7/10

Lion at the Lama Temple

Today I have visited three temples. The first was the Lama Temple, a large Tibetan Buddhist complex, quite closely connected with Emperor Qianlong. I have often had cause to think about Qianlong, to imagine his mincing footsteps in places I have walked, or his watching the troops parade in the armour that is displayed in the Forbidden City.

The Bell Tower at the Lama Temple

Decorated ceiling tile at the Lama Temple

Lama Temple

Qianlong was a major figure in the Qing dynasty, ruling for much of the 18th century. He strongly encouraged arts and letters, and, it seems, Buddhism. There are plenty of worshippers at the temple. I suppose Tibetan Buddhism, with its ritual and Buddhas for every reason (masses of them, connected with every sphere of life), appeals to the Chinese, who were traditionally polytheists. Certainly the Lama Temple is faring better than the Confucian temple that is in the same district. It is being heavily renovated. The third temple is dedicated to China’s oldest god, money. The Oriental Plaza is an enormous shopping mall. I am walking through it to reach the downtown district and have stopped for lunch.

Lama Temple

The other day, walking through Tiananmen Square, I thought, as I think all must who go there, of the demonstrators, whose peaceful protests were so viciously crushed by the army. That people are willing to die for freedoms we take absolutely for granted is even for the cynical something stirring. They will have democracy soon. It is to be hoped that it comes peacefully, with those in power realising that they can remain powerful simply by shifting systems. You wonder, looking at the glitzy shops in the Oriental Plaza, if the protestors would think this worth dying for. The communists did not, after all, build a workers’ paradise (and I think the workers’ idea of paradise and theirs were rather different) but neither have we.

Nanheyan Lu

Wangfujing Dajie, Beijing’s Oxford Street (or Queen Street, to be more parochial) is less overexcited than I thought it would be. Perhaps everyone is shopped out after six days of holiday. Beijing is more pleasant than I expected. There are ultrabusy roads but there are shady avenues and quiet alleys. And not so quiet ones. To get back home, I will be walking through Dazhalan Jie, which is a long stretch of silk shops, hairdressers, phone places, restaurants and just stuff, in a street not much than a car and a half’s width. It defines bustle.

Wangfujing Dajie

First Department Store, Wangfujing Dajie

St Andrew's, Wangfujing Dajie

Dazhalan Jie

I have stopped for 10 minutes in the park that runs along the city wall, while my camera battery is recharged. I had found a relatively peaceful spot but a Chinese family have stopped for a snack. A festival of lipsmacking ensues. At least no one has yet felt the need to clear their throat. Whatever else the Chinese do well, they lead the world in hawking up phlegm. On the bus into Beijing from the airport, a man behind me had something in his nose (judging by the snorting, about three tons of wet sand). Next time I come, I’m bringing handkerchiefs, and demonstrating that a minute’s blow can save an hour’s snort.

The street where I stayed, Beijing