The Sudden Stop

My darling friend A passed along her bicycle to me when she left the country last summer. (Of course, the passing along also included riding the bike a good 15 km through the city on woefully under-inflated tires. She is a rock star of the highest order.) Now in possession of an official, Chinese-produced, four-times hand-me-down, fixie* cruiser, I can ride my bike to school, the store, or the subway. Sometimes I might add in a trip to the Cool Bar or the Twinkle Bar. (Yeah M, I'm so cool because I commute on my fixie.)

Riding a bike in China takes some special skills, however. The Chinese do not ride their bikes the way we do.

Bicycles are not required to follow rules of the road. (Then again, cars don't always have to, either.) Bicycles are not governed by streetlights or stop signs. Bicycles don't have to ride in the same direction as traffic. Bicycles can ride on the sidewalk or in the bike lane, or in the street if there is no bike lane (but on many roads, not riding in the bike lane is akin to a death wish).  Bicycles are allowed to run down pedestrians, but must make way for cars. Bicyclists do not wear helmets. Bicyclists also pedal at speeds barely fast enough to maintain forward motion.

The Chinese also have a different way of getting on a off their bikes. It took me awhile to figure out what the difference was, but even last year I noticed that something was odd. A Chinese rider does not begin by straddling their bike, sitting on the seat with one foot on the ground, and then pedaling (as I, and anyone I've seen riding in the U.S. does). Nope. They stand next to the bike with one foot on the pedal, then pushing off with the other foot (which is wedged uncomfortably between the foot on the pedal and the bike frame), they straddle and sit in one motion. They stop the bike in much the same way. While I would hit the brakes, lean on one foot, and then swing my leg over the seat, the Chinese keep moving, stand on one pedal and swing their leg over, all the while coasting. Once they've slowed down enough, they jump off and take a few running steps to keep up with the moving bike.

Two days ago, I found myself performing my first Chinese-style dismount.

This country is filled with a million bumps and thresholds and concrete barriers and flood control devices that are impassable on an old, run-down, cruiser with rather thin tires and no suspension. These obstructions require one to hit the brakes, put down a foot, swing a leg over the bike and then drag the bike over said obstacle. Well, pedaling back to my gated community, I was sick of the sudden stop; each barrier is an interruption to the flow of the ride. So I didn't stop. I stood up on the pedals, swung a leg over, and then jumped down, running after my bike.

Just like a real Chinese person.

*A fixie is a fixed-gear bike. Most memorable as the banana seat wonders where you pedaled backwards to brake from childhood, they are all the rage among hard-core cyclists who want to prove how awesomely strong and cool they are by pedaling up and down hills with only one gear.

If You Can Dodge a Wrench...

...You can dodge a ball.

Some of you know that I love to play school-yard games. Imagine my surprise a couple of weeks ago when I came across an ad in the local monthly's weekly email for a new dodgeball league. I practically jumped out of my seat in excitement. I did manage to stay sitting long enough to register, and then I jumped up and ran up and down the halls in glee. Well, maybe I just dashed into the other other offices to share my exciting find.

Monday was the first day of dodgeball. I haven't played in a couple of years, and I was never that good to begin with, but I was ready. I had a skirt on (I only ever exercise in skirts, although I typically wear pants to work — what does that say about my personality?) and was ready to go.

After finding the venue, I located my team and introduced myself. "Is it true that you are a dodgeball queen?" they asked. (I might have bragged about my dodgeball reputation from back in P-town where the registration form asked if I had any experience.) "Well, yes. I was. I helped found a league in Portland." I'm pretty sure that any cred that my statement won me was lost the first time my team saw me throw, but it lasted for a good 10 minutes.

So we played. The gym is pretty small, which usually led to mass bruising, but this league plays with foam balls. They don't hurt too much, but they're also really hard to throw. I have no arm strength and never really learned how to throw anyway (I blame my brother for neglecting that part of my education), so all I could hope for was my patented throw-the-ball-so-it-looks-like-it-will-be-easy-to-catch-but-really-it-will-fall-short-right-when-you-touch-it-so-you're-out-SUCKER throw to work on the newbies. (To be fair, my patented throw worked on some pretty good dodgeball players, even earning a man or two the moniker "my Bitch".) And it did work! But only once.

My team is pretty scrappy though, we took an early lead in some pretty quick games. The other team threw hard, but their aim was wild. They discovered the side-arm, but don't seem to really know how to use it well. The opposition pulled ahead at the end of the first half, but we took the lead again in the second half. At the end of the match, we were tied, so we played a "sudden death" tie-breaker. There was an obligatory CCTV the Ocho! comment, but it wasn't really sudden death. We just played one more game.

We lost.

It hurt. It always does.

And then in the morning, it hurt even more. Riding to school, I wondered why my legs were so sore... oh yeah, it was all the sprinting to the line for the ball. Writing on the chalkboard, I wondered why my arms were so sore... oh yeah, it was trying to whiff the ball at the big dude on the other team.

At least I didn't break any fingers.

This Is Where I Live

As some of you will recall, I returned to China about two and a half weeks ago after seven glorious weeks in the United States. I had a lovely time in the U.S., and I even went so far as to tell some of you that I was excited to get back to China and start work.

And then I woke up at 6am in Salt Lake City and had to fly back to Beijing. I had to wake up at 6am after having a splendiferous weekend at my best friend's wedding. As you might imagine, a wedding does not mean lots of water and an early evening. It means food and wine and a late night talking with old and new friends! So 6am came rather early.

It was so early, I left my (white) sweatshirt on my friend's (white) bedspread. My 8:30am flight to Portland was a little chilly. Things were not going well. My tummy was unhappy with me and I had more than a little trepidation about my upcoming journey. I had flights to catch and baggage to get through customs and a cab to get to take me to my apartment... And I was cutting it close. School started in 4 days — and I lost one of those days in transit.

I made it to Portland with no delays, checked my luggage for my international flight, and even had breakfast with two of my best friends. You'd think I'd be happy and relaxed, but no. I am not a relaxed traveler. Breakfast done, I got a ride back to the airport, where I purchased a bright purple fleece from the Columbia store to replace my forgotten sweatshirt. Although Beijing would be hot when I landed, the airplane air conditioning would kill me, and winter would be coming soon enough.

At the gate, I had 15 minutes until I boarded. I was right next to the Rogue Brewery. Would my stomach handle a beer? Could I pass up the Last Known Good Oregon Beer for the Next Ten Months? In a word: No. I had the Best Bitter. It was good. And then I boarded the plane.

I tell you, it wasn't any easier this year; it might have been worse since I knew exactly what I was leaving behind. I was leaving everything clean, safe, and sane behind me. I was leaving behind driving and riding on the right side of the road and walking on the left. I was leaving behind trash collection and recycling and fines for littering. I was leaving behind my loving family and my wonderful friends and all the strangers I could have actual, understandable conversations with. I was leaving cheese and beer made with hops and chocolate malt and apple-wood smoked, thick-cut bacon and sweet Italian sausage and beer brats and avocados and tacos and tortilla chips and did I mention the cheese? I was leaving behind giant bookstores and unfettered access to the Internet. So there I was, again, on a plane, trying to not think too much or I'd end up in tears. Alone. On a plane. For 10 hours. Over the Pacific. And a little bit of Alaska and Russia.

I think it was 22 hours after I woke up that I landed in Beijing (according to the clock, it was more than a day and a half). I was exhausted. I was starving. I was still two hours from home. There was the long walk and the wait for passport control and baggage. And then there was the taxi. It wasn't tough getting the taxi (because they all queue up and you just jump in a nearby, empty taxi), but we did have some difficulty with my address. Go figure, but he didn't know the Yuquan Lu. Or Fuxing Lu. Or Fuxingmen. I tried to call my Handler, but I *should* have picked up an extra phone card inside the terminal, because I had run out of credit over the summer. I was exhausted. I couldn't communicate. And I just wanted to get myself, my two 50-lb. bags, my little wheelie bag, and my backpack back to my apartment and sleep.

Finally, he figured out my horrible Chinese (without my Handler's help) and we were off. And it was hot. And it was humid. And the windows were rolled down, but there was a haze of "fog" in air. And it smelled. It smelled like garbage and sewage and industrial waste. And I had willingly returned.

But, there was nothing to be done about it, so the next morning I dragged myself out of bed, put on some decent clothes, and walked to work. I had to show my face and figure out what was going on.

And I was welcomed with open arms. I got a hug and a kiss from each of my Western colleagues. I got a good Chinese hug (with three back pats) from my Chinese colleagues. I got smiles and shouts of "Scotty!" when I walked into a room. And although I did go home and go to sleep that night, the next night I met up with my colleagues at the (newly-named) Twinkle Bar. And I sat in the hot, humid Beijing air and breathed in the fumes and laughed and joked and drank crap beer. I looked around the table and realized I was sitting with my good friends and having a great time.

I walked back up the street and curled up in my bed, with my wool mattress topper, and my dodgeball quilt, and the afghan my grandmother knit for me, and my feather pillow, and my teddy bear. As I drifted off to sleep I realized that Beijing might not be home the way that Maine is home, or Portland is home, or Durham is home, but right here, right now — this is where I live.

Letters to Nigel

*********************************WARNING***************************************
If you are of a parental nature, and do not wish to read tales of excessive drinking, read no further. You can chance it and read about halfway, but then turn off the computer. The locals won't take no for an answer when it comes to alcohol, so things have a tendency to get a little sloppy.
*********************************WARNING***************************************

For Mid-Autumn Festival, I went with C and her husband HC up to Zhangbei. It's about a three-hour drive north from Beijing on the Badaling Expressway, then a north turn at Zhangjiakou. The plan was to leave Beijing at 8:30am on Saturday and get there in time for lunch.

As we left town, we got a call from HC's Handler that the Badaling Expressway was backed up, so we would take some back roads. On that note, I went to sleep.

I started waking up about 2 1/2 hours later sure that things were not quite going according to plan. Last time I checked, three-point turns were not standard driving on the Badaling Expressway. I peeked out the window, and saw that we were at the end of some country lane, with a bunch of other cars. I ignored it and closed my eyes again. Half an hour later, as we were stopping and starting down the road, I opened my eyes again just in time to see that we had crossed the border in Hebei Province. Yeeeah.

I started paying more attention. We were on a two-lane road heading through some small Chinese village in a long line of (mostly) lorries. To the left were two lanes of lorries heading in the other direction. (Yep, three lanes on a two-lane road.) And then we stopped. And that's when C and I started to worry. All I could think of was the three-day back-up on the Badaling last year. I was going to end up spending the first day of school stuck in an SUV in a long line of lorries somewhere in Hebei Province. Great.

The driver was less fatalistic than C and I were, however. He (and the other cars stupid enough to be on the road), started weaving in and out of the lorries. The main tactic was to drive along the shoulder (soft, not hard) until there was space to cut into the access road/parking lot that lined the street. Once the parking lot ran out, the cars would either go back on the shoulder until the next break or drive across the entire road (in very rare spaces between the lorries) and drive along the parking lot on the OTHER side. Meanwhile, there were random Chinese dudes setting off giant strings of firecrackers. A couple of meters from where we were driving. Fun!

Somewhere around 12:30, C and I started taking stock of the food we had available. She had a loaf of bread, some cheese, and some butter for HC, as well as some biscuits (including proper shortbread bought in London as a gift), and some emergency chocolate. I had brought a selection of fruit (Teacher's Day!). We ate the chocolate first. Then we had bread and cheese and a pear. The driver had some water in the car. So we were set for food. What I refused to say out loud was that we'd run out of gas before we ran out of food. We passed by a few broken-down service stations, but none of them seemed to have working fuel pumps.

So we wended our way through the village. It took about an hour to make it through. (We finally remembered that C has an iPhone, so we could use Google Maps to at least see where we were. It wouldn't get us out of there, but at least we'd know where we were stranded. I think we were just east of where the G7 runs into the G6, but we weren't on either of those roads.) At one point, it took us some time to drive next to the line of lorries (our SUV being slightly wider than other sedans), so we lost the line of traffic ahead of us. After some shouting, a farmer pointed us off into the corn fields. So, we led a line of cars into the fields, only to turn around 20 minutes later, having decided the fields were a dead end. As we drove back towards town, there was a long line of cars heading into the fields and a farmer standing there laughing.

Somehow or other, we made it out of the village and onto the G6. There did appear to be a line of lorries stopped on the expressway, (on either the G6 or the G7, I'm not sure which road was which), but there was no traffic. I suspect that (because of the holiday?) the lorries were not permitted to drive on the expressway, but could take the back roads. What I'll never know is if we should have stayed on the Badaling the whole way... It was smooth sailing after that.

However, HC and his farmer colleagues had already killed a lamb and roasted it for lunch. C and I were not getting any Mongolian lamb, much to my extreme dismay. They had also managed to get HC ripping drunk. C and I were not impressed.

We arrived around 3:30. HC.'s colleagues took us out for hot pot that night (not quite the roast lamb I was hoping for) and proceeded to (try) to get my drunk. However, they' don't know how we kick it at the Yuquan Lu. We were each given a 6 oz. glass of baijiu filled to the brim, and they started toasting us. (I got to be "mei nu" all night long — beautiful woman.) That shit is nasty, and I was in serious need of a beer chaser, so after the third toast (and almost horking right there at the table), I grabbed a bottle of beer and drank it (they didn't want to let me drink beer instead of baijiu). However, once they saw I was going to two-fist it, I was given a glass for the pijiu, too.

Halfway through the meal, I decided I needed a boot and rally. (Boot=puke, rally=keep drinking) Puking is so much better when you decide to do it instead of having to do it. Did that twice during the meal, and managed to walk out of the restaurant having "drunk" 6oz. of baijiu and lord knows how much pijiu. Didn't even have a hang-over the next morning. 

We left at 10am on Monday morning, hoping we would have enough time to make it back before dark... It took the three hours it was supposed to take. Go figure.

Letters to Nigel

[Last Wednesday] we went to hear some traditional Chinese music. It was actually part of a much larger tour that included the Forbidden City, Temple of Heaven, and Qianmen, but something told me that a tour from 8am until 9pm was much too long. Although, after B. yelled at the tour guide who took us to the Great Wall and the Summer Palace (the school has been arranging some trips given the delayed start to the school year), I guess there was a new tour guide who was much less annoying. (I can tell a story with no point... but this woman made every single one of my drunken tales appear coherent and concise.) 

I asked D. if it was cool to just go to the concert, and she (amazing woman she is) made it happen.

D., Smashing, and I left from school to take the subway over, and Smashing was already haranguing D. about his working conditions and such like. D. looked rather uncomfortable. The un-air-conditioned ride on the subway calmed him down a bit.

We arrived and Smashing immediately started looking for beer. Fortunately, in your absence, I was able to direct him to the concession stand. We ordered 5 glasses of white wine (which in this venue turned out to be a bottle) and chugged them in the 15 minutes we had before the show (he had 3, I had 2), and then I stepped nervously into the theater.

It was NOT a repeat of the 12 Girls. I was confronted by a proper orchestra (smaller than a symphony, but good sized) and a proper conductor. They played actual music. It was really quite lovely. There were a few Western instruments (cello, bass, tympani), but it was mostly Chinese instruments (which I will name by their Western counterparts since I don't their Chinese names). There were the two-stringed violins, the mandolins, the banjos, some vibraphones, flutes, and some clarinet/trumpet looking things (I think they had reeds, making them woodwinds). There were also these crazy-looking horns that looked like portable pipe organs and I think sounded very French horn-like, so I'm calling them soprano, alto, tenor, and bass French horns.

We chugged a couple more glasses of wine during intermission (which was only 15 minutes long which is not long enough) and then had a very short second act. We all took the tour bus back to school. Fini.

I did wear a very nice hat and dress that I purchased over the summer. The girls who had spent all day on the tour (and thus had no ability to change) were rather jealous of my garb. What can I say? One must dress for the NCPA.

Letters to Nigel

Upon returning to school this year, we learned that a colleague had gotten rather sick over the summer and needed to take some time away to get healthy. Not wanting him to miss out on all the fun we have over here, I've been writing him some random updates of our shenanigans. For your reading enjoyment, I am reposting them here as a new series: Letters to Nigel*.

Hello from the Yuquan Lu.

Our Handler found a Groupon for the water park for 58 kuai, so he organized a trip. The only thing is that the tickets had to be used by the 15th. Since next weekend is a holiday (Moon Cake Day), we had to go this weekend.

We met at 9:30. By the time everyone showed up, it was 10, and we headed over to the park.

It was madness. Groupon is big, and we were not the only ones with the coupon.

Two hours later, we had our tickets and headed inside. (Smashing wandered off at one point and came back with 10 cans of beer, so at least we had some refreshment.)

We took a quick dip in the wave pool (along with 200 other Chinese swimmers), and then headed over to the slides. E., K. and L, and I went to the one with the 8 slides. Two hours later, we got to the slide. Along the way, we stopped a travesty. This gaggle of girls cut in ahead of us, claiming that they had left one person in line. We called bullshit (having been standing behind the guy with the plastic bag and the girl with the towel hanging out her butt — to protect her legs from the sun — for the previous hour and 45 minutes). The two ahead of us agreed, and waved us forward. We then waved forward the guys who had been behind us. The next thing we knew, a couple of employees of the park were there yelling at the girls and kicked them out of line! Score 1 for Western queuing. Not that it will do any good in the grand scheme of things...

At the top of the slide, I noticed that two of the slides were blocked off. Two months and already the place is falling apart. The smaller of the the vortex slides (the one Smashing got sent back down because he was by himself) was also closed.

We got some (crappy) food, and checked out the line for the big vortex slide... E. and I agreed we weren't waiting another two hours (plus) no matter how good the slide is.

We took another quick dip in the wave pool (A. and K. were definitely in with the crowd getting knocked over by the wave) and after almost thinking someone had stolen my flippy-floppies, E. and I took off.

I got home at 3:30, having gone down all of one slide.

It was still fun. The sun was shining and the air was relatively clear. It was definitely Chinese wacky. After 7 weeks in the States, there is no easy way to transition back to this madness. I spend a lot of time giggling to myself. 

*All names have been changed to protect the innocent (and the guilty).

I Owe You, Big Time

Ah, Gentle Readers. I'm sure you thought I had forgotten about you. Perhaps you worried that I had turned my back on my blog and would be gallivanting around the world without filling you in on the day-to-day details of all the places I poo. Well, fear not. I have not turned my back on you, I was just enjoying the wonders of the United States during the summer months.

I meant to write to tell you what being home was like, but I didn't. I will rectify that now with a list of What I Learned During My Summer Vacation.

1. American bathrooms are really awesome. Flushing toilet paper is a wonderful idea. Deodorizing air fresheners are better than sliced bread. Bleach and soap are your friends. Hand dryers that actually dry your hands in less than 15 minutes are super cool.

My first night back in town, I went out to a local brew pup, the HUB (go there, it's totally awesome.) I had a few pints and then (not surprisingly) went to the bathroom. Seated on the commode, I looked to the right: no trash can there. I looked to the left: no trash can there, either. Oh, wait! In the U.S., you can flush your paper! I almost did a happy dance right there in the stall.

2. Water, water everywhere, and every drop I drank. Drinking tap water is great! I drank the tap water everywhere, even if filtered water was available. Oh sure, sometimes I'd reach for the Brita, but oftentimes, I didn't. Why? Because I didn't have to. Tap water on demand. Now that is a concept.

3. When you spend 10 months not understanding the language and you suddenly find yourself surrounded by people who speak the same language, you start to hear voices. In China, if I hear someone speaking English, I probably know them. The same is not true in the U.S., although I kept on hearing my friends' and colleagues' voices in places like the airport.

4. You never forget how to drive. It's like riding a bike.

5. American stores have the best toiletries. The travel-size section is particularly alluring. I bought so much sunblock (in travel and non-travel sizes), soap, and lotions it's really not funny. But it was oh, so fun!

6. Clothes that fit are awesome.

7. I love my sewing machine.

8. My family and friends are great, too.

9. Allergies really suck and I really need Flonase to survive summer in the ol' U.S. of A.

10. Mexican food is delicious. It's impossible to have too much Mexican food. Or bacon. Or IPA. Or lobster. Or any food that tastes like what you think it will taste like.