/2013 07:56:48 am
I ditto Jude from Beijing 3...."you are a miracle!! I love your Beijing! Gracias for letting me visit there with you too" That really sums it up. Miracles do happen when you least expect them and your writing is a miracle...how you capture and take us on such an exciting journey. I am so glad Beijing turned out to be miraculous! "Life's a Dance - you learn as you go" - John Michael Montgomery
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