Post by Sir Smeg on Sept 21, 2006 3:52:06 GMT
Forget everything I have ever told you about life. There is only one way to live it, and that is to make Chinese friends. Oh yes.
See, social policy in China is to make any guest you recieve feel like a demi-god. I have just been a guest in Beijing for the last 4 days.
I could harp on about visiting the relics of China's glorious past - The forbidden city, the Summer Palace, Tian'anmen, the GREAT wall, and the Zoo - In fact, I could harp on for ages. Especially about the wall; it truly deserves its place among the greatest wonders of human achievement. It's big, it's bad, and it's definitely overcompensating: a moment of sympathy for Emperor Qing, if you please
I suppose that Dan-dan and I managed about 5km of wall-trekking... which is saying something. It was a hot day, and the wall very inconveniently mirrors the lie of the mountain on which it sits. That means a lot of up-diddly-up-up, and a lot of down-diddly-do...ouch-FUCK. Still, they say that a man is not a man until he climbs a peak of the great wall, so I guess that means I'm a man 4 times over. Rock on.
Forbidden city and summer Palace are what one would expect from the Emperors' architects. Totally big. Also pretty beautiful... but mostly big.
But I seem to remember I was talking about Chinese hospitality. I was treated to a meal at Quanjude, a five starred, rave reviewed and celebrity frequented restaurant just of Tian'anmen Square. At the entrance we let the waitress know that we were expected, and she gestured us to follow. Past the waiting area we went, leaving behind all those poor souls who hadn't had the foresight to book. Past the ground floor tables we went, leaving behind all those poor souls who had only sold half their property to be there that evening. Up the stairs we went, past the pictures of Yasser Arafat, George W Bush Snr and Fidel Castro (No, really), all of them poking a roasted duck with an inquisitive chopstick and a public-eye trained smile. Through the exclusive area we went, leaving behind all the poor souls who had really gone for broke on the evening. Into the private lounge we went, hung with showily valuable Ming. And there we were greeted by our hosts. The devastatingly important Mr Xiong and his good lady wife (to whom I owe so very very much - She is getting a very tasteful present sent to her from England, no matter the cost to me...) and Mr Xiong's entourage. The shy and dignified one, the slightly sweaty and heavy one, and a captain of the Red Guard. This last figure was there in uniform, starred and striped up to the buzzcut. And what a buzzcut it was - You could have balanced a cup of coffee on top of his head, without the cup. This man's hairstyle was so severe, I do believe that liquid coffee would have been too intimidated to escape over the side of it. I can just imagine the exchange between him and his C.O. while he was still a private in basic training:
"Good lord, Soldier, get a goddamn haircut: I want the top of your head so flat I could balance a Ming vase up there. You know what Ming is, you ignorant piece of Dog shit? Hell no! Now drop and give me er-shi."
But I ramble. This restaurant has been serving the biggest and best of the Chinese ruling classes since 1864, and they are so goddamn proud of each and every duck that they keep count of 'em. I now have in my posession a commemorative plaque proclaiming that I had cosumed the 256,017th roast duck since the place was established. And it was good. This was Beijing duck, but not as we know it. Yes there was Pancake, yes there was spring onion and cucumber, yes there was fermented bean sauce (No, not plum sauce, you filthy prole), and yes you rolled them all up like a Taco. But there's more. Duck meat and duck skin are seperate, godammit, and you can add pickled radish, or ginger, or garlic to your wrap. Or sesame bun. Did I mention the sesame bun? Ah, and of course you can't touch the unfinished pancake yourself - they have an especially beautiful waitress under employ to do it for you. Now that's livin'
Oh yeah, and I also ate Shark's fin, asparagus, langoustines etc etc that same evening.
Now here's a useful bit of travelling advice: if you're engaged in a dinner with people and there is a glass of booze (In this case wine) in front of you, the act of lifting your glass is a signal that you are toasting someone of your choice at the table. And since a Chinese toast involves clinking glasses, saying 'Gambai' (bottoms up) and draining the whole glass (Even with red wine *Sob*) in one go. I did not quite realize what I was doing until I had accidentally lifted my glass for the third time... maybe fourth. I'm glad I have my western alcohol tolerance
I feel as If I have written enough for one entry - I must leave something to the imagination. But Beijing is a city where things are exciting and happening all the time. Or maybe I was lucky. But would I live here? No, actually. Xi'an feels more like home, somehow. Beijing is a little too... people-y. But I'd love to see it in 2008. Right now the whole city is a big construction site, which may explain why I didn't see it at its best.
Now here I sit in another internet cafe in Shanghai Pudong (Mmm...Puding) airport, ready to get on a jetplane and spend 13 hours rocketing towards the land of the setting-sun, with the sun itself in hot pursuit.
Reg out.