Travel Journal: China in 8 Days
April 2014
People. That’s one of the things that struck me most about my first visit to China. The vast, vast number of people. The ocean of hats throughout Tiananmen Square, the endless queues waiting to see Mao, the crush of bodies on the local buses, the bustling streets of Shanghai, the utterly packed train stations. Edinburgh to Istanbul was the first leg of the journey. Hours of plane flight don’t make for very exciting reading, but I will say this, Istanbul airport really did feel like the centre of the world, the beating hub of hundreds of journeys and cultures. In the hour or so before our flight, our group – one of over thirty teenagers – was entertained by one tiny Turkish toddler. He worked out that when he clapped we would erupt in enthusiastic applause. This continued without fail for at least thirty minutes. He was barely three years old, we didn’t share a language, but he developed a method of communication with us in seconds.
Now, if I was asked which was more visually stunning, Beijing or Shanghai, I would be unable to answer. They both feel like capital cities. Beijing, with its ancient streets, soaring temples, and elegant pagodas, is the cultural heart of the nation, Shanghai, with its towering skyscrapers and searing neon lights, is the financial one. And they honestly feel like they’re in different countries.
We landed in Beijing into the depths of a dense fog, coating the city in an eerie blanket of mist. The airport was just enormous, on an almost inconceivable scale, a taste of what was to come. We even had to get a train to baggage claim. Our three days within the capital saw us visit a range of the most famous cultural sights, from Tiananmen Square, Mao’s Mausoleum, and the National History Museum, to the Urban Planning Centre, the Temple of Heaven, and the Summer Palace, as well as a trip out to the portion of the Great Wall closest to the city. But we also had the opportunity to delve into the innards of the city on rickshaws (the seats were red velvet!). The rickshaws cycled us deep within the Hutong, a thriving town steeped in culture, and similarly thronged with tourists. We were treated to a delicious lunch in a typical Chinese home, perching on chairs, stools, and beds and tasting the steaming variety of dishes before us, from pork to dumplings to shredded potato. Particularly flooring was when the tour guide told us it was worth a staggering $40,000 per square metre, which meant we were in a property worth $1.5 million. The local food we tasted here was definitely the most delicious we had over the entire trip, easily beating the 5-star hotel in Xi’an.
Undoubtedly, the most memorable part of Beijing lay at its very centre, amidst the imposing red columns and pointed roofs of the Forbidden City and the yawning expanse of Tiananmen Square. The Square is also known as ‘Million People Square’ (the number it can hold). One can only imagine the horror and chaos in the protests of June 1989 that saw the deaths of hundreds if not thousands of students and teachers as they were brutally murdered by the military in the wake of the death of Hu Yaobang, tireless reformer and leader of the Communist party.
Mao’s Mausoleum was probably the most surreal experience I have ever had. The enormous imposing structure sits in the centre of the square. Outside are huge sculptures of workers reaching triumphantly forwards, both male and female, with wheat and coal all around them. And though we were there at an off-season time, there were thousands of people. The queue to the Mausoleum was vast, larger than anything I’ve ever seen before. This daunting cultural landmark was just overwhelming. You’re not allowed phones, cameras, bags, or even water. Just you and your passport. Armed soldiers continually waved us on, so we moved at a steady cattle-like pace. I can only describe what happened next as being like either a zoo animal or a celebrity. People pointed and stared at us as though we were from a different planet, taking photos and videos and waving enthusiastically. Apparently, most of the tourists there at that time were from other parts of China, and so we were some of the first white people they had ever seen? Surreal. But not as much as when we mounted the steps into the Mausoleum itself. The first sight that greeted our eyes was a great marble statue of Mao, just sitting, legs crossed, looking down at the people bowing and laying white roses at his feet with an almost loving expression on his face. But then we rounded the corner to the main room. We filed past in two channels either side of a glass-enclosed space guarded by soldiers. It was an open coffin, and lying there, a hammer and sickle flag covering his body up to his chest, was Mao. The face was so peaceful. It was bizarre, this old man, who precipitated the deadliest famine in history, just lying there, the object of daily worship. There is also a huge portrait of Mao above the entrance to Tiananmen Square. Soldiers are dotted everywhere, and two guards stand motionless on small platforms either side of the enormous flag in the very centre at all times. Surrounding this flag are around twenty fire extinguishers. As the tour guide told us, there have been problems in the past with people setting themselves on fire there in protest. Apparently even up until two decades ago they did not teach any history post-1949 in schools, and many people had no idea of what exactly happened in the Tiananmen Square riots. This level of censorship and control is just staggering. It belongs in the pages of an Orwell novel not in the 21st century. It reminds me of Operation Legacy and the whitewashing and imperialist editing of British history.
The Forbidden City (which I had literally only encountered before through Disney’s Mulan) was a hauntingly beautiful place. Once it was somewhere that only the Emperor, his family, his concubines, and his eunuchs could enter (all males had to be eunuchs because of the threat of competition). Inside the scarlet walls lie several central temple-like buildings, and the concubine village at the back (they were allocated housing depending on which social class they belonged to and how favoured they were by the Emperor). The first building was the Imperial offices. Just behind this was the Emperor’s ‘tea-room’. His ‘tea-room’ was more like a ‘tea-palace’. And behind this was his living quarters.
However, inside, they were all completely gutted. The enormous red pillars, mosaic walls, and ceilings enclose empty space. All the furniture was stripped out. According to our tour guide, this was because the last Emperor took everything with him when he fled in the revolution of 1949 to Taiwan. When I asked whether the relics would ever be returned from Taipei, the tour guide answered, “Yes, when we get Taiwan back.”
He went on to describe how it was after the Qing Dynasty collapsed in 1912 that the Republic of China was formed. However, when the civil war against the Communists was lost in 1949, the government fled to Taiwan. They still claim mainland China as part of their China, while the People’s Republic say it’s part of them. Tibet is another taboo subject. Located in the western regions of China and including Mount Everest, it declared its independence in 1913 but was taken over by Communist China in the 1950s. A series of CIA-supported uprisings followed but to no avail. It’s just unfathomable how this kind of mass repression continues while the rest of the world turns on. Shamefully, the first I heard of it was while watching Friends, when Phoebe defends the appearance of her steel drum-playing friend by saying she will shower when Tibet is free…
The food in China was also a cultural experience itself to remember forever. Our hotel breakfasts often featured dumplings, fried rice, and chicken, while dinners were brought out on plate upon plate of dishes to a central glass turntable in the middle of the table where everyone would then pick out what they wanted with their chopsticks as it came around accompanied by hot water or tea.
The Beijing Museum was equally surreal. There was absolutely no trace of the Cultural Revolution, and every plaque and information board was carefully worded to advocate the Party line. Just around the corner is also the Urban Planning Museum, essentially a building dedicated to showing just how efficient the city is, with an enormous scale model in the very centre. There were a plethora of interactive displays with models of the Olympic buildings, and a big section dedicated to renewable energy with inspirational music playing. Written across the wall was: 2009 the world’s crisis, 2020 China’s answer…
The Summer Palace was also an utterly stunning place, though so packed with people, most of whom were filming us, that the impact was slightly marred. But the sunset over the lake, lighting the water as though it was catching fire, was sublime. Equally beautiful was the Temple of Heaven, a towering wooden structure of red, blue and green, struck many times by lightning and rebuilt, taller and taller each time. It is dedicated to the spirit of the Jade Emperor, and each part, each pillar, represents a very specific thing, the years, the seasons, the months, perfectly joined to form the ultimate union. There is not a bolt or nail in the entire thing. It is all wood. Enclosed in the sprawling gardens was also a great white altar, from which the Emperor once addressed the crowds. He was the only person allowed up to its summit. And at this summit lies a smooth, round stone, which they believed was the centre of the universe.
The Great Wall was next… We literally saw and stood upon the Great Wall itself. As expected, it’s mind-blowing. A 21,000-kilometre, three millennia-old fortification built to protect China from invaders across the Eurasian Steppe. The intensely steep steps to the summit are at times uneven, but once that summit is reached, nothing can mar the wonder beyond. I also climbed to the top of one of the sentry towers, which was almost made impossible by the very treacherous and narrow stairway. The view was breathtaking. I felt like Pippin when the fire signals travel across the mountains from Gondor to Rohan (Aragorn’s face at that bit, you know the one – gold).
On the long drive back to Beijing the fog was heavy over the city once more. The sinking sun shone behind the thick grey mass like a bright light beneath deep water. It was beautiful. It’s funny how pollution can be beautiful. In that it’s not funny at all.
Our next stop was Xi’an, capital city of the Shaanxi province and one of the oldest in China, with over three millennia of rich history. We reached Xi’an on an overnight train. The station itself left me with another feeling of just how busy China is. It was positively heaving with people, and the train itself was another experience. All thirty-odd of us fit in one carriage. The cabins were tiny. And it was far too hot. The toilet was also just a hole in the floor.
One of the first stops was the Buddhist Wild Goose Pagoda, a beautiful temple centuries-old dedicated to the Buddhist faith. There were many smaller buildings surrounding the temple itself, but at its foot was one holding a great gold statue of the Buddha, the awakened one, which people could kneel before and pray to. Outside was a long engraved stone chest, inside of which red incense sticks burned. Taking refuge in the triple gem, the path to liberation and enlightenment, to a greater knowledge, is a truly fascinating concept, and the enigmatic monks seeking nirvana heighten this perception. Buddhism seems a religion predicated on learning, on conquering violence and suffering through knowledge and compassion and peace – perhaps it intrigues me most because it’s always the one I’ve felt the most affinity for.
The highlight of Xi’an, after the silent, eerie and ancient city wall, was undoubtedly the terracotta army. I think I bought about eleven little ornamental soldiers to cart back to Scotland. The sheer majesty of the central dome was intensely arresting, thousands upon thousands of terracotta warriors, buried for centuries, standing silent for eternity.
Words cannot do the sight justice, but photos can convey a sense of it.
The next day we flew to Shanghai.
It was on the plane that I spent two hours engrossed in Jon Swain’s River of Time, which I have reviewed elsewhere. But it is one of the most powerful books I have ever read. And it evoked such a rich sense of East Asia and the Indochinese Peninsula, so much so that I have applied for a school grant to travel to Vietnam in the summer to volunteer in Hanoi. But as we descended into Shanghai, as I mentioned before, it was like descending into a different country. My expectations of the city were already very high indeed, however, they were utterly shattered. Driving though the city that night convinced me that this was one of the most visually arresting cities in the world. It was like Coruscant. It is split into east and west by the river, Puxi and Pudong. The former is apparently more developed but the financial sector lies in the latter. It is a city full of skyscrapers but the financial sector is simply astonishing – buildings all built in the last decade or so. Going to the top of the Pearl Tower, one of the most iconic landmarks in all of China, was just brilliant. There is a glass floor on the outer walkway at the top so you can pretend you’re hovering over the city like Supergirl. Stay away if you’re scared of heights!
The sprawling model of Shanghai in the Urban Planning Museum beat the one in Beijing easily. It was all those dazzling lights! Again, this museum’s dominant theme was industrial progression. It’s a four-floored building with bright futuristic displays, all advocating how eco-friendly Shanghai is with all its new development plans. The first thing I saw on walking out of the building was an elderly woman with a stick in worn clothes, pushing a tin at me as she begged for money. The disparity reminded me of my first trip to London earlier this year.
In Shanghai we also saw Nanjing Road, the beautiful Yu Gardens, like a little utopia in the middle of the city, as well as the riverside walk of the bund, and the quaint French Concession. The local markets were claustrophobic, intensely colourful, very overwhelming, and overflowing with people. The salespeople were the most dedicated I have ever seen, some indeed frighteningly so. At the knock-off markets, the handbag vendors were the most anxiety-inducing. They genuinely dragged us into their stalls, which had many hidden corridors of handbags, then opened a hidden door of handbags and locked us inside a handbag-lined cupboard until we bought a handbag. Haggling becomes very intimidating when you’re robbed of the ability to walk away! I was properly ripped off several times until I got the hang of it. We also had the pleasure of seeing an acrobatics show. Acts included free-runners in tights who did mind-blowing tricks on a gigantic rotating wheel, seven mad motor-bikers who all drove around and around a tiny caged ball at the same time, and a man in a small boat who balanced on an assortment of items while he flipped dishes, forks and spoons from his foot onto his head.
But at the end of the eighth day it was time to leave.
I don’t think I’ll ever fully comprehend and process the enormity of the privilege of this trip. I definitely want to come back one day and to learn more about the history and the people and the language (now I have HSK 1 under my belt!), especially in Western China.
It’s also thrown two facts into glaringly stark relief:
- Just how narrow my experiences have been thus far, even as someone who lived in four countries across two continents before the age of 7.
- Just how warped and rudimentary my education has been thus far. I feel like a newly-emerged butterfly realising its entire world was only a chrysalis. A pebble on a planet.
I hope to at least begin to redress this deficit in the years to come.
Generally can’t believe I ever thought I was certain of anything. Seems certainty was a childhood delusion I’m glad to have shed.
In the words of 李白 (Li Bai) or 青蓮居士 (Qinglian Jushi), one of China’s greatest writers of the 8th century – the Golden Age of Chinese Poetry in the Tang dynasty:
雲 想 衣 裳 花 想 容
春 風 拂 檻 露 華 濃
若 非 群 玉 山 頭 見
會 向 瑤 臺 月下 逢I want to believe that
Her clothes are a cloud, her dress a flower that
I could hold in the palm of my hand, and
That the wind of Spring will brush away the dazzling dew
So, that I might see the peak of Jade Mountain
From the platform of a heavenly paradise.
