BEIJING: April-May, 2004 (Part 4)

One morning we drove far into the countryside to visit a brand-new police academy. We were entertained by cleverly trained dogs running through their paces, then were taken to a small fake town, like a movie set, where the police staged a sting on some phony bad guys. Members of the squadron sneaked behind walls, broke down doors and shot off blanks.

What next, am I supposed to buy a bulletproof vest?

In China the hard sell is de rigueur. On the street, sellers would chase after us and I'd find myself running away to hide. In the supermarket, I picked up a jar of face cream and instantly a salesgirl was beside me pushing a pricier item.

Mei-Xing led us away from the buying quotient of the tour and to the big sites. High on the list: Tiananmen Square. The site is the size of ninety football fields — the entire area monitored by security cameras, with stern military guards strutting in formation in front of billboards of Mao and the current Chairman. The Chinese are wary of another incident like that of the celebrated protest there in 1989.

As I wandered among thousands of people in May Day celebrations, I saw a round-faced girl of about seven, crying. Her shoulders heaved and tears ran down her cheeks. Two guards stared at her with impassive faces. She appeared to be telling one of these hard-asses she couldn't find her mommy.

A universal moment. We could have been anywhere in the world. Women tore away from their families and formed a semi-circle near the girl. These other mothers fretted for the child, but official intimidation was at play and not one of them could get close enough to whisper It'll be okay, we'll find your mommy.

Eventually another cop sauntered over, got the girl's story and corralled her toward a police van. No one ever touched her. Not once did a hand pat her shoulder, not once did anyone kneel beside her, not once was she given a reassuring hug.

There was longing in the face every woman who watched. Not once was it possible.

China has a population of 1.3 billion people and the one-child-per-family law still exists...unless you're rich and ignore the rule because you can afford to pay the fine.

William and I heard a story from a pair of British film crew members. They told us of being in a Shanghai night market where they found themselves surrounded by desperate parents shoving baby girls into their arms. Even as China spins itself into supreme modernism with architecture, technology and commerce, many ancient judgments persist — none more so than the strong preference for sons.

Boys to carry on the family name. Boys to labor in rural communities. Boys to prosper in careers and care for older parents.

Baby boys: good.

Baby girls: not so much.

Sex-selective abortions are illegal but the practice remains widespread. In China many toilets are flushable holes in the ground. They have become common depositories for baby girls. As the practice of infanticide continues, millions have been lost or deliberately abandoned in what some describe as a Holocaust of female babies.

Thus: Studies have determined that by the year 2020, forty million Chinese men will not be able to find wives.

With tears in their eyes, our friends in Shanghai pushed away from the crowd and the babies held out to them. They were trapped in a horrible Catch-22 because even if they had wanted to, they couldn't have taken an infant out of China without complicated legal reprisals.

What would I do if a baby were thrust into my arms? A terrible scenario, to be sure. And with these thoughts our bus pulled up to our next big site.

BEIJING: April-May, 2004 (Part 3)

To be fair, the next three nights were spent in a luxurious hotel resting my head on excellent pillows.

As the days passed I learned the truth of the tourism business. It was great not having to make plans or worry how to get anywhere, especially in a country where English wasn't widely spoken. I was also aware of how economical the trip turned out to be.

On the other hand, there were the seven a.m. wake-up calls followed by head-whipping rounds of sightseeing that continued until eight at night. At which point I could have slept in a tent. On rocks.

And a practice I like to call: Cram them in a room, lock the door and sell them stuff.

Our first day we shuffled through a jade factory, a cloisonné factory, a tea factory, a silk factory, a pharmaceutical factory, a medical institute and a foot massage center. In every case, a professional gave a lecture, then we were escorted around a corner into — how fortuitous — a showroom with legions of salespeople ready to pounce.

At the medical institute, a doctor took my pulse and shook his head. His face was etched with grave concern as he diagnosed me with a weak immune system.

That's not good.

I didn't want to appear skeptical and listened to his analysis. When in Rome. Also, What the hell is going to happen to me?

The doctor's translator handed me a sheet of paper listing illnesses and their remedies. She circled the doctor's prescription. Foremost among the conditions it treated: PREMATURE EJACULATION.

That's not good.

The translator pointed down the hall to the convenient pharmacy, where I could buy the cure. I chose to stay flaccid and politely declined the herbal compound.

BEIJING: April-May, 2004 (Part 2)

We were in Beijing on May 1, which is the Labor Day holiday in China. It would be a full week off work for most of the population. I thought perhaps we'd see tanks and armies on parade, but they don't do that anymore. What we did see were streets, squares and parks full of citizens on holiday.

I thought Hong Kong was notable for its construction, but Beijing had it beat with crane after crane perched high atop a series of giant structures. They spread across the skyline like some giant mechanical chorus line.

Everything was on a grand scale. We drove down a boulevard of ten traffic lanes, five on each side. The fences acting as the meridian were designed for speedy removal should a 747 jetliner need to land in the case of a military emergency. Ever-ready China.

Alongside the boulevard sat government offices, Tiananmen Square, the Forbidden City and buildings so large they made Vegas look as quaint as an Idaho town. Glitz and glamour shone forth from jumbo hotels. I was grateful to be on a tour because a night at one of these places started at $300. China, desperate to compete with Paris, London and New York, was not about to dole out cut-rate rooms.

But I discovered a light scratch of the surface sometimes reveals a lack of finesse.

Our first night, we stayed far outside Beijing at a hot-springs resort. The bus cruised up the driveway at twilight and my heart lifted to see a tranquil haven of long, low structures. A small lake rippled with floating lilies. An ornate carved bridge spanned its breadth. Lovely for an evening stroll, I fancied.

I entered my room, which was decorated in simple hardwood, with two beds covered in snowy white duvets. Behind sliding doors a private deck housed a hot mineral bath. Heaven.

— until bedtime, when I clicked off my lamp and started to relax — and was jolted awake. Doors slammed and footsteps echoed on the marble floor as fellow guests returned to their rooms. Voices chattered and laughter bounced off the walls and my serene sanctuary collapsed.

Then at five a.m. it was the maids clattering in the hallway. When I took a shower, water sprayed indiscriminately and soaked the entire bathroom. I reached for a towel and saw mold creeping up the tile.

The façade, however, was stunning.

BEIJING: April-May, 2004 (Part 1)

When we arrived in Beijing, our tour director, Bryan, introduced us to our tour leader, Mei-Xing. She was, I guessed, in her early forties and spoke Mandarin. She climbed aboard our bus with a cheerful Ni hao! and we were off.

Our group was made up of Cantonese speakers, Mandarin speakers and English speakers. Fortunately, the major sights spoke for themselves.

I shamelessly leaked to anyone who cared to listen that my in-laws were from Hong Kong and China. That I married in and belonged. I didn't want to be thought of as some brash American interloper. During Mei-Xing's orations I nodded and clapped along with everyone else. I picked up cues and laughed when others laughed.

Mei-Xing shook her head at my ridiculous behavior. Everyone knew I didn't get her jokes and my pretense proved as funny as any of her one-liners.

Keen to expand his career into English-language tours, Bryan attached himself to Leonard and me. Bryan had a burgeoning confidence in his English — that is, when the topic of his favorite basketball team, the Lakers, came up. Steering him off the subject was a struggle.

Shaq, Shaq, Shaq.

Okay, Bryan, we've moved on to food.

Kobe this, Kobe that.

Bryan, do you think we'll have Peking Duck on the tour?

Derek Fisher....

Really, Bryan, we're on to noodles versus rice.

My first impression of Beijing: trees. Green and full in spring blossom, rows upon rows along wide boulevards. Made more noticeable, I'm sure, after having spent a month in Hong Kong, where greenery was not commonplace. There isn't enough room in Hong Kong for parks and tree-lined streets. In Beijing elms, birches and maples stand tall and proud.

The bus drove us past city parks with artificial lakes, where people paddled in small boats. Whole sections of Beijing looked like Paris. I expected tiny Madeline to pop up at any moment.

My second impression: the cool air. We were out of Hong Kong's humidity. Beijing and New York City are close to the same latitude and share similar climates. It was like spring in New England.