The Cool Bar

My colleagues and I have some standard hang-outs in the neighborhood. We have cute nicknames for them — or at least I do, and the rest of them humor me by acknowledging what the nicknames stand for. These places are mostly where we go to drink the famous $.45 beer. There is the Pavement, so named because in good weather, it is a strip of pavement where the owners let us sit in their lawn chairs and drink beer without eating. There are two Pavements, just up the road from each other. The Bad Pavement has a bathroom so horrible the Boys won't let me go near it. The Good Pavement has a bathroom that is downright reasonable. It's a squatter, sure, but it's about as bad (or good, depending on if you're a glass half-full sort of person) as a restroom at your average small time gas station.

However, now that the weather has gotten cold, we can't sit outside. The Boys decided to try out a new location, a restaurant down the street in the other direction. I had not been there with them, but last night after the school Halloween party, we decided to try it out. The Boys had only ever had beer, but it was dinnertime, so we decided to eat.

Six of us walked into the restaurant. The place was crowded (always a good sign). They kicked a man who was sitting alone off a table and moved him somewhere else so we could sit down. They brought us two Chinese menus -- perhaps thinking we could speak Chinese since we knew to say "jiu" (six). I poured over the menu, picking out the various characters I know (I found "chicken"). They realized we were clueless, and brought us a picture menu. (The picture menu is the best invention.)

We looked and drooled. Peanuts. Sliced beef thing. Cucumber and mushroom salad. Chicken something. Pork something. But we also wanted meat on a stick, but that didn't come on the picture menu. I again poured over the piece of paper looking for chicken. I found chicken, but I didn't know what the rest was.

Then the manager came over. He spoke some English (we eventually discovered). We pointed again and again. Then we told him that we also wanted chicken wings (complete with arm flapping and bawk-bawk noises -- I never said I was suave). He went away.

About five minutes later, the food started arriving. First the peanuts, which were cold and covered with a sesame oil dressing. They were fantastic. Then the beef arrived. It was cold too, but it tasted like beef and also had a delicious dressing. The food started coming faster -- sauteed corn, chicken, pork in black bean sauce. The cucumber. Chicken wings. We gorged ourselves on the food. One guy said it was the best food he's had since he arrived. Now, I've had some good food here myself, but this was definitely near the top of the list. 

We ate and drank. Drank them out of cold beer, even. (Because why put more beer in the fridge when you take some out?) Although, it's not the first time we've drunk an establishment out of their alcohol. Then, we were delivered a note, in English, along with some more cucumber. The manager thanked us for coming in and apologized for his poor English and gave us the cucumber. Crazy.

Then came the moment of reckoning: the bill. For all the beer and food for six people, we were charged a little less than 200 kwai. That's $30. 

I am positive we will be going there again.

Oh, and the bathroom, while not "ridiculously clean" as stated by a colleague, is very adequate. A squatter is a squatter, and there was definitely some oversplash on the floor, but the toilet flushed, there was paper, and soap and water. In this neighborhood, that's pretty awesome.

The Basement

Thursdays are bad days for lunch. I have a class 5th period which doesn't get out until 12:10. The Chinese staff at the school, however, all go to lunch at 11:30. By the time I leave class and get to the staff cafeteria, the food is practically gone and it's definitely cold. Not good at all. Since I also teach a 6th period class, I really don't have enough time to leave campus and get something else (like McyD's). It's a problem.

I have been in the habit of eating in the student cafeteria on Thursdays. The food is doled out in separate stations, so there is a much wider variety. A lot of it is still unidentifiable and some of it is downright gross (it is a high school cafeteria after all), but at least it is still hot. But the unidentifiable part makes it a bit of a crap shoot. I don't know what the food is and which stations serve decent food. I try to get the kids to help me, but all too often they just say, "I don't know" and wander off.

Until this Thursday. As I left the building, I saw a group of my girls. One of them is the sweetest child ever. She has a delightful smile and loves to laugh and giggle. Her English is atrocious, however, and she struggles in every one of her classes. She has a very difficult time understanding spoken English. She wants to improve, and she is very attached to her teachers. When she felt how cold my hands were last week, she lent me her fingerless gloves. She will run up to me on campus and hold onto my arms (remember, the Chinese are far more touchy than us Westerners, it is not unusual to see women holding hands while walking down the street). As I walk up to the students, she holds on to my arm. The other girls crowd around and I ask them what I should eat. They offer to help me out. Finally!

They tell me that they are going to the basement. The basement? I didn't even know there was a basement cafeteria! We walk around the building and down some stairs, and then there we were. Cafeteria Shangri-La. There were steamed dumplings, pot stickers, pizza, spaghetti, meat on a stick, noodles, soup, mush on rice... All sorts of little stations with recognizable food that tasted good, too. I had students there to point things out. It was great. I had pot stickers and some lamb on a stick and a few steamed dumplings.

The Canadian had told me that he liked the cafeteria, and I thought he was talking about the place on the first floor. Turns out he was talking about the basement. I am definitely going to eat there more often! 

A Perfect Dismount

On Saturday, our Chinese principal arranged a trip to the Great Wall. We went to the Mutianyusection. I didn't look it up beforehand, but the school counselor did. It is a spur of the wall and served as the last defense of Beijing. It was rebuilt during the Ming Dynasty, so this section is only about 500 years old. That's young!

I had heard that there was a cable car on this section. While buying tickets, we saw a sign for the "tobaggon" ride. I wondered what sort of crazy translation that was. Was there really a sled? Was there a weird Canadian hat at the top? Imagine my delight and surprise when we got to the top and saw that there was, indeed, a slide down the mountain!

Oh yes, Gentle Reader, there is a metal track curving down the mountain. You might have experienced a similar ride on any number of ski slopes during the summer months. There are these nifty sleds on runners with brake handles. You sit on the sled and shoot down the track. Well, they want you to stay fairly safe. But this is China! Who cares about safety?

I went down with the chemistry and physics teacher -- they are as thrill-seeking as I, you see. We found the track and purchased tickets. What? Only 50 RMB?!?!? (That's $7.50.) What a steal! We each bought a beer (to drink on the way down, because just riding the sled seemed far too tame), and got in line. Off we went, cruising around curves and, well, not quite tearing down the mountain. First, there was the beer to drink, and second, there was the line of people in front of us chickening out and riding their brakes. Still, we got to the bottom thrilled with our adventure. And at $7.50/run, we were ready for another.

We went up to the ticket window to get a ride on the chairlift back up the mountain. (Oh yes, a chairlift. We didn't even have to walk!)  Imagine our amazement when we discovered that a mere 65 RMB will get you not only a ride on the chair lift but also a trip back down on the sled! (That's about $9.75.) On the way up, we devised a plan... stall. When the man puts you on the sled, wait for as long as possible before you head down. That way, you build up a buffer space and go really fast before you run into anyone else.

Well, we had the plan. And it was a good plan. We just didn't follow it. We got stuck behind the idiot woman in the pink shirt with bows riding the brake. There were about 15 people stuck behind her. We should have known... It's stereotypical, but you've got to play the percentages. You have to give a big buffer to women (present company excluded), children, and old people.

Back to the ticket window. Another 65 RMB. Back up the chairlift. (Note: the chemistry teacher was a little freaked by the chairlift. He's never been skiing, so he's never been on a chairlift and found it a bit disconcerting. I treat it like it's nothing. Although I still recite all the warnings I've seen over the years... look to the outside. Ski tips up...) This time we agreed to FOLLOW the plan.

Back to the line -- which actually wasn't a line; we were first this time. We looked down the hill and noticed just how slowly everyone was going. There was a sledjam almost at the top! (Well, it is Beijing.) We made mention of it to the dudes running the ride, and they agreed. We all stood there and waited. Those behind us in line were a bit peeved until we explained that you need a buffer, otherwise the ride will be boring. We waited for a good 10-15 minutes, and then we climbed on.

WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

It was awesome. We didn't run into another sledder until the 30m to the end sign. We climbed off the sled energized and ecstatic. It was the perfect dismount from the mountain. I flashed a gymnasticsesque salute, and off we went to find the rest of our group. It just doesn't get better than that... unless we go again. 

Outside

Our school has a subscription to a number of English-language magazines for the school library. The A-Level teachers convinced the school staff last year that magazines were excellent reading resources. They come in a range of interests and reading levels and magazine articles are far less intimidating than whole novels.

The other benefit is that we get to read them, too!

I share an office with my Handler, who does many things besides keeping me from getting in trouble out there in the big 'ol world. One thing he gets to do is unwrap the magazines and take out anything unacceptable for a high school audience. He was showing off the magazines to me, including the music magazine that had pictures of scantily-clad women in the summer issue. The school had been scandalized. (I didn't see such photos in the fall issue.) Then he flashed the Outside at me.

"Outside!" I yelled.

"What? Is this a good magazine?" he asked.

"It's only, like, totally awesome if you love outdoor sports," I replied.

"Well, do you want to borrow it for a week before I take it downstairs?"

Did I ever.

In this month's issue, they had a list of the Top 50 Things You Should Do This Year.

Number 1 on the list? Get a passport. Fill it up.

Check... and I'm getting there.

A few weeks ago, I was talking to my colleagues about our holiday over Chinese New Year. "Where are you going?" is the big question. Wow, I realized, I can go anywhere. I don't have to stay in my apartment. It's expected that I will take a vacation someplace fun. Wait a minute...

Then I considered my summer vacation. Overnight, my whole world opened up. I don't have to run back to the U.S. in the summer and sit in one place. Oh, sure, I'll go back and visit, but I'll do that -- visit. I don't live there. I can stop by Japan on the way out. Vancouver on the return. Korea. Australia. Thailand. Singapore. I don't need to sit in my car on a freeway speeding across the desert just to see one person. I did that LAST summer. It was fun, but now it's time to sit on an airplane... and a beach. In a hotel. With drinks with little umbrellas in them. Taking pictures of the world's monuments.

I know more than a few of you are groaning right now. That means more weeks I won't be spending in your company, but I have this passport, and I'm going to use it. Save your pennies and come visit me someplace. We can meet in the middle.

A Word about Food

I have been taking some random photos of food (as I do), and I think I finally figured out an easy way to show them to you. (Getting a new laptop 3 days before flying off doesn't leave a lot of time to set up systems.) So, here are a number of random photos and thoughts about said photos, all about eating in China.

It took me a couple of weeks to find the Western food stores. There are two in particular, Jenny Lou's and April Gourmet, that cater to a Western clientele. They are all on the other side of the city. Once I figured out how to use the subway and how to use Google maps (in Chinese), I was ready. This is a photo of what I bought on that first trip to Jenny Lou's. Notice all the tomato products (meaning I can eat my stand-by, spaghetti) and the Parmesan cheese. Also, the normal-sized box of Cheerios and the Pepperidge Farm cookies. And bread made without sugar.

From Chinese Food

It can be difficult to find Western spices, as well. There are lots of Chinese flavorings, however, including the "delicious" spice.

From Chinese Food

You can get some wonderful fruit and vegetables around here. Look at this awesome lime that I got to make salsa with.

From Chinese Food

Wait a minute... that's not a lime!

From Chinese Food

Yes. It's an orange.

I had to buy these yesterday, because we all know that the best thing to give away with a Snickers bar is AAA battery.

From Chinese Food

Of course, you couldn't do that in the West, because someone would eat the battery and sue Snickers.

Sometimes, you just have to make your own food.

The closest thing to cassoulet without an oven.

From Chinese Food

And the closest thing to a real breakfast.

From Chinese Food

The orange thing is a grit cake and the bacon is almost, but not quite totally unlike bacon. So far, it's the one essential thing I haven't been able to find at any price.

The Crepe Man

Yeaah, the crepe man...

For the last few weeks, there has been a street vendor outside my apartment with a crepe setup. When I walk by, I see him deftly spreading a thin crepe out on his stone, or maybe I notice a crepe sprinkled with egg and scallion.

Mmm. Egg and scallion crepe, I think. I'll have to try that. I know it won't have cheese, but a girl can't have everything all the time, can she?

Today was the day. I'm almost out of cereal, I don't teach for a couple of hours, and it's cold. And, it's just time to get out there and eat some more street food. I mean, really, street food is always where it's at. And if this town has anything, it's street food. (But no, I am not lining up for a deep-fried scorpion on a stick, deep-fried though it might be. They are not even battered!)

I stopped by the man, said hello, and pointed at his empty griddle. Off he went. A quick pour of batter and like the pro that he is, he had it spread out into a think circle within seconds. Egg cracked and spread onto the batter. A sprinkle of parsley and onions and we let it cook. Yum. And then things got weird.

He took his little putty knife and release the crepe and then whoosh! flipped it over. (Huh?) Then, before I knew what was happening, on went the ubiquitous red bean paste sauce stuff. The Chinese seem to love it because they put it on everything; us Westerners find it a slightly off tasting. Then, he asked about his other pot of stuff and I realized he was asking about the hot sauce. I'm a solidly mild to medium sort of girl, and what the Chinese consider mild I consider hot. I can eat it hot, but I have to slow way down hot. So just a little, little bit I motioned with my glove-clad fingers. He giggled to himself about the wimpy Western girl (maybe I'm making that part up), and gave the crepe a little brush. Then he put on 3-4 leaves of green leaf lettuce and 3-4 rectangularish crispy things. My office mate just told me the crispy things are friend bread -- like thin rectangles of savory doughnut (which I still need to find and try). 

Fold. Fold. Fold. Fold. And the crepe got an extra fold (since it is now puffed full of lettuce and crispy thing) into a little plastic baggie.

The total cost? 3 kwai. (I might have given him 4, since three of them were crispy and all stuck together and I had gloves on and was holding a cup of coffee.) That's $.45 or the price of a 20 oz. Tsing Tao.  

And, it doesn't taste too bad, either. The dough is a little spongy and some bits are hotter than others. The bean paste isn't too intrusive, but the lettuce is completely limp and the crispy doughnut isn't so crispy anymore. I'd probably still like it better with an extra egg and some cheese and nothing after the crepe-flip, but I'm not giving up yet. It takes at least three tries to really like something, so I have at least two more crepes in my future.

Freeze Frame

I got to school a little late this morning (late as in 7:25, not late as in 7:59), so I was walking onto campus when the flag was being raised. It was a sight, to say the least.

All across campus, as the national anthem was played from the loudspeakers and the flag was run up the flagpole, everyone stopped. Every student. Every teacher. Everyone. Just stopped walking and talking and waited silently for the anthem to end.

It was eerie. It was as if someone hit pause on a remote and I was the only one unaffected. I don't know if you've been on an American campus anytime recently, but the students don't stop for anything. And they certainly don't ALL stop.

It was also the most bone-chilling display of patriotism I think I have ever seen.

Meditations on a Cup of Tea

As I've mentioned before,  things around here have gotten cold. In response, I've upped my tea quota during the day.

Of course you know that China grows tea. A lot of tea. You also know that everything is written in Chinese, which makes buying tea difficult for someone who loves tea but doesn't speak the language. Tea stores are intimidating, with giant jars of blackish, dried things in them. There is no telling what any of it is. Add to that the caveat that all "tea houses" and "tea ceremonies" offered to foreigners are scams at best and thinly veiled hints at prostitution (or at the soft-core version) at worst. 

Now, the school does provide tins of tea for us in the staff room and has spigots of hot water in the hallway. (The students are also addicted to tea.) I asked my Chinese principal to tell me what kind of tea I was drinking. She took a sip, came with me to the staff room, and said it was green tea. And it does look green once the leaves unroll in the mug. 

I then got her to write down the Chinese for "oolong tea" (one of my favorites) and a couple of other types of tea I might like.

Then, she gave me a sprinkling of her personal stash of tea. She said it is called "bamboo" tea, because the tea leaves look like baby bamboo leaves. And it is "special fine" tea, because of the quality and where it is grown. I can say that it has a much fuller, smokier, robust bouquet than the tea left sitting in the staff room.

After lunch I made myself a cup, and it is a delightful, vibrant cup of tea. It has far more depth and character than the stuff left for the plebs to drink. 

And as I got nearer the bottom of the mug, I noticed that the tea leaves were standing mostly upright in the bottom of the mug. As I tilted the cup to take a sip, the leaves gently swayed in the water, like a stand of bamboo swaying the breeze.

Affairs of State

As we all know, China has a planned economy. The government controls many things. It just does.

One thing the government controls is when the heat can be turned on in the buildings. They set a date (I hear it's November 15) and until then, no central heating. 

Before you all freak out, consider the pollution in China. (Note to self:  tell you about a couple of weekends ago.) Keeping the heat off saves something like, well, a LOT of coal. A shit ton, to be exact. (I did a quick google search, but I couldn't find a number that corresponds to that tonnage.) It's a pretty good reason to limit when the heat is turned on. (That is, unless you all like how much pollution floats over the Pacific to the U.S.)

The temperature dropped significantly on Sunday. Right now (at 6:45pm), it's 50 degrees. Highs today were around 59. Lows tonight are predicted to be around 38 degrees. Let's just say that it's a little cold right now.
But hey! It's just like living in the dorm back at Carolina. The heating was controlled by the Physical Plant there, too. 

Subway Breakdown

Some colleagues and I are establishing a tradition of going out to eat someplace yummy on Friday nights. After a long week of living where the best place going is The Holiday Inn, we head over to the east side and eat in restaurants that cater to the Western palate. Don't discount it. It's the highlight of the week and gets us through the long-dark Wednesdays and Thursdays.

This week, we had decided that we would head over the Indian restaurant. (You know, Bombay is high on my list of places to live next. Talk about some good food.) We had Parents' Night after school, so we didn't get out of school until 5pm or so. We agreed to meet at 5:30 and head eastward.

After my almost-two-hour taxi ride at 5:30 on Thursday night, I was adamant that we take the subway. As leader, my followers dutifully followed me. Oh, the blind leading the blind.

We got on the subway, which was packed crowded, but not uncomfortably so. We are figuring out the rhythms of the subway, so we knew when it was going to get crowded. And it got crowded. Usually, there is some ebb and flow, though. This time, there was just flow, no ebb. More and more people pushed into the carriage.

One stop from our exit, we were all pushed to the far back wall. No one was moving. When we got to our stop, the usual flow of people leaving was pushed off the right was the influx of people was pushing to the left -- right where we were. For a moment, we really thought that there was no getting off. Then my friends made a break for it, and I had no choice but to raise my elbows and push my way through. It wasn't pretty, but we did get off.

I've made the switch between the lines before, and I knew the tunnel was crowded. But I also knew that most people go in the opposite direction, so if you can make it through the tunnel, the platform usually empties out. (The last time I did this, we left the subway to get a cab -- in the rain -- only to decide we'd never get a cab so went back in from another tunnel entrance and found the way easy.) We lemminged our way along the tunnel, went down the stairs... and confronted another crush of people getting on a train.

We knew there was no getting on that train, but they come every 90 seconds or so. We moved towards the center, where the line was a little shorter, and waited. And waited. And waited. More and more people poured down the stairs onto the platform. We had been feeling a little claustrophobic all night, but we realized that at this point there was no leaving. The exits were so packed with people, we'd be hard pressed (ha ha) to make it out.

Finally, other people in line decided that a 15 minute wait was too long and were moving out of the tunnel. A man next to us (who happened to speak English) clinched it when he said the trains usually come every two minutes and maybe we should leave before the oxygen ran out. We were outta there.

I didn't say it, but I was fairly convinced that we'd never get a cab, but hanging out in the cool evening breeze was far better than chilling in the stuffy subway basement with thousands of workers heading home at the end of the day. I probably should have been a bit more patient in looking for a cab, but I sometimes forget that everyone isn't as fond of walking as I am. 

Sure, I joke about being a fat slob, but that's really only in comparison to my rock-hard, mountain-climbing friends. I'm in pretty good shape considering the minutes I clock watching TV and reading books. (Hey, these are serious English-teacher pursuits! I have to work on my analysis and allusion skillz. I don't want to fall behind.) I can walk all day without too much damage, especially now that I DO walk everywhere in my new, car-free lifestyle. My friends, however, are a bit older and a bit more sedate than I. Oops.

It took me a moment to get my bearings and orient myself in space, but once I did, I knew where we had to go. We started walking and flagging at the same time. But at 6:30pm on a Friday night, wasn't no cab that was gonna stop for a bunch of white women. (All you black men out there can laugh all you want, now I know how it feels.) The line at the hotel (not ours, but whatever) was super long without a cabbie in sight. The closest we saw was a dodgy taxi, and we weren't taking one of them. 

By this point, I'm swearing up a blue streak. All I wanted was a nice hot dinner of delicious Indian food and a carafe of wine (or three -- the carafes are small and there were four of us). Cabbies would drive by, empty, studiously not making eye contact so they wouldn't have to stop. We walk. And walk. And walk.

One of my friends had her good map (I had my pocket map, which is great for general ideas, but bad on the details), and I knew where we were and where we had to turn. Yay. And we were getting closer. Of course, she tripped over a hole in the sidewalk (you know, an entire brick missing). She had already broken her foot earlier by tripping over the sidewalk. It is a dangerous place. So we're slowing down and still flagging the taxis. To no avail.

Well. We did finally make it. There was an empty table when we walked in the door. The carafe of wine (eventually) made it to the table. And we ate. And ate. And ate. It was delish. But, it was such a stressful evening, we had to go out to another bar after. 

The Stumble Inn is becoming my favorite place. They serve North Coast Brewing beer (yes, Beth, that brewery), and while they don't have Pranqster, they do have the Red Seal Ale and Scrimshaw. They also have Rouge Dead Guy. All for about 35 kwai, or $5.25 including tip. The music is good. The bathrooms are impeccable. They have a downstairs, a pool room, and a patio. I hear their food is good, too. I could live in that bar. If you come visit, I'll take you there.

Fortunately, lots of taxis are very willing to take you from the east side to wherever you want to go. Taxis in that neighborhood know exactly what they're in for and who they are going to drive.

The moral of the story? Well, there are two lessons. 1) If your friend tells her husband that we're sure to get to the restaurant before him since he's coming from the airport, be afraid. Very afraid. You have just been jinxed. 2) Never pass through Tiananmen around 6pm at night -- either in a car or on the subway -- DON'T. If you can't leave the west by 4:30, just wait and leave at 6. The rush will have slowed down just enough that you won't have to swear a blue streak from frustration.

Oh, and I'm thankful that at least the subway didn't break down when we were on the train.  

Humorous Things I Saw on My Way to Work

An aging, portly Chinese dude in a tracksuit carrying a badminton racket with his comb-over flopping in the breeze.

Our new early morning guard (I live in a "gated community") in the jacket so large that the sleeves completely cover his hands. He always looks like he's wearing his dad's clothes.

A man careening down the street on his bicycle with his girlfriend riding sidesaddle on the bike rack.

Next to Godliness

As many of you know, I am not the neatest individual. Far from it. Those of you who have lived with me, might call me sloppy or even slovenly. (There was the never-emptying dish bin in college -- as in, we didn't do the dishes for a month.) I'm bad at setting up systems and even worse at maintaining them. So, my stuff ends up all over the place. My dust bunnies grow into dust rhinoceri.

I notice it. I mind it even (at some point), but I am lazy. Well, lazy when it comes to cleaning. I'd much rather read a good book, or watch a documentary, or take a nap.

This also extends to my personal habits. Anyone who has seen me during finals week or the summer knows that showering is not my favorite activity. Getting naked (and therefore cold) and standing in water (hot or not) just isn't the most thrilling thing to me. Oh sure, it wakes you up in the morning... but who the hell wants to wake up? I'm not saying that I do my best to smell, and I admit that a shower is awesome after a long day skiing or hiking, but if I'm not that dirty and I'm not working, I'll often skip the shower. 


Well, things aren't too much different here, except when it comes to that whole soap thing.

Moving to Beijing probably wasn't the best choice for someone who raises dust rhinoceri, seeing as the dirt piles up just from leaving the windows open. And I've mentioned before the thin layer of poo that coats everything. My response? Lots and lots of soap.

I wash my hands religiously. Not that I didn't wash them before, but I really wash them now. I shower every day. Maybe it's the awesome shower head I have. Maybe it's the low ceiling that help keeps the heat in. Maybe it's the super-bright heat lamps right over the shower. Maybe it's my giant, fluffy towel towel. Maybe it's the feeling that I'm coated with poo every time I've been outside. But, I am a much, much cleaner person.

And there's a benefit to all this hand washing -- I haven't gotten sick yet! At least four of my colleagues have come down with food poisoning and three of them have gotten colds. I've suffered from neither. I thought I had the beginnings of a cold earlier this week, but I think it was allergies from the horrible pollution we had during the weekend (more on that later). This doesn't mean that I won't get sick, but as someone who usually starts the year with a cold from the germ-factories, being cold-free is a pleasant surprise.  

Dire Straits

You know you're not in Kansas anymore when the only bastion of all that is clean and wonderful in your neighborhood is the Holiday Inn,

Yup.

We went to the Holiday Inn for lunch yesterday. They have a decent Thai restaurant and a decent "Western" restaurant. You're not really supposed to eat there if you're not a guest, but they let you anyway. We all got the burger and fries. The fries were good, complete with a lightly spicy salt dusting. The burger was large and came with cheese and bacon, but without mayo. I was sad that I didn't bring my new jar of mayo with me. (Thanks again, Mom!) The ketchup, too, was a little weird. But it was the closest thing to a normal lunch I've had in a long time.

To be fair to the Holiday Inn (which brings to mind hordes of screaming kids and their careworn parents on sad, American vacations in random heartland locations), it has a good reputation internationally. 

Pirates of the Dream Space

The school handed out some free movie passes for Teacher's Day (back in September). Although I had opted for the karaoke session, one of my colleagues gave me her ticket. The Canadian and I decided we wanted to use them before they expired (today), so we set about planning a trip to the movies.

First, we had to figure out if any English films were indeed playing at the movie theater. I had done some Google Chroming, and it appeared that  "Pirates of the Dream Space" was playing in English at our local theater. Of course, it's hard to Google Map things when you really don't know what the street names are (road signs are often written in pinyin, but Google Maps uses Chinese characters). I thought I had our movie theater, but when you rely on translations done by a Web browser, all bets are off.

I asked my Handler to confirm, and it turns out that it WAS playing at our local theater, but only in the IMAX theater. Of course, the tickets weren't valid for IMAX showings. It was also being shown at the movie theater in the CBD (across town) on a regular screen. (The Chinese use the English acronym for central business district for some reason.)  Woo-hoo. The tickets even had the address of the theater printed on it, so we could give that to a cab driver.

We briefly considered taking the subway, but decided against it. (Big mistake.) We would leave around 5pm. Grab some dinner. See the 8:00 showing. Simple.

The main reason why we didn't take the subway is because we didn't really know where the theater was. I knew it was in the CBD and it looked like it was on the main thoroughfare, but I didn't know which subway stop it was at. There is nothing quite so frustrating as wandering around a city looking for something specific and missing it because you're a block off.

It turns out what is even MORE frustrating is sitting in a taxi for an hour and forty-five minutes because of traffic. Oh yes. Crossing Tiananmen is a big mistake. Sometimes they shut down the road (the main road through the center of the city) because of ceremonies or big wigs or whatever. At rush hour. Of course. 

Fortunately, taxis in China are cheap. CHEAP. Almost two hours in a taxi still totaled a mere $9. However, it did trash our plans for dinner.

We walked around briefly looking for food and saw a Subway. I've eaten a lot of Subway, but I really don't consider it appropriate dinner fare. We found the Wal-Mart and decided to try our luck at Wal-Mart bathrooms. (Did I mention how long we were in the taxi?) I can say they are better than many restrooms I've been in in China, but the woman squatting in a stall with the door open in front of the mirror was a bit disconcerting. Trying to look away while checking your reflection in the mirror is a tad difficult.

Off we went to the theater to at least get tickets. Oy. Vey. Everything was in Chinese! Somehow, the idea that the film was shown in English made me think that the English title might have been listed somewhere... Not so much. It was all Chinese, all the time. We waited in one line, but that was for the V.I.P. card, so we had to get in the other line. Then I remembered my Handler. We got the front of the line, I called my Handler, and... we were told to go to a third line to use the vouchers. So then I could hand the phone to the woman and he could ask for our tickets for us.

I do a lot of things on faith in this country. I assume he said what I asked him to say. I assume she did what he asked. I have no idea, though, because everything is written in Chinese. I can read a few things in Chinese (beef, chicken, alcohol), but I can't read "Pirates of the Dream Space". 

By now it's really dinner time. The Canadian is not going to live on popcorn alone. (I have often made a meal out of a bucket of popcorn with butter-flavored topping.) Off we went, back towards the Subway. We decided to walk around the block, and if we didn't see anything better, we'd have a sandwich. 

And then we saw it. Kungfu. Oh yes, the restaurant is named Kungfu. I don't think we really had an option but to eat there. It was a fast food joint selling things in bowls. We both ordered the chicken and got a bowl of boiled chicken, a plate of steamed broccoli with sauce, and a bowl rice with a scoop of peanut/meat topping. It was pretty decent, all things considered. It cost about $4.50 and the chicken was real chicken (on the bone with feet floating in the broth -- yes, I said feet) and the broccoli was  al dente. Not as in-your-face-awesome as you might hope from a restaurant called Kungfu, but our chopsticks were flying as fast as lightening. It was a little bit frightening.

We went back to the theater. We got a bucket of popcorn that was actually pretty good. No butter topping (sadly), but it was caramelized. The Chinese love things sweet, so they serve caramel corn at the movies. Not bad, not bad at all. 

Then, we were pointed to a theater. In China, you pay your money (or the school's money, as the case might be), and you take your chances. Would we really be seeing a movie in English? We were the only two English-speakers in the place. It would have been perfect to sit in a cab for almost two hours, just to use our tickets to a movie dubbed into Chinese. Ten minutes worth of commercials in Chinese later, and the movie started... with Chinese subtitles! Success!

I must say, Inception is a great film and definitely worth seeing in the theater. Worth being totally out of your element just to get in the door. I especially loved how true the homages to and reverberations of other popular movies felt. Of course there were echoes of Star Wars and Total Recall and The Matrix because it is a film about shared our consciousness and dreams. What else does Hollywood do but provide fodder for our dreams?

The Whiteness of the Whale

When I did some reading up before moving here, I heard that the Chinese are very fond of skin whiteners. It was suggested that I might want to bring lotion and make-up with me to avoid an excess of whiteners.

If you're reading this, you probably know me. And if you know me, you probably know that I glow in the dark. Like, seriously. Living in California was the closest thing I ever got to being actually "dark". And by "dark", I mean I didn't look sick. I actually had a nice, healthy glow. (Well, when I wasn't burned to a crisp.)

Today, my school dropped off a bag of goodies at my desk. They are prone to doing this (as you might have gathered). We got laundry detergent, soap, shampoo, conditioner, and bottles of water (3 small bottles of water). Later, they dropped off a 10-pack of toilet paper. Well, the bath items are all Chinese products with Chinese packaging, so I brought the soap with me to my 8th period.

I told them I needed their help. I told them what I'd heard about whiteners. I told them how the last thing I need is to get any whiter. I told them about glowing in the dark. I explained how they might need sunglasses come winter, I get so white. I told them how my skin turns blue because you can see the veins. 

Then, I gave a couple of girls in the front row the bottle, and asked them if it had whiteners. They confirmed it did. In fact, it will whiten my skin in three different ways! When they said that, I burst into laughter. It was such genuine laughter, my kids started laughing along with me.

In Moby Dick, Melville discusses white and black and that although we venerate the former, we also find it horrifying when seen in great expanses -- like vast snow fields, or as the case might be, my glow-in-the-dark skin.

I gave the soap away to a colleague who says he is willing to test it out and see if he gets any whiter. He's a scientist, and so prone to experiments.