Chinese Restaraunt Keeps 143-Year-Old Fire Burning

by Justin Glow on

Qianmen Quanjude, a 143-year-old roast duck restaurant in Beijing, China is closing for renovations, but its oven — said to be burning non-stop since opening day — will remain lit.

“[T]he restaurant has served 115,330,259 ducks in over 140 years of service,” according to China View. “It has hosted dinners for millions of people from all over the world, including former president of the United States George H. Bush, Japan’s former Prime Minister Toshiki Kaifu, former German Chancellor Helmut Kohl and Cuba’s President Fidel Castro.”

The ancient, still-burning embers will be removed from the oven and placed in a vessel that will remain on-site while the renovations take place. After completion, they will be moved back into the oven, and the restaurant service will continue for another few hundred years.

Perhaps we can get Ember Swift, Gadling’s resident Canadian-in-China, to investigate further. Ember?

[via Neatorama]

A Canadian in Beijing: Ticket Wicket Tricks

by Ember Swift on

This week is the labour holiday and everyone in China gets a week off. Well, that is, (as my friend Louise aptly pointed out), everyone except those in the travel industry. It seems as though the entire population of this country hops a train or a bus or a plane and disappears somewhere during this labour holiday week. So, thankfully, there are conductors and drivers and pilots still working!

When I realized that I’d have a week off school, I was surprised. I hadn’t planned to do any travel while in Beijing considering my study schedule, and I also hadn’t factored in a large budget for any out-of-town venturing save the short distance jaunt.

My friends Sarah and Jenni convinced me that I had to go to Shanghai four a fve-day weekend. It didn’t take much arm twisting. The train tickets aren’t that expensive and Jenni lives there and so we can stay in her apartment for free. I’d love to see another major Chinese city and I’d love to experience train travel in this country too, the latter being something I have been told is totally worth doing once (or twice, in my case!)

Getting train tickets proved to be quite an affair.

(The picture above shows the long line-ups at this train window later that evening.)

Last week, we went to a travel agent in Wudaokou to check into availability. Sarah had known this agent before and after some serious wrangling and partial translations over the telephone, we finally managed to find her office in this big corner office building on the main intersection of Wudaokou.

We still couldn’t figure out which floor she was on, though, despite my recently learned stock of travel phrases and vocabulary. I managed to pull out “luxing she” (travel agency) and we were directed up and down the elevator.

Finally, on the sixteenth floor, we ventured down the lonely and unclear hallway and found the “luxing she” office at the far end. Services in this building are hidden away and I found it to be a great contrast to services back home in store fronts with flashy signs and advertising to catch the attention of potential customers. And, all the floors look the same and so one obviously needs to know where one is going!

The travel agent was really sweet to us but after making some calls, told us there were definitely no seats available. She told us that we should call back early this week – the week of our departure – but she couldn’t guarantee tickets because of how many people were travelling for the labour holidays.

We were deflated and discouraged.

Trying to figure out the next course of action while walking towards some lunch, we discovered a small hole-in-the-wall train ticket wicket and asked the man behind the tiny square opening in the wall about tickets to Shanghai on the 27th of April. He told us that we should return on Monday at one in the afternoon and that tickets will be made available then.

Why? If they were available, then why couldn’t we just purchase them then? We were frustrated and confused.

A few phone calls later and one of Sarah’s friends tipped us off that here in China you are not permitted to purchase train tickets directly until it is, at most, five days before your departure time. The other option is to book more than a month in advance with a travel agent, but of course one pays extra for that premium service.

As we were planning to leave on Friday the 27th of April, Monday was the magic day for booking. The man behind the square was being straight with us. Okay then.

Furthermore, you can only purchase tickets from departure location while in your departure location. For example, Jenni (who normally lives in Shanghai) had to purchase my ticket for my return to Beijing, whereas we had to purchase Jenni’s ticket to Shanghai from Beijing. (She’s here now on business and will be going back with us on Friday night.)

So, Monday came around and we returned to the wicket window to find that the time we were supposed to return was now pushed until Tuesday. “Why?” I asked, but I didn’t understand the answer. I said: “But you told us to come back at this time on Monday and now you’re telling me something different.” I still didn’t understand his response but he was clear that nothing was available through him until Tuesday.

As our intended departure time was creeping closer, we were starting to think it wasn’t going to happen. “That’s okay,” I said. “Maybe it’s not meant to be?”

I think that fuelled Sarah’s determination to make it happen and so she took it upon herself to go down to the main Beijing train station (“Beijing Zhan”) in order to ask around. She went once and was turned away. She was told the same thing as we were told in Wudaokou. But, later that same day she returned.

It’s really her perseverance that got us tickets this weekend.

Jenni told Sarah on the phone that there is supposed to be a foreigner’s desk for ticket purchases at Beijing Zhan. While the lines stretched endlessly in the main section of the station (and she was already familiar with these!), Sarah started exploring other desks to see if she could find the foreigner’s ticket counter. She went upstairs to another level and saw that a similar ticket purchase area was nearly deserted. Only one counter was open and there was no one behind the desk.

In the hallway, she had passed a woman – the only person she saw there – and asked her about whether or not there was a foreigner’s desk at the station. The woman very curtly said “mei you” and walked away (“no, there isn’t” in Mandarin). Sarah now watched this same woman walk behind this large counter and station herself behind the only open wicket. The counter said “VIP” and there was no one in line.

Figuring it was worth another shot, she approached the woman again and asked if she could purchase three tickets to Shanghai for the 27th of April. The same woman who had just dismissed Sarah’s question in the hallway then just as curtly responded “keyi” (“yes, you can”) and processed the purchase for Sarah right then and there.

Sometimes the language and culture barrier makes simple things seem extremely confusing. But, hey no complaints.

I got an excited text from Sarah moments later telling me that she had been successful and that we all had tickets to Shanghai. A few days later, Jenni was able to purchase my return ticket as well. They’re continuing off to another destination by plane and I’ll be coming back to this city for the Midi Festival.

While we may not officially be “VIP,” we will be the “very intriguing people” on the overnight train to Shanghai on the 27th.

I can’t wait!

Beijing’s Trikes

by Willy Volk on

Ember’s post about bikes in Beijing interested me quite a bit. Consequently, when I stumbled on Mac Kane’s photo essay called Beijing Trikes, I was curious. Kane claims that despite numerous cars and plentiful traffic jams, Beijing has retained a strong connection to both the bicycle and the tricycle. Working the narrow alleys of the hutong districts where cars have a difficult time maneuvering, bikes and trikes are used for everything from hauling garbage, to taxi service, to serving as an impromptu shop.

When I lived in Zambia, no one ever cycled for pleasure — a bike was a tool, a means to an end. In Beijing, clearly, biking is not a leisure activity. As Kane points out, bicycles are for work.

Given their emphasis on functionality over looks, many bikes have been modified or custom built to fit the demands of its owner.

For more images of China’s trikes, check out the rest of Kane’s series.

A Canadian in Beijing: Hutongs & Mopeds

by Ember Swift on

Beijing is famous for its hutongs. A hutong is the Mandarin word for “alley” and, at one time, most of the city was made of these narrow streets that housed residences and businesses alike. These days, there are many wide streets that have replaced them, but there is a movement to preserve the hutongs (rather than knocking them down and replacing them with more modern apartment complexes.)

Yesterday, I visited a very famous hutong called “Nan Luo Gu Xiang.”

The hutongs are so famous, in fact, that there are “hutong tours” here in which foreigners get into bicycle rickshaws with colourful awnings and are then taken with the rest of their tour group through the hutongs all in a row – rickshaws rolling like a giant snake, one after another, winding through Beijing.

Yesterday, I met with my new friend Will as he offered to take me to a restaurant for some vegan fare. (Musician rule #1 = never say no to food!) He picked me up from the subway on his moped and I hopped on the back (with a helmet, don’t worry!) and held on tight. The sun was bright – a beautiful spring day — and I couldn’t stop smiling.

Riding a moped in Beijing is the way to go! It’s like a video game. We were able to drive past cars, zigzag around bicycles and pedestrians, skip the queue for the lights and turn left in front of everyone, park on the sidewalk, etc. It was amazing and I laughed out loud with delight. I really can’t think of a better word than “delight” to describe it. I loved every second.

Apparently, you can get away without having a license for a moped in Beijing, especially if you’re a foreigner. Many license plates on mopeds here in Beijing appear to be upside down and this is the sign that it is not an officially licensed vehicle. The police may stop a driver, but the foreigners are hard to deal with when they don’t speak Chinese and so the likelihood of arrest or having your moped impounded is nil. I also heard that by 2008 and the Olympic games, they will start cracking down on these and other illegal two-wheeled vehicles. Until then, I’ve seen plenty “unofficial” mopeds and motorcycles, especially in Wudaokou where there are so many foreigners.

Will introduced me to a great restaurant in “Nan Luo Gu Xiang” called “Luogu” or “Drum and Gong Fusion Restaurant” in English (pictured above.) We walked into the restaurant, through the tables and to a set of very narrow back stairs, not unlike attic steps in century-old houses back home. We had to duck at the top of the landing because the ceiling was too low. We turned and ducked again through the child-height entrance to the outdoor rooftop patio. It was full of tables and umbrellas and dripping in sunlight like caramel. I paused before sitting down so that I could drink in the gold of the sun – an elixir for the eyes. It felt as though we had been magically lifted up and out the traffic and congestion of the streets below and then gently placed into a perfect paradise of quiet and surrounding foliage.

Will’s also vegan and he has been giving me some insight into the world of eating as a vegan in Beijing. His Chinese is way better than mine, too, and so I gave him total liberty to order for us. While this wasn’t a vegan or a vegetarian restaurant, his choices were impeccable. We talked and ate and shared insights about music and writing and city life and travelling. He’s American and has been here two years already, and so his knowledge of this city was impressive. He had lots of share and I have open ears.

After our amazing meal and conversation, we got back on the moped and went across town to a well-known independent record store called “Fu Sheng Chang Pian” or “Free Sound Records” in English. It’s an independent record store and Will suggested that it would be a good place for me to pick up some music by female artists here in Beijing to help direct my research (see this post for more information about my research here). The people in the store were really helpful and I came away with three new CDs for the low price of 30 kuai each (or $4.33 Canadian — how do musicians earn a living at that price?) All three of the artists are female, independent, Beijing-based songwriters and I believe they all play instruments too (besides their voices). I’m looking forward to listening to them.

I waited around for Will to be done with his tasks because I was secretly hoping I’d get one more ride on the moped. I honestly fell in love with that moped yesterday and I think I may have to negotiate an open relationship with my bicycle! Otherwise, I’m two-timing my bike and I am not the type to keep those kinds of secrets . . . !

We were standing on the sidewalk outside of the record store when he offered to drop me off at the subway station where I was meeting my friend Sarah for yet another mission to the arts district of Beijing called “Da Shan Zi” (more on this soon). I eagerly accepted his offer – maybe too eagerly – and I noticed my childlike exuberance flash back at me from my reflection in the record store window. Just a split-second sparkle that caught my eye before putting on my helmet and hopping on the back of Will’s moped for my final ride of the day.

Swerving, twisting, between cars, around bicycles, passing congestion and capturing open spaces like prizes, we motored through the cityscape like it was maze and we had the map. Once again: delight. The sun on my back, the wind in my hair, my smile peering over his left shoulder.

I gotta get me one of these!

(Okay, well maybe not. But if I lived here permanently, I’d seriously consider it!)

A Canadian In Beijing: Two-Wheeled Matrimony

by Ember Swift on

I’ve been here for three weeks and I’m pretty sure that yesterday was my first “bad day.” Okay, perhaps “bad” is the wrong word for it. I’d have to say that what started as a good day became a low day, a sad day, a frustrating and annoying day. . . a day when I wished I were home and not here. . . for just an hour, perhaps. I could have even found solace in twenty minutes. (They need to invent that transporter device from Star Trek already!)

The air was thick with a mixture of pollution and desert dust and there was a cool wind. Beijing was crying for rain but the tears wouldn’t come from the sky. Wind cut through my clothes as I went to fetch my new bike (second-hand – thanks Sarah! – but new to me) so that I could take it out on our honeymoon ride.
I am very happy to have a bike. It gives me a chance to explore the far reaches of my neighbourhood and have more freedom time-wise than walking gives. Yesterday, I decided to seek out the “Lotus in Moonlight Vegetarian Restaurant” that I was told about by one of my Chinese friends. He even drew me a map and it seemed easy enough to understand. I got on my bike and pedalled in the direction of food. My bike and I were getting along beautifully.

I got to the area where the restaurant was supposed to be and this is when my day started to twist and turn. Sometimes I think that people here get a kick out of misdirecting the foreigner. I’ve been cynical enough to wonder this because it’s not the first time that I’ve been pointed the wrong way by a local and have had to re-trace my steps. My language skills can’t be that bad!

This happened three times. It took me a half an hour of navigating several office building parking lots and busy side streets before I was confident that I had the right building. Why was I confident? Because I had asked three different people. I was tired of trusting solitary answers. I started to approach asking directions with skepticism rather than trust. That was probably the place where my day descended: my attitude.

I locked up my bike and I headed inside. (I have since learned that all the bikes are locked here, but often only with this back lock, which is so subtle that I hadn’t noticed it before. I also use a second front lock, as per Sarah’s suggestion.)

This was both a shopping mall and an office building and it was hard to identify where the shopping began and where the offices ended. Escalators brought me up to the third floor where I was greeted by gaudy wrapped pillars and sparsely designed shopping counters selling a variety of specialty items.

The restaurant was one of the corner suites on this floor. It was beautiful and spacious with wide-open windows that overlooked more courtyards to yet more buildings. The chairs were plush and throne-like and the menu was a hardcover book that looked more like a coffee table book of photography than it did a restaurant menu.

The prices reflected the décor.

Unfortunately, the service did not.

It seems to me that I was disturbing the waitress by being there, even though I was one of only two customers. She spoke so quickly that I couldn’t understand her. When I asked her kindly if she would please repeat what she had said more slowly, she actually sped up her speech instead.

Despite this mean-spirited move, I was still able to gather that no food was available as it was between lunch and dinner (about 3:00pm). I then tried to order just a cup of tea, but then certain beverages were also not available and I couldn’t ascertain why they weren’t and why they were. All in all, everything the waitress said seemed to be unclear and slurred. She rolled her eyes with annoyance when I said I didn’t understand. Even her body language conveyed annoyance. After “dealing” with me, she went across the room and complained to her friends and fellow workers who then all turned and stared at me at the same moment.

What was bothering her so much? Was it my presence during an ‘off’ time’? My lack of proficient Chinese language skills? My affluence in being able to walk into that restaurant at all? (And c’mon, I’m a musician and I had already gathered that I’d only be able to afford some tea and some soup there). Or was it my ragged appearance?

Or maybe she was having a terrible day too and she decided that this “laowai” was an easy target for her bad mood. Really, there’s no telling what the reasons were, there’s just the response to manage; and mine was one of dejection and frustration.

I ordered an overpriced juice – 20 kuai – and I drank it, looked out the window for about five minutes, and then I left. I felt mistreated and ripped off at the same time, not to mention still hungry and therefore more irritable.

I was undoing the locks on my bike outside when a man approached me and asked me for money. He gestured to the row of bikes and I quickly remembered that sometimes you have to pay to park your bike in this city. Seeing as this was more of a business district, it made sense that someone was responsible for the bikes outside. It’s safer that way, especially considering the fact that bike theft is rampant in Beijing.

I asked him how much and he said “wu” or “five” and I was aghast. “Five kuai!” I said in Chinese, “that’s way too expensive!” This was the wrong time to overcharge me for something, considering the trouble I’d just had with bad directions coupled with that terrible restaurant experience! My tone was defensive and sharp and I narrowed my eyes at him expecting a fight in my third language.

He looked at me blankly, paused, and then slowly held up a five mao note.

My stony defenses crumbled like a sand castle. I felt so sheepish. Five mao and Five kuai are very different – it’s the difference between $0.07 and $0.73 Canadian. I apologized immediately and handed him my five mao. He thanked me and I said “bu keqi” which is the respectful way of saying you’re welcome and it means, literally, “don’t be so polite” or “no politeness [needed].” I mean, after all, I wasn’t polite to him and so why should he be polite to me? I hoped he heard both the literal and the conventional meanings.

So, I had yet another big lesson about carrying forward negative energy. I took on the waitress’s negative energy and then passed it on to the parking attendant. I can only hope that it stopped there.

Just before hopping on my bike and heading home to some groceries in my fridge, I heard some music that was being pumped out of a nearby outdoor stage. It was Air Supply: All out of Love. I have a big love-on for Air Supply. They’re cheesy and wonderful – lush harmonies and reverb on the drums that goes for days. I know all the words. Total 80’s nostalgia.

I got on my bike and rode the whole way back to my dorm room (about fifteen minutes) singing this song at full volume, not caring who heard and who didn’t.

And I felt better.

“I’m all out of love / What am I without you? / I can’t be too late to say that I was so wrong.”

I sang it to my bike.

We’re gonna stay married.