My List of Things not to be “messed with” keeps getting longer . . .

Texas? Check. China? You better believe it.

We were told that trying to fully explore Beijing in only three full days would be nearly impossible. Turns out, “they” were right, but we tried hard anyways. If there is any one lesson to learn from China, it would be not to underestimate it in any way.

From the 100 degree heat we found on our arrival (at 8pm) to the intense smog and air pollution, and from the total lack of personal space the culture warmly embraces (pun intended) to the People’s Republic’s odd love of Chairman Mao Zedong—China is an “in your face,” pushy, and, after hours of climbing the Great Wall and trudging through ancient palaces, an exhausting nation. I loved every minute.

We started the trip at the Great Wall. Led by our fearless leader Professor Bowman (read: Greg “Thor” Bowman), we woke up early and quickly learned the three hours we allotted to explore at the site was not long enough to see the entire Wall. My touristy (it’s a word, look it up) American genes kicked in full-blast, and I was quickly taking pictures of every mountain top, wall fragment, oddly shaped rock, or attractive Bulgarian woman that came my way. Our group eventually split into smaller groups, and I ended up making most of the climb with Adrian “The Great Wall should sell cigarettes” Westbrook. We had a great time, although my ego took a huge hit when our many photo-ops started allowing people several times our age to pass us. But, hey, I took some great pictures and (eventually) completed the trek to the top.

Although we saw several traditional and ancient Chinese palaces, my other favorite site was Tiananmen Square. It is really an odd feeling to stand in a place where so many seeking a government reform to democracy have protested. Overlooking the entire square is Chairman Mao’s portrait—an enduring testament to communism and the government’s hard-line rule of all 1.3 billion Chinese citizens?). Twice daily his body is raised from a refrigerated coffin for a public viewing (can you imagine if we did that sort of thing with our presidents?). Seven of us tried to join the incredibly long line (the line for Space Mountain has nothing on this), but the guards found reasons to kick us out (wearing sandals, carrying bags, etc). Even the mood on the square feels tense—the many guards are constantly watching for signs of protest or unrest.

The giant Mao photo and overall spectacle (you better believe his image is all over plaques, watches, party platform books, etc for souvenir purchase) greatly impressed on me how much we Americans take for granted the peaceful transfer of government power in the United States. On January 20 George Bush quietly and gracefully boarded a helicopter and left D.C. for Texas. No riots, no drama, no unrest in the slightest. Despite the millions of voters who cast their ballots for another candidate, the entire nation warmly greeted a new leader. No one would suggest we post W’s portrait all over the National Mall as a nostalgic reminder of his command. The Chinese are not so lucky—this one man’s presence is everywhere. He and the modern day remains of his party are inescapable (the government even went so far as to block access to both Twitter and Facebook during the Tiananmen Square twentieth anniversary).

And now a word on (authentic) Chinese food. . .

Before I write a novel on the pitfalls of communism above, I’ll move along. I’m a huge fan of trying new foods. The more exotic the dish, the better (at least initially) in my book. Throughout Japan and Seoul, this mantra worked surprisingly well. One night we even played “food roulette” with a menu written only in Hangul with no corresponding pictures (I got the equivalent of a vegetable omelet, Keith got fried chicken liver, and Juan got the hottest chicken he had ever eaten).

So, my American appetite and I decide to take on China. Bad idea. The second night’s dinner consisted of an appetizer of jelly fish heads served cold, pork lung served extra spicy, and fried chicken with peppers as an entrée. Yes, I voluntarily chose those meals. Failure, failure, failure. The jelly fish head tasted like cold gristle in soy sauce while the fried chicken dish looked like the entire chicken was placed in a blender for chopping—different sized bone fragments made it intolerable (including one piece shaped like a beak, needless to say I psyched myself out).

Nothing, however, compares to the next day’s lunch. Following dinner (or lack thereof) from the night before, I decided to go the safe route for lunch and order pork. I’m thinking to myself, “Pork is a Chinese culinary staple—it has to be good, right?” Wrong. Although it had a few chunks of meat, it was mostly boiled skin. Think pork rind soup. Bleh. I’ll stick to my favorite Mississippi all-you-can-eat Chinese buffets in the future. Lesson learned.


Matt Harris