Everybody's Talkin'

I'd remembered it from living in Beijing over the summer two years ago, but it feels even stronger now. As I walk down the streets of the city, I can't help but hear the dulcet strains of Harry Nilsson in rhythm with my footsteps, and imagine myself as a young Jon Voight, neon Chinese characters drifting past my head (if you don't get the reference, ask your parents, or the internet). In some ways, I'm in a similar situation, except I'll be fruitlessly prostituting myself to the Communist Party instead of wealthy New York heiresses. Sadly, I've left my cowboy hat at home.

Beijing feels like a very different city now than it did just two years ago, and before I get too maudlin and Tintern Abbey-y, it should be worth noting that objectively, things have changed tremendously. For instance, since I was here last, they've completely modernized the subway system. You used to have to wait in line, and an old woman would rip up your paper ticket as you entered. Now they have digital machines, like those in New York, and sleek, fashionable trains. In addition, they've completed three entire new subway lines, including one to the airport, in just two years. I've also heard that they closed down the veritable Elysium of a beer garden in the Wudaokou area that I used to frequent. I'm too heartbroken to go out and check.

Part of my sensation must also come from the fact that I'm traveling alone, and that no city is the same in the summer as it is in the winter. I went to Tiananmen Square today on a walk, and it was surprisingly empty, though a long line of Chinese tourists wrapped almost halfway around Mao's tomb. It was a remarkably clear and cold day, and the snow that had fallen the day before was melting on the rooftops. After snapping a few photographs, which I'll post later, once I figure out how, I walked up to Jingshan Park, which is probably the highest point in Beijing, affording a view directly over the Forbidden City, and by extension across the entire metropolitan area. Looking to the northwest, I could make out the three curved towers of the subway station where I'd lived before. I imagined that returning to a place to which I've had some sort of attachment would evoke either the sort of fond remembrances one receives when tasting the vintage of a smell one hasn't known for a long time (the type of experience that Proust makes such a fuss over); or a sort of elegaic disappointment over the lack of such delight. I've gotten neither so far. In the summer, a metropolis such as Beijing or New York accepts you willingly. She lets you in and promises a season of lightsome pleasure. In the winter, you are only grudgingly admitted.

I'm leaving tomorrow for parts unknown. I have a terrific headache from lack of coffee. I almost bought a cup at the park, but it was 36 RMB. I could eat three huge meals for that price.

Gosh, what a lousy post. I didn't even give any of the essential details. Please bear with me while I figure this blogging thing out. I'll try and compose future posts a bit more beforehand. Unfortunately, the medium is not bending to my loquaciousness. Maybe I'll have to learn a thing or two.