Author: Fred Hoyt

We left Ulanbataar with a better feeling for it than our original impressions as a combination of Eastern Europe and the kind of city you see from the train as you travel out west. It does have features that resemble both, but it’s only 20 years removed from being a Soviet satellite, and is slowly growing more comfortable with its past (the Soviets wiped out others’ history, and think of the Tartar years (the Mongol occupation) as the low point in Russian history. The airport, for example, is Ghengis Khan International, and a $10 million statue of the Great Khan and his offspring decorates the main square of the city.

As I said, it’s a country of 2.7 million people or so, 4 times the size of France, with the Gobi desert in the south, and lots of grassland (and a few mountains) in the north. Its economy rests on its produce—especially the export of meat, wool, and hides to its larger and more prosperous Chinese neighbor, which accounts for about 20% of GDP. The country imports much of its food, especially fruit, but my diet Coke came from Hong Kong (though there is a Coke factory in UB), and our dessert came from Korea. Tourism is also around 20%, with raw materials (gold and copper mines) a growing part of the trade: and the country is attractive for trekking, horseback riding (but after my experience, which was only two hours, I’m saddle-sore, and know why the Mongols were attracted to their richer neighbors, and feisty when they got inside the Great Wall, or into Europe). Camels were much slower, but, to my mind, provided a better experience!

We toured what was left of the past in Ulanbataar before we left—apparently, the Mongolians converted to Buddhism in the 17th century, accounting for the relative lack of world conquest since then, and the few monasteries rebuilt since 1990 or preserved by the Soviet-oriented governments as museums. The Mongolians converted to Yellow Hat Buddhism, the Tibetan variety, and the Lama temple in UB, built at the turn of the last century, houses what the Lonely Planet accurately describes as a cultural gem. The Winter Palace of the Bogd Khan, the political/spiritual ruler of the Mongolian state that broke away from China in 1911, also remains. The Chinese government helped restore it, and, like the Thai palace, it contains European-style buildings—albeit on the Russian style, and artifacts from the Bogd Khan’s years. When he died in 1924, the revolutionaries who had seized power in 1921, dissolved the Khannate and established the communist government that lasted until the Empire fell.

In line with our desire to eat “Mongolian,” we insisted on a boodog, which is an animal (the best is a marmot, but this is the wrong season) cooked from within and without. The Lonely Planet described it as a “balloon with paws,” cooked with a blowtorch, but our mutton cooked with heated rocks in its skin was one of the tastier memories of the trip.

We watched the news in UB before we left; the hotel had a surprising number of stations, including CNN, when we realized that the date was June 4—the 20 year anniversary of the Tiananmen Square suppression. The coverage of the topic was pretty extensive, but I knew we’d not see it in China, and there’d probably be little in the press, and a lot of undercover police on the square, if it were not entirely closed to the people.

My first trip to China, in 1990, was in early June, and our visit to the Square was to coincide with the first anniversary—no one was allowed that day, and very few were there on June 5, when we got there, unfurled our “Long live the friendship of the U.S. and China” banner; the few were armed People’s Liberation Army soldiers, who told us to take our pictures, furl that banner, and get out of there as quickly as possible. We did!

CNN went blank in our TV in Beijing, and I knew what that meant. The government can still censor press, news, and video. The headline 5 June in Global Times, an English language paper in Beijing, was a “news” article about peace and prosperity on Chang’an (the street where Tiananmen Square is located. The article pointed out that in the last 20 years the government has developed a successful model of growth and stability that will provide a model for other developing nations. Again, the article highlights the importance of the intertwining of political stability (party rule) and economic growth.

I bade farewell to JR early in the morning—he had an earlier flight than I did and I sure enjoy traveling with him—and I set out to do some things I’d not done before in Beijing. My goal was to find what was left of Khanbalik, the capital that Kublai Khan built as the capital of the Yuan dynasty. Not much is left, but the trip through Beihai park, which was one of the imperial gardens from the 12th century until the fall of the dynasty in 1911, was a reminder that in the parks, as the song goes, “Every day’s the fourth of July,” or in the Chinese case, probably October 1 (the founding of the PRC) or October 10 (the revolution of 1911) or the New Years. There were no tour groups there, very few foreigners. And lots of folks, doing what Chinese do in the mornings—taiqi, calligraphy, dancing (ever heard the “Red River Valley” in Chinese?) playing cards, singing, exercising. Major buildings, many of them built by the great Qing emperors, Kangxi or Qianlong, reminds one of the wealth of China before its century of humiliation, and how much of it was concentrated in the hands of the royal family, and the Confucian elite. I got to two houses in Houhai, another artificial lake that has become a bar center at night; one of the hutongs had been the home of a famous writer, and shows that even under communism, favored people live better than others, though the wealth of Beijingers, and Chinese in the big cities today, raises questions about whether you’re in a Third World country or not. Beijing certainly has the trappings of a major world capital—with great restaurants (we had a wonderful farewell dinner of Beijing duck—go to Nanxingcang when you’re there!) and a growing consumer base that could lessen China’s dependence on exports. The other was a palace of Prince Gong, a sprawling home/garden that lends credence to Deng Xiaoping’s comment, “To be rich is glorious.”

The plane was miraculously not full, and I had two seats, which helped me think about (albeit very briefly) why I could leave at 4:10 and arrive at O’Hare at 4:30. Too bad it felt like 12 hours!

As always, Chairman Mao’s statement (during the Vietnam War) is a reminder that “Americans are not Asians, and sooner or later they must go home.” I’m glad it was later rather than sooner.

I will see you soon.

JR often says, “This is just like Scout camp.” He’s usually right, but this time, he’s more right because Mongolia does resemble Scout camp in many ways. The Lonely Planet, for example, describes it as “The world’s largest campground,” and while there are a lot of places I wouldn’t want to pitch a tent, there are many that I could. With one million people in Ulan Bataar, and 500,000 in the second largest city, Mongolia has one of the lowest population densities in the world.

We discovered the “big sky” country on our 350 km trip from UB to Karakorum, one of the few ancient cities in a country dominated by nomads; even today, about 25 per cent of the population lives a nomadic existence, and about half, we’re told, live in the ger tent (a yurt is a more well-known name for the circular felt tent that is characteristic of Asian nomads. The road in places is no better than the road in Scout camp, and it, like most roads between cities here, is a toll road. Parts of it were under construction (ongoing, said our guide, for the past four years, and expected to be completed in four years). The “detours” are paths suitable (barely) for four-wheel drive vehicles, and we hung on dearly as our driver navigated one of several choices until we got back on the standard two-lane “toll road” to the northwest.

Like Mongolia, where 50% of the population live in the gers, we’re spending two nights in gers and two nights in hotels. Yesterday, after leaving UB, we drove most of the day, making two stops. One was at a sand dune that resembles the Great Sand Dunes national monument, without the backdrop of 14,000-foot mountains of Colorado, but with some mountains in the background, and about a 60-mile swath that is a haven for wild life. One of the main tourist attractions is in fact the outdoors—the Gobi in the South, the mountains in the North, and the wildlife in both places. The big sky panoramas are sweeping and spectacular—miles of space, with few gers, fewer towns (none that really merit the name until Karakorum), and herds—of sheep, goats, cows, and horses, driven by cowboys (yes! Some wear the traditional Mongolian dress of the del, a long robe with a sash; others look like something out of a cowboy movie). It was great fun to watch the drovers herd the sheep, aided by the dogs, as we did in our ger last night (and noted some on cycles and scooters doing the same). No wonder tourism accounts for 18% of the income of this country.

The other was at a monastery that gave some indication of the religion here that’s been restored since the fall of communism: a tantric Buddhism that owes its inspiration to Tibetan Buddhism, and in fact the first two Dalai Lamas, the religious leader of Tibetan Buddhism, were Mongolian. Between the nomadic nature of the populace, who built little of lasting value until the 17th century, the Chinese, who destroyed much of the historical evidence before that, and the Russians, who destroyed much in the 20th century, especially “superstitious” sites in 1937, there’s not much history left. The remnants of the one we saw yesterday being mostly rebuilt, with some ruins and a building or two leftover.

In the ger, a kind of motel arrangement for tourists—there was a shower in our compound—our guide taught us a few games that JR thinks I should bring back for camp; they’re played with sheep’s ankle bones. Each facing has an animal name, and one game consists of playing a kind of pool—dropping a handful of bones and flicking similar ones until you miss; then the next person plays, etc., until none are left. Then, the game restarts with the loser (usually me) getting the number he has from each player and beginning again.

Today, though, we got to Karakorum, and the trip was really worthwhile. There is a temple—again destroyed, mostly, in 1937 and the monks killed, but partially rebuilt—that was really spectacular. The guide took us through the extant buildings, which were a la Tibet—the animistic tantric Lamaism that has followers of the Buddha that resemble the protectors of the shaman religions of Mongolia and Tibet—blue demonic protectors of horses, the thousand-armed, thousand-eyed goddess of mercy (who got transformed in China by an Empress, who was annoyed that the Buddha god-figures were male, into a female, and as the Guan Yin, the goddess of mercy, is one of the most popular Chinese buddhas; and with the statues resembling Mary, one of the most popular purchases for Western Christians. The smell of yak butter reminded me of Tibet, where JR and I had gone five years ago. The temple also had an active congregation of monks, and when our guide said they would chant sutras in ten minutes, we went in for the services, which were in Tibetan, the language of Mongolian Buddhism. There was also a flea market in the compound, and I found a few things that I hadn’t in any of our night markets from Bangkok to Beijing (though most of the items were made in China; one of the vendors tried to sell me a genuine statue of Ghengis Khan that I had to remind him was the Guang Gong, one of my Chinese heroes. When we bargained, our guide was a little embarrassed, because, she said, Mongolians don’t haggle, and American tourists never bargain, they just pay the asked price. Well, surprise to her—we’ve been to China (and, in fact, I bargained in Chinese, which took the Mongolian lady by surprise, but she thought my Chinese was very good, and gave me the price I wanted). We’ve educated our guide, too—our food can’t be spaghetti and/or French fries. We rejected a boxed lunch of fried chicken in favor of a Mongolian dumpling soup that was much, much tastier.

Our afternoon was more like Scout camp, and perhaps it was fitting that I had my Philmont shirt on; we went to a local family ger for an hour and a half horseback ride through the mountain transition zone that is where we’re at, and a visit to a real ger, one with a family who lived there. Our SUV took a mountain road, crossed a river that flows into Lake Baikal (I was tempted to say we forded the river, but we’re driving a Toyota Land Cruiser), and landed at the winter camp of a herdsman. Out came the local food for guests—yoghurt made from cow’s, goat’s, and sheep’s milk (happily and necessarily served with sugar), served from the pot in which it was made, hardened curd, and curdled cream from the yoghurt served on bread (I told JR we should be careful what we asked for).

The food was preparation for a ride in the valley, where we got a sense of what it was like to have been one of the Mongol warriors, who spent 20-some years on the road carving out the empire that stretched to the gates of Budapest. The ride, on a Mongolian saddle made of wood and smaller than the English leather saddles (ouch!), took us through a small forest (the trees were suspiciously growing in straight lines, and look liked they’d been cut to make the outbuildings and corrals that keep the herd separate (the goats stay in the pen for milking purposes). We also passed a party that we later learned was celebrating, partly with vodka, the first mare’s milk of the season; when we went through they were using a pole with a lariat to lasso horses and rope them down, as well as one of the children. Twenty years in the saddle, even with time out for looting and pillaging, seems excessive, but two hours was fine. Still, my bottom was glad to be rescued by our guide and driver!

Dinner wasn’t like Scout camp, although we did have local food. We ate a sheep intestine dumpling that was much better than it sounds, and pasteurized yoghurt for dessert.

Believe it or not, we’re sitting around a campfire—the stove in our ger is lit—and I’m re-teaching JR Scout Vespers. Softly falls the light of day, as the song goes, and we’re fading away. Tomorrow we leave early for our return to Ulan Bataar, and on the way, we may get to ride a Bactrician camel. Try that at your Scout camp!

Was it less than 48 hours ago that we said goodbye to the students and to Carrie?

It seems longer, but when I tell you all that we have been doing (we being me and JR), I think you’ll understand my disorientation.

On Friday, we got up early (at least some of us did) and went to Liulichang, one of the few “traditional” streets left in Beijing. The students had a choice, and a number of them decided to sleep in, but I had a favorite tea shop there and offered the students one last opportunity to see Beijing…We took the subway, which always makes me feel grown up, and got to the street around 9:30.

Two of the students decided they wanted to wander, but the other (there were three) joined me and JR as we wandered down the street. Pretty soon we were in an art shop, and had a new “best friend” who was the owner; before we left, he’d sold us a few paintings, took pictures with us, and introduced me to his 2-year-old daughter, with the knowledge that I had a 2-year-old daughter grandson who speaks Chinese.

When we left his shop, a young lady came up to me with a picture she’d taken in her shop a few years ago, and said, “lao peng you” (old friend) I thought I recognized you. I’ve moved my tea shop. Come have a look.” For the next hour, we had a personal discussion/demonstration of eight different teas, a discussion of the world and what we’d done since we saw her last (she recognized JR—but everyone remembers him here), and, joined by the other two students who wandered by, left with teapots, tea bricks, and a better understanding of the tea business—and less Chinese money to change into dollars at the airport.

We met the rest of the students at the “Silk Street” store, which is one of the most touristy places in Beijing. It used to be an outdoor street mall that got enclosed into six floors of everything you saw in China but hadn’t bought yet (if you’re a tourist) including extra luggage, “North Face” items (says so on the label), and a variety of T-shirts, souvenirs, etc. It said a lot to me that, when I went to find lunch, all I could find there was pizza. Our guide remarked that the young Chinese don’t shop there because they’re embarrassed to be seen with fakes…..Intellectual property has come a long way in China, but it’s not entirely where many foreign companies think it needs to be.

We escorted the class to the airport, and on the way got a lesson from our guide (she’s one of the best I ever had) on why China is a “democracy,” even if it’s not like ours; “China’s,” she told us, “is efficient.” It may be true, but that doesn’t make it a democracy, we chided, but Ms. Love Country Love Beijing person (my Chinese name for her) would have none of it, reinforcing (albeit with a small sample size—1) what I’d heard about young Chinese being nationalistic and defensive about their country, especially to foreigners.

When we came back to the city, Carrie, JR, and I spent some time wandering around the outskirts of the Forbidden City. As I’ve mentioned, it’s much bigger than the parts that tourists usually see; parts are closed off—the new emperors live there—but the streets around it offer interesting shops and hutongs. We wound up in a temple that’s not on any guidebook list, but was once an ancestral hall where the emperors prayed—fairly typical of the kinds of things you can stumble into when you have time and a sense of adventure in Beijing.

Since our train was leaving at 7:40 the next morning, we got back and packed up for what I’d like to think of as my “reward” for the previous three weeks of shepherding students around Asia. I don’t think of it as work, but life becomes a lot easier when you have only two people to worry about.

The Trans Mongolian Express will be the last train ride for me this trip. Fittingly, it was the longest—30 some hours to go the nearly 1,000 miles from Beijing to Ulanbataar, the capital of what was once called Outer Mongolia, but is now simply Mongolia. The trip took us through the countryside—about 19 hours of it was on the Chinese side, increasingly high (we were over 5,400 feet at one point) and increasingly dry. One reason the trip was so long was that we spent 3 hours at Erlian, at the border, where the train was whisked away somewhere and the wheel carriages changed for the narrow gauge necessary for Mongolia and Russia (the Transmongolian express links up with the Transsiberian Railroad at the Mongolian/Russian border, near Lake Baikal). By the time we crossed over into Mongolia (an hour stop at customs, naturally around 1 a.m.), we were in the Gobi dessert, which covers the southern half of Mongolia. It doesn’t look like the Indiana Dunes, but there was some sand—and a lot of grass (surprisingly) that fed a lot of horses and cows and sheep.

Mongolia is a big, but thinly settled country. I think our guide said it was 4 or 5 times the size of France, but the population is around 2.5 million, nearly 40% here in the capital city, Ulanbataar (meaning, “Red Hero”; it was Urga before the communists occupied the country in 1921). Europe has had several skirmishes with people from this part of Asia, and come out on the short end of it every time. The Huns swept from here to ravage Europe; so did the Turks; and finally, so did the armies of Ghengis Khan. The latter has gotten a particularly bad rap from Europeans, who are not good losers, but in the 13th century the Mongol armies swept from Beijing to Budapest, and established a global village that brought religious tolerance to a world (or at least regions) that killed thousands for making the cross with two fingers instead of three, and a pax Mongolica that lasted until the black death destroyed much of the European population, and the successors of the Great Khan proved much less able than Ghengis himself. The dynasty (Yuan) his grandson, Kublai, established in China barely outlasted Kublai himself, and in 1368, the Mings replaced Yuan (who took the seals and moved to Mongolia and tried to maintain the pretense of being the Northern Yuan dynasty). The Mongols pop up elsewhere later—Akbar, who united much of Northern India into the Moghul Empire, was a descendant of Ghengis Khan, and the Manchus brought the Mongols into the Qing Empire as another important non-Han member; Mongol was an official language of the Empire, along with Manchu, Tibetan, and Chinese. By 1911, the ties to the Chinese were snapping, and Mongolia eventually (after a crazy Baltic German, the Mad Baron, took over the country and proclaimed himself the successor of Ghengis Khan—that’s the book I read on my Kindle on the way here) became a communist country to become independent of China (but not of Russia). It was heavily Stalin influenced; the Russian dictator, whose statue is in a restaurant in Ulanbataar (UB), something I’ve not seen elsewhere, found a henchman to bring the purges in 1937 that nearly destroyed the Russian Army to Mongolia; 100,000 monks were killed, and hundreds of monasteries demolished. Not until 1991, when the communists were overthrown (the politics here are interesting. The leader of the democracy movement was assassinated in 1998; the murder is unsolved. The communist party, heavily backed in the more conservative countryside, won the last election. Urban democrats burned the communist party headquarters) was Buddhism restored to favor. It’s a Buddhism that’s a close cousin to the Tibetan version, and the Dalai Lama (whose title came from a Mongolian Buddhist) is revered here; our Chinese guide called him a “traitor.”

The Soviet period influence is obvious. The large square in honor of a revolutionary hero looks sort of like Red Square in Moscow, but the buildings are colorful (the national theater is pink, as is the stock exchange; the Post Office is covered with a two-story high poster for Coca-Cola) and have statues of Ghengis Khan and his sons and assorted warriors. If you’ve ever been to Budapest, UB’s square is sort of like the 1897 square commemorating the 900th anniversary of the arrival of the Magyars (probably from this area too) into Hungary. There’s also a Lenin statue, a statue to a Mongolian general who helped the Russians defeat the Japanese along the Manchurian-Mongolian border in 1939, a battle which the national museum here said convinced Japan to go south and attack the United States, rather than fight an enemy that cost them 70,000 lives in this Asia prelude to Pearl Harbor. We saw a lot of ger coming in, the yurts that we’re going to spend the next few nights in.

I said the train ride was our last. I may remember it fondly. The next two days will be on the road—to Karakhorum, or what’s left of it. The Mongols, as nomads, didn’t build cities until after their conquest years. Karakhorum was the first. The Chinese armies, however, responding to Kublai’s successors fleeing Beijing and calling themselves the Northern Yuan, leveled the city. We’re spending two nights in gers, and I may miss the train’s charcoal heated samovar (for hot water) and warm beds. And, given the roads, maybe the relatively smooth railroad beds.

Tomorrow is children’s day in much of the world, including here. Celebrate it for me in the United States.

The guidebooks say that there are four must-dos in Beijing. We did two of them yesterday—climb the Great Wall and eat Peking duck.

The Great Wall is one of China’s relics from ancient times. It runs from the ocean nearly 3,000 miles into the Taklamakan Desert, ending at Jiayuguan on the Silk Road. Consolidated nearly 2,000 years ago by the First Emperor (he of the underground army at Xi’an fame), the current incarnation dates from the Ming Dynasty (or where we were, reconstructed in the last 10 years). Meant to keep the barbarians from the north out (the very Mongols JR and I are traveling to visit beginning Saturday), it failed when put to the test (the Mongols came through in the 14th century and Kublai Khan became emperor of China, with his capital at Dadu, Beijing), and the Manchurians came through (and ruled from 1644 until 1911 as the Qing Dynasty).

The Great Wall remains impressive. Guides used to say it was the only man-made object visible from space, but I think truth in advertising laws made that claim obsolete. The nearest the wall comes to Beijing is about 20 miles, and that’s where we made our pilgrimage (Mao is reputed to have said you’re not a hero until you’ve climbed the Great Wall, and we’re heroic). The area was a crisscross of walls (it was a key pass; Beijing is surrounded by mountains on the north), but we chose the steepest. My GPS said we climbed over 1,000 feet in ½ a mile of horizontal distance. Someone steeped in math said that averages about a 36% gradient, and it certainly seemed that steep. Maybe steeper.

But the wall is not the only Great thing to do. On the way, tourists get whisked to the Ming Tombs, an area which contains the remains of 14 emperors, assorted empresses, and two tombs for the concubines (the other Ming emperors were buried in Nanking, which was their original capital), but for me the impressive part of the tombs is the sacred way. For about a mile, there is a walkway that contains statues of the animals and imperial servants waiting to serve the emperor in the afterlife. It’s an impressive testimony to the solemnity and wealth of the imperial family—and like much of Beijing, a model for other countries influenced by the Chinese. There’re much more modest examples in Korea (I’ve been to the tomb of King Sejong, who gave the country its alphabet) and Vietnam (I’ve been to the tombs of the Nguyen Dynasty in Hue). The Mings were not the first rulers of China to have a sacred way, but they are the closest to Beijing. For example, I’ve been to the tomb of the Empress Wu (the only woman to have been the emperor of China) near Xi’an, and it has an enormous sacred way. What emphasizes the importance of the tombs is that the Qing dynastic founder (whose tomb is in Shenyang) had one constructed for the last Ming emperor, who hanged himself in the park across from the Forbidden City.

The other activity yesterday was the Peking duck dinner, one of the “musts” in Beijing. Over the years, my students have come to refer to it as “duck burritos” since the duck gets sliced and put into a crepe-like pancake, with onions, plum sauce, and cucumbers. Invariably, someone doesn’t like it, which means I can usually eat more than I should, but less than I want.

As for great things, today (Thursday), we continued to sample the delights of a city that has been the capital of China for nearly 600 years, and is imperial in every sense of the word. The morning began with a visit to the Temple of Heaven. Probably the second most familiar building in Beijing (after the Bird Nest and maybe before the Forbidden City), the Temple played an important role in dynastic survival for nearly 500 years. In an agricultural society (then as now), bountiful harvests ensured the survival of the regime. Hence, the emperor’s efforts to tease rain and ensure bountiful harvests made this Temple (to Heaven, not to a Buddha) significant in the empire. The current emperors read history and also know that unruly peasants have overthrown numerous dynasties. At least twice a year the imperial presence trooped from the Palace to the Temple to speak, as only the Emperor could, directly to Heaven, and slaughter the calves or whatever was necessary to feed the people and ensure the stability of the dynasty. This function was so important that when Korea became an empire in 1905 to try to block the Japanese, the king turned emperor built his own temple of heaven. The importance of agriculture (then as now) helped foreign experts (then being the Catholic missionaries, who came with some astronomical knowledge) gain entrée to the Court in Beijing.

An added benefit was a stay at the Tiantan park (where the Temple is located), which is a mecca for retired people to play cards, musical instruments, dance, do tai chi and exercise. It is mostly my generation that gets up in the morning, takes their canaries in cages and other birds to the park, and spends time with friends. Younger Chinese, like younger Americans, either are at work, or played too hard the night before to be in the park, as we were, by 8:30 a.m.

Beijing has other Great things, and we visited them, too, relics of the days when China was the most powerful nation in the world, the middle kingdom between heaven and earth, and the model for nations in the region. In the 1790s, the Qianlong emperor told a British delegation that the west had nothing China wanted or needed, a statement that was pretty much true until the British started selling opium from India….but that’s another story.

The Qianlong Emperor, who ruled for nearly 60 years, was responsible for building what has always been one of my favorite temples—the lama temple, which was his way of saying China is multicultural because it is the largest (and maybe the only) Tibetan temple in Beijing. He converted a prince’s home into a Tibetan temple which houses the largest standing Buddha in the world. As for the Tibetan version, Buddhism tends to absorb and blend with local religions, and Buddhism in Tibet and Mongolia is recognizably Buddhist, but its adherents reflect the preexisting demons—there’s a blue-headed demon for example that were I DePaul, would make the mascot. And having been to Tibet, I can recognize more of the differences between the lama Yellow Hat version and the more basic Chinese version.

Near the Lama Temple is the center of the traditional civil service (from the Yuan dynasty to 1908)—the local Confucian temple and the attached university where for nearly 500 years the best scholars in the nation studied the analects of Confucius to prepare themselves for the meritocracy (at its best) that constituted the civil service. At an annual exam, students competed for the right to be officials in the dynastic service; the successful candidates (14,000+ anyway) have their names posted on stone steles for posterity. The “library” has over 100 stone books with 620,000 characters in the Analects of Confucius, the book for the exam for the career.

Our guide told me an interesting story about the Confucian temple that I think shows why people interested in contemporary China should understand the past. She said when she was in college, her teacher’s daughter was applying for college. The teacher took her daughter to the Confucian temple to pray. Sure enough, she got into the school she wanted, which led to her returning and giving thanks.

The final site was the summer palace, thronged with visitors because today is part of a four-day holiday centering on dragon boat racing in the south and the making of a sticky rice item that is exclusive to the holiday. A sign at the palace indicated that there had been 11,000 visitors yesterday, expected 18,000 today, and probably 25,000 over the weekend. There’s a man-made lake with pavilions for residence of officials and the emperor (the Empress Dowager Cixi, who ruled China for much of its late 19th and early 20th century decline, moved the court to the summer palace in the summer from 1903 until her death in 1908). Lost in the walking through the longest covered corridor that has paintings from novels and Chinese scenery are reminders that Western troops ravaged the palace in 1860 and again after the Boxer Uprising, so what we see has been mostly rebuilt in the last century; and reminds us that China has endured a century of humiliation that is an anachronism in Chinese history.

Our farewell dinner was in a “theme park,” the theme being the Imperial Court, a fitting theme given what we’ve seen in Beijing. We came to a former prince’s house that had been taken over by a Hong Kong restaurateur (recently), and retrofitted to look like the Manchus had returned. We had yellow everything (the yellow being the color of the Emperor exclusively), imperial food (including lily and a “concubine’s smile” salad). The servers were dressed in court elegance, and spoke Manchu to us (with an occasional and needed translation into English). An appropriate ending to a 3-week long trip that began with our arrival in Bangkok almost exactly 3 weeks ago.

I said I’d say a few words about what I’ve seen in China. Bear in mind it’s based mostly on what I’ve seen in Beijing, and, despite what Beijingers think, Beijing is the capital of China; it is not China.

Our visit to John Deere highlighted one of the most important issues re: the current government of China—the need to generate at least 8% growth to maintain political and economic stability. That’s challenged in two ways—the first is that China depends a lot on the economic climate elsewhere in the world. That’s a problem; almost 30 million workers in factories that make the goods for the rest of the world went home for the New Year’s Holiday in January and were told not to come back. Further, the importance of tourism, and the existence of a reasonably-priced, world class infrastructure of hotels and restaurants, demands tourists. Tourism is down here, too.

China’s response seems to be to encourage domestic consumption of goods and services. The bailout package here is toward consumers—to purchase cars and appliances, perhaps speeding up the embourgeoisment of the world that Marx predicted, and something that has been happening more and more quickly in the 19 years I’ve been visiting China.

The second challenge, as the Deere manager made clear, is the need for China to feed itself. I marvel as I look out the window of the train at how intensively China cultivates its arable land (much of China is not good for farming). It’s not enough. Yet making agriculture more efficient (the average farm is 1 acre, and if 300 million Chinese left the farm for the city, the average-size farm would still be under 5 acres) presses the need to find more jobs. Hence, the challenge to the regime isn’t from “democracy,” but from those forces that have granted or removed the mandate of heaven for thousands of years in the past—the need for prosperity at home and prestige and security abroad.

The smorgasbord of Asia ends for the class members with their flight back to the United States tomorrow. It’s only a 20-minute flight by the clock; they leave Beijing at 4:10 and land at O’Hare at 4:30, no mean feat. Parents, collect your sons and daughters, mindful that they’ve had a frame-breaking change experience. Someday, they’ll thank me, hopefully in my lifetime.

As my reward, I get to go on to Mongolia. As the Chinese saying goes, “Yi lu ping an.” May you have a peaceful journey.

Two quotes infuse today’s blog. The first is Carolyn’s exclamation: “You’re not making them take four train rides, are you?” Well, no. It’s five, as one of the students pointed out, but the last one—hopefully the one they’ll remember best—was both the longest and on the most comfortable train.

We left Hong Kong about 3:30 in the afternoon (after another torrential rain in the morning, and another wonderful meal with my friend, Eleanor; this one was a dim sum in another upstairs restaurant with no English speakers, no English menu, and no tourist prices, with Carrie and the two students who wanted the experience) for the 23-hour train ride to Beijing. The train was non-stop, meaning we cleared customs in Hong Kong, but did not have to face the temperature gun—literally—until we arrived 23 hours later in the capital of the People’s Republic of China. We had four-person compartments that were sleepers, and I was probably the only one of the group who did not take advantage of the opportunity to sleep for 20 hours. Instead, I was up early, watching the miles roll by (at times we reached 150 km/h (so said the train marquee, though it said we were going 82 km/h when we were standing in the station) and I saw us cross the Yellow River (China’s sorrow, which looked like it was shy of water; I later saw it was down 13% from the previous year, reflecting the drought that has afflicted north China for many years) and go through Zhengzhou, a big rail junction and one of the ancient cities I visited three years ago. We shifted from rice to wheat, but everywhere we saw at least two things: incredible infrastructure spending on superhighways (China has really encouraged the purchase of automobiles, unlike Singapore and Vietnam, for example, which have limited license to purchase auctions, once up to $50,000 Singaporean, now down to $8,000), and high tariffs for Singapore, and high tariffs for Vietnam. See the cover story about Shanghai: the New Detroit in Newsweek), and people in the fields. If you go from Bloomington to Chicago, you never see anyone in the fields unless it is harvest time or planting time. Rice fields especially require a lot of labor. One of the books I finished on the trip was Malcolm Caldwell’s The Outliers, which has a chapter on rice versus other farming, and on math, which helps explain the Chinese work ethic.

So yes, we did have another train ride, but I think it was one everyone enjoyed; recharged batteries will help them in the rigors we have planned in Beijing.

The second part of this blog comes with a quote from J.R. Glenn, a 2005 graduate of IWU who joined us yesterday around midnight. He and I have travelled to Burma and Tibet, and when I suggested Mongolia for this year, he promptly agreed. When we got in from our Peking Opera last night, he was standing in line to check in, his plane having arrived an hour-plus early. “I’m home,” he told me, and it occurred to me that in some ways, I am, too.

Like everywhere we’ve been on this trip, we have too little time in this capitol of the world’s largest country in terms of population. I say that about Beijing because I know what one can do here, and I’m doing my best to make sure we do as much as we can in the time we’re here. I’m happy to say we have the best guide we’ve had anywhere (not always the case in this city), and she and I sat down when we got in and talked about what we might be able to do. She’s managed to make most of my requests into can-dos (in return for which I told her we’d do the “factory visits” we didn’t have to do, but she gets credit for taking us to them. I understand how tourism works better than most trip leaders, and I want to see her get the good marks she’s earned with us).

Our days start early and end late. Certainly our day and a half in Beijing fit that description. When we got in, we had a short turnaround time before our trip to the Qingmen Hotel for a brief introduction to Peking Opera (if you want to know more, rent Farewell My Concubine, by Zhang Yi Mou). A brief introduction is usually enough for foreigners, although the program had more acrobatics than singing. The second number featured the monkey king (a figure common in Buddhist/Hindu lands, and some really funny aspects and some spectacular acrobats. When that let out, some of the students decided to walk back to the hotel, but the guide offered to take anyone who wanted to go to Ah Fun Ti, a Xinjiang restaurant that features Hui (Muslim) foods that I’ve had in Xinjiang. About half of us showed up at the restaurant (which has a floor show including belly dancing) just in time to see the end of the show. We ate, and I asked if the manager would start the belly dancing. Instead, he turned on the music, the musical ball, and Whitney Durham and I started dancing, and by the time we were done, the restaurant staff was on the stage with all our students and the few remaining patrons in what could have been dancing, but a good time was certainly had by all.

Today was another busy day. It started with a 6:30 wakeup call, and an 8 o’clock departure for another spectacular place that most of the group had read about, but never been to—the Forbidden City. As many times as I’ve been to it, I’m still in awe. Built by the second or third Ming Emperor by 1420, and about to celebrate its 600th birthday, the palace was home to 14 emperors until the 1911 revolution abolished the monarchy. It’s been a public spectacle since the 1920s, when Pu-yi (known as the last emperor even though there was an attempt by Yuan Shih-kai to name himself emperor for 86 days in 1916), was evicted, I think by a warlord. Pu-yi went on to flirt with the Japanese who made him their emperor of Manchukuo in the 1930s.

We didn’t see many of the 9,999 rooms (a room being defined as the space between 4 pillars, but there’s still a lot of our kind of rooms) although we walked from the southern entrance (Tiananmen, the gate of heavenly peace) to the north. The palace has been refurbished, partly for the Olympics, partly with an eye on the 2020 celebration sure to come, at a cost of several billion dollars, and I didn’t see the faded or peeling paint so common in the past, and the Starbucks that was once in the City has been evicted (as a result of an Internet campaign!), but I did see the mobs of tour groups that prove, once again, tourism is the world’s biggest business. From south to north, we went from impressive public gathering places to the Throne room to the private quarters where the royal family (the emperor had around 3,000 cohorts; he chose his 2-hour companions by drawing their names from bamboo). The new emperors live in a part of the Forbidden City that is, well, forbidden!

We were able to do something I’ve never done on a tour before, but has always been one of the highlights of the city for me—a climb of Coal Hill in a park across the street (now) from the Forbidden City. Builders of the moat dumped the dirt they excavated in a pile which became Coal Hill, a royal playground overlooking the Forbidden City. I convinced our guide it was a good idea to go there, and we got the best views of the entire layout possible without an airplane.

From the Forbidden City, we went to a local area nearby, a “hutong,” the small alleyways where 3 generations of families live in a square compound that is a little version of the Forbidden City, where we had lunch with a local family, who’d owned the place for 3 generations. Though the government has torn down 80% of these quaint buildings (which have public but not private washrooms), this area has been spared the wrecker’s ball, and many of the hutongs fronting on the artificial lake have been refurbished as bars and restaurants (hopefully with internal washrooms).

In the evening, we went to probably the most professionally choreographed show I’ve seen in China, “The Story of Kung Fu,” which made more sense to me than the last time I saw it because I’ve since visited the Shaolin Monastery, the location of the source of Kung Fu. Many of us got dropped off at Wangfujing (which used to be known as Morrison Street when it was part of the foreigners’ forbidden city; after the Boxer Uprising, the legations and embassies had a wall around them fit for new emperors, and it was as forbidden to ordinary people as the nearby Forbidden City of the emperors. Once a street full of quaint shops (including the ancient deer and antler pharmacy, which I think is where linguists discovered the Shang bones that gave them a clue to the origins of Chinese writing, it’s been converted into a shopping mall ala Michigan avenue, name brand stores, etc. There is still a food court there, with hawkers who sell snake, cicadas, scorpions and other creepy crawly things that are not on the usual restaurant menus—nor on anything else.

I’m going to skip our business visit and some observations of Beijing and China until I get a chance later. We’re off to the Great Wall soon and I want to get this onto e-mail. As I said, we’ve been busy. Sleep when we get home! Oh, that’s right, I’m at home here (almost!) Zaijian.

I was a millionaire before I left Saigon, but in Hong Kong, I’m a pauper.

Part of that came from the currency alone. The unit of money in Saigon is the “dong,” which is in serious need of reducing the number of zeros. One dollar equals around 18,000 dong, so when I had to pay for the group’s 24 rickshaw rides around the old city, I had to pay over 3 million dong. I guess a million doesn’t buy as much as it used to!

By contrast, Hong Kong is a place where you can easily spend a million dollars—U.S. With its incredible setting of the islands and Victoria Harbor, it’s easily one of the most beautiful, and certainly one of the most memorable cities in the world. A duty free special administrative region of China (since 1997; a British Crown Colony for nearly 150 years before that), Hong Kong is a city of almost 7 million that bills itself as a shopper’s paradise, and it fully lives up to its billing.

We flew here from Saigon early—we left our hotel at 4 a.m. for the 6 a.m. flight (that goes on to Chicago!), arriving, with time zone change, at our hotel around noon. Our rooms were not ready, so we scattered to savor the delights of the city—duty free and tax free clothing, electronics, tailor made suits (I went to my tailor and found that indeed I had eaten well this trip), eye glasses, the Scout Shop (the Hong Kong adult leaders have a tailor made dress uniform that looks like a tuxedo), tickets for a Saturday trip to Macau, a jaunt through Kowloon Park, which has a pool with a waterfall—all before checking in to the hotel. My colleague, Professor Trimble, vanished to view Disneyland here in Hong Kong; she’s a former employee of the Magic Kingdom, and HAD to see what the smallest park was like.

I’ve probably spent more time in Hong Kong than in any other Asian city, partly because in the old days, it was the gateway to China. You flew to Hong Kong, then went on to Beijing or elsewhere, then came back from China to Hong Kong before your flight to Chicago. That’s changed to some extent because you can now fly direct from Shanghai or Beijing to Chicago (as the students will do next Friday and I’ll do in two weeks).. That’s a metaphor for what’s happened to Hong Kong as an entrepot for the China trade, too. Once the funnel for most of China’s trade with the West, Hong Kong has a rival in Shanghai, which now draws the Yangtze River valley to itself, as the Chinese government has gone from punishing Shanghai as the former bastion of capitalism, to building it up as its most modern city and financial capital (the New York of China). Hong Kong has a major container port (either it or Singapore usually does the most volume in the world), as the contact point for Guangdong province (you might have heard of Shenzhen and Dongguan and the other cities just north of Hong Kong in the Pearl River delta that produce much of China’s export for the world). Like Singapore, it is a city that depends on location and its human capital. Trade and tourism are down here, too, though the Chinese government has made it easier for mainlanders to get visas, and the word is that rich Chinese (and there are a lot of them; remember, if you’re one in a million, there’re 1,500 Chinese just like you) are increasingly coming to Hong Kong to buy real foreign brands at a savings of 15% of mainland prices. Certainly Nathan Road (the main shopping street in Kowloon) has no shortage of people mobbing the street, giving one the sense of energy that differentiates it from Singapore. One of our business speakers, an IWU alum from Galesburg, noted that Hong Kong is the place to work when you’re single, Singapore when you’re married.

Having experienced Bird Flu and been criticized for not doing anything about it, Hong Kong is determined to avoid the swine flu. You may remember that a Mexican tour group got confined to a hotel for a week (and left praising Hong Kong, meaning even being confined to a hotel might be considered a treat). When we got to the Cityview Hotel, which has been running at 86% capacity for the year (I saw the figures and experienced the result), we were greeted by masked employees who shunted us to a corner where they scanned us for temperature before we were let in. The hotel had a sign on the elevator buttons that indicated a sanitizing of the buttons every hour.

One of the joys of visiting Hong Kong is visiting friends here. When I went to a conference in 1994 in Saigon, I met a Chinese professor from the City University of Hong Kong, and every time I’ve been here, we’ve visited. It’s become a tradition for her to take my group out to a Chinese restaurant for a very Chinese meal, not the kind that the tourist agencies arrange. Here are my tips for a great eating experience:

1) you get in an elevator and go higher than the first floor (there’s a ground floor then a first floor)

2) when you get off the elevator, no one speaks English. In Hong Kong, that may include not speaking anything but Cantonese.

3) you don’t see the people staying in your hotel, or any tourists for that matter.

4) there’s no gift shop.

5) there’s no menu in English, and no pictures on the menu.

6) your Chinese host says, “I don’t know the English name for this…”

I do know we had some exotic items that my friend said were very expensive, and I know we had roast goose (because the head was on it), and a big fish, pig’s tongue, and chicken feet, and lots of semi-identifiable and “you don’t want to know” foods. Can you imagine the look on students’ faces? We have one who had never eaten rice or fish….

Yesterday combined business and pleasure, which is a great way to travel. Our alum, Matt Dredge, who works for PWC, got six of his coworkers or friends together, and met us at the PWC conference room. They came from a variety of countries and states, and not all were accountants, but gave us a great picture of what it’s like to work in Hong Kong. The general consensus was, “Work hard, play hard,” and the advice for Americans who want to come to Asia was, “Be invited by your company, because if you are, you’ll get an expat package, which includes housing allowance, transportation, and many other amenities.” If you come because you want to, you’ll have to pay—and in Hong Kong, real estate can be expensive. One rents a 350-square foot apartment (I have a tent that size, I think) for nearly $1,800 a month. No wonder so many restaurants and bars exist; it you’re going to party with friends, you have no room at home to do so. And they did point out that the expat privileges are becoming fewer and fewer as more companies retrench. The students also raised a tough question—repatriation. I would imagine it’s difficult to go back to the states after Asia. I empathize. Sometimes it is for me, too.

The city tour takes you to four or five places that aren’t as easy to get to as the main shopping and residential areas (Hong Kong has a subway, ferry, bus, and train system that moves people quite well). The trip includes Aberdeen, which used to be the home of the “boat people,” but they’re fewer and fewer in number, Repulse Bay, which has a nice beach protected by a shark net, and a newish and splashy temple, Stanley (site of a world War II prison camp, now a place that entraps foreigners, with it’s combination of lower priced Western brands and pretty neat Chinese items, not the standard “tourist market,” and the 1,200-foot Peak, which provides the backdrop for the skyscrapers in the central part of the city. I remember the first time I took Mrs. Hoyt here. I asked her what she wanted to see. She said, “Old buildings.” I said, “There’s one. It’s from 1950.” Which is almost true. See the movie, “The World of Susie Wong” if you don’t believe me.

Hong Kong, according to our guide, grew into what it is during the 1960s. It was probably due to two events: the Vietnam War, which channeled a lot of money to Asia, and the Cultural Revolution in China, which sent almost a million refugees into Hong Kong. The incredible energy here is palpable.

One other treat for me is to take advantage of the ferry system and the fact that Hong Kong consists of a number of islands other than the main one and Lantau (where the airport is located). Hence, last night Carrie and I took the ferry to Cheng Chau island, a place where the locals get away for a weekend. It was fun navigating the subway system to the wharf area, where we caught a boat and got to the island. Finding a restaurant was hard/easy because they met most of my requirements set out above, but there was no Eleanor to help us order. The upshot was that someone took pity on us, we ate, took the ferry back to the Star Ferry, then the subway back to our hotel. Hong Kong is truly spectacular at night.

Saturday, I bought tickets for the jetfoil to Macau. Macau fascinates me because it was one of the first European possessions in Asia, and also the last. Conquered early by the Portuguese, it remained in Portuguese control until 1999, when it was handed over to the People’s Republic. Like Hong Kong, it’s now a special administrative region. Though it’s probably best known as the Las Vegas of the East for its gambling casinos (which have increased in number since the handover to 26, some owned by Americans; under the Portuguese, Stanley Ho had the monopoly; the money he made earned him four wives and a home on the Peak in Hong Kong) Macau still has a Mediterranean feel. The government buildings are in pink (you read it correctly); the town is 40% Catholic, with a number of churches that one of our students remarked remind her of colonial churches in Mexico. The Franciscans and the Jesuits contested each other and the dominant Buddhist religion. At one of the temples, Caleb Cushing signed the Treaty of Wanghsia with China that got Americans into China’s Century of Humiliation, extending to China the rights Britain had gained by force in 1842. Because Portugal was neutral in World War II, the Japanese did not invade its colonies, so Macau was not destroyed then. Development may do so. There’s now a tower that has skyjumping and bungee jumping—about four times the height of more famous places in New Zealand.

We split into groups, and I gave my thoughts on what to see (the ruins of St. Paul, the most famous non-church in Asia—it burned in a fire in the early 19th century, leaving only a wall; the old fort and the new museum; the Leal Senado, the center of commerce, which is very Mediterranean in its pastels; the churches; the Protestant cemetery, whose tombstones tell the litany of life in Asia—died storming the forts at Canton, died at sea, died of malaria, died during childbirth), and where to eat (the old Portuguese officer’s club is now a restaurant). And we went our separate ways.

Two things altered my wonderful plans. One was the weather. I just had dinner with Mark Sheldon, and IWU alum who lives and works here, and he said, “I thought it was a typhoon.” It rained steadily and violently all day, and Mark said he wondered if the jetfoils would run. They ran, but we had a hard time doing anything outside other than sloshing.

My group had an experience that they’ll remember for a long time. I talked with a driver about getting a van tour, and listed all the places I wanted to go, including the gate to China, the island of Taipo, etc. “No problem,” he stated, which should have alerted me; no problem usually means, “we have a problem.” We didn’t know it, but we would.

He took us where he wanted in the morning, and when we asked about lunch at the officers club, he said he knew a restaurant much closer that had Luso-Chinese food (that’s Macau), and left us there, telling us to meet him again in 3 hours for the rest of the tour.

Fighting the rain by staying in museums or under eaves as much as we could, we were back at the anointed spot at 3—and no driver. By 3:30 we realized we had no information about him—his name was “Ronald,” he told us, and I spotted “Choi” on the license he showed us, but I could not name his company or license—and he had purses and cameras in the car.

Some took a taxi back to the Ferry terminal, while the rest of us pondered what to do. We finally realized the driver had contacted the restaurant originally, so maybe the restauranteur could contact him? As it turned out, the restaurant was closed, but Dan Cummings (bless him) knocked on the door, and the owner told us that the driver had been in an accident and wanted to talk with me. He said he was “sorry” and would be there in time to get us to the ferry.

He did. When I suggested that he might refund some of our money because he had not fulfilled his contract, he got indignant about how much the accident would cost him, etc., etc., but finally eased our pain. But not enough to prevent us from reporting him to the tourist bureau, and putting the story into my marketing class as a poor example of service recovery.

As you can tell, we are having an adventure. I think everyone will be reluctant to leave Hong Kong, but you can see why I am not leaving here a millionaire. Too much to do, too much to buy.

Before I let Saigons be Saigons (again—see my January post for the first impressions), there are two items that were in the Singapore paper this morning that sum up well what I’ve mentioned about Singapore:

1) The strict controls by the government (which have led to close business-government cooperation): A minimart had its license to sell cigarettes revoked for six months because the store had been caught twice selling cigarettes to minors. It is a well-run, usually benevolent, one-party dominant state.

2) I’ve mentioned the twin pillars of trade and tourism as providing the means for a city-state of 3.2 million to become one of the most prosperous nations of the world. Tourism was down 13% March this year versus March last year; Singapore has a special promotion that anyone flying Singapore airlines (and after the 2-hour trip here on Singapore Air, I think everyone in our party wanted to fly Singapore Air across the Pacific, instead of United) who lands in Singapore can stay overnight in one of six very nice hotels for $1, with some fringe benefits thrown in. As I said, I’m astonished that the government of the nation has allowed gambling, but that is one of the major attractions, especially for Chinese in the region.

As for our 36-hour R&R in Saigon (we got in around 3 this afternoon and will be leaving our hotel after 36 hours here), the city means different things to our students than I’m sure it does to my generation. Those of us who came of age in the 60s have memories of Saigon whether we served in Vietnam or did not. Over 50,000 Americans died in what the Vietnamese, who have a history of being invaded and then defeating the invaders, call “the American War.”

When we got in, we were whisked to AA corporation, where Chad Ovel, whom I met in January, had agreed to talk to this class. He’s a Carleton grad, major in economics and international relations, who as a student did a semester in Beijing, and got infected (as I have) with Asia. A week after graduation, he packed his bags for Asia, and hasn’t been back to live in America since, about 15 years in total. Along the way, he’s worked for the World Wildlife Federation (the panda guys), acquired an MBA from the University of Chicago (which has campuses in Singapore as well as Chicago and I believe London), and now is taking a $20 million niche furniture company (custom-made for rich people and corporations—the next time you’re at the Intercontinental in New York) to the $200 million level and turning it green as well. His office had a meeting going on, so he found a café on the Saigon River in the expat neighborhood that I’m sure we were one of the few non-locals (either expat or local Vietnamese) to grace. He talked and answered questions for about an hour, and a number of students commented that they really thought it was as good a visit as I’d promised—and I promised a great one, with discussions that paralleled Friedman’s Hot, Flat, and Crowded book. He earned high marks from the students, and not just because he bought everyone two rounds of drinks!

Today we spent on the history of Saigon, partly its French period (abut 100 years, ending in 1954, when the French left Indochine), and partly the American War (as they call it) period, from 1954 in effect until 1975, when the famous North Vietnamese tanks smashed through the presidential palace gate and, on April 30, “liberated” South Vietnam, renaming the presidential palace the reunification palace instead.

There’s a lot from both periods here. For example, as I’ve mentioned, the baguettes. In the morning, students who wanted to join me got up and went to a street stand, which was selling a breakfast sandwich that could only have been inspired by the French—a baguette with fillings that made the hotel breakfast (which does serve lots of fruit and juices) seem tame.

The Cu Chi tunnels, our first destination, spans both periods, though the Vietnamese developed the 150-mile tunnel system mostly after 1954, when it became the terminus of the Ho Chi Minh trail. At one time, over 100,000 Viet Cong lived, fought, and died in the tunnels, which were three stories high (or maybe I should say low, since they were below ground, in three different levels. The defenders took about 80% casualties, but caused havoc in Saigon and the local U.S. Air Force base nearby. One partial tunnel is opened, expanded wide for tourists, and one could crawl through it and see how people lived for up to 20 years. The area also has ghastly reminders (if one were needed) of the havoc bombing played in the American War, huge craters being one of the distinctive features of the area. It shows the lengths (and depths) to which the Vietnamese went to reunify a country that the U.S. and other powers had stated in 1954 would be reunited peacefully. The Vietnamese (and this wasn’t on display) came very close to seeking a peace treaty (rather than imposing one) until the 1968 Tet offensive (I have clear snapshots in my mind of the sack of the Citadel in Hue by Vietcong troops, and the bitter fighting at the American Embassy in Saigon) created sufficient war weariness in the United States that we looked for ways to say, “We won,” and get out saving some face.

An even starker message came at the War Remnants Museum, which promised to provide us with historical accuracy in the history of the American war, and it’s depiction of the suffering the war caused, and the desperate means we used to defoliate and defeat (Agent Orange being one item) that made me hearken back to the response I’ve had when viewing the Holocaust museums in Europe. Over 3,000,000 Vietnamese died in the American War, mostly civilians. Nonetheless, the Vietnamese have put the war behind them, and I wish we would, too. That was over 35 years ago, aeons in historical time. Probably 70% of the Vietnamese, like my students, are too young to remember the war.

At least the experience is less macabre than I remember it in 1995, when we walked through the jungle at Cu Chi and periodically a sign would pop up telling you that you’d been killed by a sniper or walked on a land mine, or landed in one of the bamboo traps that mauled and maimed.

The other places we visited reflect mostly the French colonial period, in the shape of the remnant buildings (there some American buildings; we stayed at the Rex in 2001, the home of wartime journalists, and a decaying but genteel hotel; it’s now the most expensive hotel in town). We took pictures in front of City Hall, the Notre Dame Cathedral, and the Post Office (I’ll try to post them later tonight), all of which, plus the Opera House, might well be in Paris. In fact, Saigon was one of several cities in Asia that earned the nickname, “Paris of the East.” I got to a museum I’d never been to before, a city museum, and found our guide’s warning—the building is elegant, the contents are not—right on target, but it enabled me to hide from a thunderstorm that temporarily cooled the city, but heightened the humidity. If possible.

Tonight, we’re taking a rickshaw ride around the area on our way to see the Hanoi-based water puppet show, one of the highlights of visiting Hanoi, and hence, a treat here too. Carrie and I have reservations at what we’ve been told is a really nice Vietnamese restaurant (the food is outstanding!), and two students are joining us. The rest decided to spend their R&R in Saigon as young Americans (and young Aussies, and young….) are wont to do. We have a 4 a.m. departure time from the hotel, so it could be an interesting plane ride to Hong Kong.

Good night, or should I say, “bon soir.”

In front of the merlion in Singapore harbor.

In the late 1930s, Singapore was held out as the great hope of the British Empire to stem the advance of Japan, the Gibraltar of the East. Unfortunately for Great Britain, it was instead the scene of the biggest loss in British history, the 80,000 troops surrendering to a Japanese army of around 30,000, albeit with superior naval and air power, on February 15, 1942. That surrender is generally calculated as one of the decisive turning points in Europe’s psychological dominance in Asia, the beginning of the end.

Today, the Lion City also holds symbolic importance—but for different reasons. A city of around 3.5 million citizens, about 75% Chinese, Singapore’s efficiency and wealth have made it an example of bootstraps to riches. Evicted from Malaysia in part because its inclusion would have ensured Malaysia would have a majority Chinese population, the city-state has a higher average income than Great Britain. Much of its progress comes from the PAP (I think it’s the People’s Action Party) which has ruled Singapore (there is an opposition, but it’s small) since the 1960s, when it became independent. Much of its success comes from the vision and determination of Lee Kuan Yew, its senior minister for most of that period. Even today, the hand of central planning plays a big role, as we’ve seen in our business visits—more later on them.

When I taught an Asian Pacific course in the past, one assignment would be to have students write a memorandum to a fictional personnel officer, describing two cities the student would like to be posted in, and why. Invariably, Singapore would be one of the two—and for the reasons that have made it a business and tourist hub—it is clean, efficient, with infrastructure (especially transportation; Changi airport is one of the world’s finest), an educated work force, and an orderliness that makes one wonder if he is really in Asia.

Tourism is vital here, and the natural features (our Cat executive told us wryly that a lot of foreign executives seem to find a reason to come here in December-January, when it’s cold in Peoria), fine dining, and general safety—and better English spoken than in Chicago—make it comfortable. There are 10 million visitors a year here (meaning 3 of 4 people are likely to be from out of town), which makes it possible in part for Singaporeans to enjoy their lifestyle.

Enjoying the elegance of the colonial period Raffles Hotel, Professors Hoyt and Trimble and several students savor the Singapore Sling, supposedly invented by a bartender at the Long Bar in the hotel.

To supplement the classical attractions of the colonial past (those of us of age visited the Long Bar at the Raffles, one of the great elegant hotels of the 19th—and 21st centuries—to savor the Singapore Sling, supposedly invented there, while being fanned by a punka-wallah (look it up), the government has done more. We visited a theme park on a former convict island that the government has encouraged foreign investors to develop. We saw a world class light/laser/water show that we ought to find a way to bring to summer housing, casino (a recent addition to the tourist traffic here has been the licensing of casinos—the feeling seems to be if Chinese and others are going to gamble, they might as well do it in Singapore as elsewhere), 6 hotels, including one that has 120 suites with 24/7 butlers, that is by invitation only for high rollers (and, I’m hoping, short Scoutmasters from Normal, Illinois), and a family-oriented fun park. Only 5% of the revenue can come from gambling. On filled-in land, we saw 3 more huge hotels being constructed, with casinos, as the centerpiece for a whole new downtown. As our guide put it, Singaporeans anticipate the next wave, plan ahead, and can do.

The IWU group visited the Caterpillar distribution facility on Tractor Road in Singapore.

The visit to the Caterpillar logistics facility was equally instructive. Largely because of the infrastructure, Cat came to Singapore almost 40 years ago and made it the hub of its Asian logistics operation. We toured the Caterpillar parts area, which stocks 180,000 parts with a $160 million value; since the parts take 38 days to arrive from Seattle, I was able to point our the importance of forecasting, a skill we need to emphasize even more than we do in our business curriculum. The plant is doing well in a company that we read about is having trouble financially; while executives in the Singapore plant have cut their salary in compliance with the directives from Peoria, we were told that the employees are working overtime. Interestingly, 65% of the sales of the facility (Cat also does logistics for other companies, but that’s in another warehouse) go to Indonesia, primarily for gold mining.

Singapore values creative faculty, and naturally, that means us.

The government, as mentioned, plays an important part in the economy, through quasi-government businesses, including Singapore Air (which we’re flying tomorrow), Tomasek, which owns Sentosa Island, the recreational area I mentioned, even down to housing. I’m still having a hard time believing that 84% of Singaporeans live in public housing, but I think that refers to the fact that the government is committed to apartment ownership, and makes possible the building and financing of apartments through low-cost, long-term loans (currently 2%). The government regulates automobiles, too, with a tariff of 110% plus a license to buy that now costs around $8,000, down from $50, 00 several years ago. A certain number of licenses to buy are put up for auction every year. Drivers pay extra to visit the Central Business district during the busy part of the day, and cabs cost more then, too (and after midnight). Public transportation is abundant, efficient and cheap.

Singapore has the reputation of being a “nanny state,” or a “fine” city, where you can get fined for jaywalking, spitting on the street, chewing gum—or any of the other things that make, say, Bangkok or Beijing—or even Chicago—so different.

The Lion City is different in lots of good ways—and that’s no lion.

Talk to you from Saigon in 24 hours or so.

Malacca or Melaka seems to be a fit place to end our stay in Malaysia, which bills itself as “Truly Asia.”

An old city at the southern entrance to the Straits of Malacca, through which pass over half of the shipping of the world, Malacca traces its history back to the 13th century or so, when an Indonesia prince (the connections between Indonesia and Malaysia are pretty strong even today; Bahasa is spoken in both countries, both are Muslim, and Sumatra, one of the over 2,000 islands that constitutes Indonesia, is 1-½ hours away by ferry on the other side of the straits) came here and had his dogs outfoxed (that sounds wrong) by a mouse deer, a small and now endangered species, under a Malacca tree. The sultan built a dynasty that lasted until 1513, when the Portuguese wrested away control of the city, beginning several centuries of Portuguese rule. The famous Cheng Ho, featured occasionally on the History Channel, visited here, and has a small corner in the history museum. There’s a rebuilt Istana (palace) of the sultan, which I can see from the window in my hotel, but Malacca is one of the four states in Malaysia now with no sultan.

Notable Portuguese were the Duke of Albuquerque, who was the second governor, and Francis Xavier, the Jesuit who was instrumental in bringing Catholicism to Asia. The priest was in fact buried in Malacca for 9 months, but was finally interred in Goa. Although the Portuguese rule ended centuries ago, there’s still a gate from the old fort, a bastion rebuilt (as part of the push for tourism), and a church on top of a hill that’s hollow and roofless, but picturesque, rather like its counterpart in Macau, also Portuguese. On a cruise on the Malacca River, the guide explained that his heritage was partly Portuguese, and there are descendants still in town.

The next stage marked the showdown for supremacy in colonial Asia between the Dutch and the British. The Dutch evicted the Portuguese, and built their own church, their own statehouse, and several other buildings that remain today, characterized (and standing out because of it) by large windows; the philosophy was that air could circulate better.

Finally, with the British already established at Singapore and Penang, the Dutch in 1824 exchanged Malacca for British possessions in what was becoming the Dutch East Indies, and Malacca became part of the Straits Settlements until 1947 (with the exception of World War II, when it was part of the Japanese empire); the British Club in town was where independence was proclaimed.

All periods are represented, which is to say, Malacca is an historians treat. From the Portuguese period, the church and fort; from the Dutch period, the red brick Stadthus and the Church; from the British period some stately mansions (including the Majestic Hotel, a colonial bungalow that when David and I stayed here in 1997—in it—was the cheapest hotel in town; today, after extensive and expensive restoration, it is the most pricey hotel in town; glad we stayed in it when we did!)

I was heartened to learn that Malacca and Penang acquired UNESCO grants to preserve the heritage, and we were able to see some of the results: the area around the waterfront is being rehabilitated and renovated, and the houses already completed will certainly do as much for the important tourist dollars as the malls that are otherwise omnipresent in the bigger Malaysian cities. There was a Carrefour in the three-story mall across from our hotel, located in what was a hawker area when David and I visited here in 1997. Tourism has come to replace trade; the once prosperous harbor has silted up, replaced by Penang to the north, and more impressively, the city of lions (Singapore) to the south.

Of course, the foreign and colonial patina was marked, but the dominant population then as now was not foreigners, and that’s one other thing that makes Malacca attractive to me. There’s an old Chinese area in the town that has become a lot hokier than I remembered. On the boat ride, we saw an all-Malay area. Of course, there’s an Indian section, too. As befits a country that is 60% Malay, around 30-35% Chinese and 10% other (mostly Indian), all areas are visible and obvious.

The official line is that Malaysia is a model of peaceful mixing of races, one the world should emulate. We heard the story time after time, and the message is certainly true. As I’ve noted, the “mixing” isn’t as thorough as in the United States, though. Malays get favors in government jobs and education and in financing from banks; Chinese have a strong hold on business; Indians seem to do a lot of the service jobs. And the country has had a troubled history of race relations in the 1960s especially.

It does enjoy some wonderful natural scenery, even from the train, where there were broad plantations of rubber and palm oil. Then, there’s a whole side of the Peninsular Malaysia we did not get to—Muslim sultanates and spectacular beaches that you can see on the Travel Channel at least once a week. The country has at least one big advantage in attracting tourists from the middle East—it’s proudly (but secularly) Muslim, and the obvious efforts that Mahathir made to replace the British administrative buildings with a distinctly Malay appearance is noted and noteworthy. Like many of the developing countries, it is heavily dependant on spending by the developed world. I found out, for example, that the Dell factory we visited has gone from 7 lines to 3. Even Singapore reported a first quarter decline of 7.8% this week.

Perhaps that’s one reason the cities have so many malls, and such spectacular ones. So many, indeed, that I’m tempted to call the country Mallasia.

We spent all day on the train getting to Singapore, where we’re going to spend a few days.

Best wishes for a wonderful weekend.