Somebody’s got to do something about Chinese pop music. We just taxied in from the airport to our hotel in Chengdu, and the cabbie, who seemed like a hip enough twentysomething, had an FM radio station on that played a rotation of simpy romantic balladry, twiddling girl-pop and fourth-rate boy band. Of course I couldn’t understand the lyrics, but I’m certain that’s a good thing. On TV it’s the same thing – sugary, derivative, synthetic and dated sounding goo. Commentary in the Shanghai and Beijing press like Time Out suggested there were a handful of good and emerging local bands who seemed to favor a punk or metallic sound. I didn’t catch any of that, but I did see some solid jazz in Shanghai and some excellent jazz in Beijing. Shanghai’s jazz joint is called the Cotton Club, with a house band fronted by a white guitarist but livened up by a couple of really excellent Chinese horn players. They played groove-oriented R&B flavored tunes that took a Motown turn when their vocalist, an American black woman who went by “Mama” took the stage. So that was cool, but I was really impressed to stumble upon a jazz bar along the busy lake shore in Beijing. The white pianist was really quite amazing (he was playing Bill Evans’ “Waltz for Debbie” when I came in, which is a sure way to my heart) and he was backed by Chinese guys on bass and drums. The drummer was especially tasty and sounded like he’d listened a lot to the recently departed and ultra-great Max Roach. Their singer, a white American woman, was quite good and mixed standards with stuff she and the band had written. The place was full with a mix of Chinese and Westerners, and folks really tuned into the music. I’d like to take our cab driver there and see what he thought.
Everything after the jump is personal, non-musical travel journal for friends and folks who care. We’re having an amazing time here.
We’ve just landed in Chengdu and we’re settling into a nice hotel room in the center of the city. Busy place this capital of Sichuan province. But I need to make some notes on Beijing because it was such a whirl and such a fantastic city. We scarcely stopped moving, eating or sleeping. There wasn’t much downtime, because we were in a room without a window (!?) and it was strange spending waking hours there. That said, it was a very solid hotel located just a block from the Forbidden City. The cab drivers had a hard time finding its obscure little sidestreet address, a thrumming little neighborhood stretch.
Our first night couldn’t have been more magical. We got oriented by walking in Jingshan Park, just at the end of our block. A climb to a pagoda at the top of an ancient man made hill (Beijing is flat as a board) gave us a sweeping panorama of the city, its parks and the massive, terra cotta colored Forbidden City. On the way we stumbled on a tea house in the park and got a good briefing on tea from a young woman adept in the arts of talking tea and of separating tourists from their money. Then we aimed to find a Yunnan restaurant we’d read about and discovered it was in the middle of a huge stretch of activity around one of the city’s larger lakes. What could have been a tourist nightmare was actually one of the most delightful strolling/eating/bar areas I’ve ever seen. The lake glimmered with the reflections of red lanterns and little motor launches puttered about. It was full of life and people from all over the world without feeling fake. Moreover, our meal at South Silk Road was perhaps our most memorable so far, a multi-plate feast with some risky dishes that all turned out amazing. The highlight was frog served in a dazzling mellow hot spice with peppers and onions on a bed of spring onions that were all set on fire at the table. There were bones to negotiate, but the meat was as good as Chesapeake Bay crab. No kidding. We also had a regional ham and cabbage dish that reminded me of Southern cooking from the states – fatty and salty and delicious. Also a plate of griddle fried cheese came with salt,pepper and sugar for sprinkling. It acted like a wonderful starch. There was more and lots of beer for me and rice wine for Taylor and we swooned. All for about $20. After that we strolled and enjoyed the water, the moonlight and the many shops and bars that seemed to go on for miles. We wound up spending a fair amount of time over there during our four days.
Next day we decided we had to get that Forbidden City thing happening. First impression was rough because we entered at our end, the north gate, whereas most folks go from south to north. And there were a LOT of folks. I’ve never seen such a congested tourist site as we entered the gate with our audio tours slung from our necks. It was like swimming into a giant school of fish. But we got off the main central axis and into the many lanes and courtyards of the northwest corner and saw dazzling things. We did a lot of picture taking and that says it best. Words can’t really describe it. It’s vast, mazelike, grand and intimate. Feel lucky to have seen it in person. The same can’t be said for the famous Tienanmen Square, except for the vast part. It’s a square of pavement so huge you’d have no cause to walk into it. We took the obligatory picture of the Mao portrait, and I nodded wistfully at the monument in the center where those poor, brave students set up their ill-fated protests in the summer of 89. And we blew out of there – to an antique street south of there that proved a lot of fun, especially the late afternoon wandering down an adjacent residential street that was poor but full of life and activity. Chinese street life is rich. There’s eating, gaming, shopping, exercising, hanging out. Folks took our wandering whiteness with aplomb. The Chinese don’t seem to give much away to strangers. Nobody’s hassled us. A handful young people have engaged us, especially the English students in Shanghai People’s Square. They really wanted to talk.
Saturday was supposed to be a long afternoon of touring the city’s hutongs (old-school residential neighborhoods) by pedi-cab with an English speaking guide. Sadly that turned into a one-hour ride around the lake with a guy who spoke as much English as I do Chinese, albeit with some byways into the hutong lanes and a visit inside a family’s four-house courtyard that dated from about 300 years ago. Suddenly faced with unbudgeted time, we went further downtown. We found the 600-year-old Beijing observatory where guys were figuring out that we went around the sun before the Europeans entertained the idea and ogled the ancient instruments. I loved it. We also found the old international “Friendship Store” where westerners were herded during their government controlled visits in the 1970s. Today it’s a pretty cool four-floors of Chinese crafts, art and clothing. We browed jade things and I bought some sweet and officially licensed Olympics stuff for myself and my niece and nephew. Dinner was at an American comfort food place called “Grandma’s Kitchen,” and an excellent burger made a nice contrast to our all Chinese diet.
Now in Chengdu, our duty is to eat the most challenging of all Chinese food, the infamous Sichuan hot pot. I apologize in advance to my intestinal tract...
Comments