Dear concerned American citizens,
I am not dead! But it's been way too long since I've blogged, due to a habit of falling asleep immediately (usually mid-conversation with my roommate, Traci) when we get back to our dorm after a Chinese adventure. I'm also moderately ill right now, the old "hot-cold-hot-cold-feverish-hallucinogenic-dreams-extremely-sore-body" ailment people get every now and then. It's not serious or unfamiliar, and I expect a full recovery soon.
Our group finished the three-day tour of Beijing earlier this week. It's everything a rookie tourist in China could dream of visiting: the Great Wall and the Ruins of Yuanmingyuan (my two personal favorites), the Summer Palace, the Peking Opera, and a Peking duck dinner, among other things.
Above: the gorgeous Ruins of Yuanmingyuan.
Below: Me cheesing on the Great Wall.
I will tell you about these famous sites, but today I want to explain my everyday observations of Beijing and how I fit into this extraordinary place. I think the easiest way to describe the last two weeks is to do a step-by-step description of a day here, in second person voice, of course. (Note I am not Cormac McCarthy. Thank you.):
It is 5:49 a.m., and you wake up. It's already bright outside, and since your roommate tried to close the blinds the first night and the sound was comparable to glass scrapping across rust, the sunshine is busting through your uncovered window. Your Chinese neighbors across the hall are awake and knocking on each other's doors, calling out in Mandarin. "Oh, (explicative), I'm in China," was the first waking thought for a few days, but now it's just, "I need a massage. This bed is killing me." Although it's a free day and there's no work to do, you can't fall back asleep, so you read or check Facebook or play around on the exercise equipment outside by the track. You may or may not shower. Around 8 a.m., you hear English in the hallway, and you join your classmates for breakfast at the cafeteria. Everyone takes the elevator down eight floors to the plain, marbled lobby (high ceiling, welcome desk, pop machine with Coke products and tea, restaurant entrance, one love seat, two arm chairs, 15 pots of poinsettias). It is hot/humid/steamy outside, and you are almost sweating by the time you walk a block to the dining hall. Up the stairs, past the hanging freezer flaps door, the inside is a typical cafeteria, with the exception of the assorted beverage and cigarette stand. The breakfast food is hit or miss. There are marinated hard-boiled eggs, bowls of unsweetened grits, and piles and piles of pastries, some filled with sweet bean paste, others filled with garlic and meat. There is also what looks like apple stir fry and large red cubes. Do not eat these large red cubes. They are congealed pig's blood and taste like bad news bears. The locals eat their pastries with chopsticks, which may explain the lack of napkins in the dining hall. When finished, you bring your metal tray to a worker in the corner who scraps the mess off with a hand-held broom. If you try to clear the tray yourself, the worker will shoo you away, communicating, "That's my job, crazy girl!"
Above: Outdoor exercise equipment.
Below: Motorcycle-box-mobile on campus.
Since you've seen most of the stunning historical attractions in Beijing that are better described by pictures than poor prose, you and the others decide to meander around the city. There is a subway stop outside one of the university's gated entrances. Over the speed bump and past the uniformed guards, there is a bridge that leads to the subway stop; under it, a chilled beverage and popsicle stand. (China has made you love two things: popsicles and room temperature Tsigntao beer.) The blessed popsicle stand has standard toasty-Chinese-weather treats, including Pocari Sweat (like Gatorade; tastes like flat Squirt), watermelon soda, cartons of milk tea, yellow rose and pea popsicles, jiggly apple gelatin popsicles, Mandarin magazines with famous English titles (like "Self"), and standard bottled water and ice cream novelties.
You check your bag with security and run it through an x-ray machine. The fare is 2 RMB, about 30 cents in America. The subway station is cleaner than all of the L stops in Chicago, but the humidity makes the sweat drip down the back of your legs while you wait for the train. When it arrives at the Communication University of China stop, there are not too many passengers. At other stations, however, people run and jockey for seats. An empty train car will fill to full capacity in about 30 seconds. The ride is smoother than subways in America; there are flat-screen televisions playing China Central Television and animated in-tunnel Olympic advertising flashes by. If the conductor suddenly slams on the breaks and someone almost falls, however, complete strangers will try to catch that person without hesitation. If you're blonde, speaking English, or just visibly not Chinese, oftentimes you will be stared at; don't be offended, staring isn't rude in China.
As you explore China's capital, you see big city streets with high rises and brouhaha traffic. The driving style: very slow and very aggressive. Cars will forge their own lanes, make U-turns into on-coming lanes, buses will edge vehicles out of their way. Horns seem to beep "Here I come!" instead of "Screw you!" In this mix, millions of bicycles, mopeds, and motorized bikes pulling carts. Women sit side-saddle on the back rack as their significant others pedal through the city. Older men deliver cases of eggs and beer to restaurants from the back of their bike carts. When you stay in touristy areas, remember to keep a good sense of humor when you get stared at, and be gracious when asked for a picture. Besides the big city, there are deliciously tiny side streets like Nan Luo Gu Xiang where trendy young locals and seasoned backpackers hang out to grab a cocktail, sandwich, cool T-shirt, or a cheap massage.
Another way to spend time (and money) in Beijing is to haggle at the tourist traps like the Silk Market or the Pearl Market. Every floor is like a maze of eager vendors with less than 10 square feet of stall space. Many have similar if not identical goods to offer. Most people are extremely energetic to makes sales (especially if you go earlier in the day) but can range from apathetic to overly aggressive. They call out to you, "Pretty lady! You need [insert product here]." If you approach a vendor, prepare to get down to business. You need to do research on how much a product is worth (especially for places like the Pearl Market) in the United States, but you also need three qualities to be an excellent haggler: confidence, politeness, and patience. The vendor will first make you a grossly high offer on a calculator. Look at it, and just say, "Oh, I cannot spend that much." After a few minutes of this, they'll get frustrated and give you the calculator: "You tell me your best price!" Don't be afraid to aim low! If they give in right away on a price, you know it's not a very good deal. It may take you a good 10 minutes to make a deal, and never be afraid to walk away (not in a huff, but just to "look around" to see if another vendor can give you the price you're seeking). You will most likely get chased after and given a better price. The vendors can be persuasive, but stay focused and never pay more for something than you would in the United States. Besides going early in the morning, two other tips for successful bargaining: 1) go to stands in bad locations off the main strip that don't get as much traffic and 2) have the exact amount of money you want to spend ready in your hand. If you don't want to spend more than 100 RMB, just have the 100 bill in your hand the whole time. They are more likely to give in than if you have a wad of messy cash, or they may just scold you when you get your wallet to pay.
After a day of haggling, walking around Tianamen Square, and sweating, you're going to be very hungry. China is a great adventure, and nothing is more risky or rewarding than dining in Beijing. Oftentimes the menus are all Mandarin, sometimes without pictures. If you don't have a translator like Patrick, your best bet is to point at something and hope for the best, which many times turns out well. Or you may get a traditional dinner with a large group of friends; you sit at a large round table with food served family style on a large Lazy Susan. It is good manners to serve food to others. The cuisine varies: sizzling red beef and onions, fried white rice, pork and scallion dumplings, baby squid, balls of squishy tofu, spicy green beens and meat, whole fried fish, donkey served on rolls, tripe and vegetables, cold potato noodles and cucumber slivers that burn mouths, hunks of bony chicken, corn soup, and of course, watermelon and huge bottles of Tsingtao. In China, you can tell what you're eating came from an animal; it isn't cut into unrecognizable, clean square chunks. It is said that Americans can't handle real Chinese food, but it is best to have a sense of adventure and try a little of everything. If you don't like it, just don't put it in your mouth again.
Even if you take the safe route and go to McDonald's, there is still adventure to be had, especially with ordering. Most people do not speak English in Beijing, yes, even with "the Olympics coming," as people say back home. No problems, though, this is where "phonetical sign language" comes in handy, as well as handheld menus. The old point-and-cover for only a sandwich, or the finger signal for the number value meal you want. The service is very hustle bustle, and they may or may not mess up your order a couple times, but they're very nice and will probably stick your beverage in a to-go bag. Wasabi Filet-O-Fish, taro pie, coconut pie, pineapple pie, hamburgers with spicy sauce and cucumbers, chicken sandwiches with cabbage relish, kiwi juice ice cream floats, and sides of corn await your wanderlust.
When you get back to your dorm, you shower 1.5 times, pass out, and do it all again the next day.
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