Eggs and Incense

One of the weird things I’ve noticed about Beijing is that in many ways it seems Westernized on the outside, but the modern trappings are just for looks. For example, several times I’ve seen stores advertise that they accept credit and debit cards (rare in China, where almost all purchases are made in cash), and then waited in a giant line because there’s no credit card machine, and all the purchases have to be phoned through to the credit card company.
I thought about this again a couple nights ago, when Max and I went to a concert at the brand-spanking-new National Center for the Performing Arts, colloquially known as “The Egg”. Right across from Tiananmen Square, the Egg has been open for less than a year and is surrounded by an artificial lake under which you walk through a hallway to enter the building. There are three theaters inside: one for symphonic music, one for plays and Beijing opera, and one for opera and dance. (I was in the symphonic hall watching a Dutch ensemble of maybe fifteen musicians playing international, modern pieces.) The interior of the building was built at a huge cost; with the construction and maintenance costs averaged out, each seat is worth $70,000 (yes, dollars, not yuan). The lobby is gorgeous and wood-paneled, and there’s not a straight line in sight – everything is gently curved, matching the egg-shaped exterior. Everything was beautifully and softly lit, and what wasn’t made from dark, flawlessly polished wood was granite or crisply frosted metal. It was an absolutely gorgeous place, nicer than any performance center of its type that I’d ever been in. If it had been located in the US or Europe, it would have been the type of place where even the cheapest tickets set you back $40 or so, and if you went in wearing anything less than a nicer dress or a suit you’d be noticeably underdressed.
I wore a dressy pair of jeans, blouse, and a sweater, but was still worried that I would be the Ugly Informally Clothed American watching a nice concert in this beautiful building. Once I sat down and looked around, though, I realized that I was at least in the upper third, clothes-wise. We got the cheapest seats available – about $14 (although after intermission we moved to better seats) – but the people sitting in the front row, which cost at least $60, were dressed much more casually than either of us. Jeans of all types were by far the most common article of clothing, and the guy occupying one of the nicest seats was wearing a hoodie and track pants. It obviously wasn’t an issue of being able to afford nicer clothes. Instead, it was more like it had never occurred to the audience to dress up (or sit up straight, or not sleep through the concert, or not read a book during the performance). I enjoyed the music, but it was sort of a weird experience. I felt like I was seeing all these people from China’s new middle class who had money but didn’t really know how to operate within the lifestyle this money could buy them. Then we went back to the Dumpling Restaurant. I love you, Dumpling Restaurant.
Then, the next day, we decided to brave a particularly frigid November afternoon to see the changing of the leaves at Fragrant Hills Park, which is located roughly nowhere.* Fragrant Hills is known for its many hills, which are covered in maple trees that ostensibly change colors beautifully in the fall. Although it seemed like the right time to go and see them, the trees were still mostly green, which surprised me given how late in the year it was. Although the park was huge, filled with pagodas, ponds, and small gardens, it was clear that all roads led to Incense-Burner Peak, on top of a GIANT hill (Wikipedia says it’s 1,827 feet up, but the ache in my hamstrings says it’s twice that high) overlooking the rest of the park and all of Beijing. Unfortunately, the day was both overcast and particularly polluted, but if you stared through the hazy atmosphere you could see the Summer Palace across the way.
Anyway, the Thing To Do was clearly to get to the top of the peak somehow. We were presented with two options:
1. Pay about $9 and take the chairlift to the top.
2. Walk for free.
Noticing all the old people and small children going up and down the steps at the foot of the hill, I figured that it couldn’t be that bad, decided I didn’t want to spend that much money, and set up off the stairs. This was an absolutely horrible decision. Ten minutes in, my legs hurt and I was out of breath, because the path up literally consisted of nothing but steps. Several times, we were fooled into thinking the climb was over by inconvenient crests of the hill. (This picture was taken at one such place just over halfway up.) Just as the light was starting to dim, we finally reached the top, which I celebrated by sitting down. I am actually glad that I climbed up, because it was good for me, and I apologize to the much faster and nimbler Max for whining so much. Nonetheless, I happily paid my $9 to take the chairlift back down, plus an additional fifty cents for hot chocolate. Taking the lift down offered a perfect view of the northwestern part of the city, and as the sky darkened, I could see the lights and roads spread out in front of me, the headlights of the cars flowing through traffic. It was absolutely stunning, although I regret to say that my thighs are not looking as good as I thought they would, given how uncomfortable walking is. Afterward we went for hotpot with a couple of Max’s friends** and then I met up with Dan, Pei Rei, and Dan’s parents, who were visiting from out of town, at, of all places, Pyro,*** where they graciously bought us a pitcher of beer and a pizza. Today was spent working, because when you use up your weekend on a culture/disgruntled exercise binge, you are left with little time for memorizing vocabulary words.

Dumpling Tally: 182

*I thought the Summer Palace was sort of out of the way, but I had no idea. Fragrant Hills is only five or six miles outside of Beijing proper, and there are buses that run there, but it seems weirdly rural and out of the way.

**The colder the weather gets, the better hotpot is. Even the spicy section, which I usually shy away from, tasted delicious.

***I feel like this sentence has too many commas. I know it’s grammatically correct, but it just seems like a lot of commas, is all.