Day 1: Arrive in Beijing. Get ripped off by our cab driver. Find our hotel and crash.
Day 2: Walk around in circles. Get our bearings. Visit Jingshan Park, thinking we are visiting the Forbidden City. Realize our mistake, but hang in the park for a while anyway and attempt to twirl some ribbons with the old ladies. Visit the Forbidden City for real. It was super cool, super crowded, and completely exhausting. I think we were still suffering from a bit of the jet lag. Anyway, next: eat lunch and visit Tiananmen Square. Head back to the hotel for a shower and nap. Get up. Walk to Houhai Street on the lake for dinner. Walk back to the hotel and sleep like I’ve never slept before.
Day 3: A and I went to the Police Museum where we learned about the overall superiority of the Chinese coppers at such things as breaking prostitution rings, crushing revolutions, and thwarting evil doers in general. We also learned that the police forces from other countries tend to give really bizarre and occasionally crappy gifts. For instance, from the Americans, the Chinese received a plastic model of an NYPD cop car. From the Australians, a didgeridoo. From the Romanians, some weirdo figurines of folk dancers. And from the Russians, some hand-woven tapestries. It all seemed a little knick-knacky to be bestowed upon a lethal fighting force, but served as a good segue way to our next destination: the Beijing Antique Market, where, in another good segue way, I was the target of an attempted pick-pocketing.
As we were making our way there from the subway (we are now, by the way, Beijing subway pros), I caught a guy stealthily trying to swipe the contents of my pocket. I asked him what the hell he thought he was doing, and, though he probably didn’t understand a word I was saying, I’m pretty sure he got the gist of my ire. He quickly walked away and ducked inside a building. I actually kind of wish he would have succeeded because all he would have gotten was a Police Museum ticket stub. Oh, the sweet irony.
Anyway, the Beijing Antique Market: It’s like the Alameda Flea Market on steroids—a sprawling monstrosity of epic proportions. Apparently, hardcore antiquers go there every weekend in search of hidden treasures from bygone dynasties. However, the vast majority of people were just looking for random cool stuff, of which where was no shortage. There were hundreds of things I wanted to take home with me, but as luck would have it, I don’t have a home. This narrowed my options significantly.
So I bought what every homeless person needs: a bottle opener.
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