China's Inland Empire

It's obvious enough from a glance at the map that China is an exceptionally large nation, stretching from the Pacific to the mountainous ramparts of the Pamirs. But to truly appreciate just how damn big it is, there's nothing like crossing the country by train. Only when you've spent an entire day and night sitting on a bench in a packed rail car full of rural Chinese, with many people standing in the aisles or slumped on their luggage, does all that colored map space really sink in. It took us the better part of a week to make our way from Beijing to Kazakhstan, traversing Xinjiang's deserts in the hoof-prints of the old silk road camel caravans. Along the way, we discovered one of the world's most overlooked Islamic communities, the Uigurs.

In some important ways, a very large amount of that colored map space representing China isn't very Chinese at all. A massive percentage of China's land mass is found in its two westernmost provinces, Tibet and Xinjiang. In our travels through both places, we found the majority of people speaking non-Chinese languages, following non-Chinese religions, eating non-Chinese food, wearing non-Chinese clothes and generally going about their lives in a very non-Chinese way. (All of this, it goes without saying, happens under the attentive supervision of some very Chinese officials and police). There are some pretty obvious complications that result from this arrangement, and we discussed them at some length here and here during our travels in Tibet and in the Tibetan exile community in India.



While Xinjiang's Uigur Muslim majority hasn't found itself in the spotlight (or under the gun) to the extent their southern neighbors have, they do face a similar situation in many respects. Separatist movements have arrisen here on a number of occasions, only to be crushed. Still, despite the political tension and riot police patrolling the streets, life in Xinjiang's villages adheres to a rhythm much older than the town clocks chiming on Beijing time. Mao's face still appears occasionally, but the heart and soul of Xinjiang is the call to prayer echoing in the early morning, and the afternoon light filtering through grape trellises to illuminate the mud-walled alleys.

Hutong Quest

Susannah: The city of Beijing was my first glimpse of Asia. It was 1996 and was I sixteen. I had no affection for the grim smoggy skies and treeless avenues lined with blocky cement buildings; what I loved was pointing my Flying Pigeon bicycle down the narrow, winding hutongs of the old part of town. Here, onion pancackes and fried dumplings sizzled on every corner, crowds gathered to watch mahjong games, and women called to each other in piercing tones asking about their husbands' hemorrhoids. There was always something to wonder at, so much so that I often narrowly avoided collisions with bicycle carts overloaded with cardboard, beer bottles or laundry.

Many of these hutongs are several hundred years old. Through the narrow entryways lined with rusty bikes lie the courtyards of ancient family complexes and vibrant hidden temples. When we arrived in the city with Mike's mom, we barely made it to Tiananmen Square before I dragged everyone off to see "the real Beijing" of the hutongs.

I couldn't remember where my old haunts had been, so I consulted the ever-present guide book and pointed us toward Qianmen, the old southern gate to the city. We were immediately confronted with what seemed like miles of corrugated metal barricade, forcing us through a narrow, dusty channel reverberating with the sounds of jackhammers and buzzsaws. Through a gap in a fence I saw a vast expanse of rubble punctuated by the vibrant color of recently constructed faux-imperial splendor: the Beijing the government was readying for the Olympics.



Сhargrined, we pushed through the dust to a narrow commercial street. Here, cheerful workmen were busy rebuilding storefronts full of souvenirs. Dismembered mannequins lay piled against a fence.



A little desperate now, I took us down a promisingly narrow alleyway that I hoped would yield some local color. There was hardly a sign of life, apart from some wet cement. The old walls had been painted a uniformly stark grey on grey.

A couple days later (at my suggestion) we rented bikes and tried a different part of town, behind the Forbidden City. Same story, except this time there were signs in English pointing the way to this or that "authentic hutong." Toward the end of the day we happened upon some hole-in-the-wall noodle joints and a makeshift bike repair stand, but most of the businesses were self consciously shabby-hip joints for foreigners, or sold relics of the old Beijing.



As the defacto China tour guide, I was a little embarassed to be dragging Mike's mom along on a wild goose chase for something that apparently no longer existed. Once we had left China's borders and the reach of the "Great Firewall of China," I did some internet research to see what had happened to the Beijing I remembered.

According to this insightful article in Open Democracy, (featuring some beautiful and sobering photos), a third of the central city's 62 square km has been destroyed in the last 3 years, displacing 580,000 residents, many of whom are homeless while awaiting resettlement in highrises. The hutongs not being torn down are getting the makeover we witnessed. One of the aspects of this makeover that pleases residents is the upgrading of their public toilets--though only those in tourist-frequented areas are getting the fancy kind with electronic flush mechanisms.

According to this (surprisingly hilarious) article in The Hindu,

"the city authorities have also instituted a "morality-evaluation index" that ranks neighbourhoods according to the level of refinement they have achieved. Sharing housework, speaking a foreign language, regular reading of newspapers, large book-collections and window-sills displaying potted plants boost the neighbourhood score on the civility index while spitting, alcohol abuse, and noisiness act as blackmarks."

This is all happening, of course, to mould the city into a Beijng the government thinks will impress its first-world Olympic visitors. This is a shame, because a sterilized, spoon-fed experience of China can be had much more easily at Epcot Center. But the real shame is that Beijing's residents are being forcibly encouraged to believe that their rich, lived-in history and deep community roots are worthless.

Images of China

A Taoist monk in Hangzhou


In contemplation in Hangzhou


A temple worker in Beijing prepares for a ceremony


This woman is praying for luck or health for a loved one born in the year of the horse. Her hands are covered in dye from pink incense sticks.


Want to buy a balloon?


Late afternoon on the Great Wall





A show of force at Tiananmen


I couldn't tell you who this group was, but it sure looked grand! (Hangzhou)


Hangzhou


A secret view from one of Yangshuo's back alleys


I'm fascinated by glimpses into other lives


A game of cards in a Yangshuo park


Suzhuo's canals are ancient, but these houses look brand new.


Well-loved Buddha in a corner of Datong's Hanging Monastery