The hardest adjustment for me, other than sleep, has been food. I’ve had stomach problems for a decade, which is a significant portion of my life. I’ve been through all different types of pills/meds and one slightly scary procedure. By this point in my life, I’d resolved to live in some amount of pain.
Asia was my cure.
I’m not really sure how or why this worked, but the food in Asia just agreed with me. I think it has to do with the crazy amount of veggies, but I’m no foodie, nor stomach-doc, so I really don’t know.
What I do know, is that for the first time in my adult life I was eating pineapples, drinking orange juice, and loading on the chili sauce like it was my job. Maybe I’m allergic to cheese?? Nah, can’t be.
There were times in Beijing when Kel and I would get tired of cooking, and seek out some western food. I felt really guilty when I’d eat what seemed like a long string of western food. Now that I think about it, I always ate Chinese food for lunch, so I never went more than two days eating entirely western food.
Being home, looking at my stretch of endless meals of hot dogs, lasagna, and meatball subs (all which I find incredibly delicious) my stomach turns in knots. In a typical Chinese meal it is common to have dishes that aren’t all food. Dishes are served with peppercorns, dried chilies, basil leaves, not to mention shells and bones. The meal takes long because you have to pick through it, in addition to balance it in your chopsticks, making smaller bites the norm.
Yesterday I walked down to the “slip” a friendly little shack down on the Mattapoisett Wharf. I got the cheese dog that I’d been craving for eleven and a half months. Two seconds later, bewildered, I was sitting on the rocks by the water with just an empty cardboard sleeve. I was hungry, and now I’m already full? That was a meal? It didn’t seem possible, but my stomach was so full of cheese, bread, and meat that I knew I couldn’t extend this “meal” if I tried.
Biggest Chinese Food Craving: Sichuan Green Beans, which are little spicy treasures buried under peppercorns, chilies, garlic gloves, ginger, and I’m sure many other treasures I was never able to identify.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Monday, July 25, 2011
Strangest Things about America as a New Returnee
1. Everyone speaks English
2. There is English EVERYWHERE
3. Strangers are friendly and polite (especially in small town MA)
4. The food feels like bricks in your stomach
5. You can add cheese to almost any food
6. You don’t have to wait through Chinese for an English version of announcements
7. So few Asians!/So many blondes!
8. You can look up anything you want on the internet
9. You can find the names and addresses of new restaurants easily
10. Google maps in ENGLISH
11. People you know and love are all around or a phone call away
12. Facebook and Youtube…ANYTIME!
13. More coffee than tea
14. Tea = little bags served in giant mugs instead of pots with little cups
15. Clothes and Shoes in American sizes (I’m no longer a giant with clown feet)
16. If you’re lost you can ask directions to anyone
17. Using phrases like, “I was wondering if you know…” instead of pointing to something and raising/furrowing your eyebrows with bent elbows and palms faced up
18. Western toilets with toilet paper everywhere
19. Bathrooms in every restaurant
20. Hardly any spicy food
2. There is English EVERYWHERE
3. Strangers are friendly and polite (especially in small town MA)
4. The food feels like bricks in your stomach
5. You can add cheese to almost any food
6. You don’t have to wait through Chinese for an English version of announcements
7. So few Asians!/So many blondes!
8. You can look up anything you want on the internet
9. You can find the names and addresses of new restaurants easily
10. Google maps in ENGLISH
11. People you know and love are all around or a phone call away
12. Facebook and Youtube…ANYTIME!
13. More coffee than tea
14. Tea = little bags served in giant mugs instead of pots with little cups
15. Clothes and Shoes in American sizes (I’m no longer a giant with clown feet)
16. If you’re lost you can ask directions to anyone
17. Using phrases like, “I was wondering if you know…” instead of pointing to something and raising/furrowing your eyebrows with bent elbows and palms faced up
18. Western toilets with toilet paper everywhere
19. Bathrooms in every restaurant
20. Hardly any spicy food
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Back in America
I left Beijing at 6 pm on Friday, July 22, and I arrived back in Toronto at 6:40 pm the same day. Time differences can really shake you up.
As soon as I got off the plane people have been asking me how it is being home, like I have an answer. Maybe I’m supposed to, but it was all so confusing. The jetlag didn’t help. There’s nothing like being the exact opposite, 12-hours of night/day for a year to mess up your sleep schedule. I’ve been home for almost a week now, and I’m still getting up at 6 am. I haven’t slept for more than 5 hours at a time.
Coming home, especially to my parents’ house in Mattapoisett, is an especially strange way to re-enter the country. In “the house that time forgot”, everything was at firs eerily the same, as if I’d never left. My face wash and toothbrush sat waiting for me on the sink, as if I’d used them this morning instead of last August.
It felt comforting to hug my parents and let them drive me home after a year of trying to figure out taxi pictures armed with pre-printed maps and addresses in Chinese. At the same time, I know that I am different, and out of practice responding politely to their smothering care.
In our driveway, my father gave me point-by-point instructions as I lifted one of my suitcases from the back seat. Sure, I’d packed and lugged three giant suitcases from the hostel in Beijing to the airport, and through customs in Canada, but I do need help getting just one out of a car.
Of course under and above it all I am lucky to have them, and happy to be back. I find myself missing China, though. My last month there, traveling and spending time in Beijing without work, was so relaxing and fulfilling. I finally found out enough places to get around to, and people I genuinely enjoyed going there with. I had a solid rock climbing, Brazillian dancing, swimming, and biking regimen that made it actually fun to do things sober. It’s like my life just figured out how to get good there, and then it was over.
I hope to go abroad again, and when I do, to stay for two years. One just isn’t enough to make a life somewhere else. Or in my case, not enough time to live it.
As soon as I got off the plane people have been asking me how it is being home, like I have an answer. Maybe I’m supposed to, but it was all so confusing. The jetlag didn’t help. There’s nothing like being the exact opposite, 12-hours of night/day for a year to mess up your sleep schedule. I’ve been home for almost a week now, and I’m still getting up at 6 am. I haven’t slept for more than 5 hours at a time.
Coming home, especially to my parents’ house in Mattapoisett, is an especially strange way to re-enter the country. In “the house that time forgot”, everything was at firs eerily the same, as if I’d never left. My face wash and toothbrush sat waiting for me on the sink, as if I’d used them this morning instead of last August.
It felt comforting to hug my parents and let them drive me home after a year of trying to figure out taxi pictures armed with pre-printed maps and addresses in Chinese. At the same time, I know that I am different, and out of practice responding politely to their smothering care.
In our driveway, my father gave me point-by-point instructions as I lifted one of my suitcases from the back seat. Sure, I’d packed and lugged three giant suitcases from the hostel in Beijing to the airport, and through customs in Canada, but I do need help getting just one out of a car.
Of course under and above it all I am lucky to have them, and happy to be back. I find myself missing China, though. My last month there, traveling and spending time in Beijing without work, was so relaxing and fulfilling. I finally found out enough places to get around to, and people I genuinely enjoyed going there with. I had a solid rock climbing, Brazillian dancing, swimming, and biking regimen that made it actually fun to do things sober. It’s like my life just figured out how to get good there, and then it was over.
I hope to go abroad again, and when I do, to stay for two years. One just isn’t enough to make a life somewhere else. Or in my case, not enough time to live it.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Right Question Wrong Time
I was having lunch at a mini-hot pot place, where the customers sit at the counter in front of their own individual pot. You can order any meat or vegetable that you’d like to put in, but unlike dinner Hot Pot, you have your own pot and cook it at your own pace.
L suggested that we get one of the set meals, which come with one type of meat, and a giant plate of veggies, tofu, and other sides. I chose the lamb and L chose the shrimp, which was the cheapest of the meats. (Shrimp, like crawfish, are served with the heads and legs still intact.)
I mixed the seed-paste that I mistakenly referred to as peanut sauce (for its remarkable similarity) to the amusement of L, with the cilantro in the bowl. Then I put a few ladels of the sweet and sour hot pot broth to make a soup. Then I selected spinach, cabbage, carrots, etc. and lamb at different times, waiting and then adding them to my bowl.
The tofu came in light and dark. I boiled some white tofu, ate it, and then boiled some dark. I ate half of the dark tofu, and then asked, “What is this?”
With my chopsticks hovering on the way to my mouth, L told me, “Pig’s blood.”
L suggested that we get one of the set meals, which come with one type of meat, and a giant plate of veggies, tofu, and other sides. I chose the lamb and L chose the shrimp, which was the cheapest of the meats. (Shrimp, like crawfish, are served with the heads and legs still intact.)
I mixed the seed-paste that I mistakenly referred to as peanut sauce (for its remarkable similarity) to the amusement of L, with the cilantro in the bowl. Then I put a few ladels of the sweet and sour hot pot broth to make a soup. Then I selected spinach, cabbage, carrots, etc. and lamb at different times, waiting and then adding them to my bowl.
The tofu came in light and dark. I boiled some white tofu, ate it, and then boiled some dark. I ate half of the dark tofu, and then asked, “What is this?”
With my chopsticks hovering on the way to my mouth, L told me, “Pig’s blood.”
Muffin Movie
Of course, the movie had Chinese subtitles instead of English. Luckily, I was able to follow most of what went on from L’s helpful history over tea, and her whisperings in the theater. Also, by now I’m more than used to getting by on 90% facial expression and guessing what would make sense.
Even for me, it was hard not to idolize Muffin on the big screen. They choose a strong, handsome, famous actor who portrayed Muffin as a gallant young man with strong ideas and the convictions to make his dreams happen. When Muffin spoke, the people around him either chanted his words or burst into song.
The movie went into detail about his first marriage, romanticizing the love and connection with long pauses, watching fireworks, and soft background music. (In real life, this wife was killed for her connection to Muffin, and he went on to marry three more times.)
L told me that every major part in the movie was played by a very famous actor, all of whom worked for free to show their devotion to the C party. I can’t imagine a way in which American Nationalism could cause an all-star cast to work for free.
Looking around, I also had a hard time imagining getting crowds and crowds of Americans to see a movie made about our founding of Democracy, even with Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie staring as whoever’s responsible and his wife.
As L studied English, she was forced to memorize a tremendous amount of American History. She knows more about the Mayflower and Boston Tea party than I do, and I’m from Cape Cod. She told me, “Ugg, why did my teacher make me learn all these things! They are useless! No one, not even Americans, want to talk about these things.” I told her, not only do we not want to talk about it, most of us don’t even know it anymore if we ever did.
How different might Nationalism be in our country if history made it onto the big screen and was part of people’s Saturday plans?
Even for me, it was hard not to idolize Muffin on the big screen. They choose a strong, handsome, famous actor who portrayed Muffin as a gallant young man with strong ideas and the convictions to make his dreams happen. When Muffin spoke, the people around him either chanted his words or burst into song.
The movie went into detail about his first marriage, romanticizing the love and connection with long pauses, watching fireworks, and soft background music. (In real life, this wife was killed for her connection to Muffin, and he went on to marry three more times.)
L told me that every major part in the movie was played by a very famous actor, all of whom worked for free to show their devotion to the C party. I can’t imagine a way in which American Nationalism could cause an all-star cast to work for free.
Looking around, I also had a hard time imagining getting crowds and crowds of Americans to see a movie made about our founding of Democracy, even with Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie staring as whoever’s responsible and his wife.
As L studied English, she was forced to memorize a tremendous amount of American History. She knows more about the Mayflower and Boston Tea party than I do, and I’m from Cape Cod. She told me, “Ugg, why did my teacher make me learn all these things! They are useless! No one, not even Americans, want to talk about these things.” I told her, not only do we not want to talk about it, most of us don’t even know it anymore if we ever did.
How different might Nationalism be in our country if history made it onto the big screen and was part of people’s Saturday plans?
Saturday, July 2, 2011
The Rise of the C P
So as not to incriminate myself further than need be to the authorities, I will refer to the ruler ending in “ao” instead with the word Muffin.
I have been having lunch with my now former assistant, L, which has really helped me to see (and eat) more like the non-expats do in Beijing. She suggested that we go for a movie, and when we looked at the list I noticed that many of the theaters were playing, “The Rise of the Communist Party.”
This, she told me, was the number one movie in China, specially released on July 1st, the 90th anniversary of the communist party. L’s husband is a party member, as is her best and only friend in Beijing, but she is not because she “doesn’t like to write reports.” Apparently being a member involves many meetings and report writing of how you are and what you’re thinking/doing. Her husband and friend, who work with the government, have no choice but to be party members.
As the only movie in English playing was “Kung Fu Panda II”, I readily agreed/insisted that we see The Rise of the C.P. L made sure there were English subtitles, and we bought our tickets.
Before going in, we got some tea and I asked her what I should know before seeing the movie. She explained to be how in the beginning of the 20th century, China was “like a cake” and everyone wanted a piece, to divide it up for their own country. She explained that this movie was about the people deciding to stop following the last emperor, who was a small child at the time, but without knowing which country’s method of government to follow. The movie, she told me, follows Muffin from just a teenage nobody to his founding of the C party.
Sometime later in this same conversation, Hitler came up, and I dared to point out how the German people had taken down all of his statues, etc., but Muffin can be seen everywhere from the Forbidden City to every bill of their money to the #1 movie in China. She looked right at me and said, “Why would you compare these two? There is nothing the same about them.” I didn’t want to press, but ended saying something like, “Well, Muffin did many not nice things.” She answered that you must do not nice things while in war, in order to win.
I didn’t want to prod her, least of all about the not nice things having been done to her own people by Muffin. I found it most interesting, however, that she said every year on holidays the only thing on TV is historical documentaries replaying the terror that the Japanese caused, and the Chinese lives that they wasted, “So we don’t forget.”
I have been having lunch with my now former assistant, L, which has really helped me to see (and eat) more like the non-expats do in Beijing. She suggested that we go for a movie, and when we looked at the list I noticed that many of the theaters were playing, “The Rise of the Communist Party.”
This, she told me, was the number one movie in China, specially released on July 1st, the 90th anniversary of the communist party. L’s husband is a party member, as is her best and only friend in Beijing, but she is not because she “doesn’t like to write reports.” Apparently being a member involves many meetings and report writing of how you are and what you’re thinking/doing. Her husband and friend, who work with the government, have no choice but to be party members.
As the only movie in English playing was “Kung Fu Panda II”, I readily agreed/insisted that we see The Rise of the C.P. L made sure there were English subtitles, and we bought our tickets.
Before going in, we got some tea and I asked her what I should know before seeing the movie. She explained to be how in the beginning of the 20th century, China was “like a cake” and everyone wanted a piece, to divide it up for their own country. She explained that this movie was about the people deciding to stop following the last emperor, who was a small child at the time, but without knowing which country’s method of government to follow. The movie, she told me, follows Muffin from just a teenage nobody to his founding of the C party.
Sometime later in this same conversation, Hitler came up, and I dared to point out how the German people had taken down all of his statues, etc., but Muffin can be seen everywhere from the Forbidden City to every bill of their money to the #1 movie in China. She looked right at me and said, “Why would you compare these two? There is nothing the same about them.” I didn’t want to press, but ended saying something like, “Well, Muffin did many not nice things.” She answered that you must do not nice things while in war, in order to win.
I didn’t want to prod her, least of all about the not nice things having been done to her own people by Muffin. I found it most interesting, however, that she said every year on holidays the only thing on TV is historical documentaries replaying the terror that the Japanese caused, and the Chinese lives that they wasted, “So we don’t forget.”
Friday, June 24, 2011
Haircut II
It was time. Well, it was past time, considering the last time I ventured a haircut was back in February when I was last in an English-speaking country.
This time, I ventured back to the place where I had brought a translating friend in the fall armed only with a pencil sketch of the profiled view of the shape I was looking for. (Thanks, Kelly!)
Even in Wudaokou, home to many English-speaking ex-pats and English-friendly restaurants, everyone at this place acted like I was the first laowei (foreigner) to cross the threshold. It is possible I’m the first English-only expat who tried to get her hair cut there.
They asked me lots of questions, to which my only response was to hold up the picture and try to show the angle with my hand on my hair showing short in the back, long in the front. Some asked me something, which to me sounded like, “Yada yada 30-something, 50-something, 100-something?”
I know my numbers, but sometimes they speak so quickly I can’t make it out. My best guess was that they were telling me my expenses, which ended up around ¥100/$15, which is ridiculously overpriced. (The average haircut, even at nice places is ¥20-30.) Nevertheless, I didn’t have much ability to argue, and was willing to pay the extra price just for shorter hair in this deadly hot Beijing summer.
“Dui, ok,” I answered. The guy just looked at me and repeated. “Dui, ok” I answered. He left.
By the time another person came by, also saying the same thing in Chinese, I realized I was being given a choice. What that choice meant, hover, I had no idea. I went with the middle option, around ¥50, just to be safe.
I had to wonder, though, what is the difference between different prices when you’re talking about a haircut?? Do they care about you more? Cut it more even?
The ex-pat, English-only world may never know.
This time, I ventured back to the place where I had brought a translating friend in the fall armed only with a pencil sketch of the profiled view of the shape I was looking for. (Thanks, Kelly!)
Even in Wudaokou, home to many English-speaking ex-pats and English-friendly restaurants, everyone at this place acted like I was the first laowei (foreigner) to cross the threshold. It is possible I’m the first English-only expat who tried to get her hair cut there.
They asked me lots of questions, to which my only response was to hold up the picture and try to show the angle with my hand on my hair showing short in the back, long in the front. Some asked me something, which to me sounded like, “Yada yada 30-something, 50-something, 100-something?”
I know my numbers, but sometimes they speak so quickly I can’t make it out. My best guess was that they were telling me my expenses, which ended up around ¥100/$15, which is ridiculously overpriced. (The average haircut, even at nice places is ¥20-30.) Nevertheless, I didn’t have much ability to argue, and was willing to pay the extra price just for shorter hair in this deadly hot Beijing summer.
“Dui, ok,” I answered. The guy just looked at me and repeated. “Dui, ok” I answered. He left.
By the time another person came by, also saying the same thing in Chinese, I realized I was being given a choice. What that choice meant, hover, I had no idea. I went with the middle option, around ¥50, just to be safe.
I had to wonder, though, what is the difference between different prices when you’re talking about a haircut?? Do they care about you more? Cut it more even?
The ex-pat, English-only world may never know.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
The East Is Red
I’m not even sure I should be uploading this (or the next few articles) while still in the red zone, but hey, I’m close enough to my plane ticket back that hopefully I’ll still make it out alive.
My friend Annie, a professional puppet maker traveling around China on a Fulbright scholarship, decided to have her birthday party at The East is Red, a venue for communist dinner theater.
All of the waiters and waitresses are in communist gear/uniforms. The dining room was large, with about 100 round tables filled with Chinese people. Our own table, set off to the side, was the only with foreigners. While we ate the workers took turns singing and dancing, sometimes with guns or flags thrown into the choreography.
I was hesitant to have any reaction at first. The last thing I wanted was to be the laughing foreigner while an enormous crowd of communists cheered on, glasses raised. The reaction of the crowd, however, did fluctuate between laughter, cheering, and nostalgic nodding.
Everything from the songs to the announcers to the menu was in Mandarin, so, as always, I wasn’t exactly sure what was going on. I know that I saw people raising their fists in the air with a bent elbow, a sign of the communist party which stands for, “My head follows my heart.” (Incidentally, this has been brought into Chinese weddings, where the happy couple makes this “We Can Do It” fist as they say their vows.)
Every one of us was given a red flag, and during certain especially celebratory songs, it was amazing to see all of the flags waving together, our own included. Before we were given flags, one of our friends, as especially enthusiastic boy, stood on his chair and raised the red chair covering to the beat of the music. He was welcomed by a neighboring table of what looked like business men to a shot of bi jiu (the strong, horrible, Chinese liquor), which he regrettably took. Before leaving, he was even given a Communist Kaleidoscope. This is all to say that, as a lonely American in a communist crowd, one needn’t worry of projecting sarcasm.
My friend Annie, a professional puppet maker traveling around China on a Fulbright scholarship, decided to have her birthday party at The East is Red, a venue for communist dinner theater.
All of the waiters and waitresses are in communist gear/uniforms. The dining room was large, with about 100 round tables filled with Chinese people. Our own table, set off to the side, was the only with foreigners. While we ate the workers took turns singing and dancing, sometimes with guns or flags thrown into the choreography.
I was hesitant to have any reaction at first. The last thing I wanted was to be the laughing foreigner while an enormous crowd of communists cheered on, glasses raised. The reaction of the crowd, however, did fluctuate between laughter, cheering, and nostalgic nodding.
Everything from the songs to the announcers to the menu was in Mandarin, so, as always, I wasn’t exactly sure what was going on. I know that I saw people raising their fists in the air with a bent elbow, a sign of the communist party which stands for, “My head follows my heart.” (Incidentally, this has been brought into Chinese weddings, where the happy couple makes this “We Can Do It” fist as they say their vows.)
Every one of us was given a red flag, and during certain especially celebratory songs, it was amazing to see all of the flags waving together, our own included. Before we were given flags, one of our friends, as especially enthusiastic boy, stood on his chair and raised the red chair covering to the beat of the music. He was welcomed by a neighboring table of what looked like business men to a shot of bi jiu (the strong, horrible, Chinese liquor), which he regrettably took. Before leaving, he was even given a Communist Kaleidoscope. This is all to say that, as a lonely American in a communist crowd, one needn’t worry of projecting sarcasm.
Friday, June 10, 2011
A Night at the (Chinese/HipHop) Ballet
When my friend Roxanne told me about a dance performance she was going to that mixed Ballet, Hiphop, and traditional Chinese dance, I was sold. Seeing a dance performance was one of the few stragglers on my Beijing Bucket List, and this one sounded even more interesting than I had imagined. The choreographer was from France, but had worked in Africa and China as well as Europe.
Roxanne had been to a Q and A with him, where she learned that dance was only his second career. He was drawn to hip hop as an adult when he realized there was not much choreography for women. Now, he specializes in chorogrpahing for women, although there are still men in his performances.
Propelled by this new information, I once again set my naïve feminist self up for disappointment. At this point I’m not sure if it’s an American lense that made me think he would have a feminist perspective, or just my own natural tendencies. Regardless, I never would have expected for the majority and finale of the one-hour performance to involve the men using numchucks to beat, strangle, and kill the female dancers.
I’ll admit that it was visually interesting, and it did make me think. One of the creepiest parts was that many of their moves were the same or very similar to partnered ballet, with the addition of weapons and violent exaggerations.
At the last second of the performance, the men do fall down and the women take the numchucks and throw them to the ground. For me though, after more than 30 minutes of being tossed around, r the girls should have at least gotten a few punches themselves.
Favorite Performance: The first dance, where the five men wore long skirts and long feathers attached to their elbows as extensions of their arms. The movement was gorgeous and I could really see the mixture of Chinese and modern ballet, if not necessarily hip hop.
Roxanne had been to a Q and A with him, where she learned that dance was only his second career. He was drawn to hip hop as an adult when he realized there was not much choreography for women. Now, he specializes in chorogrpahing for women, although there are still men in his performances.
Propelled by this new information, I once again set my naïve feminist self up for disappointment. At this point I’m not sure if it’s an American lense that made me think he would have a feminist perspective, or just my own natural tendencies. Regardless, I never would have expected for the majority and finale of the one-hour performance to involve the men using numchucks to beat, strangle, and kill the female dancers.
I’ll admit that it was visually interesting, and it did make me think. One of the creepiest parts was that many of their moves were the same or very similar to partnered ballet, with the addition of weapons and violent exaggerations.
At the last second of the performance, the men do fall down and the women take the numchucks and throw them to the ground. For me though, after more than 30 minutes of being tossed around, r the girls should have at least gotten a few punches themselves.
Favorite Performance: The first dance, where the five men wore long skirts and long feathers attached to their elbows as extensions of their arms. The movement was gorgeous and I could really see the mixture of Chinese and modern ballet, if not necessarily hip hop.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Duck Dinner and Dancing
The place was new for me, off of the Beixinqiao stop, which is apparently a stretch of duck restaurants as far as the eye can see, all begging for customers from the street. I was happy to have a reservation. Whenever we go out with Sarah, it’s a wonder for me, as I get to watch how someone might live in this city if they could communicate with the people around them. Simple things like checking up on a reservation, or making requests about the menu other than pointing and saying “zhiga” or “this” is usually a lost cause.
The restaurant was decorated in traditional Chinese style, as a large hutong. Sarah had us face the window to the next room so that we could see “the show.” I didn’t know what to expect, but what I saw was a mix between a Chinese Opera and a low budget circus.
The first few acts were juggling, using giant beer bottles, plates, and knives. It made me nervous in the way that only watching something in real life instead of TV can, because at any moment something could go horribly wrong.
The next act was a plate spinner, who put the plates on 4-foot long metal poles and then spun them. He balanced 16 of these over two tables, rushing to this one and that one which was wobbling and about to fall.
The final act was a more traditional Chinese performance, where a man in ornate robes and long feathers on his elbows dances with sharp motions. He wears many layers of masks, and throughout the dance he removes them so quickly that it seems his face has changed color.
I’m always happy to eat Peking Duck, but I’ll admit that this night it was a little hard to focus on making those pancakes!
The restaurant was decorated in traditional Chinese style, as a large hutong. Sarah had us face the window to the next room so that we could see “the show.” I didn’t know what to expect, but what I saw was a mix between a Chinese Opera and a low budget circus.
The first few acts were juggling, using giant beer bottles, plates, and knives. It made me nervous in the way that only watching something in real life instead of TV can, because at any moment something could go horribly wrong.
The next act was a plate spinner, who put the plates on 4-foot long metal poles and then spun them. He balanced 16 of these over two tables, rushing to this one and that one which was wobbling and about to fall.
The final act was a more traditional Chinese performance, where a man in ornate robes and long feathers on his elbows dances with sharp motions. He wears many layers of masks, and throughout the dance he removes them so quickly that it seems his face has changed color.
I’m always happy to eat Peking Duck, but I’ll admit that this night it was a little hard to focus on making those pancakes!
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
KTV
In all the guidebooks for China they mention KTV. It’s China’s version of Karaoke. Set in private rooms with drinks and often food, I could see the greater appeal. Perhaps if I wasn’t made to wait in a long line for a chance to sing drunkenly in front of strangers, I’d be more of a Karaoke person myself.
I decided to test this theory (and cross another event off of my Beijing Bucket List) by joining some friends for KTV. One pitfall for my evening was that I planned it on the Friday after a 9 day week of school, when I was so exhausted I could easily have gone to bed at 7 pm.
Claire and Dianna happen to be another lesbian couple that live in our building. The changes of this are astoundingly small. Even more rare is the fact that they are awesome. When they invited Kelly and I to pregame at their place at 9, I was happy to go. When we were still there at 1 am and they ordered a delivery of 16 beers, I was ready to go home and forget KTV.
They managed to rally everyone out of the door by 1:30, and we headed over. The KTV place was a 5 minute walk from our apartment, and they let you BYOB. We were led through corridor after corridor of closed off rooms, the Chinese music still blaring into the hall. Our room was pretty big, with one wall lined with couches, two tables in the middle, and two flat screen TVs. There are two microphones, and a machine in the corner for picking songs and adding laugh tracks, hoots, and hollers. That may have been my favorite part of the night, adding extra applause and whistling while people sang.
The other gem of the evening was that when China doesn’t have the real video for a song, they have one made, which always has Chinese people singing to each other in a random harbor, walking along the docks.
Finding songs that worked for everyone was also an interesting game. It was the most international group of expats I’ve spent time with all year. Claire is from Ireland, as were a few others. Dianna is from Bulgaria. Some people were from London or other provinces in China. One blond girl that I had begged as rude because she would only speak Chinese around me turned out to be Russian, and super friendly with the little broken English she pulled out by the end of the night. Whoops! Everyone but Kelly and I spoke Chinese, and not everyone spoke English. This made the prolonged pregame a bit of a challenge, but once we were in KTV land, it was all good. I enjoyed listening to the songs in Chinese, and no one seemed to mind the parade of English songs.
A lot of the time we just all sang together from the couches, although some people stood when a song they had chosen came on. The selection of English songs that made it to China are hilarious enough alone. I forgot how sweet the Cranberries are.
Kelly and I left around 3, but the girls held it down until 7 am! That’s a serious night of KTV!
I decided to test this theory (and cross another event off of my Beijing Bucket List) by joining some friends for KTV. One pitfall for my evening was that I planned it on the Friday after a 9 day week of school, when I was so exhausted I could easily have gone to bed at 7 pm.
Claire and Dianna happen to be another lesbian couple that live in our building. The changes of this are astoundingly small. Even more rare is the fact that they are awesome. When they invited Kelly and I to pregame at their place at 9, I was happy to go. When we were still there at 1 am and they ordered a delivery of 16 beers, I was ready to go home and forget KTV.
They managed to rally everyone out of the door by 1:30, and we headed over. The KTV place was a 5 minute walk from our apartment, and they let you BYOB. We were led through corridor after corridor of closed off rooms, the Chinese music still blaring into the hall. Our room was pretty big, with one wall lined with couches, two tables in the middle, and two flat screen TVs. There are two microphones, and a machine in the corner for picking songs and adding laugh tracks, hoots, and hollers. That may have been my favorite part of the night, adding extra applause and whistling while people sang.
The other gem of the evening was that when China doesn’t have the real video for a song, they have one made, which always has Chinese people singing to each other in a random harbor, walking along the docks.
Finding songs that worked for everyone was also an interesting game. It was the most international group of expats I’ve spent time with all year. Claire is from Ireland, as were a few others. Dianna is from Bulgaria. Some people were from London or other provinces in China. One blond girl that I had begged as rude because she would only speak Chinese around me turned out to be Russian, and super friendly with the little broken English she pulled out by the end of the night. Whoops! Everyone but Kelly and I spoke Chinese, and not everyone spoke English. This made the prolonged pregame a bit of a challenge, but once we were in KTV land, it was all good. I enjoyed listening to the songs in Chinese, and no one seemed to mind the parade of English songs.
A lot of the time we just all sang together from the couches, although some people stood when a song they had chosen came on. The selection of English songs that made it to China are hilarious enough alone. I forgot how sweet the Cranberries are.
Kelly and I left around 3, but the girls held it down until 7 am! That’s a serious night of KTV!
Monday, June 6, 2011
Western –Chinese Style
Even Western-Chinese weddings start at 8’s. L’s began at 11:08, but if they hadn’t been ready, they would have started at 11;18, or 11:28. I was told, (with a look that said, of course this is common sense) this is because 8 is a lucky number that means “more”.
(Incidentally, 4 is such a bad number for its semblance with the character for “death” that there is no 4th floor in most of the buildings in China, and no sports player who will agree to that jersey.)
Instead of the traditional procession, the wedding began with the groom singing to his bride, walking down the aisle and handing her the bouquet. It was so sweet and adorable, watching him walk her down the aisle to the stage. We were again at round tables with bi jiu and snacks.
I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but the tone was very different than other weddings. Instead of a minister or priest, L had her own MC. He spoke with great personality, and often got the crowd busting with laughter and applause.
The ceremony had all the little bits of western ceremonies packed into one event. Guests came up to give speeches. They said their vows, facing us on the stage. They exchanged rings, cut the cake and fed it to each other. Then they lit candles and poured champagne to make a fountain. They called me up to take the bouquet, I said my “speech”, which no one could understand, and then the groom carried her “across the threshold” of the arch at the bottom of the aisle.
After a 10 minute intermission, the bride came out in her reception dress, which was similar in style to western dresses, but, of course, red. The couple still came around “Chinese-style” to each of the tables with bi jiu. Even though the bottle had been filled with water, the lingering flavor from the liquor caused L to spit up by the last table.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Order of Operations
My own assistant, L, threw herself a “western” wedding. Chinese people, in my opinion, do marriage right. First they get married, legally. Then, months or a year later, they have wedding photos taken. These are incredibly elaborate, often taking an entire day, many wardrobe changes, and indoor and outdoor locations. (L said that hers lasted until midnight and was exhausting).
Lastly, after years of actually being married, the couple has a wedding. In my opinion, this order of events would help Americans escape the Bride-as-Princess phenomenon that in my opinion has led to so many early marriages (and early divorces) in our generation.
The other brilliant move on L’s part was having two weddings. The Traditional Chinese one was in her hometown and completely controlled by her parents. All she had to do was show up.
The wedding in Beijing that I attended had no family at all. It was just friends and classmates of the bride and groom, and L could do it all her way.
Even so, she seemed to be more exhausted by the process than excited. When we showed up on the day, she was plopped down in a chair, fanning herself. L, who never complains no matter what is happening at school and what she’s asked to do, looked up at me and moaned, “I cannot stand. How will I walk down the aisle?” When she said that she’d be glad when it was all over, I knew she meant it. It was strange to see a bride just before her wedding, in the perfect white sparkly dress , who wasn’t beaming as if it was the best day of her life. At the end she said, “I’m super exhausted. I don’t want to get married again.” Unfortunately for her, this was just her first wedding of two.
I’m not suggesting that we take away the dream of anyone who wants to have their wedding their day, and make it as special as it should be for them. This, just like everything else over here, was just a totally different experience.
Lastly, after years of actually being married, the couple has a wedding. In my opinion, this order of events would help Americans escape the Bride-as-Princess phenomenon that in my opinion has led to so many early marriages (and early divorces) in our generation.
The other brilliant move on L’s part was having two weddings. The Traditional Chinese one was in her hometown and completely controlled by her parents. All she had to do was show up.
The wedding in Beijing that I attended had no family at all. It was just friends and classmates of the bride and groom, and L could do it all her way.
Even so, she seemed to be more exhausted by the process than excited. When we showed up on the day, she was plopped down in a chair, fanning herself. L, who never complains no matter what is happening at school and what she’s asked to do, looked up at me and moaned, “I cannot stand. How will I walk down the aisle?” When she said that she’d be glad when it was all over, I knew she meant it. It was strange to see a bride just before her wedding, in the perfect white sparkly dress , who wasn’t beaming as if it was the best day of her life. At the end she said, “I’m super exhausted. I don’t want to get married again.” Unfortunately for her, this was just her first wedding of two.
I’m not suggesting that we take away the dream of anyone who wants to have their wedding their day, and make it as special as it should be for them. This, just like everything else over here, was just a totally different experience.
Friday, June 3, 2011
Some Weddings have Arrows
Some things I’d heard about China are true; none more so than the Chinese devotion to the color red. During Chinese New Year, everything that can be is adorned in red. This is also the case for Chinese Weddings. Everything from the table cloths to the chairs to the favors to the backdrop of the stage to the Bride and Groom’s outfits was entirely red with gold details.
We, the guests sat at round tables on either side of the red carpet aisle. On our tables were bottles of bi jiu (a painfully strong Chinese liquor), cigarettes, and snacks. When the Bride (who was one of the Teacher’s Assistants at my school, named Vanilla), arrived in the doorway, I couldn’t recognize her. Her hair was woven into a headdress eight inches tall and falling past her shoulders. The groom appeared to have an ornamental beach ball tied in back of him. The ornamental gowns they wore, which trailed past them on the ground, made the traditional outfits I’d seen in museums seem bland.
During the ceremony, which had many parts, they honor the sets of parents by serving them tea and calling them “mom” and “dad” for the first time. At the end, the groom is blindfolded and made to shoot an arrow “to the heavens” or up to the ceiling, and straight across for the earth. I was lucky to have my own assistant, L, as a translator or I wouldn’t have had any idea what was going on the entire time. There was a lot of bowing from the couple, and most of the talking came from the “professional speaker”, who seemed like the MC of the wedding. There were some traditions that seemed strange to me, like cutting a piece of hair from each, and tying it together and keeping it in a box.
Some traditions were familiar with a twist of new. Towards the end the couple interlocked arms to drink wine…out of a little wooden shoe. At the end they kiss, which is hard through all of the outfits, veils, headdresses and hats. The guests all clap and shout for them to kiss longer. At times they leaned in for 10 -15 seconds, with no movement of the lips whatsoever.
At the end, the couple makes the western rounds to greet each table, but they do it with a tray of cigarettes and a shot of bi jiu at each.
Most Surprising Event: When the great-grandfather of the groom had to lie down in the middle of the floor. The bride dismissed our worries, saying, “He just drank too much always.”
Note: This wedding happened in October of last year, and it took me until now to write it up. Whoops!
We, the guests sat at round tables on either side of the red carpet aisle. On our tables were bottles of bi jiu (a painfully strong Chinese liquor), cigarettes, and snacks. When the Bride (who was one of the Teacher’s Assistants at my school, named Vanilla), arrived in the doorway, I couldn’t recognize her. Her hair was woven into a headdress eight inches tall and falling past her shoulders. The groom appeared to have an ornamental beach ball tied in back of him. The ornamental gowns they wore, which trailed past them on the ground, made the traditional outfits I’d seen in museums seem bland.
During the ceremony, which had many parts, they honor the sets of parents by serving them tea and calling them “mom” and “dad” for the first time. At the end, the groom is blindfolded and made to shoot an arrow “to the heavens” or up to the ceiling, and straight across for the earth. I was lucky to have my own assistant, L, as a translator or I wouldn’t have had any idea what was going on the entire time. There was a lot of bowing from the couple, and most of the talking came from the “professional speaker”, who seemed like the MC of the wedding. There were some traditions that seemed strange to me, like cutting a piece of hair from each, and tying it together and keeping it in a box.
Some traditions were familiar with a twist of new. Towards the end the couple interlocked arms to drink wine…out of a little wooden shoe. At the end they kiss, which is hard through all of the outfits, veils, headdresses and hats. The guests all clap and shout for them to kiss longer. At times they leaned in for 10 -15 seconds, with no movement of the lips whatsoever.
At the end, the couple makes the western rounds to greet each table, but they do it with a tray of cigarettes and a shot of bi jiu at each.
Most Surprising Event: When the great-grandfather of the groom had to lie down in the middle of the floor. The bride dismissed our worries, saying, “He just drank too much always.”
Note: This wedding happened in October of last year, and it took me until now to write it up. Whoops!
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Coming Soon
I realize it's mid-June and I have one post.
It's been a really crazy month!
Here's a snippet of what's to come when I finish this school year and have time to write again:
- Chinese Wedding
- Chinese Versions of a Western Wedding
- Communist Dinner Theater
- LGBT Interview
Stay Tuned!!
It's been a really crazy month!
Here's a snippet of what's to come when I finish this school year and have time to write again:
- Chinese Wedding
- Chinese Versions of a Western Wedding
- Communist Dinner Theater
- LGBT Interview
Stay Tuned!!
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Hot Stones, Anyone?
My life in China has been significantly better since the discovery of Dragon Fly’s “Teacher Day Special.” Thanks to this lovely massage parlor down town, I’ve enjoyed many a Monday-night massage. On this day only for teachers, they offer the second hour of massage for free. The first massage is anywhere from ¥150 to ¥550 and up ($22 to $80), depending on the type.
I’ve been getting the regular “Chinese Massage” after my usual hour of foot massage. The Chinese Massage is a typical massage, but they do it over a towel. I have no idea why.
Maybe I was partly motivated to try this because my once intensely sporadic and unpredictable life in Beijing has started to be a little more familiar and comfortable. Part of me definitely didn’t want to leave China without having tried it. Either way, one day, I decided it was time to spring for the Hot Stone Massage.
The description in English for the massage was considerably short and unhelpful, so I really went in knowing nothing except that they’d be using hot stones …to massage me.
Even if you know that you are probably safe, it’s a little hard to relax when heated stones are touching your bare skin. The first time they rubbed the stones on my wrists and left them in my palms I thought, “Am I burning? Is this searing my skin??” It was really hot. Or at least it felt really hot, unnaturally hot. Luckily, it did not actually leave any marks.
After a while, when I was used to the sensation, I really started to enjoy it. It’s similar to getting your first massage, where it feels strange for people who aren’t you or a close friend to be squeezing tight on your muscles, so everything feels to hard. After a few more massages, however, all of a sudden you’re telling them, “Don’t worry. Press as hard as you can!”
(Yes, I had to rework that a few times to get it to not sound dirty.)
Basically the way the hot stone massage works is that they work on each side of both of your limbs and even your back and stomach. They choose one area, cover it in oil, and then rub two stones in concentric circles from the bottom of the area to the top. This felt really good, but for some reason tickled the hell out of my thighs. I guess I’m just not used to concentric circles of hot stone rubbing there. It was everything I could do not to jump up laughing.
Then they did my stomach, which was one of the weirder sensations I’ve ever had. It was also awesomely embarrassing, as my stomach doesn’t need any excuse to make crazy loud sounds, so of course it went crazy while being pushed and pulled with stones.
Overall, the sensation and way that it worked my muscles was amazing, and Hot Stone Massage II is definitely on my Beijing Bucket List!
I’ve been getting the regular “Chinese Massage” after my usual hour of foot massage. The Chinese Massage is a typical massage, but they do it over a towel. I have no idea why.
Maybe I was partly motivated to try this because my once intensely sporadic and unpredictable life in Beijing has started to be a little more familiar and comfortable. Part of me definitely didn’t want to leave China without having tried it. Either way, one day, I decided it was time to spring for the Hot Stone Massage.
The description in English for the massage was considerably short and unhelpful, so I really went in knowing nothing except that they’d be using hot stones …to massage me.
Even if you know that you are probably safe, it’s a little hard to relax when heated stones are touching your bare skin. The first time they rubbed the stones on my wrists and left them in my palms I thought, “Am I burning? Is this searing my skin??” It was really hot. Or at least it felt really hot, unnaturally hot. Luckily, it did not actually leave any marks.
After a while, when I was used to the sensation, I really started to enjoy it. It’s similar to getting your first massage, where it feels strange for people who aren’t you or a close friend to be squeezing tight on your muscles, so everything feels to hard. After a few more massages, however, all of a sudden you’re telling them, “Don’t worry. Press as hard as you can!”
(Yes, I had to rework that a few times to get it to not sound dirty.)
Basically the way the hot stone massage works is that they work on each side of both of your limbs and even your back and stomach. They choose one area, cover it in oil, and then rub two stones in concentric circles from the bottom of the area to the top. This felt really good, but for some reason tickled the hell out of my thighs. I guess I’m just not used to concentric circles of hot stone rubbing there. It was everything I could do not to jump up laughing.
Then they did my stomach, which was one of the weirder sensations I’ve ever had. It was also awesomely embarrassing, as my stomach doesn’t need any excuse to make crazy loud sounds, so of course it went crazy while being pushed and pulled with stones.
Overall, the sensation and way that it worked my muscles was amazing, and Hot Stone Massage II is definitely on my Beijing Bucket List!
Monday, May 30, 2011
Wo Shi Mei Guo Ren.
I’ve been in China for almost 10 months now, but I started taking Mandarin lessons about one month ago. By that I mean, I’ve been to four one and a half hour-sessions, where I’m mostly learning to read pinyin. By now, my big accomplishments are seeing “xi” and saying, “see”, and “zh” and saying, “j.”
We’ve also started to learn a few of the basics, like ordering in restaurants. This is when I learned that the few phrases I thought I knew (and have been using since August of last year), were in fact wrong.
Some mistakes are small enough. I’ve been ordering two “units” of rice, (liang ge mi fan), instead of two bowls (liang wan mi fan). I did the same with beer, ordering “units” or ge, instead of bottles, which is ping.
I also found out that when I thought I was ordering two bottles of beer (pi jiu), I was actually asking, “Do you have or not have two units of beer?” (You may you liang ge pi jiu?).
After that I started saying, “I want two bottles of beer” (Wo yao liang ping pi jiu), which turns out to be pretty rude. It took me weeks to learn the actual ordering phrase, which turns out to be, “Please, bring two bottles of beer.” (Qing wen, lai liang ping pi jiu.)
As you can see, the topic of beer comes up a lot in class. I also learned to say, “I like to drink beer,” (Wo xi huan he pi jiu) and “Do you like to drink beer?” which is “You like to drink beer, question?” (Ni xi huan he pi jiu, ma) or “You like or don’t like to drink beer?” (Ni xi huan bu xi huan he pi jiu). I’m starting to think the Chinese teachers know me too well…
The phrase I may be most excited to learn, even though it’s so late in my stay, is “Where is the bathroom?” They use the bathroom symbol here, or man and woman in Chinese, which I can recognize, but following signs is not so easy. I never thought of arrows as being cultural, but I’ve been more lost in Asia following signs than ever before.
An arrow pointing down means, more often than not, that the item is behind the sign. An arrow pointing up often means it’s behind you. I’ve been in the strangest allies in China and Malaysia, thinking I’m on the right path until I’m left stranded without a sign in sight. (The other strange thing is that bathrooms are often hidden in the smallest, dirtiest hallways and corners, through parking lots and streets, not necessarily connect or anywhere near the restaurant or shop. )
The worst part, though, is having to go up to a waiter or maître de at a fancy restaurant and ask, loudly and clearly, “Toilet?!?” This is the word they use for bathroom, and the only way I’ve found that communicates your need, as much as I start with the usual, “Excuse me, is there a restroom or bathroom?”
Not anymore! The phrase literally translates to “Please, bathroom where?” “Qing wen, wei sheng jian zai nar?” Yess!!
With any luck, I’ll get these simple requests…when it’s time to go back to America!
We’ve also started to learn a few of the basics, like ordering in restaurants. This is when I learned that the few phrases I thought I knew (and have been using since August of last year), were in fact wrong.
Some mistakes are small enough. I’ve been ordering two “units” of rice, (liang ge mi fan), instead of two bowls (liang wan mi fan). I did the same with beer, ordering “units” or ge, instead of bottles, which is ping.
I also found out that when I thought I was ordering two bottles of beer (pi jiu), I was actually asking, “Do you have or not have two units of beer?” (You may you liang ge pi jiu?).
After that I started saying, “I want two bottles of beer” (Wo yao liang ping pi jiu), which turns out to be pretty rude. It took me weeks to learn the actual ordering phrase, which turns out to be, “Please, bring two bottles of beer.” (Qing wen, lai liang ping pi jiu.)
As you can see, the topic of beer comes up a lot in class. I also learned to say, “I like to drink beer,” (Wo xi huan he pi jiu) and “Do you like to drink beer?” which is “You like to drink beer, question?” (Ni xi huan he pi jiu, ma) or “You like or don’t like to drink beer?” (Ni xi huan bu xi huan he pi jiu). I’m starting to think the Chinese teachers know me too well…
The phrase I may be most excited to learn, even though it’s so late in my stay, is “Where is the bathroom?” They use the bathroom symbol here, or man and woman in Chinese, which I can recognize, but following signs is not so easy. I never thought of arrows as being cultural, but I’ve been more lost in Asia following signs than ever before.
An arrow pointing down means, more often than not, that the item is behind the sign. An arrow pointing up often means it’s behind you. I’ve been in the strangest allies in China and Malaysia, thinking I’m on the right path until I’m left stranded without a sign in sight. (The other strange thing is that bathrooms are often hidden in the smallest, dirtiest hallways and corners, through parking lots and streets, not necessarily connect or anywhere near the restaurant or shop. )
The worst part, though, is having to go up to a waiter or maître de at a fancy restaurant and ask, loudly and clearly, “Toilet?!?” This is the word they use for bathroom, and the only way I’ve found that communicates your need, as much as I start with the usual, “Excuse me, is there a restroom or bathroom?”
Not anymore! The phrase literally translates to “Please, bathroom where?” “Qing wen, wei sheng jian zai nar?” Yess!!
With any luck, I’ll get these simple requests…when it’s time to go back to America!
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Who, Me?
It’s not difficult to see that my life in Beijing is far different than the life I was leading in New York. Being here, I’ve made a few minor life-revelations. The first is simply that being Malaysian is actually important to my cultural heritage. I guess it seems silly, but I think I need to be in China to figure that out.
The second revelation is that…I like doing things. In New York, my most..ok one of my only forms of recreation was going out on a Saturday night. (Ok ok, Tuesday or Wednesday, but it’s not my fault that’s when the girl parties are…) That is not to say that I’m not going out over here and that I don’t intend to keep that up. What I’ve also realized, though, is that I like doing other active things.
If you know me, you know that of all the things I’ve been classified as, “sporty” has never been one of them. I can’t play any organized sports, I don’t play frizbe at the park, and when Kel convinced me to try tossing a ball with her at the beach it was much closer to playing fetch than catch.
That being said, I’ve always thought of myself as fairly active. Back in the days of my youth, I was involved in all sorts of female-gendered, individual-best sports. So when I asked if I could join dragon boating and was told with no hint of sarcasm, “Well….it’s athletic”…I realized in the last 6 years, I had let myself go.
That may be what prompted the rocking climbing, but it’s definitely not what’s kept me going back every week. I love figuring out routes, and the game of which to hold. I like trying to balance and just falling on mats whenever I need to. It’s nice to feel like ballet wasn’t a waste of time that I’ve all but forgotten.
This spring I’ve been rock climbing every weekend, and during the week if I can swing it. I’m also swimming once a week and biking to and from school. It’s not much, but it’s a nice addition to dancing in the clubs!
Rock Climbing Note: I definitely like Bouldering better than the belay wall. I’ve never been afraid of heights before, but there’s something about hanging 40 feet in the air by your fingertips and tip toes that stirs up some sizeable fear.
The second revelation is that…I like doing things. In New York, my most..ok one of my only forms of recreation was going out on a Saturday night. (Ok ok, Tuesday or Wednesday, but it’s not my fault that’s when the girl parties are…) That is not to say that I’m not going out over here and that I don’t intend to keep that up. What I’ve also realized, though, is that I like doing other active things.
If you know me, you know that of all the things I’ve been classified as, “sporty” has never been one of them. I can’t play any organized sports, I don’t play frizbe at the park, and when Kel convinced me to try tossing a ball with her at the beach it was much closer to playing fetch than catch.
That being said, I’ve always thought of myself as fairly active. Back in the days of my youth, I was involved in all sorts of female-gendered, individual-best sports. So when I asked if I could join dragon boating and was told with no hint of sarcasm, “Well….it’s athletic”…I realized in the last 6 years, I had let myself go.
That may be what prompted the rocking climbing, but it’s definitely not what’s kept me going back every week. I love figuring out routes, and the game of which to hold. I like trying to balance and just falling on mats whenever I need to. It’s nice to feel like ballet wasn’t a waste of time that I’ve all but forgotten.
This spring I’ve been rock climbing every weekend, and during the week if I can swing it. I’m also swimming once a week and biking to and from school. It’s not much, but it’s a nice addition to dancing in the clubs!
Rock Climbing Note: I definitely like Bouldering better than the belay wall. I’ve never been afraid of heights before, but there’s something about hanging 40 feet in the air by your fingertips and tip toes that stirs up some sizeable fear.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Rain Rain Go Away
It started out like any other work day. Kelly and I were biking to work at 7:00 in the morning. Ok, I noticed that it was a little darker out than usual, but I didn’t think much of it. (This may be since Kelly has become “The Girl Who Cried ‘Rain.’” She’s always calling “rain”, even when we live in a desert and it didn’t rain for
five months. More often than not, it’s just another day of thick pollution smog.)
You can probably see where this is going. It started as a light drizzle when we were already on campus, just five minutes away. Within 30 seconds it was a thick downpour. It’s amazing how wet you can get in just a few minutes of heavy rain.
I don’t own an umbrella yet, but I do have an over-the-bike rain poncho, courtesy of my awesome assistant. I’ve had it since September and never used it. How was I to know this was the one day to NOT keep it at home?
Luckily I was wearing a dark dress that day, but it did make for a rather uncomfortable beginning of school.
Because of the unpredictability of the weather, (or my bad luck in the universe), it was sunny all day until the minute I was ready to leave. I actually took my kids out to the playground during the day without a problem, (other than some large puddles), and walked through campus to the cafeteria in bright sunshine.
I had swimming, so I still had to ride my bike. They were giving out super thin garbage bag-esque ponchos, so I grabbed one. Even though it didn’t cover below my waist, it did keep my backpack dry. When I got out of swimming, it was not only pouring, but with the added finesse of thunder and lightning.
It was kind of exhilarating, pedaling through the streets of Wudaokou in a crazy storm wearing just a dress and a yellow garbage bag. I thought at least I’d have the run of the streets, but I should have known better. All the usual traffic was still out, just more properly attired than myself. There were just as many carts and bikes, and the cars drive just as damn fast, with the added oomph of spewing water from their wheels. There were massive flooded parts of the street, with no way to go around them. By the time I got to my complex in Liudaokou, I was as soaked as when I was in the pool, and thoroughly laughing. I got some of the weirdest looks and double-takes since I’ve been in China, and that’s saying a lot.
Lesson Learned: I should really start checking the weather.
five months. More often than not, it’s just another day of thick pollution smog.)
You can probably see where this is going. It started as a light drizzle when we were already on campus, just five minutes away. Within 30 seconds it was a thick downpour. It’s amazing how wet you can get in just a few minutes of heavy rain.
I don’t own an umbrella yet, but I do have an over-the-bike rain poncho, courtesy of my awesome assistant. I’ve had it since September and never used it. How was I to know this was the one day to NOT keep it at home?
Luckily I was wearing a dark dress that day, but it did make for a rather uncomfortable beginning of school.
Because of the unpredictability of the weather, (or my bad luck in the universe), it was sunny all day until the minute I was ready to leave. I actually took my kids out to the playground during the day without a problem, (other than some large puddles), and walked through campus to the cafeteria in bright sunshine.
I had swimming, so I still had to ride my bike. They were giving out super thin garbage bag-esque ponchos, so I grabbed one. Even though it didn’t cover below my waist, it did keep my backpack dry. When I got out of swimming, it was not only pouring, but with the added finesse of thunder and lightning.
It was kind of exhilarating, pedaling through the streets of Wudaokou in a crazy storm wearing just a dress and a yellow garbage bag. I thought at least I’d have the run of the streets, but I should have known better. All the usual traffic was still out, just more properly attired than myself. There were just as many carts and bikes, and the cars drive just as damn fast, with the added oomph of spewing water from their wheels. There were massive flooded parts of the street, with no way to go around them. By the time I got to my complex in Liudaokou, I was as soaked as when I was in the pool, and thoroughly laughing. I got some of the weirdest looks and double-takes since I’ve been in China, and that’s saying a lot.
Lesson Learned: I should really start checking the weather.
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