Building a dream, dismissing the reality

The first and last thing you notice when passing through Beijing international airport is the impressive new terminal (see top picture).

To me it looks like a turtle, although Norman Foster’s design has been likened to a dragon and meant to represent two boomerangs placed side by side.

The International Herald Tribune said on Monday that China’s “fierce embrace of change has left Western nations in the dust”. It is indeed true that the exciting new architecture in Beijing has boomeranged the city into a creative space that bypasses anything that is being done elsewhere.

Besides the airport terminal there is also Paul Andreau’s egg-like National Theatre as well as the CCTV headquarters by Rem Koolhaas which the International Herald Tribune places “amongst the most imaginative architectural feats in recent memory”. With this building Koolhaas plays with the perception of scale, as it looks small from certain angles and gigantic from others.

Then, of course there is the Olympic stadium (see bottom picture) which is the brainchild of Jacques Hertzog and Pierre de Meuron. The elliptical shape resembles a bird’s nest and is a symbol of hope. It’s barely visible through the smog, perhaps a suitable expression of the dream that is the Olympics.

This stadium and the National Aquatics centre, which looks like an oversized cloud-cushion, has been given an honorary place on the ceremonial axis of Beijing which extends from the Forbidden City. This makes the Olympic village part of a selection of ancient and modern buildings that define Beijing.

Yet, in spite of all the historical and the visionary architecture, Reuters reported last week that although five star hotels are 77 percent booked, four star hotels are only 48 percent full. The lower cost hotels are looking even emptier for the Olympics, which starts early next month.

The reason for the lack of tourists are said to be “tight security, difficulties obtaining visas and terrorism warnings”.

“And why should they come?” says a fellow traveller, Alex, “China has no respect for their national resources, condemns the holy man who speaks of world peace and has no problem with letting their citizens eat tainted food. I don’t care what they build, I would rather spend my money somewhere else.”

'Xièxie' for reading this

Often the small kindnesses that we encounter along our way are exactly what we need to fulfil our destinies.

I am reminded of this while taking a walk along the Long Corridor at the Summer Palace in Beijing. It's an open air walkway with a roof to keep out the summer drizzle. From here the scenery changes from lazy boats and water lilies on my left to traditional Chinese palace buildings on the right. It is the largest painted corridor in the world, according to the Guinness Book of Records - and a lovely place for reflection.

The locals seem to think so too, judging by the amount of Chinese spending the day here at leisure. It's possible to watch shows in some of the palace buildings, go for a boat ride and have Chinese food and drinks at the market style outlets. Again, the prices are not inflated, which makes even the tourist experience here so much more authentic.

The Long Corridor paintings are fascinating. I stop to read up about them in a book that I found at the souvenir shop. The painting right above me depicts the story of Han Xin who became one of the founders of the Han Dynasty (206 B.C.-220 A.D.). When Han Xin was young, he was only committed to studying and practicing martial arts. Apart from some fishing he had no real means of earning a living. A laundry lady shared her meals with him freely for as long as he needed her kindness. Later, as the Marquis of Huaiyin, he went looking for this old lady to repay her kindness with a thousand pieces of gold.

There are over 8000 paintings to be found on the Long Corridor, which is 728 metres long. Some of these cover history, myths and legends while others are delicate or whimsical depictions of birds, flowers and pristine landscapes from a bygone era. The Summer Palace was first built in 1750, then burnt down during British and French invasions before being rebuilt in 1886. So much history and yet this age old story reminds me of how many people played a role in helping me find a way to live as a writer and traveller.

Have I said thank you to the people who helped me along? Perhaps not enough. Let me start with you – 'xièxie' (Mandarin for 'thank you') for reading and for leaving comments on this blog. Your growing interest and support is worth a thousand pieces of gold.

Entering the Forbidden City

“Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift, that’s why it’s called present.” – from the movie ‘Kung-fu Panda’

I think about this as I am walking through the Forbidden City in Beijing. It’s easy to live in the past and the future, but to really appreciate the present can sometimes be a challenge.

Declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1987, the Forbidden City is an extensive collection of preserved wooden structures. It is an exhausting excursion: 720 000 sqaure metres of halls, squares and almost nine thousand rooms makes it the world’s largest surviving palace complex. The palace was built during the Ming dynasty (1368-1644) and used as the imperial palace during the Ming and Qing (1644-1912) dynasties.

It’s hot, my colleagues are irritable after a tough day and although there are picturesque corners in this endless complex of structures it seems that we are walking and walking and not really getting enough visual rewards.

Not all the rooms are open to the public and only a few of them hold treasures and art. Apparently Puji, the last Emperor of China, sold many of the original treasures to finance his extravagant lifestyle, while other valuable items were simply stolen.

What’s more; a part of the former collection is now hosted by the Palace Museum in Taipei. That doesn’t leave very much for the visitor to see here, especially since this complex is so large and so much walking needs to be done to see it. We’re trying to do it in half a day, although setting aside a whole day would have been wiser.

Interestingly enough, the locals enjoy hanging out here with their children, sitting around on benches in the squares, walking through the gardens and having lunch. Spending the day here at leisure seems to be the status quo. The food prices are not tourist orientated and it seems that the Chinese really do relish their cultural heritage.

The Forbidden City is called such because no one could enter or leave without the Emperor’s permission, which meant that many people lived out their whole lives within these palace walls.

I am counting my blessings, for my past, my future and the honour of being here, now, free.

Finding great peace on the Great Wall

It’s early and the mountains are draped in a morning mist. The cable car takes us up and up until the Great Wall of China becomes visible and then disappears again in the distance.

We decided to visit the wall at Mutianyu, since it was recommended to us by our other colleagues as the more authentic part. At Bandaling the wall has apparently been reconstructed in places and tourists hoard this more popular part of the wall.

Mutianyu feels almost deserted this morning and I get the sense that the mist veils a thousand stories, ones that we will never know.

I take a deep breath, ah, there’s nothing like mountain air, before I climb the steep stairs to the top. Then, suddenly, I am there, walking on the only manmade structure that is visible from space. Lush green tumbles down into the valley below. The wall crawls out into the mist, mysteriously writhing into the distance.

When we stop walking it is so quiet that I can almost hear my own thoughts. A sense of nostalgia fills me, a longing to rediscover the peace and quiet I experienced as a child, a desire to live somewhere majestic, close to nature, once again…

“You can only make money in cities and without money you cannot look after yourself,” the voice in my head answers.

As we approach the next watchtower I stumble over the uneven stones and the smell of old urine breaks the spell. A tout tries to sell us some souvenirs. It’s time to go back down in order to keep this memory pure.

At the foot of the mountain there are more touts: “One dollar, only one dollar…,” but we manage to make our way to a taxi without too much harassment.

We drive past a host of cherry farms back into Beijing where the pollution in the air and the minds of the city people is as thick as the mist on the mountain.