By Gary R. Frink
IAATC Member, Luray, Virginia
(c) Copyright 1989 - 2004

The three Chinese courier representatives who met me at the Beijing airport were young, bright -- and two of them spoke good English. They introduced themselves and we all stood waiting while airline employees searched the baggage claim area for a missing courier pouch.

My arrival in Beijing came by way of an courier flight from New York. Although the cost of my fare was a fraction of what my fellow travelers paid, I was still bumped up to business class for the flight from Tokyo to Beijing.

Unfortunately, when I arrived in Beijing the yellow vinyl bag containing my return ticket and documentation for the courier shipment had somehow gone astray. After a long wait it became clear that the critical vinyl bag would not appear that evening. Airline employees searched to no avail.

From Airport to Hotel

I squeezed into their tiny delivery van and we arrived safely at the hotel where I invited my thoughtful colleagues -- two men and a woman into the hotel lounge for drinks.

In the lobby bar we made conversation and listened to imitation jazz. The two men drank beer; Lilly, a proper young Chinese woman of 23, drank tea instead of alcohol.

"You have been so kind," I told them. "If you are free tomorrow evening, choose the restaurant and I will host a dinner."

My offer was accepted and it was agreed that Henry would call for me the following evening in the company van. Short, with a brush cut, he was the ranking member of the three and the best English-speaker. He arrived on time (first rule: Chinese are punctual). We drove off in the quirky little van, with a sometimes-functioning transmission, down broad avenues to a finely appointed restaurant tinted red and gold with carved dragons. It was nameless -- at least in English.

Music was provided throughout the long meal by a Chinese instrumental duet; hand mallet-pounded harpsichord and a highly-pitched double string cello. Our table was directly in front of the small bandstand. The 15 Cantonese dishes were fresh and delicious: whole river fish, bean curd in garlic sauce, lemon chicken, roast lamb and Peking duck are remembered. No rice was served. With seemingly endless large bottles of Beijing beer, the tab for five was 362 yuan ($45). The band tip was additional.

Home Invitation

I knew immediately that her invitation was very special; it is highly unusual for Chinese to invite foreigners to their homes, especially foreigners they have known for barely 24 hours. It was to be a family affair: Lilly and her husband, Henry and his wife, the non-English speaker and his girlfriend. Again, Henry would pick me up in the company van. A time was set.

At 5 p.m. sharp, Henry was waiting for me in the hotel lobby. Off we went on an adventure down a broad highway to a limited access highway leading out of the city in a direction unknown to me. Ten miles or so out of Beijing, we exited the expressway and entered a long tree-shaded lane. We slowed at a broad, arched gate at the lane's end.

I didn't give any thought to the fact that small groups of soldiers were playing cards on each side of the narrow passage. A large olive-green bus was parked just inside the gate. As we proceeded slowly inside the walled area, I noticed that the residential buildings were only two stories high, a stark contrast to the row upon row of high-rise apartments we had passed on our journey to this place. This was Henry's first invitation to his co-worker's home, so he had to be directed where to park. Lilly was in her doorway awaiting our arrival.

Expansive Living Quarters

The seven-room concrete townhouse was darkly painted and was huge by Chinese standards, with greenery all around. We were welcomed into her living room, which was ample though not particularly chic in appointments. A plastic bust of Chairman Mao Tse-Tung sat on the low window sill. I immediately began taking photos.

After photographing the guests in the living room, I suggested to Lilly that I take a photo of her in front of the corner of her building. As I posed her against her home, an older man in a robin-blue leisure suit approached and immediately scolded Lilly very soundly in Chinese.

"He said that you shouldn't take picture outdoors," Lilly explained. "We should go in now." We quickly re-entered the house.

I was in a seven-room residence, occupied by only two people, and I was in China. "What is going on here?" I thought to myself.

"Lilly, how do you happen to have such a nice -- large -- home?" I finally asked.

She explained that her grandfather joined Mao in the Long March on October 16, 1934. The year-long, 6,000-mile trek across the country to northwest China during Mao's Communist rebellion against Chiang Kai-shek began with 30,000 Red Army troops, yet ended with only 7,000 soldiers completing the grueling trip. Her grandfather retired an important general in the Chinese army, and when he died the house was passed on to his heirs. It dawned on me that I was about to dine in the home of quite an extraordinary Chinese family in a very unordinary situation.

Lilly and her mother, who was visiting from her job as an accountant in the south of China, had spent the day preparing large portions of delicious meat dumplings. I had been certain to bring sufficient quantities of beer. Dinner was going splendidly.

Official Visitors

Then there was a knock on the living room door and someone entered the house. My back was to the living room, at the head of the table, as guest of honor; I didn't move. Lilly and her mother arose and confronted the interloper. A Chinese conversation ensued, after which Lilly and her mother returned to the table.

"Was that about me?" I asked.
"No," was the reply.
I knew better.

I had come to realize that I was in some sort of Chinese military compound. I continued eating out of respect for my hosts, but I had lost my appetite.

When the time came to leave, Lilly's husband, a government economist, walked our slowly-moving van to the gate and lounging soldiers. While it was never stated, at least in English, he walked us out to be certain that I got out of the place without incident. I experienced a sense of relief as the little van cleared the gate.

Until recently, Henry informed me, all military sites had large signs stating that foreigners were not to enter. I thought then, and believe now, that I was the first American ever to enter that particular Chinese Army compound.

Henry also told me that the persons in the compound knew I wasn't Chinese because of the shape of my nose. I suppressed a laugh. At 6'3" and 240-lbs., I was an obvious standout in China, and it had little to do with my nose.

The next day I called Henry.
"When there was a knock at the door last evening and someone came in, was that about me?"
"Yes," Henry admitted. "He wanted to know who you were.
Then he said that you could stay for dinner, but that you couldn't spend the night there."

EDITOR'S NOTE: Attorney Gary Frink, a former White House aide and legislative counsel to the U.S. House and Senate, is the president of Television Viewers of America, a non-profit organization that promotes free competition and lower consumer rates on cable television. The above story is an episode from Frink's first courier trip to mainland China for East West Express. He paid $750, but has since made a second flight for $450 roundtrip. Combined they earned him enough frequent-flier miles for two free domestic flights on Northwest Airlines.