It is officially spring. We’ll, it’s been spring since April hit. For a solid week all of the trees that I saw were in bloom. The beautiful part was that they bloomed not just from flowers dotting the green leaves, but on every inch of each individual branch. My bike to work suddenly became a joy instead of a torture. (The warmer weather certainly helped.)
The streets that often smell like garbage or sweage, actually had a flowery scent instead.
The abundance of blooming flowers didn’t last long. After two weeks, many of the flowers turned to green leaves. Still, others turn ripe every day.
There’s actually some rain now. We went a good five months without seeing a single sprinkle. Granted, even when it rains now, it’s usually because of the “Weather Manipulation Bureau” (I’m not making this up). The way you can tell if it’s actually raining (and not just because the government made it so), is by the time of day. Rain during the day, when most people are at work or in school, is the “thoughtful” work of the W.M.B. Today I was caught in unplanned rain during rush hour. I’ve explained the craziness of biking in Beijing, but there’s nothing compared to crossing slippery train tracks during rush hour with fifty other motorcyclists and cars. One guy in front of me slipped today on the tracks, and I nearly crushed us both, not to mention disturbing the ever-important flow of traffic, which is the only real law in Beijing.
The warm weather is worth it all, though. It reminds me of how it felt when I first arrived. I caught myself thinking today, “Remember when it used to be cold?” as if it wasn’t my state of being for so many winter months. I bet that’s how I’ll feel back in America. “Remember living in Beijing?”
It’s crazy to be nearing the end of my time here. I’m in full see-all-I-can-while-I-still-can mode. I went through all of the many guidebooks I came with and made a list of the must-sees while I still can. My goal is two items from the list at least each weekend. Last weekend Kelly and I managed the hike in the mountains, and then still went to the Forbidden City the next day. This weekend’s goal is the Natrual History Museum, because it has dinosaurs and, reportedly, an exhibit in the basement on evolution featuring actual cadavers. I just can’t miss that!
What Does NOT Suck at All About Beijing: no open container law
Realizing today I’m not taking enough advantage of this little leniency, I decided to grab a beer at the “deli” near my apartment. Is there anything greater than openly drinking a beer on the way home after a long day at work?
Friday, April 29, 2011
Saturday, April 23, 2011
More Shilinxia
We all ended up hiking at different paces and splitting off. By the end it was just me and Michael, with some far ahead and already downing beers, and other far behind and trying to make it through the mountain. We figured we had just enough time to hit the waterslide.
Yeah, the mountain we were at was a mix between the most beautiful natural sights I’ve ever seen…and a theme park. Even the trail we walked on was man-made stairs, sometimes out of rock and other times just metal. According to Beijing hikers, though, this was hiking. I was dying to skip off the path and scurry up the mountain, but there were actually signs everywhere in English, tell me not to. (This is especially important to note, because pretty much everywhere in China, you’re on your own. Free from lawsuit-plagued American thinking, I’ve had a year of making my own poor choices, law-free. The fact that whoever was in charge there took the time to not only make rules, but also translate them into English kept me straight on the path.)
After the mountain but before the parking lot there was a waterslide and a raft ride. We debated for a while, but eventually decided on the water slide, because of the sheer awesomeness of the vertical drop. Unfortunately, we waited for a while before realizing everyone else in line had a ticket. We actually considered pretending to be foreigners who don’t speak Chinese in an attempt to keep our place in line, but eventually decided against it.
To keep us as dry as possible, they gave us basically plastic bag-ponchos with hoods. (Plastic bags in China, by the way, are unlike the plastic bags in America. They’re more like the plastic bags you might find at a grocery store just to put a few cherries in than what you’d get to take your groceries home.) The “ponchos” were so thin that people weren’t taking them off at the end of the ride, they were standing up, dripping wet, and just ripping the whips of plastic like the incredible hulk.
I haven’t been on a roller coaster since…I can’t even remember. It felt great to have that rush again, as the log lifted me and Michael up towards the mountains before crashing us down with a giant splash into the filthiest water imaginable.
Yeah, I hadn’t thought about that until it in the air and crashing down on my hair. “Don’t lick your lips or touch your eyes!” I warned.
After that we went to the “Peach Orchard”, which actually has no peaches, but was as gorgeous as promised.
Unforgettable Moment: The Chinese VP busting out opera-style in the middle of the peach blossom orchard.
Yeah, the mountain we were at was a mix between the most beautiful natural sights I’ve ever seen…and a theme park. Even the trail we walked on was man-made stairs, sometimes out of rock and other times just metal. According to Beijing hikers, though, this was hiking. I was dying to skip off the path and scurry up the mountain, but there were actually signs everywhere in English, tell me not to. (This is especially important to note, because pretty much everywhere in China, you’re on your own. Free from lawsuit-plagued American thinking, I’ve had a year of making my own poor choices, law-free. The fact that whoever was in charge there took the time to not only make rules, but also translate them into English kept me straight on the path.)
After the mountain but before the parking lot there was a waterslide and a raft ride. We debated for a while, but eventually decided on the water slide, because of the sheer awesomeness of the vertical drop. Unfortunately, we waited for a while before realizing everyone else in line had a ticket. We actually considered pretending to be foreigners who don’t speak Chinese in an attempt to keep our place in line, but eventually decided against it.
To keep us as dry as possible, they gave us basically plastic bag-ponchos with hoods. (Plastic bags in China, by the way, are unlike the plastic bags in America. They’re more like the plastic bags you might find at a grocery store just to put a few cherries in than what you’d get to take your groceries home.) The “ponchos” were so thin that people weren’t taking them off at the end of the ride, they were standing up, dripping wet, and just ripping the whips of plastic like the incredible hulk.
I haven’t been on a roller coaster since…I can’t even remember. It felt great to have that rush again, as the log lifted me and Michael up towards the mountains before crashing us down with a giant splash into the filthiest water imaginable.
Yeah, I hadn’t thought about that until it in the air and crashing down on my hair. “Don’t lick your lips or touch your eyes!” I warned.
After that we went to the “Peach Orchard”, which actually has no peaches, but was as gorgeous as promised.
Unforgettable Moment: The Chinese VP busting out opera-style in the middle of the peach blossom orchard.
Staff “Picnic”
When I read the email that my school was arranging something like a field trip for just staff, I was totally down. My mode lately is cant-belive-I’m-leaving-so-soon-with-so-much-left-to-do. I actually made a poster calendar of the weeks I have left, and then I went through the guidebooks listing all the cafes, museums, parks, and other Beijing-spots I just need to see before I leave.
I’ve talked about how difficult it is to get around here, so being told all I need to do is show up at school and I’ll be delivered to an awesome new area I’ve never been with orchards and mountains is like a dream come true. I assumed other staff would feel the same. You can imagine my surprise when I got on the bus and saw 20 rows of Chinese staff, a few empty rows, and then three other foreign teachers.
I’m really glad that I went. The Chinese Vice-Principal was there, Chinese teachers, and other Chinese administrative staff. None of the foreign directors or Vice-principal made it. The administrators clearly went to a lot trouble to make it a special day, bringing loads of extra water, fruit, and steak/chicken subway sandwiches. They even celebrated April birthdays on the bus, who were represented by just myself and Michael Cheng. They sang, gave us cards, and even had cake. It was adorable.
We were told that they were arranging a bus to take us out to Shilinxia Scenic Area (the Gorge of Stone Forest) 到达石林峡 for a picnic, and then a peach blossom orchard. We were advised to bring extra food and blankets. We arrived at Shilinxia, a “suburb” of Beijing at 10:30, and were hand were told that if we got split up inside, we’d all meet under a sign in the parking lot. We all set out with our books, notebooks, extra food, blankets, etc. But it wasn’t a picnic.
As it turned out, we were on a four hour hike through the mountains.
One of my friends had it the worst, having gone out the night before until 4 am, she was banking on just sitting on a blanket under a peach tree.
I’ve talked about how difficult it is to get around here, so being told all I need to do is show up at school and I’ll be delivered to an awesome new area I’ve never been with orchards and mountains is like a dream come true. I assumed other staff would feel the same. You can imagine my surprise when I got on the bus and saw 20 rows of Chinese staff, a few empty rows, and then three other foreign teachers.
I’m really glad that I went. The Chinese Vice-Principal was there, Chinese teachers, and other Chinese administrative staff. None of the foreign directors or Vice-principal made it. The administrators clearly went to a lot trouble to make it a special day, bringing loads of extra water, fruit, and steak/chicken subway sandwiches. They even celebrated April birthdays on the bus, who were represented by just myself and Michael Cheng. They sang, gave us cards, and even had cake. It was adorable.
We were told that they were arranging a bus to take us out to Shilinxia Scenic Area (the Gorge of Stone Forest) 到达石林峡 for a picnic, and then a peach blossom orchard. We were advised to bring extra food and blankets. We arrived at Shilinxia, a “suburb” of Beijing at 10:30, and were hand were told that if we got split up inside, we’d all meet under a sign in the parking lot. We all set out with our books, notebooks, extra food, blankets, etc. But it wasn’t a picnic.
As it turned out, we were on a four hour hike through the mountains.
One of my friends had it the worst, having gone out the night before until 4 am, she was banking on just sitting on a blanket under a peach tree.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Eggplant Splinter
It’s exactly as it sounds. I got a splinter from an eggplant. What??
It was one of the many varieties of eggplant over here, which all basically taste the same but come in funny little shapes. Some are long tubes, and others round little balls. The cursed little guy that I had chosen was a rather large but almost perfectly spherical eggplant. I was holding it, trying to get a good grip so that I could slice it and not my hand. (I’m always really careful cutting here, because no one I know has the slightest idea what to do or where to go in an emergency.)
Anyway, so there I am in the kitchen trying literally to get a grip, and the thing stabs me. It struck me right in my fleshy thumb. It hurt worse because I hadn’t been expecting it. I screamed out, “The eggplant stabbed me!” which isn’t exactly untrue, and let both it and the knife drop from my hands.
If you work in elementary school and are a young adult, you may know the wonderful resource that is the school nurse. I owe so much of my health to the school nurses at my last two schools. Of course, my school doesn’t have a school nurse. (Don’t get me started on this…)
Kelly tried using tweezers, but the stubborn thing was buried way to deep. I don’t want to go into any more detail about the pain that is this embarrassment, but there were several more failed attempts throughout the week before we could finally get the buggar out.
Basically, I lived for seven days with an eggplant in my thumb. Thanks, China.
It was one of the many varieties of eggplant over here, which all basically taste the same but come in funny little shapes. Some are long tubes, and others round little balls. The cursed little guy that I had chosen was a rather large but almost perfectly spherical eggplant. I was holding it, trying to get a good grip so that I could slice it and not my hand. (I’m always really careful cutting here, because no one I know has the slightest idea what to do or where to go in an emergency.)
Anyway, so there I am in the kitchen trying literally to get a grip, and the thing stabs me. It struck me right in my fleshy thumb. It hurt worse because I hadn’t been expecting it. I screamed out, “The eggplant stabbed me!” which isn’t exactly untrue, and let both it and the knife drop from my hands.
If you work in elementary school and are a young adult, you may know the wonderful resource that is the school nurse. I owe so much of my health to the school nurses at my last two schools. Of course, my school doesn’t have a school nurse. (Don’t get me started on this…)
Kelly tried using tweezers, but the stubborn thing was buried way to deep. I don’t want to go into any more detail about the pain that is this embarrassment, but there were several more failed attempts throughout the week before we could finally get the buggar out.
Basically, I lived for seven days with an eggplant in my thumb. Thanks, China.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Finding the Center
In my early pursuits I went to Gay.com to search for events, community, anything. My results were a list of hotels (??) and the LGBT center, which had no address and no review. You can imagine my delight when Sarah mentioned causally that she was going to the LGBT center the next day. Needless to say, I’ve quit my day job and am now working full-time at the center.
Ok, that’s a stretch, but I can’t pretend that thought didn’t cross my mind as soon as I walked through the door. The center is essentially an apartment that someone rented out for this awesome purpose. I was happy enough just being surrounded by rainbows and grabbing all of the cards/pamphlets/magazines that were translated into English.
The event was centered around the idea of queer identity. We watched a short documentary filmed at an LGBTQIQ (ugh) camp in France. The film was mostly interviews of people answering, “What is your identity?” and “What does ‘queer’ mean to you?” It was so interesting to see what people use to qualify themselves, or the hesitations/freedoms that keep them from doing so. Afterwards the British woman who made the documentary explained the film and the evolution of the term queer…in Chinese with no translation.
Then we played “How queer are you?” The way it works is, everyone is given a poky, (a sweet-coated breadstick candy), and you are told to take a bite when something applies to you. Questions ranged from “I identify as a lesbian” to “I am a gay man who has slept with straight women.” People who identified with the statement had to take a bite. It was basically the non-drinking version of “Never have I ever” for queers.
Overall, I really loved the community feeling from the small apartment. It was a treat to meet real Chinese lesbians, too. One girl told another girl that I was talking to that she “had a crush on me.” Oh sweet, little, leather-jacket wearing baby-dykes. When I told her I had a girlfriend, she asked, “Is she a t or a p?” I knew what this means, it’s the Chinese version of dyke-femme. I said neither, and she asked, “But, you know, is she masculine or feminist?”
I mustered all the cultural etiquette I have to sidestep that one.
I may be leaving P and T here, but I am TOTALLY bringing the term lala (the term for Lesbians) to the NY girl scene. Get ready for Lala Night, ladies!
Ok, that’s a stretch, but I can’t pretend that thought didn’t cross my mind as soon as I walked through the door. The center is essentially an apartment that someone rented out for this awesome purpose. I was happy enough just being surrounded by rainbows and grabbing all of the cards/pamphlets/magazines that were translated into English.
The event was centered around the idea of queer identity. We watched a short documentary filmed at an LGBTQIQ (ugh) camp in France. The film was mostly interviews of people answering, “What is your identity?” and “What does ‘queer’ mean to you?” It was so interesting to see what people use to qualify themselves, or the hesitations/freedoms that keep them from doing so. Afterwards the British woman who made the documentary explained the film and the evolution of the term queer…in Chinese with no translation.
Then we played “How queer are you?” The way it works is, everyone is given a poky, (a sweet-coated breadstick candy), and you are told to take a bite when something applies to you. Questions ranged from “I identify as a lesbian” to “I am a gay man who has slept with straight women.” People who identified with the statement had to take a bite. It was basically the non-drinking version of “Never have I ever” for queers.
Overall, I really loved the community feeling from the small apartment. It was a treat to meet real Chinese lesbians, too. One girl told another girl that I was talking to that she “had a crush on me.” Oh sweet, little, leather-jacket wearing baby-dykes. When I told her I had a girlfriend, she asked, “Is she a t or a p?” I knew what this means, it’s the Chinese version of dyke-femme. I said neither, and she asked, “But, you know, is she masculine or feminist?”
I mustered all the cultural etiquette I have to sidestep that one.
I may be leaving P and T here, but I am TOTALLY bringing the term lala (the term for Lesbians) to the NY girl scene. Get ready for Lala Night, ladies!
Sunday, April 10, 2011
16 Candles (+ a decade)
I turned 26 in Beijing! It took me a while to write this post, but it is important that I document what is potentially my only birthday in China.
Leading up to the big day, I wasn’t feeling particularly inspired. What can top a lesbian pool party in a NYC club with hoards of my closest friends? Nothing, of course. But I realized that that doesn’t mean I couldn’t still have a great time.
Kelly researched and brought me to a super fancy restaurant called, “China Grill”, which is on the 63rd floor of a hotel and featured a 360 degree view of the city. I enjoyed delicious fresh seafood, steak, and appetizers, whenever I could take my eyes off of the windows.
For nighttime, I had rally people to this bar called Hercules in Sanlitun. I figured this was a good spot, since it was right in the heart of where ex-pats go out, and would be an easy bar to lead to dancing. Hercules is one of my favorite bars in Beijing for its tasty spread of martinis for only 50 kuai (RMB). My favorite is the cucumber martini, which is unbelievably fresh. My favorite to listen to other people order is “fok me fok you”, especially when the waiters repeat the order back with heavy accents.
I reserved “the bedroom”, the back part of the bar, which actually has two loftish beds. It was nice to start at a place where the music wasn’t too loud, and the lights not too low to actually have conversations. But by 1 am, I was ready to move the party upstairs.
We went to a rooftop bar in the same building where they were playing hip hop and reggaeton, my favorite kind of dancing beat. One thing I’ve really enjoyed here that I hadn’t expected, is hanging out with a mixed group of people. We’re all kind of thrown together, the ex-pats, and it’s made a different kind of community for me. My crew included straight girls and guys, gay boys, as well as some other ladies like myself.
Like I said, it was no lesbian pool party, but I feel like I did justice to the new year in my life.
Leading up to the big day, I wasn’t feeling particularly inspired. What can top a lesbian pool party in a NYC club with hoards of my closest friends? Nothing, of course. But I realized that that doesn’t mean I couldn’t still have a great time.
Kelly researched and brought me to a super fancy restaurant called, “China Grill”, which is on the 63rd floor of a hotel and featured a 360 degree view of the city. I enjoyed delicious fresh seafood, steak, and appetizers, whenever I could take my eyes off of the windows.
For nighttime, I had rally people to this bar called Hercules in Sanlitun. I figured this was a good spot, since it was right in the heart of where ex-pats go out, and would be an easy bar to lead to dancing. Hercules is one of my favorite bars in Beijing for its tasty spread of martinis for only 50 kuai (RMB). My favorite is the cucumber martini, which is unbelievably fresh. My favorite to listen to other people order is “fok me fok you”, especially when the waiters repeat the order back with heavy accents.
I reserved “the bedroom”, the back part of the bar, which actually has two loftish beds. It was nice to start at a place where the music wasn’t too loud, and the lights not too low to actually have conversations. But by 1 am, I was ready to move the party upstairs.
We went to a rooftop bar in the same building where they were playing hip hop and reggaeton, my favorite kind of dancing beat. One thing I’ve really enjoyed here that I hadn’t expected, is hanging out with a mixed group of people. We’re all kind of thrown together, the ex-pats, and it’s made a different kind of community for me. My crew included straight girls and guys, gay boys, as well as some other ladies like myself.
Like I said, it was no lesbian pool party, but I feel like I did justice to the new year in my life.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Open Options
Every problem that you encounter in life has a certain number of solutions available to you at a given time, in a given place. One thing that I’m starting to get used to over here is the shift in available options.
For example, people need to get to work. In New York, I solved that problem by taking a ridiculous amount of back-tracking subways (namely the F to the JMZ to the 4,5 at Brooklyn Bridge.) Taxi, while it exists, was not an option for me almost at any time.
Here, I ride my bike. This 20 minute ride is the best option, even when cabs are affordable. It only costs 16 RMB to get to work, which is a little over $2. That may seem like a viable option, if only there were any cabs to get. In the good times I still had to leave my house at 6:45 instead of 7:10, but the last few times I tried (for Peppito) the lack of cabs left me terrified by the side of the road, even contemplating the black cabs that really should never be an option. Also, it’s strange to write out, (especially to Americans,) but I refuse to pay 16 RMB to get to and from school every day!
So when both Kelly’s fix and her regular bike got flat tires one week, we again looked at our options. We decided the only thing to do would be to ride one bike to school. The model for this, of course, is what we’ve seen in China. I talked about it briefly in my “experience” back in September, when everything was beyond new and strange. My landlord rode my bike while I sat on the back, side-saddle and afraid to hold on tightly for dear life.
Kelly and I had tried it a few times, just for fun mostly, and once when Kelly’s bike had been left near the subway in Wudaokou. Nevertheless, we decided to try and make it all the way to work. I can’t be the bike rider. I fall over hopelessly to one side of another as soon as she gets on. The skill I do bring to the act is a sense of balance, thank you ballet. My job is basically to sit straight without leaning, to hold my legs up so that they don’t rub the bike, and to not freak out and cringe when it looks like my knees are about to get cut off by a pole, bike, or bus. At least with Kelly, I can hold on without fear of offending her.
What we thought of as a one-day solution (until Kelly could bring her bike to the bike doctor on our street)turned out to be a week-long expat parade. I say this because, even though it is a very common way for Chinese people to get around, it is very rare to find it with non-Chinese-looking folk. I assumed this was true, but I didn’t realize how strange a spectacle it was until I started riding. Suddenly people were stopping and staring, pointing and laughing, and elbowing each other to look. By the third day I felt I should have brought candy or goodie bags to start throwing to the crowds like a proper parade.
When I asked my assistant L, about it, I asked if she did it with her husband. “All the time,” she replied.
“Why do you think people are looking at us when we do it?” I asked.
“I don’t know… they’ve never seen this,” she replied.
That’s right, people. I’m breaking ground all over the place on this side of the world!
2011 lao wai 2-person bike race, here we come!
For example, people need to get to work. In New York, I solved that problem by taking a ridiculous amount of back-tracking subways (namely the F to the JMZ to the 4,5 at Brooklyn Bridge.) Taxi, while it exists, was not an option for me almost at any time.
Here, I ride my bike. This 20 minute ride is the best option, even when cabs are affordable. It only costs 16 RMB to get to work, which is a little over $2. That may seem like a viable option, if only there were any cabs to get. In the good times I still had to leave my house at 6:45 instead of 7:10, but the last few times I tried (for Peppito) the lack of cabs left me terrified by the side of the road, even contemplating the black cabs that really should never be an option. Also, it’s strange to write out, (especially to Americans,) but I refuse to pay 16 RMB to get to and from school every day!
So when both Kelly’s fix and her regular bike got flat tires one week, we again looked at our options. We decided the only thing to do would be to ride one bike to school. The model for this, of course, is what we’ve seen in China. I talked about it briefly in my “experience” back in September, when everything was beyond new and strange. My landlord rode my bike while I sat on the back, side-saddle and afraid to hold on tightly for dear life.
Kelly and I had tried it a few times, just for fun mostly, and once when Kelly’s bike had been left near the subway in Wudaokou. Nevertheless, we decided to try and make it all the way to work. I can’t be the bike rider. I fall over hopelessly to one side of another as soon as she gets on. The skill I do bring to the act is a sense of balance, thank you ballet. My job is basically to sit straight without leaning, to hold my legs up so that they don’t rub the bike, and to not freak out and cringe when it looks like my knees are about to get cut off by a pole, bike, or bus. At least with Kelly, I can hold on without fear of offending her.
What we thought of as a one-day solution (until Kelly could bring her bike to the bike doctor on our street)turned out to be a week-long expat parade. I say this because, even though it is a very common way for Chinese people to get around, it is very rare to find it with non-Chinese-looking folk. I assumed this was true, but I didn’t realize how strange a spectacle it was until I started riding. Suddenly people were stopping and staring, pointing and laughing, and elbowing each other to look. By the third day I felt I should have brought candy or goodie bags to start throwing to the crowds like a proper parade.
When I asked my assistant L, about it, I asked if she did it with her husband. “All the time,” she replied.
“Why do you think people are looking at us when we do it?” I asked.
“I don’t know… they’ve never seen this,” she replied.
That’s right, people. I’m breaking ground all over the place on this side of the world!
2011 lao wai 2-person bike race, here we come!
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Day 2
The second day of the retreat we had until 2:30 before getting back on the bus to Beijing. I was excited to make the most of my day. The free yoga class was at 7 am, which sincerely helped me get up and out before noon.
Kelly and I had personal yoga instructors, which in this case was kind of like having your own yoga screen, considering we couldn’t communicate again. It was a gorgeous sight, though, with the Great Wall in front of us in the morning light. It was refreshing to know what would happen next, and when I was 20 minutes from the end instead of finished.
We had our complimentary breakfast of a wild Chicken egg, yogurt with granola, bread and fresh fruit. We were also given western utensils, and I’ll admit that it didn’t feel right to eat the egg with a fork and knife, so I used chopsticks.
When we were leaving I decided, on a whim, to ask about the horseback riding. I thought I heard someone talk about it yesterday, and wondered how much it was. Luckily, like the yoga and the at-your-own-risk-Great-Wall-climb, it was free of charge. I said I was interested and was told to wait 10 minutes for the horse.
While I waited, with no expectations, I couldn’t help think about my trip to Inner Mongolia in October, where I had no idea what was happening until I was on a horse for a two hour ride through the grasslands. I am starting to relish the unexpected. I didn’t know if I’d be given a horse, to do with as I may, or, as Kelly suggested, be trotted around in a circle in the parking lot.
The answer, as it turned out, was somewhat in the middle. I wasn’t led in a circle of nothing, but I wasn’t left to my own freedom either. One of the boys who worked there led me, well, the horse and me, through the retreat and out past a gate. We went through streams and towards what looked like a small town. I saw a small waterfall and even more of the mountains past those lined with the Wall. I wanted to explore on my own, but it was clear that wasn’t an option.
When we got back I had intended to keep writing, but felt an incredible amount of energy. I was bouncing around and felt like I would never be able to sit on a bus. So instead I climbed.
I went back to the Wall’s path, and discovered a new way to get to the top. I still had to climb fist over foot, but it was the whole stretch of a mountainside, instead of a very narrow path. I came upon some wild goats, eating the hay, apparently because I’ve slipped into the past over here in China, and my life involves mountain climbing and natural goat-spotting. Regardless, that baby goat was cuuuuute.
I stumbled into a few Chinese families, all who tried incessantly to talk to me in Chinese even after I did my best, head shake, “No Chinese” statement. Even as I felt somewhat annoyed, however, it was nice to be around other people who could potentially get help or provide assistance if I were to slip off the side of a mountain.
Kelly and I had personal yoga instructors, which in this case was kind of like having your own yoga screen, considering we couldn’t communicate again. It was a gorgeous sight, though, with the Great Wall in front of us in the morning light. It was refreshing to know what would happen next, and when I was 20 minutes from the end instead of finished.
We had our complimentary breakfast of a wild Chicken egg, yogurt with granola, bread and fresh fruit. We were also given western utensils, and I’ll admit that it didn’t feel right to eat the egg with a fork and knife, so I used chopsticks.
When we were leaving I decided, on a whim, to ask about the horseback riding. I thought I heard someone talk about it yesterday, and wondered how much it was. Luckily, like the yoga and the at-your-own-risk-Great-Wall-climb, it was free of charge. I said I was interested and was told to wait 10 minutes for the horse.
While I waited, with no expectations, I couldn’t help think about my trip to Inner Mongolia in October, where I had no idea what was happening until I was on a horse for a two hour ride through the grasslands. I am starting to relish the unexpected. I didn’t know if I’d be given a horse, to do with as I may, or, as Kelly suggested, be trotted around in a circle in the parking lot.
The answer, as it turned out, was somewhat in the middle. I wasn’t led in a circle of nothing, but I wasn’t left to my own freedom either. One of the boys who worked there led me, well, the horse and me, through the retreat and out past a gate. We went through streams and towards what looked like a small town. I saw a small waterfall and even more of the mountains past those lined with the Wall. I wanted to explore on my own, but it was clear that wasn’t an option.
When we got back I had intended to keep writing, but felt an incredible amount of energy. I was bouncing around and felt like I would never be able to sit on a bus. So instead I climbed.
I went back to the Wall’s path, and discovered a new way to get to the top. I still had to climb fist over foot, but it was the whole stretch of a mountainside, instead of a very narrow path. I came upon some wild goats, eating the hay, apparently because I’ve slipped into the past over here in China, and my life involves mountain climbing and natural goat-spotting. Regardless, that baby goat was cuuuuute.
I stumbled into a few Chinese families, all who tried incessantly to talk to me in Chinese even after I did my best, head shake, “No Chinese” statement. Even as I felt somewhat annoyed, however, it was nice to be around other people who could potentially get help or provide assistance if I were to slip off the side of a mountain.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Yogaing
We went to up the wall at 1:30, got back by 3:45, and I decided to make it to Yoga at 4. Now, I can’t call myself a yogaer, even if that was a word. I’ve really never done it in a class before, and the only times I’ve attempted is when Kelly shows me this or that move. I decided not to miss this, however, because my friend who had recommended this place to me, kept mentioning the Yoga.
I hurried as not to be late, and then discovered that I was the only one interested. I swung in a hammock after my 2 hour climb, waiting for apparently a one-on-one yoga hour, and wondering when my life became so healthy.
I was pretty nervous at first. Ok, I was nervous the whole time. I’ve never had a real teacher, like I said, so I wasn’t sure what to do. She only spoke Chinese, which was actually kind of a relief. She still explained everything, or maybe said, “pickle pickle armpit squeeze” as she did the moves, but it was comforting to hear her voice.
If China has taught me anything, it’s flexibility. I had no idea what would happen, but I just watched and tried. Some more alarming moments was when she took her foot, held it with her angle near the opposite hip, then reached her fingertips to the ground, before sitting back. I followed her, realizing not only that I was supporting myself only by my fingertips and the top of my left foot, but also that I would have to do this move in reverse, bringing my fingertips to the ground and somehow standing up on one foot, hopefully without falling over.
The other tricky part was not knowing how long it would last. I guessed that the session would be an hour, but I had no idea how to gauge an hour in yoga-time. After what felt like it could have been an hour, we laid on the mat just breathing. I was certain this was my cool down breaths and that I had survived. As I was congratulating myself, the instructor turned over and began a move where we held our ankles and lifted our bodies to make an “o”. By the end I realized that break must have only been 20 minutes in.
Standing there, slightly bent with one leg twisted behind my opposite calf, and my arms in an unprecedented-interlock, I did start to understand why people do yoga. I must say, though that while I was sitting there on the outdoor wooden stage, desperately counting four breaths in and four breaths out, overlooking the Great Wall and a stone-lined stream, I got the biggest craving for pizza and beer.
I hurried as not to be late, and then discovered that I was the only one interested. I swung in a hammock after my 2 hour climb, waiting for apparently a one-on-one yoga hour, and wondering when my life became so healthy.
I was pretty nervous at first. Ok, I was nervous the whole time. I’ve never had a real teacher, like I said, so I wasn’t sure what to do. She only spoke Chinese, which was actually kind of a relief. She still explained everything, or maybe said, “pickle pickle armpit squeeze” as she did the moves, but it was comforting to hear her voice.
If China has taught me anything, it’s flexibility. I had no idea what would happen, but I just watched and tried. Some more alarming moments was when she took her foot, held it with her angle near the opposite hip, then reached her fingertips to the ground, before sitting back. I followed her, realizing not only that I was supporting myself only by my fingertips and the top of my left foot, but also that I would have to do this move in reverse, bringing my fingertips to the ground and somehow standing up on one foot, hopefully without falling over.
The other tricky part was not knowing how long it would last. I guessed that the session would be an hour, but I had no idea how to gauge an hour in yoga-time. After what felt like it could have been an hour, we laid on the mat just breathing. I was certain this was my cool down breaths and that I had survived. As I was congratulating myself, the instructor turned over and began a move where we held our ankles and lifted our bodies to make an “o”. By the end I realized that break must have only been 20 minutes in.
Standing there, slightly bent with one leg twisted behind my opposite calf, and my arms in an unprecedented-interlock, I did start to understand why people do yoga. I must say, though that while I was sitting there on the outdoor wooden stage, desperately counting four breaths in and four breaths out, overlooking the Great Wall and a stone-lined stream, I got the biggest craving for pizza and beer.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Red Capital Ranch
I’d been wanting to go back to the Great Wall since I first went in September. Being one of the only things I heard of before coming to China, I felt a tourist’s obligation to do it right. I mentioned before that Badaling, where I went before, is referred to as the “Disney land” of the Great Wall, for its touristy-make up, and unusually crowded experience. I was lucky to have a great experience there, taking turns that left me and the few others that I came with alone for long stretches of hiking.
Still, I wanted to see a more secluded, more broken-down part of the wall before I left, and this led me here. The Red Capital Ranch is one of the locations of Tibetan-affiliated properties, and the one closest to the Great Wall. Even with email booking in English, you have to be careful in China. I was at the final step when I received an email saying, “Just to confirm, your booking is in Tibet.” After a mild heart attack and a few more clarification emails, I arranged to meet at the Red Capital Residence in Bejing for my free 2 hour van ride to Shambala at the Great Wall (or the Red Capital Ranch.) Waiting at the Red Capital Residence was an interesting experience, seeing pictures of Mao everywhere, and reading brochures about how I was getting the experience as if I was his personal guest for the weekend. It was elegant, extravagant, yet creepy.
The ranch itself is everything I hoped for. It’s incredibly peaceful, with the soft sounds of tweeting birds, rustling trees, and lapping water in the distance. Somehow Kelly and I got the sweetest hutong. The place is so small it uses names instead of numbers for rooms. We stayed in “Mountain”, which, just as it should, is the highest of the hutongs, overlooking the rest with a perfect view of the sunset over the mountains. Every detail of our room is etched in wood, covered with stone, or separated by orange curtains. The bathroom is a stone-walled cave with a raindrop shower head which, unlike home, doesn’t run out of hot water well before you’re ready. This is why people take vacations.
After throwing out stuff down we decided to adventure towards the Great Wall. We had been pointed in the direction towards the path, and that was that. The path apparently led to a winding sandy path up the mountain, which then led to a vertical ascent up a crumbled portion of the Wall. We had followed a small group of British tourist, who looked at the Wall and said, there’s no way that’s the way. It was great to finally feel like I know China better than someone else. I knew without a doubt that I was looking at the path. One great thing about China is the freedom from law suits. Living in China after America is like finally getting away from your parents as a teenager. Suddenly all of the, “Be careful” “It’s not safe.” “Don’t do that” warnings were silent, and you’re left to make your own mistakes and use your own judgment, at your own risk, of course.
So Kelly and I climbed, hand by hand, foot by foot, up the broken stoned staircase to the top. It took us about an hour, but we made it to one of the peaks. It was gorgeous, overlooking the mountains all around and surrounded by trees flowering in tiny white and pink pedals. I sat and read Abraham Lincoln’s First Inaugural Address, where he clearly and repeatedly states that he has no right nor desire to get rid of slavery in America. (This may seem random, but it’s part of a book with Obama’s address and the Gettysburg address, which were my reasoning for the purchase. Also, as I’ve said, books in English are at such a shortage that I find myself reading all sorts of interesting things I never found time for in the states.)
The climb back was the hardest. I’m not going to lie, I felt pretty proud of myself for being prepared in my sneakers and northface. I watched those British girls turn around in their saddle shoes after 20 min., and patted myself on the back as I trudged on. Then, before heading down, we saw a group of other climbers in serious gear. They had the waling sticks, the wind pants, and even ski goggles for the serious sand/wind. Their shoes looked as thick as snowboarding boots, and it was clear they had been designed for just this purpose.
I felt a little shaky as I started my descent, but found a strategy of holding on to the part of the wall that was the steadiest and using that to brace my feet as I avoided wiggly and sand-covered foot holds. Some parts I crawled backwards, holding on to nearby trees. Surprisingly, the hardest part was the beginning, a literal sand-slide of windy pathway with no stone whatsoever to hold on to. Eventually, I managed a half-slide, half-jog down to safety at the bottom.
Still, I wanted to see a more secluded, more broken-down part of the wall before I left, and this led me here. The Red Capital Ranch is one of the locations of Tibetan-affiliated properties, and the one closest to the Great Wall. Even with email booking in English, you have to be careful in China. I was at the final step when I received an email saying, “Just to confirm, your booking is in Tibet.” After a mild heart attack and a few more clarification emails, I arranged to meet at the Red Capital Residence in Bejing for my free 2 hour van ride to Shambala at the Great Wall (or the Red Capital Ranch.) Waiting at the Red Capital Residence was an interesting experience, seeing pictures of Mao everywhere, and reading brochures about how I was getting the experience as if I was his personal guest for the weekend. It was elegant, extravagant, yet creepy.
The ranch itself is everything I hoped for. It’s incredibly peaceful, with the soft sounds of tweeting birds, rustling trees, and lapping water in the distance. Somehow Kelly and I got the sweetest hutong. The place is so small it uses names instead of numbers for rooms. We stayed in “Mountain”, which, just as it should, is the highest of the hutongs, overlooking the rest with a perfect view of the sunset over the mountains. Every detail of our room is etched in wood, covered with stone, or separated by orange curtains. The bathroom is a stone-walled cave with a raindrop shower head which, unlike home, doesn’t run out of hot water well before you’re ready. This is why people take vacations.
After throwing out stuff down we decided to adventure towards the Great Wall. We had been pointed in the direction towards the path, and that was that. The path apparently led to a winding sandy path up the mountain, which then led to a vertical ascent up a crumbled portion of the Wall. We had followed a small group of British tourist, who looked at the Wall and said, there’s no way that’s the way. It was great to finally feel like I know China better than someone else. I knew without a doubt that I was looking at the path. One great thing about China is the freedom from law suits. Living in China after America is like finally getting away from your parents as a teenager. Suddenly all of the, “Be careful” “It’s not safe.” “Don’t do that” warnings were silent, and you’re left to make your own mistakes and use your own judgment, at your own risk, of course.
So Kelly and I climbed, hand by hand, foot by foot, up the broken stoned staircase to the top. It took us about an hour, but we made it to one of the peaks. It was gorgeous, overlooking the mountains all around and surrounded by trees flowering in tiny white and pink pedals. I sat and read Abraham Lincoln’s First Inaugural Address, where he clearly and repeatedly states that he has no right nor desire to get rid of slavery in America. (This may seem random, but it’s part of a book with Obama’s address and the Gettysburg address, which were my reasoning for the purchase. Also, as I’ve said, books in English are at such a shortage that I find myself reading all sorts of interesting things I never found time for in the states.)
The climb back was the hardest. I’m not going to lie, I felt pretty proud of myself for being prepared in my sneakers and northface. I watched those British girls turn around in their saddle shoes after 20 min., and patted myself on the back as I trudged on. Then, before heading down, we saw a group of other climbers in serious gear. They had the waling sticks, the wind pants, and even ski goggles for the serious sand/wind. Their shoes looked as thick as snowboarding boots, and it was clear they had been designed for just this purpose.
I felt a little shaky as I started my descent, but found a strategy of holding on to the part of the wall that was the steadiest and using that to brace my feet as I avoided wiggly and sand-covered foot holds. Some parts I crawled backwards, holding on to nearby trees. Surprisingly, the hardest part was the beginning, a literal sand-slide of windy pathway with no stone whatsoever to hold on to. Eventually, I managed a half-slide, half-jog down to safety at the bottom.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Peppito
If you’ve known me and my pet-history, then you know that I’m irrationally attached to fish. I assume that this stems from my parent’s rule of “only if it lives in water” which kept my childhood pets limited to a stream of fish and one short-lived, underwater frog. As a young adult living in the city, the options for my first non-watered pet were also limited. Anyway, regardless of the reason, I absolutely love Peppito.
Kelly bought Peppito from the Merry Mart (something like a Walmart), towards the beginning of the year. He is our longest surviving, and most fantastic fish. He’s a teal and purple beta fish. We’re meant to be.
There was one scary incident, Peppito’s first trip to school, where we almost lost him. Ok, where I almost killed him. I was riding him in my basket, carefully as imaginably possible, humming, “fish on board” until I realized the leaking water. I did my best to pour it back in, and to continue even more carefully, but just into Tsinghua campus I noticed the leaks again. This time there was only an inch of water left for the poor guy, and he was looking rough on all accounts. I called Kelly frantically to bring more water, asked my assistant, L, to bring the kids to Chinese, and cried my eyes out on the side of the road thinking the shock had done him in. Amazingly, miracle fish that he is, Peppito survived the rest of the trip to school hanging in a bag off of Kelly’s handlebars, and the next two weeks in L’s house for Christmas break. Yeah, this was also the day of the holiday concert, my 14-hour school day.
After that, Peppito always took a taxi to and from school. Luckily this only happens before and after breaks, and for the week that he was a guest-classroom-pet when we studied water. Other than that Peppito is happy to swim and stay at home, which is relatively problem-free.
With all the time and care that I put into Peppito, you can imagine my shock when I was looking at him on Monday night when it dawned on me that Kelly and I were leaving the next day for an overnight retreat. Immediate panic set in as a jumped up and shouted my revelation. It was 11 p.m. and we were leaving at 8 in the morning. Our closest friend in the complex was already in Shanghai for our “long weekend” which started Sunday and ended Tuesday.
I contemplated calling the neighbor I’d been friendly with at the beginning of the year, and even the nice lesbian couple who happened to live at the top of our building. (I know, what are the odds??) I decided against sounding like the crazy, fish-fanatic that I actually am to neighbors/potential friends.
Instead, like all frantic people of my generation, I turned to the internet. Thank the Universe for my VPN, because I didn’t want to leave this up to HK Google. No thanks! As I was typing, I imagined the worst and wondered what I’d be doing if the resort hadn’t been booked for one of the nights I wanted, forcing me to only be away for one night. Then I found the results. As many of you probably already as you’re reading this, betas can apparently go for a LONG time without being fed. One article I read actually recommended not feeding your beta one day a week. Multiple other articles said these miracle fish can go two weeks without food.
Nevertheless, like the rest of my generation, I know that most of what you read on the internet is pure crap. I was less than thrilled to be putting poor Peppito’s life in the credentials of “beatalovers.com”. When we got back I sent in Kelly first, just saying, “You know why…” She knew.
Of course, he was fine: Peppito, Miracle Fish!
ps...This is my 100th post! Thanks for reading!!
Kelly bought Peppito from the Merry Mart (something like a Walmart), towards the beginning of the year. He is our longest surviving, and most fantastic fish. He’s a teal and purple beta fish. We’re meant to be.
There was one scary incident, Peppito’s first trip to school, where we almost lost him. Ok, where I almost killed him. I was riding him in my basket, carefully as imaginably possible, humming, “fish on board” until I realized the leaking water. I did my best to pour it back in, and to continue even more carefully, but just into Tsinghua campus I noticed the leaks again. This time there was only an inch of water left for the poor guy, and he was looking rough on all accounts. I called Kelly frantically to bring more water, asked my assistant, L, to bring the kids to Chinese, and cried my eyes out on the side of the road thinking the shock had done him in. Amazingly, miracle fish that he is, Peppito survived the rest of the trip to school hanging in a bag off of Kelly’s handlebars, and the next two weeks in L’s house for Christmas break. Yeah, this was also the day of the holiday concert, my 14-hour school day.
After that, Peppito always took a taxi to and from school. Luckily this only happens before and after breaks, and for the week that he was a guest-classroom-pet when we studied water. Other than that Peppito is happy to swim and stay at home, which is relatively problem-free.
With all the time and care that I put into Peppito, you can imagine my shock when I was looking at him on Monday night when it dawned on me that Kelly and I were leaving the next day for an overnight retreat. Immediate panic set in as a jumped up and shouted my revelation. It was 11 p.m. and we were leaving at 8 in the morning. Our closest friend in the complex was already in Shanghai for our “long weekend” which started Sunday and ended Tuesday.
I contemplated calling the neighbor I’d been friendly with at the beginning of the year, and even the nice lesbian couple who happened to live at the top of our building. (I know, what are the odds??) I decided against sounding like the crazy, fish-fanatic that I actually am to neighbors/potential friends.
Instead, like all frantic people of my generation, I turned to the internet. Thank the Universe for my VPN, because I didn’t want to leave this up to HK Google. No thanks! As I was typing, I imagined the worst and wondered what I’d be doing if the resort hadn’t been booked for one of the nights I wanted, forcing me to only be away for one night. Then I found the results. As many of you probably already as you’re reading this, betas can apparently go for a LONG time without being fed. One article I read actually recommended not feeding your beta one day a week. Multiple other articles said these miracle fish can go two weeks without food.
Nevertheless, like the rest of my generation, I know that most of what you read on the internet is pure crap. I was less than thrilled to be putting poor Peppito’s life in the credentials of “beatalovers.com”. When we got back I sent in Kelly first, just saying, “You know why…” She knew.
Of course, he was fine: Peppito, Miracle Fish!
ps...This is my 100th post! Thanks for reading!!
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