China, Summer 2011
On July 4, 2011, I left Houston for China to spend a summer studying Chinese with the University of Houston Chinese Studies Department. I've
been in the department for two years, and I've been waiting for this opportunity for a long while. My plan for the time being is to take notes and
upload them here in no particular format, though it'll probably be a pretty standard travelogue more than anything. Plain text, of
course, though I will have pictures available (via Picasa, possibly elsewhere) in due time.
7.4.11
Bound for China. Houston to LA to Seoul to Shanghai. IAH check-in and security slow, but not agonizingly so. Airports are turning into malls. Waiting
to board, I read and meet the first person going on the trip who I haven't had classes with before. She's nice, and hyper, and Russian, though I only
know that last bit because I heard someone say so a while back. I begin to suspect I'm going to spend a good amount of time alone in China, though
maybe I'm just pretending to believe that in order to perpetuate a myth about myself, namely that I have no trouble at all being alone with others, as
Stephen Batchelor would put it.
Flying west to LA in the midst of a perpetual sunset. The topography of the clouds is stunning in its variety and beauty. Jesse Bullington's second
novel is good; it's interesting how much of it deals with the characters' internal lives and motivations, compared to the almost elemental nature of
the protagonists of his first novel.
There's no burn ban in LA, so I get to watch fireworks from the air. It's more fun than doing so from a more terrestrial vantage point.
LAX is a dump, which might explain the considerable remodeling underway. Will it help? I don't know, and don't really care. Asiana's counter is staffed
by uniformed and uniformly pretty Korean ladies. Krishnas wander the international terminal. Cigarettes are $10.65 a pack. Stepping outside to smoke
gives a taste of what China might be like, given the predominantly Asian crowd. The California weather throws off the illusion, but that's fine by me.
I hope there are power outlets on the plane. If so: Anchorhead and snacks. If not: books and snacks and as much sleep as I can get. I can already feel
my brain doing weird things under the weight of travel.
Everything on this Asiana flight is beige. It works, in that it simultaneously calms and fires up my exhausted mind. Aisle seat- good stuff. Dinner is
bibimbap and kimchi, served with steel chopsticks. Hell yeah. I hope I fall asleep soon.
What feels like plenty of sleep. Not truly great sleep, but pretty good under the circumstances. The blanket we received upon boarding is amazing; I
hope I can take mine with me. Now time for Krallice. The meandering monotony (not a criticism) of the music seems tailor-made for this hurtle through
unmoored hours.
7.6.11
Fish and rice for breakfast at 3 AM? Don't mind if I do.
I haven't checked out my TV options, but Korean talk and variety shows seem popular with other passengers. No dice.
I didn't realize it was already the 6th. Just got my first glimpse of Asia: Korean mountains at dawn. Musical accompaniment by a screaming
child, who's been at it for half an hour. Wordless, agonized shrieking, enough to make me wonder if there's some kind of hidden but effective torture
going on a few rows over.
Incheon airport is nice. Take the laminate floors of the waiting area by the gate, the efficient security checks, the convenient smoking room. As
always, it's hard to resist eyeing other people's foreign cigarettes. A beer sounds good, and I know it's available somewhere around here, but I don't
feel like making the effort. All my clocks are wrong and won't reset to local time, extending the free-floating-in-time-and-space effect that's been
going on for a while.
Incheon. Dudes standing around in the bathroom smoking. The smoking room is 50 feet away.
(aloft, again)
How many thousands of immortals
have gone blind walking the white fields
of heaven?
To think of all the things to see
that the clouds and sun have taken away.
Seoul to Shanghai: Asiana provides a full meal on a 1.5-hour flight. Good show.
7.7.11
Shanghai! Out the door of the airport, the heat- which was noticeable inside since there was no AC-ramps up hard and fast, along with the humidity.
Feels like Houston, if Houston's air was dense with haze and complex with 15 million more people's worth of pollutants. I bet my eyes will burn during
most of my stay in China. I'm writing this at 5:30 AM in the elevator lobby of the Puxi New Century Hotel, because my roommate Jose is asleep and I
told him I wouldn't smoke in the room. There are ashtrays here in the hall, and cigarettes are as common as cell phones. You see smoking everywhere:
pedestrians, lounging cops, people barreling by on scooters down/across/around streets and sidewalks and and invisible threads through traffic.
Thousands of high-rises. People everywhere, doing all kinds of things or nothing at all. I get some stares, but non of them are hostile. Jose and I
found a bank to exchange currency, which was a fine, if slow, introduction to actually using our Chinese, and to Chinese bureaucracy. While buying
cigarettes (Shuang Xi, "Double Happiness"- pretty good, redolent of ginseng), water, and tea, the clerk gave me a very verbal lesson in the difference
between the fen and mao coins. Lesson learned.
Lunch with the group (led by Zhang laoshi and our Shanghai guide, Ann, a nice girl who spouts unsurprising nice things about Shanghai, city of the
future) at a restaurant whose name I missed. Shower later: the best one I've had in ages, because I both really needed and wanted it. A beer (38 kuai,
vs 4.5 from the convenience store) in the lobby bar with Jose, Renee, and a girl named Adrian I'd never met. Then we, sans Adrian, set off on foot. Saw
Shanghai start to slow down for the night, used the public toilet (no need to squat yet), and generally marveled.
It'll take some time to form a legitimate opinion of the Chinese, but my first reaction to an evening out is that the Chinese don't give a fuck- in a
good way. Bellies out, shirts off, singing to themselves, white-masked, unmasked, loud, happy, all of it- Chinese culture seems very public. Earlier in
the day Jose and I discussed our concerns about whether, before visiting China, studying Chinese was really something we wanted to or should do.
Walking back to the hotel, we agreed we'd made the right choice.
We leave for Suzhou at 8:30 this morning. I think of Red Pine and wonder when my bowels will return to regularly scheduled programming.
yan qi shui- salty carbonted water. Bought by accident, tastes weird, growing on me.
On the bus to Suzhou. Finally seeing greenery and horizons that are (somewhat) uncluttered with buildings.
7.8.11
Suzhou. The Humble Administrator's Garden seethes with people and is hot as hell, which made, alas, for a level of appreciation the Humble
Administrator would have balked at. I wish I could see it at my own pace and under different circumstances, but it was still great to be there and
imagine the life of a leisurely Chinese scholar. Tiger Hill, our next stop, is also busy, but not as much, and the layout's more conducive to wandering
off alone for a minute or two. Four teenage Chinese girls catch me during one of these moments and ask to have their picture taken with me. I oblige.
Several other UH students tend to get these requests more often, which is fine by me.
The main feature of Tiger Hill, an area that dates back to the Three Kingdoms era if I remember correctly (no time to look it up), is the leaning
pagoda, which is superb. Sometimes it looms over everything, and then you'd take a turn and lose sight of it. Playing hide-and-seek with an invalid
colossus.
(side note- while writing outside the hotel in Suzhou, I spot my first long-haired old man. Nice.)
Reaching the pagoda, the lean is much more noticeable, hence the invalid remark earlier.
Suzhou is touted as the "Venice of the East," but its canals are hardly comparable to Venice's. Sometimes picturesque, but just as often reeking of
sewage. It still makes for a neat city feature, I won't deny that. A lot of the city seems to be in the process of being torn up and rebuilt, but much
is just in bad shape. Not the giant pedestrian shopping district, though: it's an interesting mix of monolithic buildings packed with stores- clothing,
jewelry, and numerous CoCo tea shops (home of delicious iced milk tea), among other things- and repurposed Ming and Qing-era traditional buildings.
Situated in the thick of this area is Xuan Miao Guan, a Daoist temple that floored Jose and I both. I'll have to write more on it later, but suffice to
say it set the standard thus far for impressive sights (and sites).
Jose and I drink an overpriced beer at the Drunken Chef, a pub run by a British expat. I get a weird vibe from him; he seems dismissive of the Chinese,
and all I can think of is an anachronistic colonial asshole. I could be completely wrong, but I'm probably only partly wrong. The Gloria Plaza
Hotel, the UH group's digs, has a smell in the lobby that I can only describe as insidious. No internet access- not for free, anyway- and wifi is present but
unusably weak. I saw this in Shanghai, too.
Chinese breakfast buffet: delicious. Congee with fermented vegetables, soymilk soup, noodles, tea. Apparently the breakfast was free in Shanghai, too,
but I didn't catch that. I'll know better next time.
Last night, walking past a group of middle-aged women dancing in synch on the broad sidewalk in front of some closed stores, something came to me. It's
so easy to get caught up in myself and my own petty concerns, but seeing other people doing things that make them happy is an antidote and a reminder
of how connected we all are. Total strangers, friends, doesn't matter. That influence is everywhere. Life isn't about me, it's about itself.
I hope Tracey's not too worried by my lack of communication. I can't wait to get a new SIM card for my phone so we can talk.
Forgot to mention my visit to the Xinhua bookstore here in Suzhou. Huge, overflowing with books and people. Mostly young, and half of whom were sitting
on the floor reading. I've never seen anything like it in the States; it got me pretty stoked. Book jacket design here is quite nice, and prices were
more than reasonable- 24 yuan for Lin Yutang's book on Laozi. I'll have to check out Beijing's book offerings, even if I don't buy anything.
May need a new notebook if I keep writing at this pace.
Jeep Cherokees appear to be called Jeep 2500s here.
On the way out of Suzhou we stop at Suzhou Silk Factory No. 1. My suspicion that the brief introduction to silk manufacture is just a veneer over the
main business of selling us stuff is confirmed, but we don't stay too long before heading off to Zhouzhuang, "China's Number One Water Town." "Water
Town" must be an aphorism for "tourist trap," because for all the cool Ming architecture and canals and bridges you get to see, you're more or less
running a gauntlet of souvenir stalls the whole time you're there. The lunch arranged for our group, however, is the best I've had yet. The Wanshan
pork leg is easily one of the tastiest pork dishes I've ever had, and winter melon soup is an unexpected surprise.
7.9.11
Returning from Suzhou and Zhouzhuang to Shanghai I get to experience Chinese freeway traffic at its finest. When we finally get back to the hotel
45 minutes behind schedule, I cram in as much internet time as possible before we go down to the Huangpu River for a cruise. I'm not thrilled about it,
but I'm not opposed to it either; it's not "A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again" material. It turns out to be pretty nice, mainly because of the
breeze. The good stuff comes when some of us convince Zhang laoshi to let us off the bus not too far from the Bund. We're supposed to visit Nanjing
Road tomorrow (which we do, and I can describe simply: a mile of bullshit merchandise), but what I want to see, and have convinced everyone else to
check out, is at the Bund end of that road. The Peace Hotel featured semi-prominently in Axis Mundi Sum, especially the hotel's famous jazz bar,
and I'm only a long walk away from seeing it in person. I even made sure to dress in "smart casual," as the hotel's website called the dress code, and
I'm willing to drop more money than is wise to sit and have a drink and listen to the band.
Alas, it's not to be. I'm politely told that I need a reservation, and that's that. Whether I really need one, or whether the staff just doesn't want a
group of underdressed young Americans ruining the ambience, I'll never know, but at least I got a look at the hotel lobby, which is most impressive.
After that disappointment- luckily it's not a crushing one- we get some dinner at Shanghai Xiao Liang Restaurant, where the waiter politely puts up
with our shitty Chinese for a bit before revealing he speaks some English. I eat salty spiced taro balls (neither salty nor spicy, but tasty
nonetheless) and fried cauliflower and drink warm beer. Dinner finished, we try to catch a cab for twenty minutes, but they all seem foreigner-adverse
and we start walking. We finally catch one and get deposited back at the hotel after a fast, wordless (from the driver, anyway) trip. A pretty solid
night, even if I missed the septuagenarian jazz band.
I've slept like a corpse every night so far. Beds have been either very hard or standard hotel issue, but they don't have sheets on them- unfitted
ones, that is. You just get the comforter, which so far has been adequate. Saturday's plans, aside from catching a night train to Beijing, include a
trip to Nanjing Road (see above description) and, before that, the Oriental Pearl Tower, the orb-and-point structure everyone sees in photos of Shanghai.
Not keen on the elevator ride, but it's fine; however, the view is underwhelming, unless you're a smog afficionado. The deck below is 259 meters above
ground and has a glass floor. Walking on it is one of the most discombobulating things I've ever experienced, yet it doesn't take long to get used to it.
There's some kind of realization to be had in that, but I can't quite verbalize it.
The Shanghai history museum at the bottom of the tower is pretty neat and very old school- tons of dioramas and wax figures, all of which are quite
detailed. Lunch at another forgettable restaurant, then Nanjing Road, then off to the train station. Zhang laoshi gives us numerous warnings and
instructions, but we make it to the waiting room without much trouble. Wait a while, as one does in such rooms, and then someone says it's time to
board. The opening of "Raining Blood" echoes in my head as a few hundred people quote queue unquote at the gate, and when the gate opens, "Raining
Blood" kicks into high gear and everyone surges forward into the bottleneck. It's manageable, but Beijing is supposed to be worse. I don't really care;
I'll be happy to stop carrying my fucking bags several times a day.
7.10.11
Train tickets were handed out more or less randomly, so there's the possibility of sharing a room with Chinese, but I end up in a cabin with other UH
students. Six bunks, tightly packed, with little room for luggage. Hot water bottle for tea, instant noodles, etc. Jump seats in the hall-very popular-
smoking "compartments" (i.e., the spot by the door to the car where an ashtray folds out from the wall), beverage and food service now and then. I brought
snacks, and so did all the Chinese by the looks of it. Lights out at 11 PM. Squat toilets. 13 hours to Beijing. What should be a pretty shitty trip
quickly turns into a good time. I get to talk to folks I haven't talked to before, get to know others better, practice a little Chinese, drink beer,
and write. We've got it easy; Qin laoshi, the really cool Chinese grad student who's Zhang laoshi's assistant for the summer, told us that she had to stand
most of the way on the trip to meet us in Shanghai. Around 11:30ish I swing into my bunk (a middle one, which works out nicely) and listen to Acid Mothers
Temple until I fall asleep. Life is pretty great.
At the moment I'm waiting for the bathroom; it's 6:20 AM on Sunday. Bu hao wan. Here's hoping I don't have to squat on a moving train, because the
toilets are foul cauldrons of steaming piss (and worse).
I didn't bring a ton of music with me on this trip, so I've been listening to the same stuff over and over. MC Lars' new mixtape, AMT, Hawkwind (Space
Ritual is such a killer live album), Morbid Angel, whatever. I haven't seen much in the way of music stores in China. There's probably tons of music
out there, but it seems like everyone but me gets their tunes through solely digital means, so there's not much call for record stores. That's cool; it
makes the anticipation of visiting that heavy metal record store in Beijing all the greater. I'm really curious what Chinese metal culture is like.
7.11.11
We reach Beijing around nine-something in the morning. Sometime during the night and early morning our train car was flooded with people who don't have
sleeper tickets, which makes everything feel even tighter. Getting off the train and out of the station isn't quite the ordeal it was made out to be,
but it's an uphill walk most of the way and my bags feel heavier than ever. We meet the rep from the school and off we go into the far-ish reaches of
Beijing. Lucas mentioned that the Beijing skyline is much smaller than Shanghai's, in that it's not dominated by tall buildings. He wasn't kidding: you
can definitely notice the difference. Our host univeristy, Beijing Youth Politics College (AKA Beijing Nianqing Zhengzhi Xueyuan), is a ways out, and
on the way there we're told that at 3 PM we're going to be filmed learning some kind of tai chi exercise, and the footage will be used for propaganda
(uh, PR) purposes. It's mandatory, too. I don't like the sound of that.
Our dorm was built in 2009, but my first guess was that it was about fifteen years before then. Our room is in kinda shitty shape, with scuff marks
all over the walls, a shortage of power outlets, and the weirdest balcony I've ever seen: it's glassed in, with a door to our room and a window looking from
the room next door. The ethernet cables we were told would be available aren't. We're issued one key per room, not per occupant. One room's power outlets
don't even work, and the girls who ended up there ultimately get relocated to another floor, which is full of Kazakhs. There's a Kazakh holdout on our
floor. I still haven't seen him, but I can't help but think he's a xenophobic little prick, based on how Natalia (the Russian girl in our group)
translates the hand-drawn sign on his door. The kitchen-cum-laundry room is a model of wretched student habits and Chinese jankiness. There's
something very dead and very rotten in the fridge, a half-empty bottle of vodka and what appears to be a pound of lard in the freezer, the sink is
filthy, and the washing machines come with a baffling handwritten diagram of how to tilt the coin box so you don't have to pay, which doesn't matter
becaus they don't work, so I'll be doing laundry by hand. I don't mind that so much, but it's hard to shake the feeling that we've gotten the shaft.
Lunch helps a bit. After eating and getting our meal cards, we meet our professors for the summer. Wang laoshi strikes me as pleasant, yet seems like
she could be a hardass in class. Turns out she's not, though she does do us the favor of almost never speaking English. The cafeteria food is all
right, but never more than that, and it's all kinds of greasy. I figure out quickly that drinks are one of the most expensive items available and stop
buying them. The convenience store on campus has beer- Yanjing for 2.50 a can, Harbin for 3 (yuan, not dollars)- and I stop by fairly regularly and
grab one. I learn that both brands are 3.6% ABV, which explains why drinking three of them one evening produced only the mildest buzz. Kinda nice,
actually.
7.13.11
I haven't had much of a chance to see Beijing yet. Classes started Monday, and four hours (less a fifteen-minute break) of sitting in class learning
Chinese is as grueling as it sounds. We have tests every day, plenty of homework and dictations, and reading ahead to the next chapter is all but
mandatory. By the time class ends, we all stagger out feeling like zombies. Three more weeks of this! Shenme hao xiaoxi! Whatever; I knew what I was
getting into. Lucas, one of my classmates, makes a good point when he talks about how the curriculum is rather devoid of conversation skills; it's safe
to say most of us feel our spoken Chinese is woefully inadequate. The fact that we're all spending at least six hours a day in class or doinghomework
doesn't give us much chance to practice, either. Even if we did drag ourselves out, most of us wouldn't be worth a shit because we're exhausted. Did I
mention that my room is on the fifth floor and we're not allowed to use the elevator (or the front door)? Good exercise, but Jesus it gets old.
Speaking of doors, I think one of the women working at the front desk either has a crush on me or hates me; I can't quite tell. Seems like I'm one of
the only students whose Chinese name she knows. She also refused to believe me when I told her I wrote a novel; on another occasion she called me dumb
because she thought I forgot her name, which I didn't. My friends/classmates find it pretty amusing, which it is, and it's good Chinese practice.
Living in a dorm for the first time in over a decade is weird. There's no real privacy, of course, but the social side of things is kinda fun. Hey,
look, someone dropped off my homework for me! And my first test! Time for more studying and exclamation marks! Because I'm kinda going mad!
John, one of my roommates, bought a bottle of Redstar erguotou for 30 kuai. It's the same stuff that's been lurking untouched in the communal fridge
since we got here, and I now understand why. Imagine vodka that tastes like bottom-of-the-barrel sake and goes down accordingly, and then try adding weird
juice to ameliorate the taste and failing horribly. That's what we're doing tonight, because we're all going batty from spending at least hours a day
studying. Zhang laoshi gave us some pointers on how to make the liquor taste less shitty, but alas, that taste permeates everything.
7.14.11
I've scored a 99 and a 100 on my tests so far, and I'm slowly settling into something resembling a routine w/r/t/ studying. That said, I'm still tired
of being on campus, so when Chris, Brady, and Renee mentioned they were going out to dinner tonight, I tagged along. We wandered for a while until we
came across Satisfactory Restaurant Peking Traditional Bean Paste Noodles. With a name like that, how can you go wrong? The food lived up to the name,
and the photos of what I assume were old PLA generals were interesting. So was the bowl of garlic cloves and bottle of vinegar on the table. 47 kuai
for three dishes, tea, and a couple of cokes- less than seven bucks.
I see more dogs here in Beijing than I did in Shanghai. They're almost always small and fluffy- Pomeranians and poodles seem popular- and quite well
behaved; they're off their leash as often as not, and tend to follow their owner even across busy streets without getting distracted. Cats are a
rarity, which is a shame. Other things of note: phone numbers painted, and often painted over, on the sidewalks. I'm told these are put there by
people who can get you what you need- visas, passports, whatever kind of documentation. Pollution is unreal- grey haze throughout most of the day, and
it's not as bad here as it was in Shanghai. The weather itself is pretty nice. It gets warm during the day, but the humidity is very low and mornings
and evenings are pleasant. Pop-tops can still be found on certain beer cans. There's a bronze bust of Li Dazhao, one of the founders of the Chinese
Communist Party, on campus. I saw some scraggly-ass chickens running around one of the disorderly but lush gardens surrounding a nearby apartment
block, and some gorgeous flowers, too. There was a certain dignity in those gardens when juxtaposed with the buildings. I get the same vibe from a lot
of the people here, especially the older ones. On the other hand, a lot of younger people seem stand-offish or unconcerned, but I'm not going to make a
definitive statement because I simply don't know. I'm running on weak impressions and too little sleep.
Tomorrow Zhang laoshi is taking us to the 798 art district. Founded in the shell of an old state-owned factory, it's now a complex of studios,
galleries, and the like. I'm pretty excited to see what contemporary art is like here, and to see how, to quote the 798 website, the Chinese
"experience the spirit and life style of the post-industrial age." I love this country.
7.15.11
I think I'm going to get my first B ever on a Chinese test. Wang laoshi ambushed us with a bunch of pinyin-to-characters we weren't expecting, and of
course they were words I have a hard time writing. "Arm," for example- easy to say, gebo, but a pain in the ass to write. It's Friday, though, and I
couldn't bring myself to care too much. It's really nice not having the sword of schoolwork hanging over me for a night or two.
Speaking of nights, after dinner last night I decided to explore the campus. It's tiny and boring, but I ran into Craig and Tessa, who were hungry. I
wasn't, but adventure calls and I hit the bricks with them. Craig lived in Taiwan for a couple years so his Chinese is pretty serviceable (if entirely
unlike Beijing Chinese), and he's a hilarious dude to boot. He loves speaking Chinglish, something I've always found amusing myself, so I get to learn
a handful of new words mixed in with English. We contemplate eating lamb cooked over charcoal in what looks like a repurposed gutter laid on its side
along the sidewalk, but put it off for later. We're pretty sure that anything sold for one kuai is an edible death certificate, but the lady selling
the lamb has set up the most makeshift of restaurants on a barren patch next to the sidewalk and it's pretty damned tempting. The tables and chairs
look like they were stolen from a derelict kindergarten. Instead of that place, we turn down into one of the side streets/neighborhoods and contemplate
buying fruit (which we get around to later). Then we see the fanguanr/restaurant where we decide to make our stand.
It's fucking great. Less then ten bucks for three dishes, two cokes, and a beer. The dishes- dumplings, a plate of greens, and a tower of thin-cut
potato strings- are delicious. The beer's warm, I get to smoke inside (a novelty that's wearing off), and at one point the power goes out. Everyone in
there is chowing down and chain-smoking and half of 'em aren't wearing shirts. It's pretty working class, and some of the most fun I've had at a
restaurant. Nobody seems to give a shit that three waiguoren are in their midst. Craig points out the probably accurate and therefore sad fact that
some of the dudes in there, because of China's numerical gender imbalance, might not ever have much more to look forward to: they're poor workers, so
they have no money to attract China's slowly dwindling females, so it's beer and shirtless dining (note: not reserved to the single and underemployed)
and prostitutes for them.
I was going to write about today's visit to 798, which has to be one of the jewels in Beijing's crown, but I don't have time- off to eat Peking duck
with Zhang laoshi and anyone else who wants to go.
7.17.11
The 798 art district in Chaoyang is amazing. And huge: if one was determined to visit every gallery and studio there I doubt it could be done in a
single day. (Unless you were being an asshole and just popping your head in.) Situated on the site of a former factory complex, 798 has its share of
kitschy shops and overprice cafes, but so does every miniature bohemia, and most places don't have so much art crammed in. I got away from the main
group as soon as possible, because I don't like looking at art with large groups, and I'm tired of communal activities. Anyway, it's a really neat
place, but the cynic (or realist, depending on your choice of nomenclature) in me wonders when the artists at 798 will cross a line and have the hammer
come down on them. On the other hand, China seems desperate to present a good face to the rest of the world, and the artistic playground that is 798 is
an excellent step in that direction, so who knows.
Three of the people on this trip had/have birthdays recently, so Friday night we went out to eat Peking duck in celebration. It was all right-
certainly not bad, but I've noticed that the bigger and glitzier the restaurant, the less impressive the food tends to be. This happens back home, too,
but it's especially obvious here. The restaurant, Dayali, also lost points for giving us silverware (weird, and the first time I've used a knife and
fork since I got here) and, if we wanted chopsticks, charging for them. What the fuck? After dinner I tagged along with some dudes who wanted to try
the Tex-Mex place down the road. The food was supposedly good (people went back last night), but I'm always weirded out by places that are blatant, yet
flawed, simulacra of other places. I went out back to smoke and ended up in the playground/swimming pool/bermuda grass area in front of some pretty
luxe condos. More weirdness.
Saturday: class trip to Tiananmen Square and the Forbidden City. Qin laoshi says the crowds aren't too bad, which is mindblowing: the square is packed
with people lining up to see Mao's magical corpse, and it takes the better part of an hour to get into the Forbidden City, where thousands of people
get funneled through passages that wouldn't normally feel narrow except for, you know, the fact that thousands of people are moving through them.
Signage is sorely lacking, so half of what I'm looking at is a historical mystery. That doesn't detract from how massive and intricate everything is,
and the art and calligraphy exhibit is fascinating. If it was possible to visit with less people around, I'd wholeheartedly endorse such a course of
action, but for now I'd have to say that the crowds might really ruin the experience for a lot of folks. (I'm happy to say I've had zero problems with
the ubiquity of crowds here- being taller than most of the locals might have something to do with that.)
While sitting in the calligraphy and art hall, I have the unexpected desire to be somewhere else drinking something cold and reading a Philip K. Dick
novel.
More later. Tons of homework to do, and since this is the only truly free day I'll have all week, I'd rather start getting it outta the way.
Back. Homework's done and a break from studying and various forms of procrastination is in order. So, once we finish with the Forbidden City and ran
the gauntlet of fruit and water vendors outside the back gate, we go to eat. I don't recall the name of the place (which implies I knew it before,
which I didn't), but I ate the traditional bean paste noodles so loudly touted at Satisfactory Restaurant, where I ate a couple days earlier. They're
tasty. Fed, I don't know what to do with myself; some folks are going to climb the hill in the park behind the Forbidden City, and others are going to
Wangfujing, yet another big pedestrian shopping district. Neither sounds very appealing because I'm tired, but I opt to go to Wangfujing with that
group. We catch the bus and are soon deposited in Beijing's equivalent of Nanjing Road, albeit nicer in my opinion. I visit a couple bookstores, one of
them a foreign language joint, and buy a Beijing atlas for four bucks. Meet back up with the group, who's been eating and shopping, and it looks like
everyone's either going to do more shopping or see a movie. Screw that, sez I, and head for the subway on my own. Destination: 666 Rock Shop, Beijing's
only heavy metal music store.
The Beijing subway is to be commended. It's easy to use, quick, cheap, and as far as I can tell , pretty comprehensive. I figure out exactly where I
need to get off, then walk the better part of a mile to the record store. Along the way I pass the Drum Tower, which is massive and will be visited
later. The store's in Dongcheng, a district that's close to the city center and riddled with hutongs and hip-looking stores and restaurants. I think
the hotel Tracey and I will be staying at isn't too far from here. I find the store, which is situated a little ways down an alley, and head in. It's
tiny- maybe the size of my dorm room- but there's an impressive selection of shirts and plenty of CDs, most of which are obscure even by my standards.
I buy some Chinese albums pretty much at random and tell the dude running the place that his store is awesome, because it is. There's a big statue of
Eddie, Iron Maiden's mascot, in the middle of the store, and the handful of dudes (and girls) hanging out are listening to Mercyful Fate. I'll be going
back for sure. (N.B. The albums I picked up aren't too bad, though by no means masterpieces.)
I take the subway back to school, or at least that's the plan. Once I get off and head above ground I somehow lose my bearings and end up walking past
Huajiadijie, my street, and have to make a long loop back. My new atlas saves my ass, because Google Maps turns out to be way off in its estimation of
my position. It doesn't matter. Aside from being thirsty and exhausted, I'm happy to be by myself, doing what I want without having to consult anyone
else. Wangfujing was an impressive signal of China's growing consumerism, but I'm not really interested in buying crap. I'm more interested in seeing
the barber on a motorbike shaving a little kid's head, the unpaved ramshackle neighborhood I wander into, the open-air pool tables and alternating
smells of delicious food and urine I find there. I won't say something ridiculous like "that's the real China," because it's all China, but random
things like those are worth more of my time than watching people spend lots of money.
I finally reach the college and drink the beers I bought at 7-11. Sitting down for the first time in hours is glorious. Later I meet a Kazakh; he
doesn't live on campus, but is visiting one of his countrymen that does. His English and Chinese are both good, so I get some practice in. I guess the
cold war is over in the dorm, at least for me. I sleep like a corpse again. Today the tendons in my feet hurt and I think my eating habits are catching
up with me- my digestive tract is unruly. Nothing serious, like some folks have had to deal with. Lots of rest, homework, reading, and text adventures
(Violet, specifically) here and there. Lazy Sunday indeed.
7.20.11
Lungs sweet with the rough perfume of Chinese cigarettes, eyes pan like subjective cameras across the slight stretch of skyline visible from this
end-of-hallway window that serves as an escape from the isolated sanctuary of the balcony, where the view is equally circumscribed but somehow even
more constricted- those glassy walls an unreflective mirror of one's own skull. Scuffmarks and footprints on the hallway wall, a thousand kickings
against the pricks in the hours made claustrophobic by insomnia or too much study or simply no release into the massive city beyond, a city touted as
an incubating world capital but locked outside the gates after midnight. Who else lingered at this window, sat against this metal box full of fire
extinguishers, gazed down the over-lit hallway and wondered who what where when why why why?
Bombed tests, lost sleep, irate roommates, frustrated language partners, upset stomachs; this is the legacy of this building, a decaying newborn full
of ghosts that haven't even crossed the veil yet. There's more to it, naturally: a small army of Chinese characters under belts, cameraderie,
affinities for smog and cute tutors and baozi and the strange comfort of bright vanishing points and (almost) always bendable ears. Not to mention that
out there is China, curfew or not, a billion-plus people living their own iterations of the human schematic, grumbling that gnarly Beijinghua or throwing
the long -a at every opportunity, hen keai; this hallway and one's mind and the outside world and the loud half-Filipino girl in the room next door to
this wondrous window a continuum, life piled on life and crusted with mosquito bites and red pepper flakes and, more than anything, more questions.
7.22.11
First semester: conquered. Final grade totals to a 98.5, so I did pretty damned well. Baozi for breakfast, jianbing (crepe-type things with egg and
green onion cooked on a griddle) for lunch, a couple hours of loafing,and then just over a dollar's worth of bus and subway fare (round trip) to visit
Zhihua Temple and Wangfujing again. I know I complained about Wangfujing before, but I'm in a better mood this time and get to explore more of the
foreign language bookstore, where I once again fail to buy anything even though I want to. Zhihua Temple, on the other hand, is my idea, and I get us-
us being Tessa and Renee and yours truly; someone else was gonna come but got sick, so that's that- there without hassle. The temple's situated in one
of the city's old hutongs, the neighborhoods you think of when you think of Chinese urban life. They're narrow, crumbling, vivid, and more quiet than
the rest of the city. Tessa talks about how she wants to be a rickshaw driver and live in a hutong, and I recommend she read Camel Xiangzi for
some perspective on the rickshaw coolie life. Sure, they're motorized or pedaled these days, but rickshaws still have to be a brutal way to earn your
kuai.
Back to the temple. Built in 1443 and rebuilt many times since, it's got some amazing, if decrepit, statuary and woodwork, much of which isn't
allowed to be photographed. I don't know this and get some shots before getting bitched at. I'm surprised that nobody is making incense offerings, even
outside, but I do see plenty of small bills and coins left in Shakyamuni's hands and at Guanyin's feet. It's not a functioning temple- no monks in
sight, unless the musicians who perform at 15:00 are ordained (unlikely)- and one of the halls is crowded with Communist Party stuff. I don't know if
I've mentioned it, but this year is the 90th anniversary of the Communist Party of China, and there are banners and shit all over touting this fact.
Regarding the incense issue above, I mention it not only because I expected to see lots of joss sticks burning, but in spite of their absence the smell
is all over the temple compound, even outdoors.
We go to Wangfujing after the temple. I hear one of the young ladies working at the foreign language bookstore try to pronounce Slovenia. Drink some
milk tea. Get back on the subway at rush hour, which is madness made flesh. Line 1 is crammed to the gills, and people here don't wait for others to
get off the train before they get on, so it's all pushing and "xia che" and more pushing. It's hot and a pain in the ass, but it still doesn't bother
me. I notice one of the stops on line one is the military museum, so I'll have to check that out soon. I bet Alec and Jose would be up for it.
While waiting for the bus to get back to the dorm, I catch a whiff of one of Beijing's many pungent, bewildering, and sometimes nauseating odors. This
one definitely falls into the latter category, and I try to figure out where it's coming from even as I try to breathe in bus exhaust to mask it. The
pollution is unreal, but I've acclimated enough so that my eyes don't burn if I walk down the street. Beijing's air is grey and hazy down to street
level, yet it seems like Shanghai was worse. The humidity's pretty high today, so when I get back to my room and finish a bottle of Pocari Sweat and
then a beer, I'm still damp. I gotta do laundry tomorrow, and shower, but I'm doing neither until we get back from the Great Wall.
Final note: I spent a good part of last night reading and listening to Ritual by Czech metal diehards Master's Hammer. It was exactly what I
needed, and I can't recommend that album enough.
7.24.11
I go to bed late and get up late, because Sunday is the only real day off we have here and I'm worn out from climbing the Great Wall. Saturday morning
we spent three hours on buses or standing in line to get on buses before we actually get to climb the Badaling section of the wall. The weather sucks:
hazy, humid, and just sunny enough to refract through the mist (I'm pretty sure it's not purely pollution, not at this distance from Beijing) and cause
sunburns for the unprepared. Tons of people, tons of vendors hawking t-shirts and overpriced water and souvenirs of all kinds, none of them very
interesting. The Great Wall itself throbs like a vein sluggishly pumping humans up to the end and back again. It's a bitch of a climb. Where there
aren't narrow, tall stairs the incline is uneven and seems to approach 45-degree angles in spots. I don't climb all the way to the end, because the
experience of climbing the Great Wall quickly gives way to the experience of being a tourist climbing the Great Wall. You're there, you take photos,
you look at the (hard to make out) scenery, you congratulate yourself for doing it, and you cross off another item from a list of things to do that
won't, because you're more interested in claiming the achievement than just doing something, enrich your existence very much at all. This is what I
think about as I climb the Great Wall. It sounds like I had a bad time (I didn't) and/or that I'm a killjoy, but frankly I'm happier to give the matter
some thought rather than exhaust myself for the sake of saying "I've climbed the Great Wall!"
The museum is pretty neat, that I can say for sure. Chinese names for things can get outrageous, such as "Mighty and Golden Cannon of victory,
blasting, eliminating enemy and border protection." Hell, the Wall itself is outrageous. Several thousand kilometers of wall that never kept out the
barbarians, touted as one of China's and man's greatest achievements- which it is, architecturally, but it's also a folly in its own right. I find that
to be one of the most fascinating things about it.
Later in the day, once we get back to the dorm, some folks go out to the bars in Sanlitun, which sounds dreadful. I stay here, drink some beers and
shoot the shit with Jeff and Alec, go to the fanguanr once more with Craig and eat more delicious food, then stay up late jawing with more folks. Jose
doesn't come back to the dorm- sounds like he stayed at his language partner's place. Alec, Lucas, and Jeff go to the military museum this morning and
speak highly of it, so now I'm definitely going to have to go. I also find a punk rock show to go to next Saturday, which should be fun. Or at least
interesting.
7.25.11
First day of 3302. Not stoked, but I load up on green tea (xie xie ni, Qin Chunhong) before and during class, steep that shit a thousand times and
drink a thousand cups and remember why everyone from Bodhidharma to Too Much Coffee Man loves caffeine. Our new professor, Sai laoshi, is pretty rad.
She's young- younger than me for sure- and throws new vocab at us frequently, vocab that people actually use. I liked Wang laoshi, but I get the
feeling Sai laoshi is gonna be both more helpful and less tolerant of some of the dumb shit people say (or don't say, in some cases) in classes. Time
will tell.
Yesterday Qin laoshi had some of her friends over to the dorm. It was a fun get-together, though it was difficult trying to find a way into
conversation seeing as how almost everyone on this trip was crammed into my dorm room and the waiguoren outnumbered Chinese five or six to one. I drank
a ton of good tea- hong cha, AKA black tea, which is slightly unusual here, where green tea reigns supreme. I go to the supermarket today and recoil at
the price of loose tea. I don't need 500 grams for fifteen bucks, 'cause there's no way I can drink that much tea even if I replace my prodigious water
intake with tea. Oh yeah, speaking of the water: Qin Chunhong made all of Sunday's tea with tap water, which worried me slightly, but I'm still
standing 24+ hours later with nary a sign of illness. I don't know why I'm concerned, since I brush my teeth and wash fruit and whatever else with the
tap water and have done so since day one. Shit, I never suffered once from waterborne malignancy all the time I lived in Venezuela, so why would I
here? [Insert rant about hand sanitizer, shower shoes, eating quote Western unquote food, etc.]
Some of us wandered down the street in the rain Sunday night to an Indian restaurant. Delicious, if on the gui side, and hearing the manager speaking
Chinese with an Indian accent was the source of much amusement and admiration. Saw some kitties under a bridge, a sight that never gets old.
More random notes. The past/present tense I've been writing this account in is, I freely admit, an abomination that confuses past and present for no
apparent reason. I could lie and say that I'm attempting to emulate the absence of tenses in Chinese, but I won't. It's just some fucked-up pattern
I've fallen into for no legitimate reason. Shit, it's not even funny.
It's hard not to pepper this account with Chinese words. Not place names and other proper nouns, but the hi-larious Chinglish that Craig and Tessa and
Dahei (story later re: that name) et al have been using nonstop. We plan on starting the Chinglish club at UH when we get back, but that shit won't fly
with the administration so we're gonna make it unofficial and basically use it as an excuse to drag Chinese folks along on trips to Chinese (and not so
Chinese) fanguanrs (Chinglishin' already, addin' that English plural to a Chinese word). We've already begun lamenting the absence of people with whom
to practice not only Chinese but our awesome international pidgin tongue.
All right, time to wrap up for now, but not before giving the thumbs up (incidentally, my new professor's frequent use of the thumbs up gets her hen
duo points, feichang cool) to Adam WarRock's West Coast Avengers Mixtape. Mix West Coast hip-hop beats with tunes about the Avengers' underrated
and underselling team and you can't go wrong. Hank Pym and Ice Cube? It also contains one of the greatest compliments ever, which I'll throw out to my
beloved wife/taitai: "she could be a Skrull, yo, and I just don't care." Play this album on headphones while smoking at the end of the hall late at
night, drowning out the voices of young 'uns being young, and you're set.
Later, dudes! I love China, and China loves you. You should visit soon.
7.26.11
Sai laoshi continues to impress. She even leaves encouraging notes on everyone's homework, which is a nice touch. After class I wandered around for an
hour or so, marveling at how Beijing streets aren't uniform and there's always something cool to see, be it a particularly well-landscaped median, an
abandoned building (which are rare, at least in this neighborhood), a window full of real estate listings, or a place called Toast Box.
Big ups to Hangzhou Xiao Chi, Huajiadi Jie's finest purveyor of baozi and jiaozi. Drown 'em in vinegar and soy sauce, spoon in some pepper flakes, and
eat 'em out the bag in the company of good dudes and a weak-ass beer. Rinse. Repeat. $1.50 US for twenty dumplings. China knows how to do cheap food,
no doubt, and we know how to eat the hell out of it.
7.28.11
Not much to report. School's a drag. Roughly six or seven hours a day spent studying is exhausting. I have been taking naps almost every day, which is
great. When I first got to China I didn't seem to dream much, but naptime dreams have been coming in torrents. Lots of dreams within dreams, absurd
imagery, and what I think is my first dream in Chinese. Which, by the way, is as riddled with mistakes and hesitation as my waking life Chinese.
Interesting.
You what I miss? Comic books and video games. And Tracey and other people, but they're "who," not "what." I finished the only novel I brought with me,
and while the history of the Jesuit mission in China is pretty engrossing and Pu Songling's Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio isn't lacking in
entertainment value, sometimes I need a break from schoolwork and all these people around me, something that's just fun. No matter; I'll be hitting up
8th Dimension in less than a month and I'm sure there's something new to download when I get home.
All right, time to write a shitload of characters. Later!
8.1.11
Sorry for the silence, folks. It's been hectic, as usual. Saturday we went to the Summer Palace, which like everywhere else was swarming with people.
They didn't detract too much from the beauty of the place, however. The lake is a wonderful sight, and all the greenery is a welcome change from the
usual Beijing landscape. I bet it's amazing in the autumn.
Saturday evening I went to a local punk rock show at Mao Live House in Dongcheng. Some other folks came along, and everyone had a blast. The bands were
all good- plenty of stage presence and solid punk tunes from all, especially Discord and Gum Bleed (the latter of whom had an awesome banner). After
the show we ended up hanging out with some of the Gum Bleed guys and a British couple who've been traveling around Asia for six months, and I don't get
home until 4:30 AM. The cab ride was painless, which was a surprise.
And then Sunday night rolls around and I have a total meltdown. All the stress of this trip- the constant schoolwork, being away from Tracey and home,
the frustration of not knowing whether classes I need will be offered in the fall, all kinds of stuff- hit me at once and I just shut down. My brain
was racing and I couldn't, wouldn't, even contemplate doing my homework. Luckily I got to talk to Tracey on the phone, which helped immensely. I skipped
class this morning to recoup and enjoy a few hours of quiet and solitude, which also helped. I've definitely reached the point where school is getting
in the way of being happy, so it's a good thing there are only a few days left. There's no way I could keep up this pace under these conditions.
So I'll grind through the next four days, get my shit done, pack my bags, and head to the airport to meet Tracey. Then it's two weeks of actually
enjoying Beijing on my own terms! For now, though, time for more studying. Sigh.
8.4.11
The end is in sight: my language final tomorrow and an easy paper for 3398, and I'll be done. I'm feeling back to normal and have done a pretty solid
job with this week's work, so maybe Sunday night's freakout did me some good.
I ate at Pure Lotus Vegetarian Restaurant on Tuesday. The food was outstanding, and a welcome change from what I've been eating. Steamed vegetables,
including lotus root and lily bulb; mushroom dumplings; taro and tofu slices; and a killer carrot/apple/something else drink, versus, say, last night's
dinner of instant noodles mixed with Korean fermented bean paste I found in the kitchen (my only consolation is that it shouldn't be more than two
years old, because the dorm is only that old- well, and that stuff keeps forever) and a bag of dumplings right out of the steamer. I dig the grub here,
but our choices within walking distance are limited and, more than anything, I mostly miss cooking. Pure Lotus was a treat, even if it was the most
expensive meal I've had here- my share was about $17 American. Oh, and there was a bowling alley next door, so I may check that out soon.
I bought a pencil and a sketchbook at the stationery store down the street, because I've spent lots of my free time reading Johnny Wander, a
great little webcomic that's made me want to draw. Of course, my drawing skills are still terrible, and like other sketchbooks I've bought it'll
probably end up mostly empty and in a pile somewhere in an inconvenient place. Or maybe not!
I wish I had more to say about China, but I haven't gotten out much lately. That's one of my biggest criticisms of this program: people feel compelled
to stay in and deal with the obnoxious workload, thereby missing out on seeing the city, or vice versa, and shoot their grades in the foot. I'm sure
there's a happy medium in there, but it's pretty hard to spot. My other concern is the pace of things- not just because you spend six hours a day in
class or studying, but because you go through the material so fast it's almost impossible to retain anything. If the program were restructured in such
a way to promote speaking Chinese, preferably outside of a classroom setting, and balance it with the written side of things, it'd be a whole lot more
academically useful. That said, I don't regret a second I've bene here. See y'all once I've taken my final.
8.7.11
Well, that's done. I feel pretty good about how it all wrapped up, though I still don't know how I did on my language final. Pretty sure it was an A.
After class on Friday I went with Renee to check out the hostel she'll be staying at later this month. After a little puzzled wandering around the
hutong, we found it, then marched a couple miles or so over to the Workers' Stadium, where we visited the hidden speakeasy Fubar, a place Tracey told
me about and I'd been meaning to visit since I got here. On the way home we passed a number of Asian and African embassies, most of which were shabby
affairs. Following our return to the dorm, Craig, myself, and Qin Chunhong headed over to Cosmic Bowl, the bowling alley in the Lido Hotel which I
spotted during my visit to Pure Lotus Vegetarian Restaurant. It was Qin laoshi's first time bowling, and not only did she have a great time, she bowled a
pretty damn good game.
I'm writing this from the hotel room Tracey and I have for the next two weeks, an awesome place in an old courtyard residence along one of the hutongs
in the Dongcheng district. I picked her up at the airport yesterday morning, cabbed it back to town, and have since commenced what should be the most
relaxing two of my seven weeks in China. I got a pot of tea, a pack of Zhongnanhai, and plenty of time. I'm feelin' like Lin Yutang in the Shanghai
days. Last night I took Tracey out to meet Craig, Tessa, Qin laoshi, and Renee (well, she already knew Renee) and have dinner at our favorite fanguanr.
It's got a name- "fanguanr" just means restaurant- but we've all decided not to ever learn what it is, because some things need to remain mysterious.
If I ever come back to Beijing, and I certainly plan to, I'll be going back. I wonder if the waitresses that always wanted to handle our table will be
there; part of me hopes they are, 'cause it'd be cool to see them again after so long, but I mostly hope they get to move on to better things. Here's
to everyone there. Should you, dear reader, ever end up in Beijing, let me know and I'll tell you how to get there. Be sure to try the yangrou.
So back to the present. After a leisurely morning of reading and watching typhoon coverage on CCTV, Tracey and I took the subway up to the Lama Temple
station and strolled down to the Confucius Temple and the Imperial Academy, which adjoin each other on Guozijianjie. It was the least packed historical
site I've seen yet, and pretty neat. I thought I'd burned out on Ming/Qing architecture, but the ancient trees and statuary and (relative) lack of
crowds made for a good time. The racks of red placards inscribed with the names of students- modern ones- petitioning/praying/whatever for good fortune
with their studies was not only an impressive sight, but strangely touching. I kind of want to go back, buy my own placard, and make my own offering.
I'm not that keen on Confucianism, but the seminal place he occupies in Chinese culture as an ideal teacher is hard to deny or disrespect.
The vegetarian restaurant across the street wasn't offering the buffet when we stopped in, so we strolled some more and got back on the subway back to
Dongsisitiaohutong, AKA "our street." We'd noticed a Yunnan restaurant during our comings and goings, so that's where we ate. Delicious pork and banana
flower, great mushrooms, interesting but not quite delicious fried river moss, all more expensive than I'm used to- but keep in mind that I'm used to
paying like five bucks, tops, for my share of a big meal. Tracey says I should stop thinking in yuan and think in dollars, but it's not an easy
transition. She's got a very valid point, of course- I'm not gonna feel the increase in food prices like Chinese folks have been lately, and I'm
fortunate for that.
Time for brief observations. Our hotel has three or four caged birds in the lobby, at least one of which talks and can say "ni hao." While strolling
along a garden/park path on the way back to the ditiezhan this afternoon, we came across two girls throwing water bottles up into the branches of a
tree, apparently trying to knock something down; no idea what their target was, but I found the scene endearing. Our hutong has a number of resident
cats, and its own Hangzhou Xiaochi, though presumably not run by the same pleasant folks who run the one back on Huajiadijie. Yanjing beer, which has
been my go-to cerveza much of my time here (along with Harbin and Snow, the latter of which is my favorite Chinese beer but not as available as
Yanjing), supposedly has formaldehyde in it, though they've supposedly stopped adding it. You've gotta watch the meter or get a receipt from
cabbies before paying the fare, 'cause I got burned for 11 kuai on the ride back from the airport. I feel better about my Chinese after a) remembering
that learning it is ultimately an idle pleasure and not a lifelong commitment and b) seeing it serve me well enough in the company of non-speakers
(yay, I'm useful!). I've lost weight in China, but I don't know how much, but that's all right because all this walking has turned me into a gaunt
engine that runs on water, willpower, and tobacco. Not too proud about that last one, but that's how it goes. Later, folks.
Well, looks like Tracey's coming down with a cold. She took to bed a few hours ago, during which time I've been writing (see the earlier poritons of
today's entry), exploring the remainder of the hutong, and drinking beer in the courtyard. Now I'm listening to some music, which gave me the idea of
listing what I've been listening to during my time in China. In no particular order, of course, but with some commentary.
-Carsick Cars, Carsick Cars- I'd heard of Zhongnanhai cigarettes before, but this band, who's Chinese, wrote a really catchy song about them,
so I decided to try them. They're not bad (the cigarettes and the band). Renee took to them (the band, and the cigarettes) more than I did, but I can
totally see this as a crucial record for Beijingers who find themselves on that weird edge of the future at night.
-Adam WarRock, various albums- He played at ComicPalooza and I didn't go because I'd never heard him. Oh, hindsight, you fickle bitch. His West
Coast Avengers and Oni Press mixtapes have been a constant feature of my time in Beijing.
-Krallice, Diotima- Their best album yet. The last three songs are masterpieces.
-MC Lars, Indie Rocket Science- "Male Feminist," "Lord of the Fries," and "Living in the Future 2.5" are thoughtful uppers in a world of
brainless downers. Whatever that means.
-Bolder Damn, Mourning- early '70s hard rock/metal. So good, so raw.
-Witchfynde, Give 'Em Hell- Killer NWOBHM.
-Morbid Angel, Formulas Fatal to the Flesh- One of my favorite Morbid Angel records ever, up there with Covenant and parts of
Domination and Blessed Are The Sick. Pete Tucker's vocals slay David Vincent's latter-day offerings, and some of the solos are literally
otherworldly.
-Cathedral, Supernatural Birth Machine- The thought of not having this encyclopedia of riffs available at all times is as terrible as not having
a Chinese dictionary available at all times.
-Voivod, Killing Technology- Speaks for itself.
More later, maybe. Zaijian!
8.10.11
Tuesday was spent lounging after a trip to Qianmen, just south of Tiananmen and all that jazz, and Liulichang, the "Culture Street." The latter road is
packed with art supplies, art itself, and books galore. Books printed locally are so much cheaper than imports, which is no surprise, but despite
finding some intriguing titles I once again failed to buy anything. It's funny how adverse I've been to buying stuff that isn't immediately consumable.
The only souvenirs, as it were, that I have to show for my time in Zhongguo are a Daoist pendant and a pair of (probably) knockoff Ray-Ban Wayfarers.
I'll correct that before I go, 'cause there are definitely books I want.
Qianmen was yet another pedestrian shopping district, albeit one that Tracey pointed out as being rebuilt in old Beijing hutong style in the face of
the 2008 Olympics. All the same boring-ass stores, but unlike Wangfujing or Nanjing Road in Shanghai the trash cans are cleverly disguised and
everything feels much less natural. The dumpling restuarant we went to, Duyichu, has been around in some form since 1738, and the dumpling recipes
supposedly date back about that far. They were kinda gui/expensive, but it was worth it. The unique texture of the dough is the first thing that comes
to mind, which doesn't sound like much, but trust me, these weren't your average dumplings. The wild bamboo shoots we ordered were pretty tasty as
well, but there was something I couldn't place about the way they were marinated/pickled that keeps me from recommending them wholeheartedly.
Today, i.e., Wednesday, I got up early, bought some snacks and a whole lot of water and Pocari Sweat, ate breakfast, and then got in a van with another
American couple and a German family to hit the Jiankou section of the Great Wall. My previous trip to the ol' Changcheng was, if you hadn't deduced,
worth it for the experience but rather lackluster overall. Today's visit, on the other hand, completely surpassed my expectations. Tracey set up a tour
with a small group led by a local who is a veteran hiker of the Great Wall's unreconstructed parts, which is to say the vast majority of the Wall.
After a long ride wherein I nodded off long enough to miss the highways and woke up in time to catch sight of dozens of tiny mountain resorts/hotels
that reminded me of Spike Japan's commentary on modern ruins in Japan, we arrived at the end of a dirt
road marked "this section of the Great Wall is not accessible to the public" and dismounted.
It wasn't an easy undertaking: we had to climb up the mountain to the Wall itself, then scramble up the side to reach the walkable part. When I say
"walkable," I mean a five-kilometer stretch of crumbling, nature-infested, unmaintained Wall built at least 600 years ago. "Stairs" that make some of
the stairs leading up Mexican pyramids look like chump change, though at Jiankou there are no mobs of children scuttling up and down at high speed. All
kinds of interesting insects, from millipedes to giant ants and gorgeous butterflies. Water given away to unprepared Germans and anyone else who wants it.
And,more than anything, gorgeous views on all sides; a sense of accomplishment, because this isn't something I normally do; the pleasure of making the trek
with Tracey; and the awareness of immediacy that comes with each step, because one wrong step could mean serious injury to one's self or others. I
smoked a cigarette when we stopped for lunch (almonds, plums, Pocari Sweat, and Pocky- thanks for being so readily available in China, you delicious
Japanese products you), and after climbing an almost vertical ruined staircase to a watchtower, where James (the guide) and Dwight (one of the hikers)
moved on to the hike's ultimate destination. Those few minutes of solitude and reflection were great. The descent was kinda hellish on my knees,
though. I noticed the same thing at Badaling, where going downhill made my knees hurt like hell. Speaking of pain, I had pretty much none the whole
time, descent excluded, to which I owe climbing 20+ flights of stairs every day for the past month.
We got back to the hotel, paid James- our guide- and promptly collapsed. I got enough energy together to head down the hutong and buy baozi from the
local Hangzhou Xiaochi, as well as some Shuangxi cigarettes and cold Yanjing beers (the dude dug through the cooler for the zui leng de for me, thanks,
dude) at the convenience store, where I'm starting to become a known quantity 'cause I can speak a little hanyu. We ate, Tracey crashed, and now here I
am, drinking mini-bar whiskey and recounting my adventures. I just realized I forgot all about our lunch at Crescent Moon, an Uighur, i.e., Chinese
Muslim restaurant, the other day. Suffice to say: delicious. Same for the Shaanxi joint we ate at that night. Man, keeping track of good grub is worthy
of a separate travelogue. I'll leave that to the ol' taitai.
Damn, I love Beijing.
8.10.11 (again)
Wow, my birthday is in four days.
8.12.11
A lot of people here, once they learn I speak a little Chinese, immediately drop any attempt at speaking English and launch into rapid-fire Chinese,
whereupon I have to hang on and hope for the best. So far I've been able to play along and sometimes even make sense when the time comes to respond.
Sometimes I even learn new words in the midst of these pseudo-conversations, usually when I misunderstand what someone said. Ah, the vagaries of
language acquisition!
We had dinner with Renee and her mom at Pure Lotus last night. It was tasty, but the novelty is gone. After we ate, we had a beer in the patio area in
front of the hotel, where we were treated to a Chinese guy and gal doing surprisingly good John Denver covers. It was almost surreal- imagine going to
Starbucks and a white dude playing a Chinese zither- but, after that initial shock, surreality gave way to a more generalized acknowledgement of the
fact that this is how the world is these days. Culture bleeds across national boundaries, international date lines, and personal consciousness; it
refuses possession by any one group or individual. It makes life hard for people who want to claim something as theirs and theirs alone, but that
mentality always loses in the long (or not so long) run. I won't say that it's a wrong way to think, only that it's doomed, and history proves it; that
said, I've got a soft spot for doomed ideals and clinging to them at all costs, because sometimes that's just what you gotta do.
Talking about things that once belonged to a select few, Tracey and I went to the Temple of Heaven this morning. In imperial times it was reserved for
sacrifices and rituals performed by the emperor; today it's a tourist spot and a giant park full of people playing cards and xiangqi, selling
souvenirs, eating ice cream, and taking photos. The eaves of several buildings on the grounds were once painted blue, yellow, and green, representing
heaven, the emperor, and the common folk, respectively, but the Qianlong emperor had them all repainted blue. Seeing as how Tiantan is now the domain
of the people and not the emperor, it might be fitting to repaint all the eaves green- or maybe communist red. Fitting, but tasteless, and it wouldn't
happen anyway. I can't imagine the Party butchering a cash cow like that, not in this day and age.
Tiantan, more than any other place I've visited here, would make for a great afternoon or evening if it was empty and I could wander freely in the
company of select friends, choice music, and maybe some carefully chosen intoxicants... the Forbidden City is too built up, the Summer Palace too
sprawling, the Great Wall too far and other places lack sufficient greenery to imagine roaming and laughing and living it up. The Temple of Heaven
would be a great place for that.
More to report, but right now I'm going to call it quits and daydream a while. Later.
8.14.11
I turn 32 today. Yesterday, i.e., ten minutes ago, I ate Uighur food for lunch, jiaozo and baozi for dinner, and drank a couple-three pots of tea and
some beers. I slept in. Read a bunch- a history of the Jesuit mission in China, which I brought with me, and Kerouac's Vanity of Duluoz, which I
bought at the Wangfujing Foreign Languages Bookstore on Friday. Wrote, too. It was a pleasantly lazy day.
Today, i.e., after I go to bed and wake up and it really feels like Sunday, I don't know what I'm gonna do. There are some vague plans- go out for
birthday dinner, meet up with Qin Chunhong (possibly for dinner; nothing concrete decided yet), etc. etc. I'm cool with this approach, because I
haven't really been anticipating my birthday this year. It's totally overshadowed by being in China, as it should be. I'm happy to be spending it the
way I am: being D.A. Smith in China, with help from a few friends. I'll write more once the ol' shengri has wound down.
Leisurely morning is followed by lunch down the street at a Hunan joint that specializes in shrimp. Tracey and I eat said shrimp, which come with
shells and heads still attached (the latter gets popped off, the former goes down the hatch- easy source of calcium), as well as some delicious
cauliflower and some unmemorable eggplant. The rain starts as we finish up and one of the restuarant workers lends us an umbrella while we stand
outside under ineffective eaves and smoke. During the meal Scott calls to wish me happy birthday, and since he's out drinking beers with Matt Swulius I
get to jaw with him a bit, too. Back to the hotel; along the way I see the only evidence of today being Guijie, the Hungry Ghost Festival, when I see
two women burning spirit money and paper gold on the street. The couple that runs my convenience store of choice says hi when we pass.
More loafing, an exchange of text messages and phone calls with Qin laoshi, and then it's off on lines five and one to meet her for dinner at a Sichuan
restaurant located in/around (unsure as to which) the Sichuan provincial government complex. We were going to have a drink at the St. Regis first, but
Google Maps gets mendacious again and tells us the hotel is there when it's clearly not. Maybe it's not Google's fault; maybe the hotel did vanish, or
more likely I'm just completely wrong as to its whereabouts. Dinner is good, and I commit the now-standard error of ordering too much, but for a joint
that's talked up online as one of the best Sichuan restuarants in town, the food is disappointingly lacking in heat. No matter; we all have a good
time, and promise to see Qin laoshi again before we leave Beijing.
Then it's back to the hotel, again, for a drink in the hotel bar. It's a neat little place, comfortable and not too overpriced and usually dead, but
tonight a platoon of what I believe are Dutchmen (and -women) file in. I hear no attempts at speaking Chinese to the bartender, which makes me sad.
Tracey has a Singapore Sling, I a Tsingtao, and we talk about China Jesuits and Catholicism in general before retiring for the night up a flight of
carpeted stairs squishy with the day and night's rain. And now here I am, awash in tea and the sound of rain and the satisfaction of a day well spent.
8.15.11
Rainy day, but not too rainy- drizzly, really. We nab one of the hotle's umbrellas and head out to Tiananmen Guangchang (in case you ever wondered what
the full Chinese name of said (in)famous square was). The haze that covers everything isn't pollution, for once. Tracey isn't too impressed by
Tiananmen, and rightfully so; it's massive, so massive that the massive buildings bordering it look miniscule, and there ain't much to do but wander
around and take photos in front of giant screens pimping CPC propaganda or monuments to the workers or whatever. It's worth seeing, though, especially
in the rain, when it's still busy but a little more colorful for all the umbrellas. The soldiers/cops/whatever they are standing at attention around
the square are also worth seeing, a kind of palace guard watching over a completely different kind of palace.
And then it's through the pedestrian underpass to the Forbidden City, which is much less crowded than when I first visited (but by no means empty).
Random folks outside the paywall hit us up for the chance to be tour guides or sell us trinkets; bu yao, bu yao. Once inside, we spot the Emperor and
who I assume are two of his wives and/or concubines gazing down at us from an inner wall but, alas, time travel has not occurred and they're just
weird-ass mannequins someone or some committee thought would be a novel idea. (Which it is.) Across the uneven courtyards, up and down
ingeniously-designed ramps, through bottleneck doorways, crushed among Chinese tourists who Tracey notes as only taking photos of things without really
looking at them, craning necks around kids flashing the peace sign or whatever it means in Asia (another talking point between the wife and I) while
their parents take photos, eyeballing almost two thousand years' worth of amazing ceramics, guzzling Kekou Kele and orange juice because we didn't have
lunch or breakfast, marvelling at the Nine Dragons Screen and yellow tiles and the aforementioned ceramics, burning out my comma and run-on quotas for
days... a much better visit indeed.
Exiting the north gate, I'm surprised by the absence of Uighur fruit vendors, and we cross under the street to Jingshan Park, AKA "where the
Chongzhen emperor hanged himself in 1644," AKA "the park with the hill that has an awesome view of the Forbidden City." I skipped it during my last
visit, despite McArthur's recommendation back in May, and I'm glad I made it this time. The Chinese have an almost uncanny knack for designing good
parks, and I don't only mean imperial-era parks; the park Tracey and I strolled through near Yonghegong was quite the freeway-side oasis, replete with
fine foliage and folks enjoying themselves, and that wasn't the first one I've admired. After climbing Coal Hill, taking in the sights and the pagoda
housing a large but not overblown Vairochana Buddha, we descend via another path and leave through the east gate. The weather, while humid, has never
grown hot, so waiting for the bus rather than a cab isn't the chore it could be.
A note on the Beijing bus system. It's huge- almost a thousand lines, and something like 25,000 buses- dirt cheap (1 yuan for most rides), and
geographically comprehensive, but damn, it's hard to figure out unless you're really good at reading hanzi and know Beijing well. I've ridden it
several times, but with one exception it's always been to and from nearby locations. Today was a semi-exception, in that Tracey noticed that the 111
ends at a stop down the numero five subway line from us, and upon closer study I determined we could hop off earlier than that and make it to good ol'
Dongsisitiao, which is what we did. We had a snack of baozi and jiaozi, lounged, arranged to meet Wang Sai, my 3302 teacher, tomorrow, and then went
out for soup dumplings at Kaifeng Diyilou, a Henan joint that's been around since 1922, at least in its original, non-Beijing location. It was a killer
meal, and more along the lines of the prices I got used to paying for grub before Tracey arrived and reminded me that I don't have to try and live on a
shoestring budget. After we were chi bao le, we walked home and I bought a pack of cigarettes I hadn't tried yet- Hongmei, or Red Plum. Nothing
special, but not bad, and at 75 cents (see what I did there?) a pack, a worthy experiment.
We caught the first episode of Boardwalk Empire on TV. Worth watching more of, I think, but I'm mostly interested in getting home to check out any
games I've missed, as well as getting a D&D/LotFP game going. Oh, yeah- I should be returning to the metal record store tomorrow, since it's not far
from where we'll meet Sai. Stoked as hell on all fronts.
8.18.11
I didn't make it back to the record store, but that'll be corrected tomorrow, seeing as how I'll be going to Mao Live again to see a metal show. The
punk rock gig was pretty rad, but everyone knows my true sympathies are with heavy metal (cue "Herz aus Stahl") so it's no surprise that I'm stoked as
hell about the show. Not only is Tracey coming, but Renee and Wang Sai should be too; it'll be a blast.
Speaking of Sai, after eating at Cafe Malay on Tuesday Tracey and I met her at Drum & Bell, a bar located between the Drum and Bell Towers (quelle
surprise). We shot the shit for a good long while, in English and Chinese- Sai's English was quite good, even if she was characteristically Chinese in
her humility about it and scolded me for being humble about my Chinese. Like Qin laoshi, she studied linguistics and currently teaches middle schoolers
Chinese language and linguistics. We discussed all kinds of stuff: politics, American and Chinese, traveling, language, culture and customs, shenmede.
After a while we left the bar and wandered around Houhai, a pleasant stretch of lakeside real estate packed with restaurants (note: much of Beijing
real estate is packed with restaurants- their ubiquity is stunning). We ate dinner, liao tianr'ed some more, then strolled some more, admiring the
water and the full moon and how good company turns an already fantastic time into something truly memorable. We got a little lost, found a map and a
cab, and went our separate ways at the Dongsi subway stop.
Yesterday was another quiet day; lots of reading and tea, which is a match made in heaven. We went to Guijie, AKA Ghost Street, a stretch of
Dongzhimenneidajie festooned with red lanterns and the home of approximately half a million hotpot and other types of restuarants. Unlike other places
I've been here, the Guijie restaurants often have touts out on the sidewalk, inviting you into delicious, affordable realms of gustatory pleasure.
Everything we passed by appeared to be packed to the gills, and since neither Tracey nor myself were really in the mood for hotpot or fish, we tried
finding a Ningxia (i.e., Hui, and therefore Muslim, ethnic group) restaurant in a nearby hutong. No luck; it's disappeared since whenever the writeup
Tracey found online was created. No matter- see the aforementioned omnipresence of restaurants as to why. We skip the subway and walk back to our
neighborhood, because the weather has been killer since Tuesday. Blue skies, low humidity, hot in the sun but cool in the shade, total California-type
shit but with Beijing flavor, by which I mean the incompletely banished pollution and public bathroom stench and delicious cooking smells, sometimes
all at once.
Continuing on that tantalizing note, we decide to eat at a little place we've noticed several times. Right around the corner from the hutong we're
staying in is a restaurant with a most unusual statue out front; the best way I can describe it is as depicting Shredder, from Teenage Mutant Ninja
Turtles, in a long cloak and the conical peasant hat associated with China and Japan, with what looks like a storyboard version of a protocol droid
from Star Wars looking over his shoulder. (We have a photo or two somewhere, but it'll have to wait.) The Red House, as the restaurant is called, seems
a little more hip than most of the places I've been eating, and serves all kinds of night market food and more standard dishes. We eat fried rice that
reminds me of the stuff Tzu Heng's mom used to cook in Venezuela, lamb with cumin seeds and cilantro (a dish I've eated a ton of here, in various
restuarants, and I'm not the only one who loves it), leeks cooked on skewers, just-cooked-enough (not an insult, the Chinese are great at this)
potatoes, and chicken gizzards, alos on skewers. The waitresses are bored and chat with kitchen staff and Chinese patrons when they feel like it. I'm
not offended, because restaurant service in China is nothing like it is back home. They take your order, bring you your food, and only check in on you
if you yell for more service. I think I've talked about this before, but I'm too lazy to go back and check. Consider it a reiteration if need be.
Today we spent the afternoon at the 798 art district. I was stoked to not only reutnr, but to show Tracey what I still believe to be one of Beijing's
greatest attractions. The Ullen Contemporary Art Center was closed when I first visited, but today it was free to enter- scales, meet balance. I picked
up a t-shirt I saw last time (my sole wearable souvenir thus far), saw an awesome Japanese artist's exhibit (again, laziness prevents me from looking
up his name) and some downright Lynchian video work by a Chinese artist, drank a couple beers at a couple different cafes, ate just enough Sichuan food
at a restaurant Tracey had discovered in her exhaustive pre-trip research (said research has made our vacation so much easier and better!), and
generally soaked in the 798 atmosphere. I might be repeating myself again, but this is the kind of place American artists would kill for.
Our cab ride home is ill-timed. What would usually take ten to fifteen minutes takes the better part of an hour due to rush hour and what I hope is a
circuitous route intended to avoid the worst of the traffic. Pay our seven bucks, pay a visit to the convenience store for beverages and an exchange of
English and Chinese lessons, and then we're back at the hotel for another casual night. Speaking of casual, Sai taught me how to say it during a
discussion of native Beijingers vs. their more hardworking-come-lately neighbors: sui2bian4. Now that's what I call a good teacher.
Later, dudes.
8.19.11.
Stayed up all night writing, i.e., producing a couple pages of words and a dozen pages of disposable mental material. Maybe vice versa. Slept til noon,
fuck it. Tracey and I swapped off reading the Global Times, a state organ that is still better than that piece of shit we call the Houston
Chronicle.
Chinese daybed and tea-guzzling aside, we saddle up for our dinner reservation at Dali Courtyard, which will be followed by a trip to Guloudondajie and
its cornucopia of hipness. Dinner, which is a prix fixe affair, is a bit hard to find but turns out to be rather delectable, the mushroom dish in
particular. Dali beer is weak shit even by Chinese standards. Good that we got a reservation (which I had to make on the phone yesterday, my Chinese
skills quaking in their proverbial boots all the while), 'cause we got a sweet table in the eponymous courtyard, unlike some Dutchmen and Chinamen who
showed up later. "Chinaman is not the preferred nomenclature, dude."
And now the motherfucking highlight of the day: the metal show at Mao Live, accompanied by the taitai, Sai, and Renee. And, as time would have it, Dee
from Gum Bleed, Ian the Australian, and Fred the teenage Swede, who gives me snus and commentary on the local metal scene. Sai knows nothing about
metal or its customs, so I'm sure she gets a kick out of me thrashing to Zhi4Xi1, AKA Suffocated, the highlight of a night populated by metalcore
and/or nu-metal boredom. Mao once again runs out of cold beer before the show ends; I meet a dude from Bad Mamasan; I pick up some CDs from the 666
Rock Shop before the show; I buy a Suffocated t-shirt; I have fascinating conversations with unexpected folks. My Chinese skills suffice to make it
through a pretty hessian night.
Sai shares a cab home with Tracey and I, and we all do our best not to break down into tears when the time comes to part. I won't speak for anyone
but me, but man, Wang Sai and Qin Chunhong have not only been great teachers but awesome friends. I'm a lucky dude to have had such excellent people in my
life this summer. So here's to y'all. Thanks for everything you taught me, and most importantly thanks for being you. Women dou ai nimen.
All right. All fuckin' right. I am so fucking stoked to be D.A. Smith.
7.22.11
Home. When I have time to reflect- and write, seeing as how I got back eight hours before I had to be class- I'll try to put together a postscript of
sorts. For now, I'm going to enjoy flavorful American beer and relax before the academic shitstorm well and truly hits.
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