Thursday, 5 September 2013

Return to Beijing: Some Things Change, Some Stay the Same. Beijing and Shanxi Part 1

The Metro, the Ming Observatory and Suzhou Hutong

The Metro, How it is and How it was


People's Republic of China
Beijing has seen many changes since our first visit in 2004. Then we were told about the hundreds of hotels that would sprout up before the 2008 Olympics; we visited again in 2007 and saw building work in full swing and the start of a general tidy up following the (reputedly none-to-gentle) relocation of beggars and rough sleepers.

In 2004 there were 2 metro lines, now there are 13 plus an Airport Express which whisked us into central Beijing in 20 minutes, cutting both the journey time and the cost by two thirds compared with a taxi.

In the old days you shouldered your way through a non-queue to buy paper tickets which were torn in half a few paces away by inspectors perched on small stools at the top of the stairs. Now, shiny machines issue tickets with magnetic strips that open automatic gates. Stations on the new lines have escalators, but the originals do not. As the nearest station to our hotel was on the old line 2 we had to manhandle our heavy cases up and down the stairs. The Chinese are becoming increasingly obsessed with security and all baggage is X-rayed as you enter a station. This is done so speedily in crowded stations that it must be more ‘being seen to do something’ than a real contribution to security – which has never been a problem anyway.

Remarkably, while inflation has seen prices rise steadily, a ticket to travel anywhere on the new, enlarged system costs 2 yuan (20p), down from 3 yuan in 2004.

Jet-lagged and half asleep, we learned to use the new technology – all metros are similar but few are identical - and were pleased to be aided by the spontaneous kindness of two locals. A girl took it upon herself to explain the ticket machines, while a middle aged woman gave guidance on getting our cases through the barriers – you have to pull them behind you otherwise the machine interprets it as a fare-dodger and goes into a sulk.

As we would return from Korea and set off on the Chinese leg of the journey from Beijing Zahn (the city’s main railway station) we chose a hotel nearby - actually the same hotel as we had used in 2004 and 2007, though with a new name and under new management.

Beijing Railway Station

We checked in at 10.00 (Chinese hotels are often suprisingly accommodating with early check-ins) and caught up with a night’s lost sleep.

Later we walked the 100m to Dongchang'an Jie the main east-west thoroughfare through the city centre. We had expected to pass a couple of small restaurants we had used on previous visits but one had now become a print shop and the other had vanished completely, perhaps it had disappeared under the 40 stories of the Agricultural Bank of China on the corner of our street and Dongchang'an Jie .

The Ming Observatory

At that corner we turned east, away from the city centre, and after a 15 minute stroll reached the Ancient Observatory.

The Ancient Observatory, Beijing

The Fate of Beijing's Bicycles

Jianguomen still has wide bicycle lanes alongside the main carriageway but there are now few bicycles, though we saw the lane being used by several electric scooters and one in-line skater. At an intersection an old man wearing a fluorescent jacket and armed with a flag and a whistle marshalled the diminished band of cyclists. Such people used to stand self-importantly at every junction, but they have all but disappeared.

Jianguomen Da Jie, Beijing - there is (almost) nobody in the bicycle lane

There also seems to be little call for the Wangbikes (as Beijing’s equivalents to Borisbikes are not called, despite Wang Anshun being the mayor).

Beijing's 'Borisbikes'

In 2004 the Observatory, then partially closed for refurbishment, had lurked behind a patch of unmown grass. That could make a nice little park, I had observed, and lo and behold, in 2007 there was a gang of workmen creating exactly that. The park is still there.

The Courtyard Exhibition

We bought our tickets and passed through a hobbit hole (guess what I had been watching on the plane) into a courtyard containing reconstructed armillary spheres, theodolites and moondials set among shady ‘heritage’ trees.

Through a hobbit hole into the Observatory courtyard, Beijing Ancient Observatory

The Chinese have a genius for creating spaces of calm and quiet in the midst of bustling cities and this was one such place. Exhibition rooms around the perimeter trace the history of astronomy in China. The observatory, completed in 1422, is one of the oldest in the world, but by the mid-17th century Chinese astronomers had fallen behind their European counterparts and after a competition the emperor gave Ferdinand Verbiest, a Jesuit missionary, complete charge of the observatory. Jesuits remained in the forefront of Chinese astronomy until the 1820s, during which time many important books were translated into Chinese and much knowledge was shared.

Lynne in the courtyard of the Ancient Observatory, Beijing

The mathematician in me is delighted by the way Verbiest and his forerunner Matteo Ricci were able to communicate with their hosts. As Catholic priests their beliefs and practices would have differed from the Chinese in almost every sphere, but the certainties of mathematics gave them a common language which neither side could misunderstand. The busts of various other great Chinese mathematicians surround the yard, including Zu Chongzhi, who calculated π to 7 decimal places in the 5th century AD. Although the π notation was not introduced until the 17th century, it was exactly the same concept as had enthralled the Indus civilization, the Arabs and then Christian Europe, though no one matched Zu Chongzhi’s accuracy until 1585.

Zu Chongzhi, Beijing Ancient Observatory
As he died 1500 years ago, it is not unreasonable to question the accuracy of the likeness

The Observatory on a Section of the Ming City Wall

The observatory itself is alongside the courtyard on top of one of the few remaining sections of Beijing’s Ming city wall. It was once a good spot to observe the skies, but now encircled by higher buildings and bathed in light pollution and smog, it is a good spot only for a museum.

On top of the Ancient Observatory, Beijing

Jianguomen, Youtong street and the Suzhou Hutong

After our visit, we walked back down Jianguomen, which is lined with tall buildings, banks and government offices. The traffic roars past, but the wide pavements, kept clean by an army of sweepers and litter pickers, see few pedestrians. There are no shops or restaurants and the space feels unclaimed and impersonal.

Jianguomen Da Jie, Beijing

We turned into Youtong Street towards our hotel. This street is much narrower, the buildings on a more human scale. There are shops, people and the bustle of everyday life. The Railway Station/Youtong Street/Suzhou Hutong district has been the base for all three of our visits to Beijing and it feels familiar, strangely like coming home. It is a village, one among thousands within the city, an untouristy, everyday sort of place. Suzhou Hutong never sees the flag-following hordes on Hutong tours, nothing has been tarted up for show, but even here there have been changes and improvements. In the time we have been visiting it has acquired, among other things, a small local health centre and a clean and hygienic public toilet.

Youting Street, Beijing

Basic Level Dining: High Quality, Low Cost

If the restaurants between our hotel and Jianguomen had disappeared, a couple of simple eating houses remained on the other side and it was to one of these we repaired in the evening.

Restaurants on the corner of Youtong Street and Suzhou Hutong

We were the only foreigners in the restaurant (the one on the right in the picture), but they unearthed an English(ish) translation of their menu from somewhere. The waiter seemed unhappy with our choice of stir fried pork and green beans along with a dish of stuffed peppers but we lacked the language skill to understand why.

The peppers, we discovered, were not stuffed but sliced and mixed with strips of pork. Indeed there was as much pork on this dish – which we had selected from the ‘vegetables’ section of the menu - as there was in the pork and beans, and the two did look remarkably similar, hence the waiter’s consternation.

The peppers were very pleasant with a good thread of ginger running through them. I am not quite sure how to describe the saucing of the other dish but Lynne tasted a bean and said ‘yum’. I tried one and doubled it to ‘yum, yum’. The two dishes may have looked similar, but tasted very different. The food on other people’s plates looked as good as ours and it is a wonder how one man with a wok at the back of what is basically a small shop can produce a constant stream of different, distinctive, appetizing and wholesome food from such a tiny kitchen. Dinner for two, including two large (600ml) bottles of beer cost around £5.

Many things in Beijing may have changed, but we were delighted (though hardly surprised) to find the Chinese genius for creating peace in the middle of bustle, and for producing culinary delights from a hole in the wall remain gloriously undimmed.

Beijing, North Korea and Shanxi

Thursday, 29 August 2013

Chocolate Teapots

Three Pieces of Evidence that Human Beings do not Always Act Rationally

A teapot is a useful, arguably essential, article. You can pay what you like for a teapot; Wedgwood currently offer a Jasper Conran designed china Pinstripe Teapot for a little over £100 and this is a bargain compared with the prices of some antique teapots. I am, though, perfectly happy with this every-day, utilitarian and inexpensive teapot. It does the job perfectly.

A useful, though unremarkable teapot

Some people go into raptures about chocolate. I am not like that, but I do like a bit of choccy (who doesn’t?) whether milk or dark.

If a top Belgian chocolatier, like Pierre Marcolini or Laurent Gerbaud, constructed a Jasper Conran designed teapot using 80% cocoa solids chocolate from, say Ecuador or Madagascar, then he would have produced something rare, expensive - and supremely useless.

But of course, nobody would make a chocolate teapot, would they? On the other hand they might make a ……

Marble Boat.
Summer Palace, Beijing,
August 2007

The Chinese Emperors sited their Summer Palace outside Beijing in the 12th century, though the towers, temples and pavilions seen today date mainly from the early 20th century - the Anglo-French invasion of 1860 and the Boxer Rebellion (1897-1901) destroyed many of the older buildings. The 3 square kilometre site, now between Beijing’s 4th and 5th ring roads, attracts several thousand tourists a day, mainly local but with a good sprinkling of foreigners.

We spent a whole day there. I loved the names of the buildings. Some have a ‘does what it says on the tin’ quality…..

The Glazed Tile Pagoda of Many Treasures, Summer Palace, Beijing

…… while others seem aspirational.

The Hall of Benevolence and Longevity, Summer Palace, Beijing

The site surrounds an artificial lake and the Clear and Peaceful Boat sounds appropriately aspirational. The more usual name The Marble Boat describes it precisely.

The Clear and Peaceful Boat, Summer Palace, Beijing

Obviously a marble boat will never sail anywhere, it was largely used for picnics. There is a story (told even by the usually reliable Rough Guide) that the Dowager Empress Cixi, who ruled China from 1861 to 1908, spent money earmarked for the Imperial Navy on building the marble boat thus contributing to heavy naval defeats during the Sino-Japanese war. In fact, The Marble Boat was built in 1755, but she did spend 30 million taels of the navy’s silver (a lot of money, apparently) on refurbishing and extending the palace and they did lose the war.

The Stone Chariot,
Vijayanagara, Karnatika, India
February 2010

The village of Hampi in northern Karnatika sits inside the ruins of Vijayanagara, the former capital of an empire of the same name. The empire and city were destroyed by the Deccan Muslim Confederacy in 1565.

Many of the city’s building still survive including the Lotus Mahal in the queen’s quarters…..

Lotus Mahal, Vijayanagara

...and the elephant stables.

Elephant Stables, Vijayanagara

Several temples also survive, including Vittala Temple.

The Vittala Temple, Vijanagara

Most Hindu temples have chariots for carrying the deity through the streets during festivals. When not in use they can be parked in specially constructed garages as here at the Chennakeshava temple in Belur in central Karnatika….

Chariot in a garage, Chennakeshava Temple, Belur

….and they can then be taken out and decorated for a festival, like this one in Udipi on the Malabar coast.

Chariot ready to roll, Udipi

Not so the chariot at Vittala temple, it is made of stone and will stand immobile in the courtyard until hell freezes over.

Stone Chariot, Vijayanagara

Mow Cop Castle
Staffordshire.
November 2005

The village of Mow Cop (Mow, pronounced like the Chinese Chairman, not cutting grass) sits on a low hill 6 miles north of Stoke-on-Trent. Open air prayer meetings held here by Hugh Bourne and William Clowes developed into the Primitive Methodist Movement which split from the Wesleyans in 1810. They reunited in 1932.

Mow Cop

Mow Cop Castle is not a classic chocolate teapot, but it is as much use as one. It was built in 1754 by Randle Wilbraham and designed to look like the ruin of a medieval fortress with a round tower. He used it as a summerhouse. More money than sense?

Mow Cop Castle in November sunshine

Saturday, 24 August 2013

Scaling the Mighty Weaver Hills: Cowpat Walk No. 7

A Little Known Range of Hills, an Errant Dog and a Famous, if Contentious, Hymn

Scaling the What?


Staffordshire
East Staffordshire
The Weaver Hills are not, it seems, well known. Typing ‘Weaver Hills’ into Google Maps leads you to Weaver Hills Drive in Aguanga, a tiny, remote desert community in southern California. It is, arguably, even more obscure than Staffordshire’s Weaver Hills.

Driving northeast from Uttoxeter and past the JCB works at Rocester brings you to Ellastone, where the map says there is a left turn to Wootton, the village at the foot of the hills. Lee’s Satnav disagreed – indeed it failed even to recognise Wootton’s existence.

Wootton and the Weaver Hills

Despite the suspicion that we had arrived in some sort of Staffordshire Triangle, the loose cluster of handsome stone buildings looked reassuringly solid. The village even boasts two large country houses; we saw Wootton Lodge at the end of the walk, but missed Wootton Hall, designed by Inigo Jones and now owned by the Greenall brewing family. Jean-Jacques Rousseau lived there in 1776 and suffered a mental breakdown, which is what you get for living in a mystic triangle.

Walking through Wootton
l to r: Alison, Francis, Lee, Sue

Nothing, of course, can be real unless it has a virtual existence. I am thus happy to report that both Wootton and the Weaver Hills have Wikipedia entries. From the latter we learn that the Weavers are ‘considered to be the most southerly peaks of the Pennines.’ Well, maybe.

Wikipedia also call them a ‘small range of hills.’ They looked large enough from where we stood, certainly larger than my father-in-law, and if all seeing Google can spot him standing on his drive,. [Update 2022: Google maps now seem to recognise the Weaver Hills - and it is this blog that has made the difference (I claim, without evidence).]

The Weaver Hills, not huge, but difficult to miss

We are Joined by an Uninvited Dog

On the edge of the village a spaniel (of sorts) came racing down a side-road to join us.

As we followed the lane towards the hills the dog came with us, frequently finding a way through the hedges to left and right, but always returning to the lane, sometimes ahead of us, sometimes behind.

Beyond the cricket club we entered open country and it seemed wise to send the mutt home. Lee called the dog to him with a masterful voice. It ran over, lay at his feet and looked up for further instructions. ‘HOME!’ said Lee. The dog continued to look at him. ‘HOME!’ he repeated in a very masterful voice while pointing towards the village. The dog remained unmoved.

Alison, who rarely talks in capital letters, grabbed its collar and found a phone number. She called the number but it did not exist. There was nothing else we could do, if the dog wanted to come with us, then there was no way to stop it.

The Ascent

We made our way into the gap between the two main peaks.....

Into the gap between the two main peaks of the Weaver Hills

....and at the highest point – calling it the ‘top of the pass’ seems too grand - we turned left and climbed up to the trig point.

On the summit of the Weaver Hills

It had taken us 45 minutes from base camp to summit, which makes you wonder what they do all day on Everest. To be fair, the Weavers rise to a dizzy 372 metres, 130m lower than Shutlingsloe (see Cowpat 5) – and that is only the third highest peak in Cheshire!

From the Summit to Hoften's Cross

On better days the view to the south and west would have been good, but it was a cool, misty morning and the clouds threatened rain. The views to the northeast involved quarries, whatever the weather.

Wardlow Quarry from the top of the Weaver Hills

We had ascended the steep south-western side, but to the north-east the land slopes very gently towards the Staffordshire Moorlands – the Weavers are a one-sided range of hills.

We paused for coffee in the shelter of a limestone scar. The dog ran off and we thought we had seen the last of him, but as soon as we were back on our feet he was there, wagging his tail and eager to continue.

Towards Wardlow Quarry on the flatter side of the Weavers

Round Wardlow Quarry


Staffordshire
Moorlands
The path round the back of Wardlow Quarry had little to recommend it. The dog found a half rotted piece of rabbit, or maybe a bird - it was too decayed to be certain - and proceeded to eat it. Then it lay in a puddle. Sue picked up a length of bailer twine in case the need arose to put it on a lead.

Beyond the quarry we turned down a pleasanter valley and for a while the dog disappeared. It reappeared, shooting across our path in hot pursuit of a panic stricken rabbit. That, we thought, might be the last we would see of it, then we started to retrace our steps as we had taken the wrong path.

The wrong way down a pleasanter valley, near Wardlow Quarry

The dog re-joined us on the right path as we made our way past a campsite where people were doggedly pitching tents and looking forward to the dubious pleasures of a cool, damp bank holiday weekend. At one point the aroma of frying bacon drifted across. It smelled good to me, and the dog obviously agreed. We might have lost it at this point, but the campsite fence proved impenetrable.

Dealing with the Dog

It seemed a good idea to put the dog on the makeshift lead before we reached the B-road, but it ran ahead and crossed the road while we were talking about it. A couple of hundred metres further would bring us to the A52, which is neither big nor busy as A-roads go, but is still an A-road. Stopping well short of the road Lee called the dog over and Sue slipped the nylon bailer twine through its collar. Another look at the phone number suggested that Alison may have misread a rather worn 6 as a 5, so she called again. This time the owner answered. He had observed the dog chasing after us and had expected it to return, but we were now so far away that seemed unlikely. We would next follow the main road to Hoften’s Cross and the owner agreed to drive out and meet us there.

Fifteen minutes later we made the rendezvous. The owner thanked us, stuck his very wet and dirty dog in the boot and drove off. I speak only for myself, but I was happy to see him go; I do not really like dogs, not even clean ones.

Millennium Garden, Hoften's Cross

Hoften's Cross to Cotton

Leaving Hoften’s Cross (not a particularly attractive village, but at least it has kept its apostrophe) we passed a sawdust repository (what does anyone do with all that sawdust?) and proceeded into open country.

Leaving Hoften's Cross

We were now in pleasantly rolling countryside. A village nestled in the valley before us, the thin, elegant spire of its church sticking out above the trees.

Down towards Cotton

The Former Cotton College

When we reached the valley all was not as it had seemed. After passing a couple of stone houses we came to this sad sight.

The former Cotton College, Cotton

Cotton Hall, I have since learned, was built in 1630. In 1873 a catholic boys’ boarding school moved here from Wolverhampton and changed its name to Cotton College. The school occupied the site for 100 years, but the time for such institutions passed and after struggling for some years it finally closed in 1987. It is a shame that the building has been left to decay.

A few paces up the road, the parish church of St John the Baptist hides behind a hedge. The small, neat church was built in 1795, but it obviously lacks the spire we had seen earlier.

St John the Baptist, Cotton

Augustus Pugin, Frederick Faber and Faith of My Fathers

The spire belongs to St Wilfrid’s 50m further up the road. Before becoming a school Cotton Hall had been the home of Frederick Faber and the religious community he founded. Faber had been an Anglican priest but followed John Henry Newman in converting to Catholicism. Augustus Pugin designed St Wilfrid’s Church which was built in 1846 soon after Faber moved in. The church became the chapel of the college and stayed in use until 2010 when it was closed as the roof was dangerous. Like Cotton Hall it is now rotting quietly.

The spire of St Wilfrid's, Cotton

Faber was a prolific hymn writer and many of his hymns are still sung. The best known, Faith of our Fathers was written in Cotton and has two versions, one for Ireland (which had never deserted catholicism) and one for England (which did). The third verse of the English version…

Faith of our fathers, Mary’s prayers
Shall win our country back to Thee;
And through the truth that comes from God,
England shall then indeed be free.

In the 1970s and 80s I taught in a catholic comprehensive school in Birmingham. The hymn, including the verse above, was regularly sung at the end of term mass. My (overwhelmingly Irish) catholic colleagues used to earnestly discuss whether it was appropriate for them to sing it. As a prod/agnostic (and a Welsh one, to boot) I thought it best to keep my own council.

Lunch in Cotton

Most of the village of Cotton is a little further down the road. Unlike Cotton College, Faber (Voluntary Aided) Catholic Primary School looked to be thriving. A little further on, at the crossroads, we reached Ye Olde (sic) Star Inn where we briefly paused.

Ye Olde Star Inn, Cotton

Lunch at Ye Olde Star was accompanied by a couple of pints of Black Sheep which is always pleasing. Sue had a bowl of chips, a perverse choice from someone who once came on a fish and chip walk and ate chicken and pasta.

From Cotton Back to Wootton, via Deer Parks and Large Houses

Lunch over, we had a moment of uncertainty outside the pub as none of the four roads led in the right direction. The fifth road, the one we wanted, was hiding round the corner.

We soon found it and 500m later turned off across a patch of woodland......

...across a patch of woodland...

....to a gate in the deer fence surrounding Wootton Park. Most of the afternoon would be spent crossing classic English parkland.

Into Wootton Park

Alton Towers

To our right we could see Alton Towers, or at least the former stately home of the Talbot family, the largely forgotten part of the theme park. The wind was in the right direction so we were spared the public address, the music and the screaming. I have lived in Staffordshire for 20 years and have never been to Alton Towers - and see no reason to change that.

Alton Towers across the valley
East Staffordshire

Leaving the parkland through woods, we joined a minor road which rounded a small lake before petering out beside a field of brassicas. Following the field boundary took us to a stile into more woods and then to another minor road.

..a minor road rounded a small lake....

The sun had put in a late appearance and we followed the pleasantly shaded road – unaccountably known as Waste Lane - up through rocks and woodlands until a footpath sign directed us to a crack in the wall.

...a footpath sign directed us to a crack in the wall.

Wootton Lodge and its Deer Park

Being well-nourished I found the space a touch small. We emerged onto what I at first thought was a golf course. The immaculate fairways turned out to be the lawns of Wootton Lodge which was built in 1611, badly knocked about in the civil war and restored in 1700. It is now owned by JC Bamford who has, so far, resisted the temptation to paint it yellow.[Actually, JC Bamford died in 2001, the house is now owned by his son, Anthony Bamford].

Wootton Lodge

We crossed Sir JCB’s lawn, disappeared into a small wood and re-emerged in his deer park. The grass here had been grazed rather than manicured, but still looked better than my lawn.

A selection of JCB's deer

Rather than attempt to find a tricky path through the wood we followed the estate road to the park entrance. After a breather we took a we took a broad path through the woods, down to the road and back to Wootton.

Ripe Rowanberries in the day's final section of woodland

Despite the dire weather forecast and the morning mistiness, the clouds threatening rain had failed to deliver and then gone off in a huff leaving an afternoon of gentle warmth and even some sunshine. Amid signs that autumn is not far away, we had made the best of a pleasant late summer’s day.

The Cowpats