Beijing Encounters ( Part 1 ) Posted on 3 Nov 2011

Beijing Encounters ( Part 1 ) Posted on 3 Nov 2011

I ended up as an accidental tourist in Beijing to pin down a good pal who has so much on her plate that she has no time to do lunch, let alone anything else. After a few missed lunch appointments , I decided to wait till she gets back to planet earth.

 And so the weeks went by, until one day, a sack of durians got dropped off at my place with a message from A " Hi Y, thought you might like these." Another time, on a not so happy occasion, we met at a wake and when I mentioned lunch, hoping to be third time lucky, her husband, KH,  said that he was also subjected to the same. Ok, forgiven.

Being the architect who has had a hand in designing some of the icons and landmarks in Singapore, I guess brilliance breeds some eccentricity and is entitled to a wide berth. Then came the invitation to join her and KH ( the hubby ) in Beijing. Reason - KH will be running the Marathon, and since she will be there....

Prime Hotel was along Wang Fu Jing Road ( WFJ ).  KH arrived a day early and checked out the route. He shot out an email warning that taking the subway during peak hours in Beijing would be best reserved for the brave or foolish. His advice - Take the airport express train to WFJ station, then complete the journey by cab. I arrived on my own and decided that I would skip the cab, brave the crowds and make it to Prime Hotel by subway and on foot. Problem was, I started off at No. 300 plus after exiting the subway station, and it was a long way to go before reaching Prime Hotel at No. 2 WFJ Road.Having embarked on this route, it left me with a perverse sense of wanting to travel on the cheap for the days ahead.  Happily, A was on the same page. By the time both A and I checked in, KH had already collected his number tags, and a blank certificate of "completion" of the Marathon - you can fill in the blanks wtih your name and preferred timing. Wow!

Marathon Sunday - 16 Oct 2011.

KH was off to an early start. A and I took the roads less travelled ( i.e. by tourists ) and made our way to the Bird's Nest by public transport. First, we asked for directions. it did not take us long to realise that when you do that, you have a 50-50 chance of getting the right answer. For reasons known only to themselves, the Chinese people here would give you an answer, any answer, when asked, except for the three little words " I don't know." We soon realised it is safer to ask 3 different people for the same set of directions - this beats our very own "double confirm".

It was a very different kind of reception at the Bird's Nest. Instead of the festive air surrounding marathons as we know it, there were guards, guards, guards everywhere, posted strategically within a 5 metre span, with the objective of keeping people out of the fenced area where the runners come in at the end of their endurance stint. Another puzzle! There was a lady next to us trying to convince the unsmiling guard that she flew thousands of miles from Mexico all the way here to support her husband. Then there were the two of us, who also flew a few thousand miles to cheer our hero on his returning leg. We did not expect a lock-out. As we kept getting the run-around from the usual unreliable responses, patience wore thin. Finally, at a security post, A threw up her arms in exasperation and muttered that she wanted to talk to a reporter to give feed-back about this unhappy arrangement. That seemed to be the magic word that did the trick. The guard glumly waved us through the security barrier, and we were in!

We parked ourselves at a shady spot and waited. There were others with us at the waiting area, all locals, who must have had their own ways of getting past the guards. The minutes went by. Soon, the runners trickled in, some limping, some in quiet contemplation, others in jubilant spirits, as they walked slowly towards the stadium, eyes scanning for familiar faces. There was a female runner who sat down in front of us, gobbling down two oranges. As quickly as the last morsel of the second orange was devoured, all came out again in a torrent of regurgitated vomit. We moved to another spot as the first whift of the cocktail of orange and digestive juices hit us. A. retrieved a sorry-looking blackened and bruised banana from her backpack reserved for KH and left it next to her. I clicked away gleefully at the spectacle of people gathering around us. A. dozed off and I surreptitiously clicked a shot of that. Two hours on, we decided to walk around to look for KH. In the meantime, the banana had disappeared mysteriously. We wondered if a runner had been needy enough to eat it.

 

We stood at the entrance to the Stadium, watching the runners as they come in. No sign of KH. Imagination and speculations were beginning to kick in. Suddenly KH appeared, looking fresh with an air of serene contentment. He said he had finished about an hour ago and was looking all over for us. He found us on his third try, doing a final sweep of the terrain. Trust a military man to do that. 

He proudly displayed his medal and certificate of completion duly earned . I am in awe of that man - he is in his fifties, rose from couch potato to a lean, mean, running machine in all of one year. There he was, standing tall, after completing the marathon, and in a very respectable time as well. KH described his run as well paced and relaxing. He was disappointed with the absence of two prerequisite watering stations after the 30 km mark before the finish - the point where runners tend to hit the wall and are most in need of hydration. Clearly, the Chinese in Beijing have their own unique way of doing things. KH was well prepared, of course, being fully armed wtih gels and other peraphernalia of supplies throughout the run, leaving nothing to external factors. The other runners, unfortunately, were not so well equipped and had to rely on sheer will-power and endurance, exacted by the lack of water during the critical stretch.

The reward for our man of the moment was dinner at the renowned Quan Ju De Peking Duck Restaurant. At 5 pm, long queues were already forming at the reception. Half an hour later, we were shown our seats, waited upon by a young waiter, polite and eager to please. A most welcoming change in the atmosphere. Our roast duck was worth the wait. The skin was wafer- thin and oozed with buttery smoothness when dipped in sugar for that perfect palate sensation.

798 And People Of All Sorts

Mission accomplished, KH was headed for home to resume work. The plan was to take a cab to the airport shuttle pick-up point a short distance from the hotel. A and I decided to accompany KH to check out the route and schedule. A strange sort of conversation took place in the cab. Cab-driver was surprised when told to drive us to the designated spot. He'd assumed we were heading straight to the airport. Gruffly, he said " You people are from Singapore, and you are rich enough to travel here. Why are you doing this to save money and being so harsh on yourselves?" "Huh?" I feel my adrenaline surging. A rose to the challenge and retorted that we came here for the Marathon. Cab-driver was silent for some time and the next time he spoke, he asked us where we would like to alight and mumbled something inaudible. Not knowing any better, we assented. The meanness of that man - he deliberately stopped us at the wrong end of the pick-up point a good 1 km away, peppered wtih stairways throughout. To add insult to injury, we even tipped him before he left. Poor KH was struggling with every step. We were assisted by a young man who offered to carry the luggage at a discounted fee who led us to the right spot. This time, the tip went to the deserving.

Reading up about the territory and scanning every piece of travel literature have its advantages. I found out there is a stored value public transport card ( "yi ka tong" -ykt ) pretty much like our ez-link. As it was, public transport without the ykt was already dirt cheap - 2 yuan for the subway, and 1 yuan for the buses. With the ykt, there is a 60% subsidy for the buses, making it a whopping 0.40 yuan per bus trip, or SGD 0.8 cents. With the pervasive ambience of greed and grab everywhere, the ykt reaped immense satisfaction for two travellers who buck the trend.

798 ( a pun on the phrase " going to the night-club" ) is an art enclave in a refurbished industrial district. The photos speak for themselves. There is a broad repertoire of works from the quirky to the bizarre. Hope yet for the younger set, for freedom of expression. Stopping over at a so-called coffee joint, the coffee A ordered looked like drain water and tasted no better. The waitress put on a stony expression and shrugged off A's comments nonchalently. No apologies for bad, bad coffee. These people have mastered this and fine-tuned it to perfection. If we were not the ones ripped off, I could almost say "con job well done "

That evening after the Marathon, A and I  strolled down the hotel to a foot reflexology outfit. You can't miss it - BIG FOOT and so in your face, in garish neon flashing lights. But we were desperate for some small relief for KH's aching limbs. Based on published rates, foot reflex was 58 yuan, body was 78 yuan, for 45 mins. We agreed earlier on a price of 100 yuan for 60 mins of body massage. When we arrived later, the receptionist, who doubled up as my masseuse, insisted that the price for 60 mins of body massage would be 125 yuan. Gorden Gecko is alive and well in WFJ. Having started on the wrong foot, we were escorted into the treatment rooms and told to lie down on the couches- no clean sheets, towels or change of clothes, just as is. Three people came into the room, 2 women and a man. They got into an animated conversation, oblivious to the bodies their fingers were perfunctorily touching. First, I was being overcharged, second, I was not comfortable lying on a couch with questiionable hygiene...now this. " Can you talk after the massage session is over?" I said, with an edge in my voice. Silence followed. After 10 minutes, it was clear we were not getting the type of massage we expected. I said that we would like to shorten the session to 45 minutes instead. My masseuse, aka the receptionist, replied that she had already issued an invoice. " Why can't you cancel it?" " We want to stop after 45 minutes" the battle of wills continued. They did stop after 45 minutes and also charged us the original published rates. We left with the extra yuan to spend another day - a small victory for consumer rights!  ( to be continued )