Left to my own, I wouldn’t have chosen to go
to the Forbidden City today. It’s a
lovely day. Not too warm, cool breeze,
and no hint of rain. The visibility was
limited, and it was probably a function of smog, but nothing to surprise one who’s
used to the city. It was, Dragon Boat
Day. And this might mean that the site
could be mobbed with people trying to enjoy the country’s premier tourist
attraction on their day of rest. I would
have certainly preferred to spend the day banging away at emails but two
clients whom I was unable to see on their China visit last week, booked their
flights back home for Friday night and I’d offered to take them around the
sites.
One can’t properly
be prejudiced about someone one already knows.
Pre-judging someone you’ve known for years presents an impossible an
oxymoron. Let’s say I post-judge this one
client and by now friend, as wonderfully Irish.
It is so uplifting to be with someone gifted with a strong intellect,
and an irrepressible desire to play with language. This person has me laughing aloud at puns and
adopted accents and sharpening my own ears for the next chance to insert my own
improvisations.
Our Di Di driver is
from Shandong. I like him. He drops us
off heading north on South Chizi Street by the side of the massive
complex. One guest asks the other: “Did
you remember your passport?” “Yes, I did”
he replies. I did not, I realize. I have a vague recollection of bullshitting
my was passed this requirement before and figure I’ll be able to handle it this
time. My bullshit is thwarted at the
first gate by a young guy doesn’t want to debate the matter. But one of my team suggests I speak with the
boy-in-blue. The cop has the authority
to let folks in. I go enter a different
line and make my case to the copy who smiles at my explanation in Beijing-brogue. “Have you got a copy of the passport on you?” Hadn’t thought of that. Yeah, I probably do. It takes a while, but I find a copy in an old
email on my phone from when we were in Georgia last summer.
Now we are free to
pass beneath the Chairman’s photo and proceed ahead to the Meridian Gate, where
we are told by a young lady in a black tee-shirt that the tickets are sold out
for the day. Huh? Once again, I plead and cajole with a smile
until at last, she calls out to “da ge?”
I try to be my most charming and earnest to the ‘big brother’, “I’ve lived here
for years, I don’t need to go in. But
these folks have come from so far.
Please. Big brother. Can you cut me some slack on this one.” “Alright.
Go over and get tickets and you can enter.” “Hey da
ge, your great. Thanks!” We go
over and they let us buy tickets where some other hapless backpackers are stuck.
We all agree that blarney’s a fine thing. It is this ability to banshi in China that forever rejuvenates one’s love for the place.
Oddly the palace
isn’t crowded at all and we have a lovely, breezy afternoon to consider the
grounds that were once occupied by Yong Le and later Kangxi. Later we climb Jing Shan to consider what we'd just walked through.
Friday, 6/7/19
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