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.

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.

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.

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.)

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.

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.

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.