China 2

Where Emperors take solace

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At 9 am we gather in the lobby. There are 24 of us and we are led by a man who seems to be about 21, but whose black hair is peppered with gray.  From the things he told us, and he tried to be open with all our queries, my guess he was mid thirties, married, but no children yet.  Though he does own his house, just outside the fourth Ring Road, and considers himself very lucky.  His English is good… the only nod to it not being his first language is that he occasionally leaves out his prepositions… “Wait me” instead of “Wait for me.”

The buses are city buses, old and high off the ground. The stairs challenge my knees and I find myself pulling up with my arms, and using the door frames to slow gravity to get out. The air is desert air and I am always thirsty; my lips are always chapped. I gave up wearing mascara after the first day...it was washing into my eyes with sweat, but otherwise not coming off at all.

We forget that we are old and less fit than we should be. We expect to race through these tourist sites and find secrets from tour guides because, well, that is what we do. Instead, we search for bits of shade and places to sit for a while. 

“Kevin” Yang is our tour guide. All the Chinese people we have met, who have any direct encounters with us, have been given an “English” name.  We ask, and try to use their Chinese name, and even joke and ask them to give us Chinese names.  They seem to be always looking over their shoulders, to see who hears.  I never convinced any of them to give me a Chinese name, but one did take my English name and apply Chinese accents to it.  I got the feeling it was to make me let it go.

Kevin with Orange Flag

Kevin is a young man whose university degree is in English and it is easy to see that he wants more from life than to lead tourists around. The reality is that this is a good job and he and his wife are saving money to have a baby. He tries to explain government policies to us, things like the one child policy and the requirement that children care for aging parents, but I can see that he is saying what he is supposed to say. He would be a good father to many children, and it seems clear that one is all he will have.  It isn’t illegal to have more than one child, but parents must pay fines as well as fees for education and medical care and citizenship, to make that child a “person.” In China today, for him, that is about 42,000 US dollars.

Tiananmen Square

He takes us first to Tiananmen Square, where Mao is entombed in a crystal casket and museum like building. People still line up, nearly 40 years after his death, in an hour plus long queue. We pass. Kevin talks about the other government buildings on the square and points out the Russian influence. He tells us that by the time of Mao’s death, the Russians were no longer the friends of the Chinese and wouldn’t tell them the secrets to preserving Mao’s body the way the Russians have preserved Lenin and Stalin. Suddenly headlines from my youth are waking up and I need to remind myself of things like the Red scare, the Domino effect and the Vietnam War.  I was a student of political science in the seventies, and merging the facts and conclusions I reached as a student with reality gives me a bit of whiplash.  I try to conform the monsters of Communism to this orderly, seemingly open environment, the elegant and luxurious hotel, and once again I get the sense that we are only seeing what we are “supposed” to see. 

Gate of Heavenly Peace

The Chinese eventually got the preservations information from the Vietnamese, (who apparently got it from the Russians.) I remember the fall of Saigon. Yet there we stand in post-cultural revolution china.

We parade across Tiananmen Square, ducklings following Kevin’s orange flag.  He points out the monuments and buildings and makes brief reference to "the photo" of the student and the tank in one corner of the largest public square in the world.  He adds that despite the photo, there were really tanks and students all over the square, a massive uprising, and a massive response.  My reading has shown that there are no hard numbers even now of the people killed in the massacre in 1989. I wonder if Kevin was here then. He seems ready to share his China with us ...he doesn't seem oppressed...except that there he is, leading a bunch of western tourists over what should have been the most sacred places in his city.

Forbidden City, Outer City.  Politics here

At the end of Tiananmen Square is the Gate of Heavenly Peace, where a portrait of Mao Zedong (Tse-Tung when I first learned it in high school) is hung over the entrance to the Forbidden City.   Entry into the Forbidden City is no longer limited to Emperors and their entourage, but can now be gained for 60 RMBs, or Chinese Yuan: equal to about 10 USD.  While beautiful, and carefully restored for color and site, the City shows the wear of thousands of tourists tramping through and touching, as well as the extremes of weather.  Paint is constantly restored to keep colors true, but I didn’t have the sense that jade inlays and gold leaf were authentic. 

On the way to the Dragons. Dragon = Emperor

Conquerors took gold rubbings on their swords here

Ours was a quick trip through, climbing what felt like hundreds of  stairs for views (just wait til we get to the Great Wall!) of the halls of both the outer city and the inner city.  It was very hot-- in the 90s all day.  No water breaks from Kevin, and when we finally reached the inner city, he sent us to our first bathroom of the day… but they were the standard,  less than fragrant, Asian toilets.  I am not particularly a girly girl, but I have my limits.  Being raised in the USA leaves me with prejudices, and my body was willing to wait.  Thank goodness. Not only did it smell bad and require squatting, there was a long line.

Outer City

Detail

some of the Concubines Quarters

Climbing to Inner City

The things about the inner Forbidden City that stayed with me were silly things probably: the Emperor never allowed any “intact” men inside the inner city, where he, his empress and his up to twenty thousand concubines lived--that way he knew that all children born were, in fact, his.   

Being the son of God, it was his duty to have sex with as many women as possible.

Inner City had different meaning then. The color yellow was only used by the emperor.

Beautiful rock garden.  Sweaty tourist palm destruction

But he was also fearful. No one was allowed to know which of the 9,999 rooms of the inner city where he slept.  Assassination was a problem for dynastic Emperors.

If a door could forbid entry, this would do it.

Despite the heat, and my admitted weariness with Chinese historical trivia at this point, The Forbidden City is beautiful and I’m glad we went there.  Unlike India, where faith is worn in all aspects of life, we saw no one worshipping. The Forbidden City, once 
 the holiest of holy places, is now a place for tour guides with orange flags, and throngs of people, some attracted merely by the name.  Don’t we all want to see that which we are forbidden to see?