The breakfast buffet was in the same room where we'd entertained the wait staff the previous evening, although (perhaps mercifully) none of the giggling ladies in quipao were present. The large tables running down the center of the room had only held some potted plants when we had attempted dinner, but now were covered with an array of foods from both East and West. We made our way to an empty table in the back of the room and sat for a couple of minutes before realizing were supposed to just get up and go -- so we did.
I grabbed a plate and slowly worked my way down the table. There were several dishes I could not identify, a few combinations that just had to be the result of a botched English-to-Mandarin translation, and a good selection of familiar Eastern & Western fare. Even better, there was hot coffee -- something I'd been told was hard to find in China but that I need at breakfast. I loaded up on stir-fry and lo mein along with scrambled eggs, sausages, and so on, then noticed a couple of pots of congee (a rice-based dish that some sources listed as "rice gruel") that I'd read about a lot during the wait so I added a bowl of hot congee to my collection of viands (it was also available cold, but that looked... odd).
While we ate, I realized that what I had mistaken as a wall covered with tarpulins the previous night actually was only tarpulins minus any wall because I could clearly see the shadows of construction workers moving around on the other side accompanied by the occasional dulcet tones of a power tool. I just chuckled, dug in, and did some people-watching while stuffing my face. Much of the crowd was businessmen, mostly dressed in polo shirts and khakis, all sitting in twos and threes around the room. They all seemed to be conducting business exactly the same way: They would sit silently eating, then there would be a burst of rapid speech accompanied by much nodding of heads, and then they would either briskly shake hands and leave or return to the buffet for more food and start the cycle over again. (Oh, and I liked the congee so much that I got seconds and thirds of everything else instead.)
The S and B families straggled in (each on their second adoption trip to China) but didn't see us waving and chose a table at the other end of the room. We walked over and we all caught up with each other's lives, and then AJ & I realized both families were well-prepared to hop on the bus while we had left all our things upstairs in our room. It was the first morning we had to scramble a bit to get to the bus with everyone else... but not the last.
The drive through downtown Beijing was interesting, with glimpses of scenes both familiar & foreign punctuated by the occasional very old building (some still in ruins, some restored).
Our bus triple-parked on a major thoroughfare and Linda explained we were going to get out here, walk to Tianamen Square, then through the Forbidden City, and then find our bus on the other side "just a couple of kilometers from here." We all grabbed our stuff, wound our way through rows of double-parked cars, and headed down the multi-hued sidewalk.
It wasn't long before we reached a very busy multi-lane street with the famous Tianamen Square on the other side. What caught my attention, though, was the absolutely astonishing number of people there. Linda explained that we were seeing the end of the line of people waiting to get into Mao's tomb -- a line that snaked back and forth on itself, with order being maintained by men & women placed strategically every few hundred feet who did not hesitate to use their battery-powered bullhorns to scold anyone who in any way disturbed the peace during their wait. Our concerns about trying to get across multiple lanes of high-speed (and carelessly driven) traffic vanished when we found a large, well-lit pedestrian tunnel leading underneath the road -- although it was a bit of a surprise to find a complete airport-style security checkpoint shortly before returning aboveground in the square proper.
We all took a few moments to take in the sights, and I mused on the difference between the restored Zhengyangmen Gate (an original city gate dating to the early 1400s) and the European-style former railway station across the street. I also noted that I had yet to see a single person wearing a so-called "Mao suit" in the sea of jeans, tees, polo shirts, and such around us -- and I think I actually heard the last traces of any images of the old Nixon-era Beijing in my head vanish with a "POP!" as a young woman walked past in heels nearly as long as her skirt.
We slowly strolled through the crowded square, looking at the patriotic friezes & scultptures and trying to get good photos around and between the forest of observation cameras on tall poles. There were plenty of Western tour groups but also a lot of Asian tourists as well, and I quickly learned how to tell the Chinese tourists from everyone else. When a foreigner wanted to rest, they would find something to sit on -- but the locals (even those of obviously advanced age) would simply drop into a deep squat and relax in a position I knew better than to even attempt if I wanted to ever stand up again. Reaching the opposite end of the Tianamen complex, we paused for some group photos, received some very nice photo books as gifts from the adoption agency, and prepared to cross over to the Forbidden City. We did take a moment to marvel at the ginormous TV screen showing commercials for tourism in China, then watched the changing of the guard at the base of the national flagpole. I was also flummoxed to see that all the lampposts in front of the main entrance of the Forbidden City displayed the flag of Argentina! (Linda explained that there had just been a formal visit from a large Argentine government trade committee.)
We made our way through another tunnel to join the crowds entering the Forbidden City, but I have no photos because by the time we crossed the bridge over the outer moat the crowd had become so thick that my arms were literally stuck to my sides. Linda, her aide, and the moms in the group managed to all get a good grip on our two youngest members, but there were still a few tense moments as we were all pulled away from each other by eddies & currents in the crowd. Eventually we found ourselves in the outermost areas of the Forbidden City and resumed our tour at a more leisurely pace.
Linda found a good spot where we could wait (in the middle of a massive crowd) while she went off to buy tickets to get us through the inner gates. As soon as she had walked off we were repeatedly approached by vendors and beggars. It got to the point where we stood with the two young girls surrounded by the three moms with the two dads and I running interference in an outer ring. It was kind of annoying, but never felt dangerous. In fact, I had a good laugh when an old man hobbled up to me, dragging one bare foot and pitifully wheezed something while holding his hands out for money. I tried to say something like, "Sorry, but no" in Mandarin and he stopped dead in his tracks, then stood up laughing and strode purposefully off into the crowd repeating my obviously meaningless gibberish, laughing even more loudly with each repeat.
We eventually got past the massive studded doors and through the gatehouse into the main courtyard, and it was well worth the wait. Even with wall-to-wall tour groups and bunches of people all trying to see the same thing at the same time, the Forbidden City will remain amazing in my memory.
I picked up my first souvenir of the trip -- a little Chinese flag that someone had dropped & that had been obviously stepped on by many people -- and continued to marvel at the intricate woodwork, metalwork, ceramics, and paintwork as we made our way north through the innermost courtyard (where I used my height advantage and my elbows to get a photo of the emperor's throne), eventually passing through the living area and the emperor's private gardens before making our way out the "back" gate in the shadow of Coal Hill.
The skies had been threatening to get us wet the entire day, but aside from a couple of very light sprinkles the rain held off until moments after we found our bus parked along a nearby road that was lined with tour buses. We got a good but rainy view of a variety of Beijing neighborhoods as the driver made his way to the highway leading out of the city.
We seemed to move from highway to highway without leaving Beijing (like I said, it's a BIG city), and I became curious about what looked like wrought iron fencing lining almost every interchange. I asked Linda about it and she said the fences had been installed to keep people from walking on the highways. As if on cue, as our bus negotiated a twisty highway entrance ramp less than five minutes later, we passed an older man attempting to lift his bicycle over one of the pedestrian-blocking fences, having obviously already conquered at least two others to get to that spot. Continuing out of the city, we saw the baseball stadium that had been built for the 2008 Olympics (since demolished) and Linda announced we were going to a "jade factory" for lunch.
We pulled up to the Run-Ze Jade Garden (not a factory per se, but a combination jade carving workshop, showroom, store, and tourist trap) where our small group was soon the entire clientele of a large restaurant inside the building. It was our first taste of what the majority of our meals would be like: everything on a large "lazy Susan" in the center of the table, lots and lots of sometimes unrecognizable but usually very tasty food, and just enough soda to remind us how thirsty we all were. Still, the meal was actually very good -- and in looking back I learned a valuable lesson about not letting good opportunities for photos to get past me without taking advantage of them. We spent about an hour touring the workshop areas (not operating at the time) and browsing/wandering/spending in the very large store before it was time to leave. Told there was a "Western" bathroom available (I had no intention of attempting to soil myself with a "squatty potty"!), I gladly made use of it before getting on the bus... and was amused to find a room filled with Western-style toilets, with every. single. one. of the toilet seats stacked neatly in one corner of the room.
The rain stopped as we made our way farther out of the city, climbing into the foothills to meet the steadily-lowering clouds and fog, and after a while we could make out the silhouettes of guard towers through the mist... and finally we drove through a series of gates and parking lots and reached the Great Wall. I don't have a lot of photos because my camera's SD card decided it was full shortly after we arrived, but it was truly an experience I'll never forget.
In addition to the sometimes ethereal beauty of the area, the silliness of tourists dressing up in costumes, and the scary-looking weapons on display, something else I'll never forget is the amazing workout we got climbing the steep portions of the wall. At the beginning, AJ & I had wondered if it was raining higher up in the hills because everyone coming down looked damp... and less than halfway up we realized they were just all very sweaty. We had to stop a couple of times to catch our breath (and were stopped once by a young Chinese couple who wanted us to pose for photos with them), and turned around as soon as we'd gotten high enough to get little metal "Hero of the Wall" plaques engraved at a gift shop halfway back down. By the time we'd returned to the bus, all the stores had closed so there was nowhere to get a badly-needed drink -- and this was the last time we'd do a day trip without taking water along. The two dads who'd actually made it all the way up finally made it all the way back down, AJ & I sort of broke into the now-closed bathrooms for a little (smelly) relief, and we all piled back onto the bus for the trip back into Beijing.
Given some choices on the way back, those of the group who hadn't fallen asleep (that climb is steep) decided on a walk through the "Olympic Green," which is the main site of the 2008 games but is very much paved over and actually not very green. Still, it was exciting to walk on the avenue (closed to vehicle traffic for the day!) that I had seen so much of on television, with the Water Cube and Bird's Nest right there in front of me. Also right there in front of me were the people selling long strings of small kites that seemed able to fly even in still air, held aloft by the vendor at the base of the string simply walking. Of course, as soon as the vendor stopped walking to try talking us into buying some kites -- something that happened about every 90 seconds -- the kites would slowly settle to the ground, where they were frequently stepped on by pedestrians and even driven over by a groundskeeping crew in a golf cart. Linda negotiated a decent price on some kites for the S and B families (AJ & I opted out, still unsure of how much we'd be carrying once we had Miri with us and how far we could stretch our cash), and we all made our way past the famous Bird's Nest until eventually finding our bus again.
Time was getting very short -- we all had a plane to catch for a flight to Nanning -- and the driver did an amazing job of getting a large bus to behave like a sports car on the way back to the hotel. We all powered through final repacking, checking out, tipping Linda & company, etc. and even managed to get through baggage check without any bags being overweight before gratefully dropping into our seats on the plane.
And there we sat, checking our watches as our scheduled departure time came and went. At one point the plane switched to internal power and everyone perked up, but a few minutes later we were again hooked up to ground power. Eventually there was an announcement in Mandarin that had all the Chinese passengers aboard laughing, but all we got in English was an apology for the delay. I had watched about two-thirds of a Chinese police drama on the entertainment system (the characters & plot so "stock" that I didn't need to understand a word being said to know what was happening) when the cabin crew began to serve dinner... all while we were still hooked up at the gate.
Then, without warning while everyone aboard was still busy with dinner, a terse announcement came over the PA, the cabin crew ran around making people hold their dinner trays in their laps so the seat-back tables would be stowed, and suddenly our plane was taxiing across the airport at breakneck speed. We didn't even slow down to line up with the runway, the captain just swung the nose hard around and jammed the throttles forward. We reached flight altitude in record time, and it took me a few minutes to realize I had never heard the engines throttle back down from takeoff power as had happened on every other fllight I'd ever been on.
I was right about the engines being kept at full throttle; we left the ground in Beijing two hours late and we landed in Nanning just one hour late. It quickly became obvious why the pilot had been in a hurry because the only things in the airport that hadn't shut down for the night were our gate and one baggage carousel. We made our way past the surprised janitorial crew and found our new guide, Lisa, waiting for us with a worried expression and a minibus that didn't look like it could possibly hold all of us and all our luggage.
The driver somehow shoehorned everything in, and we sleeplily set off for our hotel. My big concern (between yawns) was the many stories we'd heard back home about people arriving at their hotel to find nannies already waiting for them with their children; it was already 2:30 in the morning, there was still a drive to the hotel ahead of us, and I was ready to fall on my face... were we even going to be able to take a nap before meeting the Pipsqueak? Lisa explained that we would be meeting the kids at 3:00 the next afternoon, so we would have time to catch our collective breath and get some sleep.
It was a good thing, too... I was so tired that I dozed off twice despite trying to force myself to stay awake, at one point thinking I was hallucinating because the streetlamps seemed to change from white to purple as we passed under them. Just as I realized that we were crossing a long bridge with color-changing neon displays along its length, our driver turned off into yet another construction zone (Oh, no!), then drove through it to the thankfully complete Guangxi Wharton International Hotel, complete with more color-changing neon on the front (Whew!).
Now feeling slightly more awake, AJ & I got a kick out of the main entrance -- a huge revolving door with a large potted rosebush in the center, something we eventually saw at every hotel -- then tried to pay attention to which papers we were supposed to be handing over to Lisa so we could check in. The front desk staff were fast, so we were alll soon trying to figure out how to cram the entire group into a single elevator, then wobbling up & down the hall looking for our rooms.
AJ opened the door and I rolled in our suitcases, then took a few moments to figure out which of the many available electrical switches would actually turn on the lights we needed. I managed to find the bathroom light, the closet light, a desk light, the light for the alcove in the back wall that held a small statue... and finally found the switch that turned on the room lights.
The result was a moment of profound shock for both of us. The room was very nice, but not unusually so, and the view out the window was nice, but not unusually so. What stopped us both in our tracks in a shared omigod moment was the fact that we could plainly see a large baby crib set up and ready for use beside one of the beds. (We later discovered that we had independently taken almost identical photos of the scene.)
Up until that moment -- even with the flights, the long walk through Tianamen Square and the Forbidden City, the meal at the jade factory, climbing up & down the Great Wall, walking through the Olympic Green -- the whole purpose for our being in China had been something of an abstraction. For nearly five long years the conversation was "when we get the baby," "when we meet the baby," "I hope we meet the baby soon," "hang on, it'll happen, you'll see," and so on. I knew I was going to become an uncle, that AJ was going to become "Mommy" to someone, and yet it had always been "someday" or "soon" or "after you get there" and such.
And there was a crib in the corner of the room. It was all real. It was happening. It was now (almost). No more abstractions, no more "if/when," no more "I wonder what she'll be like" or anything else along those lines. This was the last time AJ would go to bed without having a daughter, the last time I would go to bed without having a niece.
Omigod, there's a crib in the corner of the room.
We did a fast voice-only Skype call to let our folks know we'd arrived safely and got ready for bed, exhaustion catching up to us fast. AJ was already asleep when I carefully climbed into my bed (no more bruising, thank you very much) and I took one last look past her at the crib before turning out the light. I could "see" the crib there in the dark as I tried to find a comfortable position, and the last thing I remember of that night was a thought that life was going to be very different when I woke up.
There was a crib in the corner of the room. The wait was over. 
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