So, my time left here in the People’s Lovely Republic is short. In these situations, I feel reflection is inevitable—an attempt to discern through the fog of time and emotion the moorings of fact and what will be memory. I’m also starting to think of the friends I know will be coming here themselves soon enough or even in the winter, to walk the same steps I have. I’ve found the best way to go about organizing things (for me at least) is lists. From lists, you can expand to points, and connecting points, you make arguments, manifestos, and revolution.
Things I will miss or have already started to miss about life in China:
-Chinese food, Chinese food, Chinese food
-music shows in Beijing (Jazz at D-22, seeing Iz, etc.)
-big group dinners in Beijing
-Laobian Jiaozi Restaurant—best Dongbei (Northeast-style cuisine, i.e. dumplings) restaurant ever…
-jidan Guan Bing (egg-pancakes sold by the old couple outside the gate of CET Beijing)
-the little convenience stores outside CET
-the Xinjiang food near CET
-group outings to Sanlitun’r (the bar street)
-warm bubble tea (zhenzhu naicha, ‘pearl milk tea’) in cold Hangzhou
-Lanzhou food: la mian (pulled noodles), potatoes and beef on rice, and jidan chaomian (egg with fried noodles)
-scotch and green tea (together)
-bottled green tea
-7 Club in Hangzhou—cozy little import beer bar
-the one Hangzhou Greentown soccer game I went to
-conversations on bus rides with classmates (usually about China or the people around us)
-times at the all-you-can-eat/drink Japanese restaurant in Hangzhou and our tours of West Lake afterwards
-nighttime jaunts around West Lake in general
-old people and their crazy dancing, exercising, and games
-exploring neighborhoods
-epic scenery/locations
-really smiley waitresses/store workers
-(usually) great service without having to tip
-my teachers
-a little village one mountain away from Tibet
-easy access to lots and lots of different kinds of tea
-being able to bend rules because I’m a foreigner
-the bit of unprostituted, undestroyed culture you might accidentally find somewhere
-making coffee with my French press
-75-cent DVDs
-drying my clothes on the line
-qiezi (Chinese eggplant in all its tender, gooey goodness)
Things I won’t miss:
-the staring, gawking, laowai-laowai-laowai-ing, walk-by Hello!s, and requested/unrequested photographs
-shop clerks hovering an inch behind me or trying to sell me everything I do and do not look at
-la duzi (“pulled stomach”—take a guess)
-being lectured to about my country/Chinese nationalism
-Chinese political/whatever slogans and other feihua (“nonsense”/"thief's talk")
-the ignorance—western and Chinese
-unrelenting and pervasive anti-Japanese mentality
-“cultural exchanges”—“Americans are all rich, right?”
-struggling with people who ignore my Chinese in order to speak their English—which no one understands, least of all me
-Hangzhou cabbies—may they rot in hell
-Chinese traffic/transportation impatience
-people of all shapes, sizes, and gender blowing snot-rockets and hocking their insides out everywhere
-everyone littering and the people whose job is to sweep the streets after them
-the prevalence chain-smokers
-being told my Chinese is great after I say Ni hao (Hello)
-never 100% understanding someone/never being 100% certain I spoke correctly
-seeing someone dead or dying with a group of people standing around them just watching
-people incapable of forming a line
-long fingernails
-women shielding themselves in any ridiculous way they can from the barest drop of sunlight that might touch (and darken) their skin
-Chinese train stations
-the Chinese tourism industry and its effect upon landmarks
-Chinese break-my-heart pop music
-Chinese "House" music
-white-tile buildings with blue windows
-squealing electric scooter brakes
-crossing streets
I guess that gives you an idea.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
On a Theme
The track on the ‘soundtrack of my life’ for Summer ’07 would have to be the Rolling Stones’ “Beast of Burden.” I did not bring my music library with me to China, so my musical experience in China has been limited to what’s on my iPod. As you might imagine, the same old songs tend not to sustain 7 months’ listening. Thus sometime in the beginning weeks of my time in Kunming, I experimented with making a new playlist for my small musical companion. The theme of this new symphony of mine was intended to be a laid-back, feel-good background for a chill party perhaps, and I believe I’ve achieved this to some degree. And in the process of composing this playlist, I rediscovered “Beast of Burden,” which I can’t help but play to death.
And that laidback, feel-good, chill feeling I get when listening to “Beast of Burden” has really reflected the theme of my 9 weeks in Kunming. I read in the morning with my coffe; I pass the day in the office mixing work with breaks to read the New York Times; and I walk home through the cluttered streets, waving at the baozi-making family. Some days I ride a couple of buses to get some pulled-noodles and go climbing at the wall on the other side of town. Some days I hang around and watch DVDs like a lazy bum. I make peanut butter-and-jelly sandwiches when I want a snack; I get ice cream for the walk back to the office or home after meals; and I drink little cans of coconut juice/milk. I’ll tell them not to put chili peppers (lazhao) in my food (because they put it in everything there; eating is no longer the great refuge it once was), and it’ll be bad or good. I’ll eat out with coworkers or I won’t. I’ll head to the university area and chill with a book, or I’ll go with a coworker and have a beer; or I’ll do all the above—and often enough, I’ll be bobbing my head to “Beast of Burden” or another song on that list.
This summer I’ve missed home, friends, and Midd more than ever before in China—but on the whole, I’m relaxed. It’s different here from other places in I’ve been in China. Maybe it’s summer; maybe it’s a different culture; maybe it’s just different music. But it’s different here. I don’t think China’s for me—the work’s unrewarding, the day-to-day uncertain and damned dangerous, and the people are just walking in a different direction—we just don’t get each other. And that’s alright I guess. I’m alright with that.
It’s over soon enough, and I got it done.
And that laidback, feel-good, chill feeling I get when listening to “Beast of Burden” has really reflected the theme of my 9 weeks in Kunming. I read in the morning with my coffe; I pass the day in the office mixing work with breaks to read the New York Times; and I walk home through the cluttered streets, waving at the baozi-making family. Some days I ride a couple of buses to get some pulled-noodles and go climbing at the wall on the other side of town. Some days I hang around and watch DVDs like a lazy bum. I make peanut butter-and-jelly sandwiches when I want a snack; I get ice cream for the walk back to the office or home after meals; and I drink little cans of coconut juice/milk. I’ll tell them not to put chili peppers (lazhao) in my food (because they put it in everything there; eating is no longer the great refuge it once was), and it’ll be bad or good. I’ll eat out with coworkers or I won’t. I’ll head to the university area and chill with a book, or I’ll go with a coworker and have a beer; or I’ll do all the above—and often enough, I’ll be bobbing my head to “Beast of Burden” or another song on that list.
This summer I’ve missed home, friends, and Midd more than ever before in China—but on the whole, I’m relaxed. It’s different here from other places in I’ve been in China. Maybe it’s summer; maybe it’s a different culture; maybe it’s just different music. But it’s different here. I don’t think China’s for me—the work’s unrewarding, the day-to-day uncertain and damned dangerous, and the people are just walking in a different direction—we just don’t get each other. And that’s alright I guess. I’m alright with that.
It’s over soon enough, and I got it done.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Spring/Summer
It is only my third week in the Spring City, but I’ve already fallen into a routine that I believe was mostly settled my third day here: I wake up as the old ladies in the courtyard below finish their morning dancing; I read a page or two with a cup of Yunnan coffee; and I stop at the “baozi lady” to get my two sweet bean paste-filled Chinese pastries to breakfast on as I read over email and the morning’s (or should I say night’s?) headlines on the New York Times.
The end of my semester in Hangzhou proceeded without major event. It settled into the rhythms an iPod-accompanied walk between my dormroom and the various places I habited to eat, life’s reality sharing time with the fantasy provided by reading. Hangzhou provided time or at least an incentive not found at Middlebury to read for private entertainment, and I added to the aforementioned books Charles Frazier’s (author of Cold Mountain) highly anticipated sophomore work, Thirteen Moons; Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude; and am now close to finishing my rereading of Tolkien’s The Two Towers.
And so I came to the end of my time in Hangzhou. Most classmates (and I am no different), were just ready to get out. For some this meant home and loved ones, far away from the eccentricities of Chinese life. For others, it meant family or friend-accompanied travel. And for a fair number of others, it meant life moved to a new Chinese city or at least a new life in the same Chinese city for studying or working. I think everyone was confronting some form of disbelief. It seemed impossible that some of us would be home in a matter of days; that some would not be home for months; that some still had to languish through the added days and weeks of traveling when all they wanted was their own bed.
As I was just realizing that my time in Hangzhou would soon be over (what a week or two earlier seemed unending), I also realized that I had just passed the halfway point of my time in China. This discovery was aided by a time calculator on the internet, which also revealed to me that I had spent about 10 million seconds in China; another 10 million remained.
And so, for better or for worse, I moved to the wild west—Kunming, Yunnan—to begin my internship with The Nature Conservancy. But first, I decided I’d have a little vacation. Taking a day to relax and see a bit of the city with my supervisor and co-intern, I headed out with a 40 liter backpack to Northwest Yunnan: I went to see what the government calls “Shangri-La”—the corner of Yunnan nestled at the feet of the Himalayas. Once you get to Zhongdian (now officially Shangri-La, or Xianggelila in Chinese), you realize “Tibet” is not bound by the borders of the map. In fact northwestern Yunnan, western Sichuan, and Qinghai Province are all regions heavily-populated (heavily used here as a comparison, not suggesting density) by Tibetans—many nomadic.
In the course of a few days, I crawled my way by bus, taxi, and boot to Meili Snow Mountain (a range of snow-capped peaks on the border the maps draw between Yunnan and Tibet). There I spent some time in a small village nestled in a lush valley, meeting western and Chinese backpackers, drinking local grape wine, seeing a sacred waterfall, and enjoying both sun and storm. I can genuinely say it was one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been and definitely one of my best experiences in China. I hiked down on a stormy, cloud-swallowed day, and we drove back to the nearest town on winding mountain roads listening to the driver’s cassette of Tibetan folk—a haunting music of women wailing in song and men underscoring with deep tones. I looked back, but the mountains and the world and our little van were all swallowed, hidden in cloud.
These short weeks in Kunming have so far been filled with exploration of its endearingly decayed infrastructure, settling into the routine of working 9-5, and finding ways of busying myself. The city feels very alive but relaxed, the old and young ambling or lazing along the streets. It is called the Spring City for its cool climate throughout the year and perhaps its bursts of rain throughout the day. To my amazement, though, it is more a rule than an exception that the day’s stormy weather will be spited by the sun breaking through at 5, parting the way for blue sky. 5 million more seconds till summer.
The end of my semester in Hangzhou proceeded without major event. It settled into the rhythms an iPod-accompanied walk between my dormroom and the various places I habited to eat, life’s reality sharing time with the fantasy provided by reading. Hangzhou provided time or at least an incentive not found at Middlebury to read for private entertainment, and I added to the aforementioned books Charles Frazier’s (author of Cold Mountain) highly anticipated sophomore work, Thirteen Moons; Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude; and am now close to finishing my rereading of Tolkien’s The Two Towers.
And so I came to the end of my time in Hangzhou. Most classmates (and I am no different), were just ready to get out. For some this meant home and loved ones, far away from the eccentricities of Chinese life. For others, it meant family or friend-accompanied travel. And for a fair number of others, it meant life moved to a new Chinese city or at least a new life in the same Chinese city for studying or working. I think everyone was confronting some form of disbelief. It seemed impossible that some of us would be home in a matter of days; that some would not be home for months; that some still had to languish through the added days and weeks of traveling when all they wanted was their own bed.
As I was just realizing that my time in Hangzhou would soon be over (what a week or two earlier seemed unending), I also realized that I had just passed the halfway point of my time in China. This discovery was aided by a time calculator on the internet, which also revealed to me that I had spent about 10 million seconds in China; another 10 million remained.
And so, for better or for worse, I moved to the wild west—Kunming, Yunnan—to begin my internship with The Nature Conservancy. But first, I decided I’d have a little vacation. Taking a day to relax and see a bit of the city with my supervisor and co-intern, I headed out with a 40 liter backpack to Northwest Yunnan: I went to see what the government calls “Shangri-La”—the corner of Yunnan nestled at the feet of the Himalayas. Once you get to Zhongdian (now officially Shangri-La, or Xianggelila in Chinese), you realize “Tibet” is not bound by the borders of the map. In fact northwestern Yunnan, western Sichuan, and Qinghai Province are all regions heavily-populated (heavily used here as a comparison, not suggesting density) by Tibetans—many nomadic.
In the course of a few days, I crawled my way by bus, taxi, and boot to Meili Snow Mountain (a range of snow-capped peaks on the border the maps draw between Yunnan and Tibet). There I spent some time in a small village nestled in a lush valley, meeting western and Chinese backpackers, drinking local grape wine, seeing a sacred waterfall, and enjoying both sun and storm. I can genuinely say it was one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been and definitely one of my best experiences in China. I hiked down on a stormy, cloud-swallowed day, and we drove back to the nearest town on winding mountain roads listening to the driver’s cassette of Tibetan folk—a haunting music of women wailing in song and men underscoring with deep tones. I looked back, but the mountains and the world and our little van were all swallowed, hidden in cloud.
These short weeks in Kunming have so far been filled with exploration of its endearingly decayed infrastructure, settling into the routine of working 9-5, and finding ways of busying myself. The city feels very alive but relaxed, the old and young ambling or lazing along the streets. It is called the Spring City for its cool climate throughout the year and perhaps its bursts of rain throughout the day. To my amazement, though, it is more a rule than an exception that the day’s stormy weather will be spited by the sun breaking through at 5, parting the way for blue sky. 5 million more seconds till summer.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
All Quiet on the Eastern Front
I have been uninspired to write for a period of time. Nonetheless, a classmate has provided me with something that I hope should amuse some and provide insight to others:
There are two basic ways of ordering food in China. Try and guess which one I normally opt for.
Method One:
1. Enter restaurant. Listen to 16 waitresses shout " " down your ear.
2. Despite the fact that you have entered the restaurant by yourself, and there is nobody else near the establishment for another 15 miles, the waitress asks if you want a table for one.
3. Follow waitress to table. Wait five minutes while the waitress clears the mass of bones, spit, foetuses, lost scrolls, blood, and monkey claws from the table with an oily rag.
4. Place tissue paper on chair and sit down. Of the 27 waitresses who gather round your table, tell 26 of them to go away.
5. Within 0.00000000001 millisecond of sitting down, the waitress is hovering behind impatiently.
6. In impeccable Mandarin, ask for a menu. Repeat angrily when waitress giggles, looks away, and shouts to her colleagues that she doesn't understand English.
7. Tell waitress you don't want the most expensive items she is pointing to on the menu.
8. Tell the waitress to bring you a beer while waiting. When it arrives, send it back and ask for a cold one.
9. When the waitress asks if you would like to drink the beer opened or unopened, ask her to open it.
10. Choose meal.
11. Choose different meal when told they don't have it.
12. Repeat stages 10 and 11 about three times.
13. Finally choose something they have and ask them not to put any egg in it.
14. Relax. All the time, a million Chinese peasants are staring at you, spitting, and muttering: "laowailaowailaowailaowailaowai".
15. After 20 minutes ask what is happening with your meal.
16. After another 20 minutes receive meal, then send it back because it has egg in it.
17. Seven days after you entered the place, finally receive meal.
18. Pick out the stones and pubic hair.
19. Eat.
20. Halfway through your food, have your meal disturbed by the manager insisting on sitting down next to you and asking where you are from and if foreigners eat pork as well.
21. Ask to pay the bill, then tell them to check again after they give you the wrong bill.
22. Pay for meal. Waitress asks if you have the correct change which you do not. Wait another 15 minutes as she goes down the street to find change.
23. Leave when 16 waitresses shout " " at you. Waitress 17 will shout "Bye bye!" instead and everybody will find it hilarious.
24. Burn the place down. Then shit through the eye of a needle for two days afterwards.
25. Point 25? There is none.
OR
Method Two:
1. Walk into McDonalds/KFC.
2. Point at what you want.
3. Eat and get the hell out.
True more or less. I haven't given into McDonalds/KFC way of life yet, though. My solution is to go to the same 4 restaurants and alternate a handful of meals. Works for me.
There are two basic ways of ordering food in China. Try and guess which one I normally opt for.
Method One:
1. Enter restaurant. Listen to 16 waitresses shout " " down your ear.
2. Despite the fact that you have entered the restaurant by yourself, and there is nobody else near the establishment for another 15 miles, the waitress asks if you want a table for one.
3. Follow waitress to table. Wait five minutes while the waitress clears the mass of bones, spit, foetuses, lost scrolls, blood, and monkey claws from the table with an oily rag.
4. Place tissue paper on chair and sit down. Of the 27 waitresses who gather round your table, tell 26 of them to go away.
5. Within 0.00000000001 millisecond of sitting down, the waitress is hovering behind impatiently.
6. In impeccable Mandarin, ask for a menu. Repeat angrily when waitress giggles, looks away, and shouts to her colleagues that she doesn't understand English.
7. Tell waitress you don't want the most expensive items she is pointing to on the menu.
8. Tell the waitress to bring you a beer while waiting. When it arrives, send it back and ask for a cold one.
9. When the waitress asks if you would like to drink the beer opened or unopened, ask her to open it.
10. Choose meal.
11. Choose different meal when told they don't have it.
12. Repeat stages 10 and 11 about three times.
13. Finally choose something they have and ask them not to put any egg in it.
14. Relax. All the time, a million Chinese peasants are staring at you, spitting, and muttering: "laowailaowailaowailaowailaowai".
15. After 20 minutes ask what is happening with your meal.
16. After another 20 minutes receive meal, then send it back because it has egg in it.
17. Seven days after you entered the place, finally receive meal.
18. Pick out the stones and pubic hair.
19. Eat.
20. Halfway through your food, have your meal disturbed by the manager insisting on sitting down next to you and asking where you are from and if foreigners eat pork as well.
21. Ask to pay the bill, then tell them to check again after they give you the wrong bill.
22. Pay for meal. Waitress asks if you have the correct change which you do not. Wait another 15 minutes as she goes down the street to find change.
23. Leave when 16 waitresses shout " " at you. Waitress 17 will shout "Bye bye!" instead and everybody will find it hilarious.
24. Burn the place down. Then shit through the eye of a needle for two days afterwards.
25. Point 25? There is none.
OR
Method Two:
1. Walk into McDonalds/KFC.
2. Point at what you want.
3. Eat and get the hell out.
True more or less. I haven't given into McDonalds/KFC way of life yet, though. My solution is to go to the same 4 restaurants and alternate a handful of meals. Works for me.
Sunday, May 6, 2007
News from the Homefront
This is pretty great news that I just had to throw out. Last semester I was involved in the developing of MiddShift and am very proud to have been a part of it. It was really sad to leave just as things were getting going, but what can you do? This is really something to happy about though, so read on! And yes, I'm still in China.
To the College Community:
I am pleased to announce that, after reviewing a written proposal from the student organization MiddShift and supporting recommendations from senior administrators, the Middlebury College Board of Trustees has approved a plan for the College (Vermont campus) to become a carbon neutral institution by 2016.
MiddShift originally presented its carbon neutrality initiative to the board in February, and that meeting led to the formation of the Carbon Neutrality Advisory Group (CNAG). CNAG was comprised of students and administrators, and its role was to further develop a written proposal outlining the potential costs, risks, and organizational impact of achieving carbon neutrality over the next nine years.
The College plans to achieve carbon neutrality through a combination of efforts, including the 2008 completion of a biomass plant, which will be powered by wood chips; operational adjustments such as energy efficient lighting and facility upgrades; and — after all other economically feasible efforts to reduce carbon have been exhausted — the purchase of carbon offsets.
In a 2006 inventory, the College calculated its carbon emissions at 30,000 metric tons, derived as follows:
· use of fuel oil number six at 85 percent
· use of fuel oil number two at 2 percent
· college-related travel at 9 percent
· electricity at 3 percent
· landfill methane from waste disposal at 1 percent
Each and every one of us will share in the responsibility for reducing the campus’ carbon footprint, and I thank you all for your continued support, enthusiasm, and leadership in this important endeavor to reduce the emissions of carbon into our environment. I would like to extend my thanks especially to the students, faculty, and staff members who worked on the MiddShift proposal, and to those who have worked on many previous efforts to reduce carbon emissions on campus. It is you who made today’s Board vote and this major expression of leadership and responsibility by the College possible.
Ronald D. Liebowitz
To the College Community:
I am pleased to announce that, after reviewing a written proposal from the student organization MiddShift and supporting recommendations from senior administrators, the Middlebury College Board of Trustees has approved a plan for the College (Vermont campus) to become a carbon neutral institution by 2016.
MiddShift originally presented its carbon neutrality initiative to the board in February, and that meeting led to the formation of the Carbon Neutrality Advisory Group (CNAG). CNAG was comprised of students and administrators, and its role was to further develop a written proposal outlining the potential costs, risks, and organizational impact of achieving carbon neutrality over the next nine years.
The College plans to achieve carbon neutrality through a combination of efforts, including the 2008 completion of a biomass plant, which will be powered by wood chips; operational adjustments such as energy efficient lighting and facility upgrades; and — after all other economically feasible efforts to reduce carbon have been exhausted — the purchase of carbon offsets.
In a 2006 inventory, the College calculated its carbon emissions at 30,000 metric tons, derived as follows:
· use of fuel oil number six at 85 percent
· use of fuel oil number two at 2 percent
· college-related travel at 9 percent
· electricity at 3 percent
· landfill methane from waste disposal at 1 percent
Each and every one of us will share in the responsibility for reducing the campus’ carbon footprint, and I thank you all for your continued support, enthusiasm, and leadership in this important endeavor to reduce the emissions of carbon into our environment. I would like to extend my thanks especially to the students, faculty, and staff members who worked on the MiddShift proposal, and to those who have worked on many previous efforts to reduce carbon emissions on campus. It is you who made today’s Board vote and this major expression of leadership and responsibility by the College possible.
Ronald D. Liebowitz
Saturday, April 21, 2007
There and Back Again--A Hobbit's Tale
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.
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.
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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