[I have a lot of comments about the above paragraph... First, modern rickshaws are built on three-wheeled bicycle frames, not pulled by hand by a runner. Even so, I felt a little guilty at having this guy pedal us around when I would have been perfectly capable of doing it myself. We had 56 in our group, so 28 rickshaws were required, which made quite a convoy going through the twisty alleys that we navigated. (Actually, there must have been one or two extra for the tour guides.) For those who don't know or don't remember the Chevy Show, that was a movie shown at Six Flags Over Georgia years ago on the inside of a hemispherical screen, with the apparent intent of giving the viewers motion sickness.

[A comment withing a comment here: I just watched part of the tape, and heard myself mention something I had meant to write down. Namely, during the part of our rickshaw ride that took us through regular streets, we often would pass a shop of some kind where an electronic bullhorn had been left on the steps with some sort of endless-loop tape (perhaps solid state) blaring what I assumed to be an advertisement for the shop. I think the fact that I had no chance of understanding the words actually made it a little less annoying, but even so, I wouldn't want to be stuck within earshot of one of those things.]

A hutong is a rectangular walled-off area that is subdivided into various rooms and courtyards. There was a scale model of an idealized hutong in the top of the old Bejing bell tower, and it looked like a smaller version of the Forbidden City. Apparently, they were originally built (~100 years ago) as single-family units, but now mostly house multiple families. The home we visited was one of these, and four families lived there, which would make it crowded by our standards, although only one person out of all those seemed to be home at the time we were there. Many of the rooms opened onto a rather unkempt courtyard in the middle, which to me gave the indoors the feeling of a summer camp cabin (with a simiar level of construction, except using masonry instead of wood).

It's hard to describe the area because it's so different from anything I've seen in the US. It reminded me of old Middle Eastern neighborhoods I've seen in movies. The outer walls of the hutongs are right along the street, and there's no space between them, so you get the feel of traveling through a narrow canyon with doors in the walls. (For those of you who've played Adventure, "You're in a maze of twisty passages, all alike.") At one point we went through a space that wasn't so closed in, where lots of people were standing around a large pile (~30 feet across) of scrap lumber. I'm not sure whether they were throwing pieces onto it, or taking them off. I'm also not sure whether the pile was occupying space that was supposed to be part of the street.

The kindergarten was a walled area with classrooms surrounding a paved play area in the middle. (Are you starting to sense a pattern in Chinese architectural thinking yet?) This was the first of several encounters with groups of Chinese children singing Jingle Bells, and I must say it seemed a little out of place in the spring, not to mention coming from a group that I'm sure has no concept at all of what Christmas is. (Of course Christmas isn't actually mentioned in the song, which is why American schoolchildren are allowed to learn it, but that's a rant for another day.) One interesting thing, and perhaps an indication of the extent to which capitalism is sweeping Chinese society, is that one of the teachers was offering to sell us pictures that the children had drawn, which were the same sort of crayon-on-construction-paper that you'd see here in the US.

In retrospect, I have to wonder about the kindergarten and the family whose hutong we visited. Would you open your home to busloads of foreign tourists, or would you want your kids' kindergarten to do the same? It's hard to imagine that happening in the US. Another example of capitalism at work? I don't know.

Not many of us went to the top of the bell tower, mainly because the stairway looked pretty intimidating. I thought it was worth the climb, though. Unfortunately, I didn't know where in the city this was, until I got home and looked it up on a map. Turns out the Forbidden City might have been within view. If the air hadn't been so polluted, it might even have been obvious. (I know I keep harping on the pollution, but compared to Columbus, Ohio, where it's possible to see downtown from the suburbs if you can find a place where trees aren't in the way, the reduced visibility was almost unbelievable. I kept waiting for the fog to burn off, but it never did.) I don't believe they actually ring the bell any more, but it used to be a way to let everyone know what time it was.

Since I don't like tea, I couldn't fully appreciate the tea ceremony, but it was interesting. (This was in a room at the bottom of the tower, by the way, so everyone was there.) The tea is poured into a (relatively) tall thin cup, which is really for sniffing the tea (but not yet). Then you cap that cup with an upside-down cup that's wider and shallower. Then, you turn the pair over, thus transferring the tea to the drinking cup. (This is where I spilled mine once.) Now you can sniff the thin cup and roll it across your cheeks (while it's still warm). The hostess told us this would keep the skin looking young. She also told us she was 70 years old, when she looked to be 20-something, so I guess it works pretty well. Then it was time to drink the tea, and I was happy that Merf offered to drink mine after I took just one swallow of each sample. Of course, there was a gift shop on the way out where various tea sets and tea were for sale. Most of the tea sets sported pictures or designs made out of thermally sensitive pigments, so they changed color or could only be seen when they were heated by the tea.]