A Tuesday afternoon in Beijing, May 2011

(Taking a break from working on my book to share this. In 2011, I spent a little time in China.  Here’s something I wrote to friends that might hold interest you in 2023.)

Just as I’m getting ready to leave, I’m also getting the hang of Beijing.  With English-speakers so rare, my limited Chinese vocabulary of not much more than “hello,” “thank you,” and “how much” is only getting me so far.  But throw in hand gestures and the acceptance that sometimes it takes an hour to find the building that’s around the corner, and things become easier.

I spent this afternoon wandering around Beijing’s hutongs; narrow residential alleyways where most Beijingers lived until the revolution, at which point most of them were razed in the interest of modernization and eliminating reminders of a past history that had culminated in subjugation by foreigners.  You can see why someone might want to get rid of them. They’re grey and grimy, almost claustrophobic, and impossible to navigate.

And yet…

After giving in to the fact that anything specific I was looking for was going to evade me, I allowed myself to discover what was in front of me.  And as the afternoon came to a close, I (mostly) put aside my camera so as not to intrude on peoples’ lives, and instead took mental snapshots. 

Two old women, perhaps lifelong companions, wandering down one of the alleyways, both teetering to keep their balance, one with her hands clasped behind her back, the other holding a bag of freshly purchased cherries in one hand, and a pink flower in the other. 

Another hutong citizen, a gangly man wearing what appear to be pyjamas, has a bag of pretzels, and he goes down the alleyway offering some to every neighbour he sees, many of whom are socializing from stools and weather-beaten couches. 

There is a soft, late afternoon light.  It’s likely a sunny day, but the Beijing smog makes that an open question.  Sure makes for soft light, though. 

A toddler, not knowing it’s unusual to initiate conversation with foreigners, says nee-how (hello) to me, and I say nee-how back, and everyone laughs, whether because of the interaction or because my Mandarin is comical, I can only guess.  Bicycle bells ring and scooter horns toot from behind, and without rushing to accommodate them, I and the others move aside, and the bikes and scooters shoot past, only a centimetre or two from grazing us.  No one gets angry.  It’s just the way of the hutongs.  Now car horns also honk, and also almost graze us, and we still don’t get angry.  There’s no room for anyone, yet room for everyone.  A woman in a royal blue robe, dazzling against the grimy grey of the hutong walls seems to pose saucily in response to my nee-how, but maybe I’m flattering myself.  Still, us foreigners do get a lot of double-takes. 

Through an open window, I can hear the clip-clop of a ping-pong game.  Cyclists and scooterists are delivering everything from water cooler tanks to aluminium gutters from the backs of their bikes.

Beijing’s a tough town, I’m finding.  It seems to be that way even for Chinese-speaking migrants, never mind non-Chinese travellers.  Kind of sorry to be pushing on in a couple of days now that I’m figuring my way around.

Until the next one…hope you’re well, and that you’ve had a Tuesday as good as mine.