Our plane banked on its approach into Beijing and the Great Wall swung into view. Like a dragon lying along the high peaks of China, it seemed to be sunning itself one final time in the late October afternoon sun before the winter winds would sweep in from the vast planes of Mongolia. Fighter jets gleamed in the distance as our plane taxied toward the terminal. As our cab sped toward the hotel, the Stalinist architecture reminded us that we were in a communist country. The next morning we went to see the Forbidden City. Even though it lay just half a mile from our hotel, we managed to get lost and fell into a tourist trap. We wound up buying Chinese paintings from a group of students in exchange for them guiding us to the city. The Forbidden City was one vast empty museum with 9,999 rooms since the Nationalists had taken the most valuable treasures to Taiwan in 1949. We wandered around the Forbidden City and realizing the language barrier, we hired a car with a guide and a driver for the next three days. Our ability to absorb history and Chinese culture improved dramatically courtesy of the guide. He was taken aback at my knowledge of the Chinese revolution but calmed down once he realised that even though I lived in the US, I had been a Mao-admirer in the days of my youth in Karachi. We went with him to the Great Wall at Badaling, where Richard Nixon had posed in 1972. Decades earlier, a young Mao Zedong had said, “He who does not reach the Great Wall is not a true man.” On the way down, we ran into a Japanese man who expressed his apprehensions that China would overtake Japan in his children’s lifetime. As a fortification, the Wall looked forbidding but later we would come across a statement attributed to Genghis Khan, that a wall was only as strong as the pockets of its guards. We also saw the Temple of Heavenly Peace and the tombs of the Ming Dynasty. They were strangely empty like the Forbidden City but very suggestive of the grand history that reposed in them. We came to understand that red was a very special colour even before Mao arrived, since it denoted good luck, and yellow was so special, since it denoted the emperor. Mao had very cleverly grafted communist imagery on historical symbols, just as he had anchored his quotations on a foundation laid by Confucius. It was also clear that Mao was no longer running China, even though he remained interred in a huge mausoleum in Tiananmen (Gate of Heavenly Peace) Square. I found it difficult to get copies of Mao memorabilia but finally was able to find a badge, a hat and a red book. Little red taxis were abundant in Beijing and we often took them to go around town. One evening, we saw the traditional Beijing Opera, whose stirring images and plaintive melodies about the journey of the Eight Immortals to Korea still ring in our hearts. One afternoon, we decided to take one of those “cycle rickshaws” that were once seen in Karachi. The driver took us through a bazaar by pedalling through some back streets. He stopped suddenly at a traffic intersection involving four-lane roads. As the light turned green, he began pedalling to reach the other side before the light turned red. The road was uphill, causing beads of perspiration to rise from his clean-shaven head. Along the way, he had to compete for space with buses and cars. I gave him a sizeable tip once he concluded the scariest ride of our life. Of course, he demanded double the extra amount and on sensing hesitation, reached into my wallet and took out the difference. The next morning we went to see the Forbidden City. Even though it was just half a mile away from our hotel, we managed to get lost and fell into a tourist trap. We ended up buying Chinese paintings from a group of students and in exchange they guided us towards the city. The Forbidden City was one vast empty museum with 9,999 rooms. Most valuables were removed and taken away to Taiwan in 1949 We flew to Xian early the next morning. The guide who met us was very friendly but spoke broken English. Along the way, we drove by a farmer who was having an argument with a policeman holding a rifle. The farmer had raised his shovel in a threatening manner and I was happy that the speed of our taxi did not allow us to see the grand finale of the Xian Opera! Xian reminded me of the country side in Sindh where I had spent my childhood. Finally, we came to the place that had put Xian on the itinerary of every world traveller: the tomb of Emperor Qian containing thousands of life-sized terra cotta soldiers. These were first discovered in 1974 and can now be seen in three separate enclosures, one more exquisite than the other. Originally, they were in colour. But even without the colour, they make an incredible statement. We went to see the Grand Mosque in the afternoon and decided to offer our Asr prayers there. The women prayed in a separate building and with some reluctance I saw my guide escort my wife to that structure. I felt my prayers had been accepted when she appeared with him a half hour later. The men at the entrance to the mosque were very hospitable and welcomed me. But seeing my uncovered head, they placed a cap on it that drooped down to my eyebrows. Thankfully, it held up during the sajda. After the prayer, a musalli proudly showed me that the entire holy Quran had been carved on the walls in wood. Another one invited me to a Sufi-style langar outside the prayer hall but I excused myself, since I had to catch a flight that evening. We also saw the historic City Wall whose incredible views of the old town deepened as the sun began to set. As we were departing its grounds, we encountered an elaborately costumed cast that was putting on a Star Wars like performance for several hundred Japanese tourists. Back in Beijing, we checked out the military museum. It had a vast collection of Korean War memorabilia, including American U2’s and F-86’s that had been shot down by Chinese gunners. Also on display were various generations of Chinese fighters and tanks. I felt like I was looking at the evolution of weaponry in the Pakistani military and felt compelled to take a picture. But photography was forbidden and when I tactfully pulled out my camera from my leather jacket, a guard signalled “no.” One afternoon, we had lunch at a Muslim restaurant that served naan and kebabs. On our last day, we went to the Summer Palace. It dwarfs the Shalimar Gardens. Inside the palace we took a ride on a dragon boat in a lake. We walked along a portion of the covered walkway that circles the lake. It was built for the use of the Empress Dowager. As our tour was ending, the first snows of the season arrived in Beijing. The wind began to strip off the amber leaves off trees as our plane lifted off the tarmac. At home, we went to see the film ‘Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon’. Much of it featured the Forbidden City at its zenith. It was a great homecoming. The writer has toured 33 countries in six continents. He can be reached at ahmad.faruqui@gmail.com Published in Daily Times, September 25th 2017.