Up Close with Chairman Mao
Chairman Mao’s Mausoleum
My first trip to China started with three days in Xi’an, which I really enjoyed. However, by comparison, my first experience of Beijing, the next stop on the itinerary, was frankly godawful. I woke up on the first day in Beijing with a pounding headache and a cement mixer going round in my stomach. At first I thought it was the effect of having taken too many Heinekens in the Xi’an nightclub the night before, and I hoped it would just be a passing phenomenon. However, it soon became clear that this was not the case. Apparently, in eating all of the local food in Xi’an, I had picked up a case of food poisoning in the process, which turned out to be a bad case – a really, really bad case.
Considering that this might be my only chance to see some of the sights, I gritted my teeth, clenched my stomach, and boarded the tour bus anyway. Our itinerary for Beijing took us through all of what are now well-known tourist sites: Tiananmen Square, across the road to the Forbidden City, the Summer Palace, out to the Great Wall, interspersed with visits to the antiques / fabrics / paintings / jewellery shops that seem to be obligatory on these tours wherever you may be. All this was well and good, but it is not so comfortable to be touring round all day when your insides are spinning like a top, and you dare not go out of eyesight of a toilet at any time.
On the first day we started in Tiananmen Square, a place well known across the world and a landmark location throughout Chinese history. With the Forbidden City at one end and the Great Hall of the People to the left, situated in the heart of the capital of China, and with Chairman Mao’s portrait looking down on you wherever you stood, it was and still is an iconic spot as much for Chinese people as for foreign visitors. You could say that the Square represents the centre of China. However, in that first visit, my initial action was not to take in the history and iconography around me but instead to scan round the edges of the Square to check the shops and be relieved to find that – yes! – there was a McDonalds nearby. It was not because I fancied a burger but just in case I had to make a run for it. McDonalds is a saviour of travellers around the world by providing clean toilets wherever you may be. Even Tiananmen Square had a McDonalds.
In Tiananment Square. Not very happy.
We were herded off the bus and told we could wander around the square for an hour. I trudged after Calvin, during which time I posed for some very grim-faced photos, before we then lined up to go into the Chairman Mao Memorial Hall. This is his mausoleum, and sits slap bang in the centre of the Square. Every day many hundreds of people line up to pass by and pay their respects to Chairman Mao’s body, which remains on view, embalmed in a transparent coffin. It is the most revered spot in the whole country, and many Chinese over the years have travelled to Beijing especially to pass through that spot and see the final resting place of the founder of the People’s Republic of China. (The fact that Mao had allegedly said before he died that he did not want to be embalmed and put on show is quietly glossed over.)
In my case, unfortunately, reverence and respect was rapidly lost in a haze of nausea and dizziness. Standing in the sunshine queuing for half an hour to get in had done me absolutely no good at all, and by time Calvin and I reached the front of the queue, I feared the worst. If I started a protest, I might get thrown out of the country; punched a policeman, I might go to jail; ran around shouting “free Tibet!”, I could end up doing hard labour – but, dear God, I could be facing a diplomatic incident and global news coverage if … if I threw up over Chairman Mao!
We shuffled to the front of the queue, entered the building, and finally reached the line to actually view the body. I was behind a large number of reverent Chinese locals, who were standing with wide eyes looking upon the Great Helmsman, whereas I stood with my eyes tightly shut, repeating to myself a crucial mantra over and over again:
“Don’t be sick on Chairman Mao.”
“Don’t be sick on Chairman Mao.”
“Don’t be sick on Chairman Mao.”
“Don’t be sick on Chairman Mao.”
I risked opening one eye as we edged forward, training it directly on the exit in case I had to make a mad dash. I sucked in as much air as I could and breathed the deepest I have ever breathed in my life, trying to keep the contents of my stomach down and not do something that might end up with me being arrested, thrown out of the country, or shot.
I have to say that, thankfully, the story has a happy ending. In the end I was not sick on Chairman Mao. I somehow made it through the mausoleum (maosoleum? Anybody? OK, I will not mention it again) in one piece, and I was not instantly shot by some horrified security guard. I have to say, though, that I do not remember much about seeing the body, or paying any respects to Mao. My abiding memory of being in the room was heading straight for the exit as soon as it was even vaguely possible to do so, while trying to avoid any guards who might be willing to run me through with a bayonet should I projectile vomit in the wrong place. I made it outside, sat down on a step, gasped in some fresh air, and did not move for about ten minutes.