Beijing

...is a queer sort of a place. On first inspection it's like any big city, only it seems spread out a lot more and someone, (possibly the government), appears to have coated the entire place in dust and dirt. It really is filthy. It didn't help that the weather wasn't great and just added to the whole 'musty' feel. For the first time since we left home we felt like we were actually 'travelling' and having to fend for ourselves. The first obstacle we encountered was finding an ATM machine, this we did with great aplomb by pushing our debit card into an imaginary slot and rubbing our finger and thumb together to recreate the internationally recognised symbol for 'cash' whilst a bemused security guard looked on. Eventually we stumbled across a cab driver who knew what we were after.
Cashed up and in a cab we headed to the Far East International Hostel where we were dumped by a tiny side street as cars can't actually drive down the street it's in. Having no idea where we were or how to communicate this I'm ashamed to say I had a bit of a paddy. Luckily two passing Aussies saw our plight and took us to the Hostel where we checked in to a room that, and maybe I'm being over generous here after Hong Kong, was so big we could actually pass one another on the way to the toilet.
That night we headed off into the streets of Beijing to find the renowned Li Quin Duck House, Beijing's finest purveyors of Peking Duck. Beth was practically salivating at the thought of the crispy duck pancakes as we wandered around down more and more residential streets trying to find the damn place. We were about to give up when like a sign from God three pissed up Beijing business dudes stumbled past and I spotted a handy sign on the fornt of a tri-shaw leading us on.
Inside the place was pandemonium. It's set in a roofed courtyard behind a run down old house in the corner of an unmarked street. Clearly everyone in there was celebrating just finding the place and the duck was flowing nearly as quickly as the beer. as you enter you're confronted with a wee chef working away in front of a huge brick oven and the smell of duck roasting over wood and herbs wafts over you tantalisingly as you stand in line admiring the pictures of the owner with various ambassadors and Geoff Hoon.



Once seated they roast a whole duck for you and then bring it up to your table to look at, much as a sommelier would do with a bottleof wine. I was tempted to run my finger along it's back, give it a lick and nod with aproval. They then cut it into slices and bring it back to you with a stack of pancakes, chopped cucumber & spring onion, and plum sauce. The duck is so moist and delicious that from the moment it arrived until we finished our plates we literally didn't utter a word. We went to bed happy.
The following day we headed off with a billion other assorted Chinese and tourists to visit Tiananmen Square. We'd been told, by the guidebook, that tourists often feel uncomfortable confronted by such a massive display of governmental power as the square but frankly I couldn't see it. For a start I'm sure it would've been more impossing if someone hadn't decided to build Chairman Mao's mausoleum smack in the middle of it. After the square we headed off to take in the infamous Forbidden City.



Here we got shafted as we'd been told that the audio tour guide was narrated by none other than Roger Moore but it turned out to be some unknown woman.



I wanted Roger! Despite this initial dissapointment we strolled around the Forbidden City marvelling at the fact that most of it was closed and covered in scaffolding, the sheer number of Japanese tour groups and the fact that it didn't feel in the least bit impossing, ancient or forbidden. Maybe we've become a little blase having seen so many historical sights in the last three months.
After the Forbidden City we stumbled into a park and into a Chinese tea house. Here we were served tea the traditional way by two young ladies. I was very happy. The tea was good and it was interesting to learn how tea is served and how it should be drunk. Women should hold their cup in a dainty fashion with just their thumb & forefinger, (symbolsing the phoenix and beauty), whereas men hold it in the full fist like a bear, strong and powerful. We slurrped away merrily and very nearly bought some had Beth not pointed out that we could probably pick some up in the shops for a third as much. They had nice teapots though.



We decided to head up to what's fast becoming the 'trendy' drinking area in Beijing which turned out to be remarkably like Hoxton. Funky bars line the streets and there's a very new looking lakeside development of cafe/bars & restaurants. We grabbed lunch here and had a beer or two whilst watching the young trendy Beijingers wander past. In the middle of our lunch and people watching, who should stroll past but Boris Johnson. I kid you not.



Beijing is a crazy place, it feels like it's on the cusp of a radical change. There's suddenly a kind of freedom for it's young citizens and there's a general feeling of renewal in the air. Kids walk around sporting designer label clothes and traditional dress whilst chatting on their mobiles outside funky bars. Maybe it's my ignorance of their troubled history or maybe it's just that a lot of places we've visited in the last three months have felt a bit like this, but I didn't really take it in as much as I feel I should've.



The following day we left bright and early on a rubbish coach to go visit 'The Great Wall'. A wall which apparently never worked as a barrier to the Monguls as they just bribed the sentries. A wall, which was once China's ultimate way of protecting itself and keeping people out, that is now used as a symbol of the new 'open' China on it's tourist visas.



The wall is seriously impressive. It stretches out for miles, (5000km to be precise), meandering over the crests of hills befor swooping down into valleys, disappearing momentarily from view. It snakes off in front and behind along the whole vista of China that spreads out before you. It's huge and impossing and we had to walk 10km of it in under four hours. Didn't seem too difficult to us either whilst we were stood booking it in the travel centre but, let me tell you, it's not easy when you have to clamber up loose rock, crumbling stone and steps that are so tiny that I could barely get my big toe on them.
We'd avoided Badaling and opted for the non-touristy part that runs between Simatai and Jinshanling which turned out to be a great choice as we had whole swathes of the wall to our little group of five, oh, and the various Chinese folk who kept joining us to try and flog us water, t-shirts and postcards. There really is no escape.
We walked and chatted, stopping every so often for snaps and a breather in a guard tower, marvelling at the scale of the thing and the astonishingly beautiful scenery around us.



It's such a remote area and it's so mercifully peaceful that it seems impossible to imagine the tourist nightmare that is the Badaling section. (Apparently they have camel rides there. Camel rides!). Damn windy though.
The following day we visited the Temple of Heavan Gardens in the rain and Beth made friends with a woman on a stall selling wafers and bought a bag of them which we munched whilst wandering back to the hotel. The temperature had dropped mightily and we spent a whole fiver each on a pair of North Face coats in the local shop.