Happy New Year

Beijing is empty during these days. Chinese New Year is an essentially a family holiday, and the recently urbanised of Beijing (the majority) leave the delights of Starbucks, McDonalds and Kentucky Fried Chicken for the simple nostalgia food that they no longer have time (or indeed the will) to prepare. Even the migrant workers, who are only allowed to stay temporarily in Beijing, have only one goal, and that is to be with their families for the holidays. They endure a transport nightmare, packed into trains and buses like sardines just to get home, and then endure the same hell to get back again a week later. After the exodus of the country cousins, the true citizens of the capital temporarily reclaim possession of their city. It is a hollow victory however, as the city has long since stopped being “theirs” and depends for its life on the ‘blow ins’ who are the vast majority of the residents. So the pure breed of “Old Bejingers” rattle around in the deserted city, with most of commercial and social life of the metropolis at a standstill for at least the core two days of the holiday. They gather in extended family groups and sustain themselves with the unchanging customs of this very Chinese festival.

The emptiness is particularly telling for the foreigner who inevitably feels a little left out of the celebrations. There is, for non-Chinese, no wistful return to the simplicity of childhood celebrations selectively remembered. The traditional songs playing on the radio fail to trigger a festive bonhomie as the associations must, I suspect, be hardwired in infancy to be truly effective. The Scrooge in me, not being even on nodding terms with the Ghosts of New Years Past wants to frown at the waste when down south people are picking up the pieces after an unprecedented blizzard. It is tempting to feel just a little sorry for oneself.

The emptiness is temporarily masked at midnight on New Year’s Eve by a fireworks display which makes up for what is lacking in sophistication by scale and volume. For an hour or so after the stroke of twelve the residential districts go mad, and the night sky is full of amazing combinations of colours accompanied by a, literally, deafening cacophony. Sound is an essential part of the firework experience according to Chinese custom and so even the most amazing of visual displays have to be accompanied by bangs that “put the heart crossways” in this rather timid observer. The individual displays are not very grand; this is not a municipally sponsored event. Rather each family has their own stockpile and tradition dictates that they be let off as soon after midnight as possible. The result, is somewhat chaotic, but were one to judge by the scale of the uncoordinated “son et lumiere” alone, one would imagine that the city was full to capacity with revelers out to burn the city to the ground.

Walking the empty midnight streets, the Scrooge-like pose seemed easy to maintain. This is not my festival, the memories it holds are not my memories. However, after wandering into a spontaneous neighborhood fireworks display, the pose proved impossible to maintain. Instead, the communal excitement of the midnight fireworks rubbed off and briefly, amid the boisterous good will of families lighting firecrackers, one is filled with the happiness of just being alive. Tomorrow harsher realities will return, emptiness will make itself felt, but just now there is only joy. It’s the end of times and the beginning of times; it is good to be here. Happy Chinese New Year.

Tags: Beijing Diaries