National pride
people, including us, glued our eyes on the two monitors showing Olympic events.
When I left Beijing in 1986, there were two lines of subways, which were not connected. On this hot summer day, as we got off the train at Dongzhimen, I had
the urge to try a ride on the subway as well. My colleague, despite the sweat seeping from his forehead, agreed good-naturedly. Beijing has expanded so much
that I had no sense of direction. I had to ask a guard on the platform which side of the track we should board the train to go to Qianmen. He pointed to the
opposite side and forced a brief smile before turning his attention to a young woman who was trying to pry open the half closed door of a train about to depart.
“That must be a trained smile,” my colleague commented.
We joined the swarm of people, emerging from the subway to Tiananmen Square. The infamous haze engulfed the Square, and the portrait of Mao on the
Tiananmen Gate was vaguely visible. We passed Mao’s mausoleum on our left and were greeted with a large banner above the meticulously maintained garden
sculptures set up on the concrete ground in pots, although they appeared as if they grew from the soil underneath. It says in big red characters: “The World Is
United Here to Celebrate the Spectacular Olympic Games.” Street vendors, who in the old days grabbed visitors and pushed into their hands cheap souvenirs
and fake Rolexes, were gone. Instead, many young men and women were selling small flags of the Olympic Games, China’s national flag, red head ribbons that
says “I Love China.”
“Yi Quai! Yi Quai!” (One Yuan) They shouted.
Islands of newly created sculptures with perfectly shaped plants came into view. A combination of green, red, and purple plants projected on metal frames
revealed the tagline of the Olympic Games: One World, One Dream. The Chinese characters with many strokes were made of green plants, and the English
words below were posted in bright yellow bars. Layers of people, mostly Chinese, were taking pictures in front of them. I took out my camcorder and pressed the
record button. Suddenly, I noticed on my screen small red rectangular or heart-shaped dots on the faces of children and young adults. Are these temporary
tattoos? I was puzzled. I walked closer and zoomed in. I realized they were stickers of the Chinese national flag or heart-shaped signs of “I Love China.” The
atmosphere was charged with enthusiasm. Closer to the front of Tiananmen Square, a large crowd gathered, all looking in one direction. I had no way of telling
what was going on. Surprisingly, right behind the walls of people, others sat around, totally at ease — parents with small children, seemingly relaxing or maybe
waiting for some evening event to start. Guards in light green uniforms, black uniforms, and light blue were scattered around, without generating any sense of
tension. The different uniforms must indicate they belong to separate units of the security force, I assumed. In the distance, the People’s Monument was guarded
by soldiers on each of its four sides, a line of ropes blocking people from getting close to its stairs and platform.
After having a big dinner of spicy Sichuan food with two of my local friends, we got in a taxi to return to the hotel. I was surprised again, this time by the
screen of a television in the back of the front passenger seat. Of course, it was showing the Olympic Games. A summary of medals earned so far popped on the
screen. China started the first day with two gold medals. Despite our fatigue from the thirteen-hour flight from Chicago, the tour and long dinner, I could acutely
feel the sense of national pride in the air.
About the author:
Jian Ping is author of “"Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China." She has a BA degree in English from Jilin University, Changchun, China and a master's degree in
Film and a master's degree in International Affairs from Ohio University.
When I left Beijing in 1986, there were two lines of subways, which were not connected. On this hot summer day, as we got off the train at Dongzhimen, I had
the urge to try a ride on the subway as well. My colleague, despite the sweat seeping from his forehead, agreed good-naturedly. Beijing has expanded so much
that I had no sense of direction. I had to ask a guard on the platform which side of the track we should board the train to go to Qianmen. He pointed to the
opposite side and forced a brief smile before turning his attention to a young woman who was trying to pry open the half closed door of a train about to depart.
“That must be a trained smile,” my colleague commented.
We joined the swarm of people, emerging from the subway to Tiananmen Square. The infamous haze engulfed the Square, and the portrait of Mao on the
Tiananmen Gate was vaguely visible. We passed Mao’s mausoleum on our left and were greeted with a large banner above the meticulously maintained garden
sculptures set up on the concrete ground in pots, although they appeared as if they grew from the soil underneath. It says in big red characters: “The World Is
United Here to Celebrate the Spectacular Olympic Games.” Street vendors, who in the old days grabbed visitors and pushed into their hands cheap souvenirs
and fake Rolexes, were gone. Instead, many young men and women were selling small flags of the Olympic Games, China’s national flag, red head ribbons that
says “I Love China.”
“Yi Quai! Yi Quai!” (One Yuan) They shouted.
Islands of newly created sculptures with perfectly shaped plants came into view. A combination of green, red, and purple plants projected on metal frames
revealed the tagline of the Olympic Games: One World, One Dream. The Chinese characters with many strokes were made of green plants, and the English
words below were posted in bright yellow bars. Layers of people, mostly Chinese, were taking pictures in front of them. I took out my camcorder and pressed the
record button. Suddenly, I noticed on my screen small red rectangular or heart-shaped dots on the faces of children and young adults. Are these temporary
tattoos? I was puzzled. I walked closer and zoomed in. I realized they were stickers of the Chinese national flag or heart-shaped signs of “I Love China.” The
atmosphere was charged with enthusiasm. Closer to the front of Tiananmen Square, a large crowd gathered, all looking in one direction. I had no way of telling
what was going on. Surprisingly, right behind the walls of people, others sat around, totally at ease — parents with small children, seemingly relaxing or maybe
waiting for some evening event to start. Guards in light green uniforms, black uniforms, and light blue were scattered around, without generating any sense of
tension. The different uniforms must indicate they belong to separate units of the security force, I assumed. In the distance, the People’s Monument was guarded
by soldiers on each of its four sides, a line of ropes blocking people from getting close to its stairs and platform.
After having a big dinner of spicy Sichuan food with two of my local friends, we got in a taxi to return to the hotel. I was surprised again, this time by the
screen of a television in the back of the front passenger seat. Of course, it was showing the Olympic Games. A summary of medals earned so far popped on the
screen. China started the first day with two gold medals. Despite our fatigue from the thirteen-hour flight from Chicago, the tour and long dinner, I could acutely
feel the sense of national pride in the air.
About the author:
Jian Ping is author of “"Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China." She has a BA degree in English from Jilin University, Changchun, China and a master's degree in
Film and a master's degree in International Affairs from Ohio University.
By Jian Ping
I landed in Beijing shortly after the Opening Ceremony of the Olympic Games. Walking away from the
gateway at the airport, I expected a tightened security, a search of my luggage, and a delay at customs.
Instead, I found my colleague and myself leaving the terminal in record speed, without any hassle. The only
difference I noticed, compared to my previous visits (other than the brand new airport), were the increased
security guards, walking slowly in unison, spaced out in equal distance to each other, as if taking a stroll.
I was lost at this enormous new airport. The high ceilings with suspended beams, sparkling marble floors, and
segment after segment of moving walkways. I asked directions three times in 10 minutes, still unable to locate
the place where we were supposed to find our hotel shuttle. In the end, we had to take a taxi against our will,
for the hotel we’d stay in is close to the airport. “Give him a big tip,” my American colleague suggested. Our
driver didn’t complain, though he said he had waited in line for a couple of hours for his turn. The cab fare was
so low that I put three times the amount into his hand when we reached our destination. “Xie Xie,” he said and
took off. I noticed a small red-star national flag on his dashboard.
I had read about a newly built fast train that ran from the airport to the city and wanted to take a ride. In less
than an hour, my colleague and I were back at the airport. On the side walls leading to the fast train were
huge, bright-colored posters that featured the best known Chinese athletes, from Yao Ming to Guo Jingjing, the
expected gold medalist for diving, and Liu Xiang, another expected gold medalist for the hurdles. To my
surprise, the waiting area, under an enormous dome made of glass panels, was without air-conditioning. The
trapped humidity and heat made me feel like I were in a large oven. Passengers rushed into the train as its
doors swung open. The cool air was a nice relief. I noticed the security armband on a young man, though he
was dressed in plain clothing, and the hats with Beijing Olympic logos on several passengers. Most of the
I landed in Beijing shortly after the Opening Ceremony of the Olympic Games. Walking away from the
gateway at the airport, I expected a tightened security, a search of my luggage, and a delay at customs.
Instead, I found my colleague and myself leaving the terminal in record speed, without any hassle. The only
difference I noticed, compared to my previous visits (other than the brand new airport), were the increased
security guards, walking slowly in unison, spaced out in equal distance to each other, as if taking a stroll.
I was lost at this enormous new airport. The high ceilings with suspended beams, sparkling marble floors, and
segment after segment of moving walkways. I asked directions three times in 10 minutes, still unable to locate
the place where we were supposed to find our hotel shuttle. In the end, we had to take a taxi against our will,
for the hotel we’d stay in is close to the airport. “Give him a big tip,” my American colleague suggested. Our
driver didn’t complain, though he said he had waited in line for a couple of hours for his turn. The cab fare was
so low that I put three times the amount into his hand when we reached our destination. “Xie Xie,” he said and
took off. I noticed a small red-star national flag on his dashboard.
I had read about a newly built fast train that ran from the airport to the city and wanted to take a ride. In less
than an hour, my colleague and I were back at the airport. On the side walls leading to the fast train were
huge, bright-colored posters that featured the best known Chinese athletes, from Yao Ming to Guo Jingjing, the
expected gold medalist for diving, and Liu Xiang, another expected gold medalist for the hurdles. To my
surprise, the waiting area, under an enormous dome made of glass panels, was without air-conditioning. The
trapped humidity and heat made me feel like I were in a large oven. Passengers rushed into the train as its
doors swung open. The cool air was a nice relief. I noticed the security armband on a young man, though he
was dressed in plain clothing, and the hats with Beijing Olympic logos on several passengers. Most of the