Stepping Stones Across the River

It no doubt slid down from Siberia, across the plains of Mongolian, ripped across the Great Wall and then screamed into Beijing on 40mph winds. Like a dry cold typhoon, winter arrived on the night of solstice, it whistled through leaky windows, evaporated the remaining withered willow leaves and left in its wake a shimmering cold. The kind that is brittle and beautiful.

It starts in October, the first pair of long underwear. Those of us that work indoors get away with a thin pair and a feather coat. Those who make their living on the street go for the thicker woollier variety. As winter sets its teeth even those of us with desk jobs don’t brave the cold without two layers under our otherwise business attire.

Although biting cold, and when accompanied by wind it is like walking against a thousand knives, this sharp winter Beijing cold while it cuts to the bone, lacks the tortuous grip of Taipei’s dampness. Still the wise person will heavy the external to repair the intrinsic!

Today is Sunday.
I’m having lunch in Korea.
It is the closest flight out of China. Early enough departure to miss the Beijing mid-morning traffic, and due to the magic of time zones, I’ll be home again in time for dinner.
Multi-entry visas are a godsend!