Drum Tower and Chairs on Ice

According to the Duke of Zhou, if you dream that a rainbow comes out in the sky, it means that your life will be a fortunate one. Also, it is a bad day for moving earth and doing construction or renovation, but a good day for going to school and going out and walking about. The lucky gate is in the southeast.

We slept in a little more than we meant to (see, the superstition is true), and got a late start on our day's activities. Initially we had planned to go see the Ming tombs. This may sound like a gloomy thing to do on only the second day of the New Year, but we were thinking of it this way: we had already seen four out of five of the Five Great Sites of Beijing (Altar to Heaven, Forbidden City, Great Wall, Summer Palace) and the Ming tombs were the last one left. We probably would have had enough time to go do it, but the guide book led us astray. After trudging around Xizhimen (land of freeway interchanges) for about an hour searching for the 845 bus, we suddenly got ran out of patience and gave up the whole idea. Might as well leave something for next time!

Instead, we decided to go grab some lunch and have a look at the Drum Tower. We ate lunch at a little hole in the wall restaurant called Noodles of Old Beijing. They had no English menu and no pictures either. The waitress was initially a bit alarmed to see us, but seemed comforted that I could speak and read. Sometimes I think it is strange and amazing that I can speak and read. Colin had vegetarian cut noodles and I had kungpao chicken. Yep, kungpao chicken is real Chinese food, but they make it with stir-fried cucumbers here, and less sweet.

The Drum Tower was rather wonderful. Initially built in the 13th century (though clearly rebuilt several times since), it was a functional thing for a long time: private citizens didn't have clocks, and the drum tower was there to let people know what time it was.

There was a steep staircase up to the drum platform.


Then inside there was a water-clock...



...And many drums, each with its own name.



The drums are all reproductions, except one: it had been broken by the Western invaders in 1900.

Colin said: they sure know how to make a person feel guilty. Why'd they go for the drums anyway? Let's go attack these drums.

The broken drum was very sad.


Out on the balcony we could look down on the roofs of the old hutong part of the city.


Flocks of birds were wheeling about. Every time they came near, we heard a strange noise--the only thing we can figure is that the drum tower had some kind of bird-repelling mechanism, because it sure didn't sound like a natural bird noise!



We had walked around to the back when we heard the drums start to beat. The expression on Colin's face was precious. We went running!

The drum performance was brief and perfunctory but glorious anyway.

Afterward we looked out on the city some more. We decided to head for the lake where we could see people ice-skating.


It was a bit of a walk, but a pleasant one. We had initially planned to go to Beihai, but Qianhai was closer. It was a charming tourist lakefront, very reminiscent of the U.S. or Europe, aside from the very many pedicab men crowding around and offering hutong tours. Sad but annoying both at once.

We found a Starbucks and had coffee and some sugar-ear doughnuts we had bought earlier. Then we debated whether it would be possible to get Colin into an ice-chair.


Meanwhile, we strolled around the lake-shore, watching a resin-sculptor make shapes out of resin, checking out a bottom-heavy snowman, and generally enjoying ourselves.



Finally, we made our way to the ice-chair rental place. I had decided that if I didn't get us out on an ice-chair, I would regret it. While Colin looked out over the lake, I asked the ticket sellers the price (20 RMB), and then I said, "My boyfriend is really big. Do you have big ones?" "Sure," they said, "no problem." "Are you sure?" I asked, and pointed. They looked. I looked. All the bystanders looked. There was a moment of collective cogitation. Fortunately, Colin had his back turned. "Should be fine," the ticket-seller pronounced.

I took our ticket down the rickety ramp and onto the ice. The chair-man saw me and started to try to give me the thinnest, smallest, most rickety chair. I didn't say anything, just pointed to Colin coming up behind me and the chair-man did a fast about-face and picked out one of the biggest and sturdiest. Practically like a throne. I'm sorry it was impossible to get a picture of the two of us doggedly poling our way across the ice, but try to imagine it.


Here are pictures of us taken in turns.



It was an activity where being collectively pretty heavy slowed one down a lot, and propelling ourselves made a pretty good workout for the arms. It turned out to be rather more fun to push each other, which took practically no effort and felt thrillingly scary. Anyway, we had a superb time and got all tired out.

Back at home, we decided we needed to eat Korean food. Since the closest Korean restaurant had recently been demolished, we walked south and east in search of another one I had seen from my bicycle. As usual, distances that seem short on a bike turn out to often be a really long walk. But we did find the place, and had a big feast. We grilled meat (for me) and mushrooms (for Colin), also had scallion pancake, fried tofu, a huge variety plate of kimchee, barley tea, and beer. Glorious feast.