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Anywhere in China, the banquet follows protocolar rules as rigid as those of the minuet or mah-jongg. Beside every place setting are three glasses: a big one for beer and two shot-size glasses that will briefly contain mao-tai, a colorless 160-proof liquor that could power China's first moon shot, and a red, rice-based wine that tastes like a blend of Campari and cough syrup. The beer, bitter and warm, is served immediately and may be immediately sipped. The mao-tai and the wine, however, are reserved for toasts, which soon ensue, copiously, capaciously and loquaciously. Most are raised — and why not? — to Friendship Between Our Peoples. One of the first words the F.F. learns is kan-pei! Bottoms up! (literally, dry glass). Several hosts between toasts indicate that it is inadvisable to take only a sip of the rocket juice. "You have to drink in one gulp," advises one Responsible Person. "Otherwise you get headache."
Amazingly, by 6:30 a.m. the overtoasted F.F.s are out of their hotel rooms and banging spoons for breakfast. (They dutifully use chopsticks for every other meal.) After such curiosa as fish-flavored omelette and jasmine tea cakes, washed down with surprisingly good coffee, the Westerners stand meekly, punctually, hi line to See China. What they get to see ranges from astounding to zilch.
Peking (pop. 7.5 million) is one of the great monuments of civilization. Off T'ien An Men (Gate of Heavenly Peace) Square, the vastest (100 acres) public plaza anywhere, lies the Forbidden City, now styled the Former Imperial Palaces. This manic maze of pavilions and palaces and gardens is a wonder of the world. Assembled over five centuries by 24 celestially approved emperors and more than a million laborers, the Forbidden City is not only a marvel of space, extravagance and style but also a dazzling repository of art, in gold and silver, ivory and jade. Restored and main tamed by a crew of 1,000, it makes Versailles look like a nouveau riche country mansion. In the hills northwest of the city is the Summer Palace, which was largely destroyed hi 1860 by Britain's Lord Elgin, son of the seigneur who took the marbles from the Parthenon. Rebuilt hi 1888 by the dotty Dowager Empress Tz'u Hsi, diverting funds allotted for naval construction, the imperial plaisanterie occupies 700 acres and attracts huge numbers of Chinese rubbernecks. And then there are the Ming Tombs and, a few hours away, the Great Wall. Otherwise the city is nondescript and marred by Stalinoid architecture.
Shanghai, the world's largest metropolitan area (pop. 10.8 million), is China's leading trading center and second biggest industrial city. Gone are the 60,000 foreigners who ran the city as a fiefdom for a century. Gone too are the singsong girls and the 30,000 prostitutes who once plied the streets, and the opium dens and the gambling halls. The people are louder and livelier and more independent than the prim Pekingese. Shanghai has the vibrancy and hustle of New York. It boasts 140 round-the-clock (jih-ye) shops and eating places. Shanghai winks, but never sleeps.