Come Dancing...

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  Beijing, China
Sunday, March 2, 2008

The first of March is beautiful in Beijing.  Sunny and incredibly warm for the winter, but of course, I wouldn't know because I sleep most of the day away.  That is what Saturday's are for, but ingesting nearly a cubic gallon of distilled juniper berries in the form of an off-brand Singapore Gin on Friday night helps.  I did wake several times during the day to make full note of the incredible effects that unrefined spirits can have on an empty stomach.  I prefer to blame "something I ate," and lift a line from Jackie Gleeson who once said to Edith Head, Mahatma Ghandi , and his personal driver, Pedro over a dozen of so vodka martinis at Hollywood's Musso and Frank's on late Saturday night, "I must have gotten a bad olive."
After a long day of recovery, I vow I will not waste the entire day due to some misguided decisions of the previous 24 hours.   Even though I am leaving most of my rational mind behind, I venture out of my cocoon, and witness most of Beijing coming out theirs.  It is the first really nice day, and everyone is out.   Kites are flying, children are playing football (soccer) and everyone is basking in the brilliance of the sun.  I am trying to keep my stomach from leaving its location and stop it from trading places with my Adam's apple. With incredible focus, I start walking and walking...in a different direction than I have traveled before and more of the Chinese capital opens up to me.  New Shopping Centers, restaurants and a very strange stretch of several miles that seems to house only used bicycle stores and noodle shops.  There are literally thousands of people just out, sitting on park benches, playing with pets, riding bikes, and buying street food from rusted bicycle carts.
When I come to a small square outside of a brand new shopping mega-plex, I stumble on to a truly uniquely Chinese experience, and I am transfixed for the next 45 minutes.  On the concrete sidewalks and along the front entryways, a group of elderly Chinese have created a old fashioned ballroom, sans the wooden floor, the tuxedos and the orchestra.  A large, badly damaged Tape Blaster held together with cellophane tape and scrap wire plays out Big Band sounding Chinese dance music, and at least 50 old men and women dance intricate dance steps in the twilight on the pavement outside the opening of the mall.   A group of seemingly semi-intoxicated men mill about the group trying to raise a partner to join the festivities.  One old man dancing the complicated dance steps with an imaginary lady, who he surely imagines is dressed in a beaded gown and pearls.  He spins; he dips and bows to his partner, and at end of each song he bows to her, although to the rest of us, she doesn't exist.   As the tape continues to whirl on, he picks up the next number just where the last left off, with the same dancing partner...or perhaps his imagination has replaced the last girl with a new one, this time a Scandinavian Princess with long legs and devilish smile. 
I pull up a spot on a wooden bench and allow this moment to sweep over me.  Temporarily I am at The Waldorf , September 1928.  The broken concrete is now Mahogany, the lamp posts- crystal chandeliers, and hissing cassette tape- The Paul Whiteman Orchestra just returning after a lengthy engagement playing the Lido deck on the latest Atlantic passage abroad The White Star Luxury Liner.  And the old man dancing alone, shares his dance with whomever he fancies. Although the impromptu tea dance lacks the melodies of George and Ira Gershwin and sips from clandestine hip flasks...Beijing continues to amaze and on nights like this, soothe a weary traveler a long way from home.

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