You Know You’ve Been In Beijing For a Long Time When…

I’m not really going to make one of these lists. I am going to point out one item that I noticed today as being particularly true:

“You know you’ve been in Beijing for a long time when you start to think, ‘wow, there are so many trees here.’”

This thought has occurred to me before, but I started thinking about it today because on two separate occasions I caught myself smiling at how nice the trees were, when in fact I was merely looking at small gardens on the side of the road that barely provide enough shade for a decent nap.

My first feeling of respite from the concrete jungle came on the way home from the Olympic area. I was alone with the cab driver when I saw a mule hauling a cart of watermelons along the side of the road. For a brief moment, Beijing almost looked like a country village: A farmer, under the shade of the road-lining trees, was bringing his produce to the market. The traffic and construction almost faded into the obscurity of the smog. Out of sight, out of mind.

The second incidence of arboreal bliss occurred on the way to the Summer Palace. This time, I pointed out that it was strange to think about how nice the trees are in Beijing. I was surprised when my companions remarked that they had just had the same thought.

The truly bizarre thing about Beijing’s greenery is that it is all artificial. As the capital city of the Chinese Empire, Beijing was not only a thriving economic and cultural center, but also the home turf of the imperial family and elite officials. The dual nature of the city means that in addition to huge centers of commerce, there are also enormous pleasure gardens, palaces and temples that are now generally open to the public.

The largest of these pleasure gardens is undoubtedly the Summer Palace. It is located about thirty minutes from the Forbidden City, and at the end of the Empire it was the playground of royalty. Incidentally, it was a monumental waste of money and a living proof that pleasure has its price: after the Summer palace was destroyed By the British and French in 1860, it was rebuilt for the Empress Dowager Cixi in 1888 with money that was intended to pay for China’s navy. Instead of Battleships, China got a few stationary stone boats on an artificial pond that was, at the time, the private resort of the Empress. In addition to the cash, the Chinese paid for the Summer palace by losing significant territory to the Russians and Japanese a few years later on account of their inferior navy. This is not to mention the fact that while the Empress Dowager whiled away her time in her garden, Sun Yat-Sen and Chiang Kai-Shek were at work bringing down the Empire.

Nevertheless, with enough money to buy a navy, an Empress can build a truly impressive imitation of nature. According to an over-enthusiastic guide who couldn’t tell foreign tourists apart from foreigners who live in Beijing, we needed a guide because the Summer Palace is “four-times the size of the Forbidden City.” She forgot to mention that about three-quarters of it is water, and that there is only one main road around the park. I offered her my services as a guide, but she wasn’t enthusiastic.

Inside the park, the synthetic nature is apparent. The grass is clearly frequently re-planted, and the trees are labeled with plaques that read “古树” or “ancient tree” followed by a number. In theory, the different areas of the park represent architecture and landscape from different parts of China. I don’t doubt that this was the original intent. However, now that Beijing is really a melting pot of people and artifacts from China’s regions, the park’s design variations are barely noticeable. If anything, the Summer Palace truly represents the diversity of the city.

That said, I can understand why Cixi forwent a navy to build herself a garden. In spite of the overwhelming unreality of the place, it’s nice to visit the Summer palace and pretend to be back in nature. There are trees and flowers, water and grass. Instead of reeking of pollution and yesterday’s leftovers, there is a leafy flavor that hangs in the air. And, if you manage to find a secluded corner, it is even possible to go about thirty seconds without seeing or hearing another person.

Beijing’s true nature is humanity—raw life lived every day by people who have no choice but to keep living it. The city never rests. You can feel its tired breath blowing through the Hutongs in panting heaves. The dust that blows through from the cancerous lungs of the factories that have been moved somewhere out of sight is a constant reminder that the city is alive with humanity’s creations.

The parks are also evidence of human production. Yet they are the mirror image of the crowded city streets. The fact that within the walls of the Summer Palace exists a whole world of “nature” that is packed daily with people shows that people seek nature. We seek earth that lives and breathes without daily human resuscitation.

Beijing’s parks may be false, but they are sincere. They are a true effort to create a place in a man-made world that proves man’s place in the world. Ancient trees provide perspective on your own life, and open spaces provide perspective on the scope of your own influence in the world.

And you don’t need an over-ambitious guide to tell you that.