Dear Family and Friends,

A visit to China’s Forbidden City began my second morning in Beijing. The old city is set on a long north-south axis, making it very hard for a visitor to get lost. Perhaps it was the chill in the wind or my inadequate morning coffee, but the walk from the subway to the Forbidden City felt as if would never end. I emerged from an underground stairway, past a roped-off chokepoint of some eight unsmiling military police officers in long olive green coats and rounded fur hats. Outwardly I smiled at the officers but when my smile was neither acknowledged nor returned, inwardly I quaked at the sight of them. I am not accustomed to visible military control.

I began walking from the southern most point of Tiananmen Square, a square of tremendous proportions, paved in textured granite, edged by buildings with an air of importance about them, including the National Museum of China (a hulking skeleton in the midst of renovation) and the Great Hall of the People. Tiananmen Square, of course famous to us Americans as the site of the 1989 violent protest suppression, is actually a plaza of long-standing political significance. Named for the Gate of Heavenly Peace that dominates its northernmost point, the Square also once held a ceremonial gate of great importance latterly known as the "Gate of China" which used to remain closed except when the Emperor passed - commoner traffic was diverted to side gates. However, since the end of the Chinese empire, the Square has been open and the site of many well-photographed political events such as Mao Zedeng's proclamation that established the People's Republic of China, a host of military might displays on "National Day" and for rallies during the Cultural Revolution. The Square's significance to Chinese culture is such that it has been the site of many protests besides the well-known 1989 one. Today, the Square is not only colossal but it houses an imposing mausoleum with Mao Zedong’s body and a gigantic Obelisk monument to the People's Heroes. As I briskly continued north, my attempts to capture the size, the military control, or the feel of Tiananmen Square with my camera were fruitless.


Walking the breadth of Tiananmen Square, passing the hoards of early morning tourists posing for pictures with a portrait of Mao, walking under the imposing red of the Tiananmen Gate, down a wide, tree-lined cobblestone corridor, reminded me of the movie The American President when the fictional president said that, "The White House is the single greatest home court advantage in the modern world." The red walls around me seemed to stretch higher, imposing their shade. I felt my own insignificance most acutely: I was one amongst a large crowd during one minute of one day, one amongst the billions of ages. I wondered if Beijing might've been classified as the greatest home court advantage of the old world.

Evading aggressive hawkers and tour guides, I purchased an entrance ticket and continued northward under the arch of yet another gate into a courtyard dominated by an artificial “Golden Stream” described to be in the shape of an archer's bow. I paused on one of its five white marble bridges to trace the bow shape with my eyes but froze watching distant two soldiers marching towards me. I backed out of their path, realizing that they were not after me. Their course was invisible but their precision tight as they proceeded to the southern corner of the courtyard. Then another two soldiers advanced with the same precision on the same pre-designated course. Reluctantly I unfroze while again inwardly quaking yet another show of the military; I would observe similar displays throughout the day.

At that very moment, and really for some time to come, I kept pinching myself - yes, figuratively. I could hardly believe that I was inside the Forbidden City. Completed in 1420, the palace complex that I was standing in housed 24 emperors over 491 years. I cannot find two statistics that agree – a BIG surprise considering my Great Wall experience – so I’m going to pass on The Palace Museum’s brochure’s assurances that the complex exceeds 10,763,910 square feet and that the buildings occupy a mere 17% of the space. The complex, on the afore-mentioned north-south axis, can be further split into two sections: the expansive southern Outer Court used for governing, ceremonies, and governing ceremonies and the cozier Inner Court where the emperor and empress, consorts and concubines, lived along with buildings for administrative activities. What I can assure you from personal experience is that despite its layout, the Forbidden City is too big not to get lost in.

I had started in the Outer Court where the building directly ahead and the ones that followed held familiarity bred by coffee table books. I crossed the Gate of Supreme Harmony, mostly obscured by scaffolding, and gasped from the edge of the famous court where majestic ceremonies were held. Unfortunately more scaffolding hid the Hall of Supreme Harmony (they were spiffing it up for the Olympics, I imagine) nonetheless, I could still see carved white marble tiers and a heavy gold-colored tiled roof. I paced the perimeter, exploring visual angles, and briefly detoured into the Pavilion of Spreading Righteousness to check out the “Weapons and Armors of the Qing Dynasty” and the “Qing Dynasty Ritual Music.” Both exhibitions turned out more kitschy than enjoyable so I returned to my north-south axis, past the Hall of Central Harmony, and the Hall of Preserving Harmony. Each bronze description was emblazoned with, “Made Possible by The American Express Company.” Shocking!


Still heading northward, I found that the Gate of Heavenly Purity is connected to the Palace of Heavenly Purity by a marble causeway. The Emperor’s living quarters were in the Palace of Heavenly Purity – a name that I regarded with skepticism.

“Where do these building names come from?” I asked myself. “What do we in the West name our buildings after? Architectural features?” (The Hall of Mirrors?) “Function?” (The Grand Apartment of the King?). Intellectually I admired the Chinese salutes to virtue but I am too cynical for high-minded building names.

Although I did find the Hall of Union aptly named. Apparently, as mentioned, the emperor would reside in the Palace of Heavenly Purity while the empress, representing the earthly Yin in contrast to the emperor’s heavenly Yang, would live in the Palace of Earthly Tranquility. The Hall of Unity stood between the two palaces and was the designated location where the emperor and empress would “mix their Yin and Yang to produce harmony.” The Hall of Unity seemed overly spacious for comfort, which lead me to feel rather sorry for the emperors and empresses – I imagine that the pressure that they must’ve experienced within that room would have been extraordinary, and less than pleasurable.

Beyond the Palace of Earthly Tranquility was the Imperial Garden, which probably contains its share of earthly tranquility but it was too wintery and too crowded for me to derive any feelings of tranquility from my visit. I loved a garden shelter – a better architectural definition now escapes me – with an intricately painted dome, unmarred by recent restoration. And I was especially taken by two cypresses in the garden, not due to their appearance, but because, well, read the picture.


The romantic in me sighed.

It wasn’t long after falling for twisted cypresses that I knelt to peak through another ochre arch at high hill built of the dirt from removed from the Forbidden City’s moat. The gate blocking my view was northernmost and satisfyingly dubbed the “Gate of Divine Prowess.” Later I would climb that dirt hill and realize that the Gate of Divine Prowess is famous in photographs, with seemingly countless gold tiled roofs of the Imperial Palace shifting behind it.

Having reached the northernmost point of the Forbidden City, I turned to search for royal treasure. And the Imperial Treasure Gallery was enjoyable – in great part because I could warm my dripping nose. The exhibition contained predictable jewel-encrusted jars, Buddhas and daggers, humungous jade urns. I was most taken by a golden globe, engraved with names and studded with pearls. I took a million bad pictures but didn’t linger. I had clocks to see.

Ok, so, family, friends. Did you know that I love clocks? Admittedly, this is an ironic facet to my personality considering that I never miss an opportunity to be late. Nevertheless, I admire the science and the precision of clockwork, and I cannot wait to be rich so that I can buy beautiful clocks. No doubt I’ll ignore expensive clocks as ably as I ignore the cheap ones! Anyway, LP described the Imperial Clock Exhibition as “unmissable” and indeed, they were extraordinary.

The building that housed the clocks was dark, only the occasional ray of sunshine sliced dust through cracks in the window shades. The display cases were dusty too. The exhibit began with an explanation: in 1602, Galileo Galilei discovered the key property which inspired the later invention of the pendulum clock by Christiaan Huygens in 1656. Consequently, sometime during the early Qing Dynasty (1644-> ), European-made mechanical clocks began to be imported into China. By the eighteenth century, many clocks produced in both Europe and China were brought to the Qing palace, purchased as gifts. Clocks were exquisite to the point that they were considered precious palace furnishings. Hmm… anyway, then I began to move from an amazing clock to an enormous clock, from an original clock to an incredible clock, from marvelous clock to a meticulously wrought pocket watch, and back to another amazing clock… Each clock seemed more incredible than the last incredible clock: there were clocks with moving figurines, inland jeweled faces, gold tiers, Greek goddesses, clocks clasped in a lady’s hand or shaped like steam ships. The awesomist clocks included early robotics: one clock was pulled atop a gold carriage by a mechanized elephant while another gilt copper clock set a robot dressed in European clothes into writing Chinese characters with a brush. Wonderful, truly, extraordinary.


I began to wind down after the clocks. Outside the sun shone but it was cold – I mean layers + long underwear and wind-chill-in-the-teens kind-of cold. I wandered the Forbidden City for another hour or so of gold tiled roofs, bronze “peach vats,” dragons painted in gold, and unending red walls before I realized that I need to sit before I collapsed. So I turned south, again traversing that north-south axis.

As I departed, parched and chilled, I reflected upon an ache that I had discovered during my visit: I ached for the ability to imagine life in the Forbidden City. My visit felt like walking in a magnificent shell. Signs that stated things like, “Inscription written by Emperor Qianlong” meant nothing to me. I wanted to picture an empress in her quarters, surrounded by exquisite clocks, I longed to attend an imaginary feast hosted by an emperor. (Yes, I was hungry at that point!). And I wondered: how would I have fared if my visit had been to a palace in a Western country?


In fact, please, imagine for a moment, if you will, that you are on your first visit to the Chateau de Versailles, in the French Republic. Versailles, also once the seat of kings, still breath-taking. During your visit you would likely find yourself strolling through state bedrooms, examining the kitchens, gawking at your distortions in 350 mirrors, often pausing to read plaques detailed with history. As you tour the palace, you would know – just know – a myriad of details about Versailles. You wouldn't need a guide to tell you that king and queens ruled France from the very rooms you were standing in; you would already be aware, vaguely, of the monarchs that ruled France: Louises, Philips, Henries, perhaps the Xth or XVIth of their kind. You would know that their queens were descended from the royalist of the European royal: Adelaide of Aquitaine, Anne of Brittany, Catherine de' Medici, Mary Tudor, Maria Antonia of Austria. Perhaps you were lucky enough to study France and its history in detail: alliances and violent divisions, flamboyant affairs, high philosophy, fashion and food that exceeds substance to the point of art. And even if your education about France lacked cohesion, you have no doubt seen, at some point in the past, paintings of French royals: what they ate, the shapes of the glasses that they drank from, what they sat on, how they dressed, who they worshipped, where they slept. Therefore, during your tour of Versailles, your factual mind could enliven your imagination with a myriad of detail, absorbed throughout your entire life, which would allow you to tour the present-day museum known as the Chateau de Versailles and see the past.

(Oh, my! I'm imagining Versailles so vividly that I'd kill for a decent glass of Cabernet Sauvignon!).

Anyway, from France, we Americans inherited a certain number of customs (including fine wine drinking!), societal structures, ethical values, not to mention certain aesthetics and technologies. I imagine that we continue to have much more in common with France than we realize. Indeed, we have a lot in common with France; we have a lot, lot less in common with China.

This realization crashed upon me as I balanced on not perfectly even cobble stones in front of the Forbidden City’s famous Hall of Supreme Harmony – and drew a blank. I couldn't summon the name of a single emperor or empress, I didn't know the Ming Dynasty from the Qing Dynasty. I had no clue who had inhabited the compelling palace that I was then standing in, let alone what they ate, what they sat on, or who they worshipped. Yet if I had been on a visit to the Palace of Versailles, I would’ve ably been able to guess.

It became clear to me that over the span of years, our society plants bits and layers of knowledge within us in a variety of ways. We utilize our knowledge (our Western-cultural knowledge) without being aware how much we know. That day in the Forbidden City taught me how much I know, in a new way, and reminded me, again, how much I do not know.

Recalling pieces of Versailles but avidly soaking in final impressions of the Imperial Palace of China, I walked out of the Forbidden City, once the seat of emperors, still breath-taking, and towards a glass of jasmine flower tea and a very heavy night’s sleep.

--Laura