Letters from Beijing – Gems of the city

Daniel Charvat

Beijing’s alleyways or hutongs (??) have been a source of much joy during my stay in China so far. It is true that wondering through the dimly lit and grimy hutongs is the best way to find yourself in a remarkable new place – it’s like being lost in a story.

Walking down a busy street, a small unobtrusive blue sign will always mark the entrance to a hutong, and as its darkness envelopes you, you are transported into a different land. The noise you leave behind is replaced by the little sounds of water being thrown out, pots bumping against each other, or the creaking wheels of a rusty bicycle trundling by. It’s hardly romantic, but it’s an entirely different Beijing.

In the hutongs you are in a maze. You are also almost certainly lost. The low hanging Chinese-style roofs enclose you, blocking out the noise and light (at night) of the surrounding city and occasionally dripping dirty water into little puddles that form in the grooves of the cobbled paths. The grey brick walls, reminiscent of an old Beijing, are interrupted by sporadic neon signs welcoming guests into shady coffee shops or tiny bars. These little gems within the dull labyrinths are Beijing’s real treasures.

After having dinner in a small out-of-the-way Xinjiang restaurant lying in the shadow of the impressive Drum Tower (??), we wound our way through the surrounding hutongs. Coming across a tiny bar fashioned out of an old traditional courtyard house, we slipped in. We sipped on the house specialty – a warm glass of sweet liquor – while a band from Inner Mongolia prepared for their set. When at last they started playing the place was packed, with people sitting on stools, leaning on the walls or reclining in couches. The group played an incredible blend of ancient traditional Mongolian folk-song accompanied by intermittent bursts of electric guitar and a modern drum beat. Even the band members were a motley combination of eclectic hipsters sporting expertly groomed Chinese-style goatees and traditional pony-tails.

On another evening, this time invited by a friend, a group of us made our way through one of the busier and more famous hutongs. Walking past indie art shops, vintage clothing stores and a man who sold Mao-era memorabilia, we came across the entrance to a petite bar with branches hanging low around the doorway. Wiggling through tables set in little alcoves and past a quaint looking bar top we pushed aside the bead curtain that led into the last room. After settling into the huge couches and ordering a round of specialty cocktails, we flipped on the projector. We had brought a copy of the film Amelie since the bar had a large projector and screen in the back room. With our feet up and cocktails in hand we watched movies into the early hours of the morning while other patrons moved in and out as they pleased. And all the while goldfish swam overhead – the ceiling was a giant fish tank.

We found a place that only played classic Western rock. In whose attic you could sit and peer down on people playing pool or singing on stage, the walls plastered with nostalgic pictures of Kiss and Nirvana.  

A cat coffee shop made a reasonably priced cup of latte, while dozens of cats lounged on the windowsill next to you or rubbed up lovingly against your leg.

Another shop sold mugs shaped like communist leaders and camera lenses.

The list goes on.

The other day, looking out across the stumpy hutong roofs with their rising smoke stacks and broken tiles – I had found a coffee shop whose roof was a makeshift balcony – I sat back and enjoyed a world-class cappuccino. Beijing has all sorts of things, but the hutongs are like a lucky dip packet, and are by far my favourite.

Letters from Beijing - National Day in the capital, 2011

Daniel Charvat

I had often heard of the daily spectacle that is the flag raising ceremony in Tiananmen Square – the heart of China. Every single day, as a sleeping Beijing prepares for dawn, the ceremony acts the rooster. A troupe of soldiers march in perfect unison across the massive 12-lane road separating the Forbidden City and Tiananmen Square, and with mathematically measured strides they arrive at the flag pole just at the time the sun is poised to rise – the road is closed daily for this period.  

Wanting to witness the spectacle in person, I made the massive mistake of convincing a group of friends that we had to see it for ourselves, on National Day.

Now, 1 October marks the founding of the People’s Republic of China, and as a result, a large number of people from all around the country feel it in their patriotic duty to make the trip to Beijing and support the ceremony on that specific day. With a slight inkling that there may be more people than usual attending, we prepared accordingly.

On the evening of 30 September, 25 of us (comprised mostly of my international peers) set off on subway line 2 to Tiananmen Square. Anticipating vast hordes of people attending on the day we planned to spend the night camping in the square and wake up in the wee hours of the morning. This would secure us a good spot from which to watch the procession. What we had not anticipated was the number of people with the same thing in mind.

Before it was even midnight there were close on 5000 people in and around the square, and by 2am the number was closer to 12 000. Access to the square itself had been restricted, and we jostled to get a good vantage point for when they opened the gates to the square.

Soldiers in their hundreds paraded around and herded the crowds in various directions in an attempt to control the flow of people. And as the access gates opened at around 2:30am, like the frenzied cattle we were, we kicked, pushed and shoved to get into the square as fast as humanly possible. In a kind of semi-controlled chaos, waves upon waves of people flooded the square – barbarically fighting to the gates, calmly putting bags and valuables through the X-ray machines, then running manically into the square. Imagine a riot where people obey road-signs.

Finally, sitting in a large group among an even larger crowd, we settled down to wait. Hauling out the food supplies and a few decks of cards, we formed something of a spectacle as we slept on each other, played music and learnt to Salsa. The surrounding Chinese were torn between an ever-brightening skyline and a group of foreigners dancing like lunatics, and leaping around to stay warm.

Finally the moment we had been waiting for arrived. A group of soldiers emerged from the Gate of Heavenly Peace (the same gate where Chairman Mao would wave to his red guards from). They marched in perfect unison and, just as promised, reached the flagpole at the moment the horizon looked set to explode. As the sun rose, hundreds of doves were released into the crisp morning air and the flag began its ascent. We bounced around at the back of the crowd (a consequence of too much dancing and too little jostling) trying to get a clear view. It was over in a few minutes.

Walking among the throng of people headed for work with the sun rising at our backs, we decided the adventure had been just as important as its 5-minute culmination. 

Beijing: Home Sweet Home

By Daniel Charvat

Three years ago, in the unforgiving heat of Beijing’s summertime, I remember taking shelter on the steps of an old building nestled at the heart of Beijing’s prestigious Tsinghua University. Across a stretch of pristinely cut grass, four white pillars framed the entrance to the European styled main auditorium of the campus. The university has become something of a spectacle in Beijing today, rivalling scenic spots such as the Great Wall and the Forbidden City, and getting through the gates of Tsinghua is a daily struggle as tourists in their thousands flock the campus.

Now, as I bustle through the droves of happy-snapper tourists all jostling for the perfect photo in front of the lawns, I hardly notice the beautiful domed auditorium. This is because it sits just a few metres from my own department – I would hardly have believed this perched on those steps three years ago.

Beijing is one of the most foreign places I know, yet already I dare call it home. The first time I visited the thriving metropolis, I remember marvelling at the eight-lane roads, staring in disbelief at the sheer number of people filling the sidewalks, subways and cramming into busses, and experiencing a feeling of insignificance standing in the shadow of rows upon rows of concrete mountains. Things have changed though, and in the few months that I have been here, I hardly notice the breadth of the roads anymore as I dodge stray taxis and speeding busses in a bid to get to the other side. What began as terror has turned into something of a much needed sixth-sense. Surviving Beijing’s roads requires you not to think, but rather to let yourself join the ebb and flow of the city’s pulse.

I have become one of the millions that crowd the subways and overload the busses. I share the sweat, frustration and fatigue of those around me, as we stand nose-in-armpit, crammed up against each other waiting for the subway doors to close. It is on the subways that I have learnt the most about the people of Beijing. There are the lovers who have chosen to escape the cost and noise of the city, and instead, sleep on each other’s shoulders as the train rambles on. There are the villagers, with bags upon bags stacked up in between their legs, staring wide eyed at the people around them. The teenagers nose-deep in their mobiles with headphones attached to the sides of their heads – plugged in and connected. There is the blind busker, singing songs and shuffling past the ambivalent crowds in the hope of some spare change. The man in the suit, the crying woman, the toddler in the sea of legs – everyone rides the subway.

But it is above ground that one truly experiences Beijing. Sitting in a dirty, dimly lit alley, with pungent smells stinging your nose and dirty water trickling underfoot, you feel the steam of a dumpling basket drift past your face and through this steam you notice a different kind of romance in China. A man walks past, gently swinging a cage under each arm with tiny chirps floating into the night air – he is taking his birds for a walk. Or the young chap nimbly dodging puddles on his rickety bike as his girlfriend rests her cheek on his back, her arms around him. In the air there is the constant sound of laughter, talking and singing.  

These are the moments when I realize that I truly like Beijing. Even though the meat I am eating has most likely been cooked in “gutter oil”, the smog of pollution still hangs thick in the air so that I can only see a few blocks down the road, and the sound of traffic constantly fills my ears. I like Beijing.

In my course I am surrounded by people from all over the world – of the thirteen master’s candidates I study with, we represent eleven different nationalities – and together we live the spectacle that is China. We learn from professors that advise the Communist Party of China, we attend press conferences of China’s largest media organizations, and as students of China’s top university we enjoy the privilege of admiration that everyone we encounter bestows upon us.

I came to China with the intention of learning more about this country whose vastly different cultural norms make it difficult to understand, and my journey has barely begun. Now, as I watch, listen and experience all that China has to offer, I envision my path as that of the aspiring global citizen, with a growing appreciation for the diversity and similarity, problems and opportunities found in the cultures around us.

It is true that one can only begin to experience a place if you actually live there, and the Beijing I know now is vastly different from the Beijing I visited two years ago. I am now curious to see what it becomes in another two years. 

Daniel Charvat: Letters From Beijing

Daniel Charvat, a Journalism and English student at the time, was part of the first group of students to study Chinese at Rhodes. After studying the subject for two years and having been to China twice, Daniel decided to pursue his future in the direction of China. Daniel is now studying Global Business Journalism at one of China's most prestigious universities, Tsinghua University in Beijing.

The following section is dedicated to Daniel's experience in China over the next two years, not only to serve as inspiration for those students wishing to following the same path but to also shed light on the realities of living and studying in China.