LIVING IN HUTONG

The picture above is a look outside my apartment door. Please take note of the abandoned homemade Western style toilet. For this entry, I will attempt to paint a modest portrait of where I am currently living. It is called a ‘HUTONG'.


The picture above is a walkway inside a walkway inside a walkway inside an alley. Please take note of my brother’s lady friend’s bicycle propped against the wall. This particular walkway inside a walkway inside a walkway inside an alley leads to my brother’s apartment, where I sleep, shower, and sweat. As I have been told by a savvy local, the Hutong was once a beautiful set of minimal apartments surrounding and facing a scenic, spacious courtyard. When communism dropped, mass amounts of people flooded these open courtyards and began, essentially, building apartments inside of these apartments. The maze-like slums were born and authentic courtyards have become rare and expensive. A commodity. A luxury.


The picture above is an aerial shot looking down into my brother’s ‘neighborhood’. Everything crams together in conflict for territory. No splash of grass. No hint of a backyard with sprawling deck and porch. No space to soak inside and breathe. I grew up happily spoiled with a heroic backyard plump with greens surrounded by unspoiled nature. I miss romping with the serene, naked earth.

The interior of my brother’s apartment harshly contrasts the beaten, clustered exterior. If I remember, in a future post, I will give you a look inside.

In random news, last night, a Chinese man approached our group of obvious foreigners and began reading our palms. When he snatched my hands, he spoke rapidly in Chinese with glowing, saucer sized eyes. I have no idea what he said. He told my brother that he would sleep with three important women.