Surviving the Beijing subway

His legs twitched in anticipation. His entire body began to sway on the loading platform of the Beijing subway.

Behind this man stood an entire crowd of Chinese people waiting impatiently for the doors of the train to open.

Communism never seemed further away as I stare at hundreds of businessmen and women jammed onto the platform.

An alarm sounded, the crowd tensed and the doors opened.

People spilled into the train car. Within seconds every available seat was full.

*Working men and women wait for their stop on the Beijing subway.

A date at McDonald's??

Couples snuggled up in red booths.

Some laughed while feeding each other french fries and chicken nuggets.

My local friends told me the best place for a date in Beijing is none other than McDonald's. My sister Grace, Adelaide and I ordered chocolate shakes and french fries to observe Beijing's dating culture.

A couple opposite to us sat silently, eating french fries without comment. We ruled that date was a bust. Nearby another couple cuddled shamelessly. A few others were feeding each other fries.

The reasons for McDonald's popularity? My local friends inform me McDonald's is clean, safe and affordable.

In the United States, McDonald's has a reputation for being a fast food joint. In Beijing (and other parts of China), McDonald's has been raised to a higher level of culture.

I bit into a fry and laughed as one couple secretly held hands under the table. Only in China.

*Adelaide, my sister Grace and I enjoying the number one hang out in Beijing at McDonald's.

Polluted Olympics

Climbing the steps of the Great Wall, I took a deep breath of Beijing air and quickly found myself in a coughing fit.

A deep haze obscured the view of the wall as it winded up and down the mountains outside of Beijing.

Coming from the Los Angeles area, I am familiar with air pollution. The pollution in and around Beijing made L.A. seem clean and beautiful.

The city of Beijing seems to be rushing furiously to prepare for the 2008 Olympic Games. Everyone seems to be anticipating the moment when the torch enters the city.

Nearly every monument, museum and building seems to be under construction. Even the Great Wall was not left untouched.

My friend Adelaide and I agreed that the Beijing factories were working overtime in preparation for the Olympics. The Beijing government has agreed to pay wages to workers to halt all factory emissions during the Olympics.

These measures will be needed if athletes will compete. I could image that the opening ceremonies would be impossible to watch because the view on the other end of the track would be hidden in a haze of smog.

I could barely even see the newly constructed bird's nest from the top of the Ethnic Park in North Beijing. The air pollution obscured everything.

*A view of the Forbidden City in Beijing is obscured by the air pollution.

Disrespecting Mao Zedong

Silly shoes.

I almost didn't get to pay tribute to Mao Zedong, the former Chairman of the Peoples Republic of China.

All because of shoes I disrespected China's most notorious leader.

No sign or proclamation from a loud speaker spoke of a dress code outside his tomb.

As I walked along in a sea of people lined up around the building to pay tribute to Mao, a Chinese official grabbed my arm, forcing me out of the line.

Apparently, my brown, rubber Old Navy flip-flops were not up to dress code to visit Mao. My heart stopped as I pleaded with the official to let me through. He showed me a pair of extra shoes he had and offered them to me for $20 RMB.

They looked like they would fit a young child. I shook my head and clasped my hands together, lowering my head down.

"Please!" I said in English, aware of the fact he could not understand me.

Last fall I had read most of Mao's written works on communism for my Marxism class. Visiting his tomb to see his embalmed body was necessary for me to complete my quest to understand Mao's contributions to China.

I took out my student ID card and waved it in his face. After several minutes, he waved his hand and I pressed myself deep into the crowd (to hide my shoes from other officials).

I made it all the way through security. They yelled after me in Chinese, but I pretended to not understand.

I walked up the steps to the entry hall. A large white statue of Mao sat looking out over the hall with a strange sort of smile. At his feet were a pile of flowers.

A man walked up and placed a bouquet at Mao's feet. His face was titled toward the floor out of respect. He never turned his back on the statue.

Marble pillars led the way into his tomb. Two soldiers stood guard above a glass coffin.

Mao's face shone an eerie orange. His skin looked waxy and tight. His large stomach rose above the rest of his body.

Shrouded in glass, he seemed small compared to his words I had read a few months earlier.

Above his head were some Chinese characters. On his tomb was a sickle and hammer -- forever a communist.

I shuffled by, hoping Mao didn't mind my inappropriate foot ware.

I kept waiting for him to leap up and scold me. Of course, he didn't move an inch.

*A statue outside Mao's grave.

The tea seller

At just under five feet, my Chinese friend Joey, a chain smoker with tattoos, transformed herself into a professional tea seller.

The man standing behind the counter had no idea she is really a freelancer for various Chinese companies in Beijing.

Joey was not lying. I learned quickly that lying is merely part of the art of Chinese bargaining. Transforming an identity is merely part of the game.

Joey was on a mission to find me Yunnan tea as a gift for my grandmother.

Joey had guided my sister Grace and I to a tea shop in the city of Lijiang in Yunnan Province. A tourist mecca, Lijiang boasts the home of the Naxi people, one of China's 54 minorities.

The walls of the shop were lined with jars of various types of tea. The man invited us to sit and try some different selections.

He went to one of the jars, scooped out a handful and walked back to the counter. The bitter aroma of fresh tea hung in the air.

Joey picked up a cup of the dry tea leaves and ran her finger through each leaf to test the quality. She sniffed each cup carefully.

After several cups and selections, I decided on a special puer tea and a green tea. At the asking price of $500 RMB for both teas the bargaining began.

Joey smiled, the young man behind the counter smiled back. A few words were exchanged. Joey turned to me and said in English, "Eighty." I was startled and quickly agreed.

The tea was basically for free. The man packaged up the teas and we left. Outside I asked how she had gotten such a good price.

"She promised to come back later if he gave her a good price," Joey's cousin Michelle said. I laughed, amazed at her ability to get a good price.

It seemed that Joey had not only concealed her identity, but had sold herself for a good bargain.

*Joey stands in front of the Beijing sea.

The dreams are strange in Shangri la

Maybe the lack of oxygen, sleep or heat were the reason.

I can't explain why. My dreams were strange in Shangri la.

Images of Tibetan gods haunted my sleep, which seemed more like a trance.

I only remembered glimpses of the dream the next day.

The previous day, I visited Zhongdian monastery high up on a hill at the mouth of the valley. The original monastery was destroyed during the Cultural Revolution and rebuilt only recently.

Inside the monastery, images of grotesque Buddhas looked down from the walls. Some of the gods stood on top of naked human bodies. Others had human heads tied around their waists. Some reached out with long talons. The gods themselves were blue, green and red.

Tibetan Buddhism was different than the serene images of Buddha I had become familiar with in the rest of China.

The murals seemed more like ghosts than gods.

The ghosts followed me to bed. They danced around wildly as I slept. I've never had dreams so vivid and frightening.

Maybe the reason for my dreams were less scientific. The city has mythical roots according to many tourist brochures.

Shangri la, a mystical city in Tibetan Buddhism, may be the place of British writer James Hilton's novel Lost Horizon. In the novel, the people are nearly immortal and cut off from the outside world.

The next morning over breakfast, all of my friends shared similar experiences: Strange dreams and fitful sleep.