The Red Capitol Club, Beijing

You know you are getting into trouble when a taxi driver has to make not one but two phone calls to figure out how to get you where you want to go. Our Tokyo friend Betsy, who used to live in Beijing had recommended that we go to a place called the The Red Capitol Club. She had warned us that it was down a back alley and not to freak out when we were being taken there. She was wise to caution us, as I was sure we were going to meet a nasty end as we rode down this dark and twisty alley in the rain. The taxi driver stopped and asked directions, and some folks waved him on ahead. Just a few meters ahead, he stopped. We were ushered into a beautiful 200-year old courtyard house that had been carefully restored. Unfortunately, it was raining that evening, so all the courtyard furniture was piled up under the roof around the edge and the floor had water on it. But we sat in one of the outside rooms. There were only 2 other parties in the place, another Western English-speaking family, and a Japanese couple. It was dimly lit, but had lovely touches. Old lanterns, old furniture, sculpture and artwork on the walls, fountains. It was serene and quirky at the same time, since it was raining and the Japanese couple were completely drunk and disorderly. The woman was yelling to get the wait staff's attention and asking in Japanese what the heck that was on her plate. Beth and I had nearly finished our dinner, so Beth very kindly went over to their table to help translate. The poor woman was nearly incoherent and offered us wine and food. Turns out, the Japanese man works for the same company as Beth's husband, and was quite a bit less drunk than his wife, so they chatted a little in English and Japanese. Then while we waited for a taxi, we removed ourselves from the dining area to sit in the bar. The woman kept yelling, insisting that she needed a taxi NOW! Anyway, we were glad a for a few moments of peace. The bar was crammed with old velvet furniture from Mao's house/office or something. There were old radios, old books, old lamps, old furniture. It smelled like your Grandmother's parlor. Betsy had told us about a phone we could pick up and listen in on a recoding of Mao issuing orders in Chinese. Well...when I picked up the phone, I heard Mao, but at 3 times the normal speed. It was CHIPMUNK Mao, instead of CHAIRMAN Mao, and it seemed rather undignified, and rather hilarious! A nice young man from Indonesia who worked there told us that it was a really old recording system and that they didn't know how to fix it. He just shrugged as he said, "So we just leave it as it is."

Apparently, taxis are completely scarce in Beijing when it rains, so we waited for a while and it was getting late. The nice young man told us that since no taxis were to be had, their "driver" would be able to return us to our hotel. So, while trying not to listen to that little voice of sensibility that signifies possible danger, Beth and I climbed into the back seat of a gigantic pick up truck driven by another young man who seemed to need a lot of instruction to be able to get us back to the hotel. I was thinking (or rather trying not to think) "We could be in trouble here..." But true to their word, we were returned safely and quickly to our hotel. I was starting to think that the unusual is usual in China.