Down in the Hutong...

I love her / she loves me
But I don't fit in her society
Lord, have mercy on a boy from down in the hutong.

Hutongs are the narrow, winding alleys that spiderweb across Beijing. They are the traditional neighborhoods of often-ancient stone houses, clay-tile roofs and shared bathrooms. If Beijing's six circular highways (ring roads) are the arteries of the New City, then the hutongs are the network of capillaries that have given life to the capital for centuries.

They're everywhere, crisscrossing main streets, leading to landmarks' rear entrances and dead ends alike and twisting—often at 90-degree angles, without warning. But at the same time, they're easy to overlook, for this is where the city's underclass lives. A few hutongs here and there have been gentrified, with new walls and tea shops sprouting up. Mostly, though, stepping into one is stepping into the way of life for millions of Chinese.

It is a step, I think, that many tourists don't take. Just like it's easy to stay away from the run-down neighborhoods at home, wandering through hutongs isn't a necessity. There are main roads, taxi cabs and sparkling new subway lines to whisk foreigners from photo op to photo op, shopping centers built below high rise office buildings to peruse (mostly Western) name brands and plenty of KFCs, McDonalds and Starbucks to visit instead of getting your feet dirty trudging through back alleys. This isn't a condemnation; it's just an observation. I've had my share of iced coffees from the baristas over the past month, too.

But I've also found the hutongs to be an indispensable part of my experience here. Perhaps when this is all over, my times wandering through these neighborhoods will be my fondest memories of the city.

Stepping off the sidewalks into a hutong means you're leaving behind all of the comforts you're used to. There aren't any English menus in the restaurants and very few will have pictures. You may have to put up with the smell of open toilets as you pass by the common bathrooms the residents share. You'll be dodging delivery people and garbage collectors on bicycles and have to endure the occasional interested stare as one of the locals watches you, perhaps wondering if you're lost.

Walking through a hutong also provides you with potential for some of the best travel experiences you can have. For one, I've found the food to be incredible. Most of the restaurants will either have open-air kitchens or will only have one dish for sale, which will be on display. I can spot something I like (egg and tomato stir fry or pistachio pastries, for example), pay a couple yuan for it and either eat it there at a small stool and table or take it for later munching. While these places look ramshackle and run-down on the outside, I'd trust their food over pretty much any Westernized fast-food joint in Beijing. These restaurateurs are basing their entire livelihood on their dumplings or their steamed buns—make a couple people sick and no one's going to come to you ever again.

There are almost always children playing in the streets, whether it's kicking a ball or running around playing tag or some other chase game. Many will skid to a halt after spotting me, sidle up and whisper a nervous, "Nihao." I'll respond with the same and a smile and their faces never fail to light up as the foreigner tries to speak their language. They'll giggle and then run off to keep on playing—the joy of children is universal.

The other day, I stumbled into Yang Guanjun's art shop, attracted by the watercolors and the English "ART" sign on the front door. I found the owner to be a delightful dude, with enough knowledge of English for us to stumble through a conversation. Guanjun is from X'ian in central China and he studied art at university there. There wasn't enough work for him in his hometown, so he brought his wife and young daughter to Beijing ten years ago to open an art studio and tea house. Business has been okay, but it's hard for the tourists with money to find him, as his home/studio is a few blocks from the main road, down a narrow hutong with no signs and no other shops. He gladly showed me his wares—everything from calligraphy on antiqued scrolls to photographic prints—before inviting me upstairs to see the living space he's trying to rent out for the Olympics (a pair of twin rooms, a brand new shower he was infinitely proud of and Internet access on provided, ancient PCs). I spent 30 minutes chatting, sampling the tea he had on sale and talking about the coming Summer Games before I departed, two original paintings under my arm. Those souvenirs are nice, but their meaning will go beyond that of the trinkets I've picked up in the Silk Market or around town because I shook the same hand that painted them.

None of that would have happened, had I not gotten lost, wandering alone through a hutong. If you're ever in Beijing, I suggest you do the same. You never know what you might find.

Yang Guanjun with his work


Champion Art Gallery (owned by Yang Guanjun)


Hutong Rooftops


Bicycles Along the Wall

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Editor's Note: Yang Guanjun does not have a website, but he can be emailed at yangguanjun [at] sohu[dot]com. His shop is at 26 Men Kuang Hutong, in the Xuan Wu district (about a 20 minute walk south of Tien'anmen Square).