Our Trip to the People's Republic of China

Day 05
Beijing Free Day

The Silk Market (outdoor flea market) and Taxi Ride

The Silk Market was walking distance from our hotel. It is a massive, permanent, outdoor swap meet with open stalls along a long, narrow street (XiushuJie) and beyond. None of the prices are set. Haggling is considered an art form, and my mother proved very good at bargaining. Along with silk items, we saw all kinds of clothing and trinkets. Our tour leader, Robin, led a group of us there on his free day. [See Guides.]

Mother, Pat, and I all made a haul in just one pass down the narrow corridor. After checking my watch, I realized that we’d need to move on quickly. The final viewing of Mao’s tomb that day was 11:30 a.m. I applied a vice-like grip on my mother’s arm and dragged her back to the main street so we could catch a taxi to Tian’anmen Square. Pat dodged the crowd on her own. At the curb, I used the technique that had been recommended by our guide: Stick an arm out into the street like a left-turn signal and hope for the best.

Fares are posted on the rear taxi windows. They start at 10 yuan ($1.20) and increase after 5 km. A small metal cage encases the taxi driver and separates him from the passengers. Each taxi is only large enough for three passengers.

Our driver’s choice of music ranged from Broadway musicals to John Philip Sousa. Pat sat in the front seat to capture the street scenes on video. The driver frowned as mother struggled with difficulty out of the cramped back seat of the taxi.

Mao’s Tomb at Tian'anmen Square

Mao was very clever in locating the government buildings of Tian'anmen Square directly in front of the Forbidden City in the center of the Beijing. The location is a place of power. It covers the face of the Forbidden City and assumes a strong presence in a place long established as China’s administrative headquarters.

No purses or bags are allowed inside of Mao’s Mausoleum because of fear of vandalism or worse. The literature that I’d read before coming had promised a locker room in which to stash valuables. We never spotted such a place, and we had walked practically the entire perimeter of the building to find the public entrance. We knew we’d found it when we saw the long line.

My mother offered to guard all our packs, camera bags and recent purchases, so that Pat and I could go in. We left her rather guiltily. It was midday, the sun was beating down, and heat reflected from the huge expanse of pavement. We asked her try to find shelter in the narrow line of shade along the fence, then we ran to join the queue.

We stood in line next to a very blond girl from Finland. We got nervous as we saw money changing hands, because Mother had all our yuan. The Finnish girl said that she had no money either. We didn’t have to worry. The mausoleum is the only free public attraction in Beijing. The vendors were selling paper flowers to people in line. The visitors piled the flowers in the lobby. Then the crowd was allowed into the main chamber where Mao lay in state. He looked like a wax figure. Only his face and neck were visible. A Chinese flag covered the rest of his body. We were allowed a few minutes of contemplation, then were ushered out another door. I assume that the flowers are gathered, then resold. Between the viewing times, Mao’s corpse is lowered into an underground freezer.

We found my mother. She had been toughing it out in the full sun, afraid to put anything down near strangers. We relieved her of her burden, made sure that she felt OK, then walked around taking pictures. Pat was enchanted by the many red flags waving in the wind, stern guards and proletariat statues. We left the square via stairs down to a pedestrian tunnel. These walkways are necessary because of the very wide boulevards. We surfaced on an unexpected street corner, then tried again.

At the People’s Museum, we encountered an incredible restroom. [See Toilets.] Then we walked through a corridor in the center of the People’s Museum to the front of the Forbidden City. We seemed to be the only Westerners in the courtyard. A man claiming to be a cabdriver offered to take us anywhere. Mother and Pat didn’t trust him (because he wasn’t in a taxi), and we made an escape. Faced with the very wide barrier of the Forbidden City and no quick way around it, we took another taxi back to our hotel to recoup.

Subway Ride and Yonghegong Lama Temple

The subway stop was just a couple of blocks from the hotel. We took the subway to the Yonghegong Lama Temple. We had been told that we should have no problem finding our way, because the signs would be in English. Our advisor had exaggerated. The destinations are not written in English words. Rather, Chinese words are spelled with Roman letters. Maps on the wall show the subway route—an elongated oval. Our starting point was Chang Fu Gong. Our destination was Yong He Gong.

Even the subways had flights of stairs leading down to the trains. Loud rock music blared from a CD store just above the second flight of stairs. The halls of the subway acted liked a giant amplifier. The wall opposite from the store had posters for the Charlie’s Angels movie.

At the Yong He Gong subway stop, we saw our first and only beggar of the trip. Pat gave some money to the old woman.

We couldn’t find the temple after several blocks of walking. I hit my head on a low electrical box while checking the map. Mother kept repeating, "We’ll never find it. We’ll never find it. This was a bad idea."

It was about 1:30 p.m. and fatigue and hunger had set in. We stopped for lunch. The restaurant had welcome signs in English in its windows and pale Scandinavian-style maple dining chairs and tables. Once we had eaten and rested, we felt better. As we emerged from the restaurant, we were greeted by members of our tour group on their way back from the temple. The temple gate was barely a block beyond the restaurant.

"I told you we’d find it," said Mother, "You really should have more faith."

The Lama Temple is Buddhist. In the U.S., we think of the many-faced statues as Hindu. Yonghegong has one building behind another in a long, narrow line. The altars hold both smiling and benevolent Buddhas and fierce, scowling, black- and red-faced creatures. I was just beginning to be bored when we encountered the sandalwood Buddha. On entering the low-ceilinged hall, we were eye level to the shinbone of a gigantic figure and had to crane our heads backward to see the top of the idol, which stretched several stories (18 meters) above us.

We saw Beijing rush hour as we returned to the subway stop. Bicycles with people of all ages filled the streets.

On the way back to the hotel, a Chinese lady in the subway car was curious about our little trio and gave my mother her seat. She was a flight attendant, who spoke a little English. She was very nice in seeing that we made it off at the correct stop.