"Who's going to believe a con artist? Everyone, if she's good."

-Ben Matlock

I know….It has been a while since I’ve updated you guys on the progress of "Project Marco Polo”. It is just that a lot has happened over the past 3 days and I really did not have the time to access the web sooner. Each day I’ve spent here in China has been quite remarkable, but day 3 has so far topped all expectations (for both the good and the bad), the last day being by far the most unique. If this is just the beginning, I crave and fear for what might yet be in store for me. Here is what happened over the past few days:

Arrival Night

A little over 24 hours after leaving my home in Queens, I finally touch down at Beijing International Airport. Despite hours of boredom, tiredness and frustration, I can now hardly contain my excitement. As the plane taxi off the runway and makes its way towards the main terminal, I look through the window and see the lights of the airport; I realize then that this leg of the journey is over. I am now at the belly of the dragon.
The airport itself, although quite large, it is not nearly as opulent as I had expected. It is large, modern looking, efficient and quite clean. However, it does not have the flashy “new money” feeling of Incheon airport in Seoul, which is a good thing. I pass through immigration and customs in a matter of minutes and without a hitch, which blows my mind. Not a single airport official asks me a single question. They simply glance over my papers and signal me to move along. No once checks my luggage, asks me how long I am going to stay, with whom and so forth. I expected China to be a police state and to have all the annoying bureaucratic obstacles and challenges that comes with it. I am dead wrong, it seems. Everything moves along with business like efficiency. It seems that the only job that airport officials are concerned with is to give thr appearance of following follow the proper protocols while getting everyone out of the airport as soon as humanly possible. I only wish that the airports that I had visited in Japan, Korea and even the United States moved with half of the speed and efficiency of Beijing’s International when dealing with foreign visitors.
As I walk out of the custom into the waiting area of the airport, I find Zhang waiting for me, as promised. It has been six years since I have last seeing him, but he is easy to recognize. Physically he does not look that different. I some grey hair on his head, but the same general face, glasses and so on. However, more than ever, Zhang dresses and acts like a top party bureaucrat. Wearing his black jacket and black shirt, he resembles one of those entrepreneurial, communist party hand picked join venture administrators that we normally see on documentaries about the “emerging China”.
After a warm handshake and exchange of pleasantries (Zhang is still as stiff and formal as ever), he introduces me to his friend, a Chinese girl that had arrived a few hours earlier at the airport and was in town for a couple of days to hang out with him. He first picked her up and had spent the next couple of hours hanging out with her at the airport waiting for my arrival. We are then lead to his shinning new Toyota luxury car that is sitting on the garage of the airport waiting for us and we drive off to Zhang’s new and spacious apartment near downtown Beijing. I later learn that this particular car model sells in China for around 40 thousands US dollars. In a country where a most college professors are paid only up to 500 US dollars a month, this is a clear sign that Zhang has made it big time in China.


Day 1

So, I get my first good night of sleep while in Chinese soil. I certainly needed it, as I was so tired to the point of not having any issues with the time zone difference. I had collapsed into bed the previous night and was up bright and early at my first dawn in China. Zhang has decided to we will spend the first day in China visiting some major touristic attractions (tourist traps) in Beijing. I am not going to bore you with the details of my visit to the Great Wall or the Ming Tombs, because I find those episodes unremarkable myself. The goal of “Project Marco Polo” is not really to record the visits to major touristic spots. This has already been done ad nausium by other people, including the Travel Channel and the Discovery Channel amongst many. I am sure they could give much better descriptions of those places than I could ever hope to match. No, the goal here is to record my impressions of the little remarkable things that travelers like me would find in China. So this will be the focus of my narrative.

So we hit the road early, and I get my first real view of Beijing. I do not think that there are enough adjectives in the English language to truly describe this monstrous metroplex. It is a hazy, crowded, dirty, jammed, packet, chaotic, smelly pile of concrete, asphalt, steel and people. But the most remarkable thing about Beijing is without a doubt, the transit. There no words, no concepts that can describe the state of absolute madness which is Beijing’s traffic. I know bad traffic, since I am from Brazil and have been in places like Paraguay, Korea and so on. But nothing compares to what I saw that morning in Beijing. It was chaos in it purest, most unadulterated form. Try to picture, if you can, millions of cars, pedestrians and bicycles literally disputing head on, tooth and nail, every inch of the pavement. In a maddening cacophony of car horns, diesel engines, shouts, ambulance sirens, cars, bikes, trucks, busses, scooters and anything else that you can picture with wheels on it (plus millions of pedestrians) move around the roads and highways as if completely oblivious of one another. There are no rules; there is no order, no organizing system in place. It is a most complete free for all where vehicles behave like pack animals fighting for pasture. I lost count of how many times I saw buses come down the road hauling ass and blowing their horns hysterically so that the hundreds of bicycles riding in front of them would give passage (which they did only at the very last moment, and yet the buses would NEVER slow down). I wonder how many gruesome traffic fatalities are recorded on the streets of Beijing every day. Based on just what I was able to witness on this lazy Sunday morning, the numbers must be staggering.

After enjoying a delicious Chinese breakfast at a local restaurant (where the service was awful) we head to another part of town where we can pick a girlfriend of Zhang’s female friend, as I am informed that they are both coming with us to the Great Wall at Badiling and the Ming Temples. Unfortunately neither one of them speaks any amount of workable English and Zhang is really not in the mood to translate, so there is little or no conversation at all during the 2 hour long drive north of Beijing. The highway is completely jammed with cars and for most of the trip, until we actually leave Beijing, the car hardly ever goes above 30 MPH. As mentioned before, nothing really remarkable happens at either touristic spot. We are harassed by souvenir vendors; we take pictures and do other things that dumb tourists do. In other words, we came, we paid, we saw, we left. And I can the check the box next to “Great Wall Of China” as one of the things I wanted to see. However, on the way to Bailing, we did drive off the main road at one point to visit a peach farm (where we would pay to pick the peaches from the trees ourselves). That was my first opportunity to get a real glance at the Chinese countryside. The houses were pretty modest and poor, with unpainted and unfinished red brick walls, garbage and refuse pilled up everywhere and animals roaming freely. The peasants also looked pretty modest and poor themselves, with battered clothes, crocked and missing teeth, tanned skin from working under the sun and reddish eyes. It was scenery remarkably similar to the countryside poverty one would see in Brazil. It really did not take long (or much effort) to break thru the thin façade of the Chinese prosperity and gain a quick glance at the fearsome class inequality within Chinese society. Was I staring at a small sample of the social time bomb underneath China, waiting to explode? Or would this be a constant element of Chinese future as the new prosperity brought so much for a relative few (the ones with party connections) while the vast majority would just scrape by for the foreseeable future? For Zhang’s sake, he should hope for the later, since much of the anger, if the masses ever rose up, would probably be directed to people like him.
The girls had a blast picking up the peaches. A peasant woman was guiding us thru the peach trees and pointed to the fruits that were ripe for picking. I did not care much for picking up peaches, but was fascinated by the environment. Who were these peasants? Have they been on this land for long? Were they aware that China was an emerging power? If so, what did they think about it? Did they care one way or another? How did they live? What did they eat? What was their family structure like? I expressed my curiosity to Zhang, and he promptly asked the peasant woman if she would mind showing me her home after we finished picking the fruits, to which she nodded affirmatively.
Her house was no different than most houses I had seen in the area. It was a small walled complex, unpainted, crocked red bricks like all the homes around it. Inside, we were greeted by the barks of a chained puppy standing next to a plate full of left over food. There were 3 main “buildings”. In the center, sat the main home, where the family would have the bedrooms and living room. Through the glass windows we could see the ragged occupants inside moving about their business completely oblivious to our presence. On the left was what I can best describe as a “brick hut” where very primitive and dirty looking kitchen and bathrooms where implemented. It was indeed a sight of something straight out of the most poor and underdeveloped country side in Brazil. Finally, on the right there was a warehouse of some sort, where I believe they would store their agricultural tools and so forth. Satisfied for the opportunity to get a first hand tour of Chinese, we thanked the peasant lady, paid for the peaches and headed off to see bigger and more majestic things, like the Great Wall. Later that night, Zhang would take me to a very nice seafood restaurant, where he ordered more dishes than we could even possibly hope to eat (many were left untouched by the time we were done) and the bill for that little feast was probably the equivalent of many months earnings for the family of that peasant woman that we had visited just a few hours earlier.

Day 2

It is Monday morning and this will be my first day on my own in China. Zhang has to work all day, so I have to fence for myself in Beijing. He drops me off at one of the business districts in Beijing so that I can withdraw some money at the ATM, buy a city map and hopefully visit the other tourist trap in the city: The Forbidden City and Tianmen Square.
As expected, I attract very little attention at the business district. It seems that most Chinese around here are used to foreigners, so no one gives a second glance. Little did I know of how much that would change later that day. The subway station in Beijing are easy to find, clean and very practical. There are no vending machines and everything from buying the ticket and going thru the access gate is human manned. One thing that I should have guessed was to NOT ride the subway during the morning rush hour. The whole experience makes riding the NYC MTA system during rush hour seems like absolute bliss. The trains are not air conditioned, the crowds of people dwarf anything I had ever seen before and the Chinese appear to have no concept of waiting for the passengers on the inside of the train to get out first, before getting in. So, it is a complete free for all, an stampede of a scale that is yet to be matched. People push each other out of the way while police officers try to control the flow of the crowd by LITERALY swinging their batons at people. But any sane description, I was witnessing a riot inside the subway station. I was later told that what I saw was just a typical Monday morning at any Beijing subway station. I certainly gained a new level of appreciation for the NYC MTA after this.
Crossing streets In Beijing is above all, an act of courage and faith. Neither the pedestrians nor the drivers seem to have any concept giving preference, red lights and so on. The crowd of pedestrians would simply use the power of numbers to cross the street. Large groups would form and then they would all move forward crossing the street together as a pack, hoping that their combined numbers would force the traffic to slow down. I must say that the desired effect would not always happen. Many drivers would, instead of trying to slow down, try to find a hole or a space thru the moving crowd in order to pass without having to slow down or stop. This would result in pedestrian having to make some very acrobatic maneuvers in order to get out of the way of the unstoppable cars and trucks. More than once, I saw some old ladies and pregnant/nursing women making dodging maneuvers that I would have never thought possible. Within the last decade, Beijing must have developed a pretty efficient way of natural selection in which those pedestrians who lack the skills and ability to dodge traffic are simply weeded out of the local gene pool, leaving out only those citizens that can handle the psychotic traffic on that city. Survival of the fittest at its very best I guess.
My first contact with the REAL Beijing happened after I left the Forbidden City and started walking across a more touristic shopping avenue in Beijing. As I walk in front of a mall, with map open in hand, looking for the subway stop, I am approached by two your Chinese woman (one of them which is remarkably attractive). In very good English (the best I’ve heard in China so far) they ask me if I need directions. They then say that they are last year English students at a local university and would like to practice their English with me. I do not think much of it, since in Korea, Japan and New Zealand; I was often approached by locals looking to have conversation with foreigners. The girls hit me with a barrage of questions about who I am, where I am from, what do I do, how long I’ve been in China and so on. And they appeared to be genuinely interested on my responses. After about 10 minutes talking on the streets, the girls invite me for a cup of tea nearby, where they continue to practice their English with me. No problem, I think to myself. What risk can I run on a tea house in a very upscale and touristic part of Beijing? The teahouse is indeed very nice, clean, comfortable and well lit. We are taken to a private room where a servant begins the so called “Chinese tea ritual”. While the servant prepares the tea, the two girls keep asking me all kinds of questions about myself, my tastes and so on. It is a very pleasant (although pretty unorthodox) conversation. 15 minutes within our conversation on the tea room, the very pretty girl than excuses herself to the restroom for a few minutes while I continue the conversation with the other girl. When she returns, her hands are completely wet, and she very skillfully dries them by sliding and rubbing her hands in a very sensual manner across my neck, face and chest. At that exact moment every “hooker alert” in my body goes off. I realized then that I felt in some short of tourist trap. I think to myself that these are probably hookers looking for some quick buck or trying to lure me somewhere so that I can be mugged. I am not going anywhere else with them, so no need to worry. Maybe if I can conduct this conversation in a way that will show them that I am not a potential prospect, maybe we can have a friendly non-embarrassing conclusion to this meeting. So I turn up the conversation a few notches. We start talking about ancient Chinese history. No problem, the girls know their history and start to talk about the mongol invasion, the Ming dynasty and so on. I change the subject: We start to talk about Chinese modern economics. No problem, they start to discuss about the fix exchange of the RMB vs. the dollar, its advantages and potential shortfalls. Damn, need to try something harder. So I bring the conversation into the Iraq war. The girls take their gloves off and begin discussing the difficulties of managing a country with 3 different ethnic groups that have so many ancient disputes amongst them. OK, this is war now, I think to myself. We will talk about dark matter and its meaning to the science of Astronomy. And they take it and run with it, as if they have been reading Cosmos from Carl Sagan since they were toddlers. At that point I am absolutely mesmerized. I work daily with some very (I mean VERY) capable and smart women. Some of my female co-workers are amongst some of the smartest people I have ever met. But compared with those two Chinese women, they all seem to be nothing more than airhead bimbos. As I sit there, drinking tea, I watch these two girls skillfully talking about nay obscure subject that I throw at them with absolute confidence. Worse, they are able to navigate thru the discussion in order to calibrate and pace the conversation to the exact tone and speed that I like. These girls were able to, by chatting with me for 30 minutes, figure out exactly how I like conversations to be conducted, at the right level of discord to make the debate lively and yet friendly. I am there watching conversation magic being made. This is true art and I can’t believe my eyes and ears. Who are these women? What do they want? Can this go on forever? Am I dead in heaven? At that point, the best looking one makes a very naughty remark about how she heard that Latin men are the greatest lover on earth and that from my hands, she can tell I ma a great lover. Once again, all alarms instantly go off. I am now of Defcon 2. These girls can’t be hookers, they are too well educated and articulated for that. They are trying to get me aroused, probably to take me somewhere. It must be a con, but of what kind? Will they try to rob and/or murder me? Take me to the Chinese mafia so I can be held hostage until payment is made? I do not know, but I am now pretty concerned, since I know FOR A FACT that there is something fishy in the air. The girls are now suggesting that we go to a Karaoke nearby, where we can get a private room and sign together. This is getting really hairy, and it is time to end this farce. I look at my watch and say that I have a friend to meet soon, and request the bill. The girls mean in unison and begin pledging for me to go to the karaoke with them. It will be such a great time, and I am so cool, the coolest foreigner they had met in ages, they really want to spend time with me they say. I want to hear nothing about it. This has ALL the writing of a major trap, and now I feel that even my life might be a risk if I stay with these girls.
The bill comes, and the tea festival that I had just participated costs well over 100 dollars (a HUGE fortune in China). The girls must be free loaders, I figure. They are smart college girls looking for foreigners to take them out to expensive places that they would otherwise not be able to go. All they need to do is offer the apparently easy (but probably unreachable) carrot of sex. I consider making a fuss about the bill for a moment, but think better of it. I have spend less than $10 in China yet, had a free flight here and just had the most fun conversation that I can remember. I can pay $100 for this, cut my losses and get out of here. So I pay the bill and we walk out to the main street. At that point the girls are pulling me by the hand to the expensive looking Karaoke place next door. I tell them that I am not going anywhere, but that they are really good and that I was very impressed. I mention that I have dealt with many con artists back in Brazil, but none were nearly as good as they are. They make faces as if they are offended, and I ask for a picture, which they reluctantly agree to. We then part our ways, and I realize that no names were ever exchanged between us.
Much later that day I was able to find out what the con is about. The girls are not free loaders, they are “undercover sales people”. They attract unaware tourists to stores with highly inflated prices , like an innocent invitation for tea of karaoke, and keep them there as long as possible, while food, drinks and other services are consumed (at astronomical prices). Some of them might even eventually offer sex (for a price) to the right customers.
So I realize that this is not Japan, not South Korea. People here in China can be as fake as the products that they manufacture. While I have always been open to mingle, interact and learn from the natives, it is clear to me now that here in China a new approach is required. Defenses need to be up all the time, since many natives (not all for sure) might see me more as prey than a novelty.
To finish the day, Zhang took me and his two female friends to a very upscale massage parlor. It charges $15 for one hour of traditional Chinese massage. Great stuff, but I unfortunately go thru one of the most embarrassing moments of the trip yet: I get an erection and I can get read of it when I am asked to turn around so that they can massage my front. I turn after much hesitation and the staff immediately sees the issue at hand. I look around and none of the girls appears to be staring at me. The FEMALE staff very quickly dims the lights and throws a towel on top of my crouch as I try to bring very unsexual thoughts into my mind (like the starving children in Somalia) and within a few minutes, the things are subdued. The way the staff handled the situation appears to be rehearsed, so I guess they have faced this problem before. I am truly impressed on how these Chinese handled professionally such a disgraceful event.
If my second day in China is already like this, I can only fear for what is in store for me for the upcoming days.