The Dragon's Head

Our train arrived in the port city of Qinhuangdao, from whence we caught a bus to the Russian-flavoured resort town of Beidaihe. The beach was mediocre, the water dirty, the beer weak, the food terrible, and the women clothed, but apart from that it was a wonderful place. Since it was the 4th of July, we took a taxi to the local McDonalds ("Mai dang lao") and had dinner, before catching another taxi to Shanhaiguan.

After being able to successfully bargain down the admission price at the entrance, we found out we were in some kind of wax re-creation of the Great Wall instead of the actual site itself. There was also a fake Buddhist temple within the complex. A "to park" sign gave us hope that the real Great Wall lay ahead of us, but the path took us back to the parking lot. We walked further down the road and finally found the real entry point into the "Dragon's Head" section of the world's largest military structure. I stood at the edge of the Great Wall, gazing out at the ocean.

 

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"Men go abroad to wonder at the heights of mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long courses of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motions of the stars, and they pass by themselves without wondering." 

- Saint Augustine -

Great Wall Beach Party

The Great Wall Beach Party is an annual event held in Shanhaiguan, the point at which the monumental structure meets the sea. With the Great Wall serving as an imposing backdrop, the beach is converted into a playground for drunken revelers. Busloads of fickle foreigners are transported to the site at night and then carted off back to Beijing in the morning. Three friends and I wanted to explore the area properly, with the party serving as a bonus attraction. We caught a train at dawn from Beijing.

By the time we arrived at the site of the beach party we were quite sleepy, having woken up at 5am to catch the train. After a few false starts that involved rain, overweight women, and sleeping in hotel lobbies, we walked over to a sandbar from where we could both see and hear the party. Soon we were fast asleep. Around 2 am it became quite chilly. Half of our group fled to the safety of a hotel room, while the other fellow and I retired to the comfort of the hotel lobby for a few hours before walking back to the beach at 4 am to catch the sunrise. We finally made it to the party as it was on its last legs. After 15 minutes, we were napping on the beach again until 6 am. We then strolled to the Great Wall.

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“Never be the first to arrive at a party or the last to go home and never, never be both.”
- David Brown

My Fare Lady

Although there are crowd avoidance strategies that an experienced transit user can usually employ, sometimes he has no choice but to get on a jam packed bus. The population density becomes so great that it is not possible to count the number of people on board without falling asleep first. On one such busy occasion, I somehow found myself positioned between the two most attractive female passengers on the bus. I was tightly holding on to the overhead handlebars and trying to maintain my balance so as not to bop into either of the women, lest they form an incorrect opinion of the Prince of Honour.

The bus was idling at one intersection for several minutes due to the heavy traffic. The temperature was pushing 40 degrees. Everyone was sweating heavily, using their arms to wipe the perspiration dripping from their foreheads or just letting it splash onto nearby passengers. As I was drying myself with one hand, I was knocked from behind with considerable force. I lost my grip on the handle bar and felt myself falling. I used the lady in front of me to stop my forward momentum. She instinctively turned around and shot me a dirty look. I also turned my head to see what was going on behind me. The other pretty lady was flat on her back. She had collapsed from heatstroke or some other malady. I delicately attempted to lift her up with the aid of a scrawny Chinese chap. We were having some difficulty until we were helped by the fare lady.

Responsible for making sure everyone pays for their bus ride, the ticket collector was a big boned woman of sturdy stock. She pushed aside the crowd that had formed a circle around the prone body and picked up the young woman. She shooed away the occupant of one of the seats reserved for the sick, pregnant, and elderly, and dumped the knockout there. She had regained consciousness by now and was rubbing the shoulder she had landed on. The fare lady checked to see if the girl still had her wits about her. Once this was verified, she yelled at the bus driver to keep going. The remainder of the journey was not noteworthy.

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Colonel Hugh Pickering: Are you a man of good character where women are concerned?

Professor Henry Higgins: Have you ever met a man of good character where women are concerned?

Colonel Hugh Pickering: Yes, very frequently.

- My Fair Lady, the winner of the 1964 Best Picture Oscar

Poutine Nation

My love affair with poutine started at an early age and only strengthened throughout the years. As I celebrated Canada Day with an Irishman, a Malay, and an Argentine in China, I was treated to some poutine at the Goose and Duck. This Canadian-owned bar was hosting the July 1st festivities in Beijing. An individual with low cholesterol might ask "What is poutine?".

Source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/mastermaq/ / CC BY-SA 2.0

Poutine is the closest thing to a national dish that Canada has. Its precise birthplace is unknown, but poutine originated somewhere in Quebec. The "heart attack in a bowl" is the perfect blend of French fries layered with cheese curd and covered in hot gravy. As it melts into a single entity, poutine becomes much greater than the sum of its ingredients. Poutine is to the stomach what I am to the soul. A feast for the senses, it is Canadian cuisine at its finest.

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"Oh, the tiger will love you. There is no sincerer love than the love of food."

- George Bernard Shaw

Traffic Jam

Most newcomers to Beijing have been warned in advance about the heavy traffic that they will experience in the city. This does little to prepare them for the gridlock that awaits them once they arrive. Weaving through traffic, whether in a vehicle or by foot is quite an endeavour. In rush hour, the approximately four kilometer long trip from my home in Dawanglu to my office in Guomao takes one hour by bus. There are four major intersections in between, and it takes 10-15 minutes to cross each one. If I am late leaving my apartment in the morning I walk one, two, or three stops down. The number of stops depends on how late I am. I board the bus when I have caught up to where I would have been in if I had been riding the bus all along.

The cars, buses, and trucks spill on to the bike lanes once they have clogged up the roads. Smaller motorized vehicles, bicycles, and people fit through the empty spaces to be found amongst the larger vehicles, often barely squeezing past. Traffic comes from all directions. Although vehicular traffic is chaotic and slow, this is not to say that those walking are actually moving swiftly or smoothly. In fact pedestrians are waddling at a very relaxed pace, so as not to break a sweat, trip over uneven pavement, or collide with a defecating child. Sudden stops are not uncommon either, as a certain item being sold by a street side vendor may have caught their attention, they may have forgotten where they were going, or had the urge to clear their throats by collecting large amount of phlegm and indiscriminately spitting this out on to the street or on innocent bystanders. Although I have become adept at navigating the streets and sidewalks of Beijing, I have yet to perfect the latter practice.

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“There are no traffic jams when you go the extra mile.”