Thanksgiving Made Chineasy

Author’s Note: The following has been delayed due to a lack of processing power. Not in the computer. In me. My erstwhile roommate has set off for greener pastures without a word, leaving me saddled with his workload (which I took of my own volition in the interest of making more money). However, it has been somewhat taxing, to put it lightly. I will do an amusing, obituary-esque capsule for him at the end of the show, because I will likely never see or hear from him again. But without further ado…

At last, after a sleepless night spent in the seedy recesses of downtown Hefei, I came to my destination none the worse for wear.


There it was, at last. Shanghai. As if it had been waiting for me all along.

Surely here, in one of the largest cities of the world, I would be able to find turkey for my belated Thanksgiving feast. Right? Right?! Well, at first glance, Shanghai was much more confusing than Beijing, my last interaction with huge-city China. The current city is much older, having not seen the extensive renovations that Beijing received prior to the Olympics (point, Shanghai, in my opinion). Still, despite streets wound tighter than most people’s familial tensions come holiday season, I resolved that I would NOT be denied.

The train station was much more difficult to navigate than the Beijing version, but it was still fairly simple. I did, however, have some trouble finding the legal taxi line (and folks, you want to take the legal taxis. You might have to wait a little longer, sure, but wow, the taxis on the street will try and swindle you out of your pants. Foreigners = $$, and that’s it. Might as well be wearing a green T-shirt covered with dollar signs. That said, the legal taxis are completely and utterly fair. Ahem. Digression complete.).

I arrived at the hostel around noon, fully expecting to find the one person in China willing to celebrate Thanksgiving with me waiting patiently (since she has already put up with me on numerous occasions, I have come to abuse her tolerance). However, she is nowhere to be found. Of course, the logical conclusion would be that she came to her senses prior to departure and decided to stay in her city, that she might actually have some FUN on her weekend, but I learned that this was not quite the case. As I was checking in, the people at the desk realized they had a message for me. Turned out there was just a delay with the trains. She would be there around 2.

With some time on my hands, I decided to do what I do best: relax. I left my gear (not the valuable stuff, of course) on my bunk and proceeded to the hostel bar, where I sat and watched a bunch of other foreigners from various reaches of the world as I drank my beer. The crowd was just what you might expect to see at a hostel… long, unkempt hair; unshaven faces; ratty clothes…

And you should see the guys!

I joke, I joke. Well, I would like to say I fit right in, but the fact of the matter is I stuck out like, you know, a good old boy in China. Emphasis on old. These kids with their Australian accents, and others with their British, and a few more speaking German (I think)… they made me feel the years creeping up, they did. But not too bad. I nursed my beer and watched on, enjoying my first protracted viewing of white people at play in over a month. It seemed like no time at all had passed when I felt the tapping on my shoulder…

A hug and a story later we were on our way to lunch. I was starving, but I hadn’t even considered what I wanted to eat prior to the heralded Chinese Thanksgiving. Some friends in Anqing had told me about this place they called “Coco Cabana” (it was in fact called Coco Ichibanya), and I thought, you know, Coco Cabana sounds fun. Let’s go there.

It wasn’t quite what I expected, to say the least. It was a quaint, reserved little place, and it served curry. Now, as most of you know, I love Curry, but not that kind. But that kind is all right too. So I sat down, and as the menu popped open my eyes magically gravitated to “Cheeseburger Curry.” Well, I mean, come on. On paper it was like two of my three favorite things put together. I had to try it.

It wasn’t as good at the fantasy. But it was good. And hot enough to make my brain melt, just like the Curry from last year’s NCAA’s. Good thing is, I don’t have enough brain cells left for it to matter much when the old flesh cpu melts down.

So. Yeah. What was I talking about?

…

Hey, what are all these words doing here?

…OK, OK.

After that we experienced the madness of Nanjing Lu, which I can fittingly describe with only three words:


Watch! Bag! DVD!

But I’ll use more anyway, because it’s what I do.

At least every third person in this crowd would charge up to us and spout those very sentiments. Of course, I am likely the worst person this side of planet Earth with whom to play such a game. My neural-net processor isolated the correct response almost instantly. By the third or fourth guy, I simply put on a freakish, “you don’t want to know what I’d do to you” stare, and growled “Watch! Bag! DVD!” before he could say anything. I’m sure it’s been done before, as I’m just an obsolete model after all, but the look on his face was enough to tell me that it was a reaction with which he wasn’t altogether familiar.

Also, see it in the 1930s! A bit different now, huh?


Before long it was time for the oft-discussed Thanksgiving dinner. I had come to the decision several days prior that we would dine at Malone’s, or the “most American place in Shanghai” as it was dubbed by one reviewer named Steve who has requested that he remain anonymous.

It took us a bit to find, because I can be stubborn with directions at times… oh, who am I kidding? I’m stubborn with everything, all the time. But we did find it. And we got the menus…

…to find no turkey dinner. But that was OK. Because they had a bacon bar-be-que cheeseburger with an onion ring on it, and it was almost good enough to make my year (if other things hadn’t done that already). And you know, my Thanksgiving table-mate (Megan’s name has been omitted to protect the innocent) kept the feeling alive by ordering a turkey BLT lathered liberally with guacamole—complete with real leftover Thanksgiving turkey, of course! She insists that it was heaven, and I'm sure it WAS almost that good. But I'm also certain my burger was better. Ha HA!

So we ate hearty, and drank beer, and drank Jack Daniel’s, and gave thanks, and listened as the cover band regaled us with a number of hits from the darker nooks and crannies of musical history (Yes, I’m talking about YOU, 80’s. What?! No, no, I’m just kidding. The 80’s were awesome, man. Hey. Hey! I DO like your Africa song, Toto! I swear! No! Don’t!!!!).

AAAAGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!

…


…


…


This is HP Pavilion dv2700 Notebook PC Ser. No. 373-0112b. We’re sorry. John can no longer be with us for this entry. We will do our best to explain the remainder of his Shanghai experience, complete with however many relevant pictures we can find stored on our hard disk.

We are certain he gave thanks on Saturday for a lazy afternoon of walking around and seeing the river (and the gigantic television boats that he believed should have been broadcasting NFL football games).


He also gave thanks Saturday evening for the Shanghai Science and Technology Museum. This was my favorite, but he neglected to take many pictures, as he was preoccupied with other attractions.


He gave thanks for Shanghai at night, and for the fact that he was not as obese as the Mao statue.




He gave a little thanks for no longer feeling at all like a tourist.

He gave thanks for Irish Pubs around the world!


Sunday he gave thanks for boats, and for cruising the river, although it was all too short.


That afternoon he gave thanks for coffee shops.

Later he gave thanks for hot pot dining with lots of crazy meats.

He did NOT give thanks for train stations or departure times.

He did, however, give thanks for chance encounters, airport difficulties, welcome distractions, and the strange forks life continually throws into your path.

And he gave thanks for Who is responsible for all that, and responsible for the incredible friends and family that are supporting him while he's here.

Now, before we go, we will deliver on John’s promise and include a small bit about the roommate, Ray. Also, John is in every way responsible for what we say. That'll teach him to open up so many programs at once.


An older French-Canadian fellow with a thick accent (we often wondered how well the students understood him), Ray was always quick with a joke and quicker with a lewd word about the ladies. And he did like the ladies. Still, despite his idiosyncrasies, he and John seemed to get along fine to our dimly-lit, electronic web-eye, but we were often concerned; Ray always found reasons to complain about his situation in Anqing, and he seemed to find no enjoyment in what he was doing. We often found ourselves wondering, “Why is he here?”

Now he is not. We hope he finds what he is looking for, whatever that may be. Take good care.

That is all we have for you at this time. Please be assured that John will return to form soon, after he recovers from garish wounds sustained while caught between the razor-sharp teeth of Toto’s gnashing maw.



HP Pavilion dv2700's Note: We have since neutralized the problem by deconstructing the little beast particle by particle and emailing it to a secure account in Kansas with no known password.

We’ll also include an obligatory “Go Cats!” for Saturday's victorious effort. John would have wanted it that way.

Thanks to Give, but No One to Give It To (Yet)

As Written November 27, 2008:

Thanksgiving has always been one of my favorite holidays. If you love your family, I can’t imagine how it could not be. It’s one of those sacred times in my memory, a time to see those for whom you care most, and, all too often, those you see least.

This… is a different Thanksgiving for me. I’m in Hefei tonight, waiting for a morning train. In looking for a hotel, I decided to live dangerously. When I got turned away from the Railway Hotel, an older Chinese woman rushed to my side, yammering furiously (albeit unintelligibly, to me) and pointing.

Of course I followed her.

I ended up in an honest-to-goodness Chinese Hotel. Not the kind where a foreigner would stay. There are people living here. The bathrooms, for the most part, seem communal. However—

They provided me with the best room in the house. The best, and they gave it to me for half the listed price (though they do that a lot here, so I don’t feel too special. Well, maybe. No, check that… ah, screw it. All depends on your definition of special).

Apparently, they weren’t really set up for foreigners, so the guy wanted to take my passport to the police station while I waited. That’s a big no-no in my book, even if the guy did seem harmless… but I didn’t just want to be a typical paranoid traveler and run away… RUN AWAYYY!... ahem. Sorry.

I walked to the police station with him. As soon as I entered, a mildly funny scene ensued, featuring an overweight officer trying to hum the Star Spangled Banner. Well, it wasn’t quite humming. More like, dum dah dum dum DAAH DUMMM!, but with a slightly mocking lilt to it, at least to my ear. Not to be outdone (or mocked) I decided to belt the whole thing out, pregame style. I think that confused the hell out of them.

Hey, what? They like singing here, damn it. And they did laugh. With a slightly mocking lilt.

After that I walked back, took these amusing pictures of this room, and here I sit, waiting to go to Shanghai for my belated Chinese Thanksgiving.


Note the stain.


Cozy.

As I reflect, I realize I haven’t posted an entry in a bit, so rather than go into what I’m looking forward to in Shanghai, I’ll look back. To last weekend.

The events of last Saturday were the result of me doing a favor.

I know! I know. What a fool I am. But I helped a High School senior edit his admissions essay, which he is submitting to Purdue and UMN. Ill advised as that might have been, it earned me the thanks of his father, and a pretty crazy day got laid out all over my plate.

First (well, second. I had already watched the Wildcats mercilessly dismember the Winthrop Eagles. Have to love the powers of the internet. Go Cats!). First? Hmm, yes. Wildcat basketball. What? Where was I? Oh, yes.

Around 9:30 I met the student and a couple of his other friends outside my apartment. We rode down to the river (less than a mile away) and booked passage on the ferry. Within about 15 minutes we were on the south bank of the river. And folks…

…welcome to China. No, not the China to which I am growing accustomed, with crazy drivers and bad McDonald's and noodles and strangely dressed pedestrians. No. This was real China. Farmland, stretching as far as the eye can see (Ok, it was a little foggy). A quaint Buddhist temple. Cows. Rangy dogs. Dirt roads. People harvesting, hashing out a hard, honest day of physical labor in their fields, the kind of work we can easily forget about once we’ve spent so long in our cities. And keep these people in mind. Because if something crazy happens to the world, something wild that robs us of our fuels and our electronics and even (gasp!--DARE I say it?)our internets… watch. These will be the people we turn to because we’ve forgotten how to stay alive without everything at our beck and call.




Undoubtedly the dirtiest dog I have ever seen. Well, that's not necessarily true... I've met a lot of bad guys.

Ahem. Yes, well, we spent several hours wandering around and watching these quiet folk, and finally we even bought some vegetables from them. Had to pick them ourselves. All right. I know what you’re thinking. Me, pick vegetables? Me, eat vegetables?

Don’t worry. It was the young Chinese woman with us who wanted them. But I did get roped into carrying them. Bah.

Again, too nice.

Some miles later, around two o’clock, we finally made our way back to the ferry. The plan now? An all vegetarian lunch at the large Buddhist temple (Zhen Fen Temple) in Anqing proper. Now, at first thought this wasn’t my favorite idea I’ve ever heard. But fine, I think, I’ll roll with it.

It was strange. Most of the dishes were made of tofu, and they were seasoned (and shaped) like dead animals. They kind of paled in comparison to the real deal, but you know, they tried. The strangest, by far, was a crazy looking dish that tasted like shrimp but looked like Bill Cosby should have done the ad campaign. I dubbed them Gummy Shrimp. No one understood.

There was one delicious dish—these jiaozi, or dumplings. Those are the stuff. I could eat them until my system experienced overexposure to the vinegar with which I so liberally showered them.

With a belly full of stuff I never would have eaten of my own accord, it was off to KTV. Not a bar, like I’ve been to a few times, but a straight KTV club, with a private room and endless popcorn and tea.

We were there for four hours. I don’t want to talk about it…



Sweet, sweet serenade...

…but I will. It was just ridiculous. All the songs they have in English are these great sappy ballads. Well, not all of them. But most. I’d like to think I gave them their money’s worth, here, as I was rather uninhibited. I thing I sang about 2 dozen songs, among them Brown-Eyed Girl, Hotel California, Hey Jude, Desperado, Hard to Say I’m Sorry (Don’t Ask), Mack the Knife (A damn good rendition if I do say so my damn self), Carry on my Wayward Son, Wild Thing, Don’t go Breakin’ My Heart, Lyin’ Eyes (I think they like the Eagles over here), Toto’s Africa, and… Paradise City.

Yes, THAT Paradise City. And instead of going conventional, I said what the hell and tried to screech it like Axl. That’ll teach ‘em to keep me in that little room for four hours again. But I think I popped the ribbon off my voice box.

Before I could treat them to my emotionally stirring version of Scarborough Fair, our time was up. At this point we had grown into a party of six. The student’s father had arrived at lunch, and another very amusing man named Mr. Xiao had joined us at the KTV. He brought the wine that brings me to the next amusing story…

Dinner. Now, I didn’t gripe about the vegetables or anything, but I think I made an offhand comment about being, essentially, a carnivore. Consequently, the dinner was meat. All meat. ALL. And, consequently, I stuffed myself.

As I have seen several times already from my Chinese hosts, the father (hereafter called Mr. Ye) seemed intent on encouraging me to drink. And he seemed intent on matching me. Out came the wine.

I think we were about 3 glasses deep when he realized he was in over his head. By the end of the fifth glass, we moved to beer. By the middle of the second beer (22 oz.) he was pretty well drunk. I must say, I admire his self-control (or perhaps it was simply his desire not to get sick), because he stopped then and there, and did not drink again until much later. But, as I was in a good mood, and we were having such an enjoyable time poking fun at Mr. Xiao for not finishing his glass of wine (and no, I wasn’t being mean, and no, I wasn’t the one who started calling him Mrs. Xiao—that distinction belongs to one of the women at the table), I couldn’t resist having a few more.

Three beers later, dinner is done, and I’m feeling pretty happy. I ask if they know of a place that is not KTV, a place that is quiet, where you can just sit and talk and have a beer. Mr. Xiao and the student leave, but the others come along and we find a strange place called a “Blues Café” that is, well… no such thing. But it is quiet, and they do have beer.

It’s nearing midnight now, and time to go home. Two more 22 ouncers down, just enough to get a good feeling. As we’re leaving, I have a detour to the restroom, and start cackling hysterically because there is a bouquet of flowers in the urinal to freshen the scent. No, no cake. Honestly. A bouquet of flowers. Even on a day full of them, the best “shake my head” moment is the last.

And yes, before you ask, I do have a picture, and no, you can't see it. For various reasons.

Thus, we leave “Blues Café.” Mr. Ye rides with me in a taxi, even though I could easily have walked. He gives me a solid pat on the shoulder as I get out at my apartment and thanks me for helping his son. I smile and shake his hand. “Thanks for a hell of a day.” He laughs. I don’t think he’s familiar with the expression, but he gets the idea.

I remember thinking it then, and I’m thinking it now, sitting on this rather spartan bed after following a strange woman I couldn’t understand.

That paranoid fear of “getting taken” is gone. Not the healthy caution, understand… but the fear.

I’ve finally begun to trust myself here.

I’m finally getting comfortable. And what can I say? I’m thankful for that. And other things, too. But I’ll save those for another time.

Like when I write about Thanksgiving in Shanghai.

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!

Parts is Parts, and Old is New

Part—the greater part, I believe—is born of light, the very embodiment of laughter and easy care. It is in the throes of this bright half that the best of times are found, the highest points burned indelibly to memory, constant reminders of great possibility.

Then there is the other part. A smaller part, perhaps, but no less critical. A thing of darkness, this part. Found skulking, peering from the blackest shadows of the world, lying in wait. Striding streets of night, alone and alive, burning… but for what? Silent in a dark room, lost in thought, drawing strength from the depths of loneliness.

Life is found in these extremes. The greatest of life, and the most terrible. And these extremes are found in man. You and me. One and all.

Needless to say, I prefer the former.

And that is what sent me out into the dark night, alone, this past Friday evening. The search for laughter.

What I discovered was quite possibly the worst oversight I have ever made in my short life. Well, all right, there's no way that's true. But it’s my worst oversight since I’ve been here by… well, a damn sight.

There, not more than 300 feet from my cozy little alley, rests a welcoming little establishment with several signs. One has a bottle of wine. One shows that gargantuan Budweiser bottle cap.

The other simply says, “Bar.” Yeah. In plain English.

So I’m an idiot. Well, that’s no news. And, as those of you who know me well can attest (and if you don’t, how the hell did you manage to find your way in here?), better late than never, of course, is much more than a saying in my book.

As soon as I read those three little letters, I lit up like a Nazi library. One, of course, because I could read them at all, and two, because they said the word I most wanted to see and had never hoped to find so close to home!

I ran inside as fast as my booted feet would carry me. I charged up the stairs, careless of the tipsy couple on their way down. I burst through the bamboo-covered doors, never stopping to acknowledge just how odd it was that a big fat Santa was painted over the top, with “Merry Christmas!” written out in big, sparkly letters.

Well, I guess it didn’t seem odd, not right then. Sure felt like Christmas to me.

Within moments I was comfortably settled at the bar, drink in hand and the next one waiting patiently for me to finish. Turned out it was a karaoke bar, as I guess most of them are here, from what I understand. There was an islander theme to the place, with a little river trickling through, and fake trees, and bamboo everywhere. A little hokey, true, with some poor, tone-deaf bastard screeching unintelligibly over the speakers, but who really cares about any of that?

Let me put it this way. You going to care WHAT Heaven looks like, so long as you get there?

I thought not.

So I’m enjoying my Tsingtao beer, tolerating the music, trying to understand the weird dice game the bartender is trying to show me. Little cups with six dice apiece. I think I’m supposed to make a bet somewhere in there, and that’s something I’d prefer to avoid. “Wo ting bu dong!”

“I don’t understand” is a phrase I’d like to learn in every language. Never fails, I tell you.

Around my third beer or so, I’ve swiveled around on my chair, and I find a whole table of folks staring at me. One raises his glass. I raise my bottle.

He drinks.

I finish.

A friendship is born.

Within moments I’m seated around their table, talking through a child translator who only seems to know the question, “What’s your name?” But that doesn’t matter, because apparently good drink and good song make for a universal language of sorts, and the karaoke machine had a couple Phil Collins numbers in its system.

After a stirring rendition of “Against All Odds,” which earned me a bouquet of flowers, I got back to drinking. Soon I had out my dictionary too, and my little notebook, and we set about the task of trying to understand each other.

The night passed in a blur of fun. At last we decided to leave somewhere north of 2 am, and I felt a pang of regret as I was helping my newfound friends down the stairs and into the street. They had committed no crime, but I imagined there would be a hefty price to pay for keeping pace with me, about 6 hours hence. They deserved better.

A few of them piled into taxis and left for home. The rest led me down a couple of streets to a restaurant which I can only guess was the Chinese equivalent of a Denny’s. Except they served a huge bowl of angry-looking shellfish. And lots of alcohol. After I scared my hosts by “shooting the bai jiu” and explained that scotch and whiskey were generally more powerful (I had basically forgotten that they couldn’t understand me at this point) I declared that everyone should try it.
A couple did. One ran to the bathroom immediately. The other waited a few minutes longer.

Finally, somewhere close to 4, the late night meeting was adjourned. We went our respective ways, and I imagined that would be that. It took me a moment to realize I hadn’t spent one red cent. Or Jiao, I guess, being where I am. Nodding to myself in silent appreciation, I made the short journey home, up the stairs, into the bedroom…

Suddenly, my phone is ringing. I haven’t been asleep for long, I know that—I spent some time messing around on the computer and getting photos off the camera before I finally crashed—but it can’t have been long.

I look at it. It’s one of the guys, Qin Huan. The only one who spoke ANY English. He’d left earlier that night, before Denny’s.

“What?” I answer. Not my nicest greeting ever, but I don’t do too well on 4 hours sleep, at least not when I’m expecting more. Not that it mattered. He didn’t understand anyway.

Eventually I realize he’s inviting me to lunch. I look at my watch. It’s just turned 10. “Now?” I ask, dreading the answer.

I clean up a little and he meets me at the bar. Within minutes we’ve cabbed it to a nice little rise a mile or two east of my apartment. Gated community, keycard entry on the buildings, the works. It’s high class.

Just who have I made friends with?

His father, his wife, and his one-year old daughter are there to greet us when we arrive. Well, his daughter didn’t do much. But the other two were pretty enthusiastic.

An absolutely delicious-looking spread was laid out. Now, mind you, I have about 4 dishes so far that I really like here, and I’ve copied their Chinese names into my notebook so I can order them again.

All four are on the table.

This guy was paying attention.

As we’re settling down to eat, Huan tells me, “This after, after noon… play… we playing basketball.” Then he pops open beers for us. Well, ok. It’s just now nearing midnight in the States, so I can work with that. But if I’m playing basketball later, I’ll have to have a nap.

Luckily, this part he understands. After lunch, the whole family beds down. And they actually gave me the master bedroom. As I’ve said before, I think I’m going to like it here. A lot.

An hour later, he woke me up, and then I took him to basketball school for the next four hours.

All right. That’s a lie. But playing with these guys IS making my head swell, being that I have no real basketball skill whatsoever. And hey, when I come back to the States, maybe I won’t suck.

I’m still a little leery when it comes to trusting the locals here, because I just don’t know, and I certainly have a lot to learn about the nature of Chinese friendship. Well, I’m leery trusting anyone, but that’s another issue entirely. Either way, this weekend was a good one, and a good start. Amazing how something so familiar can seem so new and exciting when it's experienced from an entirely different place, physio-, psycho-, or however-logically you like...

...of course, that's about as profound as saying it's a different feeling standing on the boat deck rather than pounding on the bottom of the hull and suffocating. Oh well.

Now, so you’ll know I’m not fibbing, about any of it… picture time!



Me, Paul, and the bartenders.



This table looks like trouble...



"And you're the only one...
who ever... knew me...
at allllll..."



Little Qin.



Triple threat position.
(I tossed this in, of course)

Well, that does it for another edition of This Old Life. Have a good Sunday afternoon, State-siders.

The World Must Be Crazy

Two entries in one day? Preposterous!

Well, it has to do with several things. One, I spent the evening with several of my fellow teachers, who are now in awe of my heredity-gifted drinking prowess. Their hard rice wine here is roughly the strength of Jack Daniel's, yet much easier to drink thanks to the flavor.
Apparently they can't wait to go ganbei-ing with me again.

Which is awesome.

Two, I have continued ruminating very heavily on thoughts that have recently been brought to the fore, though they have certainly haunted me my whole life.

A little background, and I'll do it as best I can in the Cliff's notes version. Around the age of 12, I realized something wasn't quite right. The way people were, where they found their satisfaction. I couldn't see it. I couldn't share it. This led me, for many years, to believe I was somehow defective.

This overbearing feeling drove me to apathy in many pursuits, including school and the corporate jobs of my early 20s. Some of the people around me (mostly the older ones, mostly the authority figures in my life) were unsympathetic. Things are as they should be, they'd say. You need to decide what you want to do. You need to focus on your future. Money, they'd say. You don't understand because you don't have a family.

Well, I wanted to understand, I did. I wanted to see how these things could drive them to such lengths. I wanted to feel as they did, to find fulfillment in the basest of endeavors, to be so happy doing something that seemed to matter so little. I just couldn't.

This is not to say in any way that I looked down on these people. I looked up to them, in fact. But I believe, now, that I had glimpsed the machine at such a young age, I could not succumb to my life as dutiful cog without asking some questions.

Of course, I never asked those questions. No. I tried to fight them, all the while bitching and moaning about how unfulfilling it all was.

Go through a little personal hardship, and I end up retreating to China, not to lick any wounds, but instead to pry them open, to finger them until I figure out what makes the nerves sing.

And this brings us to now, where, thanks to some interesting conversations with a very good friend--conversations we, oddly enough, might not have had if I were close-by as before--my mind has been set aflame once more by question and possibility.

Like I said, when I was young, and for many years after, I thought I was defective.

Well, it is not me.

The way we are, and the way we live. Even if you consider yourself good, many things are wrong. And it's not that anyone is to blame. It's the system we're born into, the machine we're made to operate.

Without going into too much detail, our behavior and entire socio-economic culture are a vestige of an antiquated way of life, the remnant of old customs needed to survive among peoples divided. But we need not be divided. Not anymore.

In a world where we can speak from half the globe away in an instant, where we can be connected to anyone through an apparatus smaller than a dictionary, why be divided, by anything? It is foolishness.

How much time and effort have we wasted, earning money to feed ourselves, spending it and earning it over again, going nowhere? How many years have we lost, years that we were developing weapons to ruin each other when we could have been pushing further into space?

We made the moon in the 60s.
I have two words for you:

Rotary phone.

How far could we be, then, if we weren't en...? Well, I won't say it. Yet.

This is merely a dance across the surface waters of my mental delving, but it is plenty for now, and plenty off topic. These lines of thought are better explored over hard liquor amidst the din of some seedy bar.

But being here sure is a good place to think, what with not being able to effectively read or speak!

Anyway, here, and I hope it works. This is my best attempt at a visual image for the brokenness of what we feel is right. And yes, I know it seems harmless enough. But see, that's the best trick of all.



At first glance, it made me sad to see them tied down. But then I laughed. Long. Hard. Because, I realized, I'm just like them.

A primate on a long leash.

Except one day... one fine day... I'm gonna rip the damn thing off my neck.

The First Lesson

Well, introductions are over. The second week of classes has arrived, and I had better do my best to try and teach these poor students something (aside from what a poor teacher I am).

Actually, thus far, the first lesson has come off rather well. And I could not be more surprised.

Last week, I had difficulty getting the students to ask me questions using Who, What, When, Where, Why, and How. Understandably, I was a little concerned going into week 2. So it was that, late on Sunday night, I found myself sweating it out over a notebook, rubbing oily palm on stubbly face, trying to devise a plan to teach them parts of speech.

Noun. He. She. It. Desk. Student. Me. You. I.
Verb. Is. Am. Are. Was. Run. Jump. Swim.
Adverb. Very. So. Quickly. Fast.
Adjective. Strong. Good. Fast.

I drew this on the board and ran through it slowly and methodically. Using the sentence, He is very strong, I did the best I could to illustrate how the various parts of speech work. To my delight, they actually seemed to get it!

Some classes were better than others. A few got the distinction between active and passive voice. Others understood This/These and That/Those, and how they can operate as (pro)nouns, adjectives or adverbs. It helped that Chinese has a direct translation for every different singular form of This and That.

Zhege - This (pronoun) i.e. What is this?
Zhe - This (adjective) i.e. Who is this student?
Zheme - This (adverb) i.e. I can jump this high.

They almost universally understood the concept of Near and Far, thanks to me running around the classroom and flailing my hands like an idiot, and how it relates to This and That, in basic terms.

Last and most fun, two classes actually managed to understand prepositions, which is fascinating considering the differences between Chinese and English in that grammatical regard.

When each class seemed to have digested about as much as they were going to take in without getting bored and unruly, I wiped the whole board clean, divided them into two teams, and started making them play mad libs.

Only one class out of the six I've taught so far has had any trouble with it. But some pretty weird thoughts have come up.

Why (verb) you (verb) (prep) (noun)?

Became

Why do you jump to him?


Anyway. It'll be interesting to see if it stays successful throughout the week. And even if it does, I have no idea where I can go with the plan next week...

I guess that'll come to me.

Here's a picture of my blackboard the first week, where I let them try to give me a Chinese name. The first one is some sort of egg breakfast food. I don't know (or want to know) the rest.




They've ended up giving me a name I probably don't deserve, but I feel compelled to humor them because I guess it's a pretty high honor. The Shui Hu Zhuan (Outlaws of the Marsh) is one of the four great classical Chinese novels. Written in the early 14th century by Shi Nai'an and Luo Guanzhong, it details the exploits of a band of outlaws in the Liangshan Marsh in the late 12th century, during the Song dynasty. (Thanks, wikipedia).

I had actually read most of it in college because it's the basis for a series of video games I used to play, Suikoden. That, and I was taking an awesome Chinese Lit course at the time. I was planning to read it again here, and word must have gotten around with the students that I was talking about it.

Here, they all know the book. Think Shakespeare. Hamlet. Only, they don't sigh when you talk about it. So it's like somebody went back in time and had Shakespeare write about Batman. That's not how I view it, of course--I can't read the original Chinese prose. But that's the only way I can understand a bunch of 12 and 13 year old kids revering this ancient work.

At any rate, the name they gave me. I have a couple of characters I like from this book above others:

Lu Zhishen, called the Tatooed Monk, a giant ex-military man turned monk who metes out vigilante justice as he sees fit (with an 80 pound!!! staff) and gets rip-roaring drunk at every opportunity.

Li Kui, called the Black Whirlwind, a fiercely loyal whirling dervish of death who wields twin axes and uses them to answer every problem without ever thinking of a better solution.

Of course, you can see that these are both vastly flawed, but basically good men, as I myself am. As most of us are, if we're being honest.

But they did not name me after one of them.

They did not name me after any of the 107 very fallible, very morally ambiguous heroes they might have chosen from this 100-chapter, 2000 page masterwork.

Instead they chose the one character in the whole damn thing who is pure of heart and mind.

The leader of the 108 bandits and undisputed hero of the story, Song Jiang.
The Opportune Rain.
Known for benevolence.
Pheonix-eyed, and swarthy (which I am decidedly NOT).

Needless to say, that one left me scratching my head. Feeling humbled. And welcomed.

Here is a picture of me at the English corner, where I was so named. It seems like a good photo to stick next to "mobbed" in the dictionary.

Idyll's End, Idyll's Origin

I decided to take a brief break from tinkering with my old story to gather a few thoughts about the one that will begin in a day's time. After all, I've done nothing but traipse around like a carefree tourist for the past week since my arrival.

Now comes the living part. The working part. The beginnings of relationships that will need to last me a year, or more, if I so choose.

My experiences with my students so far have been slim. A lunch here, a pickup basketball game there. I can only hope I'll be of some use to them, because I aim to milk all can from my time here.

I still have yet to meet any foreigners here in Anqing aside from my roommate. I have had decent conversations at random with a few Chinese students at Anqing Normal College, but aside from them all the English is broken at best. Which is fine, because I'm trying to learn another language anyway. Now, if I can just find a Chinese English speaker who wants to improve as much as I want to learn, perhaps we can strike up a tit for tat deal, or some such.

Of all my preconceptions going into the trip(most of which I did my best to discard at the sage advice of one Dr. Holland), only one has held any sort of truth, and it had nothing to do with the Chinese. I still feel at complete peace with this decision, this journey, and this strange, yet somehow welcoming place. God has put in me a kind of strength I've never known, I guess, because historically I don't hold up so well in situations like this.

Leaving home for college. I was a worthless wreck.

Moving to DC. Fine enough, on the outside... but it was a damn ordeal compared to this.

I have no explanation for this, except that experience has certainly hardened me somewhat, and I am gripped with, and somehow comforted by, my profound need to be here. I still don't understand that last part, but I'm sure I'll get there.

Anyway. That was a rambling one. Once classes start back I'm sure I'll find my way over to the local college, where I'm almost certain I'll find more English speakers, perhaps even a few native. Maybe, then, at last, one of them can direct me to a nice low key place to sit and have a beer that isn't a brothel.

Don't ask.

Ahem. Yes, well I've figured out how to order food at least, so I'll survive. I go into any restaurant and say, wo yao niurou, or wo xuyaou niurou, if I'm desperate (I want/need beef). And let's not forget the pi jiu (beer). I just repeat it over and over until someone gets me. Not the most cultured thing, but hey, I've only been here a week. Give it time.

Now, I'm going to sleep, because I played 2 hours of pickup basketball and walked 7 miles to see the fountain in People's Park at night, only to find that it wasn't working.

10 to 1 I feel like I got beaten with a baseball bat when I wake up.

Rumblin', Stumblin', Bumblin'...

Fear, huh? What scares you? What scares any of us? The unknown, that's the obvious answer. But the unknown is a pale fear next to the fear you clutch tight to your breast, the fear you know much too well.

Wasn't that profound? Shut up. I know. Well, enough, then. My fear today happened to be one of those lesser ones. I didn't know my apartment from the hole in the street two blocks down, and I didn't know downtown Anqing from downtown Detroit, except I had suddenly been rendered shockingly illiterate (and I felt reasonably safe). For those of you who are illiterate, you'll know what I'm talking about. And it's simply amazing that you're here now, eyes passing over lines and lines of funny white shapes, uncomprehending.

How frustrating.
How infuriating.

This is something like the way I felt walking about this backwater village of six million people that is so deep in China (about 300 miles inland from Shanghai) it has taken no pains whatsoever to accommodate the potential foreign guest. And let's not forget I can't understand anyone, either. So, this sets the stage for what should undoubtedly be an awful experience, correct?

It was awesome. Best 9 hours I've ever spent, hands down. I walked all over the place, clueless and alone, snapping photos and making up stupid names for things that surely had better ones. I smiled and waved at anyone who passed, regardless of whether they scowled or smiled back. A stuttered hello and a self-conscious giggle was about the best I could hope for, but hey, it's a start.

Anyway, here are the fruits of my galavanting:




Awesome Tower.



Silver Thing.



People's Park.



KFC.



That KFC, by the way, being the most sickeningly enormous fast food restaurant I've ever seen... except for the McDonalds a block down the street.

All right. Have a good one at work, my friends. I've already lived this day long enough. I'll leave the rest to you.

Biting into the Meat

Well, I don't get to do that this week.

At least not figuratively.

I won't begin teaching until the week after next, as I've arrived just in time to enjoy the National Holiday. Turns out I have the next week off to celebrate the 1949 founding of the People's Republic of China following a rout of the Nationalists, who have since fled to Taiwan. That being said, I'm trying to figure out how to get out of town.

Not that this city isn't new enough or strange enough. I just don't know how many opportunities I'm really going to get to run around China like an idiot tourist, and I want to make sure I get it done to my satisfaction.

So maybe Shanghai, to meet up with one of the two people I sort of know here.

More on that later.

For now... here's a look at the school (where I have yet to work) and some students (who I have yet to teach).






And of course, here is my beautiful... alley? Street?





Well then. It's 1:30 in the afternoon, on a Sunday. I was able to check all of Saturday's football scores without trouble. My internet works, I am settled, and all is well. I have everything I need in my Indiana Jones-ish man purse, including certain gear for those... special contingencies. And I'm wearing sunglasses.

Hit it.

Departures and Arrivals

September 26, 2008.

The long wait is finally done. Three weeks, two days, and an especially taxing 72 hours past due, near as I can make it, I am beginning to settle myself in Anqing.

An-ching.

Doi-boo-chee. Bah. These pronunciations will take some getting used to.
My boon companions for the flights over were more than anyone could ask for, and more than I deserved. We shared easy laughter and fought down each other’s curdling nerves as well as could be expected. I was sad to part from them, but seeing them again will be something to look forward to. I hope their trips to their schools were smooth as mine.

I will miss them, though. Funny to think that, of people you can’t even claim to know. But I know I will, because for now, they are my first, best, and only friends in this place.

My first experience alone was an unsettling one. I was every bit the hapless mark of a foreigner as soon as I stepped into the airport. Some “kind” folks came to help me get everything sorted with the airline… (and yes, please note that when you look like a helpless boob, the “kind” folks are probably trying to swindle you out of something)… so when they were taking my baggage, one of them, the lady, led me away suspiciously and said, “You pay, bags too heavy.”

It was true enough. I knew it, expected it. And they had been helpful. So, “How much?” I said. That was when “1000” crept out of her mouth.
Now, first, that’s in RMB, so it’s about 150 bucks, which would not be such an outlandish baggage charge in the US. After all, I was about double the acceptable weight. But I can smell a fish as well as the next guy. I got the tell when they saw the shadow that must have passed over my face.

“You have 1000?” The other one asked. I was saved by a bit of dumb luck here, as I so often am. I had separated my remaining RMB into two pockets, about half in each. I had about 750. So I said, “No.” It never hurts when you’re able to tell the truth.

“Well, how much,” the lady asked, looking perturbed beyond words. And she had seemed so nice…
“About 400,” I said apologetically. The woman openly scowled. The man was nicer. "400 fine,” he said after a long moment of thought. So I fished it out.

Turned out I had 440 in the pocket I… turned out. The woman grabbed at my two remaining 20’s before I realized what she was doing. I held on to one. She wore a look that would have burned a hole in me if she were Superman. But she wasn’t. I gave her a shrug and turned toward security. Ok, so maybe there was a little evil in my eye.

Not the best first impression, to be sure, but better were on the way. I boarded the flight, and the rest was without incident (although it seems worthwhile to note that bumping into each other and cutting in line is apparently acceptable crowd behavior in China… meaning I’m going to like it here. A lot.). One of the Chinese teachers from my school was there waiting for me—Joanna. Very nice, with a decent command of English, enough so that I got a neat little Mandarin lesson on the two hour ride to Anqing from Hefei. The mountains just outside Anqing, by the way, are pretty damn breathtaking.

When I arrived, we went straight to the apartment. It’s a loft, down a back alley, up six flights of stairs. No view to speak of, but then I’ve never been too particular about living space. I got to unpack and take a nap, and that seemed swell to me after all that other garbage.

Some time later, I met my roommate, an older Canadian gentleman named Remy who I have yet to form an opinion of. I could have one already, of course. It just wouldn’t be a fair one. Anyway, he seems nice enough so far.

As Remy—hereafter, Ray—and I were talking, two others came into the apartment. Colin and another older Chinese man whose name I didn’t catch… although it was never thrown. They took me to eat while Ray refused.

They asked me what I wanted, to which I said, “Food.” I think this was confusing. Well, as ever, I wanted a burger, or at least a sandwich. So I lied, saying, “I’m adventurous. You pick and we’ll see if I like it.” They seemed to approve of this attitude, judging from the smiles and boisterous sing-song speak that I have, as yet, no hope of understanding.

We went about 50 feet into a strange little place with no dining room, just an anteroom with a flight of stairs. The tables were all scattered about in rooms laid out in the stories above. We climbed a couple flights and settled into a private room.

They asked me what I wanted, again, but I just waved it off. Eventually the server began bringing in all manner of strange meat and vegetable dishes. Frog, pork-hoof soup… pretty standard, really. As Colin and I were discussing (in his rather remarkably good English) the merits of American television, Prison Break in particular, the other man began chirruping excitedly. Colin then informed me that he wanted to know if I would have a beer. Seriously, you have to ask at this point? Did I ever.

So we had beer. This was one of the best things I have ever been a part of. The server brought absolutely enormous bottles of beer, more than 40 oz. I believe, though they were measured in mL. The older Chinese man began gesturing wildly as he spoke, and then poured some of the beer into a double-sized shot glass near his dish. And I had thought it was for water.

We spent roughly the next fifteen minutes doing double shots of beer for various toasts that I couldn’t understand. The man would stand, smile, pick up his glass, say something cheerful, pound the glass back to the table and throw it back. Of course I joined in with unabashed enthusiasm. Apparently it is poor etiquette if you don’t finish your whole drink on a toast. Colin rarely finished his, and he would nod his head deferentially to both of us afterwards. As it should be. Soon enough the beers were gone, and I found myself liking China quite a bit.

I ate some of most everything brought to table. It was good, not great. My hosts kept complaining about this or that, seemingly fearful that I would be offended. They were very vocal in their displeasure to the restaurant staff, which kept me amused most of the meal. Before long it was done, and time for me to adjourn to my bed to get some much needed rest.

So here I sit, typing this as I prepare to sleep. Hoping I haven’t just committed intestinal suicide (intesticide?) by eating adventurously. Praying for the dog I saw as I walked back from dinner. Missing friends, old and new. And smiling.

On the Eve of Leaving

As I come to the end of another year of life and the beginning of a new one—a new, exciting, and decidedly different one than has come before in my brief human experience—it strikes me as appropriate to pay homage to what came and went in the last twelve months. Things comfortable and valued were lost, perhaps forever. Things amazing and unprecedented were experienced. Things thought gone emerged anew, recalling days gone by with hope for days ahead.

Perhaps a list is in order.

-I saw the end of an era in life, as my closest friends and I have scattered to the winds in pursuit of… well, that is the question, now isn’t it?

-I shared bread and wine—too much wine—with three on their wedding days. Pity I was never once worthy of the tuxedos they asked me to wear.

-I completed a coherent narrative in novel form and dabbled with the beginnings of half-a-dozen others. Perhaps one of them will be worth reading someday. That comes later.

-I shared my father’s first Redskins game in person, which they actually managed to win.

-I visited.

-I saw.

-I witnessed in person perhaps the greatest achievement in athletics I will ever see, unless the achievers manage to top it themselves. Curry for three! Go Wildcats, always.

-I willfully tore myself from five years of comfort and memory and confidence and care, and can only pray it was worth the cost.

-I golfed.

-I spent too much money.

-I earned very little.

-I saw death, and wept.

-I was shocked by the mistakes of my elders. Old and wise never seemed so far apart.

-I remembered myself.

-I understood.

-I met God, again.

-I saw movies, and mourned the loss of an iconic performer. How ‘bout a magic trick?

-I saw others return to where they once belonged. Tip of the fedora, Dr. Jones.

-I procrastinated. And procrastinated. I wasted more time than I care to believe.

-I feared.

-Then I realized I was alive. It’s really not so simple as that. Thanks, Ray Bradbury, for Dandelion Wine.

Not so much, really, for a year. I'll do better next time.

At this point, it seems prudent to point out that Metallica has just released their new record, Death Magnetic. What does this have to do with anything, you ask? Well, Metallica certainly isn’t for everyone’s musical tastes; that’s no kind of secret. But they happen to be just right for mine. In some ways, having the record come out now seems a very happy coincidence, especially considering the content.

At long last, the musicians have finally managed to reconcile their past with their present. They have stared down their demons and come back stronger for it. Now, I’m not trying to read too much into this—well, Lord knows I’ve already read too much into everything, some of which I’m too ashamed to throw out here—but the journey they’ve just completed is not wholly unlike the journey I aim to take.

Rather than ramble further, I’ll honor the artistic achievement of my betters and drop a few apropos lines of James Hetfield’s verse (OK, don’t overanalyze the depth here—you know who you are):

How could he know this new dawn's light
Would change his life forever?
Set sail to sea but pulled off course
By the light of golden treasure

Was he the one causing pain
With his careless dreaming?
Been afraid
Always afraid
Of the things he's feeling
He could just be gone

He would just sail on

How can I be lost?
If I've got nowhere to go?
Searched the seas of gold
How come it's got so cold?
How can I be lost
In remembrance I relive
How can I blame you
When it's me I can't forgive?

…All right. With that out of the way, I’m free to give you some really terrible verse of my own to further scar those refined palates.

The path ahead lies veiled and twisting
Darkened by shade’s grasp
The light above illuminates
But only what is past

I tremble, sweat, for what encroaches
Yet I will move on still
I leave behind what’s left of me
Like serpent’s slough unfilled

Now moon has risen, high above
Through dark, like me, alone
As I go to lose myself
To find my love of home

Well, if anyone’s unlucky enough to be reading this far down the page, I do have one thing left to say.

The next time I talk to any of you, it will be from the other side of Earth, so I hope the coming year takes good care of you, and that you take good care of yourselves.

See you whenever it is that I make it back to this side of the rock.