Cloudy in Beijing Blogging about my time in China

Wan sheng jie (Chinese for Halloween)

They don't really celebrate Halloween in China, so I've been deprived of free candy and the sight of costumes. The only thing I did related to the holiday was play Michael Jackson's Thriller on my iPod.

It makes me feel guilty. The day is almost over, and I've done hardly nothing to make it more festive. Instead I spent part of my day at a Buddhist temple and museum, then later visited the college's Chess club, where I lost my first game in less than 15 moves.

It's raining and I'm too tired to try and make up for it. I imagine that many of the foreigners on campus are out at some Halloween party. I sit here finishing up some part-time work.

Holidays are weird in China. I always feel like I should do something to celebrate the American one's, but I'm too lazy to do anything. I might buy a plastic Christmas tree the size of a potted plant, or eat at McDonald's to commemorate Thanksgiving. But it just leaves me feeling more inadequate; like how now I just feel like a nerd for having played Chess on Halloween.

Meanwhile, the rest of the student body is studying, and probably had classes to attend this evening. My roommate, who is Korean, decided to go to bed before it was 10:00 p.m. Recently I learned that even people in Australia don't celebrate Halloween.

(I took this picture today at the Songtang Zhai Museum in Beijing. "Cao beauty  throws watermelon at father's corpse" read the display to this centuries old piece of art.)

Koreans in Beijing

A few weeks ago I went to a local get-together in the hopes I might meet some Chinese students. Instead, I found myself surrounded by a group of Korean people, wanting to practice their English.

Since I live on a college campus, the atmosphere of things can be quite cosmopolitan, with students coming from places all over the world. But of us foreigners at the school, Koreans clearly dominate.

As I type, I hear the murmurings of Hangul, the Korean language, just outside my door. My roommate is also Korean. And I laugh when I hear him say the word “Shiba”, which means “fuck.”

Not far from my dorm is a shopping area that features several Korean restaurants and other Korean stores. On their signs, the Hangul language is placed right alongside the Chinese characters. A bakery I go to routinely plays the same Korean songs over and over again; “Just one 10 minutes, ne goshi doenun shigan~”

I asked my Korean classmate why there were so many in China. He came up with three reasons.

1. They want to learn more about China.
2. They come here for business reasons or to better their career.
3. They couldn’t get into a good school in Korea, so they decided to come to China, where it’s easier for them to  get into the best schools.

I told this to my roommate, and he laughed, saying that the third reason was the biggest.

As for John, my roommate, his reasons for coming to China are maybe a bit more unique. He’s already lived in the country for about five years, and even went to high school here. When I asked him why he was in China, John said it was his father who decided it. “He thinks it will be good for me in the future and my career,” he added.

John wants to be a diplomat, and has three languages under his belt already — Korean, Chinese, and English — which should help him a lot in his pursuit.

I on the other hand know very little of Korea — all except for the country’s amazing music. Some of my best friends back in America are Korean. Growing up they introduced me to a lot of Korean pop. Even now I still play some of those songs, although I have no idea what they are saying.

Now whenever I introduce myself to a Korean person here, I always throw out a few names to some big Korean music groups I listened to. Makes me feel cool and like I'm down with Korean culture.  It is kind of funny that it’s me, and not John, playing Korean music on the speakers in our dorm. Recently he asked if I could transfer the songs to his PC, which I happily obliged to.

Fish in the bathroom

I ate like an emperor yesterday.

Surprisingly, it wasn't as great as I'd thought it be.

This all happened when me and my classmates went to Beijing's Beihai Park, a large imperial garden where emperors would go.

Situated in one of  the park's palace buildings is the  famous Fangshan restaurant (坊膳饭庄） that was founded by royal chefs.  All the food and the decor at the restaurant have been made to be fit for an emperor.

Everything seemed to have a bit of gold paint on it, from the ends of the chopsticks, to the imperial air conditioners.  It made the room feel unnaturally bright, with one of my classmates saying the glow hurt his eyes.

The food was good, but not as amazingly fantastic as I thought it'd be. We each paid 200 RMB, or $30, which is the most I've ever paid for a meal in China before. But all we received was ordinary food; some sweet and sour chicken, some sauteed pork, and a few other things we easily could order elsewhere.

It was a bit of letdown, since the ads for the restaurant showed extravagant entrees with statues of boats or dragons on the food. Those dishes, however, were only reserved for big-spenders, with some meals costing more than $150 per person. Instead the closest we came to any artsy dishes were tiny pyramids stacked out of cheese-like blocks.

It was a good experience nonetheless. I had never been to Beihai park and the views were quite beautiful. One surprise was the bathroom at the restaurant. I wonder if the real emperor's had fish tanks in their bathrooms.  Or perhaps one of the royal chefs decided to just say one day:  "Hey, let's put a fish tank in the bathroom!" Brilliant.

My first perm

I went to get a haircut today at the school's local hair salon. It was supposed to be a simple affair. "Yao sao wei duan yi dian," I said upon sitting down for a trim. "Please cut it a little shorter."

The stylist, a man from Liaoning, had a better idea in mind.

"Ya know, your hair will look a lot better if you curl it in the back," he said. He then took his hand and proceeded to gingerly curl portions of my hand with his two fingers, showing me what he meant. "It won't take very long," he added.

He then passed me a book with the hair style he thought would suit me, pictures of models posing on the glossy pages. I'm too old for this, I thought (I'm a very elderly 25 year old).

I haven't had much experience with hair stylists. For the longest time my mom would cut my hair, and still does on occasion. And the times where I've had my hair done by a professional, it was straight-forward; no fancy-schmancy stuff, just cut it down an inch.

Well, today was different. I decided what the hell. Perm my hair.

I've noticed that in China, some young guys here have some interesting hair cuts, often resembling some Japanese rock star. At times, the hair can really look like it's been shocked, all spiky and sharp; and sometimes its uneven, with long bangs draping over one side of the face.

It took about an hour before it was all done. They curled my hair, doused it with some chemicals, toasted it with a spinning whatchamacallitit , rinsed it once more and then finally styled it.

I was pretty afraid that maybe I'd ruin my hair and end up shaving it all off. But it turned out fine. Looking at the above picture it's hard to notice anything different. But my hair feels poofier, all the while of having the subtle smile of hair chemical still marinated over it.

I asked my roommate what he thought of my haircut. Giving me an almost bewildered look, my roommate said: "It has a lot of personality."

Wall to wall

One thing I finally knocked off my to-do list was visiting the Great Wall.  I went there yesterday as part of school sponsored trip. We traveled to the Badaling portion of the wall, and it was crowded with people. Traffic leading to the place was bad, forcing us to exit the bus, where we then walked up to the wall's entrance.

Traveling across the wall can be a hike. The air feels more thin, and some of steps are steep, even ramp-like. I had to wonder how much fun the wall would be if  turned into a giant slip 'n slide.

People often say that fall is the best time of the year to visit the Great wall, when the leaves are changing color, and the temperatures are just right. It was a spectacular sight, although the Beijing Olympics "One World, One Dream" sign seemed out of place.

Hard times

Earlier this week I spoke with a former student of mine from my days of teaching English in Xi'an. Her name is Catherine and we spoke over instant message, relaying how things had been going with each of us.

She had just been coming off from an overly long holiday. Since Sept 21, her university had been closed due to an outbreak of swine flu; about 15 students had been infected. But Catherine said that wasn't as bad as the so-called "needle incident," in which Xi'an has had reports of people being attacked by needles.

"For the God sake I didn't suffer that horrible thing," she said.

In talking with Catherine, I also  finally found out whether she had passed the CET-6 test, one of China's standardized English exams for college students. During my time in Xi'an, my main duty as a teacher was to help all my students pass it. But I felt especially responsible for my good students, who worked hard and wanted to excel.

Catherine was one of these students. When I had left Xi'an, she had already failed the CET-6 test once, and had just taken it again. I had hoped my teaching would have pushed her over the hump, so I always wondered how she did, but was too afraid to ask. Yet  midway into our conversation she brought it up.

"Everything goes well for me," she said. "except i didn't pass the CET again."

It was sad news to hear. And she was so close too.

"It's ridiculous that the cutline was 425 and i got 424," Catherine said. "That's the thing really frustrated me."

She told me she isn't so sure if she wants to take it again. As her former teacher, I tried to lift her spirits, but I couldn't help but feel it was an empty gesture.

To change the subject I asked Catherine to help me on my Chinese homework. "Thanks teacher Catherine," I later wrote to her.

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This week has been tough. After five consecutive days of classes, I feel pretty burned out and overwhelmed. This weekend I have three essays I need to write, along with a bunch of vocab I need to memorize.

As for journalism, it's been rough too. I'm hitting walls in trying to get interviews and have been  strapped for time due to school. Rather than being outside exploring, I've mainly sat in my dorm room, my hands full of work.

I've only been here a month now, so I'm hoping my days will balance out better as the weeks go on. But as I think of this so-called "China experience", I've also noticed how harder my life has become.

Thing seem to pan out less, like in the case of Catherine. All that work as a teacher back in Xi'an, and yet I still couldn't quite help one of my best students pass a test. Now I'm struggling to write articles that probably would have been a cakewalk had I written them in the States.

I just have to soldier on. A few days ago I learned this ancient Chinese saying in one of my classes:

谋事在人， 成事在天

Taken literally, it can mean that there are certain things a person can control. Yet in the end, it is the heavens that decides all.

But my Chinese teacher put it another way: you should always do your best, even as things might not work out.

I'd much rather believe the latter.

Software vs. Electronics

The school has been holding basketball competitions out on the courts these days. Each academic department has their own team. Today I caught this match between the Software and Electronics teams.

It was a pretty organized event with refs, scoreboards, and team designated uniforms. But instead of speakers, a Chinese drum on the sidelines thundered along, rallying the students to chants of fangshou (defense) and jiayou (come on!).

Team Software (red uniforms) started off well. But after the half, it wasn't much of a contest. The final score was 21-34, with Electronics taking the win.

I saw no Yao Mings on any of these teams. But a lot of these guys can play, and some are fairly tall.  I remember one foreign teacher telling me that upon arriving in China, he had hoped to practice his kung-fu with his students. But to his surprise, he soon learned that very few of them had much interest in martial-arts. Instead, they all played basketball.

The standing ticket

The train ride back to Beijing was more of an endurance test to see how long I could bare standing.

For over 5 hours I stood in the back of the passenger, with nothing but my backpack to sit on. This is what I get for buying a standing ticket.

It was all the ticket sellers had left since the train heading back to Beijing was going to be packed. I didn't think much of it since the train ride wouldn't be too long. If I was lucky maybe I'd find an empty seat.

That didn't happen. When I first boarded the train, already several people were standing in the aisle way. As the train traveled on and made several stops, more and more people came on board. Eventually five people were sitting around me, using their luggage as seat cushions.

For the most part, I basically stood there, afraid I'd crush something if I sat on my backpack. Periodically I'd have to move out of the way, allowing a passenger or train worker to squeeze on by. I tried stretching my legs, and standing in different positions. But eventually I decided to screw it, and sat on my backpack.

With the holiday coming to an end, things were especially busy around Beijing. Walking through here made me feel like a cog in a machine. To get back to my dorm, I had to switch subway lines twice, and then finally walk to the university. It took me over an hour. Home sweet home.