BEIJING, August 24, 2001 — Front page stories in today's papers: free market pricing of agricultural products will enhance Chinese competitiveness in world markets; two Chinese remain hostage to Philippine terrorists; 77 miners drown when a tin mine floods in southern China.

The Beijing subway, like that in Shanghai, is a model of cleanliness and efficiency. The spray paint can has not yet defaced the cars.  Large placards on the outside show beautiful women in tantalizing lingerie, but they are not yet wearing graffiti beards and mustaches. Inside, the cars are crowded, but passengers are polite and, seeing an old "big-nose" Western man, may give up their seat.  Children and babes-in-arms stare with kindly wonder at the tall, curly-haired foreigner.

Twenty years ago I was a greater curiosity, especially in smaller towns.  A little crowd, never having seen a Westerner before, would follow me around; once in a while a Chinese would give a gentle poke with an index finger to make sure I was not an illusion, some creature from another planet.  After such daring, his curiosity somewhat satisfied, he would smile triumphantly at his envious fellow voyeurs.  Some Westerners lost patience with these onlookers, but most were happy to be of such great interest.

There are two principal ways I save money on food and avoid the expense of hotel fare.  At grocery stores nearby, I buy supplies for breakfast and occasionally for lunch: orange juice, bananas, grapes, peaches, bread or rolls.  The hotel will freely supply instant coffee and tea bags and provide an electric teapot.

In an earlier dispatch I mentioned the dollar lunch, available at small restaurants: tea, rice, spicy tofu, peanuts, sliced cucumber with peas. A dozen such restaurants rim each of the well-known hotels.  They have as few as four tables and may have, instead of chairs, little stools.  In lieu of napkins, a roll of paper—reminding me of toilet paper!—stands on each table. Of course dinner is also served at these inexpensive restaurants. A word to the wise: avoid the "Western" cuisine.

I am surprised to meet, in one of these cafes, a 75-year old Chinese who has taught himself English and speaks with only a slight accent, thanks to listening to the Voice of America on the radio.  He is a Christian, raconteur, retired teacher.  Referring to Chinese troubles, he says, "We look to the hills whence cometh our help."  Indeed, Bible quotes are integral to his speech.  Through a translator, his companion converses easily with me about her literary interests—Nietzsche, Kafka, Shakespeare. The knowledge of the West possessed by most educated Chinese is matched only by the gross ignorance of China possessed by most of the educated West.

Tonight I am to meet with two Chinese teachers who may reveal the path to universal enlightenment, the Tao.