Friday March 18, 2016

Another day, another imperial palace.

Today was our final full day in Beijing. It was packed with historic neighborhoods, home cooking, a royal lake house, enough duck to choke a horse, and people hitting each other for entertainment purposes only. A jam-packed itinerary by any measure for sure.

We got a little bit of a later start this morning which was nice. No one slept in mind you, but we were’t the first people in the hotel restaurant for breakfast which was a fine change of pace. I knew that there was going to be several additional feasts later in the day so I went easy on the morning buffet. You have to pick your battles.

Our first stop with Arthur in the lead was a bike tour of the Beijing Hutons. The Hutons are traditional Chinese neighborhoods where the urban working class has historically lived. They are densely populated, constructed cheek by jowl, with narrow arterial alleyways that pass for streets, and communal privies and bathing facilities. We were assigned to “Pedi Cabs” by pairs, which are essentially modern rickshaws, and while my conscious was initially taxed by the exploitive nature of being hauled around by a man on a bicycle, I realized that these were not much different from the “green taxis” that can be found in many progressive, Western cities. Rationalization will take you far my son.

The Hutong was incredibly rich in both history and character. Our guide, Robin, was an exceptionally pleasant fellow and a native of the Hutong itself. We were able to understand both the historical context of the Hutong as well as its modern role in preserving an important chapter of Chinese urban history. It was an important reference point for our children that we hope will inform them about the land of their birth as well as their good fortune to be citizens of their naturalized home in the US.

After the tour, we were escorted into a local’s residence in the Hutong for a customary, Chinese home cooked meal. Our hosts could not have been more welcoming nor nicer. We spent a wonderful afternoon talking and laughing with the chef (a descendant of one of the Emperor’s actual Imperial chefs — and you’d better believe he cooked like it) and his wife. The food was beyond delicious. In no way humble, but very simple in its presentation and ingredients, yet tasting as good as anything we have ever had anywhere. The food kept coming out of the small, open-air kitchen in the courtyard off the dining room until literally no one could eat another bite.

After lunch, we waddled to our tour bus for a drive to the Imperial Summer Palace. Dorothy and I had both been there before on our first trip to Beijing but it is a stunning setting and were not in any way sad to be making a return visit. The palace is on a beautiful lake and as the day was both sunny and warm, but with a stiff breeze that seemed to clear away some of the smog (improving the air quality in Beijing from “asphyxiation” to “tire fire” levels) it was a lovely day to be outside.

The marriage of artistry with architecture in Chinese Imperial building is stunning as a rule. The august building vernacular, coupled with the cultural aesthetic orthodoxy, produces sites that both embrace and shape the natural surroundings. My kind of stuff anyway.

With the Summer Palace in our rear view mirror, it was time for Peking Duck! Now before I explain how dinner went, let me assure everyone up front that I was in the end able to have enough beer with my meal to be considered suitable. I just didn’t want the suspense to cause any hysteria among the readership before getting into the thick of the tale.

I’m not sure if any of you have ever had the experience of eating delicious food while a half dozen people scream at each other all around you in a language that you do not understand, but as of tonight, I can say that my family now knows the feeling. There was apparently some mixup with the availability and/or quantity of beer that our table was allotted by the restaurant and our own King Arthur was having none of it. So while I was given a initial glass of beer when seated, there seemed to be a consensus among the waiters and waitresses that that was going to be that. Now Arthur hasn’t known me for long, but it has clearly been long enough to know that the one glass of beer was simply not going to cut it. Much wailing and gnashing of teeth ensued. Dorothy, the kids, and I simply looked at each other with no clue as to what the problem was and were unable to get any clearer answer out of Arthur beyond “Don’t worry about it.” It made for an interesting dining adventure to put it mildly. But all’s well that ends well, with the food being typically delicious and, in the end, the beer flowed freely. Thanks to Arthur, my hero.

After dinner we were taken to a Kung Fu show in the aptly named Red Theatre. Apt, both because red being the dominant cultural and political hue makes logical sense, but also because the building was lit by enough red lights to be seen from space as a shining red dot on the face of the earth. The show (or what I remember of it — it was getting late and I had a belly full of Peking Duck and beer that caused me to doze from time to time) was typically impressive, commensurate with the usual Chinese theatrical pomp. The kids, who managed to stay awake through the whole thing apparently, gave it six thumbs up, so a fine ending to an eventful day by consensus.

So that’s just about it for our first stop in China. Tomorrow we leave Beijing for Hefei in Anhui Province, the former home of one Matthew Peng Lei Congiusta. More to come as events warrant.

Beijing, where everybody who isn’t Kung Fu fighting, is arguing about beer…