Santa Con

When I heard about Santa Con, an event where strangers around Beijing gather, dressed in Santa Costumes, and bar crawl, I knew had to be a part of it. Kelly and I bought Santa bling from Wal-Mart, including extra Santa masks and hats, just in case we could persuade others to join in the fun.

Santas in Beijing met up in two different spots in the city at pizza places at 12:00 pm. Our meeting spot was in Woudaokou, the “city” area conveniently next to where we live. We decked out in hats, belts, tinsel scarfs, and black boots. The taxi driver was hesitant to pick us up, which made for an interesting cab ride. It probably didn’t help that I sang, “Santa Clause is Coming to Town” all the way there.
Kelly was nervous to open the door, but when we looked down at the pizza place, we found we were not the first to arrive. At least 20 Santas were already there, drinking free beer and eating the pizza special. One exceptionally cute baby Santa was sitting on his Santa mom’s lap.

We got a table near the bar and were soon joined by a few of our other Santa friends we knew were coming. Some of us Santas also treated ourselves to the 5Y tequila shots (divide that by 6.8 to figure out how ridiculously cheap that is!) to ease the last jitters.

After about an hour our group of 50 Santas were instructed to head out to the subway. We sang “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” as we paraded to the subway, to the surprise of many Chinese bystanders. We were an even bigger scene in the subway, crowding through the security check, where I put by “purse”, a stocking filled with my belongings, through the obligatory X-ray machine. We sang on the platform, and all managed to crowd onto one car.

I’ve never done the Santa Pub crawl in BK, but one thing that is unique to being Santa, or a crowd of caroling Santas, in Beijing, is that most of the public have no idea what you’re doing. So many of them must have just thought this is how Americans celebrate Christmas. Another difference is that in China there are no open container laws, so many of the Santas, myself not included, chose to bring their jolly juice right on the subway. One of the Santa leaders even had a full bottle of Jameson in one hand, and a bottle of coke in the other.

Now, as I said, I’ve been listening to Christmas music non-stop for weeks, even singing to myself as I bike ride to work. You can imagine my surprise, then, when I realized I didn’t know the words to so many Christmas Carols! “Frosty the Snow Man, …What jolly … happy? Soul?”…

I could surely sing along with the music to any of the classics, but coming up with the lyrics to the second verse of “Deck the Halls”…impossible. We rode the subway all the way to the Forbidden City, which took about an hour including the transfer, and quickly realized that the only songs we could fully sing were “Rudolph” and “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” which was mostly shouting numbers, mumbling, and screaming “FIVE GOLDEN RINGS!” I probably sang those songs 20 times, if not more, before the end of the night.

At Tiananmen Square we met up with the other 50ish Santas from the South of the city. I’m not going to write much about this part on this public forum, but I will say that it was the “buzz kill” of my experience (even though at this point it was 2 pm and I’d only had half of a beer.) I had only signed up for the fun of dressing up as Santa and singing carols and bringing cheer to strangers. I had not signed up for pissing off Chinese policemen. We quickly left and went to the Drum and Bell tower, a really interesting part of the city. (I will admit, though, that having a picture of me and Kelly, dressed as Santas, in front of Mao, is a preserved memory that I don’t regret getting.

Taking the bus to the next bar was also a trip. At the Drum and Bell tower, we were able to go on the roof and look out at the old Chinese architecture. We overlooked old Chinese men who have trained sparrows to do tricks like catching a marble thrown 50 feet into the air, and then soar down like bullet before sharply turning back to their owner’s stand. Outside on that square, we did a “Santa Freeze”, where Kelly and I froze pretending to fight over my stocking. It reminded me of improve everywhere.

Then we went on another Santa Parade, now with all of the Santas together. We went to Hohai Lake, which is now frozen over, to a bar with couches inside of a Hu tong. I sipped mulled wine and met people who all introduced themselves as , Santa _____.
Another mini-parade down a really old and intricately designed ally led us to the next venue. The people here stood outside, taking pictures and clapping as we sang the only two songs we know. The next place had infused rum. I had “apple and cinnamon”, which I swear smelled like Christmas in a glass. Kelly and some Santas decided to go home after this, as it was about 7 but felt like 11 at night.

I went off with some other Santas I knew to Fu Bar in Sanlitun, the quisi-city where foreigners have some nightlife. I ate a questionable “hot dog”, and went on.

(Warning, “beef” hot dog in China means actual beef. It’s like a hamburger wrapped in some type of skin, served with something like mayonnaise.)

At Fu Bar I met some more Santas and enjoyed the atmosphere or being in night life as Santa. The next move was to “crash a house party.” At first I thought this meant a party at someone’s house. Then I thought it meant a club with house music. Actually, it was a club called “House.”

This was one of my favorite entrances, as the club was filled with people just out on a Saturday night, looking their best and not at all expecting a crowd of Santas to tear it up on the dance floor. The next bar was a fancy smancy bar that did not seem welcome to Santas, so we almost left until we discovered a glass door covering the fire escape, which ended up leading to a deck-style rooftop bar and dancefloor with a much more inviting crowd.

Our final stop was a cab ride away to a Hu tong-style bar with a DJ and dancing. Upstairs there was a livingroom-style room, and an open rooftop which gave a great view of the city. By the time some strange guy asked if I was wearing perfume, which sounds even more ridiculous as a pick-up line when you’re dressed as Santa, I was ready to call it a night.

Overall, I’d call Santa Con a success. It was a great way to see more of the city, to meet other people who share my affinity for costumes in public, and to celebrate the Holiday Season!

BBQ?

I just ate the most delicious fish. I am literally full with warm, spicy, fishy goodness.

My friends Eric and Alison took me and Roxanne to a “Barbecue Fish Restaurant” near our apartments. What I imagine when I hear that is fish with BBQ sauce, or at least a fish on a BBQ grill. In China, that means fish in a pan flattened over vegetables and topped with chills and spices. This was one time I was not disappointed by China’s version of the truth.

Eating whole fish, as I think I’ve talked about before, is definitely one of my favorite treats of being in China. I love how soft fish meat tastes when you have to pull it out of the bones of a fish. I love crunching on fried fins, which have been cooked enough that you can eat even the bones like chips. (I’m sorry for my vegetarian readers, but to me, it’s delicious!)

I never would have been able to go on my own. It has a full Chinese menu, which leaves out picture-pointing. Luckily, with Eric, Allison, and an I-phone translator ap (not that I’m promoting those!) we were able to pick a fish, a level of chilies, and order celery, potatoes, some anonymous green vegetable, wood-ear mushrooms, rice and noodles, and of course, pi geo, which is served warm because, according to our waitress, “the chinese do not drink it cold”. (Really, there is a lot of interesting hot and cold ideas for balancing your chi in the winter. They won’t drink cold beer. But they do open the windows, even in cabs and in the bathroom, to get “new air”. I don’t know if there’s new air or what, but I do know I keep my hat on in cabs, and feel like I’m camping every time I have to use the bathroom at school.)

We also got an appetizer which was something like romaine lettuce cut up into strips and stacked on a rectangular plate doused in sesame oil and peanut sauce.
One additional treat was when they brought out our fish, flopping around in a bucket to ask us if it was big enough. (How should I know?) We nodded and sent it back.
There is something that I appreciate about the Chinese idea that food should look like what it is and where it came from. Even though I could have done without the live version, I can’t say that chicken nuggets and fish sticks are a better way to eat meat.

Cut to me, deliciously full with a fiery mouth that stands up to the Beijing winter.

Good Night!

Beijing's Narnia

Yesterday we were skyping with my father, and a security guard came to the door. I didn’t know what he wanted, of course, so we tried to get my father to translate. I kept trying to get him to step inside, but he stood, frozen, in the doorway. We don’t have wireless internet, so I was limited in my ability to bring my father/the computer over to him. In trying, I nearly ripped the cord out of the wall, and hurriedly pushed the couch 3 feet from its normal position while balancing the laptop/my father in one hand.

Technology is a strange thing.

I did my best to hold the computer up to the guard, and my father asked him to step into the apartment and said that he could translate for him.

The look on his face is probably what people really looked like when they saw Narnia for the first time, a mix between “Am I going crazy?” and “What the hell is this?” rather than a look of magical wonder.

It seemed that the guard had never seen skype before, and couldn’t understand how the man in the computer was talking to him in Chinese. It must be a strange thing to see a lai wai (non-Chinese ex-pat) holding the interactive talking face of a Chinese man.

I definitely don’t think that it helped, however, that our apartment is a virtual North Pole of dazzling lights, stockings, trees, tinsel, complete with blaring Christmas songs.

Needless to say, we couldn’t get him to step any further into the apartment, and, after shaking his head and looking around, he quickly turned and ran to the stairs.

Girl’s Night Out

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.)

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.

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.

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.)