a waiguo ren in Beijing

改革开放以后... (gaige kaifang yihou...)

2007-06-08T01:42:00.000-07:00

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？

2007-05-25T08:24:00.000-07:00

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/

2007-05-21T07:08:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-10T07:57:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-03T02:28:00.000-07:00

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

2007-04-21T07:38:00.000-07:00

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?

2007-04-19T00:23:00.000-07:00

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.

Would you like Yak with that?

2007-04-16T23:35:00.000-07:00

The good thing about starting off a vacation with a trip to the hospital is that things can only get better. Since I spent Saturday resting and not eating good food, I was ready for Sunday to start. In the morning we went to the grocery store and stocked up on more candy and bought sunglasses. I'm not a sunglasses person, but the sun here is so bright, it seems like Lhasa is constantly overexposed by about 2 stops. For lunch we went to the Potala Restaurant, where we ordered us our first authentic Tibetan meal.

Tibetan cuisine is not, as the Chinese would say, "fengfu duocai," or 'rich and varied.' Their diet consists of meat (mostly Yak), potatoes, and bread, any of which can be served alone or combined, and all of which are frequently fried. Now, given the location and climate of Tibet, the utter lack of vegetables, fruits and pretty much anything else should not come as a surprise. It tastes nothing like Chinese food, and actualy, it's really good.

First we ordered these curried potatoes.

They were cooked just right; not mushy and overcooked, not firm and undercooked, and seeped with spices and oil.

Next was what I like to call, Hunk of Yak.

Because that's what it is. A huge fatty hunk of tender, subtly spiced Yak served with a heaping side of small, red baked potatoes.

And then, the piece de resistance, we had what we fondly call, "Xizang xinzang bing rolls." 'Xizang' is Chinese for Tibet, and 'xinzang bing' is heart disease. Therefore, we called these, "Tibetan Heart Disease Rolls."

Because that's what they are. Bread pockets stuffed with Yak meat and then deep fried and served with a side of spicy red pepper sauce. I can still feel them clogging my arteries. And I ate three of them. Yes, I am disgusting.

We also sampled the Tibetan specialty of Yak Butter Tea. Pretty much tastes how it sounds. Buttery tea, sometimes sweetened, sometimes not, and therefore, salty.

Then we went out shopping. Yes! The stores here are stocked with my kinds of stuff- tons of cool jewelry and bags and clothes. I bought some pretty earrings. The thing is, I'm a little bit of a quality snob. I would rather pay a little more for things that aren't total crap. The streets are filled with vendors stalls selling "antique" Tibetan goods. Yeah, I'd say they're about as antique as a newly minted quarter, which is about what they're worth.

The streets of Tibet are not like those of any other Chinese (Tibet is, good or bad, *technically* a part of China) city that I have been to. Here, there's a lot less spitting in the streets. Note that I did not say "no" spitting in the streets; it still exists, sadly. Here, people whistle at each other to get another's attention. In general, the streets are just quieter. There's a lot less shouting, and since there are fewer people, a lot less shoving.

Another sad thing is that there are beggars everywhere. A lot of them are monks and even more of them are children. When we walk by, parents instruct their children to beg from us. And then the kids come up to us, grab on to us, follow us pleadingly with their hands out asking, in English, for money. They follow us and they don't leave us alone; it gets to the point that we have to shoo them away like flies. It's heartbreaking. It's not the kid's fault that their parents don't have money and rely on their children to turn pity into profit, but what are we supposed to do? Annetta refuses to give them money because the kids will give it to their parents, and she doesn't like that. So instead we came up with another solution. We put a bunch of the candy that we bought and don't really like into a bag. Annetta carries the bag around in her purse and gives the kids a piece of candy instead of money. It still doesn't make the kids stop pestering us for money, but at least it's nicer than shooing a person away.

Monday we decided to see Lhasa. We had a cab take us to the Potala Palace. Here I am in front of it:

Then we started walking with no particular plan. That's my favorite part of being in a new place, just walking around, seeing what the place is like, and forming my own mental map. It's like a game; I love trying to get us back to where we started.

We came across these lovely Yak statues. Notice how the sense of Tibetan authenticity is heightened by the advertisement.

A little later we came to an intersection. When faced with the choices of "left, right, or straight," Jason said, "Look at all those people coming from the left. Let's see what's down there."

Good call Jason. What we ended up finding was a back alley, a place for locals. There were some small shops, carts selling produce, and not a single waiguo ren to be seen. How come my travel book didn't mention this place? It's a damn good thing it doesn't though, otherwise the place would be crawling with waiguo ren.

Tucked away in this back street was a store that sells traditional Tibetan dresses. There are stores near our hotel that sell the same thing, and Annetta and I had agreed that we both wanted to buy one. We figured that this was the best place to buy them; not only would they likely be cheaper, but also, it's where the locals get their dresses and, in my opinion, it makes for a better story behind the dress.

So we three waiguo ren walked into the dress shop and started looking. The shopkeeper didn't speak a word of English-- a good sign! She found someone who spoke Mandarin and from then on, it was chaos.

Annetta and I created quite the spectacle. We were just trying on the dresses, but tons of locals stopped by to look and laugh at us, and in a few cases, some women stopped in to offer their opinions as to which colors we should be matching and how we should wear the clothes. The shopkeeper informed us that we were the second waiguo ren ever to set foot in her store. A proud day for non-waiguo-ren waiguo ren everywhere! While it was awkward to be so blatantly gawked at, it was also a blast, and we got our tops, dresses, and skirt fronts for 230 Yuan. At the stores by our hotels, they go for 400-500 Yuan.

New dresses in hand, we walked down the street and found an outdoor temple, where dozens of people were praying. People pray there so ofthen that the stone ground where they lay down is worn smooth and shiny.

Part of the temple area was a path along the side of a mountain. Walking that path was the first time I felt that I was truly in Tibet. Hundreds if not thousands of lines of Tibetan prayer flags were strung up the mountain and along the path.

I love that, while the natural climate of Tibet is sparse and brown and bare, their culture and their religion utilize so many bright colors.

After that we ended up in the Chinese section of Lhasa, which basically looks, feels, and probably tastes like every other standard Chinese city in China. There were only Chinese restaurants. We walked through but made a point of not eating there. We went in search of authentic Tibetan food and ended up at a restaurant that my book recommended. Unfortunately, it wasn't that good (maybe because they don't use MSG) and left us very unsatisfied. They even served us a Yak curry on one of the same trays that we have in our cafeteria.

After a brief rest, we ventured to the Muslim quarter of Lhasa. It was great-- another virtually-waiguo-ren-free district! The streets were narrow and quiet but bustling with residents. There were tons of small stores, open pool halls, and really small bakeries (once again, it's your choice between meat, potatoes, or bread fried to varying degrees). Since we're all eating buddies and list eating among our top two passions, we caved and bought some bread from a bakery.

It was alright but not spectacular. We kept walking throught the streets, which reminded me a little of the movie "The Battle of Algiers." Though this movie does not, surprisingly, take place in Lhasa, I felt a little like I was in the streets of Algiers from the film. The buildings were similarly constructed and close together. So sue me, I got some Algiers in Tibet.

We also found a street vendor selling these yellow-bready-cakey things that we saw another vendor selling on our first day here. When we saw them that first day, we said, "We definitely have to buy some of those." And look at that, we stumbled upon a vendor whipping up a fresh batch.

So we stood by for about 15 minutes just so we could take one of the fresh ones.

We decided that they're the equivalent of corn bread, except not really. They're basically some honey, flour, and milk battered together and poured into pans heavily, heavily lined in oil. Their firm-ish on the outside and soft and chewy and mushy on the inside. They taste a little sweet, a little sour, and have a fruity aftertaste, though I can't pin the fruit. Maybe Lychee. I think it's from the honey.

Then, though we had just eaten two types of bread, we set off with the distinct purpose of eating Muslim food. You would think that, in the Muslim quarter, a Muslim restaurant would be relatively easy to find. Not really. Most of them are tea houses that don't serve food. We walked into a couple and got some very strange looks. Finally, we found this restaurant:

Once again, no waiguo ren! It was great. We asked the waiter for special Muslim food, and he recommended this chicken.

Fantastic. It was chicken, potatoes, and peppers stewed up in a slightly sweet slightly salty sauce. The potatoes were the highlight of the dish, since they soaked up lots of flavor and oil. The chicken was served with handmade flat noodles. I don't usually do noodles but I ate these.

We also got a lovely eggplant dish:

And this. It's fantastic. It's potato, meat, and spices cooked once or twice in lots and lots of oil.

Spectacular. Truly heavenly.

As with all our other meals, we ate way, way, way too much. every day, I've probably eaten the caloric equivalent of at least five meals. I feel guilty, but I feel fantastic. Nothing like eating my way around Lhasa. But what's more, there's nothing like eating my way around Lhasa with two people who love eating as much as I do. Every night, after stuffing ourselves full of edible Tibetan wonders, we come back to the room, eat tons of candy, and play cards. Every day is an adventure.

Today was an even bigger one, but I've already been updating for an hour and a half. I'll save today for tomorrow.

2007-04-14T03:24:00.000-07:00

I am an awful waiguo ren. Tonight, I had dinner at a Western restaurant, and I'm in Tibet. And I ordered chicken broth. The only people in the place were white. I am so ashamed. But there's a little more to that story, and I promise, it's good.

Yesterday we left school at 6 AM to catch our flight at the airport. The end of it is, we got here safely. The view from the plane as we descended into Lhasa was amazing. Here is one photo, but I took many more.

So we got in, got luggage, and then had the task of finding a cab into Lhasa, and hour's drive away. Jason asked an airport official, who informed us that a cab ride should go for about 30 kuai a head. We couldn't actually find a metered taxi, though, so we had the task of bargaining with the Tibetan guys who just drive their cars around. Actually, I shouldn't say "we" bargained, because really, it was all Annetta, and she was awesome. Here are three of the guys fighting about the price with us. There were a few more on the other side.

They started out asking 200 kuai; Anetta got us down to 35. They weren't happy, so clearly she did a good job. But then the guy ended up driving us for 5 minutes and switching us into a metered taxi. Apparently the airport charges taxis to wait there, so what these guys do is just go in their cars, pick up visitors, then hand them off to taxi drivers for a cut of the charge. Pretty smart, actually.

Our cab driver thought that I was Jason's 'laopo,' which those Chinese speakers out there may find amusing, if only for the fact that 'laopo' means wife, but it's also not the politest way to put it. I guess in English the equivalent would be one's 'old lady.'

So then we got to the hotel, which is quite nice. I started drinking lots of water, as Lhasa's altitude is about 12000 feet, which is rather high. I was very paranoid about getting AMS, or acute mountain sickness. The three of us made the mistake of carrying our suitcases up two flights of stairs. We were exhausted; just walking up without stuff leaves us winded. This must be what it's like to be an old lady. Even getting up to go to the bathroom makes my heart pound.

It didn't take long for me to get a splitting headache. I drank tons of water, but I still felt lightheaded and awful. The three of us had some quality Nepalese food at the restaurant on top of the hotel last night. Here's the view:

Yep. Life is hard. The sun here doesn't set until like 8:30 and doesn't rise until maybe 8ish. The sun is SO strong. I can feel the cancer cells growing. Surprisingly, it;s not very cold here. It was cool in the morning but warm in the afternoon. Don't let the snow on the mountains fool you; the weather us gorgeous. Unfortunately, I haven't had much of a chance to really enjoy it.

Last night we fell asleep at like 9. None of us slept well, but I kept waking up every three hours with a headache. My body hurt, too, but I think that's the uncomfortable bed. Then I woke up at 8 o'clock. The second I gained consciousness, I knew I was going to vomit.

I then spent the next 40 minutes in the bathroom as last night's dinner made it's way out of both ends of my body. I knew this was not a good sign; vomiting never is. Annetta went to the front desk to ask about what to do; they said get thee to the hospital. When Annetta told me that, I was not happy, only because I didn't know how I would get down the stairs, let alone survive a cab ride. I felt so ill I could barely tie my shoes.

Through my stomach pains and throbbing headache, the thoughts did cross my mind that perhaps a Chinese hospital, let alone a Tibetan hospital, might not be a fun experience. I pictured reused needles, herds of coughing people corralled in a small, crumbling, fluorescently-lit room with IVs dangling at whim.

Thankfully I was wrong. Somewhat. The hospital was clean(-ish) and cold. Jason registered me and then we found the altitude sickness/ heart disease room. The way it works here is that everyone gets in line in the room that pertains to their illness. Everyone sits on the bench in the room as the person who is up gets checked out. So we listened to quite a few people get diagnosed with "xinzang bing," or heart disease (one of our vocab words!). Basically, there's no privacy. Everyone watches as everyone gets examined. Fun.

When it was my turn, the doctor took one look at my eyes and made a face that, though she was wearing a face mask, conveyed concern. Not good. I described my symptoms, she pressed my stomach, listened to me breath, took my blood pressure etc. Then she sent me to the eye doctor. I have no idea why, as the eye doctor didn't tell me anything, but after that I went back to the first doctor and she gave me three different medications.

In the end, I paid 78 kuai, or just under 10 USD. What an experience. The whole time I was there, I could only think about what a great story this would make. And also the fact that my family would not be so happy to find out that I was in a Tibetan hospital and sick.

I am feeling much, much better now, so if you're concerned, don't be. I still have a headache, but after a day of watching a movie, taking a nap, and eating lots of bread, I feel back up to about 80% (versus maybe 30-40% this morning). Jason and Annetta have been wonderful. I know that they weren't feeling too hot today either (though Annetta is pretty much fine), but they took great care of me.

Tomorrow we plan to take it pretty easy again, though I think we're going to venture out and walk around and do some shopping. I'm pretty much planning on getting a new wardrobe and lots of jewelry. Let the games begin!

To get to the other side?

2007-04-12T07:16:00.000-07:00

I know it's been a long time, and for that I apologize. Part of it is that I seem to have less and less time, but really it's the fact that my computer got fixed. And then it broke again for good. Now it's just a shiny, rather expensive paper weight. I'm just posting as many random pictures as I can. Have fun.

And now I find myself with so much to write that I have nothing to say.

Almost two weeks ago I celebrated my 21st birthday in Anyang. It was wonderful. I celebrated by eating with my friends for four days. Actually, the only thing that made the dinners any different was the fact that we said it was my birthday and used that as an excuse to eat more. Some people celebrate turning 21 by drinking themselves sick; I celebrated by eating myself sick.

I'll spare you the details, but the culinary highlights inclyded pigeon with the head still attached, donkey, and a Thai-style dessert that Annetta made for me.

A lot of you must think I have problems, given my preoccupation for all things edible. The other day, I called my parents on the phone for the first time since I arrived in Beijing. I told them that I love China because people sell pineapple on every street corner.

"ellis, now that you're 21, there's something I need to tell you," my dad said. Perchance we own a pineapple farm in Costa Rica. Or maybe I'm adopted, or he's a mob boss or a CIA agent. That would be cool.

"Not everything in life revolves around food."

Wait--what? Why not? Without food, life would be like a pie crust without the filling-- dry and lacking a definite flavor (or ready to crumble at any moment). What's wrong with falling in love with a country via its cuisine? The only bad meal I've had in China has been "Greek" food. Maybe the MSG works like a date rape drug, I don't know, but with every meal I'm growing more attached to China. I have a fruit lady, a pineapple guy, and a growing list of restaurants that I've gone to repeatedly. If theres a better way to understand a country than through it's food, I don't know what it is.

Maybe life in America doesn't revolve around food, at least, not for most people, but in China it does. One of the things I love about walking down the street here is the way it sounds and smells. It's an intense mix of pineapple, sausages, yams, meat skewers, smells tofu, socks, shirts, and bags. Some people complain about the smell of China. Overall, America doesn't really smell. But China does-- like feet, like food, like bathroom. It smells lived in, and it smells like people take pleasure in what they eat. That's my kind of culture.

Tomorrow early morning, I am going to Tibet. I'm not done packing, it's late, and we're getting up early, and I think I'm getting a cold. But excited does not describe how I'm feeling. I can only describe it in adjectives that don't usually describe feelings. The way I feel is the way I imagine Lhasa to be; I can't wait to see if I'm right.

Sunday I was sitting in the park writing my miderm essay. The weather was too good to spend inside; I haven't felt sun like that for awhile. A guy sat on the bench next to me. We passed a few minutes in silence as I continued to write about equality between men and women.

"Ni hao. Is this your Chinese name, Fu WenLi?" He pointed to my name at the top of my essay.

And then we started talking about Chinese language, culture, sexual equality, and housing in Beijing (he's a realtor). He corrected my essay, wrote out a paragraph for me (which Tianqi said was a little strange) and we exchanged cell phone numbers, as he promised to take us out for dinner and introduce us to some Chinese friends.

I don't know why he started talking to me. Most people prefer to stare, so it's nice to know that there are people out there who are willing to interact with the strange waiguo ren sitting on the bench.

I should have something more concrete to say after Tibet. Maybe I'll find some internet there and let you know what it's like.

I think it will be blue.

I've been trying to think of a punch line for this joke:
Why did the waiguo ren cross the road?

Any thoughts?

So Who's the Queen Mum?

2007-03-29T19:51:00.000-07:00

I still have no computer, as it is perhaps more dead than I originally thought, so, alas, still no pictures. My deepest apologies. This today I am off to Anyang (Tibet is in two more weeks), so if you were planning on telephoning my for my birthday, I will not be here. If you weren't planning to phone me or didn't know that my birthday is this weekend, well, you're off the hook. As I am reduced to writing posts by hand then putting it directly into Blogger, the post, typos and all, is below:

Thoguh I've been in China almost 6 weeks now, I do not, surprisingly, miss Western food. When I spent a month in Shanghai, it only took two weeks until I started using class time to remember what bread tasted like. I drifted off to sleep thinking about creamy peanut butter and oozing jelly dripping from between two inch-thick pieces of spongy wheat bread. I paced the same grocery aisle looking for cereal but finding only rice. My stomach ached so badly for Ethiopian food that I thought it would collapse around itself.

This time, I have had one craving. I was walking out the door on the way to morning class when I was suddenly struck with an intense desire for macaroni and cheese. Two minutes later the craving was gone, but I found this to be a rather strange craving, as a box of Easy Mac has been sitting on the pantry floor at home for well over a year. Please do not send me pity macaroni.

The other night was Annetta's birthday, so ten of us went to the jiaozi fan guanr. In addition to about 7 other dishes, we ordered 150 dumplings.A few of us kept track of how many dumplings we could eat. I got to 16 (though to be fair, by the time I got there there were none left for me to eat), Annetta and Jason each pulled 17, and Gabriel, calorically impervious male that he is, ate 22 dumplings, followed by cheesecake, birthday cake, a kiwi smoothy, and a plate of food from the karaoke buffet. I'm a little jealous.

Sunday night we went out for "Greek" food. Annetta is half Greek, so we were all excited to have her order us an authentic Greek meal. What we forgot to think of was that it's hard to find an authentic Greek restaurant in America; trying to find authentic non-Asian in China is like hiring a Michael Jackson impersonator who has red hair and can't do the moonwalk to come perform at a Vegas casino. Not quite the same thing.

I guess the reason I'm not craving Western food is because, excluding the aforementioned Greek tragedy, I'm eating too well here. Or maybe it's because I don't miss much about America. I don't miss the clean (seemingly) Western-style toilets, the clean tap water, or forks.

Here, the Diet Coke tastes better. Pineapple and various other fruits are sold on every corner for very cheap. Public transportation is crowded but convenient, and hot water and tea are available everywhere. Even though men and women hoc lougies on the sidewalk, I can almost ignore that now.

The other day I went out for a walk and, for a few minutes, entirely forgot that I was a waiguo ren. For a short while, I didn't notice that people were staring. I forgot that this isn't technically my home because for a moment, it was. It was that feeling of comfort and familiarity that you recognize only when you don't feel it anymore. There are few places in the world where I have that feeling, and Wellesley has not been one of them, though maybe it will be when I return.

This walk occured before the events I described in my last post, but I don't hold that against China. I've been saying for awhile that my relationship with Wellesley is like a marriage. We're separated, currently in counseling, with an iminent but amicable divorce coming in June 2008. If this is true, the China is my mistress (or, mister, rather). China is to me what Camilla Parker Bowles is to Prince Charles. Perhaps when Wellesley and I divorce, China and I will be together again when we're old and grey. Except I won't wear all those silly hats.

The Scarlet Waiguo Ren

2007-03-24T19:16:00.000-07:00

Sadly, no pictures in this update. Read on to find out why. Please excuse typos, as well. No efficient spell checker.

On Monday or Tuesday night, I had another update all set to go. Due to some unforeen circumstances, you can see that that update never made it. And circumstances have since gotten worse. Rest assured that I remain intact, however my computer is another matter. It's a rather long, complicated, hair-pulling-inducing story, so for the sake of my blood pressure and yours, I spare the details and tell you that my computer has been rendered completely unusable. The hard drive needs reformatting or something like that. This has induced, as we say here, hen da de mafan, or, crudely translated into English, a huge pain in the ass.

As Jason played something of a role in the agonizing demise of my shiny Apple, Friday he took me to guomao, an hour's schlep from school, to bring my computer to an Apple-certified service center. Actually it's more like a few counters hidden on the sixth floor of another tall building where people take their iPods to be repaired. Even when I'm speaking English I don't understand thing about computers, so trying to keep abreast of exactly what the Chinese computer nerd was saying to Jason was essentially fruitless. Long story short, I need a new hard drive. Here's another math problem for you--it's easy but the answer is infuriating: if there are 8 Yuan to 1 USD and my new hard drive costs 3646 Yuan, how many USD am I spending? It costs almost as much as my plane ticket to Tibet.

Jason has also suggested that we go to a huge electronic retail center, buy a new hard drive and then let him install it himself, as I'm being charged three times too much. I'm not so sure. Electronics from that place are part of what started the problem; sometimes I just want to let the professionals handle it (though I don't even know if these guys at the Apple center are professional anyway).

So first they removed my old hard drive, which only took two hours, so Jason and I decided to kill some time in Guomao. Mistake. What happened in those two hours brought me to my lowest point in a long time.

I joke a lot about being a waiguo ren. I like to think that my (very limited, it seems) knowledge of Chinese puts me above the whole 'stupid waiguo ren' stereotype. But I keep forgetting that my face betrays me, and that I am still a waiguo ren to be had.

I don't want to go into detail about what happened. It's not something overly scandalous or overly shameful, and I incurred no physical harm. I got taken, I walked right into it, and I should have known better. In the grand scheme of things, it's not that bad-- the equivalent of less than 30 USD. There was once a CET student who got stuck had a Chinese thug stick him with a 1000USD karaoke bill, so I'm lucky. But the awful feeling that stuch with me the rest of the day is hard to put into adjectives. Shame, stupidity, naivete, frustration, anger, hurt, and embarrassment probably work the best. But there's also this issue of my pride.

I have eaten well in China. In fact, I feel like I have never eaten better. I've also eaten some sketchy things, though my stomach has remained essentially intact. But the worst thing I've swallowed has been my pride. I lost face big time in front of the people for whom I had to literally empty my wallet, in front of Jason, and in front of myself. Much as I wish I could escape the stigma of being a waiguo ren, I just can't.

And what hurts the most is the fact that it's my own stupid fault. I tried (through a few tears) to explain this to Jason, though I'm pretty sure he didn't understand. The fact of the matter is, if I spoke better Chinese, I could have avoided being had so badly. If I hadn't just nodded and smiled, if I could just understand what was being said to me, if I could just speak this language and just UNDERSTAND, I could have avoided this. I don't like that they found my vulnerability and took advantage of it. I've said before that I hate feeling stupid; I hate it even more when that stupidity is used against me.

The rest of the day, I felt like my face had been stamped with a big red "WAIGUO REN." And to fane my ire, that computer place doesn't take my Visa card, so I have to take out 3646 yuan in cash (and at the few ATMs that take my card there's a 2000 yuan limit) and schlep back on monday so that they one-week repair on my computer can commence.

The thing about China is that when there's an awful day, there's always a good one coming soon. Saturday, Jason, Victoria, Annetta, Xiaotong, and I went to the Forbidden City. The first time I went it was rainy and unpleasant, but Saturday was blessedly the nicest day I've seen not just in Beijing, but in China.

The sky was blue, and since it was unshrouded by the usual lid of grey smog and pollution, I could actually see the sun and feel it's rays. And it was warm. I didn't even need my jacket. It was perfect.

It also helps that I was with my friends. I feel so lucky that I found people whom I like and continue to connect with. And did you know that there's a Starbucks inside the Forbidden City? There is. Disgusting. Victoria and Annetta bought coffee.

Maybe the reason Jason didn't understand how I felt on Friday is because I don't really understand it either. I felt like an idiot, crying on the street over something I should have just dealt with. But I can barely use my mother tongue to describe my feelings, and that hurts even more. It hurts to know that while not everyone in China will cheat me, I won't know who those people are until it's too late. This will happen again when I let my guard down and don't understand what's going on. Though I love China, it will only continue to hurt me

And Your Little Dog, Too

2007-03-19T07:05:00.000-07:00

I’d say I’ve never been one to follow trends, Tomaguchi’s and 6th grade yoyos excluded. I would also say that I’m even less of a trendsetter. I just wear what I like and try to put it into something presentable and personal. When I started having to deal with East Coast winters, I discovered how useful scarves are. And then I discovered that they’re very pretty and come in an assortment of different colors. I brought two scarves to China, and have since bought four more. The thing is, everyone likes them. I wear them every day, and I get compliments on them all the time. And now, many people are wearing them. My friends have all bought some for themselves, and then they bought them for their roommates.

Earlier this week, my friends and I decided we would like to eat dog meat. Dog. As in, woof woof. The restaurant we tried first wasn’t serving it that night, so we ended up going to a Korean restaurant instead. The only previous Korean experience I’ve had is an awful (Yvonne will back me up here) Korean Barbeque in Shanghai. So I was a little apprehensive at first, but this place was amazing. (All photos, sadly enough for my photography ability, are by Jason Foong. He’s like the CET paparazzo.)

In the middle of eat table is a small grill. You order lots of raw meat, they bring it to you, and you roast it yourself. You smell of grill for the rest of the night, but it’s so worth it. We ordered dog meat, but it was a cold dish. Sounds gross, I know, but it was good. A little spicy, a lot oily, and stringy, not unlike pork. Here I am putting it on my plate:

Up closer and personal:

We also had these nifty rice cake cube things. They are soft and chewy and come dusted in sugar. I ate a lot of them, as you can see since there were only three left when Jason took this photo.

But our appetites for dog meat were not sated by this small appetizer. So Friday, Victoria, Jason, Annetta, Victoria’s roommate Xiaotong, and I went to a small restaurant and ordered us some dog soup.

And it was good. It was very good. The broth was spicy, the meat was tender, like a soft, well-cooked beef, and it was served on the bone. I want to eat it again.

And no, the idea of eating dog does not disgust me. I do not think it is cruel to eat dog, because I do not think it is inherently cruel to eat beef or chicken (though the way they raise and slaughter the animals is a different matter). I have a dog at home, Sparky, whom I love and adore, but I didn’t feel bad when I ate dog soup. I didn’t think of my cute fuzzy Sparky, because I wasn’t eating him. I wouldn’t eat him, and I wouldn’t knowingly eat your dog, either, at least not without your consent. But now all the Chinese roommates are telling me it’s time to eat snake. Hm. I don’t know why that sounds so creepy, but it does. My friends also want to try scorpion, so that may also make it into my digestive tract.

Friday night was my classmate’s birthday, so 26 of us CETers went out for roast-it-yourself meat. Method-wise, it was not unlike the Korean restaurant, however here you fetch the meat yourself from refrigerators, then bring it back to the table and roast it, cooking the raw meat with the same chopsticks you use to eat. Probably not so sanitary.

The restaurant also had a little help-yourself buffet on a card table that featured non-meat dishes. They also had some buttery, wonderful cookies. For some reason, that night I needed cookies. Now I ask you: how many cookies do you think one person can physically eat, after a large meal, in one sitting? Now quadruple that number and that’s how many I ate. I couldn’t keep track, actually. But I ate enough that even the guys around me were impressed. I think I may have scared them a little. I don’t know, it’s just been so long since I’ve had starchy, non-oily, sugary vittles that something in my brain just said, “Eat, and don’t stop.” I feel guilty.

So while I was getting drunk on buttery, sugary goodness and probably doubling my risk for diabetes and an assortment of bacterial diseases, a good number of the guys were getting drunk on beer. Keep in mind that Chinese bottles of beer are much larger than those in America (I believe I heard someone mention that they were 40 oz bottles. I believe I am correct, but if anyone from CET is reading this and thinks I’m wrong, please correct me). So, I have an approximate math problem for you: 26 students go out for dinner. Let’s say that half of them are male. The table goes through 35 bottles of beer. The females collectively drink 8 bottles. If half the males drink a third of the remaining beers, how many beers do the other half of the males drink? I don’t know if the stats are right, but there was a lot of beer to be had. It was an incredibly fun night. I ate too much in good company—if I had died last night, I would have died happy.

On the subway ride home, I had a conversation with two girls, one of whom has decided that she wants to live the rest of her life in China, because she just feels at home here. She looks like a waiguo ren—blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin. I find it admirable that she has not only found the place she wants to call home, but that it is so different from her original home and that she is brave enough to live here. No matter how long she lives in China, she will always be considered a waiguo ren. No matter how perfect her Chinese gets, or if she becomes a Permanent Resident, or if she never sets foot in America ever again, she will never, ever be considered Chinese in any way. I suppose it’s much the same for foreigners who move to America, but I feel like in America, someone who is Chinese/Chinese American (or anything, really) can still pass for American, at least superficially. Here, that is not the case. Even if my parents had moved to China and given birth to me here, pretty much nobody would consider me Chinese. This must be the sort of identity crisis that immigrants and their offspring go through. It’s tough, and I’m only beginning to understand it.

This conversation also got me thinking about where, if money were no object, I would consider home. I guess I haven’t seen enough of the world to know where I belong, but knowing how I get, I would need to be changing scenery with some frequency. I always want to have a home to come back to, a place to which I feel attached, but I also suffer from what my dad calls “itchy feet.” I get stuck in geographical ruts. I want the world to be my home.

Friday afternoon before the big roast-athon, I went with Jason to the coolest part of Beijing (in my opinion). In the Chaoyang district way out on the Fifth Ring road is a place with a bunch of buildings that used to be factories but that are now small art galleries. Jason was going there to do an article on a company that produces high-quality stereos and amplifiers and such, and he let me come along since I didn’t want to stay at school (geographical rut).

We also walked around tons of little art galleries all afternoon. I kept thinking of my dad, because he’s a sculptor, and I think he would have fit right in and loved looking at all the Chinese contemporary art. Actually, I found two paintings that I really, really wanted to buy. Here they are:

I don’t know how much they are. I’ll have to email the gallery and ask so I can find out how much money I should wish I had.

One of the galleries we went to was actually an artist’s studio. He was there painting and took to me right away because he though I was pretty. He also thought I was 17 or 18 years old.

I felt like a total idiot because I could hardly understand a word he said to me, but Jason had been to his studio last year and said that the guy had barely talked to him then, so I guess my waiguo ren-ness opened him up despite my shortcomings in communication.

This gallery/restaurant was a factory, and there’s still original paint on the walls from the Mao era that say (in Chinese) “long live Chairman Mao” and something about building a great country.

My internet’s not working so well (actually it’s not working at all), so sorry that these updates are rather far between. They also take a long time to write, prepare the pictures, and find internet that works for periods of 10 minutes or more. I’m also a little busy going out and having fun.

It’s nighttime as I write this, so zhu nimen hao meng.

Fly Me to the Moon

2007-03-13T07:13:00.000-07:00

Like a Phoenix, I have burst into flames and been reborn. Yes, that’s right—I’ve changed my name AGAIN. Long story short, I got lots of comments on the strangeness of my name and a professor told me she would give me a Chinese name. And so I am
付雯莉
fu(4) wen(2) li(4)
Wen means ‘patterned cloud’ and Li is a type of Jasmine flower. Pretty, no? It’s a very girl name.

So with that out of the way, let’s continue.

As you can see from the photo, I have left CET, cashed in my plane ticket, and jetted off to Paris.

Ok, Jake, tell your heart to resume beating. Actually, on Saturday Victoria, Jason, Annetta and I went to Shijie Gongyuan, or as you English speakers would say, The World Amusement Park. The park is a bunch of to scale models of some of the world’s most famous landmarks, and also very convenient for endless puns, like “It’s a small world after all.” You can see the world without actually going anywhere, and you don’t even need your passport. Interestingly, there is a scale model of the Great Wall, which I guess was constructed for the extraordinarily lazy, since like 40 miles outside of Beijing is the real thing. The “Great Wall” also happens to be in the center of the park, giving new meaning to the name “Zhongguo” (China),which literally means “Middle Kingdom.”

Now, we four affectionately call ourselves ‘eating friends,’ because not only have we not picked a bad restaurant, we haven’t ordered a bad meal, and we’ve eaten pretty much every meal together. Adept as we are at ordering food, alas we are not so good at choosing days to go out. Saturday was freezing and windy and made walking around the amusement park not so fun, though we all relished saying things like “I’m walking over to India” or “Ooh, Egypt is behind the Sydney Opera House.” So we left after about an hour and went to eat (an amazing) lunch and go shopping.

I feel like by now I should be used to this waiguo ren thing. Sunday night as we were leaving dinner, I stood up and put on my jacket. A woman at the table next to ours not so subtly pointed at me with her chopsticks and alerted her numerous dining companions, who, of course, turned to look, to the presence of this wiaguo ren giant. According to Jason, people point at me everywhere I go; I guess I just don’t notice. I notice the stares as I walk by, but not the pointing. I remember after returning from Shanghai last summer, I had to get used to the fact that nobody looked at me anymore. It’s not that I missed it, it’s just that in China I condition myself to be looked at, or to getting weird looks from cab drivers. I also receive endless remarks about every facet of my appearance, which is stressful and tiring.

To some extent, I enjoy the attention. Most people like to feel important or special; I guess it affirms my existence, makes me feel like somebody in a country where somebodies are very few and individuality isn’t a big thing. I suppose it’s why some people enjoy being famous. And as someone who wants to work in Hollywood (albeit behind the camera), I suppose I must have threads of narcissism in my personality. But I don’t like being scrutinized, or noting that someone’s looking or pointing or staring at me, or having people comment on how I look. It’s quite complex and paradoxical. But when it really comes down to it, I don’t like it. It’s weird and uncomfortable.

But back to dinner Sunday night. Sunday we went out for Hakka , a Chinese minority cuisine. Phenomenal. One of the best meals I’ve had here (but aren’t they all).

I never eat fish, but this fish I ate multiple helpings of. It was sweet and a little bit spicy and sour.

We also had this tofu, which had a crisp outside and a soft inside. The broth it was in was a little bit salty and herby tasting.

Then there was this beef. If my taste buds had hearts, they would have gone into cardiac arrest from their euphoric rejoicing. The beef was served in a flavorful sweet/salty marinade, not a thick sauce, and the meat was tender and perfectly done and served in this cute leaf.

We also had these fat, clear noodles served with a salty sauce and salty, ground meat. Also fantastic. I must return to this restaurant!

After dinner we went for a walk in an attempt to counterbalance the obscene amount of food in our stomachs. And on our walk we ran into:

A film/TV show set! It was so exciting! They had a dolly track and some lights and a digital camera and lots of men shouting. We didn’t stay for very long, sadly. I would have stayed all night but I don’t think my friends would have gone for that. I don’t know what they were shooting because I didn’t ask because I probably wouldn’t understand what they said anyway. I know—I’m a wimp.

Monday was a rough day for me in more ways than one, but I definitely perked up when we went out for Japanese food. Unfortunately, to get to the restaurant we had to take a cab to the other side of the city (I’m so glad I found others willing to trek for good food!) during rush hour.

But isn’t every hour rush hour in Beijing? one might say? And one might be correct, but in Beijing there is rush hour and then there’s RUSH hour. We went out during RUSH hour. It took us an hour to get to the restaurant (it took us maybe 20 minutes to get back). It was stop and go the whole time. The drivers here like to play a game, and that game is: don’t let anyone else merge into your lane, just honk and flash your lights. They also do not drive in the lane lines—our driver straddled lanes for much of the drive.

Those of you who know me know that traffic gets me very irritated, and our driver wasn’t helping. Throughout the course of our pilgrimage, he smoked, picked his nose, repeatedly scratched himself, snorted, smacked his mouth continuously and nearly got us killed more times than I can count. He was awful.

But that all went away when the food came. I haven’t really had much Japanese before, I just know I like wasabi. My friends ordered lots of rolls.

These are called Pimp My Rolls:

These had salmon and cream cheese:

And these are called the Wasabi Challenge:

Clearly, lots of wasabi is involved, along with some crying, coughing, and intense blushing, that is if you’re a normal human being. Apparently I am not of the human form, because while it went up my nose and such, it really wasn’t that intense. I just ate the wasabi plain.

After dinner last night it was back to the study-Chinese grindstone, but, my pengyou, I’ll always have Paris.

Like the Chinese Einstein

2007-03-09T17:24:00.000-08:00

***Once I can get the internet to behave, the pictures to which I refer will be posted.****

It seems to me that China operates on its own theory of relativity. If the sky isn’t completely obscured by a lid of smoky haze, the air is good. If it doesn’t look or smell dirty, it’s clean. If you can get it for cheaper, it’s expensive. If it looks modern, it is, no matter the internal problems it suffers. In China, as long as you don’t look too deep or think too hard, you can still live life fairly happily.

Sometimes, I don’t know how people could live an entire life the way they do. On the streets all around our school, there are men and women on bicycles who tow around little trashcan-like ovens/grills. On this grill-esque apparatus, they sell baked sweet potatoes (and boy do they smell good). The thing is, they don’t have a permit to sell their food, so whenever the police come, they have to pedal hastily away and act like they weren’t just selling baked yams. And if the police don’t see them, they weren’t there. I can’t imagine how hard it must be not only to try and make a living that way, but also to try and do so while constantly on the lookout for cops.

These yam sellers are essentially invisible. No one remembers who they are, and the police will act like they don’t exist, since no one really cares if they’re selling yams anyway. It is so easy to be invisible in China—there are just too many people and too many problems.

In our textbook, we study a new society problem every chapter—family structure and divorce, marriage, population, and being an old person. When our teachers ask us if we think it’s a societal problem or an individual decision (say, to have kids, keeping in mind population), we, being liberal Americans, say it’s an individual problem. But in China, there’s no such thing as an individual problem. Guaranteed you’re not the only one who’s got a problem, and pretty much everyone suffers from the same problems. The big problem is that to fix one problem, you have to either fix five others first one or create an entirely new problem. That’s why while Beijing says the air will be clean for the 2008 Olympics, it won’t be. To clean the air they would have to shut down construction, severely limit driving, and tell people to stop using their outdoor stoves. No one would listen, and no one would enforce the rules. It’s just totally pointless.

They key to living in China is to go about you business and not think too hard about what the pollution is doing to your lungs, what that food is doing to your stomach, where those chopsticks have been, or what that cook has been touching.

And yet, with all the people in this country, in this city, in this neighborhood, I went out alone yesterday just to walk around, and I felt like the loneliest person on Earth. There are lots of barriers between me and the Chinese—language, looks, ideals. I was walking through a public square and someone deliberately flew a kite into my face. I know it was deliberate because I heard them laughing at me. That’s it—make fun of the waiguo ren giant.

Feeling lonely is really intimidating. I wanted to go into some of the shops and look around and maybe buy some more long sleeved shirts, but, and I grudgingly admit this, I was too scared. Whenever I go into a big store place, shop owners yell out at me to buy things. This annoys me and makes me feel very self-conscious. Furthermore, I’m a very underconfident bargainer. I can do pretty well if I’m with one or more people, but I know that if I go alone, I’ll pay too much and I’ll feel stupid. I know that this is reason enough to just go and DO IT ALREADY and quit being such a wimp, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. However I have vowed to myself that before I leave, I will go out alone and bargain for something.

But I must tell you that I am not imagining my obviousness. When I went out shopping last week, I was standing waiting for a friend to finish bargaining for her shoes. Another shop owner comes up to me, looks me up and down a few times. I look at him and say, “Shenme (what)?” He just looks at me and says, in English, “Tall.” Thanks. I hadn’t noticed.

Yesterday we had a little practicum in class, or what I like to call “Time to Make You Feel Dumb.” Our class went to a little park by school and had to interview the old people there. In China, parks are to old people what bars are to young people—the hub of activity and where you go when you want to go out.

The thing about a lot of Chinese is that they don’t want to waste their time to bad waiguo ren Chinese. Some of the old people pretend to be deaf; others just wave their had and you in dismissal.

I hate interviewing random people; I wouldn’t like doing it in English. Luckily we were allowed to do it in partners, and luckily the woman in the red cap who ended up agreeing to talk to us was awesome.

As you can see from Jason Foong’s photo, I am a giant. I understood about half of what she was saying, which made me feel good, or at least only half lost. (Un)fortunately, I have many more interviews with random people to go, and honestly, trying to figure out what some people are saying is like trying to decipher what a singing bird is saying.

Monday we went out for hot pot, since it was bitter cold outside. Actually, that’s an understatement. Coupled with the wind, the -1C temperature made me feel as though I was fresh out of an ice water bath and blasted with Arizona-in-the-summertime air conditioning.

This is a typical meal out—lots of people and lots of cameras. These photos also by Jason, since the few pictures I took didn’t look this pretty.

Last night CET arranged a class to learn how to bao jiaozi (make dumplings). It was nice not only to prepare food again, but also to experience what a pain in the ass it is to make dumplings, especially if you’re only one person. Since there were like 30 of us, it wasn’t a problem, but I can’t imagine being a wife and having to single-handedly make enough jiaozi to feed my family of 12.

Clearly we are not jiaozi aficionados, so most of the jiaozi had skin that was too thick or jiaozi that broke upon cooking. And yet I still ate 3 bowls of them. Soon I’ll be walking around in pajama pants, since my jeans won’t fit, and clothing in China is all too small for me.

And of course, a very happy 50th birthday to my awesome dad, who, though still a spry 49 at home, is actually 50 here. Cling to it while you can. I love you!

yuanxiao jie kuaile!

2007-03-04T02:31:00.000-08:00

Are you all ready for this? Because it’s a very long update (though I truly hope you read it, maybe in multiple sittings), with lots of pictures. It’s kind of weird how so much, and yet so little, can happen to me in one day, or even in an afternoon. Anyway, I”ll go in a rough chronological order.

The other day Tianqi took me to her favorite Sichuan restaurant. She warned me it was small, but I invited some friends along anyway. Well those few friends turned into like twelve people, which was totally cool with me. But clearly, I didn’t take Tianqi’s words literally enough, because the restaurant was less than twice the size of my room. So we got food there with another Chinese (male) roommate who lives two doors down while everyone else went to eat somewhere else to eat, and then we brought our food to their restaurant and ate with them.

Now, a little bit about this restaurant. Tianqi told me that she eats there at least once a month. That afternoon, she told me that she had taken her father there once and he refused to eat there because he thought it was too dirty, though she’s never had a problem. It made me just a little wary, but honestly, only a truly disgusting-looking place will stand between me and good Sichuan cuisine.

So we got to the restaurant. In addition to its aforementioned size (or lack thereof), the place was packed with people. I don’t think that the tables could have been smaller or closer. It was almost impossible to navigate the place without becoming awkwardly intimate with the other people trying to get through. I was the only waiguo ren in the place and felt a little unwelcome. Getting a table and a basket for food was a rather competitive endeavor.

So how the restaurant works is against one wall, there are plastic baskets filled with skewers of uncooked food: meats, tofu, vegetables. You go up to a window and they had you a (likely unwashed) plastic basket, and you take whatever food you want in your chao fan (stir fry) into your basket. It’s like a low-tech version of YC’s Mongolian BBQ, for those of you who would know. Then you pay, return your basket, and they serve you your chaofan in a bowl. But it’s not just any bowl. This is a bowl that many people have used before you and has not been washed. Instead of washing the bowl, they just serve everything in a plastic bag and put the plastic bag in the bowl. Easy clean up, quick turn around.

One thought that kept entering my mind the entire night: If Papa knew I were here, he may question my mental capacity. Papa is my ultra-amazing, wonderful grandfather. He is an excellent doctor and very cautious about sanitary conditions, especially those I encounter in China. He sent me here with a pharmacy of medications, gloves, and masks just in case. I love him, but I can imagine that with all the experience he has with germs, this place would look like a Petri dish of impending infection. Luckily, I haven’t had medical training, so I had no idea of the potential destruction I could be wreaking on my intestines.

I hardly need to tell you that the food was amazing. Spicy, oily, wonderful, and of no consequence to my bowels. I’m so going back. Sorry, Papa.

After a nice first week of classes, on Friday afternoon, three friends and I went to the Silk Road Market, a notorious waiguo ren draw and a place of massive bargaining. You can see here that they have signs of translation of how to say things.

I first I thought it was for the benefit of the waiguo ren so that they wouldn’t get totally taken advantage of. But there was no pinyin translation, so the ignorant laowai wouldn’t know how to say the things in Chinese. Then I realized it was for the stall owners so that they could better take advantage of the loaded, ignorant, obnoxious waiguo ren.

Bargaining is really hard, and the key to it is to act like it’s too expensive and then walk away. Usually you will get the price you want. We did pretty well bargaining; we definitely got lower prices than most waiguo ren since we speak Chinese, but since we’re obviously foreign, we were basically just less ripped-off. Still, 6 bucks for a knock-off Coach wallet is alright with me.

After shopping we discovered that, by a beautiful twist of fate, Beijing most famous roast duck restaurant was on the top floor of the Silk Road Market. Henry Kissinger ate there! Realizing we couldn’t pass up the opportunity, we went, spent 110 Yuan a person (most expensive meal I’ve ever paid for in China), and stuffed ourselves to the brim with roast duck.

That night pretty much everyone went out to a bar area called Sanlintunr, and I went too. I am a notorious bar hater. I hate it when music so loud the place sounds quiet, when there are so many people that it’s impossible to move, when the collective body heat turns it into a sauna of sweat. No thank you. But I went anyway, because I want to be with my friends and make new ones.

The thing about Sanlintunr is that it is a notorious waiguo ren district. Honestly, they only Chinese people there were selling street food or driving cabs. And these aren’t just any waiguo ren. They are, from what I observed, the most ignorant, obnoxious, and spoiled waiguo ren. And they are not just Americans.

The other thing about Sanlintunr is that, since it is such a waiguo ren draw, it is also a huge hub for drugs. The streets are lined with African Americans offering hashish, coke, pretty much anything you want. I’m not being racist or stereotyping, because it’s just the truth. They come from Africa to sell tourists drugs. Chinese children run around the street, try to hug you, and then steal your wallet. Doesn’t it sound fun?

So basically, it wasn’t. I got to hang out with people from CET, but my friends and I went back early after the police shut down the bar we were in.

Yesterday CET organized a trip to the Summer Palace. I went to the Summer Palace the first time I came to China, back when I was an ignorant waiguo ren (now I’m only semi-ignorant). Unfortunately, the day we went, it was raining so hard that all we did was walk through as quickly as possible. So I was looking forward to seeing what it was that I had supposedly already seen.

Well the weather and I seem to have gotten our wires crossed, because in addition to being absolutely freezing, yesterday was rainy and foggy. So Tianqi, Jason, and I trolled around Yihe Yuan for four hours in the cold rain. Despite the sick twist of fate, it was still fun. This photo of me and Tianqi was taken by my friend Jason Foong.

The day improved significantly when Tianqi invite me and Jason (since he has no roommate) back to her house to eat dinner. Before I came here, one of my biggest hopes was that I would make friends with my roommate and then go to her house, meet her family, and eat their food. And it came true after only a week and a half. This is the entrance to her building:

Here I am with her mom:

It was amazing. Her dad cooked so much food. My favorite (though honestly, it was all spectacular) was this chicken. I forget what it’s called, but it’s like sweet, spicy chicken wings only a million times better.

He also made a potato and meat dish:

And this nifty chicken and egg dish:

And two vegetable dishes, sweet potatoes, and this amazing sweet soup that’s designed for some holiday that happens to be today. The soup has these large, soft white balls filled with black, grainy stuff that tastes a little bit peanut butter-y. So so SO good. I ate a lot.

Eating was so interesting. You try eating chicken wings with chopsticks. It’s hard. They also put their bones on the table, which I found out only after her mom told me to do so, though I didn't understand so Jason had to translate. Table manners are also different: slurping, burping… seems more comfortable and relaxed than in America.

Tianqi’s parents are wonderful people. They were warm and welcoming, and told me to consider them my Beijing mother and father, which I now do. However, last night was one of the most frustrating experiences of my life.

I’ve discussed how accents are very hard to understand, and the speed with which people speak makes it even harder to decode just what people are saying. Well, clearly there was lots of talking going on last night, and I understood 40%, maybe 50% of what was being said. I know that they were asking me things or making conversation with me, but since I only got about half of what they were saying, all I could do was smile awkwardly, bite my lip, and feel like a total idiot. It’s times like this when I really question whether I have actually learned Chinese. I felt SO STUPID. Lacking the ability to understand or express myself is so maddening and embarrassing. When I tell them that I’ve been studying for two and a half years, I feel like a total joke.

Furthermore, there’s a lot of cultural stuff that I know I don’t understand. I probably offended Tianqi’s parents numerous times and made egregious breaches in etiquette, but they’re all too polite to tell me.

Later that night, a bunch of us went to KTV and rented a room and sang karaoke until 2:30 in the morning. Tons of fun. It was great. I sang a few times, but the music was pretty bad. I was forced into singing “Hit Me Baby One More Time” and “My Heart Will Go On,” though I voluntarily sang some Chinese songs. This photo also by Jason Foong:

And then, when we left at 2:45, it was snowing. Oh, weather, why dost thou hate me so? The snow is pretty much gone now, but it’s cold and windy.

And then today, my friend’s roommate invited me, her roommate, and our other friend to her house for lunch. I ate SO much that I plan on skipping dinner. We had tons of food.

There was this baicai (vegetable) stuff that was vinegary and a little spicy:

This gelatinized salty thing the grandfather made to look like a fish:

Quail eggs (which I didn’t eat because I don’t do eggs):

Cucumber/carrot/noodle liangcai, salty meat, the amazing fried sweet potato glazed with sugar and sesame seeds, two kinds of dumplings and two kinds of soup: the kind I had at Tianqi’s house, and another one with white balls filled with fruity preserve-like stuff. I am going to gain so much weight here. Forget the Freshman 15, we’re talking the China 20 (at least), though I really hope to thwart that.

Just a few little end notes. More than one person has compared me to a Barbie, which I find strange, since I bear no physical (or really, ideological) resemblance to a blonde, anatomically incorrect plastic toy. But hey, it’s meant as a compliment. I think.

Despite my frustrations, I am happy here. As most know, my first year of college was pretty much the worst of my life. Even though I’ve only been here a week and a half, I feel like this is what my first year of college was supposed to be like. I know that my feelings can and may change, but the transition has been painless and fun. Fingers crossed that it stays like this.

Jiayou!

The Dining room Proudly Presents... Your Dinner

2007-02-27T22:46:00.000-08:00

And now, finally, in the post you’ve all been waiting for, I present to you my first big(ish) foodie post. Yvonne, this one’s for you.

Last night I went back to the jiaozi fanguanr. It’s good. I’m glad it’s so close to school. But anyway, I went with seven other people, one of whom is a Chinese roommate. Since none of us know what to order, she did all the ordering, and my mouth and stomach are grateful. I forget the names of pretty much everything I eat, so I will instead describe the pictures and then let you lick the computer screen and get a taste for yourself.

With Chinese meals, first you have the liangcai, the cold dishes that are like appetizers. First we had this slimy noodle-y thing. I’m not sure if they’re actually noodles, but they’re clear and slimy and very hard to pick up with chopsticks. There brown stuff is a sauce that’s a bit salty with a hit of peanut. Quite good.

Next liangcai was this tofu, served cold with what I believe to be garlic and gelatinized soy sauce. Also quite good, also quite hard to pick up with chopsticks. I’m sensing a trend.

We also ordered this egg soup, but since I don’t do eggs, I didn’t eat it. It looks pretty though (doesn’t it Yvonne?). It's probably also rather hard to pick up with chopsticks:

Look, I found a fellow food voyeur! (His name is Jason. Later that night we had a conversation about film and cameras and computers—in Chinese, by the way—and I found out that in Chinese, when you develop a picture, you ‘xi zhao pian,’ which means ‘wash a picture.’ Makes sense in a strange way.)

Then came the jiaozi. Here’s our fuwuyuan (waiter) bringing them to us.

We had four kinds: jirou (chicken), qiezi (eggplant), one with eggs and spices, and another with eggs and carrots.

We also had these. I’m not sure what they’re called, as they are also dumplings however they have a more bread-y skin and have some oil in them. Also very good.

Tonight Tianqi is taking me and a few friends to her favorite Sichuan fanguanr, and she says that the food is especially hot, meaning, made for ellis.

The other night, Tianqi and I played cards. She taught me how to play some games, and then I taught her how to play Spit. It was so difficult to show her how to play, since I don’t know how to stay “stack in ascending or descending order then slap the pile with the fewest cards.” However, since I’m good at making charade motions and she is very smart, she picked it up quick and loves it now.

I’ve also figured out how to send text messages in Chinese. It’s fun.

Yesterday I went with a friend and her roommate to Xidan and into this big building.

Inside there are infinite floors of infinite cheap tchatckas and low-quality clothes. There were tons of people there (of course).

I saw this sweater with a picture of the Olsen twins on it. I tried to take a picture but was thwarted by the woman who owned the stall. It was really quite amusing.

During a class yesterday we had a debate about marriage and having kids and whether it’s an individual problem or a societal problem (think over-population, single-parent homes, government regulation of children etc.). The teacher seemed rather taken aback by the fact that we all thought that these were individual issues rather than societal ones. All of us agreed that the government shouldn’t say who can marry and how many kids one can have or who can have kids. I guess when you live in China where there’s a single child policy and a horrible overpopulation problem, you’d be used to that kind of control. It’s interesting how the students and teachers can relate so well, and then you talk about policy and societal issues and suddenly our differences become very apparent. We as students and Americans think that our teachers seem rather westernized, and I think they think they are too, but really their values are quite Chinese, and it’s a little surprising for the people on both sides when that’s realized.

That's China for you-- full of surprises.

Your Mom

2007-02-26T06:06:00.000-08:00

CET Chinese roommate (to me): ni jidlfkjw;oiaehrouhg?
Me: Shenme? (What?)
Tianqi: She’s in the 300 level class.
Aforementioned Chinese roommate: How can she be in 300? She didn’t even understand my question.

And so goes my life. Thanks a lot, by the way, Mr. Chinese-roommate-with-a-heavy-Beijing-accent-who-likes-to-mumble-and-slur-his-words-and-whose-mouth-I-can’t-see-because-it’s-dark-outside. You do wonders for my confidence.

I know that my listening skills are sub-par to my reading and writing skills. I can actually speak fairly well when I am either talking to people who know less Chinese than I do or when I have time to prepare what I’m going to say. I can also usually carry on a conversation with a professor, because professor-Chinese is much easier to understand than real-people Chinese.

I think that listening and carrying on a real-life conversation is the hardest thing about Chinese. Most people think reading and writing is the hardest, but I guess I’m different. This happened to me when I was in Shanghai—it just takes forever for me to adjust my brain to listening to Chinese. I’m sure it doesn’t help that I write a blog in English.

Speaking of speaking English, the reason I chose this program is because of the “strict language pledge.” Well guess what—they say it’s a strict language pledge, but really, people don’t stick to it. The past two nights when I’ve gone out to dinner, people have been speaking English (or really bad Chinese) or some Chinglish. I don’t get it—you sign up for a program knowing full well there’s a language pledge, so why the hell don’t you adhere to it? When I was walking out of the restaurant today at dinner, one of my classmates spoke to me in English, and I answered in Chinese. It was a rather short conversation, but I refuse to speak English. Sure, I’ve slipped up with a word or two, but that’s pretty much unavoidable. You’re here to learn Chinese—USE IT.

I’ve also noticed that here, I try to be around guys more than girls. I think it’s because when I’m at Wellesley, I don’t have the option to even see a guy, let alone eat dinner with six of them. In my opinion, guys are better at having fun because it’s less structured. We all know I’m a big planner, but it seems to me that if you had a room of guys and a separate room of girls and gave each one a balloon and a rubber band, I guarantee you that the room of guys would be laughing in no time. This is not to say that I don’t have fun with girls, because I do. Quite often, actually; it’s just that it’s a different fun, and since I don’t get that fun at school, I have to get it here. But since I’m socially awkward, it’s hard work for me to have fun either way.

I have finally learned how to swear in Chinese. I wanted to learn when I was in Shanghai last June, but when I asked one of the students to teach me he just blushed and shook his head. Luckily, Tianqi is awesome (in many ways) and taught me how to say, “What the fuck are you doing?” That would be:

Ni ta ma de zai gan ma!

“Ta ma” means his/her mom. Isn’t it interesting that on both sides of the Pacific, referring to one’s mother is considered an insult? There are a lot of differences between cultures for sure, but the similarities are always rather unexpected. On the differences side, I think it’s notable that the Chinese don’t consider it taboo to comment on one’s appearance. Tianqi and other Chinese people frequently celebrate the virtues of my height, figure, and ‘beauty.’ Tianqi calls me ‘meinu,’ which means ‘beautiful girl.’ She also doesn’t hesitate to tell me how thin I am, or to pinch my sides and tell me that that’s where I have comparatively more fat.

Speaking of fat, I think I’ve ingested more grease this past week than I have in the past seven months. Chinese food is oily already, and I though Shangai food was oily, but here our dishes arrive literally drenched—swimming—drowning!—in oil. By the time I finish eating it seems like spoonfuls of oil are left on my plate. But last night I had probably the best meal I’ve had so far in Beijing. I went with Tianqi, two guys and their roommates to the famous (in the CET circle) jiaozi fanguanr ( dumpling restaurant). I’m not a huge dumpling person, but these were good. Plus, Tianqi ordered this spectacular dish called basi digua. Essentially, it was sweet potato deep fried and then coated with a sweet glaze and then served hot. Kind of like yam donuts. Oh, they were SO good I almost died. Of course, I ate too much and proceeded to eat ice cream afterward. The flavor was sunnai binggunr, a sort of yogurt-y milk flavor that kind of reminded me of yogurt gelato. CET also gave us a famous roast duck lunch yesterday, so it was a good food day.

Anyway, long update. Hope you read it all, because I think it’s interesting, and you should too. Happy 21st birthday shout out to my hao pengyou (good friend) Rachel. Wo ai ni!

Shenme?

2007-02-24T16:46:00.001-08:00

I don’t know how I could have so much to say after only four days here. Every day is such a challenge, and the language pledge hasn’t started yet. I haven’t really encountered anything ultra-new or different yet, but just the process of trying to remember English and Chinese names, make friends and get my bearings around a city that feels like it’s the size of Connecticut is such an involved process. Add to that the fact that I can’t understand a lot of the Chinese people here because of their heavy accents, and we’ve got ourselves a good time.

I met my roommate on Friday. Her name is Bai (her surname) Tianqi. She is so nice. She is a biology major at a nearby university. She speaks some English, likes to eat spicy food, play sports, and go for walks. She also lives in Beijing, so Friday night after we ate some tasty Xinjiang food with everyone, she took me to her home. Here we are by Tiananmen:

This thing counts down the time until the olympics:

Her home is a small but nice apartment where she lives with her mom and dad. It definitely feels like a home. I only met her dad, and he is so nice! Once I came in the door they offered me juice, tea, candy, apples, some huge large grapefruit-y thing, and apples. Tianqi’s little cousin was there practicing her instrument for a competition the next day, and I got to hear her play. Tianqi’s father even made her call me Jiejie, which means big sister.

One thing I found really interesting about the apartment was that the bathroom was the shower. It was just a small bathroom, and then on the wall there was the shower spout. In Beijing every little square foot counts. There are so many people that eventually just in the building, all the space that could be showers adds up to so much that it’s better used as apartment space.

Then we all watched a TV show in which waiguo ren perform Chinese songs or martial arts or just perform in Chinese. It was so strange—it even had American hosts speaking really good Chinese. Chinese television is so much campier. The people in the audience were waving around those glowing light sticks that look like toy light sabers!

Yesterday CET held a scavenger hunt sort of thing so we could better get to know our roommates and the city. Tianqi and I were in a group with three guys, Ian, Ian’s roommate Liu Qi, and Peter. Liuqi kind of took over, as he should since he knows the city, but his accent is so heavy that when he spoke, I felt like it was almost a totally different language. That’s another thing about trying to speak with Chinese people; I feel totally stupid on a regular basis, which isn’t really a feeling that I’m used to.

Anyway, our group totally lost the competition. We came in sixth out of six, but we didn’t really care because we had fun. I even learned a Chinese tongue twister:

Chi putao butu putao pianr, bu chi putao daotu putao pianr.

It means, if you eat grapes, don’t spit out the skin, if you don’t eat grapes, spit out the skin. We taught Tianqi and Liu Qi to say a few English tongue twisters as well. Great fun.

This is a lake at a place called Houhai. Very pretty:

The other day I also bought a cell phone, which was a rather humbling and arduous experience. in total it cost around 60 USD, for the phone, SIM card, and minutes. But talking to the salespeople was nearly impossible. Not only were their accents thick, but the music in the store was so loud that I just couldn’t hear them. That happens a lot actually. If I’m in a place where there’s a lot of extraneous noise and I’m trying to understand Chinese, my comprehension level goes way way down. I’m constantly shaking my head and asking what everything means.

However, on the happier side, last night Tianqi and I went for a walk around the neighborhood and had a good, long, interesting conversation in Chinese. I understood almost everything she said despite the traffic noises in the background. She also speaks very nice, clear, lightly accented Chinese, so that helps.

Today we have class orientation. I got placed in (what I believe is) the second highest level, which is good, but I feel like I’ve forgotten so much that I’ll be really behind. Then, come noon, the language pledge begins. Oh, boy. And so begins my slow and painful mental breakdown.

Let's Get This Party Started

2007-02-22T15:01:00.000-08:00

This post is now confirmation that I am alive and in Beijing. Yesterday (which was really yesterdays) was long, though the traveling part of it went rather smoothly. I arrived on time to LA, hauled my baggage to a different terminal, met some people from CET, and flew with them to Tokyo. That’s where we encountered the only travel wrinkle, as when we got to the gate for our flight to Beijing, Japan Airlines politely informed everyone that due to “bad weather” we “may” be diverted to Kansai. That’s right—“may.” In fact, even after they delayed us for 40 minutes, boarded us on the plane, and got us in the air, they still insisted on alerting us to the possibility that we may or may not be diverted to Kansai, which is in Osaka, and clearly, not actually in China.

But they finally made a decision, as we arrived in Beijing to find that the bad weather that had the potential to divert us was actually rather dangerous. I don’t know how (or why) the landed the plane, because the whole city was enveloped in a fog roughly the density of yogurt.

So, after a little drive and a lot of luggage hauling (now I know why it’s called luggage), I arrived to my humble dorm room. I was and am happy to be here, though last night I admit that I went through a small crisis in faith. Having been awake for close to 40 hours in a strange place with bags to unpack at midnight, I questioned just what the hell I thought I was doing, moving to a strange country with no friends. I couldn’t even take a shower, because, oops, I don’t have a towel. (I didn’t forget it, because they told us to buy them here. I just didn’t account for the fact that maybe I would want to take a shower.)

This morning was much brighter. I took a placement test, which I feel just serves to remind me of just how much Chinese I have forgotten. In my oral exam, my teachers/testers complimented me on my speaking. That’s a nice feeling, but I can’t be sure that it’s true, because Chinese people say that to any foreigner who attempts to say nihao.

After the test, I returned to my room to decompress before lunch. I put my key in the door, gave it a turn, and whoops! it broke off in the lock. This really underscores my assertion that nothing in China, no matter what it is, is actually made to be used more than a few times.

So then I had to walk down to the shifu (literally “master,” but really just like an RD) and tell him that my key had broken off in the door, which proved interesting as I know the words for neither “key,” “lock,” nor “broke.” So I walked into his office, held up my key, and told him my room number.

After he couldn’t fix it, he called another shifu, who was supposed to come then but didn’t show for awhile. So my shifu and I had a nice long chat. He is the nicest guy. He also complemented me on my speaking skills, and I am so proud that I actually carried on a conversations. I didn’t even have to say “I don’t understand” or shake my head in confusion. And I actually said things and asked him questions and had a genuine conversation. And then, he gave me candy! He gave my two pieces of White Rabbit candy, which I love. And now I have a new key, so I can actually access my room.

Now I’m working on the whole socializing aspect. Lots of people here were here last semester, so they all know each other and know the way things work and such. But I’ve only been here a day and it’s so interesting, the way the dynamic here works. My neighbors are males, clearly notable due to my usual single-sex living conditions. I’m branching out and leaving my door open when I’m in my room so that people will talk to me, but it’s something I never did at Wellesley that maybe I should have done. Two people have already stopped by. It's quite an effective strategy.

Since people are still celebrating the New Year, the city is practiacally deserted, and there are nonstop firecrackers going off. It sounds like gunfire and it is so loud and annoying. I feel like I’m living in a ghetto or some war-torn country, but then I remember that people are celebrating, not warring. Happy year of the Pig, everyone!

God I hope I don't lost my passport.

2007-02-19T22:53:00.000-08:00

In just about four hours, at 4 AM, I will wake up and be on my way to China. I have spent the past three days doing what I like to call "strategic packing." I don't want to bring too much, but I don't want to find out I don't have enough. I have a limit of two suitcases at 70 pounds each, which is quite a load, but I don't really know if I'll have space for that amount of stuff, as I anticipate living in a sardine tin. So after three arduous days of analyzing whether this sweater will be better than that one, I am proud to say that my suitcases weigh 37 pounds and 43 pounds. Both of them still have ample room left.

For me, the hardest thing about travel, especially international travel, is that there's just so much to keep track of. Money, passport, traveler's checks, plane tickets. It's an anxious nightmare in my head. Not to mention when the plane makes a funny sound and I think we're going to crash. (Incidentally, if my plane should crash into the Pacific, please eat Ethiopian food at my wake.) --I'm sorry, was that morbid? Just pretend I'm on "Lost." Or, even better, finally achieving my life-long dream of being on "Survivor."

I know this sounds cliche, but I really can't believe that I'm leaving tomorrow. This whole 'semester abroad' thing has seemed so abstract and theoretical that it kind of seemed like it would all just happen in my head. Everyone keeps telling me to have a good time, and I know I will, but it's likely that I won't even know I'm having a great time until the end (because that's how it always goes).

Along the way, I anticipate rather extreme highs and lows. I may post one day on my blog about how I just want to go home. And I'll mean it. But I also know that that feeling will go away in a few hours or days. I have a feeling that overall, this will be one of the best decisions and experiences of my life. I hope I'm right.

Enough of that boring stuff. I can't wait to start updating with the exciting stuff. I just gotta get through about 30 hours of flying first.

The Hopeless Dream of Being

2007-02-17T21:37:00.000-08:00

傅德曼
fù dé màn

This is my Chinese name. In China, you say family name followed by the given name. Therefore, my surname is Fu, and my first name would be Deman. This "de" means virtue, and this "man" means graceful, though my dad thinks it looks like a director's chair. The marks on the top of the words are tone markings, indicating how the voice should rise or fall with each word. There are five tones in Mandarin, and they are VERY important. Having bad intonation is like... well, there's really no English equivalent. I don't really want to give a long Chinese lesson, since that would bore most of you.

I had another Chinese name before this. It was given to me by my totally awesome professor in the first week I started Chinese. I decided to change it before I go abroad, because I wanted something more personal. I love my professor, and it's not like I didn't like my name, but I just didn't feel that it fit me.

So I contacted my (Chinese) friend's parents, Mr. Zhang and Mrs. Shuai. These are two of the most wonderful people ever. I love them so. Mrs. Shuai cooks the best tofu I have ever eaten, and both have them have always been so wonderful to me. So, though I think they were surprised and slightly confused to hear from me, they created a Chinese name for me.

Giving children names in China is a very long, complicated process. Most parents don't give their children names until a few weeks after their birth, and first names in China are much more personalized and numerous than in the US. So it was no small task for Mrs. Shuai to come up with a name. In the end, she chose names that sounded like my American one. The above name sounds like my complete American last name. It's a good name. I like it.

I think it's interesting that in China, people will know me by a totally different name. It's like I'll be another person, like I get a fresh start. At the risk of sounding flowery and overly prosaic, it will be like a second birth. I intend to experience this semester totally open to change and to changing. I think it will be hard to leave my American self behind. When I was in Shanghai last June, I was with some of my college friends, so resisting change was much easier than yielding to it. This time, I don't know anyone. At my core, I will still be the same person, I think. But isn't it exciting to split in half? It's rather like Ingmar Bergman's "Persona," a quotation from which is the title of this entry.

There will always be a part of me that exists only in China. Likewise, there's a part of me that exists only in the US. But I've lived my entire life with my US-self, and it's exciting and terrifying to think that as I go to China, I'm leaving part of myself behind, and I don't know if she will be here when I get back.

Reduce Yourself to 500 words...

2007-02-14T22:15:00.000-08:00

This is the application essay I wrote for the program I'm attending. It was basically an 'explain yourself in 500 words' type of essay, and what I've written was just straightforward and truthful. There's no BS, no clever comparisons or flowery language, just what I actually mean.

-----------------

I am a cinema and media studies major. I want to write and direct my own films in Hollywood. Taking a semester to study Chinese in Beijing is not the standard path of study for a film major, nor is studying film usually accompanied with an interest in Chinese. But the opportunities that knowing Chinese provides are secondary to the desire of knowing the language for the sake of knowing it. My primary reason for studying Chinese is motivated by the language itself. In learning Chinese, I feel like I am becoming privy to a secret code. Inside the strokes of the characters are stories, meaning and pictures that are lacking in any of the Latin-based languages I have studied. For some reason, Chinese makes sense to me, a Caucasian girl from Arizona who grew up speaking only English.

I recently spent a month studying Chinese in Shanghai, and during my first week there, I was so confused that I felt as though the four semesters I had previously studied Chinese were useless. I soon realized that this was incorrect, but it took all four weeks that I was there to tune my brain to China, a frequency that now, upon my return to America, has been significantly muted. However, had I not gone to China, I would not even have such a frequency. I desire to return to China, regain that frequency, and keep it playing in my head.

In terms of creating a sense of belonging, China is not foreigner-friendly, a feeling I have experienced first-hand. Everything is different, and the physical similarities among Chinese people only exaggerate how different an American like me is. Everywhere I went in China, people stared. However, everyone I met was incredibly friendly, and especially impressed when they learned I could (more or less) speak their language. Internalizing the Chinese language and culture is difficult and terrifying, but it is also fascinating and incredibly gratifying. I feel that by studying in China for an extended period of time, something inside me will change. Learning about foreign cultures has always been an interest of mine, and I hope to emerge from this program with not only a working knowledge of the Chinese language, but also with a sense of identification with the culture and a change in world perspective. I could continue my study of Chinese in America, but it would be knowledge without context. Not only would my skill with the language be of a lower level, it would also lack a certain quality that can only be cultivated in China.

This program offers a special chance for me to do this. There are so many study abroad programs, but this one promises intense language immersion. The language pledge, though daunting, is the most appealing aspect of the program. I am not looking for the easy way to learn Chinese, because I know that there isn’t one. I am looking for an experience that will challenge my brain, my tongue, and my sense of the world. The Beijing program will provide me with so many tools that I will not help but evolve, and I am ready to change the way I think and the language in which I do so.

Wat's up?

2007-02-11T13:40:00.000-08:00

From now until I leave on the 20th, I will be (over)indulging on all the foods that I love and likely will not get to eat for the next four or so months. This morning, that meant cinnamon rolls, of which I had six. Yes, that is a lot, but you must understand that I have no self-control. I also plan to not eat lunch. I would hope to have a small dinner, but in the fridge are a plethora of leftovers from last night's fabulous feast.

That would be a feast of Ethiopian food. If you know me, you know that my only true addiction is to Ethiopian food. Since none of my friends are here and my family is not as fanatical as I, I can't find anyone to go to Cafe Lalibela on a weekly basis to experience the gastronomical wonders of wats, injeeras, and heavy spices. So, I decided to make some at home. I made three dishes plus injeera bread. It took me five hours, five onions, and a head and half of garlic. Yum.

The first dish I made was the spicy lentils.

Then I made Doro Wat, a spicy chicken in a stew-like sauce.

I also made Vegetable Alecha, a mild vegetable stew with peppers, carrots, potatoes, tomatoes, and cabbage.
And here they all are! There's plenty more where that came from. Lots of leftovers. Mmmmm....

Next weekend I'm going to Lalibela, and I think I'll go to Soma before I leave, and fill up on some hummus. Had my last lasagna on Thursday, and I think I'll have to go out for one last Indian hurrah, but the Indian places here are no match for Tanjore in Boston or my beloved Ashoka in Firenze, Italia.

I've spent most of my day marking places I want to go in Beijing, paying special attention, of course, to the restaurants. I'll save that for a later post, but let's just say my mouth is already watering.

Expect More

2007-02-10T21:43:00.000-08:00

Today I went to Target to buy all the stuff I’ll need (or think I’ll need) for my 4-month stay in China. I’ve read in numerous places that in China, finding things like dental floss, tampons, and deodorant can be nearly impossible. Plus, since the Chinese gene pool yields very few curly-haired people such as myself, I doubt they’ll have my hair gel. I knew I would spend a lot of money. Since I’ve been to China twice before, I have some idea of what to expect, but now I’ll be spending a third of a year there. I never realized just how long 4 months is until I quantified it in hair products, hand sanitizers, and various implements for potential ailments.

Quite frankly I’m shocked at the amount of crap that I bought. It didn’t seem like much individually, but it added up really fast. Walking around the store, I was ashamed at how much stuff I had in my cart. I must have looked like someone stocking up for Y2K. I didn’t buy anything that I won’t use, but that doesn’t make me feel that much better.

So many people do not and never will have the means to just go into Target and spend $350. Yes, I spent that much. Disgusting, isn’t it? I worked about 45 hours for that money. If I actually had expenses, I could never, ever do that. I am too lucky.

Who am I to use all this crap? I always considered myself fairly non-materialistic and fairly non-consumer (if that’s a word). I don’t care about labels that I wear or owning the latest gadget or It bag or BS like that. But all this stuff, all that money, and especially those hair products really knot my stomach.

I shouldn’t care about my frizzy hair; I guess it’s my vanity. I hate that, as evidenced by the two shampoos, two conditioners, one deep conditioner, two gels and two hairsprays (4 months, people!), I care so much about how I look. As if it really matters.

I don’t like the idea of putting a ton of work into my appearance. Compared to a lot of people I don’t. But this hair product thing is making me look at myself a little harder. I don’t use that much gel on a daily basis, but looking at what is supposed to be a 4-month supply is rather humbling. I find myself trying to justify buying that much.

I am lucky that I can care what my hair looks like.

That’s the first thing I’ve learned from my semester in China, and I’m not even there yet.

And don’t even ask me how I’m actually going to get all that stuff to China.