Postcards from abroad, episode 2: from a hutong in Beijing

When you first land in Beijing, the new terminals of the airport are stunning. At the right time of day, the high curved ceilings make you feel like you're in a golden bamboo forest. For such a huge place, the airport felt empty and quiet.

Having stayed awake most of the twelve hour flight over, it was a struggle to keep my eyes open for the taxi ride into town. All I remember of that first trip down the airport expressway is the lights of a city at night. I remember that particular shade of orange with the slightest hint of foreignness. Which seemed odd, considering how far I'd come.

But when we were deposited at the start of a dirt road next to a sign that claimed our hostel was to be found somewhere within the sandy maze, it was real. The first couple of steps through the dark narrow streets felt like I'd walked through a time warp. There were bright lights strung up for the construction that would go on from about 6 or 7 am until 10 at night every day we were in Beijing. I couldn't imagine that those particular pipes which were being installed so urgently were for the Olympics, but then again, everything is for the Olympics. Near the construction site there was a fruit stall set up, a fruit stall that only appeared at night. I'd read about the way crowds form in China, and the six or seven people standing around the hole in the ground, watching, were the first of many crowds I'd watch materialize.

The first couple of days, we'd head out of the hutong to see the Sights. And we ate at Kylie's restaurant because it boasted the ability to serve us in English. Even in something as familiar as a big city, that particular sign was surprisingly inviting.

But towards the end of our stay, I thought we should try walking up our street the other direction. The way that doesn't lead straight out to the main road. And that day was when it felt like I discovered China. Not because the houses are small and packed in close. Or because it can be hard to walk a bike through these back streets with all the construction and enormous piles of soft sand which will be used to mix cement by hand. But there is a life in the hutong that is either hidden or just too diluted on the main roads. You can find the same attention grabbing shouts and tugs on your arm in Silk Street, but there is something more honest and intimate in the hutong. This is where China lives. Judging by the walls being thrown up to hide the view, it's not the face China means to show, but I thought it was beautiful.