So life in China is as usual, always busy and always changing. I just came down with a nasty bout of tonsilitis and it required two intraveneous doses of antibiotics, as well as a follow up of tablets. Gross. Though I haven't posted a damned a bit my trip to Vietnam, and then Hawaii, I will announce to you all that I will be leaving for one-month trip to Europe on Monday. Talk about a charmed existence...
Stay tuned.
Showing posts with label beijing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label beijing. Show all posts
Friday, February 23, 2007
Monday, January 01, 2007
HAPPY NEW YEAR, BOYS AND GIRLS!
Yet another year in China has passed. My god. I may never leave.
I went to a party at my old apartment last night. Among the 50 or so people there, I am rather sure that I was the only sober one, which was alright. I promised myself I would ring in the new year totally clear in mind, body and house, meaning I tidied up my place before mindfully trashing someone else's.
Very much has happened this year, and I was hoping to use this opportunity to impress you all with lots of pictures from my recent travels. However, China's internet service is still recovering from the damage to the undersea cables suffered during that big earthquake in Taiwan, so uploading photos seems to be a no go, at the moment.
Until I regain picture posting capability, I wish you all the very best in 2007!
Yet another year in China has passed. My god. I may never leave.
I went to a party at my old apartment last night. Among the 50 or so people there, I am rather sure that I was the only sober one, which was alright. I promised myself I would ring in the new year totally clear in mind, body and house, meaning I tidied up my place before mindfully trashing someone else's.
Very much has happened this year, and I was hoping to use this opportunity to impress you all with lots of pictures from my recent travels. However, China's internet service is still recovering from the damage to the undersea cables suffered during that big earthquake in Taiwan, so uploading photos seems to be a no go, at the moment.
Until I regain picture posting capability, I wish you all the very best in 2007!
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Three things happened yesterday that have renewed my faith in humanity. Just a little. (Which is a lot.)
Here they are:
1. The Democrats got control of the Senate and the House! and 1a., on a related note, Rummy stepped down. Christ, he must have a lot of skeletons in his closet!
Now, as I have mentioned before, I no longer consider myself a Democrat. However, the United States government is a two party system, and with that in mind, I'd rather have the Dems in power than the GOP. A colleague of mine, an ill-informed-on-this-topic non-American said, "yeah, but it's not like anything will change just because the party in control has changed", and this irritated me. For sure, I recognize that our two parties are more similar than differing parties in other countries, but to say it doesn't matter is simply not true. Had Clinton, or Kerry, or Gore, or say, even John McCain, been in charge when the Twin Towers went down, I confidently believe that the fiasco which is now Iraq, would not have gone down the way it did. That's not to say we wouldn't have gotten into conflict, but with little question in my mind, Clinton would have been a lot smoother about the whole thing, and he probably would have been a hell of a lot quicker to nip the Gitmo situation in the bud. Conspiracy theorists might even argue that 9/11 wouldn't have happened at all, if Bush were never elected...
Also, as I believe that this change in power will result in a withdrawal from Iraq, sooner than later, and possibly before Bush ends his term, I forsee a shift policy focus, from foreign to domestic. This would be good for America, and it also means that Hilary, who may in fact, be on the Democratic ticket for 2008, could stand a chance of winning. (I simply don't believe America in war would ever elect its first woman president.) Not that I love Hilary, but I do think it would be interesting if she were elected, especially given that Germany has Merkel, and Royal may very well take power in France.
2. I found out that Britney Spears has filed for divorce. OK, so this is not high up on the list of things that matter in the world, but shit, even 24-year-old popstar Britney has enough sense to see what the rest of the media sees and get rid of her useless, and not really very good-looking leech of a husband.
3. I lost my mobile phone in a taxi AND it was returned to me. Every morning, I have to take a cab across town to get to work. Yesterday, I had it with me in the car, but not in my office, so when I got home, I called the number on the receipt (ALWAYS, ALWAYS keep the receipt!). Through my broken Chinese, I conveyed that I left my phone in the cab whose license number was on the slip. The woman at the dispatch station called the driver, he confirmed that I did, in fact, leave the phone in his car, and as luck would have it, he was in my neighborhood. He brought it to me ten minutes later, and when I offered him the cab fare to get to me, he refused. I had brought down a bottle of Samuel Adams, thinking he'd probably be near the end of his shift--which he was--and might like a cold one, and after a half-hearted refusal, he accepted the beer. (This was after I explained, "Shi mei guo de pi jiu! Ba shi dun de pi jiu! Hen hao he le! It is American beer! From Boston! It's excellent!")
So, at the end of the day, not all people are stupid bastards and life is pretty good!
Here they are:
1. The Democrats got control of the Senate and the House! and 1a., on a related note, Rummy stepped down. Christ, he must have a lot of skeletons in his closet!
Now, as I have mentioned before, I no longer consider myself a Democrat. However, the United States government is a two party system, and with that in mind, I'd rather have the Dems in power than the GOP. A colleague of mine, an ill-informed-on-this-topic non-American said, "yeah, but it's not like anything will change just because the party in control has changed", and this irritated me. For sure, I recognize that our two parties are more similar than differing parties in other countries, but to say it doesn't matter is simply not true. Had Clinton, or Kerry, or Gore, or say, even John McCain, been in charge when the Twin Towers went down, I confidently believe that the fiasco which is now Iraq, would not have gone down the way it did. That's not to say we wouldn't have gotten into conflict, but with little question in my mind, Clinton would have been a lot smoother about the whole thing, and he probably would have been a hell of a lot quicker to nip the Gitmo situation in the bud. Conspiracy theorists might even argue that 9/11 wouldn't have happened at all, if Bush were never elected...
Also, as I believe that this change in power will result in a withdrawal from Iraq, sooner than later, and possibly before Bush ends his term, I forsee a shift policy focus, from foreign to domestic. This would be good for America, and it also means that Hilary, who may in fact, be on the Democratic ticket for 2008, could stand a chance of winning. (I simply don't believe America in war would ever elect its first woman president.) Not that I love Hilary, but I do think it would be interesting if she were elected, especially given that Germany has Merkel, and Royal may very well take power in France.
2. I found out that Britney Spears has filed for divorce. OK, so this is not high up on the list of things that matter in the world, but shit, even 24-year-old popstar Britney has enough sense to see what the rest of the media sees and get rid of her useless, and not really very good-looking leech of a husband.
3. I lost my mobile phone in a taxi AND it was returned to me. Every morning, I have to take a cab across town to get to work. Yesterday, I had it with me in the car, but not in my office, so when I got home, I called the number on the receipt (ALWAYS, ALWAYS keep the receipt!). Through my broken Chinese, I conveyed that I left my phone in the cab whose license number was on the slip. The woman at the dispatch station called the driver, he confirmed that I did, in fact, leave the phone in his car, and as luck would have it, he was in my neighborhood. He brought it to me ten minutes later, and when I offered him the cab fare to get to me, he refused. I had brought down a bottle of Samuel Adams, thinking he'd probably be near the end of his shift--which he was--and might like a cold one, and after a half-hearted refusal, he accepted the beer. (This was after I explained, "Shi mei guo de pi jiu! Ba shi dun de pi jiu! Hen hao he le! It is American beer! From Boston! It's excellent!")
So, at the end of the day, not all people are stupid bastards and life is pretty good!
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Sunday, October 08, 2006
OK. I take back all the things I said about French people being slow and me, an American, being punctual and efficient. The French are slow, and so am I! I did an interview last week, and it has taken me a week to complete! Putain. I am such a slacker.
But this interview was really something else. I don't think I can write terribly much about it here, as I am being paid to write about it for the magazine, but let me tell you just a bit about it. A friend of mine, while drunk at a party last year, told me about these Americans living on farm outside of Beijing who came to China to join the communist revolution. After many e-mails and phone calls, I found this woman. She was out in the city at a dinner event with Wen Jiabao when I called, but much to my surprise, she returned my call later that night. She asked me what I wanted and told me that all sorts of people were bothering her for interviews and that she had camera crews at her place following her around all the time. I told her I was interested in talking to her about what she's been up to recently and she asked bluntly, "How much time do you need?" I told her I didn't know, just a couple of hours, and then, in my usual tact, I said "I've not writing the book of your life, it's just a magazine article." She laughed at this and said she would give me two hours, "but no more!", and that I would have to come the next morning.
I called my editor and told him we had to move quickly and that this woman, Joan Hinton, was waiting for my call. We arranged to catch a cab together the next day, and I called Ms. Hinton back to let her know we would be there.
Gregoire and I, after some minor delay, made it to the farm WAY OUT in the countryside. Ms. Hinton brought out a notebook for us to sign--she keeps track of all her interviews--and she said, "So, what do you want to know."
For 85, Ms. Hinton is in pretty decent shape. She talks slowly, and her memory was perhaps not as sharp as it once was, but man, she flew across the room when the phone rang, or when she went to recover a piece of personal history to show me.
This woman came to China in 1948! She was a nuclear physicist with the Manhattan project, and after the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, she left Los Alamos and tried to get the technology into civil hands. Of course, that failed. Then she came to China to join the communists! She married her husband, another American here, and had three children. They worked on dairies, and lived like everyone else.
Needless to say, interviews like this leave me a little starry-eyed. There are heaps more details to share, but I'm afraid that I'll have to leave them until after the magazine is published.
But wow. China is awesome.
But this interview was really something else. I don't think I can write terribly much about it here, as I am being paid to write about it for the magazine, but let me tell you just a bit about it. A friend of mine, while drunk at a party last year, told me about these Americans living on farm outside of Beijing who came to China to join the communist revolution. After many e-mails and phone calls, I found this woman. She was out in the city at a dinner event with Wen Jiabao when I called, but much to my surprise, she returned my call later that night. She asked me what I wanted and told me that all sorts of people were bothering her for interviews and that she had camera crews at her place following her around all the time. I told her I was interested in talking to her about what she's been up to recently and she asked bluntly, "How much time do you need?" I told her I didn't know, just a couple of hours, and then, in my usual tact, I said "I've not writing the book of your life, it's just a magazine article." She laughed at this and said she would give me two hours, "but no more!", and that I would have to come the next morning.
I called my editor and told him we had to move quickly and that this woman, Joan Hinton, was waiting for my call. We arranged to catch a cab together the next day, and I called Ms. Hinton back to let her know we would be there.
Gregoire and I, after some minor delay, made it to the farm WAY OUT in the countryside. Ms. Hinton brought out a notebook for us to sign--she keeps track of all her interviews--and she said, "So, what do you want to know."
For 85, Ms. Hinton is in pretty decent shape. She talks slowly, and her memory was perhaps not as sharp as it once was, but man, she flew across the room when the phone rang, or when she went to recover a piece of personal history to show me.
This woman came to China in 1948! She was a nuclear physicist with the Manhattan project, and after the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, she left Los Alamos and tried to get the technology into civil hands. Of course, that failed. Then she came to China to join the communists! She married her husband, another American here, and had three children. They worked on dairies, and lived like everyone else.
Needless to say, interviews like this leave me a little starry-eyed. There are heaps more details to share, but I'm afraid that I'll have to leave them until after the magazine is published.
But wow. China is awesome.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Today is officially the second day of the October 1 holiday week. All of my students have cancelled on me, my school has closed (to be explained), IELTS will not be given until the weekend of the 14th, and while I still have writing work to do, all this has left me feeling exceptionally underwhelmed. I do now have an opportunity to put down a proper entry about what I've been up to, however.
The biggest news is that I've decided to put my masters on hold. I sent in the application for a one year's leave of absence last month, and while I have had word that it was received, I am awaiting final approval. Reasons for this decision were many, but the most salient was that I realized every spare second I had, along with every other spare penny I made, went into this program, and by the time I got to my year end finals (remember, this is a British course, so it all comes down to essays), I was really questioning whether or not it was worth it all in the end. I know this might sound like a weak attempt to cover up slack, or laziness on my part, but really, after a long think, a bit of screaming, and one moment of crying, I came to the conclusion that, while the material I was covering was highly engaging, two more years and another $8,000, might not bring me very much closer to my ultimate aims.
(And the crowds cry out, "Tell us, Maile! Tell us! What are those ultimate aims?!")
So like many a spoiled, middle-class, college educated, over-confident, under-skilled come recovering manic-depressive, yoga/insert your own brand of spirituality found brat, I, too, have wrestled with the great question of "What am I going to do with my life?!". This question, the quest for whose answer seems to best even the very best of us at around 24 or 25 (I believe someone who must have thought himself clever dubbed this ailment the "quarter-century crisis"), has consumed, or is presently consuming, most of the people I know in my age group, and even those older (they do say boys take longer to mature than girls). This affliction does seem to target a certain economic group (kids whose parents paid for their higher education), but culture offers no protection; I have met German, French, English, Chinese, Korean and Mexican sufferers.
Since I got out of school rather early--can you believe it's been more than 6 years already?!--I was fortunate to start this vicious process earlier, and as such, I am now sooner to feel its grip loosening. I concede, I'm not quite out of the woods completely, but I have found hope, and I do see light breaking through. Oddly enough, after all the agonizing, day dreaming, empire building and scrapping, soul-searching and expensive trips to the shrink, the elusive panacea we seem all struggle for, is actually something rather simple: just pick something. Pick something, something that hovers within the realm of reality, and then stick to it.
I want to be a journalist. Journalists are cool. They meet lots of interesting people, they get new things to do all the time and they work at different hours of the day, often in different places, and all of this appeals to me. What's more, I used to be a journalist, so I can with confidence say I know a bit about the work, and I know that I am competent enough to do it well enough to get paid for it. All of these are important considerations. The other thing I want to do is work in Asia. Lucky for me, I am already living here. (Actually, the desire came after the fact.) So, to put it succinctly, I want to be a journalist in Asia.
Once I made that decision, all the other decisions were easy to make. I started my masters (it is in Chinese business and international relations) because I felt it would give me the background necessary to look for jobs in journalism, here in China. (Research yielded that most of the journalism jobs in Asia are business and/or politics related.) I blew off my plans to go to France because I felt I could achieve more staying in here. I quit my regular job and found part-time work so I could focus on my ambitions. I also looked into getting internships, and here is where I found problems: 1. I was competing against recent journalism graduates who 2. maybe had better (foreign) language skills than me. Here was my dilemma. I was working so much that I didn't have time to study Chinese, and I didn't have time to write. I barely had time to sleep. So, I took the year off.
Very ironically, shortly after I quit my masters, my most generous employer, decided that my services were no longer needed. Ariston, the little boy I taught everyday for two hours, had reached the ripe old age of two and was good and ready for full-day kindergarten. To elaborate, what had happened was that a new brother came home, a cook got fired, the nanny took over all domestic duties, on top of managing the baby and the older brother who had a very serious case of sibling rivalry, Mom went back to work, so the tot was sent to school, and I was out of a cushy and reliable job.
There I was, no school, one job shy (I still had other students, plus the IELTS job, so I wasn't yet in a panic), and then something even more ironic, or rather fortuitous, happened: my pal Abel called me and offered me a job writing for a magazine. No shit.
Abel is one of the coolest people I have met in Beijing. At the tender age of 30, he's the bureau chief of Radio France International. He's been here years and years already, and he's very familiar with how the city works. One of his pals, Gregoire (these guys are all French, by the way) is the editor-in-chief of Colors Magazine (started by the Benetton people), and they were in need of writers for their upcoming issue profiling the issue.
Now, I'll tell you the difference between someone at the age of 20, and someone at the age of 26. At 20, you sincerely believe you'll make you're first million by 23, but if someone asks you to fax a document to a number in another city, and you don't already know how to do it, you panic, try to avoid the assignment, and then try to get someone else to do if for you. At 26, all you want is a job that doesn't suck too much, ideally one that has health benefits, and when someone offers you a job anywhere remotely in your area of interest, you say, in full confidence, "Yes. Yes. Gimme. Gimme. I can do it. No problem." Even if you know full well that you might not know exactly what you are doing, all of the silliness that you endure in your early 20s, assuming you overcome it, has the effect of making all obstacles look pretty similar, and eventually you realize, if you can conquer one, you can conquer them all.
So, I got the job. It's only a one-time, freelance gig, but I'm over the moon for it.
But let me tell you about French people. They are slow. I love them, but they are slow. Last summer, I worked with Germans, which was interesting. Germans are punctual to the point of absurdity ("OK, we will meet for breakfast at 9:32. Then we will start our meeting at 10:07"), but generally, their work practices are very compatible with Americans. French people, on the other hand, while very easy going, attentive, and passionate about their work, don't see the harm in having a cigarette and a cup of coffee before getting to an appointment. It's only life, after all.
When it comes to work, I am VERY American. Prolific communication is paramount, and I need to know what is happening at all times. If you tell me to call tomorrow, I will call tomorrow before noon. If I don't reach you, I will send an e-mail, and then call again before the day is out. Of course, I cut my teeth in the entertainment industry where everything is fast and one false step can get you fired, but I believe these are good work habits to have learned. If you're American, that is. French people are a bit different. Once they say they want you, that's it, they want you. But then you have to wait for their call. Or that how it seems to work, anyway.
Abel took more than a week to get back to me, and during that time, another funny thing happened. I was talking with an old colleague of mine who now is the director at the first school I taught at in Beijing. I mentioned that I was no longer teaching the two-year old, and I told him casually that if he ever needed someone to fill in if a teacher was ill, I'd be glad to do it. He called me the next day. Apparently, one of their teachers was very unhappy, so unhappy that she packed up her things and ran off like a thief in the night. She didn't tell her roommate, another teacher, about her plans. The next morning, the same morning they called me, they discovered what had happened when the roommate came to work and told them there wasn't a trace of the girl in the apartment. They asked me if I could come in to cover until a new teacher was produced, and I agreed to do so, on a part time basis, but at my current hourly rate, plus taxi fare (Ha! Ha! Ha! The power of scarce supply in high demand!)
So now, I'm back at Carden, teaching third grade (I must say, after two years, I'm much better at it), working for the magazine (they did call, but after a cigarette, or two), tutoring three students privately in the evenings, and working for the British Council on the weekends. I am thankful that I no longer have the demands of my masters course, and I am really quite impressed at how quickly I got busy, despite all the changes.
Dad once told me that he saw life as lugging around a sack. Throughout your life, you've got the same sack, and it's almost always full. Every time you think you've lightened your load by getting rid of something in the sack, you will inevitably quickly find something of equal mass to fill it up again. I don't know if this applies to all people, but I reckon I've inherited Dad's sack. It seems to be a big sack, and I seem to be forever yanking things out and stuffing in new ones, but at least it's quite clearly MY sack.
The biggest news is that I've decided to put my masters on hold. I sent in the application for a one year's leave of absence last month, and while I have had word that it was received, I am awaiting final approval. Reasons for this decision were many, but the most salient was that I realized every spare second I had, along with every other spare penny I made, went into this program, and by the time I got to my year end finals (remember, this is a British course, so it all comes down to essays), I was really questioning whether or not it was worth it all in the end. I know this might sound like a weak attempt to cover up slack, or laziness on my part, but really, after a long think, a bit of screaming, and one moment of crying, I came to the conclusion that, while the material I was covering was highly engaging, two more years and another $8,000, might not bring me very much closer to my ultimate aims.
(And the crowds cry out, "Tell us, Maile! Tell us! What are those ultimate aims?!")
So like many a spoiled, middle-class, college educated, over-confident, under-skilled come recovering manic-depressive, yoga/insert your own brand of spirituality found brat, I, too, have wrestled with the great question of "What am I going to do with my life?!". This question, the quest for whose answer seems to best even the very best of us at around 24 or 25 (I believe someone who must have thought himself clever dubbed this ailment the "quarter-century crisis"), has consumed, or is presently consuming, most of the people I know in my age group, and even those older (they do say boys take longer to mature than girls). This affliction does seem to target a certain economic group (kids whose parents paid for their higher education), but culture offers no protection; I have met German, French, English, Chinese, Korean and Mexican sufferers.
Since I got out of school rather early--can you believe it's been more than 6 years already?!--I was fortunate to start this vicious process earlier, and as such, I am now sooner to feel its grip loosening. I concede, I'm not quite out of the woods completely, but I have found hope, and I do see light breaking through. Oddly enough, after all the agonizing, day dreaming, empire building and scrapping, soul-searching and expensive trips to the shrink, the elusive panacea we seem all struggle for, is actually something rather simple: just pick something. Pick something, something that hovers within the realm of reality, and then stick to it.
I want to be a journalist. Journalists are cool. They meet lots of interesting people, they get new things to do all the time and they work at different hours of the day, often in different places, and all of this appeals to me. What's more, I used to be a journalist, so I can with confidence say I know a bit about the work, and I know that I am competent enough to do it well enough to get paid for it. All of these are important considerations. The other thing I want to do is work in Asia. Lucky for me, I am already living here. (Actually, the desire came after the fact.) So, to put it succinctly, I want to be a journalist in Asia.
Once I made that decision, all the other decisions were easy to make. I started my masters (it is in Chinese business and international relations) because I felt it would give me the background necessary to look for jobs in journalism, here in China. (Research yielded that most of the journalism jobs in Asia are business and/or politics related.) I blew off my plans to go to France because I felt I could achieve more staying in here. I quit my regular job and found part-time work so I could focus on my ambitions. I also looked into getting internships, and here is where I found problems: 1. I was competing against recent journalism graduates who 2. maybe had better (foreign) language skills than me. Here was my dilemma. I was working so much that I didn't have time to study Chinese, and I didn't have time to write. I barely had time to sleep. So, I took the year off.
Very ironically, shortly after I quit my masters, my most generous employer, decided that my services were no longer needed. Ariston, the little boy I taught everyday for two hours, had reached the ripe old age of two and was good and ready for full-day kindergarten. To elaborate, what had happened was that a new brother came home, a cook got fired, the nanny took over all domestic duties, on top of managing the baby and the older brother who had a very serious case of sibling rivalry, Mom went back to work, so the tot was sent to school, and I was out of a cushy and reliable job.
There I was, no school, one job shy (I still had other students, plus the IELTS job, so I wasn't yet in a panic), and then something even more ironic, or rather fortuitous, happened: my pal Abel called me and offered me a job writing for a magazine. No shit.
Abel is one of the coolest people I have met in Beijing. At the tender age of 30, he's the bureau chief of Radio France International. He's been here years and years already, and he's very familiar with how the city works. One of his pals, Gregoire (these guys are all French, by the way) is the editor-in-chief of Colors Magazine (started by the Benetton people), and they were in need of writers for their upcoming issue profiling the issue.
Now, I'll tell you the difference between someone at the age of 20, and someone at the age of 26. At 20, you sincerely believe you'll make you're first million by 23, but if someone asks you to fax a document to a number in another city, and you don't already know how to do it, you panic, try to avoid the assignment, and then try to get someone else to do if for you. At 26, all you want is a job that doesn't suck too much, ideally one that has health benefits, and when someone offers you a job anywhere remotely in your area of interest, you say, in full confidence, "Yes. Yes. Gimme. Gimme. I can do it. No problem." Even if you know full well that you might not know exactly what you are doing, all of the silliness that you endure in your early 20s, assuming you overcome it, has the effect of making all obstacles look pretty similar, and eventually you realize, if you can conquer one, you can conquer them all.
So, I got the job. It's only a one-time, freelance gig, but I'm over the moon for it.
But let me tell you about French people. They are slow. I love them, but they are slow. Last summer, I worked with Germans, which was interesting. Germans are punctual to the point of absurdity ("OK, we will meet for breakfast at 9:32. Then we will start our meeting at 10:07"), but generally, their work practices are very compatible with Americans. French people, on the other hand, while very easy going, attentive, and passionate about their work, don't see the harm in having a cigarette and a cup of coffee before getting to an appointment. It's only life, after all.
When it comes to work, I am VERY American. Prolific communication is paramount, and I need to know what is happening at all times. If you tell me to call tomorrow, I will call tomorrow before noon. If I don't reach you, I will send an e-mail, and then call again before the day is out. Of course, I cut my teeth in the entertainment industry where everything is fast and one false step can get you fired, but I believe these are good work habits to have learned. If you're American, that is. French people are a bit different. Once they say they want you, that's it, they want you. But then you have to wait for their call. Or that how it seems to work, anyway.
Abel took more than a week to get back to me, and during that time, another funny thing happened. I was talking with an old colleague of mine who now is the director at the first school I taught at in Beijing. I mentioned that I was no longer teaching the two-year old, and I told him casually that if he ever needed someone to fill in if a teacher was ill, I'd be glad to do it. He called me the next day. Apparently, one of their teachers was very unhappy, so unhappy that she packed up her things and ran off like a thief in the night. She didn't tell her roommate, another teacher, about her plans. The next morning, the same morning they called me, they discovered what had happened when the roommate came to work and told them there wasn't a trace of the girl in the apartment. They asked me if I could come in to cover until a new teacher was produced, and I agreed to do so, on a part time basis, but at my current hourly rate, plus taxi fare (Ha! Ha! Ha! The power of scarce supply in high demand!)
So now, I'm back at Carden, teaching third grade (I must say, after two years, I'm much better at it), working for the magazine (they did call, but after a cigarette, or two), tutoring three students privately in the evenings, and working for the British Council on the weekends. I am thankful that I no longer have the demands of my masters course, and I am really quite impressed at how quickly I got busy, despite all the changes.
Dad once told me that he saw life as lugging around a sack. Throughout your life, you've got the same sack, and it's almost always full. Every time you think you've lightened your load by getting rid of something in the sack, you will inevitably quickly find something of equal mass to fill it up again. I don't know if this applies to all people, but I reckon I've inherited Dad's sack. It seems to be a big sack, and I seem to be forever yanking things out and stuffing in new ones, but at least it's quite clearly MY sack.
Friday, September 22, 2006
For all intents and purposes, I speak Chinese. It's not pretty, it's rarely accurate and it often requires elaboration with hand gestures and sound effects--but I speak it, and more often than not, I get my point across.
However, after two and a half years in this mad place, I have learned that there are two places where I should never ever try to impress anyone with my rudimentary grasp of the Mandarin language: airports and police stations.
With my new job, I fly a lot, so I'm always in and out of airports. If you speak Chinese, especially if you've got a face like mine, you are simply subject to more rules, regulations and inspection. My asthma inhaler always raises questions at security, and I have found, that instead of trying to explain what it is, it is far easier just to ramble away quickly in English. Nine times out of ten, the English of the person on the receiving end is far too limited to understand any explanation employing higher level medical terminology, and they know this, so rather than even making an attempt to interrogate me, they just wave me through.
Police stations, in any country, can be intimidating, and I think in China, they are more so. But police stations here are everywhere, and they are very much an integral part of Chinese life. Beyond maintaining law and order, police here get involved in people's daily lives. All residents, including foreigners, must register with the local police station when moving house. Police stations manage the distribution of identity cards, and children, once born, must also have a record on file with the police.
Today, I went to my local branch of the Public Safety Bureau to reregister after getting a new visa. The last time I did it, it was a snap, and everyone at the station was very happy to chat with the new American girl who looks Chinese, but can't speak the language very well. (But they did tell me that I spoke well enough to be understood, and that with time I would improve.)
This time around however, it was a completely different story. The woman beyond the counter, in a stiff blue blouse with navy epaulettes, her long black hair pulled back from her small, clean face meticulously, refused to register me. She explained, with the help from a guy in the queue that I had violated a regulation requiring foreigners to register within 24 hours of arrival.
Bullshit.
It was at least a month between the time I moved into my new place and the time I actually made my way down to the police station to formalize everything. What the hell was this woman going on about?
She then grilled me as to why I had taken nearly three weeks since the renewal of my visa to come into the station. The truth of it was 1. I'm a busy kid. I travel all over hell and gone, and when I'm in town, my time is usually stretched to the limit, and 2. I didn't think it was that big of a deal.
"Wo you shi," I said. It's the Chinese catch all phrase for, "I was busy. I was too lazy. I didn't feel like it..." It works in every situation, and no matter what the truth is, no one will question it. Except at the police station.
Madame Civil Servant, with her small lips painted carefully with red lipstick, told me that since I hadn't come in time, I would have to go to the district station, which was located somewhere deep in the hutong.
Fuck.
So off I went in a cab, meandering along the small alleyways of the old part of town in search of my Public Safety fate.
But this time, I got smart.
"Where do I register?" I asked the guard who looked as though his grasp of Mandarin may have been questionable, let alone his familiarity with English.
"She's a foreigner!" he yelled to his colleagues.
So at the gate I waited until they produced someone who could speak English. A guy came out, told me I did something wrong, I apologized like a bumbling foreign idiot, and then he went, with all my documents, back into the massive district office. He came back about fifteen minutes later with a handwritten piece of paper and said, "Sign this."
"What is it?" I asked, like every good American girl born to a lawyer father. He gave me a slightly irritated "how-dare-you-ask" look, but then said, "It's a warning!"
I signed it, apologized profusely, promised never to be so negligent again, and then made my way back to the first place. On the way, I stopped for a sesame bun from a street vendor, and we chatted a bit about why I look Chinese, but speak Chinese with an accent.
Back at the station, the Heavy Hand of Bureaucracy had been replaced by a very pleasant middle-aged woman. I handed her all of my papers, and made no mention of my written warning. She processed everything quickly, and with a smile, and asked me some basic questions about where I was from. Very much to my surprise, she gave me my registation form, valid for the year, and made no reference to the discrepancy between today's date, and the one found on my visa, and then sent me on my way.
If only I had come later in the day, in the first place! That's local bureaucracy for you! Man, you win some and you lose some.
However, after two and a half years in this mad place, I have learned that there are two places where I should never ever try to impress anyone with my rudimentary grasp of the Mandarin language: airports and police stations.
With my new job, I fly a lot, so I'm always in and out of airports. If you speak Chinese, especially if you've got a face like mine, you are simply subject to more rules, regulations and inspection. My asthma inhaler always raises questions at security, and I have found, that instead of trying to explain what it is, it is far easier just to ramble away quickly in English. Nine times out of ten, the English of the person on the receiving end is far too limited to understand any explanation employing higher level medical terminology, and they know this, so rather than even making an attempt to interrogate me, they just wave me through.
Police stations, in any country, can be intimidating, and I think in China, they are more so. But police stations here are everywhere, and they are very much an integral part of Chinese life. Beyond maintaining law and order, police here get involved in people's daily lives. All residents, including foreigners, must register with the local police station when moving house. Police stations manage the distribution of identity cards, and children, once born, must also have a record on file with the police.
Today, I went to my local branch of the Public Safety Bureau to reregister after getting a new visa. The last time I did it, it was a snap, and everyone at the station was very happy to chat with the new American girl who looks Chinese, but can't speak the language very well. (But they did tell me that I spoke well enough to be understood, and that with time I would improve.)
This time around however, it was a completely different story. The woman beyond the counter, in a stiff blue blouse with navy epaulettes, her long black hair pulled back from her small, clean face meticulously, refused to register me. She explained, with the help from a guy in the queue that I had violated a regulation requiring foreigners to register within 24 hours of arrival.
Bullshit.
It was at least a month between the time I moved into my new place and the time I actually made my way down to the police station to formalize everything. What the hell was this woman going on about?
She then grilled me as to why I had taken nearly three weeks since the renewal of my visa to come into the station. The truth of it was 1. I'm a busy kid. I travel all over hell and gone, and when I'm in town, my time is usually stretched to the limit, and 2. I didn't think it was that big of a deal.
"Wo you shi," I said. It's the Chinese catch all phrase for, "I was busy. I was too lazy. I didn't feel like it..." It works in every situation, and no matter what the truth is, no one will question it. Except at the police station.
Madame Civil Servant, with her small lips painted carefully with red lipstick, told me that since I hadn't come in time, I would have to go to the district station, which was located somewhere deep in the hutong.
Fuck.
So off I went in a cab, meandering along the small alleyways of the old part of town in search of my Public Safety fate.
But this time, I got smart.
"Where do I register?" I asked the guard who looked as though his grasp of Mandarin may have been questionable, let alone his familiarity with English.
"She's a foreigner!" he yelled to his colleagues.
So at the gate I waited until they produced someone who could speak English. A guy came out, told me I did something wrong, I apologized like a bumbling foreign idiot, and then he went, with all my documents, back into the massive district office. He came back about fifteen minutes later with a handwritten piece of paper and said, "Sign this."
"What is it?" I asked, like every good American girl born to a lawyer father. He gave me a slightly irritated "how-dare-you-ask" look, but then said, "It's a warning!"
I signed it, apologized profusely, promised never to be so negligent again, and then made my way back to the first place. On the way, I stopped for a sesame bun from a street vendor, and we chatted a bit about why I look Chinese, but speak Chinese with an accent.
Back at the station, the Heavy Hand of Bureaucracy had been replaced by a very pleasant middle-aged woman. I handed her all of my papers, and made no mention of my written warning. She processed everything quickly, and with a smile, and asked me some basic questions about where I was from. Very much to my surprise, she gave me my registation form, valid for the year, and made no reference to the discrepancy between today's date, and the one found on my visa, and then sent me on my way.
If only I had come later in the day, in the first place! That's local bureaucracy for you! Man, you win some and you lose some.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
As dear old Dad has told me time and time again, "in adversity we conquer."
I have found a new place to live, and I will have it all to myself. Yes, I will be paying more money, but I will have it all to myself. The location is not quite as good as the place I've got, but, did I mention, I WILL HAVE IT ALL TO MYSELF.
Woo-hoo! I am moving up in the world!
Photos forthcoming.
In other news. No word yet on the job for which I had the interview mentioned in the last post. The interview went very well, but it does not seem I'm quite the right fit for what they need. There are two posts: one to be the boss's personal assistant, and the other to be a consultant. After spending my formative young adult years in Hollywood, taking a personal assistant job feels a bit like walking into a fire, but at the same time, my Chinese is simply not good enough to be a consultant. But even is a position was found for me, I'd have to quit my masters to take it, and I don't know if I would do that. I am rather keen to stay the course...
The British Council gig is really turning out to be a kick (good thing). I've got the hang of it now and I just go in on the weekends and make 33 dollars an hour! For sure, in the States, for someone my age, 33 dollars an hour is nothing to sneeze at. In China...I'm bourgeois. To be fair, I only work a few hours per week, but still, it's an awesome gig. Plus, I get to travel. I am going to Wuhan next weekend.
Photos forthcoming.
I have found a new place to live, and I will have it all to myself. Yes, I will be paying more money, but I will have it all to myself. The location is not quite as good as the place I've got, but, did I mention, I WILL HAVE IT ALL TO MYSELF.
Woo-hoo! I am moving up in the world!
Photos forthcoming.
In other news. No word yet on the job for which I had the interview mentioned in the last post. The interview went very well, but it does not seem I'm quite the right fit for what they need. There are two posts: one to be the boss's personal assistant, and the other to be a consultant. After spending my formative young adult years in Hollywood, taking a personal assistant job feels a bit like walking into a fire, but at the same time, my Chinese is simply not good enough to be a consultant. But even is a position was found for me, I'd have to quit my masters to take it, and I don't know if I would do that. I am rather keen to stay the course...
The British Council gig is really turning out to be a kick (good thing). I've got the hang of it now and I just go in on the weekends and make 33 dollars an hour! For sure, in the States, for someone my age, 33 dollars an hour is nothing to sneeze at. In China...I'm bourgeois. To be fair, I only work a few hours per week, but still, it's an awesome gig. Plus, I get to travel. I am going to Wuhan next weekend.
Photos forthcoming.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Forgive the last post. I'm clearly a bit frazzled...
OK. Kona people, I will be making a return on the 28th of June. See you then.
In other news, it's a gorgeous day in Beijing. It rained last night, so today is clear, sunny, blue and breezy. Here is the view from my living room. Hardly a Hawaiian sunset, but it's still quite nice. The tall building center-right is the new Poly Plaza, currently under construction.
Also, I have an interview on Friday with a business strategy consulting firm. I don't know much about them, but a friend referred me, and based on my CV alone, they were interested. (Ironically, it was the same CV I sent the international school who rejected me.) From what I understand, they do research for big foreign companies looking to get into China. It's foreign-run, which is reassuring and the office is located in the swank Dashanzi art district. We shall see how it goes...
You know, non-Americans here often talk about the "great American dream". I guess, to a certain extent, we really do believe that hard work, smarts and diligence will take us anywhere we want to go, but I must admit, at the present, I don't know anyone my age getting ahead. Most of the people I know who have finished college are either barely scraping by, or barely scraping by and living with their parents. Few of them are working in the field that they want to work in, and if they are, they work far too many hours per week, for less than a living wage, with few or no benefits and no vacation (standards based on "civilized Western nations"). To me, China truly is a land of opportunity. In just two years time, I'm making 6 or 7 times what I did when I first started. Very basic competence has taken me all over, and opportunities, while not always stable, abound. I have held jobs not only in teaching, but in marketing, media and voice work. I take holidays, usually when I want to, and I have travelled to Hong Kong, Korea, Taiwan, Thailand and various cities in China, both for work and pleasure. I spoke one and a half languages when I arrived here, and now I speak three, at the very least to "survival" level.
Maybe I have an unfair advantage here: native English skills and an American, and a, in the near future, British degree. I can't imagine the opportunities are so wide from everyone in China, but to be sure, even the Chinese are doing much better than they ever have before.
Despite my pain in the ass roommates...life is pretty good.
OK. Kona people, I will be making a return on the 28th of June. See you then.
In other news, it's a gorgeous day in Beijing. It rained last night, so today is clear, sunny, blue and breezy. Here is the view from my living room. Hardly a Hawaiian sunset, but it's still quite nice. The tall building center-right is the new Poly Plaza, currently under construction.
Also, I have an interview on Friday with a business strategy consulting firm. I don't know much about them, but a friend referred me, and based on my CV alone, they were interested. (Ironically, it was the same CV I sent the international school who rejected me.) From what I understand, they do research for big foreign companies looking to get into China. It's foreign-run, which is reassuring and the office is located in the swank Dashanzi art district. We shall see how it goes...
You know, non-Americans here often talk about the "great American dream". I guess, to a certain extent, we really do believe that hard work, smarts and diligence will take us anywhere we want to go, but I must admit, at the present, I don't know anyone my age getting ahead. Most of the people I know who have finished college are either barely scraping by, or barely scraping by and living with their parents. Few of them are working in the field that they want to work in, and if they are, they work far too many hours per week, for less than a living wage, with few or no benefits and no vacation (standards based on "civilized Western nations"). To me, China truly is a land of opportunity. In just two years time, I'm making 6 or 7 times what I did when I first started. Very basic competence has taken me all over, and opportunities, while not always stable, abound. I have held jobs not only in teaching, but in marketing, media and voice work. I take holidays, usually when I want to, and I have travelled to Hong Kong, Korea, Taiwan, Thailand and various cities in China, both for work and pleasure. I spoke one and a half languages when I arrived here, and now I speak three, at the very least to "survival" level.
Maybe I have an unfair advantage here: native English skills and an American, and a, in the near future, British degree. I can't imagine the opportunities are so wide from everyone in China, but to be sure, even the Chinese are doing much better than they ever have before.
Despite my pain in the ass roommates...life is pretty good.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
I need to bitch.
I have been uber-stressed lately. School and work has taken its toll, the weather is changing violently (a weak excuse...maybe, but everyone I know has been sick at least once in the past month, myself included), and a bunch of people I know are leaving--among them, a handsome, young man who announced to me that he thought I was the coolest thing since sliced bread, just before he hopped a plane for a three-year contract in Hong Kong. On top of all this, I will be making a return back to the island at the end of this month. While I know most people would be thanking their lucky stars for a trip to Hawaii, for me, the thought of a return to my hometown causes nothing but anxiety and indigestion.
Living with roommates is starting to bug the shit out of me. Since living with messy people, I've become rather tidy. (OK, maybe not in my room, but the public parts of the house are usually quite in order.) I don't like to see piles of dishes in the sink, so I do most of the washing. We have had endless discussions where everyone has promised to do more, but at the end of the day, it all comes down to the person who cares the most--me. But more than just the mess, my roommates have become like siblings. And I'm the big sister. I look after all the bills and I make all the repairs in the house. It seems that I am the only one who grasps the relationship between going to the grocery store and having food in the house, though they still recognize the need to eat, and since they know I'm always up early, I get asked to wake them up in the morning. They come in, when they can clearly see I am working, to share with me the smallest of details as to why they think their boss hates them, and they don't understand why I look irritated when I come home, intent on studying, to find them attached to my computer. Indeed, it's nice to have people around, and my roommates really are good people, but I realize more and more, that I'd rather just be on my own. To be fair, it makes sense that I should just delegate more responsibility (though I have tried with limited success) and be more upfront about personal boundaries, but I feel that these people are adults and it's not my place to educate them. What's more, I don't want the situation to escalate into anti-social behavior where I hide in my room when I'm home and put my name on all of my food, nor do I want to sit in the dark because someone has failed, even with several reminders, to pay the electricity bill. The new guy is a lot better than the girl who was here previously--he takes instruction well and has generally a strong sense of hygiene--but it seems that the other girl, has slacked off to compensate.
It's all just pissing me off.
I wake up very early in the mornings, sometimes at 3 or 4 o'clock, especially when I'm irritated. I really enjoy the quiet mornings and I find it's the only time that I have to myself. I can study, read, think and listen to music interruption free. I also can tidy up around the house without anyone getting in my way, whilst feigning guilt for allowing me to look after things.
This morning I was up at half four. I read the newspaper, and then I went into the kitchen to do the dishes. I studied for a bit, then, feeling bored with that, I went back to the kitchen, deciding to undertake a kim bap project.
Not so many people know this about me, but I really, really like the process of preparing food, and I especially like anything where I can chop anything into very small pieces. Really. For some reason, I find it exceptionally relaxing. I also find it interesting to devise new methods for chopping. (Yes, I know, really, I am going off the deep end.) But there's a lot more to chopping than hacking something to pieces. Using a good knife, you can julienne carrots, dice pineapple, mince ginger and put zucchini in to perfect french fry strips.
Making kim bap is a very involved process that requires a lot of patience for cutting, cooling and wrapping. It's basically a Korean sushi roll, and today I used cucumber, egg, spinach, sesame seeds and shitake mushrooms for the filling. In a nutshell, this is how it goes:
1. Cook the rice. Let it cool.
2. While the rice is cooking, use the steamer basket in the cooker to steam the mushrooms and spinach.
3. Cut the cucumber into strips, salt them, let them soak, and then rinse and dry.
4. Beat an egg and fry it thin like a crepe.
5. Cut the spinach, mushrooms and egg into fine strips.
6. Mix the rice with vinegar, sugar and a dash of salt.
Once everything is cool and into appropriate pieces, lay out seaweed on a bamboo roller, put down some rice, smear the rice with sesame oil, add the filling, and then roll firmly.
That's it. The finished project:
Here are some of the things I used to make the kim bap. One of the great things about living in Beijing is that products come from a variety of places. Here, I have Korean vinegar, Chinese sesame seeds and sesame oil, Japanese seaweed and sea salt, in the grinder, from Australia. Michael bought the rice cooker. Being a good member of the club of those who have a Chinese parent, he was shocked and appalled to find that our kitchen was lacking one when he arrived.
And then, when it was all done, I did all the dishes. Mom and Dad would be so proud; possibly more surprised.
I have been uber-stressed lately. School and work has taken its toll, the weather is changing violently (a weak excuse...maybe, but everyone I know has been sick at least once in the past month, myself included), and a bunch of people I know are leaving--among them, a handsome, young man who announced to me that he thought I was the coolest thing since sliced bread, just before he hopped a plane for a three-year contract in Hong Kong. On top of all this, I will be making a return back to the island at the end of this month. While I know most people would be thanking their lucky stars for a trip to Hawaii, for me, the thought of a return to my hometown causes nothing but anxiety and indigestion.
Living with roommates is starting to bug the shit out of me. Since living with messy people, I've become rather tidy. (OK, maybe not in my room, but the public parts of the house are usually quite in order.) I don't like to see piles of dishes in the sink, so I do most of the washing. We have had endless discussions where everyone has promised to do more, but at the end of the day, it all comes down to the person who cares the most--me. But more than just the mess, my roommates have become like siblings. And I'm the big sister. I look after all the bills and I make all the repairs in the house. It seems that I am the only one who grasps the relationship between going to the grocery store and having food in the house, though they still recognize the need to eat, and since they know I'm always up early, I get asked to wake them up in the morning. They come in, when they can clearly see I am working, to share with me the smallest of details as to why they think their boss hates them, and they don't understand why I look irritated when I come home, intent on studying, to find them attached to my computer. Indeed, it's nice to have people around, and my roommates really are good people, but I realize more and more, that I'd rather just be on my own. To be fair, it makes sense that I should just delegate more responsibility (though I have tried with limited success) and be more upfront about personal boundaries, but I feel that these people are adults and it's not my place to educate them. What's more, I don't want the situation to escalate into anti-social behavior where I hide in my room when I'm home and put my name on all of my food, nor do I want to sit in the dark because someone has failed, even with several reminders, to pay the electricity bill. The new guy is a lot better than the girl who was here previously--he takes instruction well and has generally a strong sense of hygiene--but it seems that the other girl, has slacked off to compensate.
It's all just pissing me off.
I wake up very early in the mornings, sometimes at 3 or 4 o'clock, especially when I'm irritated. I really enjoy the quiet mornings and I find it's the only time that I have to myself. I can study, read, think and listen to music interruption free. I also can tidy up around the house without anyone getting in my way, whilst feigning guilt for allowing me to look after things.
This morning I was up at half four. I read the newspaper, and then I went into the kitchen to do the dishes. I studied for a bit, then, feeling bored with that, I went back to the kitchen, deciding to undertake a kim bap project.
Not so many people know this about me, but I really, really like the process of preparing food, and I especially like anything where I can chop anything into very small pieces. Really. For some reason, I find it exceptionally relaxing. I also find it interesting to devise new methods for chopping. (Yes, I know, really, I am going off the deep end.) But there's a lot more to chopping than hacking something to pieces. Using a good knife, you can julienne carrots, dice pineapple, mince ginger and put zucchini in to perfect french fry strips.
Making kim bap is a very involved process that requires a lot of patience for cutting, cooling and wrapping. It's basically a Korean sushi roll, and today I used cucumber, egg, spinach, sesame seeds and shitake mushrooms for the filling. In a nutshell, this is how it goes:
1. Cook the rice. Let it cool.
2. While the rice is cooking, use the steamer basket in the cooker to steam the mushrooms and spinach.
3. Cut the cucumber into strips, salt them, let them soak, and then rinse and dry.
4. Beat an egg and fry it thin like a crepe.
5. Cut the spinach, mushrooms and egg into fine strips.
6. Mix the rice with vinegar, sugar and a dash of salt.
Once everything is cool and into appropriate pieces, lay out seaweed on a bamboo roller, put down some rice, smear the rice with sesame oil, add the filling, and then roll firmly.
That's it. The finished project:
Here are some of the things I used to make the kim bap. One of the great things about living in Beijing is that products come from a variety of places. Here, I have Korean vinegar, Chinese sesame seeds and sesame oil, Japanese seaweed and sea salt, in the grinder, from Australia. Michael bought the rice cooker. Being a good member of the club of those who have a Chinese parent, he was shocked and appalled to find that our kitchen was lacking one when he arrived.
And then, when it was all done, I did all the dishes. Mom and Dad would be so proud; possibly more surprised.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
On Tuesday, Ariston's dad came home while I was giving Ariston his lesson. Usually, when either of the parents come home early, I cut the lesson short because Ariston is no longer interested in anything I can offer; Mom and Dad are much cooler than me.
So Ariston runs off to play with Dad and I go back to his room to tidy up. Five minutes later I hear screams to high heaven.
"Give it to me, Ariston," I hear his dad plead. Ariston just went on wailing. Then Dad comes into the room carrying the screaming, tearing, red-faced kid.
"What's wrong, Ariston?" I ask. In one fist he's got a red one-hundred yuan note. "I had some money out, he took it, and now, he won't let go of it," his father explained. "Ariston, give it back!" the father asked. Ariston would not give up the bill to save his life.
"Give it to Maile, then," Dad said, hoping I would be enough of a diversion to loosen his son's grip. Ariston gave me one look, paused, then continued screaming and crying.
One hundred yuan is about $12. It's the largest denomination of money available in China. For a kid in China, 100 yuan is easily as valuable as a hundred dollars for a kid in the States. There was precious little coming between the 20-month old Ariston and the money.
The expression "tight-fisted Chinaman" came to mind and I burst into laughter. "He's learned early," I told his dad. "Money and the ABCs...the basics are covered," his dad said.
I went into the other room, got my things together and when I went back to say goodbye, Ariston was being fed by his nanny and the cook. He still had his fist wrapped around the red bill. I laughed again, and said "goodbye". Ariston looked up from his lunch, smiled, and in perfect English, said, "money".
So Ariston runs off to play with Dad and I go back to his room to tidy up. Five minutes later I hear screams to high heaven.
"Give it to me, Ariston," I hear his dad plead. Ariston just went on wailing. Then Dad comes into the room carrying the screaming, tearing, red-faced kid.
"What's wrong, Ariston?" I ask. In one fist he's got a red one-hundred yuan note. "I had some money out, he took it, and now, he won't let go of it," his father explained. "Ariston, give it back!" the father asked. Ariston would not give up the bill to save his life.
"Give it to Maile, then," Dad said, hoping I would be enough of a diversion to loosen his son's grip. Ariston gave me one look, paused, then continued screaming and crying.
One hundred yuan is about $12. It's the largest denomination of money available in China. For a kid in China, 100 yuan is easily as valuable as a hundred dollars for a kid in the States. There was precious little coming between the 20-month old Ariston and the money.
The expression "tight-fisted Chinaman" came to mind and I burst into laughter. "He's learned early," I told his dad. "Money and the ABCs...the basics are covered," his dad said.I went into the other room, got my things together and when I went back to say goodbye, Ariston was being fed by his nanny and the cook. He still had his fist wrapped around the red bill. I laughed again, and said "goodbye". Ariston looked up from his lunch, smiled, and in perfect English, said, "money".
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Things are as usual: work, study, work, study, work, study. There is also a fair amount of pretending to studying and thinking about studying.
The beginning of the month saw the national May 1 holiday, and like many a jaded foreigner in China, I opted out of fighting the travelling crowds and stayed in Beijing. (More than that, three-fourths of my students were in town, so I had to work.) There was much to do and see in the capital this year, anyhow. The Dashanzi art district hosted a huge international art festival, and the Midi school, the school in China for rock music, put together a week long event out in Haidian. Artists from all over the world, including Korea, Taiwan, Spain and England performed.
Michael, the new roomie, and I schlepped it over to Haidian park on the first day. The music was alright and the dark beer, at just 8 RMB per clear plastic cup, was even better.
After the festival, we went to one of my favorite restaurants in Beijing. It's a hole in the wall in central Beijing, on a main road in the northern hutong (traditional housing) area. The place has amazing jiao zi (dumplings), including a number of su de (vegetarian) choices--the mushroom and egg jiao zi can find no equal.
It's a bit weird having another hapa around. There's an awful lot of "well, you're hair is more Chinese than mine, but my eyes are more almond shaped..." and "your parents don't get along either?!" Also, since having Michael around, I see that I really am Chinese in some ways. We went grocery shopping the other day, which is quite cool because Michael is a cook, and I realized, because he is, that I am equally comfortable in the dairy section, as well as in the spice/sauce/and dried things that look like twigs section. Michael is as just as at ease in the open market as in the chain supermarket, as I am, and unlike my very white French roommate, he has no qualms about haggling, squeezing the produce, nor buying green vegetables, whose English names we are not quite sure of, but are quite confident that they're probably just fine to eat.
At the restaurant we went to, aforementioned, Michael saw two old men squawking over a bowl of stewed bones. "I want that," Michael said shameless pointing to the men's table, and within minutes, out came the xiaojie (waitress) with a big bowl of beef bones, complete with plastic glove and drinking straw to get into the crevices. Michael went straight to work on the marrow with the gusto I believe to be reserved only for those with Sinic blood in their veins. Then, in his scouse brogue he said with satisfaction, "That's lovely."
That's Michael. (I don't really think he's looks very Chinese, not as much as me, at least.)
In other news, I did not get the job with the international school. They shot me down quick--not even an interview. But, however, the British Council came through, and last Saturday was my first day. It's an OK gig. I just give interviews to painfully nervous Chinese people, for whom the test often dictates their immediate success or near future plans. The cool thing is the job will send me to different cities soon. I am looking forward to that.
The beginning of the month saw the national May 1 holiday, and like many a jaded foreigner in China, I opted out of fighting the travelling crowds and stayed in Beijing. (More than that, three-fourths of my students were in town, so I had to work.) There was much to do and see in the capital this year, anyhow. The Dashanzi art district hosted a huge international art festival, and the Midi school, the school in China for rock music, put together a week long event out in Haidian. Artists from all over the world, including Korea, Taiwan, Spain and England performed.Michael, the new roomie, and I schlepped it over to Haidian park on the first day. The music was alright and the dark beer, at just 8 RMB per clear plastic cup, was even better.
After the festival, we went to one of my favorite restaurants in Beijing. It's a hole in the wall in central Beijing, on a main road in the northern hutong (traditional housing) area. The place has amazing jiao zi (dumplings), including a number of su de (vegetarian) choices--the mushroom and egg jiao zi can find no equal.It's a bit weird having another hapa around. There's an awful lot of "well, you're hair is more Chinese than mine, but my eyes are more almond shaped..." and "your parents don't get along either?!" Also, since having Michael around, I see that I really am Chinese in some ways. We went grocery shopping the other day, which is quite cool because Michael is a cook, and I realized, because he is, that I am equally comfortable in the dairy section, as well as in the spice/sauce/and dried things that look like twigs section. Michael is as just as at ease in the open market as in the chain supermarket, as I am, and unlike my very white French roommate, he has no qualms about haggling, squeezing the produce, nor buying green vegetables, whose English names we are not quite sure of, but are quite confident that they're probably just fine to eat.
At the restaurant we went to, aforementioned, Michael saw two old men squawking over a bowl of stewed bones. "I want that," Michael said shameless pointing to the men's table, and within minutes, out came the xiaojie (waitress) with a big bowl of beef bones, complete with plastic glove and drinking straw to get into the crevices. Michael went straight to work on the marrow with the gusto I believe to be reserved only for those with Sinic blood in their veins. Then, in his scouse brogue he said with satisfaction, "That's lovely."That's Michael. (I don't really think he's looks very Chinese, not as much as me, at least.)
In other news, I did not get the job with the international school. They shot me down quick--not even an interview. But, however, the British Council came through, and last Saturday was my first day. It's an OK gig. I just give interviews to painfully nervous Chinese people, for whom the test often dictates their immediate success or near future plans. The cool thing is the job will send me to different cities soon. I am looking forward to that.
Friday, April 21, 2006
Thursday was my birthday. I am 26 years old. It's a strange feeling realizing that this is my THIRD birthday in China.I tend to get a bit weird around my birthday, but I must admit that this year was not so bad. I've taken an extended break from drinking, so I didn't go out (really, I just don't have the time, money or inkling anymore), but my roommate treated me to lunch and I broke my diet to enjoy a chocolate ice cream. (Note: chocolate ice cream tastes much much better when you eat after a long period of not eating it. [Note: I am not really on a diet so much as on a health kick. Since cutting out the drink and other vices, I've put myself on a whole foods, low-dairy diet. Given that I have already been a vegetarian for 12 years now(!), this was not so hard, but I try to eat processed foods as little as possible. The results have been tremendous. I cook and clean a lot now--the kitchen has never been in better shape--I've lost some weight and my digestion system has never been so functional and efficient, something of an achievement here in China where most foreigners contend with Mao's revenge on at least a monthly basis.])
I bought this book as a present to myself. It's Hunter S. Thompson's Curse of Lono, illustrated by Ralph Steadman. This book was hard to find before Mr. Thompson decided to spray the walls of his home with his own blood and genius, but since the violent event, the story has been rereleased in giant coffee-table format. I was thrilled to find the book at my local bookstore/coffee shop/free wireless Internet access hangout, so I bought it. Hunter S. Thompson spent some time in Hawaii in the early 80's and the book is a collection of his writing about the place. As the photo to the left attests to, Mr. Thompson spent some time on the Kona Coast (though I can't imagine what he, or anyone for that matter, could have be doing there that would constitute "ass kicking").Ralph Steadman was an artist I became familiar with in college. Here is his interpretation of the Kona Pier. The fish drawn up is the author, himself.
In other news, things are hectic on the home front. My roommate, whom I refer to as La Poupee (the French for "bimbo"), announced four days ago that she will be leaving Beijing on the 23rd. This left my other roommate and I in a scramble to get someone in here as soon as possible to take her room (of course La Poupee was far too busy with her own affairs, such as washing her hair and arranging farewell meetings, to make any effort to find someone herself-- despite her demand for an instant return on her deposit). Perrine, the roommate staying, with whom I get along well, and I, needless to say have been pissed. But as luck would have it, we found someone yesterday. He's another hapa (his dad's from Hong Kong and his mom is English) and he comes from Liverpool. Amazingly, like another hapa I know, he studied media in school, took up service work upon graduation (he's a cook) and then came to China to be an English teacher. What is most appealing about him, aside from the cook part, is that, unlike most of the people I have been encountering of late (very young, hyper-ambitious, or hyper-slack, recent graduates who have come to Beijing to either "break-into" the Chinese market (they usually return home deflated, having discovered that the road to CEO greatness requires wicked Mandarin skills and a struggle greater than a three-month internship) or to pickle their minds and livers on the cheap while snagging as many Chinese girls as possible (they usually return home after having run out of money), is this guy has had roommates in the past, he supports himself and doesn't seem to have any specific agenda other than "seeing how the other half lives" and getting away from the alarmingly "media saturated" British society (his words).
Other news: I am still working and studying, working and studying and working and studying. It looks like the job with the British Council is not panning out, but a friend of mine just referred me for a job at his place of work, the International School of Beijing. The position is Marketing and Publications Manager, and my friend said, given my background, that I may have a good shot at it. This would mean a full American salary, with benefits. We shall see...
Saturday, April 01, 2006
There is a new man in my life. I met him a couple of months ago, and now I spend time with him nearly everyday. He comes from a very good family (in fact, I think his parents are loaded), and while he doesn't talk too much, he demonstrates a quick intelligence.
Ariston is very sensitive, and there are times when he cannot control his emotions. I have learned to have patience with him. I realize that boys from good families like to have their way. But mostly, Ariston and I get along swimmingly. He's a very good looking fellow, and he drools all over for me. I must admit he is shamelessly fascinated with my breasts, which he sometimes demonstrates at the most inappropriate of times, but hey, we've all got our foibles, don't we?
This is Ariston.
You see, he's a senstive boy.
Ariston is very sensitive, and there are times when he cannot control his emotions. I have learned to have patience with him. I realize that boys from good families like to have their way. But mostly, Ariston and I get along swimmingly. He's a very good looking fellow, and he drools all over for me. I must admit he is shamelessly fascinated with my breasts, which he sometimes demonstrates at the most inappropriate of times, but hey, we've all got our foibles, don't we?
This is Ariston.
You see, he's a senstive boy.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
My friend Ming and I went out for dinner at the Tree, an excellent beer and pizza place down on Sanlitun, last week. After dinner we stopped by the DVD shop around the corner because I had been trying to track down a copy of the film about Truman Capote, starring Phillip Seymour Hoffman.
The shop we went to is usually stacked to the ceiling with DVDs. The new stuff is always up front and the older stuff is arranged by genre in the back. Each DVD is 10 RMB, and if you buy 10, you get one for free. The quality at this place is guaranteed, so while 10 RMB is a bit stiff, its location is convenient and customer loyalty is high.
Nothing makes me happier that perusing piles of plastic sleeved DVD cases. My finger flipping technique has been perfected and I can, without any hesitation, ask in Chinese, if a movie has English or French subtitles (yes, my French has improved that much here in China). there's lots of hype in the media about copyright protection and I do know some foreigners who feel guilty about buying bootlegged DVDs, but all I have to say about that is "fuck Hollywood." (They lost their chance with me years ago.)
I can find anything here on the streets of Beijing. Really, anything. I have purchased all of Wong Kar-Wai's films, a Charlie Chaplin collection, a substantial amount of Almodovar's work, Scottish films, French films, classic (I mean 70s) American movies...you name it. Several boys have also informed me that finding "tranny porn" or even animal porn is no challenge, at all.
So, shocked I was to find the shelves of the shop nearly bare. The only things out were Chinese movies, some CDs and some very old American Hollywood flicks. On the shelving above the cash register was a new arrangement: stacks of Mao's little red book, in English and in Chinese.
Ming, who speaks decent Chinese asked what happened to the usual decadent collection. The woman, indirectly, said something about officials in town for a meeting. She wouldn't elaborate, but then said, "Come back in two days." "What officials? What meeting?" Ming persisted. "Come back in two days!" the woman said. That was that, and we left empty-handed.
I read this in the New York Times today: http://www.nytimes.com/2006/03/23/business/worldbusiness/23china.html?_r=1&oref=slogin
American congress people are in town. It seems to be a fair conclusion that Beijing tidied up a bit in anticipation, especially, since the Americans are so uppity about intellectual property rights violations here.
PS - I didn't have to wait two days to go back to the store to get Capote. A guy who keeps cart on the sidewalk in front of my gym had it for only 5 RMB the next day.
The shop we went to is usually stacked to the ceiling with DVDs. The new stuff is always up front and the older stuff is arranged by genre in the back. Each DVD is 10 RMB, and if you buy 10, you get one for free. The quality at this place is guaranteed, so while 10 RMB is a bit stiff, its location is convenient and customer loyalty is high.
Nothing makes me happier that perusing piles of plastic sleeved DVD cases. My finger flipping technique has been perfected and I can, without any hesitation, ask in Chinese, if a movie has English or French subtitles (yes, my French has improved that much here in China). there's lots of hype in the media about copyright protection and I do know some foreigners who feel guilty about buying bootlegged DVDs, but all I have to say about that is "fuck Hollywood." (They lost their chance with me years ago.)
I can find anything here on the streets of Beijing. Really, anything. I have purchased all of Wong Kar-Wai's films, a Charlie Chaplin collection, a substantial amount of Almodovar's work, Scottish films, French films, classic (I mean 70s) American movies...you name it. Several boys have also informed me that finding "tranny porn" or even animal porn is no challenge, at all.
So, shocked I was to find the shelves of the shop nearly bare. The only things out were Chinese movies, some CDs and some very old American Hollywood flicks. On the shelving above the cash register was a new arrangement: stacks of Mao's little red book, in English and in Chinese.
Ming, who speaks decent Chinese asked what happened to the usual decadent collection. The woman, indirectly, said something about officials in town for a meeting. She wouldn't elaborate, but then said, "Come back in two days." "What officials? What meeting?" Ming persisted. "Come back in two days!" the woman said. That was that, and we left empty-handed.
I read this in the New York Times today: http://www.nytimes.com/2006/03/23/business/worldbusiness/23china.html?_r=1&oref=slogin
American congress people are in town. It seems to be a fair conclusion that Beijing tidied up a bit in anticipation, especially, since the Americans are so uppity about intellectual property rights violations here.
PS - I didn't have to wait two days to go back to the store to get Capote. A guy who keeps cart on the sidewalk in front of my gym had it for only 5 RMB the next day.
Sunday, February 05, 2006
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Guo Nian Hao!
This was the view from the window in the den on Chinese New Year's eve (yes, those are bars and no, they are not there because I live in a crime-ridden neighbor; they are there to protect me from hurting myself should I try to escape in the event a fire, obviously). For the first time in 12 years, Beijingers were allowed to purchase, and subsequently blow up fireworks, to their hearts' content, and they did. (Sorry to disappoint, Mom, but I didn't participate. Laziness propped up by a feeble excuse of minding my asthma kept me inside and just peeking out the window.) But Chinese New Year is hardly a one shot deal. It's a multi-day celebration and skull-splitting, heart-stopping pops and squeals had been heard starting a week before the official day, and have continued up until last night. It would not surprise me to hear it continue through the end of the week. Aside from the blasts and bangs and the cars alarms triggered as a result of, Beijing is eerily quiet. Most of the small shops and restaurants are closed up and the subway station closest to my apartment is ghostly. There are several temple fairs happening throughout the city, but the usual streets and traffic zones have petered out to flow that even most Westerners would be comfortable with.
People go back to work on Thursday. I am looking forward to it.
People go back to work on Thursday. I am looking forward to it.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
The Scuttlebutt
I'm back in Beijing and for those of you not in the know, that means I was away.
I finished up the Puma gig in the middle of August, got back to Beijing, found a new place to live (it's awesome, by the way) and got set up with a new job at the Korean International School in Beijing.
Over the October 1 holiday, I went to England to start my masters course at the University of Sheffield, and after England, I went to the South of France to play.
Life is Beijing in good. I work a lot, play a lot, and things have become quite usual.
I finished up the Puma gig in the middle of August, got back to Beijing, found a new place to live (it's awesome, by the way) and got set up with a new job at the Korean International School in Beijing.
Over the October 1 holiday, I went to England to start my masters course at the University of Sheffield, and after England, I went to the South of France to play.
Life is Beijing in good. I work a lot, play a lot, and things have become quite usual.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
I am not dead, just exceptionally busy. The month of May was crazy for me: I went to Shanghai; I've been unusually social, of late; I've been teaching my kids the Huki Lau and spending hours cutting out little paper flowers for leis; I got a new apartment, and I got a new job.
I hope to expound on some of these topics soon, but until then, enjoy the photos.
I hope to expound on some of these topics soon, but until then, enjoy the photos.
Rock Stars!
Not really, but other people thought they were rock stars. The guy on the right is Benjamin, a German. I met him just before I left for Shanghai and he invited me to an art project where more than 400 foreigners got together in these blue suits to be photographed.
The suits they are wearing is what maintenance workers all over China wear. Not a single person I spoke to could explain the objective of the piece, but in the end, I guess it was just something to do. I didn't participate (not foreign-looking enough), but took lots of pictures of Benny and his friends who were willing and accomodating models. This picture is definitely one of the better ones.
Since then, I've hung out with these kids a lot.
The suits they are wearing is what maintenance workers all over China wear. Not a single person I spoke to could explain the objective of the piece, but in the end, I guess it was just something to do. I didn't participate (not foreign-looking enough), but took lots of pictures of Benny and his friends who were willing and accomodating models. This picture is definitely one of the better ones.
Since then, I've hung out with these kids a lot.
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That being said, I kind of like the new do. It's a bit uneven, but I reckon it should work itself out in a day or two. It will grow back, after all...