Beijing

Sunday, May 4, 2008
Beijing

Numbers mean everything in Chinese culture, and nine is no exception.

Sounding identical to 久, which means “everlasting,” it’s strongly associated with the Chinese dragon, a symbol of magic and power. The number nine shows up in a myriad of places, from the brass knobs on doors to even small ornaments adorning temples.

Something tells me I’ll be seeing a lot of nines the next few days.

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Sunday, May 4, 2008
Beijing

At the south end of the Temple of Heaven complex—more of a park than what it sounds like—is the Round Alter, which is actually the heart of Tian Tan. Considered the center of the world, the alter is made of marble slabs laid in nine concentric circles, each circle made of nine pieces. Although you can’t tell with crowds of visitors around, it’s claimed that the acoustics of the alter amplify the voice of anyone standing at the center.

Of course, standing on the center takes some doing. And some jostling. And some fast footwork. After several minutes of trying to race my way to the middle point (and being elbowed out of the way by an elderly Asian woman about 2/3 my height), I finally leapt on. No time to pose. Just jump, click, and get out of the way.

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Sunday, May 4, 2008
Beijing

Unlike the small, boxy temples in Macau, temples in Beijing are huge, grand, and round, splashed in exquisite reds, blues and golds that look almost velvet-like from the ground. They gleam and they tower above the mere mortals that surround them…and they command an awesome respect as a result.

The Temple of Heaven—the original Tian Tan (remember the Big Buddha on Lantau?) is no exception. This 1,600 year old Buddhist pagoda is an architectural wonder, built entirely from wood without a single nail, topped with a gold finial that’s prone to lightning strikes. The blue rooftop represents the color of heaven; its circular shape symbolizes the sky.

On the winter solstice each year, the emperor—considered the Son of Heaven— would come here to pray to heaven and his ancestors for a good and productive harvest.

At the foot of the temple are three massive marble tiers, 20 feet high from top to bottom, interrupted by staircases that ascend to the temple itself. The photo here shows me at the base of these stairs, with a red incense “box” behind me.

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Sunday, May 4, 2008
Beijing

Had to laugh as we were leaving the noodle house (quite fat ‘n’ happy, thankyouverymuch). Just inside the entry is this full sized statue of a Chinese man, side by side with an aquarium sporting a (fake) boa constrictor. Now, since my days in Mr. Hubbard’s 11th grade biology class where we were “asked” to allow his boa, Passion Flower, to crawl over our shoulders, I’ve been a bit squeamish about the creatures.

Unless, of course, they’re in purse or boot form, but that’s another conversation entirely.

Holly and I got the giggles. Got out the camera. Next thing you know, it’s me, Mr. Chin, and the snake. Gotta love it.

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Sunday, May 4, 2008
Beijing

In China, it’s customary to eat noodles before your birthday because long noodles symbolize longevity in Asian cultures. Knowing that my 48th was coming up on Tuesday, Holly suggested we have lunch at a favorite spot of hers, near the Temple of Heaven, where noodles are a specialty.

And special they were.

While sitting at a square wooden table, we were surrounded by the din of clattering dinnerware. It wasn’t until our meal arrived that I understood why. The server stands next to the table, holding a tray with a large bowl of noodles, along with about six or seven small bowls of beans, greens, and other add-ins. Then, at lightning speed, the server dumps each little bowl’s contents into the noodles, slams the empty bowl under the next little bowl, tosses its contents into the noodles, uses that little bowl to launch the next one off the tray, etc. It’s loud, it’s theatrical, and it’s absolutely divine.

As were the noodles. Warned by Holly that the sauce (served on the side) was pretty salty, I added the thick, dark dressing with little chunks of meat into my big bowl, then followed her lead, slurping the long, slippery noodles out of my chopsticks. Honest to goodness, this was some of the best food I’ve eaten in my life—nothing I’ve had in the States compares.

Next, we shared a bowl of some reddish fruits, slightly larger than crab apples, that tasted somewhat like baked apples with clove and other savory/sweet spices. They were chilled and served with their juices atop a bed of shredded cabbage (which you don’t eat). The flavor was fantastic; if not for the fact we were stuffed to the gills, we would have inhaled the entire bowl.

Yum. Big time.

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Sunday, May 4, 2008
Beijing

Granted, there are a lot of things I didn’t expect in Beijing, but being serenaded on a bus by a Russian fellow my father’s age certainly never occurred to me. He was well educated (Holly translated between us, since he also spoke Mandarin), well dressed, and very conversational. When he broke into song, though…Holly did an admirable job of not bursting into laughter, it was so out of the blue.

Have to admit, though—the guy could really sing. Pretty flattering.

(Photo credit: ViewImages)

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Sunday, May 4, 2008
Beijing

No. Not me. Well, not exactly.

Given how lopsided the exchange rate is between Chinese yuan and US dollars, I wildly underestimated how much cash I had on me. Thought it was a fair amount, but after you do the math, it was the equivelent of, well…like a buck eighty.

So I head to the ATM (which I checked into at my bank before leaving Minneapolis). Sure ’nuff, it’s on the same system as me. Cool.

While Holly stands at a discreet distance, I punch numbers (you’d be amazed how universal this process is), but keep hitting a final screen of Mandarin without money spitting out. Tried three times. No luck.

So I summon Holly, who respectfully walks up with caution (this is private stuff, after all). She watches me try it again. Still no luck.

As we’re walking off, we finally catch the issue. There’s a big, handwritten sign hanging just above the machine that, apparently says (again, in Mandarin) “Out of money.”

I’m not doing so well with signs on this trip, am I?

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