Michelle Esposito writes:

On a hot, sleepy, Beijing afternoon, we visited the city's Hutong area, as well as Mr. Liu, one of the thousands of residents living in the area. Taking rickshaws as our many source of transportation, we flew through narrow streets littered with children still dressed in school uniforms and playing with toys used beyond their tended lifespan, crowded and crammed marketplaces and conveniences stores teeming with pre-packaged sweets and fresh vegetables, and the community's inhabitants who were engaged in various activities such as playing chess, bickering and bargaining for goods, and even getting haircuts from a freelance barber. 

The people of the Hutong were generally not wealthy, they lived in close quarters with multiple families to a courtyard, and did not possess indoor heating, washers or dryers, or expensive cars. However, while we dodged dingy electric scooters and stray dogs hunting for scraps of food to eat, it became evident to me that the people of the Hutong were by far richer than the modernized Beijing citizen. The Hutong had a rich history (the number of beams above one's door and steps leading up to the entrance of a home could reveal the status of the original owners), lively inhabitants who gathered around to gossip, play, and assemble for recreational purposes, and a devotion from its people to the area embodied in Mr. Liu. 

At almost sixty years old, Mr. Liu was stronger and prouder than men a third of his age, and he regaled us about his martial arts schooling and his sons' experiences living in Canada and America. A Kung Fu teacher who had grown up in the Hutong all his life, he expressed his relief that his home was protected under a cultural preservation act, but also his fear that those who weren't would lose their homes to the government's plan to remake some of the Hutong into a cultural landmark. As he described the generations of his family that lived before him in the very same house (his being the fourth), it became clear to me that the people of the Hutong didn't need nor want fancy Beijing high-rise apartments to take pride in where they lived and who they were. Mr. Liu then modestly demonstrated his skills in tai chi and playing the erhu, and we were off again, careful not to step on the high threshold in his door from which we came (it's synonymous with stepping on the owner's hospitality). 

All it takes is one rickshaw ride, one peek into the alleyways, corridors, and courtyards, one look into a market, convenience store, or restaurant to see the Hutong's people: lively, hospitable, friendly, and proud. It wasn't any large monument or tremendous landmark that made the trip to the Hutong so special, because its people were a landmark all its own; a people who have survived generations and deserve to thrive for many more, like a relic to be cherished.