A Break in the Back-blog

Howdy folks.

You know, I'm sitting here, almost twelve hours on the nose from settling in on a five-day Trans-Siberian train trip, and I'm still struggling with a way to express to anyone just how much I have loved the last four weeks of my petty little existence. And it's only getting more exciting.

Now, I realize the tone of the last couple little notes I jotted down (yeah, they're there, so don't forget to read 'em, if you care to) was a bit mopey, and the one I'll eventually put up after this might have a little of that flavor too, but I just want all of you folks out there to know that I am indeed having the time of my life.

And I want you know that I'm going to hold off throwing anything else up on here until this great trip is good and done, bahahahaa! Sorry!

More to come after I jump over to Moscow and back!

And Now... Intermission. Please Enjoy the Catharsis and an Ice-Cold (Adult) Beverage

Ah, the holidays have come and gone once again—the holiday season in America, that is. For the Chinese, the holidays are just beginning, meaning that the semester break is upon us, and it is time to escape into the vast, waiting world.

In my head, all the pieces seem in place. It has all the look of a fantasy ready to be realized. So this should be a time of great excitement, yes? This time that I’ve been most looking toward since the moment I touched down in Beijing?

Of course, all is not always as it should be.

Despite all the best efforts of my friends in Anqing, western and Chinese alike, Christmas just never felt… like Christmas. Not this year. Like I’ve said, I just could not help but be reminded of all those who were so far away and so dearly missed, at that time of year above all others. The gloom that settled over me this Christmas was unlike anything I’ve ever felt. It wasn’t debilitating, it didn’t even dull my mood that much. But it hung a little heavier each day, with the tenacious fingers of a climber scrabbling for a hold when his life depends on finding it. Really, now, truly--unlike anything I’ve ever felt. Not loneliness. Not homesickness. And until these last days, I still didn’t have it shaken.

I do think some of it had to do with the commercial mockery of Christmas that I saw here. Not that it was in any way intentional on the part of the Chinese—in fact I found their efforts to understand the holiday quite charming. I just realized that the Christmas I saw them trying to celebrate was a reflection of the image we must be exporting from America and other parts of the world where Christians observe the holiday, and it saddens me. But there was certainly more to it than that.

Now, New Year’s day has passed, and my malaise manifested itself physically as a nasty malady for a few days. Since that’s been behind me, my mood has moved into slightly more thoughtful territory. With school done for a bit, and China and more at my beck and call (Yes, just so you know, I have now hiked the Great Wall; there will be pictures soon enough. Rest assured it was everything I hoped it could be and more, like much of the past three weeks has been, but I can’t talk about all that yet because it’s too damn cheerful for the tone of this filler essay on my bout with the moody blues.), I just can’t get my head right to have as good a time as I want to. It’s as if a switch has been thrown in my head, and where 2008 was mostly carefree, 2009 is careworn.

I just can’t stop thinking of what’s coming. Now that what I was so looking forward to has arrived, I can’t stop looking too far ahead. And I hate it.

With half the year done, I can see the end of my stay in China clear as daylight, and I wonder—have I done what I set out to do? Have I done enough?

Certainly, I have done much since I came here of which I can be proud, but am I pleased with it? With my effort? Am I pleased with myself, the challenges I’ve met and overcome, the things I’ve learned and done?

I think the answer to that is no. Not a resounding one, mind you. But still no.
Or perhaps, more appropriately, not yet.

Half over is only one way of looking at things. Yeah, I remember now.

I still have time.

(Just so you know, the day I jotted this down in my notebook I was in a foul mood, and once I finished, it seemed almost instantaneously erased. Writing is a funny thing. And—heaven help us—more is on the way, so sit tight, sports fans!)

It’s Thursday Night, And You Know What That Means… It’s Christmas Time

Wow. Christmas is (was, I know, I know—this is rather late, but please, bear with me) here. I mean that just the way it sounds, Christmas is HERE, in China, in Anqing, and boy is it strange, for so many reasons. The first and foremost of said reasons being that none of those folks with whom I would so dearly love to be at Christmas time seem to be HERE.

Now, that is not to say that I did not delight in Christmas dinner with my fast friends, the fellow foreign teachers from the other campus (bonus points for alliteration?) and the subsequent, radically awkward church service we attended (more on these later). But it does mean that the people I usually feel the need to be near at Christmas were all notably absent.

My first Christmas experience actually came several days before, when I agreed to be present at a private school’s Christmas function. It was not the school at which I teach, but seeing how they behaved, how they enthusiastically performed the few Christmas carols they knew, how they donned Santa caps (EVERYONE, and I mean EVERYONE, had a Santa hat)… all of it made me think about how much they recognized the commercial side of Christmas, and how little they knew of the real story behind it. But from the questions they asked, I also got the impression that they wanted to know more, from a purely informational standpoint.

I didn’t have the opportunity to do so at the time, but it set in my head what I would do for the coming week with my students. Yeah, you guessed it. Time to talk about Christmas. Real Christmas.

It made for a strange lesson, to be sure, drawing pictures of Santa’s face and Christmas trees on the board, then putting a cross next to them, and asking if any of them knew what it was. A few said “Jesu,” of course… but a precious few at that. It seemed to me that all most of them knew of Christmas had to do with trees and presents and the enigmatic “Christmas Father.” Needless to say, I did my best to supply them with a little… additional info… all the while bearing in mind I probably needed to keep it really impersonal to avoid getting chunked in the clink. Of course, as I fumbled about with a way to explain words like “commercial” (at one point resorting to running around the room and striking a pose with my water bottle whilst—yeah, I said it, whilst—yelling, “SO GOOD!”), I realized that I also had to explain concepts much more basic, like the idea of something being sacred, and the idea of celebrating peace.

Truth be told, I have no idea how much of it any of them were able to grasp. I’d like to believe a little, but in the end I think it mostly just made me feel better.
It was later that week, when the day finally came, that I and three other members of Anqing’s meager contingent of foreigners sought out Christmas dinner together (well, it was Chinese food, but like we always say, it’s the thought that counts). Addendum: I have since learned that Anqing’s food leaves much, much, MUCH to be desired. It was good to be with each other, though; very. And afterward came the reaaaally exciting part—when the married couple and I took a risk and found a Chinese church!

As for what we encountered there… well…

You know, rather than explain in words, I believe I’ll elect to have these pictures, and possibly this video, if it chooses to work, do all the talking.


Oh tannenbaum...


The Christmas Feast!


Not what we expected...


Quite a congregation... now if they would tithe...


Standing room only!


I leave you this time with an aside, as I’m sure you’re well aware that Christmas day has long since passed. Having been without either regular internet or adequate time (or focus, or discipline, or whatever you want to call it… it’s no secret that I’ve been rather happily distracted of late) since those days shortly following Christmas, I hope you will forgive me a brief backlog of entries (backblog?) that I must now dump on you post-haste, forthwith, heretofore, what have you. That is to say, sorry. But you’ll just have to deal with the last month in one big fat lump. And that should get us back up to speed.
But for now—zaijian! (Chinese for “toodles!”)

Author's Note: Title shamelessly (and probably sacrilegiously, sorry folks) lifted from http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WGOohBytKTU.

Yeah. It's Christmas time.

[The video was supposed to be here, but it's being finicky, so it might make it up later, or it might not. Bleh.]

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!