"Afterword"

I'm back in America now. I regret that I haven't been able to write on the blog in about a month... my final 3 1/2 weeks in China were a whirlwind, a different city almost every day. When you're living out of a suitcase for that long and aren't sure where your next internet access will be, making time to write about the hundreds and hundreds of new experiences you've had is a somewhat daunting task.

I was traveling from April 17 to May 7. Until April 30, I was with about half of my Beida classmates on the "red line" trip through central and southern China, and after a brief couple of days back in Beijing, I visited Hong Kong and Macau with my friends Warren, Cathy, Diane, and Chris MacKenzie. There's no way I can go through day by day and tell all of the stories from those 3 1/2 weeks... that is probably a small book unto itself. I think the best way for me to wrap up the blog is probably to go through and report a list of observations, things I witnessed on the trip, and those thoughts on China that I wasn't comfortable posting to the internet while behind "the bamboo curtain."

First, about the internet. People here in the States keep asking what I could and could not do online in China: without a VPN (virtual private network, purchased in the US prior to departure) I would not have been able to visit social networking sites like Facebook, Twitter, or Youtube. Blogs are also banned (so Chinese citizens cannot view this blog). Sensitive search topics are not allowed to be executed. For example, if you run a Google Images search in America for the term "Tiananmen," the first page of results is almost entirely images of tanks and bloodied protestors from 1989. The same search in China, however, returns only views of the Square, filled with flowers and smiling Chinese people. If I were to search "Tiananmen Massacre," the browser would immediately return the message "Website not found." Same can be said of searches about topics like the Wighur rebellions last year, civil rights in Tibet, and independent Taiwan.

I asked several Chinese students with which I was relatively comfortable (like my language partner Yiwei, right) what their thoughts on the internet censorship were. In their typically nervous, giggly way, they smiled and said that yes, censorship is troubling, no, it is not a good thing. They all said, in some way, that they are hopeful that things will change as China grows and matures in the 21st century, but that it is out of their hands; all they can do is hope. And while the idea of information and knowledge being withheld from the public makes our skin crawl and the media to have a field day in America, the students at China's greatest university don't seem to panic or want to take up arms about it. They just deal with what they have and move on.

One of the questions that weighed heavily on my mind throughout the semester, but that I never had the guts to ask a real Chinese person, was, "Do you feel oppressed?"

When I asked my American-born Chinese friends if they thought the Chinese population by and large felt oppressed, most said no. Sure, the Communist Party has loads and loads of social issues dealing with civil rights, freedom of speech, etc., but in a country of 1.3 billion people, most seem to just go about their daily business and keep their noses to the grindstone. I reread George Orwell's classic 1984 while I was in Beijing, and while some themes reminded me of the CCP and its heavy hand, it was enough to convince me that no, today's China is not a socialist, totalitarian danger-zone. By and large, the Chinese people seem genuinely happy. As westerners, we think of China's dirty cities and impoverished rural rice paddies and think, wow, those people are miserable and deserve better. And while their lives could definitely be improved (whose couldn't?), talking with locals taught me that the vast majority are very happy and friendly.

In late April we spent two nights in Longsheng County, a vast, isolated collection of rice paddies that cling to steep, cloud-covered hills. The small village we stayed in was inhabited by a indigenous racial minority called the Yao (chatting with William & Mary's Andrew Scott, right). Their women wore large headdresses, pink and black traditional dresses, and giant hooped earrings that made their earlobes sag several inches downward. We saw them tending their rice paddies and leading gigantic oxen along narrow stone-covered paths that snaked up the mountains. We also, however, saw them laughing and playing with their children. They played cards and sat in the sun, chatting until dark. In speaking with some of them (in my still very limited Mandarin), they seem to genuinely enjoy their unique way of life. They may not have internet access (much less unfiltered access), they may not have air conditioning or a Seven-Eleven nearby, but these people are not miserable. They may be different, but they are happy. We westerners need to respect that.

Yangshuo was the last stop on our class trip. Yangshuo is a small town in the far south of China, not far from Guangzhou and Hong Kong. It lies nestled between south China's famous parabola-shaped mountains, the ones that look like hundreds and hundreds of camel humps just popping out of the terrain (see right). One afternoon we went kayaking down the Li River, which winds through the gorgeous hills. Our route ended in a small, rural village down river from Yangshuo, and we had to walk through the town to find the dirty van that would take us back to town. The locals looked up from their card games and cooking to gawk at our parade of westerners, but we were used to that. What was interesting was to see that in these impoverished little homes and kitchens, each bore a large, color poster of the Chairman Mao, grinning and looking heroically off into the distance, with some CCP slogan written below. I asked Warren, a Hong Kong native, if that was common, and he informed me that displaying Mao posters is mandatory in most rural villages. Despite all of China's changes, Warren said, the CCP in theory still views the working, rural class as its core, and the posters are a way to maintain loyalty. Alex Pan commented that it was ironic that Communist party doctrine still claims to hold the rural community closest to its heart, yet China's politics over the last 20 years have virtually ignored the welfare of those people, instead making concessions to industry and the growing commercial behemoths in Shanghai, Beijing, and other large cities. It makes one wonder if these poor rural people know of the resources being diverted away from them and toward the cities, and if they do, how long they'll put up with it.

On the topic of Chairman Mao (and file this one under "Could Not Be Written on Blog While In China"), I am, in general, appalled that his likeness is still shown as much as it is. He's on posters in restaurants and homes, his massive portrait hangs over the middle of Tiananmen Gate, and images of his smirking face hang from the rearview mirrors of most cabs. Trinket stands in markets offer everything from Mao's little Red Book of Communist sayings (in dozens of languages) to porcelain figurines and sculptures. When vendors approach me and shove Mao wristwatches in front of my face and say "You want?" I feel like buying one just so I can deface it in front of him. It continues to baffle me that so many people can be so naive as to show support for a man that some say killed more people than Hitler and Stalin combined. As John Lennon once wrote, "But if you go carrying pictures of Chairman Mao, you ain't going to make it with anyone anyhow."


People back home keep asking me if Chinese people treated me and my American friends poorly because we were American. To that, I can honestly say no. Sure, we were stared at and joked about, but I never felt like anyone was mean-spirited. When it came to one-on-one interactions, the Chinese were almost always extremely friendly and helpful, especially if you tried to speak to them in Mandarin. As in pretty much every foreign nation, they seem to genuinely appreciate any effort to communicate in the local tongue, no matter how poor the attempt.

Public perception of America varies greatly from individual to individual. Some seem to buy the Party's assertions that American companies like Google are sinister and corrupt (the official party newspaper, after Google's departure from China, claimed that the company was assisting American spies). Some see American culture as poisoning China's traditional values. Yet not a day went by I would walk down the street without seeing dozens of Nike and Adidas shirts, Yankees and Red Sox hats, or giant billboards of Lebron James soaring through the air in his #6 USA jersey. And after asking where I was from, the majority of Chinese seemed happy and interested in the fact that I was American. The only not-so-happy times were usually in cabs, when the cabbie would dive into some angry sounding diatribe, "Obama" usually the only word I could make out.

It still baffles me that Chinese engineers, some of the world's most brilliant, were able to build something as enduring and magnificent as the Great Wall centuries ago, yet cannot design a shower that does not flood the entire bathroom.

My stay in China was one of the most interesting and rewarding experiences of my life, and definitely the most culturally-challenging. I can't promise that the blog ends here, because as I digest and think about my experiences in China, I come up with new ideas and theories all the time. I'll probably write them on this blog just so I can have somewhere to put them in writing and try to make sense of it all. Not that any American can truly understand the vast complexities of China after just four months. But it's a start.

Thanks to everyone who read the blog this semester. I had a lot of fun and enjoyed hearing feedback from all of you in Boston, Cincinnati, and around the world.

My challenge to each of you is to do some reading of your own on China. Read the newspaper articles, but also search online and try to get deeper. American perceptions of China and its people aren't close to the whole picture at all, and for our countries to grow and mature together, it's important that we get to understand and listen to each other.

E-mail me or message me on Facebook. I love talking about China.

April Madness

Lately I've had people write to me and ask if China suddenly got boring, because I haven't posted on the blog in a while. The thing is, I've been too busy with general ridiculousness here to sit down and write. For that I'm sorry.

A brief run-down of major events since the Zhangjiajie trip:

- My family visited from March 27 to April 5. We spent the first 6 days touring Beijing with hired private tour guides, and enjoyed some pretty nice weather. We hit the Forbidden City, Temple of Heaven, Great Wall, Summer Palace, Lama Temple, Olympic Village, a hutong tour, and a great Beijing duck dinner.
- We spent the second weekend of their visit in Shanghai, with a day trip to the water village of Suzhou (Shanghai was very cool despite the fact that I had already been there; Suzhou we probably could have done without).
- Last weekend we resumed the interesting adventures of Michael Chapman, as within the span of 4 days we saw a "Sparknotes" version of Beijing Opera, visited Xinyuan's small apartment for a dumpling dinner, and took one last hutong tour on the way to some of Beijing's best duck.
- We've studied for finals and wrote papers. As I write this on Tuesday afternoon, 1 of my 2 finals is done, and I've completed 2 of my 3 papers (I'm not complaining).

At the end of the week, we'll all be leaving Beijing and splitting onto two trips that will travel through inland China. The stops on our trip will include:

Luoyang
Xi'an
Chengdu
Guilin
Longsheng
Yangshou

You can't be blamed if you haven't heard of any of these except Xi'an.

Pondering our final days here in Beijing is a strange mix of emotions. I don't want to speak for everyone in the program, because I know that there are differing attitudes, but I feel like the majority of us are sad to go. Most seem fine with the idea of going to America, to the comforts of home and to a land where we can communicate with just about everyone. I'll say that as much as anything, I'm heartbroken at having to leave the wonderful people I've met in the program, most of which I won't be seeing again... we have the strange bond of having been pretty much the only people with which each other could clearly communicate for the last 3 months.

At the same time, I've developed a real respect and passion for the Chinese people.

Last week I was heading back to Beida in a cab by myself after visiting my family at their hotel in Wangfujing, across town. It was late, and the main roads through central Beijing were nearly empty. My cabdriver was an old guy, missing a few teeth like most elderly people in this country. I sat in the backseat, which most Chinese people don't do when riding solo in a cab (a professor told me that it's a cultural difference; in the US, the cabbie is serving his customer, whereas in China the driver and passenger are equals). The driver and I exchanged some small talk, and he repeatedly smiled and complimented my Chinese (I was on my game that night). He asked if I spoke English, and seemed sad when he told me that he himself couldn't. After a few minutes chatting, I leaned against the window and watched the lights of Beijing's north side fly by. Just as I was about to doze off, I saw him fiddling with his radio, as if he weren't quite sure how to use it. Eventually, he found the station he was looking for, and went back to focusing on the empty elevated freeway in front of him. That's when I realized that I wasn't hearing the normal Chinese talk-radio banter that plays in nearly very cab; I was listening to Carson Daly interviewing Jennifer Aniston, in English. Real, American English! I don't particularly care about either of those individuals, and am certainly not a fan of the watered-down American pop music that started playing soon after. Yet knowing that this poor cabdriver, alone and on the road during the middle of a Monday night, without knowing a word of English, had thought I might like to hear American radio was incredible. He looked up into his rearview and gave a toothless grin, asking if I liked it. I'll save the "we're all human - grand revelation" monologue for someone much better equipped to write it, but in that moment I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a lump in my throat. For all of us in this program, China's a part of us now. And while our nations are going to be on opposite sides of most arguments throughout our lifetimes, there's no denying the emotional ties that we've made here.

Zhangjiajie

This weekend, Jose, Chris, Andrew Ni, Warren, Cathy and I journeyed south to visit the small city of Zhangjiajie and its famous mountains. Cathy, Chris, Andrew and I took an afternoon flight from Beijing to Changsha, the capital of Hunan Province. Known for being the birthplace of Chairman Mao (and not for much else), Changsha was an interesting place, virtually untouched by western tourists.

From our hostel we headed out for a walk just after dark. The streets were alive, as families, rowdy teenagers, and slow-moving seniors shuffled around the warm (82 degree) streets with seemingly no goal except to be out. We saw open-air restaurants full of Mahjong-playing grandparents, their grandchildren playing badminton or soccer nearby. After dinner in a small family-run kitchen, we stood and watched some locals in an intense soccer game on a lighted field nearby. Cathy purchased some sweet mangoes and lychee from a street vendor, and after meeting up with José and Warren, we enjoyed eating fruit and hanging out on the hostel’s warm outdoor patio.

Saturday morning was an early one, as we left the hostel at 7am to catch an 8am bus from Changsha to Zhangjiajie. The bus station was an absolute zoo, and as the only westerners in the place (and the only people wearing shorts) we attracted a good deal of attention.
The bus was hot, the sticky kind of hot where you want nothing more in the world than to change your shirt. We eventually made our way out of dusty Changsha and into the countryside, where I got my first glimpses of the terraced rice paddies, plow-pulling oxen, and stunning landscapes for which southern China is so famous. From the highway I saw dozens of 4-second snapshots, 4-second windows into the lives of the people of rural China. A woman walking through a rice paddy with a large, woven basket strapped to her back, and after a moment a smiling toddler popping his head over the brim; a group of men carrying two baskets each, connected by a thick stick held on their shoulders, walking along the narrow barrier dividing two terraces of a rice paddy; an old woman hand-washing her clothes in a creek behind a small village, surrounded by mountains on three sides. The views were beautiful and interesting beyond description. Driving through the hills of Tuscany is cool… this was cooler.

Zhangjiajie is a small town, cluttered around a river in a small valley. It’s not very pretty, but the central area is filled with shops and restaurants and is in a constant state of activity. Upon arriving around noon on Saturday, we checked into our hostel, which was reached by walking through a sketchy alleyway and then taking a dark elevator to the 4th floor of what appeared to be a dirty office building. The hostel office was located in an attractive lodge-style hut that looked like it had been built on the roof of the office building as an afterthought. The roof/office offered some cool views of the city, and our rooms were spacious and bright, although there were some various sheet-cleanliness-related issues.

We immediately took a cab to the bottom station of the Zhangzhajie Cable Car, the world’s longest. The car departs from the center of the city, exits the valley, traverses a series of rice paddies and small villages, and then ascends 1,279 meters to the top of Tianmen Mountain. It may or may not have been mentioned in this blog that I am pretty afraid of heights (my last cable car experience, at Eisreisenwelt, Austria, ended with me dry heaving in the upper station). Just as I had gotten myself sufficiently pumped up and confident enough to get onto the cable car (pounding my chest and muttering phrases like Man up, Ryan, quit being such a freaking wuss), Warren, our resident Chinese-language expert, informed us that the cable car was closed on account of a French guy attempting to traverse the 7,455 meter, nearly vertical wire on foot. We were shown a poster that was advertising the daring attempt, and the guy looked like a villain from a Disney movie, which made us that much angrier at his idiotic tightrope attempt (think Captain Hook, wearing tight pants and a stupid grin).

Having been forced to call an audible, we took a 45-minute cab ride outside the city to Zhangjiajie National Forest. It’s a tourist attraction that’s starting to garner attention in the west, for one strange reason: the movie Avatar. I haven’t seen it, but apparently the Avatar world features floating, column-like mountains referred to as the Hallelujah Mountains; the artistic renderings in the movie were based on the park in Zhangjiajie. The park itself was incredible, as gigantic columns of red stone, decorated with the occasional tree sprouting out here and there, soared into the low clouds above. The park was full of wild monkeys, and it turned out that when offered a Ritz cracker, they were more than willing to come up and stand next to humans. Only having a few hours of daylight, we hiked up through the mountains to a ridge that offered incredible views of the surrounding range. The first three quarters of the hike wound through a beautiful forest, full of monkeys and exotic-looking birds. The final quarter of the journey weaved through crevasses of red rock, each turn revealing a different view of the remarkably skinny, column-like mountains.

That night we ate at a great local restaurant that was probably too classy for our disgusting, sweaty state. Afterwards, we bought sticks of sugarcane, which we had noticed some locals nibbling on. The sugarcane came in foot-long sticks, and were covered with a hard outer shell that looked like tree bark. The streets were full that night, and locals seemed quite curious to see us buying sugarcane and then being taught how to eat them by the vendor himself. We seemed to create a trend, as a bunch of old people then proceeded to buy sugarcane and eat it while standing next to us. It was a good post-dinner snack, despite Chris making his mouth bleed after biting some rough bark.

Later that night we sang awkward karaoke in a small local bar (they had 12 English songs), and seemed to rid the place of the small number of patrons that had been there before. We also visited a night market that offered all kinds of strange foods. While I stuck to a tasty stir fry-like concoction, we all tried some of Cathy’s stingray and Warren’s oddly prepared eggplant.

Sunday, we had unfinished business to take care of, and headed back to the cable car station. We were happy to learn that the French jerk had failed in his attempt to walk up the rope (he quit after about 100 meters because he got some oil-like substance on his foot. Sucker). The cable car ride was smooth and moved quickly, although it is apparently the world’s longest, at about 48 minutes from bottom to top. The ride became progressively scarier for me as it continued, and by the end, my eyes were glued to the approaching face of the mountain in front of me; I didn’t dare look behind at the ridiculously far-away ground, disappearing into the mist. On top of Tianshen Mountain are a series of pagodas and a large temple, with numerous trails and vistas of the surrounding mountains. The only point where I wussed out on my travel companions was when we approached a portion of the trail that was a half-mile long platform, attached to the side of a several-thousand foot cliff by skinny support rods underneath. I wisely said no thank you and embarked on my own hike inland towards a different part of the mountain. Perhaps Chinese tourists are less intimidated by a westerner when he is by himself, because during the following hour I was addressed and greeted by dozens of Chinese people, and was awkwardly asked to pose for pictures with many. A group or family would be walking the other way on the trail, start giggling and smiling when they saw me, nervously say hello as I passed, and then act surprised and delighted when I’d respond with a boisterous ni hao! A little boy, holding his mother’s hand, confidently waved and said Waiguo ren, ni hao! Foreigner, hello! Naturally, I responded, Zhongguo ren, ni hao! Chinese person, hello! At one point, a little girl shyly walked towards me from the circle of her family, and quietly, slowly, said “Hello…how are you?” I smiled and slowly said, “I’m good, thank you, how are you?” She seemed to ponder her response for a second, and then proudly said, “I’m fine, thank you!” She rushed back and hugged her laughing mother, and I was ashamed that this 4-year old from rural China had just exhibited a better knowledge of English grammar than I had.

After a cheap ramen lunch, we took the cable car down to the middle station. After drying the sweat off my hands and applying some deodorant, we got on a medium-sized bus and ascended ¾ of the way back up to the top, on a road called Heaven Approaching Road. Quite possibly my dad’s worst nightmare, the winding road clung to the side of a series of cliffs, all several thousand feet high and with minimal guardrails. I looked at old pictures on my camera and spoke of nonsensical things with Andrew and Cathy in an effort to distract myself from the ridiculous scenes taking place outside the windows.

After 15 of the longest minutes of my life, we arrived at the destination, the remarkable Tianmen Cave and the Heaven Reaching Ladder. The cave is a literal gap in the massive mountain, a naturally occurring hole that reaches through to the other side. Leading the way up to the cave was a set of alarmingly steep stairs, 999 in all. Had the 999 steps begun at ground level, I probably would have been nervous. Considering that the bottom of the steps was already several thousand feet off the ground below, I was somewhat horrified. I did, however, reach the top, and was amazed at how people like Jose and Warren can be thousands of feet in the air and still want to climb rocks to get higher views. I just don’t get that.

After the harrowing three-part descent that followed (stairs, bus, cable car), we found ourselves back in Zhangjiajie for another dinner of local delicacies. The city streets were once again filled with activity after dark. Our final hours in Zhangjiajie consisted of watching old women do choreographed aerobic dance routines to traditional Chinese songs, attempting to take group pictures with the timer-feature on our cameras, and engaging in a nasty round of bumper cars at an outdoor festival (the fact that the only combatants were six loud Americans attracted a very interested and boisterous crowd that oohed and aahed with each collision).

We survived a tiny local airport that looked and sounded more like a cafeteria in a large high school than any place from which to fly, and after a bumpy 2-hour flight arrived back in Beijing.

Etiquette on the Ditie

I'm willing to bet that the first person to declare that "chivalry is dead" did so immediately after riding the Beijing subway. The subways are sparkling clean, no one eats or drinks anything, and Beijing's constant soundtrack of loogie-hocking and snot-rocketing is noticeably absent.

Yet the Beijing subway, or ditie, is every man, woman, and disabled person for himself.

As a rule of thumb, the subway is always full. It doesn't matter if a massive, incredible amount of people just exited the subway car like items from Mary Poppins' purse; your car will be jam-packed. On the 4 train, which comes to Beida, there is a glass screen on the edge of the platform, so its impossible to fall in or stand too close to an oncoming train. Outside each door, a mob of passengers gathers immediately after the previous train leaves. Regardless of how much earlier you arrived at the platform than they did, rest assured that even the nicest-looking person will sidestep and squirm their way to the front and center of the mob if there's so much as a sliver of open space.

One of the more exciting things that a visitor to China can witness is the battle of wills, wits, and guts that occurs each time a subway car arrives and its doors open. It's like watching reenactments of old Revolutionary War battles. There are two solid lines of combatants: those entering the train, and those leaving it. Both will charge straight ahead, and something must give way. The passengers that attempt to leave the train obviously want to get off quickly; it's human nature, plus that's generally how subways work. Those on the outside, however, know that for a precious 3 seconds, the car will be much emptier than at any other point in their journey. In those 3 seconds, all of the seats will be taken, there will be no more partitions to lean on, and those unfortunate enough to not make it through the initial charge of riders will be left to awkwardly stand in the middle of the car. Riding in the middle, with nothing to grab on to but the heavy-breathing people around you, is something akin to surfing in a tiny inflatable pool that features 15-foot waves. Waves that smell like bad tofu.

In the mad scramble that occurs at each major station, it's not uncommon to see grown men push women and children aside. A few times I've seen young men give up their seats for elderly people, but that's it. In Boston I routinely give up my seat on the T for most any woman, child, or uncomfortable looking person; here, it just doesn't happen. My favorite is when a cute-looking young couple gets on the train, and then the man rushes to grab the last open seat and forces his girlfriend to stand. It's hilarious, and apparently, acceptable.

Tiantan, Tianjin, and tianqi

After a fairly average week in Beijing (despite the lingering cold temperatures) the weekend was a great success. We're all starting to feel as if we need to take advantage of every free instant that we've got, because, strangely, we haven't got that much time left in China.

Friday afternoon, as some friends sat in class and others continued on the never-ending quest to find cheap fake goods, I decided to embark on a solo expedition to one of Beijing's few large tourist attractions that I'd yet to see: the Temple of Heaven, or Tiantan. After a lengthy subway ride I walked to the large, leafy park where the temple sits, about a mile due south of Tiananmen Square. Upon entering the complex, I briefly expected it to be another Disney-world like attraction in China, with hordes of flag-following tourist groups and Coca Cola sponsored refreshment stands on each corner. It turned out that I was very wrong. There were some small groups of tourists near the temple itself, but in walking around the rest of the park I saw caught some of the most authentic, revealing glimpses of Chinese and Beijing life that I've seen yet. A long covered pathway that stretched for about 200 yards (in Chinese, literally called the Long Corridor) was filled with elderly locals playing dominoes and card games. I walked silently through the throngs of Beijingers as they gossiped, laughed, and sang traditional Chinese hymns. Several small groups huddled together and played old-looking Chinese instruments, and as the sun set behind the corridor, I felt like I was a world away from the dirty streets of crowded Beijing. I eventually wound my way to the center of the complex, where I snapped pictures and sat down to read about the imposing Hall of Prayer for Good Harvests. A short walk away were the Imperial Vault of Heaven and the Circular Mound Altar, in the center of which sits a stone that was once thought to be the holiest place on earth, literally the center of China, Earth's Middle Kingdom (Zhongguo). The Temple of Heaven is now one of my favorite places in Beijing. The park is large enough that it seems to push away the skyscrapers, taxis, and the loogie-spitting public, leaving a romantic piece of old Beijing there to fill the void.

Friday night was a standard night of bars and clubs.

On Saturday morning about 25 students journeyed to the 798 Art District, a portion of Beijing known for its rapidly growing art scene. Laid out amongst a series of once-abandoned factories, the district boasts dozens of tiny art stores and galleries, mostly filled with odd modern artwork. I'll admit that I personally did not understand much of what I saw on the trip, as most 'modern art' seems to go sailing right over my head (a network of interconnected, white paper-machet human bodies hanging from a ceiling as if they had been killed by some sort of communal gallows didn't really do much for me, nor did the giant steel monkey with glowing red eyes). We made our way back to Beida in the early afternoon and were happy to take a much-needed nap.

On Saturday night a large group set off for an area of Beijing called Hohai, a collection of bars and restaurants set around a lake and a series of canals. It was a cold night, and we imagined that come summer-time it will be a great place to go walk around and eat outside. We began our night at a small bar that claimed to be a "Football Bar" and had hung all manner of English Premiere League flags around the building. When some friends and I requested that they turn on the TVs to show the English soccer games that were happening at that very moment, they laughed and acted as if we had each just requested our own Aston Martin. We eventually worked our way to a live jazz bar where we heard a great band tear through a set of old Coltrane and Dave Brubeck standards. A group of the more musically-inclined of us stayed until the band quit a little bit after 1, and we decided we'd love to come back on a weeknight sometime to hear more.

On Sunday, Elizabeth, Morgan, Emma, Andrew Ni and I set out on yet another excursion with Professor Chapman, this time to a city called Tianjin, south of Beijing. From Beijing South Station we took one of the world's fastest commuter trains, that topped out around 340km/hour (that's fast. You do the math). We arrived in rainy Tianjin around 11am, and walked along the city's moderately scenic waterfront. We found a small city square where a group of elderly citizens appeared to be swinging deals and bargaining with each other; we eventually figured out that they were all parents, attempting to find suitable mates for their twenty-something year-old children. A laundry line full of potential mate-listings confirmed that we had stumbled upon an ancient version of Match.com.

After a good lunch of local Chinese delicacies, we arrived at the Tianjin Fabric Market, well-known for its high-quality, low-price fabrics. We all loaded up on materials to take back to Beijing to have professionally tailored into whatever we want, for next to nothing. I bought material for a new suit, an overcoat, and a couple dress shirts. Including the labor in Beijing, the total cost of the suit, coat, and shirts will be a little under $200 USD.

We had a great western-style dinner (on BC's tab...thanks Office of International Programs) and enjoyed another alarming/entertaining set of Chapman stories, which included:
- attempting to instigate an altercation with Boston policemen who had blocked off Kenmore Square prior to the Red Sox' World Series victory in 2007
- castigating the president of a major South Korean university for commenting on a book that he had not yet read, and
- his missed opportunity to single-handedly prevent the 9/11 attacks due to the presence of a complex terrorist network in his Boston apartment building

Whether the stories are to be completely believed we never quite know, but it's always interesting to listen. After watching Chapman wipe out on a set of icy steps (he was okay, and, in fact, jogged away) we made our way back to the train station and were back in Beijing in what seemed like no time.

Nanjing

I made a midweek decision to join up with some friends that had planned a weekend trip south to Nanjing. We took an overnight train from Beijing on Friday night, and after 8 restless hours (we couldn't get sleeper tickets, only seats) we spilled onto the platform at Nanjing station. It was just before 6am, and after waiting in a damp, dark queueing area for 20 minutes (it looked like a great place to get stabbed) we got a cab and made our way to our hostel, the Sunflower Youth Hostel. Despite the deserted streets at 6am, we could tell that our area of town would be cool, with lots of shops and restaurants and cool architecture.

Our 7-person group (Cathy, Hilary, Katie, Eric, José, Andrew, and myself) checked into our 8-person room, which featured 4 closely packed bunk beds but was clean and warm. After a few of us grabbed some jianbing for breakfast outside, we took a nap and woke up around 9:30 to a steady blizzard.

Our first idea was to head to the historic mountain that overlooks the city, where this month the National Plum Blossom Festival is being held (Nanjing is apparently well known for them). We took a cab across town, and found a small ticket booth, where we were told that admission to the festival (essentially a grove of trees) was 120kuai. When converted to American dollars, this price may not seem bad (and certainly wouldn't have seemed bad to us in Week 1 or 2), but once you've lived in China for a while you get an idea of how much the average Chinese citizen spends in a day, and 120 kuai was a little ridiculous. After getting on the wrong bus in a failed attempt to reach another, cheaper entrance, we decided to call an audible. We would get it over with, we would do what every tourist to Nanjing doesn't really want to do but feels obligated to do; we went to the Nanjing Massacre Museum. It was snowing, it was gross outside, so we figured we might as well get the depressing part over with.

Depressing it was, and I'll spare you the details, but it was sad. As a much-needed pick-me-up we copped out and had an American fast food lunch before going back to the hostel to change for the night. Dinner was at a local restaurant that served traditional Nanjiing cuisine, which featured a good deal of seafood and the local specialty, salty duck. Afterwards, we walked around the area outside our hostel, which turned out to be a vibrant, exciting area full of night markets and music. We toured the Nanjing Confucius Temple, which was hosting a New Year's light display. The lights were a bit tacky, but made for some good pictures.

Later that night we went to an area of town mysteriously identified only as "1912." There we found the standard array of clubs and bars, and by around 1:30am we were ready to head back towards the hostel. After changing into some more comfortable clothes, we went upstairs and hung out in the comfortable top floor lounge, where there was a pool table, some couches, and a guitar...all the cliché hostel accessories. All we were missing was some Europeans with body odor and large backpacks. In the lounge we passed the time by manipulating a series of floor lamps to create odd lighting situations and then having a photo shoot with José's cool camera. The strange results can be seen on Snapfish or Facebook.

The next morning we each grabbed some weird breakfast from a market across the square, where Cathy enjoyed some octopus and squid. I was happy to try a piece of most anything that other people ate, but was not willing to buy one of my own...I waited for a coffee from McDonald's. Our first tourist activity of the day was the mausoleum of Sun Yat-Sen, an important political figure in Chinese history. The mausoleum sits on the side of a scenic mountain on the edge of town (the same mountain we had tried to find the previous day), and we were all too happy to be outside on what had turned out to be a beautiful Sunday.

The mausoleum was positioned at the top of a massive, gradually ascending path, which eventually gave way to several hundred steeper stairs. The building on top commands an awesome view of the mountain, the forests below, and the giant city in the distance (Nanjing is a small city by Chinese standards, but still has 7 million people and a massive skyline). We explored the gardens behind the mausoleum and found some of the famed plum blossoms we'd heard so much about. We were glad we'd saved our kuai the day before.

After making our way back down the hill, we took a free shuttle ride to the Linggu Temple, which sat just around the bend on the other side of the mountain. The "Temple" park actually consists of a number of buildings and sights, all of which are connected by beautiful paths that lead up the mountain from one to the next. There are lakes and gardens, the famous "Beamless Hall" which was built without wood thanks to a timber shortage, the Linggu Temple itself, and the fantastic Linggu Pagoda on top of the hill. We would have been happy to walk up the trails, but we found a better way; we rented electric scooters at the bottom. The scooters were hilarious, some fast, some slow. Cathy, from Brooklyn, did not know how to ride a bike and watching her struggle was quite amusing (sorry, Cathy). We scooted up the hill and enjoyed the sights and the beautiful weather, which was still warm as the sun slowly descended over the hills. We climbed to the top of the pagoda and agreed: we liked Nanjing.

Before heading back to Beijing (either by plane or train...I flew), we ate dinner in a small family restaurant. Apparently the restaurant specialty was dog, but we steered clear and ordered more conservative dishes like snail (?). It turns out that to eat snails one must suck them out of their shell; I found this gross but tried throughout the dinner. I never actually succeeded, and I don't think I'm going to be attempting to hone my skills any time soon.

José, the Venezuelan, is always willing to use his basic Chinese friends in often futile attempts to win Chinese friends. These frequency of these efforts increases significantly whenever we are at a restaurant and have a waiter or waitress. After greeting his target, José deploys his go-to phrase, "the icebreaker" as he calls it: 你是不是我的朋友？ Ni shi bu shi wo de pengyou? Are you, or are you not my friend?

Corporate Team Building

Last Wednesday night I went to a soccer pitch in the middle of urban Beijing to play with 9 of my coworkers from my internship at IDC China.

Things got off to a bizarre start when my well-dressed boss and other superiors all stripped down to their tightie-whities in the middle of the field, just a chain-link fence away from the busiest and most famous avenue in all of China. Apparently when they had said "we'll change at the soccer field," they had been speaking quite literally. Nearly all of them had actual soccer cleats, and I felt a little under-equipped in my dirty Saucony running shoes and baggy black sweatpants. We began playing in a small area wedged between several pick-up games, shooting at two shoulder-high goals. I was standing in front of one goal stretching when I noticed that about 7 or 8 of the Chinese players had converged on the ball, like kindergartners at their first practice in the park. Apparently, we had started. For about 15 minutes, I tried my best to stay out of the action and to guess who was on my team (no one had bothered to tell me or answer my panicked questions). In the most politically correct way possible, I will say that in the heat of the action most of my coworkers looked about the same to me. Numerous times I passed the ball to someone I had thought to be a teammate, only to have them race back the other way and score. If my Chinese coworkers hadn't heard the English phrase "my bad" before the other night, they have now.

I started sweating about 30 minutes into the game, and took off my black hoodie, revealing a gray long-sleeve tee shirt. My boss, Luke, ran over and asked, "What are you doing? Will you put that back on?" Apparently, the entire time we had been playing light shirts vs. dark shirts and I hadn't been told. That made things easier, to say the least.

Largely fueled by my ineptitude and communication errors, our team immediately went down something like 7-0. It was embarrassing and despite promising myself that I would stay calm and not try, I started to try. Over the next hour or so, I scored about 15 of our team's 20 goals. We had moved to a larger field, and now that I was able to run in open grass there wasn't a whole lot that many of my opponents could do. I was hailed as a defensive genius, as apparently I was the first to introduce the Chinese people to the concept of man-marking. So you're saying that if you stand in front of an opponent, that makes it harder for them to receive passes and score? Brilliant!

The Chinese also seem to lack a perception of field boundaries, and it was not uncommon to be moving the ball up the pitch only to be brushed back by a pair of wildly sprinting players from the next field over, chasing a long pass.

I know that all of my coworkers know how to speak English, and they were all very kind and spoke to me in English before and after the game. During play, however, there was absolutely no English, bar one word: "Sh*t."

All in all, it was a great experience. I'm hoping it gives me the guts to be more conversational in the office, and that my coworkers will stop referring to me as Messi, the world's best player. I'm not really very good.

Pics on Facebook

Okay everyone, I've finally caved in to immense peer pressure and have posted some photo albums on Facebook. If you're my friend on Facebook, you'll find the new albums in my photo section. They're just selections of the hundreds of photos I took at each place, but you'll see some good ones. If you don't have Facebook (or are not my friend on it) you can do as was previously mentioned and send me an e-mail to request access to my Snapfish page.

THANKS!

Consistently Inconsistent

I've mentioned several times that in China, the word that keeps coming to my mind is 'paradox.' It seems like every day I make a pair of observations that are completely opposite, completely confusing. It's rapid development vs. lingering slums, it's a desire to be stylish like the west vs. being distinctly eastern, it's the rising ultra-high class vs. people who can't get clean water.

The other night I saw a young boy, probably about 4, standing on a stoop in a busy shopping street, his pants around his ankles, peeing into the oncoming sidewalk traffic. His mother looked on with approval. At times like that I wonder, 'what kind of a vulgar, uncivilized place is this? This is anarchy. I can't wait to get to America.'

About 30 minutes later, I saw a young boy, about 5 years old, literally run down a set of stairs in front of a building. He was rushing to offer his frail grandfather a steady arm as he walked up the steps. I don't think many American five-year-olds know a commitment to their elder family members quite like that; it's times like those when I think, 'wow, maybe this place has got some things figured out. We could learn a lot from them.'

An American Victory

The last two days have been the most smog-filled yet here in Beijing. When we returned from spring break on Sunday, the skies were beautiful and clear...we found out that it was because the factories had been shut down over the break and the permanent cloud had lifted from over the city.

The smog gets worse at night. When I walked out of the coffee shop at 10:30pm after doing some work the other night, it was like hitting a wall. "No, that's just fog, just weather," our professor tried to tell us, but I'm pretty sure that water vapor does not induce black boogers.

On Thursday afternoon, I went with 8 other guys from the program to the nice turf soccer field across campus to play some soccer with the $9 soccer ball I'd bought the other day. We played a little 4-on-4 for about 20 minutes, but then were approached by a Korean kid, about our age. Somehow the point got across that he and his 9 friends wanted to play us, full field. They were wearing soccer cleats and shinguards and were all wearing matching warm-up pants, so they appeared to be some sort of club team. We were wearing sweatpants and running shoes (or, in Zach's case, rubber turf shoes that had just been purchased from WuMei for $4 and may or may not have said "Fonverse" on the side). After some internal debate, we decided to play them.

It took about 5 minutes to get absolutely winded in the smog (granted, I'm not in as good a shape as I was in my best BC Track days), but everyone seemed to get over it soon enough. The game was a lot of fun... lots of end-to-end action and passing. I got to relive my glory days and command the central midfield (glory days weren't that glorious at all). We went down 1-0 early, then José the Venezuelan equalized for Team America(s). The Koreans scored on a nice header in front of our net, and then Tim the Canadian scored to equalize again. Steve Cho, our Korean-American, notified us that they had requested a 'next-goal-wins' scenario, and an American finally got on the board when Zach headed home Andrew's cross to win the game. The Koreans were very friendly and shook all of our hands and hugged us afterwards. It was a good bonding experience for us foreigners, and was worth the golf-ball sized bruise and lump that I have on my shin from colliding with a Korean.

Whenever I'd foul someone or knock someone down, I didn't know how to say "I'm sorry" in Korean. I resorted to the international soccer apology sign that I see executed in international professional games all the time: the awkward caressing of the back of your injured opponent's head. It seemed to get the point across.

Also, that Michael Matosic is a solid right back.

About Photos

If any of you are interested in seeing pictures from the trip, I'm currently uploading them to Snapfish. The issue is that I have to 'share' the photos with you individually. So, if you know me well enough that you don't feel awkward asking me to 'share' with you, please send me an email... I'd be happy to share pics with any of the blog's readers whether I know you or not!

My email is kiracofr@bc.edu

Ps. you don't have to register or sign up for anything to view them once I've invited you.

Spring Festival Part 2

The second half of our New Year’s trip was one of the best parts of our time in China, and explaining it all would take a small novel, so I apologize for the length of this post. I understand if you need to take a bathroom break in the middle of reading it.

My last post was written on Monday afternoon in Hangzhou. Monday night Michael had formulated a wonderful plan where we would go to a Mexican restaurant to get our North American food fix. We were all very excited, and in typical fashion over-hyped it and talked about the Mexican food we wanted way too much. As we normally do, we got the restaurant’s address in Chinese characters off the internet and saved them on Elizabeth’s phone. We showed the characters to our cab driver and he recognized the address. When he eventually pulled over, we were on the other complete other side of the city, looking at a dark gate that looked like no place for a Mexican restaurant. We called the restaurant and put the cabbie on the phone with the non-English-speaking hostess, and we listened as the cabbie barked angrily and rolled his eyes. We then retraced our steps across the entire city. Every turn was repeated, all the way back to a small bar/restaurant area that was about 5 minutes from our hotel; in fact, we’d eaten at an Italian place there the previous night. We walked around the pedestrian area for a few minutes, and still could not find this elusive ‘Pancho’s’ restaurant. We went into a Starbucks (usually a sure bet for English), but the employees hadn’t heard of the place. We went into a Haggan Daas ice cream store, and they hadn’t heard of it either. Once again we called the Mexcian restaurant, and the friendly employees at the ice cream store were willing to get on the line and try to decipher the place’s location. A man, apparently the owner of the store, was on the phone and his eyes suddenly lit up, he smiled, and told us to follow him out the door. Realizing that he must have been leading us to the restaurant, we cheered and thanked him profusely as we walked around the windy walking paths as he continued to talk on the phone. Finally he pointed at a restaurant that was now in sight, and said “that’s it!” with a huge smile. We all shook his hand and felt like crying at the incredible generosity of this random Haggan Daas employee, and practically jogged around to the front of the restaurant. Upon reaching the door, however, we noticed that it was not Pancho’s, not Mexican food, but actually the same Italian restaurant we had eaten at the night before. Subsequently we sat down in a Chinese place where we had seen a buffet; the buffet was closed so we left. We walked to a large, nice looking restaurant around the corner, and Elizabeth acted as if she had been shot when it was announced that the large, delicious-looking buffet there had closed as well. We ended up staying and ordering off the menu at that restaurant… what had been a failure of a dining experience turned into a delicious binge in which we ordered everything we could and spent 3 hours in the restaurant. Too tired to make anything of ourselves (the previous night had been a fun club adventure), we went back to the cluttered hotel and watched Cruel Intentions on Elizabeth’s computer.

Tuesday morning our spirits were lifted as the weather had finally improved; no more rain, no more fog, and slightly warmer temperatures. We went back to the beautiful West Lake and walked around, taking pictures and people watching. We took a boat ride out to a small island in the middle of the lake. The views were awesome and we were happy to finally be outside and not feel as if our feet were going to fall off. That night we finally filled our strange Mexican craving by going to a small bar called Maya, and then returned to the club called G+ where we had been treated like American celebrities a few nights before. We called it a relatively early night when the cabbie did not understand our Chinese characters for the next club we wanted to visit, so we were well rested for our train ride to Shanghai the next day.

Chinese train stations are strange places. One of the more bizarre moments of our stay in China to this point occurred when attempting to board the train. While all of the seats were assigned and there was plenty of time to get on board, a wild, shoving mob formed at the gate, and people pushed and scrambled as if it were a matter of life and death. My luggage probably could have traveled alongside me for about 100 meters without me having to touch it, because we were essentially carried through the gate by the crowd. The train itself was very nice and fast. It was a similar train and similar distance to the train trip that I took from London to Brussels last summer… that journey was about $190 USD round-trip, while the Hangzhou-Shanghai one-way trip was $9.

Upon arriving in Shanghai, I made a number of observations:

It was warmer. About 55 degrees through most of our stay, and the first time we had not had to wear coats in China. There were palm trees.

The city looks bigger than Beijing. Whereas Beijing is a maze of massively wide 8-story buildings, Shanghai is all towers and skyscrapers for as far as you can see.

Shanghai feels and looks much more western than Beijing. There were many more Europeans and Americans, many more western restaurants and stores, and way more English-speaking people.

To me, Shanghai represents all of the weird paradoxes of China on a grand stage. We saw some awful, impoverished neighborhoods, and then 5 minutes later would see a view that looked like something out of a science-fiction movie. At times it seems equal parts impoverished China, New York City, and the Jetsons.

Especially after the relatively sparse accommodations in Hangzhou, our hotel in Shanghai was an absolute palace. Located in the best couple of blocks in the city, the Majesty Plaza was a gorgeous tower with big, clean rooms, a beautiful lobby, and all the amenities. While each of us paid $40 USD per night, we imagined that a similarly located hotel in Boston, NYC or Chicago would have easily pushed 400 or 500 dollars a night.

The hotel was located on the Nanjing Pedestrian Road, a huge street of restaurants and stores…we were all too happy to cop out have a cheap Subway sandwich for dinner. Our first night in Shanghai was a bit of a bust, as most of the bars and clubs remained closed for the holiday. After multiple failed cab rides, we returned to the hotel and then walked around the neighborhood watching fireworks. It wasn’t what we were hoping for on our first night in town, but it was relaxing and I got some good photos out of it.

Thursday was a walking day, as we explored the main tourist spots in Shanghai. We visited the beautifully landscaped People’s Square, the European-feeling Xin Tian Di neighborhood, the historic Old Town of Shanghai, and The Bund, Shanghai’s historic waterfront that’s filled with European architecture (it feels more Salzburg than China). When Michael and Elizabeth decided to go up into the world’s highest observation deck, Morgan and I were left for a sunset walk along the riverfront and to take pictures of the awesome skyline. Thursday night was another interesting one. We started at a place called Bar Rouge, located high in an historic building on The Bund. The place was fun but rather empty, so we followed a Swiss friend we had made across town to an upscale club. Due to some Chinese phone issues, we ended up losing Elizabeth and spent the rest of the night trying to track her down; we were happy to find her safe and sound back at the hotel.

Friday was a shopping day, as we explored the area known as the ‘former French concession.’ That night was our best yet, as we visited a fun ex-pat bar called Beaver’s and then danced at a club called Sin, high up in a tower with awesome views of the city.

Saturday, our last day, we journeyed out of the city to visit the ancient water village of Zhujiajiao. Advertised to us as ‘the Venice of the east,’ there were parts of the small town that were very beautiful, but it was by and large a tourist trap. Vendors in every storefront tried everything to sell us the same cheap trinkets that are sold in every market in China, and we were left feeling somewhat disappointed by the lack of real Chinese culture at the self-proclaimed ‘cultural site.’ Still, the boat cruise (think Asian gondola) we took was very relaxing, and we loved the warm weather.

After taking a somewhat sketchy public bus ride back into Shanghai, we relaxed at the hotel before heading to a wine bar called The Vue. The Vue was located on the 32nd floor of the Hyatt hotel along the waterfront. It occupied the circular corner of the building, so inside the bar you could get a 270-degree view of the entire city. The futuristic skyline was incredible, especially from the outdoor observation deck. From there we visited a small club called The Velvet Lounge, which appeared to be an old house that had been refurbished into a very classy establishment. We headed back relatively early so we could rest up for our early flight back to Beijing the next day.

We were very frustrated in the airport at 8am by the lack of western breakfast food anywhere in this country. We discussed the horrible, awful things that we would be willing to do to have a Dunkin Donuts coffee and bagel, because there was nothing remotely breakfast-appropriate in the entire airport. The only restaurants were identical counters called Coffee Bar, where we saw Chinese people eating asparagus, rice, and pork at 8am, which made us want to gag. I ordered a coffee to go (you wouldn’t think that would be difficult at a place called COFFEE BAR), and after 10 minutes of watching a guy work a machine that looked like a professional chemistry set, I got a half-full Dixie cup of bad coffee. It felt like the Everlasting Gobstobber machine from Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory; a huge contraption with fire and bubbling and tubes that in the end spits out a stupid little product. We can tell that the Chinese are largely faking their interest in coffee because: A) it is impossible to get a black coffee here, B) many coffee shops don’t open til 9, completely eliminating half of coffee’s purpose, and C) it is advertised EVERYWHERE, yet rarely served.

Still, we really thoroughly enjoyed Shanghai, and already decided we'd love to go back. It's been our favorite city in China so far.

A Hangzhou New Year's

We're a month into this experience, and I still feel as if I'm just getting to know China. This place is, at times, equal parts rewarding and frustrating. To enjoy China you must be willing to roll with the punches, to put up with massive bouts of confusion and frequent changes of plans. If you can handle these, however, the positive experiences seem to be absolutely worth it.

Last week in Beijing was another interesting one. At my internship on Wednesday, we had a formal lunch for about 40 members of my company, IDC. We walked to a large restaurant near our office in Xidan, where we sat at round tables of about 8-10 people each, with a big lazy susan in the middle. As a parade of traditional Chinese dishes were brought out one at a time, I waited and waited for a friendly-looking, western dish to save me...it never came. Not wanting to be impolite and refuse everything that was offered to me, the foods that I tried included pig stomach, pig lips, and chicken stomach. I refused the pig feet (which, to me, more closely resembled human hearts), duck tongues, and chicken feet. When we walked out, my coworker Stephanie asked, "Why did you not like any of our food?" (apparently they could tell). I smiled and tried to politely explain that I had never seen anything like most of those foods before, and it would take some time for me to adjust to this new Chinese cuisine. "You're so foreign!" she said, laughing with our other coworkers. They did, however, confess that I had been more adventurous than most of my American counterparts, and that my chopstick skills were quite impressive.

Friday night, a few friends and I went out to do some karaoke-ing with our awesome Chinese professor, Li Laoshi (Professor Li). She seemed to thoroughly enjoy watching us make fools of ourselves singing boy band tunes and rap numbers from our youth. Li Laoshi sang a few songs in Chinese, and then offered to sing "the one western song she knew." It turned out that none of us had ever heard of it before (it was something called "Lemon Tree"? If you know it, please comment below and enlighten us).

As I write this post on Monday evening, China is in the middle of the two week celebration known as the Spring Festival, or Chinese New Year. We had a full week of class last week, but this week are off entirely. We were scheduled to leave for a 4-day tour of inland Shanxi Province, beginning Saturday morning, but were informed on Friday night that the trip might be in jeopardy due to a large snowstorm in the north. Some students chose to stick it out and risk getting stuck on the bus-trip to Shanxi, but our normal group of four decided to add an extension to our previously-planned trip to Shanghai. On Friday we did a good deal of research online and in books, and settled on a city near Shanghai, called Hangzhou. We had never heard of it at the time, but some locals confirmed that it was a great tourist destination.

Saturday afternoon we took the hour and a half flight from Beijing to Hangzhou. During our descent into the city, we were treated to one of the more surreal, incredible sights any of us had ever seen. When I looked out the window as we came out the bottom of the low-lying clouds, I remember thinking 'wow, this is a huge airport,' because of all the flashing red lights. As it turned out, we witnessed the most fantastic 15 minutes of fireworks of our lives. That night was 'the night' of the Chinese New Year celebrations, and a gigantic blanket of red fireworks was laid out below us, as millions of families stood outside their homes and celebrated the new year. We, as the only westerners on the large flight, were joined by the Chinese people in oohing and aahing at the mindboggling display below. It was a quintessentially Chinese moment, something that can't really be witnessed anywhere else.

After checking in at the "Hangzhou European-Style Holiday Hotel" we ventured to a popular bar street that had been recommended by the one English-speaker at the front desk. Much to the chagrin of my traveling partners (but as I had quietly suspected all along), Chinese New Year is more of a Christmas-like celebration as opposed to an American New Year's party where you go out and go crazy and count down at midnight. Most businesses were closed, and everyone seemed to be at home with their families. We found a jazz bar filled with ex-pats and enjoyed popcorn and pizza while it snowed outside.

Hangzhou is, like many Chinese cities, an odd contrast of beautiful, historic areas and flavorless, dull sections full of towers and apartments. Famous for its West Lake (supposedly the most famous lake in all of China due to a series of myths and legends that took place there), Hangzhou is at its best in the area around the water. It's hard to explain because the weather's been so cold and miserable during our stay here, but it feels like a spring break destination (despite lacking an ocean). The streets near the lake are beautiful and tree-lined, and the plants and flowers are in bloom (or at least they were until this rare snowstorm hit). On Sunday, our first full day in town, we saw the sights at the historic lake, which was incredible. Soaked and cold, we still loved the views and the people. Michael, Morgan and Elizabeth bought some local artwork, and I took some pretty cool photos. In a coffee shop, we met a local named Jin, who offered to show us around the lake and make some suggestions for the rest of the stay. After walking across the scenic 'causeway' along the edge of the lake, we climbed the historic Leifeng Tower, which on any other day would have offered some breathtaking views of the lake and the city beyond. It was still cool, but left us wondering about how awesome it would be on a clear, warm day.

The four of us went out to a nice Italian (yes, Italian!) dinner for Valentine's Day, then hopped from a local bar to a few clubs. Clubs here are an interesting thing, especially when they're not ex-pat clubs. We, as Americans, are apparently a big deal. We're often treated like quasi-celebrities, and the management always seems privileged to have us there, as if we're promoting their business with our mere presence. The Hangzhou locals were very friendly and seemed happy to hear that students from America (America!) were thoroughly enjoying their somewhat unknown city.

We got up late on Monday, and after a stop at Best Bite Donut shop, we spent the day at the Lingyin Temple, one of China's most imporant Buddhist sites. Upon entering the complex, we noted that it felt like a Chinese Disney world, with carefully manicured landscaping, wide paths, and small booths selling sodas and chips. All it needed, we said, were little speakers to play a tribal beat and the occasional monkey/jungle noise. Soon after, however, we found ourselves climbing wet paths on a series of steep hills into which were carved many Buddhist statues and murals. We slowly made our way back down and entered the temple itself, which was a series of about 20 yellow buildings, all clustered together as if in a castle. The main buildings were filled with gigantic (several stories tall) Buddhist relics. The religious artwork and architecture was unbelievable, but just as interesting were the scenes around us: people praying, bowing, waving incense, throwing coins at large black pots, and mumbling to themselves. Much of it seemed like a scene from a movie, and we felt slightly out of place among the throngs of worshippers that were essentially on a Buddhist pilgrimage. It was yet another only-in-China moment, an incredible experience that was far removed from anything I'd ever witnessed before.

Getting a cab from the temple was a harrowing experience (cabbies in this city are the most aggressive I've ever seen. They will make wild, inexplicable driving manouvers just to get one car ahead in a lineup. It is sickening). We made our way to Hangzhou's Six Harmonies Temple, another large temple that sits high on a hill overlooking the city and the river. Cold and hungry, however, we decided to table the temple until later, because the low clouds had nearly eliminated the view from the top.

Spring Festival, Arsenal, & Drew Brees

Spring festival is upon us, and Beijing's businesses are slowly shutting down. Beijing is a migrant city, so a huge percentage of the population is heading back to their native provinces for the week, to be with family. All of our campus dining halls are closed, so we Americans are scrambling off-campus to find meals.

Sunday night, Morgan and Elizabeth accompanied me as I made my second attempt to find the Arsenal Club of Beijing. We took a cab to the same bar where I was so humiliated two weeks ago, but happily found a large throng of Arsenal supporters, and even a few fans of our opponent and rival, Chelsea. After walking in and trying to take seats in the back, a group of the Chinese supporters came rushing towards me, some speaking Chinese, some English. "We request that you come sit with us!" they said, looking at my jersey, pointing and gesturing at their own. I agreed, but only after I did a TV interview and was forced to pose for a series of pictures standing in front of a Chinese advertisement. Apparently, I was their first American. I went up into the middle of the crowd and was thoroughly entertained by the passionate fans around me. They seem to care as much as we do! It was odd to think that my normal Boston Arsenal crew was sitting in a bar, just like I was, watching the exact same moving pictures, on the other side of the world, and at 11am instead of midnight. Not many of the guys spoke English, but during the course of the game I could always tell what they were grumbling about... I knew that when Theo Walcott had another bad pass reception they were all murmuring about how he lost his touch while injured, and I knew that when they showed Chelsea's John Terry they were all laughing about the recent news of his affairs with teammates' girlfriends. The fans of Arsenal Beijing get it, and it was a thoroughly enjoyable experience despite the 2-0 thrashing.

During halftime, they gathered around and asked me a series of questions through a translator. They couldn't believe that I've been to London a few times, and that I've been in the Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal. "Is it a really magical place?" they asked. "It is a lifelong dream to witness a game." The 10000 or so miles between London and Beijing don't seem to put a damper on their passion for the team.

Monday morning (after 3.5 hours of sleep) we went to Pyros for a Super Bowl party. Literally the first TV images we'd seen from the west in a month, it was a very weird experience, somewhat sad. Behind the 4th of July, Super Sunday might be the most purely American day of the year, and we, well, weren't close. We drank coffee, ate bad breakfast burritos and enjoyed watching some New Orleans ex-pats yell and dance as the Saints won their first Super Bowl. We went back to Shaoyuan and slept.

"It's Another Beijing Miracle"

In my first post on this blog I said that one of my main reasons for wanting to go to a city like Beijing was to get back to the feelings I first encountered while exploring Europe years ago, namely the "What the hell is happening right now?!?!" feeling. Well, mission accomplished.

This weekend has been one of the best and most bizarre yet here in Beijing, and this place seems to reveal another inexplicable, ridiculous layer every day.

After José and Sandy somehow talked me into leaving Shaoyuan #5 at midnight on Thursday night to go wander around Wudoukou (a Chinese McDonald's at 2am is a very interesting place indeed), I was exhausted on Friday afternoon. I took a short nap and then made a quick trip with Elizabeth to Tiananmen Square to take some pictures (I'm still learning how to use my new Nikon SLR camera). I got some cool shots, but didn't stay too long on account of not being able to feel my hands.

At 6:30 we met up with Professor Chapman for another of our 'Friday night socials'; our normal 4 were joined by our friend Andrew from William & Mary. We walked from campus down Chengfu Lu, the major east-bound street in the Haidian district, into the bright lights and wild scene of Wudoukou on a Friday night. In the midst of the craziness, we veered off to the right, down a series of dark alleyways and into the 'hutong,' where all sorts of little huts, street kitchens, and vendors sat clustered around the narrow paths. Chapman stopped in front of a fogged-up sliding glass door, one that looked like what you find in the back of an old walk-out basement in America. He opened the door and poked his head in, said "hello!" and then waved for us to follow. Just inside the door was a steaming cauldron full of noodles, and a shelf full of veggies and nuts. A small Chinese woman, apparently the owner, stood shaving noodles off a large, long loaf that looked like cheese. We walked past and into a small, cold room with bare walls, 2 fluorescent overhead lights, a Chinese war movie playing on an old TV, and a set of about 6 locals, all eating by themselves and staring at us as if we each had three heads. We sat down and the girls elected not to remove their coats, under which they were wearing nice 'going-out' dresses. Chapman, as he always does, was able to talk to the owner and order something without speaking a single word of Chinese, and soon we were eating delicious pork jiaozi, or dumplings, and a sort of chicken stir fry. In this ugly, cold room that was no more than 30x30 feet in size, we ate a good meal and were able to exchange simple Chinese phrases with the husband-and-wife owners afterward. We were grateful that Chapman had taken us to a spot so far off the beaten path, but probably won't be venturing back by ourselves anytime soon... to find the women's restroom, Morgan and Elizabeth had to wander through the dark, bustling hutong to a public 'squatter' (the girls received directions from an old man they now refer to as "Mao"; after emerging from the restroom Morgan inexplicably told Mao that the restroom was hen hao, or very good, which it wasn't).

Our evening with Professor Chapman only got more interesting, as we took the subway across town and followed the Englishman through (what else?) a series of dark, frightening back alleyways. We stepped into an unmarked, unlit hallway, which spilled into a tiny bar. In the back was a small room packed with about 50 Chinese people. Chinese pop music blared from an impressive sound system as we awkwardly stumbled around, trying to find open seats and to order drinks. We eventually got settled, and soon a young Chinese man, probably 25 or so years old, took the stage and began a folk music performance. It was defintely an eccentric show, featuring: a 5-minute solo of rhythmic mouth noises like flicking the side of one's mouth; a traditional flute performance; a series of cameos from American ex-pats; a Chinese-language performance of Bob Dylan's "Blowing In The Wind" (after which the singer kissed a framed 8x10 photo of Dylan that he had kept in his bag); and a wild, exhausting solo on a strange, tubular flute-like instrument (afterwards, Chapman declared the number 'the most phallic musical performance' he'd ever seen). The concert was definitely weird, but was one of the most enjoyable and cultural experiences of our trip so far. So many aspects were so strange, so foreign, so un-American (ie. the entire crowd passed around a plastic shopping bag full of peanuts, and it was perfectly acceptable for anyone in the audience to begin a conversation with the singer in between songs).

Outside the bar, we were amused by a small laser show that was mysteriously emanating from above the door of a dark building, and Chapman sarcastically declared it "another Beijing miracle."

We once again experienced the incredible contrast of old and new Beijing on that Friday night, as our next stop was a huge, upscale club called Banana, where we celebrated our friend Sandy's birthday. It was perhaps the first time that nearly everyone in our program was together on a weekend night, and it was an absolute blast...perhaps my hardest dancing performance since high school. Our group of 30 or so Americans attracted quite the audience, but paled in entertainment value when compared to the black man that descended from the ceiling on a platform and proceeded to dance his way out of a wedding dress. "Only in Asia," we said to each other, and it seemed a fair assessment.

We made it back to Shaoyuan #5 a little after 4am.

Saturday we woke up, predictably, late. We had an American breakfast/lunch at Lush, a popular ex-pat haunt in Wudoukou. From there we took a cab to Beijing's famous Wangfujung shopping district, which turned out to be more window-shopping than anything else; the upscale shops there sadly featured American-style prices. The most unique part of our time in Wangfujing was when we walked down a packed side street full of vendors, many of which offered tempting treats like scorpions and grubs. A quick stop back at the Silk Market allowed the girls to buy some cheap outfits and me and Michael to purchase some new glasses frames.

Saturday night was more low key, as we had pizza and drinks at The Red House, which has quickly become a favorite for the students of Beida. The four of us enjoyed hanging out with José, Omar, and Zach, as well as a small of entourage of Italian girls that they had met earlier. The cab ride home was a hoot, as Elizabeth had a conversation with the cab driver in which she was able to systematically, one by one, ask if each member of the cabbie's family was busy. Ni gege mang ma? Is your older brother busy?

Sunday featured another interesting walk with Professor Chapman and the increasingly likeable Xinyuan. We visited the Liulichang cultural district, whose narrow, winding streets featured traditional Chinese goods and tea. We ate lunch in a beautiful local restaurant, in which Michael and Emma tactfully ordered the resturant's only 8 dishes that looked appetizing (we opted out on the pigeon). Ever the story-teller, Chapman told us his tales of hanging out with the world's preeminent mountaineers, and of having a sabre drawn on him in a Greek restaurant in London.

After splitting off from Chapman and Xinyuan, we stopped at yet another monstrous market, this one called the Pearl Market. Emma proved to be an impressive negotiator, as we talked a variety of fake products down to as little as 1/10 of the vendor's original asking price. We're getting pretty good.

Videos

Hey everybody,

Rumor has it that the videos on the blog aren't working, so I'll try to fix it... with the Chinese internet you just never know what you're going to get.

Hey Andrew Bird, You're in China

It's Monday morning now, and I'm at my desk looking out over Xidan Square. I'm exhausted. The Pro Bowl's going on back home, but the only signs of the west around me are the occasional Nike - Kobe Bryant commercials that are shown on the big-screen TV across the square.

The last few days have been extremely entertaining.

Friday, after taking my first Chinese quiz of the year, a few of us visited the appropriately named Zoo Market, a 7-story building full of vendors of cheap products. Less touristy than the Silk Market that we visited a few weeks ago, we were the only foreigners in the place; we saw where the real Chinese working class goes to get their 'name-brand' apparel. I was disappointed that I hadn't had the guts to bargain with anyone at the Silk Market, so I was determined to at least play the game at the Zoo Market. I saw a fake Adidas jacket on a mannequin, and walked up to the vendor. I was mainly interested in the sheer entertainment value of bargaining, the acting, the show, the feigning shock when the vendor suggested that I pay 100 kuai ($15) for this coat. $15! Are you nuts! For a coat? You're out of your mind! Make it $10. My basic Chinese, however, was able to pick up on the fact that because there was a large, yellow price tag on that jacket, it was a 'one-price, no bargain' product. I offered 90 kuai, he said no, I pretended to walk away, I realized that it was $15 so I didn't really care, and then went back and bought the coat. Later I saw the same coat at a different vendor and asked how much it was. 290 kuai was the response, so I figure I got an okay deal.

Later that night, we met up once again with the entertaining Professor Michael Chapman (Britain's Anthony Bourdain). A great crew (Eliz, Michael, Morgan, Omar, Emma, Alex, José, Zach) took cabs over to Wudoukou, where we were led down a dark back alleyway (there seem to be so many here) to a Korean Barbecue restaurant, called 'Sang Sang.' There, we grilled about a dozen types of red meat on 2 small table grills.

Afterwards, we (minus Chapman) walked to a small bar called Red House that we've grown fond of, and met up with a huge crew of Beida students. We enjoyed watching José, our Venezuelan friend, perform his normal routine of attempting to talk to Chinese girls with his basic, and heavily Latino-accented Chinese vocab. We ended the night at Propaganda, a mostly ex-pat club down the street that featured an odd man in a Michael Jackson costume standing (not really dancing) on stage.

Saturday was a day I'd waited for all week, as we took our group trip to the Forbidden City. Literally a city in and of itself, the "Palace Museum" is the heart of Beijing. As we passed through gate after intimidating gate, the historic Chinese buildings and walls blocked out Beijing's towers and noise; it was easy to imagine walking into the Forbidden City 5 centuries ago. We noted that in those days, when the emperor's palace was literally the biggest thing around, the place must have really scared the crap out of any commoners or foreign diplomats that somehow found their way in. As we journeyed deeper and deeper into the city, it seemed to stretch onward for miles...at the far end, we could see a large hill with a pagoda-like structure on top. We passed through imperial halls and gardens, and were occasionally filmed for extended periods of time by Chinese locals who seemed to have never seen a large crowd of white and black people.

After leaving the city through its north gate, a small group decided to climb the large hill in front of us, to check out the pagoda on top. After meeting a family from Florida (the first American family we'd seen, they asked 'Will y'all take our picture for us?'...I felt like giving them a high five), we slowly climbed the awkwardly-spaced steps to the top. The view was spectacular. The pagoda commands a surreal view of the Forbidden City and Beijing as a whole, and we stayed for quite some time, just soaking up the scene (and, okay, the smog).

We returned to Beida and were more than happy to cop out and have an American lunch at Kro's Nest, our unquestioned favorite for good western food (we never said Big Pizza was good).

Saturday night, I split off from our normal crew and went with some other fun kids to see a concert across town. Andrew Bird was about as un-Chinese an act as there is (he's from Chicago), but it was a great show. We seemed to find the 'hipster' capital of all Beijing that night... there was lots of American English, lots of plaid, lots of skinny jeans, lots of beards. The small concert venue seemed like something that could be found in Boston or New York, except for at one moment that reminded us all of where we actually were... Andrew Bird is a one-man-band, known for recording bits with different instruments, and then, using foot pedals, mashing them together to make a complete track. His concerts are the same way...he'll start by recording 8 measures of violin, then 8 of guitar, 8 of xylophone, etc., so it sometimes takes a bit of time to work into a song. About 3 minutes into one of these tracks, there was a huge "BOOOOMP" from the speakers. The music stopped, and a large "ohhhhhhhh" came from the crowd, followed by wild cheers because we didn't know what else to do. Bird stood there on stage for about a minute...the instruments didn't make a sound, the mic didn't work, nothing worked. Bird looked very confused, and yelled that everything he'd just recorded had been erased. The crowd cheered wildly, and during a lull, some American guy screamed a simple but somewhat profound statement: "HEY ANDREW BIRD! YOU'RE IN CHINA!" This set of another wild round of celebrations about nothing, and when the sound finally returned and Bird was able to continue his set, the fun and hilarious atmosphere continued. It was a very fun time.

Sunday morning brought another of our weekly excursions with Dr. Chapman, joined once again by the mysterious woman whose name we now know is Xinyuan. Our first stop was an ancient Chinese observatory, part of the former inner city wall. On top, there were a variety of very old astronomer's instruments, where Chinese scientists were some of the first to discover many celestial phenomena. The second part of our trip took us to various 'hutongs' or traditional Chinese neighborhoods. Hutongs (as I understand them) are walled compounds that contain sometimes as many as 10 or 12 small hut-like buildings. Wealthy families often have a whole compound to themselves (picture the Disney movie Mulan), but in cases like where we were, many families share them, each with a small hut to themselves. Xinyuan knocked on the door of one, and we were politely welcomed by an elderly couple to come in, talk and have tea. Through Xinyuan, we learned that the old man was a jade worker, and had his own tiny workshop in the hut next door. He gave us pamphlets about his business, and they kindly posed for pictures afterwards. Though it might have been a bit brash to barge into somebody's home, it was an informative look into how millions of Beijingers live, in one-room homes with communal bathrooms.

Lunch was at a Sichuan restaurant nearby, supposedly the best in the city. The food was spicy and not our favorite, especially Elizabeth, who doesn't handle spicy food very well, and Morgan, who looked like she was going to vomit after accidentally eating a spicy onion. And while I certainly was not pleased by the spiced fish head that the waiters brought out, we were regaled by stories of Chapman's adventures hitchhiking across America in the early 80's, most of which were heavily drug-induced and featured a Tennessee man named Dale Culpepper. Hearing a Brit say that name is, well, hilarious.

Sunday night we booked flights and hotels for Shanghai, which the four of us will visit during the second half of the Chinese New Year/Spring Festival break that is coming up in two weeks.