my review of a book by a student leader in 1989

A Heart For Freedom by Chai Ling

Recently a friend recommended me the memoir by Chai Ling, one of the key student leaders at Tiananmen back in 1989. I read keenly it. As someone participated in the movement, even though I wasn’t in Beijing, I was very interested in the subject and a memoir told by someone right in the frontline of the movement, with her insight, could potentially be fascinating.

But I was disappointed. The memoir is too long, covering her growing up in a small town called Rizhao in Shandong province, her life at Beijing University, her involvement with the unprecedented democratic movement, her escape to the west and then her conversion to Christianity. Lacking a central theme, it reads disjointed. There are so many tense, emotional charged moments that can be used as great material but never really realized. It is not a well-written book, sad to say.

I could forgive the poor writing skill if I feel the author is honest and trustworthy. But I think the book struck me as self-serving. The only brutally honest parts are the revelation of her four abortions. Even that served a point. I am not sure that she is really the person she tried to portrait herself. Chai Ling described a conversation between herself and Wang Dan, another student leader. Wang warned Chai that many people participating in the movement had their own agendas. Chai asked Wang what was his. Wang supposed replied that he loved a bit of fame. I am not sure such a conversation really took place. Look at them now, Wang serves as a history professor in Taiwan and still works to push for democracy in China.

Despite her talks about finding her god and love and hope, she doesn’t behave like a Christian. She sued the creators of the award-winning documentary The Gate of Heavenly Peace for defaming her. A quote from the documentary seems to suggest that Chai implied the students leaders were making use of the students’ lives and well-being for their own personal gains. Chai lost the lawsuit and several others lawsuits.

There have been quite a few memoirs on ‘June 4’. I certainly wouldn’t recommend this one to anyone.

I am glad that the incident hasn’t not been forgotten by people in the world. Last night, the well attended vigil held in Hong Kong in the pouring rain was just an example.

See attached the picture I received – people living in the mainland have to be a little more subtle and creative in remembering the day.

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24th anniversary of ‘June 4′

The anniversary again. There isn’t total silence as people might think. see attached a picture I received from my WeeChat – several of similar pix are circulating on weibo and WeeChat.

also see below an excellent article in scmp.

The day that changed everything – June 4, 1989

Purged officials and intellectuals recall devastating effect the crackdown of 24 years ago had on their own lives and their country’s political future

Tuesday, 04 June, 2013 [UPDATED: 8:15AM]

Verna YuVerna.yu

They were once passionate in wanting to steer their country onto a path of liberalisation, rule of law and democracy. And they believed they were making a difference.

But when tanks rolled into Beijing and troops opened fire to crush the pro-democracy movement in Tiananmen Square in the early hours of June 4, 1989, everything changed.

As party conservatives triumphed over reformists in the political struggle, allies of ousted party chief Zhao Ziyang and liberal intellectuals in government think tanks became targets of suppression, as did talented, but outspoken, young intellectuals.

Placed on the most wanted list, some were sent to jail while others fled the country. Some were investigated by the authorities, expelled from state jobs or pressured to leave.

Twenty-four years on, these liberal-leaning people – once the country’s intellectual elite – say they continue to be rejected by the government and remain frustrated that they can no longer contribute towards their country.

Most who fled abroad are barred from entering China, while those who stayed can only live on the margins of society.

Most are barred from working in the government and universities, publishing their works and airing their views publicly. Their movements are often monitored by the government.

Bao TongBao Tong , the top aide to Zhao and the architect of his economic and political reforms, would have been a leading candidate for entering the powerful Politburo were it not for the crackdown, political analysts say.

But the former director of the party’s Political Reform Office spent the rest of his life in jail and under house arrest.

He was sentenced to seven years in prison for "leaking state secrets" and "inciting counter-revolutionary propaganda"- charges he said were fabricated. He remains under house arrest.

Bao, 81, said he had "no regrets" over his personal fate, but he thought it was the country’s loss that there was no room for liberal-leaning intellectuals to contribute to the country.

"Many young people had ideals and ambition and were given the chance to express their opinions then," Bao said.

"But now it’s very difficult to air new and good ideas … there’s only praise or condemnation and very little rational discussion."

Chen YiziHis former subordinate, Chen Yizi , was also on the wanted list in June 1989.

The former director of the China Research Institute for Reform of the Economic Structure, a think-tank under Zhao, was forced to flee Beijing after Zhao was placed under house arrest and Bao was jailed.

He boarded a train and eventually reached Guangdong. He then escaped to Hainan , from where he boarded a boat which smuggled him to Hong Kong. Two days later, he flew to France.

In a book published in Hong Kong last month, Memoirs of Chen Yizi – China’s Reform in the 1980s, Chen detailed how he repeatedly urged his friend Deng Pufang , the son of paramount leader Deng Xiaoping , to persuade his father to ease tensions between students and the government by publicly acknowledging that students were patriotic.

Confrontation had escalated sharply after a People’s Daily editorial on April 26 labelled the movement "anti-party and anti-socialist upheaval" – signalling it would be harshly dealt with.

On the same day as martial law was announced, Chen’s institute and other think tanks issued a statement to denounce the government’s military control and begged students to stop their hunger strikes.

They also urged the National People’s Congress to use its constitutional powers to intervene.

In an interview with the Post last week, Chen, now 73 and suffering from cancer, said he had tried his utmost to stop the tragedy from happening.

"I was trying to persuade the party leaders the students were patriotic, and was also asking the students to leave the square – I was mediating on both sides, but ended up being accused," he said by phone from the United States, where he now lives.

He became "the top most wanted criminal" because the conservative faction accused him of being "a conduit" between Zhao and the students, he said.

But for the past 24 years, what remained the most poignant thing for Chen was that he could no longer serve his country. "All the thinkers have all been purged … it was a disaster," he said.

Zhang LifanZhang Lifan was a researcher at the prestigious government think tank, the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, in 1989. He was also one of the intellectuals asked by the government to play a mediating role with students, but was later put under investigation.

For more than a year after the crackdown, he was repeatedly interrogated by the police, who threatened to arrest him.

"They wanted to find out what kind of relationship you had with the [liberal] leaders and what kind of message you were passing onto the students," Zhang said. His promising career at the academy came to an end when he was pressured to leave.

And it was impossible for him to find another job at other universities as they were all state-run. He ended up becoming a businessman to make ends meet.

Zhang, 62, said that life outside his government job had given him new perspectives on his thoughts and the chance to think independently.

"When I was in the government, I hoped to help the country solve its problem by providing it with solutions," Zhang said. "But after witnessing the event with my own eyes, I gained a deeper understanding of the regime.

"Now we know that, to uphold the regime, they can do absolutely anything. People in the regime at last realised what their party was all about, and many of them were disillusioned."

Wu GuoguangWu Guoguang , a former editor atPeople’s Daily and a policy adviser and speechwriter to Zhao, was one of them.

As one of the youngest members of the party’s Political Reform Office, he helped draft the party’s report on reform at the 13th party congress in 1987 while aged only 30.

Wu left Beijing in February 1989 for a fellowship at Harvard University, but after the June 4 crackdown, the authorities raided his flat in Beijing and confiscated many of his research materials and personal letters.

He was dismissed from his government job and dared not return through fear of being detained. He plunged into a state of deep depression.

"All the reform measures that we worked so hard for were all burned down at once," said Wu, now a politics and history professor at the University of Victoria in Canada.

"People who shared the same beliefs as us were either killed on the square or investigated by their work units," he said.

"I didn’t know what I was going to do. It was like I had lost my compass."

Wu was once hopeful about the prospect of democratisation in his country.

But he said: "1989 totally changed my life. Before, I had a promising career in the government and we wanted to change the regime from within.

"We thought we could make China a democratic country with constitutional rule within 10 or 15 years. I never thought that, nearly 25 years on, it would be even worse than before."

To this day, Wu feels rejected by his country. He said he tried to find teaching jobs in China but was told his "political problems" would be an obstacle.

His name cannot appear in print in China and the shipment of a book on politics he edited for the publisher Routledge was destroyed by the authorities.

"My heart has died completely – I want to do something for China, but there is no opportunity to do so," he said. "I have given up all hope. China will not embark on the road that I imagined it would."

Once hopeful for their country’s future, these former leading thinkers are disappointed with the way things have turned out.

The crackdown brought an abrupt halt to the country’s fledgling political reforms. Legislation planned for protecting press freedom was quashed and the consensus reached at the 13th Party Congress to separate the functions of the party and government was abandoned.

Constitutional democracy has become a taboo subject.

Speedy economic development in the next two decades under one-party rule and lack of political reform led to crony capitalism, rampant corruption, social inequality and environmental degradation.

"Nowadays, people have no ideals nor passion. Amid moral degeneration, they only want money," said Chen. "The situation now is directly linked with the crackdown, of course."

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The New Movement of Moving down to the Countryside

Yesterday, I took my adopted French parents to visit my cottage by the Ming Tombs, Changping county and then a friend’s cottage by the Great Wall in Huairou. we were driven by an old friend of mine Old Bian, who is also looking for a country house to buy or rent.

I thought about an article I wrote back in 2001 for London based Daily Telegraph. see below.

After all these years, my girls have turned out to be tall slender teenagers, the husband became ex and old Zhang Tong who found the cottage for us passed away two years ago. And more of my Chinese have got themselves a cottage in the country or in the process of doing so, partly driven out by the noise and pollution. I suppose the trend will slowly continue.

Toujours Peking’

by Zhang Lijia

October 2001

The bourgeoisie of the PRC used to loathe the countryside. Millions of urban intellectuals as well as Mao’s Red Guards were forced to labour with and learn from the peasantry.

Thirty years on, millions of peasants flood the cities to find work, while the urban elite looks at country living in a new light. “I’d go crazy if I stayed in Beijing all the time,” says a friend who was banished to rural exile during the Cultural Revolution. Now the CEO of a start-up company, he is also the new owner of an old farmhouse hidden in a mountain valley. “Life is so polluted and fast paced in the city. I come here to relax and recover.”

Framed by hills and history, the outskirts of Beijing attract Chinese desperate to escape the urban grind. Holiday camps and rustic homestays spring up to cash in on trends born of growing affluence and Western-style lifestyle magazines. At the top of the heap is the ‘Commune by the Great Wall’, an avant-garde villa complex, selling at 300,000 pounds per unit.

But like increasing numbers of Beijingers, my British husband and I found that little place in the country need cost only a fraction of the price. Cramped inside a city center apartment, mobbed by construction clamour on all sides, we set our eyes on the Ming Tombs, the imperial cemetry of 13 Chinese rulers. Under one hour’s drive from downtown, this patchwork of field, forest and orchard has long been a favourite picnic spot.

Over the years, we had befriended Zhang Tong, 75-year-old caretaker of the ruined Siling tomb, the final resting-place of the last Ming emperor. Old Zhang, former head of the production team, gladly began house hunting for us. Described by him as “beautifully furnished, most suitable for you city folks”, his first choice was a hideous two-storey, white-tiled building with blue glass. These shiny blue erections have become the symbol of prosperity across rural China.

Several false alarms later, Old Zhang showed us the empty house of a neighbour who had moved on to better, bluer things. I quickly fell for its slate roof and wooden window frames, with forests and mountains beyond. In this typical north China house, white paper not glass covers most windows. There is a courtyard and large orchard, bursting with apple, apricot and chestnuts trees.

At the negotiation table, the owner Mr Yin demanded 50,000 yuan (3,850 pounds), 30,000 for the house and 20,000 for the orchard. We offered 20,000. After a few rounds of hard talks, Old Zhang, serving as middleman, brokered a 2,500 pounds deal.

The only question was how to transfer ownership in a land where all land belongs to the state, and legal issues are painted grey. The village chief refused to witness the deal, insisting that farmers are forbidden from selling houses to non-farmers – the apartheid-like divide is strictly upheld in official records. However, in China there is always a way. The chief also suggested the house could be rented.

Yin drafted a contract for ‘long term rental’ which I rephrased it as ‘permanent rental’. The simple contract, one battered sheet of paper long, was soon peppered with scribbles and corrections. “It doesn’t look very formal,” sighed Old Zhang after we signed. “We’ve got to have a fingerprint.” He dispatched his wife to borrow some red ink. “Yes, that’s more like it!” Old Zhang said with satisfaction, blowing the paper dry.

The main building was in reasonable condition, and required a lick of paint, but the west wing was barely fit for cows. After demolition, it would rise again as a small kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom. Old Zhang engaged his son as our contractor, and always referred to him as ‘the builder’, whose team of relatives would be paid by the day. Little wonder the renovation work dragged so long!

‘The builder’ estimated costs at “roughly 10,000 yuan”, and gave a timetable of one to two months. Ultimately, we paid triple that amount and waited four months before the place was habitable. With commitments keeping us in Beijing during the week, unwelcome surprises often lay in wait. Some walls disappeared – “you didn’t say you wanted it” was Young Zhang’s reasoning for knocking the bedroom and sitting room into one – and other walls arose, cutting off the orchard. A moon gate was the compromise, providing us with access, and soothing village fears we had invaded ‘collective’ land.

Yet the cottage proved our best ‘purchase’ ever, not only as a bargain (for the same amount, we could buy perhaps 6 square meters of the flat we rent in the city), but for the pleasure it provides. A paddling pool enthralls the children, and energetic visitors enjoy trekking to nearby tombs or peaks. The fresh air, blue sky, and songbirds are a rare treat for Beijing residents. Villagers begin to ask if our friends might be interested in their old homes. What have we started?!

a good article on the growing inequality between men and women by C. Larson

Why China Needs a ‘Lean In’ Movement

By Christina Larson

Top female entrepreneurs are a minority in China, as compared to male tycoons, but there are certainly examples of very successful Chinese businesswomen. Of the 20 richest individuals in China, three are self-made female billionaires. (Meanwhile, of the 20 richest Americans, none are self-made businesswomen.) Despite this strong female showing at the top, for most women navigating China’s business landscape, the obstacles to success and equality are steep—and growing steeper.

Consider the yawning gender pay gap. In 2012, American women earned 77¢ for every $1 men earned. China had a similar pay gap two decades ago: In 1990, urban Chinese women earned 78 percent of what their male peers earned, and rural women earned 79 percent. Disappointingly, the pay gap in China has grown much wider since then: In 2010, urban Chinese women earned 67 percent of what their male peers earned, and rural women earned 56 percent. These calculations were released Wednesday by the government-led All China Women’s Federation.

What explains China’s growing pay disparity? Wang Xiaolin, director of research at the International Poverty Reduction Center in China, told the People’s Daily that women more often chose to work in less lucrative industries. “Many female migrant workers stay at the low end of the service sector, such as working as waitresses in restaurants, while men take more positions in the manufacturing industry.” While this may be true, Wang’s explanation doesn’t sufficiently address the obstacles that college-educated professional women confront.

One hurdle may be the particular nature of China’s modern business landscape, which emphasizes guanxi—stoking a web of interlocking personal and professional connections. “Guanxi itself is such a male world,” explains Susan Brownell, an anthropologist specializing in China at the University of Missouri, St. Louis. “Businessmen go to KTV bars and often patronize prostitutes together. It’s hard for women to share the same bonding experiences.” That’s why at least one successful female business owner, bowing to the fact that male clients expect to be wined and dined at karaoke bars and massage parlors (where there is at least the possibility of paying for sex), has designated a young man on her staff to take out clients on her behalf. Her solution is crafty, but it’s a depressing form of accommodation. “Successful women in China must develop tactics to handle the male aspects of guanxi,” says Brownell.

According to the All China Federation of Trade Unions, the percentage of women on corporate boards is also declining. In 2005, women occupied 43 percent of board seats, compared to just 32 percent in 2011. Many Chinese women are also dropping out of the work force when they have children and then finding it hard to reenter. 63 percent of Chinese women work outside the home in their twenties, but only 56 percent do in their thirties. (Meanwhile, 93 percent of Chinese men participate in the labor force in their thirties.)

While many aspects of Chinese society have become more progressive over the past three decades, gender relations have not shown obvious advances. As Leta Hong Fincher, a doctoral candidate in sociology at Tsinghua University,wrote in a recent issue of Dissent magazine: “For all its failings, the Mao era (1949–1976) was a time when overcoming traditional forms of male-female inequality was proclaimed as an important revolutionary goal. Now, there are signs that women’s past gains are being eroded.” Just as with corporate boards, women’s representation in elite Chinese politics has been steadily declining. “The proportion of women in China’s Communist Party Central Committee has fallen over the years—[now] down to just 4.9 percent,” writes Fincher. There’s no sign yet of China’s Sheryl Sandberg or a citizen “Lean In” movement.

Larson is a Bloomberg Businessweek contributor.

Chinese tourists abroad and China’s spitting image

today I was interviewed by the BBC for the badly behaved Chinese abroad. my piece about spitting can explain why so many still do.

BBC News Story

China’s state media says a top official has called for Chinese tourists to behave more politely when travelling abroad. Wang Yang, one of the country’s four vice prime ministers, said the uncivilised behaviour of some Chinese tourists was harming the country’s image. Among the vices he singled out were talking loudly in public places and spitting. He said the quality and breeding of some Chinese tourists was not high. Foreign holidays have become ever more popular with China’s increasingly affluent consumers. (Mr Wang’s comments came as the government discussed implementing a new tourism law.)

Spitting Image

Zhang Lijia

Nowadays, I hear a lot more spitting around my new house. Not that China is getting worse with the ubiquitous habit but simply because we’ve recently moved from a fairly up-market compound in Beijing city center resided by affluent Chinese and expats to a pingfang – low rise houses area further out of the town where many migrant workers congregate. In our Wine God Village, the narrow streets are splattered with web blobs and dried yellowish phlegm decorated the wall of red brick houses, even though in the neighbourhood committee’s propaganda board, red slogans talks about “Building a civilized, hygienic and harmonious community.”

The Chinese themselves have repeatedly voted spitting as the most hateful habit and two thirds of adult admitted spitting regular, according to one survey. That means that there are 900 million habitual spitters in China.

It usually comes with a loud throat clearing “hhggaarrkh” as sort of foreplay before the actual spit flies out one’s mouth. For me, the worst part is when people, after shooting the spit to the ground, try to grind it with a foot as if it would make it disappear but they only make a sticky wet patch.

"Oh, Yak, look, mum, that man just spat again." “Why do Chinese have to speak so loudly?” Just about everyday, my two daughters, aged at 12 and 14, make such complaints. I have to remind them that they are actually half-Chinese and were born here. However, having lived in London for years and now going to the British school, they find certain Chinese habits, such as spitting, littering and loud speaking as well as nose-picking in public, disturbing.

I find myself trying hard to explain to them – not exactly defend – why the Chinese behave in this way. Loud talking, for example, is often the necessity. It’s so noisy here that no one can hear you if you hum like a mosquito. And of course, no one thinks it is rude if you speak on top of your lungs. My ex-husband, a soft-spoken British man, used to complain about my volume. "Sh, I am here, right in front of you. No need to shout," he used to say. But it was just the way I was brought up. If I shout, my father, an amateur opera singer, thunders whenever he opens his mouth, which startles my children.

Many Chinese claim that they spit due to health reasons, saying that they have phlegm in their throat as a result of suffering from chronic bronchitis, colds that never get better and other respiratory problems. Hacking and spitting is just a way to clear the lung and throat. One important reason that the Chinese spit more than anyone else is our deep belief that swallowing phlegm is bad for you; while in the west, people swallow it to avoid spitting in the public. And in China, the air is often polluted which generates more phlegm. And there are plenty of heavy smokers.

Lack of education is often blamed for some of the uncivilized behaviour. But it doesn’t explain everything. In late Qing Dynasty, Li Hongzhang, as a great learnt man, was given the important task of dealing with the outside world – the “barbarian handler” as he was known. Western diplomats were disgusted by his habit of spitting into a pocket spittoon while negotiating state affairs! After all, for too many years, spitting was socially acceptable.

And using a spittoon is a civilized behaviour to a Chinese mind. Until recently, our Chinese leaders had their ceramic spittoons by their chairs when they received visiting foreign dignitaries or royalties. Chairman Mao had one right by his feet when he granted an audience to President Nixon in 1972.

No campaigns actually want people to stop spitting but to spit into spittoons, rubbish bins or your own tissues. Just about in every Chinese city, you can see a poster which urges people “No spitting everywhere!” beneath the Chinese characters: 禁止随地吐痰。

There can be a sharp edge to the blobs of spittle. You can convey your dislike or disrespect of someone by spitting hard purposefully in front of the person. It was used by the boxers during the Boxers Rebellion. In 1990, a banner raised by them read: "Certainly foreign soldiers are a horde; but if each of our people spits once, they will drown."

It seems impossible to stamp out the dir-hard habit despite the authority’s repeated effort. In the run-up to the Olympics, Beijing government made fresh effort by imposing heavy fine of 50 yuan for anyone caught spewing out his product. Officials handed out paper bags and tissues and patriotic or civic-minded volunteers rushed out to train stations or squares, serving as “spit-spotters”, alert to any sound of hawking and spitting. In 2010, Guangzhou government went even further by issuing a regulation which can evict a tenant in a government-subsidized housing estate if he is caught spitting more than seven times in public.

Nevertheless, I believe that many of the uncivilized habits here come down to the lack of public concern. Speaking loud privately is one thing, but doing so at dawn in a hotel when everyone else is sleeping is another matter.

Of course, there’s the force of habit. I actually much prefer my new neighbourhood of Wine God Village. The streets are full of life and energy; people are friendly. And it is authentic. Some of my neighbours have indeed brought their habits from their village where the social norms are looser. Another reason for their uncaring behaviour, I suppose, is that they feel that they are not accepted or respected by the locals. Beijing is not their city. So why should they care?

Spitting is the most notorious among the uncivilized Chinese manners and has made its way into travel literature. In his Riding the Iron Rooster, travel writer Paul Theroux wrote about the Chinese: “Spat all the time. . . You expected them to propel it about five yards, like a Laramie stockman sitting over a fence. But no they never gave it any force. They seldom spat more than a few inches from where they stood. They did not spit out, they spit down."

Overall, spitting has become much less a problem. As a former champion of spitting competitions, I used to spit a great deal. When I was a worker at a rocket factory, we used to have spitting competitions when we were bored. We would line up and see who could shot the furthest or hit a certain spot with force and accuracy. Theroux would have changed his lines if he had seen us! In those days, most parts of China were pretty dirty. So it didn’t really matter if you added some dark yellow bits here and there. But the changed living environment and the realization of its unpleasantness – especially the foreplay – have transformed me. If I can change, anyone can.

Feeling Rich

In the past few days, I have been milking the same cow – being taken out for lunch and dinner in the name of my birthday.

The best part was my stay on Tuesday at Dong Fang Hotel, a historical hotel southwest of Jianmen, by my lovely friend Tara.

In the end of January this year, I have discovered, to my delight, this highly interesting hotel. Beijing boasts plenty of luxurious or modern hotels but hardly any old hotel with characters, my favorite type. Built in 1918, Dong Fang was China’s first luxurious hotel. At that time, the concept of urban planning was just being introduced. And the hotel was very much at the heart of the New Culture Movement and many front runners of the movement as well as China’s most famous literates, like Lu Xun, Cai Yuanpei, Lao She, Ba Jin, all stayed here at different times.

When I wrote a blog about this hotel, I mentioned that I’d like to spend one night here. My thoughtful friend Tara decided to fulfill my wish – as my birthday treat. Australian Tara is one of the most creative people I ever know. Though trained as a lawyer, she has produced and directed films and documentaries and written scripts. Her head, under her lovely blond curls, full of interesting and original ideas, she has been very helpful in providing suggestions to my troubled novel. I felt indebted to her, even before this hotel stay treat.

Tara also invited her writing partner, a dynamic English lady Juliet to come along. We check into the best room, a suite where general Bai Congxi once stayed. After that, we had a hearty meal at a down-to-earth restaurant just across the street, followed by drinks at the hotel’s bar. Though the bar is interesting enough with period features and pictures of famous people and events, we preferred to sit outside as the evening was gentle and temperature perfect. We have a saying in Chinese: “When three women get together, they stay a play.” We certainly did.

Returning to our suite, with child-like delight, we examined our antique furniture, the old style calendar decorated with cheongsam-clad beauties and the calligraphy set and such. Lying in the massive bed, we three enjoyed the leeches I brought as our middle night feast.

The next day, we walked around the old part of the wing and checked out the board outside many of the rooms which explained which celebrities stayed here and their brief life stories. I shared with the two ladies what I know about these influential people.

It was a very memorable stay.

It was a bit of luxury to get away like this in the middle of a week day. Sometimes I do feel slightly guilty that I have such a pleasurable life and I don’t work that hard. But I loved every minute of my night out with Tara and Juliet. In a long run, I think spending quality time with people much smarter than me is beneficial. Besides I’ve long made a point that to live an interesting and rich life is far more important than to achieve highly.

Feeling Rich

In the past few days, I have been milking the same cow – being taken out for lunch and dinner in the name of my birthday.

The best part was my stay on Tuesday at Dong Fang Hotel, a historical hotel southwest of Jianmen, by my lovely friend Tara.

In the end of January this year, I have discovered, to my delight, this highly interesting hotel. Beijing boasts plenty of luxurious or modern hotels but hardly any old hotel with characters, my favorite type. Built in 1918, Dong Fang was China’s first luxurious hotel. At that time, the concept of urban planning was just being introduced. And the hotel was very much at the heart of the New Culture Movement and many front runners of the movement as well as China’s most famous literates, like Lu Xun, Cai Yuanpei, Lao She, Ba Jin, all stayed here at different times.

When I wrote a blog about this hotel, I mentioned that I’d like to spend one night here. My thoughtful friend Tara decided to fulfill my wish – as my birthday treat. Australian Tara is one of the most creative people I ever know. Though trained as a lawyer, she has produced and directed films and documentaries and written scripts. Her head, under her lovely blond curls, full of interesting and original ideas, she has been very helpful in providing suggestions to my troubled novel. I felt indebted to her, even before this hotel stay treat.

Tara also invited her writing partner, a dynamic English lady Juliet to come along. We check into the best room, a suite where general Bai Congxi once stayed. After that, we had a hearty meal at a down-to-earth restaurant just across the street, followed by drinks at the hotel’s bar. Though the bar is interesting enough with period features and pictures of famous people and events, we preferred to sit outside as the evening was gentle and temperature perfect. We have a saying in Chinese: “When three women get together, they stay a play.” We certainly did.

Returning to our suite, with child-like delight, we examined our antique furniture, the old style calendar decorated with cheongsam-clad beauties and the calligraphy set and such. Lying in the massive bed, we three enjoyed the leeches I brought as our middle night feast.

The next day, we walked around the old part of the wing and checked out the board outside many of the rooms which explained which celebrities stayed here and their brief life stories. I shared with the two ladies what I know about these influential people.

It was a very memorable stay.

It was a bit of luxury to get away like this in the middle of a week day. Sometimes I do feel slightly guilty that I have such a pleasurable life and I don’t work that hard. But I loved every minute of my night out with Tara and Juliet. In a long run, I think spending quality time with people much smarter than me is beneficial. Besides I’ve long made a point that to live an interesting and rich life is far more important than to achieve highly.