June 6 - Shanghai to Beijing

I decided that since we were leaving around 9:30 a.m. for Beijing, I wouldn’t bother with the horrid basement breakfast. After getting ready, I dashed out of the hotel. When we had arrived in Shanghai I noticed a sign that had mentioned a nearby temple. I had said something to the others about it but was met with silence. (I could almost see the tumbleweeds rolling down the street.) If I wanted to see it, I guess I was doing it alone. I found the sign again, and headed down the road, which was another busy, bustling area full of small stalls that were overflowing with antiques and, in most, touristy knick knacks. The temple was about half way down the block.

I saw that admission was about 5 yuan, which is less than $1, so I dug into my purse for the money and waited. I could clearly see an old man sitting inside. I waited some more. Hmmm. A few women approached and I let them past me. He opened the window and took their money. Maybe he thought I was waiting for something else. I moved closer to the window and finally he opened up and took my money. The only downside to going in was that you couldn’t take photos. And that sucks as that was my raison d’etre for going on this trip. Nevermind.

Inside there was a front courtyard that lead to a much larger one. At my extreme left was a stall that sold amulets and other religious paraphernalia. I think there was also a large metal container filled with sand. Stuck in it were sticks of incense. People also burned large red candles. Once through the door, you could see a giant gold Buddha surrounded by attendants. I have no idea who these people were. At the back of him was Kuanyin, bodhisattva of compassion. In another courtyard, you found side shrines. One of the figures looked like Manjusri. As I exited, I walked by another stall, selling religious items. My eye stopped on a mala bracelet that I had to have. The beads were agate and green jade (undoubtedly not real), and inscribed on some of them were swastikas. You would never, in a million years, find this in the States, simply because people see swastika and think “Nazi.” I bought it for 50 yuan (about $7), and put it on. In fact, I wore that mala the entire time I was in China and Japan, and never once got a funny look. Of course the minute I got back to the U.S., I felt funny wearing it and took it off.

I didn’t have a lot of time left, so I wandered along the street a bit. Right across from the temple was a stall selling antiques, mostly statues of various gods and goddesses. I went inside primarily because he had a small bronze of Confucius. (The man seemed amazed that I knew who Master Kung was.) I put him down after I spied a beat up prayer wheel. The day before I had gone into a shop specializing in Tibetan religious articles, but decided not to buy anything because the guy was super pushy. (When we left, he chased us down the street!) Also, I always wonder how they get these items. Anyway, I talked the shopkeeper down to about 50 yuan for the prayer wheel. And it probably was worth that. The turquoise was coming off in places. It really was a ratty old thing, but he assured me it was an “antique.” Again I wondered how the guy got this religious object, and realized I maybe didn’t want to know.

With even less time available, I navigated my way up the street to a crowded row on which you found more locals than tourists shopping. I was hoping it wasn’t too early for this one shop to be open. The night before, I had stumbled upon a stall in which a man was selling traditional clothing and cloths from his village. He didn’t speak much English, but was very good at charades. What he couldn’t explain that way, he relied on pictures and text from a lovely coffee book. He pointed out that the animals and flowers that appeared in the designs were totems and had religious significance. That sold me! I didn’t come to China to buy some tat that you can find at any import shop in Omaha. I wanted something more authentic. The only downside was that his items were really expensive and unlike most shopkeepers, this guy didn’t really negotiate much. (The night before I had fallen in love with a sequined and beaded piece of cloth used to carry a baby. It was about 2300 yuan, which is more than $300.) Deciding that I should find something a bit more in my budget, my eye landed on an antique pillow cover. He told me that it was one of a kind and was 60-years old. It’s a beautiful hot pink with flowers and has a gold fringe at the bottom. We discovered when I got home that it also has snaps along the top edge, so it must have attached to something. The other piece I got was more modern. It is a table runner made of black cloth and red embroidery. Both items had totemic birds on them. Before I left his shop, the man took the older piece from me, carefully laid it out on the floor, and snapped a photo of it. He suggested again that this was a one-of-a-kind thing. Finally, he broke out a photo album so he could show me photos of his mother and father; wife and baby. In one photo, he sat smiling with his family in a very crowded room in Shanghai. I was glad I had decided to spend my tourist money here. (As a side note, the total cost of the items was about 460 yuan. I didn’t have enough in cash, so he walked me back to the ATM. In my haste, I either forgot my ATM card or the machine ate it. Either way, I didn’t leave Shanghai with my card. This detail will be important much later in my trip.) I took his photo and rushed back to the hotel, stopping only for a very, very tiny vanilla ice cream cone and a Coke from McDonald’s (together they were about 10 yuan, which is a bit more than $1.)

I got back to my room at about 9:20. We were meeting in 10 minutes so I figured I had a bit of time to “freshen up.” The phone rang, telling me it was time to go. I grabbed my bags, which had expanded exponentially over the last week, and went out the door. We checked out and stood around downstairs for taxis. While we were waiting an elderly Chinese man came up to some of the women in my party and began speaking in fluent English. He then switched to Spanish and German. Very amazing. Our taxis arrived and the drivers loaded up our bags. At the airport, I bought a How to Speak Mandarin book, because I was tired of being absolutely befuddled, and another Doreamon figurine. Our gate was moved without any kind of announcement, so it was a bloody good thing I chanced upon Sarah. As I stood waiting for our plane to leave, I watched this very odd cartoon about an angsty polar bear (I guess he’s very popular in China) who had a run in with a little dog.

Once we got on the plane, we were served our meals – rice and spicy pork (guess what I didn’t eat), some fruit … and told that our flight was delayed an hour. Air congestion or something. Don’t they plan these flights? Or do they just keep adding more until they reach maximum congestion? Who knows. Anyway, the flight, in total, took about two hours. We arrived in Beijing, found our hotel (a dark grey Day’s Inn that looks very institutional), and checked in. This is when we discovered that there was only one double bed per room. No one was about to sleep with their roommate, so negotiations for new rooms began. By the time that was worked out, everyone was starving. But rather than get food straight away, we decided to go out and walk to the Forbidden City. We wandered a bit around the square, marveling at the giant Mao portrait and quaking a bit by the massive police presence, until we had exhausted our options. Finally it was time to get food. For some reason, this was going to be our “big night” out. Taking advice from the guy who had bought our dinner in Shanghai, it was decided that we would find this much lauded Peking duck restaurant. (Oh joy!) We hopped into cabs, told them where we wanted to go, and off we went. But, for some reason, our cabbie had no idea where this restaurant was. He drove a bit. Stopped. Circled around. Got OUT of the cab in the middle of traffic to call the other driver. Yeah, fun city. I was so hungry by this point that I was near tears. I had had a small ice cream cone, a Clif bar, some Coke, some rice and a bit of fruit. And I know that a lot of the others had this much or less. Finally, finally, we found the restaurant, and got out of the cabs.

Inside the place was buzzing. There were so many people waiting to eat it was unbelievable. It shouldn’t be surprising to learn then that the wait time for a table was 40 minutes. Everyone was game for waiting. If a pair of chopsticks would have been nearby I would have either eaten them or used them to stab out my eyes. For entertainment value, you could watch a slew of chefs preparing the ducks in the front window. (They blow air under the skin and then hang them on hooks … I didn’t get much further than that.) I decided to fuck off and walk around the area, hoping to get some photos. My inner voice told me to find another restaurant (there were about five others in the area), because I would be done eating by the time we got a seat, but I didn’t. I took pictures until it was dark then ventured back. I waited another 10 minutes, and we got our “room.” Because of the size of the crowd, we had to pay an extra fee for a special room. Do it, we said. Once we sat down, the ordered began. Peking duck, which was astronomically priced, and then some plates of vegetables. I think we started with broccoli but they were out, and then we ordered another vegetable that they were out of. In the end, we got some green beans and asparagus. (I think eggplant was also ordered but it had a funky sauce that was unidentifiable.) Getting irritated at the lack of food, I suggested we get bowls of rice, which cost extra. Naturally. To drink I ordered a Japanese green tea, thinking it was maccha. Nope. It was loose twigs in a tall glass.

Eventually the vegetables arrived, and I took some. I was almost sick to my stomach, I was so hungry. (For some dumb reason, I had forgotten to pack extra Clif bars in my purse. Wouldn’t make that mistake again.) The duck arrived quite a bit later, and the waitress demonstrated how to eat it with the plate of condiments and sauces each of us received. Everyone said that the duck “melted” in their mouths. All I could think of were the open-sided trucks we had passed on the highway that had ducks crammed in, one on top of the other. The birds didn’t look particularly healthy or clean. Bon Appetit, suckers. All of the dead animals consumed, and it was time for dessert. We had a fancy fruit plate of cherries, watermelon and some other kind of melon. The cost of the meal came to price of a small nation’s GNP, and everyone was marveling at how they could eat this “every night.” Being my typical starving self, I chimed in that in the future I would rather have the cost of the meal so I could spend it on something useful.

Back at the hotel, I decided that I would sleep on the floor. I’m not one for sharing beds with anyone other than a husband and some canines. That’s just not my thing. Someone delivered an extra comforter, and I squirreled away into my nest. Only four days left, I told myself, taking much comfort in the idea.