China Magnificent

Tonight, mostly out of curiosity but in part to keep myself awake long enough to get back onto CST, I watched the VHS recording my mom took of the opening ceremony from the NBC broadcast. I was disappointed by how much was skimmed over for the sake of leaving room for inane commentary and advertisements- an entire puppeteering sequence was cut, presumably because it would not appeal to the Western sense of grandeur exemplified by the rest of the performance, as well as the phenomenal transitions- the seamless points in the show where two thousand people disappear into the dark and within seconds are replaced by two thousand more- the sudden spotlight on Lang-Lang's piano as he plays, with his top chords finished gracefully by the little girl next to him- the attention to detail so integral to all things Chinese. 

To have stood in the streets beneath fireworks as they raced towards the Bird's Nest- the Footsteps of History, as the commentators referred to them- I feel marked, as the city was marked that night. 

The commentators prattle on about this and that- the phenomenal nature of the technical feats, the months of intensive training, numbers, costs, creativity- but the event speaks for itself. It is immediately, unquestionably, ranked among the greatest shows the world has ever seen. 

A few stabs are made to give cultural context to the Western audience. Disclaimers of "..But to the Chinese people, this is instantly recognizable"; "This is so important within the Chinese culture"; "This may not immediately make sense to a Westerner, but..." are littered throughout. 

I came to China as an outsider and left as one. We came, we saw; we judged, as people do.  The world came to Beijing to judge. We romanticize or condemn. The commentators passed judgment that night, as have reporters, foreigners, expatriates, businessmen, tourists, housewives, children, every day since. 

China opened its doors as if to allow entrance to a manicured garden, and perhaps that's all that most foreigners saw: the New Beijing, China cleaning up, topiaries and happy citizens. 

There is more to see than they intended. Protesters beaten, newsmen shut down, promises broken. Athletes trained from childhood, taken from families, forced to be the best.  Beggars under the gleaming new buildings.

Who is anyone to judge, without the understanding that comes only from seeing both action and purpose? From understanding both what is done and what is meant to be done- from seeing a person, a people, a nation as both the image it is given by the world and the image it holds as a self-  the negative space between the two pictures-

 I can see Chinese citizens, strangers, friends I have made, eagerly whisper that they understand what I mean when I say that the media hides things, or else shout vehemently that our information is wrong when their national pride and cultural paradigm is bluntly attacked by a superior boy waving a foreign book in their face. 

I can come from a society, infant among civilizations, built on fiery self-important concepts of the individual, and love a people, old like rivers, coated in plastic, who are caught amongst the slow cycles of tradition and dutiful service, the embers of revolution, and hungry dreams of restored glory, saved face, renewed strength. 

There is no understanding when neither side is willing to let go. One cannot expect to change a mind, or learn anything new, when one is not willing even to let himself see why another point of view might be held. If we know only that we are Right, we will be wrong as long as we live. 

I came to China not knowing what to expect, or rather, expecting many different things. Some expectations were fulfilled, others were shattered, others changed as I did. 

The torch is lit for only hours more. China has risen to hold the flame aloft and will soon quench it. Was it everything she hoped for? Were her own expectations met? Tenderly, I wish it were so.  Now she must lower the torch, put down the guiding beacon and remain standing on her own, in a world where expectations of her have now risen, where criticism will be swift and plentiful as she once again stands strong in the coming century.  Whatever the world believes of her- fireworks, human rights violations- she is not going away. The world's eyes were caught in the last decades by Hong Kong, Singapore, Little Tigers, Little Dragons-

But China is the Big Dragon, and she is awake.

departing the mainland... ABSTRACTLY!

Jorgen and I are sitting in the hostel lobby waiting for it to be late enough to warrant starting to head to the train station.
Thoughts?
Not really.
Fair enough.
I'm thinking about Bob Marley, that's what I'm thinking about.
Neat.
Also I want to learn Shanghainese. Just 'cause it's /so/ crazay.
What? I dunno, I'm just thinking about how to describe this place. Somali flag. Somaaaaaaliaaaaaa! SOOMMMMAAAALLLLIAAAAAA
he doesn't speak englishhhhhhhhh!
jenny chan jenny chan gonna go see jenny channnn chan chan chan chan jennnnnnniffffeerrrrr
ok give me the damn keyboard back. you know what sucks?
yo momma
The chinese post office. that's what sucks. Fuck you, China Post. Fuck you.
That's all I really have to say.
That's true. he did give me a free string. but he also charged me 50$ the dollar sign goes first, now you just look retarded shut up $50 to send my damn package, which is like half again what i paid for everything in said package. more, even. 'cause he wouldn't ship my stupid tea pot. and then he stole my padding. well, transfered two r's transferred it, meaning my teapot is now naked.
I didn't even mail anything, cause the only thing I bought that's actually worth money is my awesome new computer bag/ backpack replacement. Plus I made a friend in the process of bargaining for it and then proceeded to hang out in her store for the rest of the time we were in that horrible building (four stories of people yelling hellosiryouwantrolex?! at me) to avoid the constant demands to buy shoestshirtsmp4(?)watchesiphones!? Her name's Kaixin and she's from... somewhere Southwest are cardinal directions capitalized? only if they're used as a region, like the Southwest, as opposed to a southwest direction don't forget Southwest Airlines southwest of here and owns one of those horrible shops in spite of being just 17 except you didn't know she was 17 well she said something about one year in relation to me and that's what it sounded like, whatever she looked 17, but is actually a pretty neat person when not trying to sell you the rather eclectic selection of items in her store (luggage, ties, crack pipes, etc.).
we should probably get going soon. i'm excited about sleeping on the train.
it's going to be excellent.
i think the train hard sleepers we're maturing as artists! are actually softer than the beds here.

i think that's good. More from HK. With jenny chan jenny chan jen jen jen chan chan chan!

love,
jorgen (sometimes also known as Captain Awesome) and christine (who doesn't need to build herself up with unclever epithets)

XIEZI?!?

today was our first, and only, shopping day of any significance.

ok i have to stop. i'm sitting in the commons of the hostel, and this hysterically bad song is playing- it's a mash-up of "every breath you take", an 80s pop song, with altered lyrics to make it more palatable to the youth, and "I'll fly away", as used in O Brother, Where Art Thou, put to a bad R&B break. it makes me sad. the music in the morning here starts out as various traditional chinese classical instruments, by lunchtime modulates to old jazz standards, bollywood stuff, etc, and by night it's just bad american pop. i mean, really bad. I'm in a room labeled the "Traveler's Club" and it says a lot about most of the westerners we've encountered on this trip- mostly overpriced western food, overpriced drinks, trendy decoration with enough of an oriental flare to make it "cool". The same Filipina teacher I talked to in Yangshuo about HK talked about a lot of the people that come to Zhuoyue to teach. There's a stereotype- western backpackers come to this country, where between their native currency and the salary they can get as english teachers (something like 3 times what the average worker makes in these cities) they live like millionaires. most of them go out and get drunk every night because they can afford to- they make friends with other Westerners and a few token natives, probably speaking no Chinese anywhere they go.

it's hard to judge the motives of the western people around us. most of them come across as rich kids playing with their money, though it's not fair to judge without talking to them more. I don't know that we can claim any sort of relative moral high ground- we're also just some kids bumming around in a foreign country because we can afford to, summer jobs or not. i feel awkward every time i meet someone my own age working here, be they a 19 year old boy on the train back to Xi'an after visiting his family hundreds of miles away, or the 17 year old girl who makes her living running an eternally successful shop geared towards ripping off the tourists who flock here and buy kitsch. on our last day in beijing we walked by a woman in front of some massive hotel yelling on a cell phone something like "tell your father we can't get in to the Intercontinental, he should go ahead and change our reservations to the Hyatt". Jorgen and I have stayed in a range of housing types- from the first (and last, i suppose) tiny HK flats to this place, which seems oppulent by comparison- it makes me forget what hotels offer that makes them so much more expensive- we have a private room with two beds, AC, a mirror, a table, a window, and lights- public bathroom and showers, coin laundry facilities, free breakfast between 7 and 9:30. what more is needed? how much more do we have here than many of the people living in this same city, outside of the glittering center?
Jorgen says that one of the differences is that we've made the effort to learn Chinese and familiarized ourselves with the culture, rather than expecting them to cater to us- but how many times have we bemoaned the lack of romanization on a street sign, or depended on first the guidebook and now as we move to more westernized cities, the widespread speaking of broken english, where our own knowledge and studies left us unprepared? True, we've dealt with farmers in rural paddies who spoke only chinese, and been the only white people to show up in the Guangzhou long distance bus station for weeks, maybe months, but there is an eternal question of what can only be called "authenticity"- an ethical and cultural fine line between the Stupid American Tourist who thinks it's cool to be in China and the student and traveler (who also thinks it's cool to be in China). As we've moved East, it becomes harder to practice Chinese when English becomes increasingly widespread and situationally convenient. and moving into a central hub of Asian finance-

my god. the constant barrage of salespeople. you can watch the heads snap up, the projected paths change, as the light hair is spotted. I imagine there are interesting dynamics, almost magnetic, were an aerial view available of our movement through a crowded avenue. Helloyouwantbuybagwatchiphone? once it was determined that the phrase repeated towards us was "Polo, low cost" rather than "Hololocaust", things got easier to ignore. every once in a while we'll run into someone who, upon finding out that we're American, puts it simply- "Oooh, Meiguoren! money money moneyyy." (that or arbitrary references to Bush). during daylight hours it is constant. the same "Hello" that has haunted us through the rest of china here morphs into a variety of memorized phrases as ploys to create conversation, or else a simple statement of products- hello iphone, shoes, bag watch suitcase. My favorite was this one very mellow guy, whom I passed a few times- each occasion warranted a very clear, slow "Sun Glasses", with such an air of "I know you want to buy this" confidence that I invariably burst out laughing. The same thing happened with the guy who waited until the tourist was almost past him to suddenly thrust forward a picture of watches and shout WATCH! with a grin. we were considering fighting back- translating some of the item names back into Chinese and, when offered, hysterically shouting them back at the salesperson:
"Hello shoes t-shirt bag-"
"Xiezi? XIEZI?! T-SHU-SHAN!!!"

Something we've encountered that seems so far uniquely Shanghainese- Bronze statues of people, scattered around popular areas. Of the three groups we've seen thus far, however:
One was a family of 3 europeans staring in touristy awe at the Oriental Pearl Tower
One was a group of 2 europeans and a chinese businessman talking
One was a european woman with a bunch of tourist shopping bags, small child in tow

which would be about the equivalent of erecting statues of Japanese Tourists taking pictures all over the place in the US. it's just awkward.

There is something deeply psychological about being visually distinct in an ethnically homogenous culture. Obviously the two of us will never, ever be mistaken for Chinese (well, except by the one woman who freaked when she sat down next to Jorgen and realized that he was not in fact a Chinese man with dyed hair as she'd assumed from behind). We've met people who make friends with us out of fascination or sympathy, and others who treat us with contempt or as opportunities because of what we appear to be. Perhaps that's why most of the western backpackers interact only with eachother- there's a gap created by each of those dynamics, and it's questionable as to whether or not it can be bridged without real effort on either part. making friends with travelers in the same position is easy, and humans are creatures of habit. but i contend that there can be no real understanding while that gap remains. maybe that's the difference between sides of the aforementioned fine line- how much effort one is willing to put into understanding something new, and seeing themselves through different eyes. Do we pass that test? I'd like to say so, but who wouldn't?

Early Morning from Shanghai

for symmetry's sake.

with many thanks to Shao Bo and his father, it was nonetheless wonderful to be back traveling with that vague "oh shit, where are we going?" undercurrent.
we didn't make contact with Mr. T (our Shanghai associate), but found a wang ba and consequently a nearby hostel, where i'm typing from at the moment.
Shanghai is strange and beautiful. It's a lot like Hong Kong, but much more distinctly Chinese, and less densely packed.
we'll be here for another night and half a day, then we have train tickets to HK and the last leg of our journey. we're both pretty ready to get home, but are enjoying the last few days.

Late Night in Beijing

Some good memories of Beijing, since I've wasted too much of my time at the wangba tonight already for a full post:

- Sitting in the window of a hospital watching the fireworks go up over the bird's nest before being removed(peacably) by Red Guardsmen wielding pvc pipes
- Being the sole USA, El Salvador, and Zimbabwe fan at the Olympic Rowing preliminaries
- Watching some very excitable Australians at said event run about in their full Aussie regalia (Australia hotpants, Australia fedoras, Australian flags worn as capes) chanting the Australian theme song (ozzy ozzy ozzy! oy oy oy!)
- Finding some freaking Fuwa dolls
- Climbing into the unrestored (off-limits) section of the Great Wall
- Spontaneously cracking up for no particular reason with the woman behind the register at KFC (this actually isn't exactly uncommon; every once and a while someone will find my passing absolutely hilarious and I can never tell quite why)
- Getting lost somewhere in Beijing and winding up walking past some kind of rocking party at the Agricultural Exhibition Center (?) and wandering through China's embassy row at two in the morning
- Meeting some random Yale sophomore in the exhibit at the Chinese Museum of Science and Technology
- Seeing a totalitarian state from the inside, and learning to appreciate intellectual freedom

Why I Hate Fuwa

Fuwa. The very name conjures shudders in my very soul. Amusing at first, maybe even cute, they're the symbol of the 2008 Olympic Games and I guess sort of now China in general. They're sort of awkward panda-esque creatures that come in the colors of the Olympic rings and have all the creepy wholesomeness of the most saccharine Teletubby. By themselves, however, they're not so bad. I even promised a couple people to bring them home a Fuwa stuffed animal. The problem comes when they're freaking everywhere. Around every corner, under every rock, haunting my dreams. Plastered on every surface, physical or electronic, is the same group of five unnervingly ke'ai (cute) rainbow munchkins with the oh-so-endearing double syllable names of Beibei, Jingjing, Huanhuan, Yingying, and Nini (and of course their illegitimate zebra-creature siblings in the Hong Kong SAR, Xiangxiang and Gangang). They don't stop at two dimensions, though. Oh no. Store windows everywhere, from the vaguely topical (little girls' jewelry shops, teahouses) to the completely nonsensical (bathroom fixtures outlets?) are full of hanging Fuwa dolls. The subway passes a series of Fuwa pictures timed specifically so that they become animated when the train passes. The Olympic rowing competition Christine, Shao Bo, Chengwei and I attended had these poor volunteers trapped in inflatable Fuwa outfits with air compressors strapped to their backs (I insisted we take a picture with one in spite of the existential distress it caused me). The computer I am using right now has a Nini background which pains me to look at. Even all this I could probably handle, if it were not for one thing: in spite of this glut of Fuwa that seems to be crying out for a mass euthanasia project, there is not a single Fuwa doll to be found for sale in this city. Shao Bo promises that we'll find them outside Tian'anmen at some point tomorrow, and I guess I remain hopeful, though with the realization that if I never see one of those horrible creatures again, my happiness and sanity will remain that increment more intact.

Kidding (mostly),
Jorgen

Beijing Huanying Women (double post, backtracking)

So undoubtedly you've run across the little cartoon mascots for the olympic games by now- 5 little animal-type-things known collectively as the Fuwa. they are plastered over everything here. there is a water spirit, a panda, a red thing representing the olympic flame, a sparrow, and a gazelle, with doubled-syllable names like "beibei" and "huanhuan" that collectively spell out the phrase "Beijing Huan Ying Ni"- Beijing welcomes you. when we got off of the train Friday morning, a sort of theme song bearing the same message was blasted at us until we left(Xia Che- literally "down car", in this case "to get off/out of a vehicle")

In Xi'an we went through the large Islamic quarter- we ate lunch at a place run by a Hui woman wearing a light pink hijab and a seafoam green US 50's style apron. the dish to try was a sort of mutton stew whose name escapes me, volumetrically mostly composed of cubes of soaked flatbread and crystal noodles, which was excellent- then a little fried patty of dough filled with a sweet paste that tasted like sesame and honey but had more colors in it than correspond to those two flavors.
we got some pomegranite juice (at least, i think that's what it was). people were selling the usual trinkets- also terra cotta warrior statues of all sizes, small birds in cages, art and combs and all sorts of things. we went through a meat market- halal killing, but a strong smell. we didn't manage to find the great mosque, but found another, and also went through a small daoist temple.

we went to see the Terra Cotta warriors- on very short schedule. i'd wanted to go in the morning to make sure we had enough time but that's not how things played out. we got on a bus and drove for an hour- most long distance buses here take on double roles and provide shorter public routes for the surrounding rural areas. the warriors are a tourist trap- we missed the ticket booth in our eagerness to escape the swarms of English speaking guides offering their services (we weren't going to have more than an hour and a half there to get back in time for our 6 PM train) and wound up walking up a fire lane to the exit, then back through the awful tourist market- a depressingly thorough display of commercialism. after a bit more wandering we found our way in. the tombs were worth seeing- thousands of clay men standing guard, unbeknownst to anyone, for hundreds of years. the detail was incredible.


the bus back took longer than the bus there. we got back to the train station- where we had to go back to the hostel to get our luggage, then return in a matter of about 30 minutes- and the rush hour traffic kicked in. i ran to the hostel from the bus stop and carried the two backpacks back while jorgen (unsuccessfully) tried to hail a taxi. we wound up yelling at a motor rickshaw (cart built around/pulled by a motorcycle) driver over the price 5 minutes later- the train was set to leave in 10 minutes. he did manage to get us there in 12, which was impressive and terrifying. we missed the train. however, we exchanged our tickets, with no hassle, for the next train- 8 pm, faster (Z class), and slightly cheaper hard sleeper bunks (we'd been ground level, we now had middle and top respectively, which were fun to climb to)- so we got some money back. we also were let into the soft seat lounge, evidently because we spoke chinese and the lady helping us was amused.
the train ride was uneventul- made friends with a 15 year old beijing native who'd spent a year abroad in Minnesota, were fascinated by the soft sleeper facilities on the cars connected to us (soap?! luxury.), and wound up sleeping through most of the ride (which had not been possible on our last trainride, and thus was also novel)- i read for a bit and then passed out, to be shaken slightly by the boy in the top bunk across from me climbing down as we started the slowdown approaching Beijing Xi Station at 7:30 the next morning.
Jorgen lost his guidebook in Xi'an on a conveyor belt security check, but we are able to handle things without it for the most part- plus shao bo is with us now. His father has been very generous to us- they actually got some olympics tickets- on saturday we watched the Rowing octo- and quarter-finals with Chengwei.
Friday night we went out to dinner with Shao's father, "uncle", and father's girlfriend at a buffet restaurant where you fry your own food at a charcoal-heated griddle at your table. got some squid- also some watermelon soup- watermelon, cucumber, noodles, cilantro, vinegar. actually quite delicious. we then started walking towards the stadium to watch the fireworks as the ceremony started- but stopped at a random electronics store, where a crowd watched the opening ceremonies on a huge screen TV. I think it was more interesting to watch China watch the ceremony than it would have been to be sitting in the stadium. the people cheered at the technical prowess and artistic creativity of the display- cheered at national stars (pop stars, Lang-lang the pianist, others i didn't know)- cheered as the national flag was brought forth by children in minority dress and cheered again louder as it was handed off to strictly marching uniformed guards- stood in awe as the fireworks seen heading towards the stadium on the TV became visible over the treetops on their way to the city center.

When the countries started to enter, we continued on our walk, and wound up eventually on the 4th floor of a hospital awaiting the view (for something like 2 hours). Red Guard officials that couldn't have been older than me were everywhere, including occasionally checking on us in the building. A few others (a couple, an old woman) awaited the display next to us. Beijing held its breath, and then cried out- we could see 3 of the displays from our location- the stadium, two street corners. I think Chinese displays are better composed than any i've seen. It was beautiful. Or maybe it was 4 years of anticipation. Either way.

Die Neue Beijing

Visible on many drives through Beijing, be they by bus or by V12 (yeah. ...yeah), in addition to the polylingual displays of the "One World, One Dream" slogan, is another- I first saw it in German. "Jeder ist die Gastgeber, alle bauen die neue Beijing auf". Each of us is the host- everyone builds the New Beijing- and that is what is happening. The face of Beijing is changing every day that we are here- has been changing for months, years, in preparation. The street vendors (for the most part) have been swept away somewhere. There are topiaries and intricate flower arrangements on every corner, by every major attraction. Fantastic buildings rise- are still rising as I type- into the sky that has never held them. The Olympic torch stands on a graceful steel cage, a bird's nest, that will forever represent Beijing to the world, long after the flame is put out. New subways opened days before the games. The rest of the country whispers- Shao Bo's cousin scoffs- "They're going to Beijing? That's not China." Indeed, it's like nothing we've seen elsewhere- neither the futuristic modernity of Hong Kong nor the slow rhythms of Old China, but something shifting, distinct from each, in limbo between. Neon glows at night on glass and on stone.
A woman at Yangshuo (a Filipina, teaching english) said she had intended to spend 14 days in HK but had to leave after 4- "Too expensive," she tells her companion. This isn't the China she knows and loves. "This is the New China," her friend replies. This is the direction that all of China is heading. And here we sit, in a wang ba (net cafe) in the New Beijing. The question- is it permanent? Does Beijing recoil once the international spotlight withdraws, retreat to old ways? Forge on to new? Forget her identity all together? Who was she, who is she, and who will she become?

Pant-Seats

So we're currently in Beijing (hanging out at some random internet bar with Shao Bo [who, I might add, is awesome for letting us stay with him]) watching it all go down. We left Xi'an the day after arriving (unfortunate, since I think it's my favorite city so far) and showed up here on the morning of the 8th. The attempt to get out of Xi'an was pretty hilarious, since only having one day to see the outrageous amount of preserved history and culture in the city is not anything approaching a reasonable amount of time. Waking up in the morning and storing our bags in the luggage room at the hostel we stayed in (which is a really nice place by the way; the beds are fantastic, air conditioned, and really cheap), we headed out to the center of town to see the old Qing Bell and Drum Towers, where we showed up just in time for a musical performance at each one. Inside each there was a sort of history of bell and drums exhibit, respectively, with no original bells nor drums. After that we wandered into the Muslim Quarter of the city (Xi'an's one terminus of the Silk Road and a pretty big center for Chinese Hui [who are fascintating- the whole Muslim Quarter is full of mosques and halal butchers and women in hijabs and guys in white skullcaps] people) in order to find food and the Great Mosque. We found the food (this crazy mutton and noodle soup that has flat bread [I've developed a theory- wherever Islam goes, flat bread follows] crumbled into it, which was delicious), and some tiny terra cotta warriors and some paintings, but could never quite find the mosque, which is apparently pretty subtle for something called the Great Mosque. So giving up on that, we took the wrong bus in an attempt to get to the train station and find another bus, but it gave us the opportunity to walk along the old city walls (Xi'an's one of the few Chinese cities that didn't dynamite theirs) and moat, which are separated by this neat park thing full of pomegranates that were always just out of reach. So eventually we walked to the train station and got on a bus to go see the Terra Cotta Warriors. At this point, our train was leaving in about 4 hours. Also at this point, we thought we had a pretty good handle on being able to make said train. Turns out one of those two assumptions was wrong. The warriors are pretty neat, the detail and level of preservation is spectacular, especially when you consider that they're 2200 years old. Unfortunately, they're surrounded by this outrageously large tourist trap filled with stores of every variety from restaurants and convenience stores to jade carvers and animal pelts. It took an unreasonable amount of time to actually find the entrance to the warriors in the jungle of commercialism, exacerbated by the fact that we've become used to immediately dismissing anyone trying to get our attention as trying to sell us something. After all that, we only had like half an hour to actually see the warriors (too bad since there's like 14000 of them unearthed so far) and had to rush back to catch our train. The bus back ended up taking half an hour longer than the bus there, leaving us with forty minutes to get to the other side of Xi'an from the station, pick up our bags, come back to the station, and get on the train. In rush hour traffic. Exciting. So we got on the local bus that goes past the hostel and off we went... into gridlock traffic. By the time we got there, we had about fifteen minutes until the train left, and decided to find a cab (something that we hadn't done up to this point on the trip due to pride and generally not needing them). As it turns out, all the cabs were full, except for this one guy who pulled up on this silly motor tricycle thing and offered to take us to the station for like sixty kuai. Ripoff. Unfortunately, having very little choice, with the train leaving in ten minutes at this point, we gave him forty and off we went. The ride was quite an adventure, and the guy followed through with his promise to get us there in ten minutes, by cutting between traffic, running bicyclists out of the bike lane, and even going the wrong way down a street for a while. It was worth the forty yuan. So once at the train station, with seconds to spare, we had to wait in line. Well, there goes that. We got into the station and noted that the train wasn't there. Luckily, white people in this country, especially those who speak Chinese, are treated very kindly by all and sundry. So the station attendants were very sympathetic, and found that there were free seats of the variety we'd bought on the next train out, which turned out to be the super-elite express train, which ended up being about two hours faster and for some reason, 8 yuan cheaper. Beyond that, they even let us into the first class departure lounge, which held more white people than we'd seen since leaving New York. All's well that ends well, I guess. The train ride was interesting, almost everyone on it was a foreigner. We met a couple of neat people though, including a Beijing resident who is an exchange student at a high school in Minnesota and gave us food (freaking everyone here gives us food) and the beds were the best we'd slept in except for the Xi'an hostel. The ride was too short, though, forcing us to get up at like seven in the morning (blasphemy!) and fend for ourselves in the mean streets of Beijing (since it seems I left my Lonely Planet guidebook, far and away the most useful piece of literature I've ever laid hands on, somewhere in the Xi'an station in the rush to not-make our train). The first thing one notices coming into Beijing is the smog. It's ridiculous. Everything you've heard about it can't begin to prepare you for the outrageously low air quality in Beijing. Some studies estimate a day in Beijing is the equivalent to smoking seventy cigarettes, and it looks like it too. The day we came in (which wasn't a bad day, apparently), one couldn't see to the next block for all the pollution. The moon doesn't show up at night, and staring at the sun during the day is downright comfortable. That being said, the next thing that struck me was that there are a number of very nice aspects of the city. The architecture is a neat mix of the traditional Chinese and the monumental Soviet, and everything appears to be made deliberately as large as possible. The city has purportedly cleaned up a lot for its debut this summer, and street vendors are nowhere to be found, swarms of old ladies wander the streets picking up stray pieces of trash, and the traffic is pleasant by Chinese standards. Beds of flowers and shrubberies are ubiquitous and well-maintained, the public buildings and transportation are spotless (and more often than not still under construction), and the city is just generally pretty pleasant to be in. The third and final glaringly obvious feature of Beijing was the one that gave us a bit of trouble. So the plan was to go meet Shao-Bo under Chairman Mao's picture in Tian'anmen square. Turns out the Chinese government isn't too keen on letting people wander around its most recognizable landmark on opening day of the Olympics. Probably should have seen that one coming. We got off the bus from the train station with our giant backpacks and, as we attempted to walk towards the square, were continually cut off by an ever-expanding line of police tape and Red Guard. That's the third thing I was talking about, by the way. Security. Columns of paramilitary Red Guard (these guys: http://lh6.ggpht.com/_l18DO4BvsG8/R6Z4oM9jqeI/AAAAAAAADrs/V1AvUfPpW_k/3217455.jpg) and riot police march down the streets in droves, with a couple of one or the other standing at every conceivable entrance to anything. The portable traffic barrier business must be having a field day, because vast swathes of road are restricted and sometimes blocked in what often seems a largely arbitrary manner, and every fifth vehicle on the road belongs to the police. So having neither Shao Bo's phone number nor address, we were a tad miffed to find the People's Liberation Army standing between us and our designated meeting point. Undeterred, we started off down a random street in hopes of finding the internet and thereby maybe facebook and thereby maybe Shao Bo's phone number. We eventually happened upon a Kodak print shop who let us use their internet, and after figuring out how to circumvent an apparent block on facebook, found not his phone number, but rather his Beijing address. Being clever people, we found a taxi (our first, by the way) who knew where said address was, and after stopping the car a number of times to ask directions of the Olympic volunteers who camp out on every street corner, the cabbie got us there. New problem. We've found the building, but everyone in Beijing lives in rather large, rather dingy apartment buildings. We don't have a room number. So we ask the elevator attendent (they still have those here, and apparently you're not allowed to use the elevator without her) if she knows a Mr. Li. Stupid question, in retrospect. We talked for a while, describing Shao-Bo in as specific terms as our vocabulary allows, struggling with these awful Northern accents (our teacher's Taiwanese and thus sounds very much unlike the standard Beijinger) and attracting a small crowd, until eventually, someone in charge brought me down to the apartment office, which had been converted into some sort of Olympic volunteer command center (much like the rest of the city). She looked through the list of residents and eventually did find a Mr. Li with a son named Shao-Bo, who lives on the 18th floor. Score. A couple of phone calls and a bottle of water that I tried my best to refuse later, Mr. (excuse me, Dr.) Li himself showed up and informed us that Shao Bo had gone looking for us at the train station at about five that morning (sorry about that, Shao) but would be coming back presently. Meanwhile, he would personally escort us to the station to meet Shao Bo and move into the extra apartment that some friend had temporarily donated for our purposes (first touch of bu hao yisi [embarassment at another's generosity], a theme of the week) and then we'd go to lunch at some fancy restaurant (strike two). So that having passed, the three Americans sort of just wandered around the neighborhood until it was time to go eat again (quite a shock, given that up to this point we'd been subsisting on about one and a half meals a day, and now we've eaten two gigantic meals in one day [the second was at this crazy buffet place where there's a grill in the middle of your table and you grill a bunch of largely unidentifiable pieces of animals right at your spot!]) Afterwards, we wandered off down the streets to try to go catch the excitement of the opening ceremonies with our own eyes. We eventually succeeded, finding a large group of Beijingers crowded around a similarly large TV in an electronics store window, so we sat down to watch and cheered with the crowd, just seeing the fireworks over the tops of the trees interposing between our spot and the Bird's Nest, as the main olympic stadium is called. Deciding to skip the calling out of each country (which, we correctly predicted, took forever) we set off to go find a better place to see the final fireworks of the ceremony which would ensue once they'd introduced all the teams. After a few dozen minutes looking for a good spot, we wandered into some random hospital and perched ourselves in the fourth floor windows of the maternity ward. So after an eternity of waiting and occassionally calling Chengwei (who is also in Beijing and who I have recently learned is a Bakerite, is not in fact a year above me and never in fact dated Chris Choi) to ask what was going on in the stadium, the fireworks lit up. I suppose they must have been pretty impressive fireworks, but at the distance the arrayed might of the Chinese Empire kept us at, they were nothing too special (in any case, the fireworks in wee little Amery, Wisconsin beat their pants off since Amery allows you to be about fifty yards from the launch point) and after the hubbub the Red Guard sent us home. Thus ended day one in what is currently in my opinion, the world's most exciting city.

in which i type deliriously for a few minutes then shower and sleep

we're at a hostel in xi'an, after a (get this) 26 hour train ride from Guilin. intense. where did i leave off?
we did our English corner thing, and it was a blast. i got a table full of 20-30-somethings, and we talked about everything from media blockade and the post-WW2 american attitude to changing gender roles in a home situation to why white people don't like to eat fish heads ("but the head is delicious!") i made fast friends with a few of my students, and some email addresses were exchanged. everyone kept saying that if i come back, i would be a "very popular teacher", largely because i do not have the inscrutable British accent carried by most of the volunteers (I told the students that I couldn't understand the Brits, either- which sadly is often true), and also because i'm so darn "ke'ai" (cute) and smile a lot. (halfway through, 3 of the women lean in and conspiratorially whisper- "do you have boyfriend? we think he must be very lucky.") it was a good conversation- the first time i'd really gotten to sit down with anyone in China and discuss their home and mine. (most of my interaction has been "hello! hello! 4 yuan! hello!") after we finally disbanded (an hour late because we were having fun) i listened to jorgen's table, where another volunteer was waving a black market copy of Wild Swans and trying to argue political history in a country where his "facts" are not accepted as such, which was both fascinating (to see the disparity of information) and embarrassing (the guy talked as if he were addressing fluent children rather than intelligent but linguistically limited young adults, with a rather smug aura of "bringing enlightenment" or something... it irritated me).
we left yangshuo the next day. i tried to leave a texas bandana for one of my students, but the head teacher didn't know her (She'd only been enrolled a week). we hit a bus for Guilin (approx. 2 hours), bought tickets to xi'an (leaving at 6 pm), and had 5 hours to kill. we rode the number 100 bus (open topped double decker) arbitrarily around the city (1.20 yuan) to take in the lay of the land. on the return route we stopped at an arbitrary pagoda tower and waterway, which turned out to be a park (10 yuan admission), seemingly a night hotspot but open during the day. we wandered through pagoda style buildings and bridges, and i followed the sound of what turned out to be a saxaphone playing something incredibly chromatic. we were invited in to a building when jorgen tried to take a picture through a window, and wound up having a long conversation with a shandong university music teacher (i forget the instrument, but it's the chinese equivalent of a pipe or clarinet kind of thing) who was playing sax (his english name was Dave Panda, but he spoke no english). as a result, i got to play a nearby guqin (kind of like a koto- long plucked strings over a box) and a sort of hammered dulcimer. we had a broken conversation (showed him how to pronounce some jazz standard titles) then continued on our way. got back to the station and lined up for the train (stampeding is common here- a few people move to line up and everybody rushes into place, 30 minutes early). we talked to a man and his tiny daughter who was learning english in school- "how do you do? i am so-so", who mentioned when we asked that the train was 26 hours, which perturbed us slightly (we'd been expecting to arrive morningish).

the train ride was hilarious. we had standing room only tickets, but were given two leftover seats (presumably because we stood out, also because we were going all the way to xi'an, unlike most of the standers). we sat by some nice people- i pulled out my embroidery floss to make a knotted bracelet and immediately was the focus of attention for like 6 women on the train. we talked to one old and one middle aged women in chinese, and i started to show one of them how to make the bracelet (she picked out floss colors and started, but was forced to move back when the guard came around to check tickets). a young stylish woman from Changsha (the 3 AM train stop) swooped in and took her place, and we talked to her for a long time with another man from closer to xi'an. the first woman eventually wound up with the bracelet i made (she was asleep when i finished, so i gave it to the older woman, who passed it on), which was good. the young lady made me a little Chinese knotted thing with a large stone bead on the end (she had a bag of them in her purse). later a young girl and her mother came over and finished a bracelet i'd started. the two of them and the father were on the train for most of the ride, down to the last two hours out of xi'an. most of the people we met were very patient with our lack of language skills, and found all sorts of creative ways to ask and explain things. everybody shared everything they had with us and with one another- we were given apples, asian pears, lychee gel candy, chewing gun, weird chinese sausage spam-equivalent, swiss cake rolls, water, and something resembling a madeleine over the course of the ride, which was good, because the alternative was the overpriced dining cart making occasional rounds through the train. we made friends with some of the officials (one women, whom we initially thought was threatening to kick us off the train because we wouldn't buy small plastic stools before we had seats, really liked the knotted bracelets we were making and gave jorgen a chinese name that turns out to be a cheap beer brand.
made friends with a xi'an local in the last hour or so- a 19 year old boy whose family is in guilin but he lives and works in xi'an. he likes linkin park and gave us bad info about the bus schedule, but was generally nice. we stood in line for an hour to buy tickets out (we wanted real seats this time)- we'll be headed to beijing to arrive on friday, so we'll see the terra cotta warriors tomorrow.
the xi'an train station was pretty seedy, but the city is beautiful at night- the city walls are still intact, and lit pagodas blossom from the tops. there is neon here, but not to the slick modernity of HK or Shanghai- the city has a vibrant feel. all through the second half of the train ride we passed the yellow silt mountains, the peaked doors bored into the rock where people still live- very deeply a Silk Road city. we didn't check into our hostel until 11:30, then went in search of food- steamed corn and a bag of mini- baozi of indeterminate filling.
i could spend a long time here. i think after tomorrow I will hope to come back for longer. people we've talked to have mixed opinions of xi'an- the musician in the park hates it. one of my students loves it. we'll see.

Thoughts that didn't merit their own posts

-I used a Chinese toilet for the first time. It was horrific and degrading.
-I wish people here believed in napkins.
-Yangshuo is beautiful. Sunburns less so.
-I've never been so popular before. Unfortunately, all my new friends try to sell me things and stop being nice to me when I decline. :(
-If being white in this country is ever no longer an immediate mark signal for 'special' treatment, I might like to live here.
-From now on, all my vacations must involve climbing something.
-Beer fish. Highly overrated.
-Beer beer. Less so.
-Hongshao niurou. Check. Jiaozi. Check. Suanlatang. Still waiting.
-China. Full of cute girls. 90% of which are trying to sell me stuff I don't want.
-Let me know if anyone wants presents!

the last 48 hours have been intense, in the best way possible (mostly). after getting back into the swing of speaking basic chinese,what do we do? promptly throw ourselves into the heart of Canton,where not only does no one speak english, but also no mandarin. we've decided that the best thing either of us brought was jorgen's Lonely Planet China travel guide, without which (we felt at the time) we might still be in Guangzhou. (yes, mom, I had more than a t-shirt to wear out with jorgen's relatives) We checked out of the "guesthouse" at Chungking Mansions early Friday morning (I didn't get stopped by a single person trying to sell me a rolex to or from the bakery by myself) and took trains to Shenzhen,which meant passing through immigration and customs into Mainland China. the tone of everything immediately changed- silent, sober (though helpful) guards are everywhere in green uniforms. government officials at desks have little "please rate my service" machines with buttons labeled "satisfactory, average, unsatisfactory", only visible to the "user", as it were. money is mechanically counted 3 times before currency exchange is possible. tiny slips of official paper were everywhere. from Shenzhen we hopped on a 2 hour bus to Guangzhou. the countryside is fascinating- rice paddies next to apartments next to factory smokestacks. we watched a Stephen Chow movie (the star of Kung Fu Hustle, an extremely tongue-in-cheek comedy) on the bus, peripherally, in between bouts of weird advertisements and travel displays. we were the only non-chinese on the bus, which was a broader trend for most of the next two days.

it's interesting- i've never truly been an alien, anywhere- i have been a stand-out tourist with a pack on my back, a gringa in mexico,an american in germany, but never anywhere were my presence was so totally unexpected that it illicited pointed stares. (if this is getting printed and distributed, i'll spare my grandparents the storyof how long it took to find the long-distance bus station, but promise we were safe and reasonably clever). in guangzhou we were deeply unexpected- foreigners do not ride the bus. (for that matter, white foreigners do not even ride the train, or if they do, they have advanced tickets and a guide to show them how to get there.) our train from Guangzhou to Guilin was overnight, and we were left with 6 hours to kill in the heart of downtown. we wandered and found a noodle house, where we set down our packs- i ordered in Mandarin and we sat happily eating at a table right in front of the noodle maker, who was fascinating to watch. we eventually went back to the bus station to wait (after the trouble we went to find the station, we were still expecting something to go wrong with the tickets and wanted plenty of time to be sure we were on the right bus out), and in the waiting room were a sight to see- some people merely double took, others looked back 4 or 5 times, other just stared openly, often for the entirety of the time we were near.

the fun part was the guy who came up to us and bemusedly asked why we were here- we wound up talking to him in chinese and english for about 10 minutes, which particularly caused a stir (they speak putonghua?!) with the purchase of some Mixed Congee in a can, and some mini sun-cake-like things, we were off to Guilin. The sleeper bus was merely large seats that leaned back halfway, but was more than adequate.

I do have to say that we stopped at one of themost desolate places I could ever imagine- a semi-abandoned restroom(cesuo), in the dark, no visible surrounds through the fog, a single trench with open walls over- the sense of rural decay hanging heavy, red plastic bags blowing in the parking lot or pasted to the group. the rural buildings are interesting- most of them look like they've been stacked together out of room-sized concrete blocks.

how can i describe the morning? chinese mountains are distinctive-bell curves, sharp graceful peaks, thoroughly blanketed in feathery green. i've taken dozens of pictures (in fact i need to change batteries to keep taking photos, now). but the sunrise- for the first time i was deeply thankful for insomniac tendencies. watching the ghostly spindles of foreign trees in the bus's headlights as they flew by- to stare out the window as the first sun soaks into the hanging mist, and realize suddenly that there are shadows outside- huge,monstrous-

as predawn brightens, these will become the gravity-defying hills of thousands of years of landscape paintings, sweeping and rolling- but in this first nearly imperceptible glow, in the wavering darkness, they belong to the poets- these are creatures- these are the tigers stretching, the birds still curled to roost, the bony necks of dragons rising, as they wake.

how do i tell you the details? the country that wakes up, in the fields, in the city. the ribbons of cloud that still hung suspended like rivers beneath the peaks in the breaking dawn (rainy and misty). the waterways that opened beneath us and closed again before i could capture the image. the yellow dogs of all sizes that the bus drivers, manic as they may be, still carefully, tenderly, avoid. the water buffalo walking up the downtown street with owner behind, the tiny strings of mini flags bearing the olympics logo in a town where no one cares, the painted butterfly carved into the mountainside. the way the old man carrying two bundles on either side of a pole looks at our bus as it passes before him. we took a cross section in 4 dimensions- time and space. the dog will continue on his path. the buffalo will plow a field. the paddies will grow and prosper, or do less well than their toiling farmers hope. the mountains will remain, to inspire a thousand more.

we got to guilin, were we took the number 3 bus all through to city to the Reed Flute Caves- as jorgen put it, "like carlsbad, but destroyed"- the formations are filled with colored lighting, many stalactites are broken, hand oil stops any new growth on anything within reach. a bit disappointed, we sat in a pavilion, where we were approached by a man offering us a ride on a zhupai (zhufa in the north- a narrow bamboo raft) for 10 yuan. the man spoke some english,and we talked in both languages happily. it was a short-ish lift back to the bus stop, but he let us take over the poling, which was a lotof fun. (in retrospect, this was probably a Tom Sawyer - whitewash situation, but we were happy with it).

we got back on the bus (despite the many attempts to usher us into a taxi). i talked to a senior couple whom we gave our seats to when they boarded- they were very nice and interested in our travels, and were patient and encouraging with our mandarin (they spoke no english).when we got back, we ate an a guilin restaurant and set out to find a boat to Yangshuo down the Li river- according to the tour book, Y325 per person even if we got the chinese language tour- including a lunch we didnt want and a ticket back to guilin that we didn't need. an hour, some random offers, and a bit of successful bartering later, we were on our way through the utterly rural backwater countryside in a Ba-se (bus- but it was a van) filled with locals with a guide who was taking us to a small motor fishing boat, which would take us to yangshuo for 160/person. after ascertaining that we weren't being conned, it was a neat trip- even during the half hour in which the bus stopped, we made friends with a couple by keeping their little girl quiet and laughing when she was starting to cry (she was really cute).

the boat was awesome- a tiny sketchy thing, but we had it to ourselves, and got to sit outside on the prow for most of the ride-way better view than anything we would have had on any of the ferries we saw. another group (containing, gasp, a white guy?!) was on a similar boat, and when we all disembarked they invited us along with them on their bus to yangshuo- a german man married to a cantonese woman, with her sister and two nephews. got to use my german. they were fantastically nice and helpful- they gave us taro root and tiny sweet potatoes- and wanted to drop us off at our hostel but the driver didn't know where it was. eventually they talked to two motorcycle taxis, who took us to the school (after accidentally taking us to a different one) for 5 yuan each. which, by the way, was terrifying- we didn't know which way to lean with heavy packs, never mind the driving. but all is well, and we'll be staying here for a few nights-english lessons on monday and tuesday. more later while i'm here, i'm sure.

Chaos Theory

Today I learned that life consists mostly of a largely random set of coincidences, and to ascribe any real emotional significance to could-have-beens or predicted outcomes when, in fact, the end result of any one decision is nearly impossible to predict is kind of silly.
For example: today at about noon we were wandering down the Li river waterfront in Guilin contemplating getting to Yangshuo. Suddenly, some Chinese women accosted us wanting to know if we're interested in a boat ride to Yangshuo for only 400 yuan. We declined, finding 400 to be pretty pricey. A few minutes later, we ran into another Chinese lady who wanted to sell us a 400 RMB boat ride. We asked for 300, and she got a sort of concerned look on her face. She called someone on her cell phone and said she couldn't go any lower than 360. We asked for 320 and she acquiesed. So apparently 320 RMB doesn't get you the whole way from Guilin to Yangshuo. So she put us on a little boat that brought us across the river to where the long-distance buses sit around waiting for business. Getting off the boat, I dunked my foot in the river and got laughed at by some kids a few meters away. No matter. Soldiering on, we reached the bus that was to take us... somewhere. As soon as we three (myself, Christine, and our random Chinese lady) got on, a few other people piled in without explanation. That's cool, we thought, they're probably not here to provide extra manpower for beating us and taking our cash. After driving for a while, we reached some random town where we were told to get out. Alright, cool so far, I hope we don't get raped. So after waiting for a while and conversing with our guide, another bus showed up and we piled on. This one, unlike the other Chinese buses we'd been on so far was stuffed full not only with people, but also a variety of agricultural products. So we rode that one for quite a while across dusty roads between rice paddies, musk oxen, corn plots, and fish ponds until we arrived at this outrageous traffic jam, a freaking forest of tour buses all spilling out Chinese people. Apparently this particular spot in Guangxi had been named a 'AAAA' scenic site by some committee of some kind or another. So we sat around in our bus for a while playing with a stranger's baby next to us, while the denizens of the bus grew gradually more and more flustered. We didn't, cause as we realized yesterday, even spending six hours waiting for bus is a blast cause we're doing it in China. We did get a bit worried when our guide left the bus for about 20 minutes with no explanation, causing us to speculate that perhaps this is the part where we get robbed and left for dead. But no, just as the knot of buses began to move and we really started to panic, there was our guide again, still without explanation. After leaving the AAAA tourist site, we continued onward to our first port of call, a sleepy fishing village with some fantastic classic Chinese architecture and magnificent views of the Li River's trademark mountains. There our guide put us on a flimsy-looking steel-hulled boat with some other guy and his bowl of rice at the helm. It was here that she finally asked for her money, and I was sort of saddened to find out that she wasn't coming with us anymore after the three-odd hours we had spent with her (ni gen women bu lai ma? keshi wo xihuan ni...). So we paid, said our goodbyes, and off we went. The driver was a fun one and went at some pretty impressive speeds, especially over the wakes of the much larger boats on the river, and let us sit on the prow of the boat for most of the ride. So as we headed down the river, what did we run into but another boat of the same make with (gasp!) a white person on it! This was the first white person we'd seen in quite a while, and probably the same for him, so we waved at and took pictures of each other and the boats stayed pretty close for the duration of the trip. After a pleasant hour or so on the river, it was time to get off, and our driver deposited us on some random rocky shore where he claimed we could find a bus. He drove off, leaving us a little lost, given that there was nothing nearby, when, out of nowhere, appeared our white guy, who happened to land in the same place at the same time! Turns out he and his Chinese wife are visiting from their home in Germany with the wife's sister and children. So seeing as we had interacted from afar earlier, and three of the four languages Christine and I have between us are understood by the group, they invited us to hop onto their motor-taxi type thing (a rickety contraption that the driver barrels over the pockmarked and narrow roads [I swear he was aiming for the potholes] with one hand on the wheel, one on the gear shift, and god knows what on his cell phone, which he was talking into the whole time) and go to... wherever it was they were going with them. So we accepted, seeing no other viable alternatives, and when we got off, much to the relief of my blood pressure, discovered that we were still not, in fact in Yangshuo. After discussing with Christine the fact that we had no idea where on God's green earth we were, our awesome German-Chinese family overheard and offered us a ride to Yangshuo in their chartered van. Hot. So eventually, over chatting with the family and eating boiled sweet potatoes and yutou, we reached Yangshruo, where quite a conniption erupted over how exactly to find Zhuoyue (the english college we're supposed to be teaching at). Christine and I being loathe to accept charity and having accepted an outrageous amount of it so far (plus some taro root), tried to protest, but continuing the oh-my-god-I'm-going-to-die theme of the day, the family plopped us onto a pair of motorcycle taxis who claimed to know the way, and off we went to the Xilun English School! We consulted our information once more when we got there, and finally got to the real Zhuoyue, who have graciously offered us free internet while we wait for Gary to show up to let us know if we also get a place to stay.
Now, the point of that story is to find how many places in my day in which a very slight change of circumstances could have led to a completely different and largely unpredictable set of results. Do I feel particularly attached to the sequence of events that transpired today? Not really, beyond their ability to be a pretty good story (though I think most anything that might have happened would have been a pretty good story, especially if we had really gotten lost), because while the end result of today was indeed what I planned it to be, the specific methods of doing so were so completely out of my hands that I can't possibly claim credit for having any sort of foresight in the situation. Do I worry about what might have happened? Also no, what's done is done, and we've got to work with the situation at hand rather than extrapolate too far into the future because, to put it in the terms of chaos theory, the equation diverges so wildly that to put any meaning to a prediction of a possible outcome is meaningless. So, try not to dwell on the past because you can't do anything about it, and don't worry too far ahead in the future, because you also effectively can't do anything about it. Take life one step at a time and live in the moment and I think you'll find it becomes a lot more enjoyable.