I have started reading in my spare time here in China—a shocking introduction, I know. I have been reading the aforementioned Deep Economy by Bill McKibben, which I can now assure you with more validity is worth your time to read and ponder. It is in fact a much smaller book than I imagined and makes a very reflective read. I don’t want to talk to much about it for fear of turning someone’s prejudices against it, but I will in short say this: I think this book is something every American should read. It tells us about our way of life, how it came to be, and where it can go. Whether or not you buy into McKibben’s greater vision of the future of the American way of life, there are certainly a multitude of points he makes along the way that I feel are seriously worth contemplating.
But the world and words in Mr. McKibben’s book mean something more to me, as it reminds me of what I have come to call a second home—Vermont. McKibben always brings his themes back to his community, the valley in which Middlebury sits. And that, I suppose, is where I am going with this.
My other reading has been J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Fellowship of the Ring. I read this series for the first time in high school with the advent of the hugely successful films, and for some reason I can’t place, I decided to take it up again, something to savor on my adventure. I suppose when one is trapped in a foreign language and foreign land, they begin to find their mother-tongue particularly beautiful. Always thinking The Lord of the Rings a work exemplary of English’s beauty, I might have longed to slowly amble through the arduous terrain of its words. But really, I think I missed Hobbits and their earth-loving simplicity. I missed Vermont and friends and merry-making, which I find might share a bit in common with the Shire. These are things very far from me here in this place.
What I found upon starting the book again was something far deeper than the shallow delight in reading about hobbits in the Shire; what I found was a bit of my own adventure in theirs’. There are many themes in Frodo Baggins’ journey from the Shire on which I reflect. There is desire for adventure and what is beyond—which is found both beautiful and foul. There is homesickness and thought of return, but there is also resolution and purpose in the face of fear, uncertainty, and difficulty. It seems every page traces this struggle of exile and maturation with which the members of the Fellowship all wrestle.
And really that is what China is for me: exile. And I am nearing a year of it, for I see it first began with language school last summer. It was my first summer away from home, confined to an unwieldy and still unnatural language, almost entirely away from any close friends—either from Memphis or those I lived with at Midd. It continued into the fall semester, living on the edge of campus in the Chinese House, most friends all off on their own semesters abroad. And now here I am, half-way-ish along my road from home. It has been a difficult year, but not unrewarding, for I find that I have been forced into a long journey through a realm of self-discovery and maturation—pushing myself to new levels, pursuing and investing myself in new activities, and coming to terms with my individuality and independence.
But the road of the Ring-bearer is not a smooth one, and I’ve found that it only goes uphill or through less appealing terrain the further you go. I have wished to turn back at many points—and now more than ever. I have just committed to the farthest exile yet with my summer internship—three more months in the East, but without even classmates to share some companionship. I was afraid of getting the internship for just this reason; it would be so nice to head home in June and say goodbye to China, but I know I can’t and shouldn’t do that. I’d feel like I’d be running away—from China, from life, from growing up.
And really—I can’t run home to hide. I’ve already selected my housing for my last year at Middlebury, and as I research classes for next semester, I realize these are probably to be the last classes I will ever take at Middlebury. Somehow, it’s all almost over, and there’s no safety left there. The only way is the road ahead.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
The Wild East Goes West
This past week found me deep in the southwest of China on spring break. While I had planned much for going to Yunnan and venturing about, a rather problematic series of events befell my life in the weeks following the Ides of March (the Ides having no real significance, but providing a weighty anchor to temporal dimensions of my post). I discovered I’d lost my bank card—my mainstay of funding from the beloved motherland; I overate at an all-you-can-eat/drank Japanese restaurant, fearing the resulting discomfort might be a hiatal hernia; and lastly, midterms struck in the first real week of April. My bank card, after two failed deliveries, remains a conundrum; after a series of doctor-visits, I settled with the prognosis of ‘gastritis’ and the discomfort in my abdomen after two weeks at last subsided; and I survived midterms.
In short, a complicated several weeks made the idea of seven days’ breathless traveling in hopes of taking in everything Yunnan had to offer including the Dai Minority’s Water Splashing Festival in the far southern region of Xishuangbanna a little unnerving. I instead opted for a more rooted base in the small town of Yangshuo outside of Guilin, Guangxi Zhuang Autonomous Region, famous for its iconic karst peaks. Apparently, this ‘backpacker town’ provided a western escape from the heavily-toured Guilin with more adventure and better scenery. Using the town as a base provided many exciting activities—several of which I had full intention to take advantage: rock climbing, mountain biking through karsts and rice paddies, eating western food, and seeing a light show directed by Zhang Yimou, China’s favorite of the moment, whose popular western-known titles include: Hero and House of Flying Daggers.
This was a great idea. And reality gave it a great start. I arrived on Saturday evening and secured a single room all to myself for a week at 20 kuai a night—not quite $3. That night I had a hamburger (my second real western meal, as I won’t count McDonald’s, in my three months of living in the Orient) and a homebrewed pale wheat ale—probably the only half-decent beer I’ve had in China. In this blog’s youth, I bragged about the size and cheapness of Chinese beer; unfortunately, experience yields the wisdom that all Chinese beer is quite less alcoholic (the highest at 4%, often as low as 2.5%) and all quite the same-tasting.
Over the first three days, I rented mountain bikes and explored local sights and trails, with a day of rest and laziness on the second. I enjoyed a lot of good food, good reading, great scenery, and a very nice light show—Impression: Liu Sanjie. The third day was quite spectacular, as a rode out on a good long ride to Dragon Bridge. On the way back a storm came in, and the sight was truly spectacular. The wind was strong, and the lighting was otherworldly. I road just ahead of the storm almost all the way back (man—mountain bikes in high gear can haul), but at last was caught by the rain. I triumphantly made it back, and after showering and changing into some dry clothes, I treated myself to another burger at another restaurant. And here is where the tragedy begins.
Not an hour later, I feel weird. The night proved to be a rough one indeed. I assume it was food poising, and it was a beast of nature strong enough to wipe out the rest of my week. While only the first night was ‘rough,’ my strength was significantly drained and my appetite is only now returning to normal. And so I caught up a lot on the ‘rest and relaxation’ part of the break, exhausting more of my book than I had expected.
As for Yangshuo, I would certainly recommend it. At first, I thought of giving some small caveat—letting you know it’s not the real China as people have come to say about a lot of things and places. But as I sat down to my last meal in the town, I thought better of saying that. Sure, it’s strange that you can remain comfortably insulated on (aptly named) West Street, eating western food, buying Chinese stuff, and doing completely tourist-catered activities… But really, I see it in a way as a microcosm of today’s real China. There is heavy westernization; there’s rich Chinese tourists with their new Nikons and poor Chinese farmers that live ten minutes away; there’s cheap Chinese products and westerners looking to see China and get some adventure; there’s amazing scenery and its commercialization; there’s everything that’s China today, good and bad.
And that’s the end of my moment in the west…for now.
I have for sometime now been pursuing an internship in China for this summer and during my break was at last offered a position with The Nature Conservancy office in Kunming, Yunnan. This means that The Wild East will be moving west for a longer stay.
In short, a complicated several weeks made the idea of seven days’ breathless traveling in hopes of taking in everything Yunnan had to offer including the Dai Minority’s Water Splashing Festival in the far southern region of Xishuangbanna a little unnerving. I instead opted for a more rooted base in the small town of Yangshuo outside of Guilin, Guangxi Zhuang Autonomous Region, famous for its iconic karst peaks. Apparently, this ‘backpacker town’ provided a western escape from the heavily-toured Guilin with more adventure and better scenery. Using the town as a base provided many exciting activities—several of which I had full intention to take advantage: rock climbing, mountain biking through karsts and rice paddies, eating western food, and seeing a light show directed by Zhang Yimou, China’s favorite of the moment, whose popular western-known titles include: Hero and House of Flying Daggers.
This was a great idea. And reality gave it a great start. I arrived on Saturday evening and secured a single room all to myself for a week at 20 kuai a night—not quite $3. That night I had a hamburger (my second real western meal, as I won’t count McDonald’s, in my three months of living in the Orient) and a homebrewed pale wheat ale—probably the only half-decent beer I’ve had in China. In this blog’s youth, I bragged about the size and cheapness of Chinese beer; unfortunately, experience yields the wisdom that all Chinese beer is quite less alcoholic (the highest at 4%, often as low as 2.5%) and all quite the same-tasting.
Over the first three days, I rented mountain bikes and explored local sights and trails, with a day of rest and laziness on the second. I enjoyed a lot of good food, good reading, great scenery, and a very nice light show—Impression: Liu Sanjie. The third day was quite spectacular, as a rode out on a good long ride to Dragon Bridge. On the way back a storm came in, and the sight was truly spectacular. The wind was strong, and the lighting was otherworldly. I road just ahead of the storm almost all the way back (man—mountain bikes in high gear can haul), but at last was caught by the rain. I triumphantly made it back, and after showering and changing into some dry clothes, I treated myself to another burger at another restaurant. And here is where the tragedy begins.
Not an hour later, I feel weird. The night proved to be a rough one indeed. I assume it was food poising, and it was a beast of nature strong enough to wipe out the rest of my week. While only the first night was ‘rough,’ my strength was significantly drained and my appetite is only now returning to normal. And so I caught up a lot on the ‘rest and relaxation’ part of the break, exhausting more of my book than I had expected.
As for Yangshuo, I would certainly recommend it. At first, I thought of giving some small caveat—letting you know it’s not the real China as people have come to say about a lot of things and places. But as I sat down to my last meal in the town, I thought better of saying that. Sure, it’s strange that you can remain comfortably insulated on (aptly named) West Street, eating western food, buying Chinese stuff, and doing completely tourist-catered activities… But really, I see it in a way as a microcosm of today’s real China. There is heavy westernization; there’s rich Chinese tourists with their new Nikons and poor Chinese farmers that live ten minutes away; there’s cheap Chinese products and westerners looking to see China and get some adventure; there’s amazing scenery and its commercialization; there’s everything that’s China today, good and bad.
And that’s the end of my moment in the west…for now.
I have for sometime now been pursuing an internship in China for this summer and during my break was at last offered a position with The Nature Conservancy office in Kunming, Yunnan. This means that The Wild East will be moving west for a longer stay.
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