The following story was written in 1985 during our first trip to China. It has never been published. We have revisited China several times since then and could not help but be overwhelmed by the change. We attempted to enter the “diplomatic compound” described in this story on later visits, but were rejected. Hope this story will rekindle memories for you as it has for us.
A Touch of Diplomatic Opulence
Traveling in your own Lear Jet, occupying the penthouse suite in a posh downtown hotel, limousine service whenever you go out – dreams of opulence which probably will never be realized by most of us. Yet way down inside rests the hope that winning the lottery or some other quirk of fate will make such a life possible, if even for only a moment. But there is an even higher level of opulence. One that money alone cannot obtain. It is the status achieved with political power. A level of opulence not even winning the lottery can help one attain. Powerful rulers are immersed in this. I had a brief glimmer.
The flight to Bejing from Xian on the Russian built airliner was typical of the other seven flights we had on this trip around China. My knees rested uncomfortably close to my chin, and my row mates’ elbows were very close to my ribs. The orange pop was wet and sweet, and the little bag of gifts was appreciated.
As an old pilot I was convinced that the Chinese commercial aviators were all ex-fighter pilots because of their landing patterns and other techniques. It was, after all, 1985, and China’s entire infrastructure was still becoming familiar with the flood of foreigners that was taking advantage of the fabulous sights and sounds of this vast nation.
The sixteen of us on this trip left the plane and huddled in our usual fashion in the terminal. The hotels we had stayed at had been quite good, but in each instance there had been some slip-ups in which hotel was to be ours. So we patiently awaited our German tour guide’s report now being received some fifty meters from us.
As she approached I felt a measure of comfort because she had a wide smile on her face. “The new Presidential Hotel where we were booked is full with no room for us, but we really made out. They are putting us up for the four days we are here at the Diaoyutai State Guesthouse compound.”
Now the Diaoyutai complex is a very prestigious place. It consists of about one hundred acres of fenced-in gardens, streams, and bungalows located about fifteen kilometers from Tiananmen Square. This was the area where diplomats and special envoys visiting Chinese leaders were billeted. For once we were going first class.
The bus which took us from the airport wound through the heavy bike and car traffic of Beijing and headed to the compound. The importance of this area was apparent when we stopped at the guarded gate and were ushered in by the elite guard. The roads were wide and wound among large established trees. Below was one flower bed after the next, with a stream meandering through them. Walking trails were evident everywhere.
We arrived at our “hotel,” a large two story brick and stucco building – built to last. It was architecturally simple in design but solid in detail. The lobby resembled a home more than a hotel. We were each given a room key, and a polite young man directed us to our bedrooms. The accommodation was huge – well furnished with sturdy furniture – and every surface was polished to a shine.
I couldn’t wait to explore the building. Off the lobby was a large sitting room filled with overstuffed chairs. But the real delights were the pictures on the wall. Photos taken in this room by a national photographer. There sat Richard Nixon next to Chairman Li Xiannian. Over here was Henry Kissinger and his aides with his Chinese counterparts. Ambassadors from many countries – along with Chinese dignitaries. One couldn’t help but feel the history of this room.
Later we walked the trails winding among beautiful flower beds and flowing streams. Every so often a group of three or four black limousines would rush by with their country’s flag proudly displayed on the front fender.
Our dinner was also a wonderful experience. It was completely vegetarian, but the various dishes were served in the form of animals. The noodles, for example, were in the shape of a chicken. We felt guilty about disrupting the design as we filled our plates.
During the meal our host introduced us to yet another charming but very dangerous tradition. He gave a short speech praising our nation, and then with a flourish downed a shot glass full of baijiu (strong spirits often made from rice,) and he shouted “Gan bei.” Being responsible guests, we returned his praise, downed the shot, and shouted “Gan bei.” Now the ice was broken. We “Gan bei’d” to each other, to the feast, to the time of year, to our leaders, to our comrades, and… well to our health. It is a wonderful tradition. I felt history wash over me in this place. I felt the past, its struggles and its successes all around me. I experienced a measure of political opulence I will never forget.
“Gan bei!!”
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