Walk, don’t run through Chinatown

I didn’t realize how close Chinatown was to USC until I started training for my first marathon last year. One day, on an out-and-back run past Downtown Los Angeles, I accidentally stumbled upon the embellished dragon gateway that marks the entrance.

So this was Chinatown.

I’d been before. In third grade, my class took a field trip to Chinatown. We went on a cultural walking tour. I bought a cheap decorated fan and a Sailor Moon address book that is still in a drawer, somewhere.

I remember going back with my temple’s Haverim group for a lunch which consisted of courses of steaming dishes that I — a picky eater whose diet at the time consisted primarily of grilled cheese — mostly abstained from.

And there were other visits which blurred together. Each of those trips centered on food in some way. As I grew older, my palate expanded past pre-sliced cheddar cheese.

But I’d never gone before, just to go.

On my run, I took in the sights, the smells, the different terrain (you could see grassy hills from the sidewalk, a sight for sore eyes accustomed to cement and more cement). There were places I remember dogmarking in my mind to visit later (Phoenix Bakery, which boasts being the oldest and largest bakery in Chinatown, stands out). But I never ended up making those trips. Other things to do, places to see.

If I’m being honest, though, I think one of the reasons I never made it back was because I wasn’t sure how to approach Chinatown on a non-superficial level. The neighborhood struck me as interesting and unexpected — certainly a change of pace from Downtown Los Angeles. The historic architecture, the fragrant apothecaries and the colorful storefronts gave the area its own unique feel. But I didn’t know how to access Chinatown. On my run, I couldn’t help but notice that the people around me were a mix of insiders and blatant tourists. Even just passing through, I felt like the latter.

It’s bothered me that I haven’t really made an effort to get to know Chinatown. I’ve read about it in Lisa See’s novels that detail the early history of the area. I’ve seen it on film, in Chinatown and Rush Hour. And when I was the lifestyle editor for the Daily Trojan, I edited articles about its burgeoning nightlife and cultural scene. But I’ve never gotten to know it on my own.

Since this past weekend was Chinese New Year, otherwise known as the Spring Festival or Lunar New Year, I took another run down to Chinatown to catch the 115th Golden Dragon Parade on Saturday.

It was the year of the horse, and people crowded the streets to watch the procession. It was a sight. Bright confetti decorated the pavement, as people pulled party poppers that burst in the air like colorful gunshots.

It was a strange mix of commercial and authentic. Around me, outdoor vendors sold caricatures of East Asian culture (“Straw hats for $5, fans: three for $10”). But adjacent to the vendors, authentic fish markets were open for business — tilapia, lobster and silver carp staring back from glass cases, mouths open, whiskers quivering.

It felt like I was experiencing two different Chinatowns. One moment, I’d see a multi-generational family exchanging red envelopes as they sat on a bench to watch the parade. Then a few feet away, there’d be a mother taking a picture of a little girl dolled up in a light pink kimono and shiny cowboy boots, with takeout food chopsticks stuck in her hair.

When I got hungry, I purchased a savory egg and tomato dish from one of the storefronts. I ate it slowly as I soaked in the atmosphere.

There was an undeniable energy to the day. The streets were packed with a strong representation of different cultural groups. There was so much to take in that I found myself constantly looking around trying to experience everything. I was surprised to see such a strong showing from the Latino community on the sideline and in the procession until I remembered that Olvera Street is geographically adjacent.

As I continued to watch the parade, though, I felt like I did on my run last year — intrigued but still somewhat detached.

The tomato and egg dish sat in my stomach, warm and authentic. Maybe I’m looking for something that isn’t there. But I think I just haven’t been looking hard enough.

Chinatown’s cultural center offers walking tours the first Saturday of the month. I’m going to go next month. Maybe by walking in Chinatown, rather than running through it next time, I’ll see it from a different perspective.

 

Jackie Mansky is a senior majoring in print and digital journalism. Her column, “City of Angels,” runs Tuesdays.