Exploring Beijing’s Underground Tunnel Maze

Tian An Men lies at the panoramic heart of Beijing, a vast and sprawling sea of stone filled with reminders of the past. Crowning the great square are the palaces of the fabled Forbidden City whose acres of scarlet and gold still dazzle the onlooker.

From the rostrum atop its high Gate of Heavenly Peace, Mao Tse-tung stood to tell the world of his victory in 1949. The memorial building housing his see-through casket looms near the center of the square.

Still the city’s geographical and spiritual center, Tian An Men continues to be the scene of celebrations, political rallies and mass meetings in numbers that only China can muster (never deserted, the present square can easily hold a million people).

Underside of Life

But for the venturesome traveler who isn’t satisfied with monuments and packaged tours, Luxingshe, the Chinese government tourist office in China, from time to time offers an offbeat glimpse of the underside of Chinese life. Although it is little more than mentioned in travel reports, beneath the crowded square and streets of the capital exists a second Beijing, the astonishing Underground City.

Our request to visit the labyrinth approved, we followed Xu Yuanwen, our young, slightly roly-poly government guide. A linguist who speaks perfect English, Xu has translated the works of Marx and Engels. (“Important but very, very boring,” he confided.)

An early spring rain, chilly but invigorating, added to the spell of adventure as we strode from Tian An Men into the web of narrow alleyways twisting away from the square.

The air was a heady mixture of pungent smells: the sweet freshness of fish, the steaming fragrance of buns bursting with bean sauce, the aroma of street vendors’ warming woks.

Weaving through a sea of cyclists, we crossed Great Barrier Street, passed the Traditional Medicine Shop, which for centuries made up imperial prescriptions, and paused before a nondescript clothing store.

Crouching in the dark doorway, a sturdy tailor rose slowly and bowed us inside. Curious, we followed his hand signals and were shoe-buttoned between drab bolts of cotton in the space behind the display counter.

In mid-conversation, we peered down in astonishment as the linoleum floor in front of our feet silently slid away, revealing a flight of concrete steps leading deep into the ground.

Below the Surface

We descended the steps and narrow passage to a second level 26 feet below the surface.

If the entrance is understated, the enormous underground room gives an impression of unreality. In another place it might be a faded Hollywood set. Deep under the streets of the capital city lies a vast network of tunnels and well-ventilated, illuminated chambers designed for protection of the city’s 9 million against nuclear blast and fallout.

The mini-metropolis was begun in 1969 after the chill between Mao and the Russians signaled a new international wariness.

Designed in segments for the protection of people working or shopping in the immediate neighborhood, the entire life-support system was burrowed underground by the people in a display of “can do” solidarity. “Working on a voluntary basis,” Xu emphasized, “the masses dug out thousands of miles of earth.”

Each factory, shop or school has its hidden entrance. Gradual additions have expanded the original core to a web-work of tunnels that extends underneath all of Beijing and leads to the outskirts of the city.

Before Xu guided us through the cool, high chambers, he cautioned against picture taking. Still, we were shown a highly sophisticated system containing kitchen and dining rooms, first-aid centers, vast facilities for the storage of food and water, emergency power systems, toilets and telephone lines.

As we wandered through the enclosed world of echoing corridors, whose thick walls are lined with concrete and the gray brick common to northern China, Xu kept up a running commentary.

Near-Decade of Excavations

He pointed out massive steel blast doors set at strategic locations and told us of the near-decade of excavations that uncovered valuable artifacts, many on display in the “Brief History of Beijing” exhibit of the Capital Museum.

Although it was not possible to orient themselves clearly, the basic plan seems to follow the chessboard pattern of the city center above ground. Following Xu’s lead, we looped through crisscrossing tunnels, past rooms overflowing with cots stacked on end and enormous sealed containers of dried foodstuffs.

“The humidity damages a lot of stored equipment,” he said, “especially those pieces left unused. It is a technical problem for us.”

At various points the plain walls, unmarked by graffiti, carry posters urging “Pay Attention to Hygiene” (a reminder to use strategically placed spittoons) and the ubiquitous “No Smoking” plea.

One surprising thing is the intense silence. Earlier, we heard a low hum from the ventilation devices, but later it was quiet within the complex. The only sounds were those of our heels striking the concrete floor and the tonal rhythm of Xu’s voice as he recited statistics. It was a world all its own.

In a presentation hall that the Chinese, proud of their achievement, have put together, stand covered scale models of the tunnels. Several “No Smoking” posters hang on its walls.

Grateful for a brief rest, we sat in hard wooden chairs, sipping steaming green tea accompanied by slices of sweet, fresh oranges.

We listened to Comrade Bai explain why the tunnels were designed and built. Although he was in civilian garb and told us he is a neighborhood shopkeeper, Bai also wore an unmistakable air of military command.

The Nearest Entrance

He told us that the citizens of each area know the nearest entrance and, to avoid potential confusion or panic, practice periodic drills and briefings in emergency procedures.

“In theory,” Bai continued, “each neighborhood shelter can accommodate 10,000 people who could be below ground within 6-10 minutes of a warning signal.”

“The Chinese have survived dynasties, Mongols, invasion and civil war,” he reminded us. “We have a time-honored tradition of surviving.”

Standing before a bank of large charts which he uncovers, Bai indicated the route we traveled and our present location.

Using this bird’s-eye view, he sketched the tunnels’ circular escape routes through the city and its environs. “This system of passages,” he said, “can successfully disperse most of Beijing’s citizens.”

In a display of modified high-tech, Bai used a pointer that lighted any spot on his upright display at a touch. By the end of his presentation the charts were dotted with a dizzying, crazy-quilt pattern of light.

“Chairman Mao,” he paraphrased in leaving, “taught us that it is important to dig tunnels deep and store grain everywhere.”

In the hour spent underground, we had been whisked through an astonishing setting that was sometimes a bit eerie. The last culture shock came after climbing the stairs to our original entrance.

The floor, as before, slid back soundlessly. As we emerged, an elderly gentleman, trying on trousers, stared at us in open-jawed astonishment. The sound of laughter drifted across the room and we joined in that universal language.

Appropriately, there are no travel brochures for the Underground City but if there were, they could offer a secret world far from the ever-present madding crowd. Mile for mile, it is one of China’s most extraordinary hidden assets.