Essay

By Noam Backner

A Memory Map of the Beijing Metro

Station names serve as windows into the walls, markets, villages, and infrastructure buried beneath the modern city.

Landscape across Eurasia
Landscape across Eurasia

A ride on the subway is often a journey through time.

Not literally, of course, but the rapid transit between points scattered across space allows for a brief excursion through layers of urban memory—even when that memory is preserved only in the names of the stations flashing by.

Since you are already squeezed between a stranger, a pole, and a window, you might as well stare at the system map and try to identify the patterns and place names echoing a distant past. It is estimated that many of Beijing’s metro stations preserve names dating back to the Republican era or the late Qing Dynasty, if not earlier.

In the modern city center, station names corresponding to the Inner and Outer Cities of the imperial era echo that ancient structure, particularly the walls and gates of the now-vanished old Beijing. Andingmen, Tiananmen, and Qianmen stations join several others named after historic hutongs and markets, marking the economic hubs of the old city.

These markets—such as the Lantern Market, the Vegetable and Porcelain Market, and the ancient Pig Market (which eventually became the "Pearl Market," a name that reads more elegantly but sounds quite similar)—were concentrated in the southern and eastern districts. They sat in "civilian" areas alongside aristocratic estates and various dynastic garrisons. These stood by the roads leading to the heart of the city, parallel to the outbound routes that expelled the byproducts of the agricultural yield flowing into the capital in the form of "night soil"—human waste that was absolutely vital to the functioning of the Northern Capital's agricultural hinterland.

The next tier of names, in terms of location and frequency relative to the center, belongs to various bridges, wells, roads, intersections, and other transport infrastructure. Most travelers on those dusty paths moved by donkey or mule, in two-wheeled carts or on camels, and most often—on foot.

Third in the hierarchy, yet accounting for as much as a third of all station names, is the category referring to the agrarian periphery: names of villages, some named after specific clans, orchard lands, and the like, though the latter sometimes refer to summer estates owned by the elite.

Fourth are the few names referring to past institutions across the administrative, religious, and commercial spectrum. Many are linked to the trade and communication routes connecting the imperial capital to the vast horizon: a few stations are related to military bases, administrative centers, Buddhist temples, and roadside inns. One rogue entry refers to a kiln—though, delightfully, in folk slang, the term can also refer to a brothel.

Finally, there are the topographical names describing the natural features surrounding the ancient capital. These—creeks and hills, streams and ravines—have been preserved in about 15% of all modern station names, mummified now, and perhaps forever, beneath stretches of asphalt and concrete.

To me, at least, the memory map of the Beijing Metro represents an interim summary of the storms of the 20th century—a record of the preservation and destruction, renewal and forgetting that occurred as the Chinese state agonized its way across the threshold of modernity.

While a heavy heart might mourn the passing eras of alleys, camels, and walls, it is clear that Beijing's ability to reassert itself as the political center of a global power necessitated the breaking—at times violent—of the old city's shells and a feverish slide toward that distant horizon.

Today, some two decades after the last great wave of destruction in old Beijing, the mixture of spaces characterizing the historic city center seems satisfactory in its ability to finally contain the past in a balanced and respectful manner—just moments before it sinks away forever.

Could the process have been less frantic and more considered? Undoubtedly. We can at least take comfort in the remaining heritage, in the etymology of the names, in the blended space, and in the memory buried deep within the earth.

Common Place-Markers in Beijing Subway Station Names

  • Religion: 寺, 庙, 宫 — approx. 3–5%.
  • Infrastructure: 路, 门, 桥, 街, 口 — approx. 25–35%; 路 (Road) alone approx. 8–10%.
  • Rural, Agricultural, or Estate: 庄, 村, 园, 苑, 营, 里 — approx. 25–35%.
  • Topography: 湖, 河, 山, 沟, 岭, 潭 — approx. 10–15%.
  • Military, Relay, or Defense: 营, 堡, 铺 — approx. 2–4%.
  • Commerce or Market: 口 — approx. 3–5%, overlapping with infrastructure.
  • Hutong or Alley: 胡同, 巷 — approx. 1–2%.
  • Other or Mixed: 公园, 场, 基地 — approx. 10–15%.

Related writing