Beijing's Fragrant Hills

Yesterday (April 4^th) I went on an adventure with my Chinese teacher, Maggie. She asked me if I would like to visit the Fragrant Hills (香山). I hadn’t yet visited this part of Beijing, so I happily accepted the invitation. Some people advised me that it would be too busy to go there at this time. I did not heed their warnings.

The Qing Ming Festival (清明节) takes place this weekend. During this period, families will traditionally visit the graves of their relatives and pay their respects through prayer and tomb sweeping. This also means that there are a large number of people travelling, particularly to the Fragrant Hills area, as there is a cemetery nearby and parks where people can spend the remainder of their holiday.

Despite this knowledge, I still decided to travel to the Fragrant Hills. After all, this is China; there was always going to be a crowd of some degree. Taking the subway for an hour to the West of Beijing, I didn’t think there was anything strange about not getting a seat for the entire journey. It not until the next part of my journey, when I mounted the bus that the alarm bells started to ring.

Every bus that arrived at the station was already full to the brim. Each bus that stopped caused an ocean of people to surge forward and clamber aboard the already crammed vehicle. I casually waited and foolishly thought that perhaps after a while, the numbers would dwindle. Then impatience gripped hold of me and I stubbornly planted myself on the first step of the next passing bus.

Hanging out of the doorway, two other people joined me and I felt my internal organs getting rearranged as the door swiveled shut around us. It is no exaggeration that there was barely any room to breathe. I wanted to take a photograph and document the time I endured in this tin-of-sardines-on-wheels. Unfortunately, there was no room to manoeuvre so I couldn't reach my phone. I had to exert all my energy grabbing hold of a pole in the vain attempt to steady myself, because every time the driver slowed down, a domino effect rippled down the bus like a Newton’s cradle of doom.

Twenty minutes into the journey, the bus came to a complete standstill. I was now lodged in a stationary prison teeming with frustrated captives. It would have been a claustrophobe’s nightmare. How ironic that to reach the Fragrant Hills, I had to withstand the smell of profusely perspiring prisoners (myself included).  It may have been due to the lack of oxygen, but I started to find the situation slightly comical. Many passengers decided to get out and walk the remaining twenty minutes to the Fragrant Hills. I also decided to escape and contacted my teacher to inform her that I was going to be late. Luckily, she was also tardy due to the same hordes of people flocking to the Fragrant Hills.

I finally found my teacher and she explained that in order to avoid the throngs of people visiting the parks, we should take a lesser-known route up through the hills. It turns out, that “lesser-known” meant that she was also clueless about where the trail would end up. Nevertheless, it was a fun experience.

We began the hike through a quiet village and I was pleasantly surprised by the lack of people. There was a steady incline as we passed some small groups of chattering people. I stopped to take some photographs of Tibetan prayer flags that I often see in images of the Himalayas.

It soon became evident that we would have to continue our ascent up a steep, rocky pathway if we wanted to reach the summit. Luckily, a man just ahead of us was blasting out some Chinese power ballads, which offered a rather motivating soundtrack to the climb.

 

The man with the green backpack was treating us to the Chinese equivalent of Bon Jovi and Heart.

It was quite tiring, but overall a fun hike with just the right amount of peril. From the top, the views were rather hazy, although thankfully not due to the pollution levels being too high. After walking along a road, we took a different path down the side of the mountain and it was then that Maggie admitted she was lost. She asked some other ramblers for directions, but they told her that our preferred destination was too far away. Instead, we would have to continue along the pathway that would take us to the Botanical Gardens. I was quite happy with this impromptu detour.

The Botanical Gardens (植物园) were boasting their evidence that spring had arrived. The mountain itself looked almost autumnal, but the flowers in the park were bursting into bloom.

In addition to the plethora of plants, the park is also home to a famous sleeping Buddha and a museum dedicated to one of China’s most famed authors, Cao Xueqin. I made a mental note to read his novel, Dream Of The Red Chamber soon.

I had sleep-envy when I saw the Buddha resting peacefully.

Cao Xueqin

It was late afternoon when Maggie suggested that we visit her favourite fish hot-pot restaurant. I had certainly worked up quite an appetite. We selected the ingredients to add to the fish soup and rewarded our day of hiking with a cold beer.

Finally, it was time to go home. I was wary of the return journey, however, the transport was slightly less congested which gave me the opportunity to take some shaky photographs of the busy bus. I was also pleased to get a seat on the subway. Hurrah!

Thanks Maggie for a wonderful day!

Hôm qua, tôi và giáo viên tiếng Trung của tôi đã đi bộ đường dài. Chúng tôi đã trèo lên một ngọn núi. Nhiều ngọn đồi bị che phủ trong màn sương. Sau đó, chúng tôi đi đến vườn thực vật. Tôi đã có một ngày thật thú vị.