Electric Pig

It was very tiring to fly at 6.30 and arrive in Beijing's new Olympic-ready airport at 9.30 and then at our Hotel at about 11pm. At least that's the only excuse I can think of for the map-reading error that lead Eri and I to wander almost all the way to Tiananmen Square in search of a district Eri wanted to visit that should've been just-a-little-further until we realised that the next page of the map was nothing to do with the previous one, and we had, in fact, been walking into the spine of the book for about 20 minutes. Still, it was a good way to wander through Beijing's pretty empty, wide dusty streets.

It's hard to overstate just how polluted Beijing is. The sky, on a cloudy day like the one we were greeted with on our first day, seems dark brown, and though this is partly due to the sand blowing from the Gobi, the pollution is more to blame. Things turn gray/black that should not be. Beijing seems vast after Tokyo. The communist planners lost nothing to their Moscovite comrades when designing the boulevards and public spaces of the city. They dwarf Tokyo's dense warren of streets. People gather. At the weekends, the migrant workers that have been the fuel for China's recent economic boom visit the free sites and congregate around the train station, ready to board trains back to distant villages. 80's eastern block suits rule here. The ubiquitous tricolour bags hold the hard-earned dreams of far-away families.

The crowds in Tiananmen Square. Everyone is watching everyone else. Mao watches over all. People try to sell watches and flags under his nose. Through a gate that would have meant death 100 years ago. A massive square. Another gate. People try to sell tickets that are not needed. Another gateway and then another vast square. Artificial streams. Bridges. One for the Emperor, flanked on either side by one for his soldiers and one for the politicians. Tour groups flow through, washing up at pre-agreed viewpoints and exhibits. Flashes in No-Flash-Photography areas. Americans can be overheard asking stupid questions "Where did they film Crouching Tiger?", "What's to eat around here anyway?". The usual concerns of the world leaders, Bread & Circuses. A small child is beautiful and poses like a professional.

A garden at the rear of the forbidden city. A man uses a spike at the end of a long pole to fish notes from the frozen water of an imperial pond. People watch. Trees, bent in old age are held up by arboreal canes. Coffee. Cake sticks. Leaving the Forbidden City. Walking through a Hutong. People live here. Bicycles, old men playing cards. No mahjong now that poker has arrived. Dirt and rubbish. Shirts that should have been thrown away are hanging to dry. Feet starting to hurt. Turn a few more corners. The Beijing Department Store. Communism in action. The night market isn't open. Not surprising, it's 4 pm. Go for lunch. Noodles, Gyoza - take that teachers at school in Japan. Spices. Walking through a (really quite touristy - but them who cares) market. Eating miniature toffee apples and toffee strawberries. Wander through a massive department stall. Marc Jacobs, Armani, Vuitton, the new cadre.

Home to change, book a tour and head back out. The subway is crowded, and old. Many people smell of piss. Semi-perms on beautiful girls. Night market at night this time. The food (if it can be called that) is amazing. Some of it isn't dead yet. It's not revolting. Interesting. Foreigners, experimenting with facial hair are the only ones that seem to be eating the stranger stuff. Eri won't let me. I'm glad. Subway, take away, shower, brownish water, chocolate, teeth, bed.