BEIJING – THE ORIGIN OF DRAGONS

Dragon carcasses have of course never been discovered.  Nor has any living person ever seen or recorded a dragon --though this does of course not keep enterprising sorts from offering ground up dragon bones to the unwary when an opportune target presents itself. One wonders then just how this magnificent mythological creature took such powerful hold on the imaginations of men and became the national symbol of China.

In its heyday as a yet-to-be-unified nation of city-states (prior to 221 BC), China was dominated by tribes and clans.  In a time of limited literacy, each group necessarily had its own identification symbol.  Most of these symbols represented animals.  These symbols were present in battle in the form of banners, distinguishing one set of villagers and combatants from another.

When a clan defeated another it annexed its people, its riches, its customs, and right to write or rewrite history.  Banners were part of this co-opting process – they were absorbed into battle standards of the winning side.  Symbols were borrowed and morphed and co-opted by the winning side.  Arranged marriages helped keep the peace but also helped accelerate the symbol assimilation process.

Once China was unified, there were no more remaining animals to incorporate into already clogged clan or city-state banners.  A unifying symbol was needed instead, for the entire nation of China.  Thus the dragon was utilized – a mythological being of power reaching as far back as the 7^th millenia BC that synthesized many other animals, flags, and banners all rolled into one unique symbol.

Chinese dragons have nine characteristics which are a complex combination. They generally have a camel's head, demon eyes, cow ears, deer horns, clam's belly, snake's neck, eagle's claws, tiger's paws and precisely 117 carp scales. Of the scales, 81 are of the positive yang essence while only 36 are of the  negative yin essence.

Dragons of antiquity are a worldwide phenomena.  Chinese dragons differ from most others referred to in legend, in their lack of malevolent intention.  They are historically associated with wisdom, power, longevity and majesty and often possess supernatural powers.

Thus it is beneficient for emperors in many Asian countries to claim dragon ancestry. Everything used in imperial daily life was decorated with dragons and described in terms of the dragon: dragon-throne, dragon-robe, dragon-bed, and dragon-boat. Calling an emperor "dragon-face" was a supreme compliment. Chinese subjects believed that rulers could change themselves into dragons at will. They also believed dragons capable of human speech, and had in fact taught humans to speak in the first place.  

It is not surprising, therefore, that many chances to be associated with these dragon-friendly traits are repeatedly offered to visitors.  Often times with great embellishment.  A general rule to follow is the greater the presentation ceremony – the lengthier the story, the more elaborate its richness of detail – the greater the price tag of said souvenir.

The same can be said for two other iconographic experiences when in China … a day tour related visit to a tea ceremony, and a visit to a jade factory.  In fact, without careful inquiry, a visitor just may spend more time at the factory or ceremony than the classic destination they had paid out good yuan for (and hoped to see much more of).

At the tea ceremony, you are taken into a tastefully decorated room and seated in a very careful manner.  A beautiful hostess emerges to slowly lay out all the artifices of her demonstration: hot water, teapots of varying sizes, cups, and varieties of delicately packaged tea.

It is initially explained that the temperature is critical as the finer points of absorption of the tea leaves will not take place in water that is too hot, or too cold.  It is necessary therefore to have a proper pot (red in color, but made of purple clay so that it is both breathable and waterproof) to hold this temperature and keep it consistent for a lengthy enough period to sip the tea slowly.

Cups are presented with multiple contortionist flourishes, as if a magician intent upon misdirection.  They are prepared with an initial pour over of water from the same pot you will drink from eventually, to acclimate the cup and not allow it to “shock” the tea once introduced to the cup.  Much bowing and scraping and careful eye contact takes place during these ceremonies.  The nuanced Oriental art of the possible is insinuated much of this time.

Eventually, tea is introduced.  It is placed into a fine strainer, water poured through ever so carefully, and it is allowed to steep for a short time before being presented to the palette.  The demo is really table theater. The tea is quite tasty in all its flavors.  But in the back of your mind, you know a sales gauntlet awaits you immediately outside.  We are theoretically being treated to an authentic ceremony.  In reality we are being groomed for wallet shucking.

The gauntlet is as expected.  The more time a particular variety of tea is mentioned, or the more a specific ceremony implement is mentioned as being necessary, the higher the price tag in the sales room outside.  It does not matter how few or how many moving parts the item has, or its size, weight, color, or ornateness.  If it is declared essential, the markup will be stratospheric.  I am a scouter and collector of experiences, not a buyer.  My hosts don’t appreciate this.  Their faux smiles turn to ice in record time.

Essentially the same thing can be said of a jade factory tour.  Though I find the experience much more interesting.  Jade is a living stone.  While the most common or recognizable color is serpentine green, jade can change color. There are over 50 kinds of the dense stone, making it ideal for carving.  Early pieces were used as advanced weaponry, and due to their durability and mass, helped lend their handlers repeat victories in the quest to unify China in the 3^rd Century BC.

Today this incredibly beautiful stone is worked via skilled craftsmen using high speed burring tools into ornate carvings of spheres moving within spheres, imperial horses, domestic scenes, waterfalls, villages, emperors, concubines, and many other subjects of all sizes.  Some of these pieces cost in the hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Jade is often given as a gift.  It also served as a ranking device.  If a concubine’s favors were appreciated in the ancient imperial courts, she would at minimum be given copper (and then escorted away).  If she made a slightly better impression, she was rewarded with silver and a small room.  Better impression still, gold and a large room.  Best of the best: jade and her own home.   

There is no hurried show to get you to the sales room.  The entire factory is essentially a sales and demo room.  You are allowed to watch craftsman at work without interruption.  Displays of every type and color of jade in every fashion of pendant, ring, bracelet, earrings, cuff link, pin, statue, and fountain are available.  Thoughtfully in every price range as well.

They hook me this time.  I buy a personal jade stamp (“Year of The Snake”) for personalizing my outgoing mail.  The tour is actually enjoyable.  Only annoying part is the omnipresent sales girl, following me around with a deep tray for the pile of purchases she expects I will succumb to.  She constantly compliments me on my tastes, though I have expressed none, and suggestively trial closes me with such gems as “You really like dragonfly jade earrings, don’t you?”

Somewhere in Beijing on my first night of dining, I am introduced to an effusive and congenial young man named Zhang Wu Li, an employee of the Chinese government involved in tourism promotion.  His specialty is the Seychelles Islands.  In between his translating the Mandarin Chinese menu into English for me, I attempt to wrangle an invitation out of him to the Seychelles on the dime of the Chinese government.

Zhang (nickname Huan-Huan) invites me to dinner several nights later to discuss the matter further.  He is not able to make our appointment due to work necessity suddenly calling him away to Shanghai.  But he is kind enough to have two colleagues, Johnson and Jia, stand in for him.  They invite me to the “Lord of Salt” Restaurant.  Remember that name …

The Lord of Salt specializes in Szechwan style food.  Translation: spicy sauces!  While not on the scale of Andrew Bourdain (well known for his worldwide dining on the TV program “Without Reservations”) or Andrew Zimmer (the portly one who will eat anything), I have had lucky occasion to dine all over the world.  And this restaurant, offering their seafood Szechwan, may have provided me with my best meal ever.

I will only loosely try to list what was included in the contents of the meal: flower mushroom soup, pork dumpling appetizers, bean curd noodles, scampi, scallops, lobster chunks, fried potato slices, carrot and celery and cucumber salad.  It is the spicy and lingering sauces that make these otherwise unremarkable ingredients come together. Seven basic flavors mingle: sour, pungent, hot, sweet, bitter, aromatic, and salty.

I have never had a meal where the very last bite nearly three hours into your feast is just as tasty, just as tantalizing and just as succulent as the first.  Only exhaustion and lack of stomach space prevents me from continuing to relish the food (and then chewing on the plates it was brought forth on).  The whole meal all the while is lubricated with alternating shots of “Er Gud Tou” – a sake like liquor that is 42% alcohol, and “Niu Lan Shan” – a sticky liquor-like rice wine made locally in Beijing.

I also learn at the conclusion of the meal, that there are no such things as authentic Chinese fortune cookies.  Fortune cookies are an American artifice added to what I now recognize as highly modified and inferior Chinese food.

Another notable dining experience took place on my final night in town at the aptly named “Lost Heaven Restaurant.”  This time I am the guest of Victor Malaki, a diplomat in the commercial sector of the Danish Embassy in Beijing.  The culinary preparation is in marked contrast to Szechwan style.  It is instead Yunnan style,  identified by herb accented food with very subtle tastes, temperature differences between dishes and contrasting sweet and sour flavors.  The results are equally pleasing, regardless of style.