“How much walking do we have left?”

Morning comes sooner than I had hoped, offering me just a little over four hours sleep at about 5:30 am. I get up and become somewhat homesick so I try to track my wife down for a call. No luck for an hour, so I try to check in on this blog and come up empty. The site won’t come up. I can do just about everything but read it.

My wife makes it home in time for us to squeeze in a call before I’m due downstairs for breakfast and round up for the day’s excursions. Today, we’re scheduled to visit the Forbidden City, Tiananmen Square, the Temple of Heaven and the Summer Palace.

The breakfast tables are abuzz with talk of the previous night’s festivities, which amounted to little more than pub crawling into the wee hours. Here’s a look at the Ban Po Beer Pub, which I forgot to include yesterday.



We mount the tour bus and head to our first stop, the Forbidden City. I honestly don’t remember the total area, but we’re talking several hundred million square feet. Originally the home of the Emperor, Empress, concubines and hundreds of armed eunuchs, the Forbidden City is something else. Built over 4 centuries, it is an amazing place to walk through.

Here’s some quick moments from our visit:







…and a clip I could only title, “Shameless Promotion”….



There are much better guides for this then me, so here’s a couple of quick observations to put in my two cents.

1. The doors here all have galley doorways, meaning there’s a lip you have to step over. But, consider you’re one of the Emperor’s many concubines, and tradition holds that you would be foot-bound. How do you get over these high lips of the doors?




2. Some among our team noticed the familiar symbol of the swastika on these centuries-old urns. I don’t know what they mean, but chalk it up to Hitler & Co’s. tendency to bastardize other cultures’ symbols.



3. We are strangely fascinating to people. They’re not used to too many Americans in their midst, but they definitely don’t see too many African-Americans. People have literally gone out of their way to ask African-American members of our cohort to take pictures with them. One woman, fascinated beyond words, walked around a group of our African-American contingent with an almost open jaw. And when they’re not staring at the African-Americans, they’re giving us all the “once over”, as thought they’re taking mental notes in some way. Just watch some of the folks walking past us in this clip.



We head out of the Meridian Gate, towards Tiananmen Square. Listen to me getting all excited about seeing Chairman Mao’s picture on the wall as I walk out.



Tiananmen Square is the single largest public square in the world. Apart from the history we all know, Tiananmen Square is also the center of the seats of power.



We grab a bus and head for the Temple of Heaven, a beloved park housing the Hall of Prayer for Good Harvests. The park is buzzing with people. It’s Saturday, and these people are here enjoying the space, the company and their culture.







Is it me, or does that tune sound like “The Ballad of the Green Berets”?

You know what struck me looking at this? These people choose to spend their Saturday upholding their shared culture. From the shuttlecock game that clearly inspired the hacky sack, to the card games, these people are continuing to fuel the culture that they hold. And I find that noble. Westerners can complain about other cultures’ perceived shortcomings, or delude ourselves with feelings of superiority. Nevertheless, I don’t see us doing this. I’m sure a few Brits spend their weekends adding to our knowledge of Shakespeare; and some Americans follow their interest in what I think is America’s gift to the world, revolution. But you won’t find this in Central Park on this scale.

A quick, but satisfying lunch and we’re back on the road, this time to the Summer Palace. The sheer mileage has worn most of us out. We oblige the tour, but don’t pay it much attention. Apparently, the Summer Palace was the chief residence of an undermining empress who consolidated her power, and then started construction on a little tribute to her. Some beautiful sights here, including this old gentleman, writing calligraphy with water on the dirty stones.

Beauty and interest aside, we’ve been walking all day and we all begin to shut down. We need to call it a day. We head out of the Summer Palace estate, and high tail it past what we’re told are the most aggressive street vendors in the country. That’s saying something; because we have been assaulted just about everywhere we go. We’ve had a little fun with it, but then we’ve also driven past shanty towns, where it’s obvious Beijing’s poorest residents live. “I don’t want to buy a postcard book, and especially not with your tactics – but that’s a rough life.”

Heading back to the hotel, we’re treated to more construction sites and traffic. Cars are covered in a sizable layer of dust. Sand does occasionally blow in from the desert, but it’s also clearly from the smog. We’re all clearing our throats, and blowing our noses, and the results aren’t pretty. We’re finding that our acclimation will have to happen in more than one way.

A quick change of clothes and we head out for a concert at the new National Theatre, the official state performance hall. This place is gorgeous. It’s shaped like an egg, with a near-black exterior rigged with lights. At night, it blends right into the night sky, so much so, that a picture doesn’t do it justice. We go underground to get in, and we walk under a moat that surrounds the building. You can look up and see the water rippling – a great idea for a bedroom ceiling. Cameras are not allowed in the halls (hence the conspicuous absence of pictures), so we scramble to check our cameras. Then, we’re wand-ed through security. Welcome to the State as event coordinator. Inside, the building is equally beautiful, taking cues from Philly’s Kimmel Center, and then vastly outdoing them.

The show was a sort of cultural survey of traditional Chinese music, with special attention paid to the varying ethnicities. It’s pretty niche audience stuff, and with our exhaustion from the day, we are having a hard time staying engaged. I feel myself fading – fast! To compensate, I resort to what I call “the Citizen Kane technique”, clapping loudly and vigorously at the end of number, hopefully generating enough energy to carry me through another 9 minutes of sitars and arias.

A quick late dinner, and I call it a night. Besides, I took a professors advice and scheduled a late massage to aid my falling asleep.

Didn’t help. I’m writing this as of 4:30am. I need to hear my wife’s voice. So, let’s see, if it’s 4:30 am here, it’s 3:30pm there, right?......