Modernity has brought a new ease and savvy to traveling in Beijing, and only masochists would have a quarrel with improved safety and convenience. However, for the traveler who braves a long flight, or an even longer Trans-Siberian Railway ride, to visit the City of Imperial Splendor, the comfort with which one can glide through the city, barely scratching the surface, is almost cause for resentment. The more tourist-friendly the city becomes, the more it seems to keep you out, herding you away from the best renegade experience of Beijing. And Beijing is a city so full of secrets, so ripe with age, that its dignity demands to be discovered anew by each visitor.
This is all to say that it can be done. There are hidden neighborhoods smelling entirely of mutton and barbecue stands, where a feast can be had for the price of a candy bar. There are sections of the Great Wall that are not crawling with postcard vendors or scrawled with “SS Loves JJ.” There are corner grandpa stores bearing non-generic treasures. Despite the best efforts of a simple-minded tourism policy, cavities of authentic adventure abound and await revelation. If the usual maps and manuals are going to show you only the most common beaten paths and the faces of salesmen at every bend, then you must trust your straying instincts to find the real Beijing of hearty Uighurs, stranded Mongolians, and other inspired foreigners. When you find it, it can stir you on a scale that few other man-made places have the power to do. And when you hear them say, “Little child, don’t go there,” you know you are on your way.
