Arriving at the watchtower at the summit of the Badaling section of the Great Wall, my daughter Marg and I were unexpectedly greeted by a young Chinese man with a mop top, a shy smile, and a fanny pack. He asked us in perfect English, “Are you enjoying your trip to China?” We were! All the people gathered there had worked together to get to the top. The climb had been challenging, involving several long lines, torrential downpours in the surrounding mountains and sweltering heat and humidity. Along our way up the uneven steps, I had clung to Marg for support. On the steps around us, we made our way around families plopped down on the steps to have a snack and a middle-aged man, his eyes focused on a banana, perched unconcernedly on a step eating as hundreds of people flowed around him, making their way up. But once we achieved our goal of reaching the peak, we could see the thousands of people, mostly Chinese natives, also making their way up the steps, the beautiful mountains of central China, and the darkening rainclouds in the skyline. Because we completed the climb, we could call ourselves heroes according to Mao Zedung. How fortunate we were to have made it to the top!
Another experience on my trip was walking around Ritan Park, one of the oldest public parks in Beijing, located about a quarter of a mile from our hotel. Circling the inside perimeter of the park is a pathway where many people walked enjoying the extensive gardens and a small lake. Joining the walkers, I saw several men playing a competitive game of ping pong, a group of people practicing Tai Chi and several others using the exercise machines provided. At one point, I heard traditional Chinese music playing and stopped to watch a group of women dancing, most of them wearing skirts, which accentuated their graceful movements. As I left the park, I saw a group of four men in blue shirts, two of them on ladders, trimming roses which were growing up a wall in the park.
One aspect of the journey I did not enjoy was the ubiquitous presence of surveillance cameras on the streets and the frequent sight of police and the military. We were told to always carry our passports with us and had to show them frequently. On my first day in Beijing, a work colleague of Marg’s, LiJin, showed me around the city. At one point, the two of us were walking past an official headquarters where we were stopped by two young policemen. They asked for our passports and searched our bags.The authorities asked LiJin numerous questions in Chinese. I was afraid there might be a problem, but eventually they waved us on. On another day a tour guide rented bikes for the two of us, and we rode them along the north side of Tiananmen Square. During our short ride we were stopped several times at checkpoints and asked for our passports. At one point a policeman also took our pictures and matched them with the photos on our passports.If one of many other tourists riding along the same path stopped to take a picture, they were immediately told by a policeman in an authoritative tone to move along.
So, thanks to an unexpected gift from my youngest child, an invitation to travel with her to China, I was able to let my spirit fly and immerse myself in another culture, enjoying the Chinese people, their determination, and their public spiritedness.
Music: Concerto for Pipa and Strings by Tan Dun