On New Year’s Eve we took full advantage of the Ocean Park, visiting the Aquarium, Jellies, Sea Lion Show, and Musical Fountain Light Show. I’d seen the fountain show at the Bellagio in Vegas, which I mistakenly used as a reference. To be fair, I should have known that I was in for a different kind of show when Kelly and I were the only people in the audience between the ages of 40 and 4, and the only couple present without a fetus. The water sprays, spurts of fire and fireworks were actually impressive, but I could have done without the breaks for rapping and dancing starfish, projections of Disney characters onto water sprays, and ballet-renditions of lion fish falling in love.
At night we watched the fireworks over the water from “Club H20”, the lounge/bar of the hotel. The wine was delicious (I’d forgotten what non-Greatwall wine tasted like!) and the night outside was a wonderfully starry sight. Me and Kelly recounted all that we could of 2010, thinking of “best __(new food/month/season/trip)___” and made resolutions for the new year. It’s hard to believe that just a year ago we were on Avenue D drinking someone’s Patron and thinking about moving to China.
Each part of our trip to the Philippines was exactly what I needed, from family to resort, to beach, to Jellyfish. I have to say though, I’m starting to seriously wonder if me and Kelly are the only people like us anywhere. (Or at least on this side of the world.) That’s not even just to say we’re the only lesbians, as I’m sure I’ve made that point before. But on this trip, we were the only mid-20’s girls traveling. In each of our four locations, we were mostly with families, even young families, with the occasional straight couple under 40. Many, many people asked us if we were sisters.
Unfortunately, the questions of me and Kelly being related is not new to us. In America I’ve been asked if we were cousins, and even told as a “compliment” that we “look so much like!” But sisters is a whole new level. Kelly said that it’s just their way to wrap their heads around two women traveling alone during the holidays. That I guess I can understand, not that I find it more settling.
I’m back and had my first day of work on January 4th! (We had a day and a half to settle back before going to work.) My kids were so much smaller than I remembered, and so darling. They actually got a positive report from a special! It’s a whole new year!
Friday, December 31, 2010
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Hotel H20
We chose Panglao instead of Bouracay island, which is known as a “party island”, because we were not looking for lots of night life and drunken strangers. As much as I love the beach and enjoyed my relaxing time there, I was ready to go back to the city of Manila by the fifth day.
This time in Manila, we stayed at the newly opened “Hotel H20”, which is literally in Manila’s Ocean Park. The pool for the hotel is behind the pool for the sea lion show and in front of the water for the musical fountain light show. Next to this is called “liquid club”, which is another set of pools and a bar and dance floor. Kelly and I were having a drink in one of the pools when the sea lions came waddling past it with their trainers on the way back to their habitat. It was the closest I’ve ever been to being behind the scenes at an Aquarium.
The best part for me we had a giant fish tank in our room which ran the entire length of one wall. The fish tank itself is even bigger, running through multiple rooms. This way, we could watch the fish swim past our tank, not knowing when they might return, and spotted new fish every day for the three days we spent there.
My favorite part of the Aquarium was the Jellies exhibit. You may know of my fascination with Jelly Fish. I am mesmerized watching them move and float. The Jellies exhibit had many different tanks and mirrors, with different flashing lights coordinated with the blasting music. The back wall is made up one giant tank with bright changing lights where hundreds of tiny circles of jellies float in swirls to the music. Smaller takes with larger jellies, the kind with pumping bells and hook-shaped stingers are placed alone the walls. In the middle, closed during the day, is a bar which turns this exhibit into “Genius Bar” by night. Brilliant!
This time in Manila, we stayed at the newly opened “Hotel H20”, which is literally in Manila’s Ocean Park. The pool for the hotel is behind the pool for the sea lion show and in front of the water for the musical fountain light show. Next to this is called “liquid club”, which is another set of pools and a bar and dance floor. Kelly and I were having a drink in one of the pools when the sea lions came waddling past it with their trainers on the way back to their habitat. It was the closest I’ve ever been to being behind the scenes at an Aquarium.
The best part for me we had a giant fish tank in our room which ran the entire length of one wall. The fish tank itself is even bigger, running through multiple rooms. This way, we could watch the fish swim past our tank, not knowing when they might return, and spotted new fish every day for the three days we spent there.
My favorite part of the Aquarium was the Jellies exhibit. You may know of my fascination with Jelly Fish. I am mesmerized watching them move and float. The Jellies exhibit had many different tanks and mirrors, with different flashing lights coordinated with the blasting music. The back wall is made up one giant tank with bright changing lights where hundreds of tiny circles of jellies float in swirls to the music. Smaller takes with larger jellies, the kind with pumping bells and hook-shaped stingers are placed alone the walls. In the middle, closed during the day, is a bar which turns this exhibit into “Genius Bar” by night. Brilliant!
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Highlights of Panglao
We spent the next five nights at that hotel on Panglao Island. It was many relaxing days of reading, thinking, beaching, and eating. Alona beach has a whole strip of restaurants that have tables on the sand, a few feet from the ocean. It felt like a dream to have dinner watching the sunset and listening to the waves.
Best View: Chocolate Hills
These are a collection of hills that turn brown in the summer, hence the name. Even though they were green because it was the “cold season”, they were beautiful.
Best Star-Gazing Spot: Alona beach
If you walk past the restaurants there is a stretch of beach that is wider and darker, without the many lights for the Christmas-decorated restaurants. Lying there, looking up at the sky, I suddenly remembered that I grew up in a place where I could see constellations.
Biggest Annoyance: “Taxi?” “Island hopping?” “Diving, ma’ am?”
You could not make it to the beach without being asked each of these questions a few times. I’ll admit I’m out of practice because in China, I either walk right by because I don’t know what they’re saying, or at most shake my head and say, “Sorry, no Chinese” and am left alone. Luckily, though, the approaching men would not follow us, and would eventually take, “No thank you” for an answer.
Best Wine: Le Elephante Blu
This awesome spot, which we only referred to as “the Blue Elephant”, was a great little spot off of the beach. It was a cottage that had been turned into a restaurant and hotel. With their multiple couch areas, delicious wine and tasty appetizers, like hummus and buffalo cheese on bread, and coffee-house, stay-as-you-wish, atmosphere, it quickly became a daily spot for us.
Best Lunch: Floating Riverboat
As part of a tour-the-island we arranged with our hotel, were hired a private driver to take us to Bohol’s top touristy spots. One of my favorite parts was this lunch on a riverboat. You sit at a table and help yourself to the buffet of fish, meat, rice, fruit, etc. as you float down the river. They even have a live singer create some playful ambiance to oldies-but-goodies like the Beatles, while you take in the lush surroundings. Everyone who had done this recommended it to us, and it did not disappoint!
Best Beach Fun: Building a Sand Castle
What started as an impromptu idea became a 3-hour collaborative project. By the end of our efforts, Kelly and I had designed a castle with a sea-weed designed mote, a shell and coral garden, and a backyard pool complete with a palm-made path and a working hammock made from a coconut, piece of rope, and two branches. We collected everything from the sea, and after the nigh heavy rainstorm and high tide, everything was returned.
Best View: Chocolate Hills
These are a collection of hills that turn brown in the summer, hence the name. Even though they were green because it was the “cold season”, they were beautiful.
Best Star-Gazing Spot: Alona beach
If you walk past the restaurants there is a stretch of beach that is wider and darker, without the many lights for the Christmas-decorated restaurants. Lying there, looking up at the sky, I suddenly remembered that I grew up in a place where I could see constellations.
Biggest Annoyance: “Taxi?” “Island hopping?” “Diving, ma’ am?”
You could not make it to the beach without being asked each of these questions a few times. I’ll admit I’m out of practice because in China, I either walk right by because I don’t know what they’re saying, or at most shake my head and say, “Sorry, no Chinese” and am left alone. Luckily, though, the approaching men would not follow us, and would eventually take, “No thank you” for an answer.
Best Wine: Le Elephante Blu
This awesome spot, which we only referred to as “the Blue Elephant”, was a great little spot off of the beach. It was a cottage that had been turned into a restaurant and hotel. With their multiple couch areas, delicious wine and tasty appetizers, like hummus and buffalo cheese on bread, and coffee-house, stay-as-you-wish, atmosphere, it quickly became a daily spot for us.
Best Lunch: Floating Riverboat
As part of a tour-the-island we arranged with our hotel, were hired a private driver to take us to Bohol’s top touristy spots. One of my favorite parts was this lunch on a riverboat. You sit at a table and help yourself to the buffet of fish, meat, rice, fruit, etc. as you float down the river. They even have a live singer create some playful ambiance to oldies-but-goodies like the Beatles, while you take in the lush surroundings. Everyone who had done this recommended it to us, and it did not disappoint!
Best Beach Fun: Building a Sand Castle
What started as an impromptu idea became a 3-hour collaborative project. By the end of our efforts, Kelly and I had designed a castle with a sea-weed designed mote, a shell and coral garden, and a backyard pool complete with a palm-made path and a working hammock made from a coconut, piece of rope, and two branches. We collected everything from the sea, and after the nigh heavy rainstorm and high tide, everything was returned.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Christmas Day
On Christmas morning we had before 12 to check out of our resort, and we used our time wisely. We had our free breakfast, which unlike the cornflakes and jam I’d predicted, was your choice of any full meal (eggs, meat, rice, fruit, coffee, etc.) at the restaurant. Kelly’s been eating meat here non-stop, even though I still can’t tell the difference, other than the fact that there’s less bones than in China.
We laid and read in hammocks and on chairs by the beach. Then we took out one of the two-person kayaks into the nature-preserved section of the ocean. It’s meant for snorkeling, but even from the boat I could see through the beautifully clear water to the ocean life below. I saw fluorescent fish and intricate reefs. I saw coral of all different shapes and sizes, blooming like flowers, flat like mushrooms, and spikey like hundreds of starfish. Even walking around near the shore we saw so many starfish and sea urchins (which made us step lightly!)
From the kayak I saw little blue fish, ones with a glowing yellow tail and bright blue fins, fish that were zebra-striped and flat. They came right up to the kayak in schools, swimming around our oars. Looking at their dazzling colors, I remembered for a moment why black lights had been a fad. There is something awesome about blue lighting of water and sharp yellow, red, and white details.
We drifted, holding an anchor rope set in the middle of the reef, watching the world below and listening to the beach blare “The Little Drummer Boy” and Maria Carey Christmas.
After a dip in the pool it was time to pack up. We were brought to our new hotel, free of charge. It was sad to leave.
Our new hotel, though much cheaper and a hotel, not a resort, is closer to stores and restaurants and Alona beach. We walked down to the beach, (about a 5 min. walk) and had a San Miguel, THE beer of these islands, and went swimming.
As you can tell from my rambling, it was a very long day! Without traveling and family and gift-opening, there are a lot of hours to fill on Christmas day. We swam in the pool, played rummy in our room, played pool (billiards), and had a nice Christmas dinner too!
Then we watched TV for the first time in…a long time, considering neither of us had cable in NY. I’d forgotten what it was like to flip through channels, especially since the invention of the “guide” button. (It’s slightly alarming to see “Pentagon Hour” from outside the US, which chronicled a young towny from ME who raised however much for US soldiers by walking across the country, and then more footage of soldiers and military. Do the conservatives run all of our media?)
After channel surfing for a while we actually managed to catch the end of “Four Christmases,” with Reece Witherspoon and Vince Vaughn, and then called it a night. I’m not complaining, mind you. I am loving the weather and the food and the relaxing time on the beach. But Kelly and I agreed at night that Christmas day away from everyone and everything familiar is a lot like how people don’t really have fun on their birthdays. Damn you, memories and expectations!
Merry Christmas to our loved ones! We are thinking of you!
Friday, December 24, 2010
It's Christmas Time...in the Islands
Even though the weather here only brings to mind summer vacation, the lights, trees, and merry spirit is comforting to be around. There is tons of Christmas bling in the Philippines. I’ve seen carols, lights, decorated (fake) trees, nutcrackers, and even a fireplace-turned-gingerbread house that Kelly and I had to pose in front of. It reminds me of the “Christmas Land” in The Nightmare before Christmas.
I was even told that there is a mandatory Christmas bonus here of one month salary. All the signs here advertise a “Christmas sale” or wish us a “Merry Christmas!” It is nice to be in a country that celebrates Christmas during the holiday. Not that I don’t promote the “Holiday Season” division in America to represent our diverse culture, but it’s nice to be in a place where Christmas is the same for everyone. I wonder if this is what my Jewish friends would feel if they went to Israel during Hanukkah, you know, with less religion and more commercialism?
This is a Catholic country, but it’s not too religious-y. It’s nice to see relig
ion as it’s meant to be, un-judgemental and friendly, with people living harmoniously and welcoming others. The family knows that Kelly and I are a couple, and they had no qualms of putting us in the same room, or worries we might influence their children. (I did, however, notice public busses with the tag, “God Bless This Ride” and I spotted a little sign off to the side that said, “Fear God. Repent and Be Saved.” I also love the billboard that is all black with just the white writing, “Talk to Me. – God” Just a gentle reminder!)
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We spent 3 days at Amarele, a really nice resort on Panglao Island. All of the reviews we’d read held true. We had a private balcony overlooking the pool and down to the beach. We did all sorts of resort-y things like get fruity drinks brought to us on the beach, and eating dinner in the quasi-outdoor restaurant overlooking the water. Our resort had free DVD rentals and board games, and I thoroughly enjoyed sinking into modern-classics like “She’s All That” and “Casper”, while we played scrabble with what’s left of our English literacy.
The resort staff was beyond friendly and accommodating. The resort even had performances like choirs and bands play Christmas songs every night, and gave us a little present of Filipino cookies on Christmas Eve!
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Manila
Manila is a big city in the Philippines. There are taxis to get around, but we were really lucky to have family drive us around, because the taxi lines were outrageously long, running all the length of a sidewalk. I was amazed when I saw these, family after family with their holiday purchases, just waiting patiently in a mile 50 ft long. No one was swearing, or cutting, or bumping others as they inched forward. As we were walking someone actually bumped Kelly, and then apologized! Can you imagine? After going from NY, where they don’t have the time to say sorry as they brush past you, to Beijing, where it’s just not in their culture to recognize that as a wrong doing, I had forgotten that was a possible response.
Kelly and I spent three days in Manila, mostly shopping, reading, and enjoying the warm weather. The family we stayed with had four lovely, adorable children, whose Philippine accents made everything they said, even when they were rough housing with or teasing each other, so adorable!
On our last day there the grandfather of the family volunteered to take us to the beautiful city of Tagaytay. It was so above and beyond for a host. There is a volcano that has a lake inside of it. This volcano is actually inside of another, much larger lake, which is actually in the city, which is also a volcano. The city sits above these, and from there we could look down at the lake, inside the volcano, inside the lake, inside the volcano. It is difficult to explain but so very worth seeing. The grandfather took us there, brought us to two restaurants so that we could see it from different views, and bought us breakfast, lunch, and delicious cappuccinos. We are very lucky tourists.
On the way back he even stopped by the roadside to get us coconuts. You can pick the one you want from the pile and they chop it until they strike the water. Then they just throw a straw in, and there is a surprising amount of coconut water. Our “tour guide” the grandfather even told us that during the war they used coconut water in IVs for the soldiers, when there wasn’t any clean water!
I really enjoyed learning about the history of the island and the culture of the people while staying with the family. I feel that I learned more about Philippine culture in a few days than I have about Chinese culture in the many months I’ve been in China. The language barrier is really difficult to overcome. I’m doing well in the city, but I find myself in western places, or western-adapted Chinese places, because I cannot read a real menu or really speak to a waitress. It was so refreshing, also, to be given a tour and driven around by someone who could just show me this and that, here the new sky bridge and how it was built, there the Philippino Christmas Star and what it is made of. It makes me wonder how much of China I have seen, but not been able to realize or understand.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Christmas Miracle
What can I say about the miracle that is being in the Philippines right now?
I can start by saying that Kelly and I are definitely having the culture shock we couldn’t register in China. I guess culture shock has more to do with your expectations than the culture you’re actually experiencing. The city of Beijing, with its buildings and traffic, stores and restaurants, did not feel so different from NYC. I think that’s why we slipped into living there, month after month, adjusting to menu-pointing and the art of mime.
It’s hard to explain, but walking around the Philippines is both completely different and welcomingly homelike. The English is the first incredible difference. I feel like I’ve been given super powers. I’m amazed just walking around and reading store signs, or leering out windows and catching billboards as they fly by. I know what that means! That’s saying something…to me! I feel invincible, like I can wander around somewhere and not have to worry about getting lost…because I could ask for directions! Beautiful!
Unfortunately, Kelly and I have been interacting with English –speaking strangers like we’ve been recently released from the wild. We’re so used to mime and pointing that we’re confusing words and our tone and deliverance needs some serious work. I’m still talking about people like they can’t hear me, which is a very dangerous game in a crowd. By habit I’m still gesturing wildly with my hands and arms to waitresses that must be thinking, “I’m not an idiot, you spoiled American.” But actually, the other amazing culture “shock” here is how incredibly nice everyone is. Those waitresses are probably thinking, “wow, this person talks expressively” and keeps a smile on herher (At first I was put off by the “ma ‘am” thing, which I’ve been getting from everyone here, but now I realize it’s a respectful greeting, and not an indication that I’ve gotten seriously older since I left for China.)
There’s the shock of the weather, of course, that is so warm Kel and I had to buy dresses upon arrival. I had a serious cold in Beijing, and was up to a pack a day – of tissues. Here I can finally breathe again. (What’s so interesting and ironic is that this is the Philippine cold season, and the family we stayed with actually had coughing colds.)
The other major shock is just the color. I feel like I’ve been in Kansas and have finally stepped out into the Technicolor world. The greens are greener than I ever remember. The flowers, pink, yellow, orange, purple, just vibrant against the lush green. I’m sitting on our balcony overlooking the ocean, and there are more shades of blue and green in the water than I remember from my many memories of the sea.
This is not an advertisement for the Philippines (because I’m not yet getting paid for this), nor is this meant as a dig on China, or discrediting my time there. I’m just really amazed at how, regardless of time zones, this feels like the other side of the world.
I can start by saying that Kelly and I are definitely having the culture shock we couldn’t register in China. I guess culture shock has more to do with your expectations than the culture you’re actually experiencing. The city of Beijing, with its buildings and traffic, stores and restaurants, did not feel so different from NYC. I think that’s why we slipped into living there, month after month, adjusting to menu-pointing and the art of mime.
It’s hard to explain, but walking around the Philippines is both completely different and welcomingly homelike. The English is the first incredible difference. I feel like I’ve been given super powers. I’m amazed just walking around and reading store signs, or leering out windows and catching billboards as they fly by. I know what that means! That’s saying something…to me! I feel invincible, like I can wander around somewhere and not have to worry about getting lost…because I could ask for directions! Beautiful!
Unfortunately, Kelly and I have been interacting with English –speaking strangers like we’ve been recently released from the wild. We’re so used to mime and pointing that we’re confusing words and our tone and deliverance needs some serious work. I’m still talking about people like they can’t hear me, which is a very dangerous game in a crowd. By habit I’m still gesturing wildly with my hands and arms to waitresses that must be thinking, “I’m not an idiot, you spoiled American.” But actually, the other amazing culture “shock” here is how incredibly nice everyone is. Those waitresses are probably thinking, “wow, this person talks expressively” and keeps a smile on herher (At first I was put off by the “ma ‘am” thing, which I’ve been getting from everyone here, but now I realize it’s a respectful greeting, and not an indication that I’ve gotten seriously older since I left for China.)
There’s the shock of the weather, of course, that is so warm Kel and I had to buy dresses upon arrival. I had a serious cold in Beijing, and was up to a pack a day – of tissues. Here I can finally breathe again. (What’s so interesting and ironic is that this is the Philippine cold season, and the family we stayed with actually had coughing colds.)
The other major shock is just the color. I feel like I’ve been in Kansas and have finally stepped out into the Technicolor world. The greens are greener than I ever remember. The flowers, pink, yellow, orange, purple, just vibrant against the lush green. I’m sitting on our balcony overlooking the ocean, and there are more shades of blue and green in the water than I remember from my many memories of the sea.
This is not an advertisement for the Philippines (because I’m not yet getting paid for this), nor is this meant as a dig on China, or discrediting my time there. I’m just really amazed at how, regardless of time zones, this feels like the other side of the world.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
You Have to Earn Your Vacation
The last week of school went incredibly slowly. I got a terrible cold and still had to make it through the “holiday performance”, which had only Christmas songs and some embarrassing NYC-style hip hop, to close the week. (It was on a Thursday, and we had the kids all day, after school, fed them dinner, and then sat with them during the show until 8 pm. Thank you, 14-hour work day!)
Friday night Kelly and I decided to have our Christmas Eve, while we still had “The North Pole”, as I now refer to our Christmas-style bedazzled apartment. We even got our hands on a copy of the Muppet Christmas Carol, a staple for Christmas-eves from my childhood.
Unfortunately, we both got a stomach bug, on top of the colds, and had an unpleasantly sick evening with the movie in the background. Luckily by fake Christmas morning we were better, if not cured, and were able to at least sip coffee while we opened our presents.
We left the next day for the Philippines. We arrived insanely early at the airport, but I was just so happy to be in an airport again that I could have stayed there all night. Beijing Capital International Airport is really a gorgeous piece of architecture, if I do say so myself. In our terminal the food options were a Japanese place, a Chinese restaurant, and one called, “STEAK, BEER, PASTA CAFÉ.” That was meant for us.
In Manila we stayed with some of Kelly’s Aunt’s family, who really treated us like family. They were so warm and welcoming. It was wonderful, on top of being in such a friendly place, to be staying with family near the holidays. Let the vacation begin!
Friday night Kelly and I decided to have our Christmas Eve, while we still had “The North Pole”, as I now refer to our Christmas-style bedazzled apartment. We even got our hands on a copy of the Muppet Christmas Carol, a staple for Christmas-eves from my childhood.
Unfortunately, we both got a stomach bug, on top of the colds, and had an unpleasantly sick evening with the movie in the background. Luckily by fake Christmas morning we were better, if not cured, and were able to at least sip coffee while we opened our presents.
We left the next day for the Philippines. We arrived insanely early at the airport, but I was just so happy to be in an airport again that I could have stayed there all night. Beijing Capital International Airport is really a gorgeous piece of architecture, if I do say so myself. In our terminal the food options were a Japanese place, a Chinese restaurant, and one called, “STEAK, BEER, PASTA CAFÉ.” That was meant for us.
In Manila we stayed with some of Kelly’s Aunt’s family, who really treated us like family. They were so warm and welcoming. It was wonderful, on top of being in such a friendly place, to be staying with family near the holidays. Let the vacation begin!
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Santa Con
When I heard about Santa Con, an event where strangers around Beijing gather, dressed in Santa Costumes, and bar crawl, I knew had to be a part of it. Kelly and I bought Santa bling from Wal-Mart, including extra Santa masks and hats, just in case we could persuade others to join in the fun.
Santas in Beijing met up in two different spots in the city at pizza places at 12:00 pm. Our meeting spot was in Woudaokou, the “city” area conveniently next to where we live. We decked out in hats, belts, tinsel scarfs, and black boots. The taxi driver was hesitant to pick us up, which made for an interesting cab ride. It probably didn’t help that I sang, “Santa Clause is Coming to Town” all the way there.
Kelly was nervous to open the door, but when we looked down at the pizza place, we found we were not the first to arrive. At least 20 Santas were already there, drinking free beer and eating the pizza special. One exceptionally cute baby Santa was sitting on his Santa mom’s lap.
We got a table near the bar and were soon joined by a few of our other Santa friends we knew were coming. Some of us Santas also treated ourselves to the 5Y tequila shots (divide that by 6.8 to figure out how ridiculously cheap that is!) to ease the last jitters.
After about an hour our group of 50 Santas were instructed to head out to the subway. We sang “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” as we paraded to the subway, to the surprise of many Chinese bystanders. We were an even bigger scene in the subway, crowding through the security check, where I put by “purse”, a stocking filled with my belongings, through the obligatory X-ray machine. We sang on the platform, and all managed to crowd onto one car.
I’ve never done the Santa Pub crawl in BK, but one thing that is unique to being Santa, or a crowd of caroling Santas, in Beijing, is that most of the public have no idea what you’re doing. So many of them must have just thought this is how Americans celebrate Christmas. Another difference is that in China there are no open container laws, so many of the Santas, myself not included, chose to bring their jolly juice right on the subway. One of the Santa leaders even had a full bottle of Jameson in one hand, and a bottle of coke in the other.
Now, as I said, I’ve been listening to Christmas music non-stop for weeks, even singing to myself as I bike ride to work. You can imagine my surprise, then, when I realized I didn’t know the words to so many Christmas Carols! “Frosty the Snow Man, …What jolly … happy? Soul?”…
I could surely sing along with the music to any of the classics, but coming up with the lyrics to the second verse of “Deck the Halls”…impossible. We rode the subway all the way to the Forbidden City, which took about an hour including the transfer, and quickly realized that the only songs we could fully sing were “Rudolph” and “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” which was mostly shouting numbers, mumbling, and screaming “FIVE GOLDEN RINGS!” I probably sang those songs 20 times, if not more, before the end of the night.
At Tiananmen Square we met up with the other 50ish Santas from the South of the city. I’m not going to write much about this part on this public forum, but I will say that it was the “buzz kill” of my experience (even though at this point it was 2 pm and I’d only had half of a beer.) I had only signed up for the fun of dressing up as Santa and singing carols and bringing cheer to strangers. I had not signed up for pissing off Chinese policemen. We quickly left and went to the Drum and Bell tower, a really interesting part of the city. (I will admit, though, that having a picture of me and Kelly, dressed as Santas, in front of Mao, is a preserved memory that I don’t regret getting.
Taking the bus to the next bar was also a trip. At the Drum and Bell tower, we were able to go on the roof and look out at the old Chinese architecture. We overlooked old Chinese men who have trained sparrows to do tricks like catching a marble thrown 50 feet into the air, and then soar down like bullet before sharply turning back to their owner’s stand. Outside on that square, we did a “Santa Freeze”, where Kelly and I froze pretending to fight over my stocking. It reminded me of improve everywhere.
Then we went on another Santa Parade, now with all of the Santas together. We went to Hohai Lake, which is now frozen over, to a bar with couches inside of a Hu tong. I sipped mulled wine and met people who all introduced themselves as , Santa _____.
Another mini-parade down a really old and intricately designed ally led us to the next venue. The people here stood outside, taking pictures and clapping as we sang the only two songs we know. The next place had infused rum. I had “apple and cinnamon”, which I swear smelled like Christmas in a glass. Kelly and some Santas decided to go home after this, as it was about 7 but felt like 11 at night.
I went off with some other Santas I knew to Fu Bar in Sanlitun, the quisi-city where foreigners have some nightlife. I ate a questionable “hot dog”, and went on.
(Warning, “beef” hot dog in China means actual beef. It’s like a hamburger wrapped in some type of skin, served with something like mayonnaise.)
At Fu Bar I met some more Santas and enjoyed the atmosphere or being in night life as Santa. The next move was to “crash a house party.” At first I thought this meant a party at someone’s house. Then I thought it meant a club with house music. Actually, it was a club called “House.”
This was one of my favorite entrances, as the club was filled with people just out on a Saturday night, looking their best and not at all expecting a crowd of Santas to tear it up on the dance floor. The next bar was a fancy smancy bar that did not seem welcome to Santas, so we almost left until we discovered a glass door covering the fire escape, which ended up leading to a deck-style rooftop bar and dancefloor with a much more inviting crowd.
Our final stop was a cab ride away to a Hu tong-style bar with a DJ and dancing. Upstairs there was a livingroom-style room, and an open rooftop which gave a great view of the city. By the time some strange guy asked if I was wearing perfume, which sounds even more ridiculous as a pick-up line when you’re dressed as Santa, I was ready to call it a night.
Overall, I’d call Santa Con a success. It was a great way to see more of the city, to meet other people who share my affinity for costumes in public, and to celebrate the Holiday Season!
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
BBQ?
I just ate the most delicious fish. I am literally full with warm, spicy, fishy goodness.
My friends Eric and Alison took me and Roxanne to a “Barbecue Fish Restaurant” near our apartments. What I imagine when I hear that is fish with BBQ sauce, or at least a fish on a BBQ grill. In China, that means fish in a pan flattened over vegetables and topped with chills and spices. This was one time I was not disappointed by China’s version of the truth.
Eating whole fish, as I think I’ve talked about before, is definitely one of my favorite treats of being in China. I love how soft fish meat tastes when you have to pull it out of the bones of a fish. I love crunching on fried fins, which have been cooked enough that you can eat even the bones like chips. (I’m sorry for my vegetarian readers, but to me, it’s delicious!)
I never would have been able to go on my own. It has a full Chinese menu, which leaves out picture-pointing. Luckily, with Eric, Allison, and an I-phone translator ap (not that I’m promoting those!) we were able to pick a fish, a level of chilies, and order celery, potatoes, some anonymous green vegetable, wood-ear mushrooms, rice and noodles, and of course, pi geo, which is served warm because, according to our waitress, “the chinese do not drink it cold”. (Really, there is a lot of interesting hot and cold ideas for balancing your chi in the winter. They won’t drink cold beer. But they do open the windows, even in cabs and in the bathroom, to get “new air”. I don’t know if there’s new air or what, but I do know I keep my hat on in cabs, and feel like I’m camping every time I have to use the bathroom at school.)
We also got an appetizer which was something like romaine lettuce cut up into strips and stacked on a rectangular plate doused in sesame oil and peanut sauce.
One additional treat was when they brought out our fish, flopping around in a bucket to ask us if it was big enough. (How should I know?) We nodded and sent it back.
There is something that I appreciate about the Chinese idea that food should look like what it is and where it came from. Even though I could have done without the live version, I can’t say that chicken nuggets and fish sticks are a better way to eat meat.
Cut to me, deliciously full with a fiery mouth that stands up to the Beijing winter.
Good Night!
My friends Eric and Alison took me and Roxanne to a “Barbecue Fish Restaurant” near our apartments. What I imagine when I hear that is fish with BBQ sauce, or at least a fish on a BBQ grill. In China, that means fish in a pan flattened over vegetables and topped with chills and spices. This was one time I was not disappointed by China’s version of the truth.
Eating whole fish, as I think I’ve talked about before, is definitely one of my favorite treats of being in China. I love how soft fish meat tastes when you have to pull it out of the bones of a fish. I love crunching on fried fins, which have been cooked enough that you can eat even the bones like chips. (I’m sorry for my vegetarian readers, but to me, it’s delicious!)
I never would have been able to go on my own. It has a full Chinese menu, which leaves out picture-pointing. Luckily, with Eric, Allison, and an I-phone translator ap (not that I’m promoting those!) we were able to pick a fish, a level of chilies, and order celery, potatoes, some anonymous green vegetable, wood-ear mushrooms, rice and noodles, and of course, pi geo, which is served warm because, according to our waitress, “the chinese do not drink it cold”. (Really, there is a lot of interesting hot and cold ideas for balancing your chi in the winter. They won’t drink cold beer. But they do open the windows, even in cabs and in the bathroom, to get “new air”. I don’t know if there’s new air or what, but I do know I keep my hat on in cabs, and feel like I’m camping every time I have to use the bathroom at school.)
We also got an appetizer which was something like romaine lettuce cut up into strips and stacked on a rectangular plate doused in sesame oil and peanut sauce.
One additional treat was when they brought out our fish, flopping around in a bucket to ask us if it was big enough. (How should I know?) We nodded and sent it back.
There is something that I appreciate about the Chinese idea that food should look like what it is and where it came from. Even though I could have done without the live version, I can’t say that chicken nuggets and fish sticks are a better way to eat meat.
Cut to me, deliciously full with a fiery mouth that stands up to the Beijing winter.
Good Night!
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Beijing's Narnia
Yesterday we were skyping with my father, and a security guard came to the door. I didn’t know what he wanted, of course, so we tried to get my father to translate. I kept trying to get him to step inside, but he stood, frozen, in the doorway. We don’t have wireless internet, so I was limited in my ability to bring my father/the computer over to him. In trying, I nearly ripped the cord out of the wall, and hurriedly pushed the couch 3 feet from its normal position while balancing the laptop/my father in one hand.
Technology is a strange thing.
I did my best to hold the computer up to the guard, and my father asked him to step into the apartment and said that he could translate for him.
The look on his face is probably what people really looked like when they saw Narnia for the first time, a mix between “Am I going crazy?” and “What the hell is this?” rather than a look of magical wonder.
It seemed that the guard had never seen skype before, and couldn’t understand how the man in the computer was talking to him in Chinese. It must be a strange thing to see a lai wai (non-Chinese ex-pat) holding the interactive talking face of a Chinese man.
I definitely don’t think that it helped, however, that our apartment is a virtual North Pole of dazzling lights, stockings, trees, tinsel, complete with blaring Christmas songs.
Needless to say, we couldn’t get him to step any further into the apartment, and, after shaking his head and looking around, he quickly turned and ran to the stairs.
Technology is a strange thing.
I did my best to hold the computer up to the guard, and my father asked him to step into the apartment and said that he could translate for him.
The look on his face is probably what people really looked like when they saw Narnia for the first time, a mix between “Am I going crazy?” and “What the hell is this?” rather than a look of magical wonder.
It seemed that the guard had never seen skype before, and couldn’t understand how the man in the computer was talking to him in Chinese. It must be a strange thing to see a lai wai (non-Chinese ex-pat) holding the interactive talking face of a Chinese man.
I definitely don’t think that it helped, however, that our apartment is a virtual North Pole of dazzling lights, stockings, trees, tinsel, complete with blaring Christmas songs.
Needless to say, we couldn’t get him to step any further into the apartment, and, after shaking his head and looking around, he quickly turned and ran to the stairs.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Girl’s Night Out
Anyone who knows me knows that my community of lesbians is very important to me. (You may remember me from such LGBT events as NYC PRIDE, Blue Crush pool parties, or any of the many girl parties thrown on random weekdays, because that’s the only day they’ll give us. But that’s another story.)
That being said, it’s been 114 days since I’ve seen a lesbian other than Kelly. (But who’s counting…)
My friends here don’t understand my need to see others like myself, to find a community even here, because I have a girlfriend. Now, it’s true that Kelly’s definitely moved serious points on the gay scale since we’ve arrived (her becoming Volleyball Coach Callahan definitely bumped her up) but it’s no secret that she doesn’t share my affinity for lesbian culture.
I decided that it was past time for me to actively seek out at least a party or a club. There is something about walking into a room with just women like myself that is reassuring and comforting for me. Here, where everything is like a concrete cultural slap in the face, I was overdue for a little comfort and community.
That’s when I found out about Pink. I saw it advertised in City Weekend under LGBT nightlife (which had one other entry just for boys).
"Every Saturday, PINK, Party at LAN with Beijing' LGBT community. Queer Comrades organizes this weekly LGBT even tthat geatures 2 for one drinks, Y30."
I didn't know what “queer” meant in Beijing, but I was so interested to find out. I was trying to explain to my friends here, who don’t know about the scene in NYC, the difference between girl parties and queer parties (between Eden and choice c’s). But I had no idea what it meant here.
I was excited either way, especially because of the venue. LAN is a really swanky and interesting spot that I’d been dying to check out again since I was first brought there. There are giant paintings hanging and overlapping all over the celling. There are vintage couch spots facing the stage, and a spot in the middle for dancing. They have a spot for live bands interchanging with a decent DJ, and a bar in the next room with tall vintage stools with magnified body parts on the backs. It sounds weird to explain, but it makes for a cool vibe.
At the back, you can wind your way through a hallway with different rooms on either side, separated at times just by hanging curtains and rugs. In each room is a pre-set table and chairs. Each dining room is unique with outlandish chandeliers, plates, chairs, and tables. I’m no artist, and I’m no architect, but I know that these rooms are gorgeous and I loved walking around, sitting in them, and pretending to be at the mad hatter’s tea party.
Saturday finally came and, armed with my new haircut and motley crew of Kelly and two straight girls, we set out to check out Beijing’s LGBT scene.
Honestly, setting out, my expectations were beyond low. I had already heard from a gay may I happened to chat with one night while I was being a wingman for my straight friend, I was told that the “queer” mostly meant men. I remember, though, from my early days of going out to with gay men friends, that being one of the only lesbians in a gay man bar can be good for your odds. (This only really works in cities where the scenes are so small that they’re overlapping if not combined, outside of NYC.) I was ready for those odds. I was even ready to meet some gay men, who may know lesbians or other LGBT hang outs, where the G is less pronounced, or at least the L is included.
You can imagine my surprise when even those expectations were too high. The crowd at LAN was and older, stuffier, more pretentious group of straight people that even I’m willing to ignore just to have a good time. I asked the hostess about PINK, and she squinted her eyes and looked at me like she’d never heard that word before in her life. We stood by the bar and reassessed the place, the crowd, and came to the same conclusion. My friends went to scope out the awesomely decorated rooms and I cried by the bar over my disappointment.
My mistake, well, one of my mistakes, had been to discuss at length over dinner the intricacies of the scene in NY and ideas about identity. I quoted too many Savage Podcasts. I had let too much ride on one night.
We decided not to contribute any money to the false PINK and got our coats to leave. On the way out my friend who speaks Chinese asked the same hostess about PINK in English and, after a few rounds of denying everything, eventually admitted that they’d had it twice and then discontinued it. (For what it’s worth, which is nothing, I told her that she should know they’re still advertising for it as a weekly event.)
If you’re reading, my NY girls, go out for me, the last lala in China!
(I was resolved to find people using the internet. I typed in “Lesbians” in Beijing and was told, “There are results for your search.” That hurt.)
That being said, it’s been 114 days since I’ve seen a lesbian other than Kelly. (But who’s counting…)
My friends here don’t understand my need to see others like myself, to find a community even here, because I have a girlfriend. Now, it’s true that Kelly’s definitely moved serious points on the gay scale since we’ve arrived (her becoming Volleyball Coach Callahan definitely bumped her up) but it’s no secret that she doesn’t share my affinity for lesbian culture.
I decided that it was past time for me to actively seek out at least a party or a club. There is something about walking into a room with just women like myself that is reassuring and comforting for me. Here, where everything is like a concrete cultural slap in the face, I was overdue for a little comfort and community.
That’s when I found out about Pink. I saw it advertised in City Weekend under LGBT nightlife (which had one other entry just for boys).
"Every Saturday, PINK, Party at LAN with Beijing' LGBT community. Queer Comrades organizes this weekly LGBT even tthat geatures 2 for one drinks, Y30."
I didn't know what “queer” meant in Beijing, but I was so interested to find out. I was trying to explain to my friends here, who don’t know about the scene in NYC, the difference between girl parties and queer parties (between Eden and choice c’s). But I had no idea what it meant here.
I was excited either way, especially because of the venue. LAN is a really swanky and interesting spot that I’d been dying to check out again since I was first brought there. There are giant paintings hanging and overlapping all over the celling. There are vintage couch spots facing the stage, and a spot in the middle for dancing. They have a spot for live bands interchanging with a decent DJ, and a bar in the next room with tall vintage stools with magnified body parts on the backs. It sounds weird to explain, but it makes for a cool vibe.
At the back, you can wind your way through a hallway with different rooms on either side, separated at times just by hanging curtains and rugs. In each room is a pre-set table and chairs. Each dining room is unique with outlandish chandeliers, plates, chairs, and tables. I’m no artist, and I’m no architect, but I know that these rooms are gorgeous and I loved walking around, sitting in them, and pretending to be at the mad hatter’s tea party.
Saturday finally came and, armed with my new haircut and motley crew of Kelly and two straight girls, we set out to check out Beijing’s LGBT scene.
Honestly, setting out, my expectations were beyond low. I had already heard from a gay may I happened to chat with one night while I was being a wingman for my straight friend, I was told that the “queer” mostly meant men. I remember, though, from my early days of going out to with gay men friends, that being one of the only lesbians in a gay man bar can be good for your odds. (This only really works in cities where the scenes are so small that they’re overlapping if not combined, outside of NYC.) I was ready for those odds. I was even ready to meet some gay men, who may know lesbians or other LGBT hang outs, where the G is less pronounced, or at least the L is included.
You can imagine my surprise when even those expectations were too high. The crowd at LAN was and older, stuffier, more pretentious group of straight people that even I’m willing to ignore just to have a good time. I asked the hostess about PINK, and she squinted her eyes and looked at me like she’d never heard that word before in her life. We stood by the bar and reassessed the place, the crowd, and came to the same conclusion. My friends went to scope out the awesomely decorated rooms and I cried by the bar over my disappointment.
My mistake, well, one of my mistakes, had been to discuss at length over dinner the intricacies of the scene in NY and ideas about identity. I quoted too many Savage Podcasts. I had let too much ride on one night.
We decided not to contribute any money to the false PINK and got our coats to leave. On the way out my friend who speaks Chinese asked the same hostess about PINK in English and, after a few rounds of denying everything, eventually admitted that they’d had it twice and then discontinued it. (For what it’s worth, which is nothing, I told her that she should know they’re still advertising for it as a weekly event.)
If you’re reading, my NY girls, go out for me, the last lala in China!
(I was resolved to find people using the internet. I typed in “Lesbians” in Beijing and was told, “There are results for your search.” That hurt.)
Friday, December 3, 2010
It Was Time
I’ve had the same hair cut for 5 years, ok 6, ok 8 or 9. Ok, my whole life except for when I was a child and my father cut my hair himself into the Chinese-bob, complete with v-shaped bangs that started in the back of my head.
I had been wanting to cut my hair since I came to China. One, because I’ve had it the same forever, and there’s nothing like being in a new place to make you want to try a new do. Two, because there’s nothing like being in a place where no one knows you help you anxiety about taking a risk. When my friend told me that she’d gotten a haircut at a place in Woudaokou where there were two English-speaking people, I knew I had no more excuses. Erica, my ever-useful and helpful Chinese-speaking friend, agreed to come with. This turned out to be an incredibly useful amenity, as I never saw the English-speaking workers that had led me there.
The place was impressive. It was all new and shiny, with white walls and light-up mirrors. Everyone who worked there looked like they had just stepped off the set of a reality TV show for hair stylists. Chinese men are already bordering the metro-side of the spectrum, but these boys were hugging the end, with their spikey gel-styles and frosted tips.
Erica used my head as a prop as she explained the style that I wanted, longer in the front and going shorter towards the back, but not so short she had to buzz my hair. She asked if I wore my hair in a ponytail, and I said I was fine if it was too short for that, as I usually wore it down.
While she was cutting, however, she told Erica that she had asked because my hair, “has a wave in it, and it’s not pretty.” This led her to suggest that I get a “treatment” that would keep it straight. She suggested one that was 200Y ($30) or one that was 400Y ($60). Erica asked about the difference between the two, and was told that the 200Y was “a little terrible.” I was ready to spring for the “expensive” stuff, (especially since my hair cut was $5), when the hairdresser changed her mind and recommended the “little terrible” treatment for my “standards.”
The “treatment”, I’m pretty sure, ended up being that they relaxed my hair so that it would curl under.
In America, I’ve always had quote unquote Asian hair. It’s slippery and straight, and stubbornly resistant to curling. Apparently in Asia I have black hair. Awesome.
Everyone else in the salon was fluffing up their hair. The 80’s are IN right now in China. The girl next to me had crazy medusa, electroshock-treatment-style curlers, where each one was connected to a wire and plugged into a machine behind her head.
This may be the reason that all of my student’s parents said that my hair makes me look “much, much younger.” At my publishing party on Friday, one mother even commented that I look “just like a teenager.”
Exactly as I planned.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Tis’ the Season
Immediately after Thanksgiving, Kelly and I began our Holiday Season (aka Christmas celebration, because we’re the only people involved this year, sorry Jewish friends!) I wasn’t about to let Christmas sneak up on me like Thanksgiving had, so a few days after Turkey Day me and Kelly took a trip to the Super Wal-Mart of Beijing.
This was clearly an event, as we rarely take the subway after work. We typically save this slow method of transportation for the weekends when we have more time to walk for 10 minutes down a winding path, sometimes emerging above ground and winding through a labyrinth in a crowd of angry Beijinger (which is amazingly more terrifying than angry New Yorkers) just to make a transfer between lines. New Yorkers definitely walk with a purpose, but they are (generally) still able to walk in a crowd with an understanding of personal space. During Beijing’s rush hour, if I were to attempt to retrieve something I’d dropped, I would never emerge, but rather disintegrate into the ground, crushed by thousands of high-heeled boots.
But, the Christmas decorations were a must.
We had heard about there being a Wal-Mart, which is kind awesome and mostly pitiful, except for the fact that it carries the only holiday decorations in the city. The store was giant, with multiple floors. All the department and grocery stores here have something like ramp-escalators, which is exactly as it sounds, and really comes in handy when you’re moving from floor to floor with a cart-full of Christmas décor.
We bought one of everything, and two of some things that were too good to skimp on.
We debated buying an actual fake tree, which they did carry, but the expense, the waste, and the idea of trying to ride it home on our bikes seemed to outweigh our desire. Instead, we bought 5 boxes of lights, and Kelly used green electrical tape to make a tree on our wall, which we adorned with classy ornaments from a package, like a bright pink felt raindeer, and a purple, styrofoam mini-wreath.
I did buy a mini-Christmas tree, about one foot tall and pre-decorated with fake snow, golden balls and bows, and what appears to be a some gold plastic sticks sticking here and there. We put it with some stockings under our TV, and presents that we bought and wrapped together for each other. Some I accidentally wrapped for myself, and then had to write, “To Bekki, Love Kelly.”
That’s not to mention the tinsel, bows, and random Santa-wear we also purchased. Kelly said no one is allowed to come to our apartment until January. I already invited everyone I know for a cookie-decorating and eggnog extravaganza.
At the checkout, we managed to package all of our holiday bling into a giant backpack, and one giant open bag, about two feet by one foot long. We felt successful, until we reached the subway.
It was 7:30, which in Beijing Subway terms means “death.” The crowd just to get onto the subway platform started at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the platform. We heard a train leave and made our way into the stair crowd, working towards the platform. There was another giant crowd waiting at the bottom, seemingly waiting to leave the station. Instead, the guard released a gate and the mass moved up the “exit” stairs and crowded the beginning of the platform. Safe, right?
Eventually we made it to the platform of no escape. We thought about taking a taxi, but were trapped by the crowd on the exit stairs and had no choice to inch closer to the tracks at each train. When a train did come, the crowd was aggressive in a way I’ve never seen before. One man was pushing people onto the train, wildly shoving their shoulders with the palm of his hand and then forcing himself behind the closing doors. I clutched my giant bag of teetering goodies and went as “city” as I get to make it onto the train and off at the next stop.
It was no small victory to be riding our bikes, overflowing with Christmas accessories, back to our apartment.
This was clearly an event, as we rarely take the subway after work. We typically save this slow method of transportation for the weekends when we have more time to walk for 10 minutes down a winding path, sometimes emerging above ground and winding through a labyrinth in a crowd of angry Beijinger (which is amazingly more terrifying than angry New Yorkers) just to make a transfer between lines. New Yorkers definitely walk with a purpose, but they are (generally) still able to walk in a crowd with an understanding of personal space. During Beijing’s rush hour, if I were to attempt to retrieve something I’d dropped, I would never emerge, but rather disintegrate into the ground, crushed by thousands of high-heeled boots.
But, the Christmas decorations were a must.
We had heard about there being a Wal-Mart, which is kind awesome and mostly pitiful, except for the fact that it carries the only holiday decorations in the city. The store was giant, with multiple floors. All the department and grocery stores here have something like ramp-escalators, which is exactly as it sounds, and really comes in handy when you’re moving from floor to floor with a cart-full of Christmas décor.
We bought one of everything, and two of some things that were too good to skimp on.
We debated buying an actual fake tree, which they did carry, but the expense, the waste, and the idea of trying to ride it home on our bikes seemed to outweigh our desire. Instead, we bought 5 boxes of lights, and Kelly used green electrical tape to make a tree on our wall, which we adorned with classy ornaments from a package, like a bright pink felt raindeer, and a purple, styrofoam mini-wreath.
I did buy a mini-Christmas tree, about one foot tall and pre-decorated with fake snow, golden balls and bows, and what appears to be a some gold plastic sticks sticking here and there. We put it with some stockings under our TV, and presents that we bought and wrapped together for each other. Some I accidentally wrapped for myself, and then had to write, “To Bekki, Love Kelly.”
That’s not to mention the tinsel, bows, and random Santa-wear we also purchased. Kelly said no one is allowed to come to our apartment until January. I already invited everyone I know for a cookie-decorating and eggnog extravaganza.
At the checkout, we managed to package all of our holiday bling into a giant backpack, and one giant open bag, about two feet by one foot long. We felt successful, until we reached the subway.
It was 7:30, which in Beijing Subway terms means “death.” The crowd just to get onto the subway platform started at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the platform. We heard a train leave and made our way into the stair crowd, working towards the platform. There was another giant crowd waiting at the bottom, seemingly waiting to leave the station. Instead, the guard released a gate and the mass moved up the “exit” stairs and crowded the beginning of the platform. Safe, right?
Eventually we made it to the platform of no escape. We thought about taking a taxi, but were trapped by the crowd on the exit stairs and had no choice to inch closer to the tracks at each train. When a train did come, the crowd was aggressive in a way I’ve never seen before. One man was pushing people onto the train, wildly shoving their shoulders with the palm of his hand and then forcing himself behind the closing doors. I clutched my giant bag of teetering goodies and went as “city” as I get to make it onto the train and off at the next stop.
It was no small victory to be riding our bikes, overflowing with Christmas accessories, back to our apartment.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Hot Springs, Take Two
Waking up on Thanksgiving also felt strange. I didn’t realize what a creature of habit I actually am. It was my first Thanksgiving without family. In the morning I was feeling a thrown off, so Kelly and I watched Thanksgiving episodes of FRIENDS exclusively, and made hand turkeys and a construction paper American-style traditional feast.
Then we went with some friends to a real, outdoor Hot Springs. It took about an hour and a half, subway/taxi, and we were there. Our 30 min. cab after the subway cost us Y60, or $9, split 3 ways. Like I said, I’m a baller here.
The outside looked similar, and for a moment I was worried I had actually made the same mistake twice. Luckily, I soon saw a sign advertising the “Outdoor hot springs” and relaxed. The place was all that I’d hoped for and more. There were stone-lined paths that led to many different areas with hot pools and hot tubs. One side was lined with different saunas.
My favorite was the Jade sauna, which was lined inside with beautiful gemstones and had swanky red mood lighting. They also had those wooden, basket-looking pillows that I’ve previously seen only in museums. I’ll say, what they lack in fluffiness, they make up for in support. We also found a Turkey Sauna, which had a decorative statue of what must have been a turkey but looked more like a pterodactyl on top of a ginormous blue egg. That was the closest I got to Thanksgiving décor.
It was incredibly cold outside. On the way there, I cursed myself for wearing only a pea coat, gloves, and boots. How dare I leave the house without my hat and scarf?? This made it even more strange to be outside in my bathing suit, under a thin terry-cloth robe. The robes they gave us were orange, which effectively made us look like monks on holiday. They did not effectively keep out the cold, as they because wet and frozen after their first few wears.
Luckily, that didn’t matter for long. The water was so warm that I quickly found myself standing up in the calf-deep water, with most of my body enjoying the cold. We spent some time in the “medicated” hot tubs, and then more time in a larger pool, surrounded by stones and willow trees, as we drank pi geo (who remembers what that is?)
Then we decided to be adventurous and spring the extra Y88 to try out the mud bath. First we were instructed, via mime, to spread the jars of condensed mud onto our faces. This was stage one of the hilarity. Stage two was easing into the giant hot-tub-like pool of watery mud. The trick was, while the water was cool, the bottom had to have been some kind of electric burner. It actually burned if you kept your body touching it for more than one second. We were struck with the challenge of lowering ourselves into this pit of watery mud, without touching the bottom for too long.
Ultimately, we realized that we couldn’t and had to be burned. Once I lay down in the mud, my head perfectly supported by the floatie they wrapped around my neck, I honestly didn’t care that my foot was throbbing slightly. This was not the most convincing evidence for everyone, so for a while it was just me and Eric in the pit. Eventually, though, everyone braved the burner and made it into the mud.
I had a really relaxing time in the watery mud, spreading it around and, as Kelly put it, seeing what our skin would look like if we were black. Roxanne, our Jamaican friend especially appreciated our discovery.
The post-mud shower wasn’t near vigorous to get all of the mud off. I’m not convinced that I won’t find some for the next few showers. Even so, it was a worthwhile adventure.
After that we sat in over-sized arm chairs and had 45 minute foot massages, included in our Y198/$30 package. Sometimes, I just love China. After a few more hot tubs and a quick jump in the giant, un-heated lane pool, just for fun, it was time to go.
Then went home and stuffed ourselves on sushi.
Writing it now it sounds silly that I felt so out of place. It’s not every year (or any year before) that I get to have such treats on Thanksgiving. Really though, I missed you all. I’ve also decided that I need to do more cultural familiar traditions for myself so that another holiday doesn’t just pass me by like this one. (Aka I’ve already started listening to Christmas music, and am about to make a multitude of snowflakes, daily.)
Then we went with some friends to a real, outdoor Hot Springs. It took about an hour and a half, subway/taxi, and we were there. Our 30 min. cab after the subway cost us Y60, or $9, split 3 ways. Like I said, I’m a baller here.
The outside looked similar, and for a moment I was worried I had actually made the same mistake twice. Luckily, I soon saw a sign advertising the “Outdoor hot springs” and relaxed. The place was all that I’d hoped for and more. There were stone-lined paths that led to many different areas with hot pools and hot tubs. One side was lined with different saunas.
My favorite was the Jade sauna, which was lined inside with beautiful gemstones and had swanky red mood lighting. They also had those wooden, basket-looking pillows that I’ve previously seen only in museums. I’ll say, what they lack in fluffiness, they make up for in support. We also found a Turkey Sauna, which had a decorative statue of what must have been a turkey but looked more like a pterodactyl on top of a ginormous blue egg. That was the closest I got to Thanksgiving décor.
It was incredibly cold outside. On the way there, I cursed myself for wearing only a pea coat, gloves, and boots. How dare I leave the house without my hat and scarf?? This made it even more strange to be outside in my bathing suit, under a thin terry-cloth robe. The robes they gave us were orange, which effectively made us look like monks on holiday. They did not effectively keep out the cold, as they because wet and frozen after their first few wears.
Luckily, that didn’t matter for long. The water was so warm that I quickly found myself standing up in the calf-deep water, with most of my body enjoying the cold. We spent some time in the “medicated” hot tubs, and then more time in a larger pool, surrounded by stones and willow trees, as we drank pi geo (who remembers what that is?)
Then we decided to be adventurous and spring the extra Y88 to try out the mud bath. First we were instructed, via mime, to spread the jars of condensed mud onto our faces. This was stage one of the hilarity. Stage two was easing into the giant hot-tub-like pool of watery mud. The trick was, while the water was cool, the bottom had to have been some kind of electric burner. It actually burned if you kept your body touching it for more than one second. We were struck with the challenge of lowering ourselves into this pit of watery mud, without touching the bottom for too long.
Ultimately, we realized that we couldn’t and had to be burned. Once I lay down in the mud, my head perfectly supported by the floatie they wrapped around my neck, I honestly didn’t care that my foot was throbbing slightly. This was not the most convincing evidence for everyone, so for a while it was just me and Eric in the pit. Eventually, though, everyone braved the burner and made it into the mud.
I had a really relaxing time in the watery mud, spreading it around and, as Kelly put it, seeing what our skin would look like if we were black. Roxanne, our Jamaican friend especially appreciated our discovery.
The post-mud shower wasn’t near vigorous to get all of the mud off. I’m not convinced that I won’t find some for the next few showers. Even so, it was a worthwhile adventure.
After that we sat in over-sized arm chairs and had 45 minute foot massages, included in our Y198/$30 package. Sometimes, I just love China. After a few more hot tubs and a quick jump in the giant, un-heated lane pool, just for fun, it was time to go.
Then went home and stuffed ourselves on sushi.
Writing it now it sounds silly that I felt so out of place. It’s not every year (or any year before) that I get to have such treats on Thanksgiving. Really though, I missed you all. I’ve also decided that I need to do more cultural familiar traditions for myself so that another holiday doesn’t just pass me by like this one. (Aka I’ve already started listening to Christmas music, and am about to make a multitude of snowflakes, daily.)
Thanksgiving, is That You?
It’s my first holiday away from home, and it’s amazing how much it just didn’t feel like Thanksgiving. Christmas smacks you in the face from Black Friday on, but Thanksgiving I’d always thought of as a subtler holiday. It creeps up and is celebrated by watching the parade with your family and smelling Turkey in the oven. I never really thought about the little cues that my surroundings gave leading up to Thanksgiving that made it feel like a holiday, until they weren’t there. I missed little moments like talking to people who also celebrated the day, asking where everyone was going and how they were traveling.
Instead my T.A. told me the whole history, from the religious persecution of the Pilgrims to the weather conditions and failed crops leading up to the meal. I’d totally forgotten about that part of Thanksgiving. The cutest part was when one of my kids had never heard of the holiday before and had no idea why we weren’t coming to school at the end of the week. I started to explain that it’s mostly about getting together and eating certain foods with your family. One boy raised his hand and said, “Rebecca, I think I understand why we celebrate it here. In China we have a lot to give thanks for too, so we can also celebrate Thanksgiving.” In my whining about missing the delicious meal, I’d totally forgotten about the giving thanks part! That is why I work with children.
I was grateful to have Thursday and Friday off, although it is followed by a six day work week (thanks, China). My staff even sponsored a last-minute Thanksgiving dinner at a restaurant in the city called NOLA. We were treated to squash soup, turkey, mashed potatoes (pretty accurately made), and broccoli casserole. I think that last dish was supposed to be like green bean casserole, but it didn’t quite pan out. It was such a tease, especially since I’d been really craving that gooey, salty, crunchily delicious dish.
On the menu it read that our dessert was a sampling of American apple pie a la mode, pumpkin pie, and pecan pie. All meal I waited to sink my fork into a warmed pecan pie. To my surprise (of course), it came as one pie. It was a strange mixture of what was supposed to be all three types under “ice cream” made with Chinese powder milk. Just like mom used to make….
It was a fun night after all, though, and the free wine and beer didn’t hurt. It was nice to gather together for a meal that was at least more like Thanksgiving than the vegetable hot pot I had for lunch. The weirdest part was that I had to go to work the next day, and it was only Wednesday.
Biggest Reminder that I was in China: Watching the Chinese teachers try to eat our heavy American feast, and only succeeding by skipping the gravy and dousing everything in Chili sauce.
Instead my T.A. told me the whole history, from the religious persecution of the Pilgrims to the weather conditions and failed crops leading up to the meal. I’d totally forgotten about that part of Thanksgiving. The cutest part was when one of my kids had never heard of the holiday before and had no idea why we weren’t coming to school at the end of the week. I started to explain that it’s mostly about getting together and eating certain foods with your family. One boy raised his hand and said, “Rebecca, I think I understand why we celebrate it here. In China we have a lot to give thanks for too, so we can also celebrate Thanksgiving.” In my whining about missing the delicious meal, I’d totally forgotten about the giving thanks part! That is why I work with children.
I was grateful to have Thursday and Friday off, although it is followed by a six day work week (thanks, China). My staff even sponsored a last-minute Thanksgiving dinner at a restaurant in the city called NOLA. We were treated to squash soup, turkey, mashed potatoes (pretty accurately made), and broccoli casserole. I think that last dish was supposed to be like green bean casserole, but it didn’t quite pan out. It was such a tease, especially since I’d been really craving that gooey, salty, crunchily delicious dish.
On the menu it read that our dessert was a sampling of American apple pie a la mode, pumpkin pie, and pecan pie. All meal I waited to sink my fork into a warmed pecan pie. To my surprise (of course), it came as one pie. It was a strange mixture of what was supposed to be all three types under “ice cream” made with Chinese powder milk. Just like mom used to make….
It was a fun night after all, though, and the free wine and beer didn’t hurt. It was nice to gather together for a meal that was at least more like Thanksgiving than the vegetable hot pot I had for lunch. The weirdest part was that I had to go to work the next day, and it was only Wednesday.
Biggest Reminder that I was in China: Watching the Chinese teachers try to eat our heavy American feast, and only succeeding by skipping the gravy and dousing everything in Chili sauce.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Hot Springs, Beijing Style
I successfully had my first round of Parent Teacher Conferences! Woo hoo! On Thursday, I taught half a day while the parents were allowed to watch me teach. Then, starting at 12:30, I had back to back conferences every 20 min. It was intense, but I’m glad that I did it. It was nice to see the parents face-to-face, and feel like we’re both meeting in the middle, where we care about the kids and just want the best for them.
To thank us for all of our hard work, my school arranged for the Primary Division to be pampered at the Hot Springs just north of Beijing. Our director told us about the natural hot springs, and the private room massages we would be receiving. I was excited to have some time to reconnect with nature. I brought my book and my journal, and was ready to soak into the earth.
Of course, when we showed up, there was nothing natural about the hot springs. It was, in fact, the Hot Springs indoor water park. We did get massages, but all of us together in a crowded room blaring Chinese TV. (That is not to say, however, that I didn’t appreciate my free 45 min. massage. I paid Y98 /$12 for an extra foot massage, and it was hands down the best I’ve ever had.)
The place was insanely crowded with Chinese tourists. Every inch of the hot tubs was taken by Chinese families, couples, babies, teenagers, just soaking up every spout of water and free section against the edge of the pool. We were able to get into the “VIP” section, which had “hot tubs”. By that I mean, they had pools of warm water that quickly became cold. Every once in a while the attendants would pour more hot water to reheat them. We were told they were “medicinal” hot tubs, which was to account for the apparent food coloring. I especially liked the green one, because not only did I feel like I was swimming in Jell-O, but I also got to feel like a Ninja turtle.
By the end, I just gave in to the whole spirit of the water park, with its Mohegan-sun-esque fake trees, cement-stone walkways, and plastic greenery. Kel, our friend Erica, and I even went for the water ride. It was essentially a “lazy river”, but with rapids instead of waves. We all climbed into a giant water raft. It’s much trickier than it sounds, as every time we started down the stairs, a giant wave of people, water, and other rafts crashed it around. The attendant holding it for us kept falling under water and having to chase it down the stream.
Once inside, we had no paddles. We were at the mercy of the waves. It was one of those experiences that you know could only have in another country, outside of the U.S. and its propensity for lawsuits. Quickly, I was able to feel safe as long as I kept my elbows and skull inside and leaned away from the walls to the center of the raft. The real fright of the ride was in the water. We were in a raft, but many people opted to be in single floating tubes. By people, I mean children. The worst was when I saw a wave coming around the corner, and would see a small child just in front of the boat. I knew for certain, with no escape, that we would be soon crushing that child. It certainly was a break from the responsibility of work in the Primary division.
We managed to escape without dying, or suffocating anyone. The children never minded, and the adults who were supposedly watching (most) of them didn’t even flinch as they attempted to resurface through our raft. Just like in Mongolia at the top of the sand boarding mountain, I realized, I’m American-overprotective.
All in all, it was a great day. It wasn’t quite the connection to nature that I’d been craving, but it did feel good to leave the city and think about something that wasn’t reports!
To thank us for all of our hard work, my school arranged for the Primary Division to be pampered at the Hot Springs just north of Beijing. Our director told us about the natural hot springs, and the private room massages we would be receiving. I was excited to have some time to reconnect with nature. I brought my book and my journal, and was ready to soak into the earth.
Of course, when we showed up, there was nothing natural about the hot springs. It was, in fact, the Hot Springs indoor water park. We did get massages, but all of us together in a crowded room blaring Chinese TV. (That is not to say, however, that I didn’t appreciate my free 45 min. massage. I paid Y98 /$12 for an extra foot massage, and it was hands down the best I’ve ever had.)
The place was insanely crowded with Chinese tourists. Every inch of the hot tubs was taken by Chinese families, couples, babies, teenagers, just soaking up every spout of water and free section against the edge of the pool. We were able to get into the “VIP” section, which had “hot tubs”. By that I mean, they had pools of warm water that quickly became cold. Every once in a while the attendants would pour more hot water to reheat them. We were told they were “medicinal” hot tubs, which was to account for the apparent food coloring. I especially liked the green one, because not only did I feel like I was swimming in Jell-O, but I also got to feel like a Ninja turtle.
By the end, I just gave in to the whole spirit of the water park, with its Mohegan-sun-esque fake trees, cement-stone walkways, and plastic greenery. Kel, our friend Erica, and I even went for the water ride. It was essentially a “lazy river”, but with rapids instead of waves. We all climbed into a giant water raft. It’s much trickier than it sounds, as every time we started down the stairs, a giant wave of people, water, and other rafts crashed it around. The attendant holding it for us kept falling under water and having to chase it down the stream.
Once inside, we had no paddles. We were at the mercy of the waves. It was one of those experiences that you know could only have in another country, outside of the U.S. and its propensity for lawsuits. Quickly, I was able to feel safe as long as I kept my elbows and skull inside and leaned away from the walls to the center of the raft. The real fright of the ride was in the water. We were in a raft, but many people opted to be in single floating tubes. By people, I mean children. The worst was when I saw a wave coming around the corner, and would see a small child just in front of the boat. I knew for certain, with no escape, that we would be soon crushing that child. It certainly was a break from the responsibility of work in the Primary division.
We managed to escape without dying, or suffocating anyone. The children never minded, and the adults who were supposedly watching (most) of them didn’t even flinch as they attempted to resurface through our raft. Just like in Mongolia at the top of the sand boarding mountain, I realized, I’m American-overprotective.
All in all, it was a great day. It wasn’t quite the connection to nature that I’d been craving, but it did feel good to leave the city and think about something that wasn’t reports!
Scandalous Americans
Kelly and I are the only teachers who did not bring bathing suits to China. I’d heard about the modesty of their bathing suits (without really looking into it), and figured my bikini had no place. I was also so focused on preparing for the dead of winter, vacuum sealing my thickest jackets and gloves, that the idea of sneaking in that tiny bit of fabric seemed like nonsense.
Then we learned about the Hot Springs treat from our administration. We set out to the mall-like shopping center near us and managed to find one stall that sold bathing suits.
At first sight I thought it was just another wall of dresses. It wasn’t until I leaned close and touched the fabric that I was sure, much like rubbing plant to see if it’s fake. For one thing, they are clearly made to accentuate thin Asian bodies. All of the tops are seriously padded, and complete with underwire. Most of the bottoms have extra frills on the sides, perfect for adding the illusion of hips. Unfortunately for us Americans, we did not need extra amenities. Not to mention that Kelly and I are giants in Asia. It’s a miracle if I can find a shoe in my size, never mind a bathing suit. I could barely squeeze into a large, and poor Kelly had to settle for the only extra- large that they had in the store, regardless of the design.
The styles struck me the most. There were so many varieties! None of them were the typical, underwear-shaped bikinis I’m accustomed to seeing lined up on store walls. In fact I have not found any bottoms that are any skimpier than shorts or skirts. The one that I settled on came with black shorts that look like 70’s roller derby bottoms, or maybe more like boys speedos, given the texture. Most of them look like outfits, just different versions of dresses or tops with shorts.
Even two-pieces like the one I found, black polka-dotted top (with unavoidable stuffed, underwire style) and solid black shorts, came with a “tank top” to go over it. The strappy tank top is also black polka-dotted, and has frills at the bottom. I do like how much variety you can have in a bathing suit. I’m used to choosing basically by the print, and maybe an extra tie. Here, they really have different looks and outfits.
What I really can’t imagine is a Chinese person seeing a wall of bathing suits in America for the first time, suit after suit of colorful underwear, and thinking, “Where’s the rest?”
Monday, November 15, 2010
Before 7 and After 4
Leave your apartment, take the elevator down and try to find your bike in the mass of overlapping motor vehicles at the front of the complex. Squeeze your way through the narrow iron gate they recently put up, and head down the street.
(The “street” that I live on is a mix between a dirt road and an ally. The ground is part dirt and part slabs of uneven concrete. At some points, the concrete just has tire-tracks dug out, 6 inches deep. I call it an obstacle course. I try to stay on one side, although there’s definitely nothing like a bike-lane on this narrow street. It’s narrow enough to be a one-way, but like most roads in China, it functions as both. Bikes and cars in both direction, just looking out and taking turns. I wait for a good time to go in between the bumps and try not to hit the vegetable and other venders on the sides. )
Check for cars. Duck under the willow tree while slowing to go over the speed bump. Go around the pot holes. Go over the speed bump but don’t hit the vegetable cart. Look again for cars and bikes. Cross the street and swerve in between parked cars to get to the sidewalk.
(At this new shortcut that I found, I ride where people walk out front of my old apartment. I felt kind of guilty being one of those bikes in a pedestrian space- until I had to swerve for cars who’d forced their way up there too. )
Go past the guard and cross the bike lane and two lanes of traffic to the opposite bike lane. Ride until the end of the street. Do not let the bus merge onto you. When it tries and you let it pass you, check for cars again and then pass the bus by going all the way into the other 2 lanes of traffic, with the other bikers. At the end of the street, take a right into oncoming bikers and cars. Try to pass these four lanes of traffic to take the tiny dirt path just ahead and to the right. Do not hit the venders, their carts, their vegetables, or the people buying them and blocking the entrance to the tiny dirt path.
Follow the demolition dirt and un-evenly tiled path through the fields of demolished buildings, over and up the tile-lined trenches and into the sand pit. Do not touch the power line lying on the ground. Try to find one path in the sand pit that is less deep than the others. Ride quickly and push hard on your petals to make it to the other side. (This step is especially important if it has rained in the past week.)
Take a right onto another dirt road. Take a left after the burning trash. (I don’t know why they do this, but I actually enjoy that it smells more like campfire than flaming garbage.)
Make it to the tunnel. Get off your bike and walk it down the 3 levels of ramps while you take the 50 steps down. Don’t be startled by motorists who ride their bikes down the whole way, or those who are coming towards you on their bikes. At the bottom, or near the bottom if you feel like getting on your bike on the ramp, ride through the unlit tunnel 80 flt. to the other ramp. Get off your bike and walk it the 40 steps up 2 levels of ramp to the sunlight.
Get on your bike and cross two bike lanes and four lanes of car traffic to get into Tsinghua Campus. Merge with cars and other bikes, around the guard booth, and squeeze into the divider for the bike lane at the entrance. Once on campus, every block be sure to make it through the 3 inch spaces cut out of the speed bumps but don’t let your handle bars hit the poles set up to stop cars. At the two major intersections, hoards of bikers will come from the opposite direction, right across your path. Bike with them, and then weave through them. Do not stop and wait, because there will be no pause for you to get through. Continue to weave your way through the campus, and eventually weave through the cones and into oncoming traffic. Stay on the wrong side so that you can take a left onto the street.
Choose any of the four driveways to turn into. Be careful for cars leaving the driveways, and children on their way to school. Take a right into the campus, amid a crowd of Tsinghua High school students. Get off your bike and say “Ni Hao” to the guard. Walk your bike just past the green line, and then get back on.
Ride down the ramp and past the field to the bike racks near the primary building. Find a spot that’s open, lock your back tire to your bike, and you’ve made it!
As you can imagine, riding to and from school today, after being so sick this weekend, was a challenge. I swear I only made it through delirium-inspired genius, by which I thought of “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming” on my way home. Thanks Ellen!
(The “street” that I live on is a mix between a dirt road and an ally. The ground is part dirt and part slabs of uneven concrete. At some points, the concrete just has tire-tracks dug out, 6 inches deep. I call it an obstacle course. I try to stay on one side, although there’s definitely nothing like a bike-lane on this narrow street. It’s narrow enough to be a one-way, but like most roads in China, it functions as both. Bikes and cars in both direction, just looking out and taking turns. I wait for a good time to go in between the bumps and try not to hit the vegetable and other venders on the sides. )
Check for cars. Duck under the willow tree while slowing to go over the speed bump. Go around the pot holes. Go over the speed bump but don’t hit the vegetable cart. Look again for cars and bikes. Cross the street and swerve in between parked cars to get to the sidewalk.
(At this new shortcut that I found, I ride where people walk out front of my old apartment. I felt kind of guilty being one of those bikes in a pedestrian space- until I had to swerve for cars who’d forced their way up there too. )
Go past the guard and cross the bike lane and two lanes of traffic to the opposite bike lane. Ride until the end of the street. Do not let the bus merge onto you. When it tries and you let it pass you, check for cars again and then pass the bus by going all the way into the other 2 lanes of traffic, with the other bikers. At the end of the street, take a right into oncoming bikers and cars. Try to pass these four lanes of traffic to take the tiny dirt path just ahead and to the right. Do not hit the venders, their carts, their vegetables, or the people buying them and blocking the entrance to the tiny dirt path.
Follow the demolition dirt and un-evenly tiled path through the fields of demolished buildings, over and up the tile-lined trenches and into the sand pit. Do not touch the power line lying on the ground. Try to find one path in the sand pit that is less deep than the others. Ride quickly and push hard on your petals to make it to the other side. (This step is especially important if it has rained in the past week.)
Take a right onto another dirt road. Take a left after the burning trash. (I don’t know why they do this, but I actually enjoy that it smells more like campfire than flaming garbage.)
Make it to the tunnel. Get off your bike and walk it down the 3 levels of ramps while you take the 50 steps down. Don’t be startled by motorists who ride their bikes down the whole way, or those who are coming towards you on their bikes. At the bottom, or near the bottom if you feel like getting on your bike on the ramp, ride through the unlit tunnel 80 flt. to the other ramp. Get off your bike and walk it the 40 steps up 2 levels of ramp to the sunlight.
Get on your bike and cross two bike lanes and four lanes of car traffic to get into Tsinghua Campus. Merge with cars and other bikes, around the guard booth, and squeeze into the divider for the bike lane at the entrance. Once on campus, every block be sure to make it through the 3 inch spaces cut out of the speed bumps but don’t let your handle bars hit the poles set up to stop cars. At the two major intersections, hoards of bikers will come from the opposite direction, right across your path. Bike with them, and then weave through them. Do not stop and wait, because there will be no pause for you to get through. Continue to weave your way through the campus, and eventually weave through the cones and into oncoming traffic. Stay on the wrong side so that you can take a left onto the street.
Choose any of the four driveways to turn into. Be careful for cars leaving the driveways, and children on their way to school. Take a right into the campus, amid a crowd of Tsinghua High school students. Get off your bike and say “Ni Hao” to the guard. Walk your bike just past the green line, and then get back on.
Ride down the ramp and past the field to the bike racks near the primary building. Find a spot that’s open, lock your back tire to your bike, and you’ve made it!
As you can imagine, riding to and from school today, after being so sick this weekend, was a challenge. I swear I only made it through delirium-inspired genius, by which I thought of “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming” on my way home. Thanks Ellen!
Sunday, November 14, 2010
I Woke Up Sick
Well, in true Bekki fashion, I thought I was hung over. I never think I’m sick. I woke up with Swine Flu last year and still got on the subway from Queens to get to work before telling my head teacher, “I don’t feel so good.” After feeling my head and stomach ache, I cursed myself for losing my tolerance in Beijing, considering I’d only had two martinis (and some red wine.)
In the morning I was well enough to play a round of rummy while watching FRIENDS. (Some things never change, even overseas) I felt too full to eat.
Slowly, I began to lose my stamina. It was Saturday, the first day I had to NOT write reports in the month of November. I’d planned to go to the Lama Temple, and give myself a much-needed energy boost. It was clear by noon that I wasn’t going anywhere.
Still not admitting that I was sick, I consented to a nap at 2. I woke up at 4:30. At that point, I had to admit that I might be sick. (Especially considering that the last nap I took was when I had Swine Flu.) I should have known right away, because my kids have all been sick. I had at least 4 kids out every day of the week. I’m just lucky that I made it until Saturday.
After my 4 pm nap I was in trouble. I had a lot of hours left in the day, and absolutely no energy. Of course, I refused to go to bed. It was Saturday! My day! My first day after so many days writing reports day and night until I fell asleep, and I refused to be sick.
Kelly tried to feed me some soup. It was so hard to get every sip down, because I felt so full. I kept blaming my dinner from the previous night, even 24 hours later. I made Kelly put on a movie, the Corpse Bride, and tried my best to watch it. I felt burning hot. We have no thermometer, but I’m sure that I had the fever that my kids had.
The whole night, I couldn’t keep my eyes open for more than a few moments, every 30 min. or so. It was a strange fight with myself.
By 10 at night, I consented to be put to bed. Luckily, Sunday morning I felt somewhat more alive. I was able to lift my head and even have a whole conversation! I finished the last drafts of my reports, and tried to mentally prepare myself for the week ahead (complete with the dreaded Parent Teacher Conferences, dun dun dun).
Scariest part of being sick: I realized it’d be really difficult to be sick enough to go to a hospital. I’d have to look one up in a guide or copy it down from the internet, and try to get a cab driver who can figure out how to get me there. Then there’d just be the small problem of communicating with the doctors….
In the morning I was well enough to play a round of rummy while watching FRIENDS. (Some things never change, even overseas) I felt too full to eat.
Slowly, I began to lose my stamina. It was Saturday, the first day I had to NOT write reports in the month of November. I’d planned to go to the Lama Temple, and give myself a much-needed energy boost. It was clear by noon that I wasn’t going anywhere.
Still not admitting that I was sick, I consented to a nap at 2. I woke up at 4:30. At that point, I had to admit that I might be sick. (Especially considering that the last nap I took was when I had Swine Flu.) I should have known right away, because my kids have all been sick. I had at least 4 kids out every day of the week. I’m just lucky that I made it until Saturday.
After my 4 pm nap I was in trouble. I had a lot of hours left in the day, and absolutely no energy. Of course, I refused to go to bed. It was Saturday! My day! My first day after so many days writing reports day and night until I fell asleep, and I refused to be sick.
Kelly tried to feed me some soup. It was so hard to get every sip down, because I felt so full. I kept blaming my dinner from the previous night, even 24 hours later. I made Kelly put on a movie, the Corpse Bride, and tried my best to watch it. I felt burning hot. We have no thermometer, but I’m sure that I had the fever that my kids had.
The whole night, I couldn’t keep my eyes open for more than a few moments, every 30 min. or so. It was a strange fight with myself.
By 10 at night, I consented to be put to bed. Luckily, Sunday morning I felt somewhat more alive. I was able to lift my head and even have a whole conversation! I finished the last drafts of my reports, and tried to mentally prepare myself for the week ahead (complete with the dreaded Parent Teacher Conferences, dun dun dun).
Scariest part of being sick: I realized it’d be really difficult to be sick enough to go to a hospital. I’d have to look one up in a guide or copy it down from the internet, and try to get a cab driver who can figure out how to get me there. Then there’d just be the small problem of communicating with the doctors….
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Argana
Lucky for us, the Argana was celebrating its anniversary. Because of this we were seated in the only table on the bottom floor, next to a buffet and the bar. We discovered it was the anniversary when the owner walked in and announced it, after proclaiming, “I’m so drunk. I’ve been drinking since 10 a.m.” He was a charming middle-age Moroccan man, who took a fondness to our table, especially me. His interest in me was so apparent that Kelly and Alison both gave their names as “Rebecca”, and we became Rebecca cubed for the night.
The food was amazing. Thick stews and light appetizers. We had a dish that was just mushrooms with lemon sauce, and it was so well-prepared that this was enough. Ok, I know nothing about food, as I’m sure is apparent, but it was a nice change for me. (One good about China is that, being baller here, we can afford lavish meals at fancy restaurants, as soon as we can get ourselves there…)
The owner brought us extra dishes and continually filled up our wine glasses beyond the bottle we had ordered. He talked to us about opening the restaurant, keeping his Grandfather’s tradition, and about Morocco. At the end of the meal, he actually brought in a magician, instructing him, “Do tricks for Rebecca!” I’ve never had magic tricks done just for me, so I really enjoyed the unexpected surprise. I picked a card and then he put it back in the deck. Then gave me another card that was not my card and I put it under my hand on the table. He did all kids of moving around and then eventually put the deck on top of my hand, and when I looked at the card of the table, it was my card!
For the next trick, he asked me to sign a card with a permanent marker. Then he shuffled the deck so that some of the cards were face up, and others were face down. Somehow, when he hit it though, they were all face down, except for my signed card, which was face up! (I’m sure it is much lamer just to hear about this without seeing it, but part of the madness for me was thinking, this is my Sunday night dinner? Where am I?)
When I left, I asked my owner friend, “Can I have a business card?”
“You can have my life” he replied.
The food was amazing. Thick stews and light appetizers. We had a dish that was just mushrooms with lemon sauce, and it was so well-prepared that this was enough. Ok, I know nothing about food, as I’m sure is apparent, but it was a nice change for me. (One good about China is that, being baller here, we can afford lavish meals at fancy restaurants, as soon as we can get ourselves there…)
The owner brought us extra dishes and continually filled up our wine glasses beyond the bottle we had ordered. He talked to us about opening the restaurant, keeping his Grandfather’s tradition, and about Morocco. At the end of the meal, he actually brought in a magician, instructing him, “Do tricks for Rebecca!” I’ve never had magic tricks done just for me, so I really enjoyed the unexpected surprise. I picked a card and then he put it back in the deck. Then gave me another card that was not my card and I put it under my hand on the table. He did all kids of moving around and then eventually put the deck on top of my hand, and when I looked at the card of the table, it was my card!
For the next trick, he asked me to sign a card with a permanent marker. Then he shuffled the deck so that some of the cards were face up, and others were face down. Somehow, when he hit it though, they were all face down, except for my signed card, which was face up! (I’m sure it is much lamer just to hear about this without seeing it, but part of the madness for me was thinking, this is my Sunday night dinner? Where am I?)
When I left, I asked my owner friend, “Can I have a business card?”
“You can have my life” he replied.
My Kingdom for a HopStop…
Our friends Eric and Allison invited us to dinner at a Morrocan restaunt closer to the center of Beijing. I remember how this would work in New York. They’d text me the address, or the name, and I could look it up. If I was stuck, I could hopstop it, which would show me exactly how to get there, down to the blocks I’d have to walk after the subway. This is a luxury that I don’t have in Beijing.
Eric did send me the link for the restaurant. I was able to find the address, but when I tried to put it in google maps, the map is in Chinese (even under googlechrome, which translates most webpages.) It also couldn’t find the exact restaurant at first. I think happens because the pinyin (alphabetic spelling for the Chinese characters) is very specific, and because Beijing is gigantic, or because the internet likes to see me frustrated. After 10 minutes of playing around with the street name, or the area, I was able to find the exact restaurant with one little flag. Success!
Nope, just kidding. I had no idea how to get myself to that area. Everything is in Chinese, so I could only guess at what might have been a subway stop near there, and which one that would be. After another insanely long time I was able to match the Chinese characters and find out which two subway stops it was between, but the street names were all also in Chinese, and it was at least 10 blocks away from the closest stop. (Beijing blocks, by the way, are about 2 U.E.S. avenues long, so you really don’t want to take a wrong turn.)
Eventually, we decided to take a taxi. Easy! (In New York, that is.) In China, that involves trying to communicate with the driver, who does not speak any English, and does not know where everything is, because Beijing is such a large city. Kelly was able to look at the Google map and make a mark on the map that we have of the location, and we showed it to the driver. He took us, and then dropped us of somewhere near where we were supposed to me. It took us 10 minutes, under the light from a store’s sign, to figure out which direction was north, and to make a guess about which way we should walk.
Needless to say, when we finally saw the sign, it was a good moment. We were lucky that this is a Moroccan restaurant, so the sign was in English. If we were looking for a Chinese place, we’d have to meticulously match the characters!
Eric did send me the link for the restaurant. I was able to find the address, but when I tried to put it in google maps, the map is in Chinese (even under googlechrome, which translates most webpages.) It also couldn’t find the exact restaurant at first. I think happens because the pinyin (alphabetic spelling for the Chinese characters) is very specific, and because Beijing is gigantic, or because the internet likes to see me frustrated. After 10 minutes of playing around with the street name, or the area, I was able to find the exact restaurant with one little flag. Success!
Nope, just kidding. I had no idea how to get myself to that area. Everything is in Chinese, so I could only guess at what might have been a subway stop near there, and which one that would be. After another insanely long time I was able to match the Chinese characters and find out which two subway stops it was between, but the street names were all also in Chinese, and it was at least 10 blocks away from the closest stop. (Beijing blocks, by the way, are about 2 U.E.S. avenues long, so you really don’t want to take a wrong turn.)
Eventually, we decided to take a taxi. Easy! (In New York, that is.) In China, that involves trying to communicate with the driver, who does not speak any English, and does not know where everything is, because Beijing is such a large city. Kelly was able to look at the Google map and make a mark on the map that we have of the location, and we showed it to the driver. He took us, and then dropped us of somewhere near where we were supposed to me. It took us 10 minutes, under the light from a store’s sign, to figure out which direction was north, and to make a guess about which way we should walk.
Needless to say, when we finally saw the sign, it was a good moment. We were lucky that this is a Moroccan restaurant, so the sign was in English. If we were looking for a Chinese place, we’d have to meticulously match the characters!
From my Head Down to my Legs
Breakfast: 2 eggs, over easy.
Lunch: Trying to find a new restaurant is a tricky thing around here. Kelly and I decided to walk in a different direction to find something new. We made the mistake of sitting down at a Japanese place before looking at the menu. It was a fancy-looking restaurant, which had a picture menu (all good things.) When we looked closer, it seemed that it was a kind of Japanese hot pot, where you can select different vegetables to be cooked in the broth that will become soup. Unfortunately, each of the broths that we could choose from had a whole fish sliced inside. Now, I’ve become a huge fan of Chinese-style fish, head and fins and all, but for some reason that day, I wasn’t into it sticking up out of my soup. We pulled a classic Westerner move and split.
We walked for a while and ended up at a complex that looked like a food court of fast food joints. We were ready to just turn around when we looked closer at one of the restaurants and decided it was worth trying (mostly because the décor was vibrant orange, and Kelly will eat anything in that environment.) Our waitress actually spoke some English, which felt like a miracle. Because of this surprise, we were able to answer questions like, “Do you want it hot or cold?” and to ask, “What is on this vegetable?” She sold us on a dish of hard boiled eggs, filled with meat, and some Chinese broccoli. They bring the dish out to the table, and it is steamed right there.
Note: picking up a hollowed-out hard-boiled egg with plastic chopsticks is no easy task, especially when it has been filled with sauce and pork that will bulge from the top on the way to your mouth.
On the way home we stopped at a pastry and got some treats. I hadn’t thought about it, but I had picked out egg custards, a sweet cup of eggy deliciousness. Kelly almost lost her lunch.
Lunch: Trying to find a new restaurant is a tricky thing around here. Kelly and I decided to walk in a different direction to find something new. We made the mistake of sitting down at a Japanese place before looking at the menu. It was a fancy-looking restaurant, which had a picture menu (all good things.) When we looked closer, it seemed that it was a kind of Japanese hot pot, where you can select different vegetables to be cooked in the broth that will become soup. Unfortunately, each of the broths that we could choose from had a whole fish sliced inside. Now, I’ve become a huge fan of Chinese-style fish, head and fins and all, but for some reason that day, I wasn’t into it sticking up out of my soup. We pulled a classic Westerner move and split.
We walked for a while and ended up at a complex that looked like a food court of fast food joints. We were ready to just turn around when we looked closer at one of the restaurants and decided it was worth trying (mostly because the décor was vibrant orange, and Kelly will eat anything in that environment.) Our waitress actually spoke some English, which felt like a miracle. Because of this surprise, we were able to answer questions like, “Do you want it hot or cold?” and to ask, “What is on this vegetable?” She sold us on a dish of hard boiled eggs, filled with meat, and some Chinese broccoli. They bring the dish out to the table, and it is steamed right there.
Note: picking up a hollowed-out hard-boiled egg with plastic chopsticks is no easy task, especially when it has been filled with sauce and pork that will bulge from the top on the way to your mouth.
On the way home we stopped at a pastry and got some treats. I hadn’t thought about it, but I had picked out egg custards, a sweet cup of eggy deliciousness. Kelly almost lost her lunch.
Updates
I realize that it’s the middle of November and I haven’t updated since Halloween. My life for the past two weeks has been writing reports. Last Saturday I spent the whole day in this restaurant called lai Weis, “Your home away from home.” It’s my new favorite Western spot. I ate breakfast and lunch there, in between writing reports, and then I went home and kept writing. The reports are about 6 pages for each kid, complete with a paragraph for each subject, including separate sections for the child as a student and as a community member. With the social, let’ say “challenges” that my kids have, I often feel like a social worker and not a teacher. Trying to explain what I’ve seen and what they’re working on in a way that can be received by their Chinese parents has been the challenge of the past two weeks. Every day after school I’ve worked on reports until bed. That’s really why I haven’t updated, to spare you all from the tediousness that has been my life in November.
There were some interesting nights out, which I'm posting after this.
There were some interesting nights out, which I'm posting after this.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Yen Party
Saturday night we went to the Yen Party, a warehouse party in the 798 Art district. The ticket said “kink fetish Halloween”, but I really had no idea what that meant in China. With my luck (especially in this country) I figured I’d end up in inappropriate clothing in a warehouse full of Chinese people dressed in slightly-tighter or shoulder-revealing clothes. The other problem was, how on earth could I turn that hideous furry dress into something remotely sexy?
Eventually, we just cut some slits in it and turned the sleeves into arm warmers and headed to the warehouse.
It was insanely packed when we got there. A crowd full of angry vampires, witches, and cheerleaders were waving their tickets in the air and trying to force their way through the gate. I got through, New York-style, after a few rounds, but some others in our crew were not so lucky. The guard was intense, throwing his body at the crowd and forcefully shoving people back who were trying to break in. At one point Kelly’s feet were literally off the ground and she was carried towards the entrance in a mass of pushy Halloween enthusiasts.
Thankfully, the scene inside was less dangerous and worth seeing. The space was huge and dark with rave lighting and blasting techno. It felt comforting to be in such familiar mayhem. The costumes ranged from adult-store lingerie to meticulously home-crafted to costume store in America. As I looked at the crowd of Scream and Jason masks, black cats, angels, and, yes, bunnies, I couldn’t help but think, “Where the hell did you get this?”
It was another reminder that I know nothing about this city.
It was great seeing so many ex-pats mingled with locals in one spot. My nights are usually filled with one or the other in very separate settings. And, I have to say, the Chinese people stole the show. When I saw a lame costume, the “basketball player” or just a panda hat, it was almost always an English-speaking white person. My kids may have a fresh outlook to this holiday at 6 and 7, but they were nothing compared to the enthusiasm of a sea of 25 year-old’s on their first Halloween!
Best costume of the night: a monster humping himself. I spotted this treasure dancing by the wall near the door. His legs were the monster’s, bright red and furry, and the monster’s body was stuffed behind his back and towered over his head. The monsters red, furry arms were hugging him, and he had small, fake people legs coming out of his stomach. With the monster head bobbing, the arms wrapped around his body, and his fake little legs dangling in front, it was the best sighting of Halloween. Even more amazing, possibly, was when I saw him walking out holding hands with a girl.
I just love the idea, “Want to come to the Yen fetish party with me?”
“Sure, what are you going to be?”
“A monster…humping myself.”
Eventually, we just cut some slits in it and turned the sleeves into arm warmers and headed to the warehouse.
It was insanely packed when we got there. A crowd full of angry vampires, witches, and cheerleaders were waving their tickets in the air and trying to force their way through the gate. I got through, New York-style, after a few rounds, but some others in our crew were not so lucky. The guard was intense, throwing his body at the crowd and forcefully shoving people back who were trying to break in. At one point Kelly’s feet were literally off the ground and she was carried towards the entrance in a mass of pushy Halloween enthusiasts.
Thankfully, the scene inside was less dangerous and worth seeing. The space was huge and dark with rave lighting and blasting techno. It felt comforting to be in such familiar mayhem. The costumes ranged from adult-store lingerie to meticulously home-crafted to costume store in America. As I looked at the crowd of Scream and Jason masks, black cats, angels, and, yes, bunnies, I couldn’t help but think, “Where the hell did you get this?”
It was another reminder that I know nothing about this city.
It was great seeing so many ex-pats mingled with locals in one spot. My nights are usually filled with one or the other in very separate settings. And, I have to say, the Chinese people stole the show. When I saw a lame costume, the “basketball player” or just a panda hat, it was almost always an English-speaking white person. My kids may have a fresh outlook to this holiday at 6 and 7, but they were nothing compared to the enthusiasm of a sea of 25 year-old’s on their first Halloween!
Best costume of the night: a monster humping himself. I spotted this treasure dancing by the wall near the door. His legs were the monster’s, bright red and furry, and the monster’s body was stuffed behind his back and towered over his head. The monsters red, furry arms were hugging him, and he had small, fake people legs coming out of his stomach. With the monster head bobbing, the arms wrapped around his body, and his fake little legs dangling in front, it was the best sighting of Halloween. Even more amazing, possibly, was when I saw him walking out holding hands with a girl.
I just love the idea, “Want to come to the Yen fetish party with me?”
“Sure, what are you going to be?”
“A monster…humping myself.”
Pre-Halloween
We went to a house party on Friday night, which we called a “trial” of our costumes. Our friend Roxanne was Alice in wonderland, Kelly was the Mad Hatter, and I, as you can tell from the picture, was the white rabbit. For my real costume I wore a red belt and bowtie, glasses and a “pocket watch” made from an alarm clock for dramatic effect.
It may sound simple, but putting our costumes together was actually a challenge. There is Halloween here, but you wouldn’t know it by the stores. We couldn’t find any stores that sold just Halloween stuff or costumes. Everything we found, from my furry dress to Kelly’s glowing green wig, came from a regular shopping plaza. We did find some typical costumes at the secret back wall of an underwear shop, (the school girl, the nurse, etc.) but it was clear that they were year-round items and not brought out specifically for this holiday.
The bunny ears we constructed out of a headband, toilet paper rolls, and extra Styrofoam from our speakers. I actually managed to find the extra bunny fabric in a little hallway of a fabric store at the shopping center. It took a while but I was able to turn it into a lesson on re-use with my kids!
It may sound simple, but putting our costumes together was actually a challenge. There is Halloween here, but you wouldn’t know it by the stores. We couldn’t find any stores that sold just Halloween stuff or costumes. Everything we found, from my furry dress to Kelly’s glowing green wig, came from a regular shopping plaza. We did find some typical costumes at the secret back wall of an underwear shop, (the school girl, the nurse, etc.) but it was clear that they were year-round items and not brought out specifically for this holiday.
The bunny ears we constructed out of a headband, toilet paper rolls, and extra Styrofoam from our speakers. I actually managed to find the extra bunny fabric in a little hallway of a fabric store at the shopping center. It took a while but I was able to turn it into a lesson on re-use with my kids!
H-A-double L-O-double U-double E-N
Those of you who know me, know that I LOVE Halloween. In my opinion, there aren’t enough days in the year where adults get to dress up in costume. (Hence the Superhero and Villain parties, and PRIDE in Janurary…)
I love costumes because they allow us to stop taking ourselves so seriously. Let’s face it, it’s hard to take yourself seriously when you’re dressed as a taco or giant martini glass. Also, if you don’t dress up at Halloween, it means that you NEVER dress up. Come on, every day we wake up and get to be ourselves. Halloween is one of the few times we can be anyone…or anything!
Now that I have you sufficiently convinced about the spectacular opportunity that is Halloween, you can imagine how bummed I was to be leaving the country for a whole year, including October 31st. Last year, as one robot in a flashing, dancing, music-playing robot quadruplet, I couldn’t help but feel a little sad that I wouldn’t be celebrating next year. (Actually, I told Kelly that we were going to dress up and go to the Forbidden City even if no one in the country knew what we were doing. )
You can imagine my surprise, and delight, when I found out that there IS some Halloween in Beijing! Purely brought over from American expats, it was difficult to predict how the celebration would unfold. I was just excited that in my classroom I was able to make word searches with the words “haunted” and “goblins”, and to see my kids all dressed up. There’s nothing like 6 and 7 year-olds dressed as princesses and wizards to make a Friday afternoon more memorable.
It was also a treat because of the newness and strangeness of the Holiday. Some of the kids were having their first Halloween, which is a different experience than growing up being a pea pod or pumpkin at the end of each October. My assistant has never dressed up, and really got a kick out of my home made costume. (Details to come).
Favorite Part of Halloween in School: Parading with my students with tambourines and maracas through the campus and into the Cafeteria, where none of the other students from the Chinese school were dressed up. As I’ve mentioned, my school is a small international school on the large campus of Tsinghua University. We’re always the only ones not dressed in uniforms, but this time we really stood out, Halloween-style. It was a blast!
Friday, October 29, 2010
Interview: What is water?
“Air.”
-Peppito, the beta fish in my bookcase.
“Waves.”
-Me, as a child on Cape Cod.
“Life.”
-Pepper, the plant in my classroom.
“Homework.”
-My second graders, who are studying the water cycle.
“Work.”
-My water delivery guy.
“Helpful.”
My dirty dishes.
“Hepatitis.”
-Water pipe in China.
“Freezing.”
-My kitchen faucet.
“Boiling!”
-My showerhead.
“Fuel.”
-My girlfriend.
“Filling.”
-My 10 Nalgene Bottles.
“Impressive.”
-Me, after conducting this interview.
-Peppito, the beta fish in my bookcase.
“Waves.”
-Me, as a child on Cape Cod.
“Life.”
-Pepper, the plant in my classroom.
“Homework.”
-My second graders, who are studying the water cycle.
“Work.”
-My water delivery guy.
“Helpful.”
My dirty dishes.
“Hepatitis.”
-Water pipe in China.
“Freezing.”
-My kitchen faucet.
“Boiling!”
-My showerhead.
“Fuel.”
-My girlfriend.
“Filling.”
-My 10 Nalgene Bottles.
“Impressive.”
-Me, after conducting this interview.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Request
Hey you!
I hear that you read this, and it makes me so glad! I just want to put it out there that I'd love see some comments. It'd make me feel like I'm actually writing to people and not just venting to the internet.
Also, I know I play with the posting dates, but I try to "publish" them so that they go in the order that they happened, even if that's not when my laziness actually writes them.(cough...French Fries, the Mission) - so snoop around!
xoxo,
B
I hear that you read this, and it makes me so glad! I just want to put it out there that I'd love see some comments. It'd make me feel like I'm actually writing to people and not just venting to the internet.
Also, I know I play with the posting dates, but I try to "publish" them so that they go in the order that they happened, even if that's not when my laziness actually writes them.(cough...French Fries, the Mission) - so snoop around!
xoxo,
B
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Hiking to the Temple
After eating our group broke up to explore the various mountain trails. Kelly and I wandered through stone walkways on the mountains that turned into dirt paths and ultimately vanished into narrow footholds on the mountain’s edge. We worked our way up to the top of one peak and spotted the temple in the distance.
It took us a number of tries, following winding walkways and steep stone steps (a recurring theme for my excursions in China), but we finally reached the temple. I’ve been feeling a certain amount of energy and peace in places like this. This temple wasn’t especially intricate or grand, consisting of a single room with three figures inside, but standing in the doorway, just before entering, brought on a calm that helped me to put the past week behind me.
Another joy of this trip was the pleasant nature of the people I encountered. In my area of Beijing, where no locals speak English, I have begun to flat out ignore the people around me. In my invisible bubble, no one sees or hears me. Here, in this “touristy” village, there were many Chinese people who made it a point to say, “hello” or “good afternoon.” They even brightened up when they saw us, as if they’d been waiting their whole lives to drop these carefully memorized phrases.
Note: I toyed with the idea of calling this entry “Hiking to Buddha”, and then decided that I’m not in any place to be making such statements.
It took us a number of tries, following winding walkways and steep stone steps (a recurring theme for my excursions in China), but we finally reached the temple. I’ve been feeling a certain amount of energy and peace in places like this. This temple wasn’t especially intricate or grand, consisting of a single room with three figures inside, but standing in the doorway, just before entering, brought on a calm that helped me to put the past week behind me.
Another joy of this trip was the pleasant nature of the people I encountered. In my area of Beijing, where no locals speak English, I have begun to flat out ignore the people around me. In my invisible bubble, no one sees or hears me. Here, in this “touristy” village, there were many Chinese people who made it a point to say, “hello” or “good afternoon.” They even brightened up when they saw us, as if they’d been waiting their whole lives to drop these carefully memorized phrases.
Note: I toyed with the idea of calling this entry “Hiking to Buddha”, and then decided that I’m not in any place to be making such statements.
Village in the Mountains
Cuandixia is a small village in the mountains. This is all that I knew before arriving, but it was enough for me to want to check it out. When we arrived I found it just as described. The village was made up of dirt roads and stone hallways that connected many small rooms. Everything, from the walls to the piles of dirt, to the random rusty water spouts seemed old and decayed, except for the signs, which were freshly painted and labeled the buildings as “inns”.
I walked though these outdoor hallways, poking my head into this doorway and that. If there was an empty table inside, it was a restaurant; if I saw a bed, it was an inn. We settled on an open air restaurant, basically a stone porch, on the side of a mountain, overlooking the rest of the village. We ordered almost everything on their list of items, including the local specialty, “fried leaves.” Looking around at the fallen foliage, I was a bit nervous at first, but the puffy, deep-fried pieces of green tasted mostly like fried puffs of air. I should have saved my apprehension for the “tomato and egg soup” which was literally nothing more than tomatoes and eggs cracked into boiling water. The chicken dish was deliciously salty and spicy, although the bowl of meat and bones did include the head and feet.
I enjoyed the rest of the food, even the other “soup”, which was squash water that held enough flavor for me to add some eggplant or bones from other dishes to make it drinkable. The owners even brought out two little complementary dishes, one that was pretty much salsa on a plate, except that the tomatoes and onions were fresh and diced large enough to pick up with chopsticks. The second was a pasta dish, served cold in something like tomato sauce, with the treat of real (canned) black olives and about 10 pieces of rigatoni pasta. (I realize that sounds sarcastic, and yes, the “pasta” was pretty clammy and chewy, but realizing that black olives can taste the same even on the side of a mountain was a wonderfully comforting discovery.)
By the end of the meal I was feeling full and satisfied, until I noticed the “sink” for the restaurant on my way out. By “sink”, I mean plastic bin of dirty water piled high with old, food-encrusted dishes. Uneasiness washed over me as I remembered ignoring the bit of water that had lingered in the bottom of my bowl at the beginning of the meal.
I haven’t been in China long enough for: the insane alcoholic concoction at the restaurant. At the “bar”, a small table with a few bottles of liquor, I spied a glass jar of liquor with many creatures fermenting inside. The unfortunate animals included: snakes, scorpions, and, I swear on my life, a flying squirrel. Bottoms up!
I walked though these outdoor hallways, poking my head into this doorway and that. If there was an empty table inside, it was a restaurant; if I saw a bed, it was an inn. We settled on an open air restaurant, basically a stone porch, on the side of a mountain, overlooking the rest of the village. We ordered almost everything on their list of items, including the local specialty, “fried leaves.” Looking around at the fallen foliage, I was a bit nervous at first, but the puffy, deep-fried pieces of green tasted mostly like fried puffs of air. I should have saved my apprehension for the “tomato and egg soup” which was literally nothing more than tomatoes and eggs cracked into boiling water. The chicken dish was deliciously salty and spicy, although the bowl of meat and bones did include the head and feet.
I enjoyed the rest of the food, even the other “soup”, which was squash water that held enough flavor for me to add some eggplant or bones from other dishes to make it drinkable. The owners even brought out two little complementary dishes, one that was pretty much salsa on a plate, except that the tomatoes and onions were fresh and diced large enough to pick up with chopsticks. The second was a pasta dish, served cold in something like tomato sauce, with the treat of real (canned) black olives and about 10 pieces of rigatoni pasta. (I realize that sounds sarcastic, and yes, the “pasta” was pretty clammy and chewy, but realizing that black olives can taste the same even on the side of a mountain was a wonderfully comforting discovery.)
By the end of the meal I was feeling full and satisfied, until I noticed the “sink” for the restaurant on my way out. By “sink”, I mean plastic bin of dirty water piled high with old, food-encrusted dishes. Uneasiness washed over me as I remembered ignoring the bit of water that had lingered in the bottom of my bowl at the beginning of the meal.
I haven’t been in China long enough for: the insane alcoholic concoction at the restaurant. At the “bar”, a small table with a few bottles of liquor, I spied a glass jar of liquor with many creatures fermenting inside. The unfortunate animals included: snakes, scorpions, and, I swear on my life, a flying squirrel. Bottoms up!
Cuandixia
That word probably means nothing to you. It didn’t mean anything to me either, before I got an mass staff email announcing that Kelly and the upper grades art teacher, Julie, thought up a weekend getaway while they were wasted, and did I want to join? (In reality, they shared one drink and Julie convinced Kel that it would be a great trip.)
One strange part of being here is the blurry lines between professional and personal aspects of my personality. As many of you know, I delight in exploring both of these realms, but maintain separate times and relationships where they belong (with some exceptions, of course, as those of you who were once my colleagues know). This outing began with 10 faculty members, including my director, drinking Chinese-style screwdrivers (the vodka was real but the “orange juice” had definitely never seen an orchard) at 10 a.m.
I was glad for the refreshments, which made the traffic jam on the way out of Beijing that much more pleasant. At one point, the traffic was so slow that our actually turned our engine off. There, pressed up against a public bus, was the closest experience I’ve ever had to being in a zoo or aquarium. All of the Chinese locals were peering in through the glass, pointing at us and whispering with their friends. I had the feeling that they were just waiting for us to do something interesting, like perform, or be fed. I drank my pseudo-screwdriver and resisted the urge to start swinging down the aisle or throw something at the glass.
One strange part of being here is the blurry lines between professional and personal aspects of my personality. As many of you know, I delight in exploring both of these realms, but maintain separate times and relationships where they belong (with some exceptions, of course, as those of you who were once my colleagues know). This outing began with 10 faculty members, including my director, drinking Chinese-style screwdrivers (the vodka was real but the “orange juice” had definitely never seen an orchard) at 10 a.m.
I was glad for the refreshments, which made the traffic jam on the way out of Beijing that much more pleasant. At one point, the traffic was so slow that our actually turned our engine off. There, pressed up against a public bus, was the closest experience I’ve ever had to being in a zoo or aquarium. All of the Chinese locals were peering in through the glass, pointing at us and whispering with their friends. I had the feeling that they were just waiting for us to do something interesting, like perform, or be fed. I drank my pseudo-screwdriver and resisted the urge to start swinging down the aisle or throw something at the glass.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Delicious Updates
Sorry, friends, for not having much news this past week. I started teaching social studies in school, a study of food that will lead to a unit where my kids interview the cafeteria workers and eventually make their own cafeteria to serve the parents.
I gave my kids pictures of food from other cultures and had them write questions or guesses about what they were seeing. I gave them some enchiladas, a falafel, stuffed cabbage and pierogies (of course I had to put my polish food in there!) and “American food”, namely a mac and cheese and a chili cheese dog. It was so interesting to hear their guesses, that pierogies were dumplings, tomatoes were chilies, and falafel was meat, and to hear their shock that there was a pile of beans on the Mexican plate, or that the mustard-looking liquid on the hot dog was cheese.
I'd say 80% of what I eat here is rice with some type of veggies. I buy all the veggies I need to cook for a week from a cart on my street for 18 RMB, about $2 (US). I also go out to eat and get usually Japanese, Korean BBQ, and Indian. I do get the occasional pizza sometimes, which is really only good from this one place called Kros Nest.
The other day I ordered "caramelized bananas" which turned out to be banana balls coated in liquid sugar. The coating tasted like candy apples. It came out steaming and we we told (through mime, of course) to dip it in a bowl of water before eating. We weren't sure if this was just because it was so hot, so we continued to do it even after the balls had hardened into one giant sculpture of sugary banana candy.
I am getting used to the food, even oddities like eating a whole cooked fish- with chopsticks! I've even acquired some favorite dishes that I need to break out of, like spicy potato from the Szechuan place down the street.
I’ve found that embracing the Chinese food is the best idea here, rather than trying to make familiar food. I tried to make mashed potatoes the other day, but since we have no milk or butter or salt, it was really just a potato in a bowl. I don’t even have a fork, so it was pretty lumpy, even though I did the best I could with a metal spoon. I put a little broth from the duck soup I’d made out of our leftovers (just boiling the meat and bones, and then adding veggies and dumplings), and a bit of sesame oil. I’m not saying it tasted bad, but it certainly didn’t transport me home.
Kelly cracked this week and bought a round little loaf of French bread and some brie cheese from a fancy foreign grocery store in the center of Beijing. It was so delicious and filling that it became our dinner.
Things I’m not used to yet: leaving the eggs on the counter. For whatever reason, because they’re not pumped with whatever chemicals I’m used to, I don’t have to keep them in the fridge. I know this, but every time I see them there on the kitchen counter, I think, “oh no! I left the eggs out!”
I gave my kids pictures of food from other cultures and had them write questions or guesses about what they were seeing. I gave them some enchiladas, a falafel, stuffed cabbage and pierogies (of course I had to put my polish food in there!) and “American food”, namely a mac and cheese and a chili cheese dog. It was so interesting to hear their guesses, that pierogies were dumplings, tomatoes were chilies, and falafel was meat, and to hear their shock that there was a pile of beans on the Mexican plate, or that the mustard-looking liquid on the hot dog was cheese.
I'd say 80% of what I eat here is rice with some type of veggies. I buy all the veggies I need to cook for a week from a cart on my street for 18 RMB, about $2 (US). I also go out to eat and get usually Japanese, Korean BBQ, and Indian. I do get the occasional pizza sometimes, which is really only good from this one place called Kros Nest.
The other day I ordered "caramelized bananas" which turned out to be banana balls coated in liquid sugar. The coating tasted like candy apples. It came out steaming and we we told (through mime, of course) to dip it in a bowl of water before eating. We weren't sure if this was just because it was so hot, so we continued to do it even after the balls had hardened into one giant sculpture of sugary banana candy.
I am getting used to the food, even oddities like eating a whole cooked fish- with chopsticks! I've even acquired some favorite dishes that I need to break out of, like spicy potato from the Szechuan place down the street.
I’ve found that embracing the Chinese food is the best idea here, rather than trying to make familiar food. I tried to make mashed potatoes the other day, but since we have no milk or butter or salt, it was really just a potato in a bowl. I don’t even have a fork, so it was pretty lumpy, even though I did the best I could with a metal spoon. I put a little broth from the duck soup I’d made out of our leftovers (just boiling the meat and bones, and then adding veggies and dumplings), and a bit of sesame oil. I’m not saying it tasted bad, but it certainly didn’t transport me home.
Kelly cracked this week and bought a round little loaf of French bread and some brie cheese from a fancy foreign grocery store in the center of Beijing. It was so delicious and filling that it became our dinner.
Things I’m not used to yet: leaving the eggs on the counter. For whatever reason, because they’re not pumped with whatever chemicals I’m used to, I don’t have to keep them in the fridge. I know this, but every time I see them there on the kitchen counter, I think, “oh no! I left the eggs out!”
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