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From Cambaluc to the modern day, Beijing is a city built to inspire By
Leon D'souza In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure dome decree: Where Alph, the sacred river, ran through caverns measureless to man down to a sunless sea. BEIJING--Samuel Taylor Coleridge's 1816 poem forever immortalized China's first foreign ruler, grandson of the notoriously brave Mongol conqueror Genghis Khan who with his band of plunderers conquered half of the known world in the early part of the 13th century. Kublai Khan inherited much from his grandfather, but unlike the older Khan who is remembered mostly for his ruinous exploits, the younger vanquisher was a great builder whose architectural marvels described vividly by Marco Polo, one of his guests during the Yuan Dynasty, captured the fascination of the Western world, finding pride of place in Coleridge's controversial masterpiece. But there is more to Khan's legacy than the largely forgotten remains of his celebrated summer palace. One of his greatest contributions to China is the city of Da du, meaning "Great Capital," where he ruled from during the north's long and cold winters. Marco Polo called the place Cambaluc or "city of the Khan." Fragments of that fabled imperial metropolis still exist in modern-day Beijing, but the seat of the Mongol empire has undergone many a metamorphosis to emerge more cosmopolitan and sophisticated than the first-time traveler would ever expect. However, in essence, Beijing is still Cambaluc, a city built to inspire. Designed to awe the common man with the power of the emperor, Beijing's influence and size gives it the grace other cities seek to attain through ornament and variety. My wife and I have spent much of this past week wandering the streets, riding taxis and trains, trying to traverse the length and breadth of this sprawling mega city. We managed to talk the headmaster of our school into letting us leave Zibo, the little town in northeastern China we call home, for a few days in order to take care of unfinished business with the American Embassy. He wasn't happy to let us go, but consented due to our persistence, warning us to return as soon as we had wrapped things up in Beijing. We half-nodded, but didn't promise anything. The excitement was all too distracting. My previous visits to the capital had been brief stopovers at night, one-day affairs that began at the airport and ended at the train station with little travel or sightseeing in between. This was my first real opportunity to discover Beijing, and I was keyed up. Our train pulled into the massive railway station at 10:30 a.m. on Monday, three hours after it was supposed to have arrived. The journey left us groggy and exhausted. We had spent the 9-hour trip tossing and turning on "hard seats," trying most unsuccessfully to find a comfortable position to fall asleep in. The so-called hard seats were our only option since there weren't any sleepers available that day. Debra had managed to catch some shuteye en route, but having got none, I felt quite like the walking dead. It wasn't long after we hobbled out of the station, shoulders sagging under the weight of our backpacks that we were accosted by a band of "hotel hawkers" known to descend on weary tourists as soon as they disembark. One of them, a short, chubby lady with childlike features caught our attention. Debra pointed to a page in her notebook where Yu Ke Hong, a colleague at the Zibo Foreign Language School, had scribbled a note to inform the likes of her that we were looking for a cheap hotel. She nodded vigorously, then pulled out a colorful brochure and suggested that she might be able to hook us up for as little as 120 Reminbi Yuan per night. We took her bait. Beijing is an expensive city and a room for under 200 RMB is a steal. Dodging scrambling passengers, the three of us made our way to the hotel's courtesy coach. The 30-minute ride to the tiny hotel on Tian Tan road was my first daytime tour of the city. Life was in full swing. Cars zigzagged down the congested roads, their pressure horns blaring, only narrowly averting collision with other impatient vehicles. Bicycles flooded the broad bike lanes. Thousands of people bustled about with a sense of urgency. I stared out of my window amazed at the apparent order in the ensuing chaos. This is the life I used to know. Bombay, India's financial hub, my home, looks and feels exactly like Beijing on a busy Monday morning. In my mind, I was home again. Suddenly, it didn't matter that I could not understand the language or read the signs. I felt an instantaneous and unexplainable bond with the place. We drove past towering office buildings and luxurious shopping centers with their King-size McDonald's, Pizza Hut and KFC eateries whose happily familiar menus we were anxious to thumb through, then along the boundary wall of Tian Tan or "the Temple of Heaven," where China's dynastic rulers implored the gods that kept them enthroned, before turning onto a narrow street that led up to our hotel. The small, three-storied lodge was run by Muslim minorities from the northwestern province of Xinjiang. They had teamed up with a few enterprising Arabs intent on doing business in Beijing. The hotel was the group's second venture. Interestingly, the place was built so that if you were Muslim, you didn't have to leave the vicinity if you didn't want to. Right across from the entrance stood an old mosque, a restaurant next door to it dished up excellent Arabic and South Asian cuisine and a nightclub below the hotel provided entertainment. It was like a little minority village, in a way symbolic of the minority clusters spread throughout the Chinese countryside, from the hinterlands of the north to the lush jungles of the south and from the mountains of Taiwan in the east to the "Rooftop of the World" in the west. Beijing, like most major cities elsewhere in the world, is a haven for these people, the Promised Land. They come from everywhere to this thriving municipality to live their dream. One of the guests at the hotel, a trader from Pakistan, explained the phenomenon: "Brother, this is Beijing," he said, putting his arm on my shoulder. "Things are changing faster here than in other parts of China. With all the tourists and rich folk running about town with their newfound wealth, you can sell practically anything to anyone and make a killing if you do it long enough." The trend has begun to alter the veneer of the city. Beijing today appears extremely diverse. Minority Chinese, South and South-East Asians, Australians, Europeans, Americans--the whole world is in town these days to capitalize on the opportunities for wealth creation afforded by globalization. The United States is clearly a front-runner with businesses ranging from management consultancies to fast food. There is no prominent street corner that is wanting for at least one American bistro, café or restaurant. Starbucks and Pizza Hut are apparently local favorites, while Subway tends to attract older Chinese and foreign guests. Beijing's growing diversity adds variety and spice to everyday life in the capital. And despite the rapidly changing physical and cultural landscape, the city still retains much of its distinctly Chinese character. From the colorful street markets around Tiananmen Square with their effervescent sellers always willing to allow you the sheer thrill of striking a bargain to the roadside food vendors ever ready to serve you a bowl of deliciously hot and juicy "jioza," old China is still alive and flourishing. I've heard many visitors to Beijing contest this opinion. They suggest that cities like Beijing and Shanghai can no longer offer the curious traveler a Chinese experience. Bunkum! I ask those that make this argument to visit these cities and look around. I did, and I saw things clearly Chinese, just different faces of the same evolving country. That China is changing is well accepted as fact. However, the ground reality is still something most people in love with the Middle Kingdom of history only grudgingly acknowledge. For the China buff pondering the future of this vast land, a visit to Tiananmen Square is in order. Looking out on that enormous piazza is a potent reminder that in a country the size of China, there is room for everyone and everything. As Beijing, and China, transform, Cambaluc lives on. Ancient and modern blend in harmony--swanky cars and lowly bicycles; skyscrapers and imperial structures; thronged thoroughfares and tree-shaded avenues; vivacious street vendors and mega malls. If Beijing is a harbinger of things to come, better days lie ahead.
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