Postcard from Beijing

Ni hao. My husband, John, and I are just back from a trip to Beijing and suffering from culture and jet lag. Several times I’ve caught myself saying “xie xie,” instead of “thank you,” and I’m still craving noodles.

Before we left, someone commented that an 8-day stay wasn’t worth the 12-hour flight from San Francisco. My first day in China, I stood on top of The Great Wall and saw it snaking its way over hill after hill, going on for thousands of miles beyond my sight. I clambered up steps, some that were almost waist high, and wondered how they got the supplies to build the wall up into that rugged terrain in the 1300s. If I’d had to turn around and catch a plane home after experiencing only that, it would’ve been worth the 12-hour flight.

But, I also got to wander through the Empress Dowager’s Summer Palace, see where the concubines lived in The Forbidden City, and feel the massive drum beats vibrate in my body as they pounded out a warning in The Drum Tower. We tested our chopstick skills on bird nests of noodles. John ate scorpions at the Night Market. We both ate Peking Duck in Peking, twice.

We rode a rickshaw through the alleyways of a hutong, a tightly packed series of courtyard houses. Within that maze we visited a market filled with colorful vegetables, pungent spices, piles of eggs, and hanging poultry. An adorable toddler wrapped his arm around my leg beaming a smile up at me.

We met up with two couples: one from Taiwan, and one from Hawaii. For a few days, we three women shopped at the Pearl and Silk Markets. Julia, who’s from Taiwan, was an expert at bargaining, and it was an education watching her. After almost every transaction, the business person she’d gone up against would say, “You are lucky to have your friend bargain for you. She is VERY good!”

Julia was also very good at ordering delicious food at nearby restaurants. We feasted on noodles, dumplings and rice, and sipped tea to keep our shopping energy up.

Penny was with me when I got kicked out of the miles-long line for Mao’s mausoleum in Tian’an Men Square. My mistake: carrying a now famous brown bag, when bags aren’t allowed. The security guard knew enough English to blare, “Brown bag! Brown bag!” and point at me, out of thousands. Everyone around us laughed, and I joined in as I did the duck of shame (another kind of Peking duck) under the ropes to get out of line.

Penny was also with me at a Beijing Park where I did Tai Chi with a group of regulars who quietly start each day there. Afterwards, we climbed to the top of a hill in the park, and watched dawn spread sunlight over The Forbidden City.

As for the 12-hour plane flights, both ways, they were the bargain of a lifetime.

Laura Keolanui Stark is a freelance writer. You can reach her at lkstark@yahoo.com. (Originally published in The Herald, www.puyallupherald.com as “Journey worth 12-hour flight” on 11/4/09.)