Article by:
Margaret Deefholts
Despite warnings about Beijing's pollution, as I look out of my windows from my swanky Ritz Carlton Hotel suite this April morning, clear blue skies form a backdrop to a panoramic view of the city's financial district, and in a courtyard below, a group of citizens are practising Tai Chi exercises, their elongated forms in the bright sunlight, twisting and bending in a seemingly choreographed shadow-play.
This is my first visit to China and I feel a little frisson of anticipation as I make my way to the lobby of the Ritz. Our small group is getting ready to go on a cycling spree through the streets of Beijing, but instead, I'm heading out by pedicab to visit a traditional hutong settlement. My young guide, April, perches by my side in our cycle rickshaw and tells me that the word "hutong" is of Mongolian origin and meant "water well" back in the 13th century.
Today the word refers to a colony of dwellings set within a warren of narrow lanes. Some alleys seem more like mere crevices between buildings and although each traditional house is set in its own tiny private courtyard, I am intimidated at the thought of living in such a cramped environment. This is clearly not of any concern to families who have dwelt here for many generations and, even in this ants' nest of homes, each owner boasts an individual presence-a distinctive emblem below the lintel of a doorway, or perhaps specially crafted good luck stones by the threshold or, in a couple of instances, a flowering plant, lovingly watered, in a courtyard.
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