Anyone who knows me knows that my community of lesbians is very important to me. (You may remember me from such LGBT events as NYC PRIDE, Blue Crush pool parties, or any of the many girl parties thrown on random weekdays, because that’s the only day they’ll give us. But that’s another story.)
That being said, it’s been 114 days since I’ve seen a lesbian other than Kelly. (But who’s counting…)
My friends here don’t understand my need to see others like myself, to find a community even here, because I have a girlfriend. Now, it’s true that Kelly’s definitely moved serious points on the gay scale since we’ve arrived (her becoming Volleyball Coach Callahan definitely bumped her up) but it’s no secret that she doesn’t share my affinity for lesbian culture.
I decided that it was past time for me to actively seek out at least a party or a club. There is something about walking into a room with just women like myself that is reassuring and comforting for me. Here, where everything is like a concrete cultural slap in the face, I was overdue for a little comfort and community.
That’s when I found out about Pink. I saw it advertised in City Weekend under LGBT nightlife (which had one other entry just for boys).
"Every Saturday, PINK, Party at LAN with Beijing' LGBT community. Queer Comrades organizes this weekly LGBT even tthat geatures 2 for one drinks, Y30."
I didn't know what “queer” meant in Beijing, but I was so interested to find out. I was trying to explain to my friends here, who don’t know about the scene in NYC, the difference between girl parties and queer parties (between Eden and choice c’s). But I had no idea what it meant here.
I was excited either way, especially because of the venue. LAN is a really swanky and interesting spot that I’d been dying to check out again since I was first brought there. There are giant paintings hanging and overlapping all over the celling. There are vintage couch spots facing the stage, and a spot in the middle for dancing. They have a spot for live bands interchanging with a decent DJ, and a bar in the next room with tall vintage stools with magnified body parts on the backs. It sounds weird to explain, but it makes for a cool vibe.
At the back, you can wind your way through a hallway with different rooms on either side, separated at times just by hanging curtains and rugs. In each room is a pre-set table and chairs. Each dining room is unique with outlandish chandeliers, plates, chairs, and tables. I’m no artist, and I’m no architect, but I know that these rooms are gorgeous and I loved walking around, sitting in them, and pretending to be at the mad hatter’s tea party.
Saturday finally came and, armed with my new haircut and motley crew of Kelly and two straight girls, we set out to check out Beijing’s LGBT scene.
Honestly, setting out, my expectations were beyond low. I had already heard from a gay may I happened to chat with one night while I was being a wingman for my straight friend, I was told that the “queer” mostly meant men. I remember, though, from my early days of going out to with gay men friends, that being one of the only lesbians in a gay man bar can be good for your odds. (This only really works in cities where the scenes are so small that they’re overlapping if not combined, outside of NYC.) I was ready for those odds. I was even ready to meet some gay men, who may know lesbians or other LGBT hang outs, where the G is less pronounced, or at least the L is included.
You can imagine my surprise when even those expectations were too high. The crowd at LAN was and older, stuffier, more pretentious group of straight people that even I’m willing to ignore just to have a good time. I asked the hostess about PINK, and she squinted her eyes and looked at me like she’d never heard that word before in her life. We stood by the bar and reassessed the place, the crowd, and came to the same conclusion. My friends went to scope out the awesomely decorated rooms and I cried by the bar over my disappointment.
My mistake, well, one of my mistakes, had been to discuss at length over dinner the intricacies of the scene in NY and ideas about identity. I quoted too many Savage Podcasts. I had let too much ride on one night.
We decided not to contribute any money to the false PINK and got our coats to leave. On the way out my friend who speaks Chinese asked the same hostess about PINK in English and, after a few rounds of denying everything, eventually admitted that they’d had it twice and then discontinued it. (For what it’s worth, which is nothing, I told her that she should know they’re still advertising for it as a weekly event.)
If you’re reading, my NY girls, go out for me, the last lala in China!
(I was resolved to find people using the internet. I typed in “Lesbians” in Beijing and was told, “There are results for your search.” That hurt.)
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Friday, December 3, 2010
It Was Time
I’ve had the same hair cut for 5 years, ok 6, ok 8 or 9. Ok, my whole life except for when I was a child and my father cut my hair himself into the Chinese-bob, complete with v-shaped bangs that started in the back of my head.
I had been wanting to cut my hair since I came to China. One, because I’ve had it the same forever, and there’s nothing like being in a new place to make you want to try a new do. Two, because there’s nothing like being in a place where no one knows you help you anxiety about taking a risk. When my friend told me that she’d gotten a haircut at a place in Woudaokou where there were two English-speaking people, I knew I had no more excuses. Erica, my ever-useful and helpful Chinese-speaking friend, agreed to come with. This turned out to be an incredibly useful amenity, as I never saw the English-speaking workers that had led me there.
The place was impressive. It was all new and shiny, with white walls and light-up mirrors. Everyone who worked there looked like they had just stepped off the set of a reality TV show for hair stylists. Chinese men are already bordering the metro-side of the spectrum, but these boys were hugging the end, with their spikey gel-styles and frosted tips.
Erica used my head as a prop as she explained the style that I wanted, longer in the front and going shorter towards the back, but not so short she had to buzz my hair. She asked if I wore my hair in a ponytail, and I said I was fine if it was too short for that, as I usually wore it down.
While she was cutting, however, she told Erica that she had asked because my hair, “has a wave in it, and it’s not pretty.” This led her to suggest that I get a “treatment” that would keep it straight. She suggested one that was 200Y ($30) or one that was 400Y ($60). Erica asked about the difference between the two, and was told that the 200Y was “a little terrible.” I was ready to spring for the “expensive” stuff, (especially since my hair cut was $5), when the hairdresser changed her mind and recommended the “little terrible” treatment for my “standards.”
The “treatment”, I’m pretty sure, ended up being that they relaxed my hair so that it would curl under.
In America, I’ve always had quote unquote Asian hair. It’s slippery and straight, and stubbornly resistant to curling. Apparently in Asia I have black hair. Awesome.
Everyone else in the salon was fluffing up their hair. The 80’s are IN right now in China. The girl next to me had crazy medusa, electroshock-treatment-style curlers, where each one was connected to a wire and plugged into a machine behind her head.
This may be the reason that all of my student’s parents said that my hair makes me look “much, much younger.” At my publishing party on Friday, one mother even commented that I look “just like a teenager.”
Exactly as I planned.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Tis’ the Season
Immediately after Thanksgiving, Kelly and I began our Holiday Season (aka Christmas celebration, because we’re the only people involved this year, sorry Jewish friends!) I wasn’t about to let Christmas sneak up on me like Thanksgiving had, so a few days after Turkey Day me and Kelly took a trip to the Super Wal-Mart of Beijing.
This was clearly an event, as we rarely take the subway after work. We typically save this slow method of transportation for the weekends when we have more time to walk for 10 minutes down a winding path, sometimes emerging above ground and winding through a labyrinth in a crowd of angry Beijinger (which is amazingly more terrifying than angry New Yorkers) just to make a transfer between lines. New Yorkers definitely walk with a purpose, but they are (generally) still able to walk in a crowd with an understanding of personal space. During Beijing’s rush hour, if I were to attempt to retrieve something I’d dropped, I would never emerge, but rather disintegrate into the ground, crushed by thousands of high-heeled boots.
But, the Christmas decorations were a must.
We had heard about there being a Wal-Mart, which is kind awesome and mostly pitiful, except for the fact that it carries the only holiday decorations in the city. The store was giant, with multiple floors. All the department and grocery stores here have something like ramp-escalators, which is exactly as it sounds, and really comes in handy when you’re moving from floor to floor with a cart-full of Christmas décor.
We bought one of everything, and two of some things that were too good to skimp on.
We debated buying an actual fake tree, which they did carry, but the expense, the waste, and the idea of trying to ride it home on our bikes seemed to outweigh our desire. Instead, we bought 5 boxes of lights, and Kelly used green electrical tape to make a tree on our wall, which we adorned with classy ornaments from a package, like a bright pink felt raindeer, and a purple, styrofoam mini-wreath.
I did buy a mini-Christmas tree, about one foot tall and pre-decorated with fake snow, golden balls and bows, and what appears to be a some gold plastic sticks sticking here and there. We put it with some stockings under our TV, and presents that we bought and wrapped together for each other. Some I accidentally wrapped for myself, and then had to write, “To Bekki, Love Kelly.”
That’s not to mention the tinsel, bows, and random Santa-wear we also purchased. Kelly said no one is allowed to come to our apartment until January. I already invited everyone I know for a cookie-decorating and eggnog extravaganza.
At the checkout, we managed to package all of our holiday bling into a giant backpack, and one giant open bag, about two feet by one foot long. We felt successful, until we reached the subway.
It was 7:30, which in Beijing Subway terms means “death.” The crowd just to get onto the subway platform started at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the platform. We heard a train leave and made our way into the stair crowd, working towards the platform. There was another giant crowd waiting at the bottom, seemingly waiting to leave the station. Instead, the guard released a gate and the mass moved up the “exit” stairs and crowded the beginning of the platform. Safe, right?
Eventually we made it to the platform of no escape. We thought about taking a taxi, but were trapped by the crowd on the exit stairs and had no choice to inch closer to the tracks at each train. When a train did come, the crowd was aggressive in a way I’ve never seen before. One man was pushing people onto the train, wildly shoving their shoulders with the palm of his hand and then forcing himself behind the closing doors. I clutched my giant bag of teetering goodies and went as “city” as I get to make it onto the train and off at the next stop.
It was no small victory to be riding our bikes, overflowing with Christmas accessories, back to our apartment.
This was clearly an event, as we rarely take the subway after work. We typically save this slow method of transportation for the weekends when we have more time to walk for 10 minutes down a winding path, sometimes emerging above ground and winding through a labyrinth in a crowd of angry Beijinger (which is amazingly more terrifying than angry New Yorkers) just to make a transfer between lines. New Yorkers definitely walk with a purpose, but they are (generally) still able to walk in a crowd with an understanding of personal space. During Beijing’s rush hour, if I were to attempt to retrieve something I’d dropped, I would never emerge, but rather disintegrate into the ground, crushed by thousands of high-heeled boots.
But, the Christmas decorations were a must.
We had heard about there being a Wal-Mart, which is kind awesome and mostly pitiful, except for the fact that it carries the only holiday decorations in the city. The store was giant, with multiple floors. All the department and grocery stores here have something like ramp-escalators, which is exactly as it sounds, and really comes in handy when you’re moving from floor to floor with a cart-full of Christmas décor.
We bought one of everything, and two of some things that were too good to skimp on.
We debated buying an actual fake tree, which they did carry, but the expense, the waste, and the idea of trying to ride it home on our bikes seemed to outweigh our desire. Instead, we bought 5 boxes of lights, and Kelly used green electrical tape to make a tree on our wall, which we adorned with classy ornaments from a package, like a bright pink felt raindeer, and a purple, styrofoam mini-wreath.
I did buy a mini-Christmas tree, about one foot tall and pre-decorated with fake snow, golden balls and bows, and what appears to be a some gold plastic sticks sticking here and there. We put it with some stockings under our TV, and presents that we bought and wrapped together for each other. Some I accidentally wrapped for myself, and then had to write, “To Bekki, Love Kelly.”
That’s not to mention the tinsel, bows, and random Santa-wear we also purchased. Kelly said no one is allowed to come to our apartment until January. I already invited everyone I know for a cookie-decorating and eggnog extravaganza.
At the checkout, we managed to package all of our holiday bling into a giant backpack, and one giant open bag, about two feet by one foot long. We felt successful, until we reached the subway.
It was 7:30, which in Beijing Subway terms means “death.” The crowd just to get onto the subway platform started at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the platform. We heard a train leave and made our way into the stair crowd, working towards the platform. There was another giant crowd waiting at the bottom, seemingly waiting to leave the station. Instead, the guard released a gate and the mass moved up the “exit” stairs and crowded the beginning of the platform. Safe, right?
Eventually we made it to the platform of no escape. We thought about taking a taxi, but were trapped by the crowd on the exit stairs and had no choice to inch closer to the tracks at each train. When a train did come, the crowd was aggressive in a way I’ve never seen before. One man was pushing people onto the train, wildly shoving their shoulders with the palm of his hand and then forcing himself behind the closing doors. I clutched my giant bag of teetering goodies and went as “city” as I get to make it onto the train and off at the next stop.
It was no small victory to be riding our bikes, overflowing with Christmas accessories, back to our apartment.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Hot Springs, Take Two
Waking up on Thanksgiving also felt strange. I didn’t realize what a creature of habit I actually am. It was my first Thanksgiving without family. In the morning I was feeling a thrown off, so Kelly and I watched Thanksgiving episodes of FRIENDS exclusively, and made hand turkeys and a construction paper American-style traditional feast.
Then we went with some friends to a real, outdoor Hot Springs. It took about an hour and a half, subway/taxi, and we were there. Our 30 min. cab after the subway cost us Y60, or $9, split 3 ways. Like I said, I’m a baller here.
The outside looked similar, and for a moment I was worried I had actually made the same mistake twice. Luckily, I soon saw a sign advertising the “Outdoor hot springs” and relaxed. The place was all that I’d hoped for and more. There were stone-lined paths that led to many different areas with hot pools and hot tubs. One side was lined with different saunas.
My favorite was the Jade sauna, which was lined inside with beautiful gemstones and had swanky red mood lighting. They also had those wooden, basket-looking pillows that I’ve previously seen only in museums. I’ll say, what they lack in fluffiness, they make up for in support. We also found a Turkey Sauna, which had a decorative statue of what must have been a turkey but looked more like a pterodactyl on top of a ginormous blue egg. That was the closest I got to Thanksgiving décor.
It was incredibly cold outside. On the way there, I cursed myself for wearing only a pea coat, gloves, and boots. How dare I leave the house without my hat and scarf?? This made it even more strange to be outside in my bathing suit, under a thin terry-cloth robe. The robes they gave us were orange, which effectively made us look like monks on holiday. They did not effectively keep out the cold, as they because wet and frozen after their first few wears.
Luckily, that didn’t matter for long. The water was so warm that I quickly found myself standing up in the calf-deep water, with most of my body enjoying the cold. We spent some time in the “medicated” hot tubs, and then more time in a larger pool, surrounded by stones and willow trees, as we drank pi geo (who remembers what that is?)
Then we decided to be adventurous and spring the extra Y88 to try out the mud bath. First we were instructed, via mime, to spread the jars of condensed mud onto our faces. This was stage one of the hilarity. Stage two was easing into the giant hot-tub-like pool of watery mud. The trick was, while the water was cool, the bottom had to have been some kind of electric burner. It actually burned if you kept your body touching it for more than one second. We were struck with the challenge of lowering ourselves into this pit of watery mud, without touching the bottom for too long.
Ultimately, we realized that we couldn’t and had to be burned. Once I lay down in the mud, my head perfectly supported by the floatie they wrapped around my neck, I honestly didn’t care that my foot was throbbing slightly. This was not the most convincing evidence for everyone, so for a while it was just me and Eric in the pit. Eventually, though, everyone braved the burner and made it into the mud.
I had a really relaxing time in the watery mud, spreading it around and, as Kelly put it, seeing what our skin would look like if we were black. Roxanne, our Jamaican friend especially appreciated our discovery.
The post-mud shower wasn’t near vigorous to get all of the mud off. I’m not convinced that I won’t find some for the next few showers. Even so, it was a worthwhile adventure.
After that we sat in over-sized arm chairs and had 45 minute foot massages, included in our Y198/$30 package. Sometimes, I just love China. After a few more hot tubs and a quick jump in the giant, un-heated lane pool, just for fun, it was time to go.
Then went home and stuffed ourselves on sushi.
Writing it now it sounds silly that I felt so out of place. It’s not every year (or any year before) that I get to have such treats on Thanksgiving. Really though, I missed you all. I’ve also decided that I need to do more cultural familiar traditions for myself so that another holiday doesn’t just pass me by like this one. (Aka I’ve already started listening to Christmas music, and am about to make a multitude of snowflakes, daily.)
Then we went with some friends to a real, outdoor Hot Springs. It took about an hour and a half, subway/taxi, and we were there. Our 30 min. cab after the subway cost us Y60, or $9, split 3 ways. Like I said, I’m a baller here.
The outside looked similar, and for a moment I was worried I had actually made the same mistake twice. Luckily, I soon saw a sign advertising the “Outdoor hot springs” and relaxed. The place was all that I’d hoped for and more. There were stone-lined paths that led to many different areas with hot pools and hot tubs. One side was lined with different saunas.
My favorite was the Jade sauna, which was lined inside with beautiful gemstones and had swanky red mood lighting. They also had those wooden, basket-looking pillows that I’ve previously seen only in museums. I’ll say, what they lack in fluffiness, they make up for in support. We also found a Turkey Sauna, which had a decorative statue of what must have been a turkey but looked more like a pterodactyl on top of a ginormous blue egg. That was the closest I got to Thanksgiving décor.
It was incredibly cold outside. On the way there, I cursed myself for wearing only a pea coat, gloves, and boots. How dare I leave the house without my hat and scarf?? This made it even more strange to be outside in my bathing suit, under a thin terry-cloth robe. The robes they gave us were orange, which effectively made us look like monks on holiday. They did not effectively keep out the cold, as they because wet and frozen after their first few wears.
Luckily, that didn’t matter for long. The water was so warm that I quickly found myself standing up in the calf-deep water, with most of my body enjoying the cold. We spent some time in the “medicated” hot tubs, and then more time in a larger pool, surrounded by stones and willow trees, as we drank pi geo (who remembers what that is?)
Then we decided to be adventurous and spring the extra Y88 to try out the mud bath. First we were instructed, via mime, to spread the jars of condensed mud onto our faces. This was stage one of the hilarity. Stage two was easing into the giant hot-tub-like pool of watery mud. The trick was, while the water was cool, the bottom had to have been some kind of electric burner. It actually burned if you kept your body touching it for more than one second. We were struck with the challenge of lowering ourselves into this pit of watery mud, without touching the bottom for too long.
Ultimately, we realized that we couldn’t and had to be burned. Once I lay down in the mud, my head perfectly supported by the floatie they wrapped around my neck, I honestly didn’t care that my foot was throbbing slightly. This was not the most convincing evidence for everyone, so for a while it was just me and Eric in the pit. Eventually, though, everyone braved the burner and made it into the mud.
I had a really relaxing time in the watery mud, spreading it around and, as Kelly put it, seeing what our skin would look like if we were black. Roxanne, our Jamaican friend especially appreciated our discovery.
The post-mud shower wasn’t near vigorous to get all of the mud off. I’m not convinced that I won’t find some for the next few showers. Even so, it was a worthwhile adventure.
After that we sat in over-sized arm chairs and had 45 minute foot massages, included in our Y198/$30 package. Sometimes, I just love China. After a few more hot tubs and a quick jump in the giant, un-heated lane pool, just for fun, it was time to go.
Then went home and stuffed ourselves on sushi.
Writing it now it sounds silly that I felt so out of place. It’s not every year (or any year before) that I get to have such treats on Thanksgiving. Really though, I missed you all. I’ve also decided that I need to do more cultural familiar traditions for myself so that another holiday doesn’t just pass me by like this one. (Aka I’ve already started listening to Christmas music, and am about to make a multitude of snowflakes, daily.)
Thanksgiving, is That You?
It’s my first holiday away from home, and it’s amazing how much it just didn’t feel like Thanksgiving. Christmas smacks you in the face from Black Friday on, but Thanksgiving I’d always thought of as a subtler holiday. It creeps up and is celebrated by watching the parade with your family and smelling Turkey in the oven. I never really thought about the little cues that my surroundings gave leading up to Thanksgiving that made it feel like a holiday, until they weren’t there. I missed little moments like talking to people who also celebrated the day, asking where everyone was going and how they were traveling.
Instead my T.A. told me the whole history, from the religious persecution of the Pilgrims to the weather conditions and failed crops leading up to the meal. I’d totally forgotten about that part of Thanksgiving. The cutest part was when one of my kids had never heard of the holiday before and had no idea why we weren’t coming to school at the end of the week. I started to explain that it’s mostly about getting together and eating certain foods with your family. One boy raised his hand and said, “Rebecca, I think I understand why we celebrate it here. In China we have a lot to give thanks for too, so we can also celebrate Thanksgiving.” In my whining about missing the delicious meal, I’d totally forgotten about the giving thanks part! That is why I work with children.
I was grateful to have Thursday and Friday off, although it is followed by a six day work week (thanks, China). My staff even sponsored a last-minute Thanksgiving dinner at a restaurant in the city called NOLA. We were treated to squash soup, turkey, mashed potatoes (pretty accurately made), and broccoli casserole. I think that last dish was supposed to be like green bean casserole, but it didn’t quite pan out. It was such a tease, especially since I’d been really craving that gooey, salty, crunchily delicious dish.
On the menu it read that our dessert was a sampling of American apple pie a la mode, pumpkin pie, and pecan pie. All meal I waited to sink my fork into a warmed pecan pie. To my surprise (of course), it came as one pie. It was a strange mixture of what was supposed to be all three types under “ice cream” made with Chinese powder milk. Just like mom used to make….
It was a fun night after all, though, and the free wine and beer didn’t hurt. It was nice to gather together for a meal that was at least more like Thanksgiving than the vegetable hot pot I had for lunch. The weirdest part was that I had to go to work the next day, and it was only Wednesday.
Biggest Reminder that I was in China: Watching the Chinese teachers try to eat our heavy American feast, and only succeeding by skipping the gravy and dousing everything in Chili sauce.
Instead my T.A. told me the whole history, from the religious persecution of the Pilgrims to the weather conditions and failed crops leading up to the meal. I’d totally forgotten about that part of Thanksgiving. The cutest part was when one of my kids had never heard of the holiday before and had no idea why we weren’t coming to school at the end of the week. I started to explain that it’s mostly about getting together and eating certain foods with your family. One boy raised his hand and said, “Rebecca, I think I understand why we celebrate it here. In China we have a lot to give thanks for too, so we can also celebrate Thanksgiving.” In my whining about missing the delicious meal, I’d totally forgotten about the giving thanks part! That is why I work with children.
I was grateful to have Thursday and Friday off, although it is followed by a six day work week (thanks, China). My staff even sponsored a last-minute Thanksgiving dinner at a restaurant in the city called NOLA. We were treated to squash soup, turkey, mashed potatoes (pretty accurately made), and broccoli casserole. I think that last dish was supposed to be like green bean casserole, but it didn’t quite pan out. It was such a tease, especially since I’d been really craving that gooey, salty, crunchily delicious dish.
On the menu it read that our dessert was a sampling of American apple pie a la mode, pumpkin pie, and pecan pie. All meal I waited to sink my fork into a warmed pecan pie. To my surprise (of course), it came as one pie. It was a strange mixture of what was supposed to be all three types under “ice cream” made with Chinese powder milk. Just like mom used to make….
It was a fun night after all, though, and the free wine and beer didn’t hurt. It was nice to gather together for a meal that was at least more like Thanksgiving than the vegetable hot pot I had for lunch. The weirdest part was that I had to go to work the next day, and it was only Wednesday.
Biggest Reminder that I was in China: Watching the Chinese teachers try to eat our heavy American feast, and only succeeding by skipping the gravy and dousing everything in Chili sauce.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Hot Springs, Beijing Style
I successfully had my first round of Parent Teacher Conferences! Woo hoo! On Thursday, I taught half a day while the parents were allowed to watch me teach. Then, starting at 12:30, I had back to back conferences every 20 min. It was intense, but I’m glad that I did it. It was nice to see the parents face-to-face, and feel like we’re both meeting in the middle, where we care about the kids and just want the best for them.
To thank us for all of our hard work, my school arranged for the Primary Division to be pampered at the Hot Springs just north of Beijing. Our director told us about the natural hot springs, and the private room massages we would be receiving. I was excited to have some time to reconnect with nature. I brought my book and my journal, and was ready to soak into the earth.
Of course, when we showed up, there was nothing natural about the hot springs. It was, in fact, the Hot Springs indoor water park. We did get massages, but all of us together in a crowded room blaring Chinese TV. (That is not to say, however, that I didn’t appreciate my free 45 min. massage. I paid Y98 /$12 for an extra foot massage, and it was hands down the best I’ve ever had.)
The place was insanely crowded with Chinese tourists. Every inch of the hot tubs was taken by Chinese families, couples, babies, teenagers, just soaking up every spout of water and free section against the edge of the pool. We were able to get into the “VIP” section, which had “hot tubs”. By that I mean, they had pools of warm water that quickly became cold. Every once in a while the attendants would pour more hot water to reheat them. We were told they were “medicinal” hot tubs, which was to account for the apparent food coloring. I especially liked the green one, because not only did I feel like I was swimming in Jell-O, but I also got to feel like a Ninja turtle.
By the end, I just gave in to the whole spirit of the water park, with its Mohegan-sun-esque fake trees, cement-stone walkways, and plastic greenery. Kel, our friend Erica, and I even went for the water ride. It was essentially a “lazy river”, but with rapids instead of waves. We all climbed into a giant water raft. It’s much trickier than it sounds, as every time we started down the stairs, a giant wave of people, water, and other rafts crashed it around. The attendant holding it for us kept falling under water and having to chase it down the stream.
Once inside, we had no paddles. We were at the mercy of the waves. It was one of those experiences that you know could only have in another country, outside of the U.S. and its propensity for lawsuits. Quickly, I was able to feel safe as long as I kept my elbows and skull inside and leaned away from the walls to the center of the raft. The real fright of the ride was in the water. We were in a raft, but many people opted to be in single floating tubes. By people, I mean children. The worst was when I saw a wave coming around the corner, and would see a small child just in front of the boat. I knew for certain, with no escape, that we would be soon crushing that child. It certainly was a break from the responsibility of work in the Primary division.
We managed to escape without dying, or suffocating anyone. The children never minded, and the adults who were supposedly watching (most) of them didn’t even flinch as they attempted to resurface through our raft. Just like in Mongolia at the top of the sand boarding mountain, I realized, I’m American-overprotective.
All in all, it was a great day. It wasn’t quite the connection to nature that I’d been craving, but it did feel good to leave the city and think about something that wasn’t reports!
To thank us for all of our hard work, my school arranged for the Primary Division to be pampered at the Hot Springs just north of Beijing. Our director told us about the natural hot springs, and the private room massages we would be receiving. I was excited to have some time to reconnect with nature. I brought my book and my journal, and was ready to soak into the earth.
Of course, when we showed up, there was nothing natural about the hot springs. It was, in fact, the Hot Springs indoor water park. We did get massages, but all of us together in a crowded room blaring Chinese TV. (That is not to say, however, that I didn’t appreciate my free 45 min. massage. I paid Y98 /$12 for an extra foot massage, and it was hands down the best I’ve ever had.)
The place was insanely crowded with Chinese tourists. Every inch of the hot tubs was taken by Chinese families, couples, babies, teenagers, just soaking up every spout of water and free section against the edge of the pool. We were able to get into the “VIP” section, which had “hot tubs”. By that I mean, they had pools of warm water that quickly became cold. Every once in a while the attendants would pour more hot water to reheat them. We were told they were “medicinal” hot tubs, which was to account for the apparent food coloring. I especially liked the green one, because not only did I feel like I was swimming in Jell-O, but I also got to feel like a Ninja turtle.
By the end, I just gave in to the whole spirit of the water park, with its Mohegan-sun-esque fake trees, cement-stone walkways, and plastic greenery. Kel, our friend Erica, and I even went for the water ride. It was essentially a “lazy river”, but with rapids instead of waves. We all climbed into a giant water raft. It’s much trickier than it sounds, as every time we started down the stairs, a giant wave of people, water, and other rafts crashed it around. The attendant holding it for us kept falling under water and having to chase it down the stream.
Once inside, we had no paddles. We were at the mercy of the waves. It was one of those experiences that you know could only have in another country, outside of the U.S. and its propensity for lawsuits. Quickly, I was able to feel safe as long as I kept my elbows and skull inside and leaned away from the walls to the center of the raft. The real fright of the ride was in the water. We were in a raft, but many people opted to be in single floating tubes. By people, I mean children. The worst was when I saw a wave coming around the corner, and would see a small child just in front of the boat. I knew for certain, with no escape, that we would be soon crushing that child. It certainly was a break from the responsibility of work in the Primary division.
We managed to escape without dying, or suffocating anyone. The children never minded, and the adults who were supposedly watching (most) of them didn’t even flinch as they attempted to resurface through our raft. Just like in Mongolia at the top of the sand boarding mountain, I realized, I’m American-overprotective.
All in all, it was a great day. It wasn’t quite the connection to nature that I’d been craving, but it did feel good to leave the city and think about something that wasn’t reports!
Scandalous Americans
Kelly and I are the only teachers who did not bring bathing suits to China. I’d heard about the modesty of their bathing suits (without really looking into it), and figured my bikini had no place. I was also so focused on preparing for the dead of winter, vacuum sealing my thickest jackets and gloves, that the idea of sneaking in that tiny bit of fabric seemed like nonsense.
Then we learned about the Hot Springs treat from our administration. We set out to the mall-like shopping center near us and managed to find one stall that sold bathing suits.
At first sight I thought it was just another wall of dresses. It wasn’t until I leaned close and touched the fabric that I was sure, much like rubbing plant to see if it’s fake. For one thing, they are clearly made to accentuate thin Asian bodies. All of the tops are seriously padded, and complete with underwire. Most of the bottoms have extra frills on the sides, perfect for adding the illusion of hips. Unfortunately for us Americans, we did not need extra amenities. Not to mention that Kelly and I are giants in Asia. It’s a miracle if I can find a shoe in my size, never mind a bathing suit. I could barely squeeze into a large, and poor Kelly had to settle for the only extra- large that they had in the store, regardless of the design.
The styles struck me the most. There were so many varieties! None of them were the typical, underwear-shaped bikinis I’m accustomed to seeing lined up on store walls. In fact I have not found any bottoms that are any skimpier than shorts or skirts. The one that I settled on came with black shorts that look like 70’s roller derby bottoms, or maybe more like boys speedos, given the texture. Most of them look like outfits, just different versions of dresses or tops with shorts.
Even two-pieces like the one I found, black polka-dotted top (with unavoidable stuffed, underwire style) and solid black shorts, came with a “tank top” to go over it. The strappy tank top is also black polka-dotted, and has frills at the bottom. I do like how much variety you can have in a bathing suit. I’m used to choosing basically by the print, and maybe an extra tie. Here, they really have different looks and outfits.
What I really can’t imagine is a Chinese person seeing a wall of bathing suits in America for the first time, suit after suit of colorful underwear, and thinking, “Where’s the rest?”
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