On one level, I hate to be provided with incomplete information, but on another I view it as a challenge to come up with the missing data. An example will explain what I mean: a few years ago, I read that seven metals were known in antiquity, but the author neglected to enumerate what these metals were. Consequently, I set about working out the list for myself (using the internet is too easy and is certainly no challenge).
Gold was probably known to prehistoric societies, because it occurs in its native form (i.e., as pure metal) in streams and rivers; copper also occurs in native form and with tin is used to make the alloy bronze; silver is referred to in the biblical book of Genesis; lead was produced in Egypt as early as 3500 BC; and without iron there would have been no Iron Age. But that is only six metals. What was the seventh? Cinnabar (mercury sulphide) has also been known since the Stone Age, although it was probably used principally as a colouring agent in pottery, but mercury is easily extracted by heating, and it also occasionally occurs in native form. However, brass (an alloy of copper and zinc) was produced by the Romans for use in coinage and jewellery, having been produced accidentally, like bronze, at least two millennia earlier. Unfortunately, that brings the total to eight, so it is likely that the now forgotten author got it wrong. Alternatively, perhaps mercury was discounted because it is liquid under normal conditions and is therefore not a ‘real’ metal.
At this point, you may be wondering what all this has to do with my recent visit to Beijing. Here is the explanation: while checking out possible eating options in the neighbourhood of our hotel, we came across a Szechuanese restaurant. We were looking for somewhere to sample traditional Pekingese dumplings, so I picked up a promotional leaflet for future reference. Inside, I came across the following statement: “Sichuan cookery is one of the eight well-known Chinese cuisines”.
Now you see the problem. What are the other seven? The leaflet didn’t say. As with the metals of antiquity, it is easy to add the first few to the list: Cantonese, Shanghainese, Pekingese; but then it becomes harder. The four listed so far are distinct in style and ingredients, and other regional cuisines are too similar to these main archetypes to be considered completely separate. For example, there are many Chiu Chow restaurants in Hong Kong, but this style, which originates in the city of Shantou (formerly known as Swatow) in eastern Guangdong province, is only subtly different to Cantonese. I’ve eaten in a Hunanese restaurant in Hong Kong, but from that brief impression the food is similar to that of Sichuan. The Mongolian hot pot is a popular winter dish in Hong Kong, but I’ve no idea what else originates in that region, and Hainan chicken is the only dish I’ve sampled that comes from the large island off China’s south coast.
Anyway, I’ve managed to come up with eight, although whether I’ve listed the eight that the anonymous author of the Szechuanese restaurant’s leaflet had in mind is unlikely. Perhaps someone with a better knowledge of Chinese food than mine can come up with a more authoritative list.
Friday, 30 April 2010
Thursday, 29 April 2010
social contract
As someone from a semi-rural background, I’m a big fan of urban parks. Some, like Hyde Park in London and Central Park in New York, have an international reputation, but the really interesting ones are those that are unknown outside their immediate neighbourhood and are there simply as an amenity for the local population. We came across one such local park on our recent trip to Beijing, directly across the road from our hotel.
Side Park is a small oasis of calm amid the bustling chaos of the surrounding streets, with a huge wrought iron gate that appears to be permanently closed. Entry and egress are through a much smaller gate on the side. I half wondered if this was a throwback to the days of imperial China, when the largest and most magnificent gate or door was reserved for the exclusive use of the emperor, but the last Qing emperor is unlikely to have lived long enough to have seen this park, let alone this splendid gateway, so I dismissed the thought.
Just inside the gate, my attention was drawn to a large notice board to which was pinned an oddly intriguing poster with text in English and simplified Chinese. I reproduce it here in full so that you can judge for yourself whether my description is appropriate:
However, my comments here should not be understood as an implied criticism of China or its social and political policies, because there are few if any rules on this list against which one could make a serious case. On the other hand, were Boris Johnson in London or Michael Bloomberg in New York to attempt to introduce such a ‘social contract’ in their respective cities, they would probably be laughed out of office. But that is because we in the West are accustomed to thinking that liberal democracy is the optimum form of government, and that the Chinese system, which in any case is poorly understood, is still evolving and is not nearly as monolithic as it is usually perceived to be, is altogether too authoritarian.
Given that the planet is in a parlous state precisely because of our espousal of the individual as the cornerstone of a successful society, it should be obvious that the paradigm for any future form of social organization that can deal with the mess will be a lot closer to the collectivism of the Chinese model than to the outmoded and discredited capitalist system, which once brought prosperity and important social progress but has now led us by the nose to the brink of ruin.
Side Park is a small oasis of calm amid the bustling chaos of the surrounding streets, with a huge wrought iron gate that appears to be permanently closed. Entry and egress are through a much smaller gate on the side. I half wondered if this was a throwback to the days of imperial China, when the largest and most magnificent gate or door was reserved for the exclusive use of the emperor, but the last Qing emperor is unlikely to have lived long enough to have seen this park, let alone this splendid gateway, so I dismissed the thought.
Just inside the gate, my attention was drawn to a large notice board to which was pinned an oddly intriguing poster with text in English and simplified Chinese. I reproduce it here in full so that you can judge for yourself whether my description is appropriate:
THE SOCIAL CONTRACT OF BEIJINGThe first thing to note is that this is not a contract but a set of rules, exhortations to behave in a manner that will be beneficial to the collective and a total denial of individuality. A contract is a two-way process, yet nowhere on this notice is there anything that could be construed as telling the citizen what they will get in return. Perhaps this personal benefit is implicitly understood by the expected readership.
Love China, love Beijing.
Live in harmony with all.
Maintain public order.
Work well and hard.
Be honest and trustworthy.
Be industrious and thrifty.
Obey the laws and safeguard public order.
Be ready to support the just cause.
Encourage healthy trends.
Plant trees and flowers.
Protect the environment.
Care for one another.
Protect public property.
Safeguard national cultural relics.
Advocate science.
Respect teachers and education.
Always seek self-improvement.
Cherish the young and show respect to the elderly and each other.
Show mutual respect to soldiers and other public servants.
Assist the disabled and the poor.
Strive to improve social conditions.
Maintain your health, observe birth control practices.
Work for the good of society.
Be gentle and polite to all others.
Be broad-minded and open-minded.
Take pleasure in helping others.
However, my comments here should not be understood as an implied criticism of China or its social and political policies, because there are few if any rules on this list against which one could make a serious case. On the other hand, were Boris Johnson in London or Michael Bloomberg in New York to attempt to introduce such a ‘social contract’ in their respective cities, they would probably be laughed out of office. But that is because we in the West are accustomed to thinking that liberal democracy is the optimum form of government, and that the Chinese system, which in any case is poorly understood, is still evolving and is not nearly as monolithic as it is usually perceived to be, is altogether too authoritarian.
Given that the planet is in a parlous state precisely because of our espousal of the individual as the cornerstone of a successful society, it should be obvious that the paradigm for any future form of social organization that can deal with the mess will be a lot closer to the collectivism of the Chinese model than to the outmoded and discredited capitalist system, which once brought prosperity and important social progress but has now led us by the nose to the brink of ruin.
Wednesday, 28 April 2010
extramural activities
Before I visit a place for the first time, I usually construct a mental map. This isn’t a conscious process, merely the synthesis of a series of impressions gained from books, magazines, newspapers, television—the usual sources—and information picked up as a result of visits to other places that I have deemed to be similar. I don’t know why I bother, because I’m invariably wrong. When I came to Hong Kong in 1974, I arrived thinking that it was full of seedy bars, that drugs were dealt on every street corner, and that corruption was rampant. It is true that in 1974 Hong Kong still had the air of a third world city, but then I had no previous experience of such places. Tripoli, where I worked in 1968, was little more than a bustling provincial town, despite being a capital city, and any poverty was well out of sight.
However, my mistakes are harmless enough. Most of the time. Before we went to Beijing last Thursday, I looked up a street map and a map of the subway system, on the basis of which I made a mental comparison with London and the famous ‘map’ of its underground system. Unfortunately, the problem with a cartogram, which is what both diagrams are, is that it is not drawn to scale. And the street map didn’t show the subway stations, so there was no way of gauging the distance between adjacent stations on the network. Given that I walked from Tate Modern to Piccadilly Circus the last time I was in London, I assumed that the same would be possible in Beijing, and that all the city’s attractions would be within walking distance of each other. I was disabused of this notion when I discovered that we would need to take a taxi from our hotel, located in what might loosely be termed ‘central’ Beijing, to the nearest subway station.
To tell the truth, we had only a vague idea of how to get to anywhere, but at least we were at a subway station. Solution? Ask a policeman. Works every time. So we were shown which station to go to for the Great Wall, the first destination on our ‘planned’ itinerary. Once there, we were advised to catch the 919 bus, the stop for which was easily located. Too easily. We discovered two 919 buses at different stops. I don’t know whether we asked the wrong questions, but we certainly got on the wrong 919. We had been told that it was quite a long ride (and only six yuan), so we settled down to watch the city go by as we stopped and started along a busy toll road. Eventually, we turned off the main road into a small industrial town north of Beijing, where we were informed that the bus had reached the end of its journey.
There seemed little point in returning to Beijing, partly because we were clearly going in the right direction, so we looked for a railway station. It wasn’t difficult, but we learned that we’d have to wait two hours for the next train. We were also able to learn the town’s name, which was painted in large characters above the station’s shabby portico. I will gloss over our two hours in Nankou, which was worth seeing but not worth going to see, to misappropriate Doctor Johnson’s verdict on the altogether less interesting attraction of the Giant’s Causeway, and move on to the train journey. However, I should note in passing that the first photograph in yesterday's post was taken there.
The section of the Great Wall that we were heading for is located behind the ridge of mountains in the preceding photograph, and the railway line sweeps around in a wide curve to enter a steep-sided ravine. The first thing that we noticed was the almost complete absence of greenery on the hillsides. However, many bushes covered with white flowers were scattered across the slopes, which made an eye-catching sight. After a short while, a section of the Wall came into view, and it was indeed spectacular. There was a station about half a mile further on, but the train didn’t stop!
We came to, and passed, another section of the Great Wall, less spectacular, but there was no station. Finally, we stopped in a station that my wife was certain was the right place. Fortunately, the train doors were locked, so we were prevented from making what would have been a serious error of judgement. After a few minutes, the train started to move again, back the way we had come. At least it appeared to be retracing its tracks. In fact, we were now on a different line, and we eventually arrived at another station, where everyone got off. Clearly, it was the end of the line.
A sign proclaimed “800 metres to the Great Wall”. It seemed further, but only about four hours later than we’d originally anticipated, we finally arrived. The only disappointment was that our late arrival meant that we couldn’t walk far enough along the Wall to escape the crowds, because the early departure of the last train back to Beijing left us with little more than two hours to explore. This was sufficient to get a feel for the place, but we weren’t able to venture as far as we would have done had we had more time, and I’ve a feeling we’ll be back. I was especially surprised to see old ladies resolutely climbing up some of the steepest parts of the Wall (I think that those accompanying and helping them hadn’t considered that it is harder to descend than ascend, particularly if you aren’t very agile). Perhaps they wanted to buy a tacky tee-shirt proclaiming “I climbed up the Great Wall” from one of the souvenir shops when they returned to their starting point. As experienced rock climbers (real climbing involves the use of your hands), we didn’t.
There were a couple of interesting observations to make on the return journey. First, we were on the right side of the train to see that at one point the Great Wall ran the full length of the skyline and was hugely impressive with the setting sun behind it. Second, I thought I saw the stationmaster at the first station we came to stand to attention as we passed through. I looked out for this at the next station, and sure enough there he was, resplendent in his green uniform and peaked cap, with his green and red flags in one hand, standing to attention in a little painted square box on the platform. This was repeated at every station, even though we didn’t stop at any of them. Was this an indication that the Chinese are a regimented people? I reserve judgement until my next post, which will appear at this address tomorrow.
However, my mistakes are harmless enough. Most of the time. Before we went to Beijing last Thursday, I looked up a street map and a map of the subway system, on the basis of which I made a mental comparison with London and the famous ‘map’ of its underground system. Unfortunately, the problem with a cartogram, which is what both diagrams are, is that it is not drawn to scale. And the street map didn’t show the subway stations, so there was no way of gauging the distance between adjacent stations on the network. Given that I walked from Tate Modern to Piccadilly Circus the last time I was in London, I assumed that the same would be possible in Beijing, and that all the city’s attractions would be within walking distance of each other. I was disabused of this notion when I discovered that we would need to take a taxi from our hotel, located in what might loosely be termed ‘central’ Beijing, to the nearest subway station.
To tell the truth, we had only a vague idea of how to get to anywhere, but at least we were at a subway station. Solution? Ask a policeman. Works every time. So we were shown which station to go to for the Great Wall, the first destination on our ‘planned’ itinerary. Once there, we were advised to catch the 919 bus, the stop for which was easily located. Too easily. We discovered two 919 buses at different stops. I don’t know whether we asked the wrong questions, but we certainly got on the wrong 919. We had been told that it was quite a long ride (and only six yuan), so we settled down to watch the city go by as we stopped and started along a busy toll road. Eventually, we turned off the main road into a small industrial town north of Beijing, where we were informed that the bus had reached the end of its journey.
There seemed little point in returning to Beijing, partly because we were clearly going in the right direction, so we looked for a railway station. It wasn’t difficult, but we learned that we’d have to wait two hours for the next train. We were also able to learn the town’s name, which was painted in large characters above the station’s shabby portico. I will gloss over our two hours in Nankou, which was worth seeing but not worth going to see, to misappropriate Doctor Johnson’s verdict on the altogether less interesting attraction of the Giant’s Causeway, and move on to the train journey. However, I should note in passing that the first photograph in yesterday's post was taken there.
Looking north from Nankou railway station.
The section of the Great Wall that we were heading for is located behind the ridge of mountains in the preceding photograph, and the railway line sweeps around in a wide curve to enter a steep-sided ravine. The first thing that we noticed was the almost complete absence of greenery on the hillsides. However, many bushes covered with white flowers were scattered across the slopes, which made an eye-catching sight. After a short while, a section of the Wall came into view, and it was indeed spectacular. There was a station about half a mile further on, but the train didn’t stop!
We came to, and passed, another section of the Great Wall, less spectacular, but there was no station. Finally, we stopped in a station that my wife was certain was the right place. Fortunately, the train doors were locked, so we were prevented from making what would have been a serious error of judgement. After a few minutes, the train started to move again, back the way we had come. At least it appeared to be retracing its tracks. In fact, we were now on a different line, and we eventually arrived at another station, where everyone got off. Clearly, it was the end of the line.
A sign proclaimed “800 metres to the Great Wall”. It seemed further, but only about four hours later than we’d originally anticipated, we finally arrived. The only disappointment was that our late arrival meant that we couldn’t walk far enough along the Wall to escape the crowds, because the early departure of the last train back to Beijing left us with little more than two hours to explore. This was sufficient to get a feel for the place, but we weren’t able to venture as far as we would have done had we had more time, and I’ve a feeling we’ll be back. I was especially surprised to see old ladies resolutely climbing up some of the steepest parts of the Wall (I think that those accompanying and helping them hadn’t considered that it is harder to descend than ascend, particularly if you aren’t very agile). Perhaps they wanted to buy a tacky tee-shirt proclaiming “I climbed up the Great Wall” from one of the souvenir shops when they returned to their starting point. As experienced rock climbers (real climbing involves the use of your hands), we didn’t.
There were a couple of interesting observations to make on the return journey. First, we were on the right side of the train to see that at one point the Great Wall ran the full length of the skyline and was hugely impressive with the setting sun behind it. Second, I thought I saw the stationmaster at the first station we came to stand to attention as we passed through. I looked out for this at the next station, and sure enough there he was, resplendent in his green uniform and peaked cap, with his green and red flags in one hand, standing to attention in a little painted square box on the platform. This was repeated at every station, even though we didn’t stop at any of them. Was this an indication that the Chinese are a regimented people? I reserve judgement until my next post, which will appear at this address tomorrow.
Crowds throng the Great Wall.
But some sections were less crowded.
Tuesday, 27 April 2010
northern capital
This is not a discussion about collateralized debt obligations, credit default swaps or other larcenous forms of financial legerdemain. In fact, ‘northern capital’ is the literal translation of Beijing, where my wife and I have spent the last five days, just as ‘southern capital’ is the literal translation of Nanjing, the Chinese capital during several important periods in Chinese history, most recently immediately prior to the Communist victory in the Chinese Civil War in 1949.
Over the next few days, I will be explaining why we almost didn’t get to see the Great Wall, reporting on ‘The Social Contract of Beijing’, telling you about the two essential food items that any self-respecting visitor to Beijing should seek out, commenting on the capital’s transport system (including an explanation for the odd fact that versions of the top-of-the-range models from Mercedes, BMW and Audi for the China market are six inches longer than the equivalent models sold elsewhere), noting in passing that you should keep off the grass in Beijing’s parks, and remarking on a few other curious observations that I made along the way.
Meanwhile, here are a few photographs to whet your appetite:
Over the next few days, I will be explaining why we almost didn’t get to see the Great Wall, reporting on ‘The Social Contract of Beijing’, telling you about the two essential food items that any self-respecting visitor to Beijing should seek out, commenting on the capital’s transport system (including an explanation for the odd fact that versions of the top-of-the-range models from Mercedes, BMW and Audi for the China market are six inches longer than the equivalent models sold elsewhere), noting in passing that you should keep off the grass in Beijing’s parks, and remarking on a few other curious observations that I made along the way.
Meanwhile, here are a few photographs to whet your appetite:
What is happening here? Answers on a postcard to the usual address.
Great Wall.
Another great piece of wall.
The obvious question is this: in terrain this rugged, do you really need to build such a bloody big wall just to keep people out?
Doorway, Forbidden City.
Ceramic wall plaque with dragons about 1.4 metres high, Forbidden City.
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