The Forbidden City

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

I think the cold wore me out. I slept for ten hours.

I was half asleep when Bernie asked me earlier if I wanted to go down to breaksfast with him. "It would be wasted on me." I said, pulling the comforter up to my chin. I was asleep in half a minute.

We're taking the subway again today. The fare is about 60 cents. We like traveling like the locals. Again, it's a peek at the daily lives and routines of ordinary people. We've taken the New York and Washington subways, the Boston Tee, the London Underground, the Paris Metro, and now the Beijing subway.

We're on our way back to Tian'an Men Square. On board is a little girl in a pink satin coat, about four or five year old. She stretches to see me, first on one side of her mother's legs, then the other. I smile at her. She tugs at her mom's coat, points at me and says something, never taking her eyes off me. Then mom looks up, smiles and waves. I smile and wave back.

When we get off at the square, the little girl and her mother join what we assume is the rest of the family, a small crowd of about twenty people. Everyone turns to look at me.

It's easy to forget how different-looking we are. My hair seems to draw a lot of attention. Most women in urban China dye their hair, it seems, no matter what their age.

Because of my hair I am called old without any hint of a slight. But I've also been called beautiful by strangers here many times.

Tian'an Men Square is full of people. The line waiting to get into Mao's tomb is the longest I've ever seen.

Bernie wants to take my picture alongside one of the soldiers on the square. The soldier is far less than thrilled about the idea, but he lets it happen. He's tall, but he looks about 16, and the stern look the Communist soldiers here are supposed to have comes across as a scornful expression, which is exactly how he feels, I believe.

We've almost made it to the Gate of Heavenly Peace when we are met by two young people, a man and a woman who tell us that they are college students in Beijing. They speak very good English but tell us they'd like to practice their English by talking to us.

We are familiar with scams that begin this way, but we are polite and continue to talk with them as they walk with us. They tell us about a student art exhibit they'd like us to see-another piece of the scam falling into place. There's a gate into the Forbidden City just ahead, not the one where all the people are flocking, but a gate to the palace gardens, we learn later. At the entrance to a room set up with art work, there's sign "Student Art Exhibit."

You cannot believe how fast these people talk. The idea is to never give you enough time to think, so you just keep responding to their patter.

No self-respecting con artist in the U.S. would try this-no sublety, no letting the target think everything is his idea.

We are given hot water, which we accept. Only hot water and bottled water are safe in China, and still the bottled water is questionable and the boiled tap water may contain chemicals you wouldn't want to ingest.

The young man, very politely and almost shyly, asks if I'd like to see his work. He's done a group of four paintings representing the seasons. It's pleasant.

Meanwhile the young woman offers to write our names in Chinese letters as a gift. And although I say to Bernie in a not so hushed voice, "Don't do it," he accepts her offer.

While the ink dries we look at more paintings. I can be very noncommittal when in situations like this. Uh-huh and mmm... are my basic vocabulary tools.

When the ink is dry we prepare to leave. At this point we are offered guide services, but these two have realized we're not going for any of this.

Bernie, conscious all the time of what was going on, was politely interested but unswayed the whole time. I'm in awe of the way he handled it.

What we most dislike about these encounters is the time they take.

The walk to the ticket booth at the Forbidden City is a guantlet of first-class fast talkers offering guide services. We were approached by no less than half a dozen.

This is one time when Bernie's gruffness does not bother me at all.

Among the large crowd are toddlers with split pants, their little bottoms showing in the cold. This is China, and when a little one has to pee or poop, the mothers just hold them over whatever the moms deem appropriate (I've read of one mom using an ashtray) and the kids let go.

The Forbidden City is a surprise. It's much larger than we'd expected. Of course, it was a city, the Emperor's city, with all the necessary buildings and people attached to run a government and a huge household.

Built in 1420, it was from here the Chinese emperors ruled feudal China until 1911. I covers 178 acres, contains 9000 palaces and halls, and is surrounded by a 30-foot high, 3000 yard long wall and a moat.

It's the largest, best-preserved group of ancient wooden architecture in the world.

In 1964, Mao had plans to bulldoze the entrance to the Forbidden City for a highway, but the Cultural Revolution interrupted those plans, so the preservation of the ancient palaces was an accident arising out of one of the most turbulent and frightening times in the history of the Chinese people.

Scattered throughout the grounds are huge iron and bronze pots, some of the inlaid with gold. These pots were kept filled with water from November through Spring at all times and covered with blankets in winter to keep them from freezing. The water was needed to put out fires.

Over a million objects are on display in the palaces here, some dating back to 700 B.C. Most are items used by the palace household, including cooking pots and utensils, as well as writing instruments and brush pots, ceramics and lacquerware.
Excavation continues as China's economy continues to grow and money is available to support archaeological work.

We're surprised when Bernie looks at his watch - it's nearly 4 p.m. Crowds are reversing direction, heading for the gate. We tarry a few minutes more, then join them.

We've probably seen a quarter of a million people today.

Just before we cross the last long stretch to the front gate we see the soldiers who serve as guards here forming up, apparently preparing to march. Perhaps we'll see a changing of the guard. Hundreds of people are lined up along the barriers.

However, the inspections go on and on, as each rank reviews the troops, repeatedly adjusting uniforms, elbows, heels, checking for straight lines, etc. with no movement.

I've never seen a goose-stepping army before, so we wait as the crowd thins out. Gradually our patience, too, is worn thin, and we prepare to leave.

But the lone soldier guarding this area has stretched a tape across the broad walkway leading to the gate.

A Chinese family elder apparently asks why they can't exit through the front gate. The answer is less than satisfactory judging by the ensuing shouts. But our soldier is unmoved. He indicates everyone must exit across the yard to our right.

This seems purely arbitrary to me, and I am not good-humored about it. My suggestion is to step to the side of the walkway with its foot-high silly piece of tape, step over the movable barriers that keep people off where the grass would be growing if this weren't the dead of winter and Beijing weren't being eaten up by the Gobi desert, and walk to the gate.

Bernie points out that our soldier friend does not want us to do that. My inner rebel is close to emerging. As my family will attest, I think respect for authority is earned and is not imbued by putting on a uniform or holding a position.

What was I thinking? Well, so far no one has come up with a way to read my thoughts, and because I did not act on my urges we just herded ourselves out of there like mindless sheep.

My outlook does not improve when I learn we cannot turn to our left and get out on the same street we entered from, but must go out the back gate.

Kicked out of the Forbidden City.

Into the midst of several pedi-cab drivers who surround us in the usual fast-talking manner.

Bernie wants to ride. I do not, and could probably use the walk to cool off.

However, Bernie is not willing to pay the first price. Never pay the first price in China. Just don't. You're not a walking ATM, are you?

I stomp on as Bernie negotiates.

He finally gets me with "I wanted to take a pedi-cab ride anyway." OK. This is the closest I'll ever get to a rickshaw.

We're still inside the palace gates when our driver stops. He can't go any further; pedi-cabs are forbidden on the main street. As we walk on I mutter several unkind things about our soldier in particular, the Communist Chinese army in general, former leaders of the People's Republic and the like for awhile.

I'm much calmer by the time we pass through the gates and the territory starts to look vaguely familiar and I'm ready to smile again by the time we reach the subway.

If I needed something to make me laugh, I find it as soon as we enter the hotel.

This is Shrove Tuesday, the night of the Great Pancake Race at the Hilton. It's the Beijing Hilton's answer to Mardi Gras.

The festivites are in full swing. We almost collide with two of the contestants carrying skillets with pancakes on their way to a tiny stage (the concierge desk) where they pull a hula hoop over their heads, spin it and try to keep it going while holding their skillets. The lobby has been transformed into an obstacle course. Several of the staff are wearing orange fright wigs.

We watch for a while, then try to make a quick stop at the gift shop where they've written the names of our grandchildren in Chinese. We came in to browse last night and were soon overwhelmed with the Chinese sales technique in such stores, which involves latching onto any item you show an interest in, telling you you'll get a special price and then acting as if no is just a bargaining ploy.

This kind of shopping takes a lot of energy, especially if you're a shopper like me, who wants to see everything before even thinking of buying. The upshot is, you just want to get out of there.

What kind of people don't understand that this doesn't work? But that's not true, of course.

Bernie explains that it's like the guy at the bar who tries to pick up a girl with some cheesy, lame line. Most of the time it doesn't work. But sometimes it does.

And in a country of 1.5 billion people, the law of averages works in your favor.