asia2you: Wednesday, February 02

China

Wednesday, January 26th

After a great few days with my Danish family in Kokkedal (Cock-eh-day’l) I boarded my 10 hour flight to Beijing at about 9pm.

About two-thirds of the passengers were Finnish. They were hootin’ and hollerin’ from boarding to Beijing, a lot of fun people ready to enjoy a few weeks in China. These Finns clearly annoyed the other Scandinavians though. The Danes, Norwegians and Swedes can understand each other’s language and culture pretty well but Finland is certainly the Scandinavian stepchild. A kind of mono tone language with a bunch of “ii”s and “aa”s at the end of their words, I have to admit that Finnish does sound pretty weird, but, because one of my favorite people, Hanna, is a Finn, I get a bit Suomi sick when I hear it.

During the flight, while everyone was sleeping, I managed to cross the border from Finland into the EconomyExtra section. Apparently there are wider seats and more legroom here, but, honestly, I didn’t notice a difference. The reason I moved is because up there I can plug in my computer and while away the hours with solitaire. I was up there for about half of the flight before I was ratted-out by a paying passenger (the nerve of those with an extra $500.00 lying around for upgrades) and accused of “bumping up a class.” I readily admitted my guilt, but noted the three quarters vacancy in this “class” and explained my computing situation. No good, I was asked to move back to my seat. (Judging the scowl and red face of the woman sitting directly behind my stolen seat would have preferred that I be asked to de-board at 30,000 feet.)

At about 2pm we arrived and Chinese customs was the quickest ever: off the plane and about ten minutes later - Bam! - I was standing outside of a Starbucks in the main terminal. Mmmm... Chinese latte. Well, no Chinese version, but I was asked if I would like a “ha-tseh-nuh-lah-ley”. How did he know my favorite flavor? These Chinese were turning out to be pretty cool and I hadn’t even left the airport.

Speaking of leaving the airport, shortly after I finished my hazelnut latte I realized that although I’m in a very modern airport sitting at a table in a Starbucks that could be in Anywhere, USA, I’m actually in the capital of the People’s Republic of China, and, well, I noticed that I don’t know shit about this place. I may pride myself on being a very unstructured traveler—having next to no planning, relying on only patch work language skills, and making do with less-than-reasonable monetary resources—and, on balance, that excuse for willful disorganization works out well in Europe and Australia, but this is Mao’s house, and commie don’t play that game.

I do have a reservation at a hostel that I booked over the internet for about 5 dollars a night, but, unfortunately, I’ve lost the paper that has its name, address, and phone number, but luckily, there is another copy in my e-mail, but, sadly, there is no internet access in the airport. Blindly going to the center of Beijing seemed a good course from here.

Exchanging what little Danish Kroner I had left over into an unimpressive 140 Chinese Yuan (US$17.50), I knew that the 150Yuan offers from the taxi drivers would need to be passed up in favor of the 16Yuan bus ride with the locals. Unsurprisingly, a bus ride is not nearly as easy to arrange as the taxi. Knowing that randomly choosing from a mind boggling list of destinations (all written in Chinese of course) would not be such a good idea, I took a chance and discretely followed the other Westerner I saw, a young white guy and his Chinese girl friend, to their bus. When they got off I picked up all my stuff and got off too. I may not know Beijing, but when I really looked around, I knew that this was not where I wanted to be. I quickly put on a happy face and asked them where I could find an internet café before they could collect their things and run off. My racial profiling had failed; he spoke no English and seemed completely clueless. Luckily, she spoke some English. She did her best to point me in the right direction, and—at my request—she wrote “I’m looking for the US Embassy” in Chinese on my map. Putting her pen away she wished me luck, and led her man down an alley toward her home. With the temperature bouncing a few degrees around freezing and a brisk wind this was another one of those times I thanked the stars that I travel light.

Cobbling together some bus and subway rides with a short jaunt by taxi I get to the US Embassy just before 5pm and register (the process of letting the foreign mission know that you’re there and give them a way to contact you if they need to get info out to Americans, need to identify your body, repatriate your remains, etc.). Even though I relayed great stories of working in the US Consulate in Sydney, the answer was no, I can not use the Embassy computers to check my e-mail. Damn. Asking the Chinese guards outside the Embassy, I get the name of an internet café called “520” which is just up the road on the 3rd floor of the LanDau shopping center.

After hours of questions and new directions from people with frustrated hands and faces, I discover that it’s actually in the shopping center across the street. Damn, I wish I knew Chinese. (During the confusion though I did wander into a Chinese theater and caught some of the movie Garfield dubbed in Chinese. Through the ten minutes of the movie though, I felt like people were watching and talking about this strange white man more than the movie. I started laughing because I wondered how I would react if I were watching an old dubbed Jet Li movie in a Denver theater and some obviously cultural Chinese man with no connection to the US simply wandered in half way through and sat down to watch. Funny stuff.)

Once at 520, I logged on, printed and then bussed myself across town. At about 9pm I sit down in a McDonald’s (admiring the many traditional Chinese New Year’s decorations hanging from the ceiling all made out of fry boxes) and wonder why I have not found my hostel even though, according to my map, it must be only meters from here. I vow to never take the logical addressing and big lighted signage of the Western world for granted ever again. Then, over a red bean pie (the Chinese version of the McDonald’s apple pie), I met Alex and his sister Sarah (English names they have chosen for themselves in school). They’re studying English and explain that they live just around the corner from my hostel and would be happy to walk me down the right alley to get there. After getting Alex’s number and saying good night I went upstairs, greeted my four room mates and went right to sleep with my clothes on.

Thursday, January 27th

Got up at about 10am; all the roomies have left except for the two from Southern China. These guys speak little English, but more importantly, next to no Mandarin. In a similar boat to me, but since the writing in Cantonese and Mandarin is the same, at least they can write stuff down to get their points across while in Beijing. After my cold shower (as there is only sporadic hot water in this building), I went down to the main desk and negotiated my way onto the Great Wall tour for tomorrow. For 180Yuan (US$22.50) The tour goes from 7am to 7pm and includes transportation to and from the Great Wall (over an hour drive), a traditional lunch in a small town outside of Beijing, tour of the Ming Tombs, all admissions tickets, and an English speaking tour guide. Now that’s value. With the tour booked the man gives me some advice to get a better coat because the Wall and Tombs are going to be significantly colder than the city. Good heads up.

Once outside I notice the haze is still there. The smoggy coldness makes it really hard to see the huge buildings even one block away. Sticking to what I know, I decide to go back to the LanDau. I spent hours combing the 8 floors of that multi building shopping center yesterday while looking for the internet café that didn’t even exist there. I’m sure I had passed several places in there selling nice big winter coats.

I take about an hour and study up on the haggle dance. I watch average Chinese people find something they want and immediately the sales person offers it at a 20% discount. With a simple look of disgust from the customer, the sales agent makes it 40%. This is where a good haggler can make difference. On average, the purchaser was able to get a 50-75% discount off the ticketed price. By the time I was ready I did my thing and bought a kick ass down coat with a cool fur hood for 220Yuan (US$27.50). Made my day.

Friday, January 28th

Because I went to bed really early the night before, I got up at about 5am. I took a shower, got organized, and then at about six decided to go to McDonald’s for breakfast. I waited around in the cold a bit (in my new kick ass jacket) until they opened at 6:30 and was the first customer of the day. Oh boy! I got some kind of Chinese version of the eggMcMuffin with the standard issue hash brown chunk and some tea. (US McDonald’s should have tea too I’ve decided.) Back in time to catch the tour, we head out first to the Great Wall.

The tour is comprised of myself, Kum-nan (a soft spoken Korean lady), “Japanese-uh” (a bubbly Japanese woman whose name none of us could pronounce or remember), and Beth and Marisa (the Morman mother and daughter team from Chicago). Let’s not forget our guide, Sally, the bespectacled Chinese student always ready with a quick, “Do you know why….?” Her first DYKW of the morning was, “Do you know why Mozart did not use this finger (pointing to the left index finger) when playing the piano?”, surprised and interested we ask why. With wide eyes (that seem inhumanly wide in those glasses) she explains that of course he didn’t use that finger, because it’s hers. Saddly, Japanese-uh found this quite entertaining which ensured that countless more DYKWs would pop up throughout the twelve hour tour.

The Great Wall was not greatly inhabited by tourists this day. To get up to the Wall you have to take a strange kind of pully slide which cut right through the crosswinds. I love my jacket. Although really cold, I got some great shots and the country side was very worth the trip alone. Kum-nan, Japanese-uh and I climbed the steps all the way to the highest point of the Wall, which Mao once said would prove that you are a great man. We celebrated by expertly avoiding the gaggle of salespeople trying to sell us “certificates” to mark the occasion and then walked briskly back to make sure that we weren’t left behind.

Towards the end of the day we went to the tombs of the Ancient Ming dynasty. Let’s face it, we were tired and out of it. I tried to entertain Japanese-uh with a comparison of an ancient headdress of Chinese Emperor Ju-Di (Which sounds like “Judy”) to Hello Kitty. Her giggling and bouncing gave me the perk up I needed. Once fully explained by the overly entertained Japanese-uh, Sally was amused also, but, as the official guide, she had to keep her feigned imperial reverence intact while on duty.

Once back at the hostel I crashed for a second day in a row at about 8pm.

Saturday, January 29th

Cold showers are not my thing, so I look into leaving China. I called the airline and found out that all of the flights to my next destination, Seoul, Korea, are overbooked until the 3rd. So, I resign myself to stay until my flight on the afternoon of the 1st.

I did remember though that the Mormans said that they were staying at a new hostel right by the Beijing Railway Station that was tres chic. I find out it is called City Central Youth Hostel. I asked one of my new Chinese buddies, John, about this place. He was slightly ashamed for not telling me earlier. No worries, I headed down there and yeah, It’s very cool. There is a whole area of Beijing that rivals the modernity of London or New York and this hostel is right at the entrance to it.

Checking in to my new hostel, I see a subdued but friendly Canadian guy that looks worried about something, so I let him ahead of me in line. Once at the counter he starts speaking a mixture of Chinese and English to the clerk to explain that they kept his room key accidentally after their last conversation. “Wow,” I thought, “if I could speak Chinese like this guy, things would have been going much easier for me here.” What seemed like ten minutes later, both “bi-lingual” desk clerks were seriously confused and issuing blank stares as responses to his very well thought out and explained situation. I then realized that, no, this place is just a communications nightmare anyway you cut it.

As fate would have it, the Canadian guy, Mark, and I end up being room mates. And, luckily, it’s just him and I in a four person room. It’s still pretty early in the day so he invites me to go with him while he picks up some traditional Chinese medicine and tea from a market not far away and then take a tour of some of the places he knows in Beijing. Mark explains that he learned Chinese over about four months while he was living in Taiwan a couple of years ago. He really liked China on a previous trip and chose to come back to Beijing on a week’s vacation from his English teaching job in Japan. Cool lifestyle. We walk and talk about politics, travel, the various merits and drawbacks of teaching English over seas, and the culture shock of returning to North America after our first long trips away.

Later in the evening I suggested that we call my friend John who works a short subway ride from where we’re staying and ask him to take us to a real authentic Chinese place to have dumplings. The three of us head over to John’s side of town and have over 50 amazing dumplings for a total of one US dollar each. John explains that he has never seen a Westerner in this restaurant, which becomes pretty apparent when the kitchen crew take turns popping their head out of the back to stare at Mark and while we eat their handicraft. This is the China most tourists don’t find.

Time flies, it’s really late now, we get back to the hostel, make some plans for tomorrow and talk ourselves to sleep.

Sunday, January 30th

Mark is leaving tomorrow to head back to his teaching position in Tokyo, so he decides to get up early and head to the big Sunday market just outside of town. Not really wanting to get up and knowing that I would spend too much money at the market, I decide to take it easy today and maybe hang out with Alex who I met my first day here. Alex is busy, but we make plans to hang out on Monday. Mid afternoon, Mark comes back with a big smile on his face; he had found some cool posters of Mao n’ crew to bring back to his friends. Apparently there were heaps of deals to be found. Mark wants to come back in a month or two to buy one of the big old antique record players he saw there. The players are from the early 20th century with the big silver cornucopia things hanging on them. He thinks that he could haggle a bit and get one for 500Yuan (US$62.50).c

For our next adventure, we head to a renovated Old Town (Hu Tong) which has many shops with stone stamps and ink sets. Mark tells me about the Chinese tradition of signing documents with a stamp: it’s the more official Chinese signature. Most everyone who has some kind of management position or title has one. When you select a stone and ink pad, the artist will then carve your name (In English or Chinese) on the bottom. He gets his dark green jade stamp (which is really neat) chooses the red ink paste; a cool set. Them we head to hot pot.

While in John’s part of town the other evening we noticed a local hot pot restaurant. These places serve dinner with a large basin on a gas burner in the middle of your table. When you sit down, the pot is filled with boiling vegetable soup on one side and boiling super spicy oil on the other. You are brought lots of different raw meats and vegetables which you then cook in whichever side of the hot pot you like. Careful, the spicy side is really really spicy.

Hot pot knocks us out and we head back to our room.

Monday, January 31st

9am Alex shows up with his “good friend” Nancy, who I immediately recognize as one of the friendly McDonald’s ringer-uppers. She recognizes me too. Alex and Nancy take Mark and I out for breakfast at a Chinese fast food restaurant that serves something very similar to the churros you can get from little carts in America and “tea eggs” which are eggs hard boiled in green tea. I don’t normally like hard boiled eggs, but these were very tasty.

After breakfast we all head over to the old town to get a stamp for me too. I do some shopping around (as always) and end up exhausting everyone. I’m sure Mark doesn’t understand why I find saving an extra 20Yuan worth it. I don’t understand either; it’s an inherited Nicholas bargain sickness I think. This is closely related to our collecting-a-lot-of-crap-we-don’t-need-and-will-rarely-if-ever-use disease. (Case in point: traditional Chinese stamps.)

Mark has to go to Tokyo, Alex has to go home and Nancy has to go to McDonalds, so we all say goodbye and I go back to the hostel. The feeling in the empty room makes the fun I had over the past few days pretty clear. I’ve got some great Chinese memories and made many new friends here, including a cool Canadian buddy to meet up with in Tokyo. Tomorrow morning though, I’ll be ready for the afternoon flight to my new adventure: Korea.