Drum Tower and Bell Tower as seen from Houhai on a winter's day |
(first published in the South China Morning Post, January 25, 2003)
by
Philip J. Cunningham
Beijing
needs look no further than its own backyard to find an environmentally friendly
model for sustainable development. Keeping things green and on a human scale is
a mounting challenge as China undergoes a demolition and construction spree
that may fairly be described as the biggest building boom in the history of
mankind. It’s the rare neighborhood that hasn’t been carved up by a big construction
site.
Shiny
office blocks and bulky residential towers sit astride twelve-lane
thoroughfares, the epitome of modernization, a quick fix for developers in a
rush to get a return on their capital.
The sad reality beneath the glitter of reflective glass and ornamental
gateways is that “progress” has been achieved at the price of destroying
traditional neighborhoods, where people once knew their neighbors, and
replacing them with culturally dead satellite towns where people don’t have
natural opportunities to interact except to exchange uncomfortable glances in
cramped elevators or in parking lots.
Gone is any connection to nature or neighbor, instead one is housebound
in an air-conditioned box without porches or a place to hang laundry far above a
street without shops, separated from work and friends by an ever elongated
commute.
Then
there’s Houhai, a holdout of understated good sense in the midst of the
swirling madness of speculative building and senseless obliteration of the
past.
Since
the days of Marco Polo, the imperial lake district running from Jishuitan to
Zhongnanhai in central Beijing has been a vital neighborhood, the haunt of retired Imperial
officials, writers, artisans and working class folk. The lakes, hand-carved
into Beijing’s arid landscape so long ago they look completely natural, provide
pleasant vistas and establish a firm sense of place. A thickly settled
residential area opens up to three inter-connected lakes rimmed by paved
walkways and overhanging willows, stone bridges and low-rise tile roofed
dwellings. Picturesque Yingding Bridge nestled between Front Lake and Back
Lake, aligned with West Lake in the distance, has for centuries provided a
tree-framed vista of the Fragrant Hills, perfect at sunset. The hills are still
visible today, though distant high-rises and a bank of steel construction
cranes now narrow the view.
What’s
most remarkable about Houhai at this juncture in time is that it has suddenly
become cutting-edge cool because of it’s stubborn continuity with the past,
serving the cultural cravings of residents and visitors equally well. Marble
arches, not golden ones, low rise not high, lanes and alleys, not highways.
As old
Beijing is gobbled up by behemoth projects, the few remaining intact hutong
neighborhoods increasingly bear the brunt of curiosity about the past,
attracting tourists domestic and foreign like never before. Houhai is no theme park, at least not
yet, though the faux antique street under construction on the west shore of
Front Lake suggests it’s only a matter of time, the development fallacy being
that visitors would rather tromp through a fake neighborhood than a real one.
The
tranquility of Houhai demonstrates that contrary to received wisdom, wide
streets don’t alleviate traffic, they attract it; whereas the hutong, being
hard to navigate, discourage most drivers, keeping the area quiet and the air
relatively fresh. Back-street rickshaw rides and candle-lit cruises in
oar propelled wooden boats complete with serenading musicians offer quiet,
green activities consuming not a single watt of electricity.
Houhai doesn’t get the
green bill of health in every respect, coal cakes are still hand fed into
stoves to heat many smaller homes and restaurants and toilet technology got
stuck somewhere in the Ming Dynasty. Where there are tourists, there are
touts. But the basic plan is good
and the problems manageable; steam heat, modern plumbing and discreet
remodeling could improve things without altering the look or function of the
hutong.
The
undeniable charm of seeing Beijingers of modest means unselfconsciously going
about their lives –early birds exercising tai qi style under the trees,
retirees tugging on a fishing line, kids romping around the playground,
students skating on the frozen lake, polar bear club members stripping for a
dip in the icy waters, local chess champs creaming the competition in sidewalk
games, a lady taking clothes off the line, a man repairing bicycles, cooks
working over blazing charcoal fires, middle aged couples going through ballroom
steps under a street light— makes Houhai photogenic and worth a visit. There
are restaurants serving cuisine ranging from Sichuan and Shaoxing to Hakka and
Xinjiang and the lakes are dotted with quiet bars and cafes popular with
couples. Even the abandoned night club –a legacy of an exuberant ex-mayor
jailed for corruption—is easy on the eye as it was artfully designed in the
style of a Qing Dynasty pavilion.
Too much tourism and the
balance will be broken, too little and the cash flow that fends off demolition
will dry up. For the moment the blend is about right, Beijingers generously
share a vanishing way of life respectfully curious outsiders. It’s small, it’s
beautiful, it’s traditional, it’s down to earth. What could be more civilized than that? When will the urban
planning czars figure out that people don’t come to Beijing to buy designer
French handbags and American junk food in gargantuan Hong Kong style malls?
As
I watch some kids horsing around on the shimmering surface of an iced lake
brightened with a fresh coat of snow, a small, sprite woman tells me about her
life as a newcomer to Houhai –she didn’t move into the neighbor until sixty
years ago. We pause to watch a fleet of trishaws with bright red bunting
slither towards Drum Tower and she then steers me to a local hole in the wall
café that can only seat three people at a time. So far, trendy tourism and
neighborhood values co-exist happily in a working neighborhood where old
buildings and old ways are cherished more than ever, where curious locals like
to look at the curious visitors looking at them.

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