KRIEGER: The other side of China
By Dave Krieger, Rocky Mountain News (Contact)
Published August 17, 2008 at 9:30 a.m.
I've heard of people covering their eyes when faced with an impending crash, but I'd never actually seen it until Saturday night.
A colleague from Florida and I were careening through the streets of Beijing, our fate in the hands of a cabbie with whom we could not speak.
We were about to slam into another cab suddenly pulling out of a lane of traffic when my colleague buried his face in his hands. I looked down and braced for the impact, wondering idly if my insurance covered medical care in China.
Miraculously, it didn't come. I'm not sure why since I wasn't looking.
In the land of rules and regulations, drivers basically ignore them all. When we lurched off the main thoroughfare into a narrow hutong, a cobblestone alley barely the width of a car, the potential victims of our manic guide became bicyclists and pedestrians. In a city of 17 million people, everyone is apparently accustomed to these near misses. We whizzed within 3 inches of a cyclist who pedaled placidly on, never even turning to look.
The cabbie finally cranked the emergency brake, threw up his arms and exclaimed "Huh!" This is Mandarin for "It's around here somewhere. Get out."
An experienced China hand back in the States had recommended a restaurant, the Drum and Gong, that turned out to be a tiny hole in the hutong with eight tables pressed together so closely we had to climb over our chairs to sit down. We ordered pretty much everything on the menu we were willing to eat, which left out Sichuan spicy bullfrog, sliced pig's stomach, chicken claws, pig's liver, stir-fried duck's gizzard, simmered pork intestines, pig trotters in a Crock-Pot and soft chicken cartilage (NEW!).
The food arrived at various intervals, in no particular order, covering every inch of the table. A wooden bucket of fried rice, sliced duck and spicy duck, shrimp and asparagus, dumplings and fat tendrils of mushrooms that hung from our chopsticks like the ivy at Wrigley Field. We were already stuffed when an Olympic-sized pool of hot and sour soup arrived. Total bill: 177 yuan, or about $25.
As we walked it off afterward, the second half of the China-Germany men's basketball game was under way. Every few steps along the Nanluogu Xiang hutong in Beijing's Dong Cheng district, another group of fans gathered around a storefront with a television screen. Every time Yao Ming scored, cheers reverberated up the narrow street. The crowds cleaved for cars pushing through, then gathered again.
An African-American towered over them. Andre Bryant, 6-foot-9 and a former Harlem Globetrotter, whipped his head around when he heard our English amid the Mandarin. "That came through clear," he said with a smile.
Bryant now delivers the word of the Lord. China may be officially godless, but nobody stopped him from handing out invitations to a Beijing International Christian Fellowship meeting featuring Carl Lewis the next day. "An Evening with the Stars," it was billed, although it was scheduled for the middle of the afternoon and Lewis appeared to be the only star.
"Come by if you can," Bryant said, shaking our hands. "There'll be plenty of folks there."
We browsed a T-shirt shop and I picked up a red Mao shirt. Mao is now a cash cow, but the 320-yuan Mao alarm clock seemed a little pricey.
We stopped in a shop full of shiny pottery and my Florida colleague checked out a tea set for his wife. "How much?" he asked.
"Two-ninety," said the shopkeeper. My friend politely declined and we walked on.
The crowds around the TV screens were growing. China was up 13 with 7 minutes to play. Dirk Nowitzki hit a three, and the throng mumbled nervously. Shop clerks ignored customers and huddled around tiny TVs.
My fellow columnist was having second thoughts about the tea set. I suggested he offer 100 yuan. The shopkeeper thought his return signaled surrender. "For everything?" she said. "Four-ten."
The price was going in the wrong direction. He declined again and sidled toward the door. "How much you want to pay?" she demanded.
"One-fifty," he said. She frowned. "One-fifty lose money," she said. A few minutes later she was packing it up. "Lose money," she said again, shaking her head.
Back in the street, the Germans were within a point. China couldn't make a shot. Chris Kaman, a newly minted Deutschlander, drove to the hoop. Yao stepped in and took the charge. The roar was like a thunderclap. Yi Jianlian hit a 15-footer.
High-pitched Mandarin bounced off the brick walls.
It was past 10 and families strolled the hutong with small children, one in pajamas. "The polar opposite of the glass and steel world of the Olympic village," the China hand had promised.
No kidding. No credentials, no security checkpoints, no wary police. Well, an occasional cruiser rolling down the cobblestones, checking out the game. You must distinguish between China's government and its people, a critic of one of my columns had advised. True, that.
China stole the ball to seal a four-point win. The celebration rolled up the hutong. Strangers slapped hands. We cheered right along with them.
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gwats writes:
The Article made a good point. The Chinese people, whom I have encountered on numerous visits, are pretty darn cool. That Government needs a few lessons in common decency.