him in Chinese. He didn’t speak the language, but he was sophisticated enough to hear the difference between the Cantonese that was so prevalent in Los Angeles and the Mandarin of Beijing with its abundance of
shi, zhi, xi
, and
ji
sounds.
Back at the hotel, he showered, then went downstairs for breakfast. He perused the buffet, passing on the steamed dumplings and rice gruel with salted fish in favor of bacon and scrambled eggs. He spent the rest of the morning at loose ends—reading the
International Herald Tribune
and watching CNN in his room. He hated waiting, but he didn’t know what else to do.
Looking at a map, he saw he was far from any of the tourist attractions, and he felt nervous about venturing into the neighborhood that he had run past this morning. With its walls and exclusively Chinese residents—who looked like they were living just above the poverty line—that area had seemed as if it wasn’t for tourists. He didn’t want to risk getting in trouble by going someplace he wasn’t wanted or wasn’t supposed to go. But even as he waited in his room for twelve o’clock to roll around, another part of him wanted to say, Fuck it. I’m on the other side of the world. I’m on an adventure. I can do what I want.
Visitors to Beijing cannot ignore its imperial quality. David too would see this as soon as Peter drove him from the Chaoyang District, where he was staying, to the Ministry of Public Security, where the Eastern City and the Western City Districts meet. The Forbidden City—home to the twenty-four emperors of the Ming and Qing dynasties who carried the Mandate of Heaven throughout their reigns—stands at the very heart of the city. Everything else blossoms out from it on a pure north-south axis and an east-west axis. The wide Chang An Boulevard, Avenue of Perpetual Peace, runs east and west before the Forbidden City, dividing Beijing into northern and southern sectors. Just across the street from the Forbidden City lies the broad expanse of Tiananmen Square. Just below this Qianmen Street goes south, while above the Forbidden City Hataman Street heads north. These two streets split the city on its east-west axis.
Beijing’s layout recalls the traditional concepts of yin and yang. Yin represents the north—night, danger, evil, death. The first barbarians—the Mongols—came from the north. Emperors—usually invaders—also lived to the “north” in the Forbidden City. Residents were warned never to insult the emperor by spitting, urinating, or weeping while facing north. Homes and businesses in Beijing, as in most of China, open to the south, allowing the sun to pour in with the attributes of yang: daylight, refuge, goodness, life.
To control this pattern over the centuries, the Chinese built walls. The old empire itself was protected by the Great Wall to the far north. Massive walls with gates at the four compass points defended the ancient city. The emperor fortified himself behind the Forbidden City’s high walls. Even his subjects—meek as they were—screened themselves from bandits and nosy neighbors by living behind walls in courtyards. Since Chinese law decreed that no building could ever be higher than the emperor’s throne, these houses—like those David had seen on his morning run—were built close to the ground. Between them lie the
hutongs
, an ancient labyrinth of little alleys and lanes. It is the tangle of
hutongs
that gives Beijing its human character.
Until the last decade of the twentieth century, a Beijinger could cross the city without ever leaving a
hutong
neighborhood. But in the year that David Stark traveled to Beijing, land in the city commanded as much as $560 a square foot; the
hutongs
suddenly seemed obsolete. Hundreds, thousands of old courtyard homes were marked in stark white paint with the Chinese character denoting “to be demolished.” At least two-thirds of the old neighborhoods were to be razed to make room for high-rise
shi, zhi, xi
, and
ji
sounds.
Back at the hotel, he showered, then went downstairs for breakfast. He perused the buffet, passing on the steamed dumplings and rice gruel with salted fish in favor of bacon and scrambled eggs. He spent the rest of the morning at loose ends—reading the
International Herald Tribune
and watching CNN in his room. He hated waiting, but he didn’t know what else to do.
Looking at a map, he saw he was far from any of the tourist attractions, and he felt nervous about venturing into the neighborhood that he had run past this morning. With its walls and exclusively Chinese residents—who looked like they were living just above the poverty line—that area had seemed as if it wasn’t for tourists. He didn’t want to risk getting in trouble by going someplace he wasn’t wanted or wasn’t supposed to go. But even as he waited in his room for twelve o’clock to roll around, another part of him wanted to say, Fuck it. I’m on the other side of the world. I’m on an adventure. I can do what I want.
Visitors to Beijing cannot ignore its imperial quality. David too would see this as soon as Peter drove him from the Chaoyang District, where he was staying, to the Ministry of Public Security, where the Eastern City and the Western City Districts meet. The Forbidden City—home to the twenty-four emperors of the Ming and Qing dynasties who carried the Mandate of Heaven throughout their reigns—stands at the very heart of the city. Everything else blossoms out from it on a pure north-south axis and an east-west axis. The wide Chang An Boulevard, Avenue of Perpetual Peace, runs east and west before the Forbidden City, dividing Beijing into northern and southern sectors. Just across the street from the Forbidden City lies the broad expanse of Tiananmen Square. Just below this Qianmen Street goes south, while above the Forbidden City Hataman Street heads north. These two streets split the city on its east-west axis.
Beijing’s layout recalls the traditional concepts of yin and yang. Yin represents the north—night, danger, evil, death. The first barbarians—the Mongols—came from the north. Emperors—usually invaders—also lived to the “north” in the Forbidden City. Residents were warned never to insult the emperor by spitting, urinating, or weeping while facing north. Homes and businesses in Beijing, as in most of China, open to the south, allowing the sun to pour in with the attributes of yang: daylight, refuge, goodness, life.
To control this pattern over the centuries, the Chinese built walls. The old empire itself was protected by the Great Wall to the far north. Massive walls with gates at the four compass points defended the ancient city. The emperor fortified himself behind the Forbidden City’s high walls. Even his subjects—meek as they were—screened themselves from bandits and nosy neighbors by living behind walls in courtyards. Since Chinese law decreed that no building could ever be higher than the emperor’s throne, these houses—like those David had seen on his morning run—were built close to the ground. Between them lie the
hutongs
, an ancient labyrinth of little alleys and lanes. It is the tangle of
hutongs
that gives Beijing its human character.
Until the last decade of the twentieth century, a Beijinger could cross the city without ever leaving a
hutong
neighborhood. But in the year that David Stark traveled to Beijing, land in the city commanded as much as $560 a square foot; the
hutongs
suddenly seemed obsolete. Hundreds, thousands of old courtyard homes were marked in stark white paint with the Chinese character denoting “to be demolished.” At least two-thirds of the old neighborhoods were to be razed to make room for high-rise
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