A Six-Day Trip to Beijing and Tianjin Amid the Pandemic

I had long listed Beijing, the capital, on my annual travel plan! Yet it always fell through. This year, despite once again including it, the COVID-19 outbreak at the start of the year completely killed my enthusiasm. By mid-year, pandemic control across the country had been exceptionally effective compared to the rest of the world, and the government began encouraging travel on a limited scale. However, in mid-June, a new cluster appeared at Xinfadi in Beijing, again gripping the nation's heart. Luckily, Beijing was well-prepared this time and pushed the virus back in under a month. Though there were still sporadic infections daily, those were all imported cases quarantined right at the airport. Perhaps it was fate: in mid-July, I joined a blind-box flight deal on JD.com, and the first destination it pushed was Beijing! To make the trip happen, I immediately checked online and, after multiple confirmations, was sure it was feasible. Although many would think traveling to Beijing at such a time was absurd or even foolish, we chose to trust the government. And so we embarked on a true impromptu journey (we set off on the very first day of the holiday)! The trip went smoothly. We arrived at Beijing Daxing Airport at 5:15 p.m. Although it was a pandemic period, the flight was nearly full—perhaps due to fewer flights. Unlike usual, there was no lunch during the three-hour flight; each person just got a small bottle of water, so when we landed, we were famished. Knowing little about Beijing and given all the pandemic restrictions, self-guided travel would likely waste too much time, so we opted for a Ctrip group tour. The driver was already waiting at the airport and took us straight to the hotel. The expressway was built especially for Daxing Airport (the subway is even more so), and it was smooth all the way with only a few other cars; on both sides, the view stretched endlessly, confirming that big cities sit on vast plains. Looking up, the sky was gray—not surprising. The driver told us it was now at least ten times better than the sandstorm days of years past. That night was quiet, as we rested up for exploring the great capital. Group tours always require early starts—that’s an unwritten rule. Our guide was most annoyed by disorganization. He said the group was originally just my wife and me; four others, apparently one family, had joined only the night before. In normal times, this would practically be a private tour. Our first day took us to the Summer Palace, a royal garden for Qing emperors and empresses to enjoy. In the past, it was extremely private, with even ordinary imperial relatives unlikely to gain entry. By that measure, people today are truly fortunate. It was built by Emperor Qianlong’s order, but Empress Dowager Cixi enjoyed it the most. The garden hugs Longevity Hill and Kunming Lake, with exquisite scenery. What amazed us was that such a large artificial lake was supplied with water channeled all the way from the south, as Beijing itself is a water-scarce city. To keep the water clear, it had to be replaced frequently—a staggering cost, but to an emperor ruling a vast territory, it was trivial. The Summer Palace covers about 450 acres, two-thirds of it water. Standing at the Tower of Buddhist Incense atop Longevity Hill, you can take in the entire garden. Famous spots include the Long Corridor, the Seventeen-Arch Bridge, the Tower of Buddhist Incense, Suzhou Street, and the Marble Boat. The Long Corridor stretches 728 meters with 273 bays, certified in 1992 as the world’s longest corridor in the Guinness Book of Records. Its beams feature over 14,000 painted scenes, each an artistic gem. The Seventeen-Arch Bridge was modeled on the Lugou Bridge and apparently has 544 stone lions—46 more than its model. The Tower of Buddhist Incense was closed due to the pandemic, so we could only snap a distant photo. With too little time from our guide, we missed the Garden of Harmony, Jingming Garden, the West Dike, the Garden of Virtuous Harmony, South Lake Isle and more. Overall, this is a garden steeped in art and culture, demanding ample time and an appreciation of historical details—like the placement of dragon and phoenix carvings at the entrance: without knowing the Empress Dowager’s obsession with power, you’d never imagine how she used such subtle details to make a statement. Next, we visited Qianmen Street. I recalled a childhood cigarette brand called ‘Da Qianmen,’ referring to this very gate. The tower remains, vaguely evoking memories. The area is now a bustling commercial pedestrian street, a sign of a city’s prosperity. Under the pandemic, businesses are withering, and even century-old shops have suffered—by rough estimate, fewer than 30% were open. Only the side lanes Dashilan and Xianyukou had a bit of liveliness, but many original sites of historic stores stand there, and you could almost envision their former bustle without imagination. Beijing’s local snacks are legendary; I planned to try them along the snack street, but after the first bite—a bowl of Beijing zhajiang noodles the guide recommended, costing 29 yuan and generously portioned—my Sichuan-trained palate, used to a hundred spices, found it hard to swallow. I finished it with tea, and my stomach lost all interest in further snacks. Fellow foodies, take heed: when tasting local snacks, take small bites! From Qianmen Street we went to the Temple of Heaven. Where there’s a Temple of Heaven, there’s a Temple of Earth, and that grand image had been stored in my mind for half a lifetime. This was where Ming and Qing emperors offered sacrifices to heaven and prayed for good harvests. Since ancient times, humans have revered nature, so a solemn atmosphere strikes you immediately upon entering. The garden’s centuries-old towering trees, though past their prime, stand silently as if passing the quiet whispers of nature down through generations. A light, steady drizzle began as we entered, blurring my photos but perfectly matching the mood! Day two’s itinerary was announced early: watch the flag-raising and climb the Great Wall—heart-thumping just to think about. These are likely top priorities for any Chinese visiting Beijing. We woke at 3:20 a.m., had a quick breakfast, and set off at 4 a.m. for Tiananmen. I hadn’t realized dawn came so early in Beijing—by 4 a.m., the sky was already pale. After security, we arrived at the flag-raising spot in Tiananmen Square, cordoned off with a fence. About seven or eight soldiers stood in a neat row. The crowd was modest, maybe a few hundred, so lucky that everyone could stand right at the fence, unlike the usual sea of people. Around 5:10, the honor guard emerged from under Tiananmen Gate. Sadly, they were too far away; even with phone zoom, they appeared as silhouettes, but the crisp, rhythmic march was crystal clear. The soldiers moved sharply—before I could adjust my camera, the majestic national anthem rang out, especially resonant in the quiet square. Many were likely recording this solemn moment on their phones, so the imagined scene of everyone singing together didn’t happen. Later, in my video, I did catch a few voices singing along, mine included, though I wish I’d had the courage to sing out loud! Still, patriotic pride surged. I remembered years ago a colleague visited the flag-raising and could climb the Tiananmen rostrum where the founding ceremony was held, even getting a commemorative certificate signed by Beijing’s mayor—but the guide said that service had been discontinued for years. The weather wasn’t ideal, overcast with drizzle, but I still snapped away happily to prove I’d been there—a lifelong memory. After the flag-raising, we headed to Badaling Great Wall. The drive was long, taking an hour and a half even without traffic, so I napped briefly. We reached the entrance at 7:30 a.m., but the site only opened at 9. The rain picked up, and the temperature was just 19°C—a chilly oasis in the summer heat. Many shivered, but that didn’t dampen anyone’s spirit to prove themselves ‘true heroes’ by climbing the Wall. Around 8:40, we scanned in, then trekked over a kilometer to the actual Wall. As an ancient military barrier, the Wall naturally follows ridges and peaks. Up on it, the temperature dropped further, visibility even more. Luckily, the Wall was wide—easily a two-lane road. Amazingly, though it rained and the stones looked slippery, I walked steadily even in summer sandals! This section is said to be the best-preserved in Beijing, untouched by modern restoration. Centuries of footfalls had worn and misshaped the granite blocks. The Wall isn’t continuous; where the terrain was steep enough, gaps used the natural cliffs as a barrier. The outer side towers higher with many crenellations for lookout and attack, while the inner side has periodic access paths, likely for moving supplies. Two hours, as the guide allowed, was just enough for the north section—we turned back at the North Eighth Tower. Back at the base, I realized there was a south slope too, so I rushed through the currently open South Fifth Tower solo. The Great Wall stretches thousands of miles; no one can walk it all, but at least on this Badaling section, I covered every open part in the limited time, feeling deeply satisfied. If ‘he who has never been to the Great Wall is not a true man’ is a benchmark, from now on, our little band of heroes has truly earned the title. The afternoon was free. Despite the early start and a full Great Wall climb, I was still eager and unwilling to return to the hotel. So we got off near the Bird’s Nest, met a classmate of my wife’s, and went to the Old Summer Palace, which our guide had dismissed. Spanning over 5,200 acres and stretching 10 kilometers, it comprises the Old Summer Palace, Wanchun Garden, and Changchun Garden, with the Old Summer Palace being the largest—hence the collective name. With a built area of 160,000 square meters, it was called the ‘Garden of Gardens.’ This place, it turned out, was more for those with patriotic and historical sentiments. My memory of the film ‘The Burning of the Old Summer Palace’ was fuzzy; seeing the actual ruins left a deeper impression. I believe that today, with our nation so strong, restoring its former glory wouldn’t be difficult, yet the government prefers to leave these artistic remnants—not so much burned as blasted by cannon—as they were after the Eight-Nation Alliance’s ravaging. It’s a living patriotic blockbuster, constantly reminding the Chinese to strive hard: weakness invites bullying and humiliation, for individuals and nations alike. The final day was the Forbidden City, also known as the Purple Forbidden City. The imperial palace of Ming and Qing dynasties, it sits on Beijing’s central axis and represents the pinnacle of Chinese ancient palace architecture. It’s the world’s largest and most intact wooden structure complex, hailed as the top of the world’s five great palaces (the others being Versailles, Buckingham Palace, the White House, and the Kremlin). Construction began in 1406 under Emperor Yongle of the Ming, modeled on the Nanjing palace, and finished in 1420. The guide told us that Zhu Di moved the capital and employed 1.3 million laborers and soldiers over 14 years. This year marks its 600th anniversary! It’s a rectangular walled city, 961 meters long and 753 meters wide, with 10-meter walls and a 52-meter moat. Inside, it’s divided into the Outer Court and Inner Court. The Outer Court centers on the Hall of Supreme Harmony, Hall of Central Harmony, and Hall of Preserving Harmony, collectively called the Three Great Halls, where grand ceremonies were held. The Inner Court centers on the Palace of Heavenly Purity, Hall of Union, and Palace of Earthly Tranquility, the emperor and empress’s main residences. I’d seen this famous place countless times in films and TV dramas, and its name thundered in my ears, yet the guide said that except for the movie ‘The Last Emperor,’ no film or TV drama about the Forbidden City had ever been shot on site (Hengdian World Studios has a 1:1 replica). Stepping inside, you truly feel imperial majesty and grandeur. Words fail; it’s the symbol of absolute power, a proclamation of sovereignty, standing proudly over the land, unchallenged. If I must choose a word, ‘awe-inspiring’ fits best. Just as ‘After the Five Great Mountains, no mountain is worth seeing; after Jiuzhaigou, no water is worth viewing,’ perhaps after the Forbidden City, no palace merits a visit. We had Qingfeng buns near Jingshan Park for lunch, then visited Beihai Park. Its white pagoda is another landmark. Legend says it houses a sarira (a finger bone of Buddha); with Buddha’s blessing, it’s no wonder Beijing has been a capital through dynasties, and the nearby Zhongnanhai, the seat of national governance, surely basks in that light, protecting our land’s everlasting prosperity! In Jiuzhaigou, small pools are called ‘haizi’ (sons of the sea), reflecting inlanders’ yearning for the ocean. When the Mongol army rode into Beijing, the vast stretches of water made them think they’d found the sea, so they named these connected lakes ‘hai’ (sea)—Beihai, Zhongnanhai, Shichahai (Qianhai and Houhai), collectively Beijing’s Five Seas. Later dynasties kept these names. Historical records say after the Jin overthrew the Liao, they built the mid-capital here; Kublai Khan of the Yuan later expanded it into Dadu. Only in the Ming was the capital moved to today’s Forbidden City. So the seemingly modest Beihai Park was once the royal palace of several dynasties! The rise and fall of history never fails to evoke deep sighs. One famous spot in the park is the Nine-Dragon Screen. China has three notable ones: the largest and oldest in Datong, Shanxi, built in the late Ming; another at the Gate of Tranquil Longevity in the Forbidden City; and this most distinctive one in Beihai, built in 1756, over 200 years old, made of colored glazed bricks, 25.86 meters long, 6.65 meters high, and 1.42 meters thick. Each side has nine coiling dragons playing with pearls amid waves and clouds—vivid, colorful, and superbly crafted, a gem of glazed architecture. It’s the screen wall before the Mahayana Sutra Hall, said to deter fires and ward off evil. The final stop was Shichahai, just across from Beihai Park. After the vast Kunming Lake at the Summer Palace, the deep Fuhai at the Old Summer Palace, and Beihai, this pocket-sized Shichahai was almost negligible, though its water was crystal clear—so clear that the trash thrown in by careless visitors was starkly visible! Even more shocking, someone was openly swimming naked in broad daylight—truly indecent. Tianjin is just over 120 kilometers from Beijing, making them the two closest municipalities directly under the central government. I had been mulling whether to swing by Tianjin during our Beijing trip. The guide said Tianjin itself isn’t a tourist city and only worth a side trip from Beijing; a dedicated visit isn’t recommended. But since we were so close, we decided to go. From Beijing South Railway Station, it’s just a 20-minute high-speed train ride—essentially a local city tour. To save time, we booked a one-day ‘Charming Tianjin’ group tour on Ctrip, and the operator picked us up from the hotel—thoughtful service. Another pair, a mother and daughter, were on the tour; the daughter said they were in Beijing for the mother’s medical follow-up and squeezed in a Tianjin visit while waiting for results. As soon as we got in the car, the driver complained the tour price was a loss, suggesting we each add 100 yuan for two extra sights, or else Tianjin wouldn’t be much fun. Doing the math, the round-trip transport alone likely cost more. But his tone rubbed all four of us the wrong way. Despite the whiff of a hustle, we decided not to quibble. He dropped us at the highway, and a colleague took over. This young man was much sharper: he warmly greeted us and sprinkled in humorous Tianjin slang, telling stories and jokes. On the extra fee, he simply said they hadn’t had a single Beijing tour group since the pandemic hit, and they’d been out of work. He added that travel is about happiness. We all accepted willingly—same situation, but how you communicate matters immensely, especially with sincerity! Still, due to the pandemic, the itinerary was scrambled. The Tianjin Eye and Porcelain House were only drive-by glimpses; boat cruises to sea were closed. We could only understand and accept. The young man strolled with us around the Italian Style Street before passing us to another female colleague—such a tiny group, seeing three guides in a flash, quite unprecedented. The new guide was just as warm and professional, clearly trained, with a learned depth. To make up for missed sights, we went to the Erbao Lai Wax Museum and Yangliuqing Ancient Town. I’d seen wax museums in Hong Kong and elsewhere—lifelike, 1:1 scale figures. This one, the guide said, was special because most of its subjects are still alive, and it houses a unique wax figure of President Xi Jinping and his wife. We admired and took photos with figures from Sun Yat-sen, Mao Zedong, Zhu De, Zhou Enlai, Deng Xiaoping, Jiang Zemin, Hu Jintao; foreign leaders Putin, Obama, Clinton; scientists Yang Zhenning, Yuan Longping, Tu Youyou; and sports and entertainment stars Yao Ming, Lang Ping, Jackie Chan, and more. What struck me most was the closing message at the exit: ‘We are not the world’s largest wax museum, nor the most luxurious, but we are the most artistically accomplished. Our founding mission is to develop China’s cultural industry, enhance the nation’s cultural soft power, and show the world that Chinese-made wax figures are superior!’ Yangliuqing Ancient Town was our final stop. Coming from an old town myself and having seen many famed ones, it held little allure. Yet its woodblock New Year prints are renowned far and wide, and its paper-cutting, kites, brick carvings, and stone engravings are top-tier in Chinese folk art—its paper-cutting often graces the CCTV Spring Festival Gala. The ancient town is well-preserved, with the Shi Family Courtyard as its highlight. Legend says the master, Shi Yuanshi, made his fortune in water transport and had a fabled connection with Emperor Qianlong, who often stopped here on his Grand Canal journeys to southern China, charmed by the scenery. ‘Yangliu green’ supposedly comes from the emperor’s poem, and the sycophant Heshen’s bumbling led to the town’s name. To honor Shi’s philanthropy, Qianlong inscribed the character ‘根’ (root) on a stone tablet. The Shi family was puzzled until years later, viewing it upside down, they realized it also formed the character ‘財’ (wealth) in traditional script. An emperor-bestowed ‘wealth’—how could they not prosper? Beyond that, the courtyard’s details are exquisite: lintels, eaves patterns, all ingenious; the stone lions and qilins sprawl in unusual poses, with inward-curled claws symbolizing ‘scooping wealth home’ and half-open mouths meaning ‘money flows in and must flow out’—painstakingly deliberate. Two days before we left, Beijing reported another local COVID-19 case, brought in from Dalian but quickly isolated, so no panic ensued. And so our trip to Beijing and Tianjin, caught in these times, is destined to be an unforgettable and truly memorable journey!