In the Business of Burgers

Wandering down darkened streets and gazing out over the river, I see the moon, red through the haze of the smog the factories pump into the skies late at night, when no one cares to watch. It makes me sad, a little, but I can’t change anything about it at the moment, so I let it pass. Up on the river walk, there is a small stone table with a place to sit. The shadows swallow it in darkness. Men and women mill about below, moving in and out of the brightly lit (and questionably-staffed—i.e. "Looking for a good time?" Yeeaaahhh... YOU know.) Polaris Club. But no one could see me up here, not even if they were looking.

I sit down. It’s cold. I zip my jacket, pull the collar up close about my neck, and begin to think of home.

It’s a funny thing. Nearly two months, now, I have been as far removed from home as… well, as I have ever been. Far from the places I know best. Far from the things I have come to care about. And far, very far, from most every person I love.

And yet…

And yet.

Still, miss it though I do (and I do miss it all, every last bit, including all the trivialities, such as readily available cheeseburgers and sweet tea, and a little thing called Davidson basketball), I have felt no sensation of pain, no sense of the desperate, awful longing that has gripped me before, in my other (much less severe) experiences with self-removal.

So what does that mean, I wonder? At this point, I can’t really say. As I have said before, I feel awakened here, and happy, and changing, though perhaps not so radically as I once envisioned. I find, at the end of the day, that I am still me. Many things that have given me joy in the past still give me the same.

Early this week, I had a couple of days off (the kids had their midterm exams). I took the opportunity to hop a 3-hour bus to the provincial capitol, Hefei. One of the teachers from our sister campus across town, an older Canadian fellow named Paul (whom you might remember from my exploits in the bar across the street), elected to accompany me and show me several key points of local knowledge.

First, and undeniably most important, was our trip to the Novotel. Why, you might ask, is the Novotel so special? Because, my friends, the Novotel has a restaurant where they serve a bacon cheeseburger—yes, a REAL bacon cheeseburger. Twelve ounce beef patty, four thick slabs of bacon, tomato, mozzarella cheese, (let’s not forget the four thick slabs of bacon and twelve ounce beef patty), and of course, ketchup.

And yes. It was everything I hoped it could be.


Mmmmm. Come to meeeee…

Honestly, the rest of the trip is kind of a blur after that. But I did experience Hefei, I got a sharp pair of gloves, and I got away to a different part of China for a bit, which is never a bad thing. In a couple weeks time, I’ll be heading through Hefei again to get to Shanghai (and I’ll probably stop for another burger, of course), but I’ll wait to write about that particular bridge until I’ve gone and crossed it…

Hmm. You know, I will say this: I’ve fallen into a rather introspective mood of late, which oddly enough does not translate into nearly so many journal entries as one might expect (and it also leaves this particular one wondering how well words can really serve to express something, when push comes to shove).

Best I can say, though… all is as it should be, because, well… bah. How else could it be?

And yes. I did take a 6-hour round trip and blow around a hundred bucks just to get a good cheeseburger. And I’d do it again. Sue me, I am who I am.

Anyway, at long last I’m blowing the cobwebs off my writing again, eager to take another crack at revising the story I wrote with some added life mileage to back it up. Hell, maybe I’ll even find it in me to crank out another one. I’ve already tossed a few totally random ideas around with friends that grew legs in my head without any intention on my part.

The catalyst for all this, of course, took place in Hefei (after I was inspired—no—enlightened—by cheeseburger nirvana), where, in the midst of a late night talk with Paul in our hotel room, I suddenly realized what the hell my story is actually about. Not, you must understand, because it was on my mind for any particular reason, but because Paul asked about it, and the explanation simply fell out of my mouth.

And it is this.

It is a fashioning of the Biblical end, as brought about by men. By our own hands, as it were. An oppressive, corporate, global government is the beginning. From the minds of men who care only for themselves, the Beast is born, with many heads and many faces. And ruin is the end. But is there hope? Wait and see.

Ok, ok, fine. Well, it makes sense to me, damn it. Paul seemed to get it. I even got chills when I figured out what exactly it was I had been writing about. Hey, you shut up. I know it’s stupid.

Unfortunately, with this new understanding, I have a whole lot of work to do.

But then, I have a whole lot of time.

On that note, before I leave you to resume my tinkering, here are a few selected pictures of Hefei, and the landscape north of Anqing.









Have a good one on the bright side, folks.

Beijingin' It

October 31, 2008

Oh, the things I’m finding while I’m off looking for myself.

It was inevitable that I had to take a train at some point, and circumstances and forces beyond my will to control drove me to plan what surely seemed to be an ill-advised trip to Beijing—at the last possible minute. Luckily for me (in this case, at least), I’ve never been much swayed by the opinions of those observing me, Chinese or otherwise. Like some wild beast of the plains, I was ready for the open. I needed to run.

To the train, then. Let’s go ahead and debunk that whole myth that sleeping with multiple people is better. I’ve always frowned on it for a multitude of morally self-righteous reasons, but wait! Now I have practical backing too!



I mean, I imagine eighteen hours in a cell the size of my shoe with five other folks will pretty much seal the deal for most anyone. Yeah, yeah, all right. Fine, so it wasn’t that bad. The bunk was comfortable enough and I got plenty of rest. If one of my cellmates hadn’t been loosing fresh bombs from his rectal weapons plant the whole damn night (and day), I think my impression would be better. But I’m fairly certain the merciless smog carved a couple months off the back end of my life.

Now, I never figured out just how one knows which stop is his in this vast land. Of the nearly 20 stops during our lengthy journey, only one (that I saw) had a visible sign, Chinese or otherwise. Luckily, mine happened to be the final destination.

Beijing.

And something more, perhaps. But that would have to wait.

November 1, 2008

Saturday in Beijing (arriving at 11 am after roughly 16 hours of TRAIN) was one of ups and dips, little failures and great successes. I spent almost an hour just looking for the hostel, even though my taxi got me to the right spot. Turns out it was tucked away more tightly than Ebenezer Scrooge’s wallet (Hey, Halloween’s over. Time to get in the spirit).

Eventually I found it, met by the first in a string of welcome coincidences. My friend, apparently at random, had come out to look for me just in time to catch me passing by with a look on my face that must have been two parts perplexed and one part impotent fury. Relief washed all that away soon enough.

Pizza (A HA! Real food, at last!) at the Kro’s Nest was our first stop. And boy, the pie was huge.


…And boy! They had Dead Guy! Never fails to bring out the evil in me… just get a load of those demon eyes!

It was delicious and relaxing and more. And more, but I wasn’t ready for that yet. So after a good two hours of eating and drinking and being fascinated for the first time in my life by the sight of other white people (honestly, makes me wonder how life will be back in the States—I don’t think I’ve ever stared so much), we decided to go for Tian’anmen Square. By Metro.

Yeah. You read right. Chinese Metro. And we decided to leave my guidebook. Needless to say, we went the wrong way. In several different… ways. And the sun started to set. Suddenly, the square was becoming less and less of a good idea. Suddenly, it was dark. So we bagged it. Still, as with most things, especially failures, if you look at them right, the experience was well worth it. And especially so, here.

Back at the hostel, we moved back to Kro’s so I might meet a friend I hadn’t seen for the better part of a decade. When we finally did see each other, it was great, but so surreal. Imagine, perhaps, finding a valued memento, or something more comfortable and close, like a favorite jacket, long thought lost, in a place you’ve never been. In some ways it felt like that. So old, and so familiar, yet so out of place.

Our time was unfortunately quite brief, but boy was it fruitful! Because, you see, he directed me to the finest and most important of Beijing’s many sights…


…Paddy O’Shea’s Irish Pub! OK, OK, I know. Eye of the beholder, and all that. So my companion and I enjoyed a night of drink and frivolity the likes of which can only be had at an Irish pub (which ALSO served Dead Guy!), and I had my first—of many, I hope—car bomb in China.


Up...


Down...


Ahhh...




Look at all the white people!!!

We stayed at the pub for a good long while, and what can I say? It was great. I mean GREAT great. I know you were expecting a ten-dollar dictionary breaker here, but hey, great cuts the mustard fine in my book. I could go into more detail—it’s rare indeed when I can’t (or won’t, sorry to all of you who have to put up with it)—but since I’ve been so forthright up to now, might be it’s a good change of pace to leave some mystery about the whole thing and keep a bit here and there to myself! Still, while we’re on the note of the pub…

Yeah man (you know who you are, and if you aren’t reading, there’ll be hell to pay, I promise you that!). Ahem. Yeah. We’re doing the book. Count on it.

November 2-3, 2008

The next day found me alone again, much to my chagrin, and finding my way back from whence I came. But not before strapping on my boots and playing the role I came over here to learn by heart—dauntless explorer, intrepid western bastard, fearless… yeah, you get the picture. So I Metro’ed, alone.

I Tian’anmen Squared. Alone.





And at last I managed to navigate the absolutely ridiculous train station to catch my ride home… yeah, you guessed it. Alone.


Seriously? What can you do with a train way up THERE?



Anyway, I liked it. I mean, it made me feel the way I so desperately wanted to feel when I first decided to come to China. Adventurous. Indomitable. Alone was what I asked for, what I said I needed when I left home.

But this day, I couldn’t help but see how it would be so much better, NOT alone.
And yet, I think I understand. No, I know. I feel it keenly, spread through every bit of me, infecting me with life, inch by grudgingly surrendered inch. I am changing. I am already changed. I am different. Even if I can’t say exactly how, I know. And for the better, in all ways.

So, as I sit here on the hard seat of Train 1427, car 5—yeah, no bunk this time, and you can bet your ass I’ll NEVER speak ill of them again, after this awesomely cramped journey—I can’t help but smile, and think that, even though things almost never go exactly according to plan, that doesn’t mean they can’t still sometimes be just right.

Now I think I’ll take my leave to finish up the last of Ray Bradbury’s The Martian Chronicles, which, like Dandelion Wine, has been chock full of hearty nuggets of wisdom. Campbell’s chunky soup for the soul? Maybe. Here’s one now!

“The Martians discovered the secret of life among animals. The animal does not question life. It lives. It’s very reason for living is life; it enjoys and relishes life.”

Anyway, take from that what you will.

Seven hours left. It’s already been nine.

Yeesh.

And look at these poor saps, who have had to deal with me and my (comparatively) long legs the WHOLE way…



Sorry you guys. For the kicking, and for not being able to understand. I'm working on it!