Leaves in the Temple

The air might be a little dingy, but the Temple of Heaven was spotless. The attendant sweeping debris even picked up the rare fallen leaf.

Clean, too, was the subway that got me there, not to mention the station. Unusual, waiting for a subway that doesn't smell like an overused American Standard product.

A pair of volunteer graveyard-shift concierges at the Media Village offered to act as tour guides today, Thursday, which was yesterday, Wednesday night, in Philly. I think. An adventure.

First, we bought chicken and bread for a sightseeing picnic at the equivilent of a Super Wal-Mart. Charlie talked me out of buying a camera; lousy quality at the store, he said.

Then, to the train. It was crowded, but, hey, 18 million people live here. And, for the Olympics, half of the private cars have to stay off the road to lower pollution output. The train was cool, and clean, and fast.

Disgorged at the Temple, an edifice built in 1420 by Ming dynasty emperors, in which they gave thanks for the harvest and prayed for bumper crops the next year.

It featured a Hall of Abstinance, where, perhaps, they prayed for strength for married men all over the world.

It was cool. We ate chicken and bread, and, more importantly, we talked -- Charlie, Jack and I.

They're exceptionally cool guys.

They, like most Chinese, want to be accepted.

They, like most Chinese, want to see the world and are delighted the world can now see them.

They, like most Chinese, want the world to give China more time to right itself, to incorporate itself, to grow from a closed and defensive society into a more responsible and complete nation.

They will be tomorrow's post.