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In Beijing, Red Means Go
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The next day as I pedaled by the Drum and Bell Towers near central Beijing, two men eating a Mongolian hot pot waved me off my bike, out of the rain, and into a small restaurant. "We can be three," one of them said. "We will go Dutch."
Yang Bing Zhen -- "Call me Nathan" -- is a manager at a company that arranges rickshaw tours of the hutongs. His friend Shang Guo Jing is either an accountant, a tour guide or both; sometimes language barriers leave these things unclear. They turned up the heat under the hot pot on their table, started throwing in thin slices of lamb and vegetables, and told the waitress to bring me a bowl of thick sesame-flavored soup.
Guo Jing chopsticked gobbets of meat, spinach, leek and parsley into my bowl. He added a dash of red pepper oil and a square of tofu, which promptly dissolved. "Eat," he said. "It is good."
He was right. Its warmth took away the chill of the rain. And it tasted wonderful.
I reached deep into my roughly six-word lexicon of Chinese. "Hao chi ji le," I said. "It's delicious."
And then I had to climb back on that cold, wet seat.
Joost Polak, a Washington writer and editor, last wrote for Travel about Chile's Atacama desert.
Details: Biking Beijing
You can also rent bikes at several hotels, including the
There are some nice hutongs (alleyways) just
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