When the soul of a man is born in this country there are nets flung at it to hold it back from flight. You talk to me of nationality, language, religion. I shall try to fly by those nets. ~James Joyce
(FYI: I was too afraid to publish this post while in China.)
Today I discussed with my teacher people’s perception of Mao Zedong and Deng Xiaoping. (For those who are unfamiliar, Mao led the communist party to victory in 1949. He was also responsible for the Cultural Revolution, a period of cultural reeducation. After Mao’s death in 1979, Deng Xiaoping began a period of reform and was the first to open China’s borders, bringing about a market economy.)
To this day, Mao’s portrait hangs at the entrance to the Forbidden Palace, honoring his life’s work. His life work which includes the spontaneous doubling of the Chinese population in the 40’s, which led to a subsequent starvation of thousands and resulted in today’s One Child Policy; accomplishments which include the destruction of literature and the brain washing of students by limiting schools to using textbooks written by Chairman Mao. This man is still considered by some as a deity.
This is the power of education and the danger of misinformation. A generation of students was raised on Mao’s textbooks, and even now in today’s relatively liberalized China, they remain influenced by the concepts ingrained into their past minds. Information is a tricky thing. Without the proper education, it can be misinterpreted. As an American, I cannot easily see America’s faults. We are a nation of consumerism to the point that nothing seems to exist without yielding profit. As my mom shrewdly pointed out, the Chinese media may be restricted, but American media is influenced by the invisible iron fist of money. Oil cartels loom in the background. Swine flu was changed to H1N1 so that the pork industry would not lose consumers. Yet to me, this seems normal. I am jaded, and I turn a blind eye to what I cannot control. But when I cannot log on to facebook, when I hear the Chinese biased points of view, I am livid. I do not understand how they can be so compliant, and the whole time I forget my own acquiescence to the faults of my nation. There lies the interesting aspect of knowledge; the more you have of it, the more you realize you have nothing to boast about. It is as if in trying to dispel your ignorance, it only grows larger before your eyes. You become aware of how much you do not know and how little right you have to criticize others. The knowledge attributed to us by our society is the nets we fly by. Some parts of the web tie us to our biased opinions; some restrict our vision, preventing us from seeing what lies above the clouds. The ropes are thin, granting the illusion of autonomy, but we have long ago learned to fly within their bounds.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Intimacy
If you were to ask most people about their trip to China, I presume the typical response you would receive would discuss the various cities the person visited, the food they ate, and the miscommunications that occurred. One thing I have noticed about myself is that I do not experience the world in the typical manner of most people. My response would probably follow along the lines of:
I can’t remember being this content in a long time. Despite the fact that nothing around me is familiar, I do not feel out of place. I am not lacking or wanting. Nothing seems to be missing.
I see the world not through facts and events but through emotions and experiences. When others see the world, I feel it. This is portrayed through my blog entries which have never mentioned Inner Mongolia, Shidu, the Great Wall, the Summer Palace, or the famous Beijing Opera. This is the reason it took me a week and a lot of courage before I was able to publish my first entry. I fear “the eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase [for now] I am formulated, sprawling on a pin … I am pinned and wriggling on the wall” (T.S. Eliot). (from my favorite poem) My words, laden with emotion, expose me. They are intimate with me, and I fear such intimacy should not be shared.
I can’t remember being this content in a long time. Despite the fact that nothing around me is familiar, I do not feel out of place. I am not lacking or wanting. Nothing seems to be missing.
I see the world not through facts and events but through emotions and experiences. When others see the world, I feel it. This is portrayed through my blog entries which have never mentioned Inner Mongolia, Shidu, the Great Wall, the Summer Palace, or the famous Beijing Opera. This is the reason it took me a week and a lot of courage before I was able to publish my first entry. I fear “the eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase [for now] I am formulated, sprawling on a pin … I am pinned and wriggling on the wall” (T.S. Eliot). (from my favorite poem) My words, laden with emotion, expose me. They are intimate with me, and I fear such intimacy should not be shared.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
All Matters Under the Heavens 天下事
The Chinese language is beautiful. Take for instance the phrase 望子成龙, the meaning is “one wishes for one’s children to be successful,” but the literal translation is “hope son becomes dragon.” (In today’s non-sexist China, the female version is hope daughter becomes phoenix.)
Let us touch upon the differences between Chinese and American cultures.
As I mentioned earlier, we had a guest lecturer who spoke about the changing role of Confucianism in Chinese society. One of the aspects of Chinese culture that he focused on was the role of family in Chinese society. Unlike in America, a person does not view themselves (and they are not viewed by others) as an individual standing alone on an island. Rather, a person is defined and judged based on their relationships with their family. When there is an interaction between the government and a person, it is not Mr. Tannenbaum vs. the Government, but it is the Tannenbaum family vs. the Government. Parents are often viewed as more important than children, including grandchildren. Parents have years of experience and should be respected. We did a little survey in our class. The question was, if an American adult had a child and a parent who could not swim, both were drowning, and you could only save one, who would it be? The students agreed that most Americans would pick their children over their parents (don’t worry Mommy and Daddy, I would save you too!). The reasoning behind it is that grandparents would prefer their grandchildren saved, but more interestingly, American society views the preservation of a young life to be more important than that of an old life. We tend to view the elderly as near to death; however, when we look at the youth, we focus on the multitude of years ahead of them. Our Chinese teacher on the other hand, said most Chinese would save their parents over their children. They place a greater value on the elderly, because they focus on the wisdom and knowledge the elderly have, which can only be accumulated over many years. This is similar to the dilemma I presented earlier; do you call someone a soon to be junior, or a student who just finished sophomore year. Your frame of thought is essential in shaping your opinions, and even your biases, even though the fact itself does not change. When we try to value a person, do we focus on all the opportunities that are ahead of them (for example, next year he is going to Cornell!), or do we focus on their past experiences (last year she traveled the world)? Unlike in accounting, our society does not have a consistent method for this type of valuation. Instead, we pick and choose our methods to obtain results that will justify our original assumptions. I too am a victim of my own humanity. Yet why would I want to fight against the human plight when we were designed to feel most comfortable when we are part of the pack?
“Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?” 1
Another discussion we had in class related to the differing views of consumption held by Americans and Chinese. Our textbook used two phrases to stereotype these two cultures. “Children and grandchildren make their own fortunes/way” exemplified the American concept, and “early generations plant the trees under which later generations rest” was the Chinese stereotype. I asked my Chinese teacher if a very rich Chinese parent dies, does he leave all of his money to his children, or only a sufficient quantity to live on (this is for example Bill Gate’s plan). She explained that the Chinese feel that since their families are their top priority, they will not give their money to a charity. Wealthy American families often give their children plenty of assets to live on, but the children do not inherent 100% of the family’s wealth. The goal of these two sets of parents is the same, they both want the best for their children, but their methods of providing their children with the best lifestyle varies greatly. I mentioned that Americans do not want to spoil their children. They believe in the value of hard work, so it is not out of greed that they do not always share their wealth with their children, but rather because they love them. My teacher said it is slowly becoming a problem in China that the children of very wealthy families inherit enormous fortunes and companies which they proceed to run to the ground. My best explanation for the differing methods is that China is still a developing country. China’s middle class, although now growing, did not exist some 10 years ago. Poorer families do not have the option of buying their children a brand new BMW to replace the one they recently crashed. I think the differing concepts of consumption also arise from the fact that China’s economy is still developing. If you cannot use credit cards to buy expensive train tickets, how are you supposed to accumulate debt? I’m not entirely sure if differing views of consumption arise from culture differences or rather from convenience and accessibility. Maybe one day we will discover our differences are not born from our cultures but rather from the gap in time created by wealth and modernity. Maybe one day, China will be the new America. Maybe some day, the Chinese will be saying, “Hi, my name is 贾文萱, and I am addicted to credit cards.”
1 T.S. Eliot “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”
Let us touch upon the differences between Chinese and American cultures.
As I mentioned earlier, we had a guest lecturer who spoke about the changing role of Confucianism in Chinese society. One of the aspects of Chinese culture that he focused on was the role of family in Chinese society. Unlike in America, a person does not view themselves (and they are not viewed by others) as an individual standing alone on an island. Rather, a person is defined and judged based on their relationships with their family. When there is an interaction between the government and a person, it is not Mr. Tannenbaum vs. the Government, but it is the Tannenbaum family vs. the Government. Parents are often viewed as more important than children, including grandchildren. Parents have years of experience and should be respected. We did a little survey in our class. The question was, if an American adult had a child and a parent who could not swim, both were drowning, and you could only save one, who would it be? The students agreed that most Americans would pick their children over their parents (don’t worry Mommy and Daddy, I would save you too!). The reasoning behind it is that grandparents would prefer their grandchildren saved, but more interestingly, American society views the preservation of a young life to be more important than that of an old life. We tend to view the elderly as near to death; however, when we look at the youth, we focus on the multitude of years ahead of them. Our Chinese teacher on the other hand, said most Chinese would save their parents over their children. They place a greater value on the elderly, because they focus on the wisdom and knowledge the elderly have, which can only be accumulated over many years. This is similar to the dilemma I presented earlier; do you call someone a soon to be junior, or a student who just finished sophomore year. Your frame of thought is essential in shaping your opinions, and even your biases, even though the fact itself does not change. When we try to value a person, do we focus on all the opportunities that are ahead of them (for example, next year he is going to Cornell!), or do we focus on their past experiences (last year she traveled the world)? Unlike in accounting, our society does not have a consistent method for this type of valuation. Instead, we pick and choose our methods to obtain results that will justify our original assumptions. I too am a victim of my own humanity. Yet why would I want to fight against the human plight when we were designed to feel most comfortable when we are part of the pack?
“Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?” 1
Another discussion we had in class related to the differing views of consumption held by Americans and Chinese. Our textbook used two phrases to stereotype these two cultures. “Children and grandchildren make their own fortunes/way” exemplified the American concept, and “early generations plant the trees under which later generations rest” was the Chinese stereotype. I asked my Chinese teacher if a very rich Chinese parent dies, does he leave all of his money to his children, or only a sufficient quantity to live on (this is for example Bill Gate’s plan). She explained that the Chinese feel that since their families are their top priority, they will not give their money to a charity. Wealthy American families often give their children plenty of assets to live on, but the children do not inherent 100% of the family’s wealth. The goal of these two sets of parents is the same, they both want the best for their children, but their methods of providing their children with the best lifestyle varies greatly. I mentioned that Americans do not want to spoil their children. They believe in the value of hard work, so it is not out of greed that they do not always share their wealth with their children, but rather because they love them. My teacher said it is slowly becoming a problem in China that the children of very wealthy families inherit enormous fortunes and companies which they proceed to run to the ground. My best explanation for the differing methods is that China is still a developing country. China’s middle class, although now growing, did not exist some 10 years ago. Poorer families do not have the option of buying their children a brand new BMW to replace the one they recently crashed. I think the differing concepts of consumption also arise from the fact that China’s economy is still developing. If you cannot use credit cards to buy expensive train tickets, how are you supposed to accumulate debt? I’m not entirely sure if differing views of consumption arise from culture differences or rather from convenience and accessibility. Maybe one day we will discover our differences are not born from our cultures but rather from the gap in time created by wealth and modernity. Maybe one day, China will be the new America. Maybe some day, the Chinese will be saying, “Hi, my name is 贾文萱, and I am addicted to credit cards.”
1 T.S. Eliot “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Sinking Battleship #2 (The Counter Attack)
(Please read the prior entry first.)
Two and a half weeks after the beginning of our language pledge, I have found the 好处 benefit of our language barrier, namely judgments are postponed. It is human nature to be critical of others and to share our criticisms verbally. We connect with others over our ideas, including our opinions about other people. We justify our opinions in order to augment the appearance of our moral character. Our language barrier has rendered our conversations simple and succinct, and yet in their simplicity there is innocence. We speak at the level of 6 year old children, and like 6 year olds, we cannot verbalize our distastes beyond the simple “This food tastes bad,” or “She is annoying,” comments. Therefore, we cannot explain the nature of our irritation, or justify its presence. Not out of fear of being offensive, but rather out of fear of 丢面子 losing face (This is a characteristic Chinese word that perfectly clarifies my idea. It can be understood as loosing respect in the eyes of others.) do we hold back our negative commentary. Such is the American way! (We fear more hurting our own feelings than those of others, but more on this when I compare Chinese and American cultures next week on “At-Home-Abroad”. Stay tuned.) Words associated with partying, drugs, sex, alcohol, and “rock and roll”, words that typically permeate a college campus, remain unknown to us. We do not broach these subjects, and thus, our conversations, lacking slander, are pure and kind. Like Haulden Caufield, we hold a snowball in our hand and dare not disturb its tranquility with a simple action.
One of the most interesting aspects about culture is the similarity in thought. Today in class, I was telling my teacher and classmates a story about a student I caught cheating. My teacher, who is accustomed to comprehending our broken, accent-heavy, and grammatically terrible Chinese, still did not quite understand me. However, the other students in the room, all Americans, could follow my thought process relatively easily. When I said “office,” they immediately jumped to the conclusion that I really meant “The Board of Academic Integrity”. Note that Chinese Universities also have a similar board, although it is integrated with their registrar; this board is not unique to America. In my opinion, this was not an example of Americans understanding American culture but rather a similarity in our thought processes. The Americans all arrived at the same conclusion.
Two and a half weeks after the beginning of our language pledge, I have found the 好处 benefit of our language barrier, namely judgments are postponed. It is human nature to be critical of others and to share our criticisms verbally. We connect with others over our ideas, including our opinions about other people. We justify our opinions in order to augment the appearance of our moral character. Our language barrier has rendered our conversations simple and succinct, and yet in their simplicity there is innocence. We speak at the level of 6 year old children, and like 6 year olds, we cannot verbalize our distastes beyond the simple “This food tastes bad,” or “She is annoying,” comments. Therefore, we cannot explain the nature of our irritation, or justify its presence. Not out of fear of being offensive, but rather out of fear of 丢面子 losing face (This is a characteristic Chinese word that perfectly clarifies my idea. It can be understood as loosing respect in the eyes of others.) do we hold back our negative commentary. Such is the American way! (We fear more hurting our own feelings than those of others, but more on this when I compare Chinese and American cultures next week on “At-Home-Abroad”. Stay tuned.) Words associated with partying, drugs, sex, alcohol, and “rock and roll”, words that typically permeate a college campus, remain unknown to us. We do not broach these subjects, and thus, our conversations, lacking slander, are pure and kind. Like Haulden Caufield, we hold a snowball in our hand and dare not disturb its tranquility with a simple action.
One of the most interesting aspects about culture is the similarity in thought. Today in class, I was telling my teacher and classmates a story about a student I caught cheating. My teacher, who is accustomed to comprehending our broken, accent-heavy, and grammatically terrible Chinese, still did not quite understand me. However, the other students in the room, all Americans, could follow my thought process relatively easily. When I said “office,” they immediately jumped to the conclusion that I really meant “The Board of Academic Integrity”. Note that Chinese Universities also have a similar board, although it is integrated with their registrar; this board is not unique to America. In my opinion, this was not an example of Americans understanding American culture but rather a similarity in our thought processes. The Americans all arrived at the same conclusion.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
“this is not me; this is not me at all”
Speaking only in Chinese with my fellow classmates leads me to wonder how a society judges a person to be educated. When we first arrived to Beijing, I could identify the soon to be sophomores, and I more or less noticed an age disparity between myself and all the other students. (Of the 60 or so students I have come to know, one is my age, and only one is older than me.) The first two days, everyone spoke English. You could tell by the stories, the naïve comments, and the references to high school or partying, who just finished freshman year, and who was going to be a junior. (Notice that if you say, “just finished freshman year,” vs. “going to be a sophomore,” it impacts your impression of the person’s age.) Now that we all speak Chinese to one another, I no longer can tell who is a sophomore and who a junior. The age differences have melted away. I am not entirely sure if it is due to a barrier in communication and expression, or if I have merely adjusted to their personalities. I feel strange telling others I am a senior in college, not because it makes me feel old, but because I have no proof of my seniority. I use to associate college seniors as being more mature, eloquent, solemn, and knowledgeable than their counterpart underclassmen. However, whether or not I possess these traits over my younger classmates, I have no way of knowing, let alone displaying. Often when I try to express my opinions, I feel like an uneducated high school student, especially compared to some of the more verbally advanced students. Does maturity and sophistication depend on your ability to express your thoughts? While I possess more complicated thoughts, I can only briefly and simply summarize them. Granted I am able to express myself in English, but for now let us focus on Chinese. If a person is unable to communicate properly, it is generally viewed as a lack of intelligence. This is where the question of judgment comes to play. Is a person intelligent and sophisticated if their thought process is complex, or if they possess an eloquent tongue? If you cannot express yourself, you cannot prove your level of intelligence. If you cannot prove your level of intelligence, then does it exist? Debates are won based on articulated ideas. Those ideas that remain silent do not exist in the eyes of the audience or the opposition. Society can only judge a person based on the characteristics they display, not those that lie hidden. So if a person never speaks, are they still intelligent? Intelligence is just an opinion. It can be a widely acknowledged opinion, but never a fact.
I left a lecture today from a visiting professor discussing the increasing role of liberal Confucianism in Chinese society and politics. He discussed the differences between Western and Eastern political philosophy and the rise of those differences. It was fascinating. When I left, I yearned to debate it with my classmates, but all I could say was, “That was really interesting for me, because I took a government class last semester.” Reader, did you notice the dramatic decrescendo?!
The inability to communicate more profound feelings has slightly altered my personality. In the US, I am a rather outgoing person who cannot hold back her thoughts. I seek intimate friendships, and I love to discuss my feelings. But in China, my friends bore me. It is actually our interaction that bores me, but I cannot tell if they themselves are interesting people or not. I would often rather sit in silence than strenuously listen to a broken conversation about food and weather. I prefer writing a journal where I can explore the depth of my ideas and experiences, than briefly summarizing them to a person. My classmates cannot know who I am, because I cannot show them. Of course, my idea of who they are is skewed as well. Unfortunately, most of my character judgments are based on body language and looks, because I cannot tell from our conversations. So these friendships seem shallow and transitory.
Today I had the urge to scream, “I swear I’m not this shy. If I could only speak English, you would see who I really am. This is not me; this is not me at all!”
With a loss of eloquence, I have also suffered a loss in confidence.
I left a lecture today from a visiting professor discussing the increasing role of liberal Confucianism in Chinese society and politics. He discussed the differences between Western and Eastern political philosophy and the rise of those differences. It was fascinating. When I left, I yearned to debate it with my classmates, but all I could say was, “That was really interesting for me, because I took a government class last semester.” Reader, did you notice the dramatic decrescendo?!
The inability to communicate more profound feelings has slightly altered my personality. In the US, I am a rather outgoing person who cannot hold back her thoughts. I seek intimate friendships, and I love to discuss my feelings. But in China, my friends bore me. It is actually our interaction that bores me, but I cannot tell if they themselves are interesting people or not. I would often rather sit in silence than strenuously listen to a broken conversation about food and weather. I prefer writing a journal where I can explore the depth of my ideas and experiences, than briefly summarizing them to a person. My classmates cannot know who I am, because I cannot show them. Of course, my idea of who they are is skewed as well. Unfortunately, most of my character judgments are based on body language and looks, because I cannot tell from our conversations. So these friendships seem shallow and transitory.
Today I had the urge to scream, “I swear I’m not this shy. If I could only speak English, you would see who I really am. This is not me; this is not me at all!”
With a loss of eloquence, I have also suffered a loss in confidence.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
I am "Miss Black EyeLiner 2009"
My appetite has returned with a vengeance from its 2 year sabbatical. I eat like a freshman exposed to the dining halls for the first time. I want to try everything, and it is so cheap that I feel justified. Last night my dinner cost $1.70. I didn’t even eat any rice or noodles; everything was vegetables and meat, which is more expensive. Another restaurant, called Nine-Headed Bird Restaurant, serves sautéed baby Chinese with garlic sauce. I think I will try that dish tomorrow. Haha.
I forgot to mention that when I was in Xi’an I saw cigarette propaganda. It was awful. Inside an arcade room, there was a game that looked like it wasn’t targeted for any particular age group, but rather that all ages would play it. If you won, the prize was not tickets, or points, but a box of cigarettes.
On my dorm room walls, there is a cemetery of mosquitoes. Like a head on a stake, my enemies’ limbs are sprawled around the outskirts of my kingdom, a warning to any future perpetrators. Yet my itchy arms and the occasional blood, my blood, that accompanies those limbs, reminds me that I do not always win my battles.
¼ of a semester will soon be over; that is as soon as I finish tomorrow’s prelim. The studying never ceases; its worse than at Cornell! I have 4 hours of class in the morning, followed by an hour lunch break. Then, I prepare myself for my afternoon class, after which I do my homework until dinner time. I allow myself a two hour break for dinner, but then its back to studying for the next day’s lesson until bedtime (which is about 11pm). I wake up at 6:20am to re-study that day’s lesson before leaving for class at 7:20. Yes, I only sleep about 6-7 hours a night, but strangely I feel energized and awake all day. My eyelids never slide shut, including at the appropriate hour of my bedtime. Did I mention that yesterday I went to the gym for an hour, and today I wrote this blog entry? That is my life. Outside these walls, the world spins, but mine stands still.
I forgot to mention that when I was in Xi’an I saw cigarette propaganda. It was awful. Inside an arcade room, there was a game that looked like it wasn’t targeted for any particular age group, but rather that all ages would play it. If you won, the prize was not tickets, or points, but a box of cigarettes.
On my dorm room walls, there is a cemetery of mosquitoes. Like a head on a stake, my enemies’ limbs are sprawled around the outskirts of my kingdom, a warning to any future perpetrators. Yet my itchy arms and the occasional blood, my blood, that accompanies those limbs, reminds me that I do not always win my battles.
¼ of a semester will soon be over; that is as soon as I finish tomorrow’s prelim. The studying never ceases; its worse than at Cornell! I have 4 hours of class in the morning, followed by an hour lunch break. Then, I prepare myself for my afternoon class, after which I do my homework until dinner time. I allow myself a two hour break for dinner, but then its back to studying for the next day’s lesson until bedtime (which is about 11pm). I wake up at 6:20am to re-study that day’s lesson before leaving for class at 7:20. Yes, I only sleep about 6-7 hours a night, but strangely I feel energized and awake all day. My eyelids never slide shut, including at the appropriate hour of my bedtime. Did I mention that yesterday I went to the gym for an hour, and today I wrote this blog entry? That is my life. Outside these walls, the world spins, but mine stands still.
Monday, June 22, 2009
the spinach burn the beef (menu item)
The first day of classes has come and gone like the rest of history, fleeting eternally into the hazy mist. Present time drags its feet, and you are tempted to nudge it forward. But looking back, you question who has robbed you of your weeks, your months, and even your years. Today was the first time I have sat through 4 Chinese classes in one day. The breaks in between classes where just long enough to take a gulp of air before being once more submerged into the depths of language study. I thoroughly enjoyed it. The teacher, who has the energy of a new born puppy, pranced around to the beat of the Chinese tones. La, la, la, we each took our turn singing around the room. Without the pressure of grades, I am much more eager to open my mouth and make mistakes.
Yesterday we took a language pledge, not to speak English for the next 8 weeks. This provides us with wonderful incentive to improve our Chinese quickly and to be extra attentive during class. If you want friends, then you must first learn to communicate. Otherwise, stories and jokes die silently in your head.
The first day of the pledge was the hardest. By nightfall I was choking back tears of frustration. My mind was screaming at every student who refused to speak English. Instead I took a deep breath. Although my first instinct is still to say “hello” instead of “nihao,” today I can feel the normalization quickly approaching.
Yesterday we took a language pledge, not to speak English for the next 8 weeks. This provides us with wonderful incentive to improve our Chinese quickly and to be extra attentive during class. If you want friends, then you must first learn to communicate. Otherwise, stories and jokes die silently in your head.
The first day of the pledge was the hardest. By nightfall I was choking back tears of frustration. My mind was screaming at every student who refused to speak English. Instead I took a deep breath. Although my first instinct is still to say “hello” instead of “nihao,” today I can feel the normalization quickly approaching.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
pedestrians yield, cars have the right of way
Xi’an
One of my favorite parts about traveling is the people you meet. Everyone has a unique story to tell with a different path and final destination. The travelers you meet are all bold adventurers, the likes of Robertson Crusoe. Their shadows slip in and out of your life, and all you are left with are stories you wish you were a part of. But while they are in your company, you laugh at the miscommunications you have experienced, compare cultural observations, and impress each other with the crazy food you’ve tried. The topic that comes up most often is the Chinese style of driving. Just about everyone agrees that the roads are a chaotic zoo, and crossing a street is an adrenaline pumping thrill. “Be predictable” is the best advice I’ve received. I am sure there are traffic regulations, but no one seems to be concerned with them, including the police officers who lounge on the side of the road. To cross a six lane road, you have to focus on one lane at a time. Once you sneak across one lane, you stand on the white line that divides the lanes (there is no concrete meridian). As cars swerve around you, you watch for the next opening. This seems to be a very common practice, and no one shits their pants from fright, nor do they honk their horn at you for being a lunatic.
One of my favorite parts about traveling is the people you meet. Everyone has a unique story to tell with a different path and final destination. The travelers you meet are all bold adventurers, the likes of Robertson Crusoe. Their shadows slip in and out of your life, and all you are left with are stories you wish you were a part of. But while they are in your company, you laugh at the miscommunications you have experienced, compare cultural observations, and impress each other with the crazy food you’ve tried. The topic that comes up most often is the Chinese style of driving. Just about everyone agrees that the roads are a chaotic zoo, and crossing a street is an adrenaline pumping thrill. “Be predictable” is the best advice I’ve received. I am sure there are traffic regulations, but no one seems to be concerned with them, including the police officers who lounge on the side of the road. To cross a six lane road, you have to focus on one lane at a time. Once you sneak across one lane, you stand on the white line that divides the lanes (there is no concrete meridian). As cars swerve around you, you watch for the next opening. This seems to be a very common practice, and no one shits their pants from fright, nor do they honk their horn at you for being a lunatic.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Take me back to HK NOW!!!!!!
I thought HK would be a good transition from the US to China, but now I am experiencing culture shock mixed with disbelief of actually being here. From my bus window I see a few places I recognize from my first trip to Beijing. I feel like I am looking at my photos and remembering vivid memories, not actually experiencing new events. Beijing is dreary and bleak compared to the colors and lights of HK. There is a visible lack of wealth here, but no shortage of dirt. Every moment I find myself using my elbows just to secure a spot in line. Except there is no line, just an aggressive mob pushing to be first.
The fun part is speaking in Mandarin, and best of all, being understood! I don’t know how I survived here two years ago, because my primitive language skills have already proved invaluable.
It seems not much has change in Beijing’s culture, or at least, I have not out grown my naiveté. I have already been tricked into paying for a girl’s bus ticket. Before we boarded, I asked her how much a ticket cost. On the bus while I was looking for my wallet, she must have told the bus driver that I was paying for her, without me noticing. The bus driver asked me for double the price. I thought the girl must have made a mistake, but then the bus driver handed me two receipts. 3 hours in Beijing and I have already been fooled! (Luckily it was only $0.12 US dollars, but it is the deception that angers me.)
The fun part is speaking in Mandarin, and best of all, being understood! I don’t know how I survived here two years ago, because my primitive language skills have already proved invaluable.
It seems not much has change in Beijing’s culture, or at least, I have not out grown my naiveté. I have already been tricked into paying for a girl’s bus ticket. Before we boarded, I asked her how much a ticket cost. On the bus while I was looking for my wallet, she must have told the bus driver that I was paying for her, without me noticing. The bus driver asked me for double the price. I thought the girl must have made a mistake, but then the bus driver handed me two receipts. 3 hours in Beijing and I have already been fooled! (Luckily it was only $0.12 US dollars, but it is the deception that angers me.)
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Third Day in HK
I take a ferry across the waters to Lantau Island from where I board a bus that meanders through the mountains. We rollercoaster our way to the Big Buddha. He sits there above the sea, overlooking the island like its guardian, in perpetual meditation. I think he is mesmerized by the beauty.
I take a ten minute walk through the forest to see the Wisdom Path. I am the only visitor. I see two dogs down a secluded trail coming back from a hike. I look for their owner, but no one is there. My breathing quickens.
I sit down at the Po Lin Monastery Café. They tell me they are most known for their bean curd dessert, so I try it. I receive a bowl filled with half a package of tofu floating in liquid. At least this will be healthy I murmur. The tofu is delicate and silky; with the slightest touch of the tongue it yields and becomes pudding. The liquid is a sweet broth of honey and ginger. I’ve never enjoyed tofu quite this much. I am content with my discovery.
I take a ten minute walk through the forest to see the Wisdom Path. I am the only visitor. I see two dogs down a secluded trail coming back from a hike. I look for their owner, but no one is there. My breathing quickens.
I sit down at the Po Lin Monastery Café. They tell me they are most known for their bean curd dessert, so I try it. I receive a bowl filled with half a package of tofu floating in liquid. At least this will be healthy I murmur. The tofu is delicate and silky; with the slightest touch of the tongue it yields and becomes pudding. The liquid is a sweet broth of honey and ginger. I’ve never enjoyed tofu quite this much. I am content with my discovery.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
This handle is disinfected 8 times a day.
It is interesting how quickly an opinion can change given the emergence of new knowledge. During my second day in HK, I found the road I wanted to live on. It is perfect. It sits on top of the highest mountain, overlooking all of the city, the harbor, and distant islands. The road itself is 3 km long traversing a rich, dense jungle, containing panoramic views from every side of the island, and culminating with a waterfall. Only 10 houses adorn it, all of which are multi-million dollar mansions (minimum $50 million according to a HK native). And of course it is only 20 minutes away from downtown. I would have no objection living there as long as I had a bug killer on my payroll. After a few more days, more extensive travel, and several very itchy bug bites, I feel this city lacks diversity. Of course internationally it is complete with the expats from around the world and plenty of different cuisines. However there are only two regions to this city, the residential areas that vary in shabbiness, and the extremely modern, sleek, and wealthy business districts. If I were a shopaholic with a taste for the expensive, I would be in heaven, because no matter where I go there is a Luis Vuitton, or Jimmie Chu. And yet I have never seen a city that would rather reclaim land from the sea, than bulldoze a few trees and expand inward. Hopefully it is because they find the green mountains as beautiful as I do.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
and everything is beautiful
I’ve never been much of a window seat person in planes. I’ve always preferred the aisle where you can easily get up to stretch your legs. But this time, as the plane descended over the Hong Kong islands, I edged closer to the window. Below green mountains emerged from the ocean, their peaks uninterrupted by development. Like stalactites at the bottom of cave, skyscrapers covered the coast lines, providing no transition from the greenery. On the horizon, the giant fireball stared at its reflection in the rippling waves.
If you took Times Square and stretched it out over downtown Manhattan, it would look like Causeway Bay, the area where my youth hostel is located.
The remnants of colonialism still linger in the city; western toilets, driving on the left, double decker buses, the name Victoria, English language, and cultural aspects as well (such as queuing). The blending of west and east is subtle and harmonious. It provides for the perfect transition in my journey from New York to Beijing.
If you took Times Square and stretched it out over downtown Manhattan, it would look like Causeway Bay, the area where my youth hostel is located.
The remnants of colonialism still linger in the city; western toilets, driving on the left, double decker buses, the name Victoria, English language, and cultural aspects as well (such as queuing). The blending of west and east is subtle and harmonious. It provides for the perfect transition in my journey from New York to Beijing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)