It is done

The past nine months have been some of the richest of my life. No matter how much you read, watch, or hear about a place you have never been, it is not fully available to you until your feet are on the ground. I had my expectations and preconceptions of what my time would be like in China, and those images rapidly evaporated once the realities around me took over.

It has been a time of powerful eye-openers, unprecedented personal growth, and a wider and deeper understanding of our world; and that was only nine months mainly spent in one city. I have to say, my appetite for seeing more of the world was further whetted during my time here. This experience was invaluable and something I will cherish and recall for the rest of my life.

All that navel-gazing aside, I will conclude my weekly updates from China with a couple of events from my last bit of time here. Last week I finished all of my classes. I have grown surprisingly fond of and attached to many of my students, and as I recalled my very first day of class with one of my freshmen classes, things got a little dusty for a second. Composure carried the day. America’s image abroad was not tarnished. The opportunity to interact with Chinese university students on a daily basis was a unique and insightful experience. I feel it is safe to say that I learned more from those conversations than I did from any other experience I had here. I will miss them.

The second event from the last week was my first and last set of visitors. My friends whom I visited in Bangalore came to Chongqing for this weekend. The chance to show people my life here made my experience richer, more real somehow. They saw my neighborhood, my noodle restaurant, the roads and the rivers, the gray. Being able to share this city with friends was truly a perfect cap to my time here. Plus we had fun. Lots of it.

Below are a few pictures from the last week.

When in Rome

That’s all I got for you. I truly appreciate everyone who took the time to check in for stories every week. Having a place to record my experiences in China, I feel, greatly enhanced my time here.

Further stories can be purchased for the low, low price of a beer. Coming soon to a city near you.

No time! There's no time!

You’ll have to forgive me for a short post this week. I’m leaving China in just over a week, so my life has gotten a bit more hectic as of late. To be honest I have little desire for reflection right now, there will be plenty of time for that at 4am on jetlagged nights when I am attempting to will myself to sleep. For now, the focus is on taking in the last of my time here, for it will most likely be a long time before I return to the Middle Kingdom. A brief story from the past week:

My freshmen students are giving presentations for their final projects. They range from the mundane to the fantastic, the known to the unknown. Some of the highlights: An abridged performance of Shakespeare’s Richard the Third, recitation of Tagore’s poetry, an adapted for the stage performance of an episode of The Big Bang Theory, a gal singing Adele’s Rolling in the Deep, shortly thereafter followed by a stirring rendition of Richard Marx’s Right Here Waiting (a bit of sarcasm there, but I thought it was entertaining nonetheless), and several excellent traditional Chinese plays/stories/songs translated and then performed in English. 

However, my favorite so far was a presentation my student Angel gave on her hometown. Reminiscent of Laura’s SARS story, she told a tale that I thought was amazing, yet she (of course) viewed as quite unexceptional. I cannot do the story justice, but the most intriguing parts of the story were based upon her commute from her small farming village in the mountains to her various schools: Two hours by foot to her primary school until the headmaster decided she could just stay at the school during the week, a five hour boat journey to her middle school where she also boarded, and another five hour boat ride plus two hours on a bus to her high school. Now she is one of my most outspoken freshman students at the university. All of this coming from a tiny village (I saw the pictures) surrounded by terraced rice paddies, and a family where her parents almost certainly did not even attend school beyond their childhood. Stunning stuff.

Next week I’ll have some final thoughts and I’ll try to get up some pictures as well. Until then.

Miscellanea Redux

Since I only have a couple of posts remaining, I want to clean out some of the notes I’ve made in my phone of random observations, experiences, and epiphanies (perhaps too strong of a term for what I present here, but I'm the author, and I'll do as I see fit). Some I’ve slightly edited as to be comprehensible, others come as is. Here ye be:

Noodle shop guy likes to offer me smokes after the meal. Every time. Not sure he’s gotten the hint, but I don’t mind.

I gave a presentation on Ireland (a country they know next to nothing about) to the whole freshman class. It went swimmingly and there was mad love before, during, and after. Leaving them will undoubtedly be the toughest part of going home. This honestly reminds me of a quote from There’s Something About Mary, “those goofy bastards are just about the best thing I’ve got going.” They're awesome. Then on the way home I walked through a difficult-to-explain-to-you-foreigners carnival of song and dance in Yang Jia Ping; just another Thursday evening.

Minneapolis isn't the most diverse city in the world, but living amongst a sea of people of the same ethnicity every day is a totally different ballgame.

I saw a stop sign in Chinese (which is seriously rare, I’ve seen maybe 3 in the whole city) and my first reaction, honestly, was there is no guarantee that the sign actually says ‘Stop’. In a country where copyright laws are so brazenly flouted, I could easily imagine someone ripping off an octagonal red sign simply because it was recognizable, and slapping up a different meaning on it. I hope that makes sense; it did to me.

Seeing Chinese versions of people from home is thoroughly entertaining. It’s happened to me a few times where I see a Chinese person that looks strikingly similar to someone from home.

 “The United Nations is the biggest enemy we have. They’re the ones that are coming out saying global warming this and global warming that but no where do they mention the effect of the sun on heating the earth,” said the loud, southern-accented, dumb-fuck, stereotypical American before he went on to rail against the evils of homosexuality. This was overheard when I was working on my thesis at teahouse where there was an English language conversation group between expats and mostly young Chinese people. I nearly lost my cool, but decided to let him wallow in his own filth and bigotry while I walked away. That was a tough one.

Major dilemma on the metro: woman standing in front of me, not sure if pregnant or plump. Do I remain in the seat and look like a dick if she is pregnant? Or run the risk of offending her if she wasn’t pregnant by giving up the seat? I left it up to the other men around me to make a move. They didn't. I sat put. Questionable.

I've been to KFC and Starbucks more here than I ever did back home. I've probably been to those places two times combined in the past decade, whereas I go once a month to both here. Sometimes you take touchstones of home where you can get them. 

One group of students took me out for hot pot and then asked me if I would join them after at KTV (karaoke). The scene is much different than karaoke at home. You have a private room with just your group singing away. They came out of the gate strong with lots of English songs (some Britney, Michael Jackson, etc.), and after an inordinate amount of pestering, I dusted off a little ‘With or Without You’ to serious fanfare. Sometimes living in this country thoroughly distorts ones sense of importance.

I’ve gotten used to being looked at a lot in public, but a new phenomenon I’ve noticed is how people will stare even harder at Chinese friends I walk with than at me.

Checkout aisle at every grocery store: candy and condoms, front and center. Not shy about family planning here, which is especially odd for a country that shies away from and censors many forms of overt sexuality. 

Picking your nose is legit. I’ve been in conversations where someone will spend the whole time up to the second knuckle digging for gold. Yet if I blow my nose loudly at a restaurant, people give me odd looks. I have yet to master certain aspects of social etiquette.

That’s all, folks. See you next week.

On the Weather

Due to an attempt to put in some serious work on my thesis that led to me over-caffeinating myself to the point of distraction, this week’s post will be relatively short, but on a topic that is deceptively mundane: the weather.

You all have heard my complaints about the perpetually gray skies here in Chongqing, a natural phenomenon that outstrips the best efforts of its gloomy counterpart that is the Irish/British winter. Well finally a few weeks ago, the fog lifted and the sun made a triumphant, albeit temporary, return. Between October and April, I saw the sun and/or a blue sky fewer times than I care to recall, but recently there was a streak of about one week where the sun was in full bloom.

What I immediately noticed was the return of two gender-specific, sun-induced behaviors that Chongqingers (a dynamite demonym, if I may say so) take on during the hot months. Oh, I should add, there are two seasons here: Winter, foggy and humid; summer, hot and humid. Like the first day in spring when Minnesotans drop the tops of convertibles and wear t-shirts in 40 degree weather, or the annual celebration of Halter-top Day in Boston (copyright Bill Simmons), Chongqing’s unofficial demarcation of seasonal change is when the women dust off their fancy umbrellas and the men break out the exposed midriffs by way of the shirt roll. This rite is instantaneous and ubiquitous; it is as though everyone got a weather-memo and knew what to do. With the seemingly predetermined switch, it is hard to believe that it is simply that people looked at the forecast and decided that ‘today is the day!’ But I may be delving into weather conspiracy theories there.

Anyway, it was good sign of the season to see the return of the fancy umbrellas (something which confounded me upon my arrival here) and the shirt roll (something that greatly amused me). And though the fog has since resettled over the city blanketing huge swathes of mountains and skyscrapers in gray, it is nice to know that the blanket can and will be pulled away at any time.

Guest Author

For the first time on this site, I am turning over the duties to another writer.

A bit of background: Last week in one of my Oral English courses with my freshmen students we were discussing summer memories. Most were pretty standard childhood fare: swimming, boredom, and general shenanigans.

Then, my student Laura began sharing her story. After she told her tale, I asked her to write it all down for me and whether or not she minded if I shared it with friends and family. She said she did not mind at all, so here is her story, unedited. Take into account, she is a freshman and her writing is not perfect, but I thought it lent extra personality and authenticity to share the story untouched.

In the last class,our topic is the favourite summer memory.During my childhood,there was really a memory but it's just unforgettable,not my favourite.It happened in the summer of 2003.At that year,I was just in grade 3 of primary school.Because of the terrible disease ---SARS,we students had 3months off the school.And my parents didn't have to work.

    At first,the atmosphere wasn't serious.My father felt a little boring so he went to Beijing for visiting his best friend in childhood.He decided to come back after staying there for 1 month.When he got out of the train,because of the quick spread of the disease,he was asked to be checked in the hospital with other people who came back from other provinces.And after that ,one person said although they were very healthy ,all of them must live in the specified  place  for at least one month to make sure that they didn't caught the disease and avoid infecting others.But my father said he felt very healthy and he didn't want to live there.So when they talked with the other people,my father escaped and went home.

   My family were very happy when we saw my father.And when my brother and I were busy looking the souvenir ,interesting toys and delicious snacks bought from Beijing,I saw some people walk into my home and they talked with my parents for a long time.And suddenly,when they decided to leave ,they put a big lock in our door.My brother and I felt scared because we didn't know what happened.Later ,my mother told me that they found our address from the hospital and they said there were only two choices for my father :one was my father lived in the specified place and my mother sent food every day,the other was they trapped our family for one month and they sent food if we need.Finally,because my father thought he was healthy and he didn't want to live there alone,my parents chosed the second one.At that time ,I realized that we had to live in such a small place for one month.I even couldn't believe it.But when they had locked the door and left,I knew our life began in a place like a "prison".

At the first day,we didn't feel too boring at all.We watched TV,chatted with my father about what he saw and did in Beijing and did some homework.But the next several days we all felt lonely because we couldn't get out to play with our friends.But we had no other choices.

Everyday,they provided foods and necessary things by the ladder with wearing mask.At that time,we really had a regular life schedule.In the morning,my father led us run in our small yard .In the afternoon,we played mahjong and cards together.In the evening ,we watched TV.

Day by day,we were locked in  our home for 20 days.My brother and I were bored with the life and we thought we even couldn't insist on staying home for one minute.So my parents called them and suggested them to let  the children go out .Finally they agreed.When they opened the door a small gap that just can past children,my brother and I ran out of home quickly.I remembered it was the noon of summer day.It's was very hot outside and there was no one in the street.But we were very excited and we just ran,ran,ran.....we all felt that the air outside was fresher than it in my home.And because they just gave us 20minutes ,so we ran to home quickly.But for us at that time ,we were so satisfied with going out.

At the 23th day,because we were healthy,so they opened the door.And my family went out by motorbike in the afternoon.That day we were feeling the wind ,the sunshine on the road.And that day we traveled the whole city because we didn't want to go home.

When I got back to school,one of my friends told me that "During the holiday ,I went to your home once ,but I saw a sign written_{"SARS probably infectors .Please keep away."}"I thought it's a little funny.And for me ,maybe it's really a good time to get along with my family but I have to say ,it's really boring if you can't go out for a long time ...... 

One of the most surprising aspects of the story to me was how mundane she thought the tale to be, and how little her classmates reacted. I am not sure how this story will be read by all of you at home, but from my perspective, it was one of the more extraordinary experiences I have been told during my time in China.

On the Arts

Disclaimer: In this post I don’t want to seem as though I’m maliciously bagging on Chinese art, it is simply my observation of how my students regard art in China, how Chinese art is often known to the outside world, and the feeling that a country with one of the richest artistic traditions should be better represented in the fields of film, music, literature, etc., in the modern world. I’m sensitive to not wanting to be a foreigner disparaging a nation that I know little about, but I also feel like I should express what I feel and experience during my time here. Onward.

Because artistry, expression, creativity and all processes of this ilk have been so thoroughly repressed over the past 60+ years, China has relatively few modern cultural products of note to hang their hat on. It feels as though between China’s long and rich history of art and this unprecedented body of humans in one country, it should be playing a more prominent role in world art.

What this repression has created is a nation of over one billion people that, bizarrely, has relatively few modern cultural exports of quality. Most of the youth latch on to foreign artists, and there is little sign of this changing unless the government eases or releases its chokehold of Chinese artists; the exact opposite of their recent actions. Though I would not personally initiate a discussion on the sad state of Chinese cultural exports, my students have on many occasions brought up this topic themselves. It usually centers on the desperate movie industry, but it is present in other areas of art as well: their favorite musicians are almost exclusively from USA, South Korea, Taiwan, or Japan; they mostly regard foreign or pre-communist authors; and though there is a high regard for some past artists and thinkers, it had previously been (and sometimes still is) the mission of the communists to stamp out those legacies as well.

If we look at the success of the burgeoning Korean pop music scene or India’s world-beating film industry, we see that the problem is not one of reconciling a modern Asian nation with its Confucian roots, nor is it an issue of whether art can flourish in a massive nation where government institutions are far-reaching and intrusive. If these were the cases, neither Korea nor India would be having the immense success they are enjoying with their respective cultural behemoths. And the fault for anemic artistic production cannot lie with the innate aptitude (or lack there of) of the Chinese people; it would be absurd to argue that it does. Then the accountability for the current state of art in must be the Communist Party’s, with its inherent fear and subsequent repression of art in China.

Repression in the name of harmony is so stifling that even with great technical prowess in a variety of fields (e.g. computer animation, musical proficiency, etc.) little success is reaped and then shared with the world because of the dearth of originality. Most Chinese artists well known in the west are so not only because of the quality of their art, but as often as not they are known for their dissent of the very system that has retarded the artistic output of China for decades. (See: Liu Xiaobo or Ai Weiwei.)

As has been put forth on this blog and elsewhere, compared to their unprecedented gains and growth in a variety of geopolitical arenas, China is miles behind in their spreading of soft power and their methods for growth in this area are antithetical to how art typically flourishes: organically and unencumbered by the heavy hand of the state. (Unless we are talking about art like Mr. Liu or Mr. Ai’s which is sometimes created in direct opposition to the state, but that’s for a different diatribe.)

BEHIND THE POST: That whole post was born out a night I was staying in a hotel in Fenghuang. As KTV (aka: karaoke) songs penetrated the wall of my room into the wee hours, I began writing a scathing attack on the derivative nature of Chinese music. It sounds like the worst of 80's-90's melodramatic, histrionic, soft rock drivel. The stuff sucks. Now imagine it being sung ad nauseam by shameless, drunken amateurs. Do you see what you have wrought, soft rockers? This is your malformed progeny. For shame!

Banks of the Yangtz

As I continue to occupy the somewhat disorienting space between reflecting upon my time in China while making sure not to miss out on any new experiences, a realization dawned on me this week. Though I have previously mentioned how much I will miss the food when I return home, I’ve begun to realize that I will most of all miss my students. Shocking, I know. Over the past semester I have become continually closer to many of my students; some in groups, some individually. Though there are undeniable, and often grating, issues that crop up with these students, the vast majority of the time I genuinely enjoy being around them. As I wrote in a letter to home earlier this week, I’m beginning to feel as though I’m learning more from them than they are from me. I hope this isn’t an indictment of the effectiveness of my teaching, and it certainly does not refer to any exchange of linguistic knowledge, rather it is about learning how individuals and groups from a different culture operate in, and experience, their surroundings. In this regard, I’m the student, and a willing one at that. Below is a little scene from last week.

I was invited to a BBQ on the banks of the Yangtze by one of my freshman classes. Contrary to how I was just gushing about my students above, sometimes the idea of spending time outside of class with a group of nineteen year olds of varying maturity and communicative ability isn’t my idea of unwinding (they didn’t even bring beer; amateurs). That being said, I also want to make sure I take small opportunities like this, as they will not be on offer when I am back home. I made the right choice. After class I met with my students as the prepared the food they had bought. After everything was prepared (which, like most student operations, was a team effort that made up for a lack of organization and efficiency with an abundance of eagerness and cheer), we head to the Yangtze, about a 15 minute walk from campus. It should be acknowledged that what most of us would consider an idyllic spot for a river picnic is a little different than where we dined.

After we arrived with food and BBQing implements in hand, it was time to start the fires. This scene was reminiscent of what my good friend’s high school football coach would have described as, “watching 11 monkeys try to fuck a football.” However, they persevered and the BBQ officially began. I believe I mentioned this sentiment before, but when I travel or am a guest in a different culture, certain common sense alarms get ignored in the name of enjoying the experience. If back home I saw someone executing the food safety stunts these kids were pulling, I’d be having a quick, stern, and admonishing word with them. Here, I just hope for the best and rely on the fact that there is plenty of Pepto at home if things go awry. Anyway, the BBQ was a great laugh, the food was delicious, and my battle-hardened stomach didn’t even flinch. But the real takeaway from the experience was watching them interact.

Since I’ve been here there have been obvious distinctions between Chinese university students and their American counterparts. In the States, I think you'd be more than hard pressed to gather a group of thirty random nineteen year olds in a class and have the level of kinship that develops here without seeing serious tensions boil to the surface and divisive cliques form. I have not seen one kid in the class that has not been accepted by the group, and the students interact regularly and openly with all their class members, which coming from the US is unusual and quite impressive. That being said, there is some ferocious shit-talking that goes on in English and Chinese. But it was akin to the rubbish I used to say to my friends (ok, rubbish I still say to my friends). It's not all smiles and hugs, but it good natured enough. Though there are undoubtedly tensions and quarrels that must happen on a regular basis, in general the classes seem much tighter than anything I have seen in the US school system since early elementary school.

But why? I don’t fully know. My guess is that it stems from the close quarters (they live with the same roommates and have the same small class group all four years of college), the need for kinship, and most importantly the nature of guanxi that is the social norm in China where once accepted in the group you are in without reservations. I realize that I've told the story using some major generalizations, but still, my observations are honest and from what I've seen, hold quite true.

I’ve added a few pictures (sorry, cellphone pics) into the story, but here are some others. Also, below this post you’ll find a video that I put up last week from the BBQ where I mumble a bit and then have the students send a special message home.

Ta-ta.

Bonus Wednesday post? Why not?!?

Reversal

I have about six weeks remaining on my time in China. In some contexts six weeks can seem like a long time; in my current situation I have no illusions about just how quickly it will go. I am having to live part of my life with one foot here, and one foot back home. Between working on housing, arranging my return journey, and furiously (in more than one sense) searching for a job, I am feeling the end to my time in China rapidly approaching. I am also beginning to visualize what my return to Minnesota will be like.

In retrospect, when I came to China, I had no idea what I was really getting myself into. I had read all I could about the city, perused plenty of ‘expat in China’ blogs, tore through Peter Hessler’s oeuvre, but that still did little to truly prepare me for the coming experience. In contrast, I have as intimate of knowledge of what life is like back in Minneapolis as one can have; however, I have never experienced the less oft-discussed cousin of culture-shock: reverse culture-shock.

To be honest, I don’t expect to be entirely overwhelmed by the return home, but I am quite curious to see what aspects of my return will be challenging. I already know what to look forward to: seeing my Grandpa, drinking a Big Ginger whilst sitting in the sun at a Twins game (I know a guy who pays by the plug; contrary to no one’s belief, teaching in China isn’t the most lucrative of careers), a Juicy Lucy, deep dish pizza, driving a car (I haven’t been behind the wheel since I left last August, very strange), and breathing some goddamn fresh air. Oh, fam and friends, too; I haven’t completely forgotten about you. But like I said, what will be challenging or uncomfortable is a bit of a mystery. And while I still enjoy the manic nature of my life here, I’m getting a bit excited to delve into that mystery.

Notes

Time and energy are at a premium this evening, so instead of whipping up a post complete with linear story-telling and a punctuating moral takeaway, this evening will be a collection of random notes I have typed into my phone while on the go. Some are from months ago, some from last weekend.

-Just walked by a four piece doo-wop band practicing under a streetlight on campus. They were singing the Backstreet Boys’ “Tell Me Why.” China.

-Catching a cab home one notices the seemingly endless march of unlit, empty monoliths that fill the landscape. [More on the possibly impending house bubble and housing market another time.]

-IP rip-offs range from subtle to blatant. Li Ning’s [athletic apparel brand] “Anything is Possible” falls somewhere within that spectrum. Shoes and home appliances branded with an apple and "iPhone" belong firmly towards the blatant end.

-Sometimes being the benefactor of hospitality backfires. I was given the front seat as I was the guest, but the seat was pushed so far up my legs were jammed against the dashboard for an hour while the five-foot (maybe) lady sat comfortable in the back. Discomfort was not the intent, merely the result.

-Public observation is a legitimate form of entertainment here. Whether watching to people put on a spectacle of an argument (for the crowd’s sake as much as anything else), or standing around and commenting on people working, observation is a Chinese pastime. [I’m a big fan of standing on the outside of these gatherings. Invariably, some local will notice me, take interest, and start explaining the goings on in the local dialect as I dimly smile and nod; something at which I've grown quite adept.]

-Chinese cities tend to be much prettier at night.

-[Talking to a Russian friend of mine about why her family gave her the nickname Monaco.] Very matter of factly: “Because I’m small and I speak French.”

-People’s reception of the foreigner in their midst varies greatly. Some days I have more strangers wanting to talk to me than I can handle. Other days, people would sooner stand on a packed subway than take a seat next to me.

-Ping pong gangsters at the gym. Old guy fella with half his dyed, jet-black comb over jutting straight up as he dusts off moves you can't imagine. The grip, the spin, the leg kick: A combination that is unhittable. Like an old knuckleballer when he has his pitch working for him. 

-Little old lady in the ubiquitous red, knit hat spilled broth on me at one of the local restaurants. Spent two straight minutes wiping my side with a little napkin. Standing, she was as tall as I was when sitting on a little plastic stool.

-Imagine being surrounded by people that look nothing like you. But they all look like each other. All the time. Not a xenophobic comment; just stating my reality. It's simply unusual for me.

-[Talking about ghosts and superstitions in class, one girl explains her position as]: “But I don't believe in that because I know biology.”

-I find myself getting annoyed with Chinese people for simply doing what is their habit though it may opposed to ours. Because I'm here, I am the one in the wrong.

-Traveling makes you face the contradictions and hypocrisy in your own life. Getting indignant about a guy flicking a cigarette butt into the river then thinking about the thousands I've thrown away in various inappropriate places.

-Being able to view things like traffic jams on buses and shitty hours for train trips through the lens of adventure make mind-numbing inconveniences easier to swallow. Like the chocolate on the pill in The Princess Bride.

Some of these thoughts I may have posted before, but as I stated at the beginning of this post, time and energy are in short supply right now. That’ll do it.

Tourism: China Style

This week is the Qingming Festival here in China, so I had a bit of time to get out of Chongqing and explore. I headed to Fenghuang in Hunan. It is an old river town that has some minority populations, including the Miao people, the larger ethnicity to which the Hmong belong.

Below are a series of pictures and observations from the trip.

This was a full on Chinese tourist town. But there were still remnants of the old Fenghuang to be found if one looks in the right places. Besides, even if you aren't transported to an older time, there is still plenty of cultural value in just seeing how Chinese people spend their vacations.

Kinda like the Renaissance Festival, only if you replaced the heart and self-awareness with unrepentant commercialism.

They turned this beautiful ethnic minority river hamlet into a pulsating, bombastic get away for domestic tourism. Imagine if Americans turned Indian reservations...I'll stop there. Hypocrisy and judgment: Few things are easier to succumb to as an expat, and high horses are counter-intuitively easy to mount.  “Well my country wouldn't that.” Really? Still though, it's a shame.

Always a fan of the kids who come up shouting, "Hallo! Nice meechoo!" Then laugh and pepper me with questions in Chinese interspersed with, "lao wai" laden phrases. I tend to take the optimist's approach and assume they're being kind.

Fact: Two subject matters drive 99.9% of Internet traffic. Cat pictures are one. I'll never make money off this thing unless I pander to the cat people. A sad but true reality of internet politicking.

Did I get an authentic traditional experience? Not completely. Did I get an authentic modern Chinese experience? Most definitely. 

No smoking message for a friend. You know who ye be. Look what happened to this fellow!

In a land filled with loads of Chinese university students with a smattering of English, being an approachable and friendly foreigner makes things a touch easier. Xiaowu and Li. I tend to be pretty lucky when traveling and manage to stumble across willing travel mates. It's a mutually beneficial relationship: I get to avoid breaking out my atrocious Chinese in restaurants, hotels, and ticket booths, they get to practice their English and ask all the questions they want. These two were especially sweet and helpful.

That should do it. Despite the tone of some of my comments, I had a wonderful time. It was an enlightening experience in more than one way. I'm beat so I hope I didn't leave too much out, and if I did, it's nothing that can't be recalled when it is time to regale you with stories upon my return home. 

Sprung

Winter has finally broken here in Chongqing (yes, I’m fully aware that you’re having midsummer weather already back in MN), and in honor of this I want to comment on the weather, environment, and scenery here. Forgive me if I repeat something I have mentioned before. Sometimes the same observation strikes me, and I can’t be arsed to check over every post to see if I have written it before. As always with this blog, you get what you pay for. Onward.

The sun started shining after making but a few appearances since September. On a clear day you see a fantastic tableau of skyscrapers, mountains, cranes, and people. Well, actually, the people are always there, they’re just bathed in a bit more sunlight than usual. One quickly forgets what you can see here because the fog and grayness are so pervasive. Next to a bridge I ride over every day is a small community of farms nestled into a hill next to a dirty little stream. Behind these little farms is an expansive vista of 40-story towers spreading beyond into the mountains. Within a few years those farms will certainly give way to the inevitable and all-consuming sprawl that proliferates daily. But for now, seeing these rural images in the middle of a megacity is a severe apposition to what China (and specifically this region) was, and what it is becoming. As for the aforementioned mountains, besides the fact that one is often ascending and descending hills on foot or by bus, it is remarkably easy to forget that Chongqing is surrounded by mountains. On a clear day you see just how fully the city is built upon, and encompassed by, whatever range this happens to be. As for watching the air pollution, instead of the smoke from the power plant stacks simply blending into the low hanging moisture giving off the illusion of a toxic blanket settling over the city every day, the pollutants simply dissipate into the blue sky. Delightful! No less poisonous, mind you, but certainly less ominous.

On Saturday I went into the center of the city for one of my favorite pastimes: the old self-guided walking tour, something I haven’t done in many months (in CQ, anyway). After wandering into new areas of the sunlit city, I took a walk across the river. As I did so, I came to the realization that I’ve lived by two of the world’s great rivers (well, three if you count the Liffey in all of her majesty, but that may be a bit of a homer call). Unfortunately, I was shortsighted and left my proper camera at home, but below are a few shots from my phone, and an extra one that a student of mine just sent me of one of my classes.

Another thing that struck me as I was walking around the city is that after seven months of living here the pace of growth is something that I have not grown accustomed to and something at which I constantly marvel. You are never in a part of the city that does not have some building happening. I have repeated this observation many times since I have come here, but seeing the manic nature of construction here is an image that is undeniably impressive. Also, I still see striking visuals on a daily basis. Because I see novel images every day, I often can’t even remember the ones that make me take notice. But they are there, and I’m sure they’ll come out when recalling the stories. “And that was the time I saw the mother sleeping while riding sidesaddle on the back of the moped and somehow cradling her newborn child…”

I think that I’ll leave off there for the week. Like I said, a few pictures below. I hope you’re all enjoying the weather and scenes from wherever you are reading this.

Urban farming. Unfortunately the angle isn't great, but what you see here is an old lady tending to a plot of vegetables that is seemingly being swallowed by the multitude of towers surrounding it.

What do the people want? A hall, of course. Chongqing's People's Hall. I was going to do the snarky thing and use the picture of the other side of the building showing the KFC attached to it and then point out the inherent irony and hypocrisy of it all (akin to that of the Rolex clock slapped on the top of the People's Liberation Monument commemorating the communist victors post-WWII), but I decided against it. Then I wrote the comment and took the low road anyway.

Prepare for the worst. If an emergency strikes, this location is good and ready to handle it.

Music in the park is an international phenomenon.

A little primary school tucked into the neighboring towers. Cooler looking than my phone can do justice.

Classy.

St. Patrick's Day the CQ way

I hope everyone had an enjoyable St. Patrick’s Day back home. Mine was a good blend of the old and the new; a refreshing change of pace, as much of my life here has been. Speaking of pace, let’s get to the start of the festivities.

Saturday was the annual marathon held in Chongqing. Though I haven’t developed into enough of a masochist to sign up for the marathon, I did participate in the 9km race. There were four races that day: a full marathon, half marathon, 9km, and 5km. Each started from outside the Sheraton (those gaudy golden towers that I posted a picture of long ago), and was run along the Yangtze River. Prior to the race I was standing around with a few expat friends, and though normally the Chinese refrain from taking pictures of the foreigners (or at least do so discretely), on a special occasion like this, the cameras were out in full force. Though I regretfully did not bring my own camera to take pictures, I know for a fact that there are at least a few dozen pictures of me floating out there in the ether of the web. Another pre-race highlight was watching some of the running gear clad Chinese men stretching with a smoke hanging out the side of their mouth. Their dedication is unimpeachable. Back to the race.

The marathon runners started first, then respectively down the line. The starting positions for the different lengths were lined up at intervals of about .5km behind the elite (read: mainly east African) marathon runners. I have written about the general sense of chaos that fills public spaces and roads here, and this was acutely amplified when you threw in thousands (hard to ball park a guess, but there was a serious sea of people there that day) of runners of varying skills, motivations, and goals. The proverbial shit-storm ensued.

I have been running at the gym since I arrived here, and this was to be my first real race since the elementary school track meets. I wanted to do well. So my initial frustration with the mob of walkers, photo-posers, and people of greatly differing age groups (sorry, a sanctioned stampede is no place to take your child for a stroll along the river), was quickly avoided as I followed some of the more ambitious runners up onto the sidewalk to get ahead of the meanderers on the main road. Once the road opened up, I was back on track and feeling pretty good.

The run itself went smoothly enough, though sucking in good, old, unfiltered Chongqing air probably isn’t the best way to execute a long distance run. Another slight obstacle was the curious runners who wanted to have a little get-to-know-you chat during the race. I’m pretty friendly when it comes to entertaining people who want to strike up a conversation with a foreigner, but come on lads, there’s a time and a place for this sort of thing. Again, I was moving along at a good clip, and there was no one around me with the 9km number on them. This is where things went awry.

When I got to the 8km mark, I decided to go hard the last 1km. I was pretty tired because I was giving this my all, and so when the 9km marker past and there was no finish area like I had seen at the 5km marker, I thought to myself, “Well maybe they’re marking the beginning of the kilometers, not the end.” (This logic flying in the face of what I had seen at the 5km spot, but I wasn’t at the top of my thinking game at this point.) When the 10km mark past, I was a little concerned, then I hit the turnaround point for the half marathon, and knew I had blown it. After some woefully unsuccessful interaction with a few race officials at the turnaround, a nice young lady came over and gave me a hand with the communication. Apparently, I had missed the turn off for the 9km finish. Shite.

After walking the 2km back to the 9km finish line (no more running, I had run flat out for 11km already), I saw all the lollygaggers that I had left behind at the starting line. I sincerely believe that had I not blown where I should have turned off for the 9km finish that I would have been right at the top of the 9km finishers. I’m not too disappointed because I felt that I ran very well, which was my goal, but damn, it would have been nice to finish at the top. But that day, there was no time to wallow in what-ifs; I had an ancestral tradition in which I was obligated by blood to partake.

Showered and changed from this:

Into this:

Headed down to the Harp, had a few cheeky pints and some laughs, and that was St. Patrick’s Day.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I picked up the Star Wars trilogy this weekend, and The Empire Strikes Back is calling. Enjoy the week.