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Ni zhidao zhege Yingwen zenme shuo ma?
(Do you know what it's called in English?)
In 2002 I was accepted into the Fund for American Studies' Asia Institute. Yes, it's a bit conservative (to say the least), but it was wonderful to see the view from the other side of the ocean. I attended the University of Hong Kong for 3 weeks, and discussed political economics from an American prospective with approximately 100 Asian students (and a handful of Americans) and earned some graduate credit from Georgetown at the same time (score.). I traveled solo through mainland China the week before the Institute.
Check out my quote on the AIPE website. I think it's cool that they used what I wrote and have kept it up there for the last few years.
Below is my travelogue. During my travel through mainland China, I kept my journal on various scraps of paper I kept in my backpack. A line would run through my head that would perfectly capture the moment and I'd dig through my bag and grab out a pen and something paper-like and have at it. These are my transcribed scraps:
Itinerary
Passengers: 1
Redhead journeys into foreign country on other side of planet sans friends or family. Father warns of white slavery and hepatitis.
Flight: San Antonio to Beijing
Depart: 19-Jul-02 at 7:30 AM
Arrive: 20-Jul-02 at 2:35 PM
Meal Service: Snack / Lunch
Duration: 16hr 22mn
Train: Beijing to Shanghai
Depart: ?
Arrive: ?
Meal Service: Ramen, Chinese candy and water
Duration: 22hr
Tickets only available at station; reliable time schedules nonexistent.
Flight: Shanghai to Hong Kong
Depart: 28-Jul-02 at 8:00 AM
Arrive: 28-Jul-02 at 10:25 AM
Meal Service: Breakfast
Duration: 2hr 25mn
Flight: Hong Kong to San Antonio
Depart: 16-Aug-02 at 12:40 PM
Arrive: 16-Aug-02 at 10:41 PM
Meal Service: Lunch / n/a
Duration: 17hr 11mn
update.
Less than two weeks to go. I've packed everything twice, just to make sure it all fits into one checked and one carry-on. The realities of travel might prove this exercise moot, as I'm sure that I will end up checking two and attempting to sneak 3 carryons.
"No sir, this is my purse. And that? That's a fanny pack. This is my carry-on..."
[completely off subject but saved in this log because it makes me laugh]
Has anyone seen the moronic Crocodile Hunter: Collision Course trailers? Here I am, thinking this is a totally stupid movie, and I check out the website and find that Ebert gave this thing a thumbs up??? WTF? Well, I am unable to find any evidence that this is true, aside from the website, so my faith in humanity is shaken, but not quite destroyed.
I saw the Powerpuff Girls Movie and was thoroughly underwhelmed. Hubby thought it was a B+; I gave it a C-. If I wanted to watch an episode of PPG, I would have stayed home and watched the freakin' episode. Instead, I paid 5 dollars and was treated to an episode with 30 extra minutes of meaningless footage that made me realize my ass hurt.
If, at any point in time, you are suddenly conscious of your ass and are aware that it is in a state of discomfort, the movie you are watching automatically is out of A / A+ range.
Ass hurts=movie sucks.
With this in mind, it is possible that Roger Ebert was unaware of his ass the duration of Crocodile Hunter: Collision Course.
I don't know what is scarier: Ebert's opinion or Ebert's ass.
I think I need to go lie down now.
the party to end all parties....
Hosted a bon voyage party at my dad's house on Saturday and had a night out with the girls afterward. I just reserved a room at the YMCA Hotel in Shanghai. I'll be on the lookout for fruity sailors and guys in leather. I wonder ... if I sang the song and did the accompanying arm gestures, would the guy at the desk think I was having a fit or would he roll his eyes and give me the small room next to the kitchen with the broken air conditioner?
though I'm not there, yet....
If you are interested, check out Starr Hall, the dorm in which I will be staying during my time in Hongkong. Their website was down for a few weeks, but is now in commission, so view it while you can! The highlights include the letter from Dr. Leung, the "warden" of the hall, and the photos and video section. Of course, the crowning glory is the picture in the Hall Facilities section. The caption? "Really have water!" Priceless. Truly priceless.
Update:
While the main site is still there, the wonderful tour section complete with fantastic pictures and silly captions is gone. In its place is a tame-er and boring-er version. However, I must say that the residents of Starr Hall are called, and I'm completely serious here, "Starrians."
Starrians.
I don't even know how to pronounce that.
Be sure to check out the main site and the Hall Cheers. Awesome.
No time to say hello, goodbye...
No internet cafes in Beijing = no communication with the outside world.
Pay internet connection in the business center of Shanghai hotel = limited communication and truncated postings.
Tomorrow morning, 5:30: me in taxi, driving to airport. Then on a plane to Hongkong. Once there, I'll finally have access to a computer without having to pay for the time (or have guys in suits tapping their feet waiting for me to log out). I have posts for every day of my trip so far, so I'll publish them as soon as I get a chance in HK.
Short and sweet, I've loved Beijing and liked Shanghai. I've made friends and eaten duck. I've bargained and I've bought more for a dollar than my grandparents did as children. So far, it's been wonderful.
My only complaint?
I now tend to speak in broken Engrish.
day one (Beijing)
I won't bore you with the tremendous amount of torture I endured on the flight over. Getting off the 14-hour flight, I swore to myself I would never do this again. Then I remembered the necessity of travel to get home. I think next time I go across the pond, I'll try boat. At least my nose won't be pressed up against the back of someone's seat. The only funny thing about my flight is the guy sitting next to me. He insists on talking to me, and in a rather LOUD voice, during the safety presentation. The stewardess actually comes over to our seats and proceeds to quiz us, in front of the whole crowd of anxious travellers, as to where the emergency exits are and what to do with our floatation devices. I am mortified. At least I had actually looked at the little emergency card and could demonstrate the correct way to orally inflate the life jacket. I get a smattering of polite applause. The guy next to me can't tighten the air mask. He's booed off the plane.
When in fear for your life, grab it and speed read.
Get into Beijing at 2pm. I have gotten four uninterrupted hours of sleep (The guy next to me must have fallen into the toilet. I couldn't get any sleep with him next to me, as he insisted on elbowing me in the ribs and asking me if I knew how to pronounce names of various indigenous fruits.). Coming out of customs with my two rolling suitcases, I am forced to run (or, in my case, walk quickly while running over people's feet) the gauntlet of forceful taxi drivers, squealing family, shrieking friends, and various drivers holding signs. There is no order, there is no line, there is no rule. This is China.
At first, I don't see my driver. I am starting to panic when I catch a glimpse of someone who is patiently holding a sign with my name on it. I call to him and he grabs my bags. As we go out to his car, I find that he is Renny, the manager of the hotel at which I will be staying. I talk with him about my hopes for a train ride from Beijing to Shanghai. He tells me I might not get a seat because of the summer holiday, but he'll take me to the ticket office and see if he can secure something. Ugh. I knew I should have gotten my tickets earlier. Oh well, whether I get them or not, it'll be how it must be. He takes me to the hotel to shower and change.
I am about to discover what a true Chinese hotel looks like...
Not bad from the outside, but what a culture shock when I stepped off the elevator on my floor.
I present my room card to the lady at the front desk on my floor, who then takes me to my room, opens my door and turns on the a/c via remote control. Definitely not the Ramada. But somehow, I get to really like it. Maybe it has something to do with human interaction and the need for it when you are travelling alone. Or maybe it's the fact that I get to practice my Mandarin on ladies who don't make fun of me and will actually help me with my pronunciation. Either way, it's nice.
So, shower over, I meet up with Renny and go to the train ticket office. I never realized that the sidewalk was an appropriate parking spot, but the Chinese, as in many areas, have far surpassed us razy americans. Renny actually backs up to park on the sidewalk -- oh, and don't forget those pesky pedestrians. They think they own the sidewalk or something.
Ticket news -- there is only one train I can take. The "extra" train. The "extra un-airconditioned sleeper" train. The "extra unairconditioned twenty hour sleeper" train.
Oh yeah. Give me that one.
So I pay $25us and get it.
Back home, I decide to take a walk to start familiarizing myself with the city. I walk up to the Temple of Heaven. Crowds, staring, bicycles, staring, noise, bicycles, crowds, bicycles, staring -- all so foreign and a bit overwhelming.
...did I mention bikes?...
I am out for about an hour, then in for the night.
Whew.
day two (Beijing)
I try to muster up enough courage to go downstairs and order a Chinese-style breakfast. Afraid of ordering chicken feet or hog's brains, I concede defeat and instead have a cup of tea -- the breakfast of champions -- and head out to explore.
I start walking toward the Forbidden City. On my way there, I stop for a bottle of water and complete my first successful Chinese transaction:
"Ni hao," point to water, hold up one finder, rub index and middle finger with thumb, raise two fingers to confirm price, pay the lady 2 yuan, "Xie xie ni." Stupid smile stays on my face for next four blocks.
Tien'men -- I cannot figure out how to get into the Square. There is a thigh-high white fence that lines all the roads around the Square, as well as the medians. Guards everywhere, protecting the Square from unauthorized infiltration. I can find no signs in English, I can find no one that speaks English, I can find no one who knows how to give accurate directions (directions in China are a grunt and a wave in some general direction -- even in English), I cannot get in. I walk, like a caged tiger, back and forth around the Square perimeter, searching for an unguarded corner or a broken gate. I am denied.
Fortress or castle? Tomato, tomah-toe.
That's not to say the day was wasted. I had a wonderful walk.
I had my picture taken with children and college students. There are now more photographs of me in mainland China than in the whole of the Americas. Small children delighted in yelling "Hello!" at me, then hiding behind their mothers' legs and peeking back at me to see if I understood them. The college girls clasped me about the shoulders like a childhood friend and cajoled me into making a peace sign for the camera. I have yet to ask, but I would really like to know the significance Chinese attach to the peace sign.
Hong Kong victory flashing with my roommate, Janet.
I take the bus home and meet an elderly Chinese who speaks a bit of English (which, he tells me, he learned 60 years ago). He explains that his brother was killed by the Japanese during the Occupation. He places his hands in front of him, palms facing each other, then clasps them together, weaving his fingers: "China and America ... friends."
When I get home, I flash my card at the desk and ask the lady to turn on the a/c.
Inside, a wonderfully semi-arctic blast of air. Okay, maybe it's a temperate breeze, but one can wish... Regardless, this coolness will end abruptly in three hours. Sometime around 3am, I wake in a puddle. I lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, willing myself to get up, put on some pants and my slides and walk up the corridor and bother the lady at the desk. She'll sigh, wearily (and tiredly) get up, retrieve her ring of keys and the group a/c remote control, trudge down the fall, enter my room, negotiate around my unpacked suitcases and point her frosty beacon at my a/c unit; she'll faintly scowl at me and then make her way back to her very un-airconditioned post at the end of the hall.
Boiling water (for tea) and air conditioning (for living) dispensed here.
Perhaps I should suck it up and try to be more Chinese -- I lay like corn in a pot, lightly steaming. Oh hell, I can't take this.
I am resigned to the fact that I am a wussy American.
The truth hurts my pride.
day three (Beijing)
I brave the breakfast, Chinese-style. I get a broth with chick peas (does anyone even eat chick peas??) and short rice with some sort of spicy, marinated onions that you can add as needed (this gave it a kick). A mixture of bland and exploding-in-your-mouth flavor -- the two extremes do nothing for me. I have a feeling, though, that it would taste the same coming up as it did going down....
I'm coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs, dammit.
This is my Great Wall day. Like everything else I do in the mainland, I'm traveling solo in the company of strangers.
It's raining lightly -- the wait for the bus to Badaling (the area of the Wall that's easiest and fastest to get to by bus) is amid a sea of umbrellas. I wade through until I find the stop. The other potential passengers have decided the sidewalk is too confining (perhaps they were run off by the cars attempting to park?) and have crowded onto the street. I join them on the pavement, and we soon have conquered three lanes of traffic, for we surge forward as each bus approaches. Soon, the bus that will take me (I later learn) to another bus that will take me to Badaling arrives. Luckily, I am solo, so I push and shove to board as quickly as possible. Despite my swiftness, I am forced to stand for about half the journey. We get off the bus at the end of its run and board a different bus for the 45 minute journey to Badaling. The entire trip costs me 6 yuan.
6 yuan = $ .75 US.
Impressions of the Great Wall: water, groups of foreigners, fog, people, noise, groups of foreigners, umbrellas, wet socks, groups of foreigners (who look so out of place as to be invaders), incredible, majestic, romantic view - beautiful and idyllic. It's like a postcard or a daydream brought to life.
The crowds be damned, the wall is fairy tale land. I walked as far as I could in wet tennis shoes and on rain-slicked stones. Did you know that the bricks on the inside of the wall are littered, no, they're tattooed with billions of Chinese characters? A foreign graffiti that does nothing to detract from the beauty. In fact, it enhances it: a tattoo of time etched into an ancient cobble stone.
Of course, if kanji was intelligible to me, I'd probably say, "I don't care if 'Li was here,' he should really keep it to himself."
To get home, I went back to the bus stop where I had arrived. There sat a rather small bus with my bus number on a placard in the windshield...
Beware, for it is the bus of doom.
Confused, because my bus coming had seemed so much larger and more modern, I ask if this is the correct bus. "Yes, yes, yes! Get in!" So I do. Once in, the ticket-maker...
Oh, hold on -- let me explain. When you get on a bus in Beijing, there is driver and a ticket-maker. The driver ignores you completely. The ticket-maker, after each stop., walks (or, sometimes, wades) through the bus, asking those who have just boarded their destination. He or she then takes one of the bubblegum pack-sized pads of tickets, scribbles across the surface with a grease pencil (apparently indicating your destination), rips it off the pad, demands a few yuan, then trades you. Like a great many things in China, it seems inefficient on the surface, but upon closer inspection it proves to be somewhat logical, efficient, and, in some un-automated way, comforting.
...so the ticket-maker tells me I owe 3 yuan.
Ticket of terror.
I suddenly realize that I and the other very local-looking (read: should know better) people have boarded a private bus. This is further proven a correct assumption when I notice that the placard in the windshield has another number written on the back and is propped up by a stack of other placards with various other bus numbers. The little voice of self-preservation tells me that I will have a big problem if I attempt to disembark at this point -- this probably had something to do with the menacing glower the driver was giving me and the very interesting network of scars on the ticket-maker's face. She was one bad mama and I was going to need to change my shorts when I got home.
If I get home....
So I pay the fare, clutch my bag, and we're off. The ride, which did, indeed, place me at the station I needed, took almost twice as long as the ride there. The reason? We took every backroad imaginable in an effort to pick up more paying passengers. The ticket-maker, as we reached the corner of almost every backwoods street, would wrench open the door, lean half her body out of the bus/van (precipitating the slowing down of the bus, as the driver seemed to have some slight regard for his ticket-maker's well-being), and scream like a drowning woman with a pituitary problem: "Baaaaaaa-ching! Baaaaaaaa-ching! Weh! Weh! Baaaaaaaa-ching!"
I have a feeling she was attempting to say "Beijing," but I had never heard it squealed thus. However, a few people understood her and got on. The new riders gave me added hope that I would not awake tomorrow in an iced bathtub with an unsightly scar and a few missing organs. I was obviously riding with a for-profit, but legit, busing operation. After almost two hours, I finally arrive safely, get on the real city bus, come home, and go to bed.
Baaaaa-ching, indeed.
day four (Beijing)
My big day -- I'll be leaving in the evening and am determined to make it into the Forbidden City. I'm finally feeling comfortable with my foreign-ness in China. I'm starting to acclimate and feel legitimate. One of the indicators of this is my indignation and disgust when I see another foreigner.
Foreigners degrade the Asian experience. If I wanted to see another white girl, I'd've stayed home, thank you very much.
I'm happy to be as free from them as possible. I think they feel the same way -- as least the back-packers -- we meet eyes then look away -- no smile, no pleasantry -- just as little attention as possible. It's like having a wonderful dream and being awoken in the middle.
I eat my breakfast, take an early morning walk, pick up a Coke. Beijing Coke is much better than American Coke, period.
My local watering hole
You know, it might just be the kanji on the label. But I think it tastes better, so that's all that matters, right? Back home, I call Renny to find out my train time (everything on the ticket is Chinese, so I'm totally lost). I end up talking with his daughter, Rena. We hang up after finding my time and talking about my sightseeing plans for the day and I then call the YMCA Hotel to tell 'em I'll be significantly late. After I hang up, Rena calls back and asks if I would like her to come with me to the Forbidden City. Of course! So we meet 30 minutes later. She hails a cab and takes me into Tien'men. Local Beijing'ers, she explains, know the way in (they just don't know how to give directions there, I think). We wander the Square -- so big, so empty (save the tourists).
Ah, to be an umbrella salesman...
It's interesting, awe-inspiring, and frightening. Rena explains that the only time there can be an organized group in the Square is during government-sponsored events. The sight of a lone student facing down a tank... We enter the Forbidden City and walk a bit.
It is obvious how one could feel the superiority of the Emperor just walking through the gates. An incredible place which I didn't get to see long enough....
Everyone needs a little Mao and then.
We stop by a market which offers the most incredible prices. We wandered a bit more, then Rena said her parents were picking us up and she would like me to have dinner with them. Yet another enthusiastic "Oh yeah!" from me. Opportunities to eat food that I can identify are few and far between, considering that Rena's english is the first I've heard in a few days. Renny and his wife pick us up and take us to this amazing restaurant. I had informed Rena that I had not had Beijing duck (aka Peking duck), and was told that leaving Beijing without eating its namesake specialty was akin to leaving the bathroom without washing your hands. Well, not in so many words. Asians have a way of making less crude comparisons. My American-ness is my defense.
So, we sit down in this very nice restaurant and wait for 10 minutes while the menu is thoroughly examined and Rena's mother selects our dinner. It is not until the food began to arrive that I understood why Rena had said her mother was excellent at selecting dishes. Spiced cucumber, broccoli, chicken broth soup, fried egg stuffed with tofu (which was absolutely wonderful), egg that looked, smelled and tasted like chicken (this fooled Rena, for she said the characters proclaimed "chicken" but it was written to resemble egg)... The crowning glory, though, was the exquisite duck. You grab an oh-so-thin pancake and place duck pieces, which you have drenched in this really fantastic dark sauce, on it, then add some long slivers of green onion and roll it up -- ta-da! The most perfect, delicate blending of flavours in your mouth. It literally melted in my mouth.
Like heaven, only crispier.
Then, as if a free tour and a free banquet was not enough, Rena and her family brought me back to their home so I could check my email. Afterwards, Rena and her father put on an intimate performance. Rena, though she claimed she was rusty, played the piano beautifully while Renny performed classical pieces on his violin as if he were in concert. It was a beautiful.
My Beijing family
Then, Rena and her mother showed me pictures and plied me with various goodies for my impending rail ride. We talked of Rena's hope to go to college in America and Renny's hope that he and his wife can move there once Rena has established herself professionally. It's strange to realize that they dream for something I live every day of my life.
I then bid adieu to Rena and left to pick up my bags. Renny and his wife took me to the station, refused to let me carry any bags, and shoved their way through the station ("tin of sardines" is an accurate term to describe the cause for the lack of mobility in the Beijing train station). They got me to my car and packed my bags away, then put up my snacks and sat me on the seat near the window, so I could catch a breeze once the train started moving.
I could never have done so much that day -- fate, kismet -- call it what you will. Such selfless hospitality...
Once on the train, I prepared for a night of heat-induced misery -- though the wind kept up while we moved, my bed was on the wrong side and got no draft.
Cramped quarters, indeed
I met a number of students on the train and we talked late into the night. They enjoyed practicing their English and I enjoyed learning more about the Chinese psyche.
I did not, however, enjoy the toilet. Chinese trains = Chinese toilets: a hole in the ground and a handle on the wall.
I was thankful for the handle; I did not want to be anywhere close to the floor.
realtime....
I've been publishing my handwritten log as often as I can in between classes and such. Here's a break in the nostalgia....
I got up at 6:45am this morning, hoping to get an early start on the day. I packed my bag and got onto the campus to start researching on the library computers (not bringing mine has its advantages and disadvantages...). What do I find at 7:15 in the morning? Every staff member on campus is performing Taichi in large groups in the common areas of the campus. I recognize the librarians, so I know I'll have to wait out the ancient dance if I want to surf the net. Now there's a strange juxtaposition.
One thing I noticed in Beijing (but not Shanghai, though I'm sure that it has them, as well) was large public outdoor exercise areas. At first, I thought these were playgrounds, but I never caught a child on the equipment. Instead, in the morning I would find groups of adults stretching against bars like ballerinas and running in place on these stationary dual pendulums. Two impressions: 1) gee, America is really unhealthy as a nation, and 2) oh my god, I pay for a club membership to do the same thing. Can capitalism sometimes be a detriment? Perish the thought.
But then again, after weeks of sleeping on a Chinese bed (which is cotton batting on a plank of hardwood), I can understand that morning stretches are a national priority.
Change of subject... In some ways, I feel on the outside of both groups of students. In the American group, three of the five are established friends and have traveled together. The Asians tend to keep their sexes separate, and I have a natural proclivity towards keeping with the boys, so I'm out of luck on the old "hang-out" thing.
My most beloved roommate, Janet
My most beloved HK friend, Wingy
Many of the girls, who are really some of the sweetest, kindest people I've ever met, have this way of socializing on a scale that is only seen in American society during the highschool years. It's not bad at all, it's just intense. Too intense for me most days (I didn't socialize with girls much during highschool, anyway)... So I end up talking some during/after class and breakfast/lunch, but then kind of kick it with myself. Unlike Georgetown last summer, I am not working from dawn to dusk, so I can't be my hermit self and be okay with it -- I've got too much free time. Instead, I spend my evenings doing laundry and reading in the roof-top laundry drying area and studying (which makes me a "hard worker" according to the Asians), then going to bed around 9:30-10pm (or 21:30-22:00 according to the Asian 24-hour clock). Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am, indeed, a "nerd."
A non-social one, at that.
I think I like an extreme language barrier. Then, being a bit of a recluse just means you don't know how to translate. When so many people are talking English, I'm a bit odd for not always wanting to participate.
Change of subject... We have been in the middle of the first monsoon here. It has been raining the last few days and will rain the rest of this week and next (except Sunday and Monday, according to the weather channel). It's in the 60's-80's, so it's nice -- not too bad. I am the only person in the group who has been disappointed with the monsoon, though. It needs to start kicking some ass, dammit. It's just too tame and kind of boring. I thought we were going to be holed up in underground tunnels, fearfully listening to the emergency sirens wailing, praying for our lives -- you know, boarding windows and throwing around bags of sand. Instead, we're pissed that our shoes are wet.
What a bummer.
day 5 (train from Beijing to Shanghai)
Rolling, beautiful, ugly, bare, lush, poor, sparce, full countryside...
It was gorgeous in its humanity and history. I couldn't stop staring out the window.
On the train, I talked with a group of young Chinese. One girl, Huang Wei, was a young wife and mother who lived just outside of Shanghai. She and her husband both worked for the local university. She talked to me of the diminishing Chinese identity. She explained that the young Chinese thought the ways of their parents and ancestors was "old fashioned" and no longer applicable to today's society. However, in throwing off the ways of old, they have found no new traditions to replace them. Instead, the young generation is "floating" and "lost." I have since talked with a number of Chinese in the Hongkong program and have found the same sentiments. Western influence has pulled them up from their traditional foundations. Reconciling the two -- and allowing them to coexist -- will be a long and lengthy process of the kind China has never attempted.
The other Chinese I talked with at length was Lin Jin Fei, a young editor for a government publication company in Beijing. He was "escaping" his job. At first, I didn't realize what he was saying -- I thought he was on vacation. But his boss kept calling him (there was a meeting he was supposed to attend at noon), and he would tell her that he was lost on the subway. He was lost on the subway for a few hours. Finally, his boss stopped calling. He told me he was "escaping" his job to go to Shanghai with his friend and start a business -- selling vinegar.
The town where he came from had no deaths from cancer and everyone lived to a ripe old age. Because of the vinegar they produced and drank every day.
Yummy. Fill 'er up.
So, I asked, do you drink vinegar? No -- and then he smiled, realizing I was in on his little secret: he and his friend were going to the big city to do a little harmless scamming and to become capitalists.
Hmmmm.
We had a wonderful time talking about our cultures and lifestyles -- about religion and market systems. I cannot imagine having such an intelligent conversation with a fellow American on a 20 hour unairconditioned train ride. In fact, the other foreigners on our train (there were two), refused to come down from their bunks. I saw them three times: when they got on, when they got off, and when they walked to the Chinese toilet. It was good -- I didn't want them spoiling my daydream, anyway.
Finally, we got to Shanghai. The vinegar guys helped me with my luggage (read: carried it for me and refused to allow me to exert myself). Thank goodness I had them -- they were able to get me to a cab safely. They shoved the luggage into the trunk, opened the door, helped me in, told the driver to take good care of me and to charge me a fair rate (which, surprisingly, he did), and said goodbye. Such rushed farewells -- I regret the truncated business.
The driver got me to the YMCA Hotel with no major incident. He stops in front of this really nice looking hotel entry, so I suppose that the YMCA must be around the corner. We both get out. He takes my luggage from the trunk and I start rifling through my wallet for the appropriate yuan. From the corner of my eye, I see a man meet the driver and take my bags from him. I start to turn around to find out what's happening, but the driver has gone back around to his side of the cab and is telling me to pay him -- I thrust out some bills and turn around to ask about the status of my luggage. The man and my bags are gone. I realize that I either 1) just got robbed or 2) allowed the bellboy of this nice hotel to think I'm staying here.
Insert YMCA joke here: ______
Oh man, I think, I've got to go into this hotel and either report my bags stolen or tell them I've made a mistake. Either way, how embarrassing. So I get my receipt (the cabbies in the mainland really have a thing for giving you receipts) and walk into the hotel. I see my bags, thank god!, being readjusted on a hand cart by the bellboy. I approach the counter and, just for the hell of it (since there are no signs to tell me), ask the gentleman there which hotel this is. "YMCA Hotel, miss," he says, looking at me like I just arrived from Mars. I quickly recover my dignity by explaining that I'm so tired from my train ride...
The recover is halfhearted and doesn't convince him. I'm still a freak. Oh well.
day 6 (Shanghai)
I wake up and am overwhelmed by the city. It's strange, it's foreign, it's British, for chrissakes. I go out for about 2 hours, but find the Mandarin totally strange-sounding and the presence of so many foreigners to be totally disconcerting. I start to miss home and miss Beijing terribly. I go back to the hotel, which, for the $26us I'm spending per day, seems awful ritzy.
I miss the a/c remote control lady.
I take a shower (my 2nd of the day) and get into bed. A thunderstorm erupts outside and I lay about for the afternoon, wishing I was home.
The lonely view out my window...
First days in new cities suck.
day 7 (Shanghai)
I wake up refreshed and ready to take on the city. I go shopping and sightseeing. I decide I don't much like Shanghai, and would much prefer to have stayed in Beijing a few extra days.
Oh, well.
The awesome plastic YMCA pencil I stole.
day 8 (Shanghai)
I continue to shop. I have bought fairly little -- I've mainly just looked around. Sightseeing-wise, I was advised to visit the television tower along the bund -- it is the largest tv tower in Asia.
However, going to the top to enjoy the view does not excite me -- the last skyscraper I entered...
Well, reliving that experience does not interest me. I walk and I look from the ground -- the view is just fine.
day 9 (plane from Shanghai to Hongkong)
Up at 4:45am -- out the hotel at 5:30 -- I'm in a cab to the airport to make my 8am flight. I watch Shanghai pass by my window -- I have no love for this city. Maybe I can try it again in the future...
On the plane, two hours pass, off the plane, into Hongkong. Public transportation here is very good -- I'm at Hong Kong University in under an hour. Unpack, then upstairs for laundry -- I didn't pack much and I have a week's worth of Chinese laundry (2 clothes changes per day). In the evening, we have a pizza party and I meet my classmates.
No witty comment. I'm just glad to be done travelling for a while. It's nice to unpack your suitcase.
realtime, yet again...
So, I'm done with my travelogue -- I think a Hongkong travel account is like giving a daily play-by-play of life in San Antonio. It's Chicago with many more Asians. Years of colonial rule have smeared the Asian culture. In some ways, these Cantonese speakers (I don't like the language very much -- I think Mandarin is so much more beautiful and lilting) are very Asian. But they eat scones, dammit. That's just not part of the Chinese experience I was anticipating.
And they have this godawful nasty drink which combines tea, coffee and milk. It might sound tempting, but I beg of you, please, for the love of everything that is holy, do not attempt to drink this concoction unless you have an iron stomach. It's just plain nasty.
I won't bore you with many tales of my daily life, so here's an overview:
8:15 - wake up
9:00 - rush to Ho Tim Restaurant for a breakfast that never changes (I, myself, order toast every morning)
Unidentified women who appear to endorse the Ho Tim.
9:30-12:45 - 2 classes (sometimes we have a speaker instead of the second class)
13:00-14:15 - lunch from a menu I cannot read (this is not a unique situation)
14:30-16:00 - final class (again, there is the speaker option)
16:00-18:30 - free time (study/shopping time)
18:30-19:30 - dinner from the limited menu of the Ho Tim Restaurant (yes, they torture us twice a day)
19:30-22:00 - yet even more study and shopping time
Shopping is the number one hobby of most HK'ers. The shops stay open until midnight every night... And downtown looks like Times Square in NYC only over and over and over and over and over....
update...
I just finished my final exam (what a pain) and will be leaving for the US tomorrow afternoon (Friday). Before the graduation ceremony this evening, though, I have been asked to be the American delegate for a meeting with some members of the Chinese press. I have no idea what to expect -- except that the vast majority of the interview will be in Chinese. I was told that if I feel slighted I can leave at any time. I really don't know what that means, either, except that I am expecting to feel slighted.
Well, not much to say now -- I've about run out of words after the essays I just finished.
I think I'm going to go take a nap. Yeah. That's the ticket.
Zzzzzzzz.
revision..
Finally home. I had a 6-hour layover that turned into 9 hours. Whee.
I had an amazing experience in Hongkong. Though it's a bit too Western for me, the students I met were wonderful. My wish is that we can all meet again in a transatlantic reunion. Of course, next time it'd have to be in America.
So I'm cheap.
Wow -- that's an awful ending. Lack of sleep is evident.
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a series of grays.
Hong Kong victory flashing with my roommate, Janet.