After my second day in China, I'm beginning to feel like each new day of my trip will come with its own difficulties and rewards. I woke up this morning to Beijing blanketed in fresh snow. But, the sun was out, and I was not about to let the freezing temperatures stop me from sightseeing. Honestly, it was not only aesthetically pleasing to see the frosted hutong, but the precipitation made the city a little easier on the lungs. I made the brisk walk to the center of town slower than usual, due to a couple of nasty blisters on my feet from yesterday’s epic urban trekking…but when I arrived at the gates of the Forbidden City, the view was fantastic. The day before, I learned how hard it is to hand a Chinese person your camera and get them to take a picture of you (especially when you don’t speak Mandarin), so the minute I saw a Westerner on the way in, I caught up with him and asked for his help. It turned out to be a stroke of good luck, as I met Taylor, a Canadian who’d been teaching English down south for the last five months, from a family that runs a winery in the Okanagan Valley of British Columbia. We hit it off quickly, and accompanied each other into the complex, which he’d decided to check out before boarding an afternoon flight back home.
The Sunday crowds were something to contend with as we worked our way through the largest palace ever built, but it is truly one of the most impressive (and oldest…some parts date from 7000 years ago) sights I’ve ever seen, and it gave me time to pick Taylor’s brain for pointers on China. I learned a very important phrase from him, phonetically written as ting gadong, which means something akin to "I don’t understand", and can be used in a plethora of situations. I had already been approached by a handful of scam artists; girls who ask if they can “practice their English” with you over tea, then lead you to a place where undesirables demand $300 per cup…”art students” who try to take you to their “exhibition” then won’t allow you to leave until you’ve bought something… up until that point, my only avoidance measure was pretending to be French and saying “Non, Pardon, Je ne parle pas Chinois”. Learning ting gadong and bu (a flat out “no”) helps. I know that making a trip like this means that I will encounter many people who are out to separate me from my money, but it get pretty annoying, especially when you don’t know how to tell them off in their native tongue.
After the Forbidden City, I took him toward the Wangfujing Snack Street, a place I wanted to try out for lunch, and somewhere touristy enough that I knew there’d be plenty of taxis to choose from for him to take to the airport. We stopped at a little café, had a nice chat about China, traveling, and life in general, then I saw him off at the cab line and headed for the food stalls. It was there that I got my first glimpse of some of China’s more adventurous cuisine. As I stared in wonder at squirming scorpions newly impaled on bamboo skewers, a young man behind the counter said, “You try! #1 Food in Beijing!” (Of course, I knew this was a lie, because the #1 food in Beijing is obviously KFC) but I played along and asked, “You cook them first, right?” He said, “Deep fry.” It’s not really like me, but I figured, “When am I going to have this chance again?” He asked if I wanted them spicy, and I said “Oh hell yes.” When I got my seasoned skewered scorpions, a few Chinese teenagers crowded around to watch, as if the only people who eat insects in China are moronic tourists from America. Despite the chef’s objections, I insisted on removing the stingers first, made sure he got a picture of me as I took my first bite, and devoured the little buggers while the teens looked on in horror. You know, they were actually pretty good. Nonetheless, I probably won’t (knowingly) eat any more insects while I’m here.
After lunch (if you can call it that), I went back to the hostel to retrieve my bag, which they’d kindly stored for me post check-out so that I wouldn’t have to carry it around all day. Then, I successfully hailed a taxi on the street (which I’d had difficulty with yesterday) and made sure I didn’t get ripped off via a couple of other new words I learned; “dabiao” (meter) and “fapiao” (receipt).
The cab took me to the massive and crowded Beijing West Railway Station, where I managed to not only get on the right train (there were no English announcements over the PA, and only characters were written on the departure boards) but I also found the right compartment and sleeper berth. It has given me a needed boost of confidence…because if I figure that if I can do it here, then I ought to be able to do it anywhere.
Now, I am sitting on my bunk as I type away, my overnight train plying the Cathay countryside bound for the ancient capital. Although Xi’an has a greater population than Chicago, I’ve been told it’s a “boring” city for the most part, but after the in-your-face hustle of Beijing, it’ll be a welcome change as far as I’m concerned. There’s no Wi-Fi onboard, so by the time I post this, I should already be working on a new description of my latest adventure.
