2/2/09, Chengde

I realize, from the reaction that I've been getting to the blog, that I might be overemphasizing the anxiety provoking parts of this trip. Really, it's not all like that. It's been more of a thrill ride in the full sense of the term, in that I go from having amazing experiences and interactions and absolutely loving it to being pretty sure that I'm going to be stranded on the streets of Beijing until I starve to death. Case in point: today, there was barely a moment where I didn't say to myself, this is insane, this is insane, this is insane. But now that I'm safely back at the hostel, I can look back on it and think that I had some great experiences, and at least have a few good stories to tell. Here was my route:
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Let me start by saying, up front, that no part of today was a good idea. It was crazy to think I could go to Chengde in a day. It was crazier going when I knew there was only one train back I could realistically take. I'm getting ahead of myself, but it's important to establish, upfront, how nuts my plan was even from the outset, and how, if I were travelling with somebody, I could probably have been moved to my better senses. Also, an important element of today was that I was the sole foreigner everywhere I went, so today really was diving head first into China.

I didn't sleep well last night because I was so anxious about my first encounter with the Chinese railway system. As is, it turned out ok. My Chinese is good enough that I was able to figure out where I had to go, and from there, I followed the crowds and did what they did. I've been meaning to take more pictures of these huge institutional structures and the masses of people moving through them; they're really astounding. Not until I took my "hard seat" did I realize how native I was going, right with the tired migrants in a yes, hard seat right next to a heater. The train ride to Chengde was incredible. Between the train itself and the old villages and dramatic terraced hills and mountains visible from the train, I felt like I was in a National Geographic spread. I ought to have taken more pictures, but I didn't want to disturb my sleeping neighbors.

Once off the train, having a scant two or three hours before I needed to catch my return train, I headed straight to the Chengde ticket office to buy my return ticket. In China, you can't buy round trip tickets. I don't know why this is; I don't think it's incredibly uncommon for people to want to return to places where they've been. The whole place looked like a bank panic, typical China madness, with a long line. I sensed that something was up when people got into prolonged arguments with the teller. I waited for twenty minutes, then stepped up to the window and requested my ticket in Mandarin. Her response?

"Mei you", there aren't any. I responded, absolutely none? "Mei you", she said. Now I want you to repeat that phrase to yourself, "mei you". See if you can imagine the sinking feeling and the pure terror associated with realizing you might be stuck in the middle of China in a strange city for an indeterminate amount of time. I stumbled out in a daze. Luckily, I had my guidebook, which told me that I could catch buses out of the train station parking lot, buses which I subsequently saw. I was still uneasy; the trains are government run and reliable, but I had no idea how the buses worked or what I'd be getting into.

In any case, I was there. I grabbed a cab and headed over to my reason for going to Chengde, Puning Temple. My cab driver was a friendly fellow, who insisted on engaging me in Mandarin, becoming increasingly frustrated with me half understanding what he said. I sometimes think that my half-knowing Mandarin puts me in a worse position than if I didn't know Mandarin at all, because if I didn't speak any at all, we could revert to the old common denominator of hand signals, rather than continue these desperate attempts to make ourselves understood. Some of my communications go better than others, and this one with the cab driver went pretty well, even though he spoke with a heavy Northern accent and I lost him half the time. He took me on a quick tour around Chengde, and pointed out some sights, explaining their significance. One thing that's been a common experience and I have little understanding of is that the Chinese make no attempt to adjust their language level when it's clear that I have no goddamn idea what they're saying. They tend to just jabber at me even more insistently, as if a sterner tone would force me to understand.

Chengde itself is a lovely, if a little dirty, city of 700,000 in Northern China. It's in a gorgeous little river valley surrounded by mountains. The city was the Camp David of the Qing Dynasty, where they'd go to receive foreign dignitaries and negotiate treaties. One interesting facet of this function of the city was that they built several temples, associated with Chinese satellite states like Tibet, in order to awe and cater to the foreigners. Puning is one of these temples, a Lamaist temple. It was incredibly quiet and lovely when I visited. Mostly, it was the same sort of thing as the Lama Temple here in Beijing, but quieter, and also, had a band of old lamas who would perform a beautiful chant when paid. Also, the temple is built into a mountain and provides a breathtaking view of the city. Finally, the temple is home to an awe-inspiring (and the reason for the temple's UNESCO World Heritage designation) statue of Guanyin, a female incarnation of the Buddha, that stands about two stories tall. This statue is a true masterpiece, remarkable not only for its size, but as a beautiful work of sculpture. There really do seem to be a thousand limbs, each intricately articulated in a different way, according to the dictates of Buddhist symbology. And the folds in the fabric over the Guanyin, and the detail of her attendants, also about two stories tall, was exquisite.

I enjoyed Puning temple. A weird thing happened to me when I realized I might be trapped in the city indefinitely, or at least for the night. I kind of just let go, let go of everything and took it in. Puning is a beautiful place and I'm glad I went.

I was originally only planning to visit Puning, but now, with my time constraints temporarily lifted, for better or for worse, I decided to head to the Summer Retreat. I caught the bus, which was a little bit nerve racking, since I had only a rough sense of where I needed to go from the taxi ride and the guidebook, and I was just keeping alert to see where I should get off, and praying I wouldn't get hopelessly lost. At that point, I was starving, and luckily, the guidebook identified a snack street near the Retreat. I ponied up to the first place I saw, which had various kinds of meat on a stick. A confused communication got me ten little sticks of beef for about a dollar, and damn, was I ever glad I got it. I could tell from the spices that it was Muslim, or at least Northern, and the Muslims have done well by me on this trip, it was freakin' delicious.

Full up, I went to the Summer Retreat. Honestly, I didn't enjoy it that much. It was kind of on the same theme as the Summer Palace, but more wild, with deer, and more buildings made out of wood. It's beautiful, but I preferred the Summer Palace. Also, I didn't know, but was made aware by a plaque with a creepy injunction to "Never forget the national shame!", that this was where the Unequal Treaties were signed. To be honest, the bigger factor was a gnawing anxiety over not being able to get back to Beijing. I couldn't really enjoy myself.

I did have one great encounter in the Summer Retreat that had me beaming for a while. An old man sitting in a pagoda intercepted me as I was walking. What nationality are you, he asked me in Chinese. I'm American, I said. American?, he said, American. Ao-ba-ma! I laughed and repeated, Obama, yes. Then he said in Mandarin, Obama. America isn't bad. I made some light conversation and walked away totally charmed. China's not that bad either, my friend.

I ended up walking all the way from the summer retreat back to the train station (a couple of hard miles) because I didn't know the bus routes and couldn't manage to grab a taxi. Once there, I cautiously approached the minibuses, and was rapidly hustled by a couple of touts into a bus to Beijing (Here, I should note, that I might be underestimating the usefulness of my Chinese because I take character reading for granted. My ability to read characters saved my butt here, because I knew I was going to Beijing) In America, I'd probably never do that, but I was short on options. It was pretty much a Chinatown Bus, but, like, in China, and it was certainly the shadiest feeling thing I've ever been roped into. Highly confused, I joined the all Chinese passengers on the bus, and grabbed the last empty seat, next to an incredibly fat Chinese teenager (with a fat brother in the seat in front of him), the kind of fat that makes you understand why the airlines charge for two seats for these people. My butt was half in the aisle, and I wasn't exactly looking forward to the next three or four hours, squeezed against a broken plastic armrest by the fattest f-ing Chinese person I'd ever seen, understanding absolutely nothing of what was going on, and praying to God I'd get back to Beijing in one piece.

I passed the first hour by finishing Su Tong's book, Rice, which is an absolute masterpiece, btw. I then looked up from the book and saw a series of crenellated walls and towers weaving their way over the mountains. I was intrigued at first, and then it hit me: this was my first view of the Great Wall, and it happened completely by chance. Amazing, and it only happened because I was doing an insane thing.

I started watching the driver go, and as soon as I did, I wished I hadn't. I took a sick enjoyment out of watching this guy's MO: he would tailgate the car in front of him until he was practically up the other car's butt, he would honk, and then he would pass the car by going in the other lane. Of a two lane road. With traffic coming in the other direction. There's a point at which recklessness reaches virtuosity, and this is it. The best was when the cars that were this close to getting in a head-on collision with us would blink their warning lights, signifying the obvious, and our driver would resentfully get in the right lane, but only until another passing opportunity arose. To make matters worse, the transmission sounded fatally wounded. I wasn't worried though. I tend to think that people who do incredibly stupid, insane things make out ok.

I did manage to get to Beijing, of course. I realized 2/3rds of the way through the drive that while I knew the bus was going to Beijing, I had no idea where in Beijing. Making matters worse, individuals would get off the bus at seemingly random intervals, and I couldn't understand what was going on. I simply steeled myself and told myself I'd just get off when everyone else did, following the crowd. Thankfully, this strategy worked, and when I got to the Beijing Subway, I could barely believe I was there.

I had dinner today at a a nice old-style Beijing restaurant near the hotel. I picked the wrong dish, however, pig intestines. I was used to the tripe-y stuff you get in Flushing, and figured I'd be getting that, but the intestines had an awful aftertaste that I couldn't really stomach. I ate enough however, and it was a nice place, so nice I might go back tomorrow.

That was my day, probably my most nuts day so far. I'm glad it happened though. Although, on the other hand, one of the things I'm realizing is how much I really do rely on those little things that make us comfortable. I really don't enjoy being out of my comfort zone, and I don't fetishize it either. I'd prefer to see this amazing stuff and still get to live in American comfort, and understand what the hell I'm doing, and where I am, and not be crowded all the time. I really hope Kunming is not like this, otherwise it might be a rough couple of months. It might help just to have a place to be and a support network, however.

Tomorrow, one and only one thing: The Great Wall. Should be straight forward. Till then.