City of Kung-Fu and Ninjas

As the captain of the airline announced their arrival to Beijing, he propped himself up in his chair as he prepared to have an experience of a lifetime. Here he was about to enter into the country, whose skills in martial arts and cultural matters had thrilled him since he was a kid. He even half hoped he would see “Jackie Chan” or “Bruce Lee” at the airport. As the plane tires hit the tarmac, he grabbed his hand bag and made for the door. Stepping off the plane, he met with his very first disappointment that almost made him turn back. The policeman who stood by the entrance of the terminal was not dressed like a Wushu soldier or like any member of the Shaolin monastery- he was instead armed with a pistol and neatly dressed in blue police uniform and boots. Shrugging his shoulders, he chose to be optimistic and walked towards customs, hoping that those one would actually be in fact “Chinese”. “Hello sir, welcome to Beijing. Please could you hand me your passport?” a beautiful female custom official, dressed in well pressed shirt and a short skirt greeted him with a huge smile. He was bewildered. Prior to his arrival, he had few weeks learning little Chinese lingo and he was already preparing to say “Nihao”-meaning “hello” to the lady and here she was speaking in fluent American accent. As he slowly recovered from his shock and handed in his passport, he quickly looked around hoping to see fancy Chinese cultural paintings and drawings hung on the walls. Casting a furtive glance around, all he could see was the picture of David Beckham in an advert on a large screen and Michael Jordan in another billboard. “Am I even in the right country?” he muttered under his breath. In the taxi as he rode home, he kept observing the New York semblance buildings, fancy cars and big hotels completely lost in awe.
Arriving his accommodation, he was warmly welcomed with a meal of Chicken from KFC and some coffee bought from Starbucks- he had secretly hoped they would buy him some local Chinese tofu and some local Chinese tea. Here he was in a lying in a soft feather bed, with satellite TV and wishing he were staying in a Shaolin temple, with monks on a wooden hard bed, listening to the snoring of exhausted fighters.
This was not the China he expected to see, this was not the China of his dreams or what he thought the place would be; this was not the land of the Shaolin or Kung-Fu masters, this was just a land filled with people who were concerned with other matters.