China’s Historical Milestones

1912 The last Qing emperor abdicates marking the end of centuries of dynastic rule and the birth of the Republic of China.

1925 Dr. Sun Yat-sen dies and Chiang Kai-shek assumes the leadership of the ruling Kuomintang Party.

1934–1935 Mao Zedong leads the Long March to evade the Kuomintang army.

1937 Japan invades China, which marks the start of the Second Sino-Japanese War.

1949 The Communist Party drives the Kuomintangs to Taiwan and gains control of mainland China. The People’s Republic of China is born.

1958 Mao Zedong launches the ‘Great Leap Forward,’ an economic and social campaign aimed to rapidly transform China from an agrarian economy into a modern communist society.

1966 Mao implements the ‘Cultural Revolution.’

1976 Mao Zedong dies.

1978 Deng Xiaoping assumes leadership of the Communist Party and leads China toward a market economy.

1989 Popular clamor for reforms results in the Tiananmen Square protests and consequently, the June 4th massacre.

2003 China sends its first manned spacecraft into orbit.

2008 Beijing hosts the Olympic Games.

2009 China surpasses Germany to become the world’s third largest economy after the United States and Japan.

TOP CONTENDER: China's economy is the fastest growing emerging market in the world. It is now the world's second-biggest economy, after the US.

OPIUM WAR: THE BEGINNING…

In the 19th century, foreign trade into China was very limited and one-sided. Chinese self-sufficiency resulted in a huge trade deficit for Western countries. To balance trade, Great Britain began smuggling opium into China. At its height, about 40,000 chests, or 2,500 tons of opium, were smuggled into the country. Thus began what American sinologist John K. Fairbank referred to as “the most long-continued and systematic international crime of modern times.”

THE GREATEST STORY NEVER TOLD?:

Opium trade played a big role in:

• Financing British rule in India

• Paying for British tea imports from China

• Paying for export of British manufactured goods to India

ONE-WAY TICKET TO THE 21st CENTURY

» The first train to run in China was the tiny 2’6” gauge 0-4-0T steam train named “Pioneer” for the Shanghai-Wusong Railway in 1876. (Top speed: Very slow)

» China’s first diesel locomotive, Dongfeng (“missile”), was produced in Dalian in 1958. (Top speed: 85 km/hour)

»In 1968, China introduced its first electric locomotive. The Shaoshan Line of electric trains was the most popular. (Top speed: 170 km/hour)

» In 2008, China launched the Beijing–Tianjin Intercity Railway, which reduced the usual 70-minute journey between the two cities to 30 minutes. (Top speed: 330 km/hour)

» In 2011, the Beijing–Shanghai High-Speed Railway opened for commercial service, and reduced travel time between cities has now been reduced from 10 hours to five.

THE CHINESE ELEMENT

China supplies more than 90% (total monopoly) of the global demand for rare earth elements, and is planning to control the export of these minerals.

Shanghai: Shining, Shimmering, Splendid

Stand on the banks of the Huangpu River in Shanghai and you’ll see the future and the past engaged in a protracted staring contest. On the west bank sits the Bund. Stalwart and stone-faced, it comprises more than 10 blocks of relics from Shanghai’s days as a treaty port. This was once the city’s commercial and financial district, home to foreign-owned banks, trading houses, hotels, and gentleman’s clubs bedecked in stately colonnades and Victorian spires. For decades after the Chinese Civil War, much of it laid empty and dormant as a swath of state-owned properties moved in. In the late 1990s, however, this riverside promenade saw a renaissance and many of its stately edifices were renovated and repurposed. It started in 1999 with the opening of the restaurant M on the Bund, which still enjoys a reputation of being one of the city’s hottest tables.

Since then, a handful of luxury hotel brands have followed suit, attempting to recreate Shanghai’s heady heyday. Starting at the northern tip of the strip, there is the Peninsula. Best known for its classic afternoon tea and green Rolls-Royce limousines, it actually occupies one of the youngest buildings on the Bund; it was completed just over two years ago. However, its sleek, elegant Art Deco motifs could fool even the most discerning eye.

A few blocks south, the Fairmont Group has restored the iconic Peace Hotel to the original splendor of the 1930s, when it was owned by Victor Sassoon and known as the Cathay. Back then, it was the digs of choice for Charlie Chaplin and U.S. general George Marshall of the Marshall Plan fame. English playwright Noël Coward even completed his famous work Private Lives in one of its rooms.

Across the river, Lujiazui thrusts brazenly upward toward the sky, hell-bent on outdoing the Bund. Some might even say it already has. Just 30 years ago, this was nothing more than marshes and rice paddies. Today it’s home to one of the most audacious skylines in Asia—if not the world—and is emblematic of China’s meteoric rise as an economic power. It’s Bladerunner meets The Jetsons, a surreal landscape of geodesic bubbles, sweeping parabolas, and shimmering lights. Here you’ll find three of the most distinct structures in the city. A 468-meter column of cylinders and spheres called Oriental Pearl Tower stands like a rocket ship ready for a voyage to the moon. Scan southward and you’ll see the Jin Mao Tower. This 421-meter high pagoda of concrete, steel, and glass is built around the lucky number eight: 88 floors and each of its 16 segments is 1/8 shorter than the 16-story base. Across the street, glimmering like a cosmic bottle opener, is the Shanghai World Financial Center, the world’s fourth tallest building and home to the world’s second highest hotel, the Shanghai Park Hyatt. And the city is far from done. A third super tall skyscraper is in the works, the Shanghai Tower. When it’s completed in 2014, it will be second in height to Dubai’s Burj Khalifa.

Just west of the river, Shanghai’s future has all but swallowed up the past. The city’s Old Quarter was once a cacophonous and colorful warren of lane houses. There were storefronts selling everything from rice wine to crickets. Every year, though, more and more of the quarter is falling victim to the wrecking ball. About all that’s left now is Yu Garden, which, to its credit, has been there since the Ming Dynasty. It’s no doubt worth a visit, but the surrounding souvenir bazaar, with its Starbucks, KFC, and McDonald’s, not to mention the tens of thousands of tourists who frequent them, all detract from the serene atmosphere.

The twain finally did meet: Shanghai's hip Xintiandi district, the site of the first national congress of the Communist Party of China on July 23, 1921, is now the bastion of capitalism.

Elsewhere in Shanghai, though, the boundaries between old and new begin to blur. There is no better example of this than Xintiandi. Literally translated as “New Heaven and Earth,” this was once a community of shikumen, or “stone gate” residences, an architectural form unique to old Shanghai. Real estate developers the Shui On Group commissioned American architect Ben Wood to redesign and renovate them. The end result is a hub for upscale nightlife, dining, and shopping. In a priceless twist of irony, Xintiandi, a center of outright capitalism and consumerism, is also home to the site of the First Congress of the Chinese Communist Party.

Modern-day Beijing Beckons

With roughly 800 years as capital under its belt, Beijing covers a far broader swath of history than Shanghai. On any given thoroughfare you’re bound to encounter pieces of the past oddly juxtaposed with the present.

Tiananmen Square is an obvious starting point. Here, symbols of political powers over the ages compete for attention. The majestic Forbidden City holds court at the northern end of the square. Once home to legendary emperors like Kangxi and Qianlong, as well as venal tyrants like the Empress Dowager Cixi, the power has shifted across the street to the southeast to the Great Hall of the People. Built by volunteer labor in only 10 months, this is the beating heart of the Chinese Communist Party and its government. As a reminder of who’s running the show, they’ve adorned the Forbidden City’s main gate with a looming portrait of Mao Zedong with the inscription “Long live the People’s Republic of China. Long live the great unity of the people of the world.” Mao gazes almost as inscrutably as the Mona Lisa at his final resting place, which is flanked both by a traditional Chinese gate and socialist statues of lantern-jawed soldiers and proletarians.

Scattered about the city are vestiges of old urban life in Beijing known as hutongs. As Beijing rushes to meet the growing demands of modernity, more and more of these unique courtyard houses are being demolished and replaced with swish apartment towers and shopping malls. Sadly, those that remain are fast becoming nothing more than tourist attractions.

Among the countless sweeping terracotta rooftops in Beijing, some new exotic species have taken up residence in the wake of the 2008 Olympics. Among the most distinct is China Central Television’s national headquarters. Designed by Rem Koolhaas, it consists of two towers that lumber forward, kink at the top, and then connect at a seemingly precarious overhang. The closest visual approximation one could make is that it looks like a pair of boxer shorts. That is, in fact, what the locals have come to call it. Whatever it looks like, it is, without a doubt, one of the most distinctive designs in the world.

Are those real nomads on horseback out there waving at the train, or just actors in a movie?

New trains have been giving new meaning to riding the rails. One of which is the China-Tibet Train, also known as the “Sky Train,” “Lhasa Express,” and “Rocket to the Rooftop of the World.” As the highest train in the world, over 80% of the trip operates above 13,000 feet.

A wide range of content from Buddhist scriptures to fairy tales are depicted in these Tibetan rock paintings.

The China-Tibet Train has all sotts of innovative technology that sets it apart from other great railway journeys of the world. It was commonly believed that the railway “cannot be built” because of the frozen earth terrain in high altitudes and lack of oxygen. During the construction of the train, workers had to shoulder oxygen bottles while working at the highest altitudes to prevent altitude sickness.

Once upon a time, Lhasa, Tibet’s capital, was all but inaccessible-the Sky Train has changed all that. For Chinese, the train aids in the development of the isolated and impoverished region. For Tibetans, it’s the most concrete example of expansion into their territory and ve1y few of them actually use the train. Though the Dalai Lama himself encourages visiting Tibet, the railway is the ideal mode of transport into this once-forbidding place. For trainspotters, the Tibet Train is a “must do” adventure.

But note that any adventure worth its salt will always have its share of drama, which begins with the challenge of getting train tickets and a Tibet Permit. Once you’ve s01ted out the details, it is a good idea to prepare carefully for the train ride itself. Even though China Railways pumps extra oxygen into the train at high altitudes, passengers with heart or lung problems should consult a doctor before going on this journey. Pack extra snacks and drinking water as food offerings onboard are limited.

Settling into the train’s compartment, the first thing one will notice is the huge picture window. This will come in handy on the Tibetan Plateau-the highlight of the journey’s scenery. Truth be told, not all of the scenery is breathtaking along the way so bring a book or iPod to pass the time.

Tibetan monks at the Sera Monasatery

Along the trip, piped-in messages in Chinese and English occasionally announce commentary on scenes unfolding out the window, the advanced technology used in building the train, or historical firsts in China. One can look at these frequent announcements as either helpful information or an interruption.

One thing is for certain though, the technology of the train is a marvel. Consider the words of E.M. Forster who once said, “Railways are our gates to the glorious and unknown. Through them we pass into adventure and sunshine. To them, alas, we return.”

We just stared at each other for the first few hours of the train’s departure from Ulan Bator. When the rolling hills of northern Mongolia receded as the Trans-Mongolian train approached the Russian border town of Naushki, I began gesturing to her in an attempt to introduce myself, “Hello, I am Val from the Philippines. What’s your name?” There was an expression from the elderly Russian lady that told me I made no sense. It was apparent that she understood no English and so there it struck me: Though I have company in my four-bunk train compartment for the next few days through Siberia, the Urals and finally to Moscow, it appears that I will be alone.

Two days earlier, I arrived by train in Beijing from Hong Kong, where I earn my keep. The idea of traveling on the Trans-Siberian Railway had long been a childhood dream, no thanks to a high school fascination with the Soviet Union that I blame to the writer, Tom Clancy. The journey on the world’s longest railway was not decided on a whim. I had to acclimatize myself to the experience of long, multi-day rail trips; first in Japan, then in China, and finally in Vietnam. Having immensely enjoyed these overland excursions, I raised the bar, and the six-day, non-stop train journey from Beijing to Moscow was the apex of such adventures.

The road to Beijing Railway Station, the Chinese terminus of the fabled trains, took roughly two months to plan. The planning process started with the visa requirements check. Philippine passport holders need a visa to enter China and Russia. None is required to enter or transit through Mongolia. The requisite visas can be obtained from the Chinese and Russian embassies where the visa applicant is domiciled. As is usually the case, visit visas are granted when the consular officer is convinced that the trip will be undertaken for the stated purpose. For this, bookings and the itinerary are very important.

To prepare the itinerary along with the necessary accommodation and train bookings, I read Lonely Planet’s Olin a, Mongolia and Russia travel guides, Seat6L com, Wikitravel.org, and the Thorn Tree online forum. The two latter sources were particularly useful as they were up-to-date and had stories from recent travelers. From my readings, I learned that the best train stop for purchasing Russian rubles was in the Gobi Desert town of Erenhot, that the Chinese renminbi can be used for purchases in Mongolia, that one must be wary of train-riding traders paying passengers to feign ownership of their merchandise so that Russian duties can be evaded, and that I should expect a messed-up body clock as the train goes through five of Russia’s eight time zones with its clocks and timetable set to Moscow time.

True enough, traveling by land through different time zones was quite an interesting experience. During the actual trip, I found myself unable to sleep as clocks give you a time much earlier than the one painted by the sky. While the train is traversing Siberia, it is not unusual to have dinner at 3:00p.m or wake up at 1:00 a.m. to find the sun peeking on the vast Eurasian steppe. Nonetheless, the window view of this seemingly endless grassland in the summer is wonderful; and for those used to the cold, the steppe is described as enchanting and magical in the dead of winter.

Extreme lifestyle: A Dolgan family is well-insulated from the unforgiving temperatures of the Anabar tundra in Sakha.

To be honest, the constant Siberian landscape of shrubs, occasional trees and rare huts becomes trite after two days. But this should not discourage one from indulging in the once-in-a-lifetime experience of seeing firsthand the yurt-dotted Gobi Desert, Lake Baikal, the world’s oldest and deepest lake, and the legendary Siberian train stations of Ulan Ude, Irkutsk, Krasnoyarsk, Novosibirsk and Omsk. Between these stations, one must not miss the beautiful trainside view of Lake Baikal’s western shore, the scenic crossings of the rivers Ob and Yenisey whose waters empty into the Arctic Ocean, the passage through the sprawling city of Novosibirsk, and the green, meadow-like vistas of Omsk as the train leaves the steppe and makes its way upland to the Urals.

Besides gawking from the window, there are also things to do inside the train compartment. In the hallway, as one goes about the daily routine of fetching boiled water from the samovar, it is easy to make friends with Western adventurers and the friendly Chinese train attendants. These casual acquaintances are a source of electrical outlets, battery-charging power packs, adventure stories, reliable answers to the daily “Are we there yet?” questions, and, most important of all, alternative travel guides offering a second opinion on Lonely Planet’s recommended places.

A travel guide I borrowed came with an intuitive English-Russian phrasebook. With it, I was finally able to communicate with Maria, the elderly Russian lady who joined me in my compartment at Ulan Bator. Curious at the cover and World War II photographs of Tony Judt’s Postwar that I brought along to read, Maria confided that she was born in Minsk in the early 1930s and personally experienced the city’s invasion by the Germans in 1941. She had visited a friend in Mongolia and was making her way back to Moscow, where she lives with her grandson. Maria would later share with me slices of delicious Russian black bread. In return, she partook of some Filipino instant “pansit canton” noodles that I had packed for the trip. On the Trans-Siberian Railway, one must stock up on stale-resistant food.

From Siberia, the railroad proceeds through the Urals passing by Tyumen, Ekaterinburg, Perm, Kirov, Nizhny Novgorod and Vladimir. Though I made no day stops in any of these cities, Ekaterinburg is said to be an interesting excursion for those interested in Russian Orthodox churches and in the tragic fate of Russia’s last imperial rulers, the Romanovs. The final highlight in the Urals is the white marker on the imaginary north-south line that splits the Asian and European parts of Russia. Down from the mountains and into the suburbs of Moscow, the scenery increasingly becomes more urban and same-same. But this sentiment should be forgiven for by then the multi-day transcontinental journey had already taken its toll on the traveler looking ahead to the grand sights and creature comforts of Moscow and St. Petersburg.

I am sure he wouldn’t mind if I paraphrase it a bit: “The train is a vehicle that allows authentic retreat.” For those who desire adventure and who see journeys as destinations in themselves, nothing can trump the overland travel experience on the Trans-Siberian Railway.

There aren’t many places in the world where you feel like you’re in two places at once, but that’s the best way to describe Kashgar. Politically and geographically it’s Chinese, but the feel of the place is anything but. The city proper is like any other typical third-tier city in China. Streets are arranged in a rational grid and named after cities and provinces elsewhere in the country. Buildings are dreary, drab, and depressingly utilitarian-standard socialist architecture. The only difference is that dust storms and a roasting desert sun have aged them prematurely.

An underground market

Yet, walk down Renmin Road, turn onto Jiefang Road and things change abruptly. Roads narrow and twist, spurring off into alleys and inexplicable dead ends. Cinder block gray gives way to golden brown adobe. People are as likely to get around on a mule cart as they are in a truck. In storefronts, artisans and craftsmen hammer out copper kettles, grind knife blades and inlay ornate handles, and rugs, most employing techniques that have been passed down in their families for generations. Even the language changes. Strident strains of Mandarin give way to the lilty and guttural Turkic languages of Uyghurs and Tajiks. Then, come midday, you hear a mu’ezzin sing a hypnotic Arabic verse exhorting the faithful to come pray. Suddenly, you look back to Renmin Lu and say to yourself, “Where did China go?”

The road going to Taklamakan Desert

Amazingly, little of it has changed for centuries. Lots of cities in China are home to ancient relics. They’ve been rebuilt, renovated, and replicated to no end. But there is something about the old quarter of Kashgar, a feeling of authentic antiquity that you just don’t find much elsewhere these days. It feels organic, like it’s still a work in progress. Adobe walls are constantly being patched up with fresh mud. New floors are built on existing buildings. And what you see is only the top layer of a city that’s been around for nearly 2,000 years. An ancient oasis in the cruel and inhospitable Taklimakan Desert, Kashgar was once a hub on The Great Silk Road. It served as a way station for traders. It was at one time considered one of the most cosmopolitan cities in Central Asia, boasting of a diverse population of Uyghurs, Kazakhs, Kyrgyz, Tajiks, even Mongols.

Riding a camel is the typical mode of transportation in Taklamakan Desert.

Today, it holds a special place in the hearts and minds of the Uyghurs, an ethnic group of Turkic origins. They regard it as their spiritual and cultural capital as it’s home to many of their holiest sites. Take the Tomb of Abakh Hoja, for instance. Here lies the remains of a celebrated sultan who is regarded by many Uyghurs to have been a prophet second in holiness only to Mohammed. Decked out in a brilliant patchwork of multi-colored tiles, this tomb houses five generations of his family, the most notable of which is Ipahran Khoja, known to many Han Chinese as the famed “Fragrant Concubine”. In the 17th century, she was sent by her father as a peace offering to live as a consort to the legendary Qianlong Emperor of the Qing dynasty. According to legend, she naturally exuded an intoxicating fragrance, which made the emperor swoon with delight. He fell for her hard. He fawned over her, building her a mosque and replica of an oasis so she wouldn’t get homesick. When she died in 1788, she was sent back to Kashgar in a funeral procession that lasted three years.

If Mao’s towering statue marks the city center for the Han population, Id Kah marks it for the Uyghurs. Built in 1442, it is the largest mosque in China. Local social life revolves around it in makeshift tea stalls, musical performances, and seasonal festivals. Colored in resplendent yellow, it is deceptively large, able to accommodate up to 20,000 worshippers at a time.

Karakul Lake

But if you want to see all of this, here is a word to the wise: Go now. As China’s final outpost into Central Asia, Kashgar serves a whole host of strategic purposes be they geopolitical, economic, or otherwise. As such, the city is a key target in China’s aggressive modernization campaign. In the recent years, several “urban renewal~ initiatives have resulted in the razing of some of Kashgar’s more atmospheric and picturesque parts. It’s been a bone of contention among a population that already has a lot of fault lines in it. The Uyghur population argues that these measures are an effort to systematically erase their culture, while Beijing claims it’s simply ridding the city of an earthquake hazard. Whatever the case may be, much of what made Kashgar so enthralling is disappearing, only to be resurrected as a sterile simulacrum built solely for tourists. So catch it before it’s too late.

Discovering the Shanghai that was not about shopping malls and bargaining for fake brands was what I wanted to experience during this trip. After being transported to the period when Ming dynasty royalty strolled among the garden’s cherry blossoms, at a time when Shanghai was still enveloped by a bright, multi-hued blue sky, I took a cab to the Dongtailu antique market.

Most of the items sold here were reproductions, and unless you are a knowledgeable collector, don’t expect to land that rare Smithsonian-worthy artifact. After I bought a carved container for fighting crickets, which I plan to use as a pencil case, the man who sold me the item gave a warm smile and handed me Kaucim fortune-telling sticks. His worn booklet interpreted my fortune as, “Later you may get your wish.”

The upscale Xin Tian Di district is just a short walk away from the Dong Tai Lu antiques market via Zizhong Lu, where this shot was taken.

I thanked him and moved on to witness life behind the stalls. An elderly man played music on a classic Chinese instrument called erhu, and a crowd watched an old lady gamble against a young boy. People smiled and welcomed this curious traveler who joined in to see who would win the next round. This was Shanghai street life. I was in the middle of it, and I realized that the fortune sticks were right!”

Personal Picks

• Best take-away was a stick or two of barbecued chicken feet and squid tentacles (if you’re adventurous) at the Nanjing Lu pedestrian street. Itís a great snack while strolling through the shops. More traditional delicacies like fruit preserves and roasted chestnuts can also be found along Nanjing Lu.
• Most interesting food I tried was the xiao long bao. This steamed dumpling sometimes called “soup dumpling” originated in Shanghai and holds a flavorful surprise of broth inside. Try it at the Nanxiang restaurant where it was supposedly invented, or at Din Tai Fung on the third floor of the Super Brand Mall which also has a magnificent view of The Bund.
• Worth flying for was the mix of old and new, the chance to see, taste and enjoy historic Shanghai and what it has become today’s symbol of modern China.

As the nation’s long-time Imperial base, Beijing boasts of dishes that originated in the Emperor’s courts, representing the best of China’s haute cuisine. Bear’s paws, camel’s humps and bird’s nests were just a few of the exotica that graced the Son of Heaven’s table.

The fare isn’t as exotic these days, and the authentic cuisine of Beijing—usually referred to as lao Beijing cai (old Beijing food)—is far less extravagant than in the imperial days. Mutton, pork and chicken are now the meats of choice, liberally bathed in salt, oil and herbs (Because of cold winters, dishes tend to be substantial to keep the body warm).

But a famous dish that dates back 600 years to the Ming Dynasty remains on Beijing’s banquet table—Beijing kaoya (duck). A taste of the Beijing Duck is as important as climbing the Great Wall when in China. Traditionally prepared for a minimum of six people over three courses, the duck is air-dried, then coated with a mixture of syrup and soy sauce before roasting. After carving, pieces are wrapped in thin pancakes with onions or leeks, cucumber, turnip and plum sauce.

Much of the capital’s increasingly cosmopolitan cuisine revolves around its hutongs. Comprising small alleyways and narrow lanes, running between the high brick walls of siheyuan (one-storey Beijing courtyards), a growing number of hutong areas are now undergoing gentrification, with many siheyuan being transformed into chic cafés, restaurants and wine bars.

Fried spicy noodles in a hutong restaurant.

“In the past, food in the hutongs was heavily influenced by Beijing cuisine, which often consisted of snacks sold by street vendors,” says Adlyn Teoh, who runs a popular culinary tour called Hutong Eats.

Lined with over 100 restaurants, most of them offering 24-hour service, Beijing’s Gui Jie (Ghost Street) is the best place to sample hutong-style snack food. Visit at night to experience the full hustle, bustle and camaraderie of Chinese snack-food dining. (Get off at the Xizhimen subway stop and follow the red lanterns.)

Hutong visitors can still enjoy everything from Xinjiang-style chuanr (kebabs), jiaozi (steamed dumplings) and bingtanghulu (sugar-glazed fruit on a stick) to kao baishu (sweet potatoes), chao mian (fried noodles) and mahua (fried dough twists).

The former imperial thoroughfare of Nanluoguxiang is now one of the biggest draws for Beijing’s gourmands. Hip cafés and coffee shops jostle for space with a wide assortment of top-notch restaurants, serving up everything from rogan josh and goat’s cheese gnocchi to kumquat ice cream and Korean kimchi.

From the authentic to the avant garde, hutong cuisine today is all about enjoying quality food in a uniquely Chinese setting.

“Diners in Beijing are far more discerning these days,” says Zhou Chun Yi, who recently transformed part of her hutong home into a small school, appropriately named Hutong Cuisine. Opening her kitchen six days a week, she now teaches students of all nationalities to cook everything from spicy tofu to Beijing Duck.

“New restaurants have really revitalized the hutongs,” Zhou says. “They’re as vibrant as they were in imperial times, and a lot of that is down to good food.”

Imperial Imitation

Those in search of more retro fare can take a short walk over to Qionghua Island, on a lake at the center of Beihai Park. Here, at the newly renovated Fangshan Restaurant, patrons can sample dishes created for the legendary Empress Dowager Cixi (1835-1908). There’s no shortage of culinary surprises on the menu. 1 Wenjin Jie, inside Beihai Park, via east gate Xicheng District; Tel. No.: +86 10 6401 1889

Ducks Delicieux

For duck in a stylish environment, try Duck de Chine, where the capital’s juiciest birds are served with a traditional sweet flour paste and sesame sauce, wafer-thin pancakes, and steamed sesame buns. Gongti Bei Lu, Courtyard 4 in 1949 The Hidden City, behind Pacific Century Plaza, Chaoyang District, Tel: (0)10 6501 8881

For duck in a more authentic Chinese setting, Li Qunís hutong-style eaterie is hard to beat. Service can be a bit slow but diners are kept happy watching their meal roasted to perfection in an open brick oven. 11 Beixiangfeng, Zhengyi Nanlu, Qianmen Dongdajie, Chongwen District, Tel: (0)10 6702 5681

Greetings

Beijingers love their food. The expression “chi fan le ma?” which literally means “have you eaten yet?” is actually used by Beijingers as a greeting at any time of day.

Best view of the Forbidden City

For the perfect view of Chinaís imperial history away from the crowds, head north to Jingshan Park. For RMB2, you’ll be able to take in the sheer immensity of the whole ancient city.

If you want to get technical about it, there really isn’t a “Shanghai cuisine” per se. Rather, it’s a loosely defined agglomeration of the various cooking styles found throughout the Yangtze River Delta. The city straddles a river and extends all the way to the China Sea, so fish, mollusks, and crustaceans—both sea and freshwater—play prominently in most recipes, in addition to China’s national staples, pork and rice.

For the flavor, you need to look to Shanghai’s neighboring provinces, Jiangsu and Zhejiang: Zhejiang gets credit for primo ingredients like sweet Shaoxing rice wine and tart, and complex Zhenjiang vinegar, while Jiangsu provides much of its food philosophy—the importance of freshness and presentation. So what is the end result of all of this mixing and matching? For starters, hongshao rou (red-braised pork) without a taste of which no visit to Shanghai is complete. Renowned as a favorite of Chairman Mao Zedong himself, this dish consists of large chunks of pork belly braised in a mixture of soy sauce, black vinegar, sugar, rice wine, and spices like star anise. The end result: meltingly tender chunks of pork with ribbons of soft custardy fat in a sweet, aromatic glaze.

Red-braised pork belly or hong shau rou.

There is also Shanghai’s famous xiaolong bao, also known as tang bao or soup dumplings. These are small steamed pouches of delicate dumpling skin stuffed with minced meats like pork, shrimp, chicken, or crab mixed with chunks of gelatinized pork stock. Then there is xiaolong bao’s puffier, crispier cousin shengjian bao, which has the same stuffing but wrapped in fluffy semi-leavened dough. Instead of being steamed, they’re fried on one side in a shallow cast-iron pan, and sprinkled with sesame seeds and chopped scallions.

Every fall, the city goes crazy for hairy crabs. Also known as the Chinese mitten crab, this delicacy gets its name from the unique patches of brown fur on their claws. The female crabs are the most prized as they spawn and stock up on rich buttery roe when the weather cools. The best way to enjoy these coiffed crustaceans is simply steamed with a little vinegar for dipping and a glass of Shaoxing rice wine to wash them down.

Youbao xia is another favorite seafood dish. Some restaurants will translate it on their menus as “wok-fried river shrimps” but it doesn’t really do it justice. Small shrimps are thrown in a hot wok with butter, soy sauce, sugar, shallots, ginger, and rice wine. Don’t waste your time peeling the shells, they’re fried to a crisp and only add to the texture.

Where there’s a Line

Itís a shabby affair, but Jia Jia Tang Bao (90 Huanghe Lu, near Beijing Lu, Tel. No.: 6327 6878) does the cityís best xiaolong bao, hands down.

For a taste of shengjian bao, head to Yangís Fry Dumplings (97 Huanghe Lu, near Fengyang Lu, Tel. No.: 5375 1793), just across the street from Jia Jia Tang Bao.

Folksy little Chun (124 Jinxian Lu, near Maoming Lu, Tel. No.: 6256 0301) is the real home-style cuisine: it has only four tables and no menu. What they get is what you eat. Call for reservation and donít be late, or say goodbye to your table.

Where to wear Heels

Located in a graceful colonial-style villa on the edge of the French Concession, Fu 1088 (375 Zhenning Lu, near Yuyuan Lu, Tel. No.: 5239 7878) does fine dining Shanghai-influenced-by-Western style. Don’t miss their smoked egg with caviar.

Where everyone is

If your stay is short and you’re just looking for the big picture, you canít go wrong with Jesse (41 Tianping Lu, near Huaihai Xi Lu, Tel. No.: 6282 9260). Crowded but quaint, itís a Shanghai institution, long a favorite of the elite and hoi polloi alike.