The Temple of Heaven in Beijing—once a place where emperors gave thanks for the harvest, now a vibrant gathering place for community life.
China is a vast country with over 1.4 billion people—constantly in motion. Though its landmass is similar in size to the United States, China’s population is five times larger. The Chinese take health seriously, often eating a diet of fruits, vegetables, and small portions of meat. Dairy is uncommon, and rather than baked bread, they enjoy soft steamed buns since most homes don’t have ovens. Fruit, not cake, is usually dessert.
During my visits to Beijing, I often stayed in small Chinese hotels. They were clean and tidy, but the beds were incredibly hard—much harder than anything we’re used to in the United States. What surprised me even more was visiting people’s homes, where they often slept on a simple sheet spread over a bare piece of plywood. That was their version of a mattress. It made me appreciate how different cultural ideas of comfort can be.
One of my favorite memories from Beijing was meeting a lovely Chinese woman who became a friend and guide. We would often walk together through the Temple of Heaven, a historic site where emperors once gave thanks for a successful harvest. Today, it has transformed into something completely different: a vibrant community gathering place. More than 10,000 people pass through it each day.
What makes it so special is that no one organizes the activities. People simply show up in groups to dance, play instruments, practice tai chi, or sing. I’ve even seen harmonica bands performing under the trees. There’s a big outdoor exercise area too, where locals stretch, swing, and socialize.
But the most surprising moment came one day as we were strolling through the park. We came across a long row of Chinese parents sitting quietly behind poster boards laid out on the ground. Each one listed details about their son or daughter—age, education, job, hobbies, and hopes for the future.
At first, I thought it was a job fair. Then I realized—these parents were there to market their only child in hopes of arranging a date and maybe even finding a spouse. Some called it the “marriage market.” They talked politely with other parents, hoping to make a match. It was touching, resourceful, and completely unexpected.
I stood there in awe, watching this community of parents doing their best to help their children find happiness and love. In a country shaped by decades of a one-child policy, this moment made perfect sense—and left a lasting impression on my heart.
