My first full day in Beijing for the J-term course began with weary, bleary eyes — a slog of jet lag and general exhaustion settling in before I had a proper chance to wake up at all. When I rolled over in bed to get up, I noticed two glowing characters visible on a half-covered sign across the street through the thin, sheer curtains of my hotel window: 北京 — Beijing, China’s capital city, a place steeped in history and culture that I could hardly be upset about waking up early to soak it all in.

After a hearty breakfast of my favorite foods (read: fried dough and hot soymilk) we set off for Tiananmen Square and the Forbidden City under the quick-witted guidance of Dr. Jeremiah Jenne. He’s a phenomenal guide who reminded me of everything I love about history and the power of good storytelling. Jenne regaled us with tales of emperors and intrigue, of porcelain tiles and wooden dragons. He elaborated upon the reason for all the negative space within the Forbidden City and transported us back to the age of Khans and conquerors, imploring us to imagine the sheer powerlessness some officials might have felt as they kneeled before an emperor they couldn’t even see. His enthusiasm for the world he wove before us was palpable, and his ability to conjure up visceral images of the past with words is not a skill easily acquired, but one I nonetheless hope to learn!

Though I was sad to leave, it was hard to be upset for too long when we had a Peking duck lunch in store for us. Thanks to the graciousness of our hosts, we found ourselves at Quanjude, another historical haven — though this one forewent the dragon motifs and was instead filled with plates upon plates of sweet and sour fish, tasty soups, delicately prepared greens, and the star of the table: crispy, melty, savory slices of duck, swaddled in a thin crepe alongside crunchy cucumbers and a sweet sauce. 

Though my mind was luring me to a nap, we had business to attend to. Our visit to the American Embassy in Beijing was as informative as it was comforting; the instant connection I felt with the officers was certainly a direct result of our shared identity as Americans, and it reminded me of the familiarity and subsequent sense of openness that arises from common cultural ground. It was clear to me that they are passionate about their work and I felt much more comfortable for what lay ahead of me after the encouragement of these well-seasoned men and women.

The day ended with us being part of a state dinner at the Diaoyutai State Guesthouse where the Chinese Premier has hosted national leaders from around the world. Entering the great, golden foyer, I was struck by the sheer grandeur of the building in which I stood. Above me, a galaxy of crystals formed a brilliantly glittering chandelier. In front of me, a symphony of brush strokes stretched across multiple canvases that evoked an image of cranes and mountains. Ahead of me, a massive ballroom full of the polite chattering of hundreds of important people, all covered under a warm blanket of light. I felt all at once too small and much too large, like a fly on the wall distinctly aware of how it was taking up too much space. The privilege of representing my university halfway across the world felt heavy in that moment!

But side-by side with my very good friends, we marched right into the ballroom and found our table — a table that had all of our names on it, despite any reservations we might have felt about being there. The night was full of speeches, laughter, and hearty conversation not merely amongst ourselves, but also with new friends from Peking University and the Chinese People’s Association for Friendship with Foreign Countries. It was a little frightening to seek people out at first, but we managed to make some great connections. 

I ended the night full of food, and swept away in the great sense of community that blossomed when we shared our lives over a round, open table.

-- Abigail Barr