Hey you!
I hear that you read this, and it makes me so glad! I just want to put it out there that I'd love see some comments. It'd make me feel like I'm actually writing to people and not just venting to the internet.
Also, I know I play with the posting dates, but I try to "publish" them so that they go in the order that they happened, even if that's not when my laziness actually writes them.(cough...French Fries, the Mission) - so snoop around!
xoxo,
B
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Hiking to the Temple
After eating our group broke up to explore the various mountain trails. Kelly and I wandered through stone walkways on the mountains that turned into dirt paths and ultimately vanished into narrow footholds on the mountain’s edge. We worked our way up to the top of one peak and spotted the temple in the distance.
It took us a number of tries, following winding walkways and steep stone steps (a recurring theme for my excursions in China), but we finally reached the temple. I’ve been feeling a certain amount of energy and peace in places like this. This temple wasn’t especially intricate or grand, consisting of a single room with three figures inside, but standing in the doorway, just before entering, brought on a calm that helped me to put the past week behind me.
Another joy of this trip was the pleasant nature of the people I encountered. In my area of Beijing, where no locals speak English, I have begun to flat out ignore the people around me. In my invisible bubble, no one sees or hears me. Here, in this “touristy” village, there were many Chinese people who made it a point to say, “hello” or “good afternoon.” They even brightened up when they saw us, as if they’d been waiting their whole lives to drop these carefully memorized phrases.
Note: I toyed with the idea of calling this entry “Hiking to Buddha”, and then decided that I’m not in any place to be making such statements.
It took us a number of tries, following winding walkways and steep stone steps (a recurring theme for my excursions in China), but we finally reached the temple. I’ve been feeling a certain amount of energy and peace in places like this. This temple wasn’t especially intricate or grand, consisting of a single room with three figures inside, but standing in the doorway, just before entering, brought on a calm that helped me to put the past week behind me.
Another joy of this trip was the pleasant nature of the people I encountered. In my area of Beijing, where no locals speak English, I have begun to flat out ignore the people around me. In my invisible bubble, no one sees or hears me. Here, in this “touristy” village, there were many Chinese people who made it a point to say, “hello” or “good afternoon.” They even brightened up when they saw us, as if they’d been waiting their whole lives to drop these carefully memorized phrases.
Note: I toyed with the idea of calling this entry “Hiking to Buddha”, and then decided that I’m not in any place to be making such statements.
Village in the Mountains
Cuandixia is a small village in the mountains. This is all that I knew before arriving, but it was enough for me to want to check it out. When we arrived I found it just as described. The village was made up of dirt roads and stone hallways that connected many small rooms. Everything, from the walls to the piles of dirt, to the random rusty water spouts seemed old and decayed, except for the signs, which were freshly painted and labeled the buildings as “inns”.
I walked though these outdoor hallways, poking my head into this doorway and that. If there was an empty table inside, it was a restaurant; if I saw a bed, it was an inn. We settled on an open air restaurant, basically a stone porch, on the side of a mountain, overlooking the rest of the village. We ordered almost everything on their list of items, including the local specialty, “fried leaves.” Looking around at the fallen foliage, I was a bit nervous at first, but the puffy, deep-fried pieces of green tasted mostly like fried puffs of air. I should have saved my apprehension for the “tomato and egg soup” which was literally nothing more than tomatoes and eggs cracked into boiling water. The chicken dish was deliciously salty and spicy, although the bowl of meat and bones did include the head and feet.
I enjoyed the rest of the food, even the other “soup”, which was squash water that held enough flavor for me to add some eggplant or bones from other dishes to make it drinkable. The owners even brought out two little complementary dishes, one that was pretty much salsa on a plate, except that the tomatoes and onions were fresh and diced large enough to pick up with chopsticks. The second was a pasta dish, served cold in something like tomato sauce, with the treat of real (canned) black olives and about 10 pieces of rigatoni pasta. (I realize that sounds sarcastic, and yes, the “pasta” was pretty clammy and chewy, but realizing that black olives can taste the same even on the side of a mountain was a wonderfully comforting discovery.)
By the end of the meal I was feeling full and satisfied, until I noticed the “sink” for the restaurant on my way out. By “sink”, I mean plastic bin of dirty water piled high with old, food-encrusted dishes. Uneasiness washed over me as I remembered ignoring the bit of water that had lingered in the bottom of my bowl at the beginning of the meal.
I haven’t been in China long enough for: the insane alcoholic concoction at the restaurant. At the “bar”, a small table with a few bottles of liquor, I spied a glass jar of liquor with many creatures fermenting inside. The unfortunate animals included: snakes, scorpions, and, I swear on my life, a flying squirrel. Bottoms up!
I walked though these outdoor hallways, poking my head into this doorway and that. If there was an empty table inside, it was a restaurant; if I saw a bed, it was an inn. We settled on an open air restaurant, basically a stone porch, on the side of a mountain, overlooking the rest of the village. We ordered almost everything on their list of items, including the local specialty, “fried leaves.” Looking around at the fallen foliage, I was a bit nervous at first, but the puffy, deep-fried pieces of green tasted mostly like fried puffs of air. I should have saved my apprehension for the “tomato and egg soup” which was literally nothing more than tomatoes and eggs cracked into boiling water. The chicken dish was deliciously salty and spicy, although the bowl of meat and bones did include the head and feet.
I enjoyed the rest of the food, even the other “soup”, which was squash water that held enough flavor for me to add some eggplant or bones from other dishes to make it drinkable. The owners even brought out two little complementary dishes, one that was pretty much salsa on a plate, except that the tomatoes and onions were fresh and diced large enough to pick up with chopsticks. The second was a pasta dish, served cold in something like tomato sauce, with the treat of real (canned) black olives and about 10 pieces of rigatoni pasta. (I realize that sounds sarcastic, and yes, the “pasta” was pretty clammy and chewy, but realizing that black olives can taste the same even on the side of a mountain was a wonderfully comforting discovery.)
By the end of the meal I was feeling full and satisfied, until I noticed the “sink” for the restaurant on my way out. By “sink”, I mean plastic bin of dirty water piled high with old, food-encrusted dishes. Uneasiness washed over me as I remembered ignoring the bit of water that had lingered in the bottom of my bowl at the beginning of the meal.
I haven’t been in China long enough for: the insane alcoholic concoction at the restaurant. At the “bar”, a small table with a few bottles of liquor, I spied a glass jar of liquor with many creatures fermenting inside. The unfortunate animals included: snakes, scorpions, and, I swear on my life, a flying squirrel. Bottoms up!
Cuandixia
That word probably means nothing to you. It didn’t mean anything to me either, before I got an mass staff email announcing that Kelly and the upper grades art teacher, Julie, thought up a weekend getaway while they were wasted, and did I want to join? (In reality, they shared one drink and Julie convinced Kel that it would be a great trip.)
One strange part of being here is the blurry lines between professional and personal aspects of my personality. As many of you know, I delight in exploring both of these realms, but maintain separate times and relationships where they belong (with some exceptions, of course, as those of you who were once my colleagues know). This outing began with 10 faculty members, including my director, drinking Chinese-style screwdrivers (the vodka was real but the “orange juice” had definitely never seen an orchard) at 10 a.m.
I was glad for the refreshments, which made the traffic jam on the way out of Beijing that much more pleasant. At one point, the traffic was so slow that our actually turned our engine off. There, pressed up against a public bus, was the closest experience I’ve ever had to being in a zoo or aquarium. All of the Chinese locals were peering in through the glass, pointing at us and whispering with their friends. I had the feeling that they were just waiting for us to do something interesting, like perform, or be fed. I drank my pseudo-screwdriver and resisted the urge to start swinging down the aisle or throw something at the glass.
One strange part of being here is the blurry lines between professional and personal aspects of my personality. As many of you know, I delight in exploring both of these realms, but maintain separate times and relationships where they belong (with some exceptions, of course, as those of you who were once my colleagues know). This outing began with 10 faculty members, including my director, drinking Chinese-style screwdrivers (the vodka was real but the “orange juice” had definitely never seen an orchard) at 10 a.m.
I was glad for the refreshments, which made the traffic jam on the way out of Beijing that much more pleasant. At one point, the traffic was so slow that our actually turned our engine off. There, pressed up against a public bus, was the closest experience I’ve ever had to being in a zoo or aquarium. All of the Chinese locals were peering in through the glass, pointing at us and whispering with their friends. I had the feeling that they were just waiting for us to do something interesting, like perform, or be fed. I drank my pseudo-screwdriver and resisted the urge to start swinging down the aisle or throw something at the glass.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Delicious Updates
Sorry, friends, for not having much news this past week. I started teaching social studies in school, a study of food that will lead to a unit where my kids interview the cafeteria workers and eventually make their own cafeteria to serve the parents.
I gave my kids pictures of food from other cultures and had them write questions or guesses about what they were seeing. I gave them some enchiladas, a falafel, stuffed cabbage and pierogies (of course I had to put my polish food in there!) and “American food”, namely a mac and cheese and a chili cheese dog. It was so interesting to hear their guesses, that pierogies were dumplings, tomatoes were chilies, and falafel was meat, and to hear their shock that there was a pile of beans on the Mexican plate, or that the mustard-looking liquid on the hot dog was cheese.
I'd say 80% of what I eat here is rice with some type of veggies. I buy all the veggies I need to cook for a week from a cart on my street for 18 RMB, about $2 (US). I also go out to eat and get usually Japanese, Korean BBQ, and Indian. I do get the occasional pizza sometimes, which is really only good from this one place called Kros Nest.
The other day I ordered "caramelized bananas" which turned out to be banana balls coated in liquid sugar. The coating tasted like candy apples. It came out steaming and we we told (through mime, of course) to dip it in a bowl of water before eating. We weren't sure if this was just because it was so hot, so we continued to do it even after the balls had hardened into one giant sculpture of sugary banana candy.
I am getting used to the food, even oddities like eating a whole cooked fish- with chopsticks! I've even acquired some favorite dishes that I need to break out of, like spicy potato from the Szechuan place down the street.
I’ve found that embracing the Chinese food is the best idea here, rather than trying to make familiar food. I tried to make mashed potatoes the other day, but since we have no milk or butter or salt, it was really just a potato in a bowl. I don’t even have a fork, so it was pretty lumpy, even though I did the best I could with a metal spoon. I put a little broth from the duck soup I’d made out of our leftovers (just boiling the meat and bones, and then adding veggies and dumplings), and a bit of sesame oil. I’m not saying it tasted bad, but it certainly didn’t transport me home.
Kelly cracked this week and bought a round little loaf of French bread and some brie cheese from a fancy foreign grocery store in the center of Beijing. It was so delicious and filling that it became our dinner.
Things I’m not used to yet: leaving the eggs on the counter. For whatever reason, because they’re not pumped with whatever chemicals I’m used to, I don’t have to keep them in the fridge. I know this, but every time I see them there on the kitchen counter, I think, “oh no! I left the eggs out!”
I gave my kids pictures of food from other cultures and had them write questions or guesses about what they were seeing. I gave them some enchiladas, a falafel, stuffed cabbage and pierogies (of course I had to put my polish food in there!) and “American food”, namely a mac and cheese and a chili cheese dog. It was so interesting to hear their guesses, that pierogies were dumplings, tomatoes were chilies, and falafel was meat, and to hear their shock that there was a pile of beans on the Mexican plate, or that the mustard-looking liquid on the hot dog was cheese.
I'd say 80% of what I eat here is rice with some type of veggies. I buy all the veggies I need to cook for a week from a cart on my street for 18 RMB, about $2 (US). I also go out to eat and get usually Japanese, Korean BBQ, and Indian. I do get the occasional pizza sometimes, which is really only good from this one place called Kros Nest.
The other day I ordered "caramelized bananas" which turned out to be banana balls coated in liquid sugar. The coating tasted like candy apples. It came out steaming and we we told (through mime, of course) to dip it in a bowl of water before eating. We weren't sure if this was just because it was so hot, so we continued to do it even after the balls had hardened into one giant sculpture of sugary banana candy.
I am getting used to the food, even oddities like eating a whole cooked fish- with chopsticks! I've even acquired some favorite dishes that I need to break out of, like spicy potato from the Szechuan place down the street.
I’ve found that embracing the Chinese food is the best idea here, rather than trying to make familiar food. I tried to make mashed potatoes the other day, but since we have no milk or butter or salt, it was really just a potato in a bowl. I don’t even have a fork, so it was pretty lumpy, even though I did the best I could with a metal spoon. I put a little broth from the duck soup I’d made out of our leftovers (just boiling the meat and bones, and then adding veggies and dumplings), and a bit of sesame oil. I’m not saying it tasted bad, but it certainly didn’t transport me home.
Kelly cracked this week and bought a round little loaf of French bread and some brie cheese from a fancy foreign grocery store in the center of Beijing. It was so delicious and filling that it became our dinner.
Things I’m not used to yet: leaving the eggs on the counter. For whatever reason, because they’re not pumped with whatever chemicals I’m used to, I don’t have to keep them in the fridge. I know this, but every time I see them there on the kitchen counter, I think, “oh no! I left the eggs out!”
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Timing is Everything
My friend Roxanne invited me and Kelly to go to a concert in the Opera Hall in the garden surrounding the Forbidden City. This seemed like the perfect opportunity to finally see the center of Beijing (a few months late.) We made the plan to get dinner at Ho Hai Lake, a beautiful stretch of the city that is lined with waterfront restaurants. This was the perfect chance to finally get Peking duck, which is a whole duck (head sold separately), that you put, sliced, into a thin tortilla-like wrapping with a little dark sauce, cucumber, and chives. Think Mu shu pancakes, except without the pre-made bowl of slop.
My friend Roxanne and I also took this opportunity to try some new drinks. The list was translated into English, but with no descriptions. I settled on a “grasshopper”, which turned out to taste exactly like mouthwash in a martini glass, complete with the bright green glow. Roxanne’s “White Angel” lacked any recognizable flavor, but let’s just say I wasn’t motivated to trade.
At this point of being in China, I’m starting to take some things for granted. At the beginning, I expected nothing and had no standards of normalcy. For days after I arrived I could barely get myself to a restaurant and even then I knew that ordering was always a gamble. (Kelly has completely cut off menu-pointing at corn ever since we ordered a corn dish that somehow came out tasting strongly of breaded fish.) One thing that has always been consistent in our meals is the timing. Everything is family style, so the dishes arrive quickly as soon as they are cooked. I suppose you can see where this is going…
We allotted an hour to eat our meal in order to make it to the concert in time, factoring in the variable of catching a cab and somehow communicating to the driver where we were going.
Our side dish of veggies arrived almost immediately after we closed our menus, along with our beverages. I spent the next 45 minutes in stressful silence, sipping mouthwash and giving my waitress far dirtier looks than she deserved. Our long-awaited duck finally arrived literally one minute before we were supposed to leave the restaurant.
I have never stuffed myself so quickly with duck-filled pancakes.
We ran out of the restaurant, cursing China and its consistent unpredictability, and managed to jump into a taxi right away. Our chosen strategy, showing the tickets for the opera to the taxi driver, actually worked and we were left, dumbfounded at the doors to the garden in no time. Then, by sheer miracle, the crowd of people that we followed through the dark and windy paths of the garden actually led us through a 10 minute stretch - straight to the opera house.
You can have your own theory, but I’m convinced that was Beijing’s apology.
I accept.
My friend Roxanne and I also took this opportunity to try some new drinks. The list was translated into English, but with no descriptions. I settled on a “grasshopper”, which turned out to taste exactly like mouthwash in a martini glass, complete with the bright green glow. Roxanne’s “White Angel” lacked any recognizable flavor, but let’s just say I wasn’t motivated to trade.
At this point of being in China, I’m starting to take some things for granted. At the beginning, I expected nothing and had no standards of normalcy. For days after I arrived I could barely get myself to a restaurant and even then I knew that ordering was always a gamble. (Kelly has completely cut off menu-pointing at corn ever since we ordered a corn dish that somehow came out tasting strongly of breaded fish.) One thing that has always been consistent in our meals is the timing. Everything is family style, so the dishes arrive quickly as soon as they are cooked. I suppose you can see where this is going…
We allotted an hour to eat our meal in order to make it to the concert in time, factoring in the variable of catching a cab and somehow communicating to the driver where we were going.
Our side dish of veggies arrived almost immediately after we closed our menus, along with our beverages. I spent the next 45 minutes in stressful silence, sipping mouthwash and giving my waitress far dirtier looks than she deserved. Our long-awaited duck finally arrived literally one minute before we were supposed to leave the restaurant.
I have never stuffed myself so quickly with duck-filled pancakes.
We ran out of the restaurant, cursing China and its consistent unpredictability, and managed to jump into a taxi right away. Our chosen strategy, showing the tickets for the opera to the taxi driver, actually worked and we were left, dumbfounded at the doors to the garden in no time. Then, by sheer miracle, the crowd of people that we followed through the dark and windy paths of the garden actually led us through a 10 minute stretch - straight to the opera house.
You can have your own theory, but I’m convinced that was Beijing’s apology.
I accept.
Surprise!
Kelly and I finally cracked and bought a bottle of our good friend Jose Cuervo. Not that I haven't been enjoying the pi geo (beer), and the $3 Great Wall Wine, but it was time to spice it up. Pretending to be back in NYC, we grabbed some limes on the way home, thinking, "How funny, limes in China are round."
Of course when we got home, we realized that, rather, some oranges in China have lime skin. Surprise!
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