Another quick note from the not so frozen north.
We're getting rain this week, suggesting that mudseason may, if only temporarily, be fast approaching. Chinese new years was fun. We had a gaggle of people over for dumpling making and telephone pictionary, and, I think, a good time was had by all. We sent out a Chinese Newyears update (not much news, i guess) -- if you didn't make it on the list, check it out HERE, then send me an email and asking to be put on the list. I'm sure we're both very sorry.
I've been doing more work for The Scope, you can see recent articles HERE and HERE, and it seems like that will probably keep happening.
Emily got a beautiful blue french oven recently, so we've been using at every chance we get. The food that comes out of it is delicious, as a rule, which makes it fun to cook with.
The Little Red Cup Tea Co might be bringing product to market sooner than we might have though, so keep your ears open for that.
Until later then,
Martin
March 01, 2010
February 11, 2010
Snows of Winter
While all you in the south lands have been dealing with or reading about world ending snows in the mid Atlantic states, we've been getting our share -- about two feet last weekend, and more tonight (slated to turn into freezing rain). Last week's storm came with the storm surges of the decade, carrying away fishing stages and sheds from some of the prettiest places in the city (places we'd considered trying to live). Someone in Emily's department reported that waves were lapping under his floor, and over his roof (which, while it doesn't make a lot of sense, is certainly worrisome.
Emily is still biologist-ing. I'm still trying to hack it. She's working on GIS mapping and getting ready for thesis writing next year, I'm hoping to do a story about the seal hunt, and planning on covering the Juno Awards, hopefully. I've also found a new spelling of my name -- Connolley -- which you can find on this new article.
As a bonus, here's Emily, talking about science.
Emily is still biologist-ing. I'm still trying to hack it. She's working on GIS mapping and getting ready for thesis writing next year, I'm hoping to do a story about the seal hunt, and planning on covering the Juno Awards, hopefully. I've also found a new spelling of my name -- Connolley -- which you can find on this new article.
As a bonus, here's Emily, talking about science.
January 15, 2010
Radio Silence
So it's been a long time. I was on a roll there for a while, and then I stopped posting completely. What happened? I got busy. Really busy. For the past 2 months I've been redesigning and building the new Atlantic Business Magazine website (abmonline.ca). It was a departure from writing, and something new to learn, and ultimately, it was a great experience (still is, actually, you're seeing the beta version -- I've got the next few weeks to finish up a couple details). I worked with Tall Brian on the project (I had to deal with the magazine, he had to deal with me) and it was great to be working with a friend. It was also tiring. We both worked all day and all night for weeks in a row, and it's good to take a breather now.
If you're interested in the Newfoundland Dairy Industry, you might want to take a look at that article as well. Finally, I redesigned my site and would appreciate any criticism.
A lot of people ask about the weather up here. We're north, but not really that far north (around 48 degrees). We also live on the Avalon Peninsula, where it does rain in the daytime not withstanding arthurian naming. Newfoundland is where the labrador current meets the gulf stream, so we get a lot of storms (winter is a bad time to be in the water) but it's also not super cold. Temperatures hover around freezing, trending a few degrees above or below depending on the week. That said, the wind is wicked, and it's damp. So the cold gets under your coat and in your socks.
This weekend we're having a homemade doughnuts and hot buttered rum gathering, loosely linked to Emily's birthday, which is today. Doughnuts were something we made once, last year at the hut. The hot buttered rum just sounds delicious.
I'll have to report how it goes.
m.a.c
If you're interested in the Newfoundland Dairy Industry, you might want to take a look at that article as well. Finally, I redesigned my site and would appreciate any criticism.
A lot of people ask about the weather up here. We're north, but not really that far north (around 48 degrees). We also live on the Avalon Peninsula, where it does rain in the daytime not withstanding arthurian naming. Newfoundland is where the labrador current meets the gulf stream, so we get a lot of storms (winter is a bad time to be in the water) but it's also not super cold. Temperatures hover around freezing, trending a few degrees above or below depending on the week. That said, the wind is wicked, and it's damp. So the cold gets under your coat and in your socks.
This weekend we're having a homemade doughnuts and hot buttered rum gathering, loosely linked to Emily's birthday, which is today. Doughnuts were something we made once, last year at the hut. The hot buttered rum just sounds delicious.
I'll have to report how it goes.
m.a.c
November 04, 2009
Baby Steps
So I've been here one week shy of two months, and I'm finally getting busy. For the first time, I actually have work that I can put off in favor of other, less productive things. And that's a nice feeling. I'm doing a little writing, a little web design, and maybe -- if a deal goes through -- some video work as well. I'm getting less scared when people ask me for rates, and slightly less worried about the money we spend on dairy products. I placed my first essay last week, a piece about Finlay actually -- and that will be published about a month from now in the Newfoundland Quarterly.
Yes, my first paid writing in a year is an essay about my dog.
I've also been writing more frequently on that other blog I mentioned last time. There's no easy way to import those post 'cross platforms, so for more mutterings you can check it out or subscribe to the rss feed from the comfort of here.
Emily just left today for a conference in New Jersey, so it's just me and the hound till Sunday. I'm hoping to keep the house reasonably decent to avoid the standard kitchen full of dishes 'cause emily's gone. All data suggests that when I'm living alone, I take alarmingly little notice of pretty basic stuff -- like eating regularly, or cleaning up the potatoe peelings on the kitchen counter, or, in the case of this summer, the fact that I was yurt-mates with an increasingly bold mouse for about a month. I'd like to hope that if I'd been living solo all this time I would have gotten fed up with squalor -- but I can't honestly be sure. Case in point -- something in my office smells really bad, and it has for about 2 weeks now. I'm still not sure what it is, but I might get around to exploring the issue one of these days.
Until then,
m.a.c
Yes, my first paid writing in a year is an essay about my dog.
I've also been writing more frequently on that other blog I mentioned last time. There's no easy way to import those post 'cross platforms, so for more mutterings you can check it out or subscribe to the rss feed from the comfort of here.
Emily just left today for a conference in New Jersey, so it's just me and the hound till Sunday. I'm hoping to keep the house reasonably decent to avoid the standard kitchen full of dishes 'cause emily's gone. All data suggests that when I'm living alone, I take alarmingly little notice of pretty basic stuff -- like eating regularly, or cleaning up the potatoe peelings on the kitchen counter, or, in the case of this summer, the fact that I was yurt-mates with an increasingly bold mouse for about a month. I'd like to hope that if I'd been living solo all this time I would have gotten fed up with squalor -- but I can't honestly be sure. Case in point -- something in my office smells really bad, and it has for about 2 weeks now. I'm still not sure what it is, but I might get around to exploring the issue one of these days.
Until then,
m.a.c
October 28, 2009
More differences from life in Canada!
They don't have cooking wine and milk is freakin expensive. I wanted to buy a box of franzia for a risotto, so naturally I went to the cleverly named Liquor Store -- which is pretty much the only place to get alcohol around here. Convenience stores sell beer, but apparently that's something really exciting. Other provinces don't even allow that. Anyway. I went, and started looking for the cheap box wine section, as one does. Nothing. I figured maybe it was stashed under American Wine. No dice. They had nice American wines, and even some of the good old standbys. I was going to suck it up and spring for a gallon of Carlo when I saw the price. $32 ‽ My god! So I asked a one of the guys moving cases around. Turns out, cheap cheap wine doesn't exist, and I had to make due with an $8 bottle of Canadian White. Of all the things to not have.
Milk is something we do have here, and something we always have in the house. But I realized the other day, after an especially cringe inducing grocery store checkout, that dairy products make up a good percentage of what we spend on food. Milk is $3.77 a half gallon. More than double what it is in Maine right now. A bag of the cheapest shredded cheese around is $6. And we're talking no name brand here.
no name is great though. Simple yellow packaging that tells it like it is with a price tag to match. The American Cheese we buy for Finlay is just billed as "processed cheese product." Apparently, canadians just call it sliced cheese -- our friends had never heard of anything called American cheese. Odd that we would have to call it that in the states. But as I was saying. Dairy is easily our single biggest expense. Followed by vegetables, and, pretty much, everything else.
Apart from grocery trips and quips, life goes on. I've been finding a little more work, and you can all look forward to my work as a photographer for cstore life -- the trade magazine of convenience stores in Canada.
I should also mention that I now have another blog, slightly more impersonal, and attached to my own personal website. Feel free to look at that if you want something other than news about life in Canada.
Milk is something we do have here, and something we always have in the house. But I realized the other day, after an especially cringe inducing grocery store checkout, that dairy products make up a good percentage of what we spend on food. Milk is $3.77 a half gallon. More than double what it is in Maine right now. A bag of the cheapest shredded cheese around is $6. And we're talking no name brand here.
no name is great though. Simple yellow packaging that tells it like it is with a price tag to match. The American Cheese we buy for Finlay is just billed as "processed cheese product." Apparently, canadians just call it sliced cheese -- our friends had never heard of anything called American cheese. Odd that we would have to call it that in the states. But as I was saying. Dairy is easily our single biggest expense. Followed by vegetables, and, pretty much, everything else.
Apart from grocery trips and quips, life goes on. I've been finding a little more work, and you can all look forward to my work as a photographer for cstore life -- the trade magazine of convenience stores in Canada.
I should also mention that I now have another blog, slightly more impersonal, and attached to my own personal website. Feel free to look at that if you want something other than news about life in Canada.
October 20, 2009
My dog is pretty adorable
The day after I got to Newfoundland, we got Finlay. He's a rescue beagle, from a shelter called Beagle Paws, which takes in beagles from all over, and sets them up with nice people. Beagles have a long history in Newfoundland as hunting dogs more than anything else. They also face a good amount of prejudice. Folks will keep them underfed and penned up outside -- the better to chase bunny rabbits and the like.
We don't know much about Finlay. He's a year and a half or so, and scared of doors, canoe paddles, and sudden movement. His name means "fair haired warrior," or alternately, "the brave one." Because he's so skittish, we've been pretty slow with the training (his being a beagle certainly doesn't help matters in that quarter) but things are coming along slowly. He doesn't pull quite so much anymore, and he's getting pretty good at sitting down. This is a new development, one he's pretty proud of. When we go out for walks these days, he'll look back at me, expectantly, as if saying "now is there something you'd like me to do?"
Since I've been "working" from home, we spend most of our time together -- me typing, him curled up on the floor. Every hour or so we take a trip downstairs for some fresh tea and a treat.
Our house is right on a river-side walking path (the subject of another post, one of these days) so we get to spend a lot of time walking down by the river. Finlay looks at the ducks, and I wish that the air temperature were above 40, and that the river wasn't full of old concrete blocks.
We were fostering Finlay for the first six weeks I was here, but on Saturday, after a morning trip to wal-mart and an afternoon playing bananagrams with some grad school folks who also happen to be fostering some beagles (yes, it was a puppy play date) we went back to beagle paws and signed some papers and gave them a check. Finlay is now Our Problem. Hopefully by next summer he will be brave enough to go canoeing happily, and trained enough to spend a little time off his lead. Until then, we're rarely separated by more than 6 feet, and I'm alright with that.
We don't know much about Finlay. He's a year and a half or so, and scared of doors, canoe paddles, and sudden movement. His name means "fair haired warrior," or alternately, "the brave one." Because he's so skittish, we've been pretty slow with the training (his being a beagle certainly doesn't help matters in that quarter) but things are coming along slowly. He doesn't pull quite so much anymore, and he's getting pretty good at sitting down. This is a new development, one he's pretty proud of. When we go out for walks these days, he'll look back at me, expectantly, as if saying "now is there something you'd like me to do?"
Since I've been "working" from home, we spend most of our time together -- me typing, him curled up on the floor. Every hour or so we take a trip downstairs for some fresh tea and a treat.
Our house is right on a river-side walking path (the subject of another post, one of these days) so we get to spend a lot of time walking down by the river. Finlay looks at the ducks, and I wish that the air temperature were above 40, and that the river wasn't full of old concrete blocks.
We were fostering Finlay for the first six weeks I was here, but on Saturday, after a morning trip to wal-mart and an afternoon playing bananagrams with some grad school folks who also happen to be fostering some beagles (yes, it was a puppy play date) we went back to beagle paws and signed some papers and gave them a check. Finlay is now Our Problem. Hopefully by next summer he will be brave enough to go canoeing happily, and trained enough to spend a little time off his lead. Until then, we're rarely separated by more than 6 feet, and I'm alright with that.
October 08, 2009
Bulk Barn Is Truly Amazing
I lied when I said they didn’t have dried black beans in Newfoundland. I just didn’t know where to look. Since I last wrote, we have made the most marvelous discovery. It’s called Bulk Barn. I first went in looking for canned soup. I figured the store would have pallets of cans and things that nobody wanted, like Caswell's in Waterville. I was so wrong. The only thing they didn’t have was soup. Everything else, they had, including specialty cake pans (if you wanted a cake shaped like Aladdin’s palace, say) for rent $1.99 per rental, no late fees.
This is how it works. Bulk Barn buys everything it can in bulk, then it dumps the product into bins and sells everything by weight. This is like, penny candy on steroids. There’s Candy, dried fruit, nuts, seeds, crackers, chips, pasta, rices, flour (oh what flour), spices, cookies, dog food, cat food, bird seed, honey, peanut butter, and so much more. Including dried beans. We’re not talking like a bin of white flour here, we’re talking maybe 25 kinds of flour: unbleached all purpose, unbleached hard bread, unbleached soft bread, wheat, whole grain, gluten and so on. Including an entire section of gluten free flours (not that I need them, but still) with everything from rice flour to soy flour to coconut flour.
And that kind of variety for EVERYTHING. It’s amazing. Emily and I went back after my initial discovery, and after gleefully pointing out everything delicious, got down to some serious shopping. We spent $86 dollars there (using her 10% Wednesday student discount) and came home ready for a food shortage on the island.
Thank you Canada!
This is how it works. Bulk Barn buys everything it can in bulk, then it dumps the product into bins and sells everything by weight. This is like, penny candy on steroids. There’s Candy, dried fruit, nuts, seeds, crackers, chips, pasta, rices, flour (oh what flour), spices, cookies, dog food, cat food, bird seed, honey, peanut butter, and so much more. Including dried beans. We’re not talking like a bin of white flour here, we’re talking maybe 25 kinds of flour: unbleached all purpose, unbleached hard bread, unbleached soft bread, wheat, whole grain, gluten and so on. Including an entire section of gluten free flours (not that I need them, but still) with everything from rice flour to soy flour to coconut flour.
And that kind of variety for EVERYTHING. It’s amazing. Emily and I went back after my initial discovery, and after gleefully pointing out everything delicious, got down to some serious shopping. We spent $86 dollars there (using her 10% Wednesday student discount) and came home ready for a food shortage on the island.
Thank you Canada!
September 29, 2009
Posting from as far east as you can get
The Last ten months in four sentences. I worked for Maine Hut's and Trail's, cooking, cleaning, and doing lots of reading. Then I became a Registered Maine Raft Guide and worked in The Forks all summer. I'm working on starting a tea company with my folks. Now I'm in St. John's, Newfoundland, living with Emily.
So about that. It's nice up here. St. John's is about the size of Portland (Maine), with an old old downtown and a helluva lot of new development. Irving is from here, and there's actually a housing shortage. We're lucky to have this house. We're fostering a rescued beagle named Finlay. Emily is going to Grad school at Memorial University (If I don't find a job, I might apply to go there next year).
Right now I spend most of my time at home, hanging out with the dog, looking for a job. Working on the packaging for the Tea Company. I'm going to try to write about life up here on the edge of North America, when something interesting happens, or maybe just every couple weeks or so.
Life here in Newfoundland (emphasis on the last syllable) is not really that different, but there are a few things that stand out after a couple weeks here. Some things, are however, inexplicably different. There are no dried black beans. There are no gallons of milk (just 2 liter cartons. But perhaps oddest of all, there's no such thing as a visa debit card.
I was out last week, and needed some cash. No problem, right? I went to the drug store, bought a candy bar, handed my debit card to the lady behind the cash register. I'd like $40 back I said. She ignored me, rang up the Three Musketeers bar (at $1.40 hardly an inexpensive purchase), and handed me a receipt to sign. No, I said, I wanted cash back... Oh, well, see, it's a visa, see, and we don't do cash back on those. Alright, I said, where's the nearest ATM? Just up the street bout a minute.
I ate my candy bar on the way. The ATM didn't like my primary debit card, nor did it like my backup. I went to the woman in charge of the store. The ATM won't give me money, I told her. She came over, and watched me try again. Ah -- well there's your problem, she told me after I'd indicated that I wanted to withdraw from checking. You're trying to take it out of checking, and it's a visa. Right, I said, a visa debit card, see it says right here. No no, she told me solemnly, we don't have Visa debit cards here.
So about that. It's nice up here. St. John's is about the size of Portland (Maine), with an old old downtown and a helluva lot of new development. Irving is from here, and there's actually a housing shortage. We're lucky to have this house. We're fostering a rescued beagle named Finlay. Emily is going to Grad school at Memorial University (If I don't find a job, I might apply to go there next year).
Right now I spend most of my time at home, hanging out with the dog, looking for a job. Working on the packaging for the Tea Company. I'm going to try to write about life up here on the edge of North America, when something interesting happens, or maybe just every couple weeks or so.
Life here in Newfoundland (emphasis on the last syllable) is not really that different, but there are a few things that stand out after a couple weeks here. Some things, are however, inexplicably different. There are no dried black beans. There are no gallons of milk (just 2 liter cartons. But perhaps oddest of all, there's no such thing as a visa debit card.
I was out last week, and needed some cash. No problem, right? I went to the drug store, bought a candy bar, handed my debit card to the lady behind the cash register. I'd like $40 back I said. She ignored me, rang up the Three Musketeers bar (at $1.40 hardly an inexpensive purchase), and handed me a receipt to sign. No, I said, I wanted cash back... Oh, well, see, it's a visa, see, and we don't do cash back on those. Alright, I said, where's the nearest ATM? Just up the street bout a minute.
I ate my candy bar on the way. The ATM didn't like my primary debit card, nor did it like my backup. I went to the woman in charge of the store. The ATM won't give me money, I told her. She came over, and watched me try again. Ah -- well there's your problem, she told me after I'd indicated that I wanted to withdraw from checking. You're trying to take it out of checking, and it's a visa. Right, I said, a visa debit card, see it says right here. No no, she told me solemnly, we don't have Visa debit cards here.
November 07, 2008
October 21, 2008
Back in the ussa
So-
I'm not in china any more. I've actually been in the states about a month and a half. Sorry about not mentioning that. I ended up leaving rather quickly, for a variety of reasons, mostly involving the failure of my boss to get me a work visa. So, what have I been doing since then? Not tons. I'm working at bowdoin, for the IT and Communications departments. I'm applying to jobs. I've built a yurt. No pictures yet, but I'll post a bunch in about a week. That's pretty much what's going on these days. Life is good. I'm eating well. No complaints.
I probably won't be updating too often in the near future, but check back periodically, or just send me emails. Oh. If you want, you can read a new essay I wrote go to urbanechina.com and download the upfront section. I'm the last page.
I'm not in china any more. I've actually been in the states about a month and a half. Sorry about not mentioning that. I ended up leaving rather quickly, for a variety of reasons, mostly involving the failure of my boss to get me a work visa. So, what have I been doing since then? Not tons. I'm working at bowdoin, for the IT and Communications departments. I'm applying to jobs. I've built a yurt. No pictures yet, but I'll post a bunch in about a week. That's pretty much what's going on these days. Life is good. I'm eating well. No complaints.
I probably won't be updating too often in the near future, but check back periodically, or just send me emails. Oh. If you want, you can read a new essay I wrote go to urbanechina.com and download the upfront section. I'm the last page.
September 07, 2008
An Account of Sorts
So Kyle and I spent two weeks out west. We flew to Urumqi, and then to Kashgar. From there we took buses and trains, back east, hitting Kuche (known for it's Buddhist cave paintings), Bai Yang Gao (a series of valleys south of Urumqi), Jiayuguan (the last fort on the Great Wall), and Ta'er Si (the biggest lamasery outside of Tibet, and official home of the Dali and Panchen Lamas). We had two run-ins with Lanzhou, the worst city in the world, and I ended the trip by spending 30 hours on a train getting home from there.
Urumqi was nice, if a little boring. We saw the sites, hung out and slept in parks, and started getting used to our diet of noodles and mutton. We spent a couple days there, maybe one more than necessary, and moved on to Kashgar. Kashgar has been in the news recently as the site of the deadliest "terrorist" attack in Xinjiang. Given that these attacks have all targeted government employee's, specifically paramilitary police and militia men, I'm not sure the term really applies, but then again I'm sure it's more complicated than that. Kashgar is also known for it's Sunday Market, where anything can be bought, and where 10,000 vendors from all over central Asia meet up. It lived up to the reputation, and we spent a solid morning wandering around.
Kashgar is a funny place. As far into western China as you can get, very few people spoke Chinese. They didn't speak too much english either, so that left us with sign language and a smattering of the two, to get by. It was frustrating not being able to talk to anyone. That's one the best things about traveling domestically for me, but we dealt, and enjoyed the city. There was virtually nothing Chinese about Kashgar. The architecture favored the arabesque, and the downtown area was dominated by the enormous Id Kah Mosque. On the streets, men sat on carpets and drank tea and ate skewers. Women wore a collection of clothing, from full on Burkas to more modest headscarves. The Uighers that made up the population alternately looked Sicilian, Iranian, or just plain different. But it was a pleasant city, and spending two days there, we began to feel at home.
Leaving Kashgar, we began our journey back east, taking a night bus to Kuche. From there we rented a taxi and went out to see some of the oldest Buddhist cave paintings in China. Some of them were 1700 years old, which placed the pretty close to the birth of Buddhism as a regional religion. We couldn't take pictures, but were fascinated by the color scheme, red-brown, light blue, and light green, and the very unchinese nature of the frescos. We spent the day in the company of a Singaporean girl, fairly badass in her solo itinerary, yet also incredibly annoying. I was glad to be traveling with Kyle instead.
Outside of Urumqi are two tourist areas, Tianchi and Baiyanggao. Tianchi is by far the more established one, a beautiful lake with friendly Kazaks to stay with, which Baiyanggao is slightly less developed. We chose the later, but still found it full of Chinese tourists clip clopping around on rented horses. Trying to get away, we talked to a man who made his living taking pictures of people dressed up in silly costumes, standing in front of what was admittedly a spectacular waterfall. I asked if there was anyone living in the next valley over. He said no, but when I pressed him he said that if we followed the stream for two hours we should find some friendly wood cutters who spoke Chinese. It was only early afternoon, so we decided to give it a try. If necessary, we'd hike back out and find somewhere to sleep in a yurt by the road.
The valley was one of the most beautiful places I've ever hiked. It was steep on both sides, and a deep green in the center. The water that had carved it was less than a hand deep in most places, and sparkled in the sun. It was absolutely breathtaking. More than once, we thought we'd come to the end of the line, only to find that the valley continued around the bend, or over the waterfall. Each time this happened, I was almost knocked down with the landscape. There was a path of sorts, and we kept to that, figuring that paths lead to people. And indeed, we did find people. They explained that friends had just ridden up, and they had no room to house us for the night, but suggested we go 20 minutes up a side canyon, where we met another family, of three siblings. The youngest is about to start majoring in Chinese at the University of Urumqi. Her older sister wasn’t that friendly, but not distinctly unfriendly either, and their older brother was cautiously friendly, but very welcoming once we’d established that we were going to spend the night.
There was lots of sitting inside wondered what was going to happen, but we worked out that we’d sleep in their spare shed-tent. The gave us blankets though, which probably saved out lived. The family had living in the tent before, but decided it was too cold, so they built a log cabin, all axe hewn and chinked with moss. I want one when I grow up. The older brother, “Baligk” was enormous, meaty hands, huge arms covered in scars, but no facial hair and a very young face. Kyle and I couldn’t tell if he was the sisters’ dad or older brother at first. When done with work and inside the cabin, he sprawled on the platform and took off his shoes and said in one breath, “im sleepy, when’s dinner?” Very much the host, he was always urging us to eat or drink. We brought out cards before dinner and played Go Fish, and that loosened everybody up and made us all friends. Dinner was lamb and noodles, delicious except for the large chunks of gristle, and bizarre lumpy yogurt, which wasn’t so bad when you got used to it. They live in the valley 2 months out of the year and in town the rest. They have 5 horses, 20 cows (3 dairy) and more than 100 sheep, so they’re not hurting, or at least, it doesn’t seem like it. In the morning we took a group picture, and I’m going to mail it to them in a day or two.
We didn’t pay, and didn’t really have any gifts (because we thought we’d be paying) but shared out dates and left a bottle of vodka by our bed in the shed, and we were invited back. Maybe the mail thing will work out and we’ll keep in touch, I think I’d like that a lot.
The rest of the trip was just sort of normal after the night with the Kazak family. We stopped in Jiayuguan to see the last fort on the great wall. We were hassled by cops at a truck stop, we went to the Kumbum monestary at Ta’er Si.
Before the monastery, we arrived in lanzhou, and found it to be the worst city in the world. Nothing worked. Our plans collapsed, the trains ran late, and I burned my finger on some beef noodle soup so badly that It just healed fully yesterday. We got out of lanzhou as quickly as possible, and headed for the monastery in Qinghai province. It was interesting, and I had a good talk with a young monk there, but I think we were both pretty tired at this point. Back to Lanzhou, were I still couldn’t get a visa, and then on the longest trainride of my life, 30 hours to Beijing when it could have been done in 20 if we’d taken another line.
We couldn’t even get tickets for seats on that train, and so I stayed up all night talking to drunk migrant workers and a tank driver from shanxi province. We’d been able to upgrade to one bed, so kyle took that, and we switched in the morning, and I slept until after two.
Throughout the trip I changed my boxers and one sock, so by the time I got back to Beijing, I smelled fairly distinct, a mixture of dirt, sweat, and manure. I’m sorry the second half of the trip was a bit glossed over, but it felt like that a bit at the time too. Maybe my conversation with the monk will show up in another post sometime. Until then-
Martin.
Urumqi was nice, if a little boring. We saw the sites, hung out and slept in parks, and started getting used to our diet of noodles and mutton. We spent a couple days there, maybe one more than necessary, and moved on to Kashgar. Kashgar has been in the news recently as the site of the deadliest "terrorist" attack in Xinjiang. Given that these attacks have all targeted government employee's, specifically paramilitary police and militia men, I'm not sure the term really applies, but then again I'm sure it's more complicated than that. Kashgar is also known for it's Sunday Market, where anything can be bought, and where 10,000 vendors from all over central Asia meet up. It lived up to the reputation, and we spent a solid morning wandering around.
Kashgar is a funny place. As far into western China as you can get, very few people spoke Chinese. They didn't speak too much english either, so that left us with sign language and a smattering of the two, to get by. It was frustrating not being able to talk to anyone. That's one the best things about traveling domestically for me, but we dealt, and enjoyed the city. There was virtually nothing Chinese about Kashgar. The architecture favored the arabesque, and the downtown area was dominated by the enormous Id Kah Mosque. On the streets, men sat on carpets and drank tea and ate skewers. Women wore a collection of clothing, from full on Burkas to more modest headscarves. The Uighers that made up the population alternately looked Sicilian, Iranian, or just plain different. But it was a pleasant city, and spending two days there, we began to feel at home.
Leaving Kashgar, we began our journey back east, taking a night bus to Kuche. From there we rented a taxi and went out to see some of the oldest Buddhist cave paintings in China. Some of them were 1700 years old, which placed the pretty close to the birth of Buddhism as a regional religion. We couldn't take pictures, but were fascinated by the color scheme, red-brown, light blue, and light green, and the very unchinese nature of the frescos. We spent the day in the company of a Singaporean girl, fairly badass in her solo itinerary, yet also incredibly annoying. I was glad to be traveling with Kyle instead.
Outside of Urumqi are two tourist areas, Tianchi and Baiyanggao. Tianchi is by far the more established one, a beautiful lake with friendly Kazaks to stay with, which Baiyanggao is slightly less developed. We chose the later, but still found it full of Chinese tourists clip clopping around on rented horses. Trying to get away, we talked to a man who made his living taking pictures of people dressed up in silly costumes, standing in front of what was admittedly a spectacular waterfall. I asked if there was anyone living in the next valley over. He said no, but when I pressed him he said that if we followed the stream for two hours we should find some friendly wood cutters who spoke Chinese. It was only early afternoon, so we decided to give it a try. If necessary, we'd hike back out and find somewhere to sleep in a yurt by the road.
The valley was one of the most beautiful places I've ever hiked. It was steep on both sides, and a deep green in the center. The water that had carved it was less than a hand deep in most places, and sparkled in the sun. It was absolutely breathtaking. More than once, we thought we'd come to the end of the line, only to find that the valley continued around the bend, or over the waterfall. Each time this happened, I was almost knocked down with the landscape. There was a path of sorts, and we kept to that, figuring that paths lead to people. And indeed, we did find people. They explained that friends had just ridden up, and they had no room to house us for the night, but suggested we go 20 minutes up a side canyon, where we met another family, of three siblings. The youngest is about to start majoring in Chinese at the University of Urumqi. Her older sister wasn’t that friendly, but not distinctly unfriendly either, and their older brother was cautiously friendly, but very welcoming once we’d established that we were going to spend the night.
There was lots of sitting inside wondered what was going to happen, but we worked out that we’d sleep in their spare shed-tent. The gave us blankets though, which probably saved out lived. The family had living in the tent before, but decided it was too cold, so they built a log cabin, all axe hewn and chinked with moss. I want one when I grow up. The older brother, “Baligk” was enormous, meaty hands, huge arms covered in scars, but no facial hair and a very young face. Kyle and I couldn’t tell if he was the sisters’ dad or older brother at first. When done with work and inside the cabin, he sprawled on the platform and took off his shoes and said in one breath, “im sleepy, when’s dinner?” Very much the host, he was always urging us to eat or drink. We brought out cards before dinner and played Go Fish, and that loosened everybody up and made us all friends. Dinner was lamb and noodles, delicious except for the large chunks of gristle, and bizarre lumpy yogurt, which wasn’t so bad when you got used to it. They live in the valley 2 months out of the year and in town the rest. They have 5 horses, 20 cows (3 dairy) and more than 100 sheep, so they’re not hurting, or at least, it doesn’t seem like it. In the morning we took a group picture, and I’m going to mail it to them in a day or two.
We didn’t pay, and didn’t really have any gifts (because we thought we’d be paying) but shared out dates and left a bottle of vodka by our bed in the shed, and we were invited back. Maybe the mail thing will work out and we’ll keep in touch, I think I’d like that a lot.
The rest of the trip was just sort of normal after the night with the Kazak family. We stopped in Jiayuguan to see the last fort on the great wall. We were hassled by cops at a truck stop, we went to the Kumbum monestary at Ta’er Si.
Before the monastery, we arrived in lanzhou, and found it to be the worst city in the world. Nothing worked. Our plans collapsed, the trains ran late, and I burned my finger on some beef noodle soup so badly that It just healed fully yesterday. We got out of lanzhou as quickly as possible, and headed for the monastery in Qinghai province. It was interesting, and I had a good talk with a young monk there, but I think we were both pretty tired at this point. Back to Lanzhou, were I still couldn’t get a visa, and then on the longest trainride of my life, 30 hours to Beijing when it could have been done in 20 if we’d taken another line.
We couldn’t even get tickets for seats on that train, and so I stayed up all night talking to drunk migrant workers and a tank driver from shanxi province. We’d been able to upgrade to one bed, so kyle took that, and we switched in the morning, and I slept until after two.
Throughout the trip I changed my boxers and one sock, so by the time I got back to Beijing, I smelled fairly distinct, a mixture of dirt, sweat, and manure. I’m sorry the second half of the trip was a bit glossed over, but it felt like that a bit at the time too. Maybe my conversation with the monk will show up in another post sometime. Until then-
Martin.
September 04, 2008
Published
I know I still need to write about my trip out west, but while you're waiting for the harrowing account of our journey, please check out pictures from said trip available HERE and read an article of mine that was just published in Urbane Magazine. To do that, click HERE, and then download the features section as a pdf. Look for something about the trip in the next couple days, and a full report of my new job sometime next week. In closing I'd just like to share that somehow, possibly as a result of the antics described in my last post, my year long multi-entry visa has been canceled. It is truly the gift that keeps on giving.
That's all for now-
Martin
That's all for now-
Martin
August 27, 2008
Today I stand before you as a man
I know I already had my Bar Mitzvah, but today has been another kind of turning point. Today, I really am a grownup. Ok, well, not quite -- I'm closer though. I've been away (more on that later) but recently found myself in the position of needing to deal with my visa. I mean really needing to deal with it, in that today was my last legal day in the country. I have a 30-day visa, I came back from Hong Kong on the 28th, July has 31 days -- thus, today was the day I needed to figure this stuff out. Could I have been a more adult adult and done it before my last day? Only kind of -- I was traveling, and the city I planned to fix things in, turned out to be the worst city in the world. Literally. More, as they say, later. Anyway -- I woke up at 8:00 and got to the visa office by 9:00. Not a bad start. I've been there before, and it's always been referred to as the Ministry of Doom (MOD) but it was never that bad, not back then. Almost no lines and right up to the counter I went. Things were going to work out just fine. I didn't have the right paperwork. Not only did I not have the right paper work, I'd done what I did have in a nice blue pen. This was not allowed. It had to be dark blue, or black. I explained that I was but a simple tourist (albeit one with a Beijing accent) and that I didn't have a household registration card, or a Chinese bank account. Well you'd better get some, was the rejoinder.
I called my friend Alex, and begged the loan of his registration. I figured staying with a friend (as I'd told them I was) was pretty reasonable. I started to see about banks. The first bank I went to knew exactly what I needed to do (they were the closest to the ministry of doom after all) but they said they were too small to take money off my bank card. Ok, I said, where can I do that? Our larger branch just two streets away was the swift reply, and off I went in search of the bigger branch. There I filled out paperwork (thrice, the first two tries failing somewhere near the second line of boxes) and sat down in the comfy VIP chair to open my brand new Chinese bank account. This wasn't so hard. The man swiped my card. He swiped it again. Nothing happened. I begged him to type the number in. He did. Still nothing. I was out of luck.
Meanwhile, Knightly Alex had arisen and gone to register with the police (his registration was overdue too). We met, photocopied his registration and parted ways with promises to meet soon to sup and quaff. After the morning's failure with swiping, I found a pay phone and called my bank. They explained why I couldn't see my balance (I'd tried) on ATM machines (makes you wonder about the whole check balance thing, but anyway) and said that I should have no trouble using my card at a bank, as long as I had my passport.
I tired the Bank of China. On the second try we got the paperwork filled out correctly. The moment of truth. I gave them my card, they took it to the back and twittered over it, pulled out a manual card crunching machine, and went for the telephone. I'd asked for 25,000 RMB, a bit over 3,000 dollars now, because, and this was the whole point of the exercise, as a tourist, I need $100 dollars a day in my bank account. Because China is REALLY expensive these days. Inflation is high, but even traveling I was only spending $20. No matter, the dollar sucks anyway, and it would be good to stop using my American Check Card. The call went though, but they came back sad. It didn't work. What didn't work, I said. The card, they replied. Well, right, but what specifically? If I'm going to go call my bank I need something to tell them. He didn't say, they said. Who? The man we called. Well call him back, and ask what the matter is. Please. They called back, and ascertained that the account number was unreachable through the call center. Aha, I thought, something concrete. I went across the street, found a pay phone, and called the Bank. I'm in China, said I, I need to open an account because they'll kick me out of the country if I don't. It's not working, why not? They asked me lots of personal questions and then said that my daily bank withdrawal limit was $2,499 -- that's why it wasn't going through. Aha, again. Back across the street. I'm back I said to the cheery greeters, and they tittered. Back to the window. Please take out $2,400 I said. There was much calculation, tapping and bashing and such. A number in RMB was given that sounded about right. Go for it I said. It didn't work. Back across the street. More personal questions. What's the deal, I asked. The last try was for $2,600 came the answer. The bank teller is terrible at math.
Back to the bank, for the last time this time. Your math has issues, I told the teller. Let's try 2,200 this time. He tried, and it worked! Hallelujah. Now the paperwork came out. Slips were printed. They were torn. I signed their stubs. Pin-codes entered, reentered, and entered once more for good measure. They love their pin codes, banks. I got a passbook (where they print things for real) a card, and a little dongle type thing that I don't know how to use. One thing at a time I suppose. This took, forever. You'd think it would be quick, a signature, a stamp, and wham--a new bank account. Not so much. I waited. I tapped my fingers. I looked at my watch. Two and a half hours to go before the MOD closed. I need a piece of paper that says how much money I have, I said. First try he found the sheet I'd been showed at the MOD. Aha. We were all set, but what's this? Why is my money still in dollars? What would I need a Chinese bank account full of US dollars for? Much muttering behind the glass. A conference ensued. They could change it. Somehow that cost a lot of money, but that's not what I'm thinking about right now. At 2:43 I hop a cab back to the MOD. Less that two hours to go.
The lines of the morning have lengthened and I pick a number. I wait, restlessly. I finish my book. My stomach starts to hurt. I am, as they say stressed out. I try to think about the last time I was stressed out enough that my stomach hurt. Maybe it was last January, I don't really remember. I think about my stomach some more and realize that maybe the problem is that it is approaching 4:00, and my food for the day has consisted of one egg sandwich at 8:00. Next time I try to get a visa, I'll bring a sandwich. The clock ticks digitally on top of the TV screen showing and re-showing Olympic highlights. 3:30 comes -- one hour to go, more than 20 people ahead of me in line. But, at long last, I make it, I stand before the desk and present the woman (the same one I'd talked to at 9:00) with my passport, my form filled out in black, my Chinese account statement, and Alex's household registration. She shuffles her papers and I think every little thing's going to be all right, just like in the song. I point out that the registration form doesn't have my name on it, because I'm staying with a friend. This is a PROBLEM. It's 4:08 by my watch, and she tells me it needs to have my name on it. Run she says, and I'll be here as long as you get back before 4:30.
I run. I ask a group of old ladies if I'm going the right way, they motion me onwards, and yell that I have to turn left. I turn and start running to the end of a dead end. Not that one, one yells, she's on her bike and has started following me. I'll take you she says. Ok, I pant (I haven't run since I've been here, and even with the recent games the air is a little chewy) you bike, I'll run. So I run. I clutch my messenger bag under my arm and pound down the street. My guardian angel rides behind. I steal a look back, keep going, she calls out, why are you looking at me. A big intersection is coming up. Keep going she yells, across the street. Wang qian zou. She points forward with a free hand. I keep running, as close to flat out as I can after months of inactivity and under-eating. My Crocs slosh around my feet. Kaui pao, she yells gleefully, go faster. Finally the left comes, I pant a heartfelt thank you and pound into the empty public security bureau. I need...a...household....registration, I pant, giving them Alex's. For this address. What's the rush, they ask? The office closes at 4:30 I say. I'm sweating and my hair keeps falling in my eyes. Well don't rush me, says the woman behind the desk, if I rush I'll mess up and then nothing will work. Ok, Ok, I'm not rushing you, but hurry it up alright? She finishes the paperwork. So did you just move in? She asks. I'm staying with my friend, I say. Wait, you don't live there? Danger, flashes in neon across my clouded vision. No, no, I just moved in, I live there with my friend, I lie. Ok then, there you go, she says, and I'm out the door shouting thank you at the same time. A mad dash back to the MOD. I get back and stand panting outside the barrier, looking at the woman who's been "helping" me. She looks up from the person she's dealing with. That was quick, she says, wow you really made good time. I nod. That's about all I can do. The old lady's cries of forward, forward, faster, are still ringing in my ears. She looks through the (now a bit rumpled) paperwork. You can stay an extra....she calculates on her cell phone...22 days. Then you need to leave and get a new visa. My multi-entry visa is supposed to be good for a year? They changed the rules as of September. Ok, well thank you, thank you. See you in five business days.
I stumble out of the ministry still short of breath, and see that my new, 22 day visa is going to cost a whopping $130. Not a cheap day, by any means, but I have a new Visa and I have a new bank account, and I did it myself. Check back soon for stories of Tibetan monks, Kazaks, and Lanzhou, the worst city in the world.
I called my friend Alex, and begged the loan of his registration. I figured staying with a friend (as I'd told them I was) was pretty reasonable. I started to see about banks. The first bank I went to knew exactly what I needed to do (they were the closest to the ministry of doom after all) but they said they were too small to take money off my bank card. Ok, I said, where can I do that? Our larger branch just two streets away was the swift reply, and off I went in search of the bigger branch. There I filled out paperwork (thrice, the first two tries failing somewhere near the second line of boxes) and sat down in the comfy VIP chair to open my brand new Chinese bank account. This wasn't so hard. The man swiped my card. He swiped it again. Nothing happened. I begged him to type the number in. He did. Still nothing. I was out of luck.
Meanwhile, Knightly Alex had arisen and gone to register with the police (his registration was overdue too). We met, photocopied his registration and parted ways with promises to meet soon to sup and quaff. After the morning's failure with swiping, I found a pay phone and called my bank. They explained why I couldn't see my balance (I'd tried) on ATM machines (makes you wonder about the whole check balance thing, but anyway) and said that I should have no trouble using my card at a bank, as long as I had my passport.
I tired the Bank of China. On the second try we got the paperwork filled out correctly. The moment of truth. I gave them my card, they took it to the back and twittered over it, pulled out a manual card crunching machine, and went for the telephone. I'd asked for 25,000 RMB, a bit over 3,000 dollars now, because, and this was the whole point of the exercise, as a tourist, I need $100 dollars a day in my bank account. Because China is REALLY expensive these days. Inflation is high, but even traveling I was only spending $20. No matter, the dollar sucks anyway, and it would be good to stop using my American Check Card. The call went though, but they came back sad. It didn't work. What didn't work, I said. The card, they replied. Well, right, but what specifically? If I'm going to go call my bank I need something to tell them. He didn't say, they said. Who? The man we called. Well call him back, and ask what the matter is. Please. They called back, and ascertained that the account number was unreachable through the call center. Aha, I thought, something concrete. I went across the street, found a pay phone, and called the Bank. I'm in China, said I, I need to open an account because they'll kick me out of the country if I don't. It's not working, why not? They asked me lots of personal questions and then said that my daily bank withdrawal limit was $2,499 -- that's why it wasn't going through. Aha, again. Back across the street. I'm back I said to the cheery greeters, and they tittered. Back to the window. Please take out $2,400 I said. There was much calculation, tapping and bashing and such. A number in RMB was given that sounded about right. Go for it I said. It didn't work. Back across the street. More personal questions. What's the deal, I asked. The last try was for $2,600 came the answer. The bank teller is terrible at math.
Back to the bank, for the last time this time. Your math has issues, I told the teller. Let's try 2,200 this time. He tried, and it worked! Hallelujah. Now the paperwork came out. Slips were printed. They were torn. I signed their stubs. Pin-codes entered, reentered, and entered once more for good measure. They love their pin codes, banks. I got a passbook (where they print things for real) a card, and a little dongle type thing that I don't know how to use. One thing at a time I suppose. This took, forever. You'd think it would be quick, a signature, a stamp, and wham--a new bank account. Not so much. I waited. I tapped my fingers. I looked at my watch. Two and a half hours to go before the MOD closed. I need a piece of paper that says how much money I have, I said. First try he found the sheet I'd been showed at the MOD. Aha. We were all set, but what's this? Why is my money still in dollars? What would I need a Chinese bank account full of US dollars for? Much muttering behind the glass. A conference ensued. They could change it. Somehow that cost a lot of money, but that's not what I'm thinking about right now. At 2:43 I hop a cab back to the MOD. Less that two hours to go.
The lines of the morning have lengthened and I pick a number. I wait, restlessly. I finish my book. My stomach starts to hurt. I am, as they say stressed out. I try to think about the last time I was stressed out enough that my stomach hurt. Maybe it was last January, I don't really remember. I think about my stomach some more and realize that maybe the problem is that it is approaching 4:00, and my food for the day has consisted of one egg sandwich at 8:00. Next time I try to get a visa, I'll bring a sandwich. The clock ticks digitally on top of the TV screen showing and re-showing Olympic highlights. 3:30 comes -- one hour to go, more than 20 people ahead of me in line. But, at long last, I make it, I stand before the desk and present the woman (the same one I'd talked to at 9:00) with my passport, my form filled out in black, my Chinese account statement, and Alex's household registration. She shuffles her papers and I think every little thing's going to be all right, just like in the song. I point out that the registration form doesn't have my name on it, because I'm staying with a friend. This is a PROBLEM. It's 4:08 by my watch, and she tells me it needs to have my name on it. Run she says, and I'll be here as long as you get back before 4:30.
I run. I ask a group of old ladies if I'm going the right way, they motion me onwards, and yell that I have to turn left. I turn and start running to the end of a dead end. Not that one, one yells, she's on her bike and has started following me. I'll take you she says. Ok, I pant (I haven't run since I've been here, and even with the recent games the air is a little chewy) you bike, I'll run. So I run. I clutch my messenger bag under my arm and pound down the street. My guardian angel rides behind. I steal a look back, keep going, she calls out, why are you looking at me. A big intersection is coming up. Keep going she yells, across the street. Wang qian zou. She points forward with a free hand. I keep running, as close to flat out as I can after months of inactivity and under-eating. My Crocs slosh around my feet. Kaui pao, she yells gleefully, go faster. Finally the left comes, I pant a heartfelt thank you and pound into the empty public security bureau. I need...a...household....registration, I pant, giving them Alex's. For this address. What's the rush, they ask? The office closes at 4:30 I say. I'm sweating and my hair keeps falling in my eyes. Well don't rush me, says the woman behind the desk, if I rush I'll mess up and then nothing will work. Ok, Ok, I'm not rushing you, but hurry it up alright? She finishes the paperwork. So did you just move in? She asks. I'm staying with my friend, I say. Wait, you don't live there? Danger, flashes in neon across my clouded vision. No, no, I just moved in, I live there with my friend, I lie. Ok then, there you go, she says, and I'm out the door shouting thank you at the same time. A mad dash back to the MOD. I get back and stand panting outside the barrier, looking at the woman who's been "helping" me. She looks up from the person she's dealing with. That was quick, she says, wow you really made good time. I nod. That's about all I can do. The old lady's cries of forward, forward, faster, are still ringing in my ears. She looks through the (now a bit rumpled) paperwork. You can stay an extra....she calculates on her cell phone...22 days. Then you need to leave and get a new visa. My multi-entry visa is supposed to be good for a year? They changed the rules as of September. Ok, well thank you, thank you. See you in five business days.
I stumble out of the ministry still short of breath, and see that my new, 22 day visa is going to cost a whopping $130. Not a cheap day, by any means, but I have a new Visa and I have a new bank account, and I did it myself. Check back soon for stories of Tibetan monks, Kazaks, and Lanzhou, the worst city in the world.
August 11, 2008
Racking up points for cultural experiences
I’ve written a bit about the cultural experience of McDonalds abroad before, but these past couple days have all been about seeing different sides of Beijing. I’ve been to a DJ dance party, a hardcore punk show, and a sports bar. This is not the kind of stuff I do in the States. At home, I listen to bluegrass mostly. Maybe a little bit of ska. The hardest stuff I listen to is Catch 22 or maybe Flogging Molly. I don’t go to dance parties, and I don’t thing I’ve ever been in a sports bar, but when in Rome, right?
I won’t bore you with details of the DJ thing. It was loud, there were lots of lights, smoke machines, drunk people. We stayed out late. We danced a lot. I talked to the bathroom attendant a good amount, mostly because it seemed like a pretty thankless job. I ran into Colby kids, go figure.
Prior to this exercise in excess, Kyle and I watched the opening ceremonies on an enormous plasma screen set up for that very purpose in a park. Everybody was smiling. The show was great (I mean, did you see it??) but the crowd was pretty fantastic too. They were just so psyched. It was a good place to be. We got a little bit of dinner in a Cantonese restaurant near the park while the country procession was still going on. In the center of the room, under a tv screen, a group of young Chinese environmental activists were drinking, saluting, and spontaneously breaking into song. They sang the national anthem, and old communist songs from their grammar school days. The fact that their work involves criticizing the government for environmental inadequacies meant nothing at all. The Olympics were opening in China, like never before.
The punk show was a totally different story. The club is one I’ve been to before, quite a few times, but I’d never seen groups like this. The second band (the first isn’t really worth mentioning) was lead by a guy wearing pajamas, bright socks, and big white glasses. He had an incredible amount of energy (not to mention style) and seemed to be pretty talented. We found out later he’s just graduated from high school, and Mike, the club owner swears up and down he’s the next big thing.
Then there was the main attraction, a hardcore street punk band called demerit. The lead singer had a roaring-threeheaded-tigerbeast tattooed on his stomach. He stood up, and all the drunk guys moshing in front of the state would run up and hold their hands out to him, begging for more. That’s what I call stage presence. The music itself, was pretty good. It’s easy to think of Punk and just so much noise, but once you start listening there’s actually a lot of melody, and a lot of the music (connected to how political it is as a musical movement) borders on anthemnic. Add simple lyrics and a willingness to let the biggest fan sing into the mic, and it was a pretty dynamic show. Not something I’m going to listen to in my room, but incredibly fun to watch.
The sports bar, an enormous two floor compound on the edge of town, was a different story. There the dynamic performance was the US roundly trouncing China in the first basketball game of the Games. It was pretty easy to follow what was going on. When the huge American contingent let out a guttural roar, that meant we’d just put one past Yao Ming. When the smaller Chinese group started cheering “Zhong Guo Jia You” (literally, step on the gas, china) that meant we’d dropped the ball. It’s worth mentioning that I ran into a friend named Charles at this pub (The Goose n’ Duck). Charles goes to Bowdoin. He’s been in Harbin for the last seven months, and got to Beijing yesterday morning. I had no idea he was around, but that’s the kind of place Beijing is.
I run into people I know, people I used to work with, and people I just recognize for some reason on an almost daily basis. Don’t ask me why.
Looking towards the future, the cultural experiences look like they’re going to continue. Kyle and I are watching beach volleyball on Wednesday, and on Thursday we head out west to Xinjiang, where you might have heard there’s a bit of an insurrection going on. It should be pretty interesting.
I won’t bore you with details of the DJ thing. It was loud, there were lots of lights, smoke machines, drunk people. We stayed out late. We danced a lot. I talked to the bathroom attendant a good amount, mostly because it seemed like a pretty thankless job. I ran into Colby kids, go figure.
Prior to this exercise in excess, Kyle and I watched the opening ceremonies on an enormous plasma screen set up for that very purpose in a park. Everybody was smiling. The show was great (I mean, did you see it??) but the crowd was pretty fantastic too. They were just so psyched. It was a good place to be. We got a little bit of dinner in a Cantonese restaurant near the park while the country procession was still going on. In the center of the room, under a tv screen, a group of young Chinese environmental activists were drinking, saluting, and spontaneously breaking into song. They sang the national anthem, and old communist songs from their grammar school days. The fact that their work involves criticizing the government for environmental inadequacies meant nothing at all. The Olympics were opening in China, like never before.
The punk show was a totally different story. The club is one I’ve been to before, quite a few times, but I’d never seen groups like this. The second band (the first isn’t really worth mentioning) was lead by a guy wearing pajamas, bright socks, and big white glasses. He had an incredible amount of energy (not to mention style) and seemed to be pretty talented. We found out later he’s just graduated from high school, and Mike, the club owner swears up and down he’s the next big thing.
Then there was the main attraction, a hardcore street punk band called demerit. The lead singer had a roaring-threeheaded-tigerbeast tattooed on his stomach. He stood up, and all the drunk guys moshing in front of the state would run up and hold their hands out to him, begging for more. That’s what I call stage presence. The music itself, was pretty good. It’s easy to think of Punk and just so much noise, but once you start listening there’s actually a lot of melody, and a lot of the music (connected to how political it is as a musical movement) borders on anthemnic. Add simple lyrics and a willingness to let the biggest fan sing into the mic, and it was a pretty dynamic show. Not something I’m going to listen to in my room, but incredibly fun to watch.
The sports bar, an enormous two floor compound on the edge of town, was a different story. There the dynamic performance was the US roundly trouncing China in the first basketball game of the Games. It was pretty easy to follow what was going on. When the huge American contingent let out a guttural roar, that meant we’d just put one past Yao Ming. When the smaller Chinese group started cheering “Zhong Guo Jia You” (literally, step on the gas, china) that meant we’d dropped the ball. It’s worth mentioning that I ran into a friend named Charles at this pub (The Goose n’ Duck). Charles goes to Bowdoin. He’s been in Harbin for the last seven months, and got to Beijing yesterday morning. I had no idea he was around, but that’s the kind of place Beijing is.
I run into people I know, people I used to work with, and people I just recognize for some reason on an almost daily basis. Don’t ask me why.
Looking towards the future, the cultural experiences look like they’re going to continue. Kyle and I are watching beach volleyball on Wednesday, and on Thursday we head out west to Xinjiang, where you might have heard there’s a bit of an insurrection going on. It should be pretty interesting.
July 30, 2008
New Video and a Proper Post
So here’s my newest video for current. Look for an essay about the band somewhere shortly hopefully.
Now, for a proper post.
This past weekend we did the first really post worthy thing since I’ve been here. We went to Hong Kong. I would say it was like going to a completely different country, but that’s mostly true (it’s a special administrative region, if you care). What was most remarkable, to me at least, was how diverse it was.
Especially where we were staying. Chunking Mansions is a run-down tenement block in the middle of all the ritz, popularized by Won Kar Wai’s early film Chunking Express. The bottom two floors were full of shops, internet cafes, restaurants, and peopled by a mix of Indians, Africans, HK Cantonese, and tourists. It was like being in a western city. One of the things about Beijing is that if you’re not a foreigner, you’re Han Chinese, and that’s pretty much it. So diversity was exciting, as was Indian food.
We spent our time in HK seeing sites, staying out late, visiting with Kyle’s cousin Nick, and seeing Batman. Another cool aspect of the city was the level to which it wasn’t built in enclaves. Expensive boutiques were next to oldish apartment complexes, and outside of the central business district, everything seemed pretty mixed in.
One of the things I enjoyed most was riding the Tram on HK island. We weren’t really going anywhere, but it was a great way to get a look around, and the breeze from the second floor was simply fantastic. DimSum was good too. And did I mention Indian food? Otherwise, everything was pretty great, and the harbor was a great place to relax at night and have a beer. I would go back.
Now we’re back in Beijing, I’m busy working on a couple projects, and I have a JOB INTERVIEW tomorrow. We’ll see how that goes. I know I promised pictures soon, and I’ll say it again. Soon, there will be new pictures.
Love from the Big Dumpling,
Martin
Now, for a proper post.
This past weekend we did the first really post worthy thing since I’ve been here. We went to Hong Kong. I would say it was like going to a completely different country, but that’s mostly true (it’s a special administrative region, if you care). What was most remarkable, to me at least, was how diverse it was.
Especially where we were staying. Chunking Mansions is a run-down tenement block in the middle of all the ritz, popularized by Won Kar Wai’s early film Chunking Express. The bottom two floors were full of shops, internet cafes, restaurants, and peopled by a mix of Indians, Africans, HK Cantonese, and tourists. It was like being in a western city. One of the things about Beijing is that if you’re not a foreigner, you’re Han Chinese, and that’s pretty much it. So diversity was exciting, as was Indian food.
We spent our time in HK seeing sites, staying out late, visiting with Kyle’s cousin Nick, and seeing Batman. Another cool aspect of the city was the level to which it wasn’t built in enclaves. Expensive boutiques were next to oldish apartment complexes, and outside of the central business district, everything seemed pretty mixed in.
One of the things I enjoyed most was riding the Tram on HK island. We weren’t really going anywhere, but it was a great way to get a look around, and the breeze from the second floor was simply fantastic. DimSum was good too. And did I mention Indian food? Otherwise, everything was pretty great, and the harbor was a great place to relax at night and have a beer. I would go back.
Now we’re back in Beijing, I’m busy working on a couple projects, and I have a JOB INTERVIEW tomorrow. We’ll see how that goes. I know I promised pictures soon, and I’ll say it again. Soon, there will be new pictures.
Love from the Big Dumpling,
Martin
July 21, 2008
July 17, 2008
just an update
So it’s been about a week I guess, and I can’t complain. China continues to be China, and the summer continues being hot. Lots of touring with Louis and his gang, a rainy trip to the great wall, and a couple of kickass concerts, and now I’m heading south to the city on the sea, Shanghai, for the weekend.
I’ve started working as a freelance consultant, polishing interviews. It’s fairly mindless work and the pay isn’t too bad. I’m still trying to be a journalist, and doing a little better than before. A new podcast is up by the way. Last night I went to my first expat dinner party of this trip. I never cease to be impressed with how smart and cool a lot of the people living here are. Others are less so, but there are enough people in Beijing that you don’t have to be friends with someone purely based on shared heritage.
Because louis was here, we’ve been treated to some truly fantastic meals by friends of the family. Heaping dishes, groaning tables. It’s a big change from the street food I’ve been eating on a pretty regular basis. We even went to an old Beijing style restaurant, which serves my favorite dish, a kind of fermented doufu resembling brains. The dish is grey, spreadable, and undeniably delicious. Kind of like cottage cheese mixed with….something else. Other highlights included a foot and a half tall leaning tower of fried potato sticks, a delicious (and fancy) round of peking duck, and a plate (ordered by accident) of bitter melon which we finished in spite of its rather terrible taste.
For day to day account’s look to Kyle’s blog. I’ll be putting a new batch of pictures up soon.
Heart. Martin.
I’ve started working as a freelance consultant, polishing interviews. It’s fairly mindless work and the pay isn’t too bad. I’m still trying to be a journalist, and doing a little better than before. A new podcast is up by the way. Last night I went to my first expat dinner party of this trip. I never cease to be impressed with how smart and cool a lot of the people living here are. Others are less so, but there are enough people in Beijing that you don’t have to be friends with someone purely based on shared heritage.
Because louis was here, we’ve been treated to some truly fantastic meals by friends of the family. Heaping dishes, groaning tables. It’s a big change from the street food I’ve been eating on a pretty regular basis. We even went to an old Beijing style restaurant, which serves my favorite dish, a kind of fermented doufu resembling brains. The dish is grey, spreadable, and undeniably delicious. Kind of like cottage cheese mixed with….something else. Other highlights included a foot and a half tall leaning tower of fried potato sticks, a delicious (and fancy) round of peking duck, and a plate (ordered by accident) of bitter melon which we finished in spite of its rather terrible taste.
For day to day account’s look to Kyle’s blog. I’ll be putting a new batch of pictures up soon.
Heart. Martin.
July 10, 2008
July 09, 2008
I've been podcasting!
Check it out. My bit starts in at 7:30 or so. (click bypass this message, to get to the page. I swear I'm not a known spammer)
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