One of Yue Minjun's smiling creatures on display at Xin Dong Chen's gallery in Beijing. (CBC)

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CBC/Radio-Canada correspondent Raymond Saint-Pierre. (Radio-Canada)

Raymond Saint-Pierre is one of Radio-Canada's best known and most travelled foreign correspondents, having been based for extensive periods in Washington, London, Paris and Beijing (from 1996-2001). His current assignment is with Une Heure sur Terre, an international news documentary show.

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The moment we landed, I was in shock. During my five years in Beijing, I'd become accustomed to the old airport of the Chinese capital: overcrowded, too small, lagging about a century behind its modern equivalents in Hong Kong and Singapore.

The new one is ultra-modern, vast and stunning, not unlike many of the other developments in this country, including its provocative contemporary art scene.

When CBC/Radio-Canada suggested we former correspondents return to China (joining Michel Cormier, the incumbent), I thought it was an excellent idea.

I was particularly interested in two subjects: The explosion of contemporary art in China and the incredible development of Macau, which was just a tiny Portuguese enclave when I first arrived in the country in 1996.

I had heard about works by contemporary Chinese painters that were being auctioned for millions of dollars, and I was keen to see what Xin Dong Chen, whom I'd met in the 1990s, would have to say about it.

Outside the Chen gallery in Dashanzi, a former industrial enclave in Beijing that now houses at least a dozen contemporary art galleries. (CBC)

I'd made the acquaintance of this unique individual when his spouse, Caroline Puel, a correspondent for the magazine Le Point in China, had invited us to their house for dinner. And what a house! All the rooms were filled with paintings by young Chinese artists.

Every wall was covered in works depicting the Maoist era and the new consumption craze, with plenty of irony, even cynicism. The colours were bright, sometimes fluorescent: Mao wearing lipstick, Communist symbols adorning fake Coke or Marlboro ads.

Xin Dong Chen wanted to publicize the works of the highly talented young artists, but there were very few private art galleries in Beijing and the Propaganda Department (which still exists) would not allow him to display such daring pieces.

That was then

Even in the late 1990s, the average Chinese person had few opportunities to discover this modern art. So Xin Dong Chen sold paintings to savvy foreign collectors. On trips to Europe, he would sometimes roll up the canvases and put them in his luggage, selling them cheap to foreign buyers.

When I caught up with him on this trip, I discovered that things have certainly changed.

China's emerging middle classes now seem hooked on modern art. (CBC)

He now owns three art galleries and has become well known, so much so that when French President Nicolas Sarkozy went to Beijing a few months back, it was Xin Dong Chen who showed him around Dashanzi, an immense complex that, until recently, served as a military factory and is now occupied by dozens of art galleries.

I attended an auction of Chinese paintings with Xin Dong Chen. The Chinese are now the ones buying up modern art pieces, and it is not rare to see one going for millions of dollars.

But Xin Dong Chen remains an idealist. In his galleries, he still shows works that test the limits of what the Propaganda Department deems acceptable. He still promotes Chinese contemporary art. And he's organized exhibitions of the works of some 40 Chinese painters, in Moscow and Athens.

Art is in

What also surprised me upon arrival back in Beijing was to see busloads of average Chinese visiting the art galleries in Dashanzi, snapping pictures of the most audacious sculptures and paintings.

They obviously liked to see artists testing the level of tolerance of the authorities. (I was wondering whether they felt they had to go and grab as many pictures as possible, for fear the Propaganda Department might close the place down.)

But contemporary art also appears to be seen by many here as in investment, or a kind of lottery: They are betting that some new, unknown artist will become big and make everyone rich. Many patrons, in fact, visit the National Arts Academy and try to buy all the works of some students.

I realized Chinese people were really getting interested in contemporary art when I visited the Beijing Silk Market. You can buy anything there, from designer jeans to a North Face winter coat. The only certainty is that everything is fake — and cheap.

Just for fun, I asked a few shop owners whether I could buy paintings from some of the better known contemporary artists, the ones that sell for hundreds of thousands of dollars at auctions.

Sure enough, in about a dozen shops, I was offered hand-painted "authentic copies" of works by Zhang Xiaogang (who shows at London's Saatchi Gallery), Zeng Fanzhi and Yue Minjun, known for his paintings of grotesquely smiling people.

If forgers bother to reproduce these works, it means there is real consumer demand for this kind of art.

Macau

As for Macau, I became very attached to this former Portuguese colony in southern China. I travelled there in 1991 as a tourist, and was seduced by the mix of cultures: Chinese and Portuguese living together; Chinese fare with a European flair.

A taste of Venice in the Far East? The $2.4-billion Venetian Macao Resort Hotel, which opened in August 2007, is one of the reasons Macau has surpassed Las Vegas as a gambling haven. (Kin Cheung/Associated Press)

I'd covered the handover of Macau in December 1999. At the time, the Portuguese population was concerned their culture would disappear. That hasn't happened. A far greater upheaval in the lives of Macau's residents has been the proliferation of casinos.

Macau is a vast construction site, home to some of the world's biggest buildings, where gambling revenues have outstripped those of Vegas.

Contemporary art, high-stakes gambling Vegas-style — this is not the China the world often sees.

Before leaving, I took a stroll around the neighbourhood in Beijing where I lived from 1996 to 2001. In the late 1990s, I witnessed the opening of new Japanese, Korean, German and even French shopping malls where one could buy real jeans and real Western products, not cheap, low-quality knock-offs.

Chinese shoppers also discovered paraphernalia associated with Christmas and other exotic celebrations like Halloween. Now, just a few years later, these malls are dwarfed by the new towers that are overshadowing everything. They already look outdated, ready to be torn down to make way for taller, bigger, more modern buildings.

When I was a correspondent in China, I felt, every day, like a student who never stops learning, discovering and marvelling. That hasn't changed: China never ceases to amaze.