Beijing's modern facade is impressive but thin. That's okay though. If you don't come from a farm, what's behind the facade is far more interesting, a rich urban stew of new and old, traditional and experimental, comfortable and squalid. Just behind the mighty LG Twin Towers, two of the many glass and steel titans in the heart of Beijing's commercial district, lies a real slice of Chinese life. While Main Street is for corpocrats and their employees, just behind it are earthy neighborhoods where one may spend hours marveling at the fascinating blend of old and new. These pictures and their comments are an attempt to capture the essence of the blend, for the old will certainly fade away, but the spirit and culture of those who live in the side streets are indelible. Clinic visitors buy jujubes from a horse cart. Thousands of farmers bring their produce into Beijing this way early every morning, and are a common sight just blocks from the high rises of New Beijing. The City of a Million Restaurants has something for everyone, including those who call a one kuai bowl of noodles a treat. The vast majority of Beijingers buy their produce at street stalls like this one. Such stalls proliferate around middle class residential areas like this one, so that people have only a few minutes' walk to market. The haggling, however, inevitably consumes saved travel time. Note the fresh bamboo stalks on the left - nothing like the stinky stuff in the can. Entrance to a typical apartment complex. The brown building on the left bills itself as a cultural exchange center, but there is plenty of authentic culture to soak up outside its doors. Raising one's eyes to the North, a pedestrian is reminded that the winds of the WTO blow change ever closer. Streets like this were obviously never intended for the kind of traffic they must cope with. With the center of Chinese commerce so close by, a trip from one end of this half-kilometer street can easily take twenty to forty minutes or more during rush hour. During high traffic times, not only two-way auto traffic but also hordes of pedestrians, streams of bikes both electric and pedal powered, motorcycles, and horse carts contribute to the chaos. Commuters must develop Zen-like patience, especially as a bus like the one on the left would think nothing of stopping in the middle of the road during a traffic jam to disgorge its passengers. The only traffic law is "Do as thou wilt." Cyclists' and pedestrians' right of way is only the right to get out of the way. A mid-scale restaurant can afford an endless supply of waiters and waitresses who work and live on the premises. Legions of these rural youngsters come to big Chinese cities for restaurant jobs. The sixty to one hundred dollars they make per month goes almost entirely to family, after they've bought cellphones. But without Beijing residence cards, they are outside the law, and favored targets for exploitation. A coal powered oven warms steamed meat buns on a winter morning. Ten buns, about thirty cents U.S.. Taking them into the adjacent barber shop and enjoying a $1.25 head and shoulders massage is an option, for those with the time and inclination. Next door to the produce stalls and steamed bun shops, a luxury apartment high rise. Despite its humble surroundings, it is a ten minute walk from the corridors of financial power, and priced for elites only - at least $3000 per square meter, comparable to prices in other international cities, but unthinkable in Beijing even half a decade ago. Unlike more modest Beijing residence areas, no metal gate is necessary. Across the street from the luxury high rise, accomodations for the small entrepreneur. The blue light is that of a tiny TV, on top of a refrigerator and next to a cot, a sink, and double gas burner, a home one and a half meters high and two and a half long, but sufficient for the owner of this stall. The south end of the street intersects with an expressway, newly built so that suburban millionaires [RMB] can zoom into town and to their office towers. Those without the resources to rent stalls or buy horse carts carry their goods to corners like this one, knowing the high traffic volume may bring car- bound customers looking for a quick purchase. The model is basically like street-level drug dealing in America and England's urban centers, but the only damage is to flow of traffic. A typical entrance to a typical apartment building in a typical complex just off the street. The entrance and hallways seem dark and foreboding, but they lead to a warren of cheerful if cramped apartments, full of chatter and good cooking. View of the apartment complex courtyard from the doorway pictured previously. Dryers are a luxury, and many hang their larger items of laundry outside in common areas to dry. It's also a peaceful place to read or exercise. Although vastly outnumbered by produce stands and restaurants, one can find plenty of stores like this offering domestic sundries. It's not Walmart, but then again, it's not Walmart. A lively haggling session between jujube vendor and buyer. The fellow in the parka wants five jin, about two and a half kilos, and a good price. He'll probably end up paying fifteen to twenty kuai, or two to two and a half dollars. The jujubes are locally grown, taste like apples, and pack an amazing antioxidant punch. They're also known for scouring out the most noodle-flour-clogged digestive tract. Those chicken are undoubtedly fresh, for now. The fish being scaled alive was just pulled from the street vendor's big white bucket, thrashing in vain. Recycling and junk transportation are two of Beijing's biggest marginal economies, most of it carried out on tricycles like this one. Should this seventy three old woman be doing something else with her day? Like what - watching game shows and knitting? She can probably still dance the Highland Fling. The only resistance to my photojournalism came from this gas station attendant, who marched over quickly when he saw my camera, shouting "Nonononono!" My intent was to show how many customers the place had at ten in the morning, evidence of China's mounting energy demands. I told him to call the police quickly, as I was working for the Iraqi government. Petty authority must be met with lunacy at every juncture. When steamed buns no longer appeal, the adventurous gastronome can sidle up to one of these stalls, where all manner of funky gizzards, critters, and molded fish paste are stuck through and boiled in spicy red oil. The north end of the street runs into border land between Hutong and hi-rise, a massive construction site with hundreds like it - every street, every neighborhood. A pedestrian often finds himself casting a shadow on ugly corrugated construction fencing like this, no sidewalk to step on, dodging traffic, and chewing on airborne grit. Still, it's often a faster way from Point A to B than a car. Just past the ugly metal fence, and across the street from the rear of the LG Towers, another ugly fence, and the thinly cloaked skeleton behind it. Whatever the new building will be, rest assured it will extend the fiefdom of the CBD, and encroach on the territory of the ordinary Beijingers next door.