I Remembered Malagasy Music

My best mate has moved to town.  He had it in his mind to find a hutong to live in here, he and his girlfriend.  And they had a bad day, where they saw a number of places that left them cold, and frightened that they might have to settle for something middling or worse.  I thought of all the many ways Beijing can be a compromise.  It took my stepson and his wife weeks to find a decent place.  They didn’t have that kinda time.  Then two days ago they called and let me know they’d found an apartment they loved in a hutong in Dongcheng, just like they’d wanted.  Remarkable.  They shared me the address.  It looks like a perfect location. 

I went to visit them last night.  I oughtn’t to have.  I needed to be up by 5:00AM this morning.  I hadn’t much sleep the night before, what with a marathon of grading I’d only just finished a few hours before.  But I knew I’d go and I was very happy I did.  Walking in a strange hutong, seeing the pedestrian night life, beneath the two hundred year old trees, one is reminded of Beijing’s singular majesty.

We labored for a while to find it.  Finally, I ditched the mapping apps and asked a laotao, sitting on a stoop, no hair, no shirt, where is jialuo hutong?  “Second one down on your left.  He was glad.  I was glad.  My friends were glad.  They have a simple duplex with a modest outdoor porch and clean kitchen and bath facilities.  And they were over-the-moon and it was infectious.  I’d been ecstatic when I’d first lived in a hutong back in 1999.  Many, many things have changed but these particular neighborhoods have been allowed to live and alive, they are unlike any other neighborhood in the world. 

We darted out later to look around their neighborhood.  Naturally I looked at every small noodle shop and appliance store from their perspective.  Day by day they’d experience these places, with their rudimentary Chinese.  We stumbled upon a dimly lit watering hold with a neon sign saying Mai.  Inside was a tight little bar.  A group was just leaving, and we took their seats amidst the crowded interior.  The young waiters served with aggressive English and when asked I told them I’d been in town since before they were born.  A young woman came and introduced herself and wanted to know if we wanted to become VIP members of this bar.  She was, it turns out from Madagascar, which elicited an “oooh” and an “ahhh” from our table.  We discussed using the space as a gallery for my chums artwork and I asked her if they ever served any Malagasy food her.  I used the word cautiously because I was largely sure but not entirely and she gasped.  Which was great.  And said, how did you know the word 'Malagasy.'  I thought and I didn’t have an answer. 

Someday, surely, to Madagascar.  I later imitated the rough approximation of what I remembered Malagasy music to sound like, respectfully mind you, and my old friend laughed, an uncontrollable laugh.  And this made me laugh too.   

Beijing, reborn once again.  Osiris working overtime to resurrect my latent, near exhausted love for this central axis for Chinese civilization. 

Friday 8/02/19