This photo of the flag of the People’s Republic of China was taken yesterday at Tianamen Square which translated means “Gate of Heavenly Peace”. It has not always been so.
My first visit to China and Beijing was in 1985, four years before the episode we all remember which played out at Tianamen Square in 1989. As I stood in the center of the square with S. yesterday, I had flashbacks to my experiences over the last twenty-five years. I thought it might be worthwhile, even interesting to recount some of them for you as a prelude to the blogs I intend to post during and after our current trip as tourists to the Middle Kingdom. It’s worth while to note that the literal translation of Tianamen is Gate of Heavenly Peace or sometimes, mandate from Heaven. I guess the gods will never leave us alone, even in China.
1. My first Chinese meal in China was a banquet hosted by the General Motors representative in Beijing (who happened to be Japanese), and it was an important learning experience. In fact, one never to be forgotten. It was in a private room in one of the large, old hotels accompanied by enumerable toasts of Chinese firewater (Mao Tai). As I perused the custom printed menu, I noticed about the fourth dish down an entry entitled “Civet Cat in Brown Gravy”. It didn’t sound right, but I assumed a translation problem and reaffirmed my intention to try everything. I served a healthy portion of the steaming, brown, glutinous mass which, oddly, smelled quite good. I tucked in and transferred a goodly amount to my mouth, but that was as far as it got. I could not get it past my gullet. It exploded into flavors that can only be described as… skunk like….which is exactly what it was. A civet cat is a first cousin to that black and white stripped critter we know as a skunk.
2. Skipping ahead a few years, I was the guest of honor hosted by the Shanghai Science and Technology Commission as we visited the Bao Shan steel plant south of Shanghai. This rolling steel plant was supposed to be a shinning example of China’s manufacturing technology. It wasn’t, at least then, because of a shortage of anthracite coal which was required to fire the huge smelters. We had lunch in “The Worker’s Cafeteria” behind a thin wall of dividers hiding us from the view of “the workers”. Thankfully there was no Chinese firewater on hand, but we had copious amounts of a thin orange drink to wash down the comestibles. As the honored guest, I was offered the first try at a giant steamed fish of dubious pedigree surrounded by a medley of mushy, unidentifiable veggies. I was directed to that area of the fish directly behind the gill and extracted a few morsels with my chopsticks and popped it directly into my mouth. A burst of sewer like flavor convinced me I needed to expel it quickly. I bolted the table, with full mouth, hoping they would think I had an emergency of the nether regions. On the way I spotted a potted palm which I used as a receptacle for the malodorous fish. When would I ever learn.
3. My final gustatory memory involved a banquet wherein I was seated with the Vice-mayor of Beijing (who spoke no English). Making small talk through a translator is never easy, but that never stopped me. I asked the Vice-mayor if there were foods known as “health foods” in China. He politely replied that all foods in China were healthy…which should have ended this line of conversation. I plunged ahead. “No”, I said. “I meant foods that have a particular healthy quality”. After much conversation with his translator, he replied that the soup we were eating was an example of healthy Chinese food, particularly for men. Ignoring the danger signals, I inquired after it’s name. Again, after lengthy dialogue with his translator, he replied that it had no name, at least in English. I pressed on. “How would you describe it then,” I asked. After yet more conversation with the translator, he smiled brightly at me and said, “this we would describe as organ of the ox soup”. Organ of the ox soup, I repeated. Yes, he said in good English, “you know, ox penis soup”. And I thought they were mushrooms.
You may think it odd that these memories have stayed with me so long, but, as we all know, food is important to our understanding of people and culture. I do have other memories of what China was like for me not that long ago, but, as it turns out, it was a very long time ago in China’s rush to modernity. Here they are in no particular order.
1. The Great Wall Sheraton. It was the only faintly western like hotel in Beijing in the mid 80’s. All the expats were here and we all suffered equally the bad facilities, service and food. I suspect they only vacuumed the carpets once a month or so, and they evidently never cleaned the public bathrooms.
2. Cabbage. Chinese cabbage was virtually the only vegetable available during the winter months. It was hauled by carts, pulled by donkeys, bicycles, motos, and carried by hand. It was piled in huge pyramids along side the roads, and it was cooked every way cabbage can be cooked and served. I never met a Chinese cabbage I liked.
3. Badaling. The nearest access from Beijing to The Great Wall. The February morning my delegation was taken there by GM limo was the coldest of my life. I wore every bit of clothing I could find and still I shivered. The seventy kilometers was traveled over mostly dirt roads in about two hours. Due to copious cups of steaming black coffee, my bladder was screaming at about the thirty km mark, but I held on until the Wall loomed ahead. The driver pointed to an opening in the Wall near the steps. I bolted for relief. I hit the wall, no, not the Wall, but the wall of disgusting odors just inside the opening. I gasped, my eyes watered, and I retreated desperate for fresh air in spite of my urinary crisis. I rose to the occasion out of desperation. I dabbed at my eyes with the sleeve of my cashmere overcoat, took a very deep breath, which I held for the duration of my business inside the Wall. I made it…just barely.
4. Negotiations. Negotiating anything with the Chinese is, shall we say, a challenge. I spent two weeks in morning to night negotiations with a Chinese delegation trying to agree to terms for a joint venture company that would provide computer services to all departments of the Beijing Municipality. A great coup for moi and my company if I got it done. There were six or eight or ten of them at any one time, and three of us. The talks were in a cavernous room which evidently had no source of heat other than our own bodies. They wore insulated Mao suits. We wore sweaters and coats. They served large mugs of boiling water with bits of green tea floating therein which I never quite got the hang of drinking without catching small morsels of tea leaves between my teeth. At the end of two weeks they had worn me down. I would have signed anything. I never even knew who was in charge on their side. As events transpired, my deal was undone by events at Tianamen and the closing of China’s great experiment in Open Door policy, but I profited from the experience.
5. Language. No gringo should ever even try to speak any of the Chinese dialects. Even if we use the right words, we’re likely to use the wrong tone and “may I have another cucumber sandwich” will come out “your sister has a big wart on her nose”. Now, the study of English is required for all high school and university students. Then, a citizen of the People’s Republic may have been considered a running dog capitalist for trying to speak English. Hence, only diplomats and desk clerks at some hotels spoke any English in public, and then very poorly. I recall a reception at the American embassy in Beijing, wherein my Chinese handler spoke undecipherable English and I, clearly, spoke no Chinese. We both tried bad French, and it worked after a sort. At least I didn’t insult his sister, I think.
6. Environment. I’m pretty sure the Chinese invented air pollution. If they didn’t, they certainly took it to a new level. In the winter, morning, noon, and night a thick, sulfurous, noxious cloud obscured the view of all but the largest and nearest objects. From time to time, this man made pollution was mixed with huge masses of dust particles wafting down the Mongolian plain and settling on the city for days at a time. Everyone wore those little white surgical masks in a vain attempt to keep their lungs clear from the various pollutants. My strategy was to never go outside, except for brief bursts running to and from the limo, and then to wash away the residue with medicinal G&T’s in the hotel lobby at happy hour. Thank god the Chinese government finally banned the use of bituminous coal bricks for heating in the city. I don’t know how they keep warm, but at least you can breathe.
7. Transportation. There were only three stretch limos in the country at the time, and they were all owned and provided by General Motors trying to curry favor with those who would have to approve their right to do business in China. I used one of those limos in my trips to Beijing, and the not surprising result was that we literally drew a crowd wherever we went. The combination of gringos in a long black Cadillac was too much for the workers to ignore. They waved, they coughed, they spat, they pressed their noses against the windows, and they even applauded when we emerged from the car. There were no other cars in China then. Get it. No cars. Well, really I mean private cars. Government officials had state owned cars, and state owned companies had dilapidated old trucks, probably left over from the Japanese occupation, that hauled stuff around, but you could go for a long drive and not see more than three or four vehicles that you would trust to get in. Bicycles. There was a veritable sea of bicycles. In the morning, I would look out the window of my hotel room at the TGW Sheraton and marvel at the continuous flow of bicycles, carrying people to their work and all manner of goods, most of which were not intended for bicycle portage.
8. Government. I met many Chinese officials during my visits and negotiations in China, but the most memorable was Li Peng. You know, that Li Peng. At the time I met him he was the Vice-premier of China. A really big cheese in the Chinese government. It’s lost in the fog of time, how or why I got an audience with the big man, but I did. We met in a ceremonial room of their Hall of State. I prepared well, and knew that Peng was not only a Moscow trained hydroelectric engineer, but also a student of ancient Chinese history and a particular fan of the Tang Dynasty (618 AD-904 CE). S. and I had developed an interest in Tang art while we lived in London and by way of our collection of Tang figurines and bowls, and I figured, what the hey, if the opportunity came, I was going to lay a little Tang on him. It did and I did. It changed what was a very formal ceremonial meeting, to a brief exchange about an area of common interest. It didn’t alter history, however. Mine or his. I went on to negotiate a joint venture that ultimately failed, in part by the decision of this same Li Peng to not give in to the protests at Tianamen Square a few years later. I suspect that his Russian education in hydrology was far more valuable in that he is widely recognized as the Father of the Three Gorges Dam Project which provides much of the electricity that they consume.
I could go on, but won’t. I’m anxious to get to the New China which S. and I are now visiting as tourists. Over the next few days I will be posting periodically my observations and musings about China today as seen through the eyes of one whose understanding is colored by impressions twenty-five years old. I’ll give you a clue. It’s really different. So different that I suspect it will be hard to adequately describe. I’ll give it a go.
