A Walk in the Clouds

We started our day with a plate of spicy tofu at the Fast Food restaurant on Tian 'anmen Square. Our objective was the masoleum of Chairman Mao, but outside something was already more interesting: smog.

It hadn't been so bad the days before, but now a thick fog attacked the back of our throats. It was easily visible looking across a modest sized street, and it steadily got worse all day. Eventually, we were standing inside a mall and noticed that the shops across the way looked a little hazy. Beijing's air is downright filthy.

In any case, we paid our respects to Mao, a process exactly as interesting as walking by a dead dictator can be (he's a fat, jowly fellow with a double chin, lounging, surrounded by white flowers, behind two layers of protective glass).

Then we headed out in the general direction of a big circular building called the Temple of Bountiful Harvests. The walk was more interesting than the destination. It took us through a hutong, a particular kind of neighborhood that the Lonely Planet refers to as quaint. And although that adjective covers a vast category of sins (most of them on the part of writers), it doesn't answer here.

Hutongs are the Old Beijing, gray concrete shacks, hovels, and courtyard houses built in adhoc arrangements around tiny alleyways filled with cats, dogs, chickens, and children; bridged by banners advertising god-knows-what; and cluttered with the rubble of hundreds of never-completed construction projects. We picked our way along, past stores and restaurants, women squatting over fires, men smoking in doorways, people hustling to and fro, and all sorts of character-laden jumble lying here and there. It was quite fun, but tiring.

Finally we accepted a ride from a bike cab—a world war one era contraption with a bench seat. At our destination, the fellow tried to charge us $35. We managed to bargain the number down to a couple of bucks by the usual method of flagging down passing cop cars.

From there we had a gargantuan slog through the gargantuan palace park, all to reach the gargantuan circular temple (obscured by smog at 200 yards). It was the usual Chinese whatever, impressive mostly in size. Signs, as usual, went into great detail about the number of times the thing was burnt down and rebuilt and no explanation whatsoever of how it was used.

You could tell we were ready for something good. And yes, we found it. (the next post will cover our discovery).