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.”

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!

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!

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.

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

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.

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!

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.

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!”

Timing is Everything

My friend Roxanne invited me and Kelly to go to a concert in the Opera Hall in the garden surrounding the Forbidden City. This seemed like the perfect opportunity to finally see the center of Beijing (a few months late.) We made the plan to get dinner at Ho Hai Lake, a beautiful stretch of the city that is lined with waterfront restaurants. This was the perfect chance to finally get Peking duck, which is a whole duck (head sold separately), that you put, sliced, into a thin tortilla-like wrapping with a little dark sauce, cucumber, and chives. Think Mu shu pancakes, except without the pre-made bowl of slop.

My friend Roxanne and I also took this opportunity to try some new drinks. The list was translated into English, but with no descriptions. I settled on a “grasshopper”, which turned out to taste exactly like mouthwash in a martini glass, complete with the bright green glow. Roxanne’s “White Angel” lacked any recognizable flavor, but let’s just say I wasn’t motivated to trade.

At this point of being in China, I’m starting to take some things for granted. At the beginning, I expected nothing and had no standards of normalcy. For days after I arrived I could barely get myself to a restaurant and even then I knew that ordering was always a gamble. (Kelly has completely cut off menu-pointing at corn ever since we ordered a corn dish that somehow came out tasting strongly of breaded fish.) One thing that has always been consistent in our meals is the timing. Everything is family style, so the dishes arrive quickly as soon as they are cooked. I suppose you can see where this is going…

We allotted an hour to eat our meal in order to make it to the concert in time, factoring in the variable of catching a cab and somehow communicating to the driver where we were going.

Our side dish of veggies arrived almost immediately after we closed our menus, along with our beverages. I spent the next 45 minutes in stressful silence, sipping mouthwash and giving my waitress far dirtier looks than she deserved. Our long-awaited duck finally arrived literally one minute before we were supposed to leave the restaurant.

I have never stuffed myself so quickly with duck-filled pancakes.

We ran out of the restaurant, cursing China and its consistent unpredictability, and managed to jump into a taxi right away. Our chosen strategy, showing the tickets for the opera to the taxi driver, actually worked and we were left, dumbfounded at the doors to the garden in no time. Then, by sheer miracle, the crowd of people that we followed through the dark and windy paths of the garden actually led us through a 10 minute stretch - straight to the opera house.

You can have your own theory, but I’m convinced that was Beijing’s apology.

I accept.

Surprise!

Kelly and I finally cracked and bought a bottle of our good friend Jose Cuervo. Not that I haven't been enjoying the pi geo (beer), and the $3 Great Wall Wine, but it was time to spice it up. Pretending to be back in NYC, we grabbed some limes on the way home, thinking, "How funny, limes in China are round."

Of course when we got home, we realized that, rather, some oranges in China have lime skin. Surprise!

Privacy Plastic

I was handed what looked like a fashion magazine, right after a Chinese girl on the street asked Kelly and me if we knew where to find a Church. (The girl said, “I want to go to church. Do you know?” When we said we didn’t, she asked, “Do you read Bible?” I’m wondering if this chick thinks that all white-looking people are in China as missionaries. Kelly’s convinced this was Jesus seeking her out.)

I don’t know if the magazine passer had anything to do with the Bible-asker, but when I got home I was shocked at what I saw.

These are the feature articles on the cover:
Privacy Plastic: so that the Well-being of Women Flowery Bloom; The Young Friend: You Understands the Contraception?; Huanghaibo: My Ass-Getting Career Path is Sweet; Women Don’t Do it: “Workplace Darling Female”

Ok, so I don’t know what most of that is even talking about. It seems to me that this is a feminist magazine, willing to produce taboo media to raise awareness on contraception and career planning. But part of me isn’t convinced because of the Privacy Plastic article, which seems to be about plastic surgery, the two-page spread about weddings, and the picture for “ass-getting career path” which includes two woman fondling a billboard of a smiling Chinese man.

Other article titles include:
Wrapping and Prostate Story: New Wrapping and DIY (complete with an add that contains a picture of a banana)
Drug Minefield
The Flow People: How to Avoid Second Ary Damage
A Man’s Silence Means What
To Change Life Habit from Hemorrhoids
Four men’s Impotence: Do not into the pitfalls of self-diagnosis impotence
The Psychological Pressure Created Man “is a woman.”
One page has a picture of a girl, carelessly leading against a wall in a short dress, with the caption “sweet” woman.

If nothing else, the reason that I was given this magazine is clear. Motivation granted, my study of the Chinese Language is on.

Madness

I’ve had a pretty crazy time these past two days, so I’m just going to write about it stream of conscious.

Yesterday, J, one of the five head teachers in my school, didn’t show up for work. It was even stranger because he knew that his T.A. wasn’t going to be in until the afternoon. His 17, 10-yr olds were in their classroom alone until they saw Kelly in the hall and asked her to come in. She ended up running a spontaneous morning meeting.

At first, knowing J, who was here last year, is cozy with the director, and is known for having a nightlife, I wasn’t too concerned. By the afternoon, however, when the primary and middle school directors left school to go to his house, 45 min. away, I was a little nervous. After school, when all we’d heard was that he had left for work in the morning but hadn’t shown up, I had that achy feeling in my stomach. By night, when he had been reported to the embassy, who would check the hospitals and police stations for him, I was a nervous wreck. It probably didn’t help that the day before we were informed of a serious community tragedy. A 7th grader from our school and his mother were killed over the break in a car accident, and I had to tell my kids before they heard it on the bus. That made for a solemn closing meeting with six year olds.

At home, it was hard to think about anything else, even while at the back of my head I felt that this could all be a misunderstanding. It’s J! I’m sure he’s fine! It did make us realize, though, that we have no contact information here. I don’t even carry ID on me, because there’s no drinking limit, so if I were to be in an accident there’d be no way to identify me... All really awesome things to think about while you’re stressed and in a foreign country.

Finally, in the morning, I got an email from the director that said she heard from J, his phone was dead and he had no internet, and he will be back to school tomorrow. WHAT THE HELL? Where was he? What is this? Since then I’ve been unofficially told by my administration that he was “helping a friend in an emergency” and officially that he had a fever and “took Chinese medicine that made him pass out after he thought he sent a text that he wasn’t coming.” What shady madness is going on at this school?

This morning was also stressful for me because all of my student’s parents had called a meeting with my director and the vice principal of my school to address their “concerns,” namely, that I don’t use text books, focus enough on math, or give enough mindless worksheets as homework. There is nothing like knowing that I was being ripped apart by my “sharks”, after a night of being worried sick, to help someone run a successful morning meeting. And to top it all off, it’s the 6th day of an 8 day week of consecutive school. It’s “Saturday” in my life- damn it!

Luckily, my director is totally on board with me. She came in after the meeting, watched my class, and reassured me that my kids are so much more engaged and in control than they were before. She helped to remind me that these parents don’t understand progressive ed., and that most of them aren’t going to get it this year.

Needless to say, I’m looking forward to parent teacher conferences.

French Fries, the Mission

Ordering at KFC was more complicated than I’d imagined right from the start. I figured, (as I must learn to STOP doing), that this fast food joint would be geared towards Foreigners, or at least English-friendly enough that I could point or gesture to get by. The entire menu was in Chinese, and most of it was displayed in lists with no pictures. I managed to order what looked like a special deal, as it was featured on its own panel with what I hoped was the price in Yuan. The cashier asked me a string of questions, which I could only assume meant “original or extra crispy”, and was met with my blank stare and poor attempt at “sorry” (Duay bu tchi), shake head. Eventually, as is often the result of my ordering, she chose some answer for me and took my money.

In my life, this is actually considered a success. Therefore, when the smell of fries from the people next to us somehow sparked a second appetite, I was happy to walk back downstairs to the counter. I decided to go to the same cashier, so that she at least knew that I had no idea what I was doing. While waiting in line, however, I realized that there were no pictures of French fries on the menu. As I inched closer and closer I tried to think of strategies. By the time I was face-to-face with the cashier, I had nothing. How do you mime French fries??

My first attempt was just to say the word and hope that either her or someone around would recognize the word. I gave raised eyebrows to the people trying to order their own meals to the right and left of me. Nothing. I looked behind her to see if there were some I could point to. Nothing. She tried holding some chicken nuggets up for my approval. Nope. My low point was actually trying to draw the shape of a French fry on the counter.

Defeated and embarrassed for myself, I gave up and left the line. On my way to the stairs, ready to climb back to the second floor seating and admit newfound inability to order French fries at a fast food place, I noticed a couple sitting by the window, leaning over a tray of fries. I’d like to say that I hesitated and thought out my next move, but that’s not the case. I went straight up to them and tried to explain myself. It went something like this: “Hi. I’m trying to order French fries (wild gesture towards their fries). Do you know the word for this? How can I order this? Do you know what I’m saying?”

The answer was no. Eventually, the guy just looked at the tray, picked up a single fry, and held it out to me, eyebrows raised, which I interpreted as, “Do you want this fry you crazy stranger?”

My answer was yes. I took the fry and marched right to the cashier girl, holding it up triumphantly from my place at the back of the line. She laughed and placed my order next.

I’d rather not admit this, but after I victoriously paraded my fries back to our table, Kelly asked, “Why didn’t you just use your guidebook?”

And there it was: French fries, jah too-doh, tyow.

Inner Mongolia Day Three: Tourist Traps

We were taken to an outdoor court of the Hun Emperor, a Buddhist Temple, The Museum of Inner Mongolia, and a Textile factory (aka labyrinth of venders selling everything from milk products to gem stones to combs and swords). It’s amazing I was able to escape with just four bags of milk product.

I really enjoyed the Museum, which began with “Ancient Times”, which in this case meant dinosaurs. The English translations were a breath of fresh air, even if a bit wanting for grammatical accuracy. I loved how the museum focused on the specific dinosaurs found in the area, and the signs warned us all that the dinosaurs were on Earth much longer than humans, and we should be cautious of our pollution “before man also become extinct.”

The Buddhist Temple was also one tourist trap that I was happy to have been blindly dragged to. The first rooms of the buildings were old and worn from use, with damp thick air. Then, in the back, through a small hall there would be an incredibly ornate room, decorated and glittering with gold statues of Buddhas as high as the ceiling. I was able to sit in on an interesting session of bell-ringing and bowing that had amazing energy, until cranky, complaining lady’s husband, Workaholic, allowed his incessant cellphone ringing and work calls to disrupt the moment.
We were released into the Mongolian Wild (aka. downtown near the train station) by 6 p.m. for our 10:30 train. I had wanted to take this time to explore on our own, without the constraints of a group and predetermined plan. After dinner (if you can call what I ate from China’s KFC food), however, I was out voted and, compromised by my sudden food-induced-lethargy, I was persuaded to return to the train station.

By the end of the trip, I had grown quite fond for my Chinese traveling companions, many of whom did their best to communicate for us and watch out for us over the trip. Without them, I would have been surely still in my Yurt, unaware that lunch had been served, the bus was leaving, or a feisty horse was waiting for me to ride.

Because fate is too proud of her own sense of humor, of course, the three of us finished the trip by sharing a six person sleeper car with Cranky Lady, Workaholic, and their teenage daughter, Texty-Sullen Face.

Inner Mongolia Day Two: The Kobqui Desert

I didn’t realize that I’d never seen a desert until I was rocking in the ski-lift and in front of my eyes were miles and miles of sand dunes against clear blue sky. It was disheartening that I felt I’d seen it before, just from screen savers and the discovery channel. Our tour took us to somewhat of an amusement park on the top of the dunes.

After the initial ski lift we were instructed (by pantomime, of course) to put on “sand socks.” These are brightly colored sacks of thick cloth with ties around the ankle and top, which land just below the knee. I suppose that these are to help keep the sand out of our shoes, and apparently we paid for them in our package, but I was ready to don them for their sexual appeal and fashion statement alone.

In the first 20 min. I was able to realize my life dream of riding a camel. The scariest part is when they stand up and sit down with you on them, rocking sharply forward and then dropping back like a boat in tumultuous water. The camels brought us to the train, which was the most surreal of the excursions. Watching the red and black train coming around the sand dune against the bright blue sky, its tracks covered completely, looked like a sight from a DreamWorks Production. I was half-waiting for complementary soft music and credits to appear on the scene.
The train brought us to the Gallery of Sand Art, which consisted of several hill-sized, sand-castles made into scenes with Buddha and Genghis Khan. In one, the duo was placed inside a convertible, running into some type of creatures who were plastered to the front bumper. I’ll never understand art.

We were seriously tempted to rent a 4 by 4, but were too worried for our lives without being able to hear the instructions like, “Stay on this side of that dune” or “This is how you stop.” Instead we got on this boat-shaped 40-passenger vehicle and went “Sand Surfing”, which felt like being on a roller coaster through sand dunes. It had been some time since I’d been on an actual roller coaster, and this one, not having any secure metal base or track (save a rough path made by the wheels of previous vehicles), it took a while for my stomach to fall back in to place.

To exit, I stood on the edge of an 8-story-high sand dune with a 2 foot plastic sled. I made it down with my feet on the front bar and my hands trailing behind me in an attempt to control my pace. I figured this out by watching others, such as the 5 yr-old girl who went before me. Her mother watched, carelessly, as her young one went hurling down eight stories. (I thought, “Please give me some of that ease and trust in the world so that I may not smother my own potential future child with my hereditary anxiety.)

Greatest Success of the Desert: Not being the last tourists back on the bus, even without being able to decipher when exactly we were leaving.
Things I’m getting too used to in China: Talking about anything I think out loud as if I’m invisible. We found out (or rather it was revealed to us) only by the end of our trip, that quite a few of our group members speak some English: even that cranky, complaining woman I was always trying to avoid. Whoops!

Survivor: Season 26 – Inner Mongolia

I was not ready for the cold.

“It gets a bit chilly at night,” I was told. I thought back to the chilly nights of my childhood in MA. I thought of my apartment on the L.E.S. that had no heat in the NY winter. I figured that if I could survive those nights, I was more than ready to take on the chill of Inner Mongolia.

Packing became a seriously ambivalent inner monologue. My backpack could only hold so much. I packed all of my warmest clothing, and then, thinking of the second day desert trip, packed my sunglasses, sunscreen, and t-shirts. Convinced that I was being “too MA” in my approach, I unpacked my hat and resisted the urge to stuff my ear muffs into the little crevices of my bag.

We arrived at our lodgings for the night, a series of yurts, which are round, one-room huts. Ours had three beds inside, and, surprisingly, a TV. and a western toilet. (I assume, though, from the stench, that there was no western plumbing underneath.)

As our yurt had broken panes at the top, it was basically like sleeping outside. We decided to purchase some “bi geo” or liquor, to ease the pain of the cold as they did in the olden days before settling in for the night. I wore my regular socks, knee socks, and fluffy slipper-socks to bed. I tucked in my leggings and my stretchy pants. And there, inside the yurt, under two blankets, deep inside a sleep-sack, under my fuzzy hoodie, wrapped in my scarf, inside my pink fleece and my long sleeve shirt, under my t-shirt and white strappy tank top, with bi geo in my stomach, layered as a Russian doll, I finally fell asleep.

Horseback Riding for Milk Products

The excursion of the day turned out to be a two hour horseback ride to taller grasslands and what looked like someone’s house who offered us my first taste of “milk product.” This famous treat, found at each stop of my trip from the museum gift shop to the grocery store, is called “cheese” but is more like a mix between wax, chocolate, and taffy with an aftertaste of sour. Through no fault of my own, this “milk product” soon became irresistible to me, and I ended up buying four packages before I left.

I hadn’t ridden a horse is years, and I found the ability to use a living thing as transport, strangely exhilarating. The mountains and planes stretching as far as I could see also made the journey remarkable. What did not help the trip, however, was the biting cold. At the little milk product house, I made sure to put up my hood and wrap my scarf tightly around my face before beginning the journey home.

Most Unexpected Entertainment: Demonstrations of Mongolian wrestling, where two people put on leather, jacket-like armor which they grab as they face each other, trying to pull the other to the ground. When they asked for volunteers, a short-haired obvi-dyke volunteered, to the amusement and disbelief of Mongolian crew. The rest of us tourists watched as they wrestled for an uncomfortably long time, interspersed with grunting and groaning, until the girl was literally thrown to the ground and pinned by the body weight of her contender. Most unfortunately, I thought, “This is the closest thing I have to a community.”

Inner Mongolia Day One: Trek to the Yurt

At first I was shocked that the Beijing train station was so insanely crowded, but then I realized that I was traveling on their National Holiday: that I was looking at Grand Central on July 4th. This train station, however, was more like an airport, huge and clean with big billboards and different “waiting areas.” The bathroom was its own experience all together. After passing the stall with no door, and the woman who wouldn’t let that stop her, and another woman, bare-chested and bathing in the mop sink, I had to re-evaluate my need for a squat toilet.

The whole trip was like a video game with check points for different levels. Somehow get the taxi driver to get you to the train station: advance to the square. Find the “square outside the north gate” and the man with the green flag and Chinese writing: advance to the train. Find your train and sleeper car and make it to the top of 3 bunks: advance to Inner Mongolia. Find your tour guide’s yellow flag and Chinese writing: advance to the bus, where you can sit for 1.5 hours before it moves, and then not know where you’re ending up. Success!

One advantage of being a Chinese-deaf-mute on a Chinese tour is that you don’t have to listen to the tour guide’s boring speeches blared over the bus PA system.

One disadvantage is that you have no idea what’s going on at any moment.