As I wait for my friend from Tianjin to arrive at Gulou metro station, I decide to take a seat outside on the wall. When I exit the station, bicycle-powered taxis and motorcycle taxis stop to ask me if I would like a ride to any particular destination. The bicycle-powered taxis aren’t really convenient for getting from one destination to another. Instead, they are more useful for touring the back alleys and hutongs near the Drum Tower in Beijing. This area of Beijing is different from the developed areas with their skyscrapers, wide roads, and upscale hotels. During and after the Cultural Revolution when China underwent a massive period of self destruction and reconstruction (that’s still going on today), it seemed popular to raze any structure that seemed old-fashioned. Countless buildings with hundreds of years of history were torn to the ground to be replaced by impersonal office buildings and apartments. Anything new was good, and it had to be covered with bathroom tiles that took on a rusted, aged appearance within a year after the construction. More recently, however, the Beijing government has begun to realize the historic value of such places. In an effort to revive its tourism and keep Beijing as a cultural center, many of the old houses in the hutongs are being restored and protected. Only one third of Beijing’s original hutongs still exist. Many hutong alleys around the Drum Tower area have been converted to tourist shops and restaurants. While the area thrives on tourism, it’s still a spot where real people live and work. The countless bicycle taxis that approach you wherever you go are all armed with a powerful set of calves and the same map showing you the route of historic sites to be visited. I’ve never actually taken one myself, preferring to take my time and walk through the hutongs.
I notice a metro security guard to the right of where I am sitting. Well, at least it is a boy dressed in security guard’s clothing. The clothes and hat are too big for him, and by the way he is standing, it looks like he’s on his first day of the job. It’s as if he’s just standing there waiting to catch a bus, and he only just happens to be wearing security guard’s clothes. I look carefully at this boy and decide there’s no way he can be older then 14 or 15. This is not unusual in China. For a country that really does feel safe to me, there are an incredible amount of security guards and most of them seem to be way too young to be guarding anything besides their schoolbooks. Every college has security guards at the gates. Most residential areas have a gate at the front with some security guards. When I taught English in China’s Jiangxi Province, I had a student whose summer job was to be a “milk guard” for the dairy section of a supermarket (no joke!). The guards usually have two different kinds of looks. There is guard A and guard B. Guard A is the type of guard who takes his job seriously. He thinks to himself that he is in a position of power and the residents in the complex are depending on him to keep out all forms of danger including thieves, wild animals, and Osama bin Laden. He stands erect at the gate, saluting whoever enters, or questioning those passersby who seem a bit too suspicious. When no one enters, he scans the area in front of him, moving his head in a 180 degree sweep, as an owl would do searching for its pray. Guard B is the other type of guard. He knows that he’s not needed. He’s just working here because maybe his uncle happened to get him the job for some extra cash. No one will ever rob this apartment complex. There are no bad guys to get. He puts on no pretense and might sit down in a chair and prop his feet up on a table while picking his nose with one finger. Sometimes he’ll be sleeping, sometimes he’ll be studying a book, sometimes he’ll be playing cards with the other guards. Today Little Guard is just standing there pulling his pants up, wondering what the hell he’s going to do today.
I walk up to Little Guard and decide to strike up a conversation to pass the time. I ask Little Guard how old he is, and he quickly replies, “18.” Nicely rehearsed, I think to myself. The next thing to talk about is where he is from. Whenever I meet someone new, I always find this lightens up the conversation. People always enjoy talking about their hometowns because it shows them that you are interested in them. Plus, these little conversations with people like Little Guard are the best way to stick my finger up in the air and really sense in which direction the wind is blowing in China. He tells me that he is from a town called Nanyang in Henan Province. Nanyang is famed for a temple devoted to one of the most famous military strategists in Chinese history, Zhuge Liang. He both worked and tilled here during his lifetime. Henan Province is located in Central China, and with a population of almost 100 milllion it’s the most populous province in the country. In foreigners’ eyes Henan is probably most famous for its Shaolin Temple, a spot noted for its long history of training monks in kung fu fighting styles. In China it has also become famous for its tragic AIDS tainted blood scandal of the 1990s. Recently, I met a girl on a train who informed me that she did not wish to ever go to Henan because she was afraid of getting AIDS. To me, a response such as the one the girl on the train said to me reflects a great deal about the misinformation as to how AIDS is spread. It seems silly to me to be afraid to go to a place for fear of “catching” AIDS. I have been to Henan only once, and I came back unscathed.
I talk with Little Guard for some time and take a picture with him. Always good to learn about a new place and meet a new face. I plan to print this picture out and give it to him the next time I should happen by his post of duty. Perhaps one day I’ll even make a visit to Nanyang. I am curious to see how many guards there are surrounding Zhuge Liang’s cottage. I’m just about to ask Little Guard more questions about Nanyang and Henan when I see my friend pop up on the escalator. Another time, Little Guard, another day Zhuge Liang. Until Nanyang, when we meet again. We’ll share a glass of milk, I’m sure…
