Beijing

Eight months in Beijing.

There’s a lunatic in the park, though only to my western eyes and ears. To those around her, she is a traditional marvel. Singing like an empress, her ancestors listening through the ages. But along with the bloke that starts playing the bamboo flute at 4:30am, she is another reason why I am an absolute alien in this land.

Eight months ago I was in England, unemployed. Now I am here in one of the most populated cities in the world; Beijing, China. Working in a British school as a 'teaching assistant'.

To cut a short story shorter. After a phone interview that I stuttered and over answered my way through, I got the job. A week later I was sweating on a twelve hour flight to Beijing. I do not do well in small spaces, especially when they’re filled with two hundred people farting and belching. It did not help that the guy behind was coughing without using his hand to shield the rest of us; I could feel the air rush past my ear with every violent exhale. Curled up in a ball I could visualise the air turning greener with every recycled breath. Luckily however, I had three seats to myself. When I first found 27A there was a Chinese woman sat in the row. She was friends with the people across the aisle on the neighbouring seats. And made it stupendously clear that she was not impressed that a white devil had invaded her space. Before the plane even took off, the woman had got up and disappeared. She had obviously found somewhere more comforting to spend her journey. Being an English gentleman. Or thinking that perhaps she was experiencing a difficult time on the toilet, I waited at least half an hour before I took advantage of her bigotry.

I arrived in Beijing capital airport. Looking past the doors on the other side of customs I could see my sister and niece, waving. My sister Michelle introduced me to a Chinese man who turned out to be the driver; ironically his name was Lorry.
Eager to leave the airport and show me the place that they had lived for the past two years, I held off smoking for a little longer. The demons agreed, as long as I lit up soon.

‘Capital Paradise’ an estate built for the western overflow. It falls short of its title but fulfils its role as a miniature world. White children run and play in the street. Stay at home spouses drink tea and walk their dog around the park. Which houses a tiny petting zoo, home to sheep and geese. The Chinese idea of making us feel at home. The whole compound is surrounded with fences and guards for our protection. Though they are just glorified door openers. No ID checks or key cards needed, which proves it’s all there to arouse a false feeling of safety. It makes one wonder why they're trying so hard to inspire such a sense of security; the Chinese are noble, are they not... do I need protection?

My initial experience in Beijing could be related to a penzai tree, bounded with limited growth. Going straight into work I had no time to be a tourist. My camera remained unused as I floated up and down the route to work. The school where I am employed is situated in the ‘Shunyi district’ which is essentially one big housing estate. The area is just a spill over of downtown Beijing, a tidal mark that is separated from the main currant of city living.
This area has been designed for ‘existing’ not ‘living’. All the reasons for being here come under the category ‘necessary’. It’s cheap and close to work. The solitary reason one might choose for personal importance, is the surrounding view. Which if lucky enough not to be blocked by a concrete jungle. On a clear day can be a beautiful sight that stretches over a forest of green trees towards the mountains. However, six days out of seven this image is drenched in pollution. Wrapped in a white blanket that hides earths painting. Leaving in its place mankind’s revolting sculpture.

Three months later I moved into my own apartment with my girlfriend, Karina. Who had flown out to join me a month after my arrival. Our new residence only three miles from my last but situated in a much more ‘Chinese’ area. Where white faces attract interest and questions. The locals stare with no sense of ethics, their eyes wide and heads following as you move. They are hooked, as if watching an elephant on a unicycle. Their enthusiasm is inextinguishable.
Beijing’s diversity is unbounded. With judgment and means changing in a single step. Buildings to house the rich locals and western influx rise around slums. Not trying to cure but eradicate its underprivileged neighbours. Billboards advertising further development stretch for miles. Hiding any pitiable sites from wealthy eyes. Crops grow around polluted rivers where children run and play. Filling their lungs with toxic fumes, as air-conditioned cars hurry past them. Unaware that their surroundings are in constant flux, and life has little in store for them. The elderly rummage through bins salvaging any resource they can. While the land all around them disappears under mountains of apartment blocks. In Beijing, being conscious that the new world is manifesting around you is not enough. If you fail to ride along, then progress is a word whose meaning will abandon you. Just another forgotten soul, crushed in a wake of concrete dreams.

China’s aspiration for the future is of course no fleeting crush. Growth for this country and her people is a lasting love. Where the flame will always burn strong. ‘The Great Wall of China’ may be an obvious subject to bring up when talking about this country’s ambitions. But consequently it is an impossible one to leave out. The sheer thought of such a task would make most people these days reach for the bottle. ‘The Wall’ was my first tourist attraction since being on Chinese soil. And well worth getting the camera out for. To stand on this Wonder of the World is to really comprehend how determined these people were to build it. This grey snake weaves mile upon mile over intense terrain. Rising and falling with the land. Certain parts perching fearlessly on cliff edges hundreds of feet up. Particular areas of the great wall have been revamped, made to look how it did when first built. However, I much prefer the ‘old wall’. Some of which the years have been harder on than others, fragmenting with time. The land reaching out taking back what was once hers. Other parts of the old wall seeming to have been untouched for years, by both man and time. Knowing that shoddy workmanship was punishable by death, you know this wall was built to last. Thousands of years later the vision still stands. Built with the sweat, blood and bones of the countrymen. Men whose lives were governed by minds drunk on the idea of progress.

The people of this country are proud of their roots. They are a nation that are indisputably looking forward. But with one eye, they gaze to their past. Holding it close but openly, for all to see. Culture and history line the streets where new buildings tower above. With a turn of the head you can be transformed back in time. Temples over look the bustling capital. Parks filled with ancient architecture and beautiful Chinese art sit like an oasis in a material desert. Thousands of years separated by just a gate and the equivalent of three British pounds.

The two sided coin that is China, with the present on one side and the past on the other. Is no better witnessed than in Shanghai. Though the veins that stretch through this city are flooded with the same life. Shanghai’s appearance differs extremely. Split by a river. On one face you have history, buildings built with the influence of the west. A Victorian look that reflects a European city. On the other half skyscrapers loom fashionable side by side. Each structure flaunting its own contemporary style. These two extremes are forced to stare at each other. But they do so with a certain charm, their differences harmonizing. Old and new working together to help maintain Shanghai’s flair.

Unluckily for me Beijing does not share Shanghai’s charm. The area I have spent the past eight months missed out on the spirit a city can form. Instead it breathes with a characterless greed for money. Of course my western upbringing, and the fact that I have grown up around the countryside have helped create my melancholy idea of this city. Which I often feel persecuted for when I walk in shoes branded 'wealthy' by the Chinese. What may have started as an adventure soon turned into a tedious repeat of existence. It gets tiresome when taxi drivers try to screw every penny out of your wallet, that they think easily leaks with white money. The price of my apartment suddenly rose, ironically the same time the landlord found out I’m English.
I understand that there is a big deficiency in pay here. People working just to get by, but does that not sound familiar? Like the West, the rich and poor walk the same streets. Beijing is not a third world city. This area is populated by thousands. And I am seemingly branding the entire population with the same iron. But it’s a view that has unfortunately been strengthened over time. A branding iron that has manifested from the Chinese opinion of the West. I can only hope that other parts of China are different. That the people are not driven by the soulless way that a city injects. In many countries I know this to be the case. Beijing’s only saviour will be its antiquity. With places like the ‘Forbidden City’ forever frozen in its heart. The cold hand of China’s capital continues to spread. And as it grows it will undoubtedly become more fierce, more unforgiving and the people harder. The surrounding area will be taken. Infected with concrete to manage the ever rising population. The countryside surrounding Beijing holds it like protective arms. But they protect what is on the outside and not what they grasp. For these arms are constantly being pushed outwards. The people that live in this area can only hope they hold, and hold tight.