改革开放以后... (gaige kaifang yihou...)

Something I've always found interesting (and rather annoying... and rather disgusting, actually), is that in the bathrooms in my dorm, the ayis will fill the soap dispensers with water. My guess is that they're trying to make the soap last longer, but really, I just pump more onto my hand. But then again, we're lucky we have soap. Most places don't, so I always carry around hand sanitizer.

I also always carry around tissues, as bathrooms in China consistently lack toilet paper. If, by some stroke of luck, we encounter a bathroom with toilet paper, it's big news. That's a classy bathroom. But something that none of the bathrooms have is a plumbing system into which one can flush toilet paper. It was hard to get into the habit of not flushing toilet paper; when I get back to America, it will be hard not to not flush toilet paper.

As CET is coming to a close, there's more and more talk about reverse culture shock. I'm not really sure what that will be like. I didn't suffer from normal culture shock (is there such a thing?) when I got here; I adapted pretty quickly. But I'm not sure about going home—will I just fall back into my normal routines? What will I find strange? Perhaps eating with a fork, not sharing food with everyone, non-negotiable prices, driving, clean streets, or clean bathrooms.

That the days are dwindling has made me start thinking about what I miss about American life—cleaner air, clean streets, non-negotiable prices, driving. It's interesting that some of the things that I'll miss are some of the things I look forward to getting away from. But there's still a fair amount that I miss about my life in America that I don't get here-- my family, hummus, Ethiopian food, my own bathroom, less questionable health conditions, good chewing gum. Even though I know I'll miss China and my life at CET, I'm ready to come home. I'm studied out, and I'm ready to start my internship in California.

But before we start thinking about China-less adventures, let's recap what's been going on on this side of the Pacific.

Last weekend Victoria, Annetta, Jason, and I went to Qingdao. Some of you may know it as Tsingtao, as in the beer. Qingdao is a coastal city in Shandong and the future site of Olympic watersports. Though Qingdao is unquestionably a part of China, it sure doesn't feel like it.







Actually, it feels like California with a little bit of Europe thrown in. Not only are the streets clean (I'm sensing a trend here), but the buildings are more colorful (ie not gray), it's on the coast, there's less pollution, and the streets are lined with trees. I know those don't seem like a lot of reasons, but until there's just something different about the way it feels. At one time, it was occupied by the Germans, so a majority of the buildings are done in European-style architecture. It's gorgeous. It was like going back to the States for a weekend.







The four of us left on Friday after our test, and after a brief hour in the air, we were in Qingdao. We booked a hotel online and we were excited, because not only was the price decent, but it was a Hyatt and supposedly a ten minute walk from the beach.



We were a little surprised when we got into the rooms. They weren't bad, but they were incredibly small. Annetta and I shared a room, and we hardly had any space at all. The other indication that it wasn't quite up to Hyatt standards is that the shower was the bathroom and the bathroom the shower. This isn't uncommon in China; you'll recall I noted the same about Tianqi's house. But the thing is, it makes the bathroom really wet and a little gross after you shower. Then took a closer look at the hotel's name. Not a Hyatt, but a Hyatt Star. Oh, those clever business-people. They also mentioned that the hotel was star-rated, but failed to mention just how many stars it had been rated.

But we didn't spend that much time in the hotel anyway. Because the second we set our stuff down we went out for our first Qingdao meal. Qingdao is renowned for it's seafood (it's on the sea—it should be), so we went in search of the best seafood we could find.

This is the street with the best seafood in town (according to more than a few Qingdao-ites).



I don't normally eat seafood—it's too fishy. But in Qingdao, they know how to cook their seafood, and, well, there really wasn't much of a choice. Boy, did I suffer.

This is our fish before we ate it.





There's nothing like seeing your meal killed before your eyes. I think that whacking it on the floor is a good method. Plus it provides a little bit of a challenge, since it's hard to pick up again when it's writhing furiously on the floor.





This is our fish prepared.



We also ordered dates stuffed with nuts.



And mushrooms with noodles.



And beef in some hard wrap thing. Good.



And some clams. I didn't eat those. Not my thing.



And these. These spectacular buns of doughy greatness. There was meat and green onions in the middle.



They were fantastic. I only ate two and a half. Annetta had four. I was impressed.

Then we went to the supermarket and bought tons of candy. In China, there's a fruit called Hawthorne (or Haw or Shanzha) that's nonexistent in the US. Somehow, the Chinese have managed to take this small, cherry-sized, tangy fruit and produce The Most Fabulous Candy of All Time. There are fruit roll up things, flakes of dried shanzha, a candy of both of them layered like a sandwich, special chewy gummies with powdered sugar on the outside, and then, The Most Fabulous of The Most Fabulous Candy of All Time, strips of fruit roll-up type shanzha coated in sugar. Here in the Gang of Four, we call them the “weixian tang,” or “dangerous candy.” It's not hard to eat a ton of them in one sitting (as I may or may not have been known to do. Ask the extra ten pounds on my hips). This is what we do while we eat candy:



I think the greatest problem of American society is that they do not have Shanzhas, or if they do, they aren't available to many. I think a lot could be solved by the Hawthorne. I'm bringing some back to the States with me; we'll see if my family agrees. Maybe I'll bring about world peace (or obesity or diabetes).

This is the best looking man in Qingdao:



The next day we were blessed with nice weather, so we set off to Huang dao, or Yellow Island, to go to a beach that my book said was prettier and less crowded than the others in Qingdao. Following half an hour in a cab, half an hour on a ferry, and another half hour in another cab, we reached Jinsha tan aka Golden Beach.









Chinese beaches are a lot different than American ones. The beaches are filled with tents and umbrellas, and the second you step onto the sand, someone hounds you to rent one. Also, no one on the beach wears a swimsuit. Annetta, Victoria, and I wore ours, and we got a LOT of stares; more than usual. Nothing like waiguo ren in a bikini, I guess.







And then, we were hungry. Big surprise there. So we found a little place, killed another fish, and watched it sit on the dirty tile floor for awhile before it got cooked.







We also ordered some fried beef:



Potatoes and eggplant:



Octopus (not bad):



Mapo dofu:



It was good, but not spectacular, and way too overpriced.

Once we cab-ferry-cabbed back to Qingdao, we went to another beach that was not as good. It was recommended by our cab driver, who seemed to fancy himself an expert on Qingdao and our tour guide. He rambled on and on about a TV tower, an underwater aquarium, and various other activities he seemed to think were a good use of our time. This may sound helpful, but really, it was irritating, because he just wouldn't listen.





After the beach, we back to the same street filled with seafood restaurants for dinner. This was our best choice yet.

Mandatory fish:





Oily iron-skillet meat with chili powder and tons and tons of garlic:



Mussel thingies:



Tofu noodles:



Oily fried eggplant stuffed with pork and then doused in oil:



Fried dough with beef and egg for stuffing:



Needless to say, we ate too much. It was that night when I reached my saturation point. All that oil swimming through my digestive tract made me not want to think about eating any more food. And then, after a foot massage, we went back to the hotel and ate candy. Because candy isn't food.

Sunday we woke up and went to the Tsingdao beer factory. This is without question the best museum I've been to in China (though that's not saying much since Chinese museums are somewhat lacking in organization).










So we walked through exhibits, watched ads, walked through a factory and learned how to make beer. And then we reached the free sample counter, in which they gave each of us a free glass of beer (but we paid 50 kuai entry to the factory).



We posed with the beer, took a token sip, and then gave the rest to Jason, since none of the females like beer. Actually, it wasn't bad; much better fresh, but I didn't like it enough to drink it at 10 in the morning. Jason, however, downed all four glasses in quick succession. Impressive.



We then continued on our journey through the brewery and arrived at the gift shop a few minutes later. After purchasing requisite tchachkas, we were greeted with another “free” pitcher of beer. Jason managed to polish off a little more than half of the pitcher, and, before the hands of the clock reached eleven, got drunk. Though he wasn't absurdly drunk, his eyes were red and he couldn't walk straight for the next two hours. Our group lush, it seems.




Then we walked around for awhile, went to a fish market, and then we females got our nails done (though Jason should have too).





After that, an early dinner back at the seafood street.

Killed another fish:



Shrimpy things (not my thing):



Chicken and vegetables:



Vegetables with pork (really good):

Salad with seafood bits and TONS of garlic:



And then it was off to the airport, where we ate more candy and did homework. All in all, a great weekend. I'd really like to go back some day. Maybe when I compete in sailing at next year's Olympics.

Back in Beijing, it's been a week of last suppers. Thai, Shanghai, Hakka, a new Hunan place. Actually, we haven't been going much of anything; this week was finals and Friday is our “graduation.” And then Monday, early morning, I head back to the other side of the Pacific.

So now I have seen both sides of the Pacific Ocean, but it's hard to come up with overarching theses about China. It's different, it's the same. I look forward to going home but I don't want to leave. China is one massive maodun, or contradiction; it's one big problem that just can't be solved. Actually, it seems like the best way for the laobai xing (ordinary people) to live is just to acknowledge that there is a problem (the most common sentence is: Zhongguo de ren tai duo le-- China has too many people), but to live like you aren't part of the problem. Everyone here is just trying to get by and live the best life that he or she can. Maybe he does it by shouting “hello!” from vendor stalls in the hopes of selling you an overpriced anything, or maybe she sells fruits or bootleg DVDs, or operates an elevator, or tries to gouge you on service prices. It's annoying that people shove to get onto the bus or the subway, but the way this country is, you have to shove your way around or else you get left behind and you're the only one that suffers.

A few weeks ago I interviewed Tianqi's dad about the gaige kaifang, the closest translation of which is China's Open Door Policy, which signaled the end of the Cultural Revolution, when living in China pretty much sucked. It's a pretty big deal here in China, even though it's just a sentence in American history. Here, the sentence “gaige kaifang yihou... (after the gaige kaifang...)” is a very common one. Basically, that's when life in China stopped sucking so much. After years of not developing the economy at all, the government finally started. They finally allowed people to attend college, stopped sending teenagers to rural areas to work, and allowed people to stop starving.

And so I asked Tianqi's dad: gaige kaifang yihou, what were the biggest changes in your life? This man was alive during the Cultural Revolution; he worked in the rural areas. His life must have been hard. What he told me is: zhongguo ren de shenghuo shuiping tigao le henduo-- Chinese people's standard of living improved a lot. That's the biggest thing. He said they were finally able to use the law to protect themselves. They had jobs, so they had more money, so they had more clothing and more food. They bought more things, more electronics, and suddenly, their lives improved quickly. How could a society with a majority of people who lived through the Cultural Revolution not shove to be first, not fight for a seat on the bus or subway, not covet the latest cell phone model? They had nothing, and now their kids have comparatively everything. And the kids who were born right after the Cultural Revolution are living in a maodun—old ideals from their parents, new ideals from development and the Western influence.

No wonder China is developed but behind. Some buildings look Western, but they're surrounded by old buildings that sag with age. I don't know how China's going to deal; it just can't take any more people. Sometimes in our drill classes our professors ask us how we could solve one of many of China's problems, and usually all we can come up with is: they should implement related policies. I don't know what those policies are, and I don't think the government does either.

Being over here has changed my opinions a lot. When I first arrived, I and my classmates were against the One Child Policy; we thought it was unfair that the government could control how many kids a couple are allowed to have. We kept telling our teachers: it's an individual choice. They clearly didn't agree; we're just spoiled Americans. But then I saw just how many people there are, just how many of them don't have enough to get by, just how small apartments are, and I started to understand. The government has to control the population. It might suck individually, but that's the price the Chinese have to pay for a history in which they had no participation.

I'm going home in three days, so I'm lucky that I can leave this problem behind. It's easy to look at China and say, there are just too many people; it's not my problem. But what about Tianqi? What about the other 1.3 billion people in China? Basically, everyone just has to ignore the problem until they personally suffer the consequences. I wonder how long it will take for America to suffer the consequences, too.

Parlez-vous 中文？

I was in Florence last summer for a film program. One late afternoon, after a long day of filming, the three people in my group and I were standing on the side of the road waiting for the bus, or a cab, or something to take us back to our hostel. While we were waiting, a girl rode by on her bicycle, grinning like an idiot. One of the (male, unsurprisingly) members of my group said: “There's only one thing that can make a girl smile like that: getting laid.”

Clearly, he is totally wrong. I just spent the entire night grinning like an idiot, too. You know what else can make a girl smile like that? A fantastic, spectacular meal.

Throughout our adventure-meals in China, Annetta, Jason, and I have perservered on the never-ending quest for good food. How do we know we've found it? Our after-food glow. The name is pretty self-explanitory, but Annetta and I glow like hazardous waste after we've had a tasty, satisfying meal of epic serving sizes. And that was tonight.

Last week, Annetta and I drew up a calendar, listing out our final three weeks in China and where we would eat dinner each of those nights. Clearly the calendar must be subject to changes, but it was important to us to make sure to hit the restaurants we love one last time. The only problem: we wanted to try some new ones. It's a tragedy that for us, there aren't enough calories, nor meals, in a day.

Let's start with Monday: we went to a restaurant called Bellagio's. Despite the rather off-putting name, it supposed to be one of the best Taiwanese restaurants in Beijing. Before then, I'd never eaten Taiwanese food. Boy was I deprived. Let's keep in mind that there were four of us as I list for you our ordered (and entirely eaten) items:

Beef with greens:



Dumplings (though nothing special):



Bitter melon (pretty boring):



Tofu (glorious):



Chicken (I'm-moving-to-Taiwan good):



You will notice that five dishes for four people is exercising considerable restraint and reason. However, Bellagio's is also well known for it's desserts, one of which is a huge mountain of ice topped with beans and sweet syrupy goodies. It would have been enough for all four of us:



But then, the mango sticky rice with ice looked good. I got that:



Annetta wanted a mango slushy thing with coconut milk and sago:



Victoria wanted purple rice sweet hot soup thing:



Jason wanted coffee peanut ice thing:



And then, when we had all shared and finished off every dessert in it's entirety, Annetta decided that perhaps she wasn't totally satisfied, so she called the waiter over and ordered another dessert. You should have seen the look on that waiter's face. She was pretty stunned that we managed to eat what could easily have been a nice dessert for ten people.



Tuesday we went to a Yunnan restaurant. It was alright, but not worth spending time to upload the pictures.

These people own a small store right next to school. I buy Coke Light from them every day:



Wednesday I went to have dinner with the son and girlfriend of my grandparents' friends. He works at the US Embassy here, so I took a little trip to the waiguo ren central of Beijing, though I must confess it's an area with which I am quite familiar, as the Tibetan restaurant is literally down the street from their apartment. I'm so jealous.

Their apartment is fabulous. Anywhere in the world, their apartment would be great, but in Beijing, it's pretty top-notch. They certainly aren't ignorant, quite the opposite in fact; they know they're lucky. The Embassy provides some pretty nice living conditions. Their living room is the size of Tianqi's entire apartment. They have three bedrooms, an office, two bathrooms, a kitchen, a washer, and a drier. Do not misunderstand me and think that I'm trying to criticize the way they live, because I'm absolutely not. I just think it's interesting to see, firsthand, the difference in living conditions. Tianqi's family is not struggling for money, nor are they rich; they're average, and probably a little above. But it's pretty notable what different standards of living exist. I know that even bigger gaps exist, but let's face it: I'm 21, and I'm just starting to grasp the concrete differences that exist between the world's citizens. That's the point of my coming here.

So they took me out to dinner, and it was quite enjoyable. The restaurant was pretty good too; there was a chicken curry served in a bread bowl which was my favorite. It's too bad that I only have two weeks left here; I don't know if I'll have a chance to see them again. I hope I can.

Afterwards, when I was walking myself from the metro back to school, I had some time to myself just to think and reflect. I felt like I was watching myself from the tops of the buildings, seeing Ellis In China from the outside. Mentally stepping outside of myself, I realized just how sad I will be to leave Beijing. In many ways, I feel like I've just started here: with Chinese, understanding the city, eating, understanding a little slice of the world. But in two weeks, I'll have to abandon my progress. This isn't to say that it will never come back, but it won't be the same, and it will probably be slower in coming. It really frustrates me that it takes an end to make me understand how far I've come and appreciate just how I've changed. One one hand, I'm angry that time is so short; on the other had, I'm grateful that I had the opportunity to come here AND that I reached some important realizations at all. Some of the people in the program here seem to be living a rather ignorant existence; I like to think that I try to maximize new opportunities, step outside myself, and be adventurous. Perhaps this is why, at my core, I don't consider myself a waiguo ren.

Tonight during dinner (which I will momentarily extoll), I was telling Annetta and Jason how, though I love my independence and would never give it up, sometimes I wish I had been born into a culture with a close-knit community just so I would have somewhere to belong to. Annetta pointed out that it's lucky that I was born an American. If I were a pineapple seller's daughter in China, I likely wouldn't have the opportunity to travel the world, let alone eat different kinds of foods. Point: Annetta. She also pointed out that belonging to a community could also leave me feeling more lonely, as if I were me, I probably wouldn't fit in and feel like I didn't belong anywhere.

But here's my problem: I feel like I belong everywhere. Everywhere I've gone, I feel like that's where I could live the rest of my life, or where I should have been born. My problem is I want to be everywhere and everyone at once. Therefore, I feel left out when I can't be. I have my own culture. I suppose it's appropriate that no one in China can guess where I'm from. I look like I'm from Russia, France, Germany, Italy, Canada-- very few guess the US.

Which, slightly awkwardly, brings me to tonights dinner. We were originally scheduled ( according to the aforementioned calendar) to eat Xinjiang food (Xinjiang is a region in northwestern China, right next to/above Tibet). But we changed it a little and went instead for Muslim food. You may or may not recall that in Tibet, we happened upon one of the world's most fabulous restaurants, which was also a Muslim restaurant. So when the menu arrived, we were unable to contain ourselves. Not only were we not at all hungry (due to a fabulous, greasy lunch), but we were hoping to recapture some of the Tibetan magic.

And boy did we. First, each person got his/her own bowl of perfect yogurt:



Then roast beef buns, flaky baked bread with meat in the middle:



Then Chuar, or sticks of fatty, tender, juicy, perfectly spiced meat:



Then long, chewy noodles in a slightly spicy beef sauce:



Then some chewy, dense bread:



Then stewed beef and carrots served on top of the bread (which soaked up all the sauce and grease—spectacular):



This was already more than enough. But then came our chicken dish, a huge bowl full of chicken, potatoes, and peppers in a slightly spicy sauce:



This was utterly fabulousness. That's how the after-food glow comes about, folks. The food made us really thirsty, so we were chugging tea, but the tea was hot and so is the weather, so we were sweating. Leave it to us to make eating the equivalent of a sport.

Afterwards, I bought a nice-sized tub of strawberry ice cream. And then we had a mini candy party in Jason's room. The one good thing about leaving in two weeks is that we have a new excuse to justify eating so much: we have two weeks left, so we better eat as much as we can. I think that's a good reason.

The other day, I went for a walk in the park and sat by the lake to be pensive, as lakes are generally good places to be pensive. By the lake was a rather rotund waiguo ren. He came up to me and asked me where I was from. He was French, and his English wasn't too good. I told him, in French, that I spoke a little French (I studied for four years). The thing is, every time I tried to speak to him in French, Chinese came out. Even when I spoke English to him, Chinese kept slipping out. Ha. Whoops.

This weekend we are going to a rural suburb. On Sunday we're going to a high school, and each one of us has to give a report in Chinese to the students about some aspect of American life. Mine is about how American students can study abroad. Let's see if they understand a word I say.

And so, stomach full, aura aglow, I bid you adieu/ wanan/ goodnight/

Brace yourselves, it's a long one.

Last weekend we went camping and hiking on the Great Wall. Naturally, Annetta and I bought a ton of food in anticipation, mostly candy and junk. I'd been to the Great Wall before, so what I was looking forward to most was going camping again. I think the last time I went camping was when I was 16. Since I'm someone who needs to be in nature, five years was far too long.



I certainly got some nature. Gorgeous, no?



The weather was mercifully fantastic despite the frequent, strong gusts of wind. Tianqi remarked a few times about how clean the air was, but when I looked around, I still saw walls of smog on the horizon. Our ideas of clean or polluted air clearly differ a lot. I always think it's a little ironic when, in Beijing, she'll remark on how clear the air is, because it's so not. But at the same time, I catch myself doing the same thing. It's all relative, because in Beijing, the air cannot be clean, just less smoggy.






The hike was only about two hours long, and while not easy, it certainly allowed me to look at the scenery. There are some parts of the wall are in such disrepair that I had to get off the wall and hike around, and there are other parts that have been so restored that it looks like the Ming Dynasty came after the Cultural Revolution. Personally, I rather liked seeing the effects of time; it gives more of a perspective.




We hiked from Simatai to Jinshanling, though most people go the other way. At Jinshanling, there's a hotel and a few small shops. CET divided everyone into groups of seven, then arranged one hotel room for each group so that we'd have a place to put our stuff, shower, and/or sleep if the weather got bad. Good thing we didn't have to try sleeping seven people in there. Two of us would have ended up sleeping on the bathroom floor.

CET also bought us dinner and breakfast at the hotel restaurant. I always love it when CET buys us meals at restaurants, because each time, they never fail to order far too much than even Annetta and I can eat, so basically Annetta and I feel obligated to help as much as we can to prevent needless waste.







After an evening bonfire, we hauled up the wall to pick out our sleeping spots. By then it was a little cold, so by the time we hiked up, set up the tents and got situated, I refused to leave my sleeping bag. I opted not to sleep in the tent, which, though a colder option, was much more rewarding. Since we were out of the city, the stars were plentiful and bright. Since I hardly ever get to see so many stars so clearly, I'm always surprised when I rediscover just how many of them there are, and how peaceful they make me feel.



That peace lasted until 3:30 or 4 in the morning. As soon as the sunlight starts to peek out, people start hiking the wall. They're mostly the vendors who, everyday, sell water bottles, T-shirts, Coke, beer and postcards (for obscene prices) to tourists strolling the wall. That would be a pretty lonely, low-profit job. The wall can only be great for so long.

I woke up around 4:30 and, still in my sleeping bag, made my way up to a tower to watch the sunrise. It was pretty, but not so romantic as the movies would have you believe. It's like the sunset in reverse and far too early in the morning.







After stuffing our faces at breakfast (see fabulous sweet corn pancakes above), Annetta and I decided that due to the obscene amount of carbs in our stomachs, we should hike the wall again. Towards the end of our two-hour excursion, we came across a a film crew filming a movie! Alas, I did not have my camera, but they had maybe ten or fifteen guys out there working with a nice camera, tripod, and crane. I'm jealous.

Last week was rather unremarkable save our various food exploits, the highlight of which was this:



Yes,that is tortise, and it is delicious, a tender, delectable yet bony version of chicken in a shell.

As Annetta is doing a thesis about Confucius (Chinese name: kongzi, as he will from now on be referred to), she wanted to go to the town of Qufu in the Shandong province to visit his home, tomb, and temple. I agreed to go with her and, after a little convincing, Jason did too. So after buying foodstuffs and a few more pounds of candy to add to our already bulging collection, the three of us set off on Friday for the city of Jinan.

Our train left Friday afternoon. This guy got really enthusiastic about Jason's camera. He yelled at Jason to take his picture, took Jason's camera and showed it to all his buddies, took pictures, and then, insisted on taking a picture with me.









She's interesting:



When it was time to board the train, we joined with the rushing mass of people to shove our way out to the tracks. However, Annetta couldn't find her ticket, so the attendant wouldn't let her through. It was one of those moments that the nagging “Do you have your ticket?” tries to avoid, and even though I was the nagger and asked in the taxi, poor Annetta was ticketless.

The attendant was rather merciless as well. Annetta ran to the ticket counter to see if she could by another one, but the train was full. We then ran back to the ticket attendant. If we couoldn't get on the train, were were stuck with a major let down and ten pounds of food that just taste better when you're traveling. Annetta tried to buy tickets off a couple people, which unsurprisingly didn't work. Finally, the evil ticket attendant finally called over some other guy, who told Annetta that she would have to buy another ticket in Jinan (they double-check tickets here), and then let us on the train.

And so we were off. A fast, comfortable, junk-food-packed three-hour train ride later, we were in Jinan. After checking in at our ping-pong themed hotel, we went out walking around the Jinan backstreets in search of a good meal.

We found it quick. A little family-run restaurant, where the only other diners were the owners. We ordered huiguo rou (though it had nothing on the Tibetan version):



Tofu noodle mushroom soup thing:



Small bird of unknown species cooked with peppers in a smoky sauce:



Tasty eggplant with seafood:



Even though we were very not hungry (see aforementioned train ride), we ate it all. It's not every day you get to eat authentic Shandong food. And then we walked around, got ice cream, went to the grocery store, bought more food we didn't need, and went back to the hotel to eat candy and play cards.

The next day we rented a car and driver to take us to Qufu, kongzi's hometown and pretty much the place's only claim to fame. We started out first in the konglin, or woods around kongzi's tomb. The place also has the tombs of tons of other people, who I believe are his relatives. I don't really know much about kongzi other than his name and that he was famous, so I just enjoyed the scenery. The place was filled with lush, thick greenery and trees, almost like being in real nature (until you realize where you are and that you can hear the traffic).



We arrived early in the morning, so there were very few tourists. Though as we were leaving around 11, hoards of Chinese tour groups wearing matching hats, shirts, backpacks or all three were starting to stream in.

And we couldn't get rid of them. They were in kongzi's house and his temple. His house was really pretty, a standard Chinese-style place with corridors, courtyards and gardens. It was really pretty and very conducive to thinking. No wonder he was famous.

His home was also filled with tourists who wanted to take my picture. Only they didn't ask me first, they just whipped out their cell phones or cameras and took a picture of me standing with my friends. A little uncomfortable. You're seeing kongzi's home and you want a picture of the waiguo ren? Oy.



A small tangent: Friday at dinner, Annetta told me that, though she loves my blog, she feels I sometimes focus too much on the waiguo ren thing, that it separates us is into me and them. A conversation ensued about the differences between cultures, and how everyone is the same but at the same time different. Am I really all that different from every Chinese person I pass on the street? Aren't we all the same. While I agree, I think there's a big catch. It's true, inside we're all human and citizens of the same planet. But my physical differences create a mental barrier for me and them. Because I look different, I am treated differently. Because it is apparent that I have grown up outside of China, my ideals and thought processes are entirely different. We could be the same; I could try to stop picturing myself as such an outsider, but I'm afraid I would be deluding myself. Part of the challenge of being in China is overcoming the outsider status and proving that maybe I'm not so different.

Not that that totally worked in kongzi's temple. Two people asked for pictures with me and Annetta.





The woman in the pink sweater was so excited to see us. She said it was hard to find people like us around there. And that's true-- I spotted a grand total of 4 other waiguo ren there. She is also from Qingdao, where the three of us and Victoria are hoping to go in two weekends. She gave us her card and invited us to her house. I hope we go.

Other than that, the temple was, sadly, like most every other Chinese temple in existence, though pretty nonetheless.

Don't think I forgot about yesterday's lunch, though. We found a little hole in the wall restaurant (we used sanitary wipes on the spoons before we used them) and ordered special Shandong food.



We got these neat little nut/bean things in a sweet oily sauce with cucumber and tomato:



Smoky, salty tofu with green peppers:



Small bony chicken with clear noodles in a salty broth:



Salty pork with mushrooms, onions and a few green things:




As we returned to Jinan, we toyed with the idea of extending our stay a day, missing a day of class, buying new train tickets and hiking Taishan, Shandong's famous mountain. But since time was tight, expenses would be incurred and the mafan (trouble) would be too big, we decided to stick with out original plan.

The driver dropped us off at a hotel restaurant where, supposedly, Mao had dined.

The place was really nice, and given the aforementioned Mao-ness, we though it would be a little too expensive. Instead of a menu, they have a back room filled with unprepared versions of all the dishes they have, plus some animals swimming around in tanks.



In the end, the prices were actually good. We ended up picking this bread-y thing served with shrimp meat:



Beef cooked with spicy green peppers:



A cold dish with tofu, assorted meets, lotus, and peanuts:



Oily mushrooms and peppers:



And the best, fresh corn and dates stuffed with sticky rice in a sweet oily sauce:



So so good. I love that Chinese dishes use dates.

Then we went out walking, got ice cream, and came across this portrait artist on the street. We walked over to look at the picture he was sketching of a little boy, and he said he wanted to draw us. For roughly fifteen minutes, I sat in a tiny little chair while he sketched me.



Obviously, the waiguo ren drew quite a crowd. It was so intimidating. What was maybe fifteen or twenty minutes felt like a lifetime. All those people were staring at me; some would walk in, look over his shoulder, look at me, say something, and then leave. Others stayed for the entire process. It made me so self-conscious with that many people so close and so closely looking at me.

I have something that I must confess to you all: I have fallen in love. I didn't plan for this; it was a chance meeting. Total luck, or, perhaps fate, if you believe in that. He's not that much to look at; rather plain-looking, actually. Not an eye-catcher. But that doesn't matter, because on the inside he's the sweetest thing ever, and it pains me that once I leave China, there's almost no chance that we will be together. Here we are together. I think we make a good couple. Here we are with Annetta:




His name is mantou, and he is fabulous. I think we're soulmates. Mantou is a Chinese version of bread. It is somehow made from rice and then steamed into fabulousness. Its flavor is very plain; some would say that there is no flavor. It's a dense, chewy texture; not at all crumbly. Big buns of mantou are really good, it's true, but why is this mantou different from all other mantous?

I'll tell you why. Because it's a slab of mantou folded around a center filled with pure sugar. I had one version that was filled with pure white sugar and another version (of which I ate two) that had a brown sugar/molasses/maple syrup filling. These things are neither small nor light. I ate three (in addition to lots of other junk) and was so full I couldn't eat dinner. Three in a day is overkill, you say? Well think of it this way. I'm pretty sure I can only find them in Jinan, Shandong, China. Maybe I could find some plain mantou in Chinatown. But this sugary bun of pastry-like heaven is a China thing. Maybe I ate three in a day, but really, it's more like I'll only eat three in my life.

And so now I'm back in Beijing. Tonight Annetta, Jason, Victoria and I bought tickets to go to Qingdao (think Tsingtao beer spelled differently) in two weeks. I'm so excited; not for the beer, but for the beaches and the company, and probably, more food.

This is why I no longer need my belt

As the One Month Left In Beijing mark approaches, my friends and I are measuring our remaining time here in meals. We have a list of places to go at least once (but really twice) before we leave. Can you imagine what our final meals will look like? Blow outs. And what they'll cost! We keep adding new restaurants to our repertoire. As it stands now, the restaurants to which we must return are: Thai, Tibetan, Hakka, Shanghaiese, Cantonese, Jiachang (Homestyle), Indian, and Japanese. And there are many more which we are dying to try. Perhaps we shall have to implement two-dinner days.

Last Friday, we went out for Shanghai food. When I spent last summer in Shanghai, I fell in love with real Chinese food, and, more importantly, a special Shanghai dish called Malan Tou, a green vegetable that does not exist in the US chopped up and mixed with tofu, oil, and salt and served cold. Given it's near unavailability in the US, I hadn't eaten it since last June.

And then, like a gift from the culinary deities, there came the Shanghai restaurant. The four of us ordered the glory that is Malan Tou. I thought of Yvonne, my foodie friend who was in Shanghai with me, with every bite. I wish I could take some home in a doggy bag.



The four of us (the equivalent of 7 or 8 normal people), also ordered this boiled chicken:



It was very smooth but lacking in a bold flavor (it just had a bird flavor). Jason enjoyed it greatly, but I preferred to shovel Malan Tou into my mouth.



We ordered these lovely rolls. It's tofu sheets wrapped around meat and vegetables in the middle and served in a nice light brothy thing.

Then we ordered this spectacular eel:



It didn't even taste fishy or anything. It's served in this really nice salty, oily sauce, and cooked to tender perfection. Really, it tasted like nice fat, chewy noodles. Really good.

I don't know the name of this dish, but basically it's cooked pork fat doused in sauce. Really tender, really good, really bad for you (as is pretty much everything).



Then came what we had all been waiting for: the xiaolong bao. Xiaolong bao are a delicacy. Places in Beijing claim to have them, but really, they don't, and this drives Annetta mad. Xialong bao are dumplings with meat in the middle. But what makes them special and separates them from regular dumplings is the fact that they have soup in the middle. So picking them up, especially with chopsticks, is quite the challenge, as is eating them gracefully. It's pretty hard not to make them burst at some stage in the eating process. The problem with the “xialong bao” in Beijing is that there's no soup in them, so it's a joke. But these were not a joke:



We liked them so much that we ordered another platter. And then we ordered two desserts. One of the desserts was this clear, slightly sweet soup with chewy rice balls. There were also these:



The menu used English to describe them as Pumpkin Cakes. Clearly not. Basically they were orange chewy things with red bean paste in the center. They were okay, but not sweet enough for me. That's the thing about Shanghai cuisine: the flavors are generally light and delicate. I love really strong flavors, but I can get past that for the food. Not as much for the dessert, though.

After dinner we went to see a movie. It had been so long since I'd seen a movie in the movie theater, and as a film major, the withdrawl had been particularly painful. The thing is, it's really hard to find out what's playing when and where. In the newspaper, they list the theater's name, location, and phone number, but not the movies that are playing or the times. You have to call their automated hotline, pick the movie you want to see, and get the time that way. I'm bad on the phone in English; trying to listen to a machine speak Chinese into my ear through a cell phone getting crappy reception and not knowing the names of any movies is even harder.

Eventually, we just decided to go for a movie entiled “Hong Meili,” which literally means 'red beauty,' but which is translated as 'Red Shanghai.' When we got to the movie theater, we discovered there were no English subtitles. But being starved for a movie and not wishing to see “Spiderman 3,” we opted for “Hong Meili” anyway.

Let me offer you this word of caution: should you ever come to China and wish to see a movie, try not to just randomly pick one. It was pretty bad. Actually, it was awful. Painful. And their film reels were messed up, so the film was shown out of order. At least, I think it was. The movie was so poorly done that I couldn't tell if the blatant errors were a “stylistic choice” or the result of a lazy movie theater staff.

The only good thing about it was that I understood everything. I knew basically everything they were saying. I felt so smart. Granted, they were speaking slowly and clearly, but I take that as a sign that my Chinese has actually improved.

Finally, I can tell that my Chinese has improved. After about two months of constant confusion and struggle, I have finally reached my breakthrough point. I can switch back and forth between English and Chinese with ease. I can listen to and speak Chinese without having to translate into English first. Sunday, Tianqi had us over for dinner and her father cooked for us (amazing, but that's not the point of the story). After dinner, we sat and had a conversation, but we didn't just talk about the weather. We talked about health insurance, health care, and education problems in China and America. And I contributed to the conversation. I can also read the newspaper with a decent comprehension rate, which is no small feat.

It's so nice to get a payoff after a lot of hardwork. But realizing that my Chinese has gotten fairly good also makes me sad, because I know that the second I get on the plane to leave Beijing, my Chinese ability will continue to decrease. It happened after Shanghai, and it will happen after Beijing. But I feel like it's worse this time, because now I can actually speak the language. So while I may get to brag that I speak Chinese, maintaining it will be the real feat.

Saturday, Jason, Annetta, and I returned to the arts district we went to in March. The art there was not as good as it was last time. This was the best thing I saw:





A man and a woman pulling opposite ends of a red string, but the man is working hard and the woman is just standing there nonchalantly. I'm not quite sure what the meaning is, but I like it. I could think about it for a long time.

After that, we went to a Thai/Indian restaurant. We had heard tales of an all you can eat buffet, but upon arrival learned that it was only weekdays at lunch. But we decided to eat there anyway. The three of us ordered six dishes (we were hungry) and two desserts. Annetta and I had been looking forward to it all day.



Sadly, there was no payoff. It was strikingly mediocre; disappointingly so, as you can see from our faces. Annetta and I are usually euphoric with an after-food glow post-gorging, but not that night. We were full, but not satisfied. That's one of the worst feelings ever. So we went back to school and gorged ourselves upon candy while watching “The Big Lebowski.” It only partially healed our wounds.

Sunday Tianqi took me to the Beijing Film Academy to look around. Everyone was still on vactation, so there wasn't anyone around, but it was still spectacular. It is a ten minute walk from Tianqi's house. I'm jealous.



Isn't it pretty? It felt amazing to be on a campus dedicated solely to the art of film.



I also found out that they have foreign exchange students. Hmm... maybe if I don't get into UCLA...





It's also a ten minute walk from Tianqi's school, so she took us there to look around as well.



It pretty much looks like every other Chinese school, but I liked seeing where she goes every day.

Wednesday our teachers took us to the Beijing World Art Museum. It wasn't that interesting, sadly. I think that the Chinese are really bad at organizing museums (this is not the only one that I've been to). They just put a few things out on the floor and don't give you any information on them. If they do provide information, it's usually regarding an object's size, material, weight, or other useless trivia, nothing about historical value or implications.

The museum did have the Olympic torch, though. That was cool.



And this is my class in front of the torch (which you can't see).



Outside there was also a Chinese history time line. It's laid out on the ground, and needless to say, it's a long walk. It certainly made me feel young, seeing as my life span is just a tiny portion of a tremendous chunk of history. We're studying history now in class, and our textbook is sadly vague. Chinese history is incredibly complex, but somehow the book boils it down to simplistic historical figures described in convenient vocabulary.

That night, Jason, Victoria, Annetta, and I went out for Cantonese food. The Frommer's book I bought about Beijing has recommended almost all of our favorite restaurants, so we picked a Cantonese one from there. It has yet to lead us astray.

Otto's restaurant is a very busy hole in the wall. The menu is written on the wall (though they also give you a traditional one to look through), and there were no more than 15 tables. Annetta lived in Hong Kong for awhile, and Jason is from Singapore, so they know their Cantonese stuff. We are definitely going back there.

First, we ordered these chicken wings, which came recommended by the book:



Perfection. By far the best chicken wings I have ever had (rivaling Tianqi's dad's—that's hard to do). The skins were fried to a delicate crispy perfection, and the inside was tender. They were lightly spiced with garlic and topped with small bits of crumbled potato chip things and onions.

Then we ordered some green vegetables in oyster sauce.



Boring.

Next there was this pork and lotus root in a clay pot.




It's purple! I liked this one a lot—the taste isn't like anything I've ever had before. I would say it's a little sweet, but I think that's the wrong adjective.

We ordered beef noodles:



We also ordered a steamed fish:



While I've been eating fish here, I didn't go for this one because it was neither fried nor topped with a thick, tasty sauce.

After we had ordered but before our food came, some people at another table had orderd this curried vegetable thing served in a pumpkin.



The moment I saw it, I knew we were born of the same spirit. My mouth and stomach were made for that dish. I marveled aloud at it, wishing we had known to order it. And then, my friends said “Let's order it!”

These are the kinds of friends I have. They not only appreciate food, but they don't hesitate to order what some may consider to be “too much” (not possible). Over the course of my three months here, I have fallen in love: with Chinese, with Chinese food, and with my friends. They are wonderful. We have so much fun together and revel in stuffing our faces full of food. With my non-foodie friends, I 'm always the biggest eater. With my Foodie Gang of Four (or in the Foodie Triad), this frequently holds true, but it's also up for debate. My friends know how to eat. And sually when I go to programs where I don't know anyone, I either don't get to close with anyone, or I start to actually like people at the very end. Thankfully, that has not happened this time. I have found my foodie soulmates.

The pumpkin, by the way, was what Halloween should be all about the. The pumpkin was cooked to a soft, mushy hunk of delectable gourd. The vegetables were swimming in a creamy sauce that didn't skimp on the curry powder. Next time, I'm ordering one just for myself.

We then ordered three desserts. Victoria and Annetta shared this pitcher of coconut milk, Sago, and fruit. I got a bowl of fruit, sago, and yogurt. Jason got that but with syrup instead of yogurt.





When we were done, we were, as always, cheng si le, or, in approximate English, “stuffed to death.” At least we'll die happy.

Here I am on the subway reading the paper. This little kid probably understands more than I do. But I think it's cute. And if you squint really hard, it looks like I know what I'm reading.

The Foodie Triad Strikes Again

In the two weeks since I've been back from Lhasa, food has essentially dictated my life. It did so before as well, but now we're all planning out meals days ahead of time, savoring them and purposely ordering more than normal portions, and then gloriously reliving them for days to come.

Our final days in Lhasa were a flurry of final meals. We returned to our favorite restaurants and ordered meals that could easily feed more than 5 people. My final 48 hours in Tibet, I was never hungry, even before a meal. Fantastic! Here are some of the highlights:

A Nepali curry spread:



Thick sauces, heavy spices, multi-dimensional taste. The highlight was the Malai Kofta, potatoes stuffed with cheese, fried, and topped with a heavy, creamy curry.

These are fried lungs. They were great.



This is Xinzang Bing Qiezi, or Heart Disease Eggplant.



Our final meal in Tibet was a bittersweet affair. We returned (for a third time) to the Potala Restaurant, home of the world's best curried potatoes. We all ordered Lassis, a fruity yogurt drink, the curried potatoes, a spicy yak and potato dish cooked to perfection, a mutton curry set that came with two curries, lentils, and rice, and twelve momos, the Tibetan version of dumplings. We asked them for bread; they didn't have any. Imagine the picture below with an additional dish of 12 dumplings.



After lunch, we went to a restaurant across the street, ordered more Lassis and ice cream. And then, it was time for us to leave Lhasa.

I would say that Lhasa is a pretty spiritual place. I would say that the high number of temples would serve as a start to back that up. A lot of people go there for religious purposes. I can see why, though since I am not religious, I found understanding in another way. While I was standing on top of the Bakuo Temple looking at what is probably one of the most beautiful views I've ever seen (and I've seen quite a few), I was struck by a sense of sadness and regret. I knew that I would conjure a blurry memory of that every time i needed to get away. I knew that I would return to that place in my dreams, that I would think of that place every time I got stuck in a geographical rut, that that was a place I will long for for the rest of my life. It made me sad that I would have to leave knowing that I may never go back, and that if I do, it will certainly be different.

I've never been struck by that feeling before, the anticipation of missing a place—premature regret, I guess. I'll try to show you what I mean. The pictures still don't do it justice.







*Note: these are the only photos NOT by Jason Foong

Since getting back to Beijing, it seems that, for the three of us, our lives have revolved around food. Each week's dinner is carefully planned out; at one meal, we talk about what to eat tomorrow, or what we'll order when we return.

Last week, we went back to the Hakka restaurant for a third time and ordered snake.



It was pretty good. The outer part and skin tastes like fish, but it's pretty tough. The inside is really good-- tastes like tender chicken.

Then we went out for Tibetan food. Actually, it was pretty good. This is a really thick bread topped with saucy meat and peppers. Sinful.



These are fried potato balls with yogurt in the middle and topped with a lovely tomato sauce.



We also went out for roast duck:



We also had a Thai feast. It's probably one of the best restaurants I've ever been to, and hands down the best Thai ever. Take this fried fish as an example. It's like deep fried heaven.



Last night we went out for Belgian food, the highlight of which was the waffle. We each ordered one.



They were so good, we decided to order another and split it. That one was so good, we decided to order a third one and split it. The waiter must have thought we were crazy. There was an endless bread basket as well, notable only because it's a very non-Chinese thing. And the bread was warm French bread, and I even ate it with butter. I never eat butter.

Other than food, life in Beijing is still great. Last weekend we went to the Temple of Heaven. I've been there before, and since we were temple-d out, it wasn't super exciting, albeit still a nice way to spend a spring Saturday.





Here is a gorgeous little girl:




Tuesday was Labor Day, though the Chinese call it “Wuyi,” which is short for May First. They call this week huangjin zhou, or Golden Week. Everyone has the week off, so everyone's traveling and everywhere is busy. We still have class, and I felt bad that our teachers still had to work on a national holiday. But then CET surprised us and gave us Tuesday off, so Jason, Annetta and I (the Foodie Triad, it seems) went to Jiumen xiaochi (Nine Gate Snacks), this nifty buffet-esque place that serves “snacks.”

Let it be said that what the Chinese deem “snacks” could really be meals in themselves. It's a lie. Anyway, how this place works is you fill up a card with money, grab a tray, and then walk the aisle grabbing whatever you want.

This was our tray. We restrained ourselves, right?



Actually, that was our first tray. Here's our second:



I suppose it's rather telling that when I write a blog update, most of the things I write about are food-related. That's not totally on purpose; it just happens to be that I really appreciate food and can eat disgusting amounts at a time. My family does not understand this. My friends agree that I have broken out of the mold of my family and Americans in general in my passionate search for high-quality, satisfying, and varied food. My family likes to eat good food, don't get me wrong, but they just don't get the same satisfaction from food that I do. Since Jason, Annetta, and Victoria are Asian and Asians are notoriously passionate about food (I'm not stereotyping, this is what they tell me), I get pretty jealous of the stories of how their families spend whole days preparing massive feasts, or how they drive a good few hours just to get a good breakfast.

On a topic that's non-food related, Gabriel, Jason, Victoria, Annetta and I went to Tianqi's house and Annetta cooked us some Italian pasta (she knows her stuff).



Okay, that's food related, but the story is not. On the way back to school, we wanted to take a taxi but were faced with the inconvenience of having five people. China has rather strict laws on taxi passengers: no more than four to a cab. If a driver gets caught with more than four people, he faces pretty serious consequences: a fine and a license suspension. You'd be hard pressed to get five people in a cab.

But we are selfish waiguo ren. We were having quite a time hailing a cab, and we didn't want to split up. So what do we do? Hail a cab and pile in. The driver looked at us and said no. We, being waiguo ren, pretended not to understand what he was saying. We told him where we wanted to go in the most American-sounding Chinese we could muster. And we just sat in the cab until he started driving. He was not happy.

Actually, it seems that squeezing five people into a cab is a lot safer than a having a legal number. The driver was so afraid of being caught, he actually drove safely and observed traffic laws, which absolutely no one does here.

During the cab ride, clearly we couldn't speak Chinese or our cover would be blown. After all these months of trying not to speak English (most of the time, anyway), it was impossible to NOT speak Chinese. When we go out, we use Chinglish fluently. The cab driver knew we were deceiving him. When he dropped us off, he swore at us and told us he knew we were lying. We gave him an extra ten kuai.

So nothing bad happened. We got back to school, he got an extra ten kuai. But I'm not really sure if it was worth it. Ignorant, selfish waiguo ren that we are, we put this man's life in jeopardy. What if he had been caught? He would be out of work and probably fired or punished. His life could have been seriously damaged, but hailing a cab was too much of an inconvenience for us. This is why I hate waiguo ren, and I hate it even more when I become one to put a situation in my favor. Was the extra ten kuai worth it for him? Probably not. I don't plan to ever squeeze five people in a cab again, because the consequences to the cab driver are just too dire. Life in Beijing is hard enough, especially for cab drivers. Who am I to be the potential cause of suffering?

When you're living the waiguo ren lifestyle, as I am, in Beijing, life is grand. I eat like a gluttonous, obese king, and I spend money like one, too. I wear different clothes everyday and still feel the need to buy more. I'll bargain with you, but I could still afford to pay the doubled (at least) price you tell me first. I can take a taxi, spring for another dish and dessert, afford to buy gum (it's expensive here), foreign snacks, and imported fizzy water and still have money to spare. Basically, I can afford to uphold a fairly American lifestyle in China. Look at us, ordering a total of seven waffles for four people, asking for a bread basket refill four or five times, going out for meals that cost anywhere from four to ten times what we would pay for a meal at a regular Chinese restaurant around school. We can afford to see, eat, and buy the best that China has to offer, and go to Tibet for ten days. We're sitting rather pretty.

That's why everyone thinks all Americans are rich: not because we necessarily are, but because we act like we are, even if we aren't, and are entitled to all that we have and all that we want from China. That is why China's economy is booming: because they have no problem giving us everything we want for a price. Because I think that they know that someday, our entitlement will come back to bite us in the ass when we suddenly realize that China wields an uncomfortable amount of power over us and our lifestyles.

Seven Meals (a Day) in Tibet

Because Lhasa is a pretty small city, and since we're here for so long we've seen most of it, we decided to rent out a Land Cruiser to take us to Yamdrok-tso Lake for 600 Yuan. Renting a Land Cruiser is a pretty waiguo ren thing to do, but the travel agent's promise of time to hike around and see some of Tibet's nature fueled our interest to leave the city.

So Friday at 9 AM, the three of us, our driver, and two over-flowing bags of food set off for Yamdrok-tso Lake. Yamdrok-tso Lake's elevation is 4488 m. Lhasa is at 3700m. I don't know how people climb Everest.

This is at a little stopover we made on the way.



It's a two hour drive from Lhasa to the lake, but my is it gorgeous scenery.



The road up is new and paved, and, according to our driver, in far better condition than it was two years ago. Nonetheless, it's curvy and on the side of a mountain. It's best not to think of what could happen if the driver got a little distracted and sent us plummeting to our deaths on the side of a mountain in the middle of nowhere, Tibet. All I know is there would be a lot of paperwork involved, though luckily not for me, as I would be dead.



We were all expecting a cool, isolated place where we could walk around, picnic, and see some nature. We were a little wrong. When we reached the top of the mountain, we encountered at least half a dozen other Land Cruisers and some tour buses parked at the peak of a mountain looking down at the lake. It was waiguo ren central.





At this lookout were Tibetans leading around yaks, deer, and dogs all dressed up. Before I opened the door, I was greeted by a man shouting, “Hello! You want ride yak! Ride yak!” Yeah, because that's not the waiguo ren thing to do.





There were women selling jewelry, too, and of course they don't listen when you tell them you don't want to buy their cheap jewelry. Instead, they follow you shouting “You look, you look! Hello! Hello!”



So instead of riding yaks or taking pictures of dressed up deer or paying to use the disgusting outhouses, we walked a little down a dirt road and met some yaks.



They are our new friends. We're very close. We'll probably end up eating them for dinner tomorrow.





Then we persuaded our driver to drive us down the mountain to the shore of the lake. None of the other Land Cruisers actually descended the mountain to get close to the lake, which I find ridiculous and rather appalling. What good does it do you to stare at a lake from thousands of feet above?





When we arrived at the shore, we decided to have a picnic. In true Annetta, Jason, and ellis fashion, there was way too much food, all of it junk. Fabulous.





We sat by piles of rocks, some of which had clothes on them. When we say, a woman and her goat came over and just stood by silently watching us.



We had no idea what she wanted; we gave her some of our food. Later back in the Land Cruiser, the driver told us that the piles of rocks with clothes on them were left behind by a group of people to symbolize that they had been there, and then informed us that it was a bad thing if we sat on them. It then occurred to us that maybe that's why the woman was staring at us. Since both our Chinese and English were utterly useless, there was no way for her to communicate to us what was wrong. Or maybe she just wanted food. We'll never know.

After lunch we walked by the lake a little, but just as we started to walk, it began to snow. Normally, I'm not a snow person, but since it's Tibet, I can deal.









Then it got windy, and sadly, though the view was absolutely spectacular, there wasn't much else to do. So we hopped back in the Land Cruiser and convinced the driver to stop at a small town.



This is the sort of situation that makes me uncomfortable, and it's very complicated to describe. We stopped at a small agricultural area and the driver got out and asked a woman to let us into her house to look.

As we got out of the Land Cruiser, we were greeted by a gaggle of little kids. They were totally cute and Annetta gave them our candy. One of them repeatedly said “Pencil” to us.



Then we went into this woman's house. We looked at her home as she and the kids looked at us. She probably gets a fair amount of tourists who stop and look at her house.





We took some pictures with the kids and then walked around a little. We didn't get far before another woman motioned us into her house.

She was weaving wool which she uses to make utterly incredible bright, beautiful rugs. Maybe she expected us to buy one. We sat in one of her rooms for about five uncomfortable minutes, saw where she made her rugs, and then left when the driver came to fetch us. We gave her our apples and pears.

It was really interesting to see these families' homes. Their lives are completely different from ours, and though their houses may be considered small and run down by some, I think they're gorgeous. They have courtyards and tons of color.

All the same, I feel guilty. I feel like we're looking in on their lives like they're on display at the zoo. Maybe I'm projecting too much of myself on to them. If I had people coming to my house, taking pictures of my home and then leaving two minutes later, I would feel a little exploited and violated. These are people, not specimens or case studies to be exoticized. I felt guilty coming in and looking and then jumping back into my Land Cruiser and stuffing myself full of candy. Who the hell am I to treat their lives like a National Geographic article?

One could argue that it's the hospitality of their culture. Maybe. Maybe it's a culture gap. But I also feel like I'm slowly contributing to the commercialization and exploitation of a culture. I guess by being a tourist I am; it's unavoidable. Sometimes it's hard to look at myself and see just another waiguo ren.

On the way to dinner, we stopped at a large indoor market. Fortunately, we were the only waiguo ren there. The market was so unlike anything in America. The produce section was lined with hulks of vegetables on folding tables, and on the floor were whole tomatoes, piled pieces of food, and various discarded scaps heaped and strewn around. The vendor stalls were packed tightly with bags of food and rolls of toilet paper and watches and toiletries. It's essentially the cheaper, local supermarket without the pretense and hight prices.

Walking through there, I got more stares and comments than I have in awhile. Lots of remarks about my looks and my eyes; one woman thought I was Indian. I'll never get over the awkwardness of being blatantly stared at wherever I go. I have people come up to me on the streets and say in broken English “Hello sexy lady” or “Beautiful.”

The other day as we were leaving the travel agent's office, a man ran out and stopped me and asked me to be a model for an advertisement for a new five-star hotel opening in Lhasa. The shooting dates were when we are leaving Lhasa, so luckily I didn't have to decide. That's all I need-- my face in a Tibetan advertisement.

Out on the street, we saw a vendor selling some special chili poweder spice that I like. We were trying to decide the difference between the two of them, and the vendor told me to just try some, so I tried one of each. This stuff is pretty damn hot, and the two women working at the shop found it rather amusing that some waiguo ren was eating their chili plain. So they decided to give me a whole chili pepper, informing me that that was hotter, and told me to eat it.

So I did. I ate it in one bite. It was spicy and made my eyes water, but nothing that made me uncomfortable. It felt good. These women thought it was hilarious and just laughed at me. I don't know whether I should have been flattered or embarrassed. But I bought the powder. I'll bring it home for my family to try.

For dinner, we went back to the Muslim restaurant. We ordered the tudou huiguo rou again, the fried potatoes fried with fatty meat then doused in oil and the chili powder I like.



We also had a chicken wrapped in lamb deep fried, and cooked in oil with chili peppers.



We had some unremarkable but still tasty vegetables.



And then, the piece de resistance, the dish which I lovingly refer to as “Xinzang bing omelettes.” Recall that “xinzang bing” means heart disease.



These puppies are chicken wrapped in egg, deep fried, cooked in oil, and served with a little bit of the chili pepper on top. Fantastic. I can feel my arteries clogging and my waistline expanding. Really though, every single thing in that restaurant is heart disease on a plate. It's just terrible for you, but so, so good. I think Tibet's health situation will not be good in 20 years. Here, meat is fried, double fried, and served with bread and oil.

I'm glad I'm with friends who are willing to forget their health for 9 days and just eat like Sunday is the Apocalypse. I still feel pretty guilty about the obscene amounts I'm consuming, but it's so much fun that I just don't want to care. I feel like if I came to Tibet and didn't enjoy the cuisine available, I'd regret it forever.

The thing is, when we ate that dinner, I wasn't even hungry because I ate so much at lunch. And then after dinner I had ice cream, a pineapple, and candy. Every night after dinner, the three of us come back to the room, play cards, and Annetta and I eat candy. We like trying lots of new kinds, and sometimes we force Jason into eating some too.

I'll be interested to see how much I weigh when I get back to Beijing. Today Annetta said that one of her friend's mothers thinks that if you don't gain weight when you're on vacation, then you didn't have fun. I like that. If Tibet is any indication, I had more than a few pounds worth of fun.

*All pictures by Jason Foong, because his are prettier than mine.

Que pasa, Lhasa?

I've said once or twice that in Beijing, so much happens in one day that there's too much to say. Well, one day in Lhasa is like three in Beijing. There's too much to fit in to photographs or blog updates. I just wish I could upload what I'm seeing and put it here.

Tuesday we went to Drepung Monastery. Actually, we had planned to go to the Potala Palace on Tuesday, but we got to the line to buy tickets and discovered that you have to reserve tickets in advance. we still bought a ticket, but it was for Tuesday at 2 o'clock. I remembered reading in my guide book about a temple 3 kilometers outside of Lhasa that looked promising, but of course, I forgot the name. So we hailed a cab and asked the driver about that temple or something outside of Lhasa. Surprisingly, he got us to the right place, a humongous, gorgeous monastery situated on the side of a huge mountain.





Yeah, it's hard to be in such a beautiful place. We had no idea what we were in for, but the 50 Yuan entrance price was well worth it. Drepung is a labyrinth of stairs, temples, and random buildings. We spent four hours there, but we probably could have stayed longer if we had brought food.




I guess this is what people of when they think of Tibet; a monastery, monks, beautiful scenery, peaceful surroundings. It was nice to get away from the city and see the city from the mountains instead of the mountains from the city. There was a little river and places for climbing around; we did some of that.







Drepung is just one of those perfect tourist attractions. The Potala is Lhasa's most famous landmark, but Drepung is bigger, more beautiful, quieter, and not overrun by those ever-present waiguo ren (oh wait...).




I've put up a lot of pictures of me because I feel like it's proof that I've been here. I think once I leave, I'll feel like I was never here. We need some proof to counteract that.






Drepung is also mostly outside, so we were in the sun the whole morning. My scalp started to get sunburned, so I used my scarf as a head cover. We joked that every day, Chinese people think I am from a different country: France, Russia, Italy; but with the cover on my head, I looked more like I come from the Middle East. So Annetta and Jason have decided that I look like I could be from anywhere except Asia or Africa. We also all agree that I shouldn't have been born American.







The best thing about Drepung is that we could just wander around wherever we wanted. There were no signs that told us we couldn't go somewhere; we could take pictures just about anywhere, though in some temples you had to pay 10 or 20 Yuan; the monks were just walking around and friendly and willing to have their pictures taken.







A few times we accidentally wandered into their living quarters, where we probably weren't supposed to be, but they just looked at the three stupid waiguo ren and told us how we could get out.




The place was a maze, but we made it to the very back, which was dark, un-restored, and quiet. We wandered up an unstable ladder to the roof of some living quarters (perhaps techinically not allowed) and got the greatest view ever. We got Jason out from behind the camera (for once), so here are Jason and I. Isn't it gorgeous?



I took a lot of pictures—I filled up a whole memory card (250ish pictures). And yet, Jason beat me. Not that it was a competition. He took 1232 pictures. Most of the ones on the blog are his. But I won't tell you which and then you can think that I'm a fabulous photographer.

In our time here in Lhasa, the three of us have been actively seeking out the “authentic” Tibet. We want to eat authentic Tibetan food, buy authentic Tibetan jewelry or bags or clothes, and see authentic Tibetan sights. Every time we go to a restaurant, we ask for “didao” (authentic) dishes. But every time we do, I feel like it's kind of a joke. What is the “authentic” Tibet? Is it the old people walking down the street carrying beads and prayer wheels? Or is it the migrant workers who have lived here for years just trying to make a living? The monks? The fake antique junk vendors sell in stalls? As hard as we try to find the “authentic” Tibet, I feel like it doesn't exist. That doesn't mean that we should go out and eat American food for every meal, and that doesn't mean we should buy total junk knowingly (or at least pay too much for it), but I think that Lhasa has been too overcome by industrialization, commercialization, and tourism for there to be an “authentic” Tibet.