There are people wandering along the side of the freeway. This is my first impression upon our arrival in Beijing. It strikes a deep set horror in me. Caught in the headlights, choked on the edge of the 10 lanes that spew out an air that you wear like another layer of skin, they look displaced, lost, left behind.
My god, I think to myself, 1.3 billion is too many; China's population is supersaturated; the levee has broken; people are spilling out everywhere.
Modernity has come fast to this ancient capital. It rises up above the hyper colossal monuments of Communist architecture; consuming the labyrinth systems of the feudal age. The taste of capitalism to a developing communist country is like blood to a pack of sharks. The resulting frenzy leaves little room for the finer points of etiquette, or hard won lessons learned. It is a cutthroat race to the bottom line, and the devil fetch the hindmost.
Indeed, life would be far easier if Jane and I chose to holiday at Club Meds. Instead we throw ourselves into the sweaty and seething chaos of major Asian cities and spend our time searching for air-conditioned 7-11's. Somehow, we get off on this.
It is a dreadfully masochistic sport that follows strict rules. A tight timeline is key to assuring a proper manic pace be maintained at all times. Always try to do all of the major sites in the first two days. If the climate is particularly humid, walk as much as possible, climb stairs and steep inclines. Shun organized tours in favour of long cramped rides on public transport. Revel in the hollow stupor of your jetlag. And remember: the less written and spoken English, the better.
This is how we attacked Beijing, with its throngs of bicycles dodging and weaving and barely scraping by the hostile drivers who give little notice to commuting's lesser species. With the blasting horns that narrate these confrontations mixed with the feedback chatter of digital tour guides from blown out bus speakers and the chirping of caged birds that hang from the storefronts. With the smell of dumplings, and exhaust and sewage steeping in our nostrils; and the unrelenting feeling of concrete beneath our feet, smog in our lungs, dust in our hair...
is a designer, writer and creative strategist currently working as a Senior Designer at Karyo Edelman. He lives in Vancouver, BC with his wife, Jane
and their two cats, Basil and Coriander.
powered by blogger | copyright 2005 kevinbroome.com
all rights reserved |
