Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Frolicking in the Summer Palace


Frolicking in the Summer Palace

Outside Beijing is the Summer Palace, whose giant lakes, pagodas, marble bridges, art-bedecked corridors, and endlessly ornate halls are now open to the marauding public. Empress Cixi, a girl after our own hearts, embezzled funds, with assistance from a corrupt eunuch, from the Chinese Navy in the late 1800s to rebuild these palatial stomping grounds, devastated by the many fires of military incursion.

Floating on Kunming Lake is a giant pleasure boat Cixi had made--of giant slabs of marble; one wonders how it didn’t sink with all of Qing Dynasty’s cash.

One shouldn’t mess with the Cixi. Back in the Forbidden City is a well where she had a usurping concubine drowned.

Now military boys guard and protect all of China’s treasures. But they are distractable-–less at a place like Tianenmen Square, mind you, but certainly more in the atmosphere of leisure and pleasure that exudes at the Summer Palace. I’m guessing that the Summer Palace is one of the preferred tours of duty.

Because we were traveling in the off-season, my pink face and blondish head rose in stark relief against a sea of dark-haired peoples dressed in their dark travel suits. (With a little more tangible wealth, perhaps, the Chinese are now China’s biggest tourists; and one can see in the way they dress that touring is an honor, either that or the Chinese simply don’t dress like slobs. Aside from their habit of spitting everywhere, I’d much rather flow among the monuments with this more respectful kind of crowd.) First, my fellow travelers would look…up…and then they’d look…down (or eye-level, depending). I soon learned the Chinese have no qualms about staring.

All over China, my Tang dynasty breasts had become their own tourist attraction (the Tang Dynasty having its golden age during our late medieval period, during which ostentatious good wealth, health, and thus voluptuousness were in vogue).

Gaggles of civilian men would file by, stop, turn, whisper, then raise their cameras, all smiles and supplicating gestures. “Sure,” I’d say, gamely holding out my hand to take a group picture for them. Before I knew it, I'd be swarmed and click! I was surrounded and captured on Kodak before I could toss back my locks or suck it in.

The military boys were more discreet in their tactics. Mere babes in arms, they presented a fine sense of order with their pressed olive green uniforms, but one couldn't help notice the curious, dark eyes large and soft as teardrops peering out from under their stiff military caps.

After a bit of marching, one would spontaneously leap out of line over a little wall, and the rest of the line would follow suit like ducklings, hop, hop, hop. Then more marching in unison, until one again fell out of formation to pose for a photo op at some monument, the others tumbling around, completely forgetting themselves until a snap-to order from the rank leader summoned them back into line.

Delighted with this playful slipping in and out of order, I pretended to frame their monuments, sneaking snaps of the boys posing in the foreground, or I’d pretend to pose while Jackie pointed the camera over my shoulder instead of at me.

Curiously, the military formation seemed to be keeping up with us wherever we were going, now jumping ahead, now falling back. I realized they were subtly returning the volleys. I haven’t had that much subversive fun since I was in my 20s. These youths couldn’t have been more than 18-21 years old themselves–that’s the required period of military service in China.

Once I was standing on these arched white steps to a pagoda. I paused briefly then moved on before the boys could discreetly whip out their cameras from their military trousers and snap their pictures.

Their groan of disappointment was audible, because by then the game was understood. I was not being a fair player. Thus ensued a photo intrigue from one pagoda to the next, with more advanced tactics. Some were emboldened to run up and stand near me, shoulders straight, hands clasped behind, gazing off in the distance while their picture was taken, others crouched, waiting impatiently to run up and pose for the same sneak snap, until we moved on.

Our flirtation ended, sadly for me, when Jackie decided to just march right up to them and plant herself in the middle of the unit for a group picture. Then I jumped into the fray, trying my best to strike a pose.

I wish I’d had time to remove my bulky money belt from my waist first—but no, that wouldn’t have been very Tang Dynasty of me. We then went our separate ways. The rest of my stay at the Summer Palace somehow felt anticlimatic. But this was just the beginning for my military boys.

I wonder how those Tang boobs will look plastered on The Peoples' barracks’ walls.

Forbidden City Posted by Picasa

Another pic for Megan--your age! Posted by Picasa

Outside Forbidden City Posted by Picasa

Beijing Posted by Picasa

Downtown Beijing. Anything for a bargain.

Tea Sellers in Downtown Beijing Posted by Picasa

Restaurant guys Posted by Picasa

Come in for Peking Duck! Posted by Picasa

Jackie and the Chairman Posted by Picasa

Just knock? Posted by Picasa

Two tourists in Forbidden City Posted by Picasa

Another pic for Megan Posted by Picasa

Wishing Good Luck Posted by Picasa

They don't make rocks like this anymore Posted by Picasa

A picture for Megan Posted by Picasa

Take Note! Posted by Picasa

Forbidden City Posted by Picasa

Gayle Centering Posted by Picasa

Guard Dog Posted by Picasa

Dragon Claw Tree Posted by Picasa

The raw and the cooked.... Posted by Picasa

Forbidden City Posted by Picasa

The inestimable Mr. Ma Posted by Picasa