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PLEASE NOTE:  With the conclusion of my trip rapidly approaching, I’ve decided that in the interest of time I’ll condense my stay in Beijing to one entry instead of many.  Brevity doesn’t really do justice to my experiences here, but neither does only spending three days in this incredible city.  I could use three weeks to dig deep and explore.

I woke up early Sunday morning to take a van to the airport.  I had a flight to catch from Guangzhou to Beijing.  There were several other passengers traveling with me from the hotel.  In the front passenger seat sat a teen-age Chinese girl.  She kept squirming around to look at me and finally asked in broken English where I was from.  I told her in broken Chinese that I was from the USA.  I could hear her traveling companions giggling in the seats behind me.  It became a little game, they would say something to her in Chinese and she would ask me a question in English.  I would respond and the cycle would be repeated.

Eventually, I started up a conversation with one of her companions.  He is a filmmaker from Beijing.  He and his partner had a documentary in the festival.  They provided cursory training and digital cameras to five Middle School students.  These students became both subjects and filmmakers in a documentary about the survivors of the recent Sichuan earthquake in which 7,000 students died. Along with the bodies and the survivors, there were many tragic stories pulled out of the rubble.  But there were also stories about hope, adaptation, and continuity.

The girl I was speaking to – Pang Yazhi - was one of the survivors.  She was accompanied by an aunt and a girl friend, who was also a student filmmaker.  Reading the blurb about the film, I was struck by how sad her story was.  Yazhi had lost both her legs and walked with the slightest limp.  Yet, her bright personality was infectious and it seemed indulgent to focus on tragedy when she was so animated and curious.  When we arrived at the airport, I pulled out two ornaments that had been donated to me by Chemart and gave them to Yazhi and her friend.  We wished each other a “Merry Christmas” and I made my way into the ticket counter.

Three hours later my plane touched down in Beijing.  I caught a shuttle and then a taxi, finally arriving at my hotel near the Forbidden City.  Compared with the palatial accommodations of my previous berth, my room in Beijing was quite cozy and utilitarian.  After settling in I got in touch with Tashi, a filmmaker that I had met in Guangzhou.  She was working on two films about Tibet and lived around the corner from my hotel.  We made dinner plans and I met her in the hotel lobby shortly thereafter.

Her English was limited, as is my Chinese; luckily she brought a pocket translator.  I was also surprised how much could be communicated with only a few basic subjects and verbs strung together.  To an English speaker passing by, we probably would have sounded like we had the vocabulary of three year-olds.  Tashi took me down a busy side street behind my hotel.  It was filled with busy storefronts and restaurants.  So much of life in Beijing takes place in the street.  Tashi was taking me to a favorite restaurant of hers in the old district behind the Forbidden City.

Once we got off the main road, it suddenly became quiet.  It hardly felt like we were in the city any more.  Beijing is one of the busiest places in the world, but here in the back alleys of the old city it was tranquil and suburban.  Tashi pulled me through the open gate of one of the houses and we peeked at a small courtyard.  The layout of the traditional houses is very similar:  a colorful and ornate outer gate leads into a courtyard, which is surrounded by the family’s living quarters.  The rapid modernization of China’s cities is causing these historic neighborhoods to become endangered.  Many have been razed to make way for sprawling apartment and office towers.

Following Tashi, I soon found myself stepping onto a busy commercial street.  She explained that it was an area in transition, revitalized by craft stores, coffee shops, and wine bars.  We arrived at the restaurant and I was immediately reminded of Italy.  Like the small neighborhood restaurants in Florence, this was filled with a cozy and smoky atmosphere.  Groups sat at rustic tables laden with small dishes of delicious-looking food.  The din was as thick as the cigarette smoke.  We squeezed into a corner table and I let Tashi order for the both of us.  The food was a spicy variety from a province to the south of Beijing.  We feasted, but not before Tashi showed me how to hold my chop sticks properly. I could now pick up the tiniest grain of rice.

After dinner, Tashi took me around a busy district of the old city.  We continued to explore, often stopping to take photos of the sights.  At one point we crossed a canal, the ornate stone railing of the bridge had begun to melt away from exposure to the elements.  She told me that the bridge had been there before the conquest of Genghis Kahn.  Since that time, a million hands much have touched its pocked surface - including mine.  We walked along an ancient canal that had recently been excavated and retuned to use.  Trees had been planted along the pathway.  I could imagine how pleasant a stroll it must be on a late autumn afternoon.  Tashi dropped me off at my hotel and I thanked her for a fun evening.  I returned to my room and was almost too excited to sleep – there was much to see and do over the next several days!

In the morning I had breakfast in the dingy hotel restaurant.  The tepid fried rice and grease-mottled tablecloth scared me off from eating there for the remainder of my stay.  I had noticed that the Beijing Art Museum was just down the street and decided to give it a try.  Upon entering, the first exhibit I saw was a collection of artwork by children.  As I ambled through the exhibit, a docent in a rainbow colored scarf and artist’s smock came up and asked if I had any questions.  I explained to her that my wife was very involved in educational art programs.  Turns out, the exhibit was put together at an arts center in…Guangzhou!  The center was founded by a famous Chinese artist and is now run by his daughter.  The docent informed me that she was also a teacher at the center.

I gleaned from the exhibit’s signage and my conversation with the docent that the next big push forward in Chinese society is to unlock the creativity and innovation of its people.  The center was actively encouraging its students to re-imagine the world and to not only act like an artist, but to think like one as well.  It was a surprising revelation for me, especially in a country I imagined put a high social value on conformity and obedience.  I privately wondered how unlocking this innovation would be managed by the country’s governing powers.  What important social transformations might be on the near horizon?

In the main hall of the museum was an exhibition of works by the famous artist.  The walls were hung with scrolls on which patriotic depictions of Mao were drawn in fluid ink washes.  Incongruously placed among them was a large panel showing Plains Indians on a Buffalo hunt, apparently the product of a trip made by the artist to the US.  Along one gallery wall, the artist had drawn dozens of portraits of artist friends.  Upstairs was an exhibit of clay teapots.  Pugnacious spouts protruded from their portly bodies.  A crowd appeared, surrounding a distinguished elderly gentleman who passed under a large photograph of himself on the wall.  The potter was leading the group among his works and I achingly wished that I could have understood Mandarin to listen in on his conversation.

The lunch hour was fast approaching and I was staring to feel a little piqued from hunger.  As I walked through the first floor gallery, I noticed a sign advertising a cafeteria.  I have a theory that the best food can be found in art galleries.  I wasn’t wrong, my tray was heaped high with one appetizing dish after another.  A bowl filled with white, fluffy rice was accompanied by stews filled with meat and vegetables.  The final tally for my feast came in under three dollars.  I staggered back to my hotel room ready for a quick, food-induced nap.  My plan was to wake up and visit the Forbidden City in the afternoon.  By the time I made it there, the gates had closed.  I sauntered around the outer wall of the City and explored a random side street.  My evening ended at a local restaurant for a dinner of pork and mushroom stir-fry.

The next day – Tuesday – I had several meetings lined up.  One with a producer that I met in Guangzhou, the other with a producer I had read about in Variety.  My morning began out on the street looking for breakfast.  I didn’t dare try the hotel restaurant again and decided my chances were just as good at one of the local food stalls.  The first one I happened across was selling deep fried pockets stuffed with glass noodles and bok choy.  It was yummy.  I walked a little further and saw a busy stall, which is always a good sign.  A basket of hot steaming bread invited me in for a closer look.  The round loaves were grilled and then baked in an oven, and had a fluffy consistency similar to Portuguese muffins.  An egg was cracked on a griddle and mixed with green onions, topped off with a spicy red sauce, and then slid into one of the sliced muffins.  It was by far the best breakfast sandwich I’ve ever had the pleasure of biting into.

I rushed back to the hotel lobby to catch the ride to my first meeting.  I was driven to a modern looking office building where I met Min Jing.  She is the President of a Beijing based production company and has recently completed a project about the Silk Road.  She shared with me her many insights about the domestic film industry.  Piracy is a pervasive problem in China and not just for Hollywood studios.  Jing told me that she only brought English copies of her film to the festival because she was afraid that the Chinese language version would end up on the black market.  For an independent producer with limited access to theater screens, the loss of the DVD sales due to piracy can be financially crippling.

Jing offered to take me out for Peking Duck and I jumped at the chance to try this famous dish.  During our meeting my stomach had been feeling a little queasy and I began to privately worry if my breakfast sandwich was worth a potentially embarrassing bout of discomfort.  I decided that it was and that I would soldier on to the bitter end.  Jing ordered food for the two of us, plus her assistant.  I slowly started to pick my way through the side dishes and tasted the succulent duck meat.  By the end of the meal, my stomach was feeling fine and full.  Jing’s assistant gave me a ride to my next appointment, which was near the famed Beijing Film Academy.

I was meeting with Cindy Lin, a producer with close to twenty years of experience in the film industry.  She struck me as savvy and vivacious.  She had just wrapped work on a production by the Sci-fi Channel.  Her company had provided the below-the-line talent and had even located several local, English speaking actors.  She had an insider’s knowledge of the industry, coupled with several years spent abroad.  I picked up a great deal of information about the Chinese film industry from our conversation.  We were both MBA graduates who shared a passion for the art of filmmaking.  She presented me with a challenging question – what would it take to convince Hollywood to bring their productions to China?  This quandary became the centerpiece of our discussion.  We discussed several theoretical strategies and I promised to dig a little further once I got back to the States.

Since the Beijing Film Academy was so near, I thought it would be fun to take a walk around the campus before I headed to the hotel.  I found it to be underwhelming.  The buildings looked as though - if they had been maintained - they would have been stately examples of early 20th Century architecture.  Instead they appeared shabby, haphazard, and dusty.  The Academy has a fine reputation and produces much of the country’s top film talent.  I decided to end my tour early and hailed a cab.  Feeling a little tired, I imagined myself looking like one of the buildings I had just seen.  I guessed that food might perk me up.  Heading down the back street which had become my go-to spot for meals I noticed a sign with both Chinese and Arabic characters.  I had been told that Muslim restaurants were good to frequent because of their cleanliness; their food was often prepared according to halal traditions.  The proprietor spoke no English and his menu, screwed to the wall, was in Chinese.  He saw me glancing at a steaming bowl on a patron’s table and said “Lo mein?”  I nodded.  Several minutes later a bowl filled with a deep amber beef broth and ivory colored noodles was placed in front of me.  I gobbled it down.  I gave him a thumbs-up and made my way back to the hotel feeling rejuvenated.

Wednesday was my last morning in China and it made me feel a little sad.  Before my ride to the airport arrived, I wanted to take one last swing through the neighborhood.  I stopped for a breakfast sandwich and brought it with me to the Jingshan Park.  It is a beautiful spot that was once the private domain of the Chinese emperors.  The riotously colored Wanchun Pavilion occupies the highest spot in Beijing overlooking the Forbidden City.  It affords a magnificent view of the city.  The last Emperor of the Ming Dynasty,  Chong Zhen, hung himself from a tree in the park.  Signs at the many pavilions throughout the park remind visitors of the empty space where Buddha statues once sat, removed by the “alliance of five powers” at the beginning of the 20th century.

As I wended my way along the stone pathways, I would come across groups of Chinese engaged in their morning activities.  They danced, played games, yelled loudly, practiced tai-chi, walked backwards, and a myriad of other rituals.  Everywhere there was music and movement.  An elderly gentleman greeted me with a cheerful “Hello!  Ni hao!”  The tranquil, contemplative grounds were filled with life.  It was invigorating.  I knew that I would have to return, I felt very comfortable here.  I thought I would be entering a country of strangers and strange customs, but instead I found China to be strangely familiar.

-Adam